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aebi12 · 1 year

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"Sinful Desires" - Chapter 22

Aemond has no idea where he is.

Or how long it has been since he left Harrenhal and fled on Vhagar's back.

The lands closest to Harrentown had suffered his wrath, fields and houses burning with dragonfire, people fleeing their homes in terror, vast areas of forest completely destroyed under the relentless breath of his she-dragon.

But it changed nothing.

By the time Aemond becomes aware of his surroundings again, Vhagar is eating some kind of animal that she has just charred with her breath. The sunlight hurts his eye, and the prince has to make an effort to keep it open, as he tries to sit up without losing his balance.

He has a vague recollection of giving up control to his dragon. He had felt the rage they both shared, Vhagar's impatience, the desire for revenge that had consumed him before... fortunately -or perhaps not- he let her take the reins of the flight and after that he doesn't remember much. He does not recognize where he is, though it is clear that he is still somewhere in the riverlands.

His stomach growls as he takes a few steps toward Vhagar, though the thought of eating seems ridiculous to him. He doesn't even remember the last time he fed. What is the point anyway? Aemond never considered himself a person prone to self-destruction, until he felt the true pain of his losses.

But he still has many vendettas to collect.

Helaena.

Daeron.

Jaehaerys

Maelor.

Alyssa.

A part of him, the one he usually goes by, the instinct and the drive and the need to spring into action, wants him to get back on Vhagar and go straight to Dragonstone or King's Landing or wherever he can find his half-sister or his uncle.

The other part, one that sounds too much like Alyssa's voice, reminds him that there is still something for him to consider. Rather, someone. His niece Jaehaera. His little girl is the only thing that has prevented him from carrying out his craziest plans. The idea of leaving her alone at the mercy of such a cruel world is inconceivable. Jaehaera is the only reason for him to push the pain aside, so he can get rid of the people who see her as a threat.

The sound of some branches breaking puts him on alert. Aemond turns quickly and scans the forest, trying to figure out where the noise is coming from. Or if he had perhaps imagined that something was breaking.

"Could be scouts," he thinks as he reaches for the dagger he always carries on his belt, "Or it could be..."

"It's just me, my prince"

Alys Rivers emerges from the forest and walks directly towards Aemond, although she keeps a safe distance, as if she fears that at some point he will throw the dagger at her. Her eyes as black as two coals, however, seem to scan his face before smiling mysteriously.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asks, confused, though what he really wants to know is how she found him.

“The fire always tells me what I want to know,” she replies in that infuriating tone of hers. Aemond begins to lose patience. He doesn't want that woman near him, he doesn't feel like putting up with riddles or insinuations, she seems to sense it because she says, "I have an important message for you."

"Words of my uncle?" asks as he watches as she takes out a small piece of paper from her skirt pocket.

She hands him the message without replying. Aemond snorts before taking it, unfolding it and reading its contents.

A lump form in his throat as he recognizes the letter. And then rage flows through him, and in two strides he reaches the woman and carelessly grabs her arm, “Witch, where did you get this? What kind of game are you playing?”

"No game," she replies calmly, "I'm just a messenger."

“Don't lie to me, Alys Rivers,” he hisses, “Who gave you this letter?”

“The same person who wrote it, your princess”

"She's… that's not possible," he replies, clutching the dagger.

"Is it?" she asks in a teasing voice, “Your princess arrived in Harrenhal a couple of days ago. And now she enjoys the hospitality of Lady Sabitha Frey, who is already planning what she will do with your Alyssa and with the silver-haired little boy who traveled with her."

Alyssa. His heart skips a beat. She couldn't be alive, could she? And who was that little boy with silver hair? Could it be…?

"She died in the riots at King's Landing"

Alys shrugs, “See for yourself. Fly to Harrenhal and find out, if you don't believe me."

"Is this a trap?" The woman may well be in cahoots with his uncle Daemon.

“Would that stop you for wanting to make sure? Do you have something to lose?”

No. Not really. And maybe this is the moment he gets revenge.

"If you are lying to me, I will return to feed you to my dragon"

She just smiles mysteriously and slips out of his grasp because he's already moving towards Vhagar, who seems to understand that the situation is urgent, because she pushes her food aside and takes off as soon as Aemond sits on her back.

“To Harrenhal,” Aemond orders.

***

Lady Sabitha is inspecting her guard's training in one of the courtyards. Alyssa sighs as she listens to the woman make a disparaging comment to one of her soldiers. Aegon, who is playing with a rocking horse and imagining it to be a dragon, clings to her hand as the horses begin to neigh, the dogs bark desperately in the kennels, and screams come from outside the castle.

"What in the seven hells is going on?" Demands to know Lady Sabitha

"Dragon!" Aegon exclaims delightedly in his squeaky little voice.

"Yes, sweetheart, I know you're playing the…"

Alyssa stops talking as the silhouette of a dragon casts her huge shadow across the courtyard. Her heart is pounding and her eyes quickly scan the sky, observing the majestic creature that flies over the castle.

"I don't know that dragon," Aegon says, calling for her attention.

“It's Vhagar,” Alyssa replies with a huge smile on her lips and relief filling her chest.

"It cannot be"

Lady Sabitha looks desperate, terror on her face as her men flee, leaving her unprotected, "Bloody cowards!" she yells, though no one seems to pay any attention to her and only a couple of loyal ladies remain by her side. The woman turns to Alyssa, “You! You have something to do with this…”

“I advise you to choose your next words carefully, Lady Sabitha,” the princess cut her off, “Prince Aemond is quite protective of me and can't always control his temper. If you promise to cooperate with our cause, I can sweeten the way you have treated me these past few days."

“Never, girl, I'm not an oath breaker,” she assures before turning her back on Alyssa, and running into the castle.

Alyssa doesn't even bother to follow her. Her eyes are on the dragon that has now perched on one of the castle battlements. The princess tries to step back so she can make out the figure of Aemond descending from the saddle, but she can't. Still, she knows he's here, that she'll see him in just a few moments. She wants to run to meet him, she wants to meet him halfway, but little Aegon still holding her hand won't stop whispering, his eyes on Vhagar, his laughter flowing as he listens to the dragon roar.

"Alyssa"

Someone calls her name. He calls her name. Her heart stops momentarily when she turns and she sees him, standing under one of the huge arches that mark the entrance to a castle hall. Her smile widens and a heavy weight seems to leave her body as he takes a few steps toward her, the dim winter sunlight illuminating his figure.

She can't hold back anymore and runs towards him, nearly making him lose his balance and fall as she hugs to his chest, happy tears streaming down her face. He seems almost as desperate as she is, holding her close to his body, as she feels his hands bury in her curls and his nose draw in her scent.

"Is it really you?" he says she almost in a whisper

Alyssa wants to laugh, but she stops herself and lifts her face to his scowling, “What kind of question is that? Of course, it's me! I'm here with you,” she takes his hand and places it on her chest.

He sighs when he feels her heart pound under his hand. “I thought you had…,” he shakes his head, “I only heard that your mother managed to flee the city, they didn't say anything about you”

“Yeah, well, that was…”

"Is this my new uncle?"

Alyssa is startled and pulls away from Aemond to turn to her little brother, who is watching the tall figure of the prince with open curiosity.

“Yes, sweetheart, I'm sorry, this is your uncle Aemond,” she says after clearing her throat and wiping away her tears, “Aemond, this is my little brother Aegon.”

So this was the boy Alys had mentioned. For a moment, a brief moment, Aemond had thought that perhaps the news about Maelor had also been a lie and that Alyssa had managed to escape with his baby nephew. A foolish idea, now that he thinks about it.

“We are actually cousins,” he points out as he observes the familiar features of the little boy.

"Why do you wear that?" He asks, pointing to the leather eyepatch.

Alyssa tenses and looks between the two of them, not quite sure what to say. There are a few moments of silence, until suddenly Aemond speaks.

“Because I lost an eye,” he says simply, his good eye staring at the boy, who seems to be struggling to understand what he's been told, so his next question doesn't surprise him.

"How?"

"In a fight"

“Mother says I shouldn't fight, she says it when I fight with my little brother,” he comments wrinkling his nose.

Aemond doesn't know what to say to that. Alyssa pales and her eyes darken.

"Can I see your eye?" the boy follows, oblivious to his sister's discomfort or how uptight his cousin seems

“Aegon, no, sweetheart, you shouldn't ask that kind of things,” Alyssa chides.

Vhagar roars then, perhaps sensing her rider's discomfort.

"Is that your dragon?" wants to know Aegon

"She is my dragon, yes, her name is Vhagar"

"Wow," Aegon smiles and looks up at the ancient beast, "She is big, so, so big!"

“She is the largest dragon in the world”

Alyssa stops herself from rolling her eyes as she takes in Aemond's satisfied expression. Aegon keeps asking questions and Aemond doesn't seem to know which one to answer first.

“Calm down, Aegon,” Alyssa lowers to her brother's level, “Aemond is going to tell you everything you want to know, but now…”

"I want to fly on the dragon!" demands the boy

“Not now,” his sister replies.

"Alyssa, please, I want to fly!"

"Aegon, I said no."

"But..." the little boy starts to pout.

“I'll let you take a ride with me if you help me clear this castle of the scum first,” Aemond interjects, “It's a job for a knight, are you up to the task?”

Aegon's face lights up and he walks directly towards Aemond, coming up to his side and extending his little hand towards him. The prince seems to hesitate for a few seconds, but in the end, he takes his hand.

“I think you two will meet little resistance on your adventure,” Alyssa comments, “Lady Sabitha and her cronies fled as soon as Vhagar appeared in the sky.”

"I know, I was tempted to order her to burned them all"

Alyssa gives him a hard look and follows them into the castle, "Just for the record, my little brother isn't going to ride your dragon until he's at least three times the size he is right now."

Aemond chuckles and they inspect the castle, though only a few servants remain within the halls. In the end, they discover that Lady Sabitha has fled through the latrines. The ridiculous idea sparks satisfaction in Alyssa.

"Will it be wise to stay here?" she asks once they settle into one the sitting rooms, “It is very likely that Lady Sabitha wrote to Daemon to let him know that I am here. And that I have Aegon"

She looks at her brother, who is playing next to the maid who has been taking care of him for the last few days.

"Let him come then," he replies, "We're going to have to face each other at some point."

"But it doesn't have to be now, it can't be now," she looks at him anxiously and takes his hand, "We've only just met again."

“I know,” he caresses her cheek gently, “I feel like I just got you back.”

His comment reminds Alyssa of what he had said before her brother interrupted them. He had believed that she had not survived the riots in the capital, he thought she was dead, another victim of the war… like Helaena and Maelor.

"What is it?" he asks when he notices the change in her expression, the sadness reflected in her green eyes and the fear that she is clearly experiencing.

She hesitates. Where to start? She supposes that the most important thing will be to apologize for failing him, "I am so sorry, Aemond, so sorry."

"Why do you apologize for?" he questions, confusion in his eye

"Because I assured you that Helaena would be protected if she stayed with me in the castle and… I couldn't do my part, I let her…" She shakes her head, the pain preventing her from continuing as she remembers Helaena's screams.

Aemond seems to notice her distress, but he couldn't move to comfort her. At the mention of his sister, his body freezes. The memories and the pain that he has tried to suppress these days reach his body like waves of torture.

"What exactly happened?" get to ask at the end

Alyssa starts talking and doesn't hide anything from him. She fills in the details of her mother's arrival in Kings Landing, her futile attempts to convince Rhaenyra that the war must end, she tells him of her mother's fury after the dragon riders’ betrayal. And she tells him about Mysaria and her poisonous comments that ended in Helaena's death.

“Then she herself… it was she who decided to leave,” Aemond comments at the end.

"I shouldn't have abandoned her, I should have stayed with her, never let her out of my sight and…"

“Don't blame yourself, it wouldn't have helped,” he replies, squeezing her hand, “Helaena…look what her guilt did to her. Her pain consumed her, I don't want that to happen to you too”

"But…"

He shakes his head, “It is not your fault, Alyssa. I think it would have ended up happening anyway. Those children were everything to my sister,” his voice cracks at the end, his mind adding the infamous White Worm to his list of revenge.

Alyssa sighs, “Your mother is fine. At least she was until I had to leave the city”

“I know,” Aemond nods, “How did you get out? Why didn't you let me know you were coming?"

"Everything happened very fast. Suddenly the people were enraged and threatened to enter the Fortress. It was almost a miracle that Aegon and I managed to get out, although it was Talya who helped us, she led us through unknown passages of the castle and told me to look for you. I had no way of communicating with you."

"It was foolish to venture alone on the Kingsroad" he frowns.

“I didn't have too many options,” she responds, exasperated, “I imagine that Alys Rivers gave you my letter”

“I still don't know how she found me,” Aemond admits, “Vhagar often seeks hidden places to rest.”

“I think she may be a witch,” Alyssa smiles, “At least that's what people around here say.”

“Yeah, I heard the same thing. It doesn't matter, she has proven to be useful and has been loyal until now."

"Why did you leave Harrenhal?"

Aemond offers her a sad smile, “There was no point in continuing in this place. After receiving the news about Helaena and about your supposed death, the grief and anger were too great. I let myself be blinded by my temperament and I could only think about making someone, anyone pay for the pain I was experiencing."

Alyssa sighs and massages her temple with her fingers, "I heard you've been burning towns and farmlands."

“I admit I overstepped,” he replies after a pause.

“Those people are part of your kingdom, Aemond,” the princess closes her eyes for a few seconds and then faces him, “This family has a responsibility and a duty to these lands, and we have failed them. What happened in King's Landing…”

“Barbaric,” he hisses angrily, “Your mother should have ridden her dragon and stopped that carnage. Sometimes the only alternative is to give them fire and blood."

She shakes her head and fights with herself not to raise her voice too high, “My brother Joffrey died trying to do just that. Syrax ejected him from its back and he died from the fall. Violence cannot be the only way to rule. There was peace in these lands before this absurd war started, we must return to it."

"You defend the people who cruelly killed our dragons, creature bonded to our history, our family"

“I defend the people who were dying of hunger, of cold, who felt abandoned by their leaders. My mother didn't help them, you burn their food and livelihood…we have to be smarter and learn from what happened. Right now, those people possess control over Kings Landing.”

"Taking the city back from them won't be hard"

“Keep them subjugated might be,” Alyssa looks at him defiantly, “All these losses can't be in vain. I know you're upset right now, but I also know you're a man of duty. And that duty extends to being a good ruler for the common people.”

Aemond seems to want to reply and continue the discussion, but his features suddenly soften and he just nods, too tired and not in the mood for a fight. Alyssa pulls her chair closer to him and takes his face in her hands, joining their lips in a short kiss.

"I'm sorry about Daeron," she says, still against his lips, "I know he was a good brother to you."

The prince fights the lump in his throat before replying, “He was a fine boy. I am sorry I didn't get to see him one last time."

Alyssa hugs him and he hides his face in the space between her neck and her shoulders, comforted by the smell of her jasmine scent. They hold on for a few minutes, both thinking about their losses, about everything they've experienced. In all that is yet to come.

“What happened to the army that came here with you?”

“Ser Criston led them to the Reach. The plan was to join Daeron and then march on the capital."

"I assume it didn't work"

"Cole is dead," he says ruefully, the scowl coming back to his forehead, "and the men probably scattered across the realm, if they're not dead as well"

Alyssa never gave the knight much thought, though not that she particularly liked him, considering he was a faithful servant of Alicent's. Aemond, however, seems to sense his absence.

"There must be some way to gather the army once again"

“Maybe,” he seems to be lost in his thoughts for a few seconds, “Everything is uncertain right now. I don't even know if Aegon is alive, most likely not," he sighs, "The important thing now is to kill Daemon."

“The important thing now,” Alyssa refutes, “is that we are together.”

"Together," he nods.

For now, they both think without saying it, At least for now.

***

Hours later, as night falls, Alyssa lies naked next to Aemond, hugging his chest and feeling content for the first time in months.

They have gotten their moment of privacy thanks to Alys Rivers, who had arrived at the castle during the afternoon, ready to return to the land that had been her home all her life. The woman, who Alyssa now knows also used to work as a wet nurse, promises to take good care of Aegon.

“Only a fool with a death wish would do this child any harm,” she comments.

The princess agrees with her. Aegon is under Aemond's protection and, being Daemon's son, all Black ally would protect him. So, albeit with some reluctance, she allows Alys to watch her little brother’s sleep. And the most selfish part of her is delighted with the arrangement, especially when Aemond can't stop kissing and touching her, their bodies coming together in a wild and desperate sway.

"Was I too hard on you?" he asks when she moves and a wince appears on her face

“No, no, not at all,” she assures him, “I'm just still sore from riding for so many days, I guess. Also, my head hurts a bit."

Aemond turns to his side and examines her face. Alyssa looks pale, her green eyes show deep circles, and her body is thinner than before. His hands caress her thighs gently and she smiles, though it doesn't reassure him.

"Your headaches are quite frequent these days, don’t you think?" he asks, remembering that she also complained about them when they were still together in the Red Keep.

“It's probably just stress,” she shrugs, “Don't worry about me, I'm fine,” Alyssa kisses him briefly and strokes her fingers over his scar, her light touch tickling him.

“Did Lady Sabitha harm you while you were held hostage?”

“She wasn't nice, but she didn't torture me either, if that's what you are asking,” she clarifies.

“I will settle accounts with her after I take care of my uncle,” he assures

Alyssa shudders. Aemond smiles at her, but without much conviction and caresses her face, "Sleep, my love, you need to rest."

She knows that he is only distracting her, but she is carried away by his soft words, by the warmth of his body, by his hands that possessively draw her towards him and, above all, by the feeling of security that she has when she is next to Aemond.

***

“You will hear from Prince Daemon very soon,” Alys assures the next morning.

“Did you see that in your fires?” wants to know Alyssa

The woman nods and then looks at the princess, a curious expression appearing on her face, but Alyssa doesn't understand it.

"Do the flames tell you the future?"

"Sometimes"

She wants to ask about her and Aemond's future, but her question is interrupted when the latter enters with a letter in hand.

“Our uncle sent me a challenge,” he smirks, “We'll met again in thirteen days.”

Thirteen days. Thirteen days that may well be the last with Aemond. Alyssa swallows and doesn't know what to say, so she stays quiet. The prince does not need her pessimism, it is better to keep her fears to herself.

"Where?" ask finally

"Right here"

Her heart is pounding as she nods, "I guess there's nothing I can say or do to make you give up this idea."

"Nothing," he replies, "You know very well that I have to do it"

"And you want to do it"

Aemond stares at her and takes a few steps to face her, taking her hands and bringing them to his lips, “I trust Vhagar. And you should trust me. Do not be afraid, my love."

“Just remember that I refuse to live in a world where we are not together,” she tells him, “Keep that in mind when you're up there.”

After that, few moments are spent together during the day. Aemond devotes himself to training and flying with Vhagar. Alyssa does her best to keep busy, distracting her little brother from his idea of flying, and helping Alys in her duties as a healer.

At night, on the other hand, they kill their nostalgia and desire by making love. Sometimes they talk for hours. Sometimes they just stay silent, feeling the weight of the countdown.

And though Alyssa would do anything for the deadline to never come, at the end of the thirteenth day the shadow of Caraxes appears before Harrenhal.

“I trust you, Alys,” she tells the woman as she places a sleeping Aegon on the bed. The sun is just about to set on the horizon, but the woman mixed some herbs to make sure the little one slept for a long time. Alyssa wasn't going to expose her brother to see his infamous father, “Take good care of him. I'll look for you in a while"

“Of course, princess,” she replies as she stokes the fire in the fireplace.

Alyssa kisses her little brother and leaves Alys's cabin to join Aemond, who is waiting for her outside.

"Ready?"

She nods and he takes her hand, guiding her to the monstrous figure of Vhagar. Alyssa can't help but flinch as she walks up to the dragon. Many years ago, she abandoned her idea of being a dragon rider and although she knows that it is in her nature to feel an affinity for these creatures, she only feels great fear and respect when she finally gets close to the ropes that allow her to climb onto the saddle.

“She won't hurt you,” Aemond assures, stroking her hand comfortingly, then placing it against Vhagar's scales.

Alyssa feels the heat coming from her body, she feels the fire under her skin and the dragon's heavy breathing. She is a very old beast, full of scars that are easy to appreciate when she is so close. It is imposing. She can't help but wonder how Aemond, when he was so small, could have claimed her as his own.

"Come on, I'll help you," says the prince.

It's a bit of a struggle, but she manages to climb up and position herself as best she can in the saddle. Aemond deftly climbs up behind her and protectively places a hand around her waist, taking the reins with his other free hand before commanding in High Valyrian.

When Vhagar flies, Alyssa can only think about how simple everything looks from below. Although it's not her first time flying, she can't compare this experience to the times Rhaenyra carried her on Syrax's back. Vhagar flies violently, like a force of nature taking her breath away as she ascends, forcing her to close her eyes, too frightened. Aemond seems to notice her discomfort because her hand traces circles on her belly, trying to calm her down.

Fortunately, the flight isn't long, considering they only climbed to the highest battlements of Harrenhal, but Alyssa had wanted to fly alongside Aemond. They had talked about it so many times as children that she had to fulfill that innocent fantasy. Besides, she well knew that it might be the only time she got the chance to do it.

"I'll be back to you, I promise," he says looking at her very seriously after helping her down from the saddle.

She stares back at him fiercely, though she doesn't respond and just nods. She kisses him. One last kiss, a touch more than anything, a subtle caress that is not enough, but that is the only thing they can share at this moment.

A farewell, she notices her as she struggles not to hold on to his hand, and lets him go back to his dragon.

The princess clings to the stone walls and follows Aemond's path in the sky, Vhagar's figure growing smaller and smaller as she flies toward the vast lake that glows orange-red against the twilight, its calm waters oblivious to the fight that will surely soon begin.

For some reason, Alyssa thinks about the gods. Her mind flies to those moments in the sept at Alicent's behest, to the queen’s continuous prayers, to her devotion. Not that it would have done her much good considering half of her children and grandchildren were dead.

Even so…

Even so, the idea of placing her faith in the hands of others, of pleading for mercy and protection for her prince is stronger. Maybe it's simply the need to seek comfort from some higher power, but Alyssa closes her eyes and whispers desperate pleas.

Part of her knows they won't be heard. The gods did not protect her siblings, the gods have no reason to fulfill the requests of a selfish princess who had betrayed her family. Perhaps, as her mind has been telling her for months now, this was always going to be the result. The punishment for her sins.

Alyssa opens her eyes as a roar cuts through the stillness of the air. The two dragons are now in full flight, so high in the sky that they are barely two specks in the distance, though the flames they hurl blaze against the firmament with violence.

She can't stand the roars. The seconds and minutes drag on, her palms smeared with blood as her fingernails dig mercilessly into them, too focused on trying to understand what's going on in the Gods Eye to care about the pangs of pain.

But it's useless. There's nothing to see. Nothing she can do.

A violent dizziness makes her stumble. Alyssa clings to the stone wall and decides to go down and look for her brother, although thinking about it is easier than doing, because with how dizzy she still feels, each flight of stairs is a challenge. Still, she makes it to the yard and practically runs to the cabin.

Alys is still sitting against the flames, watching and concentrating on them, not even flinching when the princess enters. Aegon is still lusciously asleep, clinging to the rocking horse.

The roars are heard as clearly here as they are at the top of the castle and, even with company, the sense of anguish and tragedy does not leave her chest.

"Did I send him to his death?" she finally asks after long minutes

Alys turns to look at her, but her expression is unreadable. Alyssa sheds a tear and her body tenses as a roar of pain fills the air.

"Vhagar" she whispers desperately, recognizing the sound produced by the she-dragon.

She acts on the spur of the moment and storms out of the cabin, running back into the castle in the direction of the stables. A little boy is tending to the horses, but he knows who Alyssa is, so he doesn't object or raise the alarm when the princess takes the reins of a still saddled caramel-colored mare.

She wastes no time and rides in Aemond's direction, urging the poor animal on when she watches the gigantic figure she recognizes as Vhagar plummet towards the lake.

#prince aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond x oc #house of the dragon #ao3fic

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searchingforserendipity25 · 1 year

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Ooh, would you mind sharing something about the sorcerer of Amon Ereb?

Hi @lesbianhaleth! I would love to, thanks!

The Sorcerer is a bit experimental- very much a WIP for sure, and also trying to do something about magical systems as a metaphor for formal systems of authority and Song as both the evading and enforcing of narrative (personal) (immense predestined possibility).

Right now, tho? It's mostly vague thoughts on Elros & Maedhros debating whether turning a hostage situation into an internship opportunity counts as a cultural crime, judicial obligation for education, a cunning hustle or just a dickishly unfilial move, while Maglor and Elrond put ethics aside to do fell, unorthodox and rather ilegal rehab to the monsters in the basement. I've also talked a bit about the process here for @thalion71.

Here's a snippet:

Elros, in particular, had enjoyed it ruthlessly; once, he had almost convinced Maedhros he had found his calling in becoming a swine herder, to watch the prince of Tirion make conversation on how his most gifted student was off to root for mushrooms and make acorn-bread once the snowstorms lifted.

I wonder how many pigs the slaughter of Sirion can be accounted for, Elros had mused in their mind; Elrond would have kicked him under the table, if Maedhros had not narrowed his eyes at him and started bargaining right then and there

That always ended the ruse thoroughly; Elros, at heart, was too much a magistrate to pretend otherwise, and once they started at it no term was left unstudied, no clause unmauled, no degree of ruling or logistics or conquest without consideration.

When they did so, Elrond would end up sharing glances with Maglor, in suffering and laughter - Lordlings! Brothers! What are we to do with them? It was very easy to forget Maglor had been a great lord of a great domain in his own right, before the dragonfire had left him landless and half-blind and charred and altogether mad. He was, or had made himself to be well suited to the business of being seneschal and general and clerk to Maedhros the Marred, prince of Himring and master-of-horses. The sorcerer of Amon Ereb - he had taken very few students in those days, but Elrond had been among them, and his brother as well. Had he chosen it in earnest, none of Elros’s herd would have perished for cold or sickness or wolfbites.

(But it had been Elrond who, from a young age, had stayed closer to Maglor’s tutelage; in Singing, and in Listening as well.)

#ask memes #wip game #thank you!!! love your blog btw haha #maglor #elrond #elros #maedhros #at this point you know what? i'm counting this as mart of m&m week

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jellyluchi · 2 years

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Legend of the Waterlily Fairy

Artist: @/HNisBack

A/N: It's that time of year for the second time. Happy anniversary, Prosciutto ❤️‍🔥 This fic is very near and dear to my heart. As it's for an AU that's been in development for as long as I've self-shipped with Prosciutto. While it's undergone countless developments, this is the version I'm most happy with. Last year I'd made a post how I'd ended up shipping with him. And I'm so happy my love for him has only grown so I could write something like this and get such a wonderfully commissioned artwork that I'd dreamed of getting. He is so precious to me...more than I could put into mere words or thought. Context for this AU is that the settings (Arun/Soleil and Luna) are based on mughal South Asia and medieval Italy. The countries were once at war with each other but are in the process of negotiating a union born of the marriage between their respective princess and prince. The legend mentioned in the story is based on Bangla folklore. For the sake of recognition, Pros and Foca’s name are kept intact. But they are originally princess Sidra and prince Gaetano. Ria is my cousin’s OC and a big part of the AU overall.

Pairing: Prosciutto x Focaccia Warnings: penetrative sex, cunnilingus, descriptive vanilla smut Genre: Royal AU, fluff, smut Summary: The Lunar prince visits Soleil to negotiate more marriage terms but is met with a reluctant yet interesting Solar princess.

Translations: (thank you to @/theschneckenhouse for the Latin translations!) Rajkumari: princess Projapoti: butterfly Shapla: water lily Phool: flower Pori: fairy Lal: red Shada: white Lehenga: traditional south asian dress Orna: the “shawl wrap” that comes with lehenga Chai: Tea (but you knew that) Forma tu: beautiful Amore motus: done out of love Ego amo te: I love you Mae Puella: my lover (female) Principessa: princess Buona notte: goodnight

Monsoon is near. The heat of the Aruni sun makes the smell of thunderstorms cling to the air. Despite the famed heat, Arun is not known for dry lands or droughts. Rajkumari Focaccia’s personal garden alone attests to the lush flora. And that is not even counting the royal gardens of the palace that hold every possible breed of flower that fertile Aruni soil can sustain. As she watches over the palace gardens from the west end corridor, Focaccia wonders how something to beautiful about her country could bring about such destruction.

Rich with resources and lush with greenery, her country has been the interest of many a foreign ruler for quite some time. But none of them were so bold as the Lunars who decided to invade her land directly. Leaving the motherland’s beauty in charred ruins and ashes in their wake. Perhaps, she thinks, this is her calling. After all, she has been raised to be married for political gain and the Lunars posed a prime opportunity. Their militia, one of the most renowned… and feared. With their union, perhaps Arun will receive the protection it deserves.

Rajkumari Focaccia catches a stray petal in the air. From a rose knocked too hard by the cunning wind. The same way her soldiers had fallen to the mercy of Luna.

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“He’s visiting today,” the Queen informs her.

“I know.” Rajkumari Focaccia does not so much as look up from her book as she lays on the lounge chair. Her simple lehenga leaves her midriff exposed, the lazy positioning of her body stretching the two piece fabric in different directions.

“Will you try to at least look more happy about it?” Her mother demands. Reputation and dignity are everything in the Aruni court.

Focaccia pauses, forcing a smile and retrieving her orna from the side of the chaise lounge. “Yes, mother.”

The Queen offers no reaction, her mind already working to further the day’s agenda. “Go get dressed before he arrives for chai.” Her daughter nods in response and she leaves the bedroom.

Focaccia heaves a sigh, not knowing she was holding a rather long breath.

They’ve met before. A few times, and she has not been appreciative of his company. But the meetings are important to proceed with the marriage and the eventual wedding ceremony. Ruling together by his side as the queen of Luna… the thought makes her squeamish. She closes the chapter of the book, a favorite collection of fairy tales, and leaves to call for the lady’s maids.

She walks into the dressing area only to see a familiar face.

“Mina…”

“Rajkumari,” Mina bows politely. “Which one will it be today? I hear the Lunars are fond of blue, perhaps you would like to woo the prince with your styling choices?”

Focaccia giggles. Mina has been her friend as a lady’s maid since she was young. Growing up, though improper, she had a disposition spending time with the help. Asking them questions, wanting to help with the cooking. But the queen saw it as unfit for an heir and quickly influenced her out of the practice.

Focaccia scoffs fondly at the maid’s words.

“If the Lunars prefer blue then get me the pink one. I’ve no desire to cater to that man.”

Mina proceeds to carefully unearth a set of clothing from deep within the closet but still humors the thought.

“Why, if I had a prince like that I would only seek to please him myself,” she says dreamily.

“If I could, I’d ask you to marry that shrewd man instead of me. He may have the looks but life with him looks nothing short of hell. If you remember, he didn’t even greet me at my own débutante. Had the nerve to be there just to talk to the guests. I knew then he had no interest in marrying me and I still believe it to be true. If Arun didn’t have its resources… well whatever.”

Clearly, she has a lot on her mind and Mina, kind as she is, always listens to her words no matter what.

Focaccia slips one hand into the pink sequined top and then another before it’s tied tightly on her back. Despite the modest sleeves, the top of the lehenga has quite a low neckline to show off her cleavage though it was not her intention to dress so promiscuous.

Mina holds up the long pink skirts with hand embroidered flowers as Focaccia steps into them a bit clumsily. But her dressing isn’t complete until Mina ties her orna to the side.

“Thank you, Mina,” Focaccia says, looking into the mirror as her lady’s maid brushes her hair that falls limply to the back. “I think I’d like to keep it loose for today.”

“As you wish, your highness,” Mina replies, moving to get the lip taint and jewelry.

Silently, Focaccia adorns a gold nose ring tied to her heavy head piece. The queen’s crown is yet to be passed down to her but she feels it looming above her every second.

Mina applies a red tint to her lips.

“Shall I call for chai, your highness?”

“Yes, please.”

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As the ships dock to Arun’s harbor, Prosciutto sets foot on the warm land with a heated gaze that rivals the sun’s. A predator looking at its prey with grave interest. His commanding strait onto harbor beside his guard, Pesci, has the citizens staring at them with interest, making way for the foreign, feared prince.

Risotto falls into step right behind his prince, in perfect earshot.

“I will be taking an audience with the queen first things first,” is all he says for the taller man to understand and walk ahead. And Prosciutto imagines the preparation they must be making for his entrance into the palace.

“You’re not excited to see the princess?” Pesci chimes in, whispering to his best friend. From the last visit, he had taken quite a liking to the woman, and being as imaginative as he is, could already see her ruling Luna to greatness. But he would never admit that to the likes of the prince.

He scoffs. “Whatever for?”

“Well… she’s nice.”

Prosciutto sighs. “Have your wits about you Pesci.”

His wait by the gates is minimal as he hears the announcer call out his name for him to enter. And as proud Lunars do, he gives a low bow making his deep blue cape dip to the floor.

“Your majesty.”

Queen Parvati gives a nod in acknowledgment.

“Come, prince Prosciutto. Chai has been served and the king will be joining us shortly.”

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“Where are you going?” Ria whispers to her sister.

“The royal gardens,” Focaccia says, simply.

“But the prince is here to see you.”

“He’s here to see the queen and king. My say in this is as important as a passing projapoti’s.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, If he doesn’t agree to marry you we-“

“He will. Because Luna needs it. He’d be disadvantaged without what we have to offer. Marriage or no.”

Focaccia walks briskly out of the large arched doorways. Perhaps it is avoidance on her part but she can’t bring herself to care. The thought of having to converse with the arrogant man makes her blood boil so she only thinks to be in the place where she’s calmest. Watching the shapla phool bloom on the points by the garden’s bridge.

Recalling her last conversation with Ria, she feels somewhat guilty for treating her so coldly. Her peripheral vision catches the reddest rose in a nearby bush that suddenly catches her interest. The same petals that she caught that morning.

“Your highness.” The deep, smooth voice almost makes the princess jump. A familiar, disliked sound.

She turns to see prince Prosciutto, clad in his formal garb with his hands wrapped behind his back. A deceptive smile plastered on his face.

Timidly, she greets him.

“Your highness,” bowing as she says so. Unknown to the woman, Prosciutto notices her neckline dip farther at her motion and smirks to himself.

“Good afternoon,”

“To you as well.” Focaccia keeps her answers short, turning towards the flower with deep, feigned interest.

For a moment, they plunge into a silence, both light and filled with tension, as the breeze from the south seas mingle about, making Focaccia’s skirt sway to the same rhythm of Prosciutto’s cape.

Focaccia, in a way she hopes is subtle, steals glances at the fair haired prince out of her peripheral, finding a certain fascination with the way he regards the pond. Suddenly, she notices him pick up a rock from the edge only to skip it over the shallow pond in one throw. Impressed, she stares without saying a word.

“What brought you to the garden, princess? We were expecting you at tea.” He inquires, looking towards her to give a smirk before his brows dip into his well known scowl once more.

Suddenly having lost her words, Focaccia tries to regain her composure.

“I… didn’t want to waste a good day inside. Besides, the heart of the matter is only to be discussed between your highness and my predecessors.”

“You don’t think I would have liked to ask you something?”

She’s stunned into silence and his question and fidgets with her fingers.

“What is it, exactly, that you would have liked to ask?”

At her response, the prince loses his rocks to stand next to her. It is then that his height truly becomes noticeable, as this proximity isn’t something she’s used to.

“I’ve heard of the work you’ve done for Arun’s international policies. For starters, I would have liked you to explain if the same would be applied to Luna should we rule together in the future.”

“You are implying that we would rule Luna on equal grounds.” She gives him a skeptical look before going back to her flowers.

“Why, of course we would. Is there something that gave you the impression we would not?”

A heavy silence follows while Focaccia thinks. Yes, she wants to say, I do not trust you to give me any freedom of choice.

“Maybe you are right, I should have been there at tea time as I would have liked to ask you a few things myself.”

Despite her dodging the question, Prosciutto stands by politely, his interest piqued. He remembers the princess being a fledgling, almost useless looking thing at her débutante. Knowing the Aruni royalty, he was sure she would be married off to some second rate and continue to live some life of luxury and leisure. And for one of the few times, he finds himself to be wrong.

“What exactly do you think of your subjects, your highness?”

“They are…” Prosciutto holds back, unwilling to give a straightforward answer.

“Royalty are nothing without their people. Without their support, you and I… we become unsustainable. And we must sustain them in return.”

“Is that why you attempted to invade us? So that we, my family, become unsustainable?”

“You are mistaken,” his tone suddenly changes into something harsher, and more familiar than the feign air of alliance he put on. “Your subjects are not the same as mine to me.”

“They must be. Should I remind our countries to form a union? But it has come to light you can never view Arunis the same way you view Lunarians.”

Prosciutto holds her stare, not denying any of her words.

“Your highness,” she says suddenly. “Are you familiar with fairy tales?”

The sudden mention of supposed children’s stories confuses Prosciutto. He scoffs humorlessly.

“The ones I read as a child, yes. The Lunar palace library has quite the collection.”

“Then I’m sure you are unfamiliar with the tale of the shapla pori.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The story of the water lily fairy and her adventure.” Focaccia stares at the white water lilies floating about in the pond and catching the sunlight in the process. “There are shada shapla, white waterlilies and lal shapla, red waterlilies. And legend has a story to explain their existences.

“The original water lily has always been white. And there was one such waterlily fairy that lived within a white waterlily. She was born there and never ventured out. Until, her floating lily home passed under the bridge of a troll. The old, bearded troll was one of the first the fairy had met. And he told her about the famed red waterlily. Much cozier and bigger than the white ones. And for the first time, the fairy found a purpose to adventure outside. To find herself a better home. As she flew around the pond, learning to fly and use her wings, she came across some beings of interest. Namely a bee, who told her to fly to the edge of the world where there resided a magical lily that would turn red if the fairy wished it to be. Believing its words, she flew for days, months maybe. And finally, she reached the lily of legend. An entity guarded the lily with its life and asked her one question. ‘What will you sacrifice to make this lily your home?’ not thinking, she said she will sacrifice the flowers, the pond where her home floated, the troll, and the bee. Willing to let the rest of those who assisted her along the way die for her safety. Do you know what happened, your highness?”

At this point, Prosciutto is engrossed enough in her tale, and the movement of her lips, that he almost has to shake himself out of his reverie.

“Her sacrifices die to give her the new home?”

“No. She is slaughtered. Her blood is what makes the lily red, giving birth to red lilies.”

Focaccia plucks the delicate rose she’d been eying since she came to the gardens, wary of its thorns.

Prosciutto chuckles, and the sound catches her off guard. When she looks towards his face, she’s surprised that he's gotten closer.

“You imply that Luna is the water lily fair? And what is so wrong of her to look for a new home?”

“It is wrong of her to sacrifice others for her gain. As you tried to do my people.”

Not willing to back down, she looks straight into his eyes even if she has to crane her neck somewhat.

But his sudden movement is more unpredictable than she could have expected him to be. He takes her chin by the hand, smiling at her face.

“My dear Focaccia, it seems you pose to be more interesting with every visit… truly, you’ve proven to be more beautiful than any flower that adorns this garden.”

She stiffens at his use of her name, blushing from not being used to hearing it out of his mouth and his sweet words. Should she believe him or not? The rajkumari stares at him in silence and in surprise. Prosciutto must’ve only used to make her lose her composure and she simply refuses to bend to his whims.

“I must go, it’s almost time for dinner,” she says, gently moving out of his grasp yet not forgetting the feeling of his calloused fingers on her face. She quietly wonders if the texture was born from his practice with his sword.

Prosciutto watches her walk back to the castle, her skirts making her look like a stray petal in the wind.

One year later...

Heavy is the heart that harbors affection for its enemy. And no one’s step is heavier than Focaccia’s as she walks in her nightgown through the dark, dimly lit, and unfamiliar halls after catching some fresh air outside. She’s met with deep browns and blues where there’s expensive wood and wallpapers, making her stare in awe at the large paintings of the preceding royal Lunar bloodline. Each and every one of them carry a resemblance to Prosciutto which makes her remember him affectionately, somewhat guiltily. For he was once the commander that waged war on Arun.

Luna’s cold, dry night air slips in through a window, making the curtains fly and Focaccia thinks she can hear the stray howl of a wolf. Hurrying, she finally reaches her chambers. Perhaps venturing in just her flimsy nightgown was not a good idea given the country’s climate. She shivers reaching for her door handle when a figure comes out of the shadows.

“Your highness!” She squeaks. Looking around, alarmed, she hopes she didn’t wake up the rest of the castle.

“Princess,” he purrs, a mischievous smile plastered across his face. He walks slowly, carefully, as a lion would get close to its prey. Appropriately, he lost his usual wear and is clad in his nightshirt, Focaccia notices.

“What are you doing here?” She asks, nervously taking steps back near her bedroom door.

“I wanted to see you.”

“Well… you’ve seen me now so.. You can go back.” Her fidgeting fingers make an appearance.

When suddenly, her back is pinned to the wall with one of Prosciutto’s arms caging her within and his chest pressing to hers.

“I said I wanted to see you.” His breath is a gentle caress on her lips and it makes her shudder, his words conjuring a deep plush on her brown skin.

“You…you must get back to your chambers! It’s inappropriate to be seen like this when we are meant to sleep in separate rooms.” But her words are already falling on deaf ears when Prosciutto lifts one of her legs to wrap around his thigh.

“Oh princess, but this is hardly the first time we’ve done this.”

“Yes but…” she moans when his lips find the pulse point in her neck, gentle suckles and licks accompanying lavish kisses. As if by practiced ease, her hands reach out to tangle in his wild flowing hair. Clearly, he’d been preparing for this moment.

“I remember this gown,” he kisses down to the flesh of her breast protruding from the neckline.

“One year ago, do you remember?” The blues of his eyes shine from the moonlight when he meets her gaze. “I caught you running about in the Aruni palace, in this thing like the little minx you are. Couldn’t stop thinking about it for weeks.”

The nickname makes her look away. “I remember…”

“Now will you let me in?” He asks, caressing her thigh under the see through gown.

She says nothing for a moment, playing with the drawstrings of his shirt only to roll her eyes at his smirk.

“Just be quick and quiet about it.”

Yet he is none of those when he lifts her up in a princess carry to take her through the threshold of her room. Focaccia has to keep herself from squealing in surprise, being scared of heights as she is. Yet she feels safer in his arms than she would around a thousand guard fleet. Prosciutto presents her with a deep kiss to distract his poor princess from her misery. A gentle nibble to her lower lip makes her squirm in his arms.

“Settle down, little one…” He murmurs with a fond smile. Focaccia’s breathing quickens as he puts her down onto the large twin bed, the four poster canopy and curtain concealing them perfectly inside. However, onlookers would be able to see them through the fabrics as the moon passes through the window and bathes the lovers in holy light.

Prosciutto finds himself between her spread legs as Focaccia relaxes in her bed, stretching like a sleepy kitten, preparing itself to be abducted. His lazy hand caresses her side affectionately, sending more shivers through her veins. Kissing up her abdomen, he finally reaches her lips once more for an earth shattering kiss.

“Are you sleepy, my love?”

She only nods in response but wraps her arms around his neck to secure him in place, allowing their bodies to touch closer. “But you still want this…” She nods more vigorously, giving him a charming little smile.

Prosciutto peppers some kisses to her face, smiling at her enthusiasm.

“You don’t have to do a thing… Let me take care of you, princess.”

She giggles at his words but they turn into breathy moans when he reaches low with his kisses once more. The large, slender left hand of the prince makes sensual little shapes on her breast through the clothing and he remembers how much he’d want to touch her the night of their meeting. As her nipple hardens into a little cherry, he pulls down the fabric to allow her breasts to spill out.

“Forma tu…”

Focaccia whimpers at his praise, trying to hide her reddened face behind a hand. Unphased by her shyness, he continues to pepper kisses to the plump flesh, taking his sweet time to reach the peaks. He feels every movement of her body, every careless buck of her hips to meet his own when he presses a gentle suck to her dusky nipple. Prosciutto’s clever tongue swirls before letting go with a sensuous pop of his mouth.

“Now are you ready for me down there?” He asks more to himself than to her, kissing down her bellow and giving it a gentle squeeze on his way.

“Open wider, principessa,” he commands in whispers for her to split her legs farther, exposing her unclothed sex to him as he hikes up the fabric of her nightgown.

Thick curls adorn her entrance, covered in her arousal, making him smirk to himself before applying a gentle pressure. Prosciutto kisses over her plush thighs, appreciating the softness, listening for her particularly loud whines when he purposefully misses her favorite spot. And he remembers the reason why he made sure to station her in a room with thicker walls than others.

“Please…” Focaccia moans, subconsciously bucking into his fingers. He knows what she wants, but only really intends to give it to her when she begs.

“Please what, my love?” He asks cunningly and chuckles when she whines into her hands.

But she doesn’t intend to give him what he wants as he thought. Taking him by surprise, she grabs his head to press his face between legs and wrap her thighs around them, something she’d never done before. Her fingers grip tights to his hair, as if reigning her horse for a sprint.

“Do it.” Her voice takes an uncharacteristic commanding tone. It makes him moan into her sex, starting to lick almost immediately as his the appendage between his legs throb painfully between himself and the sheets. He ought to have taken off his pants before making love to her, he muses.

Forcefully, she grinds on his face, openly moaning for his name as his tongue reaches particularly deep inside. Prosciutto moves almost exclusively on autopilot as he grinds himself into the covers and feels his clothing get wet, trying to hold back from releasing before he’s inside her. She sets the rhythm for herself that the prince matches perfectly, squeezing at her thighs desperately for leverage and grounding.

Finally, she spends herself over his face with a helplessly loud moan and her legs easy away, allowing him to come up for breath, and she realizes how carelessly he would allow himself to go without breath for her sake. But her mind is too fuzzy for any words and her panting mouth can hardly move.

In her reverie, she doesn’t notice Prosciutto removing his clothing completely before hovering over her body with renewed vigor. The blues of his eyes carry an indistinguishable fire as he kisses her with the some mouth he ate her with, making her moan into his kiss, wet with saliva, and her fluids.

Focaccia feels his hard sex tapping against her thigh and bites her lip in anticipation when he pulls back, bringing their foreheads together.

“Are you sure about this?” He whispers.

“… Why must you ask me this every time, right after seducing me into a compromising position no less.”

He chuckles at her reply, giving a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I know it’s painful, I don’t want you to hurt if you can help it.”

“I cannot think of the hurt in the middle of this madness.”

Prosciutto intrudes her once more with a finger and she whimpers again.

“It’s not enough, your highness, please.”

At her words, the prince finally aligns himself to her with a hand but not before stroking his flesh to coat himself in fluids. All the while his lover can only squirm to gain some fiction and contact. Focaccia’s moans all but stop at his invasion of her body, with small thrusts, he fits himself inside, snug and warm, whispering “amore motus,” into her ear.

Once she adjusts, and pleads for him to move, Prosciutto selfishly sets a rhythm to his liking while the princess can only cling to his body for dear life. Her eyes squeeze together as each thrust brings forth a moan louder than the previous. His grunts sound harmoniously with hers, as sweat pools on his brow and his breath hitches when her legs wrap around his waist.

“Your highness… Please, more!”

Prosciutto gets impossibly faster at her request, delighting in the way her nails dig deeper into his back. The searing pain only adds to his chase to finish. It feels as though she gets tighter around him with every movement of his hip. And when she squeals into his neck, releasing herself over his shaft, he no longer holds back, giving himself to her entirely.

“Ego amo te,” he declares.

Panting, they hold themselves together, welded together by their mutual spending. He places a few kisses between her breasts before feeling his energy pick up. “Mae puella,” he whispers into her skin.

Prosciutto eases her legs, letting himself free of her grasp. He checks between to see himself pulling out, gently, watching his seed spill freely. Focaccia can hardly notice when he’s slipped from the bed to retrieve a washcloth and her bowl of water from the antechamber. Only when the cold, wet fabric makes contact with her blazing flesh does she open her eyes to meet his gaze.

“Rest easy,” he murmurs. After a thorough wash of her body and his own, he quickly discards the cloth for the maids to find later.

“Stay,” she whispers. And for a moment, he considers. Her pleading, doe eyes convince him to bundle up beneath her covers and mold himself to her back. But once her eyes shut and her breathing eavens, he places one last kiss to her lips while she sleeps.

“Buona notte,” he whispers before slipping out of her chambers.

Focaccia is understandably disappointed when she finds herself alone. She cannot wait for the days when she will wake up with her prince by her side. And she will get to wake him up with sleepy kisses and nuzzles.

But for now, she allows the maids to dress her, change her bedsheets, and clean the discarded washcloth.

“Paola, please make sure to prepare a cup of the herbal tea for me.”

The two maids exchange looks behind the princess who busies herself in brushing her hair. “Yes, your highness.”

Prosciutto comes down for breakfast in the nick of time.

“Your highness is looking rather rejuvenated today,” his manservant comments.

“Yes well… I had a good night’s rest.”

#prosid #prosciutto x focaccia #prosciutto #fics #n sfw #fluff #sid writes #honey bunny #selfship au #selfship stuff #focaccia #focaccia stuff

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clearfestpuppy · 1 year

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Dating Reviews Magazine

So, you're considering jumping back into dating. So, be honest about your past - but be cautious not to dig up old negative thoughts and feelings. So, get in front of the camera and smile away - you won't regret it! 1. Get out of your comfort zone! It is based on a similar format to Australia's Taken Out. If two or more lights remain on towards the end of the show then the man chooses just two women he wants to find out more about. They then fire questions at him and choose whether they want to pursue a relationship with him. Mr Pearson ended a relationship last year with a Kiwi woman, with whom he was living in Beijing. Although the dating show was filmed last month, he was unable to reveal whether he was successful in finding a suitable partner - but said it was not the best way to find a wife.

This is your best chance to reach as many people with your loves, interests, hobbies and even things you don't like! You are playing with other people's feelings, so be respectful and treat others as you'd like to be treated! You should not date until you are at least 16 years old. Online dating sites have seen explosive growth in the past few years and the services they offer vary. You may have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find one who turns into a prince or princess! We also attract members from various regions of the world who are highly interested in communicating and socializing online. You've got members messaging you, you've got winks and profile visits - what a confidence boost! If you are an avid gardener, a book club leader or even a loving Grandparent - put it in your profile. But, before you start chatting with other singles and going on fun dates, you’ve have to overcome one major obstacle: creating your profile. If you're not interested in someone or just looking for a bit of flirty fun that's ok - just lay your cards on the table as early as possible!

That's ok, it can be daunting to get back in the game, get back on the horse and embrace looking for love again! נערות ליווי ברמת גן If you find a great connection with someone, you may want to rush ahead and get planning dates and meetings. It makes it super easy for other members to get to know you straight away and even easier for someone to strike up a conversation with you! All Online Dating Association (ODA) members have to have reporting arrangements to deal with users concerns about a bad experience or suspicious behaviour. This allows users to compile a list of existing Facebook friends whom they be interested in. The development of accelerator mass spectrometry (AMS) dating, which allows a date to be obtained from a very small sample, has been very useful in this regard. In addition, the roof of Structure 5-S (in Area 4) had collapsed directly on top of a mass interment containing remains of at least 10 individuals. Other materials that have been successfully dated include ivory, paper, textiles, individual seeds and grains, straw from within mud bricks, and charred food remains found in pottery. It also gives data on the timing of events and rates of change in the environment (most prominently climate) and also in wood found in archaeology or works of art and architecture, such as old panel paintings.

He works as a senior sponsorship manager for the Chinese Women's Tennis Association, which is how the famous show found him. The 34-year-old will appear on Fei Cheng Wu Rao on May 20. It is China's second most popular show - the state-owned news was the most viewed, Mr Pearson said. The show in which Mr Pearson features will be the 234th episode. At the time of heating, identical 87Sr/86Sr ratios are again achieved as described above, only to be followed by a second episode of isotopic divergence. One man is put into a room with 24 women, who are shown a few video clips about his life. But, life begins at the end of your comfort zone! Regardless of what decision you end up making, be very thoughtful in thinking about the many potential outcomes that may manifest due to your actions. You may have children. 1. Lastly, have fun!

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nemeseos-noctua · 3 years

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Hello! It's nice to see a new genshin impact writer! I saw requests are open, and there's two I have in mind (if it's ok with you): One is for Razor, Albedo, Xiao, and ganyu (possibly Aether if you can) wherein Reader is scared of love. Like, they're scared of opening up and love someone in fear of rejection or being tossed away. But yet they still daydream having someone who'd love them making it more obvious how much they want to love despite their fears anyway--

With this information, how will they confess to Reader about their feelings? Or comfort/console them?

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: albedo, xiao, ganyu, (separate) x gn!reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: reader has a pyro vision, albedo and xiao story spoilers in their parts

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: srry for cutting some characters off!! the character limit is 3! (but personally i would write for aether hehe hes so cute i love him)

you just so happened to have a quest in dragonspine

you did not expect to see fatui—especially not fight them

and... you did not expect to get ganged up on! what is this? a bully session? what the heck?

Among the brawn and burly figures of the Fatui members, you didn’t fail to notice a streak of blonde and dazzling blue from a distance—your eyes widening as you prayed to whatever archon would dare to listen...

Please, please don’t be another stupid enemy. You thought with a grimace, your heart pounding in your chest as you could hear a voice—it was calm yet strong, like a endless waterfall or a river creek.

“Burst forth!”

In a matter of seconds, a geo flower emerged from the earth, your form being lifted up on the tiny platform as shards of crystallized rock formed under you, nearly stabbing you in the gut.

Who? What? How? Who was this stranger? This vision-wielder?

Wasting no time, you plummeted down on a nearby Fatui—deeming this geo-user as ‘safe’, you summoned your own flames, charring the crystal snow black as you wrapped your arm around the blonde, barely taking any time to observe his features.

from then on, you never expected to grow close to this mystery man

turns out he was the chief alchemist of the knights! you weren’t personally associated with the knights... but being chief alchemist certainly was a grand title, right?

with the use of your pyro vision, you helped accompany—albedo—you learned his name was

at first, the two of you were just exploration buddies. but as time went on, butterflies began to form in your stomach, nervousness seemed to peak when he was around

love was like a poison—you knew it’d hurt, you knew it’d kill you to have a drop—

but you wanted it. you wanted love, you wanted to be held by albedo and to twirl his silky hair around your fingers...

but—would he want you?

You wanted to love Albedo so badly.

Yet you knew, you couldn’t. The alchemist just wasn’t the type for love, he was not the type to give kisses or reassurances, nor was he the type to confess with a rose in his hands.

It wouldn’t hurt to dream, though.

The thoughts you had before you slept were of him, of how pretty his eyes were—you couldn’t even pinpoint a color for it. Sometimes, they were blue, sometimes, they were teal.

With every shooting star that’d zip past the sky, every eyelash that’d fall and every fire that’d be lit with the palm of your hands... you hoped for a love. A love so grand it’d outshine the sun, a love so grand it could make you forget the past and undo the pain of before.

But, in the depths of your mind, in the wings of the butterflies that’d flutter in your stomach... you knew—

Albedo did not love you.

albedo initially thought of you as a torch lighter.

LOOK, HE IS A LOGICAL AND RESOURCEFUL MAN. he does not see the world with a rosie-colored-lens like how many others do—he sees it as the facts

and with your pyro vision? combined with dragonspine, ooh, please... ain’t that a match lighter?

but as time went on, he started to see you in a new light

you were knowledgeable, you respected his views and even contributed sometimes! you were no prodigy of alchemy, of course, but you were well-versed in combat and oftentimes knew how to navigate dragonspine

(he asked you how you knew dragonspine so well. all you told him was “Pain”)

but... albedo is observant. he’s definitely aware of your feelings and nervousness, how you get overly sweaty near him and fumble on your words

it’s then he realizes—he likes you too

love is a foreign concept to him, uncharted territory and an unexplored region. of course, as an alchemist, it is up to him to discover the unknown

and love—love is unknown

how could one possibly dedicate their entire life to another? albedo always questioned this notion, for humans were free beings that wanted nothing more than to break free of their shackles

and yet—the moment the alchemist met you? all of those questions flew out of the window

he wished... he wished to love you. but to him, it looks as if you do not want to love him

It’s frustrating, really.

How Albedo would brush over your hand mindlessly, how he’d hand you an object and let your fingertips meet for two seconds too many, how his cold yet soft lips would curve into a smile upon seeing you return from your endeavors.

Why? Why? Why? Why did he do this? Was he aware of the way he made you go crazy?

You wanted to love him, so so bad—but—

“[Y/N],” Albedo’s voice seemed to pierce through your thoughts as if he had heard them.

“Y-Yes?” You turned immediately, the rush of your heart not calming a bit, the nervousness of your leg that bounced up and down as a remedy that you wish didn’t have to be so obvious.

Averting his eyes from yours, you missed the pixie blush that dusted the tip of his ears. He was not aware of your insecurities—but he was aware of one thing.

That—that he liked you... a lot, in fact.

“Recently...” Albedo started, clearing his throat anxiously before continuing, “I have started to develop some... feelings, for you. It is okay if you do not reciprocate, but it feels wrong to think about you in such a light when you are not awa—“

“Yes!”

You winced.

And then, everything seemed to crumble. Was he talking about someone else? Was there someone behind you? Was this a mindless prank? As it had been all those years ag—

A hand rested on your cheek, bringing you back to reality with the mere touch of his fingers.

albedo... in all of his intelligent prowess... was not expecting for you to say yes

in the public, he is a genius— a prince, a prodigy, even. but to him, he is but a failed student who is trying his best in completing his master’s final orders:

find the meaning of life

what is life? life is broad, life is different, life is... well, life.

at first, albedo had assumed that his master was talking about living life, as in plants or animals.

but now—with you, with klee, with mondstadt, with everyone.

the chief alchemist seemed to realize:

life, life was in you.

life brought joy, laughter, pain, excitement, happiness—

and sometimes, even love

“But Albedo I—“

“It’s okay, [Y/N]. Though I am not personally aware of what seems to be troubling you, I will do everything in my power to assure that you feel comfortable with me.”

Life was short, Albedo noted.

So—he wants to enjoy it.

—With you.

xiao does not fear rejection, but he does fear love

how pitiful... for a guardian yaksha such as him to fear such a trivial matter

love—love was scary. love could take control of him like how he was manipulated in the archon war, love could tug his arms and move him around like a puppet

he, adeptus xiao, did not want to love

but then, you came in. and it frustrated him tremendously. you were but a mere mortal, a fleeting life that came into his eternal one. you were someone who he did not deserve

and yet, he loved you

so much, so so so much, he can’t bear it. he can take on all those karmic binds, all those whispers and hatred—yet he cannot bear the love he feels for you. he cannot bear the way his heart races or leaps whenever he sees you, he cannot bear you

but—his heart does not like the fact that you feel the same

you had told him before, one night, a few months ago... you told him how you were afraid of love

you were afraid of getting tossed away, of being forgotten like the fallen archons in war, like a side character in a play of fontaine

and all xiao could do was scoff. whoever dared to throw you away would meet his spear, his rage. he could not fathom a world where you were hated, where anyone would dare to reject you—because, because—

you were his world, regrettably

Pacing up the stairs of Wangshu Inn, you ignored the gross feeling of your clothes sticking to your skin.

“[Y/N].”

Jolting up, your eyes met with that of the Guardian Yaksha—his piercing gaze and unwavering strength eyeing you down as if you were a pest.

“You’re going to get sick. Your mortal body cannot withstand such weather,” Xiao scolded, and on cue, a flash of light zipped through the air, the deep rumble of thunder following soon after.

Observing the way you flinched at the noise, Xiao merely wrapped an arm around your waist, teleporting you to the top of the inn and into your room.

“Dry up. I will return with soup,” The adeptus waved off your nervous gaze. He was not stupid, he has seen mortals succumb to sickness, and he hopes that you will not be one of them.

but as he heads to the kitchen, he cannot help but notice—notice the fact that you seemed to be... uneasy around him

was it something he said? was he perhaps too harsh with you? you of all people should know his words mean well, though...

and ugh, here it is again. the feeling of love that made even him overthink the smallest of things

yet after he brought you some soup and got you into bed, the question still ran around his mind like a halo. did you hate him? was this sickness bringing out your true thoughts?

well, yes and no

“Xiao...” You quietly murmured, wincing as the winds picked up inside your room, materializing a certain Yaksha out of thin air.

“What?”

“I’m sorry...”

“...?”

Rushing up to you, Xiao immediately placed a hand on your forehead, worried that you were on the brink of death.

“I’m sorry for liking you.”

“... What?” His eyes widened in disbelief, in shock. Sorry? Why were you sorry? Did you regret liking him? Was that why—

“I know...” You trailed off, in a drunken state of sickness, “That you don’t love me. But that’s okay. I just... wanted to let you know... because I’m afraid you’ll say no... but if you say no, I can at least move on...”

Staring at you fiercely, his breath hitched in his throat. No? No? He would never say no to you, ever, ever.

“Don’t move on,” Was all he could muster.

Don’t. He wasn’t ready for love, no, he never was—but—

He did not want you to leave.

This action of sickness was finally a catalyst, a catalyst for Xiao to confess to you properly when you were in the right state of mind.

And hopefully—when he does, you will say yes.

xiao only confesses because he does not want to lose you

his karmic binds, the whispers, the screams. he does not want you to get tainted by them—so he is selfish, he is selfish for loving you and confessing to you... but he, he cannot bear to see you go

a double-edged sword, love is. it stabs his heart, skewering it as if it were nothing. it plunges his mind, clouding his thoughts as they fill with you and only you

can’t he just indulge in this fluffy feeling, once?

no—he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve you.

Under the rising stars and floating lanterns, the two of you sit. It is an unspoken love, you both share, it is an unwritten rule that paints the back of your minds like a canvas of colors.

But love—is love. Love is the rainbow that forms in the sky when the rain is over, love is the sun that shines, washing away all of the coldness of the world.

Love is you.

ganyu feels... alone

so when you come into her life like a prospering glaze lily, she wants nothing more than to love you!

but you, confuse her. she is 100% sure you return her feelings, so why do you not seem to be... excited, about it?

To an immortal like Ganyu—love changes. At first, love was for the world, but then it shifted for mankind, and then it moved to... you.

She was no strange to love, in fact, she welcomed it! Ganyu wants to feel as mortal as possible, so when you stumble in and make her fumble for words—she knows she has fallen.

Like a meteor or a person—she falls for you. Everything reminds her of you, every flower and every bird makes her want to talk to you and spend her time with you.

But lately—you have been quite... reserved.

at first, ganyu thinks she is the problem. that she has done something wrong and she is a terrible crush

but then, she hears rumors. rumors about your past loves and how they rejected you mercilessly, how they played you like a marinette doll and caused you pain

to ganyu—that is the lowest any mortal could ever go. but for now, that is not her problem. she wants to help you, to make you realize that you are deserving of love and that you—you make her feel love

she—of course, does not confront you about this directly. ganyu is far too experienced to bring up past conflicts

but, she will subtly make you realize her feelings. with morning and night walks around liyue harbor, with hangouts and ‘dates’ at liuli pavilion...

love... it’s quite beautiful, isn’t it?

“Ah, the food here is certainly marvelous,” Ganyu gushed, enjoying a nice plate of jade parcels as you spared a smile.

“Yes, thank you for this, Ganyu. I know you work a lot and—“

“Of course, [Y/N]. Everyone needs breaks,” The woman returned your kind gesture, eyes crinkling in amusement as your heart pounded so loudly in your chest.

“In all honesty, [Y/N]. I feel quite a connection to you, and though I am aware you are hesitant— I just wanted to let you know that you are loved... by many people, not only me,” Ganyu rested her chopsticks down, making complete eye contact with you as her blue hair framed her face. The black and red horns that adorned her head glimmered—the kindness and delicate features of her nose and lips, her eyes and smile—

Your breath hitched.

ganyu—of course— does not expect an answer right away!

in fact, she thinks it’s quite unorthodox to confess to someone who is afraid of love—but her instincts told her it was right

it was abrupt, she knows. you don’t have to say yes, she knows.

but still, love was a game of chance—just as gambling, betting, anything. love was a game for two

so she took it. she took the chance, hoping that maybe you, you’d say yes.

“I...” You trailed off. You didn’t know Ganyu returned your feelings, neither did you ever imagine she could... Ganyu was half-adeptus, a caliber above you and your mortal-ness! Why would she ever think of you as anything more tha—

“Do not be afraid, [Y/N],” Ganyu’s voice was gentle as she soothed you. She had been here before, she had seen you cry out of a yearning for something you couldn’t have, she had seen your heart shatter and your mindset retract.

“I... like you too,” You responded, you felt light-headed, like you were soaring in the clouds that not even Celestia could bring you down.

Love, love was a gamble. And sometimes, you’d get your heart broken, your soul broken...

But love—it wasn’t so bad after all.

― constellations!

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin headcanons #xiao x reader #albedo x reader #ganyu x reader #genshin imagines #genshin scenarios #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact imagines #genshin xiao #genshin albedo #genshin ganyu #genshin #genshin impact #constellarations

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kae-karo · 3 years

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fic writer interview!

i saw @prince-liest do this and thus i will take ur 'tagging anyone who wants to do this' seriously lmaoooo (also hi btw hope ur well!!! 💜💜)

How many works do you have on AO3?

ahaha,,,,,159 lmao

What's your total AO3 word count?

fdsjkkjlsfdklj as of today, 2,089,769

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

only three fsdjkldslfkj the phandom (dan&phil), bnha, and genshin!

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

chosen (x) - zhongchi (genshin)

to love (and be loved in return) (x) - kaeluc (genshin)

little bird (x) - dabihawks (bnha)

feet don't touch the ground (x) - xiaoven (genshin)

i knew you were fire (x) - dabihawks (bnha)

honestly none of that surprises me except that little bird is still up there, although i think i owe that to sif (@the-final-sif) for sharing it around the time it got posted since it was partly inspired by her raptor stress grip post!!

the rest are all chaptered fics, which is mostly what i expected to be in the top 5 lmao

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

yes!!! always!!!! no matter what u comment, i will respond!!! and if i don't, it's probably cause ao3 didn't notify me properly or i didn't see it in my inbox or something

as for why, it's mostly to do with like...i know how hard it can be for some people to comment, even just a bunch of heart emojis or a 'i loved this!' or something short and simple? and it means a lot to me that ppl are going out of their way to say something nice, no matter how small, and it's really really important to me to acknowledge that

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

hmm,,,,,this is a hard one, cause for a very long time, my policy was that my fic would always have a happy ending? and for a long time, that was true!! but the dabihawks interaction (during the raid) broke me, and from an emotional standpoint, i think freeing icarus (x) is probably the one that has the angstiest ending of the two or so that i wrote in that time?

Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

u know i really haven't written any crossovers? it's normally not my thing cause my brain typically focuses on a single thing and doesn't really have the capacity to think about more than that, so i end up writing just au-style or fusion-style (shoutout to that one bnha but it was scooby doo fic i wrote - x)

i don't think i'd be opposed to writing a crossover but i'd have to be SUPER inspired by the idea and both fandoms lmao

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

aha yes, i have. the only straight up hate i've received was on a kaeluc fic (surprisingly not because it was kaeluc, but bc i was 'mistreating' kaeya in the fic) - to be entirely fair, the commenter pointed out something that i hadn't realized myself, and it led to a second piece of the story that helped me tie up some loose ends, but...let's just say they weren't very kind about their feelings lmao

other than that, i had someone very upset because i didn't tag which character was bottoming in a fic (valid if that bugs u!) and they read through most of it before getting to the smut (and said that they enjoyed everything up to that point) then said they were 'disgusted' by it. i have opinions on that and a few other comments they made, but i will keep them to myself lmao

and beyond that, just a few ppl on my xiaoven fic saying that they were unhappy about the background kaeluc (which is tagged lmao) - really no hate whatsoever til genshin, honestly, which is...very hmmmm :) lmao

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

yep!!! mostly vanilla or vanilla-adjacent lmao i'm not super into heavy kink, although i know if epi reads this she's gonna call me out for being a monsterfucker bc of my dragon!zhongli smut :) lmaoooo but really i tend to write pretty vanilla smut! i also prefer to avoid any noncon/dubcon or hate sex or anything particularly angsty, just not my jam to write!

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

hmm i don't think so? although i don't heavily monitor ao3 (or wattpad/ffn), so i can't really say that for sure lmao

Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes!!! i've had a few fics translated to russian (little bird is one of them!) which is very sweet and i hope that anyone who prefers to read in russian has been enjoying those fics!!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

alksdfjklsdf only once, and it's deadass how me and rose got together. we decided to co-write a podcast au fic for the phandom (x) and ended up flirting via google docs asldkfjkldsfj

What’s your all time favourite ship?

what a horrible question, making me choose between my children like this!!!! sdlfkjdskf tbh i'm not sure i have a real answer bc it changes as i go? and 'favorite' is so vague,,,,,favorite to read? to write about? to think about? asdklfjkjsdfk i really don't know if i have an answer, but i'll maybe say kaeluc for now lmao

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

well first and foremost, with only 2 exceptions, i never post a fic unless it's done. i tend to follow wherever my passion leads my brain, so i'm notorious for jumping around between stories and taking breaks from long fic and returning later on to finish them, and i know that i would not do well under the pressure of posting something unfinished and trying to finish it in a timely manner

that said, many wips sit in my google doc folder, but one is Well Known as the one that has followed me through both the phandom and bnha (rose keeps asking who i'm gonna switch the chars to in genshin, but i think it suits bakudeku too well to do that) - only the lonely survive. it sits at like 36k in my wip folder, and i adore the story dearly and i want very much to finish it, but it never makes it quite to the forefront of my motivation, and so it rarely if ever gets worked on...i hate the idea of 'never' finishing it, but it's unfortunately quite likely that i won't 😭😭😭

What are your writing strengths?

emotion!!! and immersion!!! it's my goal in a fic to make it as immersive as possible and saturated with emotion to help convey that feeling of being in the place of the pov character, and i think i do it pretty well. also just bc i feel a little obligated to say it - another strength is actually sitting down and putting words down. i know that's a struggle for a lot of writers and i often get,,,,lovingly bullied? i guess? lmao for being able to bash out a few k in a day most days

What are your writing weaknesses?

this isn't so much a weakness i guess but i am basically incapable of treating crack fic as crack. if i have a cracky idea, it will, without a doubt, end up turning into a Perfectly Serious fic somehow (notable 'crack treated so seriously that it's no longer crack' fics include: todoroki doing the freeze-the-ocean thing from frozen 2, 'shmigaraki', todo and denki get together bc of vine references, the league sells feet pics, shiggy and natsu own a nightclub/bakery, scooby doo but make it bnha, and dabi getting his ears pierced at claire's)

but in all seriousness, i think my main weakness is that i often get comfortable? and i'm not one to typically push myself forcefully out of my comfort zone when it comes to stories that i come up with on my own, which often means that ideas inspired by discussions with others are what prompt me to branch out and try new things?

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

i think, like anything, it has its place? there are certainly stories where it makes sense to do that and even adds depth to a story, although i personally am not exceptionally comfortable enough with other languages (except maybe asl) to do that in fic myself without the assistance of someone very comfortable with that language lmao

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

the phandom! not really my jam to write rpf anymore but it definitely got me started and i'm really grateful for my time writing there, as everyone was super supportive and kind, and it was really a perfect place for a beginner to get comfortable and practice

What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

again, forcing me to choose between my children...i really don't know that i can pick one fic bc they all exist in such wildly different spaces? i poured my worldbuilding soul into the king of disaster series (mainly dabihawks - x), exile (dan and phil - x) was my first massively long fic, our hearts are heavy burdens we shouldn't have to bear alone (chayea - x) is probably my favorite character/character dynamic study, i'm exceptionally proud of the smut in chosen (zhongchi - x), the list goes on and on and on lmao like. i could probably list half my fics as favorites in some regard dsflkjdfsjkl

anyway, tyty bellamy for putting this on my dash so i could do it as well!!

tagging: literally anyone who wants to do this, i have so many writer friends slkdjfjklsdf but please please tag me if u do it so i can read urs!!! 💜💜💜

#writing

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yan-twst · 4 years

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CYOA - Twisted Wonderland

aaand here it is, finally! Chapter one of my choose your own adventure fic for twst! This is the very first chapter; it’s a bit of a slow start, establishing the plot and all, you know? As was decided by the poll, the reader is in Diasomnia (however, I’m sure y’all can probably figure out a way to worm out of the dorm quickly and meet more characters). Anyways, without further ado, here’s the fic!

You sometimes wished that your dorm wasn’t so… Gloomy. Sure, Diasomnia had some cool things; the whole “Valley of Thorns Castle” aesthetic was cool, and the fact the hallways were lit with green torches always looked cool at night, not to mention the TVs and games in the common room, but… As you tried to study for the upcoming quiz, you quietly cursed the controlled climate. Yes, you knew that rain and storms were natural in the area; but didn’t the school control the dorm’s climate with fae magic?! It was way too difficult to concentrate on your potions notes when the rain outside felt like it was lulling you to sleep as it fell against your windows.

Your roommate was snoozing in his bed- either he’d already studied, or he’d given up on the quiz. Either way, you couldn’t deny that it was alluring to just forget the damn thing and go to bed. It wasn’t that late, but you’d been going to sleep at awful hours lately, and your body sorely demanded you get some sleep. And yet, glancing down at the recipe for the minor memory erasing draught you’d have to concoct tomorrow, you knew that if you went to sleep now, you’d be dealing with Crewel’s biting critique and a terrible grade tomorrow.

A snore from your roommate broke your concentration, and you glared at the sleeping boy. Usually you and him got along just fine, but in this moment, it felt like he was testing you, as he slept sweetly and your sleep deprived self stressed over a notebook. Hearing another snore, you decided to move to the common room- maybe there you’d concentrate a bit better, and also not be tempted by the siren’s call of your bed. Picking up your phone and your notebook, you left the room, closing the door softly so as to not disturb your roommate, and made your way down the eerie halls of the dorm.

“Vice dorm leader…?” immediately, you noticed that Lilia was in the common room. After that your nose registered a smell so odd it almost made you turn around and leave. It wasn’t a bad smell, just… Incredibly odd and off putting: and you quickly pinpointed the source of it to be some charred, blackened and bizarre dish that your vice dorm leader was holding.

“Oh? Hello there.” he said with a chuckle. You wouldn’t call Lilia a close friend by any means, but you did know him well. As a vice dorm leader, he did his best to help out the Diasomnia students, and he was also fond of pulling small pranks here and there; you’d been a victim of his tricks and also gone to him for help a couple times in your two years of being at NRC. “It’s an odd hour to be hanging out… Or could it be the smell of my cooking that brought you here?”

“Your… cooking?” so that charred thing he was holding was… food? You’d been warned- mostly by your fellow second year Silver- that Lilia was not a good cook (in fact, Silver had made it seem like his food was somehow a health hazard), but you’d imagined the usual cooking oopsies. Too much salt, not enough seasoning, maybe burning some of the food; the usual mistakes people made when cooking. However, looking at the blackened and mysterious substance in the plate he held… You wondered if perhaps Silver had been right in making Lilia’s cooking sound like some sort of biohazard.

“Indeed, I’ve been cooking some cookies. I wanted to cheer Silver, since he’s been studying hard for a quiz. And there’s nothing quite like some cookies to snack on while studying, right?” said Lilia. Cookies…? You walked closer and squinted at the plate; so those were Lilia’s cookies…? You were pretty sure you could see eggshell shards on the otherwise charcoal black pieces of what you hoped was dough. Did he… Did he not see the problem with them?

“Oh, the potions quiz for tomorrow? Yeah, I’m sure he’s been studying… I doubt Crewel is going to go easy on us.” You said with a nervous laughter, trying to divert the topic from the so-called cookies. The last thing you wanted was for him to ask you to taste test or something. A bite of those cookies would probably take you out of commission for a good week or two, and while being sick to miss class tomorrow and avoid the quiz was tempting, you really weren’t sure if it was worth it to risk some crazy horrible food poisoning for that.

“Fufu, you’re also working quite hard, I gather? Did you come to study here?” asked Lilia, pointing to your notebook. You nodded.

“Mhm, my roommate was being a bit loud, so…” you shrugged with a smile. You weren’t gonna throw your roommate under the bus and tell Lilia he was snoring like a train and that drove you out of the room, you were at least kind enough to omit that particular piece of info. “Well, I’m probably just going to look over the notes a bit and then go to sleep. I can only study so much to make a potion without actually being at the lab, after all.”

“Ah, Silver did mention that Crewel was making you all make a draught from memory.” Lilia hummed. “Are you having trouble with this? I can always try to help, after delivering these delicious cookies to Silver.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly bother you with this, it’s ok, vice dorm leader!” you said, quickly shaking your head. You didn’t want to waste Lilia’s time; he was a third year, after all… If your work was hard as a second year, he was probably drowning in schoolwork and studying, right? Not to mention you kind of felt like you should show more respect to him: he was an ancient fae and you were pretty sure he was a war veteran despite being in high school.

“Oh, please call me Lilia. We’ve known each other for too long for you to be using titles, (name). I still remember the day the magic mirror sorted you into Diasomnia, right after my dear Silver was sorted.” he said with a smile, his pointy fangs catching your eye. “You’re close friends with Silver, aren’t you? I’m quite grateful you spend time with him, he’s a good boy.”

“Oh, um, well… Then I’ll call you Lilia, if that’s really ok…” you said, a bit bashful. You didn’t miss how he talked about Silver; you knew that the 2nd year did constantly refer to Lilia as ‘old man’, but you’d brushed it off to perhaps him being close enough to Lilia to use that as a nickname, but… The way Lilia spoke, it almost sounded like a father being happy his son had found a friend. “Yes, me and Silver are close. We’re in the same class, I usually give him my notes when he falls asleep in the middle of lectures. He also helps me study, sometimes.”

“Oh, you do? I must thank you, then. It’s quite kind of you.” Lilia said with a smile. “Oh! How rude of me, I haven’t offered you a cookie, have I? They’re freshly baked, you should try them. It’s the same recipe I made for Silver when he was younger.”

“Er-!” you paled. Crap, this was what you’d been fearing. The stress of the request made you not even stop to think about the odd wording of ‘making cookies for Silver ever since he was younger’ or the implication Lilia had somehow raised Silver; your brain was blaring alarms telling you to NOT put those… Things anywhere close to your face. But at the same time, Lilia was smiling so happily as he picked one of the charred objects and stuck it out in your direction.

“Lilia. You shouldn’t be giving that to humans.” a deep voice made you freeze before you accepted the cookie with a reluctant hand. You quickly turned around to spot the dorm leader entering the common room, arms crossed as he stared at Lilia. “You’re going to kill them if you make them eat that.”

“Oh, come on Malleus, don’t say that! My cookies are delicious.” Lilia sighed, taking back his baked treat and taking a bite for himself. You internally cringed at the noise of what you now absolutely knew to be chunks of eggshell and god knows what else in the object. “Don’t you see you’ll give (name) a bad impression of my cooking if you say that?”

“... It’s my duty to protect my dorm members.” said Malleus, walking closer to you and warily eyeing Lilia’s cooking. You held back a sigh of relief- yup, he’d definitely saved you. If even Malleus Draconia was scared of Lilia’s hellish cookies, you probably would have keeled over and died if you’d put that in your mouth. “Besides, it’s late. Why were you baking?”

“I was making a treat for Silver, since he was studying. This little one just happened to walk in when the cookies were ready- they’re studying for the same quiz Silver is cramming for.” said Lilia, gesturing to you. “It seems Crewel is having his fun in stressing out the first years, fufu. What potion is he making you all make?”

“Oh, um, it’s… A minor memory loss draught. It’s got a lot of steps and ingredients, and it’s way too easy to mess up, so…” you said, a bit nervous. You felt… A little bit silly now, for stressing so much over it. Right now, you were surrounded by one of the strongest mages in the world- who was also the prince of the dark fae- and an ancient and wise fae who had probably fought in great wars and aided the Valley of Thorns royalty. To them, making a weak potion was probably as easy as blinking.

“A memory loss draught… That does indeed have many steps to its preparation, if I’m not remembering wrong.” said Malleus. His words made you relax a little- you’d half been expecting some comment like a minor memory loss draught? That’s child’s play, why are you stressing out? or something. Your dorm leader was known to be a bit haughty at times. “You look exhausted. I assume you’ve been studying a lot?”

“Wait, I look tired…? Crap, is it showing in my face?” you said, cursing internally. You had a few friends in Pomefiore and you just knew they’d be fretting over you if your eyebags and exhaustion were so evident your dorm leader, who was not too good at picking up clues, could notice.

“I’m afraid so, my dear. You look like you’re ready to drop any second now- I know you’ve got a lot of work, but perhaps you’re pushing yourself too hard.” said Lilia. You grimaced; great, now you’d somehow managed to worry the two of them. It felt… Wrong to have two powerful and important beings even express concern over your wellbeing: you were just… Some puny human who got sorted into Diasomnia, you weren’t even particularly close to either of them. Hell, you’d only spoken to Malleus a couple of times before, for fuck’s sake.

“Hmm, Malleus, could it be that you still remember how to make that potion?” said Lilia, tilting his head. The taller fae nodded, making Lilia hum in understanding. “I see, I see. Well, (name), I’m sure you’d get an amazing grade if you were to study with Malleus. He’s quite good in potionmaking when he concentrates, I promise you. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt at all for him to get closer to his own dorm members now, would it?”

“That’s-!” you visibly stiffened, looking at Malleus. Sure, you weren’t as scared of him as some of the other students were, but…! You still couldn’t just treat him all willy-nilly like some random kid; he was one of the most powerful mages in the world and crown prince from the Valley of Thorns. The mere idea of dragging him off for a study session that benefitted only you made your gut twist. Although the idea was anxiety inducing, you couldn’t help but notice a spark of… Curiosity? In Malleus’ eyes, almost as if he was entertained by the idea of it all; still, you couldn’t just accept something like that. “I couldn’t possibly-!”

“... or you could go study with Silver. I was going to go check up on him, so you could come with me.” said Lilia, perhaps sensing your panic.

--- time to make a choice! vote in the poll linked below to choose how to advance in the story!

poll: https://www.strawpoll.me/20971117

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader

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kryptsune · 3 years

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Souly Damned Saturdays!~

🌼 It’s Saturday just let me live in my little denial world. Anywhoo. I am really excited about this one! When I started working on SD more and more I realized that I wanted to come up with something more unique and personal. So let’s get started! If you would like to know more about Souly Damned, its world, it’s stories, and its characters drop me an ask! You can also click that link at the end of this that says PREV. This will take you to the past posts!

The Soul:

Mortal souls are especially important to the world of Souly Damned. All souls are unique on their own and I am sure you are wondering... Kit...being in the UT community you are not using hearts or traits are you? The answer is no. If you notice in some of my fics you have already seen what the SD souls are. They are floral based and unlike UT the colors do not have a significance. It is the symbolism and physical traits of our little flower souls that makes it important. I will note that if the mortals soul is let’s say a blue then their eyes will reflect this (eyes are the windows into the soul).

The soul is tied strongly to the physical body branching off into roots that resemble that of a circulatory system. If the soul has magic within it they are more vibrant in color. When it comes to physical appearance this is entirely dependent on the person themselves. Generally the flower type is based on symbolism or personal traits. If someone is an introvert for example then the bud of the flower may not be fully in bloom. What is cool about this concept is that the possibilities are endless.

Life’s hardships and joys also reflect on the soul. The soul flower can be damaged in various ways such as torn, wilted, decay as some examples. I should also mention that this is just scratching the surface of this. If you have specific questions about how to translate a character’s soul just ask.

Every single soul works this way on a basic level but there are differences between the types of souls.

Infernal Beasts: They do not have souls at all which is why they were locked away.

The Fallens: This specific soul type is reserved for Fallen Celestials aka the Princes. Due to their fall the edges of the petals of their soul flower is burnt and smoldering. As with Celestial souls they are encased in crystal which presumably amplifies or hides the power it contains.

Changelings: Since Changelings used to be mortal souls tormented and twisted by their time in the Infernal Realm their souls appear like burnt remains with a faint hint of color on the outside edge. All the roots connected to the flower are also burnt, possibly twisted. This particular type is why Changelings have a ravenous hunger to consume souls as theirs are barely existent. They almost have this primal drive to fill the holes where there souls once resided.

Imps: Imps are the denizens of the Infernal Realm created by the beasts. There are many different types but unlike their origin they do in fact have souls or what resembles them. Very similar to The Fallens but opposite. The flowers are mostly charred with hints of color within because they are creatures that hail from the Infernal Realm they are magically touched and therefore the internal portion will glow through the burnt sections. This color will expand to a degree if more power, aka souls, are obtained by the imp in question.

Celestial: Celestial souls are within a flower shape but they are completely white and encased in a mineral housing. Depending upon the rank of the Celestial some of this could be gemstones, crystal, or the petals are dipped in precious metals. Their souls look like they are blazing in vibrant fire (color is based on the individual). The flowers may burn but they are never charred or burnt.

Contracted Souls: Contracts vary depending on the power that a mortal is connected to.

Fallen: Each Prince has a specific contract symbol on their physical form. This symbol appears on the mortal soul flowers petals, branded with that mark. High Infernal: This is reserved for dukes and others in the Infernal hierarchy. The interior of the soul flower will have an inked symbol of their kingdom and the flower itself will burn with the same colored flame as the duke/higher in question. Regular: Souls that are contracted legally have a singular symbol as lower level demons are not permitted to claim certain souls for themselves. It looks like the flowers drip with molten wax in a red color. Upon close inspection in the middle of the bloom will be the standard contract symbol, impressed in the wax. Illegal: Very much like a regular contract, illegal contracts look far more smothered as the demon possess and takes over a soul completely. As the mortal soul is smothered a black waxy like sludge covers the entire flower. If it is fully consumed then what remains will be the soul of the Imp instead after being burned into nothing.

How to Break or Nullify a Contract:

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Each contract formed is by a person to person basis but there are some things that can break or nullify the contract.

The demon no longer desires the soul- Rare but possible. If the demon contracted no longer wants the soul they can break the contract if they so wish but that means that the humans magic will still be maintained and able to be passed to their children.

The human is killed before the stipulations of the contract are fulfilled.

The demon violates the contract set forth.

The human soul is no longer classified as human.

*note a Prince’s power is so extensive that a vessel is crafted in order to hold this power and so that it’s easily accessible for the contractee. These vessels can range from jewelry to physical marks. Each one is unique to both the Prince in question and the contractee.*

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#Souly Damned #demons #SD Saturdays #worldbuilding #info #askbox is open #original content #angels

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theemptyskies · 3 years

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So I was sitting, trying to work on a bit of art, when my mind took a left turn and was like "How would you turn Katara evil?". So over the course of three hours I wrote this. It's intended to set the ground work for what the rest of the story would be should I decide to continue it. Any future chapters would be much more detailed as that's where the bulk of the story truly begins. TWs: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Execution Style Murder, References to Early Childhood Trauma. I think that's all of them.

______________________

Blood's Calling

Absolute Power Corupts Absolutely. It was a foolish thought which had once caused Katara to swear never to bloodbend again. It was a memory she could recalled clearly, as if she was reliving the moment. She remembered sensing Hama's veins and arteries, flowing like rivers throughout her body. She remembers desperately grasping those rivers, ripping the will of thier controller away. Forcing the old master to submit to her. It was her first taste of power. True power.

She was no longer the weak child who watched as her mother resigned herself to death. She was no longer the young teen who froze in shock as a Fire Navy vessel slammed through her villages wall. She could use this. She could prevent other young children from being orphaned. She could...

That night the thought stopped there. It wasn't the power that scared her. No aspect of waterbending has ever scared her. What terrified Katara, was that she enjoyed it. She enjoyed forcing Hama to release her friends, saving thier lives. She loved the control, knowing she would never be helpless again. It felt wrong at the time, relishing in such a thing. Subjugation was what the Fire Nation was fighting for. So she swore never to use it again.

____________________________________________

That promise was not long lived. Storming the Southern Raider vessel was an opportunity she never believed could be a possibility. How could she possibly turn away the opportunity to bring her mother justice. To stop whatever future, monsterous actions these beasts were sure to commit.

Under the light of the full moon, her blue eyes, darker than the ocean's deepest abyss, bore into the ship as she flew closer. Calling out with her bending, nearly the entire crew was swept out to sea. Boarding the vessel, she made quick work of the few men left on the deck before storming inside, water trailing behind her. Katara had almost forgotten the former Fire Prince was with her until he stopped a solder attempting to enter through a door they were passing.

As the captains door was blasted open, she gave him no time to retaliate. His blood called to Katara, and she answered. The fire in his hands flickered out immediately as she turned his body against him. Images of her mother's body, charred unrecognizable. A smell of burnt flesh seared into her mind. As the memories assaulted her, Katara was left feeling one desire permeating her being. She would make him suffer.

She cramped his hand immediately before dragging him around, slamming the appendage into the floor. Katara smiled slightly, savoring in the power she now held over her mother's killer. She forced the captains arms behind his back, contorting the joints to near dislocation. His blood was singing to her, and unlike the first time, she was not afraid to grasp it.

Zuko's questioning of the man broke through her rage. Lifting him to look her in the eye, she knew within a moment that it wasn't him. As if being snapped from a trance, she realized what she had done, nearly torturing an man who'd never wronged her. Quickly releasing him, Katara heard the identity of her target as she walked away.

____________________________________________

She believed that was the last time she'd ever bloodbend. She was wrong. Since that day, the urge to bloodbend was stronger than before. Every full moon, she could sense the steady pulses of her sleeping friends, like faint whispers begging her take control. She chose not to of course. Katara couldn't imagine subjecting them to such a power again.

Time passed, the war finally ended, Zuko ascended to the throne. On the surface, the world was at peace, or so it seemed. Her epiphany came a few months after the wars end. It was a couple hours past sundown on the night of a full moon. Once again the desire to bloodbend filled her senses, withholding sleep from her grasp. Katara's recent appointment as ambassador to the Southern Watertribe brought her to Caldera, assisting in negotiating a trade agreement between thier Nations.

With sleep alluding her, she decided to walk through the the main city, hoping the cool night air would help clear her mind. Passing an alley, she heard an odd noise. Stepping into the darkness and turning a corner around the building revealed a sight that made Katara's blood boil. Backed into a corner by a man wielding a knife was a young woman, a small child was hugging the back of her pant leg, large innocent eyes reflecting fear. Looking at the child, her mind flashed to another little girl, standing in an igloo, not knowing that was the last time she'd hear her mother's voice.

Katara wouldn't let that happen again. Grasping the man's blood, she lifted him into the air, sending him crashing against the wall.

"Take the girl and go." Katara's voice lacked the passion that it typically carried. Instead, a cold voice, sharper than any blade of ice came from her.

She didn't give the man a chance to rise as she seized him again. Katara brought him to his knees, arms bent behind his back, forcing him to look up at her. Drawing water from her pouch with her off hand, a large icicle hovered in the air.

"Please..." His voice quivered with fear. The same fear that was in the child's eyes mere moments ago. She directed a dark glare at the man.

"How many have begged you the same way your begging me..." It was a whisper, however the words cut through the air like a knife. She didn't give the creature a chance to respond. With a swift motion, the icicle flew threw the air. A sickening thunk echoed in the alley, as the ice slammed into the monster's heart.

A crack of thunder preceded a downpour during her walk back to the palace. A sense of detatchment settled over Katara. Of course she considered it to be more of an awakening. Despite thier efforts, ending the war, negotiating treaties, writing laws, people were still suffering at the hands of monsters impersonating people. The legal system is slow and flawed. It let's too many slip through, allowing them to continue thier torment.

'I will never, EVER, turn my back on people who need me!'

The memory echoed through her being. An oath she swore, resonating from the core of her being. The legal system failed repeatedly but she would not. Katara had power. The idea of what true power was is something Katara never understood until now. The ability to take dreams, desires, and force them into reality. She could change things. Bring justice to people who've suffered and protect children from the horrors that still plagued the world.

____________________________________________

A year passed and one thing became evident. Katara needed to get stronger. She'd made strides in eliminating the beasts that stalked and preyed upon the innocent. But it wasn't enough. There were too many for her to only take action once a month. Traditional waterbending was too loud to use against them. If she was caught, her friends wouldn't understand. She needed to do this, to protect the people. She needed bloodbending.

The training started much how Hama had described inventing the bending form. She started with small animals, which she mastered rather quickly unsurprisingly. The larger ones, like the tiger seals, proved to be a much bigger challenge, one she eventually completed. The lack of the moon's light was a difficult obstacle to overcome Yet as she stood before the kneeling moose lion, whining in pain as it failed to break from her will, she knew she was ready.

The next year was far more successful. With the growing population in her own tribe, Katara had to make sure the vermin were weeded out as soon as possible. Patrolling every night she was home allowed her to remove sixteen threats to her people. She found another twelve during her trip to the Northern Tribe, where she helped negotiate an alliance with them. The corruption there ran deep. Extra effort would be made during her next trip.

The Earth Kingdom is by far where Katara made the greatest impact. Twenty three criminals were slew in Omashu, another thirty one during her month long stay in Ba Sing Se and fifteen bandits who tried to ambush her during her travel between the major cities. It was an interesting observation, how quickly the eyes on these creatures shifted from arrogance to fear once they no longer held the power. Not unlike the one in the alley that first night. So many of those beasts have been removed by her, and she knows she protected countless people in the process. Katara knew she was doing the right thing, hearing children playing outside only reaffirmed her resolve.

Katara had only been back home for a few days when Aang landed at her village center. Running out of her igloo to greet him, she hesitated at his serious expression.

"Aang, it's good to see you."

"You too, Katara. I wish it was under better circumstances though." Katara tensed at his words as Sokka exited thier igloo behind her.

"Hey Aang. What's up?"

"Zuko needs our help. There's a group of rebels in the Fire Nation. According to his letter, they call themselves the New Ozai Society. They want to dethrone him and restart the war." Aang said. Katara didn't give any outward reaction to his statement. She hadn't been to the Fire Nation since that first night in the alley.

"We'll help. Come on Sokka." Katara immediately cut in as he finished speaking. Turning, she headed back inside the igloo, lost in thought as she began packing. Her neglect of the Nation was clear. How could she allow those scum to coalesce into such a threat. She would make up for it during this trip. She needed a way to learn who all was involved and where they met. Someone who could get inside thier ranks. Who wouldn't report her own involvement to Zuko or her friends. Her thoughts led her to one person who would be accepted by them with no problem. She wasn't happy about it, but it couldn't be helped. At the very least the visit would be interesting. After all, with all of Katara's travels, she had yet to see the inside of an asylum.

"Appa, Yip, Yip!" Aang called, begining thier journey across the sea.

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So, as you can see, the route I would take to make Katara a bad guy would be to take a core aspect of her character (in this case "I will never, EVER, turn my back in people who need me." Still one of my fav moments for her character btw.) And twist it into something dark. I took the helplessness surrounding her mother's death to foster a craving for control within her which connected to bloodbending. I tried to depict a steady dehumanization of criminals in her eyes through the time skips. I felt really awkward writing dialogue but hopefully you all enjoyed my take on a Darker Katara :)

#dark katara #katara #princess azula #bloodbending #death tw #murder tw #atla fanfic #avatar au #avatar fanfiction

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typically-untypical · 3 years

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May Flowers - Forget-me-nots

AU: Superhero AU

CW: Possible Character Death, some people would argue unsympathetic Roman, but he really isn't he's just misguided. It's complicated.

WC: 1328

Date: 5/17/2021

The bright blue of the flowers stood out against the shadows of the night, Virgil took a moment to look at the soft pedals. Patton had loved Forget-Me-Nots, there had always been so many puns, but now the flower knotted something in his stomach.

“Don’t worry Virgil,” Patton passed him a set of Forget-Me-Nots, “We will be friends for Forever! I promise.”

“Anything you say, froggie.”

Forever hasn’t lasted nearly as long as Virgil thought it would.

They had been friends for a very long time, and maybe that was as long as he deserved, but he really had been planning on a lifetime with Patton. Virgil shook his head, no, Patton had been breaking him of that habit, and even if he wasn’t here, it was still a good idea to nip those thoughts in the bud.

A sigh left his lips as he left the flowers behind, Patton would have enjoyed that joke.

Just because the two of them were no longer friends, didn’t mean Virgil was going to stop caring. Patton had added a lot to his life, just by virtue of being himself. He had helped Virgil grow into a better person, into a hero. He wasn’t going to stop now.

Though, maybe he should move cities.

From the shadows, Virgil watched as Logos, Pathos, and Romance patrolled. Romance, the self-aggrandizing idiot, had been the cause of all of this trouble. He could never see past the black and white. He thought the world was that simple. Heroes and villains, that’s all the dumb prince believed in. He didn’t realize that the world had so many varying shades of grey, vigilantes, civilians, anti-heroes. Even some heroes only did what they did for fame and money. Could you really call that good?

Romance had a skewed view of the world, and that had been fine, until he involved Patton.

Four months ago Patton had gotten his memory wiped by a villain. At this point, there was little hope that it was temporary. During his stay in the hospital, the one Virgil carried him to through a haze of panic, Romance had visited Patton. He had convinced the kind-hearted man that he had been tricked into working with a villain for a long time.

Vanisher and Romance had never really gotten along.

Still, Virgil never thought that he would stoop so low. Now Patton shied away every time he looked at Virgil, side-eying him with fear and curiosity. It was a special kind of hell, watching the man who had once held his hand during a panic attack, shy away from him completely.

Despite that, Virgil couldn’t leave. This was the city that he and Patton had made into a home. He couldn’t pack up his stuff and move away, especially since Patton’s things still sat in his room untouched.

Virgil was broken out of his thoughts as he heard the screams, turning his head to the noise. Miss Anthrope was once again on a tirade, proclaiming the flaws of human society. Virgil didn’t disagree with her, but her methods were a bit extreme. He didn’t like to see people hurt for just going shopping. The problem was he couldn’t just pop up behind her and capture her. She was always working with another, Sharp Shot. That was who Virgil needed to focus on.

“Stop Villain.” He heard Romance call out in his commanding voice, good, he could keep her distracted.

Popping from building to building, Virgil kept his eyes and ears peeled for the other villain. They had done this song and dance before, so he knew she wouldn’t shoot until the right time. Doing so could give away her position. He was actually lucky he found her.

“Put down the gun,”

“I wouldn’t approach any closer unless you want him to be shot. See, I know your weakness now.”

Virgil’s blood ran cold, there was only one person who she could be threatening and it certainly wasn’t Logos or Romance.

“Put. The gun. Down.”

“I don’t think I will, Hero. Do you think a shot to the head will jog his memories?”

Virgil charged, pinning her to the ground, but the gun had gone off.

He didn’t stop to think about it, teleporting despite not having a line of sight. He knew approximately where Patton was; he couldn’t let anything happen.

The bullet pierced his back, probably a bit too close to his lungs. Virgil would have to survey the damage when he got home.

Patton stood in front of him, bright blue eyes looking at him with terror. He didn’t want to see that look on his best friend’s face.

“Hey, it’s okay, you are safe.” He kept his voice low and gentle, even though it hurt to breathe. “See you around, Little Frog.”

With that Virgil vanished, trying to use his powers to get home, but each jump was exhausting.

Patton stood, looking down at the ground, a few drops of blood staining the pavement. They weren’t his own.

“Pathos! Are you alright?” His team member, Roman, asked.

“He was here.”

“What?!”

“Vanisher was here, he took a bullet for me. He called me Little Frog.” Patton was fighting against the walls in his own mind, trying to find the connection of why that name hurt so much.

“Are you hurt?!”

“No, I’m not, but he is. We have to help him.”

“But… he’s just a villain.”

“I do not believe that matters, Romance. He is still a person, and if he helped Pathos, he is more than deserving of our assistance, not that we should ever withhold assistance due to personal bias.”

The red-clad hero groaned. “Fine, I’ll get the two villains to the authorities, you two go chase down Maralin Marose.”

Patton looked to Logos, his friend Logan, and nodded before running off. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but his feet were carrying him somewhere. Why was there this nagging in the back of his head that he was missing something important?

When he finally stopped, they were at an apartment door, it was still open slightly.

“Pathos, are you certain about this?”

“No,” He said honestly, but pushed the door open anyway. There, laying on the floor, in a pool of his own blood was Vanisher.

Logan pushed Patton out of the way. “I need to start first aid, call an ambulance.”

Patton deafly pulled out his phone, not remembering the conversation he had with the operator before he hung up. Then he began to walk around the room. There was a sense of familiarity about this apartment. Little bobbles lined the shelves, frogs, wasn’t that what Vanisher had called him?

His feet carried him further inside. Roman had told him he had been captured by a villain before his memory loss, that he had spent his time as a villain’s sidekick.

There was a photo on the wall, though he knew it was his own face smiling back at him, Patton felt disconnected from it. The black haired man standing next to him, arm over his shoulder didn’t look like a villain, but a friend. They looked like they were both having fun camping, or maybe hiking? Patton didn’t remember but a sense of nostalgia filled his heart.

He didn’t hear what was going on in the rest of the apartment, didn’t know what Logan was doing. Patton was lost in his own mind, dangling over the precipice of remembrance.

There was another frame, this one filled with dried flowers. It felt out of place. The baby blue color of the petals contrasted with the rest of the room. What kind of flowers were those? Hydrangeas?

No, Forget-me-nots.

Patton snapped his head back to where Vanisher was being picked up by the paramedics. The blood stain still on the floor, the image burned into his head.

Laying on the floor of their apartment, in a pool of his own blood, was Virgil, and he hadn’t remembered.

@tsshipmonth2020

#sanders sides #sanders side fic #Fanfic #virgil sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #May Flowers Fic #Untypical Creations

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janiedean · 3 years

Note

Amazing how you can erase and twist everything someone says and not even bother to check things before launching in your 1000 words answer where you repeat the same things over and over again. When I say “Theon’s story is about destroying death”, I AM talking about his trauma and abuse. I’m not saying that Theon is a superhero, I’m saying that Theon’s story is literally about surviving and saying no to the dying of light, he’s always been trapped between life and death. How is that less meaningful than Jon being AA just because he’s special. Jon is stereotypical, not matter how much you deny it. He is the bastard son of the “good” Ned Stark that everyone seems to venerate, he becomes important, he’s actually a prince, and heir to the kingdom, he’s going to come back from the dead and apparently it’s not enough because he’s also AA. Also “I search for AA and see only Snow”, how is that not a red flag? Didn’t you think that it could be about Ramsay hiding Theon? I didn’t say that everything is about mythology and ancient literature, I said Theon has a lot of connections to it, connections that are hard not to notice, that actually make sense and are not taken out of nowhere like everyone in this fandom does. Theon’s story is about himself, not about Bran or any Stark, you’re just obsessed with throbb. Theon is connected to magic and to the gods, Theon is the rightful king of the Iron Islands, so why it’s so amusing to people when someone suggests that Theon has something to do. I’m not saying that Theon has to be important for his story to count, but why it’s so amusing to people the idea that Theon is an abuse and rape victim and at the same time he has something to do. When it comes to female victims, they want them to do great things, when it comes to Theon they constantly reduce him to poor say boy, but Theon is not like that, Theon is in pain and he wants everything to end, but he’s also angry and he wants to be free. I didn’t say that he has to explore the sea because he’s an Ironborn, you said that, not me. I think that that’s something Book!Theon would want to do if he survives everything. Because he would be free and he would go into the unknown. That’s not true Theon has no connection to the sea, the Drowned God himself wants him as king and he likes ships, there’s also the fact that he never learned how to use a ship because he was kidnapped at 10. Also what’s so wrong about him connecting with his culture? He could change things, he wouldn’t be a viking, he would be an explorer. The way you talk about it, it’s like dealing with trauma means closing himself in an house. And about the prophecy, what’s so amusing about saying that Theon has a lot that fits? I know that the prophecy is vague, but Davos and Stannis don’t come close to it as Theon does. Theon died in almost every possible way and managed to come back on his own. He keeps saying that he died in Winterfell. Read the last chapters in ACOK, it’s all there and it all happens at the same time, and still there’s so much more, so many things. And it’s like this HAS to be true, but you say no to everything, you don’t even think that he has something to do with the Iron Islands, you just think he has to “atone” to Bran, so how are you different from D&D? Theon doesn’t have to atone to Bran, Robb or anyone else called Stark, his story is about identity. And Bran is talking to Theon and yes, Theon took Winterfell, but it’s not the only reason their stories are connected, Theon taking Winterfell from Bran was a foreshadowing to them interacting in the future for different more important reasons, that was always clear to me

... anon never mind that I hadn't talked about this in ages so like you came into my inbox with some 500 words of replying at 8 am on a sunday morning and idk how *I* am supposedly twisting things when

you brought this out of nowhere

I hadn't talked about the AA thing nor anything wrt theon's ending in like... a year

you are basically making up half of what I said or didn't because like 'oh I didn't say he had a tying to the sea because he's an ironborn' but two lines later you say 'what's the issue if he reconnects with his ancestry' which.... means that he'd have a tie to the sea because he's an ironborn so what's the truth here

'you're obsessed with throbb' I didn't mention robb once in my entire answer nor throbb nor I have written throbb meta recently like... I ship throbb but I don't see how that has any relevance to an answer where I literally didn't mention it and I said theon's sl can't be just about the starks

idk why you seem to think I have great stakes re jon snow and 'he's stereotypical no matter how much you say he's not', I'm saying that for a chosen one archetype he's a deconstruction so he's not stereotypical in the way h*rry p*tter is or aragorn is or whatever and it's like objective text and honestly I have fic to write and stuff to do and I could have like completely ignored your ask and said 'I think you're wrong' instead yesterday I spent half an hour answering you like... you don't need to sound that aggressive or come at me with this entire block of text when I wasn't even the one starting this conversation

what’s so amusing about saying that Theon has a lot that fits?

anon I explained in those 1k reply or whatever all the reasons why everything theon has that fits is something every single other character has at that point dany has the exact same reasons for fitting it and I told you all the reasons why jon has extra things that fit that no one else has, like.... it's my opinion, I haven't changed my mind since 2012 on it, you aren't going to change it and no one is until grrm writes different, you don't need to convince me or look for me to validate your reading because you can have whichever reading you want and no one stops you, I just don't think it's correct, the end

The way you talk about it, it’s like dealing with trauma means closing himself in an house.

anon you keep on saying I say that but you are aware that if I say I want char X to get their little house in the village/woods/city of their choice and grow strawberries with their loved ones and be happy I'm not saying what you said and I'm talking abt endgame? jaime and brienne both also deal with trauma and when I say that I hope they get married on tarth have fifteen kids and never set foot in a court again I'm not saying having children is the only way to deal with trauma like.... one thing is the endgame one thing is how you get there, where did I say theon is gonna lock himself in a cottage in wow and stay there until ados? nowhere, like.... please a bit of chill here? you read a thing and arbitrarily decided it meant stuff it doesn't mean but I am the one twisting and erasing? like sorry but it sounds like you want a fight about it or smth and believe me fighting about who is AA is not on my list of to-do things for today, also 'I died in winterfell' is like... yeah, theon greyjoy died in wf then he became reek then he became theon again, it's metaphorical, jon literally died, also like if AA wasn't a main fiver then it'd probably be someone completely out of left field that no one gaf about and for that matter there's a character who has been dying and coming back to life who has a flaming sword since like acok, but do I see you telling me it's textual proof beric is AA? no, but that would make more textual sense than theon imvho so *shrug*

in short: anon sorry but it sounds like being that theon is your fave - which... I mean he's in my top three so I agree that he's a great fave choice - you want him desperately to have the main role in the main storyline which is imvho not the case and again... even if jon was stereotypical (which we can argue on but like... from your wording I think you hate jon ngl which fair enough everyone has their dislikes) it wouldn't make the textual evidence less evidence and like... idk how to say it nicely but not liking the protagonist is more common than not and if you don't whatever but that doesn't mean he's not and that the textual stuff indicating he has the mystical hero storyline doesn't exist, I'd suggest you make peace with that concept and with the concept that your fave doesn't need to have any specialness in their sl to be a legitimate fave, also like... in asoiaf everyone who is special™ has a shit life and when grrm says he wants a bittersweet ending like in lotr, do I have to remind anyone what was lotr's ending? samwise gamgee goes back to his little house and children and wife in the shire and says he's home and we're all happy that the dude who deserved it most got it great, if that's what he's aiming for I really don't think presuming everyone gets the magical great™ storyline is in the cards X°D but most of all: again, everyone who's had a sl being full of magic prophecies and shit in these books has had a crap life and hated every second of it that was related to those prophecies and I want theon to be happy at the end so in lack of any imvho text proof that says it's anyone but jon I'll stick with that because it means none of my faves is in line to hate their life, which is exactly what happens to jon if he's AA and exactly what I think is gonna happen and I don't particularly like that for him either bc I do want jon to have nice things but idt he'll get them, doesn't mean I'm trying to find any textual reason to decide on my own that AA is dany (a char I care a lot less about) so that she gets the brunt of it because that's now how it works, I made peace with it too X°D

#1 #2 #34 #5 #6 #anonymous #ask post #ch: theon greyjoy #ch: jon snow #honestly anon i'd ask myself why you're so invested in this you're looking for a fight #bc that's how you sound like #*shrug*#peace

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writingsbychlo · 4 years

Text

stone walls (01) | void!stiles

word count; 15,462

summary; stiles is a witch for king Derek, and pretty evil. he’s given a test subject in the forms of a traitor from the Argent kingdom who was found stealing on their land. he wasn’t supposed to fall in love with her.

notes; this is kind of a medieval/royalty au, and he’s not really a witch with magic, but in those times, his talents would have been considered witchcraft.

warnings; reference to abuse, torture, blood, gore, violence, sickness, near-death experiences, abduction, arson, sacrifice, murder.

There had once been a brightness that had shone in Stiles’ eyes. The same whiskey-brown colour that his mother’s had been, the same fair skin, speckled with moles and soft brown hair that could never quite seem to be tamed.

The burning of the Hale castle was heard of by every Kingdom known. The youngest prince had been betrothed to one of their princesses, and everything had seemed bright. Stiles remembered their home palace, it had been larger, and full of life. Soldiers had been buzzing around, and his favourite place had been the gardens, his mother had taken him to visit them on every journey they had taken before the wedding between Prince Derek and Princess Kate had been due to take place.

Two weeks before the ceremony was upon them, Kate had arrived in horse and carriage, his mother and father, both being part of the royal escort to welcome her, had been present as she made her way through the halls of her new home. That night, the walls had been scorching hot as flames curled up into the night sky, the screaming sounds of terror echoing out of every window, door and passageway in the castle.

Burns and scars still crawled along his father’s arms from where he had pulled a sleeping Stiles from his bed and raced through the halls to get him out. Stiles had tended to those injuries himself, with the limited medical knowledge he knew from what his mother had taught him, but the man had never been the same.

His mother hadn't been so lucky. The last memory he’d had of her was her lips pressing to his forehead as she tucked him into bed, promising she would teach him all about herbs and how to write with the curly signature he admired so much when he woke up in the morning. When the fires had finally stopped burning three days later, Kate had been gone, her belongings, her carriage, every trace that she had ever been there had vanished. It had rained for the entire day, thick plumes of smoke billowing up into the air and he had spent the day searching through the charred rubble until his fingers were burned and bleeding, his body covered in soot and ash as he coughed and screamed for his mother.

It was on that day that the hail kingdom had gone dark, a young Prince Derek crowned King at the tender age of seventeen as everything warm and bright within Stiles slipped away, as though it had gone up in flames with his mother and the Hale family who had protected them. That day, Stiles had grown dark, his young screams of revenge muffled as his father had held him close, but they had always stood true.

His studies no longer centred around healing and medicine, but instead around how to use his knowledge to his best possible advantage of harm. He wanted to know how to protect himself, not how to heal. He’d been defenceless and weak when he had lost his mother, and he wouldn’t let that happen again. The bright spark in his eyes had slipped away over the years, as he hid himself in the deepest darkest spots within the newly rebuilt castle he could find, perfecting his trade over the years, the darkness that had bloomed that day had grown, infecting every part of his soul until he’d truly earned his nicknames over the years, the Hale kingdom coming to know him as exactly what he was; Void.

Stiles grunted as deep footsteps echoed along the floor of the stone corridors outside of his chambers, a single brow arching as the heavy wood scraped against the stone tile as it was forced open by whoever had decided to bother him with their presence today. Placing down the small purple flowers he was in the process of wrapping in twine around the stems, he paused, waiting for the person to make their purpose known.

The angry face of his king met him, a snarl on his lips as he tossed forward the body in his grasp, the figure falling to the floor with a loud cry, a flurry of torn rags and messy hair meeting the floor, catching themselves on their hands and knees before rocking back to kneel, looking at their scraped and bleeding hands as they wiped them on the ripped dress hanging on their shoulders.

He glanced between the girl on the floor and the man who had delivered her, a bored look in his eyes, and he sighed as he gave in, rounding the collection of wooden desks he worked behind, his fingers flexing as he gripped his hands behind his back, coming to stand before his king. “Hmm, you brought me a gift?”

“I brought you a scrap of rags that I found in the woods, just on the border of the Argent kingdom. She was hiding up in the trees, I had to pull one of the hunting dogs off of her when she tried to run.” Stiles’ lips curled up at the story, a dark grin twisted on his features as he came to crouch before her, two of his spindly fingers hooking under her chin to direct her face up to his, and he scanned his eyes over her features, carefully.

“And what exactly is it that you would like me to do with her, your majesty?” Derek snarled at him as he spat the words, and Stiles simply smirked up at him, cocking a brow as the girl tore her face from his grasp, a chuckle spilling from him at her bravery as he stood back to his full height.

“I don’t care what you do, just make sure when she dies she sends a message to keep their spies off of my fucking land.” With that, the man was gone, a twist of fur and capes and the door was slamming shut as he left, leaving him in silence with the girl still sitting on the floor. Holding a hand out to her, she glanced wearily between his face and his hand, before slipping her own into it. The second he had a grip on her, he was yanking her roughly to her feet, a yelp leaving her as her arm jolted in its socket from the force of the pull, and she stumbled over her own feet as he dragged her across the room.

In the furthest corner, a grimy set of bars she hadn't quite noticed until now were slid open with a grating whine of rusted metal on metal, and shackles soon fastened tightly around one of her wrists, the cold metal soothing over her skin as she found the other being threaded through the bars of the wall.

Tugging at the restraints, her jaw fell open, and she stood idly in the small cell, looking around in the darkness. On unsteady feet, she raced back toward the barred door that was sliding closed, stopped only by the pull of the chain around her wrist as she approached them, and her captor stood over her carefully, grinning down at her as her hands came up, fingers curling around the metal as she watched him.

He expected her to put up a fight, to shake on the bars and scream for help, but instead, her eyes just watched him, scanning over his face, before flickering over the room, still as she took in the messy desktops he had, laden with books, plants, bowls and boxes.

“The shackles aren’t necessary, you know. I’m not going to run. I don’t think I could get very far if I tried.”

“Hm, and I would believe a word someone who was found travelling from the Argent Kingdom for what reason, exactly?” He growled, his own hands grasping the bars in anger and he shook them, the girl stumbling back in shock as she backed into the shadows, a wicked smile on his face as he watched fear take place in her body, his eyes narrowing on her barely visible form. “I lost everything because of your people. Everything!” His voice had risen from the usual eerie calmness it held to a loud roar, his chest heaving as he glared at the space she stood. “You have one purpose, and that is to serve as a walking blood bag that I can use to drain for experiments and sacrifices.”

With that, he spun on his heel, making his way back over his table, fingers dancing along the wood as he picked back up the purple flowers he had been working with, wrapping the thin strands of thread around the bases in clumps. The rattle of chain sounded in his ears, his jaw clenching at the sound and he flicked his eyes back over to the cage, watching as her messy head of hair came back into view, her eyes sweeping curiously over his work station, and he reached out, slamming closed the pages of the books he’d been reading from.

He’d been damned if she was getting any information on their Kingdom from him.

“They’ll dry faster if you press them first.”

His fingers stilled in their motions, the tight-binding around the gathered stems of his final bundle, his eyes flicking up to peer at the shadows, barely catching her movements within, but he could hear the rustle of the chains and fabric of her tattered clothes as she sunk to the ground, a deep sigh leaving her as she settled onto the stone. “Be quiet, or I’ll silence you myself, and you don’t want that.” Glancing between a set of heavy books and the plants in his hands, he shook his head, continuing on with the twine wrappings he had set off on.

It was quiet for a long time, and he had moved on from wrapping the purple flowers, having hung them in the window with rays of sun shining through in order for them to dry, having moved on to sitting in the comfortable seat across the room to read by the time you were speaking once again. He tuned you out, instead choosing to focus on tidying up the counter around him, his every nerve thrumming with the need to do something and he cleared his throat, working in his own mind as he popped the lids from the many glass jars lining the shelves, stuffing ground up herbs and dried flowers inside of each one, his nose scrunching up occasionally as they occasionally let out a smell he wasn’t as fond of, the scent hanging in the air and he could practically taste in in his mouth.

Your commentary had continued on, and he was growing irritated by your constant slew of questions, your commentary to each action and your little laughs to yourself as you cracked jokes that only you were finding funny, and he rolled his eyes, biting at the inside of his cheek as a threatening growl rumbled in his chest. “I thought I told you to be quiet, or else?”

“There’s not much you can do to me that hasn’t already been done.” You sighed, his body stilling for a second as he looked over at you, a single brow raised, but your attention wasn’t on him, instead, you were peering around his room, looking at anything you could see, presumably planning the best way for you to get out.

He was rather proud of his chambers, he took good care of them, and he’s carefully chosen where he would reside, in the furthest corners of the castle, the rooms being smaller but he enjoyed the distance he got from the others, not wanting to be easily found, and he smirked, knowing that there wasn’t a chance you would be able to find your way through the maze of corridors without knowing where to go. “I could cut out your fucking tongue.”

Your jaw snapped shut, your eyes finding his and widening as you looked at him, and he watched as you swallowed thickly, nodding as silence enveloped you both once again, and he scooped up a dish, taking your arm in his and pulling it harshly as your body slammed into the metal bars, wincing but staying quiet. Flicking up the blade of the knife he carried in his pocket, he placed the dish underneath your arm, pressing the blade firmly against your skin, dragging it across your arm as crimson red began to flow rapidly from the cut.

Your fist clenched as the muscles of your forearm tightened, rivers of blood dripping from your arms and collecting in the small wooden container, but you never flinched, your eyes cast downwards as you bit at your tongue, arm shaking slightly once he released you, and his brows raised as you continued to allow the blood to drip from your arm, gathering in the jar. “Good girl. Now keep your fucking mouth shut while I work, and consider this a warning.”

You didn’t speak again after that, and he was once again plunged back into his own silence, only the thoughts in his mind to keep him company as he busied himself, your presence almost slipping from him entirely, until you shuffled or took a particularly deep breath, once again reminding him that you sat locked in the cage in the corner of his room, the remnants of the old prison-cell serving him perfectly for this occasion.

That night, he had pushed a single thin blanket through the bars for you, no words spoken but your hand reached out to take it, dried blood still crusted tp your flesh, your skin inflamed in some patches where you had scratched it away in irritation, a simple ‘thank you’ being uttered, the gesture catching him off guard as his brows furrowed, merely humming in response as he moved around the room, blowing out all the candles until the room was in darkness.

He felt uncomfortable in his own bed that night, the sound of another person's breathing being something he was unfamiliar with, and his skin crawled as he felt crowded in. He’d made sure to move away to the furthest parts of the castle to be alone, and now he wasn’t, the thought sickening him as he rolled over, relaxing his tensed jaw as your own steady breathing lulled him into a more relaxed state, despite how much it made him feel unsettled.

With a final glance at the dark cage in the corner, he shut his eyes, burying his face into his pillow and tuning out the sounds around him.

Stiles wasn’t used to having company while he worked, and you liked to make your presence known. He wasn’t sure whether or not you knew you did it, but you tended to hum under your breath. Different tunes each day, and depending on your mood, they would be louder and happier ones or slower and quieter, more sombre melodies. There were many factors that would affect how you felt; they ranged from the weather to the quality of your own sleep, to reflections of his own mood, and even whether he would drain you that day.

He would be begrudging to admit that he somewhat enjoyed having the silence that normally surrounded him now filled with the subtle hums of tunes under your breath, and he had even caught you singing quietly to yourself a few times when he had returned, only for you to go quiet again, retreating back to the wordless forms of your songs when he closed the door, making his presence in the large bedroom known.

You often went quiet after the times he would drain you, the thick silence would drip back into the room for hours on end, and those hours seemed to drag on for days as he awaited the time that you would pick back up your filling of the quiet. You were a puzzle, you were something of an enigma and he didn’t quite understand.

You never tried to escape, he was dark and twisted and incredibly fucked up but he wasn’t used to having a prisoner and he wasn’t good at it. He left keys lying around and often got himself way too close to the cages, within reach where you could easily grab him and yet you never made a move. You had made yourself comfortable hidden in the shadows, your head resting on the wall as you snuggled against your mattress, a blanket he’d used to mop up dried blood when he was finished with you could now be found often sitting over your body and covering you, just enough to keep you warm.

You never even flinched, any time the blade met your skin, you were still as a rock, arm held out to him and face twisted away as your blood dripped into a bowl for his uses in spells and testing the effects of new ingredients, and your features hadn't once flickered to even show an ounce of pain. He used the same place, a gash on your arm that would barely close before he would use it again.

At some point, you had ventured out to press your cheek to the bar, watching as he worked, and it had unsettled him for a little while, until he paused long enough to observe you and realised that you weren’t making notes or observing him, searching for escape routes. Instead, you were just watching him work and taking an interest in his movements.

It wasn’t long after that when you began to ask questions, and while at first he had been irritated by the motion, he found himself becoming oddly fond of it. You asked good questions, you asked him about his passions and you were a surprisingly quick learner, and he found it rather beneficial to himself when he talked aloud to you because it only helped him to confirm things to himself. He was finding himself less and less angry with your presence, finding it easier to have another person around him for every minute of the day, because the more you spoke the larger the range of topics had become.

After simply asking him about what he was doing, you had moved on to asking him about his book collections and his flowers and herbs, to asking him about his passions for spellcasting and mixing, something between harm and health, and that had led him to ask you questions in return. You had told him your favourite books, and songs, and the way your mother had taught you how to knit and stitch when you were young, and that by the time you were eleven you could make your own gowns and dresses. You were deeper than he knew, and the more he found himself happier and more relaxed in your company was even more concerning for him, because he was tasked with killing you when the time came, you were a bargaining chip and a prisoner, and he wasn’t supposed to get close to you.

He wasn’t supposed to get close to anyone, because the last time he allowed himself to care, he lost it all.

The weeks were ticking by, faster than he could possibly imagine, more diaries getting fuller and fuller as he scribbled his notes and spells down, the worn leather growing weaker and lighter, the pages changing from crisp and pure to torn and weathered, scratched with ink stainings and splotches, taped down herbs and doodles to compliment them. He had been on a high with you, the drainings becoming less and less frequent as he tried to give you longer times to heal, because what had once been an easy task had begun to morph into something that made him feel slightly sick to his stomach each time he entered the dark cage to reopen the wound on your arm.

In the last couple of days, your questions had become less frequent, your humming quieter and raspy and your appearances at the cage door rarer by the hour. You were quiet, quieter than you had been in weeks, and he gave you space but was slightly frustrated. Not only at you for your sudden lack of interest but also in himself for being so bothered by it in the first place, because Stiles Stilinski didn’t get attached, he didn’t do feelings and emotions and he certainly didn’t have enough time to care about what others thought of him. Stiles Stilinski was void, and he liked it that way, and he was damned if any girl in a cage with pretty eyes and a sharp mind was going to change that.

“Stiles?” He was labouring over his workbench when you first spoke today, and his teeth ground together in irritation as his foul mood overlapped upon hearing you calling out to him, your voice droning on repeat in a low whine in his ears as he slammed down the book in his hands, your voice cutting off as he turned to look at you. Your hands were wrapped around the bars of the cage, your body leaning against the cool metal as he looked at you, eyes narrowed and jaw clenched, his fists almost painful as his nails dug into his palms by his sides.

“What do you fucking want?” He hissed, your jaw dropping as you peered at him from within the shadows, and he knew he wasn’t angry at you, he was just in a bad mood, but you were an easy target for taking his anger at the day out on, the memory of losing his mother on this day all those years ago was flashing through his mind, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth and a storm clouding his judgement.

“I don’t feel so good.”

“Boo fucking hoo. Get over it, I couldn’t care less that you’re feeling a little under the weather.” He scoffed, and you let out a low groan at his words, your head thumping against the bars as your head dropped against them and he rolled his eyes at your dramatics.

“No, I really don-”

“Shut the fuck up! Just be quiet, okay? I'm busy!” His temper bubbled over, and he heard you huff quietly, the silence settling over the room in uncomfortable tension before the chains wrapped around your wrists rattled, and you were slipping back into the shadows to rest in the corner of the cell, and he breathed out a sigh of relief.

Once he had calmed back down, he continued to shoot sly glances over to where he assumed you do be within the darkness, slight guilt clawing at his gut as you continued to sit in silence, but he rolled his eyes, knowing you would just be sulking in the corner because he had shouted at you. He worked quietly at his workspace, rearranging the jars on his shelf and relabelling those that had become worn and faded from all his use.

He refilled each glass container, the quiet in the room reminded him of before you had been delivered to him, and an unusual sense of loneliness was creeping into him as the tense silence continued to drag on. It wasn’t until quiet rapping came on the door that he sighed out in relief as he paced across the room in large and rapid footsteps, smirking at the trembling servant standing outside of his door, a tray of food held out to him as he accepted it, dismissing her with a mumble in thanks, the door slamming shut behind her as he relocked the bolts.

“Eat.” Placing the dish of broth down in front of the barred door, dropping a spoon to the floor beside it for you with a clatter as he took his own food across the room, sitting under the grated window as the final rays of the sun shone through across the large chair in the corner beneath it, the cushions warm from the heat and his book lay on the edge of the seat, and he settled down comfortably to read his book and enjoy his food.

He was barely ten pages in, halfway through his food as he looked up, expecting to hear some kind of comments about the meal, when he noticed that the dish was still sitting on the cold stone, wisps of steam waving into the air and dissipating as he sat before him, and he placed down his spoon, a growl on his lips as he ducked down the item in his hands to stare at the vacant spot for a moment.

“Eat your damn food, no wonder you feel bad. What use are you to me if you die before I can get any more blood out of you, hm?” The snarky comment left his lips before he could stop it, and he waited to hear your sarcastic retort, something telling him you were listening to him, and yet evidently, you were still ignoring him.

He wasn’t in the mood for your pathetic sulking, and so instead he chose to go back to his reading and his food, knowing that if you wanted to act like a child then he would surely let you. You would cave eventually and give in, this was the first meal you’d had in twenty-four hours and he knew how much you complained about him only giving you the one meal a day, and he hoped you’d get over it soon, because he was starting to miss your commentary on his every little action.

Your silence was making him feel more alone than he had in a long time.

By the time it was getting too dark for him to see the words printed on the pages, he gave up, the dishes long discarded and he had moved through another few chapters of his book, deeply enthralled in the story he had chosen, a chill sweeping through the room. Getting up, he checked the windows were all locked, before moving around the room and lighting the few torches, an orange glow lighting up the stone tiles of his room walls, and he set off on piling logs and kindling into the stone fireplace.

He watched as the flames curled up, a scowl on his face as the thick smoke disappeared up through the chimney as warmth began to spread through the room, and he lifted a metal safety grate over the exposed flames, unwilling to let the past repeat itself as he pridefully put all precautions in place.

Void spied the bowl of food still sitting by the cage doors, untouched as he glanced at it over at it. Steam was no longer curling up, and he frowned, moving to crouch by the door as he looked at it, even the spoon sitting in the same place it had landed all those hours ago. “I know you’re angry at me for shouting, but you need to eat!”

You didn't even shift, not even a grunt in response to his words and anger raced through his body once again, his jaw twitching and he scooped up the meal from the floor, uncaring toward its cold state as he swiped the collection of metal keys from his side counter, the bundle jingling loudly as he unlocked the door, sliding it out o the way with a loud clang as he growled at you.

“Fucking eat!”

He waited, your silhouette barely moving and he felt furious, dropping the bowl to the floor as some of the food sloshed over the edge of the dish, spilling out onto the tarmac and wasting the broth meal as you remained still, and he tipped his head back in a long groan, before stepping towards you and crouching down. You didn’t shift, even at his close proximity and he hummed in irritation, finger raising to swipe some hair from your face as your head hung low, and he gasped at the coolness of your skin under his touch, all anger seeping away as worry took over his body.

“I need you to say something now, okay?” His voice was shaking toward the end of his sentence, and he tipped back your head to rest against the cold stone walls, and he became eerily aware of just how cold it actually was within these walls, the darkness making it much chillier than the rest of the room was and your eyes stayed shut, and he squinted, unable to find movement in your shoulders or chest. “Now would be a great time for one of your stupid comments.”

His teasing went unheard, and he fumbled for the collection of keys, scooping them up and quickly undoing the chains around your wrists, his arms scooping you up under your legs and behind your back as he lifted you into his arms. Your body slumped into him, and his heart raced with panic as he removed you from the cell, cursing under his breath as you lay like dead-weight in his arms.

He dropped you down onto the bed, shaky fingers delicately brushing the hair the was glued to your clammy skin away from your face, his hands skimming along your body as he searched for anything to clue him in, the pale colour of your shining skin scaring him deeply as he looked at the deep purple rings around your eyes and the blue tint to your lips.

Dark red blood was staining the sleeve of your worn and ripped jacket, and his fingers hooked under the end, pushing it up your arm and grimacing as he took in the still running wound, white torn flesh from the place on your arm that he’d been taking blood from wasn’t healing, and your veins could no longer be seen under your skin, deflated around the purple and blue bruises, your skin gaining a yellow tint toward the edges before fading out into sickly white, skin even paler than his own.

He rushed around the room, gathering up bundles of supplies and medicines in his arms as he tried to think back on what his mother had taught him about healing all that time ago when she had still been with him. With a bowl of warm water beside him, he balanced it on the covers, dipping in a soft rag and wiping it gently over the dried blood trails on your arm, taking both the old and fresh blood from the wounds, dipping it back in the water and ringing it out carefully.

Once he could see the damaged flesh, he pinched it together, glad you were unconscious for it as he lifted the metal pin up to one of the flames on the torches around him. The tips of his fingers were burning slightly from the pain, but he held out until the tip of the pin was glowing orange, before bringing it away and waving it in the air as he rubbed his sore fingertips from the heat exposure.

Threading the needle carefully, he looked up at you, biting his lip and pressing a delicate kiss to your forehead, mumbling an apology into your skin and pinching the skin tightly as he focused on it, pushing the needle through the flesh and suppressing the churning of his gut and the desperate urge to wretch as he felt the needle pierce your flesh. He had never been good with needles, and yet he knew he had to keep going.

Weaving the thread through your skin was tortured for him, your muscles and nerves twitching under his touch as he did and he whispered the most soothing thing she could think of as he worked, despite knowing it was falling on deaf ears. Once he was done, he was careful to wrap it in soft fabric, pinning the bandages carefully and running his knuckles over it.

The skin around your wrists was raw and bruised from the heavy shackles he’d had you wearing, and he massaged the skin carefully, before picking up a fresh cloth and wiping the sweat, dirt and grime from your skin as he adjusted you into a more comfortable position. He took a spare blanket, hanging it between items of furniture as he warmed a blanket in front of the fire, taking a seat beside you on the mattress after he had cleared away all the sides and herbs he had used in his best bid to cure you.

He sat beside your bedside, your good hand clutched in his as he worried beside you, the blanket he had warmed up over the fire laying over your body, and he was happy to see the colour returning to your skin as your body warmed back up. His cheek had been resting on the edge of the mattress as he sat on the floor, his eyes just drifting shut when he felt your body twitch, his head snapping up and a second later your body jolted, a loud cry leaving your lips as you tried to bend your arm, and his hand closed over your wrist to hold it down as he leaned over you.

“Woah, woah, woah. Take it easy.” He mumbled, and you let out a pained sigh, your eyes watering as the pain shot through your body, and he bit on his lip, rubbing a hand over your shoulder as your bottom lip trembled.

“Shit, it hurts. It really fucking hurts.”

“Yeah, well, you should've told me before it got bad!” His voice was higher than usual as he spoke, and you fixed him with a cold glare, an odd sense of relief filling him as your attitude was coming back in droves already.

“I fucking tried!” You snapped, wincing as the movement rocked your body and you struggled to sit yourself up, allowing him to help you as he positioned a pillow behind your back, frowning as he thought back on the way he had acted all day, and his eyes avoided yours, but your hand landed on his upper arm as he adjusted the sheet around you. “Thanks, for helping me. For patching me up. Also, this blanket is really warm.”

“I hung it over the fire to bring your temperature up.” He sighed, shaking his head and sitting on the edge of the bed beside your legs. “I should have listened to you this morning. I didn’t realise how cold it was in there, and the state you were in.”

“S’okay. I am starving though, did I miss lunch?” His jaw dropped as he looked at you, a surprisingly genuine laugh leaving him as he studied you before he was nodding, motioning to the darkness outside of the windows and your eyes widened as though you only just came to realise the late hour the day had moved onto.

“I’ll get someone to bring you something to eat, alright? Take it easy.” You simply nodded at him, and he made his way to the main door, lifting heavy bolts and locks across the wood as he flagged down the nearest maid he could find, growling out his instructions as she nodded, fleeing the second he dismissed her, pride filling him upon knowing that even if you weren’t, at least some people were still scared of him. When he turned back to you, your fingers were picking at the loose threads of the blanket, your eyes locked on him already. “Can I keep this blanket?”

“No. It was my mother's and it lives on the chair. What do you need it for?” He tipped his head toward his favourite lounging place, a large and comfortable looking chair in the corner, worn but still plush-looking cushions sitting on the seat - the original resting place of the soft knitted piece - and your fingers stilled, smoothing over the surface as you shrugged at him, avoiding his gaze.

“Said it yourself, it gets cold in there. An extra blanket would be nice.”

He swallowed, glancing between the cell in the corner and your form sitting on the bed, tucked under all his cosy sheets and lit up by the warm light coming from the fire, the crackling of logs filling the room as he took quick steps over to you, taking a seat on his usual side of the large bed as a prominent gap formed between your two bodies. “No, no you’re not going back in there.” Your brows raised at him, and he made himself busy with other tasks to avoid having to acknowledge the way you were looking at him made him feel. “You’ll be out here with me, from now on.”

“That sounds.. nice.” He merely nodded in response, his back still turned to you as he struck up a match, lighting the candle on his bedside as a comfortable quiet fell over the pair of you, and now that you were awake and sitting beside him, he once again felt a little less alone in the world.

You were sicker for longer than he expected, and it worried him for a while when your condition showed no signs of improving. Your body could now be found curled up on the covers beside him, the two of you rigid as your backs faced away from one another at opposite sides of the bed.

You slept long hours, and often went so quiet in the night that he had to roll you over just so that he could check you were still breathing, and buy the mornings your arm would be brushing his as the two of you inched closer to the middle of the bed progressively during your unconscious states. You were tired, and sluggish, and for almost two weeks you never left the bed. Your skin grew paler and you grew weaker, and you didn’t eat as much of your meals as you used to, despite how much you insisted you were hungry. Deep bags hung under your eyes, the same pale and sunken look that he had gained himself after his mother had died, locking himself away as he refused to eat and go outside, and he had opened the curtains a lot and often helped your shuffle across the bed to sit on his side so that you could look out through the bars.

In the third week since he had removed you from your cage, you got up on your own, shuffling uncomfortably in your clothes and wrapping your arms around yourself self-consciously, surprising him as you made your way over to him with cautious steps, and he resisted the urge to rush over to you in a bid to help you walk better. You had requested a bath, and a chance to wash your clothes, in which he had graciously accepted both. A wing to his room in which you had never been in was shown to you as your arm looped through his, your shaky and weak fingers clinging to his arm as he guided you through and tried to suppress the urge to scoop you up into his arms and carry you, because he knew how badly you needed to regain your own ability to walk, even if you had nowhere to go.

You were still a prisoner, you were still just a bargaining chip, and he had to constantly remind himself of that, even if you now shared more than just his bedroom.

You had bathed, and he had given you sets of his own clothes to wear as he disposed of the torn and blood-soaked rags he had left you in since the day you had arrived with him. You were smiling to yourself when you reemerged, your hair still wet and dripping along the cloth you had wrapped yourself in as you snuggled down into his clothes, and he had helped you back into bed before checking on your arm. You had fallen asleep before he had even finished rewrapping it, the sleeves of his shirt falling over your palms as your other hand sat in a loose fist, clutched to your chest as your nose buried into your hand, breathing even and soft but stronger than it had been, and his cheeks had flared with a very subtle warmth that he hadn't experienced since he was a child.

That bath seemed to have been the trick, because the following morning you had been awake before he had been, colour seeping back into your skin as your fingers danced over the spines of the books on his bookcase, pulling some out and checking the titled, before adding them to a stack that had been growing on a stool beside you.

The collection was one that you quickly worked through, taking a seat in his chair when he wasn’t using it and reading under the warmth and light of the days sunrays, taking up in idle conversations with him when you found parts of books you particularly enjoyed, or things you needed to talk about, and when you grew bored of the tales, you would stand on the other side of the workbench and watch up close as he did his tasks.

A routine formed between the two of you, very quickly; a steady schedule that was quickly becoming uncomfortably comfortable for him. The mornings would be spent with the two of you eating breakfast together, a luxury you had teased him for lightly for a while as he had only allowed you one meal a day, to begin with, before he would leave you for his meetings and to go to the markets. You would read, and he would come back to find you deep in a new book from the shelf or snoozing in the chair with his mother's blanket tucked over you.

He bought you a notebook and quill almost two months in, because the afternoons had come to consist of you watching him work, handing up different pots as he taught you the names and uses of different things, he allowed you to help him in wrapping and grinding plants and flowers, topping up the bottles and boxes of ingredients lining his shelves, and your own book was quickly filling up much like his own, your handwriting quite the opposite to his, neat and swirling and eligible, as his own barely readable chicken scratch filled the pages.

He had worried at first, that he was going to return each morning and find you gone, find the room empty and the door hanging open from where you had smashed open the key lock and undone the bolts, or that you had climbed from the windows after pulling off the bars. He was waiting for the bubble to pop, for the day he would come back and find the room trashed, scratch marks on the door and a weapon in your hands as you tried to flee, and yet all you ever greeted him with when he returned was a barley present flick of your lips in a smile and a nod of your head, perhaps even a verbal greeting if you were in a particularly good mood.

You were becoming a part of his life that he found hard to ignore, hard to deny that he wouldn't miss when he eventually had to give you up, and the summer heat faded as he found himself growing closer to you.

Longer nights and shorter days brought fewer meetings or trips to the market and more time sealed away in his room as the temperatures dropped and your healing continued. Your arm was no longer red and inflamed, visible veins with blue and purple skin, but was instead back to its normal shade, a slightly raised patch of pinky-white pale skin with a red rim as a scar in the shape of a long slash found itself on your arm instead, and he often found himself racing it with a frown when you rolled your sleeves up to your elbows.

He never felt guilty, not in his sacrifices or killings, but this he had felt guilty for because even if nothing else, he was beginning to look at you more like a friend than anything else. During the conversations you filled the extra time with, the chats you shared deep into the night as candles flickered and blankets were wrapped around shoulders for heat, you had learned more about him than anybody else ever had, he’d unwittingly bared his soul to you.

He knew so much about you in return, like your favourite meals or your preference on the genre of books you liked to read, and yet he still felt like he knew nothing. The more he learned, the more questions he had, the mystery that you were was becoming more and more tangled as he went, and yet he enjoyed getting to know you, in a way he had never experienced before.

Stiles had friends, Scott and Derek and Lydia among them, he was used to having friends, but the more he awoke in the mornings to find your body almost pressed to his as your eyelashes fluttered against your cheeks, or the way your eyes connected with his and your smile was just soft enough to make him want to smile back, or the way it felt more right to have your body working beside his with quiet laughs and innocent brushes or arms and bodies then it did alone that made him realise this was soon becoming something more than friendship to him.

By the time the winter had rolled around your sickness had passed, and the chill of the season was setting in. He clenched his jaw, the chattering of your teeth and barely visible shaking of your body was irritating him, and he glanced across to the side of the bed you were laying on, your eyes closed as you hovered as close to the edge of the mattress as you could, huddled under the thin blankets as you clutched them to your chin.

You took a deep breath, and he watched for a moment as you calmed, rubbing at the red tip of your nose, before burying it in the covers and rubbing your hands together, and a growl left his lips as your shivering picked back up. “Your fucking teeth chattering is driving me insane!”

You managed to still your body, a muffled apology leaving you as you adjusted yourself under the sheets, and he let out a long sigh, placing his book down on his lap and reaching a hand out, patting at the vacant space between you both.

“Just fucking roll over before I get irritated.” He swiped his hand up, and you paused, before shuffling over in the bed and moving your body closer to him, letting out a satisfied sigh as you gained some warmth as you moved closer to the centre of the large bed. He leaned over, pulling the covers back up over your shoulder as you nuzzled down into the pillow, his fingers brushing your skin. “Shit, you really are cold.”

“Mhm.” Your eyes were squeezed shut, snapping open with a squeal as he scooped his hands underneath you, tugging you up until you were resting between his thighs, your cheek pressed to his chest as he wrapped his arms around you, picking his book back up. Your body was stiff and tense, uncomfortable against his own and he rolled his eyes, glancing down at you as you avoided his eyes.

“Oh, relax. I can’t concentrate with you shaking the bed with all your shivering, and the cold has never really bothered me, but I have a lot of body heat. I can’t have you getting sick again, so just go to sleep.” The aggressive tone he normally held was more of a struggle to get out now, and he huffed as you curled your arms around his body, getting yourself comfortable as you settled into him.

He let out the breath he was holding, his stomach sagging under you and his muscles relaxing as your body curled around his, an unfamiliar feeling settling in his gut at the feeling of having someone holding onto him so comfortably. He ran his fingers over your body beneath the covers, noting the tears and rips in the thin material, the same rags you had arrived in the day you’d been brought here to begin, and he could understand your problem with the cold.

Clearing his throat, he settled his hand on your hip, tucking it underneath the flimsy material of your top to stroke along your side and warm you up, the goosebumps that had been covering your body beginning to settle and disappear as you warmed up. “I’ll get you some warmer clothes tomorrow.”

Your face turned into his stomach more, a smile on your lips as you squeezed your arms around him, the silent thank you not going unnoticed, and the silence that enveloped the room hung heavy for a few minutes, the flicking of the pages as he thumbed them over with his one hand, the other still tucked under your shirt, tracing patterns into your skin absentmindedly as his natural tendency toward fiddling took over. It wasn’t until his fingers brushed over the collection of raised scars on your hips that he stilled, pressing down on the spot and you squirmed under him, swatting at his arm sleepily.

“I noticed these when I pulled you up from the floor all those months ago. What happened?” You snorted at him, cracking an eye open to look at him before you rolled over, propping your arms on his stomach, your chin resting on top of them as you looked at him. You were judging him for his lack of subtlety in the asking of the question, but instead of acknowledging that, he simply raised a brow, the frown on his face not moving. “Tell me.”

“Alright, alright. Pushy.” You muttered, rolling your eyes at him and he scowled at you, glaring at you for your attitude but you seemed unaffected by it. He continued to poke at the collection, running his fingers over the raised flesh, waiting for you to continue. It was a moment before you did, your bottom lip clenched between your teeth as you nibbled on it for a second, shaking your head and shrugging, before settling yourself back down into his chest, your eyes closing again. “It’s where Gerard would cut me.”

His fingers stilled, body tensing and eyebrows furrowing. He closed the book in his hand, discarding it quickly as he waited for you to say something else, elaborate or explain that it was a lie, but you seemed to just have accepted it without expecting him to question it. You let out a sudden groan as he moved you unexpectedly, your body curling in on itself as he ripped the covers from your form, a knee on either side of your legs as he lifted up your shirt to expose your hip, and he smoothed a thumb over the cluster of pinkish-purple marks. “But, there’s a lot?”

“Yeah.” You seemed to give in, sitting yourself up a little and looking down at the healed injuries, smirking proudly as you looked at them, but his eyes were narrowed on you as he waited. “He tried to carve the Argent ‘A’ into me when he first took my prisoner and I kicked him off. He didn’t like the fact that I ruined the symbol, so he added another cut every time I disobeyed him.”

Stiles wasn’t quite sure how to handle this information, the cogs in his mind spinning as he reeled at the idea of you locked in another cell, bleeding and tending to your own injuries after refusing to do whatever it was that he had wanted from you. “You weren’t born in the Argent Kingdom?”

“No. I was born here.” He almost felt as though he’d been winded as he looked up at you, your gaze questioning as you looked at him, your brows raised and you licked over your lips. “They took me prisoner when I was younger. My mother and father died, I didn’t have much to work from and I accidentally wound up on their land, stealing apples.” You were far from the person he had assumed you to be, his jaw hanging slightly slack, and he looked between your eyes and the scars on your hip in confusion.

He moved before he had thought about it, pressing a kiss to the bundle, your muscles twitching under him as he did and he moved between cuts, pressing a light kiss to each one, your hand coming down to thread into his hair carefully as he did, and he made sure to press his lips to each one before dragging your top back down, his hand tucked under the fabric, palm covering the scars as he blew out the candles still flickering, his body covering yours as he lay atop you, just enough to cover you without crushing you.

It was a moment before you moved, your hands pulling the covers back up and you timidly wrapped your arms around him, shuffling and clinging to him as you relished in the warmth he was providing you, your cheeks heated in the darkened room as his hands held you protectively to his body.

“Would you like to walk to the markets with me tomorrow?”

“Really?” You practically buzzed with excitement, rolling onto your side to grip onto him tighter as you peered at him in the dark, and he could still make out the grin on your face, and he had to suppress his chuckle at your excitement, choosing to simply nod in response as his eyes closed. “You’d take me out, even dressed like this?”

He frowned, shaking his head and inching closer to you until the tip of his nose was brushing your forehead. “We’re going out to get you new clothes. I need some new plants and jars, so we can pick those up too. Nobody will say anything to you.” You opened your mouth again to speak, and he groaned as he heard the intake of breath, your jaw snapping shut when he huffed. “Just go to sleep before I regret not being horrible to you.”

“You’re being nice to me.”

“No. I’m not nice, I’m just being less awful. There’s a difference.” He muttered, his fingers tightening their hold on your hip in warning of your arguing with him, and you didn’t speak, muffling the sound of amusement you made as you settled into sleep, and while the coldness had never bothered him before, he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed the warmth you provided when your body was pressed up against his.

Neither of you ever bothered to speak about what had changed between the two of you, but it was clear that something had.

His touch lingered longer on your skin when he was around you now, and he was closer to your side whenever he possibly could be. The gap between you on the bed had quickly become nonexistent, the cold nights meaning he would hold you closer more often, and it had quickly become familiar to him to have your body pressed up to his during the night as your hands wrapped around his body and lips pressed to your hairline whilst your heart beat steadily against his chest, in a comfortable rhythm with his own.

As promised, he had walked you down to the marketplace the next day, the excitement on your face as he finally allowed you an escorted trip away from the room you’d been locked up in for half a year had almost made him smile, your arm looped through his as your unsteady almost skips took place beside his even and long strides. He had glared daggers at anyone that had sent you unusual looks, your body draped in the large material of his own clothes as you waited for new garments.

You had purchased a selection of loose-fitting pants and jumpers, skirts and even some dresses, the bundle building in your arms as you mumbled about not remembering the last time you’d actually had any new clothes of your own to wear, clutching them to your chest and waiting patiently as he moved between the other stalls and gathered the thinks he needed for himself. When you had returned home, he’d cleared a drawer in his dresser, for you to unpack them into, and the more you spent time with him, the more reluctant he was to let you go.

You were becoming more and more intertwined with his life, his shoulders felt lighter when he was talking to you, or able to watch you work, and when your chin would rest on his shoulder from behind as you watched him work, your arms looped around his waist as you tried to stay out of the way but still wished to observe. You made his bad days feel a little easier, when he was in a bad mood you were able to soothe him, his eyes closed as he sat back against the bed, face pushed into your neck and arms around your waist as you read aloud to him or told him about your own projects and what you had been up to.

He knew he should let you go, that he should stop letting the bond between you get so deep and meaningful. It kept him up on the occasional night, as he listened to your steady breathing and relished in the warmth of your body, that he was only going to end up hurting himself in the long run. He couldn't keep you prisoner forever, one day the king would come back for you, or he’d have to let you go himself and you’d run from him never to return. It only ended in him getting hurt, and yet he couldn't help but dig himself in deeper, drown in you a little more, because being around you was such a sweet taste in his mouth and he wanted to savour that, before it turned bitter and made him only the more darker, stormier, angrier version of himself that he would undoubtedly become when you left him.

He was closer to you than he should be, the urges bubbling up inside of himself making him feel like he had to hold himself back more and more, because you confused him. He liked it when your fingers scraped over his scalp as you played with his hair and the way he sometimes wanted to get even closer to you, to be in your face, his lips pressed to yours as your body wrapped around his entirely, the two of you practically becoming one. He didn’t like the guilt that came with that feeling, the anger at himself for being too scared to take it that final step and let himself become yours entirely, to claim you as his.

He was used to having fear from others, but he also wasn’t used to having love, and you supplied him with enough for him to suffocate in, and die happily. So, in order to gain as much as he possibly could before you were inevitably torn from his arms, he made the most of every touch you gave him, every second of time he got with you, and every time you’d let him brush his lips across your cheek or sweep loose hair behind your ear, or lace his fingers with your own on the nights the two of you would lay in bed, facing one another on the pillows and talking until the darkness passed on the sun was once again cracking across the horizon to signal in a new day.

Adjusting himself in the pillows, you shifted in his arms, his fingers stilling their movements from tracing patterns along your skin once again as he waited for you to get comfortable, and you eventually huffed out, trying to continue in you reading of the book before you were once again stopping as you looked up. Your arm was aching as you tried to hold yourself up to read the book, your thigh shifting from where it had been draped over one of Stiles’ legs as you leaned up, stretching your arms above your head as cracks and pops sounded, a relieved sigh leaving you.

“This isn't working. My neck hurts.”

He chuckled at your words, his hand dropping to smooth along your thigh through the cover as you sat up further, rolling your neck from side to side as your body adjusted from the awkward pose you had been in. “It was your idea to read in bed.”

“I know that.” You scoffed, his brows furrowing at your tone and he let out a warning growl, your eyes rolling at him and he pinched your thigh, your body jolting as you scowled and rubbed over the spot. “That was uncalled for.”

“You sassed me. Don’t sass me.” He watched as you swung a leg over his waist, a smirk curling on his lips as you settled yourself onto his upper thighs, balancing the book on his chest. His hands found your waist, tugging you up closer until you were seated in his lap, and he popped his legs up behind you, letting you lean back on his thighs for support. His hands slipped down to your mid-thighs, fingers digging into the supple flesh on either side as he squeezed gently. “Better?”

“Much, actually.” You wiggled in his lap, and he bit down on his lip to choke down the sound he wanted to release, your voice soon picking up again as you began to read to him. For a while, he was able to focus on the words you were saying, his eyes closed as he listened to you speak to him about the different ways to preserve and use herbs best. It wasn’t until you jumped in his lap, his eyes opening suddenly as you let out a small yell, the weight of the book sitting on his ribs being lifted as you held it up before him. “Look!”

“What am I looking at, dove?”

“This! It says you should press wolfsbane and then powder it, instead of hanging it to dry!” You looked at him pointedly, letting out a long sigh as you marked the page of the book before throwing it to your side, a cheeky grin on your lips as you leaned down. Poking at his chest, you made a proud noise in the back of your throat, and Stiles tried to ignore the way you were practically buzzing in his lap. “That’s what I told you! All the way back on the first day, when you locked me up in that cage over there!”

His lips dropped into a frown at the mention of the abandoned cell in the corner of the room, the thought of you in there again making his stomach twist with nausea. He huffed out at the thought, and you leaned in further, your chest almost pressed to his and you pinched at his cheek, your breath fanning over his face.

“Now, now, Void. Don’t pout.” You grinned, and he rolled his eyes, raining a hand to poke at your side as you teased him, and he swallowed thickly. Your mouth opened, presumably to make another snarky comment, the attitude and humour he hated to admit that he’d grown so fond of beginning to shine through again. Instead, though, the fingers pinching his cheeks flattened out, your hand smoothing around until your nails were scratching lightly in the short hairs at the back of his scalp, a sigh falling from his parted lips at the feeling.

Watching you carefully, his eyes dropped to your lips as you licked at them, before you were leaning into him, your lips pressing to his delicately, a barely present kiss being placed to his lips as you bumped your nose against his, the breath between you both sharing as you moved your lips with his in shaky rhythms. The tension fled from his body, his hands flying up to hold onto you, his fingers in your hair as he groaned lowly into your mouth.

He had been kissed before, but this kiss was different. This kiss was one that someone wanted to share with him, not one that was being given to him as maidens from around the palace threw themselves at him for one night to be able to say they tamed the darkness for a few hours. Your hands were cupping his cheeks, before smoothing down his shoulders to rest on his chest, your own body relaxing atop him as he pressed back with force.

He leaned back into the pillows, pulling you with him until your hair was framing around his face as you kissed him, his tongue snaking out to lick along your lower lip, a whine leaving you as he did. His tongue tangled with your own, your breathing becoming lighter as you panted above him and pride swelled in his chest at the needy way your hands scrunched into fists in the material of his shirt, nails scraping at his pecs through the fabric.

Teeth practically clashed, as the kiss moved from shy and experimental to heated and sloppy, fingers grasping as you both dragged in raspy breaths, your lips meshing together in a connection that was long overdue, feelings rushing to the surface as overwhelming arousal flooded through the both of you, the air around you heating up. Tilting his head to the side, he earned himself a deeper access to your mouth, relishing in the whimper you rewarded him with as his tongue travelled the inside of your mouth, memorising the feel of kissing you so intimately.

Your hips ground down into his, a grunt falling from his mouth as you did, the sound muffled between wet and smacking kisses as his cock twitched in the thin pants he wore to sleep in, your hips repeating the motion, and he couldn't hold back the thrust of his hips up into yours this time, a cry falling from your lips at the feeling. You pulled back, pushing yourself up with your hands spread on his torso and he chased your lips, propping himself up on his elbows as he followed you.

The complaint he was about to voice died in his throat as you used your new position to rock your core down against him more firmly. “Fuck, darling, you need to stop.” He mumbled, and he slid down from your face to gain a bruising grip on your hips, moving you to a halt as you became steady in his lap once again. Your cheeks were flushed, eyes wide as you peered at him cautiously, and a blush crawled up your cheeks. “What are you doing?”

“Kissing you? Or at least, I was..” Your words trailed off in a whisper, your hands pulling back from the grip on his top so you could play with your fingers nervously, and he could feel your legs twitching around him as you considered bolting from your position, his hold tightening to keep you where you were.

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to?” You offered, and he ran a hand over his face, huffing at the way you were practically answering his questions with more questions, and he fixed you with a stern glare. The silence between the two of you hung thick and awkward in the air, your eyes leaving him as you squirmed in his hold, uncomfortable with his stare on you.

“Why did you kiss me?” He had taken on his deeper tone, the cold and menacing one that had always gotten him answers before now, and you sighed, your body practically deflating under his gaze as you let out an aggravated sound, dragging a hand through your hair.

“Because I wanted to! Because I like it when you start rambling about all your herbs and mixes when you’re working, and that you let me sleep in the bed with you, and that you let me read your books at night! You also have really nice lips!” Your words were near-shouted, and you crawled away from him, pushing his hands from you as a scowl took over your features. “I thought that would have a better outcome, but I’m getting the feeling I was wrong and that I’ve messed things up, so I think it’s about time I headed back into the corner an-”

A loud growl tore from him as he wrapped his fingers around your wrist, tugging you back onto the bed as you tried to stand up, and he rolled your body under his, caging you in with a hand either side of your head. “Don’t you dare fucking mention that. I told you that you sleep here with me now, where you belong.” Your eyes widened at the tone of his voice, and he smirked lowly, dipping his head down to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth, before kissing along your jaw and down your neck, two fingers on your chin gripping tightly as he tipped your head to the side, exposing your collarbone to him.

Nipping at the sensitive skin, he grinned as you moaned, finally letting the sound through when he found the sensitive patch of skin that made your back arch into his chest and your eyes slip shut. Sucking on the patch of skin, he made quick work of nibbling and licking at the patch, until a large red blemish appeared that would soon sink into an even larger purple bruise. “You’re giving me really mixed signals, here.”

Your words were slurred as you wiggled under his hold and he smirked, pulling back to look at you. Dipping his head down, he let one of his hands drift up to cup your cheek, his lips pressing to your own delicately, a sweet kiss being left on your lips as he bumped your nose aside, tilting his own head until he was letting his tongue dip out to meet yours between your parted lips, a slow and passionate exchange as you whimpered into his mouth, kissed breathless and flushed when he finally pulled back.

“That clears up nothing. But I’d really like to do it again.”

“I intend to keep doing that with you. A lot.” He whispered, rolling onto his side and shuffling up until he was buried back in the pillows, a satisfied smirk on his lips, and he wiped the edge of his mouth with his thumb, poking your side with his foot as you continued to pant and stare at the ceiling. “Get up here before I kick you from the bed.”

You scoffed at his warning, smacking idly at his foot as he nudged you, before rolling up onto your hands and knees, crawling along the bed and collapsing down beside him, his nose burying in your hair as your body pressed up to his side, the warmth from you spreading over his skin. Your leg came up to sit over his waist as your cheek pressed into his shoulder, and he stretched his head to the side for you as your lips tickled over his throat in feather-light kisses.

Dropping a hand to your thigh, he gripped tightly at the exposed skin that was revealed from your nightgown, a grunt leaving him as your lips worked sloppy to leave marks on his neck. He dared to trail his fingers up, searching for the edge of your gown and his fingers toyed with the material once he found it, subtly inching it up further, one of your hands sliding over his chest to lace into his hair. Tilting his head toward you with the hand on his cheek, you guided his lips back to your own, a satisfied hum sounding from him as he puckered his lips to return the affections.

Kicking your feet at the covers, you tried to inch them up your body, and he chuckled as you pulled away, yawning into his shoulder as you hid your face. Leaning over you, he placed the book on the side table, catching it just before it fell from the edge of the mattress. Taking the covers in his hand, he tugged them up over your figures, huffing as you placed a hand on his chest and forced him back down into the bed, your form slumping against him tiredly as you buried your face into his neck.

Running his hand over your back, he leaned to the side, blowing out the final candle keeping the room alight and plunging it into darkness, tiredness sweeping over him, too. The warmth you spread to his chest was now no longer just from your body pressed to his, but filled him internally as you curled up against him, a smile tilted on his lips as he nudged his nose into your hair, his eyes sliding shut.

That night, he slept with kiss-swollen lips and a slightly off-pace heart, skipping beats and pumping erratically as your legs tangled with his. His mind had been spinning for hours afterwards, balancing out the pros and cons of allowing himself to sink into the idea of being in a relationship with you. The former heavily outweighed the latter, and he was somewhere between irritated and amused at himself for it, the idea that he might actually be capable of having a normal concept like love or affection was foreign to him, and he let himself drift off in distraction when you subconsciously nudged your nose into the spot between his neck and his shoulder, your lips brushing his skin, and his arms had wrapped around you tighter as he let unconsciousness take him.

He noticed a considerable difference in you after that night, one that made his lips quirk into a cheeky look every time he thought about it, or studied the way you had begun to act. He was having a different kind of effect on you. His kisses had originally made you flushed and pink-cheeked, and now you teased him just as much as he teased you.

Your nervous hands that would sit on his cheeks or chest would now wander, tugging at his hair or scratching at his chest lightly, enough to make him shiver and growl as he held onto you tighter and pulled you in closer. Your once sealed and soft lips were now more kiss bitten and swollen, your tongues playing together in familiar patterns as you sucked on his lower lip and batted your eyes at him in ways that made him breathless and dizzy. You took up all of his time and thoughts, letting him spend his days laying over you on the bed as your neck became littered in purple marks from his teeth moving across them, and his lips sucking at the skin until he was satisfied with his print being on your flesh.

It never went too far, for the first time in his life he was enjoying something in moderation, he wasn’t rushing or struggling, but instead, he had faith that you didn’t want to run off anyway, that you wanted to be with him as much as he wanted to be with you, and so as the ice melted away in to spring and dead trees began to blossom once again, he found that he didn’t care if ting never went further than just your hips rocking up into his through layers of clothing as your mouths pressed together and you panted into one another's mouths, because what he had gained with you was more than physical, it was spiritual.

It wasn’t just the affectionate side of you that had changed, but the mental side too. You were becoming more and more like him with every passing day, you were learning enough from him that you’d even begun to make recommendations and suggestions during his work, mixing your own little recipes and he was incredibly proud of how far you were coming. It was like you were made for him, a perfectly twisted match to his dark soul, and the more he got to know you the more it became true.

You were a team, a unit, and the power of the two of you together far surpassed his power alone, even if it was simply that the feeling of no longer being alone made him more confident and sure in his own abilities than he ever had been before. He felt like the purpose of taking on a darker trait had finally come to light, long-buried and forgotten as he had gotten lost in the fear he inflicted onto others. He wanted this power, these abilities, that automatically instilled fear just at the mention of his name all as a method to protect someone, and now he had someone to protect.

He had someone to defend, to care for and shelter, and yet you were also able to take care of yourself. You were strong-willed and determined and sharp, you were a jagged piece that fit his own cracks and splinters without cutting either one of you, he had a partner in an attack and someone to channel his power toward. You gave him direction.

Days felt more meaningful, he had the time to take on new hobbies once he had someone to complete all of his work with, and he no longer felt useless and bored during the time he spent off, because he didn’t have a shrouded goal to work towards anymore, a hidden ulterior in his own mind that made him feel unaccomplished when he didn’t work. Instead, he was fully aware of everything he did and you made him feel better about himself, you made him feel like the best version of himself.

The only wrinkle in his joy, the only problem he had with his own joy was the knawing guilt he held every time he looked the front door tightly again, the way if you got too close to it his eyes would still flicker over to you untrustingly as he watched to see whether this was the moment you were going to bolt, and yet you never did. Now, he felt obligated to give you the benefit of the doubt, he felt like he owed it to you to try and give you freedom, because it was the last step he had to take before he could wholly, and completely believe that you were as invested in a future as him as he knew he was in having a future with you.

He was selfish, and insecure, and he just had to take the leap in giving you the choice to come back to him, to give you the ability to leave and live your life, and simply trust that at night you’d crawl back into bed beside him instead of leaving his bed colder than it has ever been before.

That moment of reckoning, that day in which he would give you a chance to make the decision for yourself came as a split-second decision on one of the days that the spring rain was just clearing up, warm and humid heat sitting int he air as dark clouds loomed overhead and blocked out some of the sun’s light, and yet it was still a bright and warm day, because you had woken up in a good mood and forced him to enjoy it too.

It had been quiet between you, only the flick of the pen across paper and your humming as you tinkered with different activities around the room as you had yet to decide what it was that you actually wanted or do was filling the silence, and he was more than content just sharing the space with you, occasionally looking up to watch as you move around. You had made the space your own as much as it was his, and his attention was torn between you, and the activity he had chosen for himself all those hours before.

He let out an indignant huff as you plucked the drawing pad from his hands, his fingers reaching out for it as you held it further out from your body, and he gave in, slumping back into the cushions lining the seat and shooting you a glare, his brows furrowed as he looked at you. “What do you want?”

“Well, fine.” You muttered, handing the pad back to him and crossing your arms, a pout on your lips as you looked at him and he smirked, taking the book from you and opening it back up to the page he was on, and you sighed, turning from him to walk away, his hand shooting out to grasp your wrist. Without looking up, he tugged you toward him, holding the book away from him as he made space for you to settle into his lap, his smirk only widening as you grinned, crawling into the seat and settling your legs across his own, your arms looping around his neck.

He adjusted the sketchbook to rest against your legs, his free arm sitting low on your waist as his fingers smoothed along your hip, your hands holding his face in your hands as you kissed at his cheek, his eye and nose scrunching up as you did. And the charcoal stilled on the paper as he waited. “I’m trying to draw.”

“Mhm, what are you drawing?” You continued to trace your lips along his skin, eventually giving in as you reached his neck, ending the exchanges with a final nip to his jaw before pulling back.

“You.” You straightened up, looking over at his drawing as you gasped with excitement, and he snickered at the way your body sagged in disappointment when you looked at the sketch, taking in the flowers on the paper. He looked at you carefully, and you placed a hand over his face, pushing him away from you, but you laughed as you did, and he grinned, biting playfully at the finger over his mouth. Instead, he lifted up the tattered paper bundle, holding it out to you and flipping through previous pages. “I normally draw you when you’re doing something.”

He held the book out to you, watching as you looked over the drawings carefully, your fingers brushing the edges of the paper and you smiled at him, handing the pad back to him. “You’re cute.” His lips pursed, and he raised up the block of charcoal in his hands, drawing a solid black line along your skin and you groaned out in irritation. “I take it back, you’re just annoying.”

“Don’t tell me I’m cute.”

“Why not?” You were teasing him, and he leaned up, capturing your lips with his in a slow kiss as he pulled you in closer to him. He teased his lips over yours, your hands coming up to hold his face once again as you tipped your head to the side, granting him deeper access as he sucked on your lower lip.

“I’m not cute, I’m fucking terrifying.” He argued, and you rested your cheek against the top of his head, a hum sounding from you.

“Are you planning to kill me?”

“No.”

“Are you planning to hurt and torture me?”

“No.” He spoke through gritted teeth, jaw clenched as he realised what you were getting at and instead he just shifted in the seat, dragging you down until your body was pressed up to his, your legs stretched out over the seat and your head resting on his shoulder so you were fully seated in his lap. He wrapped both of his arms around you, toying with the strings on the front of your dress, tugging on them until they fell loose, and you took a deep breath as the corset loosened. “I like you in dresses. They make you look-”

“Feminine?” Your mouth practically spat the word, but you let him undo the knots along the front, tugging at the stiff material until it was loose on your chest.

“I was going to say powerful.”

He scowled at you for your assumption that he would insult you, before he was inching his hands up your legs, taking the heavy skirt of your dress with him, a smirk on his lips as you allowed him to, his fingers skimming over soft flesh until they were sitting in the middle of your thigh, his nose trailing along the underside of your jaw, and you let out a happy sigh for him.

“You and I could do great things, you know.” He mumbled, lips latching onto the spot beneath your ear, sucking lazily on the skin as you squirmed under him, a gasp sounding out as you twisted in his arms the moment he began to nip and bite at the sensitive place, and he licked over the spot, a proud smile on his lips at the red mark showing up on your wet skin. “We could rule the fucking world.”

“Together?”

“Always.” He growled the word out, his lips smashing into yours as you mewled under him, parting your lips for him the second he sucked the lower one between his own, his tongue snaking out to tangle with yours. The wet muscles dragged together, a breathy moan slipping into his mouth and dying out as his mouth moved relentlessly against your own in heated patterns.

You shifted, a groan falling from his lips as you turned in his hold, your arms looping around his neck, your fingers moving to play with his hair and tug on the soft locks to tease him, handfuls of the hair woven between your fingers as he continued to kiss you sloppily, the sounds echoing around the room, and his fingers tightened their grasp on your thigh, anchoring you to him as you shared the passionate embrace.

When the burning for oxygen became too much, your mouth parted from his, your eyes still closed as you panted for breath, his own needy gasps washing over your lips each time, and your eyes only opened when you felt him run his thumb over your lips. He admired the swollen and darker colour of them, knowing he was the reason you looked quite so dishevelled, warmth bursting in his chest as he took in your flustered and flushed appearance, a small smile pulling on his lips when he backed away.

“Stop staring at me.”

“You look beautiful when you look all fucked out.” He grinned at you wickedly, your cheeks flooding with more heat as you laughed, standing up carefully and brushing the skirt your dress back into place, and he followed suit, his hands on your hips as he looked down at you, licking the pad of his thumb and smearing away the charcoal that was still present on your skin. Your face scrunched up as he did, a grimace forming, and you rubbed your palm over the skin roughly until the wet feeling was gone, the dark smudge disappearing too, red and irritated skin taking its place. “I need a new sketchpad, and some more candles.”

You looked up at him, nodding as you began to adjust the corset of your dress back into the correct place, and he lifted his hands from your hips to take the string between them, pulling tightly, your back straightening and a gasp sounding from your as the material clung around your torso. “Are we going to the markets, then?”

His gaze was focused on the intricate lacing across your torso, his fingers tugging on each strong carefully as he laced it back up, his eyes barely flicking up to yours for a second, but the edges of his lips pulled up in a barely present smirk. “No, I smell like soot and smoke, and I have some things to finish up.”

“Oh.” Your face fell, your eyebrows furrowing, and he tied the strings tight at the top of your breasts, the mounds swelling beneath the dress, his knuckles brushing against the plump flesh lightly as he retracted his hands, letting them smooth back over your sides.

“Why don’t you go and get them, and we can have a bath when you get back?”

Your eyes widened, your face splitting in a bright and beaming smile, and you were practically bouncing in your place as you watched him. “You want me to go alone?”

“Yes, but be quick, because it won’t take me long to find someone to heat water and fill the tub for us, and I’m not waiting for you if the water starts getting cold.” You nodded happily, and he took your hand in his, guiding you towards the large bolted door at the front of the room. His fingers stilled over the cold metal, doubting his movements for just a second as he glanced at you, before unlatching each bolt and lock individually, the heavy wood creaking as it fell open, and you peered out excitedly into the hallway.

You’d been out many times by his side, but he could practically sense the anticipation and excitement rolling off of you as you stared out at the castle corridors, and he dipped his head as he waited for you to be ready, his body warm and tingling as he took in the joy he had given you. Instead, he reached for the hooks, taking his favourite fur and draping it carefully over your shoulders, tucking it securely around you for warmth, and he let out a deep breath, his dark eyes finding yours.

“You know where you’re going?”

“Yes.” You nodded firmly, and he grinned, taking a small sack, the dirty material sitting in the palm of his hands as he took out a few coins, placing the cold metal into your palm and folding your fingers over it, holding your hand in his.

“This should be enough. If anything happens, if anything seems off, you find a guard. You ask for Scott, and tell them you’re under my protection, okay?”

“What if they think I’m lying?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Nobody would optionally associate themselves with me, little dove.” Your free hand smoothed up to cup his cheek as he looked at you, eyes wide and skin warm under your touch as you stared at him, a look he had never quite seen in your eyes before shining through.

“I would.”

The simple words winded him, and he let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, nodding as he leaned into you, an arm wrapping around your waist to bring you flush up to his chest as he kissed you, deep and slow. There was no frantic need in this kiss, no lust or desire, just affection and longing, your lips sliding together in an intimate and meaningful exchange, your body buzzing with thrill under his hands as you looked forward to the trip.

“I’ll be back soon. A sketchpad and more candles.” You nodded to yourself as you confirmed your small list, and he let out a small hum, not quite trusting his voice as he choked down whatever emotions were bubbling up within him.

You turned towards the door, your body freezing in the entrance as you rocked on the balls of your feet, almost afraid to leave on your own, and despite his own worries about letting you out of his sight, he placed a hand on your lower back, feeling the way you relaxed into his touch, tension leaving your body as his he pushed you forward a little, taking your first step over the threshold, a small squeal leaving you. You turned, pressing a final kiss to his lips that he barely had time to return, before you were clenching the fist with the coins in, giving yourself an affirmative nod.

“Here I go.”

“Here you go.” He returned the words, slightly strangled in sound as he watched you step back, walking away from him as his touch left you, his hand falling back to rest at his side, and you turned your back to him, never once glancing over your shoulder as you bounded along the corridor quickly, disappearing from his sight once you rounded the corner.

A strange mix of pride, anxiety and longing churned in his gut, but despite it all, he smiled, closing the door and for the first time since he’d allowed you out of the cell, he left it unbolted, choosing instead to trust that you would come back to him, that you cared for him as much as he did for you.

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