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emilykaldwen · 1 month

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The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Sixteen

Rating: Explicit

Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

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Author's Note: And we're back! Thank you all for being so patient with me as I took some time away. I'm honestly glad I did. TL;DR (or read the update in the previous chapter) I lost my job, things were rough. I'm feeling a lot better now and here we are with the final Aegon birthday chapter! As I stated as well, we'll be moving to something closer to a three week posting schedule for the last few chapters of this fic and continue on that posting schedule for the sequel.

PLEASE PLEASE subscribe to the series page or my author page so you get updates when we start the next story! You're not going to want to miss it. (And follow @emkald-fic on tumblr if you read here!)

All my eternal love to @vampire-exgirlfriend, whose been my rock. I love you. Please go join her as she finishes up her Aemond fic, They Say I Killed You (Haunt Me Then)!

Warnings: Larys Strong Jumpscare, and MURDER!

CHAPTER SIXTEEN - Flew Like a Moth to You

Aegon's birthday hunt includes some fantastic girl action and some murder! OH! And Some Jacelaena biting. You love to see it.

Floris Baratheon could not sit still, clutching her bow and quiver, peering out the carriage window as they approached the Kingswood. “A-hunting we shall go, a-hunting we shall go-”

“Hi-Ho the derry-o, a-hunting we shall go,” Abby sang in turn, the song a familiar one from childhood. The Baratheon girl had been quite annoyed that she could not ride a horse the way the other men did, but with the promise that she would not have to sit with her sister in a carriage, she had been content enough.

Abby sat beside Lythene Ryger, who had been quite speechless at the invite to the carriage. Wylla would have normally been with them, but with her soon to be good-sister, Alys Bracken, coming along, she was off playing chaperone and overly curious and mischievous younger sister to Alys and Harrion. Abby was glad she had the opportunity to do so, for her dear friend was giving up much to stay in the south as her Mistress of Keys instead of returning home to the Karhold.

On the other side of Helaena, Margaery Crane of Red Lake sat. Her lush, light brown hair was braided in a crown around her head, and her face was square with large, unnervingly green eyes. Her head was bent towards Helaena’s, threads of evergreen and butter yellow woven in her fingers as she taught the princess how to finger knit. It was an easier pastime during the long carriage ride to the camp than Helaena’s embroidery. Her twin sister, Desmara, sat on Abby’s other side. The only difference between the pair was her dark, chestnut hair and the scar across her full mouth.

“I’m sure if you ask Daeron when he goes out with the party, he’ll retrieve the stag antlers for you,” Helaena said, her eyes focused on the thread between her fingers. “He’ll love the opportunity to prove himself.” Floris rolled her eyes in only the way a girl of one and ten could, her black braid wrapped around her head with stubborn tendrils escaping. She tugged on the ties of her raven black cloak.

“Nay, Your Grace,” she said primly. “I would show my own mettle, and face the stag myself.” Her cheeks were pink all the same. Abby bit her lip to hold back her chuckle, not wanting to tease the girl. She caught Desmara’s own amused look, the scar across her mouth pulling at her own smile.

“Well, I don’t think they’ll let you go hunting the stag, Lady Floris,” she said. Floris looked pleased at the kind address from the elder girl. “But we’ll be going hawking and the spoils are certainly yours. That’s how I obtained the rabbit fur for my gloves.”

“That’s true,” Abby chimed in. “And you are a child of Nightsong, are you not? I’m sure falconry is in your blood.” Floris’ mother was a Caron, with a lineage of fierce warriors nestled in the Dornish Marches. Lady Ellyn Caron had songs sung of her, and how she, in part with other lords of the Stormlands, defeated the Vulture King. It was exactly the kind of family lineage Abby could see Floris idolizing.

Floris nodded seriously, running her fingers along her bow. “This is true. I suppose I should practice.”

“Practice until you come back dragging the stag behind you,” Helaena continued. “My elder sister is said to have taken down a boar with her own hands, only a dagger as a weapon. I think you have that same mettle in you.”

Floris preened, leaning into Helaena’s side to watch the magical weaving of the yarn. Abby’s heart ached with fondness for the girl, pleased that she had been taken on as Helaena’s ward. The girl was not meant to be stuck behind her three eldest sisters. The Smallest Storm would blossom, she hoped, beneath Helaena’s care and attention. It did not go past Abby’s notice of Cassandra’s harsh attentions to her sister. It reminded her of her own sister’s lack of understanding; always critical, always focused on some perception that her behavior would reflect poorly upon her. Floris was exuberant and curious, but she was not into reckless mischief or excessive rudeness.

She’d be good for Helaena. More importantly, had been good for Helaena, who had taken on Margaery Crane as one of her new ladies, and Abby would take Desmara. The Crane twins had endeared themselves quickly, Margaery introducing herself by way of teaching Helaena a new fiber art, and Desmara had gifted Abby a book on Asshai, a knowing wink in her verdant green eyes.

As the carriage pulled into the camp, cheers had already started from the other gathered lords and ladies. “With all that noise, they’re sure to scare away all their quarry,” Abby laughed, peering out the window to look on ahead.

The boys had ridden on horseback, Aegon in the lead on Kostōba, Aemond, Daeron, and Jace on their own horses beside him, with their own small retinue. Their cousin, Lyonel Hightower, was with them, as were a few other lordlings that Abby was unfamiliar with. She spied Alyn Hull’s silver braids from where he was on his own horse, smiling at the sight of the brash young man there within Aegon’s retinue. He had been a true friend to the prince over the years and it was good to see him brought into the fold officially.

Alyn would serve as steward when they departed for Harrenhal, taking on the household duties from Uncle Simon and learning under him. Aegon had been pleased that he’d agreed to the offer, brushing off his mother’s gape mouthed indignation about it. “He’s the reason I still live, Mother,” Aegon had said, unusually mild in the face of Alicent Hightower’s anger that morning as they broke their fast. He’d brushed a kiss against her forehead, and Abby wondered if he had found strength in the security they were building between them, that not even his mother could shake.

Seeing Aegon’s confidence was intoxicating, so rarely did he come off so sure of himself, and she craved to see more of it. Her teeth scraped her lower lip, belly rolling with heat.

“Good tidings to Prince Aegon, second of his name!” came the booming voice of his Uncle Hobart, leading the call of cheers. “Good tidings to him on his nameday!”

“Good tidings!” came the call of the gathered crowd. “Prince Aegon!”

As Abby settled back in her seat to wait for the footmen, she caught Helaena’s gaze. Anxiety crackled between them, mixed with the joy and love there for Aegon’s nameday. After the hunt, Abby was certain Helaena would cocoon in her chambers, barring the door should anyone try to get her into another crowd. Abby didn’t blame her, and in fact, might even join her for a bit.

The cheers had begun to die down by the time Daeron’s smiling face helped them out of the carriage. Windswept, dark blonde hair fell across his forehead as he bowed. “Allow me, my sister, ladies.”

As he helped Floris from the carriage, their eyes met, both faces going pink at the cheeks, and Abby saw her future good-brother’s hand tighten slightly around the girl’s fingers for the briefest of moments before her feet met the ground and she pulled away, her eyes on her shoes. It was not often that Floris fell quiet and blushed so red, and it did not appear that anyone else had noticed. Daeron clenched his hands to himself and his eyes met hers, his own flush deepening before he quickly hurried away.

The king had stayed behind in the Keep, as did several lords and their families. Lord Grover’s health had also kept him behind. Lord Otto had stayed to facilitate court, leaving the festivities that day in Aegon and the queen’s hands.

Her hands, Abby knew, as young ladies of the noble houses began to approach her and the princess, a few mothers in tow.

“Baela’s a Targaryen too,” Helaena muttered. “Why can’t they flock to her?”

The lady in question had rode on horseback, her red leather jerkin fitted against her lithe form over a gray tunic and black breeches tucked into black polished boots. The rings in her hair glinted in the late morning sun, sparkling as she turned her head with a laugh and dismounted her mare by Jace. Abby shook her head.

“Because they’re afraid she’ll be a bad influence, I’m sure. How are they supposed to get husbands if they dress comfortably?” Abby posited, smoothing her hands over her riding jacket. It was a warm evergreen color, deep azure and crimson soutache snaking over her shoulders like the red and blue forks of the riverlands. The crimson lined wool jacket fell just past her knees, and she wore a pair of warm trousers tucked into polished black boots. Helaena was dressed similarly, her jacket the same shade of deep azure as Abby’s decoration, embroidered with silver dragons with black beaded buttons carved in the shape of dragon head clasps running down the front.

“Hasn’t Mother decided that you should remain here to entertain all those ladies?” Helaena asked, their arms linked as they headed to the main tent. Ahead of them, Alicent Hightower was resplendent in a warm cloak of the deepest verdant green lined in black fur, her gown not one for riding or hunting, but far more comfortable for the outdoors. It lacked excessive ornamentation, the black and green skirts swirling around the tops of her own boots. Her hair was much like Helaena’s, wound in a braided crown about her head. Lady Fossoway was a half step behind her with Ser Criston as they always were, with the rest of the ladies trailing after like a gaggle of geese.

“We’re doing the receiving line,” Abby said, the fingers of her free hand fidgeting against the fall of her jacket. “Aegon’s receiving his gifts and then we’ll have congratulations on the betrothal.” She flexed her fingers, the soft leather of her gloves creaking slightly with the movement. They were lined with soft fur, luxurious, indulgent, and while she was certainly never dressed in rags before, it was rare to accept and let herself have new things when they often felt so unnecessary.

It was a new feeling to be excited about the new clothes that she had, more sumptuous than what would normally be allowed at her station.

Wylla joined them as they passed into the pavilion, warm from the braziers placed strategically about the place, each guarded by a cage of decorative wrought iron to prevent unfortunate accidents. On one end of the great tent, a small dias with a simple, dark wood throne, crested with a dragon, wings spread in welcome.

It was the King’s chair, but the king was not here.

“Are we to accompany you while you receive them?” Wylla asked. Her long hair was bound tightly back and wrapped in a coiling knot along the back of her head. Her padded black jerkin clung to her over a long tunic of gray, black riding trousers tucked into a pair of matching boots. Like Baela, she was dressed for a day in the wilderness without the cumbersome dealing with skirts.

“You look nice,” Abby told her with a small smile. “Not quite the Wildling I heard rumor of,” she teased and Wylla snorted.

“It’s a hunt and the opportunity to ride and get the fresh air. We’ll be going hawking while the men go to shove their pricky things into…” She trailed off with a twist of her mouth, the small scar along her top lip pulling at it. “Men waving around their big pointy things.”

“In a far more acceptable manner than what it implies,” Abby added on, giggling at the silly implications of it all. “And yes, I think you should. We’re receiving gifts, so you best take Desmara and Lythene with you to Lady Fossoway for instruction.”

“And then we’ll go hawking,” Wylla said with a nod.

“I have to stay here,” Abby corrected with a shake of her head. “It is my duty to entertain with her Grace.”

The northerner’s brow furrowed and both of them looked in the direction of the queen, her cloak handed off to a servant while she spoke with Lady Johanna. Wylla shifted beside her and Abby could feel the questions and arguments flitting beneath her friend’s skin. She rested a gloved hand on her shoulder, giving her a squeeze. “As I told Aegon, these are some of our new duties, no matter how dull they seem to be. Hopefully there’ll be time for me to go exploring later.” Hopefully. Abby loved exploring the Kingswood, and she’d been looking forward to going hawking, even if she did not particularly hawk herself. However, fun and indulgence could not be had in favor of duty and responsibility.

No matter how much she craved the freedom of it.

Wylla gave her a long look, teeth biting at her lip before she nodded and getured for Lythene and Desmara to follow her. Helaena had already left with Margaery and Floris and Abby was left standing alone, for the moment, amidst the steady flow of nobility pouring in for refreshment and talk. Alone, Abby was relatively unnoticed. Just a small girl in the midst of a crowd, no crown on her head to shout out who she was.

“Abrogail.”

Larys was taller than most people realized, for he did everything he could to make himself small. Few knew that Larys was as tall as Harwin had been, for her elder brother preferred to have such a small cane, to shrink himself into spaces where he could slip in. It was strange, Abby realized, that she had never noticed that it was a trait she shared with him. No desire to be the center of attention, no desire to be noticed, both for their own reasons.

The smile he gave her was an awkward twitch, but Abby noticed that it did reach his eyes, which was a rare thing, and she found herself returning it. Small and shy, perhaps, as if she were still the somewhat muddy little girl she’d been who he’d look at curiously across the breakfast table in the family solar.

He was subdued in a quilted doublet of the same deep azure and brown leather, his cloak a dark green-blue to match, clasped at the shoulder with a firefly broach. She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow of his free arm, languidly walking toward a clutch of plump seating not far from the currently empty dais. The smell of cooking food caught on the woodsmoke in the air, and Abby’s stomach rumbled with hunger. They’d only had some fresh bread and cheese on the ride over, and the idea of warm, spiced pumpkin soup and a turkey leg the size of her own face was rather appealing.

“You’ve conducted yourself quite admirably under all the attention as of late, little sister,” Larys complimented, taking a seat on one of the padded benches. She perched beside him, smiling her thanks at the servant who came by with mugs of hot, mulled wine. She inhaled the scent of orange and lemon, the warmth of cinnamon before taking a sip. “Even with your, shall I say, antics at the tourney, they were quite well received.”

“Antics?” she asked lightly, feeling the curl of heat spread across her chest. There was no way for Larys to know what sort of other antics they’d gotten up to. The bite Aegon had left along her shoulder had turned bruised and tender, the imprint of his teeth still deep in her soft flesh. That mark was quite well hidden beneath her jacket and shirt beneath.

Larys only hummed and took a sip of his drink. “The other lords have expressed concern at my choice of husband for you, but I have assured them there is no reason to fret. I simply wanted my sister to be cared for and happy.” He gave her a sidelong look, placid expression barely shifting, his dark eyes large and innocent in his expression. “And everyone can clearly see how happy you two make one another. The queen…” he trailed off with a sigh, “has not quite been pleased but…”

Abby looked down at the deep purple-red wine swirling in the silver goblet. Anxiety prickled through her, confusion at her brother’s attempt, it seemed, to try to bond with her on something more personal. “Her Grace has been very indulgent,” she said softly, mouth twitching into an awkward smile that her brother returned. He inclined his head towards her only just.

“We both understand how passionate the queen’s frustrations can run, little sister,” he said softly, the scent of him cold and clean, like a tomb. Abby blinked, the awkward smile falling from her face. Her throat bobbed, the sting of bile in the back of her throat was almost painful. Had the queen told him what had occurred? Or had Larys, with his strange talents, found out what happened himself. “You will not be her ward for much longer. I imagine, like any mother, she is feeling the maternal ache over the loss of her son to his wife, and the loss of you, who is like a daughter to her.”

“Perhaps,” she allowed, busying herself with another sip of wine so she might find the words. They were receiving glances from the bustling court as they found their places, platters and great soup tureens being set out along the tables. Her stomach growled again. “She was quite concerned about… the dishonor I would bring upon the royal family.” Her voice was little more than a shamed whisper and the insinuation was as painful as the day she’d been accused when coupled with Ser Edmund’s harsh words in the gardens. She straightened her shoulders, trying to push past the hurt and shame that lingered still, tilting her chin up, refusing to be cowed. “Apparently some of the other lords are quite concerned about your heir marrying into House Targaryen.” She smiled at the passing servant, plucking a small apple tart off the platter he held. “I have made my own assurances that our children will be raised in the customs of our people, that regardless of dragon blood, we are the Riverlands.” Whether or not Edmund Vance believed her, if he mocked her to those he could find for such statements, well, she could do nothing about that. She could only mind herself.

“It will be a hard road, Abrogail, given that they do not see you as one of them. Lo, they barely see me as one of them, what with all my work here,” Larys said with a nod, looking at the cake he’d plucked for himself. “What matters is that you greatly impressed Lord Tully, and his son has been amenable and welcoming-”

“I may not have grown up in the Riverlands but even I know there’s only so much influence they have,” Abby cut in, chewing her lip after the words tumbled from her, her voice a soft, biting thing. Larys said nothing to that while he chewed on a bite of cake, and she shifted slightly in her seat and took another sip of wine. “It will not be a smooth transition, not for all. A prince? Becoming vassal to a mere lord?”

“Prince Daemon was Lord of Runestone through the dear, late Lady Rhea,” he reminded her after swallowing. “I don’t recall any such problems between him and the Lady Arryn.”

“Jeyne Arryn was kin to his goodsister,” she retorted. She had spent countless hours in the library with Aemond, taking meticulous notes of the lessons the boys had that her and Helaena did not. Part of that involved wiling away a week of stormy, frigid weather, tracing out the family trees of the Great Houses. The Targaryens rarely married out, even before King Jaehaerys, but there had been Aemon and Daella to houses Baratheon and Arryn, and Queen Aemma’s siblings and half-siblings. She’d even traced her own tree: Harwin’s mother, Lysa, had been Lord Elmo’s sister. Larys and Corynna’s mother had been a Frey. Abby’s mother had been a Westerlander, already outside, already suspicious of the clannish houses of her homeland. “And if all the mutterings and murmurings are true, he cared as little and less for them as they did for him.”

She’d heard the rumors of Daemon being responsible for his first wife’s death, and the occasional muttering that he was responsible for Laena Velaryon as well, but in the past few days being with the mercurial Baela, she did not think that was the case. Abby looked back at her brother again, briefly, before smiling in greeting as Lady Redwyne and her sister settled nearby. The queen had sat on the opposite end of the circle of seating, the corral of it split evenly between the pair of them. Her shoulders slumped minutely and she kept her genial smile as the older women settled in.

Laughter caught her attention, Helaena and Baela both with shaking shoulders near the pavilion entrance as other girls joined them. They would be going hawking soon. The sun caught upon Helaena and Baela’s silver heads, giving them a golden shine. A sigh caught in her throat. How nice it would be to join them, to frolic in the lack of responsibility.

Larys shifted, still sitting at her right hand as the rest of the guests filtered in, and her attention drew back to him. “Ah, yes, the princesses and the other ladies are going hawking. Did your grandfather not gift you a new hawk for your engagement?”

Lord Rodrik had indeed. Abby had hawked some when she was a little girl at one of the hunts for Princess Rhaenyra’s nameday, but had never had a one of her own. But Lord Rodrik and her Reyne family were prodigious hawkers and the beautiful Peregrine she’d named Caelus was a little wonder. He’d been trained by her cousin, Emrik, who had fancied himself a falconer, and had sent a kind letter that she was quick to return. Letters had been rare over the years, but there’d always been well wishes and tidings on her nameday.

“He did, and I know we brought him. The queen…” Abby trailed off, her eyes darting to the other side of the tent where Queen Alicent was smiling at the younger Lady Redwyne. “She said that it was our duty to host while Aegon goes hunting. That it’s my duty. To make friends, to comport myself as the future princess.”

“Oh, did she?” Larys asked mildly, cocking his head to the side and leaning on his cane. “Yes, I can see what she would want that. It was, after all, what has been expected of her when she was your age, already with two children. She had far more in common with the matrons of the court at that point. You are here when others who should be are not.”

Rhaenyra should be here. She was the King’s eldest, his heir. Discomfort prickled along Abby’s spine, a latent spike of anger at the woman who had put her family in danger, hurt at how quickly Rhaenyra had moved to Daemon Targaryen after what happened to Harwin. Her fingers curled against her knees before she forced them to relax and stretch. The Crown Princess had always been kind to her, but could Abby even trust that? After what happened at Driftmark, and what happened to her family?

Alone now, save for Larys.

‘Not alone anymore’, she immediately reminded herself, because Aegon was with her now; Helaena and Aemond cared for her too. They too were her family. Not alone, for she had her grandfather and he loved her truly. Yet, she had felt this loneliness for so long. Rhaenyra was not responsible for her loneliness, but in many ways she felt it keenly. It felt as if everything changed because of her.

This marriage, Alicent’s desire for control, Lord Otto’s keen and watchful eye were because of Rhaenyra. Aegon’s pain was because of Rhaenyra.

Her father and brother were dead and gone because of Rhaenyra.

“I am here when others are not,” she said softly, eyes watching those who watched her, her smile flashing as she murmured her greetings as the ladies began to gossip. Larys was murmuring his own greetings to Lord Piper’s wife, complimenting her on the recent betrothal for her son. Abby��s gaze darted towards the front of the tent, where the girls were still gathered as they prepared to go off for their own little adventures.

Alicent Hightower made sure she was there. She made sure that people saw her as queen, someone to be trusted and counted on, someone that could be reached. She was here, as Abby was here.

“If the Targaryens mean to exercise power in our realm, they will be in for a rude awakening.”

Abby was not queen. She wasn’t certain what that future held, but she did know, with certainty, that she was the future Lady of Harrenhal, and that Lythene Ryger, Melony Piper, even Sarra Frey who was lingering nervously with a goblet in hand, they too would be future ladies of houses that she needed to be friends with. Abby could not just rely on the fact that she held the title, not when she did not grow up in her home, not when people like Edmund Vance were so eager to tell her that it didn’t matter, they would see what they wished.

“Lady Sarra,” Abby called, rising with a smile and handing over her goblet. She could feel Alicent’s eyes on her, and that over the other ladies. “I did not have the opportunity to speak with you at the feast last night. Pray, will you join me and the others out hawking?”

Sarra Frey was a tall girl, broad shouldered with high cheekbones and dark hair bound in a twist of three braids down her back. She wore a simple but lovely jacket of deep blue and silver, the colors of her house. At being addressed, she straightened up, green eyes wide with surprise at being noticed. They narrowed slightly, mouth parting before closing. A flush crept across her cheeks.

“I don’t have a hawk with me, Lady Abrogail,” she said softly. At her full height, she was as tall as Aemond, more softly spoken than her severe expression might have said. Abby smiled.

“That is quite fine, there are plenty to go around.” Sarra nodded, handing off her goblet to one of the passing servants and Abby looped her arms through hers and tugged her towards the others. “My legs are exhausted from that carriage ride, shall we go?”

Even Baela’s mask of judgment faded as they walked towards the edge of camp where the Master of the Mews was minding the hawks and preparing to move out further from camp. She was stuck between Helaena and Wylla, the princess’ silver head shining beneath the sun. Lythene was laughing with the Crane twins and even Sarra was pulled into conversation with Zara Celitgar, who was eyeing the tall Frey girl appreciatively.

“Are we not taking a carriage?” Margaery Crane asked as Helaena led the way past the line of them set aside for their later return.

“It is not a far walk,” Abby assured her. “And it’s nice to stretch our legs after all that sitting.” She nodded towards the Master of the Mews and his apprentices carting the hawks ahead of them. Margaery hummed in agreement, confusion placated, and Abby was set to continue onto another subject when there was a commotion from behind them. She looked over her shoulder to see Cassandra Baratheon striding behind them.

“You all left so quickly!” she announced, censure and jovial all rolled into her crisp tone. A slight smirk crossed her sharp features as they approached. Among the three ladies that accompanied her, Lady Elinor kept close at her side. Cassandra’s dark eyes swept over Abby as they drew closer, and she felt picked apart by the gaze, something sharp stabbing between her ribs at the continued haughtiness of the eldest Storm. Abby straightened, offering her own wan smile. Like hell would Cassandra set foot into Harrenhal, but this?

This she needed to be easy with; this she could allow.

“Of course, Lady Cassandra,” she said. “We would be happy to have you.” Helaena made a soft sound that Abby ignored but felt deeply. Her eyes flitted to Lady Elinor at Cassandra’s shoulder, giving her a warmer look. It was her family’s strawberry wine that had been highly spoken about over the course of the festivities, and Elinor’s responding smile was kinder.

“Congratulations are in order, Lady Abrogail,” Lady Elinor murmured. Cassandra’s eyes tightened, her smile frozen on her face.

“Yes, congratulations on your coming nuptials,” she parroted, smoothing her kidskin gloves over the fall of her woolen hunting jacket. “How comforting it must be to wed one’s childhood playmate. No surprises or excitement to worry about.”

The words were harmless enough, but the barb beneath them was clear. Abby tilted her head slightly, her own smile still on her face. She opened her mouth to speak, but it was Baela who spoke, angling her head between Wylla and Helaena to peer at her cousin.

“Not to mention wedding a childhood playmate means there’s no barrier to intimacy, and no secrets kept,” she said, then bit into the apple she had in hand. “Now let’s fucking move before I start hunting with my bare hands.”

Helaena was meant to be in bed but sleep eluded her. She waved away the maids and headed out into the night toward the great bonfire in the center of camp. There was no danger here, much like there was no need to fear in the Holdfast. Her slippers grew wet after only moments, the night dew soaking into the soft fabric and chilling her toes.

She wanted to dance around the fire, stare into the flames like she heard the Red Priestesses did, and wonder to herself if her dreams would make more sense then. Aemond said she was touched as Daenys was, a gift precious to their Targaryen line. It helped ease the fearful strangeness to know that her strange dreams were not simply the ‘odd workings of an overactive imagination.’ That they did mean something, but what? Helaena was never certain. Sometimes she never knew the outcome, other times they became starkly clear.

‘He’ll have to lose an eye’.

“Would you care for some company?” came a low, curious voice, a slight crack on the last word. She looked over to see Jace lingering at the edge of the firelight, his jerkin long discarded with just his gray linen shirt and trousers, a dark blue cape wrapped around him. The bright flames danced in his lavender eyes, giving them a shade of deep purple-red she found curious indeed. Did her own look the same?

“You’re not gallivanting with the boys?” Helaena asked, not meaning anything by it until the words hung in the air, and Jace’s gaze glanced to what he held in his hands. The only ‘boys’ for him to gallivant with were her brothers. Of course there were other lordlings about, but given that Jace was lingering around the bonfire caused her to wonder if he too liked the quiet.

Or if he were lonely.

“I didn’t want to…” Jace trailed off, rubbing his thumb over whatever he held in his hand. The motion of it reminded her so strongly of Abby, Helaena didn’t know how she was supposed to process it. The curl of unease and her mother’s frustration and anger coated her insides. Her own frustrations, deeply buried but still there, like the ever smoking fires of the Dragonmont, bubbled and burbled in response. The king who loved Jace more, loved him like he loved Rhaenyra more. The blind man who ignored Aemond’s nameday even though it had just happened, who only thought of Aegon’s day because of everything that happened.

The dead look in Mother’s eyes that was more and more frequent, when she stared out the window of her solar, her hands twisted and knotted into her skirts. The things that Sire-Father had done to her for no reason except his own dragon feelings, Helaena thought. His need for more and more, consuming him the way the anger would consume Aemond, and the drink would consume Aegon.

All of them pinned to boards in the king’s Freehold miniature; all of them frozen and set on display in his own gallery, for him to take down from time to time to play with.

The burst of a log in the fire startled her and Helaena realized, uncomfortably, that she’d been staring, vacantly, at Jacaerys, who was watching her, still as water, quiet as an orb weaver. He watched her, the fire throwing orange and red across his fine features, catching at the warm red in his dark, dark hair. His right eye was a sheen of red from the fire, his left cast in shadow. Half fire.

Her right side was chilled, when her left was so warm, mirrors of each other.

Half fire.

Jace held out his hand, palm open, offering to her the smooth stone that he had been fiddling with. The ridges of the sea creature who died in it caught upon the light, throwing its own little shadow as it was unable to in life, living in the sea as it did. Only now, in his hand, had this creature found warmth and light.

Helaena reached for it, her hot fingers scraping against his as she took it, feeling his own hot skin beneath her touch.

Half fire.

‘But I am full flame,’’ Heleane thought, for she was dragonflame and lighthouse flame. Lighting the way with fire in her wake. Jace was fire, yes, but he was river water, the way it rippled through him. Still and steady, but crashing and flooding with the ferocity of a dragon’s power. ‘Would this be what her nieces and nephews be?’ Is this what a union of fire and water entailed? Deadly and quiet, steady when they were full of heat and flame.

She rubbed her thumb over the fossilized creature and it felt pleasant against her skin. Soothing, tactile. Grounding. “Thank you,” she said softly and Jace smiled at her. “Pity it’s not another marchpane tentacle.” He laughed, a soft sound that sounded like water over stones and they came to sit on the bench. She shoved her feet closer to the flame and watched the steam rise from the fabric from how hot it was. There was a few inches between them, the warmth emanating, and they sat together, no words spoken. These were her favorite moments, ones she missed. It scraped at her insides, like pushing dirt away from the stone so she could find the worms beneath. They were the memories of the gardens in childhood, Jace beside her, mud and damp soaked into his knees, helping her push the rock up to find the pill bugs and the beetles and the centipedes in the dark, damp earth.

“It was nice to dance with you at the feast,” he ventured, and Helaena looked at him, the shadow along his jaw where he’d wake up fuzzy and prickly in the morning. She reached up to rub the back of her fingers against his jaw, looking at the slight pout of his mouth, the dark fan of his eyelashes. Freckles faint against his skin.

“You're a good dancer. I should know, I’m a good dancer myself.” She smiled at him and he shook his head, a flush on his face and she felt her own spread across her cheeks. He scraped the toe of his boot in the dirt and she nudged her foot against his. He was familiar, in the way Aemond was, but he was new in the way Warren had been. Someone she knew, but didn’t. He wasn’t angry, and he wasn’t pushing and probing at her, looking for a bruise to elicit feelings from, or the thrill of a princess. He didn’t look at her like she was odd, or startle at her staring, her distant sight.

Jace was simply patient, and he waited, and did not seek to chatter. It was new, it was old, it was like pressing against the ground and the dirt giving way, a little tunnel inside that one didn’t know was there, and Jace peered in and made his way inside. A dragon roosting in a cave.

His knee bumped against hers and she looked at him, their matching lavender eyes meeting. It was nice, Helaena thought, that they had this piece to share. Like two different butterflies, different colors and different patterns, but the markings were the same. The wings were the same. Simply… different.

“The mint winds and chokes like ivy,” she said, instead of what she meant to say, which was asking him if he would come looking for stag beetles with her the next day. “The children can’t breathe, it’s bursting from their mouths.” She blinked, startled, but the words that she had not known, had not meant to utter, remained heavy between them. “I-.”

He blinked back at her, brow furrowed. “Helaena, are you-”

A horrible scream ripped through camp and for the briefest moment, Helaena thought it might have been a fox shriek. But this was too loud, too close. Another scream, this time two high pitched ones and then a guttural yell. Jace’s hand gripped hers, pulling her to her feet and away from the fire. She tugged at his hold to move towards the commotion, but he tugged her back. “I’m taking you back to your tent, Helaena,” he said firmly. “We don’t know what’s- Ow!”

She had lifted their hands, sinking her teeth into the plump flesh at the back of his thumb so he’d let go and hurried towards the tents without a second glance, knowing that he’d be following her. She gripped her skirts, grateful for the warmth of Jace’s cloak around her shoulders and her heart sank, panic seizing her chest when she realized it was Abrogail’s tent that was the source of the screaming.

Three of the Kingsguard, including Ser Criston, were already there, as were the gold cloaks that had been patrolling around the outskirts of camp. Their cloaks reminded her of Sunfyre’s scales in all the torchlight, and half-dressed nobility coming out of their tents, bleary eyed in confusion.

On the ground lay a servant with a blade in his chest, blood burbling from his mouth. Helaena looked at him, wide-eyed, Jace trying to get her to look away, and her gaze went up to Wylla Karstark. The northerner was shaking, gray eyes wide as dinner plates, her hair bound for bed, her dressing gown haphazard and sprayed with blood from where the man must have coughed it at her.

“He-he came in. He was on Abby so quickly-”

“I don’t know where he came from!” Abby’s trembling frame was right behind her, clutching one of the pokers from the tent brazier in her hands, still ready to strike. Her curls were twisted and wrapped around the crown of her head, shivering in the night air in just her own nightgown, sleep mussed and clearly straight from bed. “I don’t…” She gulped. “I don’t think he meant Wylla to b-be there.” Her free hand was gripping the back of Wylla’s dressing gown, and Ser Criston laid a hand on Abby’s shoulder.

“Give me the poker, Lady Abrogail,” he was saying in a calm, steady voice like he did when Helaena was younger, cowering in a corner and unable to flee the commotion. “There’s a girl.”

Harrion Karstark was shouting his sister’s name, just as Uncle Gwayne was calling hers. Helaena turned her head to see him coming up, half dressed with his sword belt slung over his shoulder. He reached for her shoulder, tugging her back. “What is the meaning of this?” he shouted, and Helaena stumbled back into Jace as the crowd parted.

Then, Aegon’s shout of, “Abby!” came crashing over the gathering crowd, pushing his way through with Aemond at his back. She caught her younger brother’s frantic look, seeing the worry ease somewhat at the sight of her before going over to the girls. Abby surrendered the brazier poker as Aegon reached her, frantic over the state of her, pulling his cloak off to wrap around her, fear and fury warring on his flushed features. “What happened?”

The man on the ground was rasping, wheezing, but it was hard to tell if he was alive or not, or if this was how his body signaled death.

“This man came to attack Lady Abrogail, Your Grace,” Ser Erryk said. “Lady Wylla got him good.” His twin nudged the attacker with the tip of his boot as Aemond looked at the man, then at Wylla. His face was carved in hard lines, but his gaze was softened.

“Did you throw it?” he asked. “Or did you pounce on him?”

Wylla blinked, her brother’s broad hands holding her shoulders. “I stabbed him.” Her voice was faint and she took the blade handle, clutching it to her. “He… I was putting away our dresses and there was a commotion… I thought…” Wylla’s brow furrowed, shaking her head. “He came in through the flap beside the bed and crawled o-on top of her. Abby screamed and I just…”

Harrion’s hands tightened on his sister’s shoulders and the girl fell silent with a soft squeak. Aemond’s mouth pursed and he knelt beside the man. His hair fell in a curtain, the band of his eye-patch not holding it back from the vantage that Helaena had. He reached down, and twisted the blade, a wet crack sounding in the sudden hushed anticipation. The wheezing sounds the man was making tapered off as Aemond pulled the blade from his body.

It squelched, a gout of blood spraying, and a strange, hissing sound like wind through a crack sounded. Aemond jerked back as some of the blood caught on the ends of his hair and he rose slowly, wiping the blade of the dagger. “Well he’s dead now, Lady Wylla. Your bravery and quick thinking is to be commended. House Karstark should be proud to have such a brave daughter.” He handed her the dagger, hilt towards her. “Keep this close, since you can be well trusted to use it.”

Wylla’s brother held her tightly as the gold cloaks hoisted the dead man between the pair of them, dragging him somewhere.

“I was half asleep,” Abby said. Aegon clutched her to his chest as his gaze swept darkly around, hands rubbing her arms. “At first I th-thought it was Wylla…” Helaena watched Abby’s hand clutch Aegon’s arm tighter, her voice falling silent. Her other hand reached towards Wylla again, the girls clinging tightly to one another.

“How the fuck did that bastard manage to sneak into my lady’s tent?” Aegon demanded, his voice not a shout like Uncle Gwayne’s had been, but more of a warning growl, like Sunfyre. “Where were the patrols, Ser Criston?”

Their mother’s protector - and Helaena realized that Mother was not there and that Ser Criston must have commanded her to stay in her own tent - shifted only slightly. “The patrols largely keep around the outside of camp to keep people from getting in, my Prince. The patrol that was walking through the tents had not made it back around yet.”

Aegon’s jaw ticked, assessing what Ser Criston had said and knowing it to be true. Helaena knew that Aegon and the others had been lingering in Aegon and Aemond’s tent for whatever gossip and giggling boys got up to in the middle of the night.

“Lady Abrogail and Lady Wylla will share my tent,” Helaena broke in, for she was the princess, and her mother was not here. “And we will have extra guards stationed around our tents, so that our Kingsguard are not stretched thin.” She straightened her shoulders and closed the distance between her and the girls. “This is enough horrible commotion for this night, and you should all be ashamed of yourselves for staring so,” she said, frowning at the crowd that had gathered. “These ladies have been terrorized, and you gawk at them. To bed, everyone! Let us gather your things and get you cleaned up.” The last was said to Wylla, who needed a fresh gown and the blood cleaned from her face.

And like the princess she was, she did not wait to be obeyed, reaching for Abby’s hand to pull her toward her tent.

Thank you for being here! If you loved this chapter, please give a reblog and I would adore hearing what you thought about the chapter! What did you think about the Larys and Abby convo? Baela Targaryen continues to be a force to be reckoned with. I for one love the ladies that Helaena and Abby have been gathering around them. Man what was UP with that attack at the end? And also, Jace clearly doesn't mind Helaena biting him. Good.

Next Chapter

#hotd fic #hotd oc #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x oc #aegon ii targaryen fic #house of the dragon #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd fandom #house targaryen fanfic #jacelaena #my fics #oc: abrogail strong #otp: do not go far from me #aegon x abby #abrogon

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dreamweaversfavsandthoughs · 7 months

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Rick and Morty S7 Ep. 2: The Jerrick Trap

(Not Rick, not Jerry, but some secret third thing)

Spoiler alert ahead!

My Favs

The new voice actors:

I wanted to bring this up again because I think that Ian Cardoni has really evolved into his role as the new voice actor for Rick. It’s really hard to believe that Cardoni has only had this job for about month or two but is already playing this character like he’s been there since the beginning. It didn’t once cross my mind during this episode that I was not listening to Justin Roiland anymore. Harry Belden’s Morty sounds like a nice blend of Roiland’s Season 1 and Season 6 performance of that character.

Freaky Friday:

I appreciate that they didn’t do a clean body-swap but gave RickBody and JerryBody an amalgamation of the two minds in conflict with each other, but then evolving over the course of the episode into someones (or something) with its own identity.

Chuxly:

I kinda have a soft spot for Chuxly. He’s just a mid-tier criminal who’s trying not to cause any unnecessary trouble. He doesn’t need any incompetent goons kidnapping the precious grandson of the most dangerous man in the universe and he’ll kiss as much ass as he can until his lips are ass-colored.

Your dad’s a gay assassin?:

It’s a spectrum

Conehead missle:

So gross but RickBody looked so happy! Also I get why RickBody and JerryBody would like that movie because it is so dumb and so weird in a good way.

Burger and Fries!

God I love their cute name for each other! Also, am I the only person who found them snorting crystals together as they remember their love for Morty weirdly endearing.

Rick and Jerry’s half-assed note to the family:

But they wrote a novel for Gene

Do you hear the symphony of atoms dying in space?:

I don’t blame Summer for wanting to listen to a podcast. I would want to distract myself from whatever that is driving the car.

The Stupid Rake Gag:

This joke is older than God herself and in hindsight I should have seen this coming. The inciting incident was due to Gene stealing a rake. It was all laid out for this to happen but it was so cleverly concealed until it happened that I was absolutely taken off-guard. God I love that Jerry and Rick were rescued from their monstrous Jerricky form by a corny rake gag.

Rick and Jerry care about each other. They really do!

Though they’ll never admit it.

Memory Rick!

He’s alive and well and kept Rick and Jerry from completely losing their minds to Jerricky. Sadly, he might be stuck in Jerry’s mind for awhile unless he can make use of springs and gears and only springs and gears. I imagine there’s going be an episode in the future about his escape.

My Not Favs:

Jerricky:

He will haunt my dreams until my dying breath in which he will then greet me at the gates of Hell where he will orchestrate my torture for all eternity and a day. Personally, I wasn’t a huge fan of Jerricky and the final fight with him and why did they give it a six-pack? Neither Jerry or Rick have a six-pack. Who do they think they’re fooling?

Rick’s mind was a bit overpowering:

Maybe this is because Rick is a character with such a big personality but I felt like the aspects that could be Jerry was a bit drowned out. RickBody and JerryBody acted mostly like Rick with sprinkles of Jerry rather than an even mix of the two.

A criminal lack of Morty:

Morty (or should I say, Rick Jr.) maybe turning into a little criminal but I would like to have some more screen time with him. There’re eight more episodes left so I’m not too worried about this but I think Morty is a little underutilized for a character who has some great story potential (and his name is in the title of the show). However, I’m glad we got to see more of him compared to the last episode. He is getting so confident and not waiting around for his grandpa/dad and dad/grandpa to get himself out of trouble.

My Thoughts:

I love myself a Rick and Jerry team-up episode and this episode was no different. Rick and Jerry may never admit it, but they are more alike than different and their minds meld well together ( as long as they don’t make a Jerricky). The Rick/Jerry dynamic has always been rife with conflict since the first episode when Jerry tried to convince Beth to put Rick in a nursing home because Rick pulled Morty out of school, repeatedly, behind their backs. In a sweet moment in the middle of the episode we hear them admit that Rick doesn’t believe Jerry is useless and that Jerry sees Rick as a friend. By the end of the episode, they are back to bickering at each other again but we know as an audience that it comes from a place of love for each other and their love for Summer, Morty and Daughterwife. This episode, in my mind, was much stronger than last week’s and oh so weird in the best possible way, except for maybe Jerricky. Jerricky was the weakest part of the episode with the fight scene being a bit lackluster for an otherwise bonkers episode. Though that rake gag killed me. They really did just sneak that in and thought I wouldn’t notice, which I didn’t so good job on their part. It absolutely felt like a classic Rick and Morty episode and I hope each episode continues getting better and better. Also, it was nice seeing Memory Rick again and,

“Yeah, Memory Rick, Rick totally got rid of you on purpose.”

#rick and morty #rick and morty season 7 #rnm #rick and morty spoilers #rick sanchez #jerry smith #morty smith #summer smith #beth smith #the jerrick trap

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fic-over-cannon · 4 months

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1000% projecting here but I can’t stop thinking about Jason with a troubled relationship to religion.

Jason doubted God when he watched his mom’s health decline. Jason was dragged to a church to attend Bruce’s cousin’s wedding and hated every second of the ceremony, not because of the suit, but because of the priest’s words. Jason prayed for the first time in years only seconds before his death. Jason’s first thought coming out of the Lazarus pit was Scripture, maybe thinking about the story of Lazarus and hoping against hope that Bruce would be right there to welcome him back to life. Jason barely contains his anger when someone tries to hand him a church pamphlet that talks about life after death and salvation. Because Jason knows what death is like and these people don’t.

Also, the internal struggle he would have between the dogma stuck in his brain and the blood on his hands. And maybe he never says it out loud, but his motivation is to cleanse Gotham of her sinners.

Anyway, I‘m really sorry if this just sounds like trauma dumping or is incoherent!!! This headcanon was proudly sponsored by my evangelical family. I don’t hate Christians/Christianity, I just like to rub salt into my own wounds.

oh i agree nonny! i think that with all of his life (and death) experiences, jason has such a complicated relationship with religion. i don’t know why, but i always head canon that Catherine was a catholic, and so for the first few years of his life, Jason was too. Every Sunday she’d take him to mass, and if there was the money for it Jason would get a sweet or a hot drink after as a reward for sitting through the service. It’s the image of his mother in her church dress, smiling down at him over a cup of coffee that haunts him the most when addiction changes her. He watches his father never come back no matter how many times his mother prays for it, her fingers worrying the beads of her rosary. The weekly visits to church slow, then stop. Meals don’t start with grace anymore, they hardly share meals at all towards the end. Jason steals Catherine’s rosary from where it’s abandoned at the back of her dresser, starts praying for his mother to get better, that he’ll do anything if God will help her. It’s the first thing he ever steals. Catherine dies, and so do Jason’s prayers.

On the streets, the rosary is the one thing of her’s that he’s able to cling to. He tried to go back once, the the church that he used to go to with his mom. Father O’Shaughnessy tells him that his loss of faith is a test, that it’s all part of God’s plan. Jason’s faith in religion and humanity continue to fracture. On newsstands and through apartment windows, he sees the rich and corrupt warm, well-fed, and sheltered to an excess that makes him sick. His whole neighbourhood forgotten, the risk of being out on the streets growing along with the crime rate.

The only time time Bruce makes Jason attend church, it’s for a wedding. The Wayne cousin isn’t catholic, but the ritual of it, the kneeling and the prayers and the songs, they make something itch uncomfortably in his head. It’s a recognition and a rejection. Bruce never makes him go back.

Jason discovers Sheila, and for a second he thinks that God must be laughing at him. There’s his mom, alive and well, only it’s the wrong mother. His last thought before death is Hail Mary full of grace. He comes to, gasping for air in a new body and a year later. The dead man came out and the grave clothes were removed, but the one who called him back was not his father.

Jason returns to Gotham, to Crime Alley, and visits his old haunts. He stands outside the church his mother used to take him to, and can’t force himself to go inside. There’s two women standing outside, handing out pamphlets for the next mass. One of them approaches him with words of God’s love on her tongue and it is all he can do not to rip it out of her. There is no eternal life except this one that won’t leave him. If there’s an afterlife then it’s one he can’t remember and if there’s life after death then he must be in hell because the monster that killed him is still breathing. Jason knows death and life and resurrection more intimately than anyone else will ever know. He does not need to be told.

Thou shalt not kill says his Heavenly and earthly fathers. Jason does, kills regularly to uphold the cause of the poor and oppressed. There’s always going to be blood on his hands, but it is done to rescue the weak and the needy. Jason may never be able to set foot in a place of worship again, but there’s some parts of scripture that still ring true in his bones. He’ll never be a good man but he can be a righteous one.

nonny may i suggest this excellent artwork of tortured catholic Jason?

#sweet words for sunnie #catholic jason todd #cw religion #character meta #jason todd my beloved #jason peter todd

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merakiui · 2 years

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[9] 𝔹𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣 & ꜱᴛᴀʀᴠᴇᴅ

yandere!xiao x (gender neutral) reader cw: modern au, yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, kidnapping/captivity, dark/obsessive thoughts, implied stockholm syndrome, brief mentions of murder/death previous chapter → [bitter & dry]

Xiao shouldn’t be alarmed by Ajax’s obnoxious way of inserting himself into everyone’s business, especially when there isn’t a single place he belongs, but this most recent curveball has left him reeling. It’s a gross feeling, one that sinks like a stone in the pit of his stomach and remains no matter what he does to rid himself of it. He can’t bother finishing the rest of his meal and is eternally grateful when Zhongli requests the bill instead of ordering dessert like Ajax suggested. Despite the afternoon sun hanging in a cloudy sky, a creeping cold has settled under his skin, fueling all of his worries with its ferocious chill.

One fact has become as transparent as the cleanest sheet of ice: Ajax is a threat he can no longer ignore—a shadow who now stands before him rather than behind.

He contemplates a variety of scenarios on the way back to the office, dull, uninterested eyes hiding a plethora of macabre thoughts. If Ajax is observant enough to keep a mental image of Xiao’s handwriting and nimble enough to swipe his grocery list when he isn’t paying attention, what else can he do? That picture he took doesn’t depict two people getting into an argument and hugging it out, and Ajax knows that. He’s intelligent—that much is obvious. If Ajax isn’t going to strike him down like any normal person would, what else will he do? What could he possibly gain from meddling in Xiao’s life like this? If he plans to tell Boss Zhongli—if he tries to use this as leverage to get closer to his secret—it will spell doom for the secret paradise he’s immersed himself in for months now.

He’ll really kill him if that happens.

“I’m heading out early.”

Xiao blinks and suddenly the once sparkling sun has dissolved into the horizon in a lapse he hardly noticed.

“Do what you must,” he mutters, eyes never leaving his computer screen. The spreadsheet glares at him with its columns and rows, data sets twinkling like analytical stars in a white space.

“It’s not healthy to overwork yourself.”

“It’s not healthy to force unnecessary suggestions on others.” The sharpness that lines his words is unintentional, but he does nothing to make that distinction clear. Xiao inhales a deep breath, holds it, and then releases it. “Just go home. You’ve done enough work for today.”

As if acting like a child is the equivalent of a long day’s labor.

Ajax leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “I was only joking. Earlier at Wanmin, I mean. I don’t really know what your handwriting’s like, nor do I have any special interest in it. I was hoping the jokes would loosen you up a little—make it more casual.”

Well, it didn’t, he wants to say.

Xiao rubs circles into his temples to ease the encroaching migraine.

“You worry too much.” He chuckles at his own remark. “Who cares if a prickly guy like you enjoys sweets? Everyone has a sweet tooth, yeah? Don’t take it to heart.”

“Sure.”

“Then are we good? I just wanted to clear that up.”

“We’re fine.”

“Cool. I’m just trying to make this internship as fun and fulfilling as possible. I hope you’ll understand as my senior.”

Xiao peers at him and for a split second he envisions twisting a wickedly sharp knife into his stomach. “I understand.”

Ajax flashes him a tiny smile. “Then I’ll be on my way. Have a good night. Don’t work too hard.”

His steps echo down the hall, growing increasingly faint until he can’t hear them anymore. And then, moments later, the distinct sound of shoes squeaking on the linoleum floor invades his ears. Ajax pokes his head back inside, his expression brightening like the windows in a haunted dollhouse.

“I almost forgot!”

Xiao raises an eyebrow.

“I’m not sure if anyone came to your office today, but they’re starting to get a headcount of everyone who’ll be attending the party at the end of the month. Boss Zhongli and I are going. You should come, too!”

“I’m not interested in parties.”

“But it’ll be a good time, and we can use it as an opportunity to get to know each other better. At least give it some thought. You never know; you might just change your mind.”

Xiao stares at the space where he once stood. Silence envelops the room.

That will never happen.

It’s half past ten when Xiao finally forces himself to stop. He shuts his monitor off, gathers his briefcase and jacket, and locks the door on his way out. As he walks down the hall, he admires the lights from other nearby buildings and it faintly reminds him of a jar with foil taped over the mouth, individual holes poked into it with a toothpick. There’s a person in every window—someone working, drinking and eating, living. All types of flavors reside in those boxes of light. There are people just like him—people going through the same daily routine. But unlike them, Xiao has a reason to endure this vicious cycle of mundanity. He has a special secret.

He carries on with his night, ignoring the illumination of hundreds of lives, and makes his way to the elevator after shutting off the rest of the lights in the office. Even if he’s overheard his coworkers complain about how creepy the building gets at night—at how empty and quiet it is—he’s found that he enjoys the peace. When the living contents of the room have been purged, he can allow himself the luxury of simple relaxation.

Crowds have never been his favorite. It was like that even when he was young. After his boss had rescued him and ensured that the horrible man would be prosecuted for his crimes, Xiao needed a lot of time and convincing to actually step foot outside again. Zhongli was patient. He never forced him—never once laid a hand on him unless Xiao was the one who came to him for physical touch. He respected his boundaries. He cared for him.

It was the beginning of spring when he finally gathered the courage to go outside. The ice had melted into reflective puddles and the flesh-numbing weather had slid away into dark, scary corners. Spring arrived with rain, comfortable temperatures, and the earthy scent of blossoming trees and growing saplings. Xiao had pressed himself against the window overlooking the fenced-in backyard, where a large ginkgo tree rose up from the ground, bare and lonely. Zhongli had approached him, a glass jar in one hand and a net in the other.

“Many creatures return to Liyue in the spring. It’s a time of rebirth and growth.” Indicating the jar with a shake, he offered Xiao a friendly smile. “Perhaps you would like to catch some insects? You can put them in this jar for observation before releasing them. How does that sound?”

Xiao turned to look at him, a single question festering in his yellow gaze.

“It’s very safe. Most butterflies native to Liyue are harmless. You’ll be all right.”

Xiao wanted to go out there, but his body wouldn’t let him. It remained rooted to the floor, and all he could do was peer helplessly out the window. He inhaled a shaky breath, steeling himself. There was a fence; he would be okay. And Zhongli would be with him.

His hands curled into determined fists. “I want to catch one for you.”

It was the first time Zhongli had ever seen an inkling of curiosity cross Xiao’s emotionless face. And for Xiao, who swung the net as if it were a weapon and stumbled through the yard with the intent to capture and release, it was the first time he had ever used his hands to cradle a beauty so fragile.

Xiao’s eyelids can barely stay open as he drags himself to the supermarket. He retrieves the crumpled list from his pocket, courtesy of Ajax’s ignorance, and scans each word. His secret’s handwriting is the only thing keeping him awake. Even the flowery doodles and incoherent scribbles are sweet. If he could, he’d have this work of art framed. It’s just too precious not to preserve.

He’s in the process of reaching for a box of cake mix when a sudden thump resounds from behind him. He pivots and immediately wishes he hadn’t.

Lying on the floor, pale-faced and sweating, is a young man with golden blond hair. Xiao blinks, rubs his eyes, and then blinks again. He looks between the man and the cake mix, as if debating which is more important, before bending down to get a closer look at him. Xiao pokes his arm, but he doesn’t stir.

“Hey.” Another poke. “Get up.”

It takes a few more insistent shakes and a louder inflection, but the boy sits up with a gasp, dizzying himself in the process. He stares at Xiao, bloodshot eyes narrowed in bewildered scrutiny.

“Am I bothering you?”

“You fell just now.”

“I did?” His eyes flick to the floor. “Huh... I guess I did.”

Is he serious? Xiao wonders, watching the man flex his fingers and then admire his surroundings. What’s up with him? He looks…not well.

Xiao rises from his spot on the ground and resumes his observation of the cake mix. It’s lemon raspberry-flavored. He’s not sure if he could tolerate such overbearing flavors, but if it’s what his secret wants he has no choice but to endure it.

“I’m sorry to ask this of you, but could you help me back to my place? It’s late and I don’t really remember the way… I hardly got any sleep last night and I’ve been putting up posters all day long. I’m exhausted.”

He stares at him, unable to determine his flavor profile. Disregarding taste, he realizes that the young man is sunshine in a polluted sky. Once bright and happy, he’s been reduced to a husk of a person—someone who has no need to keep track of things like time and health because he’s lost everything valuable in his life. He’s just a ghost in this world, gliding through each day without any purpose. Transparent and lonesome—a nobody.

Even though he wants to decline, he asks, “Do you live nearby?”

“Not exactly. If it’s out of your way, I understand. I’m just worried I’ll pass out again. I’ve been doing that a lot lately.”

“I don’t know you.”

“I’m Aether.” He offers him a strained smile. “Now you know me.”

“I’m shopping, so I can’t.”

“I can cover the fee. Consider it remuneration for bringing me home. So how about it?”

Xiao doesn’t need his charity. He shouldn’t even entertain the idea of accompanying this man, not when he’s already spent so much time away from his secret. You’re probably worried sick right now, checking the time over and over as you agonize over his whereabouts. He doesn’t want you to fret.

“I’ll even carry some of the bags.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“But I do.” Aether inhales a rattling breath and shakes his head. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be so persistent. If you don’t want to do it, it’s fine. I can find somewhere to sleep until morning comes.”

As Xiao analyzes this blotted, gloomy star, it occurs to him that he’s seen him before. In the background, taping posters to lampposts and handing them out on the street. He’s certain he saw him; otherwise he wouldn’t recall his blond hair as it’s weaved together in a messy braid.

“Fine,” he spits, scowling. “I’ll help you.”

“Thank you. Really, I mean it. I’ll make sure to pay you back for this.”

“Don’t bother. I don’t need it.”

Aether ignores the ice in his voice and instead rises to his feet on wobbling legs. He grabs the shopping cart to balance himself and then gives him a confident thumbs-up.

Wordlessly, Xiao strides down the aisle to retrieve the rest of the items on the list. Sunshine incarnate doesn’t force any unnecessary conversation and instead chooses to observe with pursed lips, which is the only blessing to come out of this troublesome situation. Xiao supposes he’d rather deal with a lost soul like Aether than face Ajax and his unpredictable behaviors. Unlike his coworker, the man before him is a stranger and he does not have any inklings about where his secret is or what they’re doing. And knowing that he’s safe in Aether’s company is so very cathartic. For now, at least.

Aether’s hopelessness reminds him of himself and the days spent in cramped solitude. He knows firsthand what it’s like to witness the world shun you, forcing you to shatter your heart and dispose of its gooey contents for the sake of survival. He would know that better than anyone else, which is why he can understand Aether’s struggle. Sort of. Although sympathizing with him won’t erase the fact that he’s clinging to him like a barnacle, it does diminish the tension in Xiao’s shoulders.

By the time he’s finished gathering everything on the list and has paid the total at the register, he’s already yearning for the comforts of home. Work is one thing, but braving both that and shopping is another challenge entirely. Thankfully Aether isn’t as talkative as Ajax, and he only ever offers conversation if it’s a hollow observation or a direction towards his place. Xiao stands beside him on the train, watching the starved man sway in and out of consciousness. Like Aether, he’s also feeling drowsy after a long day. If only he could speed time up and arrive at his destination faster, there wouldn’t be any need for useless, candy-coated daydreams.

Despite the fact that Xiao is close to his secret—he’s your friend, according to you—he’s never actually stepped foot near your apartment. He certainly hasn’t been inside either, but when Aether fumbles with the keys and trudges inside the dark space Xiao is inclined to follow. He sets the groceries down on a table and stares at the walls, each one decorated with a collage of posters, cards, and small tapestries. There is life inside this place—a variation of clashing interests and hobbies. He can’t quite tell when Aether’s flavor stops and where yours begins, but it’s a healthy balance of sweet and sunshine.

Aether, who sets the bags he had been carrying at his feet before trudging over to a weathered armchair and flopping down, notices his curious stare as he admires the photographs strung up on the walls.

“(Name) is my best friend. Or was. Um... Well, you get what I mean.” Aether sighs to himself as he turns his gaze towards the ceiling. “We just…clicked. I was looking for a roommate and so were they, and one day we just started living together.” Inhaling a deep breath, he wrings his hands. “It's really tough.”

“What happened?”

“I…don’t know. The police think they ran away, but I find that hard to believe. (Name) wasn’t the type to just…give up and leave. Nothing’s come up yet in their search, so I keep putting up posters in hopes that someone knows something. But…”

“You haven’t gotten anything,” Xiao finishes, scanning a group photo of you, Aether, and some unrecognizable faces. Other friends, most likely. Pure elation radiates from the scene and Xiao’s lips quiver slightly when he spies how bright your smile is. “That’s unfortunate.”

“Yeah… It’s kind of hard to do much when you don’t have any solid leads.” Aether sits up and retrieves a mobile phone from the round coffee table. “(Name) left something a day before their disappearance.”

He beckons for Xiao to come over and he hesitates, holding your mirth-filled stare for a moment, before shuffling towards the chair. With nimble fingers, Aether swipes to the photo album and clicks on the most recent video. Dated nearly four months ago now, it’s only a minute long and showcases his secret in what he’s certain is their bedroom.

You balance your phone for the first few seconds before sitting cross-legged on the floor. After inhaling a steeling breath, you face the camera. “For the person or people who may watch this video, I’m already gone. There’s no need to look for me. In fact, I’d be happier if you didn’t.” A sheepish laugh squeezes past your lips. “I’m disabling the password lock on my phone so this video is easier to find and I’m hoping the first one who sees it is Aether. Just know that I’m okay where I am. I’m safe and I don’t plan on coming back anytime soon.” Your eyes wander to something off-screen and for a moment you seem to be trapped in thought. Eventually, your eyes fill with light and an odd smile claws at your face. “It’ll be annoying if I’m found before everything happens, so please keep your nose out of my life from here on out. Aether, I hope you find your sister and I hope we can meet again someday. I’ll treat you to a delicious meal when that happens. I promise!”

And then you reach for the camera and the video ends.

As if broken from a trance, Xiao blinks rapidly. “Where did they go?”

A foolish question, considering he holds the answer, but he asks it only to fill the gap in the air—a cursed void of silence that continues to grow and swallow, its darkness nearly reaching Xiao’s feet. If he can’t find the right words, Aether might suspect him and then the life he so carefully cultivated will wither and die. And if that happens, he will shrivel alongside it.

“I wish I knew.” Aether holds the phone against his chest, his eyes brimming with tears. When he speaks again his voice is subdued, an intonation laced with flat defeat. “I wish I knew…”

In the corner, the shadow perches on a shelf, its head cocked as it listens. Xiao plasters a frown onto his face and moves to grab the groceries.

How well do you know your secret? it seems to ask, burning holes into Xiao with wide, beady eyes.

Xiao knows you. He knows you well. And yet when he makes these mental affirmations, his chest clenches—a significant betrayal he pushes to the corners of his mind. Silenced for now but not forgotten. Never forgotten.

“Sorry, sorry. This isn’t therapy. What am I doing, burdening you like this? My bad.” Aether pops up from the cushions like a reanimated corpse springing from its grave. He sets your phone back on the table before turning to face him. With a sniffle, he wipes his tears and asks, “You need to get back home, right? I won’t keep you any longer.”

Xiao gathers the rest of the groceries, hanging them along his arms like a family of bats, and stands at the door. Aether holds it open for him, a gentle smile turning his lips upwards. His eyes are dull, uninspired, and like Xiao he is also starved of something.

Companionship.

“Thanks for helping me. Next time we meet I hope I’ll have a clearer head.”

He nods and without another word he steps out into the frosty night. The first flecks of snow paint the sky, pure and soft. Winter is just beginning to wrap its glacial arms around Liyue. He holds his hand out and watches as snowflakes gather on his palm, dissolving as quickly as a heartbeat.

There won’t be a next time.

His door greets him as it always does: silent, motionless, and unassuming. The peephole bores into his forehead when he sets the groceries on the ground and digs his key out of his pocket. Once the key fits into the hole and the door’s pushed open, he joins the shadows in the desolate hall. Inhaling the sterile scent of home, he drags the rest of the bags inside before shutting the door and flicking on the lights.

“I’m home.”

As if on cue, you come staggering out of his room, sleep clouding your eyes. You yawn, lifting your arms up in a satisfying stretch, and he notices you’re wearing an old shirt of his. A pipevine swallowtail is printed onto the fabric, a decal with so much life and detail that it’s almost tangible.

“Welcome back!” you exclaim, grinning. When he loosens his tie and shrugs off his jacket, letting an exhausted sigh slip, you frown. “Rough day?”

“It was nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“Oh, I have the cure for bad days! Do you have your phone?” He stares at you, eyes narrowed in suspicion, before nodding slowly. “Can I see it?”

“I suppose…” He produces it from his pocket and you snatch it from him. While he slips his shoes off, you scurry into his room before coming out with something clenched in your fist. “Is there a meaning to this?”

“You’ll see.” You plop down on the sofa and pat the empty space beside you. “Come on! Sit, sit! You’ll like this.”

Xiao hesitates by the door, clutching his briefcase so tightly that his knuckles whiten. The distance between the two of you feels too far for his liking, but he forces himself to take a step forward and then another until, eventually, he’s reluctantly sitting on the soft cushions. They depress under the combined weight. You’re holding his phone in your delicate hands, which now has a headphone cord plugged into the audio jack.

“You missed the sunset, so we couldn’t do this when the sky looked pretty,” you mumble. “But it’ll still work regardless of that. Here, put your password in.”

The phone is in his hands now and he types the code in with numb fingers. He passes it to you, gazing at the serene expression on your lovely face, and his chest is overcome with a bitter, burning pain. He’s certain it’s a side effect of today’s terrible events, all mixing together with his stress to create a disgusting concoction of paranoia and irritation. Even though he’s in his safe space with his secret, there’s a niggling sense of dread that’s starting to gnaw on him. His heart is the most affected; it beats out a sullen rhythm within his ribs, a steady, sad thrum that reminds him of snowy evenings and derelict cities.

Something’s being shoved into his ear and his thoughts are abruptly curbed. He jerks away, startled, and gives you a wide-eyed look.

“It’s just an earbud.” You point to the other one in your ear. “Do you like music?”

“I…don’t know.”

“Well, have you listened to anything enjoyable? How about a specific genre or an artist you really like?”

He blinks back at you. “I don’t have one.”

Your lips part in a dramatic gasp. “Then this is going to change your life.” You type something into the search engine and scroll through the various results, humming all the while. “When I’m sad or angry, I like to listen to music. It always does the trick and there isn’t any spell required. It’s its own type of magic. You just put it on and listen. Like this.”

After you tap on the video and it loads, a soothing melody begins to play. It’s unlike anything he’s ever heard before—so pleasant and calming that it temporarily replaces all of the bad memories of his workday with fond recollections of the time he’s spent with you. Like an enchanted switch flipping, the world brightens vividly and the pain in his chest slowly dissolves into a mere itch.

“I don’t see the point of—”

“Just feel the music.” Leaning back against the sofa, you reach for his hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. “Your imagination does the rest.”

Xiao glances at the phone lying in your lap and then eyes his reflection on the blank TV screen. It returns his puzzled countenance with furrowed brows.

My imagination?

He can’t remember a time when that did him any good, but when he listens to the way each instrument complements the other he’s put at peace. It’s as if everything in the world has aligned perfectly and there is no longer any sadness. Ajax melts away into the murkiness in his head, his boss’s helpful advice blends into the piano score, and the news reports about missing people and murders become nonexistent. All of this bitterness is broken into miniature shards, brushed into a waste bin, and replaced with sweeter feelings. If this is what happiness sounds like, he’d like to hear it for the rest of his life.

Xiao’s fingers curl around yours and he grips your hand. “It’s nice,” he admits once the song reaches its conclusion. “I don’t mind it.”

“I’m glad! I used to listen to this on my way home from work and sometimes my roommate would play it when he was stressed. Music really is the panacea for sadness, isn’t it?” As if overcome with nostalgia, your eyes glaze over with a forlorn longing. “I miss him. I wonder how he’s doing.”

“He’s fine. Probably…”

It’s far from the truth, but he can’t exactly tell his secret he was inside the apartment now, can he?

“Would you ever let me see him? I don’t want him to think anything bad happened to me.”

Xiao ponders it for a moment, weighs the pros and cons of it, and then shakes his head. “I can’t do that. It’s for your safety, so I can’t…”

You can’t see anyone else. You don’t need anyone else.

“I understand. It was a close call with your boss. Maybe one day?”

“Maybe.”

“I feel bad. I kind of left him without explaining anything. His sister’s missing, too.” Darkness scrawls itself on your face and from where he sits he can just make out the beginnings of a vicious glower. But as quick as it tainted your perfect face, it dissipates and a broad smile blooms freely on your lips. You jump up from the sofa after removing the earbud and handing it to him. It’s weightless in his hand, a stiff, lifeless thing. “We should probably put the groceries away.”

“(Name).”

“Hm?” You bend down to gather the bags. “What’s up?”

Xiao stares at you.

“What?”

“It’s nothing. Forget about it.”

“Okay? You know you can tell me anything, right, Xiao?”

“Right.”

“Then don’t hold back.” You tilt your head and the shadow mirrors your actions. He’s not sure when it returned, but it’s there and it’s watching. “I’d like to know what’s on your mind. I care about you, after all.”

“How much?”

“So much.” Humming, you stalk towards the kitchen. “Come on, then. These groceries won’t put themselves away, my friend.”

“I care about you, too,” he whispers, pocketing his phone before suspicion can devour him.

So much that it’s not natural.

next chapter → [bitter & classified cream]

#yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere xiao #yandere xiao x reader #bittersweet secret #bittersweet secret chapter nine

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thisfairytalegonebad · 11 months

Text

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." Prompto & Noctis, road trip

Prompt #26 of the Love List.

Read below the cut, or on AO3 here.

Noct dismissed his broadsword in favour of one of Prompto’s guns and fired a shot, head pounding and vision swimming, he lined up for another shot - but then, the warm feeling of healing magic washed over him and his mind cleared up instantly.

Ignis, who had administered the smelling salts, was already turning away from him again, rushing towards Prompto…

…Prompto, on the muddy ground, gasping and writhing in pain. Gladio was by his side, talking to him more gently than Noct had ever heard him speak to anyone other than Iris and Rosie, his chocobo. He held both of Prompto’s arms in a firm grip, holding him down so he didn’t hurt himself further.

His right leg was bleeding profusely, blood spurting from his thigh in rhythmic bursts.

For a long moment, Noct couldn’t decipher the scene before him, couldn’t parse what had injured Prompto this badly, until his gaze fell on the cadaver of a killer wasp and it all made sense.

He had done this.

Noct had injured Prompto like this, in a bout of confusion caused by the killer wasps’ toxin.

He couldn’t move, stayed rooted to the spot and could only watch as Ignis dropped to his knees behind Prompto and pulled him flush against his chest, rubbing soothing circles into his chest and whispering gentle reassurances into his hair.

The awful noises Prompto made reminded Noct more of an injured animal than his best friend, and he already knew the sound would haunt his nightmares for weeks to come.

“Hold him still,” he heard Gladio say. "The bullet hit an artery, but it’s still inside. It needs to come out before we can use a potion.”

No time for a sedative or he’ll bleed out , was left unsaid.

Noct felt sick.

Prompto made a distressed noise and Ignis curled around him, shushing him quietly. His hand moved to stroke Prompto’s hair, repetitive, soothing motions.

“Starting now,” Gladio warned, and Ignis’ other hand came up to cover Prompto’s mouth.

Right. There were still beasts around, Noct noted distantly. If - when - Prompto screamed, they’d be alerted, and they couldn’t afford to take that risk.

And, oh, scream he did as Gladio started to dig out the bullet without hesitation. Even muffled by Ignis’ hand, Prompto’s pained cry tore through Noct’s body like lightning, shaking him to his very bones and he felt his knees go weak.

Gladio worked fast but not hurriedly, all his training in field medicine paying off. It still took him a decent amount of time to get the bullet out, all while Prompto sobbed desperately, eyes squeezed shut and head thrown back against Ignis’ shoulder

Noct wasn’t sure how long it took - realistically, it couldn’t have been more than a minute or two, but it felt like an eternity until he finally heard the tell-tale sound of a potion being shattered against Prompto’s leg.

Noct let himself sink to the ground, still unable to tear his eyes away from his friends.

Prompto’s breathing sounded harsh and he was shaking like a leaf, silent tears streaming down his face. Ignis was gentle with him, whispering reassurances into his ear that were too quiet for Noct to make out, one arm wrapped tightly around Prompto’s chest and his other hand still in his hair.

Gladio granted Prompto a few moments to catch his breath before he started prodding at his leg, quizzing him about sensation and his range of motion, which Prompto answered in a quiet, shaky voice until Gladio nodded and let go of his leg, visibly relieved.

____

They’d barely set foot into their hotel room at the Leville when Gladio clasped Noct’s shoulder and kept him from going any further.

“C’mon, let’s go get that bounty.”

It was the kind of tone that left no room for argument, and even though Noct knew it was a thinly veiled excuse to catch him alone, he nodded mutely and trudged after Gladio.

He really wasn’t in the mood for a lecture - for nearly killing Prompto, for freezing up afterwards instead of helping him - but it was foolish to hope Gladio would go easy on him.

Not that he didn’t deserve the chewing out.

Gladio didn’t try to talk to him until after they’d been paid by the tipster.

“It wasn’t your fault, y’know,” he finally said after he’d bought them both some meat skewers from a street vendor and steered Noct towards the parking lot.

“Yeah? Did you miss the part where I put a bullet into Prompto’s leg with my own hands?” Noct snapped.

“Don’t be dramatic. You weren’t in your right mind. Those damn wasps scrambled your brain good.”

Gladio conveniently left out the part after his confusion had lifted, when he’d all but frozen up and just watched, uselessly, as his friend bled out.

Noct swallowed, feeling nauseated as the visual of Prompto’s blood dyeing the ground red within seconds came to his mind once more.

“I almost killed him.” It came out as a whisper, but Gladio still heard him.

“You were confused, Noct. That’s not something any of us could control,” Gladio said, uncharacteristically gently.

“He shouldn’t-“ Noct cut himself off, tried again. “He’s not even supposed to be here. The only reason why he has to fight and get into dangerous situations with barely any training is because I asked him to come. Whose fault is it if not mine?!”

Gladio sighed. “Noct, if he weren’t here, he’d most likely be dead already. Cor gave us a rundown of the state of Insomnia, me ‘n Iggy. The area where Prompto lived- it’s almost completely destroyed.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Noct’s voice came out strangled.

“Yes, because if he’s here, then at least we can protect him. You can protect him. Yeah, maybe he wouldn’t be fighting daemons and weird monsters if you hadn’t asked him to come, but maybe he wouldn’t be doing anything because he wouldn’t even be alive.”

“I still froze up, though.”

Gladio shoved his shoulder, hard enough to make him stumble.

“Are you trying to make this difficult? It’s, well, it’s not good that you froze up, but it’s understandable. Most people would have. What’s done is done now, Blondie’s just fine and probably already talking Iggy’s ear off, and the only thing you can do now is to push forward and do better next time.”

“Hoping there won’t be a next time,” Noct muttered. He handed his skewers to Gladio, who happily took them. Even though he felt marginally better, he didn’t think he could stomach them just yet.

Besides…

“I’m gonna head back,” he said, tone deliberately casual. “Are you coming?”

“Nah,” Gladio waved him off. “You go have your talk with Blondie. Tell Iggy to meet me by that food place he wanted to check out.”

Noct’s cheeks reddened at his intention being caught so clearly, but he nodded and stomped off towards the Leville.

When he entered, Ignis was in the kitchen making something that suspiciously looked like hot chocolate - never mind that it was like a million degrees in Lestallum - and Prompto was in bed, pale and shaken but otherwise fine.

“Uh.” Noct said stupidly. “Specs. Gladio says to meet you by... That place you wanted to check out? He didn’t give me a name.”

“Ah, yes, I know the one,” Ignis said, pressing a mug of steaming hot chocolate into Noct’s hands. “I’ve been wanting to try their wine in particular. Tenebrae’s finest, I’ve heard nothing but praise for it. Give this to Prompto, will you? There’s more if you want some.”

And then, Noct was alone with Prompto.

Slowly, he carried the mug over to the bed, but once he was there, he found himself suddenly unable to do anything but stare at Prompto.

“Noct?” Prompto tried. “Hey, buddy, you good?”

And just like that, Noct’s eyes began to sting and before he knew it, hot tears were rolling down his cheeks.

“Whoa, hey, Noct.” Prompto leaned over and hurriedly took the mug from his hands. “Dude, it’s fine, don’t cry. C’mon, sit down.”

Noct sniffed, feeling utterly pathetic. He sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at his hands - he couldn’t bear to look Prompto in the eye.

“Prompto,” he started, feeling all choked up. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

Soft hands grabbed his, and then he was being unceremoniously pulled down onto the mattress.

“Hey!”

“I’m fine, don’t worry about it,” Prompto said, eyes big and earnest as he looked down on Noct. “I even got a cool scar out of it. My first real battle scar, dude! Wanna see?”

Not waiting for an answer, he stuck his leg out from under the cover and pointed at the newly acquired scar.

It was somewhat star-shaped and way smaller than it had any right to be for something that nearly killed him.

Noct reached out with a trembling hand and gently touched the scar with his finger, tears once again blurring his vision.

“Noct, seriously, stop making that face. Gladio patched me up real good, and Iggy’s been so nice to me all day! Is that what you feel like all the time? I’m jealous!”

Noct let out a choked laugh. “Iggy’s always nice to you. Sometimes I think he likes you better than he likes me.”

Prompto shrugged. “Yeah, well, I eat my veggies and I help with the dishes. You set the bar pretty low, dude.”

Noct laughed again, more steady this time. “Yeah.”

Then, he cleared his throat and turned onto his back to stare at the ceiling.

“I really am sorry, though. And I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Okay, apology accepted. Even though I don’t think you got anything to apologise for. Not like you did it on purpose,” Prompto was quick to reassure him. “And, yeah, it was scary, but I know you and the guys won’t let me kick it just like that. I’m doing more dangerous shit than ever, but I also feel safer than ever because I know you guys are there.”

“Dude, that’s so sappy,” Noct said, but he couldn’t quite hold back a smile.

He still felt guilty - would feel guilty for a while, he knew, possibly forever.

Not just about Prompto, either, about Gladio and Ignis too. The three of them, in danger every day just because of him. It was a tough thing to accept, and Noct wished he knew how his Dad did it. Knowing people were risking and giving their lives to protect him…

It was a burden Noct didn’t know how to bear.

____

Read the entire project here.

#ffxv #final fantasy xv #noctis lucis caelum #prompto argentum #thisfairytalegonebad's writing

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saphirered · 2 years

Note

Hey there, I was hoping to request number 10 from the autumn prompts for Percy please?

Some typical light Percy angst, and a whole bunch of fluff. Enjoy! 😘

Percy wanders the halls of Whitestone Castle. He is restless. Sleep would not grace him this night for his demons haunt him behind closed eyes. Not even the sounds of his workshop or the mind of a tinkerer could keep him satisfied so he wanders alone, wanders until his body decides enough is enough, or the sun rises and the next day is upon him. He’s lived through many of these days and nights, to no end. He knows it’ll pass be that today, tomorrow or the day after. Perhaps he shall be tired for a bit but that’s easily fixed and no horrible consequences from lack of a night’s rest will be upon him. No external dangers lay waiting in the wings for the opportunity to strike. He’s not worried about monsters or assassins coming in the night to destroy all he holds dear. Only the images in his nightmares do and thus he stays awake. Can’t dream if you don’t sleep and can’t sleep if you’re busy. Percy will keep roaming letting his mind wander to trivial things from his to-do list back in his workshop, the never ending responsibilities of being lord of Whitestone, damage control after something inevitably goes horribly wrong, and many more things on the agenda that are outright exhausting yet he cannot set his mind to do them now. He’ll keep wandering these empty halls, coming across the odd night patrol or straggler as he continues up the stairs to the higher peaks of the castle.

Dreams would not greet you when you lay in bed, staring at the painted ceiling. You can’t recall how many times you’ve counted the petals of each painted flower of this scene; twelve-hundred-and-forty-eight. The number won’t change and you’re still wide awake yet exhausted. No amount of tossing and turning, adjusting your pillows, adding blankets, taking away blankets, no midnight tea or whatever other practices you’ve resorted seem to be successful. Nothing works and you’re sick of being between the same walls so you find your wandering way up through the castle, to the towers overlooking the Alabaster Sierras. You’ve gone there before, whenever you needed peace and quiet, or simply to be alone for a moment. The sight is beautiful regardless of the time of day, when you can see the mountains, or simply the stars and moons above shining down upon the city, its lights illuminating the ground mimicking the skies above in amber. That’s where you find yourself now, leaning on one of the balconies of a drawing-room with a beautiful sight. You breathe in the cold night’s air and watch the sleeping city.

The draft of air is what calls Percy to be alert. The open door and lack of light, more so. He reaches his hand into his coat as he approaches, but quickly when he sees through the door, he relaxes. No dangers coming to haunt him. An old force of habit dies hard, but he has no intention of letting it die. It’s proven useful far too often to justify letting that guard down, and not suspecting the worst around every corner. His worries fall away when he sees beyond that door, as he stands in the entrance of the drawing room. The glass balcony doors are open, the decorative curtains blowing in the autumn breeze. Night clothes covered by a cloak wrapped tightly but still the bottoms sway in the breeze up high. A tinge of red dusts your cheeks and nose as you stare out over the city. You’re leaning on your elbows, fingers laced together. You look at ease, unaware of his presence and completely within your own world. Percy could stay where he is watching you for eternity. Though he’s never actually told you that, now has he? So much for the courage to tell you you mean so much more to him than the dalliances you’ve had, that now he knows a semblance of life beyond vengeance, he’s learned to appreciate what beautiful things he’s surrounded by, what kindness and compassion. He knows these things to be true yet he struggles to speak the words to you.

He takes a tentative step forward, and another. He doesn’t quiet his footfalls as he approaches and knows you to be keen enough of hearing to know it’s him. You don’t respond but don’t ignore him either as he stands beside you, overlooking the same beautiful sight. A faint smile graces your lips when you see him from the corner of your eye and it sparks a warmth within his heart not even the autumn breeze can dispel. You unlace your fingers and when Percy leans on his palms, your place one of your hands over his; an acknowledgement you’re here for him, and his presence is very much welcomed. He sighs, forcing himself to relax; something significantly easier in your presence and you can tell as you trace along the lines of his hand, along every scar, scratch and callous, gently and lovingly. It’d taken him a long time to accept your care, especially when he did not think himself worthy of such kindness.

“Can’t sleep?” You ask even though you already know the answer. Percy knew he had to face it somehow so he simply nods, and captures your hand between his, holding on like it’s a lifeline that prevents him from floating up into the sky where his demons dance freely, trying to lure him in.

“And you?” He asks leaning his hip against the balcony. You mimic the pose to better look at him, but your eyes remain trained on his hands. Percy takes your other hand too, fiddles with the jewellery you always wear. A ring of protection he got you, insisting it is for your own good despite your initial refusal to take such a gift. It had served you well in the past and since you’d never parted with it, worn it always. In his mind it was a material affection to represent his own shortcomings, that should he fall to darkness, or be unable to defend when you needed him, you’d at least carry that piece of him as an assurance he at least was able to provide something, instead of only take what you offer. Even still he considers himself forever in your debt, despite you telling him differently.

“Too awake to sleep.” You sigh. Exhaustion surfaces as your shoulders sink. He squeezes your hands in his grasp. He understands.

“Yet too tired to do anything productive.” Percy adds. While your reasonings may differ, the effects you suffer are the same. It doesn’t take an extensive heart to heart to know that, nor to understand. You’ve gone through far worse, and learned from what you stumbled upon along the path you have shared. You’ve lasted this long. Though, there’s always been a separation of true feelings. Attraction was undeniable. Chemistry too. Of course you indulged each other when you needed that kind of comfort most and it’s given you a ‘more than friends’ kind of relationship but neither of you had ever chosen to define it, or go into further details because, to be honest, neither of you were ready to commit to such a thing; commit to commitment, or figure out what it means to be open to be loved and give love in return in a way no other receives from you. You simply hadn’t been ready but now, things are changing. What is next? Is it something to address on a sleepless night?

Percy does not seek physical comfort often. Many many years without has left him somewhat detached and foreign to the feeling of anything that is not to satisfy a physical need for closeness to another being. Physical touch can be acquired through flirtations or even payment but it gives but a semblance of what love and affection provides. Physical comfort is not transactional or so you’ve taught him. It is about what you can offer to another, what both are comfortable with and not at the expense of oneself or another. He could never grasp the meaning of this desire for physical comfort because he had not known the warmth of an embrace since his family still breathed. He had not know a touch different than a one-night stand or reoccurring hookup devoid of feeling other than to sate a desire but you had showed him differently. You’d redefined those meanings and showed him what he so desperately needed in his life because after meeting you, he realised what he had been missing. Every smile and frown, every laugh and cry, brush of the hand and squeeze, every touch, embrace and caress, every kiss became more precious than the one before because now he felt that meaning. Now he could not go without it, without you.

He had thought himself addicted to something he could never have, wasn’t worthy of but you were quite clear this isn’t a matter of worth. This is a matter of something he has pushed aside in self preservation and now he is in a safe space, to explore and uncover what he needs, and not just wants, he has been given the freedom to ask for it. So when you let go of his grasp, and brush your hands up his lower arms he knows what it means. Tentatively he wraps his arms around you, allows you to wrap yours around his middle and hold on, your head buried against the fabric of his shirt as you take in a deep breath. He places his chin atop your head. There you stand in this embrace for several minutes. Percy had taken to rubbing circles into your back and shoulders, gently and lightly. He’d felt your own hands under his coat, one tracing along the spine and shoulder blades, alleviating tension where you knew it collected in the muscle. It’s something so trivial yet meaningful through a single lasting embrace. But then it comes to an end. You pull away, let your palms rest against his chest as his settle on your waist.

“Should we at least try to sleep?” You say it half joking knowing you’ll likely not get much rest, given the insomniacs you are.

“To be quite honest, I don’t think I’ll be able to set foot in my own chambers for the rest of the night. I think perhaps I’ll wander some more. Or return to my workshop.” You sigh at his response and place a hand on his cheek shaking your head.

“Will it do you any good?” You ask and he gets the meaning of your question.

“No. But it’s better than the alternative.” Your thumb brushes along his cheekbone affectionately and Percy finds himself leaning into your touch.

“Would it help you to come to my room instead?” There’s no implication of something more than a simple offer of company; whatever kind of company he thinks he needs. Normally he might have chosen distraction, to take his mind elsewhere and wallow in that illusion but not now. What he needs are no illusions or distractions. He needs something real.

“If I did not know any better I’d claim you’re an angel from the heavens.” He chuckles and you raise an eyebrow.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” You know exactly what it means but that doesn’t mean you can’t jest a little. You make no move to cover your insincerity and Percy simply takes your hand from his face and kisses your palm.

“Nothing in particular. You’ve provided plenty of evidence proving differently.” He simply elaborates.

“Well then, as a man of science, would you mind sharing your findings and enlightening me?” Percy laughs at your comment.

“I’m happy to do more than that.” He counters and you laugh and pat his cheek playfully. Whatever demons haunted him before, have been buried by your affection. His focus is on you and you alone. You could be anywhere in the world right now yet all that matters is that you’re right here with him instead.

“Shall we head back then?” He considers for a second. Places a kiss atop your forehead; a thanks, for indulging him but when you look at him through your lashes, inviting him to offer something a little more intimate he would not refuse it. His lips meet yours in a sweet and soft kiss. This is not some gesture of desire, not sating a physical need. This is the comfort and affection only you can offer him because he offers it in return, freely because he wants to. There is no obligation or expectation in this kiss and he is thankful for it. You’d never ask for such things, nor would you feel forced to engage. When your lips move against his he feels your affection and relishes in it. This castle be damned. He could be in the clouds for all he cares. He could be anywhere in the world but he’s here with you, in your embrace. He may not have spoken the words but he knows them to be true; he loves you and though this kiss, through this moment he finally comes to terms with what his brain picks upon; you love him.

To have your love, that’ll be enough.

#percy de rolo x reader #vox machina x reader #critical role x reader #tlovm x reader #percy de rolo #percival de rolo x reader #percival de rolo #legend of vox machina #vox machina #critical role #critical role imagine #critical role fanfic #critical role fanfiction

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heliads · 1 year

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Hey hey Lisaa!!💓 Hope you're having a great day!! Here I am with the promised angst prompt for Marvel's Eternals. It's a Druig x reader (I love him with makkari but this needs to be off my chest). Let's think that after some time of leading his community in the Amazon, Druig needed a break so he visited some place new where he met reader. Reader (around 20-21 years of age) and Druig fell in love and stayed together for about I don't know, maybe 5 years or so. Reader knew who he really was, but had no idea of the existence of his community. Druig left one morning without any words and never came back. It ruined reader, but eventually they moved on, found someone else, maybe even had a kid.

After 10-15 years (the timeline of reader's life, them moving on and so), Druig comes back as if nothing happened. He went to check things over in the Amazon and to prepare for reader's arrival, cause he planned to take them there. Being an eternal, 10-15 years mean nothing to him, it's like a month passed by. So, imagine his shock when he sees somebody kissing reader. Somebody who lives in their house. In his place.

Reader and Druig have a fight based on these prompts:

"I've moved on."

"I used to daydream about us. But now it's too late."

"Don't you want to know what could have been? If you had asked me this years ago, I would have said yes."

The ending as usual it's up to you, but these prompts kinda make the ending clear. It's not going to be happy:))) Tear my soul apart Lisa. I want to cry my eyes out. Thank you lovely!!! Remember to change what you don't like!!❤️❤️

omg i love eternals and i love angst. the perfect combination

masterlist

You are alone when you see him for the first time. Sitting there in the bending shadows of the trees, he looks like he could be a young man, about your age if not a month or two older. Later, you’ll learn that he’s far beyond your own mortal lifespan, but at that first moment of contact, you had no idea. You didn’t know a lot of things about the young man in the forest, least of all how much you would grow to know about him. Decades in the future, if you had been presented with the chance to change any moment in your life, you would think about altering this day the most.

You have no idea of how much he would haunt you, though, so on this particular afternoon, you do not heed the whispering in the woods and you draw closer to the young man. You’d been passing through the forest when you’d seen him. He had tripped over a tree root, then started glowering at the tangled mass of aged wood as if he hadn’t expected it there. This particular oak is one of the eldest growths in the area, but he still furrowed his brow like it had been moved there recently just to spite him.

You had paused by him as you passed. You had thought to offer him a hand up, but the immediate spark in his blue eyes warned you otherwise. This is not the sort of man who takes kindly to kindness. He’ll cut to the bone when he needs some entertainment, and you are certainly not to ruin him of his fun by being polite of all things.

So you retract your hand and your good intentions, choosing instead to offer him a smirking sort of smile. “Everything alright there?”

The man redirects his glare from the offending oak to you. “Just peachy. I always chose to spend my evenings on the ground as opposed to anywhere else.”

Far from taking insult at his tone, you find it within yourself to laugh. “Figured I’d check anyway. Newcomers to the area get lost often, do you need directions?”

The young man bristles even more than before, if possible. “I’m not a newcomer.”

He says it with all the irritation he can pack into the few short syllables. From the way he carries himself, you wouldn’t be surprised if he’d been here longer than you. Maybe longer than anyone, dead, alive, or otherwise.

You nod once, feigning solemnity. “Alright, then. You tripped on purpose and you’re lost on purpose, too. I’ll stop asking questions.”

Something almost like a smile appears on his face. The corners of lips are fighting a losing battle to stay pinned down. “Good. You’re a quick learner, I appreciate that.”

You take one for the team and grin. “Oh, I pride myself on it.”

The young man picks himself up from the ground at last, brushing his hands off on his navy attire.

You jerk your chin towards the direction you’re heading. “Coming?”

He cocks his head to the side, curious, and you explain yourself. “I assume you’re going to be following me out of the forest anyway. You might as well save yourself the trouble of trying to skulk along in the background and just join me.”

This time he does smile for real. “Like I said,” he muses, “a quick learner indeed. Although I have to tell you that skulking is one of my favorite activities.”

“Feel free to do so if you please, then,” you say, “either way is fine with me.”

He chuckles quietly. “I’ll stay.”

And he does. The young man follows you out of the shadows of the woods and into the bright air of the surrounding town. He walks by your side until you reach your house, then heads inside when you invite him in. He stays the night, then the next day, then the next. Soon enough, you don’t ever want him to leave.

You learn quite a bit about him. He goes by the name of Druig, although he’s responded to many others before and likely will again. You weren’t wrong about the vibe you got in the forest, the one that he’d been here quite a long time. As it turns out, Druig was stopping by your town for a quick break from his usual life. He’d been here before, yes, but about a couple centuries earlier, not the few years you’d been expecting.

You weren’t anticipating an immortal to become your new roommate, but you can’t say you mind. You and Druig exchange quick retorts and hidden smiles like playing cards. He soon becomes your favorite gamble, and you have long since been his. Every night, Druig says that he’ll be leaving the next morning, and every morning, he stays. Next time, he swears he’ll go. Next time. Always one more night.

Soon enough, he stops saying it completely. You certainly have no issue with it. He’s growing on you, you can admit that easily. He makes you feel like you’re the greatest person in the world, and seeing as Druig has seen quite a bit of the planet for quite some time, the fact that he stays with you time and time again has to mean something.

It feels completely predictable when you finally fall in love with him. Druig sees you like no one else, how could you not love him? The surprise was when he fell in love with you. A thousand lifetimes he has led, a million people and more he has met, and throughout all of that, he wants you more than any other. Druig swears that you are the only one for him, and although it seemed impossible at the beginning, you finally think that it might be true.

It just feels right, that’s all. This is the way your story was always supposed to go. It was written in the stars from the moment you met him in that forest. There was no other path that you could have taken, no other choice that you could have made. In any other lifetime or universe, you would always meet Druig, you would always fall in love with him, and he would always leave you.

That is what happens when you try to convince an Eternal to lay aside their old life, after all. Druig only came to your town by accident, looking for a passing whimsy to fill his time. He hadn’t intended on finding you, but he did. He loved what he discovered in you enough to stay for five years or so, and when that time was up, Druig looked around and realized that he had a thousand other things he’d rather be doing and abandoned you.

That’s what you think, at least. In truth, you have nothing to fill your mind but endless theories. When it comes down to it, Druig gave you no sort of explanation, nothing even so solid as a goodbye. One night he was there, the next he was gone. It was just like those promises of your initial months, but this time it was real and this time you didn’t even have that familiar phrase to remind you that this was never permanent.

Some part of you had always known that your relationship with Druig would be nothing if not temporary, but the painful truth is that it was so wonderful to love him that you managed to convince yourself otherwise. He made it easy to forget he ever wanted to do anything but love you. If you fell for it, well, that’s on you. Druig made his choice, and at long last, you’re going to have to say yours.

One day after he leaves, maybe weeks or months or even years later, you walk to the forest where you met him. You can still find that old oak, and when you look up at it, you curse it for tripping him up and making him fall into your path. You could have walked right by and never hurt yourself this much. What a life you could have led.

At the same time, meeting Druig was one of the best things you ever did. He changed you forever, even if you don’t want to admit it. You are different now, different in a way that you will never be able to reverse. Some days, you’ll curse that, but you think overall you’ll be able to accept it.

You breathe in and out slowly, then turn around and walk back to your town. Druig has left in the middle of the story, but you’re taking yourself out too. Your time with him is done, your memories complete in the past. What’s done is done, and at last, you are free of his hold on you.

…

Druig feels excited to come back. He had a dream a while ago in which his life was not just good but great. It took him a while to figure out what he could change to chase that perfection, and then it hit him. Sometimes, humans can be a little too unpredictable. They don’t go where you want them to go, they argue and fight when they could just be calm.

That’s why he’s made his community in the Amazon. It’s quieter there. The people get along. He sees to it that they do. The environment is beautiful around them, and everyone does their best to help it grow. It is the perfect place for anyone to live. It is the perfect place to start a family.

Druig has never been sure of love in the past. After much careful consideration, though, he thinks he’s found it in Y/N L/N. He didn’t count on her being such an important part of his life, but yes, she is now. He’s been fixing up his place in the Amazon and it’s finally ready. All that is left to do is to bring her over.

He takes the long way around to her corner of the earth, breathing in the brisk air of the sea and thinking of her. It is nothing to take his time; time is all that he has ever known. What he did not count on is that she might not have the same grasp on the quickly passing years as he does.

When Druig arrives at the town, he has to take a minute or two to re-orient himself. Streets have sprung up out of nowhere, buildings have been demolished or improved until they’re almost nothing like what he remembers. Y/N doesn’t live in the same place as she used to, but after asking around, Druig is able to locate her new residence without difficulty. He feels mildly peeved that she hadn’t told him she was moving, but then again, he can admit that there would be no real way for her to let him know.

He springs up the steps to her house, knocking smartly on the door before rocking back on his heels and waiting. She takes her time in approaching, and when she swings open the door at last, she has to use the better part of five minutes to collect herself.

“Druig,” she manages to breathe at last.

He nods. He’s smiling again; he usually doesn’t, but something about her has always made him lose that bit of his self-control.

“Y/N,” he replies.

They’ve always been happy to poke fun at each other, so he’s expecting her to laugh along at him mirroring her words, but for some reason Y/N just looks shell-shocked.

“What are you doing?” She asks at last.

Druig frowns. Admittedly, he had been hoping that she’d be at least a little bit happier to see him. He’s gone to all this trouble of fixing up the Amazon for her, she might as well be pleased about it.

“I’ve been busy making a place for us to live,” he says, “how soon can you leave?”

Y/N looks even more stunned, if possible. “Leave? What are you talking about?”

Druig spreads his hands. “We talked about having a life somewhere else, remember? Somewhere exciting. Well, I’ve found it. You shouldn’t have to pack much, I have everything we could need.”

Y/N shakes her head slowly. “Druig, I can’t leave. Not with–”

She cuts herself off quickly, but Druig hears what she didn’t say. Not with you.

He doesn’t like where this is going. “Why not?”

Y/N lets out this incredulous sort of laugh. “Why not? Druig, you were gone fifteen years. You can’t just show up out of nowhere and expect me to go with you.”

Druig lifts a shoulder. “It was only fifteen years.”

That’s not much, all things considered, but from the way Y/N’s staring at him, he could have stayed away fifteen centuries.

She takes a moment to control herself, then continues. “Look, I can’t go with you. I’ve moved on.”

Druig feels as if the world has turned upside down. “You’ve what? You didn’t wait for me?”

“I did,” Y/N murmurs, “I did for years and years, but you never showed up. I used to daydream about the day you’d show up again and take me away from everything, but it’s too late now.”

Druig has spent century after century studying humanity, but he feels as if he can’t understand a thing she’s saying. “I don’t get it. I’m here right now. We could go.”

She presses her hands together, trying to find the right words to say to adequately make up for everything. “Do you know the worst part? Worse than the fact that you’ll never get why I can’t go with you. I would have, if you had just told me that this was your plan. If you had asked me this years ago, I would have said yes. I would have said yes a thousand times, but you left and never came back until now.”

“What’s stopping you?” He asks desperately.

Y/N holds up her left hand as an explanation, and suddenly Druig sees it. She’s got an engagement ring on her finger. Immediately, Druig wants to say that it’s the wrong ring. He would have given her a better stone, something perfect. It hits him then that she doesn’t want perfection, because perfection was him and he left. All Y/N wants is to be happy, but that is not Druig. Perhaps it never has been.

He lets out a tired sigh, the weight of millennia pressing in at his lungs. “The Y/N I used to know would have waited. What happened to her?”

“I was a girl when you left me,” Y/N hisses, “a girl, and I thought the world of you. I am nothing like the girl you left. You’re the only one who hasn’t changed, Druig. You’re still just as sharp as ever.”

Druig doesn’t miss how she spits out that last word. Sharp, yes, that’s him. Cold and cutting, the blade that refuses to rust. He never minded it before, but now he does. Oh, he does.

The older parts of his brain are taking over now, forcing him back into autopilot. Already, his spine is stiffening, the last parts of him that had dared to feel something locking back into endless nothingness.

“I’ll go, then,” he whispers, “I hope you enjoy your life.”

He says it genuinely, but judging from the look on Y/N’s face, he might as well have sworn at her. Druig turns around before she can say anything to cause him more grief, and forces himself to never look back. A thousand thoughts are spinning around in his head, and when he looks up, he’s in the forest where they first met.

Or, he’s in the place that used to be the forest. Most of it has been cleared away to make space for new housing. A few straggling saplings still remain, but everything else is empty space. Druig walks until he is in the exact same place where he first found the girl he loves. The tree has been cut down. All he gave her is gone.

He does not know how long he stays there. It’s a penance of sorts, a reminder of what he’s lost. He was never made for this sort of life– mortal, fleeting, requiring all of his time and attention– and this just reminds him of it once and for all. What they had together has vanished, disappeared beneath the folds of time. It’s not her story anymore, just his. His forever.

requested by @zaypay, i hope you enjoy!

marvel tag list: @thatfangirl42, @rogueanschel, @mycosmicparadise, @ellobruv, @callsign-scully, @with-inked-solace, @sher-lokid7, @amortensie, @23victoria, @watchreadfangirlrepeat, @gods-fools-heroes, @w1shes43

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