It's nice to meet you, I'm Cay! I'm a writer and an artist who tends to write more on AO3 than on DeviantArt and I love Legend of Zelda, ACOTAR, Throne of Glass, and my warriors RP groups! (But not the books. The books suck.)
I'm only an art student and my style is inconsistent as FUCK so don't expect miracles, but I try my hardest and I hope to the gods that it's enough. Thank you for your patience!
All pronouns. She/Her used most often. Two-spirit, pan-demiromantic asexual. Three ounces of whoop-ass.
Go ahead and talk to me! I'll listen!
MY AO3: archiveofourown.org/users/Song…
MY ART BLOG: songofthunder.tumblr.com/
The Gathering. Fogfin weaves through the crowd. It's not important, whatever the leaders are saying. What's important now is finding his sisters.
He spots Lilyfin instantly, distant and strange as ever. Moonfin is harder, but he sees her meowing with bright eyes to a cat whose name vaguely comes to the front of his mind. Fogfin internally groans. A WaveClan cat trying to convert his sister to the matriarchy, by making BasaltClan seem worse than it is.
If she wants to leave, she can leave, but Fogfin refuses to let her leave on biased evidence.
"Are you sure Fogfin would be okay with you choosing your own mate?” the she-cat purrs. False sweetness and triumph; the conversation is already mainly over. “He would get a say, right?"
Moonfin laughs just before Fogfin is about to interject that no, he does not have a say and why would you think that. "Oh, I'll be fine!" she giggles nonchalantly. "Fogfin's putty in my claws."
Crisis averted; Moonfin can handle herself. Then Fogfin freezes. He knows his sister. He knows what she'll do.
"Hey, Fogfin!" He's too late, keen eyes have already trained on his distinctive grey fur.
Too many times, it’s happened like this.
Fogfin runs, he has to get away, but Moonfin's already leaping after him-
She lands onto him easily, paws first, and he lets out an oomph as the wind is knocked out of his lungs.
"Must you do this every time?" he asks as Moonfin kneads his back. It's already futile to struggle against his sister somehow looking regal and queenlike while he remains pinned like a confused squirrel. "I would have been fine with you taking a mate."
She turns around in a circle, steps one, two, three times, and sits down. "No," she says, and blinks at him innocently while Jaggedblaze, who had come to the same conclusion of defending Moonfin, bursts out laughing. "But I think it's fun anyways."
Fogfin rolls his eyes. “You do this every day.”
“Not day,” reminds Moonfin. “Week. But I can do it every day if you want me to.”
Fogfin sighs, yawns, and attempts to make himself comfortable. His sister isn't getting up anytime soon.
This content is intended for mature audiences.
or, enter your birth date.*
The moment he entered the room, Aelin blinked at him from where she kneeled, chained to the pedestal.
One. Two. Three. Are you alright?
That was their new routine. One asked the question. The other answered. Switch roles. Repeat until the day’s… exercise, for lack of a better word, began. Sometimes they lied, sometimes they didn’t. But it didn’t matter, because they both knew that no matter what happened, whether they lied and said yes or whether Lady Luck shone upon them that day and they were able to sleep, the underlying answer that hung over both their heads would always be no. There was never anything that was able to overcome the fact that they were both in a gilded, golden prison that held in both their screams. Silent or otherwise.
They asked anyways. Neither of them had anything better to do.
Aelin asked again, silently, pleadingly. Are. You. Alright. Fenrys hadn’t even realized he was lost in thought. But Aelin had seen.
He didn’t feel like lying today.
Aelin hesitated. No.
It looked like neither did she.
He stared her down, doing his best not to falter. She stared him back, and a ghost of a wry smile crossed her face. So this is how we’re playing today, is it?
A slight shrug from him. I suppose so. Fenrys focused on her eyes, despite how much it hurt to see how dead they were. She grimaced, as if realizing how she looked, how both of them looked, but she glared back.
That was how they remained, each anchored to this world by the sheer will of the other, until Cairn finally entered the room.
He knew she was tired. He knew that she needed at least a few days of rest. He knew from the way she shook and cried out before the small blade had even seen the light of day.
And still he could do nothing. Could only stand there and growl, as tall as possible, and refuse to lie down and be cowed. And Cairn would never try it on him, anyway.
(He did once, but not only did Fenrys refuse to scream, Maeve was furious that he was cut at all. Cairn stuck to Aelin after that.)
Aelin’s voice had already grown hoarse- she truly was tired, if she couldn’t muster up the energy to scream, only to writhe.
The clearing was quieter. Fenrys didn’t know if that was better or worse.
Aelin turned her head, and her eyes landed on him.
What could he say, what could he do-
There were a hundred things he wanted to do. He wanted to take a cannon and raze Doranelle to the ground. (It had been home, once, but never again. Not anymore.) He wanted to shift back and run and punch that bastard into the wall. And then leave him alive only because it was Rowan’s job to exact revenge.
But in the end, there was only one thing he had left.
He blinked four times.
She went still.
They would speak of this later. They would decide on what exactly it meant.
But for now Fenrys kept blinking. One. Two. Three. Four. Wait. Repeat.
Because it calmed Aelin, and it seemed to dull the pain, if only a little. Because as long as Aelin kept his eyes on him, she kept breathing.
Small comforts, he supposed, were better than none.
They’d healed her, but it had taken much longer than usual. Perhaps because Aelin fought to stay awake for half of it, and perhaps because she was clearly fighting to wake up for the other half.
And the moment they disappeared, she succeeded, and snapped her eyes open.
He’d laid down for the entire healing, but he jumped up now. What was she doing, she needed every bit of sleep she could get-
Fenrys froze when she said the first word. “Are-” She coughed. Too much screaming. Too little water. “-you-” She took a deep breath. “here?”
Are you alright?
She shook her head; she wanted him to answer the question. Of course she would want to know whether he was real.
He didn’t hesitate. Yes. Absolutely, yes.
“With-” She cried out at the word.
Stop speaking! Can’t you see it’s hurting you?
Yes. Four blinks. I am here, I am with you.
She let the question linger in the air. Neither of them dared say (or blink) a word.
By the time he’d sorted out his thoughts and gathered the strength to respond, she was already gone.