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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 5 months

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Push the Sky Away - Part One

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x original female character (Lorra Stark) Chapter warnings: Angst. Canon typical violence. Mention of loss of virginity. Smut. Word count: ~6.5k

Summary: We are getting to know Aemond in this chapter. Some scene setting and world building, not much to be found of our OC until she is introduced towards the end. Laying the groundwork for what's to come later. Series masterlist.

Author's note: For @sapphirehearteyes. I don't have a tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

Fire and Blood, the infamous words of House Targaryen. It is a phrase that both haunts and eludes Aemond Targaryen from an early age, with its promise of greatness and constant reminder of all he will never be.

The Targaryen name is the only thing of any value that Viserys has ever bestowed upon his sons. Aemond ponders whether his father’s disinterest in him is a result of the illness that weakens his body by the day, or if he simply has no room in his heart for the children borne of his second marriage. When he watches him interact with Rhaenyra, how he lights up in her presence in a way that he does not for him or his other siblings, he knows it is the latter.

The fireplace warms his skin, uncomfortably so, and despite the septa’s caution that he not sit so close, he refuses to budge. Sweat prickles the back of his neck, dampening and curling the ends of the hair that sticks to it. His discomfort is of little importance to him, he needs to remain within this proximity to the hearth in order to keep his egg warm, to ensure it hatches. It is a vigil he has kept for as long as he can remember, not moving until he is forced to bed with aching joints and soot covered hands. Unable to understand why it had never hatched in his cradle, he is certain that if he does his due diligence then soon he will have a dragon of his own.

His mother is alerted of his disobedience, and Alicent regards him with sadness in her large brown eyes, as she reaches for him.

“Come away, my dearest love, you will have a dragon of your own one day.”

He simply shakes his head. She could not understand. He does not want just any dragon, he wants his. There must be a reason why this particular egg was imparted upon him, otherwise it is all for nothing.

Despite this, day after day the hardened scales remain cool to the touch, little more than a rock between his tiny fingers. Perhaps placing it within the flames themselves will yield the result he hopes for?

He leans forward into the fireplace, heat blazing against his pale cheeks, and an acrid stench fills his nostrils. It is not until he is pulled forcefully back by the firm grasp of the septa that he realises the ends of his long, fair hair have singed, charred and blackened by the heat of the fire.

The egg is taken away after that, and Aemond weeps bitterly at the unfairness of it. It is his birthright, his only birthright, and now his sole purpose for being has been snatched from him; it seems there is little point to his existence now. He never sees the egg again, but he often wonders what would have happened if he had been left uninterrupted to place it upon the flames.

When Aemond is a little older, he begins to frequent the Dragonpit, for what is a Targaryen without their dragon? If he no longer has his own egg then he will find another, or perhaps claim a riderless mount of his own.

The warmth beneath the Grand Sept is different from that of the fireplace. It is dank and humid within the pit, the odour of droppings hangs heavy in the air, mixed with sulphur and ash. The smell sticks to his clothes when he returns to the Keep each evening, and momentarily he feels his chest swell with pride as his mother winkles her nose in disgust at the scent. It is the same look of distaste that she bestows upon both Helaena and Aegon when they return from flying, and for the briefest of moments he can pretend that he has too.

Yet still he goes to bed each evening dragonless, and begins each day anew with the bitter taste of jealousy in his mouth as he watches his nephews, Jacaerys and Lucerys, interact with their dragons, Vermax and Arrax. Targaryens are considered to be closer to gods than men, so it feels like a cruel twist of fate that his half sister’s bastard offspring should be blessed with eggs that hatched in their cradles when his did not. Rhaenyra’s children have the favour of the Seven, whereas they seem to have turned a blind eye to him.

Aemond’s heart soars with hope when the dragonkeepers reveal to his sister that Dreamfyre is gravid. If she produces a healthy clutch of eggs then he can claim one, one that will actually hatch. In spite of the warnings that the she-dragon be left in peace during this sensitive time, and Helaena’s frustrated and repeated requests to stop disturbing her, he cannot resist the pull towards where she roosts within her darkened cave. If she is to lay an egg, then he wants to be the first to see it, to ensure he can take one for himself.

The blistering heat of the flames that Dreamfyre expels with her mighty roar of anger as he approaches yet again causes him to stagger backwards, wide eyed and slack jawed. But Aemond feels no fear as gazes into her fiery maw, his only thoughts are that one day soon a beast of his own will do much the same.

When Aegon claps a heavy hand upon his shoulder, steering him forward, and claiming a dragon has been found for him, he does his best to remain calm. He is used to his brother and nephews’ cruel japes at his expense. But as he stands at the top of the slope to the Dragonpit, he cannot help the way his heart races with excitement at the possibility that it might be true.

His hopes are dashed when a pig is led out to him, trussed up in wings, having been jokingly named “the pink dread”. He bows his head at the raucous laughter of Aegon, Jace and Luke around him, humiliation flushing his cheeks for having dared to believe it could be true.

The echoes of Aegon’s mocking pig grunts ring in his ears all the way home, and he stands dejectedly as Alicent delivers yet another scolding for him having dared to disturb Dreamfyre. He is usually silently accepting of her scorn, confident he knows better, and prepared to defy her all over again the next day. However, this time he can no longer bear the injustice of it all.

“They gave me a pig!” He cries, feeling the prickle of tears in his eyes. “They laughed, they all laughed.”

The warmth of his mother’s embrace does little to comfort the inferno that blazes inside of him. Today is proof of the fact that his own brother does not view him as equal - how could he? Aemond is a second born son and has no dragon. He is worth nothing.

If he is not destined to be a dragonrider, then Aemond decides he will give his all to becoming a fearsome warrior instead. He excels in the training yard with each daily practice, every strike of his wooden sword against the straw stuffed target more ferocious than the last. The proud glint in the eye of Ser Criston Cole as he watches diligently, offering guidance on both stance and technique, serves to spur him on. He will be the best at this, he has to be.

Much to his displeasure, the allotted time for sparring is shared with his nephews. Though they learn under the watchful eye of Ser Harwin Strong, there is still a competitive element, and an underlying sense of animosity between Criston and Harwin that he does not quite understand.

Aegon later tells him it is because Ser Harwin is the true father of Rhaenyra’s children. He feels a smug sense of satisfaction at being privy to this information, and it brings him and his older brother closer together. The two of them share rare moments of comradery each time they don their armour and pick up their practice blades. It’s the only time that Aemond ever genuinely laughs or smiles.

There is an obvious divide from that point onwards, Targaryens uniting against Strongs, and as the tension grows between the boys, it does between their mentors too, until one day it reaches a boiling point.

At first Aemond titters along with his brother as they watch Criston scuffle with Harwin, but his smile quickly fades upon seeing how valiantly their father fights for them, knowing his own would never do the same for him. As he looks up into the solemn features of Aegon, he knows the sentiment is shared. It is yet another privilege that Rhaenyra’s children possess that he does not have; the love of their father.

They journey to Driftmark when they receive the news that Laena Velaryon has passed away in childbirth. The icy, coastal winds that whip Aemond’s hair around his face as the stone coffin is committed to the sea are as bleak as the mood that envelopes them all. He seeks warmth near the brazier, attempting to catch the eye of Jace, who stands on the opposite side. Despite the tension between them, he hopes to offer condolences, knowing the loss of both Ser Harwin and his aunt play heavily upon his nephew’s mind.

He realises it is a futile gesture the moment that Jace turns away in disgust, and once more Aemond is reminded of how alone he truly is, that he has nothing. Luke will inherit Driftmark, and their mother has betrothed Helaena to Aegon. Luke snivels at what he is offered, claiming that when Driftmark passes to him it means everyone will have died. Aegon scoffs at the notion of being married to Helaena, claiming they have nothing in common.

It angers Aemond, to be overlooked in favour of those who are so ungrateful for all they have. If he were set to inherit anything, he would do everything in his power to prove he is worthy of it and bear the title with honour. If his mother had betrothed his sister to him, he would do his duty and ensure the match produces heirs that would make House Targaryen proud.

His attention is drawn to the clifftop when he sees the spread of enormous wings and hears the mighty rumble of the creature atop it. Vhagar. Laena Velaryon’s dragon is now riderless, and the pull he feels towards her is one he simply cannot ignore. At last, he has found his purpose and his desire to claim a dragon is reinvigorated with new strength.

Aemond waits until nightfall. Sea spray has made the rocks slippery beneath his feet, and he ascends carefully, though determined, towards the top of the cliff where Vhagar roosts. Windswept and breathless by the time he reaches the top, he stands awestruck at the sleeping dragon. Even partially submerged in sand, she is a magnificent sight to behold. She had appeared massive when looking at her from above, but it does nothing to prepare him for the sheer scale of her up close. She is gargantuan.

For a moment, icy fingers of fear grip Aemond’s heart, and he considers simply turning back, he has made a dangerous mistake. He shakes the thought from his mind the moment it presents itself.

I am no craven.

His approach is tentative, palms outstretched to communicate that he does not present a threat, as the elderly beast grumbles and shakes sand from her back. He stares transfixed as she opens her jaws, the white hot inferno that swirls within their depths makes that of Dreamfyre’s seem like a mere campfire. He feels as though he is looking into the very mouth of the Seven Hells themselves, but instead of fear Aemond feels kinship. Vhagar is without purpose, as is he, until now.

“Lykirī,” he calls out, the wind carrying half the sound away with it. Yet she hears, and she stills, eyeing the child before her with keen curiosity. Be calm.

Emboldened by her calmness at his command, Aemond steps closer, fingertips ghosting against the heat that radiates from her scales.

“Dohaerās, Vhagar,” he tells her, voice trembling. This is the same dragon ridden by the great warrior, Visenya, the conqueror’s wife. She is battle hardened, and with the smallest of movements could snuff out his short life. Serve.

The faintest sound of displeasure reverberates through Vhagar’s body, yet she remains still. Aemond’s heart beats wildly in his chest as he grips the ropes attached to her saddle and begins to pull himself up. If he had thought the climb to the top of the cliff difficult, it proves nothing compared to this. His arms ache with exertion, the expanse of the great beast he is attempting to summit is vaster than anything he has ever climbed before.

By the time he pulls himself into the saddle, Aemond’s palms are red raw with rope burn and his skin is damp with perspiration. There is barely time for him to catch his breath though, as the moment Vhagar feels him settle on her back, she rises to her feet, vast quantities of sand slipping from her back and wings in drifts.

The movement startles Aemond, and he fears he will fall. His sore hands cling tightly to her reins as he shouts his final command to her.

“Sōvēs.” Fly.

As she rises into the air with an effortless flap of her wings, he feels as though he has left his stomach on the ground below. The rush upwards is dizzying, frightening and exhilarating all at once. Aemond begins to laugh as he grows used to the weightless sensation of every ebb and flow through the air as it whistles past his ears, and chills his skin to the bone. He is finally complete, he has his dragon, and for the first time in his life he is genuinely happy.

That happiness is short-lived.

The moment he reaches solid ground, his cousins, Baela and Rhaena, are waiting for him, alongside Jace and Luke. He had anticipated this, and is well prepared.

“It’s him!” Rhaena shouts as soon as she sees him.

“It’s me,” he responds calmly, confident there is nothing to be done now that Vhagar is his.

“Vhagar is my mother’s dragon!”

“Your mother is dead, and Vhagar has a new rider now.”

“She was mine to claim!”

“Then you should have claimed her. Maybe your cousins can find you a pig to ride? It would suit you.”

He is startled when Rhaena angrily charges towards him, though he is bigger than her and pushes her to the ground with ease. A punch from her sister, Baela, catches him off guard, the pain in his face enraging him and causing him to hit back so hard she falls over.

“Come at me again and I’ll feed you to my dragon!” He snarls angrily.

Jace and Luke rush at him, and in a moment of confidence Aemond thinks he has bested the both of them, until all four children knock him down and begin to rain their fists down upon him.

He is the rider of the world’s largest dragon, and his new found confidence coupled with the surge of adrenaline allows him to fight them all back. He grasps a rock, holding it above Luke’s head as he grasps him tightly by the collar.

“You will die screaming in flames, just as your father did. Bastards!” He hisses.

“My father is still alive!” Luke wails.

Aemond smirks, rock still held above his sobbing nephew, and he glances to Jace. “He does not know, does he, Lord Strong?”

Jace unsheathes a dagger, to the protestations of both Rhaena and Baela, and the distraction is enough for Aemond to knock it from his hand. His dedication in the training yard has paid off and he quickly gets the better of Jace, snatching up the rock once more, prepared to bring it down upon his skull should he try to attack him again.

In Aemond’s mind, the matter is settled, they should accept what has happened and retire to bed.

Unfortunately, his nephews do not share the sentiment. He winces, staggering backwards as Jace throws sand in his face, and before he has had time to fully recover, Luke is racing towards him, Jace’s dagger in hand.

The pain is excruciating as his nephew slashes upwards, and suddenly his vision shows blackness on one side, instead of his surroundings. He falls to his knees, a shriek of agony leaving him as blood seeps through the fingers of the hand he clasps to one side of his face.

His only focus is the searing, torturous pain he feels, waves of nausea rippling through his prone body, until a clamour of armour alerts him to the presence of the Kingsguard. As a knight kneels beside him, coaxing his hand away, his pale, horrified expression and exclamation of “Gods be good” are all Aemond needs to know that his face is ruined forever.

The fire in the hall of Driftmark is warm against his skin, and he does his best to focus on that sensation instead of that of the Maester extracting his eye from his skull. Though he has been dosed with milk of the poppy, he still feels every cut, every tug, and the pierce of the needle as it’s pulled through his skin repeatedly to stitch up the wound.

Aemond is unsure if it is the milk of the poppy that dulls his senses, or the satisfaction he feels at having claimed the world’s largest dragon, but he does not feel anger or sadness as he expects he would have when he is told his eye is lost forever.

When his mother snatches a knife and charges towards Rhaenyra, he is certain she has more blood of the dragon coursing through her veins than his coward of a father does. She is willing to risk everything to avenge his disfigurement, while Viserys makes excuses and appears more affronted at his eldest daughter’s children being called bastards. The loss of Aemond’s eye seems of little importance to him.

It is in that moment that Aemond feels the tiny semblance of respect he had for his father wither and die. As he takes in the harrowed expressions of Alicent, Aegon and Helaena, he knows they are all he has left.

“Do not mourn me, mother,” he says softly, rising to comfort her, though unsteady on his feet as he adjusts to his partial sightedness. “I may have lost an eye, but I have gained a dragon.”

A scar mars the flesh of Aemond’s face, but also ravages its way through the Targaryen family. Rhaenyra and her children leave King’s Landing, settling upon Dragonstone with Daemon and his daughters. Meanwhile, the health of Viserys continues to decline and the instances he is not bedridden grow fewer. Aemond does not miss his presence.

Worry hangs over his mother, a permanent shroud of anxiety, while Aegon becomes more debaucherous, sinking further into his cups with each passing day. Helaena retreats deeper into herself, rarely speaking unless spoken to, and bristles at any initiation of physical touch.

Slowly, Aemond heals, though it is not without struggle. He must learn to do everything anew. His favourite books become a chore to read, no longer able to pore over their pages for as long without suffering a terrible ache in his head.

Criston has to begin his training with the sword all over again. There is a newfound blind spot to account for when he fights. Not only does he have to learn how to balance, pivot and wield his weapon with accuracy, he also has to develop hyper vigilance and an acute awareness of where his opponent is at all times, to prevent them from drifting to the side from which he cannot see, and besting him.

Even flying on dragonback is difficult, though he only has one flight to compare it to. He learns fast, and is grateful that Vhagar’s advanced age makes her placid and more forgiving than a younger mount might be. When Aemond is airborne he can almost forget his disfigurement entirely, until he returns to the ground and the world is half blackness once more.

It is enough to make Aemond want to scream in frustration and give up at times. However, he is accustomed to a life of feeling out of place, of having to work harder than everyone else to prove his worth. There is nothing to be gained from a defeatist attitude, so he hardens himself to the challenges he faces, determined to be better with one eye than he was with two.

If his vision of the world is now limited, then he will simply expand his mind beyond that. He loses himself in tomes of history and philosophy, ignoring the dull pain that plagues his skull as he reads into the small hours.

In the training yard, he is quick to learn to keep Criston within his line of sight at all times, and wields his sword viciously, relentlessly, always striving to be faster, stronger, more precise. The proud look upon the Knight’s face means little to him now. The only person he means to prove anything to is himself.

He reasons that a warrior must appear as fearsome as they fight, and takes to wearing a sapphire in the empty socket of his eye, when it is not covered by a patch.

The single matter that Aemond is never able to quite grasp is that of the fairer sex. Aegon has always seemed to have an overly indulgent interest in women, moreso what lies between their legs, but he has never understood his brother’s obsession with fornication. He has read about the mechanics of it in books, and the idea makes his lip curl in disgust. However, he reasons that Aegon is older, and perhaps his own appetite will develop in much the same way as he ages.

Aegon reasons that women’s skin is soft, they smell nice, and when you find one that has the perfect pair of tits and legs then there is little else that matters. While it is agreeable to Aemond that women are indeed more pleasant to look upon than men, he questions why he should not take an interest in their education or how they like to pass the time. His brother argues that once you are sheathed inside a woman, it is not what is in their mind that matters in the slightest.

Upon Aemond’s thirteenth name day, Aegon slaps him on the back and informs him that it is “time to get it wet”. The very idea makes his guts churn with unease, yet he dons the clothes of common folk just the same, pulling a hood over his head, and allows his brother to guide him to the Street of Silk.

The walk through Flea Bottom reeks of urine, with men staggering half drunk through the narrow cobbled streets, while women in varying states of undress beckon them forward into darkened hovels. Aemond keeps his head bowed, dreading what is to come, and is thankful when the establishment that his older brother guides him to looks slightly more respectable than the half a dozen they have passed by already.

The pleasure house is dimly lit and the heady scent of cheap perfume burns his nostrils, though it barely covers the smell of another undesirable stench that he assumes is the byproduct of what goes on here. He half wonders if it will stick to his clothing, much like the smell of sulphur and ash does when he returns from dragonback. He sincerely hopes not.

His throat runs dry when Aegon staggers away with a busty woman, full of giggles, leaving him alone. The brothel’s madame has a kind smile, though it does not meet her eyes, and when she places her hand upon his shoulder it makes him shudder. He feels her touch there like a brand long after she has taken it away.

“Choose any of my girls that you like,” she tells him.

Timidly he eyes all of them. He wants none of them, but how can he say that?

When he hesitates, she chooses for him, pushing him towards a room with a girl that cannot be much older than he is. Her hair is the colour of straw, her skin reeks of the same perfume that lingers thick within the air, and there is wine upon her breath.

The fireplace burns low in the room as he lays upon the bed, and he keeps his eye fixed upon it until it is over. He has enjoyed none of it, the finish feeling little more to him than the satisfaction he experiences when scratching an itch. He cannot understand why Aegon makes such a fuss about it, if that is all there is to it then he never wants to partake in such an act of vulgarity ever again.

He leaves without saying a word, and walks as quickly as his legs will carry him back to the Red Keep. In the bathtub that evening, he scrubs until his skin is red raw, wanting nothing more than to erase every trace of what he has endured that day.

When he is served his favourite meal for his name day feast, roasted haunch of venison, he finds he has no appetite. Sickly perfume fills his nose and turns his stomach, and he leaves his plate untouched.

From that day forth, Aemond decides that he has no taste for depravity, and dedicates his time to reading, training with the sword and taking flight on Vhagar. Despite the nagging ache at the back of his mind that Aegon is set to succeed their father when he passes away, despite neither wanting nor deserving it, he feels a sense of fulfillment in knowing that he is making both their mother and House Targaryen proud.

There are few books in the Keep’s library he has not read at least twice, and he trains daily in the yard with Criston, now at a point where he is the victor in almost every sparring match.

The years pass, and Aemond is content with solitude, assuming that is his lot in life. Fire and blood course hotly in his veins, and in spite of his disfigurement he feels every inch a true Targaryen.

Viserys deteriorates to the point that Aemond’s grandsire and Hand of the King, Otto, now oversees most of the royal duties, and he has begun in earnest to plan with Alicent for Aegon’s eventual coronation. It comes as no shock to Aemond the day that he is beckoned to the Small Council Chamber, though he is surprised to find it is just his grandsire that sits at the table, there is not even a cup bearer present.

“I trust you are aware of the plans to crown Aegon once your father passes?” Otto asks, once Aemond is seated in the chair nearest to him.

Aemond sits up straight against the backrest, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, as he regards Otto impassively. “I am.”

“Good,” Otto nods, clasping his hands in front of him on the table. “Then I am sure you must know of your own duty to the realm.”

Aemond purses his lips, eyeing the older man carefully. “I will do what I must to ensure Aegon’s claim to the throne goes unchallenged.”

Otto sighs, leaning back and regarding Aemond with a twinkle of amusement in his eye. “Rhaenyra is sure to challenge your brother’s birthright, as your father foolishly named her heir, but there are means to remedy that.”

Aemond says nothing, waiting for Otto to say what he means. He watches as he fills both their wine cups, before setting the jug down. He takes a deep drink from his own, but Aemond leaves his untouched, wishing his grandsire would just get to the point.

Otto clicks his tongue before continuing. “To strengthen Aegon’s claim, we must curry favour with the other Great Houses of the realm.”

Aemond lowers his gaze, fingers drumming absentmindedly on the armrests of his chair. “You wish for me to marry.”

“Yes, Aemond, you are to be betrothed.”

The tone of voice in which Otto says this has such finality, it sounds as though a match has already been decided. His eye flickers upwards to meet the unyielding gaze of his grandsire.

“To who?”

“Your mother and I thought it best not to present you with suitors, we know you would not enjoy such a spectacle.”

You know all of them would take one look at me and be horrified by the very notion of being married to me.

Otto continues, “So we have chosen for you. The daughter of Lord Rickon Stark, Lorra. She is a pretty girl, and having the allegiance of a Great House of the North will weaken Rhaenyra’s claim.”

Aemond stays silent as his mind races.

House Stark. Their sigil is a dire wolf, their words are Winter is Coming.

Beyond that, he knows nothing of Northerners, what could he possibly learn about his betrothed from a book anyway?

He wets his lips, resigned to his fate. “When?”

“She will arrive in King’s Landing in two weeks, so that you can begin your courtship of her.”

“I will do my duty.”

“I trust that you will.”

Aemond retires to his chambers for the remainder of the day. He had anticipated that he would have to marry to form a political alliance at some point, however, the thought rattles him all the same.

He is a solitary creature by nature, what on earth will he do with a wife? He supposes life will stay much the same, if his mother and father and Aegon and Helaena are to be used as examples - both couples married, yet living entirely separate lives. It is a mere formality. He will not be expected to spend time with her.

They will be expected to produce heirs, however. Nervousness swirls in his gut at the thought. He does not want to endure what happened to him at the brothel each time he couples with his wife, yet he cannot leave her childless either.

Lorra is a highborn lady, however, not a common whore, so perhaps he will be able to find pleasure in the act. Doubt niggles in his mind as he ponders his inexperience. A Prince must know what he is doing if he is to produce children, and Aemond possesses neither experience nor interest in the act of procreation. He will need to prepare if he is to perform his marital duties as anticipated without embarrassing himself or his wife.

The thought of returning to Flea Bottom makes him shiver in revulsion. He has no desire to part with coin for an act that sickens him. He will need to find an alternative.

There are plenty of maidservants around the Keep who are pretty enough, and of a similar age to him. He does not wish to be like his brother, however, and will not take what is not freely given. He has observed the way that Aegon expresses interest in the women that attend to them during mealtimes and decides to deploy some of the same tactics, though in a much more subtle manner.

At supper the following evening, he spots a young woman who is pleasing to him. She has a slender neck and pretty face, her large eyes framed by thick lashes. He watches her carefully as she rounds the table, filling each cup with wine, and when finally she approaches him, he deliberately reaches forward, his fingers brushing the soft skin of her wrist as she pours from the jug she holds. She glances down at him and he looks up, holding her gaze, the faintest of smirks on his face. A slight blush creeps up her neck, dusting its way across her cheekbones and he knows she is interested.

He spends the rest of the meal catching her eye whenever he can, and when the evening draws to a close, he lingers in the doorway, beckoning her with the slightest tip of his head when she looks at him, before walking back to his bedchamber. Aemond does not have to wait long for the knock at his door.

“Your grace, will you be needing anything else this evening?” She asks with a polite smile.

He closes the door behind them, steeling himself before turning to face her. “You understand why you are here?”

She nods, reaching up to cup his face as she leans in. He turns away, pulling back slightly.

“I have no need for you to kiss me.”

She nods in understanding and moves towards the bed, slipping out of her clothes. Aemond stands in silence as he watches her disrobe. She is attractive to look at, much more desirable than the girl he had coupled with in Flea Bottom. Smooth skinned, with subtle curves and firm breasts. He wonders how many others have looked upon her in the same manner that he has.

“Lay down,” he instructs her, once she is fully bare before him.

She moves to position herself face down, but Aemond steps forward, halting her actions.

“Let me look at you.”

“As you wish, your grace,” she whispers, blushing again, and repositions onto her back.

Aemond stands over her, his eye raking over her form as he takes in the way her chest rises and falls with every breath, the way the narrowness of her waist expands outwards towards her hips.

Tentatively, he reaches forward, fingers trailing lightly over the plush flesh of her inner thigh, tugging gently.

Obediently, she spreads her legs and he sucks in a breath at what glistens between them, curiosity guiding his actions as he spreads his fingers through the slick folds. She sighs in pleasure, and he looks back up at her face. Her lips are parted, eyes hooded with desire. Admittedly, though this is a much better experience than what he’d endured when he was thirteen, he still feels little in the way of excitement. Aemond appreciates that she lays there quietly, however, allowing him to take things at his own pace, and he feels his body respond to her regardless of his lack of emotion.

When his cock strains almost painfully against the lacings of his breeches, he unfastens them, crawling over the maidservant to cage her body in with his. She feels better against him than the whore had, her skin is more supple and her scent not quite so overpowering. He grunts as he pushes himself inside of her, her tight, wet heat gripping every inch of him as he slides forward.

The inside of her is different from the grasp of his own hand. Aemond is no stranger to the act of self pleasure, using it as a means to clear his mind or lull himself to sleep on nights when rest evades him. It is not a carnal act for him though, he simply focuses on the sensation, guiding himself to release. Despite the pleasant warmth of her body, he does not feel driven to desperate passion as he had anticipated, as he has so often heard Aegon describe.

As he rocks his hips into hers, back and forth, the growing ache he experiences is nice enough, but it does not light a fire within him. He is simply rutting against another person. The dulcet sounds that fall from her lips as he pistons into her sound too performative, and he feels resentment as he looks upon her face, just wanting to put an end to it.

He speeds up, and her sounds grow louder. Annoyance prickles at his skin.

“Shut the fuck up,” he hisses.

She falls silent and the room fills with the sound of the slap of his skin against hers, until finally he spills inside of her with a quiet gasp. He is quick to withdraw from her, standing and tucking himself away.

“You can go now,” he tells her, turning away.

He doesn’t watch as she dresses and quietly leaves his chamber. Aemond feels disappointment that he is unable to derive pleasure from such a carnal act. He has read that it is supposed to evoke excitement within a person, and from the way Aegon behaves he knows it is certainly true. So why does such a feeling evade him?

It matters not, he supposes. He will treat his wife in the same way he has the maidservant this evening. He will not take her by force, and he will be gentle with her. The act will be for the sole purpose of producing heirs, besides that they will live their lives as they please. He did not choose her, and she did not choose him, so he is confident that this will be an arrangement she finds satisfactory.

The next two weeks pass by without incident. Aemond reads, he trains and he flies, and thoughts of his betrothal scarcely enter his mind.

Upon the day of Lorra’s arrival to the Red Keep, he gathers in the Great Hall, with Alicent, Otto, Aegon and Helaena to greet her upon her arrival. He stands straight, hands clasped firmly behind his back, eye scanning the room impatiently. He hates the formality of it all, and wonders what could possibly be taking such a long time.

He will, of course, be dutiful and stand here for as long as necessary, but irritability simmers within him as he exhales heavily through his nose, wishing to be anywhere else right now, the library, the training yard, on dragonback. Such a display seems wholly unnecessary for an arrangement that is a mere formality.

When finally the doors open to the steps that ascend into the Hall, he faces forward, eye fixed upon the Kingsguard that file in. Until he sees her.

Draped in a cerulean cloak, trimmed with grey fur, she seems as though she is floating, rather than walking as she approaches. Her ivory skin is tinged with the faintest of pink against her cheeks and the curls of her ebony hair are braided down her back.

Aemond’s throat runs dry, his heart pounding quickly against his ribcage, and he realises he is holding his breath. The last time he felt such a powerful combination of fear, awe and longing had been the night he had first laid eyes upon Vhagar. It unsettles him, and he is grateful that his hands remain behind his back, otherwise he is certain that she would be able to see how they tremble.

“Lady Lorra of House Stark,” comes the announcement to the Hall, but it sounds distant and far away to Aemond as he stands, transfixed by her.

His blood pumps like liquid fire through his veins. Her eyes, so blue they could almost be sapphires, meet his and he feels a shiver run through him. After a lifetime of resonating in the warmth of flames, he is chilled by the ice that is reflected back at him.

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tiredmamaissy · 3 months

Text

hey 👋

i think this is the longest i've been gone. i missed you all a lot. i've been writing this entire time, and wanted to finish the last (for now, it’s definitely not completed) two chapters of the ralak series before officially coming back. i didn't want to come back without some sort of peace offering (lol how could i come back empty handed?) and i don’t want to leave you guys hanging again, gotta give some sort of closure to this series!

i'm almost finished, but i felt like i needed to come on here and explain myself.

i've been really struggling with my mental lately. it's just been pretty bad, to be frank. and when i get like this, i find it extremely difficult to juggle all that life entails, and will typically neglect certain aspects of it just to get by. unfortunately, this, and my social life, have taken the biggest hit. i find it hard to keep in touch regularly with friends, and i end up just retreating into my shell. motivation becomes little, or nothing at all.

i don't want to go into too much detail, but i've found myself between a rock and a hard place. i don't feel like i have many options in my current situation. i feel trapped. i suppose i've felt this way for the past few years, but it's just been pretty bad recently. issy has been an escape for me. i created a ‘new’ identity, one that i could unapologetically be myself. no face to the name type of thing. i fell in love with pandora, yearning to go there. and suddenly, my ideal world--my ideal everything was at my fingertips.

when i first started, the feeling of regaining my identity after so many years was exhilarating. i put many, many things on the back burner to immerse myself into this feeling and this world. quicker meals, shorter showers, later bedtimes. i did any and everything to dedicate as much time as i could muster up to hold onto this new identity. i could feel myself becoming happier, slipping back into who i was before i lost her.

but life just happens. you know? it continued, and it did so ten-fold. it was one thing after the next, and soon my plate was so full that i had to take something off of it. i guess i'm used to choosing myself to neglect first, so i told myself i'd put this off until i could get through this and then come back. so i did, and i came back. then life happened again. so i left, and came back.

but this time around life hit me hard. i felt like i was playing a game on the hardest difficulty, with a half a life, no pauses, and no way to exit safely. i'm still playing that game, but i've realised that i should really try to make the most of it. so i've been writing in what time i have. it's been one of my biggest escapes and it makes me happy that i can share it, and see that others enjoy what my silly brain comes up with.

i'm ready to come back, but i'm honestly still really overwhelmed with life. i really, really don't want to disappoint anyone…and i can't promise that i won't leave again anytime soon. i never want to leave. and honestly, i don't think i'll ever really leave for good. i will forever love avatar, and all that it’s done for me for the past 14 years. i guess i’m just trying to say… thank you all for your patience and love.

okidoki, let me stop here while i can lol.

ill be posting the chapters as soon as i'm done with them, ofc. i love you guys!! i’m heading to bed and will try to clear out my inbox and dm’s asap

-issy 💜

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torukmaktoskxawng · 6 months

Text

tsamsiyu ta'em- healing and closure part two

Masterlist - part fourteen

Summary: Ronal and Tonowari notice a certain dynamic between Kayla and the human boy she's keeping separated from Neytiri.

Pairing: Ronal/Tonowari/Original Female Character

Tag: #tsamsiyu ta'em fic

posted on ao3

Word Count: 10k+

Warnings: canon-compliant, mature language, slow burn, polyamory, found family, cool aunt agenda, rushed, time skips, fluff, angst, major character death, child endangerment, etc.

Taglist (bold indicates "could not tag"): @motheroffae @undeniableadrenaline @mooniequeen @shit-i-say-shit-i-think @heart-an0n @amiets2 @slutforsmut4ever @yeosxxx @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @sucker4angstt @inolaphoenix @ilovechickenwings @tojisleftarm @andyfromku @ivysully @lightandshadow31

A/N: So this turned out to be a very long chapter anyway 😅 but I'm glad I split it into two parts!

Without much sleep from the night before, Makayla found herself sitting outside the marui the following morning, waiting for her brother to return. Jake had woken up and noticed she was already awake but didn't comment. Instead, he shared that he was going to speak to Tonowari and Ronal as soon as it was light enough outside. He wanted to express his deepest regret and sincerest apology to the reef clan leaders for endangering their children and their people, along with the promise to move his family elsewhere so they wouldn't draw any more attention to the Metkayina. As sunlight began to sparkle and reflect off the ocean's surface, Jake kept his word and left. Kayla had been sitting outside ever since.

Sounds of life could be heard inside the Sully marui, shuffling and quiet voices indicating that the others were slowly waking up, but Kayla didn't go back in and investigate. She remained outside, basking in whatever silence was left before the whole village awakened. Kayla listened to the quiet sounds of birds off in the distance, pinpointing small chirps from the ilu pens, and the gentle waves crashing into the sand along the beach. It was so peaceful, and for just a brief moment, Kayla allowed herself to relax.

Other Na'vi were starting to leave their homes and begin their morning chores by the time Jake came trekking down the walkways. Kayla had spotted him from a distance and quickly stood, waiting to meet him when he drew closer.

"So what happened? What did the olo'eyktan and tsahik say?"

Jake shared a small solemn gaze with her, speaking quietly so no one inside his home could hear him, "They both agree that we are Metkayina now and are allowing us to stay."

Kayla's shoulders relaxed, surprising even herself when she felt relief. Sure, she would have kept a stiff lip if she had no choice but to help her brother move his family out, but she was glad that they would get to stay. And-- a small part of her was relieved to know that Tonowari and Ronal didn't hold any ill will toward her family.

She allowed herself to take a deep breath, "So what now?"

"It's customary for a grieving family to stay secluded from the rest of the village while they mourn," Jake explained with an unnaturally soft voice, like saying it would make it real and he didn't want that, "We'll stay at home for the rest of the week and then we'll go from there. See what happens."

~~~~~~~~~

Despite being given the much-needed time to rest and be there for her family, Makayla was beginning to get a little stir-crazy.

She understood why the Na'vi believes in allowing yourself a window of grieving before returning to your normal life... but she honestly didn't feel as though she could deal with isolating oneself in their home for a whole week. Kayla was a woman of action, always on the move, never stopping. It was easy to prove herself among the Omatikaya because there was always something to do, something to keep her busy until it was time to finally force herself to rest at the end of the day. But here and now, it was nearly impossible. The Metkayina expect her and the rest of the Sullys to stay home and mourn. Maybe it was the way she was brought up in the military, but Kayla couldn't bring herself to not do... well, nothing. She needed to process death in her own way at her own time, but not like this.

A part of her envied Jake for being able to do what the Na'vi expect of him, especially when he used to be just like his sister-- always on the move. Of course, after such a long adjustment period living among the Omatikaya, he had managed to get rid of a lot of old habits, good and bad. Jake appeared relieved to be given this time to mourn, and Kayla couldn't exactly blame him. His son was taken from him, and that was a pain she knew that she could never understand. So yes, while she envied the fact Jake could stay isolated in a marui all day, she also understood her brother and how he needed time away from prying eyes so he could grieve. Neytiri and the children were no different. They did move around the home and kept themselves busy, but they never left beyond the threshold the entire week. The way they moved around each other made Kayla feel like an outsider looking in. The family moved in sync with one another, talking fluidly and like a team. She didn't have that sort of bond with them. At least, she didn't believe she did. Looking over at Spider who kept himself separate from the Sullys and sulking in the corner, Kayla could tell he more or less felt the same way.

Ao'nung, Tsireya, and Rotxo would stop by occasionally to provide the family with some food, water, and other provisions the Sullys might need during their grieving period but otherwise left them alone until they were ready to rejoin society. Apart from the reef children, Kayla and the rest of the Sullys have not seen another living face outside of each other's.

By the third day, Kayla was starting to get antsy and desperate. She needed to do something to keep her mind busy. When she finally stood up and announced she needed to visit the clan leaders, Jake was more than happy to let her go since she was driving him just as equally crazy. Off she went without any of the Sullys doing much to protest, practically running out of that marui without ever looking back. A part of her felt guilty, but at the very least, Kayla felt comfortable leaving Spider there as long as Kiri or Lo'ak would always be with him and not just Neytiri.

Once she made it to her destination, she was astonished to see both Tonowari and Ronal were home inside their marui, thinking that she might only find one or neither of them in the middle of the day. Both clan leaders were teaming up to stretch a fishing net out to try and detect any mistakes, standing far across the kelku from one another with the net stretched out between them. Making sure to make plenty of noise as she approached the home, Kayla purposely stayed right outside the entryway until both sets of eyes landed on her.

Tonowari looked pleasantly surprised to see her standing there and lifted his fingers to his forehead before lowering them toward her as a greeting, "Makayla te Suli."

Kayla does a double-take and quickly repeats the gesture, "May I come in?"

"Please," Tonowari extends his arm to direct her further into the marui, gesturing to the hearth as he and Ronal set the fishing net aside, "Sit."

"You are walking," Ronal stated the obvious as Kayla stepped inside her home, glancing down at the small limp the other woman was sporting. The tsahik held her rounded stomach in one hand and carefully sat down in the small circle her mate and Kayla had created when they also knelt down. She eyed the avatar carefully, "You should wait to do so until your foot regains full mobility."

Kayla glances down at her wrapped ankle, ears lowering in shame, "I just... wanted to thank you for allowing my family to stay here. You didn't have to, even after everything that happened, but you did."

Tonowari shakes his head and raises his hand to stop her, "Your family are Metkayina now. There's not much else they can learn, so they are free to live among us. As are you."

The avatar tilted her head, eyes widening in bafflement, "Me?"

"Yes," Ronal adds to her husband's statement, "You have learned much in your time here. You will always have a place in our village. The Way of Water gives and takes, life and death. In exchange for your loss, it has given you a home here."

Kayla's eyes fall to stare down at her lap at the reminder, staring down at her hands, "My loss..."

"Toruk Makto is your brother. His son was your nephew, was he not? You lost a nephew."

"We are very sorry for your loss."

She glances between them, a little thrown off by their sentiment. Her eyes quickly go back to staring down at her lap, "... Thank you."

Ronal must have seen something in her expression to believe that this wasn't the first time Makayla had lost someone. Despite feeling indifferent to the avatar woman, the tsahik's heart clenched painfully at the idea of someone who goes through loss just as often as one might breathe, "Is grief a friend of yours?"

She shrugged, "I'm not a stranger to it if that's what you mean."

The answer wasn't a comfort for Ronal, wincing at the thought of her own loss. She lost Ro'a at the worst time imaginable in both of their lives, ready to raise babies together. Although, there's never really a good time to lose someone you love, no matter where you are in life. Kayla didn't exactly strike Ronal as someone who had to deal with death only once before. At the mention of her nephew, Kayla only appeared to want to sink into a hole and nothing more, and it aged her face far beyond her years. "You are not with your family. Families grieve together. It usually helps."

Kayla shook her head, "I wanted to give them space. I felt like I was intruding."

"Are you not a part of their family?"

"I am." She nods, although she doesn't sound convinced herself, and the clan leaders both notice this.

Tonowari sees his mate glance over in his direction out of the corner of his eye. When he turns his head toward Ronal, she's visibly asking him a question through her eyes and he immediately understands the message she was trying to get across to him. The chieftain simply nods to her and then turns to address the Sully woman in front of him, "You are more than welcome to stay with us if you wish to grieve and live separately from Toruk Makto's family."

She pushes down the warmth that threatened to rise in her cheeks. She wasn't a teenager anymore, she could handle an adult conversation without automatically assuming any wrong intentions. Instead of assuming anything, Kayla simply shook her head, "I can't ask that of you. I'll just be keeping up space."

"Arrangements can be made for a marui of your own," Ronal quickly added as a way of further reassuring Kayla instead of scaring her off by their boldness, "You and the demon boy."

Kayla bit her tongue and chose to ignore the labeling, clearing her throat to regain her voice a little, "Thank you, but that's not necessary. I wouldn't want to burden anybody."

"You are not a burden. You are one of us now."

Yellow eyes peer up to meet the blue and green pairs already staring at her. Neither man nor woman appeared as if trying to help her was a burden, their eyes silently pleading for her to agree. She wasn't sure if they were desperate or just pitying her, and she wasn't sure which she would prefer they feel. Kayla had to admit that their offers were tempting, and the common sense in her was begging her head to see reason. The avatar briefly thought of Spider, alone among the Sullys back at the marui right now, and she thought about what could be best for him.

She swallowed as she shamefully admitted to herself that being away from Neytiri would be best for him right now, "I... I mean-- if there are any pods to spare..."

"There is. We will make the arrangements," Ronal leans over and promptly grabs Kayla's hand, stunning the avatar but unable to move underneath the stare the tsahik provided her, "For now, return to your brother and his family. Rest your foot... or I will not be pleased if I have to treat it again."

Ronal's harshness was uplifting for Kayla, a small sense of normalcy after such a daring move as to grab her hand. A part of the avatar wanted the other woman to continue acting as herself, cold and distant from strangers like Kayla... but there was a small, shameful sliver of herself that wanted the tsahik to continue holding her hand, especially after her fingers had suddenly let go.

~~~~~~~~~

Spider is quiet after Kayla informs him that the two of them will be moving into a separate marui. He doesn't appear angry or even shocked, as his eyes continuously flick over to Neytiri's direction during the whole discussion, but even Kayla felt guilty when Spider went around hugging the Sully children, softly telling them that they'll see him once their week of mourning was over. The only one who didn't comment during the whole time Kayla had packed her things was Neytiri, but while she didn't say anything, Kayla could see that she was secretly relieved to be rid of the boy. With no items or essentials to call his own, the teenager followed Kayla outside where Jake was waiting for them. Kayla's brother didn't look confident about this new living situation, but the worry could easily be chalked up to someone who didn't want his family to be too far away from him after everything they had just been through. Before parting, Jake placed a large, comforting hand on Spider's shoulder and offered him a weak smile.

"Keep her out of trouble for me, will ya?"

"Yes, sir."

The avatar and teenager make their way down the long stretches of walking paths, avoiding eye contact with any Metkayina. At least, Spider was, and he thought Kayla was doing the same since she seemed so desperate to avoid everyone when she brought him to the village the other day. However, due to Kayla walking in front of Spider, he failed to notice that anyone who was caught staring as they walked by would receive Kayla blankly staring right back long enough to the point where it would unnerve the Na'vi and force them to look away.

Spider followed Kayla toward the center of the village where there was a bigger marui waiting for them. The boy's back immediately straightens up when he sees the clan leaders of the Metkayina waiting for them just outside of the pod. Kayla approached the two with ease, not as intimated by their height and regality as Spider was.

The tsahik spoke firmly to her, lips pursed in disapproval, "You are on your foot again."

"I promise to rest once Spider and I are settled," She dipped her head to them, pressing her fingers to her forehead before lowering it in their direction and turning back around to beckon Spider over to her side, "I don't think you three have been properly introduced. Spider, this is the olo'eyktan and the tsahik of the Metkayina. Tonowari, Ronal, this is Spider."

Spider was quick to remember his manners and greeted them with a familiar hand gesture to the rim of his mask and bowing his head, "Oel ngati kameie, Ronal. Oel ngati kameie, Tonowari."

The olo'eyktan stepped up and greeted the boy the same way. Kayla felt a small bit of tension in her shoulders begin to relax when Tonowari spoke to Spider with a benign voice, "Oel ngati kameie, Spider. Welcome to our village."

The chieftain kept his expression open and calm, being friendly but professional. He spoke to Spider as he would for other teenagers, gently but with a tone of voice that didn't talk down or belittle him. Tonowari smiles warmly, eyes darting between Spider and Kayla, "Makayla te Suli speaks highly of you, as does her nieces and nephew."

Spider's posture begins to relax at the words meant to reassure him. Kayla shares the sentiment until her eyes flick over to the woman standing behind Tonowari. Yellow eyes meet green ones and suddenly Kayla is back to being on her guard. Ronal's expression was stone, impassive, and purposely closed off from any interpretation. It wasn't a very comforting sight, especially when those green eyes moved to Spider. Being the ever-observant kid that he is, Spider's relaxing posture also stiffens under Ronal's gaze.

The tsahik must have seen how uncomfortable she was making the human boy as she turned away and expected the others to follow, "Come. We will take you to your new home."

Much like how she had to keep up with Ronal when first following her around the village, Kayla noticed how Spider was struggling to do the same. While she and Tonowari followed the tsahik in perfect stride, sprained ankle be damned, Spider was beginning to fall behind. It couldn't have been a coincidence. Kayla was beginning to wonder if this was a small test Ronal bestowed on every newcomer; to see if they were capable of keeping up with someone as busy as her. Perhaps only then would she consider them worthy of staying in her village. After noticing this, Kayla slowed her walk just enough so that Spider was always a tail length behind her, confident that even with smaller legs, he would at least keep pace with her.

On and on they walk until it feels as though they have gone through the entire village. Once Ronal began to slow down, so did Tonowari, and their destination became clear. To Kayla's surprise and approval, they chose a hut for her and Spider on the edge of the village, close to the line of trees leading into the jungle of the island, coincidentally the same route Kayla often took whenever she returned to her lonesome campsite. The hut was small and quaint, meant for a single Na'vi or a family of two. Stepping inside, it was clear that the marui hadn't been lived in for a while, but not like she was going to complain. She's lived in far worse conditions. This was a luxurious hotel compared to what she was used to back home.

"What do you think?" She asks Spider once he steps inside, "Not bad for your first official marui, right?"

He shrugs, "I tried making a kelku when I was a kid once."

"Oh? Was it better than this?"

"It was until the rain came through," he huffed out in a small laugh, "Lo'ak wouldn't let me live that down for a week. I was ten."

"Well, at least you know a bit of rain isn't taking this thing anywhere," Kayla sets down her things and pats the inside wall of the pod made of woven materials, smiling in encouragement, "And until we figure out what to do about... well, everything, think of this place as a way to get away from everyone and everything, alright?"

"Sure... but why?" Spider eyed her skeptically.

"Why not? Everyone needs their space. Especially you. This is a strange place full of strange people who haven't gotten the chance to get to know you yet. I had a campsite in the jungle for a while after coming here because I didn't like the stares," and with that, her eyes began to darken and she fixed him a look of warning, a clear hidden meaning behind her words, "I just want you to have a safe place to run to for anything while you're here, okay?"

He eyed her questionably, trying to grasp her meaning and feeling cold when he easily recognized the distrust in the woman's eyes... but it wasn't directed at him. He wasn't sure if he should feel comforted or concerned by the fact that Kayla didn't trust other Na'vi around him, "Alright... Thanks." He adds quickly as an afterthought.

Turning around, she steps back out into the world where she had left behind the Metkayina clan leaders. Ronal and Tonowari were facing away from the marui, looking out over their village and only turning back around when they heard Kayla approaching, pointedly pretending as though they hadn't overheard anything.

"What do you think? Is it to your liking?"

"It's wonderful. Thank you," Kayla, fortunately, doesn't appear suspicious, "I think we'll take a page out of my brother's book and stay low for the rest of the week, to get settled in and so on."

Ronal nodded and gave off the impression that she found this acceptable. In a way, gaining the tsahik's approval was rare for Kayla and it made her feel a little lighter, despite the circumstances.

Tonowari smiles in understanding, "I will have Tsireya bring you and the boy some food that should last you until then."

"You don't have--"

And just like that, Ronal's approval is suddenly replaced with the normal, stern expression Kayla was used to seeing on her. Within a moment, Kayla caved in and cleared her throat, "Thank you. That's very kind."

Tonowari's amusement was evident, even letting out a small exhale of a laugh while glancing between the two women after witnessing their silent exchange, "Trust me, Makayla te Suli. Just do what she says from now on and you'll forever be in her good graces."

Ronal's hand moved to rest on her husband's arm and Kayla watched as the tsahik's fingers squeezed ever so slightly, just enough for the olo'eyktan's ear to flick in his mate's direction but nothing more. Clearly, it was meant to act as a warning. Kayla recalled a phrase from back on Earth, tempted to comment "Happy wife, happy life," but she didn't think that'd be very appropriate. Instead, she remains silent and allows the clan leaders to walk away. She doesn't return to her new home until after they have disappeared.

~~~~~~~~~

She wasn't sure how long she had been asleep, and upon opening her eyes, she wasn't able to tell the time because it was still dark outside the marui. Kayla carefully moved around in her nivi until she was comfortable again, closing her eyes and hoping sleep would return to her, allowing herself to drift at the feeling of the hammock slowly rocking her. For a moment, she was met with blissful silence until a small injured sound filled the air. The sound that must have woken Kayla up in the first place. Her nose scrunched up before she opened her eyes again and lifted her head to look around, her ears twitching in all directions to locate the sound again.

Having night vision after a lifetime of having difficulty seeing in the dark was still an adjustment no matter how long she lived in this body. Once she wiped the sleep from her eyes, her sight cleared and everything became visible in the dark marui. She finds Spider's nivi immediately, on the other side of the pod, and to no one's surprise, it was where the small whimpers were coming from. Swiftly, Kayla got out of her hammock and purposely made her footsteps over to him louder than normal.

Spider easily woke up before she got to him, his heart hammering in his ears and breathing irregularly. He tried inhaling large gulps of air and once he got a good look at his surroundings, he curled in on himself and eyes Kayla in his peripheral vision.

Kayla steps up to the boy's nivi, whispering, "I'm sorry. You were having a nightmare. Figured you wouldn't want someone shaking you awake."

She was met with silence as the teen continued to focus on taking deep, calming breaths, his mask hissing in response. Kayla wished there was a way to calm him herself, and reached a hand out to do so, "Can I--"

Spider immediately retracts, skittish and determined to avoid her touch, avoiding eye contact. It would seem her instinct not to shake him awake was right and Kayla instantly pulled back her hand, ashamed, "Okay. I'm sorry, kiddo. Listen... whatever it is... or whatever it was, I promise I won't ask until you're ready to talk about it. But you're safe now. It won't happen again."

The same doubt from before returned to his face, and Kayla could only wish there was a way to get him to believe her.

~~~~~~~~~

Spider was less quiet than he had been as of late, but still more reserved than the boy she met when Jake first brought her to High Camp. That, and along with his nightmares, the female avatar was trying to pay closer attention to Spider to see if she could detect and hopefully help with whatever demons he had. From what she could tell so far, Spider bore the same symptoms as any old soldier in the military back home so it wasn't hard for Kayla to figure out what he'd need, but it was going to be a long, slow process. First, she needed the kid to trust her. Jake wasn't far off when he commented that Spider was like a stray cat once upon a time. In an attempt to earn his trust, Kayla was patient and made sure she included him in everything. If he accepted whatever she offered, she'd internally consider that a win.

The idea came from watching Tsireya interact with Spider. An unlikely duo, but Kayla could already see a blooming friendship between the two kind souls. The reef girl came to visit and bring Kayla and Spider some food as her parents promised, and even though she could've easily handed Kayla the basket and gone home, she didn't. Instead, she personally handed Spider the basket, gifting him a small, shy smile and a wave as if she was trying to be friendly but waiting to see if the human boy would respond positively to it. At first, Spider looked surprised that another Na'vi outside of the Sullys was even talking to him, then he looked skeptical, watching her closely and wondering if the reef girl had a motive behind her kind behavior. Then, as if remembering the trauma the two of them had been through together during the battle with the Sky People, Spider began to gently smile back and nodded in gratitude. Tsireya beamed as though she had won the lottery, at least, that's what Kayla would describe it. She highly doubts anyone on this island outside of Jake would know what a lottery was.

After Tsireya had gone home, Kayla formed a strategy in her head, a method as a means of getting Spider to trust her. Watching the chief's daughter cautiously approach Spider reminded Kayla of Jake's stray cat comment, and then she recalled what to do to gain a stray cat's trust. She gave Spider his space, she let him talk whenever he felt like and didn't force him otherwise. If he wanted to be alone, she happily gave him space and never tried to pry any time he woke from his nightmares. Even now, when she had asked him to help her properly weave an armband, she sat back and let Spider go through the familiar motions of creating such an intricate piece, sitting in silence and hoping she was creating a peaceful, comfortable space for him.

After the week of mourning was up, the Sullys began to move back out among the Metkayina again, now officially as part of the clan. One of the first things Jake and his kids decided to do once they felt well enough to leave their home was to walk through the village and visit Kayla's new hut to see how she and Spider were settling into their new surroundings. Tsireya had given Lo'ak directions on how to find the hut, and not before long, they had arrived.

Kayla was sitting just outside her marui and was intently watching the object in Spider's hands as he instructed her on how to properly weave an armband. Her ears twitched at the sound of footsteps approaching and when she looked up, her smile widened into pure glee at the sight of her nieces and nephew running over to them.

Standing up to meet the children, she held her arms out wide, "Welcome to our humble abode!"

The Sully kids quickly tackle Kayla and Spider, excited to see what their aunt's new kelku looks like. Even Spider smiled at their antics. Although it was faint, his fondness was still evident. Immediately, Lo'ak and Tuk drag Spider inside while Kiri calmly follows.

Jake steps up to the pod and lowly whistles, "Nice digs."

"Thanks," Kayla snorts while looking up at the kelku behind her, "I wasn't expecting much but this was... very generous."

"Hey. Don't sell yourself short. They know a hard worker when they see one," he pats his sister's arm until she swatted at him. It didn't bear any heat behind it, just playful sibling antics and it earned her a small chuckle out of him, "Listen-- I was wondering if you and Spider could do me a favor."

"Uh oh."

"Don't give me that. I'm thinking about taking Neytiri flying one of these nights. Once I figure it out, could I leave the kids here?"

"Of course. Just--" she fixes him a concerned look, "You guys aren't going over open water, right?"

"No, nothing like that," he waves her off while looking at the vast line of trees that welcomed him not far off from Kayla's marui, "Just around. Maybe see what that jungle has in store."

She nods with approval, "I found a waterfall while I was exploring in there once. There's a cave behind it with glowing algae."

"Really?"

"I would tell you where to find it..." Her smile slowly spread into a smirk, "But I don't exactly want you and Neytiri sullying such a pretty spot."

"You're no fun."

~~~~~~~~~

For nearly all week, Ronal and Tonowari have been debating with one another on what to do.

They had closely watched the way Kayla protected Spider and kept him close to either the Sully children or herself whenever they were out in public. The human child had never been seen wandering the village alone and perhaps that was for the better, for his safety and the Metkayina's peace of mind. The Sully children, especially Kiri and Lo'ak, clung to him like a baby would to its mother, terrified of being parted. After Tsireya came back home the day she brought Kayla and Spider food, she talked softly and sweetly about Spider, and how he seemed shy but kind. Both of her parents silently agreed with her. Their first real interaction with Spider was much of the same, with the boy showing his respective manners and keeping to himself. He hardly looked threatening, wearing that loincloth and songcord that not even Kayla was proud enough to wear. Her words continued to ring in Ronal's ears and the tsahik had no choice but to agree with her previous statement.

Spider clearly looked as though he belonged among Na'vi. He appeared more accustomed than even Jake and Kayla combined. He was more Na'vi than the dreamwalkers that live among the Omatikaya, despite being small and pink.

He even bore painted blue stripes, making Spider more Na'vi than any Sky Person who claims to love and respect the People, and that thought only troubled Ronal more. She could see the same conflicted emotions on Tonowari's face as well, a strong olo'eyktan who had a difficult decision to make. Both clan leaders had discussed it in great detail. Over the months, they realized why teaching Kayla their ways didn't feel like a hardship, and why they often sought her out even when they didn't need help. They had talked adamantly to one another, as leaders and as mates, what this meant for them and their families. At first, neither of them wanted to say anything, let alone to each other, in case this feeling wasn't mutual. When they finally came to the conclusion that they both felt the same, Ronal and Tonowari agreed that they couldn't ignore this conflicting emotion. They needed to act on it... but as a team.

Even they had to admit that accepting the Sullys as part of the clan wasn't without a hidden motive. Yes, Toruk Makto's son lies with their ancestors now and after everything the Sully family has been through, they deserved a home and a place among the Metkayina. But neither Ronal nor Tonowari could ignore that the real, hidden reason behind allowing the Sullys to stay stemmed from the desire of wishing for Makayla te Suli to stay.

It was late into the afternoon one day when Tsireya and Ao'nung informed their parents that they were going to go see the Sully children. The clan leaders were more than happy to see them off if only to talk among themselves. They had much to discuss.

Both clan leaders talked well into the evening, sharing their thoughts and feelings on the matter. They didn't feel the need to share tsaheylu when they were already so open and honest with one another. They both have come to the agreement that if they truly wanted Kayla to become Metkayina... and get to know her more than just someone who intends to live among their people, then they would have to accept Spider as well.

The tsahik and olo'eyktan had talked for a considerable amount of hours, and when it was time for their children to return, they decided to drop the subject in exchange for searching for their offspring. Their first instinct was to go to the Sully marui only to find that no one was home. Neither Ronal nor Tonowari thought anything of it, chalking the missing children up to mean that they had gone into the jungle to explore. It wouldn't be the first time Tsireya or Rotxo wanted to show the Sully children something from their island, and Ao'nung is usually along for the ride.

Tonowari and Ronal return home and wait. When their children finally returned, Ronal was quick to interrogate them,

"Tsireya, Ao'nung. Where were you this evening?"

The girl tilted her head at her parents, confused but answering the question nonetheless, "With the Sullys, sa'nok."

Ao'nung scoffed, "Like we said."

Tonowari cleared his throat and eyed his son down for the back-talk, further explaining what his wife was trying to relay to their children, "You were not at their marui."

Realization dawned on Tsireya as she finally understood why her parents were worried and immediately explained, "We were at Makayla te Suli's. She was watching the children while their parents were away."

"Away?" Ronal echoed the word, "Where did they go?"

"Something called a 'date night?'"

~~~~~~~~~

"What is a date night?"

Kayla peered up from sharpening her knife, eyes wide like she was a deer caught in headlights, "Huh?"

Not her most intellectual response, but no one could blame her when the tsahik of the Metkayina was asking her a question that threw her for a loop. Ronal raises an eyebrow at her reply, stagnant and waiting almost impatiently for an answer. When Kayla was still too stunned to reply, Ronal huffs slightly and specifies,

"My daughter spoke of Jakesully and his mate going on a date night while you watched their children."

"Oh. That," Kayla shrugged while returning back to her work, "It's basically just time with each other without any of the kids bothering them."

"Do they not think their children are old enough to look after themselves?"

A subtle cloud shifts in Kayla's gaze, darkening her features as her mind begins to drift away, "Past events point to no. Those kids are trouble magnets, and to be honest, after everything they've been through, I wouldn't want them to have the responsibility of looking after each other. I want them to be kids just a little bit longer. They've earned it."

Ronal nodded although Kayla wasn't looking. The avatar was busying herself with testing the sharpness of her knife before digging it into a hunk of driftwood she had fetched from the pocket of her shorts. The tsahik watched her oddly for a time, only speaking up again when Kayla was starting to get frustrated with the item in her hands, "What are you doing?"

"Trying to carve this stupid--" Kayla quickly paused and cleared her throat, "This ridiculous little thing for my songcord."

"Do you have a waytelem?"

Kayla detected the genuine surprise in her voice and chose to indulge her, "A small one."

She digs a hand into one of the pockets of her shorts and pulls her interpretation of a songcord out, letting it go so it dangled from the belt loop she had tied the unfinished end through.

Ronal stared oddly at the item, "It is the size of a child's."

The avatar woman's ears lower to express her embarrassment, "Technically, I haven't finished my Rite of Passage with the Omatikaya so I'm still considered a child. The tsahik of the Omatikaya helped me get it started, but I don't really know what could be considered significant enough to add onto it."

"What is that?" One turquoise finger points to the object woven into the very end of Kayla's songcord.

"A compass. The Sky People use it to navigate. I use it to signify my past life as a marine--" she further explained when Ronal glanced back up at her with the question in her eyes, "Uh, a warrior."

"And this?" The reef woman steps closer and Kayla's skin begins to prickle in the close vicinity she and Ronal now shared. The tsahik had boldly stood directly in front of the vrrtep she once felt indifference to, or maybe she wasn't being bold but lacked personal space. Either way, Kayla was now very much aware of the heat radiating off the other woman's body, brushing the hairs on the avatar's skin. When she finally managed to register Ronal's question, she glanced down to see what else the tsahik was pointing at on her songcord.

Kayla swallowed the dryness in her throat as she answered, "A piece of gear from my brother Tommy's wristwatch. It's a... it's a device we use to tell the time of day and night."

Ronal doesn't miss the way Kayla's voice appeared to tighten when she echoed a strange name that only the Sky People would name a child and decided not to acknowledge it. Instead, she focuses on the piece of driftwood in Kayla's hand that she was trying to whittle for the waytelem.

"And what is that meant to represent?"

Kayla's eyes don't meet Ronal's as her fingers protectively wrap around the small item, muttering under her breath, "Neteyam."

Water lapping along the beach and children's laughter in the distance fills whatever silence settles between the two women. Ronal pointedly keeps her head bowed out of respect at the very mention of the young life lost to the sea, while also doing her best to respect Kayla's privacy. Internally, the alien woman was thankful for this, thankful that out of all of the things Ronal tended to pry on, this wasn't one of them. Kayla takes a moment to compose herself, inhaling a deep breath of air through her stomach, all the while staring down at the driftwood she now gently grazed with her thumb. She doesn't linger for long after that, exhaling quickly and rolling her shoulders to indicate her small moment of sadness had passed, faintly smiling up at the tsahik beside her,

"I'm trying to make a bead out of it. But cutting and smoothing it down is tougher than it looks."

Ronal straightened her own posture and quickly moved onto the topic Kayla was using as a distraction without any other thoughts, "I will help with your songcord."

"You don't have--" Quickly, she corrects herself when Ronal raises one eyebrow in defiance. Kayla simply nods, "Thank you."

Without another word of acknowledgment, Ronal bends down and fiddles with her skirt. Kayla watches curiously as the reef woman swiftly clips off a shell from her clothing without ripping the delicate, beautiful handiwork. The shell looked so tiny in the palm of Ronal's hand as she held it out to Makayla as an offering, her face impassive when Kayla glanced up for permission or reassurance. Ronal only nods once, "To resemble your acceptance into our clan."

Shock dawns over Kayla's reaction until it melts into something gentle; something sweet. Ronal forces the muscles in her face to remain expressionless as gratitude radiates off Kayla's growing smile. The avatar silently takes the shell from her, and together they kneel to the ground and get to work on perfecting Kayla's songcord, Ronal keeping an eye on the way Kayla shifted her weight around on her foot, but otherwise remaining silent. Kayla no longer had a bandage around her ankle, and she appeared not to notice any pain, so the tsahik internally deduced that the avatar was on the mend and left it at that.

For the most part, they worked in silence until Ronal would voice her opinion or instruction on how Kayla should weave the pieces together. Using the tsahik and the advice Spider had given her earlier, the Sully woman managed to perfect the wooden bead and incorporate it into the waytelem before moving on to the shell.

As she worked, she stubbornly ignored Ronal's eyes practically branding onto her skin, making themselves at home there and never once diverting their attention elsewhere. Kayla's skin prickled under the other woman's gaze, and her stomach flipped whenever her eyes glanced up and met hers. It was hard to describe how she felt about the unwavering stare Ronal must have mastered over the years, and even harder to describe how she felt with those eyes on her. Kayla knows how it feels when she's uncomfortable or intimidated... but this wasn't it. She didn't feel either of those things around Ronal, at least not anymore, so whatever she was feeling, it wasn't bad. It only bothered her that she couldn't properly explain it, not even to herself.

Once Kayla was tightening the last bit of thread around the shell and securing it into her songcord, Ronal hummed in approval, straightening her aching back when it was getting too irritated from hovering over the alien woman as she worked. Kayla looked up, beaming under the tsahik's approval before handing the waytelem over to her.

The only evidence to prove Ronal was shocked by this behavior was the small rise of her brow ridge and quick twitch in her ears. The tsahik eyed Kayla carefully with the new item in hand, looking to see if there was any distrust or plan behind this exchange. Kayla only kept still and stared back, her eyes glancing down at the songcord she had given Ronal before flicking back up to meet hers, motioning for the tsahik to inspect the item more closely. Ronal hesitantly looked away as her thumb grazed over the songcord, feeling each bead, each thread, and even the odd, alien-made objects Kayla insisted on adding. The grooves on the object Kayla had called a gear were strange but interesting. Ronal found herself continuously running her thumb over it, just to feel the divets and smoothness of the small piece of metal.

"Have you created a song to go with it?" She asked without looking up from the songcord.

"It's a work in progress. I can easily list off each bead and milestone like a story... but turning it into lyrics is difficult for me. I don't sing let alone make my own songs."

Ronal nodded and finally handed the songcord back to its owner, her stomach warm from having the honor to hold and touch the other woman's life story quite literally in her own hands. Perhaps the gesture was what pushed her boldness forward once more, opening her mouth before she could think, "Tonowari and I have been discussing and we want to offer you some peace of mind."

Kayla's eyebrows furrow, "Oh?"

"Yes. Tonight. At eclipse. We will take you to Ranteng Utralti ourselves."

"The Spirit Tree?" Kayla repeated with a small burst of suspicion, tilting her head, "... Why?"

Ronal thinks back to that tragic day when she watched the Sully family bury their child, brother, and nephew. She recalled the concern she felt when she watched Jakesully and his mate dive into the water to connect to the Spirit Tree, but Kayla hadn't followed. She remained behind with Spider and Kiri, and while Ronal didn't have the means to help the human boy and Sully girl connect with Eywa to see their departed brother and friend, Ronal hoped she could still provide Makayla some form of closure,

"You deserve the same respect as any member of your nephew's family does. You have the right to see him one last time."

~~~~~~~~~

After accepting Ronal's invitation, Kayla first went looking for Kiri, Lo'ak, and Spider. She easily spotted the three teenagers kneeling just on the edge of a rock edge, the water of the lagoon gently rising and falling beneath them as the tide came in, brushing over the rock now padded with soft, comfortable algae. As Kayla approached, she could faintly hear Lo'ak's voice over the wind, and while she couldn't make out any full sentences, she was able to understand enough to know that he was likely teaching Spider a few simple lessons about some of the aquatic life around the reef. As long as Spider was safe behind his breathing mask, he didn't need to learn how to hold his breath underwater, so Kiri and Lo'ak felt more determined to teach their friend everything else they had learned while living among the Metkayina. Already, Spider was showing signs of adapting to this new life, and it wasn't much of a surprise. Spider was clearly a good listener, intent on grasping on to any new information that fascinated him. It was an even sweeter lesson to have his best friends be his teachers so they could make up for lost time.

As Kayla drew closer, she raised her voice enough to call out to the three children, "Kiri."

All three heads perked up at her voice but only Kiri responded when Kayla had motioned her to come closer. Kiri broke away from Lo'ak and Spider, the boys' attention falling back to the water while the teenage girl approached her aunt, "Yes, Auntie?"

Kayla shyly smiled down at her, "Could you and Lo'ak do me a favor and stay with Spider in my pod tonight?"

Excitement beamed from Kiri's smile, "It sounds like fun. But where will you be?" The excitement suddenly dropped and sadness took its place, her ears lowering into her nest of wild hair, "You're not leaving yet, are you?"

Kayla paused to choose her next words carefully. She didn't want to lie to the girl, but she also didn't want Kiri to know she was going to the Spirit Tree, knowing that it would make her sad or possibly jealous-- if the teenager even felt such an emotion. She shook her head, "No, not yet. The tsahik and olo'eyktan wish to show me something."

Even Kayla could admit that it wasn't the smartest or most eloquent choice of words, and her embarrassment only grew when a small, mischievous smile dawned on Kiri's face, "Are you having a date night, too?"

"That is NOT what I said."

~~~~~~~~~

Nervous flutters began to turn in her stomach when Kayla walked down the beach that night to find Tonowari and Ronal already there, waiting for her. The beach was quiet apart from the glowing waves gently crashing into the sand, kissing the legs of the clan leaders as they stood knee-deep in the water. Kayla took a deep breath and stepped into the ocean, letting the water rise up to her as she sunk in deeper. The anticipation and dread of going to the Spirit Tree drove Kayla to pick at her nails until she had an ilu beneath her, and then she was able to distract herself by hanging on.

The tsahik and olo'eyktan lead the way upon their separate ilu, and Kayla makes sure not to fall behind. The journey was quicker than she remembered on the day they said goodbye to Neteyam, but she chalked it up to being a horrible day overall. By the time she wrapped her head around the fact that she would actually get to see Neteyam again, the three adults had already arrived at the Cove of the Ancestors, and then a small bit of fear began to fester and squeeze Kayla's heart.

Ronal and Tonowari slip off their ilu, so Kayla follows suit, slowly swimming just at the surface of the ocean, her head above water, and treading over to the Metkayina pair. Looking down, she can see her slow, kicking feet, morphed from the water and keeping her upright. Beneath her feet, however, was the beautiful, swaying, bioluminescent Spirit Tree. Ranteng Utralti.

Ronal swims up to Kayla as the avatar woman marvels at the sight below her, "Remember. Once you are connected, you will not have to worry about holding your breath. The Spirit Tree provides air as you connect with our ancestors."

"The connection can sometimes feel intense or shocking once you break away, causing you to forget the need to hold your breath," Tonowari nodded with encouragement, gently urging her forward with just his eyes, "We will watch over you if that happens."

Kayla looks between the two and nods, taking a moment to collect herself and suck in a large gulp of air before vanishing beneath the water. As she dives down to the Spirit Tree, she begins to get nervous, her heart wanting to leap up into her throat. A small bit of comfort washed over her, knowing that Ronal and Tonowari kept a vigil watch from above while she connected to a tendril of the tree. Taking her kuru braid and connecting the tswin to the nearest branch held out to her, Kayla relaxed and closed her eyes.

The moment she opened them again, she found herself sitting on the floor of High Camp, miles away from the Cove and from the Metkayina village. Confusion wrapped around her brain as she looked around, wondering what she was doing there. She was alone, watching everyone, both human and Na'vi, go about their day as normal, the cold floor of the cave bleeding into her legs. She heard shuffling just beyond her vision, and when she turned her head to look directly in front of her, the breath in her stomach clenched and burned upon the sight she found.

It was Neteyam, young and as strong as ever. The beads in his hair softly clinked together when his head moved, his cummerbund snug around his torso, and above all else... not a speck of blood on him. He sat cross-legged as she did, across from her, smiling with encouragement. He was in the middle of talking when Kayla had finally begun to focus on his voice,

"--Now, let's try a K word. Kewong."

For a moment, words had escaped her, Kayla's brain still having trouble trying to comprehend her dead nephew sitting right in front of her. When she replayed his words in her head, she realized why they sounded familiar. This was a memory, one of the first ones she shared with Neteyam when she arrived in Pandora. She remembered that he took time out of his day to mentor her one-on-one, teaching her how to speak Na'vi.

Without another thought, she responded the same way she did back then, "Ketwong."

"Mm, try again. Ketuwong." He repeats.

"Ketuwong."

"No. Listen closely. Ke-"

"Ke-"

"Wong-"

"Wong-!" Kayla stammered as she noticed something, "Wait, no, you definitely said ketuwong before."

"I did no such thing, Auntie. I said kewong."

"Kewong."

"No. Ketuwong."

She snarls, with little to no heat, "Kid, I am five seconds away from pulling your tail out of its joint socket--"

He laughed, loud and genuine, one of his hands clutching his side while using the other to wave off her frustration. Eventually, he calmed down enough to speak, "Alright, alright. You are right. I was saying both to tease you. But they both mean the same thing."

"Oh." She paused, then tilted her head, "Why do you have two words that mean the same thing?"

"I could say the same thing about your language," Neteyam smirked. Kayla stopped and took a moment to find a rebuttal, but couldn't, then made a touché motion with her shoulders. Neteyam continued to explain, "I believe Norm calls them adjectives and nouns."

"Oh."

"Yes. Ketuwong is the noun and kewong is the adjective."

"What do they mean?"

"'Alien.'"

Kayla stiffened, "Oh."

Something shifts in Neteyam's features, something Kayla hadn't noticed the first time she lived through this moment. He watched her closely, carefully, before moving on with the lesson as if trying to distract her. Perhaps she first mistook the expression for pity, but now, after getting to know her oldest nephew, Kayla could see that Neteyam felt compassion and sympathy, understanding that his aunt struggled with feeling indifferent to him and the people around him.

"Let's move on. I'll say a phrase you'll likely hear in passing. 'Ma sempul tsmuke.'"

"I recognize sempul. That's 'father', right?" She mimicked the tone of voice she made back then, fully immersed in the memory now.

"Yes. What I said can be translated to 'my father's sister.' We don't have a word for 'aunt' so that's how we would properly address or introduce you."

She shrugged while her eyes focused down at her fingers, much different from Neteyam's hand, "You could technically say 'ma sempul kewong tsmuke.'"

"'My father's alien sister?'" He translated, testing the words on his tongue before shaking his head, allowing his braids to spill over his shoulders, "That is a lot to say, and it wouldn't be truthful."

"Wouldn't it?"

"No, because you are a Suli," he firmly states with an encouraging smile, "You look different, but we share the same blood. You're no less of an alien than the rest of us. Besides, at the rate you are learning, you will be Omatikaya sooner than later, and then you will truly be one of us. You'll be less of an alien by then. The point is, how can you be alien when you are family?"

Warmth blooms in Kayla's chest, remembering this moment as the moment she first began to See her nephew and grow fond of her brother's children, whom she had once felt so estranged to. It was odd looking back and thinking how she ever felt alien to them in the first place. There were times when she had forgotten that she hadn't known these children their whole lives, but sometimes it felt like she had.

"You're wiser than you let on, did you know that?" She smiled.

"And what is the Na'vi word for 'wise', Auntie?"

"Hafyonga'."

"Good." He nods in approval, smiling back, "You are wise, too."

She hesitates, not wanting to break the script, but also wishing to say the things she wished she had said when Neteyam was still alive. This was the moment she dreaded when she realized Ronal and Tonowari wanted to bring her here, knowing she needed to do this to say goodbye.

When she opened her mouth again, the words that came out were not the ones she originally said in the memory, "... I wish there was a word for 'nephew.'"

"Why?" He tilts his head with curiosity, unaware of the change in memory and script.

"So I can say 'I love you, nephew' in Na'vi."

"Do not worry," he comforts gently, "We'll find a way. We have a lot of time to figure it out."

Even if he didn't know it, his words were such a dreadful reminder of all the time they had lost. Kayla's heart was beginning to break, tears welling up in her eyes and cutting through her cheeks, the walls she had built to keep her grief out finally caving in. Her voice remained strong, however, forcing herself to speak clear sentences to make sure her nephew heard them,

"I wish we did, 'Teyam. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you."

"Auntie?"

"Nga yawne lu oer."

She pulls away from the memory, away from Neteyam, afraid that if she reached out to hug him, it wouldn't be the same as if he were actually alive. She couldn't put herself through that pain, knowing her brother and Neytiri would have to feel it every day for the rest of their lives. Neteyam's face vanishes, as does High Camp and the people around them. Everything shrinks until it becomes one tunnel of light, and then Kayla is back to reality, struggling for air as her tswin disconnects from the Spirit Tree.

Immediately, she panics, disoriented and trying to figure out where she is and why she can't breathe. Two arms, both ranging in different lengths and sizes, appear in her blurry vision, reaching to grab both of her own and drag her up through the water. Faintly, Kayla realized she was being led back up to the surface, and the thought of air being just out of reach made her lungs burn. Looking up, she faintly made out the shapes that were Tonowari and Ronal, and just as her head broke through the surface, she remembered where she was and who she was with, but it hardly mattered.

When she broke the surface, Kayla found herself uncontrollably sobbing, quickly reminding herself to kick and move her arms and legs to swim by herself, but otherwise kept sobbing.

Her two companions immediately swam close to inspect her, but she couldn't find it within herself to care. Both of the clan leaders were in shock by the state of the avatar woman. She was crying, tears running down her already wet cheeks, the ocean rising to gently caress her chin in comfort as she kept herself afloat just above the surface. Ronal and Tonowari watch her with concern, letting her weep as the grief finally bled out. The three stayed that way for a while, keeping themselves afloat above water, close in a circle with no sounds other than the ocean and Kayla's cries. As her sobs slowed to a stop, Kayla finally blinked and began looking around, occasionally sniffling as her bright pink-rimmed eyes scanned her surroundings. Her eyebrow hairs furrowed together, wrinkling her forehead, bottom lip trembling from the waves of emotion that just washed through her.

Tonowari noted in the back of his mind how young and innocent she looked like this... and yet she still looked as hard-ridden and stonewalled as ever. Simply put, Kayla looked miserable. She looked like someone who had seen war, death, and disease and her heart had been hardened by it. She looked like someone who kept her emotions close and private until it had suddenly become unbearable, the volcano erupting and bearing down everything she had kept bottled up inside. Tonowari spared a moment to glance over at Ronal, to which she did the same and he could clearly see through her eyes that his mate was thinking the same thing.

Once Kayla managed to catch her breath, she croaked to the clan leaders swimming in front of her, "Thank you."

Tonowari felt one of his hands twitch when the idea to reach out to Kayla struck him, but immediately stamped down the thought in exchange for equally comforting words, "Did it help?"

"I-- I think so." She stammered, reaching her hands up to wipe away the grief from her closed eyes, exhaling loudly when the cool water brought a bit of relief to her hot, puffy face.

They swim to the nearest surface to allow Kayla to rest and get a hold of herself, finding a small hill of rock and grass that had not yet evolved into one of the floating mountains hovering above their heads. Kayla looked younger once more with the way she curled her knees up to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs as her eyes watched the water beneath her, distracted and far away in her head.

"They don't have that back home," she finally said, drawing her companions to look up and patiently wait for her to continue, "On Earth... there's no way for the Sky People to reach out to our loved ones after they're gone. They're just... gone. Forever. I wanted to treat Neteyam the same way. It's just what I'm used to. I thought if I treated Neteyam as though I was never going to see him again as someone would back on Earth, it would hurt less."

Ronal's nose scrunched up, confused and affronted by the idea of life in another world, "How do you learn your history if you can not speak with your ancestors?"

"You guys record history through songcords, all the good and bad. You say nothing but the truth without leaving anything out so that the Na'vi can learn from past mistakes."

Something shifts in her eyes then, the way Kayla's glare practically burns through a spot in the water as if she was trying to evaporate it to teach the ocean a lesson. Her words are full of distaste, "The Sky People write down their history, but... sometimes, they don't write it down truthfully. The Sky People lie and sometimes purposefully erase our history, so they can just continue to form our world the way they want it and just repeat our mistakes all over again. Eventually, children stopped learning about our history in school.... and now we learn nothing except how to become one mind and machine. The Sky People don't want us to think for ourselves anymore. It makes us more compliant."

"That is horrible," Ronal hisses in horror and revulsion, "A horrible way to live."

Kayla simply scoffs, resigned to it all, "Sky People don't know how to live. They just know how to manage."

Tonowari's frown went unnoticed by the two women during their conversation, so he didn't feel the need to hide it, especially when he was in agreeance with his mate. He also felt pity for Kayla, thinking about the world she grew up in without any means of contacting your loved ones from beyond the grave. It made him wonder just how many people Kayla and Jakesully lost that they will never be able to speak to again, "Do you have anyone from your home world you wish you could talk to beyond the grave?"

Kayla didn't even appear to think about it, her hand traveling down to her songcord and gently fondling the gear she had woven into it, "Tommy. My other brother. Jake's twin."

"I wasn't aware Jakesully had a twin brother." Tonowari comments.

"He died long before Jake ever came here with the Sky People. I wish... if Tommy had to die, I wish he had gone to Eywa so that I could talk to him."

Ronal leans forward and places a hand on the other woman's shoulder, "We believe that we are all born twice."

"Yeah, I know. It just wouldn't be the same."

The comment hangs heavy with the clan leaders, struck by Kayla's words as if she had slapped them, but they didn't appear offended. They looked at her as if they were seeing something new and astonishing for the first time like someone had just told them a new story. Looking at one another, both Ronal and Tonowari realize they are both thinking the same thing. The way Kayla thinks and looks at their way of life is a way they hadn't thought of before.

Kayla didn't appear to notice the crisis going through her clan leaders' minds as she suddenly registered Ronal's hand on her shoulder. Gently brushing the tsahik off, Kayla gets up and looks to the ocean, clearly indicating the end of one conversation and the start of departure, "Thank you for this. Truly. You didn't have to, but you did."

Tonowari breaks from Ronal's gaze and nods, "We wanted to."

"We want you to feel at home here." Ronal quickly adds to her husband's sentiment.

Kayla tilts her head and squints her eyes back down at the other woman, suspicious again, "Even though I--"

"You are not of the Sky People anymore. Even if you looked like them, you think differently."

"I do look like them. I'm a dreamwalker," the avatar reminds them, "When I go to sleep and cut off my connection, I'm taken back to the body I was born in. My 'demon' body."

"And when you are back in that body, do you suddenly think differently?" Ronal asked.

"Well-- no." Kayla backtracked a little, humming when a thought crossed her mind, "Although, I do think about how hungry I am as a human compared to a Na'vi."

She smiles to herself, proud when she gets Tonowari to laugh and Ronal to pull a small smile. The tsahik continues once more, "Then you are still not of the Sky People. You may have different bodies. But you have the same heart and mind."

Kayla wanted to scoff and ask the tsahik and olo'eyktan if they wanted to tell Neytiri that in defense of Spider, but she thought wisely against it and bit her tongue, only smiling and nodding at the pair in gratitude.

Tonowari stood up next, extending an arm out to the ocean, "Let us accompany you home."

Kayla accepts and assists Tonowari with helping Ronal stand up, and then the three return to the ocean. Once on her ilu and swimming away, Kayla only spared one glance back at the Cove, refraining from waving as she parted from the Spirit Tree and from Neteyam. Looking ahead once more, she felt lighter for the first time in what felt like weeks, less worried about what the future holds, and more willing to just go where the current takes her.

A/N: Okay, so here's the deal. I preordered Frontiers of Pandora and I have it, but I haven't been able to play it in between holiday gatherings, events, and two jobs. So I thought I'd quickly update this fic and use it as an announcement. I plan on taking a short hiatus so I can play to my heart's content along with Baldur's Gate 3 since that is a game I use to connect and hang out with my friends and I'd like to hang out with them for the holidays. I hope to have more free time after the new year starts.

In the meantime, feel free to continue asking non-spoiler questions about the fic and I will be more than happy to answer!

Please keep checking my pinned post for updates/announcements and dm/inbox me for taglist or requests!

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f1bordeaux · 27 days

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The String That Binds Us. (Prologue) | ln4, cl16

You fell in love with this sport all because of him. It would be selfish not to thank that boy for his help in getting you here today, even if you both ended on rocky terms. However, after finding yourself in the same paddock as your childhood best friend, your mentor, your first true love, and the boy who left you for the bigger picture, you realize that he wants nothing to do with you. So, as fate has it, perhaps you'll end up in the arms of someone else. Or maybe, just maybe, that string that has been tied to the two of you together since birth will pull you back into eachothers lives. Warnings: none Pairings: Lando Norris x Reader, Charles Leclerc x Reader Word Count: 769 Poetry style | Story style A/n: I have returned with yet another series >:) this has been rolling around in my mind and yes its a super simple, done before, run down prompt but I promise to make it worth wild! I feel as though my writing has improved since my last series(which i'm gonna go rewrite) so please enjoy! Ill update as quickly as possible. This is just the prologue so look out for chapter 1 soon, and let me know if you all would be interested in me posting this on Wattpad for easier reading! Much love! Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

prologue; y/n.

There was simply no way, not in this world with all of its coincidences and twists of fate, that things did not happen for a reason. From the minute you’re born until the day you die, there is a reason for everything. An invisible string runs through each and every one of your actions, no matter how little or grand they may be. You were sure of it. There were so many instances you could think of. When you failed that math test and got put back into a different class-the one where you met your first boyfriend who you no longer speak of. When you visited the beach one Summer all the way across the ocean in the United States, and met a girl from your hometown who ended up becoming your life long friend you attended university with. And perhaps the most vital one, when you grew up next door to a boy, only a year older than you, who possessed a love for cars and all things involving them. He would sculpt your life into one of his own, beginning from only the age of three. The two of you would form a shared love, a shared passion, for one sport. However, you found more interest in the mechanical side of things while he preferred to take the wheel. Still, you often wonder how your life would have played out, what you would have done, where you would have gone, who you would have become without him. What would have happened to you if he didn’t live next door? You could never even picture it. Especially now, fresh from university with a degree in automotive engineering hanging on your wall. But the craziest connection of them all? Getting an offer to work in the same sport as your neighbor-no, your childhood best friend. You just couldn’t believe it.

“Y/n you’re joking.” Sophia said on the afternoon the offer popped up in your inbox. She sat on the beanbag chair you used to have in your dorm. You were laying down in bed, lazily scrolling through Twitter before deciding to check your inbox. Now, you were sitting up straight, hand cupping your mouth as you read the email. “Let me see!”

You spun the laptop around, watching her eyes dart across the screen. “It’s not real, there is no way.”

But it was. The email would turn into a phone call, the phone call would turn into a headquarters visit, the visit would turn into a contract. Soon, only a few months after your January graduation, you would be in the Formula 1 paddock, clad in red, tending to the Ferrari livery.

You called Lando only a few weeks before the season started. The two of you hadn’t spoken in a while.

“Hello?”

“Lando, hey.” You scratched the back of your neck. How would he take it? Would he even care at all? Why were you calling with how things ended between the two of you?

There was a second of silence, although it felt like minutes. “Y/n, it’s been a minute. I heard you graduated. Congrats.”

“Oh? Who told you?”

“Mom. You know she's still best friends with yours.”

“Right,” You sighed. He didn’t like your Instagram post that compiled all your grad-photos. Of course he’d only heard it involuntarily. “How have you been?”

“Good.” He responded. “Just preparing for the season, you know?”

“That's actually what I was calling about,” Your heart was pounding. You were so excited to tell him, to let him know that not only did he make it into his dream field, but so did you. “I got a job.”

“Cool. Where at?”

“Ferrari.”

The silence that hung over the line only a little while ago returned. “Like at a shop somewhere in the UK?”

Not exactly the celebration you were hoping for. “No, uh, in F1. I’ll be in the paddock working on either Leclerc’s or Sainz’s car.”

“Oh.” He sniffled. “How’d you manage a job like that straight out of uni?”

“I applied. Didn’t think I would get it but here we are.”

“Well I guess I’ll see you around then.”

And that was it, your big call, your big announcement, all concluded with a ‘see you around’ like it was a conversation to be had in a school yard. You were hurt, your childhood best friend chalking your achievements up to something not worth being impressed about, but you didn’t have time to think about it. You had a job to do and damnit, you were sure you’d be doing it the best.

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rishiguro · 1 year

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EVANESCENT; MASTERLIST

evanescent (/ɛvəˈnɛs(ə)nt,iːvəˈnɛs(ə)nt/) — “soon passing out of sight, memory, or existence; quickly fading or disappearing.”

—an iwaizumi hajime x reader series

GENRE: angst. some fluff and crack to lighten the mood.

WARNINGS: tragedy. major character death. discussions about (terminal) illnesses, death, medical terms, pancreatic cancer and copd. hospitals. language (swearing and suggestive). jokes about illnesses and death. passive suicidal ideation. pet names and insults. atsumu gets bullied (but tbh they all bully each other). mention and consumption of alcohol.

TAGLIST: open. comment to be added — dni rules apply

NOTE: please notify me if any information provided in the info posts (at the bottom) is inaccurate. i‘m no medical professional. this is pure fiction and not based on any real events or people. time stamps are not random.

DISCLAIMER: haikyu!! characters are owned by haruichi furudate. any pictures used are not mine and are there for inspiration only.

INFO: mix of smau and written content. chapters with “✎﹏” include written content. currently replacing the images in chapters 28-43 -> please read the psa on dark & light mode use.

TEASER

INTRODUCTION

(y/n)‘s group | iwaizumi‘s group

CHAPTERS

01; the hot stranger

02; “i didn’t miss this”

03; vending machines ✎﹏

04; dms

05; “absolutely not”

06; date

07; “boyfriend???” ✎﹏

08; rain check

09; apologies ✎﹏

10; “definitely more than friends”

11; “it’s not like i’m dying”

12; visit ✎﹏

13; communication

14; “you look like shit”✎﹏

15; surgery

16; “who are you?” ✎﹏

17; kyoutani kentaro

18; “so who are they?” ✎﹏

19; new steps

20; “wdym he isn’t your boyfriend?”

21; comfort ✎﹏

22; exams

23; “finally”

24; date ✎﹏

25; “totally not your boyfriend”

26; results

27; good news ✎﹏

28; adulting

29; “how’s life?”

30; “allergic to doctors”

31; collapse ✎﹏

32; “i screwed up” ✎﹏

33; back to business

34; “being an adult really sucks”

35; not the full truth

36; love ✎﹏

37; welcome home

38; “i should have a private room”

39; “he doesn’t know?”

40; stage iv ✎﹏

41; “fancy add-ons”

42; daily life

43; bad jokes

44; “brownies? or cookies?”

45; overwhelmed ✎﹏

46; no contact

47; “i’m scared” ✎﹏

48; pinky promise ✎﹏

49; “this is boring”

50; special

51; transferred ✎﹏

52; helpless

53; “wait, you’re going to die?” ✎﹏

54; “i don’t want to talk about it”

55; “i’m not letting you do this alone” ✎﹏

56; tired ✎﹏

57; best friend

58; assistance ✎﹏

59; “i don’t want to die” ✎﹏

60; “since when are nurses hot?”

61; friendship

62; “see you tomorrow”

63; “what?” ✎﹏

64; “i need you”

65; denial

66; visit ✎﹏

67; evanescent

THE END

EXTRAS

about copd | about pancreatic cancer

playlist

STATUS: ongoing. irregular updates.

#₊❏❜ ⋮evanescent #haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu smau #haikyuu angst #hq x reader #hq angst #iwaizumi angst #hq iwaizumi #haikyuu!!#haikyu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu social media au #haikyuu series

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purpleyoonn · 1 year

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The Line Between Love and War 10

C H A P T E R 10: Bad Memories and Family Time

“It is said that the night sky is made up of tiny wishes that humans were never able to fulfill. That the stars only became bright by the fulfillment of those wishes. In your eyes, the stars that shine never seemed real, your childhood wishes dark and dim as you grow. But now, now you understand the twinkle in their eyes as they look down at you.”

Summary: Your experiences told you that soulmates were something you would never have the pleasure of having; something not given to you because of who you are, despite the soulmark that resides on your inner left wrist. During your solo trip to Los Angeles, you find out that you are more than capable, that your soulmates had been waiting for you for a long time, and would not be letting you go anytime soon.

Genre: soulmate au, bts au, idol bts, polyamory relationship, eventual smut

Paring: Idol!BTS x autistic!mc

Status: Ongoing (randomly updated)

Warnings: mental illness, talk of disability, lots of angst, miscommunication, feelings of depression, feelings of isolation, polyamory bts, stalking, dangerous behavior, eventual smut,

Chapter Warnings: a bad memory, major insecurities, family issues, sensory problems, mc is tense and uncomfortable, Hobi’s family is to sweet for the world, mc ptsd,

Taglist: @azazel-nyx @yuzon3 @hannahdinse8 @quirkybtsarmy @mageprincess7 @fluffy-canada-pancakes @suckerforv @chaoticthingpizza @drissteele @carolinexkpop @avadakadabra93 @lachimolala22019 @justaweird0 @singukieee @welcometomyworld13 @toughbook @kimana122 @kpopmultistantrashsstuff @0funsite0 @joyless-living @sinceritythatcouldntbedelivered @elliott-calls @psychosupernatural

Permanent Taglist: @m1sss1mp @yourleftsock @skyys-universe @cryingpages @strxwbloody @drissteele @dustyinkpages @iamkookiesforyou @crushedblackroses @fluffy-canada-pancakes @blaaiissee @iiitsmaria @carolinexkpop @azazel-nyx @strawberry-moonpies @g-h-o-s-t-b-a-b-i @knjkitten @kleirielk @foreverweareyoung7 @lachimolala22019 @namuficxs @94z-93 @kimgmzmc @thenaverse @dahliasbouqet @black-rose-29 @tinyoonsblog @take-u-2-an0ther-w0r1d @stellauniverse @stupendouscookiehumanmug @tinyoonsblog @veronawrites @tatyhend @singukieee @m0v3m3ntsblog @sidthesloth1305 @exfolitae @butterymin @queen-in-the-shadows

Masterlist // Chapter 9 // Chapter 11

————————————————–

Previously on The Line Between Love and War:

“Let’s take some pictures with our shirts on! You can post that!” You jumped from the couch at his words, the three of you quickly moving to change into the new shirts.

You had Jimin take the photos, your soulmate quick to have you doing different poses. You went with two of them, one with each of you showing your ‘muscles’, and the other was one that Jimin took when you all were laughing. You captioned it with a smiley face emoji and a laughing one before posting.

Jimin looked over at Jin, a happy yet sly smirk on his face as they realized his plan to change the subject worked, getting your mind off what happened and helping you make more memories with the boys.

When Namjoon returned, he was alone, and happy to find you laughing as you hung off Jungkook’s back, your arms around his neck as he spun in circles, Taehyung and Hobi recording the moment.

The following morning you woke up in the arms of Hobi, his low voice speaking into the phone he held to his ear. You couldn’t make out any words in your tired state, so you just continued to admire his morning voice from where you rested against his chest. You snuggled into the warmth your mate provided.

“She is not awake yet Mom. Yes, I promise. I booked the same restaurant as last time. Give her an hour or so.” You listened in as he spoke to his mom. You loved Hobi’s mom. She was the sweetest person you had met, even over the phone. And it made sense. Both of her children were also sweet.

“I know you’re awake pretty girl.” You felt his fingers trace alongside your jaw, moving until the bopped the tip of your nose.

“No, I’m not.” You mumbled back, oblivious to the loving grin on his lips. Pressing a kiss to your pouty lips, he moved his hand to brush back some hair from your face.

“My mother and sister are eagerly awaiting their day with you, baby. They’ve called me a couple of times now, wondering if you were awake.” Hobi mused as he watched you try to fight off your sleep.

It took a couple of seconds for his words to register, but when they did you almost knocked your forehead into his chin.

“Wait a minute! What time is it?” You ask him in a rush, your words almost slurring as they wake you up.

“It’s only nine o’clock, darling.” His words have you pushing yourself away from him, causing a sad groan to have his lips as you leave his embrace. He watches you rush around the room, gathering the clothes Jin had laid out for you the night before, the eldest picking matching clothes out for everyone, the creams and beiges creating a color-coded cohesive look.

“I promised them I would be ready by nine! Hobi, your mom is probably so mad with me! I’m never late for anything.” Your words are rushed, disappointment and sadness bursting from your body as you try to get changed as quickly as you can.

You were so upset with yourself for sleeping in, you didn’t want anyone to be mad at your or disappointed. You had enough of that at home and you didn’t thing you could handle the way you felt when you thought someone was upset with you, especially your soulmates or their families. You wanted them to see you as someone who had everything together, who never made mistakes or did anything wrong.

You could practically hear your mother sighing in your ear, could see the way she rolled her eyes and looked down at you.

“Would it kill you to do something right for once? I wanted you hear by six and its twenty past.” Your mother stood in front of you, her arms crossed against her chest as she stood next to her friends. Her eyebrows were perfectly sculpted and her makeup immaculate as she stared you down.

“You told me to be here at six thirty? I thought I was early…” You trailed off at the sound of one of her friends trying to muffler her laughter.

“No, darling.” You cringed at the nickname, hating the tone she said it with. “I told you to be here at six. And now you’ve embarrassed me by arriving so late. And dressed like this!” She gestured to you, causing you to look down.

You were dressed in what you thought was appropriate for a kid’s birthday party. You were wearing a pair of light wash jeans and a nice t-shirt, something you normally wouldn’t wear. You were itchy beyond belief and dug your nails into your palm to stop you from scratching at your skin.

“I don’t understand.” You say as you look back up at your mother. You watched as laughter fell from her lips and she turned to her friends.

“I swear, I have to pick out everything for her, she doesn’t know anything about clothes!” Her entire group of friends laugh as you now clutch the bottom of your shirt, feeling the tears build up in your eyes again.

“Go sit down, before you embarrass me even more.” You hear your mother tell you, nodding in response before moving to sit down at one of the tables at the edge of the large yard.

“Pretty girl, that’s it. Look at me.” You feel Hobi’s hands on your cheeks, turning your head to look at him. You could feel him wipe away tears you didn’t know had appeared.

“There you are. Hi baby.” He smiles at you, seeing the fog in your eyes disappear the longer he held your cheeks in his palms.

“Hi Hobi.” You whisper back, eyes focusing on his.

“Are you okay? You kind of just froze.” He moved some hair out of your face, placing it behind your ear as he watched you.

“It’s nothing. I just, uh, I need to get ready.” You moved out of his grip and returned to rushing to the bathroom, quickly changing your clothes and making sure not to wrinkle it, not wanting Jin’s wrath.

You do your skin care routine, trying to follow the steps that Jimin had Namjoon write out in English for you, but you skip a couple of steps, not wanting anyone to be annoyed that they had to wait on you.

It takes you all of five minutes to get ready, grabbing your small purse holding what you need for the day as you move into the living area, bumping into Yoongi who is munching on a small tangerine.

“Baby, what’s got you in such a rush?” Yoongi’s hands grasp onto your side, steadying you before you fall forward.

Yoongi notices the flush of your face and the way your eyes were red. He knew something was wrong, but he could tell by the way your jaw was clenched that you didn’t want to talk. He wondered if he knew what was wrong, having seen a lot of your past.

“I’m late to meet Hobi’s mom and Jiwoo and I don’t want them to have to wait for me.” Was your simple response, yet it had him confused.

“Why would they be upset with you? Didn’t Hobi tell them that you would be there in an hour?” Yoongi’s eyebrow raised as he walked with you to the couch where Jimin was relaxing, a movie on the large television.

“When we talked yesterday, we promised nine o’clock. That’s when we agreed to meet at the spa.” You muttered, not liking that his questions were making you even more late than you already were. You were becoming anxious, and the two in the room could tell.

Jimin adjusted his position on the couch so he could move to sit behind you, pulling you back into his chest and wrapping his arms around you. You tried to push him away, but he was strong as he held you to him.

Jimin started humming Serendipity, his voice coming out soft as you did what he hoped you would. You started to relax into him, letting your head rest on his chin as he peppered kisses along your jaw.

Jimin sang the song softly a couple of times, making sure that you were truly calm and your heart rate had lowered, no longer feeling it beat against his chest, before pulling away.

“Now baby, you have plenty of time because Hobi’s family isn’t going to be here until after ten, okay? So, sit with me, hmm?” He pulled you with him to lay down on the sofa, your body rested on top of his as he held you close to his chest.

You tried your hardest to be upset with the way Jimin just…rerouted your brain with his voice, but you couldn’t. You had never been able to work yourself out of an anxious spiral before, and you were amazed that he was able to help you stay afloat.

You felt like you were floating, muscles relaxed as you laid on top of your soulmate, his hand on your back, rubbing different patterns and words onto your sweater. Your hand was clinging to his shirt, fist clenched in the fabric as you breathed in his scent. Eyes closed as you listened to him laugh at something done on the tv.

You were so relaxed you didn’t even hear Namjoon open the door to Hobi’s family. His mom, dad, and sister walking through the door and placing their bags down.

You were supposed to be going out with his mom, Eunha, and his sister, Jiwoo, to the spa and lunch before doing some exploring with them. His dad, Hosung, was gonna spend the day with Hobi and Taehyung, who had wanted to join the two in their plans. The others were going to be relaxing as they had their first concert the next day.

“Now, where is our darling daughter at? I can’t wait for our spa day!” Eunha exclaimed, reaching forward to move past her son.

You were slowly moved into a seated position, Jimin doing the hard work and helping you both sit up. He had a smile on his face as he noticed your glazed over expression. Pressing a soft kiss to your lips, he helped you make sure your hair and clothes were nice before helping you stand.

“She’s right here mom!” Jimin hollered, a grin on his lips as Eunha rushed over and brought you into a tight hug. A grunt left your lips at the tightness now around your middle. You slowly brought your arms around Hobi’s mom before Hobi came over.

“Mom…” Hobi let out a warning tone, only for his mom to wave him off.

“I know, I’m sorry. I forgot.” His mom pulls away from you, taking a couple of steps back before noticing how tense your body had become.

“I am sorry for hugging you without asking. My son has told me about your sensory issues and I forgot about them in my excitement. I promise it won’t happen again.” You were absolutely stunned that she had apologized for hugging you. You’ve never had that happen before, and you completely ignored the wording of her sentences, trying to push away the already tense emotional feeling you were experiencing after the flashback of your own mom.

You nodded your head in response, which thankfully didn’t bother the older woman. She just looked at you with a soft expression, her smile permanently etched to her lips as she gestures you forward.

“Well, my daughter, I believe we have a spa appointment to get to.” Eunha talks slowly, remembering that you were still learning the Korean language. You appreciated her actions, reciprocating her smile as you moved forward and put your shoes on, standing in front of the door.

It took about ten minutes for you, Eunha, and Jiwoo to finally leave through the door. The boys were adamant about giving you their own goodbyes, Taehyung and Yoongi especially greedy as they kept pulling kisses from your lips. Namjoon practically had to pull Taehyung from around you, a large pout on his lips as he playfully whined, arms reaching for you as your elder mate pulled him away.

-*-*-

The spa was something you couldn’t have imagined.

It had baths of mud and beds where you could be wrapped in seaweed.

You hadn’t seen anything like it before, and didn’t feel comfortable with new textures, even with your desire to have Hoseok’s family like you. You were still a little anxious that you had kept them waiting, and still was unsure if they were going to be upset with you over it or not.

Yet, Eunha and Jiwoo reminded you of Hobi, their love palpable and their happiness and kindness visible as they smiled at you. You could feel yourself becoming relaxed in their presence, like you belonged with them.

You picked a soft lavender color for your nails, Eunha and Jiwoo choosing the same color with grins on their faces, mischief glowing on their cheeks.

“I want to match with my daughters.” Eunha had spoken in the same soft and slow tone, the nail tech smiling up at her. The spa was a Korean spa, one that Hobi and Yoongi had discovered on one of their exploration trips of the city.

You had felt loved and appreciated, like you belong, and it was a new and different feeling than what you had with your soulmates. This was…like you had family.

“Have you been here before?” Jiwoo asked you as you settled down in a private room at the back of the restaurant. You had been rubbing your hands, the lotion on your skin feeling like oil. You tried to tell the woman you didn’t want the lotion, but it seemed like you fumbled your Korean a bit.

You were originally going to be seated on the balcony of the restaurant, but you were unknowingly followed from the hotel. It seemed that your face was known, and people wanted to know more. This led to Hoseok calling the restaurant and changing the plans a little, sending two more security to accompany the already four you had, Seungho included.

Your pictures were all over army twitter, Namjoon had seen. Some calling for your privacy and others wanting to know more. It was all weird to you and had you feeling like bugs were crawling over your skin, making you remove your sweater to reveal the cream t-shirt and black leggings.

“I haven’t. This is my first time in the city.” You revealed as the waiter came by with the menus. You recognized some items on the menu, but your eyes caught on the option for chicken tenders and French fries, what you called the classic safe food.

You tempered over your options, going with something what was safe or choosing to fit in with Hobi’s family and pick something else. It all came down to how you already felt. Would a new pick trigger your sensory issues and make you melt down? Or would it not affect anything and you go on showing his family that you could fit in with them.

By the time you made your decision, the waiter had already come back with your choice of drinks and his notebook.

“Alright. What can I get for you?”

“I will have the chicken tenders and fries please.” Jiwoo spoke in her bets English, making your eyes widen in shock. You figured she would pick something else. When the waiter looked at you, you just told him you would have the same thing, adding ranch on the side. You didn’t hear what Eunha had picked because Jiwoo moved closer to you.

“I love their chicken tenders. They are so crispy and taste so good!” Jiwoo told you, bouncing a little in her seat, seemingly excited for her order. Hearing her words, your shoulders relaxed and you became way more at ease with everything.

Maybe you were overthinking everything…like normal.

“I am so happy that the boys have found you.” Eunha spoke as soon as the waiter had left, her gaze soft as she watched you sit forward in your seat. Eunha and Jiwoo had spent the entire day hoping that you would feel comfortable around them.

Hoseok had spoken with them, frequently over the years about his soul sight, everything he found out about you, he would confide in them. So, they knew more about you than you did them, unfortunately. Eunha and Jiwoo were aware of your disability and were aware of your wariness around strangers. They had just hoped that the number of times they had video-called with you had eased the tension and made them more familiar to you.

But it was okay, they were patient and had plenty of time to help you become more comfortable with them. They wanted to become your family, wanted to become the people in your corner.

“They all spent years looking for you. Had their eyes practically glued to social media for a long time. Hobi especially went through tiktok, hoping you used your actual picture as your profile picture, or that you posted videos of yourself.” Jiwoo followed her mom’s lead, trying to ease your discomfort.

“He always told us how sweet you were, any little thing you accomplished he would brag to us about it, proud of you.” You had little tears in your eyes now, blinking them away as you listened to them.

“I uh, never thought I would have a soulmate. I didn’t get a bond like that, with any of them. Thought something was wrong with me.” You laughed at yourself, self-deprecatingly as you remembered your years of research.

“I never expected this, any of it. I just wanted to come to the city, a vacation by myself so I didn’t have to stress. But now, I have seven soulmates who love me more than anything in the world. It’s…. like I’m dreaming.” You confess, trying to tell them that you didn’t know, that you didn’t mean to not look for them, thinking that was why they were telling you these things.

“I figure, things will happen when fate deems it to. We are just happy you were able to find your way to them. You don’t ever have to worry about anything with us…we just want you to feel comfortable with us.” Eunha’s hand moved to hold yours, pausing a couple inches from yours as she asked permission before continuing.

“I’m sorry I—” You paused, realizing that they knew you were uncomfortable.

“It’s okay, honey. We just wanted you to know that we already love you and see you as family.” Eunha’s words have you crying, tears streaming down your cheeks. You try to wipe them away with your palm, but Jiwoo moves, handing you her napkin and helping you so your eyes wouldn’t become puffy. That’s the sight the waiter walked up to, plates of food in hand.

This small moment, Jiwoo helping you and Eunha holding your hand, changed your entire mindset; you felt okay, like you were with people who genuinely cared for you. You were ready to do whatever you could to get the boys’ families to like you, but it seemed like you didn’t have to.

You hadn’t even imagined that their families could have known about you, that the boys had told them all about you, what they knew from the soul bonds. Hadn’t envisioned that their families would have already accepted you and your bond to their boys.

And it had you happy, knowing you didn’t have to mask around them. Didn’t have to create a persona that wasn’t you.

And you relaxed, even began to joke around and laugh with Jiwoo and Eunha as you finished your lunch and walked around outside, exploring your surroundings and taking pictures as you went.

You even took pictures upon Jiwoo’s insistence, her smile having you agree to her whims before you can even blink. A couple pictures of you and Jiwoo, of the three of you together, and then a couple of Eunha, with her arms wrapped around you in a hug.

“I need pictures with my daughter to show my friends.” Was her excuse for extra pictures, making you grin back at her. You didn’t mind, even posting some pictures on your Instagram afterwards, putting a small heart over her face to keep her anonymity like Hobi wanted.

You ended up spending the entire day with them, getting frozen yogurt and buying a couple of things that Jiwoo picked out for you, saying you would look beautiful in them. They were even cotton like you wanted.

It was an amazing day with family.

MC’s Instagram Post:

Next Chapter

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bonezlyy · 10 months

Text

I DIED 🫶🏼

I said I would be insansley active on this account but I wasn’t and forgot about it immediately

Im trying I promise you I just didn’t know what to post

WE’RE GONNA TALK ABOUT THE FRIEND GROUPS

WELL THEYRE ALL ONE BIG FRIEND GROUP AND LOVE EACHOTHER EQUALLY BUT THEY HAVE SPECIFIC THINGIES

OKAY SO

THIS IS GONNA BE A WEIRD BIG INFODUMP INSTEAD OF A NORMAL LIST

Starting with Error, Geno, Sci and Night. These fucking nerds 💕 Smart guys that talk about smart guy stuff (Idk what kind of smart things because Im not smart myself but still). They’re all calm and collected people that like to sit together and read books because they’re cute and silly guys. Geno and Night talk about Space stuff while Error and Sci talk about science and tech stuff.

NUMBER 2 IS THE STARS💕

I am so obsessed with Drinkberry you can not stop me. They’re all really silly and positive people and they all kiss like muah muah muah. And btw drinkberry, afterdeath and Scifell are the only canon ships you get. Idk what the other ones are I might just make them all kiss tbh. Well actually you might get Cherrberry too who knows. BUT ANYWAY BACK TO THE STARS. They just sit in on of their dorm’s and watch movies and kiss and cuddle I love them sm

NUMBER 3

I CANT TELL YOU HOW ODDLY OBSESSED I AM WITH REAPER, FELL AND PLUM BEING FRIENDS (cutely changes Lust from Hearts to Plum) THEY MET IN YEAR 7 WHEN NONE OF THEM WERE DOING SWIMMING AND IT BASICALLY WENT LIKE THIS

Teacher: Okay then so what’s your excuse today

All 3 of them at the same time by the power of gay friendship: I have tits

AND THEY JUST LOOKED AT EACHOTHER LIKE ???

And then they talked about being trans for the whole lesson, and then found out they were all bi and decided to be friends until one of them inevitably dies from alcohol poisoning 🫶🏼

I love them sm, they kiss in the best friend way that i long for

I need to get a grip girl they’re just skeletons pls

Obviously Cross, Dust, Horror, and Killer

These little heathens omg

They just create havoc wherever they go, accidental or not

This one is self explanatory tbh

AND THEN THE ART KIDS

Ink, Error, Plum, Reaper, Geno

Error and Plum are in textiles

Ink, Reaper and Geno do like regular art, idk what the word is for it but painting, drawing, charcoals and all that

Ink, Reaper and geno design and draw cool designs for Plum and Error to make as practice

ANYWAY THOSE ARE ALL I CAN THINK OF RN

I should probably start actually writing this soon

Ill post a link to the chapter when I do 💀

Help me I cant tell if my brother has a friend round or if he just randomly has a really good sound system and it sounds like theres someone in his room

Either way I cant leave my room because my social anxiety his horrendous and I will kms if I am seen 🙏🏼

#cross sans #dream sans #dust sans #error sans #fell sans #geno sans #headcanon #horror sans #ink sans #killer sans #lust sans #nightmare sans #swap sans #reaper sans #sci sans #science sans #Drinkberry

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snowangie · 6 months

Text

snow on the beach.

a finnick odair x fem!oc series

summary : in the heart of the capitol's glittering deception, Giselle Snow, granddaughter of president coriolanus snow, conceals her true emotions while working to undermine the hunger games. sent to district 4 after the 74th Games, she grapples with forbidden love for district 4's Finnick Odair. Snow on the beach is weird but fucking beautiful – Giselle is the snow, Finnick is the beach, an unexpected yet perfect harmony in the delicate ballet of their existence. As the quarter quell unfolds, panem becomes a battleground for love and rebellion, and Giselle faces a choice that will alter destinies and unravel the threads of her past.

warnings: swearing, smut, violence, mentions of death, mentions of torture, mentions of sex trafficking, weapons, trauma, mental illnesses

genre: angst, romance, forbidden love, violence, hurt/comfort

chapters: 1-flecks of lights , 2-life is emotionally abusive , 3-time cant stop me quite like u did

author’s note: i alrdy have six other chapters abt to be published real soon. the timeline will start from post thg and pre catching fire to the catching fire and the mockingjay pt 1 & 2 ! the story will get more interesting in the coming chapters i promise and i hope u enjoy reading :)

chapter 1 : flecks of lights.

The grandiose chamber of President Snow's office in the heart of the Capitol was adorned with opulence that mirrored the power he held over Panem. Giselle Snow, granddaughter to the president, entered the room with a careful blend of poise and trepidation. The air was laden with an unspoken tension as she approached the imposing figure behind the intricately carved desk.

President Snow, seated in a high-backed chair, regarded her with a scrutinizing gaze. “My lovely... Giselle,” he said with an air of authority. “Sit.” His tone allowed no room for objection.

Giselle took a seat across from her grandfather, her posture straight and composed. “You summoned me, Grandfather,” she said, her eyes meeting his with a mixture of deference and curiosity.

He leaned back, fingers steepled. “The districts are proving to be more troublesome than anticipated, especially after that girl, Katniss Everdeen, became a symbol of rebellion. We need to ensure our control, and I have a task for you.”

Giselle inclined her head, a silent acknowledgment of her readiness to fulfill any duty bestowed upon her.

“You're to leave the Capitol,” President Snow continued, his gaze piercing. "Head to District 4. Keep an eye on the situation there. We need loyalty, not rebellion."

Understanding the gravity of the assignment, Giselle nodded. “Of course, Grandfather. I will ensure District 4 remains in line.”

His lips curled into a semblance of a smile, though his eyes remained cold. “You'll do more than that, Giselle. You'll show them who holds the power. Be a presence they can't ignore.”

Giselle's brow furrowed slightly. “I understand the need for authority, Grandfather, but isn't there a risk of inciting further unrest if I'm too forceful?”

President Snow's expression hardened. “You underestimate the importance of control, my dear. A firm hand is required to maintain order. You'll leave tomorrow. Ensure District 4 understands the price of disobedience.”

As Giselle left the president's office, the weight of her new assignment settled on her shoulders. Little did she know, this journey to District 4 would alter the course of her life in ways she never could have anticipated. The Capitol's gleaming façade hid secrets, and Giselle, bound by duty, embarked on a path that would challenge her allegiance and reshape her understanding of the world she was born into.

The nightfall brought a quiet stillness to the Capitol, but within the luxurious walls of the Snow's residence, the atmosphere was anything but tranquil. Giselle stood by the window, her gaze fixed on the neon-lit skyline, a stark contrast to the darkened Districts she was about to enter. A single thought echoed in her mind - her departure for District 4.

She turned around from the window to a big mirror across her bedroom. In the mirror's gaze, Giselle Snow emerges, a vision painted in the hues of winter’s embrace—like the quiet elegance of snow, her every movement a subtle cascade of crystalline grace. Her porcelain skin, as pale as freshly fallen snow, conceals a myriad of emotions beneath a facade of composure. Blue eyes, reminiscent of the frigid depths, mirror the legacy she inherits from President Snow. Raven tendrils cascade like delicate snowflakes, framing a countenance that masks both strength and vulnerability. Giselle, standing at a gentle petite height, embodies the quiet power of a snow-covered landscape, where the surface serenity belies the tumultuous currents beneath.

As dawn painted the sky with hues of rose and gold, Giselle prepared for her journey. The Capitol, a city of excess and indulgence, presented a facade of perpetual celebration. Yet, beneath it, Giselle felt a sense of isolation. The grand parties, the extravagant fashion, the Capitol's obsession with appearances – all seemed distant, detached from the reality she was about to confront.

Descending the grand staircase of the Presidential office, Giselle observed Capitol citizens engaged in their daily routines. Perfectly coiffed and adorned in extravagant attire, they moved with an air of detached elegance. She exchanged polite nods and practiced smiles, concealing the underlying tension that accompanied her impending departure.

In the bustling streets, hovercrafts glided overhead, carrying with them the distant echoes of Capitol chatter. “Love really is a wonderful thing, isn’t it ? Look at the District 12 victors.” Giselle caught fragments of conversations discussing the recent Hunger Games, a macabre spectacle ingrained in Capitol culture. Her gaze lingered on the lavish advertisements depicting this year’s victors and their glory.

As she made her way to the Capitol's central hub, Giselle couldn't escape the feeling of being a pawn in a grand, calculated game. The Capitol, with its towering architecture and ostentatious displays of wealth, seemed like a gilded cage, and Giselle, despite her privileged status, yearned for something more.

Amid the swirl of Capitol life, Giselle pondered the stark contrast between her existence and the struggles faced by those in the Districts. The Capitol's obliviousness to the suffering of its subjects weighed heavily on her conscience. She questioned the morality of her grandfather's orders, grappling with the realization that her actions would directly impact lives beyond the opulence of the Capitol.

As her hovercraft lifted off, carrying her towards District 4, Giselle cast a final gaze upon the Capitol skyline. The dichotomy between the sparkling facade and the dark reality beneath became a poignant metaphor for the life she was leaving behind. Little did she know that her journey into the heart of Panem would unravel secrets, challenge loyalties, and ignite a spark of compassion that could alter the course of the Hunger Games.

On a crisp morning, Giselle found herself in the heart of District 4, standing outside a weathered building that served as a makeshift shelter for the elderly. Inside, a sense of community prevailed, but the challenges of age and limited resources weighed heavily on the occupants. Giselle, armed with a basket of provisions, stepped forward to lend a helping hand.

“Good morning, Alice,” she greeted, her tone warm and genuine.

The elderly woman, initially wary of the Capitol emissary, now greeted Giselle with a genuine smile. “Good morning, dear. You've been a blessing to us.”

As Giselle distributed essentials and engaged in conversations with the elderly residents, she felt a profound connection forming. The Capitol's representative had become a familiar face, not as a symbol of oppression but as someone who genuinely cared.

Amidst the camaraderie, a flashback flickered in Giselle's mind – a scene from her arrival in District 4. The initial reception had been marked by hesitancy and fear. The residents had seen her as an extension of President Snow's authority, an unwelcome reminder of Capitol oppression. Their guarded glances and whispered conversations had painted her arrival with skepticism.

Now, as she moved among them with empathy and compassion, Giselle recalled the gradual shift in perception. The people of District 4 had witnessed her dedication to easing their burdens, and the once-fearful gazes had transformed into looks of gratitude.

In the flashback, a moment stood out – a conversation with an elderly fisherman named Mr. O'Brien. “We don't trust your kind,” he had grumbled at the outset.

Giselle had responded with a soft-spoken determination. “Give me a chance to prove that I'm not here to perpetuate the Capitol's cruelty.”

Back in the present, Mr. O'Brien, now seated in the shelter, smiled at Giselle as she handed him a blanket. The warmth in his eyes spoke of acceptance earned through actions, not mere words.

The contrast between Giselle's arrival and the present scene was palpable – a transformation of fear into trust, of skepticism into gratitude. As she continued her efforts to assist the elderly in District 4, Giselle found purpose in bridging the gap between the Capitol and its districts, one compassionate act at a time.

Upon her arrival in District 4 a month ago, Giselle was ushered into a modest gathering hall where the victors of the district had assembled. Their eyes, seasoned by hardship and the harsh realities of the Hunger Games, bore a mix of curiosity and wariness as she entered. Among them, Finnick Odair stood out, an enigmatic figure with an air of both charm and caution.

Finnick, a living embodiment of allure and strength, possesses a sculpted physique that seems chiseled by the ocean's waves. His sea-green eyes mirrors the depth of the waters he hails from, and his sun-kissed hair carries whispers of the sandy shores. The 65th Hunger Games victor reminded Giselle of the beach, its warmth and unpredictability. The sand yields beneath his every step, mirroring the enigmatic allure that draws others in. His presence drawing the tide of emotions in an unpredictable rhythm with his exuding charisma.

Giselle felt the weight of their collective gaze as she approached, her every step echoing in the hushed room. The victors, each carrying the visible and invisible scars of their past tribulations, eyed her with a mixture of skepticism and guarded interest.

Finnick, his sea-green eyes piercing, regarded her with a cool detachment. She sensed an unspoken challenge in his gaze, a silent invitation to prove herself beyond her Capitol lineage.

One of the older victors, Mags, stepped forward, her weathered face etched with both resilience and kindness. “Welcome to District 4,” she said, her voice, thick with an accent that can hardly be understood, but a comforting contrast to the tension in the room. “We've been through a lot, and we hope you understand our apprehension.”

Giselle nodded, acknowledging the validity of their wariness. “I'm here to understand, to learn, and to help in any way I can.”

Finnick, leaning against a pillar with an air of nonchalance, finally spoke, his words laced with skepticism. “You're here to help yeah? That's a first.”

Giselle met his gaze with a steady determination. “I didn't choose the circumstances of my birth, but I can choose how I navigate them. Let me prove that not everyone from the Capitol is your enemy.”

The other victors exchanged glances, the room filled with an uneasy silence. It was Annie Cresta, another victor with a haunted expression, who broke the tension. “We've heard promises before. Actions speak louder than words.”

Over the following days, Giselle worked tirelessly to fulfill those promises. She attended to the needs of the district, engaged in conversations with the victors, and gradually earned their trust through her genuine efforts to understand their struggles.

The low hum of conversation and the rhythmic clinking of utensils created a subdued ambiance during the communal dinner in District 4. Giselle, a newcomer to this close-knit community of victors, moved through the room with a measured grace, keenly aware of the mixed reactions to her presence. Finnick, surrounded by fellow victors, couldn't help but watch her, his initial hostility giving way to a guarded curiosity.

Giselle, though aware of the scrutiny, maintained her composed facade. Her poise unfaltering. Finnick's eyes followed her every move, the dim lighting casting shadows on his usually sharp features. There was a weariness about him that matched the weight of their shared experiences. Mags, ever perceptive, nudged Finnick with a subtle smile, as if to say, “Give her a chance.”

As Giselle took a seat at the table, the tension lingered. The conversations around them continued, a mixture of stories from past victories and the haunting memories of the arena. Finnick's initial hostility began to wane, replaced by a flicker of curiosity. Giselle, sensing the shift, decided to break the ice.

“Hello, everyone,” she said, her voice carrying a mix of confidence and vulnerability. “I know I'm not what you expected, but I'm here to navigate this journey with you. Let's make the most of it, shall we?”

As the dinner continued, the atmosphere shifted subtly. Finnick’s hostility waned, replaced by a flicker of curiosity that mirrored Giselle’s guarded demeanor. The room, filled with the stories of past victories and lingering traumas, bore witness to a quiet turning point.

Their eyes met across the room, an electric charge passing between them, almost like some flecks of lights. It was as if the air crackled with unspoken tension, a silent understanding passing between them. In that fleeting connection, Finnick glimpsed something beyond the Capitol walls Giselle wore—a vulnerability, perhaps, or a shared acknowledgment of the fact that they were bound together by the challenges of the Games. The road to trust might be uncertain, but that initial exchange marked the beginning of a connection that held the promise of unexpected alliances in the days to come.

The coastal air in District 4 carried a sense of tranquility, a stark contrast to the undercurrent of tension within the district. Giselle, engrossed in helping a group of children repair a makeshift shelter, looked up as the oppressive presence of a Peacemaker leader, Captain Rawlins, loomed over her.

Rawlins, his uniform adorned with Capitol insignias, exuded hostility as he approached. “Giselle Snow,” he sneered, emphasizing her last name with disdain. “I've been hearing reports about your... tenderness toward these people. You forget your purpose here.”

Giselle, undeterred, straightened but maintained her composure. “My purpose is to ensure order and cooperation, not to crush the spirit of those who have already endured so much.”

Rawlins, a symbol of Capitol authority, leaned in with a menacing glare. “Your grandfather didn't send you here to coddle them. They need to fear the Capitol, not embrace it.”

As the confrontation unfolded, Finnick, who had been observing from a distance, couldn't ignore the palpable tension. His piercing gaze remained fixed on Giselle, his expression unreadable.

Giselle met Rawlins' hostility with measured defiance. “I believe in understanding before control. Fear only begets rebellion.”

Rawlins, unrelenting, hissed, “You'll do well to remember your place, Snow. This is not the Capitol. This is District 4, and they are not your equals. Next time you might not just be getting a verbal reminder.”

The Peacemaker leader retreated with a parting glare, leaving Giselle surrounded by a heavy silence. The onlookers, District 4 residents and victors alike, exchanged uneasy glances, aware of the delicate balance between the Capitol's emissary and the authority they represented.

Finnick, having witnessed the confrontation, approached Giselle with a softened expression. His sea-green eyes, once filled with skepticism, now held a glimmer of understanding. “ I guess, even the President’s granddaughter isn’t free.”

Giselle, her resolve unbroken, met his gaze. “No, Finnick. I'm not here to perpetuate the Capitol's cruelty. I’m not just Snow’s granddaughter. What Snow is and what I am is two different things. I want to make a difference. A good one.”

In that moment, the unspoken connection between them deepened. Finnick, seeing beyond the Capitol's facade, recognized Giselle's genuine intentions. The hostility of Rawlins had not only exposed the oppressive nature of the Capitol but had also illuminated the stark contrast between Giselle's compassion and the brutality she represented. As the whispers of dissent lingered in the air, Giselle and Finnick share a subtle nod of mutual understanding.

The day was overcast in District 4, the sky reflecting the somber mood that often lingered in the coastal district. Giselle, having spent the morning assisting in a community project, found herself near the docks where Finnick was overseeing a fishing expedition. The rhythmic sound of the waves crashing against the boats provided a backdrop to their conversation.

Finnick, usually stoic, allowed a rare vulnerability to surface. “Victors are supposed to be living in luxury, but I feel like a prisoner. Funny how I thought I would be free from everything when I won the games.”

Giselle, leaning against a dock post, looked at him with understanding. “Luxury can be its own form of confinement. Expectations, demands... it's a different kind of Hunger Games.”

He sighed, the weight of his past victories evident in his eyes. “They think they own us because we won. They parade us like trophies.”

Giselle nodded, recognizing the shared burden of being a pawn in the Capitol's game. “I never asked for this life either. Born into a system that expects me to follow its rules.”

As the conversation continued, they found solace in each other's shared experiences. Finnick spoke of the exploitation he endured, the Capitol's twisted expectations, and the toll it took on his sense of self. Giselle, in turn, shared her struggles with the oppressive nature of her lineage and the conflict she felt between duty and compassion.

Amidst the backdrop of creaking boats and the distant calls of seagulls, Giselle placed a reassuring hand on Finnick's arm. “You're not alone, Finnick. We're both prisoners of a system that values power over humanity.”

He looked at her, a mixture of surprise and gratitude in his eyes.

She smiled at him, the connection between them deepening. “Maybe it's time we redefine what's expected. We can be more than the roles they assigned us.”

As the day unfolded, Giselle and Finnick found comfort in each other's presence. Their budding friendship serving as a source of emotional support in a world that sought to define them by their pasts. They became each other’s flecks of lights in their own darkness. In this shared vulnerability, they discover a connection that transcends the Capitol's expectations, laying the foundation for a bond that will evolve into something deeper.

The evening was draped in hues of orange and purple as Giselle stood by the edge of the district, gazing out at the sea. Finnick joined her, and in the quiet solitude, the weight of their shared experiences hung in the air.

Finnick, usually guarded, allowed a moment of vulnerability. "I've never talked about this with anyone. The Hunger Games, the Capitol's demands... it changes you."

Giselle nodded, understanding the depth of his pain. "They exploit your victories, but they don't see the scars they leave behind. Victors are expected to be symbols, not people."

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow on the water, Giselle found herself sharing her own struggles. "I grew up in the Capitol, surrounded by extravagance. But the more I saw, the more I realized how empty it all is."

Finnick looked at her, his sea-green eyes reflecting a mix of empathy and shared pain. "I thought you were just another Capitol puppet, but you're different. I can't figure you out."

Giselle chuckled, a bittersweet expression on her face. "Maybe that's because I'm trying to figure myself out too. I don't want to be a pawn in their game. I want to change things, even if it's just a little."

In the quiet admission of their vulnerabilities, a subtle shift occurred. Their friendship evolved into a connection forged in shared pain and a mutual desire for change.

As the waves rhythmically caressed the shore, Giselle sought solace in the quiet companionship of Finnick. With a gentle touch, she rested her head on his strong shoulders, finding comfort in the shared silence that echoed the unspoken complexities of their lives. "Beyond these roles, Finnick, we are survivors. And perhaps, in that truth, we will find something that transcends it all."

Finnick, usually guarded, allowed a hint of gratitude to soften his features. "Maybe you're right, Giselle. Maybe we can be more than the Capitol's expectations."

In that moment, against the backdrop of the fading sunlight and the persistent sound of the sea, Giselle and Finnick found solace in the shared understanding that they were not defined solely by the Capitol's cruel narrative. The breakdown of walls, the admission of vulnerabilities, became the foundation for a connection that held the promise of mutual growth and perhaps, even love.

Days turned into weeks, and the connection between Giselle and Finnick deepened, unspoken emotions weaving through their shared moments. One evening, they found themselves on the same stretch of beach where they had first shared their vulnerabilities.

As they walked along the shoreline, the air thick with unspoken sentiments, Giselle broke the silence. "There's something about this place that feels different when you're here."

Finnick smiled, his gaze lingering on the horizon. "Maybe it's the freedom from the Capitol's expectations, even if just for a moment."

Giselle nodded, a subtle understanding passing between them. They had become each other's refuge in a world that demanded so much and gave so little.

Amidst the soft sounds of the waves, they sat on a weathered piece of driftwood, and Finnick's fingers traced absent patterns in the sand. “You know,” he began, his voice softer than usual, “I never expected to find... comfort in someone like you.”

Giselle looked at him, a mixture of curiosity and warmth in her eyes. “Comfort?”

Finnick hesitated, his sea-green eyes meeting hers. “Yeah. I mean, you get it. The struggle, the weight of it all. It's... comforting.”

She giggled, the sound carrying a tinge of vulnerability. “I never thought I'd find someone who understands this side of me. It's a relief, really.”

As the conversation flowed, the air seemed charged with an energy neither of them could fully comprehend. It was a dance of words, subtle glances, and shared silences, all painting a picture of something more profound than mere friendship.

In the days that followed, their connection grew more pronounced. Each shared glance and lingering touch weaving a tapestry of connection between Finnick Odair and Giselle Snow. In the quiet embrace of District 4's soft evening glow, their growing bond took center stage.

Under the subtle luminescence of district lights, Finnick's thoughtful eyes met Giselle's, and he spoke words that hung in the air like an unspoken promise. "You're changing me, Giselle Snow. And I'm not sure if I want it to stop."

Giselle, bathed in the gentle radiance of the night, met his gaze with a mixture of vulnerability and resolve. Her lips curved into a soft smile, a response that carried the weight of unspoken understanding.

"Maybe change is what we both need," she whispered, her words a delicate echo in the quiet night. The soft sounds of their shared laughter lingered, a melody that spoke of the intricacies of their evolving connection. In that moment, beneath the district lights, Finnick and Giselle found solace in the uncharted territories of change and the magnetic pull drawing them closer. The lines between friendship and something more blurred, evolving into a connection that surpassed the constraints of their predetermined roles.

One evening, Giselle and Finnick found themselves on the outskirts of District 4, away from the prying eyes of the Capitol and the curious gazes of the district's residents. The moon cast a gentle glow upon the landscape as they stood on a secluded stretch of beach.

The air was filled with a tangible tension, an unspoken understanding that their connection was evolving into something more profound. Giselle, looking out at the vast expanse of the sea, couldn't shake the feeling that they were standing at the edge of a precipice.

Finnick, usually composed, seemed to be wrestling with his own thoughts. As he looked at Giselle, a shared silence unfolded between them. In that unexpected moment of intimacy, their eyes met, and a connection deeper than words was forged.

Without a word, Finnick reached out, his fingers gently brushing against Giselle's hand. It was a subtle touch, a gesture laden with unspoken sentiments. In that brief contact, the weight of their shared experiences, struggles, and unexplored emotions seemed to converge.

Giselle, her heart echoing the rhythm of the waves, looked at him with a mixture of vulnerability and understanding. The touch lingered for a moment longer than necessary, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that was growing between them.

As they continued their quiet stroll along the shoreline, a shared secret hung in the air. Finnick, breaking the silence, spoke softly. "There's something about the sea at night. It makes everything feel... honest."

Giselle nodded, the moonlight casting a glow on her features. "Maybe that's why we find ourselves here, away from the facades and expectations."

In the midst of the tumultuous waters of Panem, Giselle and Finnick discovered that unexpected moments of intimacy held a transformative power. Whether it was a shared glance, a fleeting touch, or the exchange of unspoken truths, these moments deepened their connection, creating a bridge between two souls navigating the complexities of their world.

As they continued to walk along the beach, the sea whispering its secrets to the night, Giselle and Finnick found solace in the unexpected intimacies that wove their connection into a tapestry of shared moments and unexplored emotions. Neither both of them fully realized the depth of their emotions, but the unspoken understanding between them spoke volumes, paving the way for a love that was quietly blooming amidst the complexities of their world.

#finnick odair #finnick x reader #the hunger games #thg #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x oc #sam claflin #catching fire #tbosas #thg series #hunger games fanfiction #finnick odair fanfic #corio snow #tom blyth #young coriolanus snow

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floras-imagination · 2 months

Text

Robbers, forever? 🖤 matty healy x reader

CHAPTER 1

series masterlist

summary: Y/n and Matty break each other's hearts multiple times over the years, yet they find themselves unable to stay away from each other... and this is the beginning of their love story 🖤 authors note: This story is inspired by some of my fondest memories shared with an ex (but I've made some changes to better align the story with Matty's character), and each chapter is accompanied by poems I've written about that relationship. I've posted them on my poetry blog, so just click on the links you'll find in the chapters:) Hope you enjoy it as much as I do 💘 (i think it's so cuuuute) word count: 2,6 k warning: y/n struggles with a restrictive ed in the first few chapters (but it's just kinda mentioned in the diary entry at the beginning)

August 2012

Dear Diary, I wish I were stronger. I wish I could beat this illness, but I just can't. Every time I try to recover, I fail. I've been doing so well in the last few months, but it's always the same. As soon as I'm doing better I mess it up again. Why do I keep lying to myself? "I'm in control." "Just one more day." "I can stop if I want to." But I never do. A day turns into a week, and suddenly weeks have passed, and I can't control it anymore.

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

Y/n sat in her living room, having some dinner while watching the news. As she glanced at her phone, she noticed an incoming call from an unknown number.

After considering it for a moment, Y/n became curious, so she decided to answer. "Hello?"

"Y/n?", a male, familiar voice asked.

"Matty?", she asked slightly confused, immediately recognizing the man on the phone.

"Surprised?"

"Uhm... yeah, kind of, I guess. Haven't heard anything from you in ages. How've you been?"

Matty and Y/N have known each other from school. After they graduated a few years ago, they sometimes still bumped into each other in town, enjoying a nice chat and updating each other about their busy, somewhat messy adult lives. Though their paths seemed to cross every once in a while, they never really tried to stay in touch.

"Great, actually," he answered. "George and I got a bit bored, so I was wondering if maybe you wanna hang out with us?"

"Hang out with you?"

"Yeah, we'd pick you up."

"Okay, let me get this straight," the girl stated. "You and George got bored..."

"Yep."

"and out of all the things you could do, you chose to ask me if I want to hang out with you?"

"Now what's wrong with that?" Matty asked, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, to call someone you have never called before, asking them to hang out on a casual Thursday.

"Well, I don't kn... Wait! Where did you get my number from?"

"Doesn't really matter, does it?"

"It does matter somehow."

Suddenly, the sound of a car horn made Y/N jump.

"Nah. We're here by the way. You're coming?"

"Matty! It's 9:30; I'm already in my pajamas!" she exclaimed.

Matty laughed. "I don't care what you're wearing."

"And who even gave you my address?"

"Just get your ass out here!" he snickered into the phone. "Now!"

"You're insufferable!"

"Yeah, I know," he shrugged it off with a smirk.

"Give me at least a sec to put some clothes on." Not waiting for an answer, she hung up. Despite her confusion about Matty's suspicious call, she changed into a pair of jeans and a hoodie, quickly grabbing her jacket and keys as she went downstairs to leave the house.

Matty sat on the passenger seat of George's car, his arm casually dangling out of the open window. "Hi, Y/n!" he greeted her with a big smile on his face, causing y/n's bewilderment to grow.

"Hi, Y/n!" George called from the drivers seat.

"Hi...", she hesitantly answered, shyly waving her hand toward his direction.

"Come on, get inside!" Matty said excitedly.

"Matty, I still don't kn..."

"Sshhh!" he cut her off, pressing his index finger on his lips. "It'll be fun. I promise."

Y/n opened the door and placed herself on the backseat, putting on her seatbelt as George started the engine, ready to drive off.

"How are you Y/n?" Matty asked.

"Uhm.. fine, I guess. Bit tired. I have work tomorrow."

"Are you still working as a nurse, Y/n?" George asked.

"Yes, I am. How's your music thing going?"

"Absolutely amazing", Matty answered immediately. "We're currently working on our first album. It's gonna be a fuckin' banger, isn't it George?"

"Oh, definitely!", George added.

"That's cool. I'm so happy for you guys. Can't wait to hear it," Y/n grinned.

"You're gonna be the first to hear it when it's done.", Matty beamed.

George shook his head, trying to hide a chuckle as he glanced over to the overly excited Matty. "What?" Matty reacted.

"Nevermind," George now laughed.

Matty shook his curls out of his face. "Idiot."

"Where are we driving?" Y/n asked as she slowly got more comfortable in the presence of her old classmates.

"I don't know," both Matty and George stated in unison, looking at each other as neither of them had a clue about their destination.

"Maybe we can park the car over there," Matty pointed towards and empty parking space he randomly saw.

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

After George parked the car, Matty quickly left the car to open the door for Y/N.

Their gaze locked for a moment, as she looked up at him from her seat "Uhm.. thank you," she chuckled.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, you're welcome," he waved it off. "Don't mention it."

George rolled his eyes at Matty's silly behaviour. "Ouch!" he squeaked, as Matty stabbed him with his elbow.

"Ah look! A church," Matty stated as the three of them were heading towards one of the city's churches. "Quite stunning, isn't it?"

"It's just a church, mate," George raised an eyebrow at his best friend.

"Shall we sit down on that bench over there? Hope I won't go up in flames. Wouldn't that be fun, huh?" Matty asked.

A slight chuckle left Y/n lips, as she realized that going outside with Matty and George wasn't as bad as she expected. She was actually glad that she picked up that call. A little bit of distraction from her mind and her self-destructive thoughts had been long overdue.

"Do you smoke, Y/n?"

"Nah, it's disgusting."

George threw his head back in heavy laughter before patting Matty's shoulder, who looked at him in his usual clumsy way.

"What is it with you today, George?" Matty asked, shaking his head. "You're acting kinda weird."

"Me? No idea what you're talking about," he kept on laughing.

Y/n was still standing in front on the bench, while only the two boys were sitting.

"Anyway," Matty looked away from George, turning his face toward Y/n. "You know you can actually sit down here beside me." Matty said as his curls were dangling in his eyes again. He pushed them aside with his hand as he continued, "We don't bite, you know?"

"Well, I certainly won't," George still couldn't get over whatever he was laughing about. "But I wouldn't be so sure about Matty."

Matty kicked his foot against George's. "I'm sorry about him. He's usually not like that."

"It's okay, I'd rather keep standing. I just wish I knew what he's laughing about, so I could join in," the blonde girl chuckled.

"No, I think it'd best if he kept it to himself", Matty said with a pointed look at George, his tone firm, implying he should refrain from sharing the source of his amusement. "... wouldn't it, George?"

"Ookayy... this is... weird," Y/n said while observing the two musicians, trying to figure out what was going on.

Matty knew why George was enjoying himself this much, but he didn't want anyone else to know, especially not Y/n. He instantly started to regret that he had told his long kept secret to his best friend earlier that day, since George was on his best way of ruining Matty's well-thought-out plan.

George cleared his throat as he finally pulled himself back together. "Mh, mh...," he hummed. After lighting his own fag he handed the lighter over to Matty so he could light his.

Y/N watched as he blew the smoke out, which slowly meandered all over his face before evaporating into the cold, dark night. As he slowly opened up his eyes, their glances met for a second but she looked down at her feet immediately, to avoid having any more eye contact.

"I kinda miss going to school with you guys," Matty informed them. "Do you miss it too sometimes?"

"Nah, certainly not," George answered, but Matty's eyes were fixed on Y/n.

"Yeah, I do," Y/n chuckled. "Do you know who I miss the most?"

"No, who?" Matty asked, before he quickly added "Ah, no, wait! I know it!"

Y/n raised her eyebrow, waiting for his answer.

"It's me!"

George and Y/n looked at each other before bursting out in laughter.

"Oh damn, Matty. I wish I had an ego as big as yours," Y/n snickered.

"Yeah, well... okay. Who is it then?", Matty shrugged.

"It's Mr. Miller. I kinda miss his bad jokes"

"Haha, yeah, he was such a pervert, though."

"Yeah, I know. That's what made it so funny," she answered.

"I mean, he was only that funny because his jokes were so bad. Ridiculous." George added, slightly chuckling under his breath.

"Wait... doesn't he live over there?" The girl turned around, pointing towards a house across the street from the church.

"Uhm..," Matty thought for a moment before he continued "Yes! He does! He told us about the annoying chimes of the bell tower right in front of his house, didn't he?"

"Yeah, he did. Wow, that's amazing. Come on, let's see if he's home," not even waiting for a response, she started to make her way across the street to Mr. Miller's house.

"Y/n!" Matty whisper-screamed, "Are you insane? It's half 10. He's probably in bed already, shagging his wife or something."

George laughed at Matty's words. "I'm in. This is fun. Come on Matty. Don't be such a wimp." He stood up from the bench they were sitting on, walking over to Y/n.

Matty was still sitting on the bench, his arms crossed in front of his chest like a little kid left behind by his parents.

"Matty!" Y/n turned around to call him once again. "Get your ass up!"

Matty rolled his eyes before he got up, slowly strolling over the street to where is friends stood.

"Who's gonna ring the doorbell?" George asked, looking at Matty, who immediately responded in denial. "Don't look at me like that! I won't do it."

"And you want to call yourself a man? Pathetic." Y/n snapped in annoyance.

Surprised but kind of impressed by her answer, the two boys looked at each other and shrugged.

"I'll do it then," y/n informed them before she rang the doorbell at Mr. Miller's front door.

After waiting for a few seconds with no answer, she decided to ring the bell again.

"I think no one's home.", George said.

"I told you he's under his wife!", Matty stated.

Y/n chuckled as she looked at Matty to respond "Yeah Matty, you might be right. Let's leave then."

"I'm always right. Don't know why no one's ever listening to me," he said as they walked back to their bench across the street.

Now it was only George who sat down again, while Y/n and Matty stood in front of the bench.

"Imagine..," y/n started as she turned around to face Matty "like what if they were really in there..."

"They were!" Matty interrupted her. "Believe me."

They both chuckled in unison at their silly and dirty imagination. As Matty sought eye contact again, she tried to cover up her mouth with her hand, feeling a bit insecure. This time, she didn't look away but locked her gaze with his, looking up at the curly-haired man. Suddenly, something seemed to click in her. The sound of his laughter touched her soul like rays of sunshine, covered in sweet melodies. Like the myelin sheath of axons, allowing them to reach her ears even faster than the speed of light. She didn't yet know that this exact moment would change her life forever. That this exact moment was the start of a series of memories she would never get rid of. She didn't yet know that if a magical creature offered her to relive one day of her life, she would unhesitatingly choose this one.

If she had known all this, she probably would have held onto this moment longer. Maybe her question would have been something like 'Can we stay a bit longer?' or 'Can we make this night last forever?'

But instead, she said "Can we go home now? I'm kinda freezing, and I have to get up very early tomorrow."

"Yeah, sure thing," Matty said. And even though he wanted this rather intimate moment between the two of them to last forever or at least a little bit longer, he slowly loosened his gaze from hers. "George? Come on, off we go."

George stood up, and they slowly walked back to the car, neither of them saying a word. It seemed as if something magical lingered in the air. George had noticed that something had happened between Y/N and his best friend — something that changed the entire atmosphere around them, adorning it with a sweet, metaphorical scent.

🖤[poem 1]🖤

As Matty was about to open the car door, Y/n stopped him. "Look! There's a firefly!"

"Where?" Matty asked, wildly looking around.

"Right there, in your hair," she pointed up to his messy curls. "Wait, don't move." She carefully reached out her finger to his hair, trying to let the little firefly crawl onto it.

"It's so cute, isn't it?" she asked, showing him the insect on her finger.

"It is. I've never actually seen one before. Have you?" he asked while admiring the glowing creature on Y/n's finger.

"No, I haven't."

"Look, there's another one," Matty stated as he pointed his finger in the air next to Y/n's face.

Just a few seconds later, they found themselves surrounded by hundreds of fireflies, their gentle glow illuminating the dark night around them.

George was already sitting in the car as he rolled down the window, curious why his friends were still standing outside of the car. "What's going on out there?" he asked.

Done admiring the fireflies, Y/n and Matty got in the car. "Man, you missed out on something. About a million fireflies were out there!" Matty exaggerated.

"Oh really? I see them all the time in my garden," George answered casually as he started driving.

"You must be kidding!" Matty stated in surprise.

"No, like literally almost every single night!" he laughed and kept on driving towards Y/n's house to drop her off.

🖤[poem 2]🖤

🖤[poem 3]🖤

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

When George stopped the car in front of Y/n's house, she unbuckled her seatbelt, getting ready to leave the car.

"So, uhm... it was nice to hang out with you, guys," Y/n said.

"Yeah..." Matty started before he was cut off by George.

"Yeah, Y/n. I'm pretty sure Matty liked it too," George teased, wriggling his eyebrows.

"Thank you, George," Matty rolled his eyes at him. "But I think I can speak for myself, can't I? I'm a big boy, I suppose." He turned around to face Y/n in the backseat. "So, yeah. I loved it. It was fun. Maybe we can hang out again at the weekend?"

"Yes, I'd love that," she shyly smiled in response.

"Great."

"Okay. Well, goodnight then," she said, opening the door to get out of the car. "See ya, guys!"

"Bye, Y/n!" George waved.

"See ya!" Matty called out of the open window as she was already out of the car, opening her front door, waving goodbye with a smile on her face.

After she disappeared into the house, Matty immediately turned around, confronting George. "You fuckin' idiot!"

"What? What have I done now?" George laughed.

"George, I'm telling you...," Matty warned him. "If you ruin this..."

"I won't ruin anything, mate. I think you need to settle down a bit. Tonight went quite well, didn't it?"

"Yeah... Yeah, I think so," Matty looked outside the window, his tired head resting on his hand, his mind replaying the evening's events like scenes from a movie...

_____________

Let me know what you think xx

#matty healy #matty healy x reader #matty healy x y/n #matty x reader #matty healy fic #matty the 1975 #matty fic #fanfiction #fanfic #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 #matty healy imagine #matty healy smut #the 1975 fic #robbers forever

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 year

Text

Now I’m Covered In You [Chapter 3: Blood Moon]

Series summary: Aemond is a prince of England. You are married to his brother. The Wars of the Roses are about to begin, and you have failed to fulfill your one crucial responsibility: to give the Greens a line of legitimate heirs. Will you survive the demands of your family back in Navarre, the schemes of the Duke of Hightower, the scandals of your dissolute husband, the growing animosity of Daemon Targaryen…and your own realization of a forbidden love?

Series title is a lyric from: Ivy by Taylor Swift.

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+), dubious consent, miscarriage, pregnancy, childbirth, violence, warfare, murder, alcoholism, sexism, infidelity, illness, death, only vaguely historically accurate, lots of horses!

Word count: 6.2k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @borikenlove @myspotofcraziness @ipostwhatifeel @teenagecriminalmastermind @quartzs-posts @tclegane @poohxlove @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @chainsawsangel @itsabby15 @serrhaewin @padfooteyes @arcielee @travelingmypassion @what-is-originality @burningcoffeetimetravel @blackdreamspeaks @anditsmywholeheart @aemcndtargaryen @jvpit3rs @sarcastic-halfling-princess @flowerpotmage @ladylannisterxo @thelittleswanao3 @elsolario @tinykryptonitewerewolf @girlwith-thepearlearring @minttea07 @trifoliumviridi @deltamoon666 @mariahossain

Let me know if you’d like to be added! 💜

“I wish you could join us,” Nico says, almost sulks, snow catching in her hair. She’s riding a gorgeous white mare that the Duke of Hightower purchased for her. He’s in no hurry to gift you a horse. King Viserys—epochs ago, on your wedding day, on the blood-orange July afternoon when you looked into Aegon’s glassy, shadow-ringed eyes and knew exactly what sorts of demons you’d be sharing your life with—once promised you an Andalucian for each child you gave your husband. He hasn’t mentioned it since. It’s slipped his mind, most likely; that’s what happens to the king’s notions that concern the Greens. They stumble around in his skull for a while, find a window, jump from the ledge and free-fall into oblivion.

You smile up at Nico with your feet planted firmly on the ground like fertile roots and a hand resting on your belly. Five months along, over halfway there, farther than you’ve ever been before. The season is winter, but you feel like spring. You feel like blossoms unfurling, like ivy scaling walls of frozen stone. “Next year, with any luck.”

“But what if I’m with child by then?”

“Then you’ll get to return the favor and gallantly wave me off as I gallop into the distance, a vision of Boudicca herself.”

“Didn’t that story end with mass murder and suicide?”

“Nico, not everything needs to be said out loud.”

She laughs, raucous and jarring. Horses’ ears go back; crows take flight from stripped trees. It’s Christmas, and that means it’s also boar hunting season. The feast tonight will require a boar’s head to be served—a tradition that dates back to ancient Norse pagans, to faiths of earth and thunder and sea—and the court has assembled to procure one, the men armed with spears, the women riding along to cheer them on, hounds braying and circling agitatedly, servants sprinting around with jugs of wine. “Alas,” Nico says. “I cannot help it. I am Italian.”

Then she reels her mare around and trots off to join the hunting party. Once not so long ago, you had no true friends here. Now you have at least one. Two, if you count Aemond…although you can’t decide if Aemond is a friend. Sometimes he feels like less, other times much more. He grows close and then is far away again, a tide that’s always a few hours from receding. You watch Nico depart with hardly any heartache. Your relative incapacitation will be finished soon enough, your position vindicated. The clock is ticking.

Daeron compliments you as he canters by on Tessarion, heavy hooves leaving impact craters in the snow: “Princess, that’s a lovely gown.” Lavender, purple, the color of royalty, a declaration of your own worth. That’s not something you can rely upon others giving you. You’re between worlds at the moment: neither fully Navarran nor English, not an outsider nor a future queen.

“Thank you, brother. Good luck!”

Daemon reins up beside you, peering down with glittering dark eyes. When anyone ventures too close to Caraxes—whether horse or human—he snaps at them like a wolf. Surely there is no beast better suited to its master. “I think you’d look better covered in red. Isn’t that the color of your people, Navarre?”

“Prince Daemon,” you purr, one hand still on your belly, your victory in progress. “Enjoy the hunt. I know you get restless when you haven’t murdered anything in a while.”

He should quip back, but he doesn’t. He just grins, his gaze locked on yours; and his grin stretches wider until it sends a bolt down your spine like cold lightning. You have the sudden, dreadful impression that there’s a joke you aren’t in on. “You have no idea.”

Caraxes squeals and jerks back his head as Vhagar shoves between you, massive withers and haunches making space where none existed before. Caraxes nips Vhagar’s shoulder, drawing blood; Vhagar snorts in reply, a low rumble like a storm. Caraxes retreats, ears flattened, but Daemon pitches you one last crooked smirk as he leaves, a threat, an oath.

“Perhaps we should serve Daemon’s head at dinner,” Aemond says.

“He certainly looks like a pig to me.”

“You aren’t too disappointed, I hope. To have to stay behind.”

You smile, petting Vhagar’s silky muzzle. She has a white blaze down the front of her face, white stockings like patches of snow on rich spring soil. “It’s temporary.” What was Aemond like on my wedding day? You try to remember. All you can conjure is a vision of him staring at the floor as you linked your trembling hands with Aegon’s and the priest spoke, as if the match was so ill-fated he could not bear to witness it. It took you a year to learn that he didn’t disapprove of you after all. Something else weighed on him that day, something else dragged down his eyes like an anchor moors a ship.

Aegon passes you both on Sunfyre. “I’ll bring you back something, wife!” he vows, swaying drunkenly in the saddle, his chaotic silver hair shagging in his eyes. Fortunately, Sunfyre seems aware of his rider’s limitations; his steps are lithe and cautious, almost timid. His coat is a river of gold beneath grey skies. When Aegon urges the horse to go faster, Sunfyre ignores him.

You turn back to Aemond and raise an eyebrow. “Make sure he doesn’t break his neck?”

“As always.” And then Aemond is gone too.

The king will not join the hunt. He is getting too old for it—although no one would say that aloud—and Queen Alicent, ever-sacrificial, is staying behind in the palace with him, overseeing preparations for the feast. The other royals vanish into the forest: Daeron and Nico, Aemond and Aegon, Daemon and Baela and Rhaena, Jace and Luke, trailed by the rest of the cast of characters, Blacks and Greens alike. Joanna Montford was replaced by Agnes Stafford, who was replaced by Sibylla Beaufort, who was replaced by Cecily Chaucer. There is no shortage of young women whose fathers are rabid to push them into the bed of the man they call the heir to the throne. A servant brings you a cup of apple cider, and you sip it as snowflakes melt into the fur of your coat.

“It’s not personal,” Rhaenyra says. You whirl to see her and Syrax; they have appeared like ghosts, both pale and ethereal, both fearsome without being malevolent. “Prince Daemon’s taunts, I mean. Any of our antagonism. Distrust that swells into hated.” Her hair is long, loose, strands of ivory in the wind. Her eyes—clear water, cool and stoic—flick down to your belly and then back up to your face. She’s a lot like Aemond, you think, seeing the extent of their resemblance for the first time.

“It feels very personal.”

“I could have liked you in a different life,” Rhaenyra counters, like parrying swords. “You have just enough ruthlessness in you. A river, but not a sea. You thirst for freedom. You wear chains called obligation. But when my father named me heir, he painted a target on my back. Even if I renounced my claim, there would always be men willing to take up arms for me. I would always be a threat to Alicent and her children. Just by breathing, just by having blood hot in my veins. Either I will be queen…or I will forever be at the mercy of the Greens. Would you trust your life to the Duke of Hightower, if you were standing between Aegon and the throne?”

“No,” you admit. You can barely bring yourself to trust the Duke now…and you’re on his side.

“And so we are destined to be mortal enemies.” Rhaenyra shrugs; no great loss, she means. “I only wanted you to know that it would have been just the same if you had been sent to England from Portugal, or Sicily, or Castile, or Bohemia, or Genoa, or Naples, or France, or anywhere else for that matter. It’s not about who you are. It’s about what you’ve married into.”

And then she takes off on Syrax, joining her uncle-husband and her eldest sons in the forest, dissolving into a gnarl of branches like tangled threads. You retreat back inside Westminster Palace to do what you do best: watching, wondering, waiting for the future to decide to arrive.

~~~~~~~~~~

When the hunting party returns hours later, Prince Aegon is empty-handed. He’s also soaked to the skin. Water drips from his face, begins to freeze in his hair. He shivers and gripes as servants throw blankets over his shoulders and usher him away towards his bedchamber to be warmed in a bath cloudy with herbs and steam and rose petals. Cecily Chaucer hurries after them, her lovely brows knitted together with girlish concern. Of all Aegon’s mistresses, you like Cecily the best. She’s insatiable; she keeps him so busy that he rarely totters into your bed to paw at you before being reminded that you have been temporarily exempted from your marital duties.

“He fell into a stream,” Nico informs you, in equal parts disapproving and amused. “Aemond and Daeron fished him out like a trout.”

Your eyes scan the group: shaking snow from their hats and their coats, congratulating each other on obstacles jumped and animals killed, Prince Daemon accepting applause from his fellow Blacks for being the attendee to slaughter the requisite boar. A good omen for their side, surely. Servants carry the gigantic, bloodied carcass off to be prepared by the cooks. But one face is missing from the crowd. “Where’s Aemond?”

“Oh,” Nico recalls as she yanks off her gloves by the fingers. “He has something for you.”

“For me?”

“In the courtyard,” she says. Daeron approaches to collect her, taking her hand and kissing the back of it, his large blue eyes bright and adoring. He’s gentler than his brothers, more content, less complicated. And he’s proud of being a Targaryen. He’s growing out his white-blond hair; it’s already longer than Aegon’s. “I think you’ll find it…” Nico grins mischievously. “Perfectly bearable.”

You trudge out to the courtyard through the mounting snow, cold wind tearing at your hair and clawing pieces of it out from under your hat. Aemond is the only other person there…and he’s elbow-deep in a colossal black-furred monster. There is a pile of entrails on the snow beside him glistening like rubies, garnets, rosalines, wine. Servants ferry away bowls full of offal: a lung here, a rope of intestines there.

“What is that?”

Aemond stands and waves at it cavalierly, drops of blood flinging from his leather gloves. “A bear.”

“What am I supposed to do with a bear?”

“It’ll make a fine rug for your bedchamber. You can place it by the fireplace and lie on it on cold nights. Read your books, do your embroidery.”

“It was bold of you to assume you’d be able to find me a Christmas present on Christmas day. Not much room for error.”

“This isn’t your Christmas present.”

“Then what’s the occasion?”

“Congratulations.” He glances at your belly, rounded out like ripening fruit with his brother’s child. A stain of blood like fever rushes into his cheeks. He blushes very rarely, and only ever around you. No one else seems to know that he’s capable of it. “For being over halfway there. It must bring you great relief.”

“Yes, I suppose the Duke of Hightower won’t get to ship me back to Navarre now. In a crate, like an animal that couldn’t be tamed.”

“What a waste that would be.”

You shrug, stepping closer, though mindful not to squash any bear organs beneath your shoes. “I wouldn’t mind being sent home if there was anything for me to go back to.”

Aemond stares at you, alarmed. “You haven’t grown attached to anything here? In nearly a year and a half?”

“Well…there are a few things,” you say, smiling at him. Aemond smiles back. His long silvery hair is secured in a single thick braid, his gaze curious. You try not to imagine what is under his eyepatch; that strikes you as something he wouldn’t want you to think about.

“Vhagar,” Aemond teases.

You laugh. “Yes, mostly Vhagar.” You look up at the grey sky, thick with clouds like steel. “But I miss my family. I miss the heat, the mountains, castles and cathedrals the color of golden sand. I miss riding horses and sparring with my brothers. I miss being understood, being loved. In Navarre I was alive. But in England…ever since I arrived here…it’s like I’m locked up waiting for someone to let me out. But the prison is my own flesh.”

Aemond studies you. “It’s not for much longer,” he says at last, soft and solemn. “And I would change it if I could.”

“In any case, I really can’t go back, I think. It wouldn’t be like it was before. My siblings are marrying and spreading out across Europe. My parents are getting older. And if my husband discarded me for being incapable of producing children, no one else would ever want me. I’d never have my own household. I’d be doomed to be a spinster, forever dependent upon the charity of my parents or my siblings. Either that or in a nunnery. Although, truthfully, Navarre has some beautiful nunneries.”

“You’d make a terrible nun.”

“Because I’m too vicious or too lustful?”

“Vicious, without a doubt. Lustful…I don’t feel qualified to speak on.”

“Depends on who’s in front of me, I suppose.”

You contemplate each other across the gutted bear carcass, snowflakes filling up the space between you instead of words. Again, Aemond’s cheeks flood red. When he wrings his hands together, you notice that they’re shaking. His hair is sopping; beads of melted snow pool along the edge of his jaw, slither down his throat. He could catch his death out here.

You go to him, pull off a glove, and press your bare palm against his forehead and then his cheek: the scarred one, the ruined one. “You’re burning up, Aemond,” you say, worried. “Are you alright—?”

“Fine.” He shies away from your touch. But then, without thinking, he moves to tuck an escaped lock of hair back underneath your hat. As his thumb grazes your face, you feel the warm stripe of bear blood that he inadvertently marks you with. “Goddamn, I’m so sorry—”

“No, that’s perfect.” You smile up at him. “You know I secretly favor red.”

“Princess?” Nico calls from the doorway, and you cross the courtyard to meet her. “You’re still out here? You’re missing a riveting game of Tric-Trac—” She cuts off, her eyes going wide as they skate across your cheeks. “Sweet Jesus, how’d you get blood all over your face?”

You glimpse back at Aemond as you answer. “Carelessness.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re weaving ribbons the color of evergreens into Nico’s hair when he comes into your bedchamber, carrying a long thin box made of pink ivory wood.

“Oh, marvelous!” Nico trills, clapping her hands. “What’s inside?”

“Poems, I hope,” you say.

“I hate to disappoint you,” Aemond replies placidly. Half of his hair is pulled back from his face, the rest flowing freely. He’s wearing a dark, rich, jade-like color, just like Nico is, just like the Duke of Hightower and Alicent and Daeron will be. Someone has probably even stuffed Aegon into something green. You are the lone nonconformist in a deep purple like the skin of a plum. In truth, you can’t win. People will gossip no matter what you wear. Red makes them think of what Daemon calls you, of the wasted blood you’ve spilled. Green makes them speak of how you’ve yet to serve their faction properly. Black is out of the question. At least when they see you in purple, your name gets to live in the same sentence as the word royalty.

“Well?” Nico prompts eagerly. “Open it!”

You look at her, apologetic. So does Aemond.

“Oh,” she realizes, then sighs theatrically. “Alright. I understand. I’ll deport myself now. Ciao.”

Only when she’s closed the door behind her does Aemond open the box. The lining inside is crimson velvet. It cradles a sword. You gasp and lift the weapon out of the box by its hilt, then pull off the scabbard. It is lightweight, silvery, perfect. You can see your own reflection in the polished steel. There are shallow engravings down the length of the blade: mountain ranges, twisted oak trees, bridges and cathedrals, the flag of Navarre. You can only see them when you tilt the sword to catch the rage-orange glow from the fireplace.

“I had it custom made for you,” Aemond says, abruptly nervous. “So it wouldn’t be too heavy or too long. The hilt should fit your grasp precisely. I took one of your gloves for measurements.”

“A thief.” You marvel at the sword, twirling it a few times. The blade cuts through the air, soundless, seamless. “Aemond, this is…this is so far beyond what I deserve. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“It’s part pleasure, part necessity. You might actually need to protect yourself one day.”

“It’s a shame I’ll only be able to bully you with it under the surreptitious cover of darkness.”

“Just until Aegon is king. He wouldn’t care, I don’t think. He wouldn’t forbid you from training.” He gestures to the blade. “And the engravings are—”

“All things from home.” You beam at him. “From Navarre.”

“That’s what the common people call you, you know. The Princess from Navarre.”

You glide the sword back into its scabbard and return it to the box. “They must hate me. For failing to secure the succession.”

“I wouldn’t assume that.”

You take the pink ivory wood box from Aemond’s hands and place it in the chest at the foot of your bed, your preferred spot for squirreling away valuables. And then you lift out Aemond’s present: a vast tapestry that he helps you unfold to reveal the design of.

“It’s incredible!” he exclaims. “It must have taken you ages!”

“Well, all I’m allowed to do currently is needlework, so I’ve done a lot of needlework. I made one for Aegon too, although I’m not sure what his hobbies are besides drinking and fucking Cecily Chaucer. So his tapestry is mostly landscapes.” You point to various scenes on Aemond’s. “There’s King Arthur and Guinevere…and Sir Lancelot, arriving to ruin them. There’s Beowulf battling Grendel’s mother. There’s Robin Hood…there’s the Rollright Stones and Stonehenge…and in the middle is Saint George slaying a dragon. I made the dragon black, with little white whiskers if you look very closely. And I’ve named him Daemon.”

“They’re from the stories I told you,” Aemond says quietly, examining the tapestry. “On that afternoon back in July. When we took Vhagar out together for the first time.”

“It must have been memorable.” You smile. “And then the border is ivy and roses, mostly green, of course…except for one little red rose I added down here in the bottom corner. And that’s—”

“That’s you,” Aemond says. “Red like Navarre.”

“Yes.” Your voice is suddenly wistful, a little sad. “You’ve made me like the sound of that word again.”

“What? Navarre?”

You nod. “Hushed, gentle…” Reverent? Awed? Protected? Cherished? “Like a prayer. Like a poem.”

You help Aemond refold the tapestry, avoiding his eye. The only sounds are the crackling of the fireplace and the muffled echo of violins and lutes through the palace halls. Outside the window hovers a blood moon, a ruby in onyx, a drop of fury in an ocean of void. He takes his Christmas gift back to his own bedchamber, and then he returns to escort you to the feast.

“Oh, darling,” Alicent says when you sit down beside her at the high table. There are sprigs of holly in her hair, but her dark eyes are glazed and melancholy. They often are. Sir Criston Cole—a knight whose family are vassals of the Duke of Hightower—is her shadow, peering watchfully around the Great Hall. “Be sure to eat plenty of boar…and bread…very good for the baby. But no fish! And not too many vegetables. Here, let me get you some of your apple cider…” Alicent waves to a servant, and they promptly fetch you a full cup.

King Viserys gives you a distracted nod but no other acknowledgement. He is deep in conversation with Jace; Luke is gawping, mildly disturbed, at the severed boar’s head that adorns the table, cherries shoved into the sockets where its eyes were this morning. Rhaena offers you a kind, demure smile. Baela glares at you as she sips her wine. She’s the most war-worthy of any of the Black children; you imagine that Daemon will have a sword and armor waiting for her when the bloodbath begins. Surely she’d inflict more damage than either of Rhaenyra’s docile, dark-haired sons, like skittish lapdogs always looking around for someone to tell them where it’s alright to sit. Baela’s Arabian, Moondancer, is small but remarkably swift and agile. She’s the best jumper of any of the royal horses.

Far from the table, in the midst of dancing nobles, Daemon and Rhaenyra are enmeshed in whispers and caresses: he tilts up her chin, she grasps the small of his back. You feel a yearning, a hollowness beneath where your ribs circle your heart and lungs like a halo. Without thinking, you glance to Aemond. He’s been looking at you too; he pretends he wasn’t and begins sawing through a slab of boar meat with a serrated knife. Daeron is asking him about sparring techniques. The Duke of Hightower is parading Aegon around the hall to pay his respects to the nobility of Southern England, men who will kill and be killed for him one day before too long. Aegon is bleary-eyed and bungling, tripping over his own feet; the Duke is practically dragging him around from his scruff like a kitten.

“Sweetheart, will you dance with me?” Queen Alicent asks Nico, who immediately leaps up from her chair.

“Of course, Your Majesty! It would be my pleasure. It’s a shame that the king cannot join us. It must be difficult having a husband so much older than you are. Nearly your father’s age!”

Everyone at the table stops what they’re doing and gapes at her.

“Oh,” Nico begins haltingly, mortified. “Oh dear. I should not have said that. I cannot express the depths of my remorse.”

King Viserys booms out a laugh, and then Nico is smiling again. “Go on,” he tells her. “Enjoy the festivities. Keep the queen entertained when I cannot.”

As Nico and Queen Alicent descend to join the dance, you remain where you are, where you always are: on the outskirts, inside the glass bowl. But not for much longer, you think gratefully, running your palm over the swell of your belly. You eat as much as you can, but you don’t have much of an appetite. Your hips and ankles ache, your body forever adjusting to a never-before-known burden; there is torsion like a sailor’s knot in your lower spine. When the discomfort refuses to abate, you excuse yourself from the table and make slow, meandering laps around the fringes of the Great Hall, draining cup after cup of apple cider as servants bring them to you. The Duke of Hightower casts you a stern warning of a frown before he resumes wrangling Aegon. Aemond, still at the high table talking to Daeron, follows you with one intent blue eye.

“You can’t honestly believe he’d make a good king,” Daemon says, materializing out of the crowd like a bat at twilight. Enormous Scottish deerhounds—Christmas gifts from King Corlys and Queen Rhaenys beyond England’s northern border—trail after him, growling at you. Daemon flicks his strange, deep-set eyes towards Aegon. “He’s a drunk. He’s an embarrassment. He has no athletic prowess whatsoever. I’m sure you can confirm that from firsthand experience.”

“I can confirm that he hasn’t murdered his first wife yet, surely an attribute by anyone’s calculation.” You watch the Duke tow Aegon from one exchange to another, and for the first time, you wonder what sort of man Aegon would have been without the weight of the throne on his back.

“But of course, it wouldn’t actually be Aegon ruling if the Greens won. It would be Otto…and Alicent…and Aemond.”

Daemon puts great emphasis on this last name. You turn to him, startled.

“Oh, forgive me, have I said something that gets under your skin? Or…rather…into it?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Daemon grins, baring his teeth like fangs. “Of course you don’t,” he says. “Tell me, would you happen to know who Otto is planning on marrying him to? I’ve heard rumblings.”

“Someone with parents who have ample soldiers and equipment with which to mutilate you, surely.”

“Helene of Austria.”

“Helene?” The breath evaporates from your lungs, vanishes like brief winter daylight. “The daughter of the Holy Roman Emperor?” It’s an immensely powerful match. It’s a match so ambitious it has rarely even been suggested. You summon triumph to your voice, an arrogant glint to your eyes. “This is very bad news for you.”

“And for you too, I think.”

He knows, you think, terror-stricken, aware you aren’t doing enough to hide it. That I desire my husband’s brother. That I want Aemond. That maybe I even love him. You try to fling some flippant retort at Daemon; you cannot find one, it’s like scratching your fingertips along the bottom of an empty box. Victorious, he swigs his wine and begins to saunter away, panting Scottish deerhounds on his heels. And then you call after him: “It didn’t get you far, did it?”

Daemon halts mid-step and slowly—very slowly—turns back to you. “What?”

“All that Targaryen blood. All that bone-white hair and ferocity, charisma and swordsmanship. King Viserys still chose to reject you as his heir. He still doesn’t trust you to advise him. He still denied you his daughter’s hand in marriage, and you were spineless enough to let him. You left her alone to suffer first. With a husband who couldn’t satisfy her, with a lover who could only give her bastards. And now you expect the world to forget who you’ve always been: reckless, savage, deeply selfish. All those things you stalk around here so proud of are worthless, because you’ll never have what you really want. You’ll never have the throne. And neither will Rhaenyra. You are the same as I am, Daemon. I am an asset and yet a curse to Aegon; you helped win the North for Rhaenyra, but the South will never yield to you. They will fight you with everything they have, every man and horse and blade. But there is one difference between us. When I bear Aegon a son, my curse will be lifted. You will never stop endangering Rhaenyra, her cause, her inheritance, her children, her life. And if she burns, it will be at least half because of you.”

You’ve never seen him truly angry before, you realize now; you’ve never seen him without the undeniable upper hand. His grip rests on the hilt of his sword. “I should—”

“Go on,” you dare him in a fierce whisper, your fingers closing around his wrist. “Slay Aegon’s wife and child in front of all the court. It’s the kindest thing you could do for the Greens. Make yourself more enemies, win us more friends. Everyone suspects that you are a beast already. Prove them right.”

Daemon rips his hand out of yours. “Happy Christmas, Navarre,” he hisses. “If fate is just, it will be your last.” And then he storms away from you, Rhaenyra meeting him at the other end of the hall and speaking with him there—conspiring? inquiring? scolding?—in urgent whispers.

Nico pushes through the throngs of dancing nobles to reach you. “Are you alright?” she asks, a palm laid on your shoulder.

“Fine.” Helene, you think, rubbing the aching curve of your back with one hand, sipping apple cider with the other. They’re both trembling. Beautiful, wealthy, coveted Helene.

“Are you sure? You don’t look good. What did that bleached weasel have to say…?”

But you can’t hear her, because the pain in your spine is now reaching like poison through veins to spread across your belly, to tighten, to clamp down, to gnash with steel teeth like needles, like knives. Your cup tumbles out of your gasp, spilling apple cider across the floor. You yelp in pure shock at how unexpectedly the pain comes. And then you begin to understand what it means. “No,” you plead in a whisper. You stagger backwards until you hit the wall. “No, no, no…”

“What?” Nico asks frantically. People are beginning to notice; heads spin in your direction. Tears are springing from your eyes. Blood is snaking down your legs, slick and hot on the velveteen inside of your thighs. Soon they’ll all be able to see it: your agony, your ruin. The Greens, the Blacks. The Duke of Hightower, Prince Daemon.

Nico doesn’t understand. You don’t know how to tell her. I’ve killed another child. I’ve failed again. You can feel Aegon crawling back into your bed. You can see letters from your mother—so proud at last, so full of praise—shredding themselves into dust. And then it flashes like cannon fire in your mind, not just the loss of an heir but the loss of a life: a name that will never be given, a voice that will never be heard, steps that will never leave imprints in sand or soil or snow.

I have to get out of here. How am I going to—?

An arm circles around your waist, strong, shielding, taking as much of your weight as it can. “Walk with me,” Aemond says. And then he half-carries you through the nearest door and down a passageway, Nico struggling to keep up, chatter exploding at the feast you left behind.

As soon as you cross the threshold into your bedchamber, as soon as you are out of sight of ill-intentioned observers, you collapse to the floor. Your palms and knees bruise against wood; a wail tears from your throat. “Not again,” you sob. “Aemond, I can’t do this again, I can’t—”

Nico says: “Are you sure it’s a…?”

Aemond is kneeling on the floor beside you. He’s helping you pull back the hem of your gown. You see it on his face before you see it on your own skin: there’s blood, a lot of blood, too much for it to be anything but lethal to the child. It’s all over his hands and his clothes; it’s all over the floorboards.

“Oh God,” Nico moans, covering her mouth with both hands. “Oh…oh my God…”

“Get the physicians,” Aemond tells her. “Speak to no one else. Go now. Go!”

Nico rushes out of the room. You can’t stop sobbing. The pain is excruciating, not waves but one continuous, saw-toothed twisting, a feeling like being gutted, like you’re a slaughtered bear and someone has their fingers raking around inside your womb.

Aemond is trying to pull you to your feet. “Come on, I’ll help you get into bed—”

“Aemond, I can’t.”

“Yes you can—”

“I can’t!” you cry out, weeping helplessly. Then he stops trying to lift you and instead sinks down to join you on the floor. You clutch wildly at him—at his forearms and his shoulders and his long silvery hair—and he doesn’t flinch away. He draws you into him, his hands staining you with blood everywhere they land. You don’t care; you don’t want him to stop. You bury yourself in the warmth of his chest, his arms around you like the border of the moon, like a ring.

“Shh,” he soothes through your hair. “Shh, shh. I’m here. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Please don’t leave me. Please stay.”

“I’ll stay,” Aemond says, his voice hoarse. “Of course I’ll stay.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Scenes like fragments of a dream, things that later you aren’t sure were real:

The physicians and midwives delivering your dead child, Aemond tilting a cup of strong wine against your lips. Your ladies washing blood off you with dripping rags as Aemond stands with the physicians in the doorway. They think you’re asleep, but you’re not; you’re not awake either. You’re halfway here and halfway not. Parts of the room are foggy, others are as clear as glass, as still water. A physician is telling Aemond that the child was a boy, perfect in every way except the one that matters most. He doesn’t breathe and never will. Too early, too small, beautiful and doomed.

“Don’t tell her that,” Aemond is saying. “Don’t tell her anything unless she asks.”

Now it’s later—two minutes, two hours, it doesn’t matter—and he’s dragging someone into your bedchamber. They’re fighting him, they’re trying to cling to the doorframe so he can’t force them inside.

“Get in there,” Aemond growls.

Aegon replies: “I don’t know what to say to her, what the hell do I say—?”

Your husband is at your bedside, undoubtedly miserable but not in a way that makes you feel like he sees you. There is the scent of wine and sweat drenched with perfume, lemon and lavender. “I’m sorry,” you murmur like a faint wind.

“It was not your fault, wife.” Aegon’s eyes are bloodshot, his shoulders hanging low and limp. “It is a great tragedy, but it was not your fault.” And then he glances at Aemond to make sure he’s done the right thing.

Now your husband is gone, and Aemond is holding a cool cloth to your forehead. He speaks in little more than a whisper. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Just send me back to Navarre,” you say weakly. “I can’t do this. Talk to the Duke. He’ll get the marriage annulled. I know he will. He can find another wife for Aegon, another alliance. He’ll be glad to be rid of me.”

“You aren’t going anywhere.”

“I’m ruined. I’m worthless. Just send me home.”

“You are home,” Aemond insists.

You watch the firelight as it flickers over him, smooth skin, brutal scar. “What happens next?”

“You’ll try again.”

“There’s no point, Aemond.”

“Look at me,” he commands, cradling your face with his hands. “You’ll try again. And again, if you have to. But you will have children. I know you will.”

His voice is breaking. His eye is glistening, tortured. This is how the father should be. This is how Aegon should be. “Aemond, why are you so hurt by this?”

“Because you are suffering,” he says. “And because they’re pieces of you.”

You lose sight of him, float for a while, return again thinking of Aegon and the Duke of Hightower and Daemon and Rhaenyra. “No one here really knows me. No one loves me.”

Aemond is standing beside your bed. “Nico loves you.”

You gaze listlessly up at him and say nothing.

“Aegon loves you, I believe,” Aemond continues, but he won’t meet your eyes. “In his own way.”

Still, you look at him. Still, Aemond doesn’t look back.

Say it, you think, desperate, aching, tears biting in your eyes. Say that you love me too. Even if it’s just as a sister, an ally, a friend. Please, Aemond, just fucking say it.

He doesn’t say it. Maybe he leaves, maybe you are submerged in unconsciousness, maybe both. The memory dissolves around the edges until it is a pool of star-flecked obsidian like the night sky.

But this next part you know with certainty was real, because it is something you can touch, like a millennium-old relic from Egypt or Athens or Babylon. You wake in the morning to find three items on your nightstand: a cup of apple cider, a cup of strong bitter wine for the pain, and a single piece of parchment folded and tied with a red ribbon. You blink confoundedly at it for a while as muted winter sunlight seeps in through the windows, not being able to make sense of it. And then you open the parchment. Aemond has written at the top of the page in his hectic, uneven letters: Ivy. You read his words and all the anguish that went into them—smudges from his own fingerprints, wayward drips of black ink—like falling down the rungs of a ladder.

Scream into me, I’ll be the jar for your fury; I’m starving

for anything that tastes like you. I’ve been counting the lines

on your knuckles, the boards of the floor, wondering if you’ve

figured out that I’d wear fractures and bruises like amethysts

if it means you’d touch me. For seventeen months you’ve been

the ivy on my walls, vines like the needle-width legs of a spider

carving out my past, every last notch and shadow—splitting ribs,

scraping marrow—until there’s no part of me left that can remember

a time other than this, your voice and your wit and the scraps of you

I’ve stitched into me. Ask me what I burn for and I’ll whisper like

the dawn: you growing over my skin until I’m covered, tendrils

twisting down to the bone, everything I was before

ash and myth beneath your hands.

#aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you

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