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gretavangroupie · 9 days

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The Ripe and The Ruin (Chapter 6)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Reader, OC x Reader

Word Count: 15.1k

Warnings: Language, Alcohol, Smoking, Angst, Anxiety, Allusions to Cheating, Lying, Jealousy, Sexual Themes, Kissing, Unprotected Sex.

Find the Playlist Here: Apple Music | Spotify

A new series in collaboration with my talented co-writer @gretavanmoon.

A/N: Thanks so much for waiting for us while we took our little break. We had the absolute best time at our shows. We plotted and schemed most of the week and there really is quite a bit of exciting new things on the horizon, so keep your eyes peeled.

"Like all good fruit, the balance of life is in the ripe and ruin."

PARIS, FRANCE

JAKE POV

The sound of the heat kicking on wakes you from your sleep, your heavy eyelids forcing themselves open to a blur of darkness. You drag your hand over your face, rubbing at your tired eyes as you turn to your side ready to pull her close, only to find the bed empty. You blink away the blurriness quickly, finding the place she once was, cold.

You snap your head to the side to glance at the clock, finding it to be a little earlier than you expected. Where did she go? Had she left? You look around the room and see that her things are gone, snatching your phone from the nightstand when you realize she really did leave. You quickly unlock the screen seeing a myriad of messages and missed calls from Isla, but much to your dismay, there was nothing from Y/N.

Your mind immediately starts to race. Did she sneak out? Did Sam’s drunken rambling scare her away? You curse yourself for even letting him into the room in the first place. You throw yourself back down onto the pillows, your brain frantically searching for some kind of answer. Your thumb taps on Josh’s contact, the line ringing out before you even knew what was happening.

“Hello?” he answers, sounding far too chipper for the early hour.

“Hey,” you pause, “You busy?”

“Hmmm…Not at the moment,” he answers, sounding intrigued.

“Come to my room,” you ask, your voice still tired.

You hear him huff a laugh from the other end of the phone, “Be there in a sec.”

You end the call and toss your phone onto the nightstand as you stand to pull yourself out of bed. You dig through your suitcase for a pair of sweats, pulling them over your legs just as you hear a knock at the door.

You blow out a breath as you walk to the door, shaking your head as you twist the lock. As you pull it open you see Josh leaning on the wall across from the door, pushing off as you wave him inside.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this early morning chat?” he asks smugly.

“I just need to you to sit down and listen to me and tell me I didn’t fuck this up,” you say, pointing to the bed. He raises his eyebrows at your assertiveness, quickly complying and taking a seat on the edge of your bed.

“Oh, did you tell her finally?” he asks, crossing his leg over his knee.

“No, I mean, I didn’t say anything but– Sam and his big fucking mouth…He barged in here last night drunk as fuck, rambling on about Lyla and shit, asking about Isla and what was going on there, meanwhile I had Y/N in here, and since we haven’t really told anyone what we are doing I kinda… made her hide in the bathroom. I tried to get Sam out of here but he wouldn’t stop talking, and fuck I just got know she heard all the shit he said,” you pause, pacing around the room. “After he left she asked me if there was something I needed to tell her.”

“And you said?”

“I– I panicked, I don’t know! I said no! I said it was just work stuff…I know I should have told her, but we had just had the most amazing–”

“You said no?!” he shouts.

You furrow your brows in shame as you look at him, “Yeah…”

“Jake, you massive fuck up,” he scolds, shaking his head. “So not only did you hide her in the bathroom, you also lied to her face.”

“Well it sounds really fucking bad when you say it like that,” you counter, throwing your hands into the air.

“Okay, well which part of it is untrue, Jacob?”

“This is bullshit,” you growl, kicking your foot against the floor.

“You thought she would be totally cool hiding in the bathroom? You didn’t think she was going to get a little bit suspicious? I know I'm the smarter twin but you can’t honestly be that stupid, right?”

“What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t let Sam see her without it causing a whole new shit storm with Isla! I did everything I could to get him out of here, but he just kept talking. Thank god he didn’t mention Isla by name, but Y/N is smart and I know she picked up on everything he was saying. I could see it all over her face. She stayed after but, I just woke up and she was gone,” you continue.

He nods his head as he takes in everything you’re saying, a redness in his cheeks as his underlying anger bubbles to the surface. Your phone begins to buzz on the nightstand, snapping both of your attention. You rush over to it to see if it’s Y/N, but again, it’s Isla. You silence the call and toss it back to the nightstand returning to stand in front of Josh.

“Let me guess, it’s Isla?”

“She won’t fucking stop,” you answer nodding.

“I told you to tell her a fucking week ago, Jake,” he snaps.

“How the fuck do you tell someone that? Like, ‘hey, I have a crazy ex who blows up my phone day and night, but oh, also she lives in my house and even though I have broken it off with her several times she keeps clawing her way back into my life and thinks we are still together’? Yeah, I’m not doing all of that.”

“No, that’s exactly what you do. You lay every single nitty gritty detail out on the line for her, and you tell her that you have baggage, and that you are trying to deal with it as gently as possible. You leave the decision in her hands. You don’t lie to her and tell her it’s nothing, when it very much is something,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Well, it’s a little late for that now dont you think?” you snap, “How do I fix it, now.”

“Have you heard from her?” he asks, pushing himself up off the bed.

“No,” you answer quietly. “I didn’t even know she left.”

“Fuck, Jake…” he sighs, running his fingers over his chin as he thinks.

“I think you have two options,” he pauses, giving you a serious look. “You either do what I told you to do a long time ago, or you play it off like absolutely nothing is wrong.”

You raise your eyebrows in surprise, not expecting the second option. “Yeah? You think…you think that would work?”

He sighs and shakes his head, “I think it’s a terrible idea, but yeah I think it could work. Though my vote is for the first option.”

“I just feel like it’s not her business to know about the shit with Isla,” you counter.

“If you are sleeping with her, it’s her business Jake, goddamn.”

“I would disagree,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest.

He shakes his head and purses his lips in anger, “You know what? I think you just wanted me to tell you what you want to hear to patch up your wounded ego. I don’t think you have any interest in doing the right thing at all, do you Jake?” he pauses, walking over to the door. “You need to get your shit straight, man. If I were you, I would take my advice and do the right thing before this all blows up in your face.”

He slams the door behind himself as you stand staring at it, anger pouring off of you. You know he’s right, no matter how hard of a pill it is to swallow. You could see the disappointment in his eyes, the look cutting you to your core. You turn and head into the bathroom, turning on the shower and letting the steam fill the bathroom. You knew you fucked up, not only was she mad at you, but so was Josh, and right now you couldn’t think of anything worse.

You walk back into the room, grabbing your phone from the nightstand and seeing Isla’s missed call. You let out a sigh as you swipe past it, hitting Y/N’s contact instead. The call rings for a few seconds before going to her voicemail and you feel your heart drop into your stomach. You decide a text might be better and quickly type and retype your message until you’re happy with it. In that moment you make the choice to pretend like nothing is wrong, going against Josh’s advice yet again.

You

9:19AM: Where did you run off to this morning?

You toss the phone onto the bed and strip out of your clothes, knowing that the shower is hot and waiting for you and wondering if the plans the two of you made for the day still stand.

—

HER POV

Earlier That Morning

You’d spent the first hour of your morning in complete darkness, refusing to open the heavy curtains of your hotel room until you were ready to be gone. You’d barely slept the night before, tossing and turning as you fought the thoughts that plagued your mind. It didn’t help that Jake’s phone had been going off all night long, illuminating the dark room with a pale blue tint after each vibrate you heard.

Someone really wanted to talk to him.

You could still hear Sam’s words replaying in your mind, your stomach dropping as each fleeting memory makes its way to the forefront of your mind to throw more confusion into the mix. It feels impossible to stifle them. You step out of a particularly hot shower, still proud of the fact that you’d managed to sneak out of Jake’s bed this morning without waking him.

You run a towel through your hair as you wipe off the fogged mirror, unable to truly look at your own reflection without feeling a fucked up sense of shame. Jake didn’t deserve a formal goodbye after what happened last night. Your gut is screaming at you, heeding warnings that something isn’t right… so you stand firm in your decision to leave him alone in his bed this morning.

You hadn’t even bothered to look at your phone yet, knowing that today is a free day, and you likely will have little to no obligations. You wrap your hair up in the fluffy towel and make your way back out to your suitcase to grab your phone charger. As it powers back to life from its dangerously low battery, you notice a singular text from just a little while ago.

Paul

6:06AM: Hey! Call when you wake up, no hurry

The clock is nearing 8, so you stay wrapped up in your towel, falling under the covers as you listen to his tone ring out.

“Goodmorning!” Paul’s chipper greeting almost irks you.

“Morning!” you respond with a fake lilt.

“Hey, got a little assignment for you today, it isn’t much and shouldn’t take you very long, but the job itself might be a little bit of a pain in the ass. Crew is already running low on water, so I had some ordered and need you to go and pick it up,” he explains.

Your face contorts up at the thought of having to load multiple cases of bottled water into whatever vehicle you’re provided with.

“I know it’s an off day, but Murph is going to go with you… I know it will be a lot of heavy lifting so I figured he would be the best man for the job,” Paul went on, referencing Murph’s rather toned and muscular stature.

Fuck. A solo assignment with just Murph? Enough to make you want to skip out on breakfast…

“Oh, okay! I can do that, no big deal. Are you sure Murph isn’t too busy? I could ask one of the others–”

“No, I’ve already spoken with him. He should be ready and waiting for you about ten o’clock,” Paul goes on. “Just load it back into the craft supply truck when you guys get back. Thanks again, Y/N! I’ll text you the address of the place.”

“Will do. Talk to you later.” You hang up the phone and pull the heavy blankets over your head, feeling ten thousand emotions flood you at once. Murph gives you a nervous energy, something about being in his presence makes your body swell with childlike giddiness. And on the other hand, the tumultuous pool of uncertainty that you’ve been thrust into with Jake has left you feeling drained and disheartened, and you don’t even have any explanation yet.

You’re miffed at him. Miffed as fuck. His own brother drunkenly asked him how he was handling being away for this long. You’re no scientist, but you know how to pick up on cues and connect dots, and you absolutely know when someone is lying to you. The more time you spend stewing, the more angry you become. This is most definitely not what you need right now.

You stay buried under the covers for a long while, your hair still piled and wrapped in the damp towel on your head. You close your eyes, thinking over everything again, vowing to stay right here in bed until the last possible second before you have to leave. A quiet knock on your door startles you from your cozy cave, and you know for a fact that Jake has come to your room since you decided to sneak out this morning. You whip the blankets back, quietly rushing to the peephole to prepare yourself to pretend you aren’t in the room.

But it isn’t Jake.

It’s Murph.

A surge of nerves overtake your half-clothed body, and you mumble a silent ‘oh my gooooooddddd’ as you decide what to do. You flick your hand out as your eyes pace around the room, one hand clutching the towel between your breasts. What would Ruth do?

Ruth would answer the door.

Your hand turns the heavy metal lever, pulling the door open only six inches or so. You’re met with a completely surprised Murph, leaning his head away and covering his eyes when he realizes he’s almost caught you in your birthday suit.

“Shit! I’m sorry, I was just coming by to make sure… I–I can wait for you downstairs–” he scrambles, and you witness his normal tough exterior fall all to pieces as his cheeks turn pink with embarrassment.

“No no! I’m sorry!” you cry, pulling the door closed just a little bit. “It’s no big deal…”

He grins hard as he runs a hand over his face, approaching the door again and leaning one hand on the frame. “I just… came by to make sure Paul had talked with you, didn’t want you to oversleep or…” his hand nervously falls to his hip as he regains his composure, his body obviously wracked with uneasiness. He’s cute this way…

You take a page from Ruth’s book again, pulling the towel that sat on top of your head off, letting your wet hair flow over your shoulders. His eyes grow ten times in size, but only for a second.

“Yes, Paul called. And I’m awake,” you reply sheepishly, lowering your head to look at him through your lashes.

“Okay, yeah. Good. I’ll uh, meet you downstairs at ten?” he asks through an anxious breath and swallow.

You bite your cheeks in and nod, twirling a piece of wet hair around your finger. “Mhmm, I’ll be there…” You watch his eyes as he tries his best to avoid eye contact with you, or more yet, your half-naked body.

“Okay, good. I’ll–I’ll see you then,” he says as he quickly turns and makes his way back down to the elevator.

You rush back to climb under the warmth of the covers as you giddily kick your feet underneath them, knowing all too well that you just managed to get a big burly security guard flustered by hardly doing anything at all. God, he looked good already today. A black shirt and dark wash jeans, a heavy canvas zip-up jacket and his signature backwards ballcap. And he had some type of cologne on… you couldn’t quite place it, but it was familiar while also unlike anything you’d ever smelled before.

You let yourself relish in the feeling for just a little bit, and like clockwork, your phone buzzes with Jake’s contact ringing across your screen. You stare at it as it inches its way across the table, until it stops ringing completely. Nah. Not yet. Only seconds after the phone stops ringing, you see a text from him bubble up on your notifications, but you ignore that too. You need some time to think. And, you have work to do.

You finally pull yourself from the comfort of the bed and get dressed for the day. As you grab up your purse and heavy winter coat to head off in search of coffee, you feel the pull to hash out your feelings with Ruth. After five or six rings, you hear her tired voice come over the speaker.

“Hello?”

“Hey, I know it’s hella early and shit but I need to vent…” you say as you let your hotel room door close behind you.

“Oh my god, you okay? What’s going on?” she replies, seemingly awake now.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. Listen… so last night after the show, me and Jake… ya know. Yeah. Everything was beautiful and perfect and everything until after, we’re sitting there literally naked and his brother Sam knocked on our door, and Jake hid me in the fucking bathroom.” You try to keep your voice low and close to the phone, just in case someone happens to be nearby.

You swear you can hear her scoff from across the ocean. “HUH?!” she squeals. “Hid you?! The fuck?”

“I know, I know… like, I get it, finding us that way wouldn’t have been the best of circumstances but, that’s not even the worst part.” You press the button in the elevator to the ground floor as you finally find a little solace in being alone. “I was trying to get dressed in the dark bathroom, and here comes Sam, needing to pee. So I jump into the shower as quietly as I can and try not to breathe while they keep talking. And, get this Ruth… Sam starts talking about how he’s having problems with his own girlfriend, saying she’s acting really weird and off lately. So Jake says maybe she’s having trouble with the time difference and missing home or some bullshit. So Sam is like ‘Yeah, maybe so…’ Then he asks Jake ‘how you two are handling that’… and that he ‘hasn’t seen Jake on his phone a lot lately…’ I dunno. Then Sam said he knows that Jake has been going through this shit for a while. Like what shit? What could he possibly be having to deal with right now?” You realize that you’re rambling again, a quality that you’ve started to take notice of in your personality as of late.

“What the fuck…” Ruth trails off, trying to run over everything you’d just said. “So, do you think he has someone back home, and just never told you about it?” Her words hit you like a dagger, and hearing your suspicious thoughts be spoken out loud nearly makes you feel sick. You step off the elevator and into the crowded lobby of people in search of breakfast.

“I don’t know, Ruth. Maybe? But also, he would have told me, I think. Ugh, it feels so fucked up. We have plans today and tonight, too. I kind of want to blow him off…”

“Shit, you’re pissed, aren't you? I definitely think something is going on, did you ask him once Sam left?” she presses.

You finally spot the coffee bar across the hallway, making a beeline. “Yes, and I swear it felt like he was leaving some gaps in his explanation.”

She huffs. “Trust your gut, babe. You know him better than I would.”

“What should I do?” you ask, watching as a packet of sugar crystals trail into your paper coffee cup.

“Let him come to you. I wouldn’t give him the time of day until he decides to be honest with you, ya know? You deserve at least that much…” she says, and you can hear her figuratively putting her foot down.

You let out a long sigh. “You’re right, I already ignored his call this morning. I need some time to think…”

“I agree with you. Maybe step back a little,” she says, yawning heavily.

You press the plastic lid down onto your coffee and saunter over to a plush couch in a hidden corner of the lobby, ready to drown yourself in emails and this stout dark roast. “You’re right, I think I will. Thanks Ruthie, go back to sleep.”

“Already halfway there, call me later, babe,” she says quietly. “Oh, hey, do you mind if I…do a little research, if you know what I mean?”

Your brows furrow as you contemplate. “Research…”

“Yes. You know exactly what I mean.”

“Oh,” you finally understand. “I mean, I’m not gonna stop you. As long as you report back with your findings.”

“Babe, duh. I’ll talk to you later,” she says.

“Byeeeeee.” You press the red button on your phone, pressing the end of it to your forehead a few times before slouching down onto the couch. Ten o’clock will be here before you know it, and you feel a zap of excited electricity at knowing you get to spend the morning with none other than the flustered security guard.

—

Needless to say you were more than a little surprised to see Murph standing outside of the hotel doors leaning on a truck, his arms crossed across his chest as he scrolls on his phone. His eyes flick up, catching yours as you step outside into the cold air. You make your way towards him, pulling your jacket closed tightly across your chest. The wind is unforgiving as you get closer, blowing your hair across your face. You watch him spring into action, quickly running around to the door to open it for you.

“Thanks,” you smile, jumping into the warm cab. He nods his head and runs around the opposite side of the truck, sliding in next to you. He turns the knob for the heat and you instantly start to warm up.

“How’d you manage to finesse a truck in another country?” you laugh, placing your bag on the floorboard.

“Ahh, been here a few times now, feel pretty good on the roads. That and I’m not letting someone drive me around. I’m perfectly capable, so I made a few calls,” he grins, shifting the truck into drive.

“Do you know where we’re even going?” you ask, pulling your phone from your purse.

“I think so, but why don’t you just tell me anyway,” he smirks, pulling out into traffic. The traffic patterns are foreign to you, but he seems to be handling them with ease, and that alone has you able to relax a bit.

“Okay, so per Paul, it looks like we are heading to a bulk grocer, and the address is 47 Rue Saint-Jacques,” you answer. “The order has already been placed, we’re just picking it up.”

He taps on his phone screen a few times as he types in the address, nodding his head as he previews the route. “Looks like we’ve got about twenty minutes ahead of us.”

“That’s not bad at all, maybe this will be a quick trip after all,” you smile towards him.

He huffs a laugh as he readjusts his hat on his head, “Maybe so.”

—

Murph takes the lead loading the cases of water into the truck bed, insisting he will do all of it. You feel bad as you just stand by watching, but he seems like the type of guy to bear the burden of most things with no regrets. He swipes his hand across his brow and fixes his hat, letting out a breath as he closes the truck bed.

“That all of it?”

“I think so!” you pause, “Thanks for doing all of that, I feel kind of useless.”

“Nah, not at all,” he smirks, nodding towards the truck. You both get into the warm cab and as you reach for your phone, you find the screen filled with notifications from Ruth. For the past twenty minutes your phone had been ringing and numerous texts had come through, the last one reading ‘SOS’.

Your heart drops into your stomach as you consider that something bad has happened, your hands shaking as you tap her contact and listen to the call ring. She doesn’t answer and the sick feeling in your stomach grows. You shakily type a message to her, hoping she will see it.

You

10:49AM: WHAT IS HAPPENING

10:49AM: I’M ON A WORK THING WITH MURPH AND I DIDNT SEE MY PHONE

You lock your screen as your knee bounces nervously, picking at your nails with your fingers.

“You okay?” he asks, turning to look at you.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay, just missed an important call that's all,” you say, trying not to go into too much detail. “Tell me about you, distract me,” you beg.

“About me?” he asks, “Uhh, what do you want to know?”

“I don’t know, anything, something. Tell me…tell me how you got into this business.”

“How I got into this business… My that's kind of a loaded first question,” he laughs, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “Well, I’ve always sort of just…protected people. Done it my whole life. Kind of like instinct I guess. Got a little older and realized it’s what I was meant to do. Joined the military when I turned seventeen, stayed in for a long time. Did a few tours, saw some wild shit, and now I’m on reserves. I joined a little group of guys who also weren’t ready to stop and now we do close range protection. Got a call one day I’d been hired to watch over these guys and now here I am hauling water into the back of a truck and driving around a pretty girl.”

Your heart flutters in your chest at his admission. Shit.

“You never wanted to do anything else?” you ask.

“No. I feel my best when I am protecting others,” he says, his face stern and serious. “It’s in my blood.”

“That's very…admirable,” you say, feeling yourself swooning over the man next to you.

“Ahh, that’s not why I do it, though it does feel good to hear you say it,” he winks.

You feel your cheeks grow warm when he winks at you, and you quickly face forward before he notices. He smiles softly as he whips the truck through the streets, chewing his gum casually.

Your phone starts to buzz in your lap, instantly zapping your attention.

Ruth

11:02AM: CODE RED

11:02AM: SOS

11:02AM: ANSWER MEEEEEEEE

You

11:03AM: WHAT! I’m here!!!

The next message that comes through is a photo, and not one you expected to see. It’s Jake and another woman looking awfully cozy on a porch swing. She’s pretty, gorgeous even. Way prettier than you are. It's a screenshot of an Instagram profile, the date of the photo showing it was posted almost a year ago. Your heart sinks again as you look at it, seeing Jake’s arm wrapped around her as her hand rests on his thigh. The caption reads ‘forever’. You swallow back the lump in your throat as you go back to your texts with Ruth.

You

11:05AM: Holy fuck, where did you find that?

Ruth

11:06AM: On her profile, there's tons, babe. Some are…recent. Like very recent.

You

11:07AM: So he lied? He has a girlfriend?

11:07AM: Oh shit am I a homewrecker? Oh my god and his phone was blowing up all night. I am totally a homewrecker bitch.

11:08AM: HE LIEEEDDDD TO ME

11:08AM: RUTH WHAT DO I DO HELP ME

Ruth

11:09AM: I don’t know for sure if they are together or not, the last post of the two of them was almost 6 months ago.

11:10AM: I wish I knew what to tell you, but I don’t know this guy at all and I can’t get a good read on her just from her socials. If they aren’t together now they definitely were recently. She used to post about him a lot and now she has slacked off a good bit.

You

11:11AM: How did you even find her?

Ruth

11:12AM: Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to. ( I had to make a whole ass fake profile )

You

11:13AM: RUTHIE

Ruth

11:14AM: What?! I did what had to be done. I have no regrets, and all it took was a quick search of a tagged photo of the bassists girlfriend to find her. Did you know they do pilates together? Rich bitches. So anyways now my name is Cassandra and I also take Pilates classes at Well Body Pilates. 💅🏻

You

11:15AM: You found her through Sam’s girlfriend?!

Ruth

11:16AM: My mind is an intricate and beautiful web of deception and mischief

You

11:17AM: Yeah, it’s also sick and twisted. Keep digging. I need to know what I’m dealing with here. I still haven't spoken to Jake.

11:17AM: Well, not really. He added a song to the playlist and I replied to it. I don’t know what I’m doing Ruth…

Ruth

11:18AM: Oh trust me, I’m digging and I don’t blame you for not answering him. I wouldn’t speak to him either.

11:18AM: Little RAT

You

11:19AM: Ruth…

Ruth

11:20AM: 😇

Your heart is pounding in your chest as you look at the photo again. He looks happy. You feel your heart twist a little at the thought of him being in a relationship and cheating. You really didn’t think he was that kind of guy. You swallow the lump in your throat just as Murph turns to look at you.

“Hey, uh, are you hungry?” he asks.

You blink away your emotions, nodding your head. “Yeah, actually… I am.” you answer, knowing that you were supposed to spend the day with Jake, but now you can hardly stomach the thought.

“You like pizza?” he smirks, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course! Who doesn’t like pizza?”

He laughs a hearty laugh and tosses his head back a bit, “Good, that’s good, I know just the place.”

Your phone buzzes once more in your lap, and you flip it over to see another text from Ruth.

Ruth

11:22AM: Ps, who is Murph?

You smirk as you realize you haven’t gone into much detail about this new addition to the crew, yet. As he pays heavy attention to traffic and stoplights, you twist your phone in your lap to snap the sneakiest picture of him to send to Ruth.

You

11:23AM: *Attachment*

New security guard. CUTE security guard. 😊

Ruth

11:24AM: Well HELLO THERE sir!!

11:24AM: Bitch if you don’t flirt with him, I’m flying across the ocean to do it myself

11:25AM: Jake who?????

You

11:25AM: I’m at work, Ruthie. Remember.

11:26AM: But yeah we be flirting a little😛

You lock your phone to turn your attention back to professionalism, listening to the light music coming from the radio station Murph had chosen.

JAKE POV

You stay close behind Josh and Ty as you meander the back alleyways of the city, taking in the beauty of the architecture and old-world style of the storefronts. Monty has tagged along today, hanging back and taking phone calls as the three of you walk. It’s cold, but not as cold as what you’d been enduring the past few days. Typically, you’d spend these free days by yourself, either hiding away in the hotel room or finding something private to partake in. Or, as of late, you would have spent it with Y/N, but after multiple texts and a phone call went ignored this morning, you decided to focus your attention elsewhere.

“Odd of you to tag along with us, brother. Need to stretch your legs today?” Josh asks, pulling back from Ty a little. You know the tension is still high from your argument this morning, but you can tell that Josh is trying to brush it off to keep a cool head in front of Ty.

“Yeah, well. If you remember, I had plans today, but. They kind of fell through…” you answer him, avoiding eye contact.

“Oh, with Y/N,” he acts like he only just remembered.

You nod, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, but she kind of blew me off. Hasn’t answered me all morning, still.”

“Ah,” Josh says with a slightly sarcastic tone. “Probably because Paul sent her out to get something for the crew, and Murph went with her.”

Wait, Murph?

“Murph went with her? Why? Where did she have to go?” you have a million questions, and you aren’t sure which ones to ask first.

Josh bites his tongue as he decides what to say. “I think they had to go get water for the crew or something, was gonna be a big job, so Murph volunteered to go and help her get it,” he explains. “They should be back later, though. Isn’t she coming up to the Tower with us later?”

You feel yourself seething. “Yeah. Well, was supposed to. Was supposed to hang out right now, too, but. We see how that ended up.”

“It’s not her fault, Jake, shit. Paul sent her on an assignment…”Josh defends her with a shrug. “I can tell you’re pissed for some reason. And I know it’s just not at me from this morning…”

“I’m not…pissed about that, I’m pissed she's actively ignoring me after what happened last night with–” You cut yourself off, truly not wanting to go into detail about Sam’s unexpected visit and what happened thereafter in front of Ty.

“With Sam…? Yeah. I see you still haven’t heeded my advice…” he says with a snarl, whispering away from earshot of Ty. He shakes his head at you as you stay silent. He turns and stops you in your tracks, forming the illusion of an explosion with his fingers and hands, right in front of your face. “Ka-boom!” he whispers before turning away again.

You know he’s right. This is all going to blow up in your face.

Josh and Ty skip on ahead of you, slipping into a pub or something, you don’t know. You pull your phone from your pocket, seeing that she still hasn’t sent a thing. You swipe through a few notifications from Isla, knowing that those can be dealt with later, and bring up your music app to see if adding another song will get something out of her.

What to add…

You file through your extensive library, finally landing on a song that’s a little out of your realm of normal listening, but will still catch her attention. You click the song, ‘While I’m Waiting Here’ by Billy Strings, selecting the three dots and adding it to the playlist. You hope she will see it and know that you’re still thinking about her, wanting to make this work, but at the same time you know you have buried yourself deep inside a hole that is lined with explosives, and all you can do is wait for the spark to ignite them.

Should you have listened to Josh? Yes, absolutely. He’s right, you know he is. Josh is the angel on your shoulder whispering in your ear to err on the side of reason and honesty. But the devil on the other shoulder is standing firm in the fact that it’s truly none of Y/N’s business to know the details about your past with Isla; as far as you’re concerned, that part of your life is done.

…But it’s not. It’s far from done. She still lives with you. The little devil is just spouting the words that you want to hear, weaving lies and deceit into his corrupt advice, and making you believe it to be justified.

You shove your phone back into your pocket as you slip inside the hidden pub door behind Ty and Josh, feeling the need for a beer the size of your head to take this fucking edge off. It’s truly pissing you off how hung up you are on this girl, and you’re even more pissed that she’s spending her day with a man that you know for a fact was able to make you extremely jealous.

You take a barstool next to Josh as he orders three of the same whatever, and you slump down onto your elbows as you stare at the intricate mosaic artwork that adorns the short bartop. Your finger glides along the multicolored tiles, tracing the grout between them as you let your mind wander. Maybe you should just tell her. Tell her everything.

Suddenly a giant glass stein of beer is firmly plopped in front of your sullen face as Josh nudges his elbow into your shoulder. “Wake up, Eeyore. Time to take advantage of our day,” he heeds, so you slowly sit up. You truly must be presenting yourself like a heartbroken asshole.

You give him the evil eye as you lift the mug to your lips, letting the foam graze across your mustache. For the first time in a while, the instant jolt of alcohol hitting your system isn’t as much welcomed as it is irritating, but you decide to get past it, because what the fuck else are you gonna do?

You suddenly feel your phone buzz in your pocket, and your mood instantly lightens. You rip it out quickly, tapping the screen to see that finally, she has made contact.

‘Y/N Added A Song to Your Shared Playlist: 🐥’

The song she chose nearly made your heart fall straight into the hardwood floor beneath you. ‘Suspicious Minds’ by Elvis Presley.

Fuck. Fuck fuck.

Could this truly get any fucking worse? And better yet, how in the hell are you going to fix it in such a way that you get a happy ending? You decide to grasp on to the fleeting second, opening your text thread with her to make contact even further.

You

11:48AM: We still on for later?

Your heart rate spikes as you watch your phone in anticipation, feeling completely stupid for being this giddy and also somehow even more confused than before. You know she knows something is up, now. Suspicious is the absolute last thing you want her to be, but… she is a smart person. And you’ve been the idiot.

Her text bubble pops up, typing for a very long time.

Finally you receive a wordless text, a ‘👍🏼’ her only response. Okay, so it’s not a thumbs down, at least? But still, you were expecting at least a Yes. You decide to cut your losses, taking the contact as a tiny win, but knowing that the gut feeling of dread is only going to get worse as this beer in your hand empties.

—

The day passes without another word from her, and you know because you spent a large majority of the day checking your phone. You now find yourself pacing around your hotel room as you wait to hear about your evening plans, wondering if she would be involved in them.

You

7:56PM: What's the plan

Sam

7:57PM: Aren’t we going to the towa

Josh

7:58PM: Yeah, I think we are meeting everyone downstairs at 8:30

You

7:58PM: Who all is going?

Josh

7:59PM: Everyone, it’s a crew outing

You

7:59PM: Great.

Josh

8:00PM: Suck it up Jake

Daniel

8:01PM: Yeah Jake 😋

You lock your phone and toss it on your bed, still a disheveled mess from this morning. You continue to pace around your room as your mind swirls with thoughts. You wonder why you hadn’t heard from her, even after her confirmation earlier. You wonder if she spent the whole day with Murph and what they did together. You grit your teeth together at the thought, snatching your phone off of the bed and deciding that if this is how she wants to do things, you too could play that game.

As everyone assembles down in the lobby you find yourself looking for her, wanting just a glimpse of her to prove your wandering thoughts wrong. You groan inwardly when you find she isn’t around, and not shockingly, neither is Murph. As everyone loads into the vans you check your phone again, and still you have nothing from her. You find yourself getting a little pissed off at this game she is playing and again you tell yourself you can play it too, your desire growing by the second.

The ride to the tower is short, your knee bouncing the entire ride as you stare out the window. It's not long before you’re all piling out and breaking into groups, waiting for the last few stragglers to arrive. In the distance you see two people rushing towards you, laughing and smiling as they approach. You suck your teeth when you realize it's Y/N and Murph, definitely running late from what appears to be their day off spent together.

You shove your hands in your pockets and turn to Josh, raising your eyebrows in question. He peers over your shoulder and catches sight of them, shrugging his shoulders before turning his attention back to Ty. Right.

The two of them regain their composure quickly, but you can tell that Y/N has been drinking. Her cheeks are pink and a smile hasn’t left her face since she stepped up to the group. She hasn’t made eye contact with you yet, and you wonder if she even will. You turn to face them, giving her no choice but to acknowledge you, and when her eyes finally meet yours it's only for a split second before she tears them away.

Okay, what the fuck.

Murph steps away to talk to Dean, and you finally get a second alone with her, hoping she will give you the time of day.

“And where have you been all day?” you ask playfully, raising a brow.

She raises her own and purses her lips, “Running errands for you and your crew.”

“Is that right? I thought you were off today?”

“I thought so too, apparently there was no water left and I couldn’t get it all on my own,” she answers, an edge of confrontation in her voice. Murph steps back over towards her, catching the tail end of the conversation.

“I could have gone with you, you know.”

“No need man, I took good care of her,” Murph smiles, patting you on the back.

You do your best to stifle back the scoff begging to rattle from your chest, nodding your head at him. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

The tour guide speaks up before he can answer, grabbing your attention to lead the group towards the entrance to the tower. You turn to look at Y/N, her eyes already on you as you meet them and you can tell there is something she wants to say. Instead, she walks ahead letting Murph trail behind her.

—

Most of the tour is spent casting glances at each other, speaking with your eyes instead of your words. There is tension between the two of you, you can feel its cold grip around your neck with every meeting of your eyes. You were supposed to do this with her. You were supposed to bring her here. Just the two of you. Had she forgotten? Did she change her mind overnight? It would explain a lot.

As you stare out into the twinkling city beneath you, the cold wind blows your scarf around. You find yourself wishing it was just the two of you, pointing out monuments and landmarks as you held her close to keep her warm. You turn around to look for her, deciding that you had to say something. Just get some kind of answer.

You find her hanging out with Josh and Ty, the three of them smiling and laughing as Murph patrols the area for any potential threats. Josh notices you and breaks away from them, meeting you where you were instead of letting you join them.

“First, fix your face. If you’re trying to sell the ‘nothing is wrong’ bit you’re doing a miserable job,” he says, placing his hand on his hip.

You roll your eyes in response, flashing him a faux smile as you push him out of the way and head over towards her. Her eyes meet yours, her lips parting in surprise as you hear your name called from behind you. You look over your shoulder to find a woman with a longing look and a twinkle in her eye, nervously approaching.

Murph rushes up behind her, giving you a look to let you know he will escort her away if you want him to. You quickly shake your head no, knowing that you can use this interaction to your advantage.

“Hi, how are you?” you smile, greeting the woman excitedly. She's about your age, maybe a year or two younger, with striking eyes.

“Hi Jake! I don’t mean to bother you, I was just wondering if I could take a picture with you? My friend and I?” she asks, motioning her equally as attractive friend toward her.

“Hi there, nice to meet you,” you say, motioning them both in for a hug. You pull them in close, posing for a few photos as Y/N stands by watching. If you are right, and if you know her like you think you do, this will set her off.

You can feel her eyes on you as you continue to talk and interact with the fans, all the while your mind filled with thoughts of her and the dark pink shade that has taken over her cheeks.

You say goodbye to the fans, sending them off with a wave, turning on your heel to join Josh, Ty, and Y/N at the opposite end of the tower.

“How they hell do they find us all the way up here?” Josh laughs, elbowing your arm.

“No problem to take a photo or two with some pretty girls,” you quip, raising a brow at him.

“Never is, is it Jake?” he laughs, and as you nod your head you flash a smile right to Y/N, knowing that your plan worked perfectly.

—

You all load into the vans, making your way back towards the hotel. Y/N rides with Paul and Wes, and you know she is positively stewing with jealousy over your impromptu meet and greet. She would talk to you now, you were sure of it. You just had to wait.

As the vans drop you off at the hotel lobby you all meander inside, some of you opting for the hotel bar, while others headed up to their rooms. You stood off to the side, waiting to see what Y/N was going to do, and you think she was planning to do the same, that is, until Murph stepped up to her.

“I can walk you up to your room if you want,” he offers, causing a scoff to leave your lips. You step up to the both of them with your hands in your pockets.

“Why don’t I walk her up so that you can do your job and watch those idiots heading into the bar.”

He gives you a surprised look and nods his head. He bites his lips as he turns to Y/N, telling her a quick goodnight before disappearing into the hotel bar. Just when you think you’ve got her, Ty swoops in.

“Actually, I’m walking her. Let’s go Y/N,” Ty says, linking arms with her and dragging her into the elevator with him. She shoots you a snarky look as the doors close, leaving you standing in the lobby empty handed, yet again.

As you make your way up to your room, you start to think that your plan has backfired, and that not only have you made her mad, you’ve made her unnecessarily jealous too. You consider texting her as your door shuts behind you, but decide to leave the ball in her court and see if she reaches out.

You take a quick shower, and wander back into your room, hearing your phone buzz on the nightstand. Your head instantly snaps over to look at it, hoping to see a message from her. As you snatch it off the small nightstand your cheeks instantly heat seeing the notification on your screen.

‘Y/N Added A Song to Your Shared Playlist: 🐥’

You immediately tap the banner, watching as the playlist populates before your eyes. Your breath is stolen away as you see her addition, a smile pulling across your lips. ‘Need You Tonight’ by INXS was added two minutes ago.

You realize what she is saying, and you consider responding with a song but you decide to up the ante and call her directly. The line rings only twice before she answers.

“Hello?”

“Well, well, well,” you start, quickly getting cut off before you can finish your sentence.

“Shut up, come to my room,” she snaps.

“A little feisty this evening?” you taunt.

“Are you coming or not,” she whines.

“Oh, so now you want to talk to me? It was the girls, wasn’t it, baby…”

“Have any of the girls ever told you that you have a big head?” she gripes.

“No, but they’ve told me I have a massive di–” you start, hearing the chime as the call ends. She got you there.

You quickly change into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, leaving your phone on the nightstand and swiping your room key as you rush out the door in search of her room without a second thought.

—

You rap your knuckles against her door, stepping back as you wait for her to open it. Your nerves are swirling around in your body and you feel like you’re positively vibrating. You know you need to talk to her, but right now she wants you and you would never deny her that.

The door swings open, revealing her barely there silky pajama set hanging haphazardly from her shoulders. She ushers you inside, shutting the door behind you.

“I thought you’d come,” she quips.

“Had to. First I’ve heard from you all day…” you taunt. “You forget about me?”

She pulls you by your hand into the room, sitting the two of you on the edge of the bed.

“No, didn’t forget at all, actually. Was just…preoccupied.”

“Mhmm, thought we had plans,” you say, brushing the hair away from her shoulder.

“We did, but…”

“But what?” you ask, running your fingers down her arm.

“But I had to do my job. You know the thing I’m here to do…” she grins.

“I could have gone with you, you know.”

“Yeah, you could have but Murph offered.” she continues.

“Yeah, did you two have fun on your little date?” you ask.

“Date? Who said it was a date?” she questions.

“Did you spend the entire day together? Did you show up to the tower a little tipsy or was that just my imagination?” you prompt.

“You seem a little bit jealous, Jacob,” she says, resting her hand on your thigh.

“Why’d you blow me off for him?”

“I was just doing my job and so was he,” she answers, feigning ignorance.

You cup her cheek in your hand, letting your thumb rest on her lips, “Lie to me again.”

“Was just work.”

You pull her into your lap, connecting your lips to hers in a desperate, needy kiss. Her arms wrap around your neck as your hands settle on her hips, pulling her down to yours.

“You need a reminder of why I’m here and he’s not?”

She parts her lips from yours, glossy and wet, “It’s not too late…”

A growl leaves your chest as you flip her over onto the bed, pinning her arms above her head with your hands.

“Why are you being so ornery this evening, hm?” you ask, pressing your lips to her neck.

“Why are you being so jealous?” she counters.

“M’not jealous sweetheart,” you offer, sliding the straps of her top over her shoulders.

“You’re surely acting it,” she says, letting you pull the top over her chest.

“Just like you weren’t jealous of those girls tonight? I know that's why you called me here, baby.”

You press your lips to her chest, sucking a dark pink mark into her skin as her hands weave into your hair.

“We never set any boundaries Jake. I’m not yours.”

You press your finger into the pink mark on her chest, blooming purple beneath your touch, “This would beg to differ.”

“We’re just sleeping together, Jake.”

“I’m well aware,” you say, dusting your thumb over her hardened nipple.

“So do what you’re here for…”

“Oh, you think you call the shots now? I have bad news for you, baby,” you say, tugging her shorts over her hips.

“You think you’re in charge here?” she asks, shimming her hips to kick off the silky shorts.

“I know I am,” you answer, pulling your shirt over your head.

“You would like to think that wouldn’t you,” she counters, watching you push your sweats down your legs.

“You better watch it sweetheart, you’ve got me a little pissed off as it is,” you warn.

“Me? What could I have done?” she smirks.

“You know exactly what you did,” you answer.

She flashes you a knowing grin, wrapping her arms around your neck and pulling your lips down to hers connecting your mouths in a fiery kiss. Her tongue slides across your lips just as you part them, letting your tongue tangle with hers. She tastes of wine and mint, her tongue hot on your own. Your hand grips into her waist, feeling the smoothness of her skin on your fingers.

You feel her hand snake between the two of you, grabbing your length and stroking you as her lips continue to explore yours. She pulls your body down to hers, swiping your tip through her wet center. You suck in a deep breath feeling her arousal coating you, and you realize that this game of cat and mouse has you more worked up than you thought.

You push her hand away, taking back control, grabbing your dick as you continue to tease her. She is squirming beneath you, as desperate for you as you are for her. Her eyes are dark, her hair splayed across the pillow beneath her head as she looks at you. Her chest is heaving as she watches, the dim lighting in the room casting the perfect shadow against her body.

You lick your lips as you press yourself to her entrance, her mouth forming a perfect ‘O’ as you push forward into her. You sink in easily, her body ready and willing to accept every inch of you as if it had been waiting for you. You settle yourself on your elbow above her, letting your free hand fall to her throat. You can feel her pulse beneath your fingers, rapid and pounding as her body adjusts to you. The darkness in her eyes grows as your grip on her neck tightens.

“Yeah? You want more?” you ask, letting your fingertips dig into her skin. She nods her head quickly, biting her bottom lip.

“Fuck,” you breathe, tightening the grip across her trachea just a little harder, forcing the breath from her lungs and her eyes to close shut. You take the initiative and pull yourself from her, thrusting back in almost as hard as you can, pausing there as you loosen your grip.

Her eyes flash open as she inhales, a pitiful whine falling from her chest. “Fuck, Jake, just go…please, keep going…” she breathes, digging her nails into the skin of your back.

“Feeling needy now, baby? What switched, huh?” you pant, feeling her squeeze herself around you. You pull out slowly, completely disconnecting yourself from her. Your hand is still balanced across her throat, waiting again for the opportune moment. “Ignore me all damn day, fuck…”

She bites her lips in as you hover above her, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of being fucked at her will. She stays quiet.

“Nothing to say now?” You ask, gliding your tip along her wetness as you hear her breath hitch.

“You’re the one who should have something to say, Jacob,” she bites, giving you a stern look of defiance.

You huff in discernment, knowing exactly what she means, but still unable to go through with any conversation. She raises an eyebrow, her fingers still digging into your muscles. You're absolutely throbbing, your body begging you to get back to the task at hand.

“It’s okay, I know you were preoccupied all day, watching my texts come over your phone… I was alone all day, wondering why you were the one to leave me high and dry this time…” you squeeze your fingers around her neck again as you thrust forward into her with a devilish grin, watching her face contort. You pick up the pace now, using your free hand to balance above her.

Still yet though, she stays silent, leaving the room open for you to speak on what has been clouding both of your minds since Sam walked out the door last night.

You can’t. You just fucking can’t.

You continue pounding into her, the sound of your skin slapping together bouncing off the hotel room walls, uncaring of who could hear as they passed by in the hallway. Her whines become more desperate as your grip on her neck tightens, but you need her to know you’re serious about this, about how she blew you off without hardly a word.

You pull yourself from her, standing onto the floor and reaching to turn her body around to lie on her stomach. You grip her ankles, yanking her down to stand on the floor with you before you press her top half down onto the bed, effectively bending her in half.

You re-enter her from behind, gripping a hand in her hair as you turn her head to the side. Her cheeks are pink and puffy, her eyes glazed over with pleasure. Your thrusts feel unhinged and sloppy as you feel the sweat pooling between your eyebrows and across your chest.

“Tell me you’re mine, Y/N…” you lean down, growling in her ear. “Say this is more than just sleeping together…”

She takes a sharp inhale as you drive yourself particularly deep. “I’m not yours, Jacob…that’s the thing. You—you never told me you wanted something m-more than this…” she breathes.

You grit your teeth as you realize she’s right yet again. I’m not yours…

When you don’t answer her, she speaks up again. “D-do you want to be…mine?” She coos, almost a whisper that stands out against the loud obscenities happening in the room.

Fuck… there it is, the fourth wall, broken.

You open your mouth to answer her, yes, yes! I want to be yours, I want you to be mine… but only air escapes your lips. Suddenly when you look down at the beautiful woman you’re having sex with, all you can see is Isla.

All you can feel is guilt. All you can experience is remorse, and regret, and wrongfulness…

You feel like a shell of yourself. This isn’t right, you and Isla are done. Over with. You can’t stand the thought of being with anyone else except Y/N even if you tried.

But there, the image of the gorgeous face of your first love is burying itself deep into the fibers of your being.

You don’t love Isla anymore. Your subconscious is just telling you you need to make this right.

“Jake…” her voice pulls you from your thoughts. “Guess I’ll take that as a no…”

You pull her hair again, lifting her body back to stand with yours, back to chest. “You take that as no one else can fuck you like I do…no one else can make you feel like I can, isn’t that right, baby?” you crow, avoiding the subject altogether. Stupid. Fucking stupid.

You continue fucking into her, her hands reaching back behind you to twist into your hair as you feel her getting closer; your words making her come unraveled. “Tell me I’m right, tell me it’s just me…”

She keeps quiet as she steps one knee followed by the other onto the bed, arching her back and stepping her knees apart for you to sink more deeply into her. Fuck, this view…

“God damnit baby, you don’t know what you do to me…” you purr, grabbing her asscheeks with both hands as your thrusts become erratic and jagged, you almost forget that she didn’t answer you.

Her cries become deafeningly high as your fingers dig into her, unbridled and vicious, both of you searching for that high you are so close to reaching.

“Ja-aaake…” she cries, her legs shaking and jerking as you feel her muscles fluttering around you as she unravels, and you aren't far behind. You pull out, sending your streams across her back as your vision blinds you with white light.

You both stay in that position for a minute or so as you catch your breath, skin hot and dripping as you feel the weight of the situation come down over you. You slip to the bathroom to get her a warm cloth, returning back to the room to get her cleaned up.

As the two of you lay spent and sweaty on the sheets you hear her phone buzz on the dresser and realize you left yours in your room. You roll towards her as she reaches for it, swiping away a calendar notification with a gentle sigh. You press a kiss to her bare shoulder, watching her eyes blink slowly as she looks at the screen. You want to talk to her. You want to tell her everything that happened between you and Isla. Everything that is still happening. But again, you fear ruining what feels like such a perfect moment with something so dark and twisted.

“Early day tomorrow,” she says, her voice tired.

“Yeah, I think we have a few interviews before soundcheck,” you confirm. “Though, I don’t know what time. I left my phone in my room.”

“How come?”

“Oh, um, no reason. Just didn’t need it. You’re the only person I wanted to talk to I suppose,” you answer.

“You should probably check, you might have to be up early too,” she grins.

“I guess I could go grab it,” you smile back, feeling a warmth in your chest that she doesn't want you to leave.

You stand up from the bed, pulling your sweats back on and your shirt over your head. You pull your room key from your pocket and just as you are about to speak she stops you.

“I’ll see you in the morning?”

Oh. Oh you got this all wrong.

Fuck.

You clear your throat in surprise, “Oh um. Yeah, yeah I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, Jake…”

“Night, beautiful,” you answer, walking towards her door. You step through the doorway feeling more confused than you ever had. After the sex, what she said, everything in between, her actions were not meeting up with her words.

You spend the entire walk back to your room thinking about it. You just got booty called and kicked to the curb. While this is typically something that wouldn’t bother you, tonight it did. It stings a little, mostly because it was her. You try not to think too much more about it as your door shuts behind you, and as you step over to find your phone right where you left it, you see a missed call from Isla, only driving in the knife in your chest a little deeper.

—

HER POV

As you rip the plastic covering off a veggie tray, you hear the green room door squeak open, revealing the smiling face of Murph popping inside.

“Hey, you all good in here?” he asks, glancing around to find you alone and busy. “Need a hand with anything?”

You grin and shake your head side to side. “No, I’m all good, thanks. You not busy rushing around chasing after those four?”

He bites his upper lip. “Um, yes. I am. Just wanted to say hello.” His hand slaps the wooden door as you give him a thankful smile, and it swings closed as he leaves you alone again.

Just wanted to say hello, huh?

Your chest feels warm at his little sentiment, as careless as it was. The morning spent with him was nothing short of a mental reset, seeing as how the life you’ve been living with Jake now feels like a rollercoaster that’s about to break apart at the highest point. You’d spent your morning laughing and sharing stories with Murph as he expertly navigated the streets of Paris, your mind effortlessly drifting away from the impending drama that Ruth had discovered. Murph took your mind off it without even trying.

You hear your text notification ding on your phone as you finalize the craft table, and you pull it out to see a text from Ruth.

Ruth

4:59PM: You’re still ignoring him, right? Not giving him the time of fucking day, RIGHT?

You

5:00PM: Well, yes and no…

Ruth

5:00PM: BITCH? What do you mean????

You dust your hands off and take a seat on the couch, crossing your legs and remembering that someone could invade your privacy at any given minute.

You

5:01PM: We kinda… hooked up again last night?

Ruth

5:02PM: ALKSJFLSKGFHLKSDJFBNL

5:02PM: Please tell me you’re fucking joking…

You

5:03PM: 😬

Ruth

5:03PM: Oh my fucking goddddd Y/N okay. Okay! It’s fine. I hate you, what the fuck?

You

5:04PM: I DONT KNOW! Listen. I was trying to give him an opportunity to talk to me. And he didn’t. If it’s any consolation, he tried to act all big and bad about hooking up, and I didn’t play into it AT ALL. In fact I kicked him out promptly after.

Ruth

5:06PM: I’m screaming into the void.

5:06PM: So what now?

You

5:06PM: Now nothing. I’m back to avoiding him.

Ruth

5:06PM: Ok slay I guess.

You

5:07PM: And I guess that we will go out tonight after the show.

Ruth

5:02PM: Just the two of you? Or is Hottie McSexy coming along too?

You

5:03PM: Everyone usually goes. And seeing as how it’s his job to be up their asses, I’m positive McSexy will be there too.

Ruth

5:04PM: Okay and maybe The Rat will take this opportunity to explain to you that he has a female counterpart waiting for him at home, yes? Since he didn’t do it before FUCKING YOU last night?

You

5:05PM: I’m hoping. Until then, I ignore him harder.

Ruth

5:05PM: That’s my boo thang. Lmk how it goes.

You scroll up in your texts with Ruth, seeing the dreaded screenshots of Jake with her, sitting comfortably together on what you imagine to be their porch swing. She’s so fucking pretty… he’d be stupid to let her go?

You take a deep breath, the reminder of it all making you build your wall up even higher. You glance at his backpack sitting in the corner where he always tends to leave it, making the decision that tonight, you won’t fulfill his request for grabbing his wine. Honestly, he can figure something else out. There are plenty of options in the refrigerator. Fuck it.

—

You stay absent when they take the stage, requesting that Paul hand them their drinks tonight, as you have a “female emergency” to attend to in the restroom. Complete lie, but he doesn’t ask questions. You hide away in the restroom as you envision Jake’s confusion when Paul doesn’t have a drink to hand him. Paul normally doesn’t have much to do during the actual shows, so grabbing a drink or two for Jake shouldn’t be an issue.

After about ten minutes of hiding you rejoin Paul, noticing that he had grabbed a few seltzers for Jake and lined them up beside his amp. Ha ha. Watching the show alone from side stage feels strange tonight as Ty, Mia, and Lyla have decided to stand on Sam’s side. You hang back in the wings a bit, distracting yourself from watching Jake try his best to get your attention for the entirety of the show. But you don’t let him get the best of you, intentionally ripping your eyes away from him each and every time eye contact is made.

After the encore, you energetically hand Josh, Danny, and Sam their towels, showing little to no emotion in the act of handing Jake his, at all. You have to let him know you’re upset. And if he doesn’t pick up on your body language and lack of communication, he will at least notice your blatant ignorance of his existence.

You fall into the middle of the group as everyone exits backstage toward the green room. “Hey, Y/N, talk to me…” you hear him say from behind you as he grabs your hand, pulling you back from following everyone else down the dimly lit hallway. “What’s going on?” he asks when you finally turn, his eyes full of heavy sorrow.

You rip your hand from his grasp, his touch feeling like a foreign stranger. “Nothing, Jake,” you lie, biting your tongue and turning to walk away.

“Hey, please, talk to me…” he begs, his hand raking across your back as you turn away. “I know I… we need to talk, I think…” his voice is strained over the loud sound of the exit song.

“You think?” you bark back, making harsh eye contact with him for the first time all night. He’s left speechless as Murph makes his way up behind you, pulling you away from the moment. He shines his flashlight onto the ground in front of Jake, ushering him along.

“Come on Jake, let’s get you out of here…” Murph pushes without even giving you a passing glance.

Jake gives him a quick look of distaste before giving you an up down, and following behind Murph as they make their way down the remainder of the hallway. You’re left standing alone in the darkness under the high metal beams of the stage, feeling more conflicted than ever. And not to mention, still seething with anger.

—

Your hands feel shaky as you busy yourself with cleaning up the food and drinks in the green room, your face flushed and your hearing muddled as the anger courses its way through your veins. It’s hot and loud, the guys all still amped up on post-show adrenaline and wanting to continue on their highs for the night.

“Where are we headed, guys?” Mia asks as she sits herself down on the couch.

“Ah, me Jake and Ty found a quiet little place earlier today, it was tiny and tucked away, we could go back there?” Josh speaks up, still clad in his shiny jumpsuit. You try your best to tune them out, pressing play on your phone to listen to whatever music was playing on your singular earbud.

“Doooooo they have… cheap beer?” Sam sings.

“I don't know about cheap, but they have beer…” Ty replies through a laugh.

“Perfect!” Sam yells as he stands from his seat. “Let us go!”

You notice how quiet Jake has stayed, a switch from his normal partaking in the rambunctiousness of post-show excitement with his brothers. You hear them all begin to get themselves together and file out. You know one of them is going to ask if you’re coming along, they always do. So you muster up the courage to make a decision, when all you really want to do is retreat back to your hotel room bed for the night.

But no. You know what?

“Y/N! You coming?” you hear Ty’s voice bellow over the group. You turn and catch his eyes as you watch him wink at you. He nods his head in a ‘come on’ motion. Ty always knows.

Out of the corner of your eye you see Jake pause, waiting for your answer.

“Yeah, I could use a drink tonight!” you say. “I’ll finish up here and be right behind you. Send me the address?”

“Sure thing, see you in a bit,” Ty responds. “It’s literally right around the corner.”

—--

You saunter confidently into the pub, finding your whole group to have taken up the majority of the place, it’s so small. Just like always, your eyes immediately click with Jake’s first, and when he doesn’t break the contact, you pull yourself away, latching on to Ty and Josh at the other end of the bar.

Just like in the green room, the air is heavy and hazy and loud, everyone still riding their highs and letting the drinks flow. You decide on something a little heavier tonight, knowing that you abso-fucking-lutely deserve it after the day you’d endured.

You catch sight of Murph posted in a corner booth, chewing on a toothpick as his head stays on a swivel. He catches you looking, giving you a tiny smile before letting his eyes scan the room again.

You make yourself at home on a barstool, and just before lifting a round of shots into the air with Ty and Josh, you feel Jake’s presence behind you again, interrupting you. You meet him with a questioning look, obviously perturbed at the feeling of his hand on your back as you try to celebrate with his twin.

“Go ahead,” he concedes, motioning for you to take the shot. So you do, never looking away from him as you let the liquor flow down your throat, urging yourself to not make a face as you swallow it down.

“Can I help you with something?” you ask, your voice sounding a little more vengeful than you’d meant to. The liquor is definitely already working. His face pulls back, shocked at your words. He almost looks hurt.

“Shit, I guess not…” he says. “I’ve just been–”

“Jake! Come here!” you hear Danny yell from a few tables away. “Hurry!”

Jake looks at Danny and back at you, and you raise your eyebrows toward him, urging him to go on. You can’t talk here. Not in this environment. And honestly, you’re having way too much fun getting drunk and ignoring him while you steal passing glances with Murph from across the room.

After a little while, Murph comes and sits at the barstool beside you, talking to Josh while you sit between them. They’re discussing something work-related, but Murph is purposefully leaning in to you, his toned torso brushing heavily into your shoulder. You’re not really listening to them, as your mind has gone absolutely fuzzy at the feeling of him touching you. What the fuckkkkkk. The tequila lining your veins most definitely isn’t helping the fact that you are wholeheartedly loving this, knowing that Jake is standing three feet away, watching it all unfold. And the best part is, you’re locked into your bar stool, unable to get up if you wanted to. They’ve caged you in.

“Isn’t that right, Y/N?” you hear Murph’s silky smooth drawl interrupt your thoughts.

“What? What?” you perk up.

“The twenty cases of water we loaded will most likely be gone in a week and a half, yeah?” he says, rolling the toothpick between his teeth as his eyes stay bouncing around the room.

“Oh! Yeah, actually, probably so, with the way the crew drinks it,” you agree, not really caring about the subject as Josh laughs it off.

“Murph, you know you’re horrible at paying attention to conversations?” you say without a shadow of a filter.

“What?” he asks through a smile.

“Your eyes. You never stop looking around. You hardly ever look someone in the eye when they’re talking to you…” you go on explaining. Josh has now abandoned the conversation, turning back to Ty.

You feel Murph lean in even closer to you, his mouth only inches from your ear. “I’m trained to watch, Y/N. Trained to always be aware, all of the time. But, I can assure you, when I’m not on the job, my attention is 100% focused on who I’m spending my time with.”

His words make your stomach swirl. “Mmm, I’d have to see it to believe it.”

He pulls back, his neck still twisting right to left to right again. “Maybe you will sometime.”

Just then, you feel your phone buzz in your lap, and you lift it to see a notification through the blurriness of your intoxicated vision.

‘Jake Added A Song to Your Shared Playlist: 🐥’

Your stomach drops as you know he is watching you see the notification. You open the playlist, scrolling to the bottom to see what in the hell he could have added right now.

Of course, ‘Don’t Let Me Down’ by the Beatles.

You scoff, feeling like if anyone is being let down, it’s you. You let your phone fall back into your lap before turning your attention back to your drink and to your conversation with Murph. You know Jake is watching, still, and you know that seeing you ignore him was only pissing him off more.

And for some reason, it gets you hot.

Stop it, Y/N, fuck. The horrid and ridiculous thoughts of Jake being jealous of you and the man sitting beside you has your stomach in excited knots, and you know it’s just the alcohol, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t absolutely turn you on, similarly to what had happened last night.

You feel the energy in the room shift as everyone begins to make moves to leave. You feel a little sad, realizing that your intoxication has only just hit its peak. “Aw, we leaving already?” you ask no one in particular.

“Looks that way…” Murph says as he stands from his stool. You catch sight of Jake sticking close to Josh and Danny as they make their way to the exit.

“Murph, my friend, why don’t you take the rest of the night off?” Dean says as he comes up behind you, laying a hand on Murph’s shoulder. “Monty and Sasha and I have got this, not a far walk back.”

“Oh, no no, it’s okay. I’m good…” he argues.

“Ah, come on, Murph! Stayyyyyy…” you beg playfully, giving him yearning eyes. But they were for good reason, you want him to stay.

“You’ve had a long day, kid. Rest of us relaxed while you loaded water. Stay. Have a beer or three…” Dean gives him no choice as he makes a quick exit, ushering the rest of the group out the door. Jake never even turns around.

“Well! Uh, that’s never happened before!” Murph says as he anxiously rubs his hands over his pants. “Guess uh, guess I’m off the clock?”

“Ha, ha! Guess you are!” you say confidently, sipping from your skinny straw. “Sir, this gentleman will have your largest pils,” you motion to the bartender, earning a nod.

“Oh, you ordering for me now?” Murph laughs, turning sideways in his stool to face you.

“Yeah, got a problem?” you say, bumping your shoulder into him and feeling more confident now that you aren’t under the watchful eye of everyone else.

The bartender sets the beer on a coaster in front of Murph, and he reaches for a salt shaker, sprinkling a little onto the foamy head of the draft. “Nah, no problem at all, ma’am.”

“Ma’am?!” you exclaim. “Aren’t I a little young to be referred to as that?” you ask.

He shakes his head as he takes a drink. “No, where I’m from, everyone of equal age or older is referred to as ma’am, or sir. ‘S just how I was raised, not meant to be offensive.”

“Oh,” you say, still surprised. “Of equal age, how do you know how old I am?” you press.

He sets his beer down, rubbing his hands against each other. You catch sight of his calloused palms and gritted fingernails, being instantly attracted that he works with his hands. “Well, I know you’re over twenty-three, twenty-four because, obviously, you have no problem holding your liquor… you’re not over thirty-five, because you just called a beer a Pils. You have experience in your profession and you hold yourself well, and you got really excited and knew all the words when that Nickelback song randomly came on the radio in the truck this morning.”

Oh, my god? He… pays attention…

“Sooo…” you mutter.

“So, I’m going to guess… twenty-six.”

Your jaw falls open. “Holy shit.”

He smiles smugly as he takes a large drink of his beer, reaching his hand up to pat himself on the back.

“How did you do that?” you ask, stunned.

He shrugs. “It’s a gift, I’m also trained to read people.” He leans in, giving you a playfully suspicious glare.

“Okay, so read something else,” you urge, sitting up taller in your seat.

You feel the skin on your chest turn red as you try to hold your confidence. He takes a deep breath, scanning his eyes all over you. “Something is bothering you tonight. You don’t normally drink tequila, only when you’re trying to forget about something, distract yourself. You keep checking your phone but you’re keeping it face-down, so you don’t get caught off guard by a notification. You’re choosing when you let yourself look at it, telling me you like to be in control of situations. And, if I had to guess, what’s bothering you has something to do with that important call you missed this morning.”

Holy shit…again. What the…

“Alright, alright, you can stop now,” you wave him off, turning away and sipping from your straw again.

You hear him laugh through his nose. “Told you, it’s a gift.”

“Yeah well, you– you’re too good,” you bark.

His hand gently sits on your arm, the warmth emanating off his palm. “Hey, just forget about it, whatever it is. We’re here to have some fun, huh?”

His words are friendly and reassuring as you feel that same swirl erupt in your stomach again. “Yeah, you’re right,” you concede. “Fun. Actually, ever since they left, your eyes haven’t scanned the room even once.”

He blushes. “I can relax, Y/N, if given the opportunity.” His eyes fall to your lips, and you watch as he sucks in a tight breath, feeling no embarrassment that you caught him in the act. You reach your tongue to swipe across your bottom lip, taking the entirety of him in with your eyes, too. Suddenly visions of you and Jake last night come flying back into your memory, but you push them away, knowing that it’s only your subconscious telling you you’re about to make a rash decision. But you go against your gut, knowing that you had given Jake more than enough chances to make things right. And he had taken exactly zero of them.

You place a hand on the edge of your stool, leaning in closer to him. “Are you enjoying your opportunity?” you whisper.

You feel the unfamiliar but welcome graze of his light touch on your thigh, his hand barely ghosting up from your knee. “Very, very much so…”

There’s a heavy pause in the conversation as the two of you inch in closer, so close that you can feel his exhales hitting your lips. His eyes are darting quickly across your face as you feel his breathing pick up a little, the warmth of his body physically pouring itself on to you. Your heart is beating so fast you can hardly stand it, and the anticipation of his proximity is making you more dizzy than the tequila did.

You breathe in heavily through your nose, the smell of his cologne finally making sense in your mind. Pine. He smells like pine.

As your lips barely ghost his, a zap of electricity courses through your body, and Jake is the absolute furthest thing from your mind. All you can think about is Murph. All you can feel is him, he’s surrounding you, clouding up your mind entirely…

His breath hitches at the tiniest bit of contact that’s made and you take a second to press into him a little further.

“Murph…” you whisper against him. “What’s your real name?”

You can tell he’s holding himself back, letting you be the one to make the attempt to finally connect the two of you. Your eyes flutter closed as your ears go almost completely deaf, taking in the feeling of the softness of his lips as they smile sweetly against yours.

“Ezra… Ezra Murphy,” he breathes.

“Ezra…” you repeat, kissing into his mouth with the utmost caution while letting all of your insecurities tumble down around you. Suddenly there’s no sound, there’s no light, there’s no air left in your lungs… just him, only him, and the tightness of his hand on your thigh as he kisses you back. You lean into him, opening your mouth just a little bit more to let him in. His thick mustache is rough on your skin, but you couldn’t care less. You feel his tongue barely press through before pulling back again… the tiny breaths going in and out through his nose only adding to the sweet taste of him. His other hand finds your cheek, his thumb drifting across your chin as his fingertips gently grip at your skull. Fuck, he feels good… he feels really, really fucking good…

You exhale hard as you disconnect the fairly quick kiss, a stunned and surprised look of intrigue taking over both your haughty expressions. “Wow…” you mutter.

“Yeah, wow…” he parrots. “I’ve wanted to do that all night…”

“Uh-uhm…” you hear someone behind him clear their throat. You both disconnect contact as you turn around, finding none other than Josh holding his credit card between his two fingers, tapping its edge on the bar. “Sorry to uh, interrupt…” he says, forcing a fake smile. “Forgot my card.”

Fuck. Shiiiiiit. Oh fuck fuck fuck.

“Oh, no big deal, man. You uh, you need me to walk you back?” Murph collects himself, turning directly back into work mode.

“No no, stay here. Monty’s outside,” Josh responds, looking directly at you. “You two enjoy the rest of your evening.”

Josh walks away and disappears through the door as you’re left completely stunned, unable to form a thought. Murph spins back around to face you, a little bit taken aback himself. “That was kinda awkward…” he laughs.

“You think?” you try to laugh along, all the while feeling an overwhelming wave of emotions.

Embarrassed, confused, pissed, turned on…

“Um. You uh, you ready to go back?” Murph asks, wiping his fingers across his lips as he throws some money down onto the bar.

“Think that’s probably best,” you agree, standing to grab your jacket off the back of the stool.

As you and Murph walk silently back to the hotel, the alcohol hits you a little differently, adding heavier emotions than you could bear to carry. You want to reach out and grab his hand, let him steady you as you stumble your way back home, but you know that’s not in your best interest, right now. He gives you tiny smiles and offers to open the lobby doors, letting you walk inside before him to the elevator doors.

You both climb inside as the doors close behind you. “You want me to walk you the rest of the way up?” he asks, knowing he is getting off a few floors before you.

You lean your back against the wall of the elevator, crossing your arms across your chest. “No, I’ll be okay. Thank you, though.” Your voice feels heavier as the elevator ascends.

Finally, the elevator stops and the doors open to his floor. “Wait, Murph…” you stop him. He turns back to face you, his hand stopping the doors from closing. “I uh, I had fun with you, tonight.”

His lips curl up into a small smile. “Me too, Y/N. Thanks for helping me relax, I’m actually a little sad it got cut short…” he says.

“Me, too,” you agree with a nod, and he steps back from the sliding doors, offering you a wave of goodnight before the doors enclose you and your thoughts completely.

As you walk back into your hotel room ready to strip down and let the warmth of the covers envelop you again, you somehow wish you could take it all back. Wish you would have never been seated next to Jake on that very first flight. Wish you would have never followed him into that random bar bathroom…

Your mind is so fuzzed up it almost feels blank. You like Jake, you really do. But the longer he waits to tell you the truth, the more resentment you hold toward him. The last thing you want to be is someone who destroys a home. The shame you feel for even texting him last night is one of the heaviest you’ve ever felt in your life.

And Murph, his protection… blissfully unaware of the entire situation at all, being a gentleman and treating you with open kindness. Fuck. It’s all so fucked.

You’re feeling your eyelids start to droop as you hear your phone buzz beside you, the light blinking you awake.

It’s not a text, though…it’s an instagram notification.

There in the center of your screen is a request from Jake’s partner herself.

Ms. Isla J. Whitman would like to be your friend.

Isla…

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ao719 · 5 months

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Vancross

Vancross - Through the Darkness (Chapter 21)

Most of the characters belong to Pixelberry.

Summary: A group of friends embark on their final year at Vancross Institute with the hopes of making it their best year yet. When a new face with a complicated family plagued by secrets and rumors arrives on campus, new friendships are formed, a new relationship blossoms, and threatening challenges arise.

Title inspiration: Wake Me Up - Tommee Profitt & Fleurie

Main Pairing: Liam x F!OC

A/N: Multiple crossover series. There will be random sprinkles of canon throughout this story, but for the most part, it’s pretty much out the window. Thanks to @burnsoslow for prereading! Please excuse any errors.

A/N 2: Since this is more of a filler/check-in chapter, I made it a submission for @choicesflashfics, using prompt #2. Fair warning, our girl Croía is not doing well 🥲

Rating: M • Warnings: This series will contain nsfw material, language, some alcohol and drug use, and is not suitable for minors. If you read, you acknowledge you are 18+

Word count: 2468

Catch up here

•Three Weeks Ago•

Standing on the balcony of her room, Croía wiped the tears from her cheeks as she watched the last rays of the sun start to disappear behind the horizon. When she made the choice to come home, being told she was going to be forced to stay was not something she had anticipated.

Considering the way she’d been treated growing up, Croía thought they’d be happy to be rid of her, but at dinner that night, her mother informed her that she had “more important plans” for her. When she returned to her room, she saw a few stacked boxes at the foot of her bed, and when she opened them, she found all of her belongings from her room at Vancross. She rushed to her nightstand where she’d put her phones, knowing she needed to reach out to someone, but they were gone.

When her eyes shifted to the waves crashing against the jagged rocks below, Croía searched her muddled mind for some way out, but with no way to contact anyone and knowing there was no way for her to leave, panic clutched her heart.

Gripping the concrete balustrade, Croía dropped to her knees and a sob escaped her as one thought crossed her mind: Liam.

•Two Weeks Ago•

After a meeting with her mother to discuss exactly what was expected of her in the coming weeks, Croía was escorted back to her room. The meeting was one she remained completely silent throughout. In the week since being told she would be staying in Drakovia, she remembered why it was better to just keep quiet.

After being told that she was being named heir and was being forced to take a husband of her mother’s choosing, a husband who would end up with more ruling capacity than her to ensure she couldn’t ruin their plan — a plan she still knew nothing about — Croía became something she’d never been before: defiant. When she was summoned to meet with her mother, she refused to go. Her mother then came to her and an argument ensued, but one forceful backhand across the face that knocked her to the floor was all it took to remind Croía of where she was and exactly who she was dealing with.

Once at her room, Croía stepped inside as the two guards who’d escorted her took their positions on either side of her door. She was their new assignment. If she left her room, they followed. When she was in her room, they were stationed outside.

When she shut the door, Croía went to her balcony and finally set free the emotions she’d been holding back for the last hour; shuddered breaths escaped her as did her tears as she leaned against the balustrade.

At that moment, Croía couldn’t help but think of Liam, not that he was never not on her mind. She wondered what he was doing … what he was thinking. They were back on campus now. Knowing him, she was sure he had tried to reach out, but after a week of silence on her end, did he think she just chose not to return without a word?

Was he worried?

Was it possible he reached out to Trystan and Marguerite, and if so, were they trying to figure out what happened to her?

If they could figure it out, would they find a way to get to her?

What if she never saw or spoke to any of them again?

Croía choked on another sob as she tried to take in a breath; she stood upright, wiping the tears from her cheeks only for them to be replaced by more. Her eyes then shifted to the rocks below.

What if she was stuck here forever?

No. She couldn’t be … she wouldn’t be.

Nothing good could come of these plans her mother had, and Croía didn’t want to be a part of whatever they were. As she stared down at those jagged rocks, watching the waves slam against them, she knew that if all else failed … there was, at least, one way out.

•One Week Ago•

Sitting inside the great room with her parents, Croía stared off, not paying much attention to anything they were saying. She wanted no part in the discussion they were having about the upcoming masquerade ball where her mother planned to choose a suitor for her. Why she was summoned to be there for the discussion was lost on her; she was nothing more than the pawn they were trading off to the highest bidder. She’d been diminished to nothing but an object … a duty … a plan.

Croía had been in Drakovia for a month and she was losing all sense of herself, becoming a shell of the girl she had been before arriving. She was beginning to lose hope that she’d get out of this, and because of that, she was cold and distant, not that anyone there noticed or cared. And those who she thought would care — Alia, Liam, the other friends she’d made at school — she’d been told to forget them … just as they’d forgotten her. She was told no one had even reached out, and when she shook her head in disbelief, she was shown her phone; there were no missed calls, no messages. There was nothing. She swore her mother took pleasure in delivering those blows to her.

Yes, Croía knew that her mother could have easily gained access to her phone and erased any truth, but there was an insecure voice in the back of her head that made her question everything, and it only got louder with each passing day.

Was she right?

Had they forgotten her?

Had they come to their own conclusions of what happened and simply carried on?

All of those thoughts and more kept filling Croía’s head, unable to get that doubt-filled voice to be quiet, and none of it was doing her state of mind any favors.

Croía was pulled from her daze when her father stood from the sofa and excused himself; she watched him leave the room just as Lydea entered.

“Since you’re both here,” Lydea said to her mother and sister as she approached them, “we should go over some protocol for the night of the ball.”

Croía stood as she let out a breath. “I’m tired. We can do it another day,” she said as she started for the door.

“You’re here now,” Lydea bit out. “So we can do it now.”

“Another day,” Croía repeated.

“I wasn’t asking,” Lydea said as she darted toward her, grabbing hold of her wrist. “We will do it now.”

Croía turned, meeting Lydea’s narrowed gaze. “The last time I checked, you’re the head of the royal guard and I’m the Crown Princess. I don’t take orders from you. You take them from me.” She yanked her wrist free from her sister’s tight grip and turned, disappearing into the hall.

Lydea’s brows rose in surprise as she turned to her mother.

Viktoria was smirking at the door, almost impressed by her youngest’s curt attitude. Almost. Croía had a ways to go, but something was finally starting to break inside her, and in order for it to last and for her to become a semblance of what she needed her to be, she would need to continue to push her to that edge. She lifted her cup of tea to her lips, meeting Lydea’s gaze and shrugging as she took a sip.

•Present•

Standing on the alteration platform inside the palace boutique, Croía stared back at the floor-length mirror, focusing on the reflection of her own ice-blue eyes; she couldn’t help but notice how the light that had been in them the last several months had all but vanished.

Croía was trying to keep her attention off the gown she wore because every time she glimpsed it in the mirror, her chest tightened, her eyes stung, and her anxiety spiked; with the ball less than a week away, she was more on edge than ever. The gown wasn’t her — black with a barely there illusion neckline and lace appliqués in shimmering gold on the bodice that led into the top of the skirt. Leave it to her mother to want to parade her around in something like this; she felt like a piece of bait.

“We’ll have to take in the waist again, Your Highness,” the seamstress said as she rose to her feet after checking the hem. Upon hearing what sounded like a hint of worry in her tone, Croía glanced at her in the mirror, watching as she pinched the bit of loose fabric at her sides and gently pulled it against her body.

The first time Croía tried it on was only a few days after that regretful dinner. She’d taken in the waist two weeks ago by just a small bit, but now it needed to be taken in again.

Croía only offered a silent nod in response to the woman’s words. The seamstress offered a sad smile in return before turning to her supply table.

When the door to the boutique opened, Croía stiffened at the sight of her mother and Lydea. She schooled her expression into impassiveness as they approached her, both taking in the details of the gown.

“A little loose, don’t you think?” Lydea asked as she pinched the loose fabric at her sister’s side.

“I’ll be taking in the waist,” the seamstress replied. “I need to go grab some more pins. I’ll be right back.”

As the seamstress stepped out, Croía met Lydea’s gaze in the mirror, and she knew she had to be truly losing it when she swore she could have seen a flicker of concern in her eyes.

“It’ll do,” Viktoria said as she circled her like a vulture. “She’ll at least look presentable, yes?”

“She’s standing right here,” Lydea gestured to her. “How do you feel about it?”

Croía dropped her eyes to the floor, focusing on the hem of the gown in the mirror.

“Well?” Viktoria asked as she came in front of her and crossed her arms. “You can be honest. What do you think?”

Croía lifted her eyes to her mother’s. She knew it was a rhetorical question; she could hear the threat in her tone and see it in her body language. But if she was giving her an opening for honesty, she was going to take it.

“I think I don’t want to do this,” Croía said just above a whisper as she held her mother’s stare. “Any of it.”

“You’ll be securing a husband and, eventually, the crown,” Viktoria scoffed. “What’s not to want?”

Croía softly shook her head. “I don’t want either,” her voice cracked, shattering her impassive mask.

A smirk tugged at the corner of Viktoria’s painted red lips. “Oh, darling, I hope you’re not still holding onto any hope for you and Liam.” Viktoria moved to her back, meeting her gaze in the mirror as she leaned closer to her ear. “There is nothing more painful than watching the person you love give up on you, is there?”

Croía’s lip imperceptibly trembled as she stared at her mother’s reflection through her blurring vision.

Did he really give up? Possibly.

Could she blame him if he had? … No.

“He’s probably moved on from whatever insignificant thing you two had,” Viktoria said as she stepped back. “Because that’s how he sees you … insignificant. I suggest you do the same and let it go.” She turned and strode out of the room.

Lydea stared at her sister for a moment, watching her fight to keep her composure before she turned and followed her mother.

Once alone, Croía bowed her head as a quiet sob escaped her.

****

That evening, Croía stood on the balcony of her room with her vacant eyes fixated on the rocks below. It would be so easy, she thought. As a fresh tear slid down her cheek, her hands curled tighter around the balustrade as she leaned forward, really taking in the drop below.

It was beginning to feel like the only way to out.

Maybe it was.

A knock on her door startled Croía back, and she let out a shuddered breath as she snapped back to reality. She wiped her cheeks as she turned and stepped inside, headed for her door.

When she opened it, Lydea stood on the other side, having momentarily dismissed the two guards who were usually there.

“What?” Croía asked tersely.

“I wanted to check on you,” Lydea said.

Croía’s brow knit before a derisive laugh bubbled out of her. “I’m sure.”

“I’m serious.”

“Don’t pretend to give a damn.”

When she attempted to close the door in her face, Lydea stuck her polished boot in the threshold, and Croía pulled the door back and met her gaze. “Do you think I like seeing you like this? Do you think I find enjoyment in your misery? I don’t.” She stepped into the room and shut the door behind her. “I know this isn’t what you want. I know you don’t want the crown or this arrangement, but it’s nothing more than a game of politics.”

“My life is not a game,” Croía bit out. “And I’m not suited for this. For any of it. She doesn’t even believe I am and she never has. She’s made that perfectly clear over the years. I’m only here because I’m her last chance because there is no one else. I’m just a pawn in whatever game this is that she’s playing and I want no part of it.”

“Croía—”

“If you meant what you said, then get me out,” Croía interrupted, and Lydea took in a breath as she stared back at her. “Please, Lydea,” she whispered in a plea as her eyes filled with tears. “I can’t … I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this. I’ve never asked you for anything before … but I’m begging you now … get me out.”

Lydea continued to stare at her, and when Croía sensed her hesitation, she felt a spark of hope … but then she shook her head. “I can’t do that,” Lydea said. “They’re our monarchs above all else, and as their head guard, I swore an oath to them, Croía. I have a duty to uphold.” Croía deflated as she dropped her gaze; she should have known better. “I … I’m sorry.” With that, she turned and opened the door, shutting it behind her as she disappeared into the hallway.

Croía went to her bed and laid down, curling into herself at the center. Fisting the duvet in her hand, her tears began to fall again as Liam’s face flashed through her mind.

***************************************

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sil-writes-fiction-too · 2 months

Text

Worries

Gale x OC!Tav

Genre: hurt/comfort, fluff

A/N: during last night's BG3 session I found the book Gale was looking for and while expressing my worry for his obsession over it I got a line of dialogue from him that gave me the big sad, so I decided to write how the scene played out in my head and what consequences it might have had on the relationship between Gale and Summer. Be warned that I typed this on my phone during today's lecture so it might suck a little

"Don't be a hindrance after being such a great help!"

He regretted his words immediately after hearing them fall from his own lips. The way she recoiled slightly didn't escape his notice, as neither did the almost defeated look in her eyes. He hadn't meant to sound so harsh, he simply wanted, no, needed to get his hands on that book! Desperation was clawing at his chest, clouding his judgement momentairily, that's it. But these were simply excuses, weren't they? He said what he said, and the consequences were quick to catch up to him.

"Fine. Have it. It's all yours."

She said, immediately surrendering the book despite having just expressed her concerns about letting him have it. Relief washed over him as soon as the tome ended in his hands, but that was extremely short lived as now a much bigger, much more important problem sat in front of him. Clearly he had hurt his lover.

He thought she of all people would understand him, understand what he was trying to do, but instead, since the very moment he began his research on the Crown of Karsus, she tried all in her power to change his mind. What was he missing? Wouldn't it be infinitely better for everyone if he ascended to godhood? Wouldn't it be better for her? He could be a far better man for her, if she would just let him.

"Summer, I-"

He began, stammering as he looked for something to say, anything that would help him convey just how contrite he was for the way he had spoken to her a couple moments prior. He searched her yellow eyes, but when he found disappointment reflected in them, his mind was voided of all useful thoughts. What use was his verbosity if he couldn't even think of a decent apology right now??

"Come on. We need to get out of this vault before we are caught."

And so she walked past him, placing her new, flaming axe over her shoulder and closely followed by Astarion and Jaheira. This time around, not even the vampire took the chance to poke fun at him for his evident blunder with the tiefling girl he was so enamoured with. Probably because he could count the times Summer fell silent and got so serious only on one hand. Way to go, Gale.

The book weighted heavy in his hands as he finally decided to follow the group out of the vault, his eyes naturally drawn to the way Summer's tail irritatedly flicked from side to side. He needed to fix this, and fast.

---

The water rippled gently against the stones as the sun set over the horizon, tinging the sky with a deep orange color that faded in a beautiful violet. Dinner had already ended half an hour prior, and now everyone was busy lazying around camp, some resting in their tent, some warming up by the fire. Very few words were exchanged that evening, and Gale was sure it was partly his fault.

When he had thought of the moment he would finally get his hands on the book, he was sure he'd waste no time before reading it... and yet now it sat unopened in his bag, his mind preoccupied elsewhere. Namely, with the tiefling woman that was now sitting on the crooked pier, her gaze trained on the horizon as her tail slowly swished from side to side from under the marvellous cascade of her black waves. Even when she was angry with him he couldn't help but notice how absolutely gorgeous she was. Sometimes he wondered if he had fallen in love with another goddess, but she was always quick to refute this notion.

Thinking on this and many other conversations they had, he began to miss her terribly, as if she wasn't sitting just across camp. Usually they would spend their evenings together. Him, talking her ear off about God knows which topic, and her, listening intently even if said subject was of no interest to her and she struggled to fully understand what he was trying to explain. No matter what, she never seemed to be bothered by his chatty nature. Instead, she encouraged him, asked him to tell her more, all the while looking at him with a tenderness and an adoration he had never experienced before in his life. And he, in turn, would focus solely on her when she would talk to him about her home and peculiar family life in Aegis, fascinated by the stories of her adventures and of the people she met along the way. He was sure he never felt his chest as full as it was when he gazed upon her, and it certainly had nothing to do with the orb.

Before he could get further lost in his thoughts and self-pity, he started walking towards her. He didn't just miss her, he desperately wanted to apologize to her and to let her know that he never meant to hurt her. Fear gripped at his heart. What if she couldn't accept his apology? What if he couldn't remedy? What if-

"Hey."

His own voice jerked him out of his ruminations, and he found himself standing at her side. She remained quiet, her gaze still fixed on the thin, invisible line between the sea and the sky. A shiver ran down his spine.

"May I sit with you?"

He asked tentatively, keeping his hands behind his back to try and seem as composed as usual, but his fingers were fidgeting. He almost walked away immediately after asking, but then she nodded with a soft hum, and that alone felt like a blessing from the Gods.

He sat down beside her, letting his legs dangle from the little wooden pier as his hands tried to sit still in his lap. He was still nervous, but he felt like he could finally speak without making too much of a fool of himself.

"I... I want to apologize, Summer. I realize that my outburst must've hurt your feelings. That I must've hurt your feelings, that is. I didn't mean to be so rude to you. You are not a hindrance to me, I hope you know that. I... I was so set on obtaining that book that I let it cloud my mind. I'm sorry."

He spoke with the utmost sincerity, hoping that what he was trying to say made sense to her.

"I know you must've had a good reason to be so worried. I should've at least heard you out instead of snapping at you like a brute."

His face was starting to feel warm with shame as he replayed the day's events in his head, but before he could keep talking, Summer sighed, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment and her shoulders sinking slightly.

"I did have a good reason, I still do."

Her eyes opened again, and her gaze pointed towards the sky.

"I understand why that book is so enticing to you, but Gale... its contents could be dangerous. And while it's true we have faced greater dangers as a group in the last weeks, this could be risky for you. That's what I am worried about. I mean, "Karsus' Folly"? Ring any bells? You were the one that told me the story, for Hell's sake! Surely you must realize the risks you would face by reforging that blasted thing. I don't..."

She took a breath, and Gale realized she was feeling just as anxious as he was.

"I don't want to lose you."

Her voice turned softer, almost preventing him from hearing the way it trembled. She finally turned to look at him and he could've sworn he felt his heart break at the sight. Her yellow eyes, usually bright and fiery like the flames of the Hells, were now watery and no more than a flickering candle. She was afraid of losing him, much like he was afraid of losing her, and in the midst of all that anxiety and pain... he felt blessed. Blessed to have met her, to have found someone that cared so much about him, to have her heart and her soul and to have given her his in return.

"... I am a lucky man."

He breathed softly, letting a smile curl his lips as he gazed at her.

"You have a great deal of patience, having to put up with me. I hardly deserve you, my love. I understand your fear wholeheartedly, for I feel it all the same for you. Let the stars be my witness, I promise I will do all in my power to stay right by your side for the rest of my days. I am not going anywhere..."

Summer looked at him and a slight smile appeared on her face, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"I sense a 'but' coming..."

She joked half-heartedly with a sigh, and he smiled in a way that was sheepish and apologetic.

"But... please let me show you what I'd like to do with the Crown. Give me a chance to explain why this could be a great opportunity for us. I only ask that you hear me out. I promise this is not just some blind chase for power. It has purpose. I do this with you in mind, my love..."

For a moment he thought she would deny his request and retreat to her tent, but after what seemed like an eternity of pondering on her side, she sighed again and relented, nodding her head.

"Fine. I'll hear what you have to say."

His face lit up immediately, making her huff as she brouht her gaze back towards the darkening sky.

"Hells. You're lucky you're cute."

She grumbled a little, and he realized she was pouting. A genuine laugh escaped his lips as he sat closer to her, his eyes shining with love and relief. His hand came to gently rest over her smaller one, almost covering it entirely. She could feel his insistent, adoring gaze on her and she found it hard to hold back a smile. Goddamn him and that adorable face of his, destroying her attempt at looking annoyed. She shook her head with an exasperated chuckle and her tail came to lazily wrap around his waist as if to pull him even closer. What a beautiful night... it would've been a shame to spend it without him by her side.

#my writing #bg3 #bg3 gale #gale dekarios #gale x tav #bg3 gale × oc #bg3 fanfiction #gale fluff #gale hurt/comfort #gale of waterdeep

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thenightcallsme · 8 months

Text

ATWOW | Neteyam Sully, pt. 4

" And from Neteyam… From Neteyam, I get everything, and then nothing at all."

Synopsis: In the face of danger, the Sully's must leave their clan. Neteyam is the one to break the news. Will you go with them? Who will be the one to fight your case?

Pairing: Neteyam x Fem!Ometikaya OC (Gi'anya, or Gi for short)

Contains: established OC POV, a smidge of angst???, everything is fixed in the end, little extra POV at the end from my darling Kiri

Word count: 6,617

find the rest of the chapters in my masterlist here :)

• • • • •

Dull aches of pain echo each step I take. In just one night, I have learned to find a comfortable rhythm in my stride. As comfortable as a bullet wound can get. A reality where I didn’t sport a bloodied bandage in need of changing would be worlds better, but that is not my reality, so instead, I sport the bandage with a sort of pride. It’s a reminder that I am still alive under Eywa’s tenacious guidance, and it's her caution to not find myself in stupid future situations.

Through the word of Kiri, Neteyam has asked for me. Kiri is never short of being high on life, something I envy her for, but when she relayed her older brother’s wishes, there was something dark in her eyes. Sullen, apologetic. An emotion unlike her. I mark it down to the fresh hurt of Spider’s capture, something that has hit her and Lo’ak hard. I feel it, too, the lack of his small yet determined presence saddening, the idea of what is being done to him unsettling. But even with such a plausible explanation, I am unsure. Despite my current mood of indifference and the hums that reverberate behind my lips, that look is ever present in my mind's eye, haunting an otherwise usual request.

In the past year, the Sully’s and I have made it our mission to make High Camp feel like home. To the best of our abilities, at least. Home Tree was riddled with nooks and crannies that housed our secret hangouts and held copious childhood memories. Now all of it was reduced to ash carried away in the wind. We’ve combed thoroughly through the flying mountains in search of places that would be wholly ours. The one I find my way to is more out in the open and often inhabited by other younger Na’vi. Eclipse approaches, and as I make my way up the natural steps protruding from the side of the main base, it seems all have retreated under the promise of night. Nestled at the base of a jagged overhang ahead is a small stretch of plush grass that grows from the small circle of soil. From it sprouts the gnarled, twisted foundations of a hearty tree, impossible in age and size atop its natural pot of soil, and yet here it is.

Patches of wildflowers, mushroom heads, and glowing tangles of weeds peak through the soft grassy fingers that reach from the soil. My footsteps leave faint, glowing imprints in the ground that fade as I advance beneath a day at rest. Bioluminescent life instead lights the way to the tree. Its lush head of leaves cascades in a waterfall of fertile green, intertwining with small hair-like vines of neon pinks and blues.

Standing with his shoulder against the base of the tree is Neteyam, who idly twirls an unsheathed blade of obsidian between nimble fingers. It glides with a practised grace. Upon the sound of my approach, he sheathed it swiftly in the viperwolf hide scabbard at his narrow waist. His ears prick my way, tail swishing as he turns over his shoulder with that grin I love so much, all sharp teeth and dripping confidence. Neteyam is rarely obnoxious in his masculinity, but his lazy, lopsided grins are utterly male, and they always prod at a deep want. A need.

“Gi’anya,” Neteyam says by way of greeting.

I give him a gentle smile of my own and don’t hesitate to approach. “You called?”

He hums and returns his gaze to the sky, which yields to a wildfire of orange blazing on the horizon. “I did.”

Confirming the wary look in Kiri’s eyes is an indescribable atmosphere that follows Neteyam. His usual infectious air of ease and content is nowhere to be seen. Though he tries to not let it show, the way he avoids my gaze and his grin falls into a tight-lipped line. My stomach turns in warning.

“Kiri tells me you’ve been speaking with one of the warrior’s daughters, Eykana,” he continues. The subtle line of questioning is too casual to be his overall goal. It’s not often that he prods at my unsuccessful social life, either. “What’s she like?”

“She’s sweet,” I answer. “Very talkative, so far nice. I like her.”

He nods thoughtfully. “Good. That’s really good.”

“Mmm, but I wonder if she has another goal,” I continue. He looks over, curiously urging me to continue. “And she’s friends with Serexa and shit. They may not be close, but it still makes me think. I think her intentions are pure, but they do not hold me in mind.”

“How so?” He huffs a tired laugh. “You know you can be extremely untrusting, too much for your own good?”

I roll my eyes. “Trust me, just wait till you hear how much she talks about you. She wants you, ‘Teyam, and she’s just finding the easiest way to you.”

He shakes his head. The beads in his braids chatter against each other. “I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”

“Come on. Really? Last week it was Naimera, before that it was Quia. Even Serexa has been nice to me. Do you not see?” At his silence, I continue. “You’re coming of age. Soon you’ll take your dad's place and you still have no other half. The girls are getting desperate.”

He sighs. “I’m not interested in them.”

“Yeah,” I murmur. “Haven’t heard that before. Very surprising.”

“Just give her a chance.”

“I am.”

“It doesn’t sound like—”

“Neteyam.” I cut off, standing up straighter and levelling him with an exasperated gaze. “What is this for?”

He purses his lips and…cowers. Beneath my inquisitive eyes, Neteyam’s shoulders seem to inch inwards, his ears twitching towards his skull and brow pinching. “What is what for?”

I sigh. “Asking about a girl I’ve barely had any interaction with out of the blue is strange. And I really don’t like the vibe you’re giving off.”

“Hey.” His tone is somewhat teasing, but it sounds very hollow. “Don’t insult my vibe.”

“I’m being serious.”

“I’m just looking out for you. You need more opportunities, more life.”

Despite the strangeness of this encounter, he speaks truthfully. For the Sully’s, I couldn’t be more thankful. They have given me love and somewhat of a family when no one else was willing to. I am not officially their own and am instead an emancipated orphan. But there’s this unspoken rule that speaks otherwise. When I turned up at the Mother Tree speaking an alien language and brandishing the image of the sky people, my luck was thin. Even at my younger age, you’d think most would have been sympathetic to this scarred and scared child. Jake Sully was the only one to step up.

Jake understood the strange language I spoke and understood my fears, welcoming me into a life I should have had from the start. While Jake and his mate, Neytiri, showed me unconditional love, the rest were indifferent. The adults didn’t acknowledge me, and those my age never tried to connect. Why do you have five fingers? Why do you speak that way? Where is your family? You are not like us. These childish questions never manifested into a wish to know more about me. The Omatikaya did not owe anything to me albeit their leader's acceptance; I had no family name, no natural ties to their world.

Much of my life has been shadowed by a desire for more, and unfortunately for me, the one thing I needed desperately to be happy was not my right: connections. Yet, in all the despair, there was hope: the Sully’s. Growing up alongside them was my vantage point. We’ve been inseparable ever since. Tuk showers me with pure and unconditional love, and from Lo’ak I can always find humour in sadness. Kiri and I share a strong bond only shared between women, something I thank Eywa for every day; to not have her would be torture. And from Neteyam… From Neteyam, I get everything, and then nothing at all.

For as long as I can remember, Neteyam and I have been extremely close, being less than a year apart. Together we learned the building blocks of Omatikayan life. We hunted, we explored, we learnt to heed Eywa’s gentle guidance and connect with the world she has given. Our bond has been unbreakable from the start, and while I could never be more grateful, there’s still a dizzying selfishness that takes hold. For years, the sleazy grins, teasing words and occasional brushes of a hand have erupted a war in my mind. I want more from him, more than a friendly face.

But, just my luck, I cannot have what I want.

“There’s something else,” I push on. “What about some friendship I have with Eykana has you asking for me to come here?”

“I just, I…” His eyes seem to land on anything but my face. “I need to know you’ll be alright.”

My frown deepens. “Alright? Is this about yesterday with Lo’ak? Look, I know I get roped into his escapades more than I should—”

“No, it’s not about Lo’ak, but I do wish you two would stop feeding into this weird echo chamber of danger…” A sigh. “Kiri told me this would be easy, the liar.”

“’Teyam, you’re worrying me.”

My heart flutters in a sickening rhythm.

“Look, I’m not supposed to be telling you or anyone this right now, but it’s cruel not to. Knowing if you have more than us would ease my mind.” He takes my hands in his with a squeeze. If not for the horrible feeling in my stomach, I’d be a blushing, stuttering mess. “I’m leaving, Gi. Me, Kiri, Dad…all of us.”

I open and close my mouth a few times, only finding it in me to say a quiet, “What?”

“The sky people will stop at nothing to find Dad and tear him and his life apart, starting with the Ometikaya. For the safety of everyone, of all those innocent…he thinks we should leave for a long, long time.”

My breath comes hard and fast, the sick feeling accompanied by a heavy ache in my chest. I tear my hands from his.

My whole life has been a mistake, a burden in the eyes of Eywa. It’s not often that I am treated kindly by her, but somehow, I think the Sully’s were her one gift of pity. Only now, it feels like a poor joke and everything is slipping between my fingers like solid gold dissolving into worthless sand.

“You’re kidding,” I breathe.

He shakes his head. “I am not.”

“’Teyam, I—you… I can’t—”

I shake my head vigorously, unable to understand what I hear. Jake Sully wants to remove his family for the sake of everyone else’s lives, but does that not put them in more danger? There’s power in numbers, he used to tell me when I refused the groups I was assigned to during training many years ago. I was stubborn to put trust only in myself, but in his eyes, to trust others was to be strong. Now it seems his own advice has been picked up by a strong wind and whisked away.

“You can’t leave me here,” I beg. “I can’t survive here, I can’t.”

His eyes soften. Behind the sympathy and sorrow, there’s a sign of distress. “You doubt yourself too much. You’re strong-willed, no matter what you or the others think.”

“You don’t understand.” My voice aches, a manifestation of the painful swell of my heart. “Without you and your family, I would not be here. Or anywhere.”

Pressure builds behind my eyes and nose as tears threaten to spill. I blink rapidly and look away in shame. I cannot be like this in front of Neteyam, who I’ve always held up a strong front for. Even worse, my heart is breaking right before me, ripping apart into tiny pieces and collecting at my feet. Neteyam sees nothing but a friend in me, but even amid truth, I can’t help but dream.

“Hey, hey,” he coos. “Do not cry for me.”

I sniff. Everything about this is wrong. “What am I going to do?”

“You’re going to live,” he urges, his hand falling to my shoulder with a gentle shake. “You’re going to prove yourself to the rest.”

“No—”

“You have to.”

Suddenly, a bubbling anger erupts from the pits of my churning stomach, threatening to spill. Anger towards him, or Jake, or the state of the world, I’m not sure, but it’s overwhelming regardless. I shove his hand away roughly. Unnecessarily. The look in his eyes tells me it’s a silent jab to reject his comfort. Those feline ears twitch, drawing towards his skull. Slowly, I shake my head as he silently regards me, overcome by too many things at once.

“What am I saying that isn’t clicking.” My voice has gone cold and flat, emotionless against a painful subconscious war. “I would have thought you understood me. …You don’t.”

Those words draw something from him I do not expect. His ears flatten further, tail falling to brush the back of his toned thighs. His heavy-lidded, golden eyes narrow a fraction and his brow lowers. There’s an unfamiliar vibrato in his voice, sounding not only sorrowful and desperate but frustrated, as he speaks.

“That is not true.”

Every millisecond the reality of his words closes in, boxing me into a dark corner destined for me to waste away in. Every comfort I have ever known is no longer mine. The tears are coming now, hot and angry and shameful. I shouldn’t have sounded angry, shouldn’t have pushed him away, but my destructive taste for ignoring everything wrong can only hold so long. Now it has burst, I’m even more unsure of what to do. I need to be alone. I need to think. Without another word, I step around Neteyam with ragged breath, shoving away his outstretched hand.

My tears coming harder and faster once my back has turned. Soft pinks and harsh oranges melt away on the sunset, conquered by the promise of a dark night. Luminescent freckles appear on my skin in imitation of the budding stars above. A faint and miserable call of my name chases at my heels as I descend the stone staircase, but I don’t dare look back. Moss and lichen fade blanket the rock beneath my feet. My vision has blurred dangerously, and for a moment, I warn myself to slow down; one misstep could send me tumbling over the edge. And while I listen to the survival instinct, a sad voice challenges the response.

Why slow? Why not let it happen as Eywa seems fit?

I wouldn’t be surprised if she did.

Nobody looks my way once I’ve made it back to the heart of the skyward village. By now I have managed to wipe away the tears and conceal any visible sign of sadness. However, with a close enough look, they’re still there: glossy eyes, a pinkish tint to my nose and cheeks. They’re things a friend or a mother would notice. I don’t have a mother. The closest thing I have to one is about to leave, taking my only friends with her.

It’s dark by the time I stumble into my small hut and I fumble to pull the woven entrance close. The prepared meat I had hunted earlier doesn’t even catch my attention albeit the instinctual growl in my stomach. I want to scream; I want to rip the leaves from the walls, pull my jewellery apart one bead and feather at a time, scratch at my skin and claw out my hair. Never in my life has anything ever been fair, and it sure isn’t now.

For the rest of the night, I sob quietly in my nest on an empty stomach. Some nights I eat with the Sully’s, other’s I keep to myself, though it’s more with them than not. Nobody bothers to visit and I can’t decide whether I’m relieved or not. Maybe it is for the best.

•

The next morning I am just as alone as the night. A ghostly hot sting pricks at my nose and under eyes; a reminder of the restless night I spent crying. The pleasant morning air feels like a mockery, comfortably cool and carrying birdsong. I do not attempt to eat anything so soon. So instead, I spend a small portion of the early morning isolated in my tent, weaving together a grass bracelet. Although, I do not remain alone for long.

A pair of bright golden eyes peak between the flaps of my tent, belonging to a silent body that stares at my back. After a second, a faint psst catches my attention. My ears twitch towards the sound. Turning around, I see little Tuk with a beaming, mischievous smile. An ache pangs in my heart at the sight of her, but for her innocent sake, I try not to let it show.

“Good morning, sweet thing,” I hum.

The greeting is invitation enough. She strides into my tent with purpose. “Momma wants to see you.”

My fingers fall short of the knot I’m about to tie. “…Neytiri?”

She chews on her bottom lip nonchalantly as she swings her hips, hands clasped behind her back and eyes wandering. “She said to come now to our tent. And to be quick.”

“O…Okay.” I smile a little more to hide my confusion. “Lead the way.”

Tuk skips ahead as she leads me down a path so familiar I could walk it with my eyes closed. The walk isn’t far. In Home Tree, I was purposely homed close to the Sully’s after their realisation of their children’s love for me. It is no different in our new settlement. When I do not walk fast enough, the little Sully girl falls back to match my pace, tugging at my fingers and pulling at the beaded accessories falling from my loincloth. Every step is more nerve-racking than the last. It’s not often that Neytiri calls for me.

The sudden sight of their tent makes my head swim. Will Kiri be there? Lo’ak? …Neteyam? I’m not sure I’ll be able to face any of them so soon. Especially Neteyam. Thankfully, the boys go out together on pleasant mornings like this for a fly and a hunt. As we cross the threshold of their tent, my suspicions are true. There is no Neteyam and Lo’ak. Only Neytiri, Jake, and Kiri. The latter sits on an overhead beam that holds up the supports of the communal space in their intricately designed hut. Smiles are not unusual for Kiri, but the one she wears now is incredibly big, juxtaposing the last state I saw her in. I give her a small wave.

“That was quick.” Neytiri turns at the sound of Tuk and I’s approaching footsteps. She scurries from my side to join her sister above.

I bow my head slightly in greeting. “Neytiri. You wanted to see me?”

She clicks her tongue absentmindedly. “You are not busy today, are you?”

“No…” I answer slowly with a shake of my head. I cannot for the life of me predict where this conversation is going. Does she have a job for me to do?

“Perfect. Pack anything that is necessary to you.”

I open my mouth to speak, find no words, and then try again. “…Pack?”

She nods with a hum. “Pack, yes.”

“For…?”

Faintly and slowly, a smile tugs at the corner of her lips. It’s ghostly, as if she doesn’t want to give away the amusement she seems to find in this. “For our departure. You’ve been told we must leave, I hear. I hope I heard correctly.”

I’m not supposed to be telling you or anyone this.

My heart stops dead at her implication and I fight down the urge to weep in her arms, fearing that I heard her wrong. She is not referring to her family’s departure. She is not asking me to join them. She just cannot. But, truthfully, I know she is. For a moment, all I can do is stare up at the tall feline woman with wide, puzzled eyes. What was it that told her the decision was right? Or rather, who…

Neteyam told her; it couldn’t be anyone else. He was the one to tell me against the wishes of his parents. He was the one to witness my world crumble away. Kiri knew he planned it, that much was true. Nonetheless, the topic must have come from him. My moment caught in thought seems to amuse Neytiri further. Her smile truly begins to shine and Jake steps forward to place a hand on my shoulder with a gentle squeeze.

“We’ve seen how much you mean to our kids, and how much they mean to you,” he says with that kind, guiding voice. “Your bonds are strong and we won’t deny you it.”

“You’re okay with me leaving? With your family?” I breathe, still in disbelief.

“We want you to come.” Jake smiles. “My kids fight a hard case.”

“Thank you,” I breathe. “Really, you don’t know how much this means to me.”

“You can show us in time,” Neytiri says. “Now I suggest you hurry. We depart this afternoon.”

My heart is still racing as I make my way back to my hut, this time with Kiri at my side. She practically tackles me with a hug so big you would have thought we were saying goodbye. I hug her back and sink into the freer feeling. Although, while I am almost excited to leave High Camp in search of something else, I am not ignorant of the greater reason. The Sully’s are in danger, and wherever they go, it will follow. It doesn’t bother me one bit. I’m willing to show them how much I care for them, even if that means endangering myself.

“I’m so so so glad you’re coming,” Kiri announces for the fifth time. “I love my family, but sometimes I get tired of them. I could never get tired of you.”

I snort. “It’s not hard to find anyone less tiring than your brothers.”

She laughs her light, breathy laugh that I love so much. Then, a mischievous glint enters her eyes. Kiri circles me as we walk, tail swishing, eyes mischievous. “Speaking of my brothers… You should have heard Neteyam last night.”

I only raise a brow so as not to seem too interested. I pride myself on my ability to disguise my fears, my hopes and my desires. Letting people in sometimes scares me. But then there’s Kiri, who finds her way in against my will. I have never explicitly admitted to her my feelings for Neteyam or indulged in her fantasies; unfortunately, my closest friend is just incredibly understanding. Too understanding. She knows me best.

“He came storming in, already late for dinner, and we were all sitting around waiting,” she continues, knowing I secretly love to hear it. “Dad couldn’t even get a word in about his tardiness before he just blurted out that you were coming. He was all angry from the get-go before anyone could even argue. Mom and Dad tried to talk him down and say it was a risk, but he would not hear it. Lo’ak and I helped out—even Tuk. It only took a few minutes of convincing, by my my, everybody was shocked.”

“He shouldn’t have put that much effort in,” I say with pursed lips. “I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did last night. I cried and pushed him away when he was just trying to be nice.”

“So I heard. But don’t stress over it, Gi, he was just worried for you. Because he loooves—”

“He does not love me,” I cut her off.

She tsks. “You are blind. But seriously, don’t worry. We know why our home sometimes doesn’t feel like your home. Sometimes I see it myself. The looks, the mumbles. They think I’m strange. I’m only a Sully in name, so I’m not immune.” She shrugs away the thought. “You told Neteyam he doesn’t understand, right?”

“…Yeah.” My voice is full of guilt.

“In the moment, I can see that, but trust me, he understands. He does not feel what you feel, but man,” she rolls her eyes with a huff. “He likes to act all tough and unassuming but sometimes I think his feelings are dictated to yours. Poor thing. His heart is too big for him to handle.”

I laugh at the absurdity. Part of me finds a thrill in the possibility which I hurridly remind myself is nothing more than a girlish wish, for a man to show such care out of undying love. It’s just friendly. “Who would have thought, huh?”

“I’m bored of talking about the mighty warrior,” she says, dropping her voice to mimic her brother’s. “You know, sometimes I wish my parents just adopted you like they adopted me.”

“Well you were a baby,” I reason. “Someone had to. They also knew and loved Grace and I’m just…nobody’s daughter.”

Kiri shakes her head. “I will never understand why that matters.”

I sigh. “I just like to live vicariously through you.”

“You don’t need to live vicariously through me, you’re basically a part of the family,” she argues. It’s light-hearted, but suddenly, she’s frowning in thought. “No matter. Soon you’ll be a Sully regardless.”

I shove at her shoulder as she playfully bumps into me. “I thought talking about him was boring you.”

“Hey, I might be meaning me, not my brother, as we said years ago. Getting bored of the lacklustre males and growing old together, remember?” Her voice is a fun-loving mumble. “But fine, I see where you’re mind lies.”

“Kiri.”

“Fine! Be ignorant. Anyway, let me tell you about where we’re going while I help you pack.”

I’m both surprised and understanding to learn our destination. The Metkayina, an oceanic tribe found on the Eastern Sea reefs. To reach them is a few day’s journey by air, a journey I’m both resenting and restless for. Our ikrans are to be taken with two rucksacks per person. The scantness of my jewellery and clothes allows me to pick quite a few while making room for plentiful weapons and supplies and reliable food.

Kiri helps me pack as she gushes about the sea people we have yet to meet. She paints their world in vibrant colours and magnificent seas full of the unknown. Each word is more elated than the last. Her enthusiasm is overwhelming, and soon enough, contagious.

While she couldn’t sound any happier, Kiri is no stranger to sadness. My understanding of her character does not let me miss it. When she gets like this, she’s usually compensating for something, something being the home she has to leave behind. Again. I have little fondness for High Camp and let go of my longing for Home Tree a long time ago, but I have copious amounts of fondness for her. My other half, my second self. My sister not in blood or name, but through a spiritual connection that transcends this life and the many to come. In that fondness, I find secondary sadness.

The announcement of our departure and the ceremony that follows is a mind-numbing blur. It’s felt deep in the heart of the clan, invoking a shared, grateful sadness for their selflessness. ‘Goodbye’s and ‘good luck’s come endlessly. To my surprise, some of them are aimed at me. Many of them come from Eykana who hugs me and squeezes me and tells me there will always be a place in her heart for me. She doesn’t speak to or of Neteyam more than once. There is not nearly enough emotion in the goodbye he receives from her. It is sad, yet simple. What I get from her is greater.

Did I misread her?

The question is pointless. Of course I did. In my self-loathing and learned acceptance of always coming second in the hearts and minds of others, I categorised her as just another girl using me to get to the Sully boys. A sadness I didn’t expect to feel today is felt by that realisation. A part of it feels like another joke; it’s just my luck to finally find the promise of a real friend outside of the Sully’s, only for my world to be turned upside down in an instant, pushing that promise away. In my sadness, I make sure to hug her extra tight and whisper to her how much she will be missed. Surprisingly, it’s the truth.

At the foundations of the Spirit Tree, all of the Ometikayan clan gathered, hushed into a deathly silence as Jake knelt before one of our greatest warriors. Tarsem. He is known to be wise beyond his young years, courageously brave and headstrong for the people’s best interest. A cape of bustling red feathers strung from twisted, sharp tusks has been lifted from Jake’s shoulders and placed on Tarsem. I had stood a few feet away from the scene, Kiri’s hand held tightly in mine. The two of us watched on intently, blinking away the thin film of tears that clouded our eyes.

With a mighty cry, Tarsem raised his blade high, aiming the curved edge towards Jake’s bared heart. Neither of them broke their stare as the blade drove down, stopped by a twist of Tarsem's wrist to connect his knuckles with Jake’s chest. With a nod, the blade was pulled away, angled just enough to carve a shallow gash across the skin of his pectorals. The blood that trickled down his chest was a symbol of death in steed of his selfless exile, the spirit of the Olo’eyktan now reborn in Tarsem. The Na’vi erupted into bittersweet cries.

Silent among the cheering crowd, I had reached up a hand to squeeze Neteyam’s shoulder. At the height of the coronation, half my heart ached for Jake, the other for Neteyam, whose entire life purpose has been snatched away before his eyes and bestowed upon another. The title of Olo’eyktan is no longer his by right. It was a path once so solid, so black and white, now unsure. Though his stare never wavered from his father, his own hand reached up to rest above mine. The gentle sweep of a thumb across my knuckles told me he understood where my thoughts lay.

We remained as such for a moment as Tarsem raised his hands to the heavens, Kiri’s fingers woven tightly through mine, my other hand on Neteyam’s shoulder. Lo’ak, who consoled a sniffling Tuk, lingered at his brother’s other side. Soon enough, the celebrations call for a close, and we find ourselves accepting what is to come.

Jake is first to approach the sea of blue bodies and golden eyes, which part for him with bowed heads and whispered prayers. Neytiri falls into stride behind her mate with a quivering lower lip and soft sobs. Tuk searches for her mother’s hand. Kiri retreats next. With a squeeze of my hand, Neteyam urges me to follow. The saliva dries from my mouth as I do so.

A surrealness hangs in the air as we follow Jake and Neytiri to our ikrans. They have been prepared for us already, each perched on the cliffside beyond, bags tightly secured to their saddles with rope nets. As we emerge from the onlooking Na’vi, a tall figure falls into my stride.

“Apparently Metikayan celebrations are unrivalled, and lucky for us, their season of celebration is now.”

Throughout the ceremony, we had not spoken much, our interactions refined to wordless comfort. Netayam speaks to me now with a calm ease as if last night never occurred. He doesn’t look at me, instead leaning his head down a little as we walk as if we’re sharing a scandalous secret. I crane my head to look up at him.

“Do you even know what they celebrate?”

“No, but if they’re celebrating, I’m all ears.”

I huff a soft laugh. “I’m not surprised.”

At first, I decide I want to forget about last night. Kiri’s understanding of my greed for information, especially about her brother, told me everything I needed to know: he cares. Enough has been said. But as we continue to walk in silence, a nagging feeling begs me to speak. I have to hear it from him and satisfy the starvation that can I never ease.

“How’d you do it?”

Neteyam looks at me then, quiet and thoughtful. He understands what I mean. After a moment, he looks ahead again. “It didn’t take a lot of convincing. The others helped. Mostly Kiri—she’s better than any of us with words.”

I smile at the thought of her. “You didn’t have to.”

“I did,” he challenges.

“Why?”

“Because…” This time, he regards me with that wide, effortlessly seductive smile. Our ikrans screech at our arrival. “Because you’re one of us. It’s simple. I should have known what to do the moment I knew we were leaving.”

I barely have time to give him a warm look of appreciation before he’s striding forward to help his mother with Tuk, braids swaying with every stride. I stare after him for a moment longer before I make a beeline for my Ikran. As she bows her head to nuzzle, I can’t help but replay his voice over and over in my head. As if sensing my wandering mind, my Ikran, Vaana, whines.

“Did you hear that, beautiful?” I coo to the beast as I hoist myself onto her back.

Vaana gives me a humbling look as if to tell me I’ve heard those words many times before. She’s right; I have. Forcing down the swell it sends through my chest, I decide it is best not to read into the little things. Neteyam and I’s friendship means more to me than my hopes. I would never let it waste away because I made a move on him he couldn’t reciprocate, driven by a deluded mind. Life can be so unfair sometimes. Its temptations are purposefully cruel. As I connect my queue with my Ikran’s, she gives a huff that echoes my sigh, as if telling me she agrees.

•

Twittering bird chatter is the sign that the second day of the Sully’s travels is coming to a close. Overhead, small feathered animals fight for the best nesting spot for the coming night, calling out for friends and family while shooing away others. The Sully’s and their companion have found a spot deep within a thick wall of trees that surprisingly leaves room for a large family. It so happened that they were a large family. With their beastly Ikran’s surrounding their camp, they light a fire and cook the day’s hunt. Talk was not rare for them, and it wasn’t now, but behind the banter and the easygoing conversations, there was an ignored tension. It emitted from Kiri’s father the most. He felt guilty to see his family taking refuge in a forest days away from their true home, she knew. She also knew there was no use consoling him.

Instead, she takes a seat beside her younger sister, Tuk, weaving beads and leaves through small braids per her request. Across from them sit her brothers, Neteyam and Lo’ak, deep in a playful argument. Though, she wouldn’t be surprised if one of them began to strangle the other. Stood to the side are her parents, vigilant despite their need for sleep. Between Neteyam and her sits her dearest friend and sister on a spiritual level, Gi’anya.

Gi drifts between conversations with Kiri and Neteyam, unable to deny the occasional question and remark from the latter. It fills Kiri with an amusing pleasure to watch their interactions. She so badly wants to play matchmaker, and while the two of them refuse to admit what everyone knows, she tries her best. Kiri, stop. You’re delusional. We’re. Just. Friends. Whatever. The two of them made it extremely difficult for her, but deep down, she kind of enjoyed the chase if it meant she could poke and prod them here and there.

Soon the sun is setting and the fire is snuffed to protect their whereabouts. Jake urges them all to sleep, and with little Tuk nodding off within minutes, the rest follow so as not to wake her. For a while, Kiri submits to a deep, dreamless sleep. This part of Pandora’s forest is silent in a soothing way. The faint hum of nocturnal beetles sing Kiri unintelligible lullabies. However, she is soon disturbed.

Something draws Kiri from her sleep with a jolt, as if a hand had reached into her subconscious and ripped the roots of her being from slumber. Slowly and silently, she sits up to survey her surroundings. Everything around her is as it should be; Tuk fast asleep in her mother’s arms, her father turned towards wherever he thought danger would emerge from, Lo’ak sprawled out with a soft snore, Neteyam and Gi…

Eywa!

Kiri’s breath caught in her throat.

The pair sleep with ample space between one another, much to Kiri’s disappointment. Neteyam lies on his back, one hand on his stomach and the other laid out beside him. To his right is Gi’anya, who has curled up on her side facing away from him. Between the two of them lie their queues, which is uninteresting and unavoidable. Na’vi queues in close quarters were unable to activate on their own; the desire for Tsaheylu had to be mutual, and not to mention, in a waking moment. Forcing a bond on someone or accidentally creating one by standing too close was impossible. With that in mind, what Kiri witnesses, she is sure is a dream.

A faint, purplish glow illuminates the ends of the long, braided queues as the inner tendrils snake outward. Slowly, they advance towards the other, so slow that Kiri wonders if she should do something. She is overcome by a contradicting swarm of thoughts. Part of her is awestruck by the impossibility, and another part of her selfishly wants to let the bond happen. Maybe Eywa has grown sick of their back and forth, Kiri thinks, and has decided to push them together herself. Then there is another, smaller part of her that told her to pull them away, but she disregards it. This was a sign if she had ever seen one. Kiri watches unblinking as the first few of Neteyam’s tendrils brush hers…

Suddenly, Kiri’s brother lets out a soft huff. He turns his head to the left, and after a second, the rest of his body follows. His braided queue has been thrown across his chest, so when he turns to his side, it pulls away with him. The queues were no longer close. Their glows fade as they relax. Neither of them stir.

Kiri stays upright in disbelief. What she just saw… Had their queues connected in time to solidify a bond, or could the smallest contact have left the hint of one? Was she meant to tell the two? What an awkward conversation that would be. Or had she woken in time for Eywa to tell her the matchmaking was not in vain?

With that, Kiri reassumes her spot on the grassy forest floor, torn on what the right thing to do is. If it was not meant to be, would it have happened regardless? A mistake in their proximity? No…It was meant to be. It had to be.

• • • • •

A/N: trying to introduce other character perspectives. Also did not proofread this well enough cause I'm lazy. But here it is!! lmk if you want to be tagged in future parts

@jackiehollanderr

#avatar #avatar the way of water #atwow #neteyam #neteyam avatar #neteyam sully #neteyam x reader #neteyam x oc #fanfiction

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lorei-writes · 14 days

Text

Peculiar 'I love you'

Chevalier x OC (OC Chart: Esther) Fluff ~2.2k

A few moments of quiet, daily affection shared between Esther and Chevalier. <3 (I am too giddy.)

Content Warnings: food mention

Esther sat up. Her eyes narrowed as she stared her lover down, sizing up every last tired wrinkle of his. Fully aware her voice would not get through to him now that Chevalier resolved to finish the “good scene”, she hugged his arm, put her chin on his shoulder before nuzzling into his neck, careful for her breath to tickle his skin.

Esther glanced around the kitchen. Not a soul in sight; between the copper pots and pans, whisks, wooden rolling pins, a sharp assortment of knives, and precisely eight aprons hanging on the rack by the entryway, the lack of any recent human activity indicated she must have been there by herself. Curious yet cautious, she snapped her head from side to side… to then pounce at the chip basket, wholly unsuspecting that it was, indeed, a trap.

Chevalier cleared his throat.

Esther did not react.

“Deaf” as she was at the moment, she plucked a single raspberry from the mountain of its kind. Utterly enchanted by its amaranthine spell, Esther brought it to her lips. It’s ripe sweetness did not engulf her senses, however, the fruit freezing before trespassing into her mouth. And she turned to face him. Of course, she had.

Chevalier rolled his eyes. You shouldn’t have those.

Esther scrunched up her nose. One won’t hurt me.

He sighed. Do as you please.

Pleased she was, yet hardly satisfied. Esther reached for another raspberry.

Chevalier cleared his throat. Do I seem to enjoy repeating myself?

Esther pouted. Fine, fine… Her eyes sparkled. But you —

He stepped forward and her hand raised by itself; indeed, the fruit had ripened properly that year. It was hardly as sweet as Esther’s reaction when his tongue slid against the pad of her finger, however, her wrist twitching in his grip. Chevalier smirked – she too must have matured properly, for her complexion was hardly different from the berries still sitting on the countertop.

***

It was warm, but all too angular, and Esther could not understand why.

Barely awoken, held back somewhere at the hazy border between being aware and not yet fully conscious, Esther patted the world around in search of the still undefined disturbance. Her brow furrowed and she mumbled under her breath, crawling out further from the mud of slumberous shallows. Night still shrouded the room, then seemingly constricted to the bed alone.

A candlelight-lighthouse flickered at the horizon.

“Chevka…?” Esther rubbed her eyes. She squirmed a little, a caterpillar wrapped in a duvet-cocoon by some ominous force. Her arms were freed… eventually. “You’re still…?”

A page turned, followed by another one, the fine print resembling more so lice and fleas rather than letters. Esther pushed herself up on her elbow.

“How long have you…?” she asked in disbelief. “For goodness’ sake, it’s too dark to —”

A large hand fell over her head, further ruffling the already dishevelled hair, his affection being just a little too forceful this time. Esther grabbed Chevalier by the wrist, linked her fingers with his, brought them to her chest… And his eyes remained set firmly on the book.

“Chevalier…” Esther murmured into his ear, her lips just short of brushing against its shell. “Please, rest a bit.”

The answer came in a silent negative; she kissed it away, starting at his temple, through the corner of his jaw, to his cheek. Feverish in her affection, the glint in his eyes evaded her completely. Chevalier turned his head, stole her lips, stole her breath… And a new crease emerged between his brows, Esther looking up at him from her place among the sheets, still determined to thaw his resolve. The book dropped into her extended hand.

“Page four hundred sixty eight, second paragraph,” Chevalier yawned.

His head resting over her chest, Esther read out the reminder of the chapter and not a word more. Chevalier had fallen a prey to dreams before she’d even reached it just regardless.

***

Chevalier turned the page to a new chapter. Knitting needles met next to him with a soft “tap”; regardless of whether it was purposeful or not, Esther dictated the rhythm of his reading a stitch at a time. The corners of his lips twitched into a smile – he didn’t mind it, not in the slightest. Not when she kept him the company. His private library hadn’t felt desolate for a while.

Passing chapters became titles, another position disappearing from the pile to his left. Utterly occupied with the next volume of the saga, Chevalier disregarded the diminishing sunlight, or the few steps that sprung against the floorboards. He did not need to look away from the words to see and understand – the lit up lamp was enough a proof, as was the prolonged quiet. It broke eventually, however. Fortunately. That silence was rather jarring.

Slide, tap, knit, tap, knit…

Knit, tap, knit, tap, knit, slide…

Slide…

The needles had stopped at last, their steady rhythm giving way to a few frantic steps. Esther bustled around, the heels of her shoes striking the floor in the far corner of the library to then come close again. Sharp edges of hard covers thudded against the wooden shelves. Her clothing rustled, rather abruptly, and in the corner of his eye he could see her standing on her very tiptoes… for her to then hurry away again, back to another yet to be unloaded crate. Chevalier could question it, and he likely would have – his eyes drifted from the text and towards Esther, but she waved at his concerns. He could only oblige, urged further into selfish indulgence.

Thud, thud…

Step and tap, push…

… Shriek, of wood against wood, and then another thud. All quietly, as if attempting not to disturb him, as if lacking awareness that he had already been disturbed.

Chevalier snuck a glance at the corner his love occupied. Esther shoved the crate towards the door; however, feeling his gaze on her, she gave up on the task. He could read again and read he did, even as her steps neared him and her skirt appeared just beside him.

The book ceased to suffice. Esther laid down on the sofa, rested her head in his lap. Her eyes closed, clearly quite tired. A bed, a bed would be preferable. But Chevalier wasn’t a kind man nor would he ever consider describing himself as one; he shifted in his place rather awkwardly, unwilling to stand up even if it’d make the task at hand easier. Regardless, he did free himself of his cloak eventually, the book lying forgotten as he draped the garment over Esther’s form. She nuzzled into the fur collar… and then, then he could read on.

***

Windowpanes trembled under heavy rain, a splash of white spilling over the black skies to fade away in a blink of an eye. The world rumbled lowly under the deluge, as if pushed further into the entrails of whatever creature that was digesting it, raging streams pouring from above seemingly aiming to vanquish any solid ground. Chills rippled the plaster. Howling winds churned turbulent clouds, a mixture boiling over in a cauldron and gales breaking their necks against palace walls.

Esther paced around the room. She glanced from the windows, to the door, to the tiled heater, to then repeat the cycle. Window, door, heater, window door heater, window, door… A log was added to the fire, a poker somehow finding itself in her hand, absent-minded and absent-mindedly poking at the still burning embers.

Something clicked.

Esther jumped to her feet.

In this weather… Could he… Would he…?

The doorknob turned.

He did.

The moment of her inattention was when the door struck, presenting Esther with the most dreaded, yet also anticipated, not-surprise. Chevalier entered the room, the thinnest rill flowing alongside the edge of his cloak, swept-back hair just barely resisting the desire to fall into his face. A drop slid down his temple. Esther watched as it flowed down his profile, clung to the sharp edge of his jaw to take a leap of faith, to fall over his neck where it spilled, splashed, reconnected with more of its kind. His skin glistened under the warm light streaming from the chandelier, so pale the royal blue of his veins near surfaced, barely concealed under the thin layer of residual warmth. Chevalier closed his eyes with a sigh. Esther let go of the poker.

“Oh Lord,” she couldn’t help gasping. It did not warrant a reply; Chevalier took another step, out of a puddle or for a new one to emerge. Without even a word, he peeled his gloves off and set them on top of a dresser, deft fingers undoing the clasps holding his cloak in place. It fluttered to the floor, settled over the pristine granite in a wet heap, martyred in its drenched state. Esther rushed towards him. Chevalier smirked.

First, it was just a button of his jacket, followed shortly by another one. And another… Another, until the garment all but hung loose. Esther’s fingers grew as white as the towel she was clutching. Chevalier undid the first button of his shirt. Black linen clung to his body, soaked-through fabric moulding under the heat evaporating off his skin, the veil covertly unveiling the firmness of his muscles, their slightest curves, every sculpted edge… A drop dripped off his hair, lost itself somewhere over the plains at his nape, to then rush down the harsh slopes of his neck, pool by his clavicle and descent only further, carefully followed by a pair of eyes as dark as starless sky. Chevalier stifled a laugh, her gaze boring into his abdomen where it was still obscured by the fabric.

A towel – the towel – fell over his head. Chevalier pursed his lips, the list of his failed attempts extending by that evening. Furious in her haste, Esther dried off his hair, treating him with little more gentleness than a big, wet dog.

“Why are you taking so long?” Stormy frown settled over her face as her fingertips brushed against his ear. “Lord, out of those clothes, now. You’re so cold… I’ll draw you a bath.”

“That did not seem to be of relevance a moment ago.”

“You’ll end up with pneumonia!” Esther backed away and hurried towards the bathroom door, the now wet towel leaving his hair a ruffled nest. “You’re impossible, I swear!”

She might have said as much, but the point stood: her face was beetroot red.

***

The inn buzzed, waiters and waitresses rushing out of the kitchen with armloads of plates, air swaying heavily under the overpowering scent of exported spice and herbs. Weighted down by roasts smothered in sauce and plenty a pint of beer, the tables in the dining room bent their spines, barely hardy enough to avoid being snapped. Wood shivered, waves of cold foam rushing over it after each toast. Shouts rose, menus dropped – at all but one table, of course.

Esther hung her head low, few wayward locks falling from behind her ear to obscure her face. One needn’t have seen it to notice her resignation, however. Chevalier lifted his eyes from the menu.

“I’ll just eat tomorrow,” she murmured.

“Ridiculous.”

Esther shook her head, her shoulders slumping further. “I don’t think I can handle anything they serve. I’ll go to sleep and you have supper, it’s fine.”

Chevalier poked her forehead from across the table. He stood up from his seat and took the menu off her hands, a weak smile twisting Esther’s lips as she too attempted to get up. His hand on her shoulder, Chevalier forced her to stay where she was.

“Tea or water?”

“Really, I’ll —”

“Must I repeat myself?”

“Tea, please,” Esther gave in with a sigh.

The meal that arrived was not listed among the available options. Fried eggs, bread, a dollop of cream cheese? No, no, that was nothing like the fried cutlets and oily soups. Yet there, there were two plates of it. Chevalier reached for the cutlery.

“But… You didn’t have to —”

“Eating plainly for a day or a few is a non-issue.”

“You could —”

“And have you endure?” Chevalier snorted. “Stop making unnecessary sacrifices and eat instead.”

There was no room for disagreement. Esther took up a fork, a silent “thank you” fluttering in her chest.

***

Tea shook in the tea cup as the saucer made landing over the desk.

“No milk or sugar.”

“I’ll have it later.”

“No, you’ll have it now.” Esther corked the ink bottle and set it aside. She stole the documents occupying the desk, or much rather, was allowed to steal them away. “We’ve only just returned. I won’t be able to wake you up tomorrow if you’re too tired.”

“Too tired?” Chevalier snorted, but sipped on the tea regardless. “Your self-awareness is lacking.”

Esther settled over the sofa, her usually mellow eyes sharpening as she skimmed over the topmost paper. “Remind me, which of us needs somebody else to push them out of the bed?”

Soon, two piles were formed over the coffee table – one for her, and one for him to handle. She never intended to let him work alone.

Various Works: Esther x Chevalier

You've seen a typo? Let me know!

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@faustianfascination @sh0jun @m-mmiy @violettduchess @pathogenic

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#chevalier michel #ikepri chevalier #ikemen prince chevalier #ikepri #ikemen prince #ikemen series #ikepri oc #ikemen prince oc #ikepri esther

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milkb0nny · 8 months

Text

××× Soft Spoken ×××

Dean Winchester x Female Nephilim (OC)

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞: 𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐨𝐮

Summary: Sam and Dean Winchester face multiple struggles after Lucifer was freed by Sam. Now they try to stop the archangel, staying in a city in Wyoming. Before dealing with the clues Bobby left them, they find themselves in a local nightclub, trying to live a normal life for this single evening. Surprisingly the younger sibling meets an unusual woman...

word count: 2.802

As the hellish flames parted that one night, Lucifer emerged from the depths of his prison, his malevolent presence casting a chilling shadow over the world once more. With God's absence, Heaven and its angelic soldiers stood alone, powerless against the impending resurgence of the hellish bloodshed. Coming with destruction and hatred, demons celebrated the rising of Lucifer and are now on a free run. Darkness, crimson skies, pain and agony foretold a grim future for the planet.

While angels tried to stop the devilish archangel and his companions, more and more people died. Innocent souls got trapped into the almighty plans, leaving a long trail of sorrow behind. There seemed to be no respite, no redemption, no glimpse of peace on the horizon. Catastrophes burned cities down and killed not only humans but everything else. Among the turmoil two hunters were stuck: Sam and Dean Winchester. The news of Lucifer’s rising still haunted the brothers. The mistrust in Sam and the constant flashbacks of hell penalize Dean deeply, only damaging him more. Still, they couldn’t resent each other and stayed together to continue their horrifying journey.

They fought to save their world, often concealing in looking death in the eyes. Nothing was more exhausting than trying to save something nearly impossible. Stopping a celestial evil being seemed undoable for two humans who didn’t know if the Colt, a weapon which can kill many supernatural beings, worked on Lucifer. As the siblings pursued the elusive tracks left by demons, their journey led them to a relatively modest city nestled in the heart of Wyoming. Rock springs was their current stay as they tried to find new signs of demonic activity. Their motel was located at a near nightclub where students from the Western Wyoming Community College occasionally meet up to celebrate.

The evening they arrived at their motel, they quickly decided to pursue a normal life this night. Sam and Dean longed for one peaceful, colorful night where they spent a normal time without any demons, ghosts or angels. The relentless life of supernatural hunters had its moments of weariness, and occasionally, they both found themselves questioning their unwavering dedication. Some days were easier manageable as others but the impact of their job always stuck on their backs. Dean himself suffered a lot. He felt responsible for all the people that died along their journeys and the experiences in hell, including the massive amounts of guilt, hunted him. The relentless guilt he harbored became a constant companion, a shadow he could never fully shake. The dirty blonde wasn’t in an acceptable state at all but avoided talking about it. Despite the numerous offers from his brother he remained silent about what had happened in hell. However Sam contained hopeful towards his brother’s closed attitude.

That day they left the motel behind, getting into the Impala and driving to the local nightclub. The nightclub wasn’t particularly big but filled to the brink; students reveled in their leisure time, the elderly engaged in heated conversations at the bar and others simply flooded their stressful days with alcohol. A typical club it was which was perfect for the Winchesters. Dean searched for a lovely company though he found himself sitting at the bar just some minutes after arriving. Sam on the other hand fought through the dance crowds, letting himself go for this single moment. Usually he didn’t enjoy clubs as much as he was occupied by current affairs. Relaxing was a difficult task for him since he entered the life as a hunter. Perhaps it was his deep desire to be a typical student in this very moment, as the influence of alcohol carried him effortlessly across the dance floor. Upon his free mind he ran into a shorter person. Surprised he quickly turned around, apologizing hysterically. He reached his hand out as a proper help to get them back up. A soft hand clung onto Sam’s hand and the woman stood up, fixing her shirt.

The hunter was immediately trapped in her bonds. Her light blonde hair framed her face like a golden halo, accentuating her exquisite beauty. Hazel eyes, a mesmerizing blend of earthy greens and warm browns, focused on the tall man. Realizing the handsomeness of the stranger a red flush rushed over her sweet face. Maybe the alcohol caused her to be more oblivious than usually. On the other side Sam felt intrigued by her charm, wanting to know her. Building new relationships was not typically his thing, but on this particular night, he was embracing the freedom to shed his worries.

“Oh, um... I'm so sorry I bumped into you,” Sam apologized once again after calming down a little. The woman chuckled silently .

“It’s fine, really. Don’t worry!”

“But you hurt your ankle, didn’t you? God, it bended right a lot.” Sam expressed his worries, pushing his apology on her. He had witnessed how she fell and her way down the floor looked painfully enough.

“Yeah but it doesn’t hurt anymore. Really, don’t worry about me!”

She reassured him, though she herself felt a bit overwhelmed by the unexpected encounter. Her ankle really bended into an uncomfortable position but shortly after standing up she couldn’t feel any more pain.

Due to her unique heritage she healed in less than a few seconds, making her resistant against physical damage. The woman in front of the Winchester wasn’t an ordinary human - in truth she embodied a rare celestial being. She was born of infernal lineage, a being residing at the intersection of angelic and demonic forces. Usually hunted down by angels who exterminate unfaithful children between either angels and humans or angels and demons. Despite her extraordinary nature, the blonde longed for something most take for granted: a normal human life. Situations where she realized how fast her powers work, she resented herself more.

“Still,” Sam gathered his courage, “would you perhaps... want to go for a drink with me? On me, of course.”

He awkwardly smiled and was met by her nodding. This request was just the opening of a hurtful future. Both, unaware of their indirect connection, went up to the bar and sat down at the edge of the counter. Dean watched them silently from the other side, his usual cheerfulness dimmed by an inner struggle he was grappling with this particular evening.

“I apologize again,” Sam’s sighed, “What do you want to drink?”

His gaze lingered on her crimson lips as she gently nibbled on them while contemplating her choice of drink. . Her gaze met his as she responded.

“I’ll go with some soda, really. I don’t think I can take some more alcohol or else I’ll end up having the biggest hungover tomorrow.”

Sam placed the orders, surprised by her simple wish.

“How long have you been here today?”

She scratched her neck, recalling the time she had entered this club.

“About two to three hours? I usually meet up with some of my friends but they ditched me. Like it is with these college students. But wait,” she fixed him with a scrutinizing gaze, her expression slightly suspicious “before I tell you all about my life, what’s your name?”

Sam's heart quickened with her newfound interest, relishing the feeling of a more carefree time from years past. He replied in a soft, welcoming tone.

“My name is Sam. And you?”

A delicate blush tinged her cheeks “Nevaeh but you can call me Nev.”

As their drinks arrived, they each took a sip, the beverages marking the beginning of a conversation that held the promise of deeper connection. The music in the nightclub changed from a fast, thrilling beat to slow romance songs. It was that enchanting time of the evening when couples danced on stage, lost in each other’s embrace. As the slow soft tones rang through the club, Sam thought about a proper conversation topic. The music interrupted his thought process, leading him to comment on the acoustic atmosphere.

“This music reminds me of my Highschool years,” he remarked with a self-deprecating chuckle. “It's kind of terrible, haha.”

“I must agree. An hour ago they played the nicest music. You know, like the really old Metallica hits? I absolutely love them!”

Her expression radiated genuine passion for her musical taste, and Sam couldn't help but smile as he listened. He straightened his back and leaned in, supporting his head with his hand.

“Oh yeah, my brother is into that as well.” He remarked.

Her eyes widened in surprise. “I bet he’s amazing then! I rarely listened to music before which is why I come here so frequently.”

Sam's clothing was unpretentious, exuding a rugged, survivalist charm that somehow suited him perfectly.

“Not as amazing as you think really,” Sam replied with a modest laugh. “He can be a handful at times.” Sam cast a glance in Dean's direction, observing his older brother.

Dean led his cold guard down, flirting with the bartender to kill the time. Sam knew this was his brothers coping mechanism. His older brother seemed quite inebriated, a contrast to Sam’s more composed demeanor. However, she decided not to press further, respecting his moment of introspection. Suddenly, drowned in his thoughts, the man let a frustrated sigh out. The realization hit Sam as the following day this peaceful encounter would only be a memory he desired to continue. The peace he so desperately needed was seated right in front of him, yet he couldn't hide the turmoil that dwelled within him from the observant blonde.

“You don’t seem too excited. What’s up?”

Her soft, melodious voice cut through the turbulence of his thoughts. Though he didn’t want to burden her with his current issues. It would be impolite to talk about his worries shortly after they met.

“It’s nothing really.”

Sam tried to cover his decreasing mood, failing gracefully. His company raised her eyebrows in disbelief and inspected his sad expression more detailed. Surely she wouldn’t pressure him to reveal his concerns but lying is quite a harsh response.

She pushed him a little, trying to tickle his matters our of him. “Come on, you can talk to me. After all, I’m just some stranger. Sometimes, it's far easier to unburden your struggles onto someone you don't know than a loved one.”

“It’s just that life is really draining me at the moment.”

Sam relented, his guard slipping as he began to explain. Her hazel eyes remained fixed on him, attentive and understanding. Cautiously, she examined his every gesture and posture, intuiting the exhaustion and stress that clung to him. Sam felt her care so he got comfortable enough to pursue his worries.

“Some weeks ago I did something unforgivable. The thing I did impacts nearly everyone and I feel so guilty. Somehow my gut is telling me that my brother resents me and regrets certain decisions. On top of that we hardly get a break.”

Sam confessed, his voice carrying the weight of guilt that had settled on his shoulders. Nevaeh’s eyes narrowed a little, trying to see through him.

“Have you tried apologizing? I mean, a genuine apology that reflects how much you care about the people you've hurt?” She leaned in, supporting her head with her arm, and offered a soft, reassuring smile as she sipped her soda.

“I did but…,” Sam hesitated for a moment, avoiding her gaze. There were parts of the story he was reluctant to share. His company noticed and thus lied her soft hand down on his.

“You don’t need to push yourself,” withdrawing her hand to brush a few disheveled golden strands from her face. Her golden strands suffered through this rough night of partying and therefore looked messy. “Though I must admit I’m in a similar situation. My family hasn’t been as… welcoming as I hoped. I currently struggle to find a secure, lovely place to stay.”

“I’m sorry for you.” Sam replied, his expression reflecting genuine sympathy but Nevaeh waved it off, still, clearly suffering under her unfortunate relationships.

“It’s alright. After a long time of darkness light can only come.” She chuckled even though the woman didn’t feel like laughing at all.

“May I ask what you do now? Like, do you need a place to stay or something?” Sam inquired, his words unintentionally coming across as suggestive

“No, not in that way.” She replied. Her expression was confused but she remained interested, even with such a vulgar request.

Embarrassed, the young man hysterically shook his head.

“No, no sorry! I meant a place where you can like… stay without any issues. Not sleep with anyone - it came off in such a weird manner.” He tried to politely apologize and was met by a sweet chuckle.

“Oh, alright haha. It wouldn’t be the first request from a man.”

She clarified her standpoint, putting him at ease. Nevaeh enjoyed the chill evening conversation but somehow she couldn’t shake the feeling off that something - or rather someone - was watching them. In all honesty the woman disliked that unfamiliar yet threatening feeling.

“Do you also…feel watched?” She asked him bluntly.

In a moment of surprise, Sam scanned the surroundings, only to meet the unwavering gaze of his older brother, Dean. The Winchester sighed and gifted Dean an expression to question his brothers stalking behavior. With a resigned sigh, Sam redirected his attention back to the woman's question, ultimately agreeing.

“Apparently, my brother's keeping an eye on us. I assume he wants to go back to our motel. Want to come say hi?”

Sam extended an invitation, his tall figure casting a protective aura..

Although his seemingly younger company was weirded out, she still approved, finishing her glass and waiting for Sam to pay. After all, this unexpected connection had blossomed because of Sam literally bumping into her. They left their seats, coming over to the saddened male. Nevaeh was pleasantly surprised to find an attractive man in front of her. Dean had a distinctive presence, contrasting with his brother. He had a square jawline and a strong, chiseled face that gave him a rugged and handsome look. Despite the gruff exterior, his appearance also carries an air of charisma and confidence. Nevaeh hated to admit but she was fond of him. Sam’s brother let go from the whiskey glass.

“Sammy, looks like Mr. Serious is finally letting loose.”

Sam laughed awkwardly. “Seems so. Do you want to head home already?”

The shorter Winchester nodded in exhaustion.

“Yeah, we’ve got a long day upon us. I don’t wanna be a mood killer but I think you should come with me. A good night's sleep has been a rare luxury.”

Sam concurred, casting a glance at the woman, the smallest figure among the trio. Nevaeh smiled innocently, putting her phone into Sam’s hand as a demand for him to save his number. She didn't want to inconvenience them or deprive them of their much-needed rest. Sam, caught off guard by the unexpected gesture, blushed slightly and cleared his throat as he carefully entered his information into her cellphone.

“Well then,” her sweet voice rang through the small space between the brothers, “I’ll wish you guys some amazing sleep. Let’s meet for a coffee next time, Sam. I feel like I owe you something.”

Nevaeh giggled affectionately, casting a loving glance back at Sam before gracefully returning to the dance floor. Her night would continue its vibrant rhythm until the sun painted the sky with its warm light. The brothers looked after her before slowly picking up the way to their shaggy motel.

On the ride back to their shabby motel, Dean couldn't shake the feeling of odd familiarity he had with the woman. There was something about her that tugged at his memory, though he couldn't quite pinpoint it. Nevertheless he decided to not bother about it and teasing his younger sibling.

“You got a pretty chick. I didn’t expect that from you.” He remarked with a cocky smile, teasing the brown-haired man even more.

Sam, growing increasingly irritated by Dean's playful insinuations, responded, "It's not like that, Dean. I just happened to bump into her. She seems like nice company, that's all."

Dean chuckled in disbelief, convinced that Sam had already carved out a special place for her in his heart. Surely they’d meet up again and perhaps it could develop into something. Though the younger didn’t have these obsessions as he was glad to simply have a relaxing chat. However, Sam, while appreciating her beauty, modesty, and charm, had no intentions of letting romantic feelings develop. He viewed her as a friend and nothing more, contrary to his brother's assumptions. With that being said their relationship would have to continue but Sam wasn’t sure if they’d meet again. Nonetheless, he hoped for it, and so did Dean, in his own way.

#sam winchester #sam and dean #dean winchester #dean x reader #supernatural #supernatural dean #fanfic #spn #spn fanfic #dean Winchester x reader

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quillofspirit · 7 months

Text

Light as a Feather

The beginnings of a young maiden, with wings and a bright smile.

Set in LOTR, but I certainly made mistakes throughout. This is not meant to be true to everything Tolkien, just my thoughts on the life an oc with wing might have in Middle-Earth. Also, there is no dialogue.

Word Count: 7,340

Status: stand alone fic, completed

tw: loss, grief, some guilt

I read this fic by @entishramblings a few weeks after the first draft, it's worth a read. It's not the same idea, but they both have wings! If you want more winged-people in Middle-Earth, go read The Innocence of Brutality.

There will be a point in the story, where I highly recommend you listen to Romantic Flight, by John Powell, from How to Train your Dragon. Trust me.

It had been a while since her last visit. The woods had stayed the same, tall trees lush with green leaves, full from the summer sun. The warm westward wind had allowed her to make good time, arriving almost one full day before the start of winter. Her wings had grown strong from three seasons of exploration, beating ferociously in the air, carrying her above the clouds for the first time since her feathers grew, many moons ago.

She was young at that time, yes, just half her father’s size, yet small feathers grew each day, in two spots between her shoulder blades. At first, it was a wispy down poking out of her skin, like an old pillow in need of new filling. The skin of her back was often sensitive, irritated by loose feathers and the growth of what later became her wings.

When her parents took notice of her discomfort, and lifted her smock, they found the beginning of plumage. Scared at the red skin, and thinking the shaft of the feathers had pierced her skin from the outside, they spent a few delicate minutes picking them out one by one. She cried a lot that night, worried she misbehaved, somehow, and at the pain of each feather tearing away from her skin. Her father held her hands and told her to breath, to follow his own rising chest, while her mother did her best to be gentle.

With all feathers gone, her mother wiping her hands on her apron, her father took her into his arms, and held her close. Her eyes were wet and red, but no tears fell anymore. Her mother circled her arms around both, and they stayed, hugging and grieving the events of the day, until the sun was well under the horizon.

In the morning, they looked at the wound. It was better, less irritated, and starting to heal. Her parents looked relieved, and so she was too. There had not been feathers for a few days, until the itching started again. This time, she was careful not to show her discomfort, afraid they would think her a fool for getting feathers into her back again. Wherever they were coming from, they were determined to grow, and she did not want to spend every few days with the burning pain she had felt that night.

No, she would keep it to herself, and she would find a way to hide them.

It worked, and she was able to keep her back away from her parents’ worried eyes, until the feathers grew too big and too uncomfortable to hide beneath her chemise. She cried again when they talked about what they would do, debating amongst themselves. It was the only time she had thought of running away, but she knew not to where, so she stayed, feet firmly planted in the ground, fists closed tight and looking anywhere but her parents’ faces.

They approached and knelt in front of her slowly, searching for her gaze, until she let them catch it. They told her then, that whatever was happening, it was not something they knew about, but they would see what it became, what she became, and they would do their best to help. She gave a wet sob and launched herself into their arms then, and she told them about the way her clothes kept rubbing at the feathers, pulling and scratching her. They spent that evening adjusting her smocks and chemises, the three of them cutting and sewing a perfect little opening.

Eventually, the townspeople took notice of the strangeness of her back, and after a few questions to her parents, they decided that it was not a problem. She was still young, a smart child, always willing to help, with a bright smile. They would not ask more of her.

As the down became feathers, and limbs grew, her mother always tried to reassure her, saying she had gone through this as a babe, when her teeth were first growing in. This time, however, she was able to vocalize her discomfort in more constructive ways than wailing, not that she did. For the most part, she kept it to herself, and could be seen rubbing her back against anything that would hold, like fence posts and the great hickory tree that stood on the hill.

When she wasn’t foraging for pecans under it, eating them then and there, or bringing them back home for her mother to candy, she was climbing its tall branches. She once fell asleep on one, face down on her arms, her belly full and heart content. The whistling wind passing through the leaves and the sun shining high had lulled her to sleep, satisfied that from her high perch and behind the thick curtain of green foliage she could not be seen.

It was not long after the first real feathers grew in, the length of her father’s hands and no longer fluffy and wispy, that a tall grey bearded wizard came into the village, looking for the “young maiden with an unusual condition.” The wizard had a hat as long as his beard, and he grew more interested in her each time he came, for the limbs continued to grow and yet remained little more than decoration on her back. Although the wizard, Gandalf, as she had since learned was his name, had no explanation for her predicament, he promised to look to friends for answers.

He tried to convince her to go with him to the elves, that they might know enough to help her, or at least why she had wings. But she was young, and afraid of being scrutinized by any unknown eyes, especially those of the elves. She had only seen one, once, in a dream. She could have sworn it a memory, but her parents had been quite certain she had never left her small village.

It was early morning, dawn reflecting in the morning dew, soaking through her dress and leaving it stuck to her body. She stayed laying beneath the soft orange light of the sun making its slow ascent over the horizon, simply admiring the way the light shone through each droplet, turning blades of grass into tiny filaments, like fine crystal.

The wind was blowinggently, making her shiver in her wet smock. It carried a scent with it, soft and fruity, that had her sitting up, head tipping to follow it. With the light shining as it was, she had some difficulty to locate the source, but she did. There was someone, standingon a hill a few furlongssouth of her. They were looking at her, and she could feel the weight of their eyes, but she felt safe, like they were looking over her. She knew them to be an elf, though she could not explain why.

They stood against the sun andthey felt familiar, as warm as the rays drying her dress. They stayed still, looking at each other, though she looked more in their direction rather than atit, until the round sun behind them was almost completely above the hill, its stomach kissing the grass. The dew had gone and her dress was dry when they turned and disappeared behind the hill.

She had not seen an elf since, though she had heard of them sometimes going through the woods by the village. There grew tall, dark green dressed trees, that gave a welcome respite in the few sweltering days summer brought.

Over the next few years, her feathers grew to the size of her arm, and the stumps at her back grew into limbs, and eventually, into very small wings. They stayed quite useless for many years, growing large but still too weak to carry her. The townspeople started to love them, just as they loved her, and they looked forward to making her laugh, if only to see her wings flutter from happiness.

Everyone in town had soft pillows, made of the down she lost when she moulted. It became tradition for her to give a pillow made of her own feathers when a child in town reached five years of age.

And as the wings grew, so did she. she became a beautiful young woman. Many noticed the changes, for her warm demeanour became visible, a slight hue emanating from her skin when she smiled. It became quite evident to everyone that she had more in common with the elves than humans.

The wizard visited when he could, but never brought answers. No, he added questions to the list, though he always tried to bring her trinkets from various places. Secretly, though she suspected it, he was hoping to entice her into leaving the village in search of knowledge, and the world.

When she reached 17, the wings had grown to an almost unmanageable size. She walked sideways through the doorways in her village, and could only stretch when on the hill, by that tree she loved so. It became quite cumbersome, to say nothing of the alterations her dresses required. Though she did not have many, they needed the back cut, and fitted around the base of each wing, with a strap buttoned in between to close it off. A small salvation of her dignity, for her dressing would be quite improper without.

She often found herself spending entire days outside, after her work was done, flapping her wings in hopes of one day lifting more than a few feet off the ground. Once she could glide, she developed the habit of walking up the hill to swoop down over the village, often delighting the townspeople with her airy laughter as she passed over their heads.

Once, when the wizard was in town, she told him to stand in the square and look to the sky. Her smile was wide, and her wings flittering behind her, so he did as she said. She ran up the hill, where she picked up every red, orange and yellow leaf her apron could hold. She climbed up the first few branches, and took a deep breath before jumping and opening her wings.

As she swept through the air, she let her apron fall open, and the leaves slowly descend to the town, sending a flurry, the colours of sunset, bathing the town and delighted people into a myriad of colours. They glistened in the light, still wet from the morning dew, reflecting sun rays and slowly floating down, where children ran to catch them before they fell. She heard the wizard’s deep chuckle amongst the townspeople's laughter, and felt her chest grow light with joy. The colours became more vibrant, saturating the leaves with more light, like tiny flames, drifting down to the town.

She barely made it back to the village, after one of her more successful landings, that she was striding up to the wizard, and asking to meet the elves. He considered her, eyes crinkling and let out a knowing sigh. If she had not been convinced before, she knew then that he was hoping for that.

They travelled together, and she was happy to be spending a little more time each day in the air. Though she often went to sleep with her muscles sore, she did not stop launching herself into the sky, delighting at the feeling like it was new each time.

The weather was still comfortable when they reached Rivendell, and she met Lord Elrond, a tall and dark haired elf, who regarded her with keen eyes. Once they had eaten and were alone in a circular room, filled by books, he asked to see the wings fully. She did her best to stand tall, and spread her wings carefully, amazed that she could open them without touching neither walls nor ceiling. She let him examine her wings silently, before he spoke to Gandalf, who did not have much to offer, until he stood in front of her and asked for what she knew.

It was a short conversation, but she was relieved when Lord Elrond said she could stay as long as she liked, if only so she could learn to fly better. When she was dismissed, she did not linger to hear what Gandalf and Lord Elrond discussed, for she was eager to lie in a bed for the first time in weeks.

She awoke on a soft bed, sinking into it like freshly fallen snow, and she fell into her routine much too easily. Her face squished into the padded pillow, more comfortable than her own, she hugged it tight, contracting her whole body before loosening every muscle, sighing contently. For the first time since the lumps had become limbs, she did not wish she could sleep on her back, and her neck did not feel stiff from the position.

Her back was free of any soreness from the day before, and she felt the soft weight of her wings by her side, not squeezed into the tight space of her room, or needing to cover her shivering body. She smelled lavender and chamomile, making the ascent from deep sleep to an awakened state more like a climb than a walk. For a moment, she stayed there. Breathing in deeply, and relaxing even more into her bed, she allowed her mind to think about the past few weeks.

As they walked to Rivendell, with Gandalf telling her about the elves and what to expect, she found she knew the way. Not like she could explain the way back home, but her feet knew the way. Like she knew it was an elf standing on the hill, in that dream.

The closer they got, the more she found she could run ahead and she would always take the right path. Though he did not question her, she knew the wizard found her lack of hesitation peculiar. A few times, he sighed dramatically as he seemed to ponder the way, and yet she always knew.

Once they reached Rivendell, and after Gandalf explained that it was named Imladris in one of the elvish tongues, it was like she had spent the last 17 years of her life submerged in water and she finally surfaced. She breathed in, and the feeling grew in her chest, that she knew this place and it was welcoming her back. She had not admitted the thought to Gandalf, but felt at peace, more at home, in Rivendell than in her parent’s cottage.

Her village had been warm, despite the weather, and the people kinder. The few rangers and visitors that had passed through the village had given her a few looks, and sometimes a few comment had floated in the wind to her ears, but they quickly understood, by the sharp looks and sharper retorts, that she was not an oddity to be ogled. Everyone greeted her the same, merchants conversed easily with her, and children did not shy from bringing her flowers or small rocks they found.

The first time a stranger scoffed at her as she passed, the merchant he was dealing with stopped in the middle of passing the bread, and promptly gave him back his coins. They argued, though the stranger quickly realized that none in the village would now barter with him. Grumbling about lost opportunities and superstitious folk, the stranger resolved to walking to the next village where ‘better people would take his coin and let him talk'.

All in the village looked after her, but they treated her like a precious gem, afraid to get too close lest she crack and the beauty fade. She had been an outlier, however many times she participated in celebrations, invited every time, for every event no matter how small. And she was the first they looked to when a child needed cheering up, for her soft feathers and softer smiles always seemed to bring spirits up. They did not treat her like the town jester either, she was respected. And yet, she could not help feeling like she did not quite belong.

It was the small things, the pinch in her chest at the though of altering each new dress, or the times events were moved outside, for however careful she was, her wings always seemed to knock things over or bump into the ceiling. Having to stand, unless she brought that one chair the town had commissioned for her 15th birthday, when sitting into chairs became too uncomfortable. Waking up with a stiff neck unless she slept on the branches of the big hickory tree, where she could wrap herself in her wings.

And despite how much she loved her parents, and how much they loved her, the sad looks they all shared when her friends talked about getting proposed to, and what they wanted their future house to look like. Because she knew, eventually, she would have to build herself a house and live in it, with only friends and family to visit, but never one to stay.

No one in the village had approached her with anything more than friendly interest. She had many friends, and yet none with which to share her life. She had grieved that thought, and found it particularly foreign when she arrived in Rivendell, for there was much to learn, and even more to explore.

She breathed in once again, to remember the smell and feeling of the soft linen pillows and the plush sheets of the bed. She sighed before tentatively opening her eyes.

She could see an open window and the morning sun, only just starting to cast a pinkish glow on the white walls, and hear the soft wind blowing in fresh light air, full of the sounds and smell of the many waterfalls. When she stood from her bed, she looked around the small but airy room.

Tentatively, she stretched her arms, and with them her wings. She had never been able to do so inside her room, though here she found them almost fully deployed before they brushed upon anything. Wary of the damages she could do, she brought them back to herself, and a shy smile graced her lips easily, the first of many in her day.

On a chair by a simple desk, she found a beautiful blue dress, of airy silk. As she put it on, she discovered it had already been altered to fit her back, and her heart grew with warmth at the thought. She could move her wings with ease, and it was the most beautiful cloth she had ever worn.

After spending a few minutes putting her hair in a loose braid, she walked out, determined to explore the wondrous and sinuous walkways of Rivendell. She walked, her hand on the cold finely carved walls, watching the sun slowly rise and the waterfalls glitter like a million fireflies.

START LISTENING TO ROMANTIC FLIGHT HERE

Her meandering led her to a bridge, over three mighty waterfalls that led into a wide river below. Had she no wings, she would have felt terror at the height, knowing a fall like this to be fatal. Instead, it filled her with excitement at the possibilities.

She considered the fall, then her feathers. They had grown more golden since her departure from her village. She had not yet been able to fly more than half an hour, though she supposed she was here to get some answers. This would answer at least a few of her own insecurities.

She took a deep breath, feeling the small mist of tiny droplets floating up from the cascades. The sun was still rising, and she let her excitement bubble up in her chest. Before doubt could get the better of her, she walked to the edge and let her body tip forward. She could almost see her reflection in the running water, her blue dress swirling in the wind.

As she neared the river below, she tilted her head and fixed her eyes to it. She breathed out deeply, and opened her wings wide. The wind rushed across her face, between each feather, and it caught in the great expanse of her wings. She felt her body begin to drift upwards, and she inclined her wings down. She kept her eyes straight, focusing on the shore, than the mountain range opposite the river. Before she hit the water, she gave a big beat of her wings and was lifted towards the sky with an ease she had never known before.

She soared up in the air, wings beating and bringing her closer to the sky, higher than the bridge she stood upon moments ago. The sun was up, and the first rays of sunlight were hitting Rivendell, illuminating more of the elf-city as she rose. When she felt the sun warm her skin, she closed her eyes and gave one last beat, savouring the feeling of weightlessness and warmth. Completely at ease in the air, she felt happy, truly, incandescently happy.

She smiled then. With nothing to hold her to what was and what could be, she was free. For years, she had longed for the moment her wings could carry her. She had been patient, though it had failed at times, when angry tears spilled from her eyes and she had lamented having wings only to be chained to the ground. Now, oh now she was free.

From a nearby pathway, an elf and a wizard were discussing. They were talking about her, about her extraordinary fate and what it would mean for her. When she stopped in the middle of the bridge, the elf looked at her intently, but did not seem startled to see her lean forward and fall.

The wizard smiled, and his eyes shone with pride when she rose again. As she flew to the sky, he remembered how she used the hill near her village to glide over it, and how she soared across the plains on their way to Rivendell. Now, she looked quite like a bird, flying towards the sky with the same agility of a sparrow in summer. Her feathers glowed golden when the sun passed through them and she looked radiant then, illuminated by the sun and her own happiness.

That was the first time she felt the wings to truly be a part of her. From then, she flew, gliding between trees and manoeuvring with more ease each day. She spun between branches, and slid between valleys, skidding between the tall walls of canyons with a giggle. Her wings continued to grow, though not as quick as the rest of her, and her longest feathers were now the length of her legs, a rich golden yellow along the shaft of each feather, with a few deep brown steaks. Along the ones closest to her shoulders, there was a dark grey, speckled with white dots.

Her muscles were strong now, able to carry her against the wind, though not for long. But her stamina was gaining, and her eyes shone with pride everytime someone asked to see her full wing span. When kept against her back, the top of her wings stood a good feet above her head, and her lowest feathers swept the ground when she walked. Completely unfurled, both were three times her own height.

She had never quite outgrown her habit of physical touch, having grown with human parents who doted on their daughter. She could not help herself, sometimes so overcome with happiness to see someone that she enveloped them into a tight hug. When she flew back to her village, after two years away with the elves, she had not been able to hold herself back.

She saw it from afar, the smoke billowing out of the small houses, and the children playing in the square. She dove to circle the village, and a child looked up, curious at the sudden shadow on the ground. He squeaked with joy and quickly called others to attention. She landed, amongst children that had grown since she last was here, and merchants that did not seem to age.

She strode to her parents' cottage, and called their name, her voice breaking from excitement. They looked up from their work, and met her halfway. They looked upon her, tears glistening and eyes shining with pride as they took in their daughter. Standing tall, with wings the same colour as the autumn sun, and a smile to rival it. They fell into each others arms and she curled her wings around them, maybe in an attempt to bring them closer.

They stayed there, in the soft embrace of family, for a while, softly talking to each other, like they had done that one night so long ago. When they broke apart, they decided to eat outside, in the grass. The townspeople only interrupted their reunion briefly, to welcome her back.

She spent a few weeks with her family, happy to help where she could, and delighting the children and adults alike with stories of the elves and Rivendell. She told them of great halls, open windows, and many waterfalls, of the soft linens, and the pretty dresses. They did not grow tired of hearing her describe the walkways, and the rivers passing underneath, neither did they seem bored by yet another story about the views, and the kindness of her host. The children lined up to experience the feeling of flight, and she grew strong with carrying young boys and girls over the square, laughing with them and sharing their exaltation.

Before she left again, the village celebrated her, and she spent the night dancing and laughing with friends and family. She hugged her parents close the next morning, and she waved them goodbye, and left them in a whirlwind of their own thoughts.

She went back to Rivendell, where she continued to grow into herself. The elves still did not know where she came from, even a few years after she had come to them, but they admired her light, so similar to theirs, and yet, her own.

She befriended an owl from the forest, who seemed to look at her like a clumsy newborn. It showed her how to swoop down from branches, and to spiral horizontally, using her momentum to pass between close trees. Then, it was how to use her wings to hide or to keep warm.

Last, it showed her to hunt from the air. She had learned from the elves, but always found herself too clumsy on the ground. Her wings would cast shadows, or drag on the floor and attract the attention of her prey. The hunters encouraged her to try from branches, but they did not have wings and could only help so much. Now, she knew how to use it to her advantage.

The first time she was able to pick up an unsuspecting rabbit from the ground without disturbing any of the grass around it, it panicked a little in her grasp, but she put it gently down on the ground and watched it hop away. She startled an elf nearby when she passed overhead, squealing in glee. She learned to fly silently, and it became her favourite hobby.

She knew better than to hope elves would not feel her coming, but she had yet to test it on others. So, when the wizard next visited, she took great pleasure in showing just how well she flew, and how much her wings had grown. When before she could scarcely hold her own weight in the sky, she could now comfortably fly against the wing. She told him about carrying the children in her village. He smiled at the thought, truly delighted to see her giddy with excitement. Then, she left him to talk with Lord Elrond, who she could swear had a knowing twinkle in his eyes as he watched her walk away.

Perched on the top of one of the great halls, she waited for him to walk near. Just as he stopped to look at the setting sun and its reflections on the many waterfalls, she dove and grabbed his hat. He looked up too late, and saw her retreating form before he heard her laughter. He did not keep the smile from gracing his lips, and it stayed there until supper, where she graciously extended a hand, holding the hat. He tried to look stern, but the mischief in her eyes and the happiness in her features was enough to convince him not to.

Two winters came and went before she decided to go explore the world. Goodbyes were harder than she imagined, but she promised to come back before the next cold, since she found it too strenuous to fly in the snow. She would need a few years still to get used to it.

She had to see why people chose to be rangers, living in the wilderness and never staying long in a single place. She met one in Rivendell, a kind and calm man, who was curious but respectful of her wings. They talked, not often and never for long, but she appreciated the company of another man. No matter how much he reminded her of an elf, in his manner of speaking, and his steady gaze, and yet, there was a touch of unruliness, in the way his eyes betrayed the feelings behind. They shone bright with compassion, and worldliness, as only one who has seen much and wants to do more has. She enjoyed his company, if only as a respite to the airy and imposing personalities of the elves. They were kind, but she always felt like a child around them, feeling so much of the world.

She had to see things, and learn out of the safety of Rivendell. So she prepared a few supplies, keeping it light, as she would have to carry everything. It would make for good exercise, she insisted, possibly to reassure herself. Still, Gandalf seemed to have every confidence she would be back before the winter, so she trusted. In him, and her wings. They would carry her home.

She found it harder to barter the further from Rivendell she strayed. She could hardly hide her wings under a cloak, and she often found the best way to get supplies was to ask rangers when she saw them close to villages. Unfortunately for her, it also meant that sometimes, she encountered the ungracious kind.

One tried to shoot her when she walked up to him, believing her to be some kind of orc spy. Of course, another tried to run away with her coin, believing himself to be faster than her, which she quickly corrected. She was sure at least half of the rest lied about the prices, but she preferred it to the mothers hiding their children’s eyes, and the murmurs of abominable fates.

Most treated her fairly, and with grace, as they invited her to share a fire. They exchanged tales, and warned her against certain villages that were more superstitious. She always tried to give them something before flying off, and sometimes all she could manage was a few arrows, fletched with her own feathers.

Although she saw much, especially when she flew and took the wind. There was a feeling unlike any other, high as she was, to look upon the marvels beneath her. Her favourite moments were when she found mountains and canyons deep and wide enough for her to explore, her wings just brushing upon the sides. But she had no one to show these amazing things to, and no one to tell at night. There was no one to share her food, and certainly no one to contemplate the stars with.

When the loneliness got the better of her, she veered to her old village, her heart aching for the warmth of neighbourhood and friendship, subjected for a little too long to cold stares and colder hearts. That night was the longest, as she flew without a rest, and she arrived, just as the sun rose onto the hill. Just below the clouds, she could feel its warm rays and tears sprang into her eyes when the first roofs came into view. Hastily, she dove and landed on the narrow path, in front of her parents’ cottage.

She knocked before she took a full breath, lungs still stinging from the effort. The door opened and she almost threw herself at her parents, but she quickly drew back when she recognized the now grown up girl she used to entertain in her youth.

She was only a few years younger, but it made all the difference now. The girl – now a woman – wiped her hands on her apron, and invited Avelina in to share breakfast. She followed, mostly out of habit, but her mind was reeling.

Had she forgotten her own home? She never thought a few years would erase the memory of her childhood, but as she looked around, sat at that table, she recognized the slight uneven step at the back door, from years of passage. The table still held that crack she had made once as a child, when she attempted to jump off it to fly, still young enough her wings barely reached her wrists. She had fallen to the ground harshly, and the table had followed, a corner of it splintering.

Her finger traced it now, and her friend set a bowl of porridge in front of her, sitting down across.

Her expression was sombre, and she looked to be choosing her words. When she spoke, it was with a soft tone, and Avelina would have thanked her for it. She started with expressing joy at her return, but slowly moved to the concerns she knew she would hold in her place, to find a stranger in her parent’s home.

Without much thought, Avelina corrected her. It was not her presence that made her uneasy, and she certainly was not a stranger, they knew each other too well for that. No, it was the fact that she had yet to see her parents.

Her friend cast her a sad smile, and told her of their passing peacefully in their sleep, about a year ago.

Avelina felt like her wings could not have carried her away from the way the ground opened beneath her. She felt light-headed, and the room spun around her, but she held her grief close, and thanked her old friend for her honesty. Though her friend's face was blurry, she thanked her for the meal also, and walked out, not having eaten a bite of it.

She did not know how to feel. This was new to her, the grief. Suddenly she felt very jealous of the elves she knew, wishing to feel nothing of what was quickly overcoming her. The ground felt unsteady, and her childhood felt more like a burden, pushing on her shoulders.

Her heart felt ten times its usual weight, and the enormity of having left her parents, in their last years, to tend to their garden, and the farm, when she could have attended to them, brought a strangled cry to the surface. She clutched at her heart, and tried to heave in a breath, but it was interrupted by a sob.

Living with the elves, she did not see her parents grow old, and she certainly did not think of them aging. Instead, she took her time, honing her skills. She did not feel prepared that the last time they talked was exactly that.

With a big gust of wind, she flew to the hill, where stood a tall hickory tree. At the highest point, it soaked in the autumn sun, orange with it. She sat at the base of it, and brought her wings around herself.

She cried there until her eyes were raw, and the sobs turned to hiccuping breaths. The sun was slowly setting, and she was exhausted. She almost fell asleep, leaning on the tree, looking out at the village, her wings around herself. But she was tired of being alone with the stars, and she felt as fragile as the dry leaves by her, beneath that great tree. She wiped her cheeks in an attempt to remove the stains she could feel, and pushed herself up. She walked back to the village, and there found many of the same faces she had grown with.

Her return was full of smiles and well wishes from the townspeople, and she tried, oh she tried to return them, but her heart was heavy and her guilt too close. Some saw it, she knew in the sad looks she received, but they did not mention it. Not yet. They would a few days later, when the idea did not sound as foreign. For now, they welcomed her back, all smiles and tight hugs.

It was not until the late evening, when celebration was dying down and she was walking back with her friend to the house. She almost refused the invitation, but even if it was not her home anymore, it was her friend’s and for now that would do. They had just put down the last blanket, when her friend called her name softly, and seeing the warmth of her eyes made the grief too big of a burden to bear alone.

She collapsed in her friend’s arms, sobs making her tremble with the immense emptiness she felt in her chest. They stayed there, her friend softly rocking her and slowly untangling the knots in her hair. When the night was at its darkest, Avelina’s tears had run dry for the second time, and she clung to her friend. There was a great big anvil on her heart, but she would carry it. And with a lullaby, she easily drifted to sleep, exhausted as she was.

She stayed two weeks in her village, but the incoming winter was pushing her to return to the elves soon. Avelina hugged her friend for a long time that morning, after they had gathered supplies for her. When she left, she flew above through a cloud for the first time, and the wet air felt refreshing.

The climb was difficult, it was hard to breathe the higher she went, but she was determined. She forced her wings to beat harder, and her lungs to draw in more air before she broke through the first cloud. Even as she relished in that small step, she continued to climb, and soon found a warm wind. It was easier to fly here, she could glide if she followed the stream.

Though the air was cold, and it froze what might have been tears or the effects of passing through a cloud, she wanted to stay there for now. Up here, in the cold and above the clouds, she could let her thoughts run, not afraid of being seen. Up here, it was just her, her wings and the endless sky.

She remembered that dreadful night, the one she spent crying with her parents. When they resolved themselves to her situation, they pulled her close and apologized for making her suffer needlessly. She was too young at the time to understand, but now, she wished she had thanked them.

Thanked her father everytime he went up the hill with her, catching her when she launched from a branch and did not fly very far. Thanked her mother for altering her clothes, and trying different ways until she found the one most comfortable. Thanked them for picking her up everytime she fell, and encouraging her to try again. Thanked them for the cheers she heard everytime she flew a little bit higher, and for letting her go to the elves when she needed answers.

She passed through a thick cloud, and shut her eyes at the sudden chill. It was colder than the air, and she felt tiny pin pricks on her skin. When the feeling stopped, and she was out of the cloud, she opened her eyes again and left the wind stream to reach higher.

The sun was bright here, but she did not need to dodge or twirl. There was nothing in the way. So she climbed until she was becoming dizzy from the lack of air. And then she let herself fall down.

She put her wings close to her back, and dove to the clouds below. For a moment, her heart beat ferociously in her chest, and she had a fleeting thought of fear. She did not know what she would find beneath the clouds, she had been flying so long, and faster than before with the wind, so she could very well be above mountains, hidden behind the soft, white blanket.

She pulled up just at the last moment, and steadied just before she broke through, her wings barely brushing against the wet mist, and yet it clung to her. It reminded her of flying low over lakes, her fingers breaking through the cold surface, tiny droplets lifting in her wake.

How proud her parents would be. She was soaring through the sky, agile as a sparrow. As much as they loved her, and she knew they did, for it would not hurt this much if they did not, they longed to see her happy and confident. And this? Trusting her wings, and herself, going where she pleased and knowing she was loved? This was a happiness that filled her to the brim with light, so much so that it poured out of her.

Though she knew her heart would ache to share it with them, she cherished her memories. And as much as she wished to thank them for giving her a truly golden childhood, she could be at peace with their last moments. They had seen her ecstatic, sharing her gift and shining with pride. They had shared in those moments, and she would ask no more.

She breathed in deeply, and looked ahead. There, poking through the clouds, was the top of a mountain, surrounded by a vast ocean of pure white. She knew these mountains, she had dreamed of going over them since she first saw them. She smiled, and felt the timid flame of hope warm her chest. She tilted down, and dove through the mist.

When she broke through the surface, she was taken by the beauty of the valley below. From this high, the rivers looked like tiny filaments of silver, passing through lush green hills. At the foot of the mountain, there stood her second home.

A small shuddery breath left her, as she dove to it, and suddenly felt the warmth of the sun. Above the clouds, she felt numb from cold, too caught up in her thoughts to realize she was freezing.

She was fast approaching Rivendell, and she recognized someone in a hat, walking along an elf on the walkway to the supper terrasse. She smiled, and veered just above them, swirling in the air, and shook the ice that had formed at the tip of her feathers, and in her hair.

The movement sent hundreds of small crystals of ice through the air. They caught the light, and burst into a myriad of hues, a dance of changing colours on the ground. For a moment, she was struck by the view, like she was seeing colour for the first time. All around her, the ice was glittering, like faraway stars. They were sending rainbows through the air, to the ground below. She laughed fully, elated by the sight and the feeling of the sun on her back.

On the walkways, the wizard and the elf had stopped walking, instead looking up at the magnificent display. Rainbows could often be seen in the fine mist lifting from the bottom of the waterfalls, or over the streams running through Rivendell. But this was different, like each crystal was its own rainbow, glittering in the sun and the light of the giggling girl flying through it.

Did I write 7,000 words centered on a phrase spoken by Matthew Madfadyen in 2005? pffft I -

Thank you for taking the time to read this! If you enjoyed, do leave a little comment, let me know what you thought 💚

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I do not give permission to repost or translate this story or any of its parts.

These are my personal dividers, please do not use them.

#lotr #lord of the rings #lotr fic #lotr fanfiction #lotr oc #gandalf #gandalf the grey #elrond #gandalf was g-dog in my notes

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poptod · 16 days

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Beat the Heat (Ahkmenrah x OC)

Description: After all the events of The Night Grows Dim, Ahk and Wau enjoy their peaceful, and well-earned, life together.

Notes: i really didnt want to let go of wau and ahk so i wrote a little blurb about them escaping the overwhelming heart of a southern egyptian summer. reminder, wau is paankh. WC: 2.8k

Paankh stared up at the sky. His hand, placed at his brow, shielded his eyes from the sun's blinding light, but it did nothing to protect him from the beating rays of heat coming down like an oven's fire, nor the thick humidity surrounding the Nile island. He stood at the shore, his feet partially submerged in the water, and looked out across the distance.

A few clouds lingered on the horizon; northwards the river flowed, and north was where the city of Nekhen lay, its' gleaming walls too distant to see from the northernmost end of the island. But Paankh remained apprehensive about being spotted, and thus rarely ever stood on the clearing at the sandy shores of the island's north edge. He stared for a little while, then turned, and trudged back uphill towards home, sweating in the midday summer sun. He watched his feet, how they sunk into the crackling mud, until he reached the top of the hill.

The notes of a flute hummed like the trilling of birds, wafting on the waves of heat that clouded the horizon. Amongst the chirping of hoopoe birds and the distant honking of geese, Ahkmen sat in the shade of the reed ceiling which covered the yard in front of their home. His melody was bright––alternating between notes of staccato and legato, which matched the steady pacing of Paankh's feet till he stopped in front of the home's outer gate. There he stood, staring at Ahk till his music ended and Ahkmen looked up with a hazy smile.

"Hot?" He asked, resting his flute and hands in his lap.

"… yes," Paankh said after a moment of thought.

Ahkmen laughed, leaning his head back against the cool plaster of their home.

"And the water? Are we still forbidden to go down into it?" Ahk asked, raising an eyebrow.

Paankh pursed his lips, and crossed his arms.

"No," he said flatly. "We never were. I was only checking for crocodiles and any… people."

"Paankh, you say it like it's a filthy word," Ahkmen said, setting his flute aside before he stood. He walked over, exposed his skin to the midday heat, and took Paankh's hands. "Not all humans are bad, you know."

"They aren't good news," he said quietly, staring at their hands together.

When Paankh looked back up at him, Ahkmen had a scrunched expression on his face.

"It's… very hot," Ahk said. "It might not even be worth the walk down to the river to cool off, it's so hot."

Paankh immediately began to scan the ground, and let go of Ahk's hands. Ahk watched him with great curiosity, following after him when Paankh wandered, stepping away from the home and its' shades.

"You go back home," Paankh said as he continued to search.

Ahk frowned.

"Why?"

"Go relax. I will be back with something for you in a few minutes, alright?" Paankh said, turning to look Ahk in the eyes.

Holding back a soft chuckle, Ahk instead nodded and left, glancing over his shoulder at Paankh, who would bend down periodically.

A few minutes later, as guaranteed, Paankh came back with a large, green palm leaf in hand. Its fronds shuddered with each of his footsteps, which alerted Ahk to Paankh's presence far before he emerged from the palm groves below the hill. Again, Ahk had to hold back a laugh, but this time a chuckle managed to escape him.

"What are you doing?" Ahk asked, grinning brightly, and squinting in the overbearing sun.

Paankh lifted up the branch, which was twice his height when fully stretched out, and thicker than his arm.

"Shade," he said simply, and with ease held it over Ahk's head.

Ahk looked up, seeing the blue sky sparsely through the thick fronds, and laughed.

"Are you serious?" He asked.

Paankh frowned.

"Yes," he said.

"Is this –" Ahk noticed the freshness of the main branch, and the pale fibers on the ripped end, "- did you tear this off a tree??"

Paankh glanced to the side.

"… does it matter?" He asked slowly.

Ahk shrugged, and stepped forward along the path.

"I suppose not. But since you were so kind as to bring me shade, I think we should go to the river," Ahk said, and the two slowly padded away from their home and down the hill.

In the fall and winter seasons, and in the spring, it was both tolerable and enjoyable to walk barefoot around the island, and feel the grasses and soft earth that covered its' surface. Now in the summer, the ground was far too hot to touch with bare skin, so the pair of them wore woven reed sandals, both pairs of which Paankh had learned to make after much trial and error. So they walked with even steps, settled in the quiet of cawing birds and the work of Ahkmen's shade. Paankh matched his stride with Ahk, and thus continuously protected the former Prince from the sun's harsh glare, which Ahkmen often lamented as being hotter than most summers he had seen.

Still, Paankh would listen patiently, and watch his step with expert carefulness, ensuring he would not step on any of the small creatures who dwelled on their island. Back and forth his gaze would go, between the shining face of Ahkmen, which shone brighter than gold, even in the dark, and the earth below where Paankh would regret to step on even an ant.

At the shore, where the trees provided their own ample shade, Paankh stuck the palm branch back in the earth, and stood at his full height with a soft grunt and sigh. Ahkmen was already making his way to the water, where he slipped off his sandals and set them away in the shade near a large rock. Paankh did the same, and followed behind Ahk.

This particular bank was on the western side of the island, and faced a shore of hills of boulders whose cracks were filled with trees and bushes, which in the north progressed into the white mountains of Waset. The wind blew sparsely in the nook, and though the immediate shore was shadowed by the trees, the river itself glimmered always in the sun, and Paankh thought of the Goddess Anuket, whose waters flowed with passing flowers and groves of tiny fish amongst the speckled reeds. Their scales sparkled like silver streaming through the water, and Paankh would often watch, enraptured by their fluid movements.

Ahkmen took his first steps into the water, and his shoulders rose with tension at the sudden change in temperature, which for Paankh, brought a small smile to his face. But Ahk still waded forward quickly, and soon was submerged up to his knees. Paankh stood his ground where the lapping waves kissed the changing sands, content to watch.

"It's still cold, actually," Ahkmen said, turning round to face Paankh.

"A little," Paankh agreed, and met Ahk's eye.

Paankhentef's arms were crossed, and his thoughts more distant, but forever grounded in the instance. He thought of the dappling of Ahkmen's skin as light danced through the tops of trees; looked at where his white loincloth tightened around his slim midsection, and at the dark, coiled locks of hair that would soon be heavy with cool water. His legs, smooth, tan, and muscled, now vanished into the shadowy water, and would only show themselves in the sparse light that made its' way through the tall palm fronds and the pink tamarisk flowers and leaves that grew on the shore. Paankh stared and absorbed all of this, and never once let his expression fall.

"Don't go too far into the water," Paankh said as Ahkmen began to wade further. "I don't have our skiff ready at hand."

"Don't worry yourself," Ahkmen called back, continuing forward. "All is good, my brother."

Paankh laughed, took another few steps into the water, and stayed there, where the running river came up halfway to his knees. Ahead of him, Ahkmen inhaled deeply, and Paankh watched the back of his chest expand and reveal both ribs and muscle, before Ahk jumped and vanished beneath the river with a great splash. Strings of water flew up into the air, glittered for only a moment, and fell back into the stream as waves reverberating out from where he had dived under.

It was only a few seconds before Ahkmen remerged from the water, taking a deep, gulping breath as he did. As expected, his dark hair was now heavy and shining, and the rich coils hung like curled streamers rather than the thick bush they usually were. Framing his face alongside the droplets of water now coating his freckled skin, Paankh watched with special delight as Ahk ran his hands over his hair and pushed it all back to open his eyes.

Again, and as always, his face was shining, beaming in his smile and pale eyes surrounded by dark kohl, which was blurred in the water. Ahkmen waved excitedly over at Paankh, who returned with a small, but equally joyful wave.

"Come join me!" Ahkmen said, gesturing Paankh to come forward.

"You know I'm not good at swimming," he said with a curt laugh.

Ahk swam a little closer, and it was clear he was crouching on the river floor to keep his shoulders underwater.

"We'll stay where you can touch the ground, yes? Come!" He said, laughing, and gestured him forward again.

A smile broke out across Paankh's face. Rarely could he ever maintain a 'no' for long; Ahkmen need only ask another time before he broke, and agreed to whatever Ahkmen desired. He followed with slow steps as Ahkmen swam out into the river on his back, keeping his eye on Paankh. He paid the cold no heed, and was soon submerged up to the base of his chest, where he stopped and took a deep breath.

"Ha!" Ahk laughed as he swam up to Paankh, slowly circling him. "You're so stoic. How did I say it once? Like a bull?"

"That was you describing my stubbornness, if I remember correctly," Paankh said in a deep voice.

"Perhaps." He began to swim away, into deeper water. "Even a bull would be more expressive in such pleasant waters; would maybe frolic, or even call out for his mate!"

"I can do both of those things," Paankh said with a growing smile.

"Oh really?" Ahk asked amusedly.

Paankh let out a call that sounded more like a dying sheep than a bull, before diving headfirst into the water. He was not a fast swimmer, but Ahk was in reach of his stretched arm, and Paankh was able to grab his ankle and pull him towards him. Ahkmen, caught up in his laughter and surprise at the sound Paankh had made, nearly swallowed water as he went under. The two of them writhed, splashing up great waves before they both emerged. Laughter spilled between them like the water dripping down their bodies, and they fell once more into the river in delight.

Eventually Paankh was able to collect himself enough to stand, and raised Ahkmen up by his armpits, swinging him halfway in the air and half in the water. Paankh grinned and laughed at Ahk's pouting lips and furrowed eyes, before letting go and allowing him to stand on his own. Immediately, Ahk devolved into giggles, and leaned on the sturdy weight of Paankh's shoulder. In turn Paankh wrapped his arms around him and gently squeezed.

"Oh, Paankh," Ahk sighed giddily, hugging his waist, "aren't you happy we decided to live here, instead of in the Field of Reeds?"

"I think it would've been suitable either way," Paankh said, staring off in thought. "But it's impossible to know the circumstances of our existence in the Duat."

Ahkmen laughed and parted himself from Paankh, instead taking his face in his hands.

"You're so cute!" Ahk cooed, squeezing Paankh's cheeks together.

"Come now," Paankh frowned. "Didn't you want to swim?"

"Of course, of course," he laughed, and fell back into the water with a splash. "All things in due time, my heart!"

Paankh chuckled, sat on the river's floor, and watched as Ahk backstroked through the water, splashing up droplets between his gulps for air. As his swimming skills left much to be desired, Paankh would usually find a place to sit where the water would come up to his shoulders, and watch Ahkmen and all his surroundings carefully, wary of any predators. Although hippopotamouses and crocodiles inhabited the northern reaches of the delta more than they did Upper Egypt, Paankh felt as though it wasn't worth the risk of letting his guard down.

But all throughout the day, there was no sign of any large animals, not even the Nile perch that would occasionally swim by. The sun was halfway between the crest of the sky and its' resting place in the western mountains by the time Ahkmen trudged back on shore, weighted by the water in his hair and his loincloth, and the exhaustion of his muscles. With a great sigh he collapsed on the grassy earth, and stared upwards. Paankh followed him and seated himself beside the Prince.

A soft wind blew, heated by the northern air, and passed through the heavy braids in Paankh's hair as he sat down beside the reclined Ahkmen.

"You'll probably want to bathe in the river before going home," Paankh noted quietly, intertwining his fingers with Ahkmen's, hidden within the grasses.

Ahkmen sighed, his eyes half-lidded and his lips slightly parted.

"I'll want to bathe in your river at home," he mumbled.

Paankh raised an eyebrow.

"How forward of you, master," he laughed, leaning in teasingly.

Ahk shook his head, but a bright blush came to his face as he began to stammer.

"I didn't… I'm just tired," he said through his own dampened chuckles.

"You can never lie to me, Ahkmen, ibib," Paankh said softly, raising the back of Ahk's hand entwined in his own, and kissing the soft, olive skin.

"Perhaps not," Ahkmen sighed, opening his eyes to meet Paankh's gaze, the blue irises glittering in the aging light of day. With tender hesitancy, he returned Paankh's kiss on his hand. "But never can you lie to me, either."

"I have no desire to. Unless it's to tease you, of course," he added with a chuckle.

"Right," Ahkmen said, rolling his eyes and smiling.

The two stayed where they were for a little while longer, drifting between watching the shore, the coming clouds, and one another's eyes; where the sky rested in Ahkmen's eyes, and the earth in Paankh's.

"Ready to leave?" Paankh asked after a long silence.

"I think so," Ahk said, and nodded.

In the first light of sunset, Ahk dove back into the water, rinsed the dirt off his back, arms, and legs, and grabbed his sandals at the riverside before walking back up the trodden path to home. Paankh swung his arm over Ahk's shoulders, and the two of them walked together in stride, content in the early evening air. He took in deep breaths, and the warmth in his heart spread out to encompass all things in a golden glow.

Their footprints lingered in the earth as they reentered home and set away their sandals. Ahkmen, exhausted from his long hours of swimming and the uphill walk home, collapsed on the bed that, in the summer months, they rarely used.

"Ready for dinner?" Paankh asked.

"Absolutely."

Fried cabbage and lettuce, seasoned with onion, garlic, and fresh coriander was their meal, sided with cone bread that Paankh and Ahkmen had baked together a few days before. Ahkmen climbed the ladder to the roof, and from there took the large bowl from Paankh, lifting it easily onto the roof so Paankh could ascend with both hands. There, the two sat upon old carpets and woven reeds, satisfied in the warm air and cool breeze, the pleasant gardens below, and the company of one another's silence and full mouths.

Although the steam coming off the food was impossible to see in the dimming light, the scent of it filled their noses, and tantalized them with the distinct flavours of seared spices and fried vegetables. They ate quickly and savoured each bite with loving enjoyment, and scooped the oil off the bowl with torn bread.

Above, the stars slowly revealed themselves, and the intricate workings of the Milky Way came to brilliant light in the moon's quiet new phase. Paankh thought of the aspects of Khonsu gathering together in Khonsu pa-Khart's home, and the immense drinking that would occur, and of the shabtis who surely continued to serve them. But he left those thoughts behind, and pulled Ahkmen into his arms so that his weight was against his chest.

Slowly, with each breath and the up and down fall of Paankh's chest, the stars blurred in Ahkmen's eyes, and he drifted into a warm and close sleep, his legs curled up around Paankh.

Paankh stared up at the mass of glowing lights in the dark blue sky, and likened them to the specks of gold in the darkened veins of lapis lazuli. His eyes soon grew heavy as well, and with a nudge from his foot, he pushed away their now-empty bowl of food, scooted down onto the soft carpet, and fell asleep with Ahkmen in his arms.

#ahkmenrah x reader #ahkmenrah #ancient egypt #night at the museum #ahkmenrah x male reader

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foreverephemeral-art · 6 months

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something feels wrong here

#my art #my ocs #rain world #rain world art #rain world ocs #hollow knight #hollow knight art #hollow knight ocs #oc searching new horizons #oc whisperer

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1000punks · 2 months

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bonding. ᵇᵒⁿᵘˢ//living

bonding. //masterlist

pairing: spawn!Astarion x named!Tav (non-binary OC)

warnings: 18+. nsft. mdni. smut, pwp, creampie (if you... squint?).

word count: 3,436

summary: two gays remodel a house domestic fluff and some character background building, set in post-game baldur's gate. two people who are weird and traumatized work on their relationship and reclaim their sexuality through a shared kink. lots of gooey romantic smut while these two slowly figure out their future together.

named!Tav is my non-binary tiefling ranger, Festé. i was seeing far too few fics with tiefling!Tav and i thought it was crucial, nay, critical to include them in the headcanons. i hope you all enjoy! ♡

header credit: here

Astarion approached them when he was ready, as before. It had taken a few days, and Festé respectfully kept their distance - even moving to their own bed in the rented rooms. He woke them up on the third night with nothing more than a cool palm against the small of their back. The tiefling had startled, lifting their cheek from the pillow.

They had already talked through the immediate aftermath when they were both still covered in viscera, then the elf had grown quiet. It was uncharacteristic of him. Festé rolled over slowly, looking up at him and smiling after a moment. He returned a shy one of his own. "Let's go downstairs, darling," the elf whispered, holding their boots out to them. "I want to talk." They nodded silently, following him into the din of the tavern and out to the street. Astarion turned once they were outdoors, looking a little lost.

"Star, what-" Festé started.

"There's something I'd like to show you, if that's all right? Something out in the city." He attempted an airy tone, but the tiefling knew better. A serious conversation was on the horizon.

"Of course," they whispered, holding out their hand. "Lead on."

He looked relieved as he took it. "This way. It's not far." The elf set an easy pace, and the two reached the familiar stone enclosure on the far side of the Lower City within ten minutes. Once entering, Astarion released their hand and drew a long breath; and Festé suspected that he was steeling himself. He continued forwards, and they followed in silence, stopping short when they watched him kneel at a particularly overgrown headstone. Calmly, he pried the vine and ivy from the face of the stone, and straightened up. Festé squinted at the partially faded name, and bit their lip with a nod as he cleared his throat.

"Nearly two hundred years, and I never came back. Not since the night I woke up down there." He gestured vaguely to the ground. "I had to punch a hole in the coffin and claw my way through six feet of dirt." The comments he had made, more than once, about ruining his nails took on a stark new meaning under the moonlight, the tiefling mused. Astarion's head bowed slightly as they studied him. "Then when I finally broke the surface, retching up dirt and congealed blood… Cazador was waiting. From that day on, I was his. Until today…" His voice was thick, and Festé drew closer, standing at his side. To their surprise, their cheeks were wet.

"How does it feel to be free?" The tiefling whispered.

"Exhilarating," he paused, glancing at them; and they edged closer. "Terrifying. Exhausting." Astarion's fingers ghosted over their wrist, searching for something, they guessed, to ground him in the moment. Slowly, they turned their hand over, and his fingertips brushed their palm. "There's almost nothing left of the person I was. Just a name on a rock." His eyes hadn't left the headstone, but they watched him, wanting to reach out and rest a reassuring hand on his cheek. They thought better of it - if he wanted touch, he would seek it out. "For nearly two centuries, I stalked the streets like a ghost while the person I was lay here, dead and buried." The elf's tone lightened marginally, and he lifted his chin, smirking grimly. "Now… I need to figure out who I am. What I want."

As he turned to face them, his smile widened. Festé drew a breath to steady themself. "And… what do you want?" Their voice, though a whisper, seemed too loud in the silence of the graveyard.

He furrowed his eyebrows, grinning at them as if the answer was obvious. "You… I want you." Oh. Festé's arms went slack at their sides. They knew that they wanted this, and dared to hope; but he wanted them too? The tiefling turned their gaze to the ground. Was it wise? After everything, were they truly allowed this flicker of happiness? Cazador was slain, but Faerûn was still in peril, wasn't it? They could still both die tomorrow. Their eyes snapped back to his when he continued, his voice echoing softly off the stone walls. "You were by my side through all of this. Through bloodlust, and pain, and misery. You were patient. You cared. You trusted me, when that was an objectively stupid thing to do." His smirk wasn't lost on them - he was teasing, but his words were the truth. They bit their lip; things felt suddenly more significant. Astarion knew, perhaps better than anyone, that tomorrow wasn't a promise, but he was being courageous despite all of that. It would have been so much easier for him to stay quiet, and to keep his feelings to himself, but he was here before them. He was… "I feel safe with you. Seen. And whatever the future holds for me, I don't want to lose that."

Tears were streaming freely down Festé's cheeks now, but their voice was strong. "You won't," they promised. "Whatever comes next, I've got you."

"Thank you," the elf breathed. They smiled when they heard the relief in his voice. "Well… I should probably fix this." Astarion knelt down once more, producing his dagger from its sheath, another smile curling his lips. Festé watched intently as he carved an addition into the stone, their knees nearly giving way when they saw what it was. They looked away for a moment, scanning the grasses surrounding the two of them before they found it, a few feet to their left. As Astarion was sitting down, they returned to his side, laying the unassuming white flower on his grave. He looked surprised at the gesture. "Cute," he teased. The tiefling rolled their eyes. The flower wasn't common, but they knew it fit the situation perfectly. Maybe they would be able to tell him the story one day. They knelt down with him, and there was a brief silence.

"I've been dead in the ground for long enough." The elf's voice was soft, not sultry, but soft; and they fought the urge to reach out to him. To cling to him and assure him that everything would be all right. But they stayed in place, feeling conflicted. Everything might not be all right, but they would be together. "It's time to try living again. With everything life has to offer." Astarion moved then, startling them by taking their hands. Festé searched for a hidden meaning in his words, chuckling nervously as they met his eyes.

"Meaning…?" There was a pregnant pause after they spoke. His eyes narrowed, something changing behind them. Something that the ranger had trouble pinning down.

"If a night of passion is on offer, I could be persuaded." Was he serious? They searched his eyes once more, but he beat them to it. "You know, I didn't care for you when we first met." Festé blushed, feeling ashamed for a moment. "…But I do now. Being with you is about more than… lust or manipulating you into a tactical alliance. I love you. I love this. And I want it all." When he leaned close, Festé almost moved away out of surprise. Or was it fear? Then his lips were on theirs and it didn't matter. The tiefling's fists clenched, their fingernails cutting into their palms; and they kissed him back with reckless abandon. As if he were air when they were drowning. Astarion was the light glimmering above the surface of the water.

They were certain he could hear their heart hammering against their ribs when he pulled away, and pushed them to the ground. Certain that it was a joke, or a cruel twist of fate. The tiefling was breathless, panting as they looked up at him. Before they could speak, he was against them once more, crawling over their body. They let out a sob of relief when his lips met theirs again, their fingers unsure for the first time in their life as they wound into his hair. Astarion pushed his knee up, taking their thigh with it; and he rested on top of them fully. Festé started to shake, matching the fervor in the pale elf's lips, giving his hair a gentle tug.

He broke away reluctantly, stiffening. "Darling… why are you crying?" His voice was velvet as he pecked at their cheek. "Did I…?"

"No, no," they hissed softly, burying their face in Astarion's neck. "No, gods, no. I love you too. I love you so much, Star," they gasped between messy kisses over his skin. "I'm s… I'm so happy."

"You have an interesting way of showing it, don't you, love?" He murmured, and they chuckled wetly. "Don't scare me like that, you little imp." Astarion rested his nose against theirs for a moment before he coaxed their lips apart with his once more. Festé hummed, pressing up against the elf as much as they could manage, fingers pulling gently through his hair. He let out an interesting sound at that.

"Did you just moan, Star?" they whispered against his lips while they shifted under him, and he scoffed.

"I… no," he hissed back. "Hush, I'm enjoying this, darling." One of his hands snaked up the front of their shirt, and Festé twitched bodily. "Have I ever told you how warm you are?" His voice was so quiet, that it seemed like he was saying it to himself. They felt the tip of his tongue trace the line of their neck; and his heavy sigh against their skin. With no warning, the elf sat up between Festé's thighs, giving them a curious look while pulling their shirt up. His hands shook when he smoothed them over the tiefling's stomach.

"Do you want-" They whispered, resting their hands over his, and he nodded quickly, anticipating the rest of their question. Festé smirked, unlacing their shirt before Astarion all but tore it open. The rough motion was immediately contrasted with soft fingertips against their sternum, and another heavy sigh. Astarion shook his head at them, raising an eyebrow as he rolled his hips forward slowly.

"You're so…" his voice was roughened, and the moonlight made his eyes flicker when he tilted his head.

"Beautiful?" the tiefling teased.

"Alive, love," the elf countered, pressing his hips forward once more as he caught theirs in his grip. "Bare-chested, under the moon, your skin all flushed." He chuckled softly. "'Beautiful' pales in comparison to all of that." Festé felt their chest tighten as he spoke; and they reached up, clutching gently at the front of the elf's shirt. Astarion bent down willingly, crushing his lips to theirs, and groaning softly in approval as Festé undid the buttons. The two kissed harshly, the tiefling's fingers splaying over his chest and pushing the fabric down his shoulders. Cautiously, they trailed their fingers down his sides, untucking his shirt; and his answering touch came at the hem of their pants, pulling roughly. Festé whimpered softly, dragging the heel of their boot on the ground before kicking it off with a grunt. Before the suggestion even formed on their tongue, Astarion had freed one leg from their pants, and was working on their smallclothes. They kissed him fervently, hands tangled in the front of his shirt - now hanging loosely around his shoulders. Finally, he stopped them, pressing one palm to their chest; and one of their hands found his wrist, curling their fingers around it. The elf's eyes were half-lidded, and he gazed down at them with a hunger that had only ever been present when he was about to feed from them.

"Star, do you want to stop…?" they whispered, and confusion crossed Astarion's features. He slipped his free hand between their bodies, palming over their clit as his fingers dragged through their slick folds. Festé stiffened below him. At the same time, he caught their wrist instead, guiding their hand to the front of his trousers.

"Does it look like I want to stop, darling?" The elf murmured softly. "Does it feel like I want to stop?" He pressed to their hand with a low, pleasured groan. "I assure you, little love… I am here, and I want nothing more in this moment than to be completely engulfed by you." He smiled as Festé felt a rush of heat creep up their neck and cheeks, pausing to undo his trousers before guiding the tiefling's hand into them. "Do you want to stop?" he asked, dipping one finger inside them. It sent chills up Festé's legs and spine, and they clamped their mouth shut around a moan before shaking their head. Slowly, they took him in hand, and he rolled his hips, leaning down as they sat up halfway. Somewhere in the middle, their lips met again, stifling their moans into one another's mouths. Astarion pushed his finger inside them fully, and Festé let out a shaky sigh through their nose. He pulled away, kissing along their jaw, dragging the tips of his fangs along their neck. They took a breath, their eyes snapping open when they heard his desperate whispers against their skin. "I need… love, I want, mmh…" Desperate? The imp blinked, turning their head wearily.

"Take," they whispered in return. "Please, Star, just…" and in less than a heartbeat, the elf had them pinned under his body, slipping his hand deftly from between their legs to pin one wrist above their head on the ground, the other gripping their thigh. Festé guided him inside, fisting their hand in the back of his shirt when his hips laid to rest against theirs. Both let out a harsh sigh, looking down between their bodies. The tiefling felt surprise mix with relief and a delicious heat deep in their chest as Astarion nosed at their neck. He experimented with a roll of his hips, and he shuddered above them.

"Gods below, there's nobody in the realm that I would rather do this with, I…" his voice broke with a pleasured groan against their shoulder. Festé angled their hips up slowly, letting him sink deeper, and he seized the opportunity to slide his arm underneath them. "Forgive me if I'm too…"

"I want it too, believe me," the imp gritted out as he trailed off. "Please, be as rough as you want, I can take it. I can take you, Star." There was a significant pause, and Astarion's full weight was pressing them into the dirt, his hips starting to rut at a slow pace. They stifled a moan, and he released their wrist, his hand moving down to clamp over their mouth instead as his head lifted.

"You shouldn't have said that, little love," his eyes met theirs as he hissed, and Festé moaned out roughly against his palm, bucking their hips to meet his increasingly hard thrusts. Their own hand shot up, fingers pushing into his hair and twisting gently, eyelids fluttering as they ground against him. Their effort earned them a quiet laugh before Astarion's eyebrows furrowed; and the elf sat up, pulling one of their legs over his shoulder. "Oh, darling… I fear that I'm going to ruin you for anyone else," he purred. They chuckled softly at that, humming out an answer against his palm and narrowing their eyes. He smirked, pressing deeply into them and forcing a scream to rip from their chest, followed by several needy sobs. Astarion lifted his palm from their mouth, hips snapping forwards once again; and grinning widely when Festé's cries filled the silence of the cemetery.

They were both panting heavily now, and the tiefling reached up once more, grabbing at Astarion's shirt collar this time and pulling him as close as they could manage. "I can't, I'm… I'm going to…" they managed between shaking gasps. Their mind felt clouded - his hips hadn't stopped moving. He hushed them softly, brushing his lips on theirs; and their body went limp below his, slave to the heat radiating from their middle. From the way he had started to twitch inside them, Festé could tell that the elf wasn't far behind. In fact, he slowly began to withdraw from them, and they let out a groan of despair. "What are you… What are you doing?" they hissed softly, their eyes widening as their gaze met his. Again, Astarion looked confused, his hand was midway down between the two of them, ready to finish himself off. They glanced down, remembering how he had pulled away the first time, and kicked their leg off his shoulder.

"I'm… Surely you don't want me to…" he stammered, looking shaken. "Not inside, at least." Astarion hadn't stopped moving, but his pace had slowed considerably. His eyes flicked down as Festé hooked their legs together at the small of his back.

"You're allowed to, if that's what you're worried about," they smoothed their palm over his chest and up the back of his neck as he leaned down, anchoring his palms on either side of their shoulders.

"I am?" he breathed, starting to rut into them firmly once more, his eyes hooded as the tiefling dragged their fingertips through his hair. "I would like to, I just… I assumed…" The elf trailed off as he left a messy row of kisses down the imp's neck, finally sinking a bite into their shoulder, a muffled moan punctuating his own release. The pair moved slowly together through the aftershocks, and Astarion's arms gently slipped under Festé's shoulders and hips, crushing their body to his. There was a long, pensive silence as they lay together under the moon.

Gently, Festé pulled their fingers through the elf's curls, and he let out a satisfied sigh. Their lips found his ear, and they whispered, "I have no qualms about being yours, Star." He stiffened for a moment, then relaxed when he lifted his head and laid eyes on their face.

"I can see that," the elf teased, glancing down between their bodies and chuckling; before resting on top of them once more. "I promise, darling," he murmured against their neck, "One day, I will bed you properly."

"Well, we'll need a bed, for starters," Festé shrugged. They laughed together, and some of the tension evaporated. "Mm, I'm serious, if we both survive this, we could consider settling down somewhere." The elf hummed, and they added, "If you're up for it."

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The pair had dressed again after a fashion, and mutually decided they wanted to stay in the quiet of the cemetery for a while longer. Astarion had settled with his back against his own headstone, and held Festé when they reclined between his legs. They tracked the slow progress of the moon across the night sky as they spoke quietly together. The elf was tracing lazy patterns with his fingers over their stomach and chest when they glanced up at him.

"What is it?" he whispered, hand pausing on their chest.

"What does love feel like, to you?" the tiefling asked, resting their hand on his. Astarion bit his lip, holding their gaze for a moment before resting his head back against the stone.

"I don't know, darling," he admitted after a moment. "Warmth, perhaps? Maybe it's about… transcending the physical. It feels…" he shifted slightly against them, "Like an invisible rope. Something that can tie two people together; and yet, a great number of us hang ourselves on it in the end." Festé closed their eyes, bringing their free hand to their mouth as they faced away from him. They shoved their knuckles between their teeth, but their laugh still escaped their chest. "What?!" Astarion hissed, then, "Why are you laughing?"

Festé shook against him, trying to keep quiet. "That was so cheerful, Star. I…" they murmured sardonically. "I have to say I agree, though. I asked because I don't really know how to answer that question, either." They glanced up at him again, and he rolled his eyes. "I do hope that, between us, at least, it's something that ties us together. Not something that forces us apart, in the end." They held up their hand, offering it to the elf. After a moment's hesitation, he took it.

"Well, we're together now, at least," he sighed airily. "I hope that doesn't change any time soon." Astarion squeezed their hand tightly. "Mm… call my name again, darling," he murmured, pressing his face into their shoulder.

"Star…" Festé whispered, and he hummed happily.

"Again…?"

"As many times as you like, Star." This time they chuckled, and turned to kiss his temple softly. "I love you."

a/n: hey all! thank you for reading this (whether you started at the beginning of this series or are reading this as a oneshot) - i appreciate you!

i have an unpopular opinion about the graveyard scene, and it involves a lot of unresolved messy emotions and tension. i don't feel like after cazador's death a magic wand is waved and astarion is head over heels, personally. -- for festé and astarion specifically, i feel it would make sense for it to be messy and maybe it would feel as awkward and foreign as the first time you have sex with someone you really like but don't want to hurt. you ever feel that? no? just me? (lmao) these two have never really had sex with love attached before, so hell, they're both shooting in the dark here

anyway, if it feels "messy" or "awkward" or like festé is being "overly cautious" then good! for these two it was definitely supposed to be all these things!

#.fic #fic: bonding.#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #astarion acunin #astarion x tav #spawn!astarion x named!tav #bg3 astarion #astarion #i'm all pointy ears #oc: festé

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underrottengaze · 2 months

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my beautiful son with every disease

template

#rain world ocs #oc searching new horizons

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dndfantasygirl · 21 days

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Fighting for Freedom (Chapter 24: Old Friends, New Beginnings)

Rating: Mature Word count: 4.7k Pairing: Spawn Astarion x Female Tav (named)/OC Warnings: violence, strong language, innuendo, a character asks another to end their life before they lose their soul, minor character death

Summary: The party bids farewell to each other after defeating the Netherbrain. Astarion and Delphie have a surprise visitor.

*Link to AO3 Post

*Link to Previous Chapter

As the sun gradually creeps over the horizon, casting its golden hues upon the tranquil waters of the Lower City's docks, the companions stand together in a rare moment of peace. Their journey has been fraught with danger and uncertainty, yet here they are.

For moments that feel suspended in time, they bask in the serene beauty of the sunrise, a silent testament to the resilience of their spirits and the strength of their bond. With each passing second, the warm rays of dawn chase away the shadows that linger in the corners of their minds, filling them instead with a sense of hope and renewal.

Amidst the quietude, Shadowheart's voice pierces the stillness, breaking the spell of reverie that had enveloped them.

"I can't feel the tadpole. They must have all died with the brain - that means we can't turn into mind flayers!" Her admission hangs in the air, laden with the weight of their shared fears and uncertainties. Yet, as her gaze meets Orpheus', a subtle blush colors her cheeks. "Not that there's necessarily anything wrong with being a mind flayer, of course..."

Even when my time in the Prism stretched out like eternity - when escape seemed impossible - I never lost hope.

Delphie's smile widens slightly at Orpheus' words, a flicker of admiration dancing in her eyes as she listens intently to his confession.

I knew that my destiny was to liberate my people. To return to them triumphant.

As he glides over to her, she cocks her head curiously. Astarion watches from a distance, his affection for the wood elf evident in the way his heart swells with every small gesture she makes.

"Well, now you can, right?" Delphie asks hopefully, her voice soft and earnest.

Orpheus shakes his head with a heavy sigh.

I was wrong. It seems I can only fulfill one part of my destiny - my people will be liberated, but I cannot return to them. Not like this.

The wood elf's heart sinks as the weight of Orpheus' words settles upon her shoulders like a leaden burden. She knows he's right; the githyanki had resorted to extreme measures when they sought guidance with the tadpoles. He would be better off not returning to them. The realization dawns on her with a chilling clarity, and her soft smile fades into an expression of solemn understanding.

You helped me destroy that abomination. Now help me destroy myself. You must kill me.

Shock courses through Delphie's veins as she watches the mind flayer pull out a sword and extend it toward her, the glint of steel catching the faint light filtering through the shadows. He kneels before her, his gaze steady.

But first, Lae'zel. I need your promise.

As Delphie's gaze shifts back to Lae'zel, she observes a rare glimpse of solemnity in the typically stoic features of the gith warrior.

Carry my hope, carry my burden. Call my dragons, Quulous and Quuthos, and ride to the Astral Sea. Destroy Vlaakith, release our people. Be our future and our legacy.

Lae'zel's gaze flickers uncertainly between Orpheus and Delphie, her eyes searching for some semblance of guidance amidst the weight of the decision laid before her. The wood elf meets her gaze with a mixture of empathy and understanding, her heart heavy with the knowledge of the responsibility that rests upon the gith's shoulders.

"As much as I'd love for you to stay, Lae'zel," she begins, her voice tinged with sorrow, "this decision isn't mine to make. It's yours. Do what you feel is right."

Lae'zel stands in contemplation, the weight of Orpheus' charge pressing heavily upon her shoulders. After a moment of introspection, she nods resolutely, accepting the mantle of responsibility that has been thrust upon her. With a determined step forward, she pledges to carry on Orpheus' legacy, her gaze steely and unwavering as she prepares to embark upon the daunting path that lies ahead.

As the promise is made, Orpheus turns his attention back to Delphie, his eyes searching hers for understanding and acceptance.

Give me my freedom from this form.

Delphie's brows furrow in anguish, her voice trembling with emotion as she struggles to comprehend the enormity of his plea. "You don't deserve to die," she protests.

I will not be ghaik! I did what I did to save my people. The rest is up to them. Someone else must rise within the ranks to lead the revolution against Vlaakith.

Tears begin to well in Delphie's eyes, her heart aching with the weight of Orpheus' sacrifice. Yet, even as her resolve wavers, she knows that she cannot deny him the peace he seeks, the freedom from the shackles of his own creation.

Give me my freedom from this form, release my soul to the Astral Seas while I still have one to call my own.

As the tear slides down Delphie's cheek, her hand trembles as she shakily holds the sword to Orpheus' heart. She hesitates, her breath catching in her throat as uncertainty clouds her thoughts. But then, a single nod from Orpheus is all it takes to steel her resolve.

With a heavy heart, the blade begins its descent. Yet, as it nears its target, the wood elf's grip falters, her strength crumbling beneath the weight of her sorrow. The sword slips from her grasp, clattering to the ground as she collapses to her knees, her sobs echoing through the silence like a mournful lament.

"I'm sorry, Orpheus," she whispers between choked sobs.

Astarion places a comforting hand on her shoulder before retrieving the fallen blade. With a somber gaze, he approaches Orpheus. Shadowheart kneels beside Delphie, offering her solidarity as she clings to her through her tears.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" the vampire spawn asks, his voice tinged with a hint of doubt as he addresses the mind flayer.

Orpheus nods, his gaze steady as he meets Astarion's. With one decisive thrust, he drives the sword through Orpheus' heart, his movements swift yet deliberate as he fulfills the mind flayer's final request.

After a moment of solemn reflection, he retraces his steps back to Delphie. With a gentle gesture, he extends a hand to her. The wood elf accepts his hand gratefully, her fingers intertwining with his as she untangles herself from Shadowheart's embrace, seeking solace in the familiar coolness of Astarion's touch.

She rests her head against his chest, finding a fleeting moment of respite amidst the storm of emotions that threatens to consume her.

Astarion leans his head against hers, his touch a silent reassurance that she is not alone in her grief.

"At least he's no longer suffering, Del," Karlach's voice breaks through the silence from behind them.

Delphie draws in a shaky breath, her tears drying as she nods in agreement. Though the pain of their decision weighs heavily upon her heart, she knows deep down that they made the right choice.

As Lae'zel's call resounds through the air, summoning Quulos, she clings tightly to Astarion. The anticipation mounts as Quulos descends from the heavens, its immense wingspan casting a shadow over the solemn gathering as it touches down before Lae'zel with a graceful thud.

With a solemn reverence, Lae'zel pays her respects to Orpheus, her gaze lingering on his lifeless form for a moment before she ascends onto the dragon's back. Delphie watches from the ground, a mixture of sadness and pride swelling within her.

As Lae'zel glances over at her, the wood elf manages a small, sad smile, accompanied by a gentle wave of farewell. In that moment, something unexpected happens. The gith returns the gesture, a genuine smile gracing her features, warming Delphie's heart in a way she hadn't anticipated. It's a rare sight, seeing Lae'zel show such warmth, and it fills Delphie with a sense of hope amidst the sorrow.

"To the skies!" Lae'zel's voice rings out with determination, a declaration of purpose and resolve. Quulos, ever obedient to his new rider's command, unfurls his wings and takes flight, his powerful form soaring into the boundless expanse of the sky.

They had fought together, suffered together, and now, they part ways, each embarking on their own journey towards an uncertain future.

All around them, the surviving red dragons from the battle with the Netherbrain follow in a majestic procession, their fiery forms a stark contrast against the azure backdrop of the heavens. It's a sight to behold, one that fills the onlookers with a sense of awe and reverence, even amidst the sorrow of their parting.

Astarion sways gently with Delphie in his arms, his gaze fixed on the spectacle unfolding before them. "Now that's a sight to see," he remarks with a wry smile. "Not that I'll miss them."

The wood elf chuckles softly from beneath his head, her voice carrying a warmth that belies the sadness in her heart. "Of course not, dretri," she replies affectionately.

Delphie's attention is drawn to Gale as he shifts toward the water, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon as if searching for something unseen.

"The Crown - it's somewhere in the Chionthar," he muses with a sense of determination that borders on obsession.

"Maybe it's better off there," the wood elf offers cautiously. She knows all too well the dangers of seeking power unchecked, the temptation to grasp at forces beyond one's control.

But the wizard ignores her comment as he continues to speak, his words filled with a fervent longing that sends a chill down her spine. "If I salvage the stones, I could retrieve it. Perhaps even wield it. With the Crown in my hands, I would be unstoppable."

"Oh, Gods. Is this how I sounded when I went on this whole tirade? I truly apologize, darling. This is utterly-" Astarion mutters into the wood elf's ear.

"Infuriating? Annoying? Kinda sad?" she whispers back with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

The vampire spawn glances down at her with a bit of a scowl. "I was going to say cliche..."

Delphie can't help but giggle at his response as she reaches up to boop him on the nose. Astarion scrunches it up.

"Don't be so grumpy. I love you, even when you are brooding," Delphie teases with a gentle smile, her eyes sparkling with warmth and affection.

"Ha-ha, you're so hilarious," Astarion replies sarcastically, rolling his eyes. However, the wood elf's gentle kiss to his chin melts away any lingering tension. "Maybe, if we walk away now, he won't even notice we're gone."

"Astarion!" Delphie chides with a playful smack across his chest.

"What?" he replies with a mask of feigned innocence as he meets her gaze.

Unable to resist the charm of his playful demeanor, the wood elf giggles, her laughter a melodic sound that fills the air around them. "You're a bad influence."

"Oh, I hope so," he quips with a grin. "Now, let's go!"

Astarion playfully drags Delphie away, their laughter trailing behind them as they join the rest of their friends.

"I think a celebration is in order," the wood elf proposes with a bright smile, her emerald eyes alight with anticipation.

"Yes! We should see if the Elfsong's still standing. I won't imbibe, but I'll be happy to be away from here, and in your company," Astarion adds, his gaze lingering on Delphie with a warmth that sends a flutter through her heart.

A playful grin dances across Karlach's lips as she teases, "You two should get a room."

Delphie rolls her eyes at the tiefling's remark, though a playful grin tugs at her lips. "Oh, hush," she retorts.

Astarion chuckles at the exchange, his arms unwrapping from around the wood elf to gently take her hand in his.

As Karlach suddenly falls to her knees, encircled by flames, a collective gasp escapes the lips of those gathered around her. Delphie moves with urgency, dropping to her knees in front of the tiefling, her heart pounding with fear and desperation. Astarion moves to join them, but a firm hand on his shoulder from Shadowheart halts his advance.

"Engine's finally cooked. Held on just long enough." Karlach manages a bitter chuckle, despite the pain that wracks her body. "So? H-how'd I do?"

Delphie's heart breaks at the sight of her friend in agony, tears welling in her eyes as she meets the tiefling's gaze. "You were amazing. One of the greatest," she replies as she offers a sad smile of reassurance.

"So were you, my friend. My companion. I adore you," Karlach murmurs, her voice tinged with weariness yet filled with genuine affection as she grasps the wood elf's shoulder, her touch gentle yet fleeting. A tired smile graces her lips.

But then, as if spurred by some unseen force, Karlach recoils, a sudden surge of flames engulfing her once again. Fear flashes across her features as she realizes the danger she poses to Delphie, her resolve waning in the face of the inferno that threatens to consume her.

"I never gave up. I did my best," she whispers, her voice barely above a hoarse murmur as she struggles to maintain her composure. The flames vanish as quickly as they appeared, leaving behind only the echo of her pain.

"It's the one thing I can't best, isn't it? I wanted to live. In my city. With my friends. But life is for the living. And I saw-" Karlach's words are cut short by a groan of pain, her body wracked with agony as she fights against the relentless onslaught of her fate. "Goodbye, sun. Goodbye, sea. Goodbye-"

"No!" Delphie cries out. "You will return to Avernus and you will see the sun and the sea once we figure this out."

"No. No, I can't go back."

As the tiefling groans again, Wyll urgently kneels beside them. "Then, allow me to accompany you," he offers.

Karlach looks over at Wyll. "You can't. You-"

"Karlach, please go. I won't watch you die," Delphie pleads, her voice thick with emotion as she locks eyes with the tiefling, her heart breaking at the thought of losing her friend. "I promise we'll visit."

The tiefling nods reluctantly, her features drawn with pain and resignation. "All right. All right," she concedes, her voice a whisper as she turns back to Wyll. "But we have to go, now."

The warlock nods solemnly, understanding the urgency of their situation. With a swift gesture, he conjures a fiery vortex.

In a flash of flame and shadow, they disappear from sight, leaving Delphie alone with her grief and the lingering echo of their parting words. A sense of emptiness settles over her, watching the fiery vortex fade.

As her hands limply drop to her lap, Astarion kneels behind her. The wood elf turns into him instinctively, once again seeking solace in his embrace as he runs his hand through her shortened curls with gentle tenderness.

Shadowheart, her gaze heavy with sorrow, stands nearby.

"They're all gone," Delphie whispers, tightening her grip around the vampire spawn.

"It's not forever, Delphnye," Shadowheart reassures softly, her voice filled with warmth and compassion. "We'll all visit, I promise."

The wood elf looks up at her, eyes shimmering with unshed tears, yet there's a glimmer of hope amidst the sorrow that lingers in their depths. With a gentle smile, Shadowheart offers a promise of brighter days ahead.

Then, a sudden sharp pain jolts through Astarion's hand, causing him to wince in surprise.

"Astarion?" Delphie's voice trembles with concern as she pulls away from him, her eyes widening in shock at the sight before her.

"What the-" The vampire spawn's gaze drops to his hand, horror dawning on his features as he watches his skin begin to flake away, disintegrating before his eyes.

"Oh no. Oh, Gods," he panics, his heart racing with fear and desperation as he struggles to stand up, clumsy and uncoordinated. "Well... it was nice while it lasted."

The pain intensifies, spreading like wildfire through his body as his face begins to burn, his features contorting in agony. He turns to flee, his instincts urging him to seek refuge from the merciless rays of the sun that now threaten to consume him.

"I'm sorry. I-I have to go!" he cries out, his voice thick with anguish as he stumbles away, his movements erratic and unsteady as he races blindly towards the safety of the shadows.

"Astarion!" Delphie's voice rings out in a desperate plea, her heart pounding in her chest as she and Shadowheart exchange a worried glance before running after him.

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

As the night falls, casting a comforting cloak of darkness over the city, the elves emerge from the sanctuary of the shadows, the fading light of the setting sun a welcome relief after hours spent evading its merciless rays. With a shared glance, they make their way towards the welcoming glow of the Elfsong Tavern, their steps light and purposeful as they anticipate the warmth and comfort awaiting them within its walls.

The prospect of spending a few nights in the cozy confines of the tavern is a welcome reprieve from the months of endless fighting, a chance to escape the rocky ground of Dragon's Cove and indulge in some much-needed rest and relaxation. Though their makeshift bed has provided some semblance of comfort during their time on the road, the promise of actual beds and warm hearths beckons to them.

As the morning light begins to filter through the cracks in the curtains the next day, Astarion stirs from his slumber, his senses gradually awakening to the soft rustle of sheets and the gentle rhythm of Delphie's breathing beside him. Sensing he woke up, Pax slithers onto the bed and coils around his wrist like a protective talisman.

The vampire spawn lies on his side, his head propped up on his hand as he gazes fondly at Delphie.

As he watches the wood elf sleep peacefully, a warm smile tugs at the corners of his lips. Despite the trials and tribulations they've faced, she lies before him, alive and healthy, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm of life. It's a simple yet profound joy, knowing that she's here with him.

Careful not to disturb the slumbering pseudodragon curled up at his feet, Astarion drinks in the sight of the wood elf's serene expression, her emerald eyes closed in blissful repose.

As her eyelids flutter open, revealing the sparkling depths of her gaze, Astarion's smile only grows, his heart overflowing with love and affection for the woman who has become his constant companion and confidante. "Hello, darling."

"How long were you staring at me like that?" Delphie asks, her voice soft and groggy with sleep.

Astarion hums thoughtfully, his gaze lingering on her as he considers his response. "Maybe an hour," he admits with a sheepish grin.

The wood elf's lips quirk into a playful smile, her expression fond as she stretches out her limbs with a contented sigh. "You could've woke me up. I don't mind," she assures him with a yawn.

As she turns to face him, mirroring his position on the bed, Astarion meets her gaze with an affectionate smile, his crimson eyes alight with warmth and adoration. "What's on your mind, dretri?" she asks, reaching out to gently brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead.

"Oh, nothing really. I was just thinking about freedom," the vampire spawn begins as he rises to his feet. He begins to pace around the room, his movements fluid and purposeful, as if each step carries him further away from the chains of his past.

"How I'm free of the parasite - free of Cazador," he continues, his voice growing stronger with each word as he gestures grandly with his arms.

Delphie pushes herself up from the bed, the cool air of the room causing her to shiver slightly as she crosses the floor to stand in front of him, her arms wrapped around herself in an attempt to ward off the chill.

"How I'll never be in someone's power again."

The wood elf listens intently, her gaze never leaving Astarion as he speaks. Her heart swells with pride at the strength and resilience he has shown in the face of adversity. She knows all too well the darkness that once threatened to consume him, the specter of Cazador looming over him like a shadow. But now, seeing him stand tall and unbroken, she can't help but feel a sense of awe at the transformation he has undergone.

"And all it cost was my life in the sun. Now I belong to the shadows," the vampire spawn concludes as he takes a deep breath, his gaze meeting Delphie's with a quiet intensity.

As Delphie gazes up at Astarion, she reaches out to caress his cheek. The vampire spawn leans into her touch, his crimson eyes closing briefly as he savors the warmth of her hand against his cool skin.

"So. What happens next?" His gaze searches Delphie's for answers he's not sure she can provide.

"I promised you we'd find a way for you to walk in the sun again. I intend to keep that promise."

The vampire spawn's brows furrow in uncertainty. "You - do you think it's possible?"

Delphie pulls her hand away from his cheek, her expression earnest as she reaches out to grasp both of his hands in hers.

"I suppose there is a chance."

The wood elf's smile widens at his words as she squeezes his hands reassuringly.

"And if there's a chance, no matter how small, I'm going to take it."

"We're going to take it," Delphie emphasizes gently, her words a gentle reminder of the strength they find in each other's presence. Leaning in, she plants a tender kiss on his lips, her breath warm against his skin. "You're not alone anymore, remember?"

"How could I forget?" Astarion murmurs against her lips, his breath mingling with hers as he leans into her embrace. With a tender gesture, he plants a quick kiss on her cheek, his thumb tracing comforting circles on the back of her hands.

"And it would mean setting off on another adventure together," he adds, a playful glint in his eyes.

The vampire spawn's gaze softens as he studies Delphie, his eyes searching hers for any sign of doubt or hesitation. "Is that what you want? Is this what you want? I would understand if you wanted to go your own way."

The wood elf snakes her arms around his waist, drawing him close as she nuzzles into his chest. "You ask me that like I didn't just pay a hundred and fifty gold pieces for three nights alone with you, when we have a perfectly good camp set up in the Dragon's Cove," she teases, her voice playful yet sincere as she pulls away to meet his gaze. "Of course, it's what I want, Astarion."

Astarion's heart swells with warmth at her words, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he tightens his grip around her, drawing her close to him. "Good, because selfless as I am, I really did not want to let you go."

Delphie's laughter dances through the air, a melodic symphony that echoes with the warmth of shared moments and cherished memories. It's a sound that the vampire spawn knows by heart, a melody that never fails to lift his spirits and fill his soul with joy.

As they stand wrapped in each other's arms, basking in the glow of their love, Astarion finds his voice once again. "We are rather excellent together, you know," he muses. "And united, there is nothing we can't do. I can't say what the future holds for us, but I know we'll be facing it together."

He chuckles deep in his throat, the sound a ripple of warmth that washes over them like a gentle wave. "And we are going to have a lot of fun," he declares, his eyes dancing with mischief as he leans in to capture her lips in a tender kiss.

As a soft knock echoes through the room, a fleeting sense of disappointment washes over the elves. Astarion's brows furrow in irritation, a low growl rumbling in his throat as he begrudgingly pulls away from Delphie.

"If it's the wizard, again... isn't he supposed to return to Waterdeep?" he grumbles, his frustration evident in the edge to his voice.

The wood elf chuckles softly. She reaches out to gently caress his cheek.

"He just misses us. Remember, we were the only form of entertainment in the group," she teases, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she plants a quick kiss on his cheek.

The vampire spawn's irritation melts away at her words, replaced by a fond smile. "Oh, were we now?" he asks as he raises a brow.

Delphie's mischievous spirit remains undimmed as she crosses the room, her eyes alight with anticipation as she reaches for the door handle. With a swift motion, she swings the door open to reveal a familiar face, though not the one they expected.

Arabella stands before them, her presence a surprising twist in their day. The wood elf's smile widens at the sight of the young tiefling, her curiosity piqued by the unexpected visit.

"Hey, Delphnye. Are you still going to teach me sorcery?"

Before Delphie can respond, Astarion leans in from behind her. "I'm awfully sorry, little imp. Unfortunately, we have urgent matters to attend to," he interjects, his smirk betraying the facade of apology.

Arabella's hopeful expression falters, disappointment shadowing her features as she turns her attention back to the wood elf.

"Well, surely she can travel with us? I mean, we're not in lethal danger anymore," Delphie counters with a smirk.

Arabella's hopeful expression brightens at the wood elf's suggestion, her eyes widening with renewed anticipation. Yet, before she can voice her agreement, Astarion interjects with a stern tone that brooks no argument.

"Oh, no. Absolutely not! We just got rid of all the mangy strays." His gaze flickers down to Pax, who flickers his tongue inquisitively.

When his gaze flickers back to Delphie, she unleashes her secret weapon. With a dramatic flourish, she pulls out her lower lip, her eyes widening as she fixes Astarion with the biggest puppy dog eyes she can muster. It's a move she knows well, one that has melted his resolve more times than he cares to admit.

"Stop that," he scolds, though his tone lacks the bite it once held. Crossing his arms over his chest, he attempts to regain some semblance of authority, but his resolve is fragile in the face of Delphie's charm.

Yet, as he meets her beautiful emerald eyes once more, any pretense of sternness evaporates. A frustrated groan escapes him, his resistance futile against the allure of her gaze.

"Fine, but just to let you know, that was a dirty move, darling," Astarion concedes with a theatrical sigh, his expression a mix of annoyance and affection as he shoots Delphie a playful glare.

The wood elf smirks at his response, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she revels in her victory. With a playful wink, she turns her attention back to Arabella, her mind already buzzing with the possibilities of their next adventure.

The young tiefling's gratitude washes over them, her eagerness palpable as she expresses her thanks. Astarion can't help but roll his eyes at the whole exchange, though there's a hint of amusement in his exasperation.

This unexpected addition promises to make their journey even more intriguing, and Delphie can't help but feel a surge of excitement at the prospect of what lies ahead.

#astarion x tav #astarion #astarion and tav #astarion fanfic #astarion angst #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 tav #astarion x oc #astarion x tav fluff

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procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics · 9 months

Text

heorte til heorte: ch. 1 — hopian (to hope)

notes: this is self-indulgent. this is also angsty, like, really angsty. it’s not even funny at this point. does it get better? maybe. but this is athelstan related, so it’s going to hurt. inspired by the fact that i love to put my oc into situations oh and also jack <33333. can be read as a standalone, but it might be a little confusing at the start :]

warnings: violence, age gaps, miscarriage, death, a lot of hurt and grief. no one starts out happy. ngl, i aged down athelstan bc i thought he was like 20 when he got kidnapped. he’s around 26 in this opposed to his regular 32 (??!!).

summary: alethia wanted to go home, to return to her family. instead, she finds herself in ninth-century england. not speaking the language, and still processing the grief of her other life, she searches for an anchor - athelstan.

tagged: @levithestripper @demon-of-the-ancient-world @leithdragon @grantairescurls (hesitantly tagging u for our shared love of athelstan)

series masterlist | general masterlist

Alethia

Alethia watched as Brayden disappeared through the portal, his small figure swallowed by flickering-static air. Her eyes flickered over to Kinvara, who mumbled in High Valyrian under her breath, holding the portal open.

She wanted to go home. God, Alethia wanted to go home so badly. Jon was dead. Sansa had blackmailed her. The war was done, and she did not want to raise a child in Westeros. There was no need for her here.

“Can I go too?” Alethia asked quietly, looking to Kinvara. Suddenly, she was not the Dowager Queen of the North who was carrying the future King in the North inside of her. Suddenly, Alethia was fourteen again, alone and afraid at the edge of the world.

She wanted to go home. Her heart ached as she thought of Earth, where she’d firmly believed she hadn’t had a home. Alethia wanted to sneak out of school for lunch and buy something to eat from the deli two streets away. She wanted to go on holiday with her brother, spend the days lounging in the sun and swimming. She wanted to be anything but a governor for the North, a widow at just eighteen years old.

Barely visible, Kinvara nodded. The portal flickered again, and Alethia swallowed her fear. She was going home.

It took three big steps to cross the room, and another to walk through the portal.

Alethia closed her eyes and waited. The first thing she noticed was that it was cold. If she’d kept track correctly over the years, this would be around New Years Eve in New York. She was wearing Mereenese clothes. Still, she was afraid to open her eyes.

Instead, Alethia took a breath. The second thing she noticed was that the air did not smell like it would in a city, and certainly not in New York. It was then that she had to open her eyes and her heart dropped a little.

At first glance, this forest looked just like those in the Riverlands. Marshy, muddy grounds made her feet sink into the earth a little and fog danced on the horizon. And yet, instinctually, Alethia knew this was not Westeros.

She took a few more steps, a few more breaths, and then, it clicked. Alethia had lived in England, spent almost two years in London and her holidays South of it. A laugh ripped from her throat as she stretched her hands towards the sky. Thunder rolled in the distance, and almost as if it was divine destiny, rain began to fall onto her face. Alethia let it christen her.

Yes, this was England. She was home, on Earth.

Alethia spun in the forest, and now, she was truly fourteen again. She laughed almost maniacally, closing her eyes again as the rain ran down her face. God, she was home. She was home! She was going to see her little brother! She was going to go home, to New York, find Eric, and hug him so tightly that she would never let him go again.

She would apologize to her mother, for never understanding her sacrifice. She would hold her, thank her. And when she was done, she was going to figure out how to catch up on three and a half years of her life. Morgan was here too. She would help her.

The sun was gone, but one look at the moss on the trees was enough for Alethia to know where South was. All she needed to do was keep on walking in one direction, and she’d find humans. She remembered the skills Qhorin Halfhand had taught her, applying them in a way she never imagined she would.

The mud tugged on her boots, and the rain made her shiver, but in that moment, Alethia could not care. She was home, home, home. A hand brushed over her stomach. Her child was safe.

Alethia continued walking, right until the forest began to clear. And with it, the rain lessened. Half, Alethia tried to listen for the sounds of a road or even a highway, while the other half of her told her to fall into a jog to stay warm.

The sun rose over the sky as Alethia continued southbound, ignoring the sinking feeling in her stomach as no sign of civilization appeared on the horizon, not even transmission towers or fields.

By the time Alethia guessed it was midday, she finally saw something that almost made her cry with relief. In the distance, small cobblestone and straw-timbered houses dotted a coastline. And there, on a higher point of the coast, stood a taller building with one tall tower. As Alethia came closer, she saw that it was a church.

For three years, Alethia had seen nothing from her home. And now, the first thing she saw was a cross atop the high tower of the church. How ironic that she was not sure if God existed.

Alethia sat in the tall grass, knees drawn against her chest and arms resting atop of them as she looked at the church, the small houses on the coast. The landscape looked like it could be in Hampshire. Before she knew it, hot tears ran down her face, and Alethia swiped them away angrily.

The sudden ring of church bells pulled her from her inertia, and Alethia began walking, always walking, straight for the church. Fear was lodged in her throat as she approached the church. The doors were closed, but she could hear voices from inside, singing.

She waited, not sure how long, until the song had faded away and the doors to the church slowly opened. Her hands wrung together in front of her stomach, her traveling clothes suddenly feeling incredibly inadequate.

Good god, she didn’t even remotely know what the fashion was like now. She doubted it was still anything like it had been in 2020.

Her heart dropped as she saw the people that stood behind those church doors, dressed in long woolen dresses and tunics.

This was not the 21st century, that was for sure. Kinvara had royally, majestically fucked up, and Alethia was stuck in… historical England.

Almost, she screamed, before she caught herself. The people across from her only stared at Alethia with wide eyes, and she could not blame them. The sight of her had to be terrifying. A strange girl with a scarred face, rain-soaked hair and weird clothes - not exactly the sort of creature that seemed safe .

She raised her hands in surrender, a sign that Alethia knew was universally recognized - both in Westeros and on Earth. The people began to whisper amongst themselves until an older, heavy-set man pushed through the crowd.

Alethia recognized his garb. He was a priest, a catholic one if she was right.

Quickly, Alethia pushed a smile on her face.

“I’m Christian too.” she said. She didn’t even know if that was true.

The man’s brows creased together as he drew a cross over her body from where he stood. Alethia nodded, pointing to herself and mimicking his movements.

“Yeah, me too buddy.” she tried. “Come on, you speak English, right?”

No answer.

“Deutsch? Irgendwas muss doch gehen. Francais? S’il vous-plait, je suis fatiguée.” Alethia continued. Still, no reply. Then the man began speaking in what Alethia knew to be Latin. Well, at least she was definitely back on Earth.

She sighed, dropping her hands back to her side and waiting until the man was done. Internally, Alethia was ready to break down again. She tried to remember any sayings she knew in Latin, anything at all she could use to communicate with the man in front of her.

Instead, a few nuns stepped forward, cautiously approaching Alethia. She raised her hands again, trying to show them that she was no danger. She wasn’t doing a repeat of last time, where Eddard Stark had been the only thing between her and being burnt at the stake.

“Salve.” Alethia said very slowly. The nuns paused in their approach, looking to the priest.

He only stared, and Alethia took that as her sign to continue. “Alethia. England?” she asked slowly, pointing to herself and then the land. There was no reply, and she resorted back to her next-to-nothing knowledge of Latin.

“Rex?” she only asked, hoping that the priest would realise she was asking for the ruler of their kingdom.

“Ecbert Eahlmunding orgilde Wessex.” the priest replied.

Alethia pointed instinctually. She had no idea who this Ecbert was, and this was possibly the worst idea she’d ever had. “Ecbert! Take me to Ecbert!”

She’d survive this. She’d survived a torture session with Ramsay fucking Bolton.

Athelstan

He had given up on understanding anyone at the court of King Ecbert. With the monks, he had been able to pursue whatever he desired. With the Vikings, everyone always said exactly what they meant. But here…

Aethelwulf, Judith, Ecbert - they all looked at him differently, and he understood none of them. It was as if he did not speak their language, when he knew that languages was all he understood. That, and history.

Still, he walked alongside Ecbert as the King of Wessex spoke about a scroll Athelstan had just recently transcribed. And when a guard approached the king to whisper something in his ear, Ecbert’s predatory smile let him know that something was wrong.

“What is it?” Athelstan asked, cocking his head to the side.

“There is a fisher village near Southhampton, and it appears that they captured a Christian shieldmaiden.” Ecbert replied.

Athelstan snorted. “There are no Christian shieldmaidens.”

“We shall see about that.” Ecbert said, entering the courtyard of the villa. Aethelwulf was already there, with a garrison of guards surrounding the priest that entered the villa. Behind the priest was a group of ragged soldiers that were probably more fisher than fighter, closely grouped around a shadowed figure.

The Christian shieldmaiden, Athelstan assumed.

He watched as Ecbert stepped forward, quietly conversing witht eh priest and trying to get a look at the woman. Athelstan also watched as Ecbert failed in that, the king forced to step back with masked displeasure as he did not manage to catch even the slightest glimpse of the shieldmaiden.

He returned to Athelstan’s side, leaning over.

“She apparently appeared in front of the church’s doors right after service. How ominous.” Ecbert replied.

“If she was a shieldmaiden, she never would have let them capture her.” Athelstan replied stubbornly.

“What else can a woman wearing weapons be?” Ecbert asked, and for that, Athelstan had no answer.

Finally, the guards stepped aside, and as Athelstan saw the shieldmaiden, Ecbert had been right in his doubts. His first thought when he saw her was so this was what Lagertha looked like when she was young.

The woman looked around the yard, taking everything in with narrowed eyes. She kept her head high, staring at both Aethelwulf and Ecbert with an almost dangerous defiance only those of noble birth had.

“She’s certainly not a farmer.” Ecbert mumbled, voicing Athelstan’s thoughts out loud. The woman’s eyes snapped towards the sound of the king’s voice, meeting Athelstan’s eyes. He felt himself freeze under her gaze.

A scar tugged on her face, not unlike those of Rollo. She stared at him for a moment, and it felt as if she was mapping out his face. Then, she gave him a careful smile. Athelstan felt himself grow warm under her stare.

She was pretty, in the same way Lagertha was - in the same way all shieldmaidens were heedlessly, dangerously beautiful.

The woman addressed Athelstan in a foreign language, but her tone was enough to let him know that she was asking him for something. Help, he thought. The woman was afraid, though she did her very best to hide it.

“Do you know her language?” Ecbert said. Athelstan shook his head. Still, his eyes widened as he listened and realized the woman was switching between three languages he did not realize.

“She is well-educated.” he told Ecbert.

The king’s eyes narrowed. “How so?”

“That is not one, but three languages she is using to try and speak to us. And…” Athelstan trailed off. The languages sounded as if he was supposed to understand him. “They are like ours, but not exactly.”

“What do you mean?” Ecbert asked.

“They have the same sound as our languages. One of them sounds like Frankian. I think… some of the words are almost the same as in our languages. She keeps saying a word that sounds like the Norse word for ‘king’. I think she is looking for you.” Athelstan replied. Ecbert nodded, before he raised a hand to his chest.

“I am Ecbert.” he said to the woman. She paused, her brows scrunching together. Athelstan almost laughed as he realized the expression was like those Bjorn wore when he was angry.

“Alethia.” the woman replied. The name sounded almost Saxon. And then, she said it again. “Alethia Stahl.”

The words slipped from his tongue before he could stop them. “I am Athelstan.” he blurted out. Alethia smiled that same careful smile again and repeated her plea from before.

“I think she can help us.” Athelstan said, though he was not sure why.

“How so?” Ecbert asked.

“A Christian shieldmaiden? Imagine Earl Ragnar’s face.” Athelstan said simply. Ecbert smirked, before he nodded.

“She is your charge. Teach her our tongue.”

***

When a servant led her to the room Athelstan was waiting in, Alethia had changed into more Saxon clothes. He watched as she wrung her hands together and made a note in his mind.

“Athelstan.” he repeated, pointing to himself again. She nodded, stepping closer. Alethia was taller than him, if only by a little bit.

She said a few words in quick succession, and Athelstan could only stare at her confused. Her sigh was universal, though. Then, her eyes flickered down. Athelstan heard the sharp gasp she let out the moment she saw the scars on his hands.

What he did not expect was for her to grab his hands and turn the palms upwards, thumbs gently brushing over the scars.

“Jesus.” she said. So she was a Christian after all. Athelstan pulled his hands from hers as if she had burned them.

“Are you Christian?” he asked her, and she seemed to hesitate for a moment. Then, Alethia shrugged, adding a few quiet words. Athelstan was not sure how to begin teaching someone like her his language, so he began slowly.

She repeated the words after him, and Athelstan felt proud to discover that his pupil was fast at learning languages. After a few minutes, Alethia already understood the pronunciation. And when Athelstan grabbed a book from his table, telling her the word for it, her face lit up as if he was God and had just promised her salvation.

Excitedly, she pointed to the book and then herself. Athelstan found himself dumbfounded by her yet again, and he’d only known her for a few hours. Then, Alethia made a writing motion, and Athelstan snorted.

“You can write?” he asked, though it was rather pointless.

Alethia only shrugged, repeating the motion. She walked around the small room they were in, searching for something. Then, she made for the windowsill, where a bird had left its feather. She picked it up, repeating the motion and then pointing to herself.

“You can write?” Athelstan asked, and she nodded.

“You can write.” Alethia repeated clumsily.

“I can write.” Athelstan corrected, pointing to himself to show that this was a way to speak about your own person. Alethia nodded again.

“I can write.” she said slowly. And then, she waved the feather in his face.

“Feather.” Athelstan told her.

“Feather.” Alethia parroted. “Feather. I can write.”

Athelstan was not sure if he had been right about his initial thoughts of her. Maybe she was just a village idiot. Still, he gave her a proper quill, a scrap of parchment and ink.

His jaw almost dropped to the floor as the shieldmaiden dipped the quill into the ink with practiced ease, and wrote her name onto the piece of parchment. Then, beneath it, she wrote his name.

Though she had misspelled it, Athelstan could recognize it as his own. Behind it, she wrote ‘Ecbert’ and ‘Rex’ and ‘Deus’ and finally, she wrote a very clumsily spelled version of the word ‘feather’, following his pronunciation with latin letters.

Athelstan took the scrap from her, careful not to smudge the still-drying ink. He looked from it to Alethia and back at the words again, still unbelieving.

Alethia opened her mouth to say something, but then she quieted down again. Instead, she took Athelstan’s hands into her own again. His first instinct was to pull away. He found he could not, instead letting her fingers squeeze his. They were calloused, like those of Ragnar, of Lagertha. Like those of a warrior.

Athelstan wanted to shake his head at her. A shieldmaiden that believed in God and could read and write. And then, her eyes turned watery, and Athelstan panicked. Had he done something wrong?

Alethia pulled his hands forward, until they rested on her stomach. It was flat, so it took him a few moments to understand. Lagertha had done the same gesture to Ragnar when she’d been with child.

“Child?” Athelstan asked, nodding to her stomach, and Alethia repeated the word with a shaky voice. She raised a finger to her mouth, gently shushing. Athelstan nodded quickly, grabbing the cross around his neck.

“I promise.”

Alethia smiled again, quickly wiping her tears. “Promise.” she repeated. A few seconds later, the door to the small room opened, and Athelstan knew she’d heard the footsteps.

It was King Ecbert who stood in the doorway, a servant behind him. The servant walked towards Alethia, beckoning her forward. Alethia looked to Athelstan, unsure, and he nodded.

“Go with her.” he said calmly.

“Athelstan. Promise.” Alethia replied, and he nodded. When the door closed behind the two women, Saxon and stranger, Ecbert turned to Athelstan.

“Promise? When did that word come up?” he asked.

“She’s a fast learner.” Athelstan said instead. “And… there’s something wrong with her.”

“What do you mean? Is she insane?” Ecbert asked. Athelstan shook his head, handing Ecbert the scrap of parchment. The king had about the same reaction as Athelstan, laughing as his hand rubbed his beard.

“She can read and write. My late wife could not do that. My own son could barely learn the skills.” Ecbert observed.

“It will make the lessons go faster. She is a fast learner, and in such an environment - she may be able to communicate the very basics in a week.” Athelstan replied.

“She was smart enough to be brought to my villa.” Ecbert snorted. “The girl’s smarter than half my court if she could convince a village of idiots that she was not a witch.”

“Alethia told them she was a Christian, I think.” Athelstan replied.

“That naturally changes things.” Ecbert said sarcastically. “I am quite surprised they did not kill her.”

“Neither did you.” Athelstan pointed out.

“I don’t kill curiosities.” Ecbert shrugged. The words made Athelstan shudder. He did not like his king’s tone.

Alethia

Athelstan reminded her of Jon. She tried not to think about that as she flipped through the scrolls in front of her. She’d managed to slip away from the servant that had been assigned to her, and wander off into an abandoned library of sorts.

“Fuck.” she cursed as she unrolled yet another piece of parchment, and was met with the sight of latin words flowing together. Frustrated, she rolled it together, carefully putting the writing back in its place.

Alethia slipped into the next row of shelves, pulling out a massive tome. She paused as she saw the mosaic on the wall across from her, putting the book back in its place. A laugh escaped her as she carefully traced the Roman imagery. If this place had a mosaic like this that meant…

As a throat was cleared around her, Alethia whirled around. King Ecbert leaned against the shelves she’d just been sorting through, a grin on his face that said thought I’d find you here . Alethia did not like it.

Even though she could appreciate how dilfy he was.

“Romans, huh?” she said nervously, pointing to the mosaic behind her. The king’s eyebrows shot up. He said something she could not understand, waving the piece of parchment she’d written in front of her face.

“Yeah, I was kind of trying to find out what this place is about.” Alethia said, nodding to the books. “But the mosaic helped way more.”

“Mosaic.” Ecbert said, pointing to the wall, and Alethia nodded. She pointed to a figure that looked like an Athena-Minerva-esque woman, and said the name of the goddess.

“Minerva?” Ecbert asked.

“I’m guessing.” Alehtia shrugged, pointing to the next few figures and saying the names of the Gods she guessed belonged to them, sending a mental thank you to Rick Riordan. Something flashed behind Ecbert’s eyes as she listed them off, and Alethia suddenly realized that her knowledge was something this king would want.

She reminded herself of why she’d been so excited to see the mosaic.

“If Romans built this place, that means that it has a bath, right? I reek.” Alethia sighed. “Bath? Aqua? Laver? Je veux me laver.”

Ecbert took a few moments, before he nodded. His arm hooked into Alethia’s as he pulled her to his side. She ground her teeth against it, steeling herself so that she would not hit another king.

“Where’s Athelstan?” she asked.

“Bath.” Ecbert replied, mispronouncing her words. And indeed, when she stepped into the room, she saw that Athelstan was speaking with the servant, trying to calm her in a soothing voice.

“Sorry.” Alethia said apologetically as the servant turned to her, giving a careful shrug. The servant only shook her head, looking to Ecbert for approval before she stormed off. Alethia did not mind, hands dipping into the bath as she leaned over the edge. The water was warm and Alethia laughed again.

Quickly, she pulled her dress up to her kness, pulling off her boots before she dipped her feet into the water and sighed.

“What a nice bath you have, King Ecbert.” she snorted, looking over her shoulder. The king was eyeing her with that same predatory look as before, and Alethia quickly looked to Athelstan. When he said the word she assumed meant bath, she repeated it dutifully. Athelstan did not smile back at her, his eyes only flickering to her stomach, gaze full of worry.

He really was like Jon.

#alestan #alethia stahl #athelstan #vikings #history vikings fic #athelstan headcanons #alethia

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