we talk a lot about a version of buddie who are so married, right? how they’re basically husbands and once they get together, it’ll be a race to buy the ring and pop the question first. but what about a version of eddie who is terrified of that? an eddie who loves buck, more than anything in the world, but who has married his best friend once before. he knows how this goes and it doesn’t end well.
sure, they’ve lived together before. they’ve worked together for years. they know each other sometimes better than they know themselves, but they’ve only been dating a month—maybe two. buck doesn’t want to waste any more time, he wants to make it official. they’re best friends and they’re in love and buck wants that last name already. but eddie has been in love with his best friend before and it ruined them. there were extenuating circumstances back then, pressure from a teen pregnancy and a deeply catholic community, but who’s to say that marrying eddie—tying their lives together in the face of God and the law—won’t push buck away?
he knows it won’t. realistically, eddie doesn’t think there’s anything he can do that would push buck away. they’ve been through too much, already taken so long to get here, but that what if still hangs over eddie’s head. he just doesn’t want to rush. doesn’t want them to get ahead of themselves, even though he’s so sure of buck, the two of them together. he wants to enjoy the dating part. wants to take it slow and bask in the now before they commit to the forever.
so when buck asks, eddie doesn’t say no, exactly, but he still panics. throat still closes up, heart racing, and he can’t look at buck as he tells him not yet. he is so, so scared that buck will hear it as a no anyway, because he knows buck’s past and he knows buck’s fears and eddie doesn’t want to lose him. losing buck would kill eddie, now that he has him. and that’s what he’s trying to prevent! so he says not yet, as delicately as he can and he waits to see if he’s just ruined the best thing that’s ever happened to him. then buck kisses him, tells him the ring isn’t going anywhere and neither is he. that buck can wait as long as eddie needs because he knows—they both know—in the end, it’s them.
Summary: Kaidan Alenko was always the one who knew Taylor Shepard even better than herself sometimes. Or, I imagine the angst that rebuilding is, and the conversations at Huerta weren't the insta-fix. Post-Priority: Citadel II, pre-whatever happens at Apollo's Cafe.
Word Count: 2.2k
Pairings: Fem!Shep x Kaidan Alenko but it's complicated
Rating: PG-13, swearing is a notorious fixture in my pieces
Warnings: None
***
Corridors of steel. The one thing Kaidan appreciated and missed about the Normandy was its subtle quietness. A low thrum from the drive core, enough to combat the tinnitus but not loud enough to stir a migraine. It's turian technology, though a crude part of Kaidan remembers this exact replica was smithed at the pocketbooks of Cerberus.
He tries to pretend. A ship is a ship, and the Alliance had reclaimed its Normandy, after all. Maybe it's the ghosts of those they lost – the crew above Alchera. Ash on Virmire. He fears that if he rounds a corner too groggily, he'll bump into a long-past comrade.
There’s a bigger ghost that lingers – something, though, that exists with a living form. Taylor Shepard is as much of a ghost as the rest, dead but brought back to life. Kaidan still wrestles with that notion. Should he be thankful for the seeming second chance with a woman he once loved? Should he be angry at the real grief he suffered two years ago when the original Normandy had been cleaved in half, spitting Taylor into the frigid vacuum of space and killing her?
It keeps him up at night – she is, as far as he’s concerned, the real deal. Taylor Alya Shepard in the flesh. Does he still love her? Does she still love him? She’d said on Mars something about how her death, her reconstruction by Cerberus, and everything in between didn’t change how she felt about him. Did she mean that?
In the morning, the dread remains animated. Because then he has to see that ghost pace the halls of the Normandy, giving out orders and coordinating efforts with officials across the galaxy.
Today, the halls seem quiet. Contained. As if the ship is holding its own breath.
Kaidan spots her before she is even aware of his presence.
Taylor Shepard stands down the corridor a few lengths from the crew quarters. One shoulder braces against the wall, head tilted forward as she studies the omni-tool along her opposite arm. She murmurs something before dropping the limb, a heavy sigh leaving her lips.
She looks composed at best. Limbs still loose at her sides. Breath steady. Yet Kaidan knows better; the tension painting creases along the shoulders of her uniform.
He slows his approach, not announcing himself right away. Watching and waiting, as Kaidan Alenko always does – something he’d learned long ago was essential around the commander. Measure the situation, just like one does on a battlefield. Not because handling Taylor Shepard was like an explosion, but because there were two halves of the woman at any given time.
“Commander,” he greets casually.
Taylor’s head snaps sharply. Controlled, always in control.
“Major,” she returns. Simple, nonchalant. Almost to an extreme that Kaidan doesn’t exactly like.
He stops in front of her, hands liberal along his sides. Not crowding her, but close enough in range. From this distance, he can see the graying of exhaustion under her eyes. Something even ice-cold showers in the morning and a high water intake can’t fully combat. She’s tired. Why wouldn’t she be tired?
There’s a beat. Taylor blinking up expectantly at the major.
“You getting any sleep?” Kaidan muses.
That earns him an eye roll and an indignant huff from the commander. He can’t tell if the question is mildly amusing to her or fringes on the territory of irritating. “Is that your professional diagnosis, Alenko?” She challenges.
“It’s a question.”
“I sleep,” she counters.
Kaidan’s eyebrows twitch. “You also avoid answering simple questions with non-answers,” he replies evenly. Unafraid to tell Taylor that he knows her all too well. Even after these years.
That solicits a look – sharp, defensive – but it fades just as fast to something more worn and professional. Taylor’s taken a menagerie of insults from humans and aliens alike; she doesn’t let simple offenses rile her up easily.
“I’ve got a lot on my plate,” she reasons, shrugging her shoulders lazily. She feigns an amount of unconcern. As if she could convince even herself into indifference about the impending doom of the galaxy and the enormous task that rests upon her shoulders. But Kaidan isn’t persuaded by such a frail case – and neither is she. Her lips purse, shifting into a frown. “Kinda comes with the job, no?”
He nods. “Yeah,” he agrees quietly. “It does.”
He doesn’t prod right away. That was always the thing about Kaidan – he could, but he doesn’t. Instead, he lets the silence stretch a little longer than normal, enough to be noticeable without becoming too suffocating. It does exactly as intended – Taylor shifts her boots. Crosses her arms. Something flickers across her face. Insolence.
“I’m fine, Kaidan,” she insists.
There’s the line.
Kaidan tilts his head slightly, unashamedly studying her now. Not in a clinical way, like Doctor Chakwas, not dissecting like Admiral Anderson tended to. But seeing her, observing her. The tension in her jaw. The way her fingers flex like she’s trying to stop them from curling into fists. How her breathing seems a bit ragged when placed on the spot, like she’s combating something trying to claw its way out.
“You don’t have to be,” he mentions.
Dark eyes snap to meet his gaze. For a second, something flashes there. Anger, maybe. Or panic. Kaidan isn’t entirely sure, but he’s aware of the minefield he’s stepped into. Maneuvering too close to something Taylor has kept locked down.
He isn’t afraid. But she is – exactly why Kaidan Alenko steps directly into her plight.
Taylor musters a breath, filling her lungs like it's some brave act. Her arms flex as she lifts her chest. “I’m handling it,” she states, voice flat.
“Handling it,” he points out, “isn’t the same as okay.”
“Since when did you become my therapist?” Taylor growls something primitive and angry. There’s a bitterness seeping into her tone – defensive, pushing him back verbally.
Kaidan stomachs the insult without flinching. He knows the malice she spits isn’t personal. In any other setting, Taylor would compose herself and take the critique with the stoicism of a trained soldier. Calm demeanor and unshakable resolution. But this isn’t any other setting, and, in some crude way, Kaidan can appreciate the realness that bleeds through Taylor’s facade.
“Since crew members are noticing you hardly sleep more than a few hours in a day,” he remarks calmly. Coolly. It’s a long list of things Kaidan Alenko has observed, even in a handful of days aboard the Normandy. “Since you started taking long routes through the ship to avoid people…since you’ve been holding your breath every time someone says the word ‘Reaper’ like it’s going to bite you.”
It drops like a bomb.
Taylor’s shoulders go rigid.
“Drop it, Kaidan.”
“No, Shepard.” He stands his ground. Not harsh – just firm. Solid. Like Kaidan Alenko had always been for Taylor Shepard.
Eyes flash. A warning. “I’m not one of your biotic students you can just analyze and fix,” she cautions.
“I know,” he insists. Unbothered by her ire. “You’re a soldier who thinks she has to carry everything alone.”
“That’s my job.”
“No,” Kaidan counters, quieter. “That’s what you tell yourself so you don’t have to let anyone in.”
A clean strike, directly into the crux of her emotions.
Taylor stares back at Kaidan, dumbfounded at first. The shock quickly dilutes into something more savage. It looks like she might snap back or throw something sharper, meant to cut. But instead, her breath hitches. Small and barely there, but Kaidan catches it.
Everything in him shifts.
“Don’t,” she refutes him, but the word comes out thinner than expected. Frayed along the edges and feeble in the core.
“I’m right here. That’s it.”
Her eyes cascade to the floor, trying to make sense of the paneling rather than confronting the tumult of emotions waging war between her ribs. Her fingers furl into fists this time. Perhaps she could rely on the brute strength of her muscles and tendons to wrestle back the chemical saturation of emotion.
Another silence stretches between them. Less of a formality, more fragility.
“I’m fine,” she swallows. The words fail to carry any weight behind them. Less bold. Less commanding. More human, something Taylor struggles to accede to.
Kaidan takes a measured step closer to her orbit. He gives her the berth to pull away – she didn’t.
“You don’t have to be,” he repeats.
She finally unravels. Something breaks deep within her; the shattering manifests as an uneven hitch in her breath. A hand flies up in an attempt to mask it, halt it in its tracks, and shovel it back down to where it belonged – unseen, unearthed. But it doesn’t work, and Taylor knows the gesture is futile as is.
Quickly, then, she bats at her eyes. Admittedly, Kaidan doesn’t catch whatever she’s trying to stop, but he knows the direness of tears for Taylor. The mere notion would make her crumble.
She curses under her breath. Ducking, Taylor attempts to hide her undoing. “Damn it,” she gasps.
He closes the distance without another word.
“Hey,” he whispers. Calm, gentle. Like he’s trying to coax a wild animal – in many ways, an overly-emotional Taylor Shepard isn’t much different. Just as likely to bite or claw in dire straits.
He doesn’t grab her. Doesn’t trap her. Kaidan simply reaches out, settling a firm hand along the back of her neck. Grounding, steady. Gentle. Just like he always is.
Taylor folds – but not in a dramatic way. No collapsing to her knees. No sobbing breakdown. Kaidan doesn’t know which is worse – to be allowed to break at such a magnificent volume, or to feel cornered into a quiet, devastating collapse.
Her forehead drops against the fabric of his shoulders, fingers finding purchase along the front of his uniform like she needs something solid to ground to. There are no further tears; Taylor’s pride has managed to dam that disaster from spreading. But her frame shakes, trembling as her fears and failures finally concentrate in her bloodstream.
Kaidan gently wraps his arms around her without hesitation. Secure, like he is built for this. One hand splayed across the arch in her lower back, while the other remains anchored along her neck. He tucks his chin along the top of her head.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs.
Taylor shakes her head against him, breath hitching. “I’m supposed to…I need to –”
“I know.”
“And I can’t just –”
“I know, Taylor.”
His voice remains low. Hearing her own name in her eardrums, Taylor clutches Kaidan tighter.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she utters, the admission breaking apart as they flow from her lips. “I mean, I don’t – how do I – am I making the right calls? Who do I fucking trust, I don’t –”
Her voice cracks completely. It’s a heartbreaking sound, enough to make Kaidan’s chest constrict as he can only pay witness to the absolute undoing of Taylor Shepard. But he holds her closer, because that’s all he can offer.
“Hey, hey,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to have it all figured out right now. You’re allowed to feel it, Taylor – all of it.”
She releases a shaky, frustrated breath from her lungs. There’s an amount of fire that returns to her body, hating every second of this. Hating the vulnerability. Hating that, of all people, it is occurring in front of Kaidan. But she doesn’t pull away.
“You came back to the Normandy,” she begins quietly, almost accusingly. “And everything’s just different.”
That sinks under Kaidan’s skin.
“I know.” His voice is the softest it's been, a ghost of a whisper.
“And I don’t –” Taylor swallows hard. Her fingernails dig into his uniform. “I don’t know where we stand.”
That one lingers between them.
Kaidan can’t debate that the exchanges and hopes they’d shared back in Huerta had truly meant something concrete. It’d certainly smoothed over several ruffles in their relationship, but it left Kaidan tentatively waiting for Taylor to breach the subject further. The standoff on the Citadel, however amicable, had only furthered the deficit between the two.
His grip tightens – not possessive, not forceful. Plainly there.
“We’re here,” he decides. He tilts his head, resting his cheek against her hair. His posture shifts – less of a fortification against her emotions, and now more of an intimate cradle. “Right now.”
It isn’t a grand answer. But it’s something real.
Her breathing eventually starts to steady, until it's a quiet rhythm that is drowned out by the hum of the Normandy's drive core. Even then, her grip on him doesn’t relent, still fixated on the sturdiness his frame offers.
Kaidan doesn’t rush her. Doesn’t push her away once the worst of it passes.
Rook disappears the moment everyone returns from rescuing the Dalish in Arlathan. Lucanis checks in, and realizes several things very quickly:
1. There is a great deal more wrong with Rook than he'd realized;
2. He is completely, overwhelmingly not equipped to handle this; and
3. He has to handle it regardless - it's Rook. There is simply no other option.
(or, Rook's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day)
read it on ao3!
hey gang! it's been a while. i haven't written anything substantial in YEARS at this point, but despite any complaints i may have about veilguard, it launched me back into writing sad dragon age fics at terminal velocity. i have way too many thoughts and feelings about my rook, and even more about the dynamic with my rook and lucanis.
this is set after committing to the relationship, immediately after the return from the blood of arlathan quest. the relationship is established, but is still very new, and prior to this they've mostly still danced around each other.
my rook is named and described, and has their backstory fleshed out - sorry to those looking for generic!Rook fics, but this isn't the one for you! also, their backstory parallels that of my tabris warden with everything that entails, but the type of violence is left unspecified, so be wary if that's a hard line for you.
other warnings include: symptoms of mental illness, PTSD, and hallucinations.
The aftermath of rescuing the Dalish from the Venatori went like this.
The team returned, battered, bruised, but alive. The Dalish were brought along until the Veil Jumpers could find them a safer place to stay. Everyone was exhausted and still feeling the fear of running out of time, but the mood was otherwise high - they had won. They had saved people this time. Not even Elgar’nan’s monstrous archdemon could take that away.
Everyone took their time drifting back off to their own spaces to clean up; there was an air of subdued celebration around the Lighthouse, long overdue.
Everyone, that is, except for Rook.
Nearly the moment they stepped through the eluvian, Rook vanished with only the retreating sound of their footsteps on the stairs to mark where they’d gone. Lucanis watched them go, trading a concerned glance with Harding. She stepped closer and lowered her voice, murmuring “Something’s up with them. They haven’t said a word since we found the Dalish.”
Lucanis had noticed, too - the entire way back, Rook had been silent, staring at the distance with a haunted look in their eyes. Several members of the clan had tried to thank them, and they hadn’t even seemed to recognize that anyone was speaking. He’d asked if they were alright, and they had only nodded, slow and quiet. Rook was many things; slow and quiet were not typically among them.
“Did Neve or Bellara say anything else about what happened?” he asked.
Harding shook her head. “No, they’re both shaken but okay. I saw Bellara watching them, too, on the way back. She seemed surprised they didn’t want to talk to the Dalish.”
Lucanis looked back at the staircase, frowning. “I’ll give them some time - this mission was hard, and they may just need to rest. But I’ll check in later, see if anything else happened.”
“You may want to push those plans up a bit,” a voice added from his other side. Neve slowed and leaned in as she walked past them, adding, “I don’t know what happened, but the moment they saw the clan, it was like they just… shut down. Which is odd, because between then and getting trapped in Elgar’nan’s maze, they were crying.”
Lucanis stiffened, worry flickering to life. He had seen many things from Rook, in some truly abysmal circumstances; he had yet to see them cry.
“What? Did you talk to them?” he asked, trying to ignore Spite demanding they leave right that instant.
Neve crossed her arms. “I was a little busy trying not to get killed. We didn’t have time for a heart-to-heart.”
Harding sighed, looking back to Lucanis. “I’ve known Rook a long time now, and I’ve never seen them cry. Not even when everything’s falling apart. They trust you; I don’t think they’d be honest with anyone but you right now. You should go.” The words had no resentment to them, only concern. Harding had always been one of their best; Lucanis found himself more grateful than ever for her constant steady presence.
He nodded sharply, resting a brief hand on her shoulder as he turned for the stairs. With another nod to Neve, he left, forcing himself not to rush up the stairs two at a time. No point in worrying the others; this was uncharted territory with Rook, but if he knew them at all then he knew that they wouldn’t want people walking on eggshells around them.
Rook’s door was closed when he arrived. He knocked gently, listening to silence for a moment before saying, “Rook? It’s me. Can I come in?”
For a long moment, there was no answer. Spite was growing louder with every passing second, working himself up until he was shouting for Lucanis to just break the door down.
Lucanis didn’t think it was locked in the first place, but there was no point in arguing.
Finally, though, he heard Rook’s voice, the quietest and most defeated he’d ever heard them sound. “Fine.”
He pushed the door open slowly. At first, he didn’t see them; the room was dark save for the gentle glow of the water through the glass. It took him a moment to focus past that. At first glance, it always reminded him in stunning, horrific clarity of the Ossuary. But that was long since past; Rook had saved him twice over from that place. He forced down the immediate recoil that raced along his skin and stepped carefully into the room, closing the door behind him.
It took only a moment to find Rook, and to realize why he hadn’t seen them at first. They were on the floor in front of their couch, their whole body curled in like they were trying to make themself as small as they could possibly be. They were trembling, he realized at the same moment that he heard their breathing; far too fast, ragged and loud in the silence of the room.
Alarmed, he knelt in front of them, reaching out but stopping himself before he could touch them. They’d confided in him once that an unexpected touch could bring up bad memories, and the last thing he wanted was to hurt them, especially in a state like this.
“Rook? What happened?” He asked, trying and failing to keep the worst of the urgency out of his voice. They still hadn’t looked at him; their face was buried in their arms, copper-pink curls wild around their head where their hands were gripping tight. They shook their head, breathing only growing faster. He forced himself to calm slightly, if only for their sake, and tried a different tactic.
“Lin? Would you please look at me?” he asked, soft as he could manage. He’d never used this name for them before, though they’d said he could; it felt strange after knowing them only as Rook for so long, and the way that they had looked when they told him about it made it clear that it was a name from fond memories, a sweet, familiar shortening of their full name, Lindiranae. He’d never felt right to use it. Even after everything, it felt too personal, too close - but maybe that was what they needed now. Not to be Rook, leader and god-killer, but just Lin, an elf from Ferelden.
At that, they looked up, something like shock piercing briefly through the misery etched across their face. The depth of it stunned him. Tears streaked their face. Red marks like they’d clawed at their own skin marred their cheeks; no broken skin, he noted, but raised and angry nonetheless. A cut high on their cheekbone from their fight with the Venatori had reopened, and blood oozed lazily down until it met tear tracks, dripping off their chin tinged red.
For a single heartbeat, Lucanis was paralyzed with indecision. How could he help without making things worse, especially if they couldn’t speak to tell him what they needed? Before he could even attempt anything, however, the problem was solved for him - Rook all but launched themself at him, fingers tangled desperately in the fabric at his back as they buried their face in his shoulder. A sob tore out of them like they’d fought to keep it buried, and suddenly they were weeping in his arms like the world had ended.
It terrified him, but this at least he could do. Without another word, he tightened his hold, pulling them all the way against his chest and pressing his lips to the top of their head. If nothing else, he could weather this with them, and hold them together until they stopped falling apart at the seams.
He whispered reassurances against their hair, cradling them as they cried. He could feel the tension in their body; every muscle felt rigid, every joint locked to the point of trembling. It made his heart ache. How many nights had he spent in the Ossuary, alone, entire body stiff with the effort it took to keep his fear and grief and sorrow buried? Whatever they were feeling, they had been carrying it for a long time. He’d always seen the way their shoulders curved in, the slump to their spine when they thought no one else was looking. He knew that while they had shared some of their past with him, there was so much more he wasn’t privy to, and it ate away at them in a way that took a physical toll. He clutched them a little tighter, wishing not for the first time that battles of the mind could be fought with knives, and that they didn’t need to be fought alone in the end.
Slowly, Lin’s breathing began to quiet. They were no longer gasping for air. Their desperate sobs calmed, going from wracking, breaking things to soft whimpers that made his chest seize. After a long, long time, they lifted their head just slightly, acknowledging that the worst was over without quite meeting his eye.
“Sorry,” they whispered, voice still thick with tears. “Didn’t want you to see me like this.”
In spite of himself, the corner of Lucanis’ mouth twitched up. “That’s my line,” he murmured, hearing a quiet chuckle from them. “Mi vida, there is nothing you can show me that will scare me away. Not now. Not after everything we have been through.”
They sighed, the tension in their shoulders finally easing a bit as they laid back against him. Their arms remained wrapped around him, but hung looser at his waist now. He brought one hand up to brush aside their hair, cupping their cheek and gently turning their face towards him. The warm olive of their skin was flushed, the deep red tattoos and pinkish scars across their face fading into the color. They looked younger, he thought. Less miserable now than when he’d arrived, at least. Their eyes weren’t quite dry yet, but despite the sadness that lingered, there was a spark of their usual joy as they finally met his gaze.
“I don’t deserve you,” they said softly, leaning into his touch and pressing a gentle kiss to his palm.
He shook his head. “Don’t. I would not even be here if it weren’t for you. You saved my life, Rook. More than that, you have shown me more compassion in a few short months than I have known my entire life. You deserve everything I can give you and more.”
Their eyes welled again, and they hid their face against his neck, taking a deep, shuddering breath.
“You called me Lin, earlier,” they said, voice muffled. “I didn’t- I didn’t realize that I missed being called that name. I like ‘Rook,’ but it’s starting to feel like they’re not quite me. Larger than life, a leader, a hero…” Their voice turned sour on the final word. “I’m not a hero. A hero would have succeeded all the times I failed. Would’ve stayed with the clan, or have saved my sister and stayed in Denerim in the first place.”
“And you would have never stopped Solas, never planned to save the world, never brought any of us together,” Lucanis countered, tucking away the new information about a clan and a sister away in the back of his mind. “You never would have saved me, and we would not be here now. The Dalish are safe, we are safe for the time being; if you’re not a hero, Lin, then I don’t know who is.”
Still hiding their face, they mumbled something that sounded like “Don’t know if I want to be.”
To that, Lucanis had no answer. He kissed the top of their head and finally settled on “Then you’re not. You’re just you, and no matter what the rest of the world may believe, that is enough. After all, it got you this far.”
They finally broke into the barest hint of a wobbly smile. “I’ll steal your other line, then; how do you always do that?”
He grinned. “Do what?”
“‘Break apart my perfectly gathered clouds of doom,’” they quoted at him in a poor imitation of his accent. At that, he laughed. Relief swept through him; here was his Rook. His strange, vicious, vibrant Rook. Maker, but they were everything.
“Someone has to,” he said. “You watch over everyone else; someone should be watching over you, too.”
“I think that’s what I have you for,” they said, smile growing.
Unable to help himself, he pressed a kiss to their forehead, feeling them take in a breath beneath him. This was quickly becoming a habit, it seemed, as though he hadn’t done it for the first time just minutes ago. “Always, corazón.”
For a quiet moment, they sat, tangled together on the floor; they didn’t seem inclined to move, or even notice that they were curled together closer than they’d ever been. They were slowly relaxing in his arms. All the time he’d known them, Rook had always been cautious with touch. They often moved like they were going to lay a friendly hand on his shoulder, tap Davrin’s arm for emphasis, grab Bellara’s shoulder to keep her steady - and then, they always stopped before making contact. He’d seen them flinch away from others on the battlefield; he also knew, however, that if they were comfortable, tired, or inebriated, they began to lean further into touch, instead. They’d always been careful with him, too, never touching unless they knew he could see it coming. He’d never known a thoughtfulness like theirs. It was appreciated; after so long in the Ossuary, any contact, friendly or otherwise, was often too much to bear. He’d been finding, lately, that this was less and less true the longer he spent with this team.
But now, they were curled in his lap like a cat in a sunny window. He wondered idly if this was how they had been once; if little Rook growing up in the alienage had been free with their affection and not thought anything of casual, everyday touch. The thought twisted a little in his heart. They likely missed it, but held themself back out of either a respect for others’ traumas, or their own.
At that thought, he pulled back a bit to look at them. “I am… not the best at this part, but did you want to talk about it? Neve said that you just… shut down, when you found the Dalish. Did something happen?”
They sighed, swiping a hand under their eyes. “No. Well, yes, but a long time ago. It’s just that - the clan we saved was the clan I belonged to once.”
Whatever Lucanis had expected, this wasn’t it. No wonder they’d had such a reaction.
“I didn’t even know until we found them, and that whole time… I was already so desperate to save the Dalish, they’re all my people, but I had no idea it was my clan’s lives on the line. If I’d been just a little slower….” they finished, voice going hoarse as they fought back more tears.
“But you weren’t,” Lucanis said firmly. “You got them out. They are safe, and so are you.”
“I know,” they whispered. “It’s just… I already failed them once. If I’d failed them again, and they’d gotten killed because I wasn’t good enough, especially after all the danger everyone put themselves in to help - I couldn’t live with that.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know,” they repeated. “But when I realized it was them, it was all I could think about.”
Lucanis paused a moment before answering, letting this wealth of new information settle, then said carefully, “I didn’t know that you had belonged to a clan before. I thought you grew up in the city?”
They nodded, their gaze far away. “I did.”
“Then, the clan came later? Can I ask what happened?”
Rook sighed, a tear tracing its way silently down their gaunt cheek. “I… I found them after I was- after I left Denerim,” they said. Lucanis noticed a hesitation as they spoke, and thought back to what little they’d already told him. They had been forced to leave, he knew, after they’d killed a human who had gotten a little too bold in the alienage. He didn’t know the nature of the incident beyond that; he wasn’t sure he wanted to.
“I’d been on my own for a few years. I’d always wanted to learn more about the Dalish, be a part of keeping all those old stories the elder in the alienage told us alive. With how we lived… it sounded like a dream come true. Freedom, always moving, allowed to go wherever you wanted - I’d never left home before I had to, and then I never felt safe enough to enjoy the travel.
“When I met them, most of them were kind, sympathetic. I told the Keeper what had happened, and begged her to let me join. She agreed. I was with them for years; they taught me all their stories, and how to hunt, to fight. It was… more peaceful than anything I’d ever known.”
Here they paused, taking a deep, steadying breath. Lucanis frowned. “I am happy to listen, but there is no need to tell me, if you do not wish to.”
Rook shook their head. “No, I - I think I need someone else to know.”
He nodded, threading his fingers through theirs and lightly squeezing their hand in wordless support. They returned the gesture, then continued.
“Many of them were kind, but it was still fairly clear I didn’t belong. I was the only one that wasn’t born to the clan. There were those that never let me forget it.”
“Then they were fools,” Lucanis found himself saying, surprised at the vitriol in his own voice. How much of that was him, he wondered, and how much was Spite? He didn’t suppose it mattered much, not when they were in agreement.
Rook blinked at him, wide amber eyes a little startled. Then they smiled, tucking themself back in closer to him. “Well said, but it hardly matters now. I… grew tired of never feeling like I was good enough. We travelled up closer to Arlathan, and a few hunters were wounded by a demon that had come through one of the Fade tears. The Keeper forbade anyone from going near it, but it was scaring away the halla, killing or driving away prey. I-I guess I thought that if I killed it, they’d finally take me seriously.”
Lucanis’ heart sank. “I assume that’s not what happened.”
They grimaced. “No. I was an idiot, and I should’ve just listened to the Keeper. I convinced a few other hunters to go with me. It was a rage demon, a powerful one. We didn’t stand a chance.”
Their grip on his hand tightened, shaking a little. “It killed one of them, Naeris, almost immediately. The rest of us ran, but it followed. Thea tried to slow it down, and it nearly killed her too. By the time we lost it, I couldn’t breathe from running so far. We waited for hours so that at least we wouldn’t lead it back to the clan. We had to carry Thea back. Naeris was just… gone. We didn’t even know if there was a body to return. Faen was badly hurt. All of us were burned. And I brought them there.”
They were crying again. Lucanis held them close, a terrible understanding dawning over him as so many of the odd little pieces that made up his Rook slotted suddenly into place. No wonder they were so content to let others take the lead on missions, no wonder they shied away from being presented as a leader. No wonder they ran themself ragged jumping at the chance to help people wherever they went, and vanished into themself when they couldn’t.
“The Keeper was furious. She got halfway through telling me I was no longer welcome before I told her I was already leaving. Even if they’d let me stay, I couldn’t, not after that. Only a couple other hunters said anything to defend me, and it didn’t last long. The worst part was the staring. I could feel them all watching me the whole time I packed up to leave. When I actually walked out, almost the whole clan was gathered, just… watching me leave. They were so disappointed, so angry, I-” Their voice broke.
Lucanis was about to put his best effort towards a reassuring response, but then their eyes shifted to the side, as though watching someone in the corner of the room speak. Then, a moment later, “No, that’s the problem, it was my fault! I took them there! It was my stupid idea!”
“Rook? What is happening, who are you talking to?”
“No, it was my fault! My fault I lost you, my fault you’re dead, my fault-” Their voice grew louder with each passing second.
If Lucanis had felt uncertainty and concern before, this sent him into something close to panic. He had seen odd behaviors from Rook on occasion, but never like this. They sounded nearly hysterical now, addressing someone who wasn’t there in response to something that hadn’t been said. Even as he tried to calm them, his mind raced through possibilities. Possession? No, Spite would know. Magic? Unlikely; Spite would sense that, too. Were they seeing things? Had they hit their head fighting the Venatori? No, Bellara and Neve would have said something.
They started to sit up, to pull away from him, shoulders shaking, opening their mouth to respond again in their one-sided conversation. Suddenly, fear gripped him, and it could’ve been either his own inner voice or Spite’s that said dangerous; don’t let them go. Without thinking, he caught their wrist. “Rook - Lin-”
They reacted like an animal in a trap. They surged away, twisting their arm, all but howling - he winced, hating to be the one causing this for them, but he had no idea what was happening. If he let them go in this state, they could hurt themself, or worse. He held fast, reaching out with his other hand to turn their face towards him.
“Rook, please - it’s just me, I’m not going to hurt you-”
“That’s what they always say,” they snarled, their eyes devoid of recognition or even cognizance. They weren’t fully here, he realized. They were living out something else, a memory that had been buried until their conversation had unearthed it. Still, to see this much fear and know that he had caused it was a shame like he’d never known.
“Please, listen - you’re safe, Rook, mi vida, I promise. No dejaré que nada te lastime, please just look at me-”
Their gaze sharpened, focusing on his face even as they continued to struggle against him. For a split second, all he could see was rage and terror. Their nails dug into his arm hard enough to draw blood.
Then something seemed to dawn on them, and they froze, eyes roving across his face like they were trying desperately to place where they knew him from. Their chest rose and fell in short gasps. He could see their pulse fluttering in their throat, could feel it against his fingers. After a long, agonizing moment they whispered “Lucanis?”
“Yes, mi amor, I’m here,” he breathed, brushing curls back from their sweat-damp skin. A breath, then two, then they were shaking their head, looking away with guilt written across their face. “I-I’m so sorry, I don’t-”
He could feel them trying to retreat the way that they had both done before, when everything spilling out of them was too much of a mess to trust other people to help clean. It frightened him, in such a sudden, sharp way that he knew he was past the point of no return. Whatever else happened, whatever they did, whatever the gods threw at them, he loved Rook. He couldn’t bear the thought of them pulling away and trying to deal with this on their own.
Abruptly, he pulled them into the tightest embrace he could. They were warm against his chest. Their babbling apologies cut off with a yelp, and they sat rigid for a moment before tentatively raising their hands to his back.
“What? Lucanis, I-I don’t understand, I-”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” he interrupted. “I will not leave you alone in this. Whatever happens, we face it together.”
He felt their grip tighten, their face fall against his shoulder. For the second time that day, he held them as they cried, with the sudden understanding that every day could be like this and he would never once complain. He would do anything they needed of him. He would kill a hundred blighted gods to keep them safe.
“I’m still so, so sorry,” they choked out through tears. “I didn’t- I wasn’t myself, and I - oh, creators, did I hurt you?” They tried to pull back to look at his arm, but he shook his head and refused to let go.
“No, corazón. You did not hurt me.”
They sniffled, relaxing fully against him again, and took a slow, deep breath. Their racing heart began to calm; he could still feel their pulse hammering beneath their skin, but it was less frantic now.
“I’m… usually better at knowing when it’s real,” they murmured, with the air of someone admitting a deeply painful secret. “It’s harder when I’ve already been thinking about the past. Like it all catches up to me, and I have no idea when or where I am.”
Lucanis shut his eyes, breathing in the faint scent of juniper that lingered in their hair. How long had they been dealing with this? To spend their life haunted by ghosts - though, now was perhaps not the time for every question he wanted to ask. Just the first, then.
“Who do you see? Or what?” he asked gently, finally loosening his hold so that he could look at them.
They kept their eyes firmly on the floor, fidgeting with the frayed hem of the sleeve they’d wiped across their cheeks. “My-my sister, mostly. But there are others. And it’s not all the time, it’s worse when I’m tired, or stressed. It’s not so bad when it’s just her - she’s still kind to me, usually. Tells me things aren’t my fault. The others, though…” they shuddered, shaking their head. “I see… I see that first human I killed sometimes. He says horrible things. So does the other one, his friend. Sometimes he kills my sister all over again, on the really bad days.”
“Rook… I am so sorry,” Lucanis said, letting his forehead rest against theirs. “I will not ask you to stay in those memories any longer; just know that if I could carve my way through time itself to prevent them from ever reaching you, I would.” He could feel something like rage boiling in him. Of all the people to see things like this, he could think of few who deserved it less than them. Those two men had begun all of this back in their alienage, and that single choice had warped Rook’s entire life, to the point that over a decade later they still haunted them at every turn. Cowardice, selfishness; Lucanis wanted to stab something. He settled for taking Rook’s hand and pressing a soft kiss to their knuckles. There would be time for all of that later, to determine what exactly they were going through and how best to help them. For now, they had to be exhausted. They needed to rest.
When he looked up and saw them staring at him, wide-eyed, he froze, righteous anger dissipating as he realized how absurd this whole situation was. All of this, easy vulnerability and intimacy the likes of which he’d never imagined sharing with another person, and he still hadn’t even kissed them properly. He nearly had, that day in the pantry, but he’d panicked at the last second. So much for his Crow training.
He’d have to rectify that, and soon - but not now. They deserved a first kiss done correctly. Not a spur-of-the-moment thing tempered by tears and blood, but something properly sweet - like honey and lavender cream, he’d told them once.
Carefully, he extricated himself and stood, holding out a hand to help them up. They took it gratefully, leaning against him for one last brief moment before sitting heavily on the couch. Deep shadows ringed their eyes. They rubbed at their face, blinking blearily up at him - they seemed calm, now, if still a little sad.
“‘m tired,” they said, the words slow and indistinct. “I should - I’m gonna take a nap. Can you… Can you just stay until I fall asleep?”
“Of course.”
As they stretched out, Lucanis dampened a cloth in the washbasin in the corner of the room. He crouched beside them, and they smiled softly at him, eyes already heavy with the promise of sleep. He held up the cloth in lieu of asking out loud. They nodded, wincing a little as he ran it gently over the cut on their cheek.
He felt a small, calloused hand slip into his as he finished cleaning the cut. When he looked up, Rook’s eyes were already closed. He set the cloth aside and sat back down on the floor beside them, careful not to move too much. As their breathing evened out, he leaned forward and pressed a feather-light kiss to the top of their head. They curled unconsciously closer to him and let out a soft sigh. He smiled.
Right now, they just needed steady comfort. He wasn’t sure he was quite qualified, but he loved them, and that would have to be enough.
In which the entire chain falls asleep on Lanayru.
AO3
Traveling through a portal has always been an unsettling experience for Hyrule. And after the group’s tough battle with black-blooded moblins, this one has been no different, if not worse. A wave of dizziness courses through the traveler as he passes through.
But when he drops to his hands and knees on the grass, a sense of familiarity hits him. He knows this place. Almost like…
Wait!
The buzzing of the LD-301 robots alert him, and he perks his head up, trying to blink the fog away. Lying some distance in front of him is—
“Lanayru?!”
Hyrule’s heart skips a beat upon seeing his beloved dragon companion, and the adrenaline soon takes over as he jogs forward. Lanayru is lying on his back, eyes closed, with hands by his sides. His breathing is deep and even. He’s asleep.
The rest of the chain is slow to follow, from weariness Hyrule presumes. But he only turns to look briefly before he’s already at Lanayru’s side, gently stroking the old dragon’s beard with one hand.
“Oh, I missed you so much,” he whispers, hesitant at first to wake Lanayru in the night. Glancing at the dragon’s belly, an idea dawns on him. He’s slept up there before, letting the rise and fall of Lanayru’s breathing lull him to sleep. There is plenty of room for them all…
“I…I hope you don’t mind, but we’re very tired—“
“Rulie.” Sky’s soft voice interrupts him. The others have caught up. Hyrule turns to see them standing close by, an incredibly exhausted Sky at the front. “You can…*yawn*…stay here, we’ll set up camp.”
Hyrule shakes his head. “No, you’re not going anywhere.” He gestures at the Thunder Dragon’s sleeping form. “I got a better place for us tonight.”
“But…”
“Nuh-uh. You look dead on your feet. It’ll be much easier this way, watch me.”
A few murmurs are heard from among the group, but the excited traveler ignores them. He carefully boosts himself up onto Lanayru’s limp hand, nudging the palm with one foot in an attempt to rouse him. The dragon doesn’t stir, and Hyrule glances back at the Chain with a shrug.
“Well…we can’t get on his belly unless he’s awake to help us.” The traveler sighs. “It’s too high up.”
But Wind’s eyes go wide. “Wait, I got an idea!” He turns around and starts running toward the dragon’s lower body. Hyrule watches the sailor as he finally reaches the end of the dragon’s tail, nearly disappearing among the white cloud-like substance swirling around it.
The small speck of Wind climbs up onto the tail and runs across Lanayru’s body, coming into full view again. “Ta-da!”
“Woah, you’re a fucking genius!” exclaims Legend, throwing his hands up. He’s quickly followed by a stern “Legend. Language,” from Time. The vet scoffs in annoyance, and Hyrule chuckles.
Wind settles down on the old dragon’s large belly, watching the gentle blue light travel down in lines, almost in rhythm with Lanayru’s deep breathing. Rulie, meanwhile, turns his focus to how the fuck this commotion hasn’t woken the Thunder Dragon.
“Lanayru?” he asks, raising his voice. “Wake up, sleepyhead. It’s me, Rulie!”
No response. Hyrule sighs again, listening to the others’ conversing voices, and turns back to face them. Four, Legend, Sky, Twilight, and Wild are all following Wind’s lead up the dragon’s tail. As they get closer he can see the deep circles under all their eyes, especially Sky’s. The poor Skyloftian looks like he could pass out right on the spot.
Time and Wars remain on the ground, and Hyrule pouts at them playfully. “Come on, you two! Don’t be so stubborn. Get up there.”
“Hyrule, don’t you think we should set up camp or…” The old man gestures to the large clearing around them.
“No. This is our camp.”
“On a dragon’s belly??”
“Time.” Hyrule pleads. “We’re staying here.” He briefly glances at the rest of the Chain, all cuddling up amongst each other, and smiles.
Before the older Links can utter another word, a deep mumble fills the air. The hand underneath Hyrule begins to twitch, fingers curling slightly. He’s awake! He readies himself to jump off, but Lanayru groans and soon the traveler is being lifted up. Hyrule yelps and wraps his arms around one of the dragon’s ringed fingers for dear life.
“Lanayru, no!” he whisper-shouts as his back comes in contact with someone’s head. The dragon seems to notice the movement of heroes on his belly and is now trying to touch them. “Shh…they’re sleeping,” he continues, as if a half-asleep Lanayru could actually hear him. “Don’t move.”
“Mmmngh…wha…?” The Thunder Dragon moves his hand up to touch his face. Hyrule flies through the air, the breeze blowing his hair every which way, and he can’t help but chuckle.
The slight curling of Lanayru’s fingers causes the traveler to lose his grip, and he yelps as he lands right on the dragon’s face, near his nose and beard. Lanayru grunts in confusion, and Hyrule giggles again. Large bleary eyes flutter open, searching for whatever just hit his face.
“Hey there, it’s me! Sorry to wake you like this.” He taps Lanayru’s nose insistently, and the hand finds him again, feeling around his fluffy hair and slim body.
“…Rulie?” the dragon mutters, the thunderous voice still hurting the small Hylian’s ears.
“Yes!” Hyrule smiles. “Don’t try to get up…we’re, uh—sleeping. On you.”
“Huh?” Lanayru, clearly still groggy from sleep, wraps his hand around the traveler and holds him up. “Where did you…”
“We just got here. Shh…I’ll explain in the morning, alright? You can go back to sleep.”
Lanayru raises an eyebrow, taking a second to look Rulie up and down. His eyes are still heavy, and he lets out a long, tired yawn. The traveler soon does the same.
“You…look worse for wear,” mutters Lanayru.
Hyrule scoffs teasingly. “So do you.”
He hears noises behind him, of a few Links snoring soundly, and new footsteps joining the cuddle pile. It seems as if Time and Wars finally gave in.
“Rulie, I can’t believe I’m doing this.” Time’s voice sounds slightly annoyed. “Ugh…” The old man yawns as well, and Hyrule can hear the shuffling of armor as he settles down.
Lanayru is careful to not get up and rouse the group, but he slowly lifts his head enough to take a look. He chuckles quietly.
“Oh-ho ho, I see. You’ve made yourselves at home.”
Time whisper-shouts from behind, apparently aimed for the dragon. “He forced me to.”
“I did not!” Oops. That was a bit too loud. Hyrule grins sheepishly, for only Lanayru to see. “Don’t listen to him, he’s just stubborn.”
“I heard that.”
Hyrule rolls his eyes playfully, bummed that his back is still to the others as the Thunder Dragon holds him. Lanayru sighs, lowering his head back down.
“Ah, Rulie…” He blinks with tired eyes. “I missed you, boy. We’ll talk in the morning, ok?”
“Ok.” The traveler nods, smiling as his own fatigue catches up to him. “Just put me on your belly. With the others.”
“I figured. Sleep well, Rulie.”
He’s moving again, away from Lanayru’s face and over to the others. The dragon still grips him tight, as he hovers in the air face-down to finally see the pile of sleeping Links below.
They’re all huddled together. Well, for the most part. Time and Wars lie about an arm’s length from the rest, clearly valuing their individual space. The old man is still awake, but he’s closed his eye, the exhaustion having finally gotten to him. Hyrule smiles at Four’s head nestled in the crook of Legend’s arm, at Wild curled up in a ball and Twilight using his long hair as a pillow, at Wind’s hands resting on Sky’s wrists as they face each other. He floats over them all, moving as Lanayru is hesitant to release him, but there is plenty of free room behind the Skyloftian.
“Right here is good,” he whispers, using a free hand to nudge the clawed fingers wrapping around him. And then he’s slowly lowered down, lying on his stomach as the grip releases. With a grunt, he rolls over onto his side and scootches in, snuggled next to Wind and Sky.
The adrenaline from his excitement is wearing off, and he struggles to keep his eyes open. With the warmth of the soft Sailcloth on Sky’s back to curl into, and the gentle rise and fall of Lanayru’s breathing below him, he slowly begins to drift off into a peaceful sleep.
"What?" The young crow avian paused, looking back from the lake that he had been chucking stones into, his uniform messy and crumpled, despite Wilbur having fixed it up multiple times that morning.
The young ram looked red with embrassment as he looked away, crossing his legs and patting his knees
"I was just wondering, yknow, all this fighting 'n stuff," He took a deep breath, shaky, "Do you think we'll be friends forever?"
Tommy laughed, a contagious sound that could travel for miles, a sound that could make his brother smile even when he hadn't smiled for weeks, a sound that would make his father laugh, a sound that made everything feel warmer, as if his mother herself was beaming down to him.
"Don't be silly, Tubs! Of course we will!" Tommy grinned, bending down and plucking an unfortunate white chrysanthemum down from the grass, "Here! My mother told me these mean loyalty, and honesty!" He said it proudly, beaming as the ram hybrid took the flower carefully from his hands, "We'll be friends forever. This flower is proof of that!"
Tubbo smiled at the flower, "I like the sound of that."
~~
"Tommy, you are exiled. Dream, please remove him from my country."
Somewhere, somehow, as the words rang out of his mouth, as the dagger of betrayal burst through Tommy's heart, a flower was picked, and a flower had died.
Somewhere, out there, as Tommy was guided out of the place he had once called home, a flower wilted, a white one, chrysanthemum, a symbol of friendship, loyalty, honesty.
Somewhere, out there, as Tubbo watched Tommy leave, a clock struck twelve, and a flower would never bloom.
While Lanayru’s physical strength has returned, Nerin soon finds out that her waterdrop has been keeping a secret of her own.
(Part 5 of the “All for the maiden” series)
Word count: 2683
The back doors to Lanayru’s palace glimmer in the light, their intricate white and gold pattern standing out against the sky-blue of the surrounding area. Nerin approaches, her heart racing with anticipation as she pictures her best friend’s smiling face. Lanayru had sent her today, supposedly to hang out like they always do. At last.
In the weeks since the Water Goddess’s awakening, Lanayru has kept her distance in order to catch up on all the days she missed. Although Nerin has understood why, she has lived through each day with an ache in her heart, longing to spend more time with Lanayru; they could sit and giggle together, playing with the new baby dragon, teasing Cordelia and the other Dwellers…just like it had been before.
The Swan Goddess stops in front of the doors, her brows furrowing with confusion. While there is usually a Dweller or two sitting outside to guard the place, today it is eerily silent. Nobody is here.
Taking a deep breath, she tries to open the right-hand door, only to find that it’s locked. Just as she raises her fist up to knock, a click sounds from the other side and the door pulls open.
She was waiting right here!
“Lanayru!” she shrieks with delight. “Oh, it’s so—“
The figure in the doorway frowns, her royal blue and purple hair taking Nerin aback.
That’s…not Lanayru.
“Oh…Cordelia.” She puts her hand back down to her side and smiles, trying to hide her disappointment. “I-I’m sorry, I thought—“
“It’s alright.” Dweller 2 chuckles, stepping aside to let Nerin in. “But there is something important I must discuss with you, before I let you see her.”
The Swan Goddess freezes, trying to peer down the hall. “Can’t that wait for just a bit? Where is she?”
“I can’t tell you yet. Lady Lanayru’s orders. Please, just follow me, and soon your questions shall be answered.”
Cordelia closes the door behind them, locking it in place, before leading a nervous Nerin down the elegant corridor. The Dweller’s colored hair stands out starkly against the rest of her figure, dressed in all black with a glimmering cape nearly touching the floor. Her heels click-clack against the tiles, as do Nerin’s, and the Swan Goddess marvels at the woman Lanayru created all those centuries ago.
She is truly beautiful.
But observing Lanayru’s creation brings her back to Lanayru, and her heart sinks again. A situation like this has never happened before, and she wonders if something has gone wrong. It must have, right? The Water Goddess wouldn’t shut herself out otherwise…
The two reach the sitting room, with its large intricate windows and flowy white curtains. Nerin checks around the room for Lanayru, only to find nobody there. Cordelia draws her attention to the low round table at the center of the room, where a piece of paper sits atop one end. It has writing on it. A letter.
“Is this for me?” Nerin asks, reaching out to take it.
“Indeed, this is from your waterdrop. I shall let you read it now…it might be difficult to do so.”
What does that mean?
With careful hands, the Swan Goddess holds up the paper, filled on both sides with unmistakable small, loopy writing. Lanayru’s writing.
Her heart pounds in her chest as she begins…
My darling Fea,
This is not an easy letter to write. I must inform you that I am not doing well. Although I may have regained my strength now, my emotional state has deteriorated. I have laid in my bed weeping, for you and for what I must have put you through. For I, too, have a secret. I have been hiding this from you since my head cleared enough to fully think, and I believe it’s time I let it out. While I would like to share this news with you face to face, I am too heavy with guilt to do so, and for that I hope you can forgive me.
You might still be thinking of how you’re gonna tell me, right? Or if you will at all. So let me make this easier, ok?
You don’t need to tell me, Nerin.
I know.
I always knew.
My words now may sting, I am aware you have wanted to keep this from me, and I am truly sorry. But I feel this is the only way. We are both dealing with heavy emotions and baggage to carry, mine from giving you such a traumatic experience, and yours from trying to keep me unaware of the truth. Don’t try to deny it, I see from your behavior how much you’ve been hurting, and each occurrence of this deals a heavy blow to my heart.
Again, my deepest apologies for keeping this to the written word. Now that I have explained this to you, I think we shall finally talk it out. Only then will I begin to heal.
I am outside, on the terrace by the right-hand side of the room. Please come, little one.
Much love,
Lana
The letter slips out of the Swan Goddess’s hands, and she freezes in place, unable to move. Lanayru still knew she still fucking knew oh my gods she knew this whole time-
“You okay, Lady Nerin?”
Startled, she whips around to face the blue-haired Dweller, still standing behind her.
“Oh, Cordelia, I’m sorry-“
“She’s over there.” Cordelia points to a large set of glass doors, her black and silver bracelets jingling. “Go to her, she’s been upset for quite some time.”
Through the glass and out onto the elegant patio, a familiar figure catches Nerin’s eye: the back of a short blonde bob with two pointy ears sticking out, the long flowy skirts in baby blue, droplet-shaped earrings glistening in the light…
“Lanayru!!” The Swan Goddess bolts for the door without thought, letting her dainty legs take her, and leaving Cordelia inside. With quick fingers she swings the door open and steps outside, closing it behind her.
The Water Goddess sits at the edge of a small spring, on a smooth round border functioning as a bench. She doesn’t turn her head, just stares out into the beautiful views of her domain, hands clasped in her lap. Does she know I’m here? Did she hear me?
“Lanayru?” Nerin calls out tentatively, approaching where her best friend is seated. At the sound of her name, the Water Goddess finally turns to look.
“…You came,” she breathes, relief filling her blue eyes and tender face. “I…I didn’t know if you would be mad at me.”
“Mad?? Why would I be mad?”
“Because I wouldn’t tell you that I knew.” Lanayru gently taps the spot next to her. “Here, why don’t you sit down?”
Nerin obeys, tucking her skirts back slightly before taking a seat next to her friend. The slight breeze produces a soft jingling sound, from the silver and white jewelry dangling from her dress and four sets of earrings.
“You knew…this whole time? H-how did you figure it out? Did you—“ She pauses in thought, her mind flashing back to the moment of Lanayru’s first awakening. “Do you remember that day?”
“…What day?”
“When you first woke up from recharging.”
“No…? I mean, I remember waking up, at some point, and then…” Lanayru’s brow furrows. “I don’t think you were there, though…just Cordelia. She told me I was fading in and out for a while, and…after that it gets a bit fuzzy, sorry.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” Nerin smiles slightly. “I just wanted to make sure…I know I’ve asked you that before and you said no, but…”
“You think I would lie to you?”
“No, of course not! It’s just that…” A weak, half-conscious Lanayru comes to her mind as she trails off, bringing a pang to her chest.
“What?” the Water Goddess asks. “What happened?”
Might as well tell her now.
“Well…” Nerin starts, a sigh escaping her lips. “You figured it out. Right then and there. I didn’t think you would, you were barely conscious and so disoriented, but—I told you too much, I gave myself away.” The solemn, guilt-stricken look on Lanayru’s face is enough to break her heart. “For thirty-five days I thought about how to tell you the story, with the hopes that you would never have to know, and since you haven’t brought it up again I thought—“
“I’m so sorry…” Lanayru touches a ringed hand to one of Nerin’s own, gazing into her eyes. “Guess I figured it out more than once, then. But when I heard your story, the one I remember…I saved Ivory, and then you came to carry me back to my domain, devastated to see me lying passed out on the ground. When I started to gain more awareness I realized that this story wasn’t adding up, little one. Why wouldn’t you have been there when your maiden was dying? In your spring of all places? The others wouldn’t have waited to call you until she was unconscious, right? And why would I be out there with her and not you? I’m never in your spring by myself…it all just sounded like one big cover-up to hide something else that troubled you. So to make it 100 percent certain, I recently brought my concerns to Cordelia. She confirmed it.”
Damn it.
DAMN IT!
Why did I tell all the Dwellers??
“….Oh, Lana…” she replies, as the Water Goddess moves her hand to fidget with a fold of her skirt. “I really didn’t want you to know. That’s why I never told you, because all this guilt you’re feeling- I was certain this would be your reaction.”
Lanayru stays silent, glancing down at her lap and letting out a deep exhale. For a second the only sound is the soft ripples of spring water, and the quiet chirping of distant bluebirds.
“My darling…I never wanted you to go through this, little one,” she speaks eventually, without looking up. “And none of this would have happened in the first place if I hadn't…you know…”
“Lanayru. No.” Nerin scolds. “Please don’t blame yourself! Do you know what would have happened had you not done anything?”
The Water Goddess nods her head slowly. “…Yeah, of course I do.”
“So you did a good thing, waterdrop, trust me. You saved someone’s life. Yes, what I had to witness was heartbreaking, but I’ll live. It’s much better than the alternative.”
She cringes as she speaks the last few words. No, don’t think about it. That didn’t happen. But she can’t help but picture if Ivory had been the one to die, not Lanayru…
“Little one…tell me.” Finally, Lanayru meets her gaze, tears running down her pale face. “What was that like?”
Nerin’s heart sinks in her chest, as she lets out a sigh.
“If you must know, it was the most painful thing I’ve ever had to…” She trails off. “Sorry, that’s not helping you at all—“
“No, go on. Please, tell me the truth.”
“…Okay,” she continues. “Well, you know how I told you that Ivory wasn’t awake to see you fall?” Taking in a breath, she hesitates. “The thing is, uh…she was. I lied to you, waterdrop. She was awake and very much lucid, and I wanted her to think you simply passed out. So after you went limp I buried my head into your chest so she wouldn’t see, and oh gods, I knew what to expect, but you weren’t breathing, you had no heartbeat, it was all just fucking silent, and I stayed there forever, minutes, hours, who knows how long it was…and Ivory tried to touch you but I shooed her away…it was haunting to not hear the beating of your heart because I knew you would come back but you were also gone, Lanayru, you were fucking dead—“
Burying her face into her hands, Nerin chokes out a sob. The memories she had been holding in are now free, giving her a tiny sense of relief, but now it’s almost as if she’s back in her spring, her head on top of Lanayru’s unmoving chest to shield the truth from her maiden…and she wants to forget this but she can’t, she can’t—
“…Fea?”
Slowly she lifts her head, at the sound of her precious nickname, to face her friend’s worried gaze.
“Oh, little one, I’m so sorry I asked…”
“Don’t apologize, please. You said we need to talk this out…I shouldn’t keep it inside any longer.”
“Well…” The Water Goddess sniffles, wiping a tear with her hand. “Is there…anything else?”
“I, uh…I do have one question,” Nerin’s own tears spill down her face as she watches her friend’s gloomy expression. “How-how long does that last? Before the resurrection?”
“Nobody knows exactly, my darling…but from our estimates, I would say up to two minutes.”
“…Two minutes??”
All of the pain, the waiting, the torture of silence…it was only two minutes?
“Yeah…that’s it, little one. I simply can’t fathom how long that must have felt for you, I mean—“
“Too long,” Nerin breathes. “It was too fucking long.”
Lanayru breaks eye contact with her friend, leaving the pair in silence briefly, before finally opening her mouth to speak again.
“…Rin, I am so sorry…beyond what words can say, I—I’m the reason you had to suffer like this, my stupid Healing Grace that wasn’t made for saving others, curse me! If only I was born with a power that didn’t fucking kill me every time I saved someone, I—“ Lanayru holds her hands out and weeps, stamping her foot onto the tiles in frustration and anger. “Whatever I do, I try to-to give one person…a second chance but I just end up hurting another! I’m never enough, I-“ She chokes on her own tears, letting out what must have been clawing through her since she discovered the truth. “I will…never be enough—“
Too heartbroken to respond, Nerin wraps an arm around Lanayru, bringing her in closer, and the Water Goddess rests her head on her friend’s fluffy feather shawl.
“I can’t forgive myself,” she continues, “I—I gave you…a traumatic experience… and now—now you still wanna be friends with the one who failed you.”
“Woah woah woah, Ru, stop,” Nerin interjects. “What makes you think you failed me?? That couldn’t be farther from the truth, waterdrop, you know that. You did everything you could to make sure my maiden wouldn’t leave me.”
“Y-yeah, I just…I wish I could save someone…without losing myself.” Lanayru sniffles, her tears running onto the shawl, and Nerin only squeezes her tighter. “I don’t wanna lose myself. All that does is hurt you.”
“I know, sweetie…oh, I wish I could change that for you…I don’t wanna lose you either. But you come back, right? You always do…and we get through it, we come back stronger. So we can get through this too, alright?”
Nerin gently runs a hand through Lanayru’s soft hair, feeling the silky strands between her fingers. The last few weeks have been draining, and she can only imagine how painful it’s all been for her friend. Pain that will take time to fully heal from.
Lanayru sighs. “…Alright.”
“Good, my darling. You will always be enough, remember that. Your Healing Grace may be less than perfect, but you’re still beautiful, kind, selfless…You’re still my Lanayru.”
“Aww…that’s so sweet…” The Water Goddess slowly lifts her head to look her companion in the eye. “Sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Please, waterdrop…there is nothing wrong with you, ok? You have the most compassionate heart of anyone I know, and you never want any of us to suffer. I’m proud of you for telling me the truth, Ru.”
“Well…I can’t go through this alone,” Lanayru replies, wiping a tear with her sleeve. “Thank you, Fea. I really owe you one.”
Nerin smiles at her friend’s words of gratitude, even knowing that a repayment is never necessary. Just having her friend here, alive and breathing, with her full strength returned, is all she needs.
Because together, they can finally take their first steps on the long road to healing.
Yes to more of that pietro smut you wrote, gotta know what happens next
Aнгел
Pairing: Pietro Maximoff x F!Reader
Summary: Continuation of Teasing Texts. The morning after Pietro finally gives in to your teasing, he can’t help but taste you when he wakes up in the middle of the night.
You can't remember much other than it's over much too quickly for your liking but you know for a fact that was good, so fucking good. You feel him vibrating inside of you and next to you. even after the both of you have drifted off into sleep.
His sleep doesn't last long though. He’s too excited, too riled up.
He wakes up with an insatiable hunger. He wants to devour you every chance he gets. Wants to ruin you the same way you ruined him when you teased him in the presence of the other avengers. It just wasn’t fair.
But he stops in his tracks when he sees you sleeping with a soft smile on your face.
You look so peaceful. He would hate to ruin the serenity you are living in within the dream you have created. It's times like these where he wishes that he was the one cursed with the mind reading powers.
He wants to know what is making you so happy whilst you are unconscious. He wonders briefly if he is the one in your dreams making you happy.
He so wants to be the one that makes you happy.
His need for you to be happy is suddenly overshadowed when you unwrap yourself from the ball you created with your body, whimpers falling from your soft lips as you roll onto your back.
You're not used to sharing a bed so you spread out, narrowly missing Pietro's head as he moves to the end of your bed.
Pietro watches you sleep with a newfound hunger. His tongue darts out to lick over his lips before he even has a chance to think about it.
He could just…
He shouldn't, he mutters in Sokovian. He knows it's wrong, he repeats over and over again as you unconsciously rub your hand up your stomach and over your tit before it settles once more over your stomach.
This is wrong. It was so wrong, but he had nothing but thoughts of being buried inside you; his tongue, his fingers, his cock.
He should ask for your permission. He must ask your permission
But he can't help himself as his hunger for you takes over.
Pietro leans forwards, his tongue quick to dart in and out through your dampening folds. He could lose himself in your scent, even when you were not aware of it. Your smell tempted him, controlled him, changed him into an animal, a predator.
Pietro moaned as his tongue laved over your lower lips, parting them with such softness. He didn’t want to wake you, you just looked so angelic, so peaceful. He couldn’t wake your slumber, his ангел, his sleeping ангел.
Fuck.
He couldn’t help but sink a finger into your wet heat. Even sleeping, your body was ready for him, it made him almost purr against your cunt.
Moving slowly, something Pietro hasn’t mastered quite yet, he pumped his finger in and out of you, lips suctioning around your exposed clit. His guttural groan was enough to wake you, he couldn’t keep his composure any longer.
He crooks his fingers inside of you, applying the perfect amount of pressure to send your body into convulsions against your will. Shocking you into a state between your usual grogginess and suddenly highly alert that you were not alone.
“Pietro!” You shout in a hushed voice, fingers sliding through the silver strands of his hair, hips erratically lifted from the bed. His face now suffocates on your pussy, fingers plunging deeper into you.
“Shh, ангел, you don’t want the other to hear what I am doing to you? Do you?”
i know i’m not super active on here these days but i’m excited so quick promo post - i wrote an article about the role of creativity in ttrpgs! it’s in this issue of Parallel Worlds, which includes articles, interviews, reviews, stories, and more, all related to the world of ttrpgs.
if you’d like to support a small publication and take a look at my first ever published article, you can buy a pdf of it here!
