#Ch.3 Fire and Fury

[dovahkiin796]

Poppy Playtime: CH 3 (What-if)

John watches in horror as dozens upon dozens of the Mini–Smiling Critters he has been dealing with ever since he found himself in the Playhouse. Crawl out of the walls and toward the hanging DogDay. The giant version of the toy screams out in panic when seeing the little monsters.

"Leave me! Please! Save yourself!" Every fiber of John's being agreed with what the humanoid dog said. But John couldn't get his legs to move.

He was too caught up in the horrific sight to even twitch a finger. But eventually his brain screamed at him to go, and John responded.

Though instead of running away to get to safety. John fired a few flares at the Mini-Smiling Critters. Like the other times they reared back in fright at the bright fireball.

However, this time, not all of them were backing away. Some continued to crawl toward DogDay. Their feral nature being more powerful than their fear. So, with only one option left. John starts bashing away the plush toys with his GrabPack arms.

"What are you doing?!" Asked a confused DogDay. "I told you to leave me!" John ignored him and continued his assault. One of the Smiling Critters manages to get onto DogDay's head, and it seemed it was about to crawl into his head by his large, black eyes,

John stopped this from happening by actually using his own hand to grab it and then punch it in the face with his other hand by turning it into a fist. John heard a sickening crack, but he pressed on and threw the dead thing away.

In quick speed John was able to free the large dog from his straps and have his arms wrap around his neck for support. "You're a fool for doing this. You're going to get yourself killed."

John could only grin. If that was the case, then at least he died trying to save someone. The Mini-Smiling Critters, angry that their food supply was now free. All snarled in anger.

John didn't bother to wait and see what they'll do and ran back the way he came. But when trying to run through the cell doors, wooden planks that were put in place to cover a large hole in the floor. Collapsed by the combined wait of John and DogDay's.

They fell to a floor beneath the holding cells. Clearing his dazed head from the sudden fall. John sees an open tunnel. Up above he can hear the little Critters coming to where he and DogDay fell.

Wasting no time, he crouch runs down the tube till coming to another tunnel and taking it. It was series of running, taking sharps turns, running up ramps, waiting for shutter doors to open up, and taking a slide down. But eventually John spots their salvation. An elevator that was behind a gap that led to a bottomless pit.

Switching to the purple hand and with what little adrenaline he had left in him. John sprints toward the gap, "Hang on! This won't be an easy landing!" Just as his foot touches the purple hand pad. John fires the hand on it and both he and DogDay launch high in the air.

Fortunately for them they were able to make it. Though John ended up not sticking the landing. He lost his footing and fell to the ground. The giant Smiling Critter rolled off of him, only being stopped by the elevator railing.

Without his choice John's body happened to land on his side where his front would be facing the open doorway he just came through. He can see the horde coming for him and DogDay. He wasn't actually sure if they would make the jump or not. He prayed that they didn't. But he wouldn't be able to know as the shutter suddenly closed before any of them could even make the attempt.

From behind the door, he could hear the little beasts roar and snarl in absolute fury. Crashing their little bodies against the metal in hopes of breaking through it.

Though the door wasn't budging in the slightest. Letting out a much-needed sigh of relief. John turns to DogDay to see if he's alright. "Are you ok?" John asked. The Smiling Critter coughs a little before asking why he saved him. John was silent for a few seconds till saying. "Because this place already has enough death occur in it. It needs at least one life that was saved in these walls."

DogDay took a second to digest what he heard. He lets out a ragged snort. "You really are an Angel. Something this place really needs."

John snorts too. "By the way. The name is John." DogDay said the name sounded too generic and will continue to call him Angel. Rolling his eyes. John picks up DogDay and steps onto the elevator and pushes the button. The contraption heading upward that led them to another slide. With no other option they took it, and it actually took them outside the Playhouse.

"It's been so long since I've been outside. I honestly can't believe that I'm truly free." Said DogDay. "Well believe it, you'll no longer be someone's dinner."

After a phone call from Ollie and telling him what to do next. John first takes DogDay to the elevator where Kissy and Poppy were last seen using.

When reaching it John sees the elevator was still raised up. He calls out for either Poppy or Kissy to lower the elevator so DogDay can be safe with them.

For several long seconds he didn't get a reply back. He was worried that maybe they were no longer up there. But his worries were put to rest when he heard and saw the elevator descending.

The elevator finally reached the bottom and John rested DogDay against the railing. "I don't know about this. Can you trust them?" The Smiling Critter asked. A hint of worry in his voice.

Despite what DogDay said to him back at the Playplace about he and Poppy being the only ones to stop the Prototype. John doesn't blame him for it. For years he was at the mercy of toys who he thought were his friends. And after all those years, he's finally free, only be at the mercy to a different set of toys. John reassures him that that they'll keep him safe while he deals with CatNap.

Pressing the button so the elevator can go back up. DogDay says, "Please don't die, Angel. I don't want to lose any more friends in this place."

Promising he won't. John turns around and heads for the counselor's office to bring more power to the generator.

[thestrangepoet]

The Furrcinating Adventures of Champion, the Archives Cat | The Magnus Archives Fanfiction | Ch 3/?

Based on @ultramarinaa’s Cat!Martin AU. I was going to post this one tomorrow, but Ultra convinced me of the greater need. So here you go; two chapters in one day!

CONTENT WARNINGS: None

DISCLAIMER: As per usual, this is an unedited first draft that I haven’t proofread. Forgive any typos and roughness around the edges – I tend not to go back over fanfics, as they’re just a bit of fun writing for me. (I am a full-time professional writer, and if I start telling myself I need to edit and proofread my fanfics, it’ll cease being fun for me.)

← Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

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Jon managed to unfasten Champion’s paws from his forehead in time to see the door before them open. 

Champion, meanwhile, embraced his feline fury. With a courage he didn’t know he possessed, Champion leapt forwards – earning a yelp from Jon as he springboarded off the poor man’s head – hissing and spitting at whoever or whatever was trying to corner them in the tunnels. 

A sharp screech of shock from the door had Champion reassessing his attack, and he landed in an inelegant heap on the floor with a loud thud. 

“Jesus Christ, Jon…Did you just sic the cat on me?” a familiar voice asked from the doorway. 

Jon scrambled for the flashlight, turning it towards the door to reveal their visitor to be no one more threatening than Sasha. “Ah, S-Sasha? Erm, no, he, err…he did that on his own, I assure you. I-I-I think you just gave him a bit of a fright.” 

Sasha stepped into the room, though she took care to keep her distance from the pile of fur that was Champion on the floor. She arched an eyebrow, keeping her arms folded tightly around her torso. “Seems like he wasn’t the only one a bit jumpy. Speaking of, Elias sent me. He figured you’d do some loophole jumping regarding Champion having to go into the tunnels, and he’s sent me to fetch you.” 

The head archivist collected himself just as Champion did, though only one of them needed to shake themselves to get the dust off. 

“Well, you can go back upstairs and tell Elias that I am not to be fetched unless Champion is too! I’m not leaving him down here on his own, Sasha. It’s cruel.” Jon got to his feet, heading over to Champion and picking him up off the floor. He held the cat out at arm’s length towards Sasha, who flinched backwards from the marshmallowy sight. “Look at him. Does he look like a mouser to you? He’ll be traumatised on his own down here!” 

Champion – or Martin – did his best to look incredibly un-hunter-like. He most definitely did not want to be relegated to the tunnels for the rest of his feline lives. But something in the air caught Champion’s attention then, ruining his great display of looking as soft and sad as possible. His nose twitched once, twice…What was that? A stranger? 

“Get that thing away from me!” Sasha yelped, hopping back and swiping at Jon and Champion. “I’m…I’m allergic, all right? Elias said you’d throw a strop, so he said you could bring Champion back up to the archives too, but he has to stay out of Elias’ office and away from me! And if Elias finds even one mouse in any of the storage rooms, he says he’ll fire Champion officially.” 

Jon let his arms relax, moving a dangly ragdoll of a Champion away from Sasha. “You’re allergic?” 

Bit late in the day to bring that up, Sasha, Martin thought to himself. Odd too, given Martin had heard Tim mention past cats he’d owned, and it was no secret that Tim and Sasha had a bit of a thing for each other at one point. He’d have thought one of them would have mentioned it if Sasha was allergic. 

Martin didn’t have time to develop his conspiracy theory any further, however. Jon had taken the chance to have both out of the tunnels rather swiftly, hoisting Champion over one shoulder like a furry roll of carpet, his bag over the other, then scuttling his way towards the trapdoor. 

As they walked by Sasha, though, Martin couldn’t help but sniff at the air a few more times. 

Weird. He couldn’t put his paw on quite why, but he was sure something was off about the way Sasha smelled…

──── •✧• ────

“Back from spelunking in the tunnels, Boss? Oh, and Champion! That’s who I was most worried about, obviously. C’mere, Champ!” 

Tim burst into Jon’s office – without knocking, Martin noted, as Tim swept him into his arms. He waited to see if Jon would tell Tim off for that, but seeing him barely arch an eyebrow at the matter sent Champion into a huff. 

Oblivious to the double standard that had upset him, Tim snuggled the cat in his arms, scritching the annoyed cat’s ear. “Did you have to protect little Jonny boy from the demons in the tunnels, eh?” Tim rearranged Champion in his grip so that he could hold him out, facing the cat as though in serious conversation. “Or did you find out that the real spooky horror that Jon needed protecting from was himself the whole time?”

“Stop scaring the cat, Tim,” Jon drawled, finally looking up from his work. “What do you want? Other than to harass Champion.” 

Both Tim and Champion turned to look at Jon, then back at each other. Wriggling in Tim’s hands, Champion managed to clamber up his arms and across his shoulders, settling himself there instead. Did he spot a hint of annoyance in Jon’s eyes at that? Probably wishful thinking, Martin told himself gently. 

Tim smirked, swaggering over to Jon’s desk and dropping himself down on the chair in front of it, keeping Champion balanced expertly on his shoulders. “Just back from my lunch. Figured I’d swing by Martin’s place at lunch instead of after work, y’know, ‘cause…it just doesn’t sit right with me. He wouldn’t just disappear without a word.”

Champion’s ears pricked up at this. Tim had gone to check on him? 

He leapt down from Tim’s shoulders and into his lap, miaowing at the top of his lungs and trotting in circles. However, instead of highlighting the point – Yes, Martin is missing, guys, and a random cat showed up, figure it out! – Champion’s theatrics only served to derail the conversation for a moment. Tim tried to calm him down by petting him, chuckling at the cat’s antics. “Oh, yes, see, even Champion is worried! You’d love Martin, Champion. He’d give you the best hugs, honestly, and I bet he’d sneak you way too many saucers of milk.” 

“No one should be sneaking Champion saucers of milk,” Jon noted curtly, earning him a shocked look from Champion. “It’s not actually good for cats to drink milk. 

Hypocrite! Martin thought, you’ve given me loads of saucers of milk! 

“See, that’s why he’d like Martin more,” Tim teased with a grin. “Anyway, back on point – no sign of him. Flat’s locked up, no lights on, and I channelled my inner Sims enough to snoop the windows and letterbox. Junk mail piling up. It’s like he’s gone on holiday and forgot to tell us. Which, you know, isn’t entirely out of character, but…”

“But we really should alert the police at this point.” Jon sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Hell, we should have informed them long before now, but Elias has been particularly keen not to involve the Institute in this. If an employee goes missing, the police will want to investigate.”

Tim’s eyes grew wide. “R-right, but…Martin’s missing, soooo…fuck the Institute, tell the police, yeah?”

“In so many words, yes, I think we may have reached that point.” 

Champion, still standing on Tim’s lap, looked from Tim to Jon and back again. He’d been a cat for nearly a week now; he’d assumed someone might have informed the police already, but no. No, no, apparently not. 

Huffing and puffing out his chest, Champion leapt down from Tim’s lap and stormed off. It was easier to look angry than sad as a cat. 

Cats couldn’t cry, after all. 

──── •✧• ────

[xxelliewxx]

Fire and Frost {Ellie x Reader} Ch. 3

MDNI 18+ content

Pairings: loser!(AFAB)Reader x hockey player!Ellie

Synopsis: When y/n is requested to tutor Ellie Williams in organic chemistry, she expects arrogance and attitude from the hockey player. However, she discovers a different aspect of Ellie’s tough exterior, revealed through humor and fleeting glances. This raises the question: why does Ellie go to great lengths to embarrass and harass y/n whenever they are in the presence of others?

Warnings: Mentions of depression, anxiety, sexual/physical assault, alcohol, violence, trauma (if I miss any let me know!)

w/c: 2.8k

an: this is my first time ever posting fanfic on Tumblr, so feedback is completely welcome! this is not proofread and is a work in progress.

Silicon Symmetry

As the clock struck 12:30, anticipation bubbled within you as you headed to your organic chemistry class, determined to confront Ellie and uncover the source of her unpredictable behavior. The emotional whiplash she was putting you through was overwhelming, leaving you feeling dizzy and disoriented. It felt particularly unfair, given that she knew how crucial it was for you to maintain your scholarship; her behavior appeared nothing short of self-centered. You chastised yourself for thinking she was anything but.

Determined to confront her, you hustled to catch up to the student holding the lecture hall door for you, stomping over to where the hockey player lounged, surrounded by her teammates, laughing and joking as if the events of the morning had never occurred. The sight stung, intensifying your frustration. She wants to be that way, fine, two can play that game. As you reached her combat boot-clad feet, you delivered a swift kick to her shin, drawing giggles from her friends. Cat tilted her head, a smirk playing on her lips, clearly entertained by your fury, which only ignited your anger further.

"What the fuck, Williams. Do you even care about anyone besides yourself? I can't believe I was foolish enough to think you were capable of anything beyond your own self-interest."

The brunette shot up at your remark, invading your personal space. "Here we go again, pretending you understand me. Let me make this clear, princess: I don't require your assistance, and I certainly won't waste my time on a loser like you."

Emotions swelled in your chest, and you felt a sting behind your eyes at her words. Her teammates erupted in cheers, one even giving her a congratulatory slap on the back as if she had just clinched a last-minute victory. You grabbed your iPad, bringing up the playful sketches the two of you had made earlier that day, the sound of her genuine laughter echoing in your mind. "If you're not interested in being around me, then why did you—"

You were abruptly interrupted as the iPad you had been holding shattered into fragments right before your eyes. Ellie's gaze, usually emotionless, now burned with an intensity of hatred that was unsettling. "Don't you dare approach me like this again. What gives you the audacity to even think you can look at me?"

Tears streamed down your face as you lost control, your hand instinctively shooting out to land a stinging slap across the captain's face, her head snapping to the side from the impact. In shock, you raised your hands to your mouth, a gasp escaping as disbelief washed over you, your eyes wide with astonishment at what you had just done.

Her eyes, once simmering with hatred, now blazed with an intensity that was almost palpable. Gripping your shirt tightly in her fist, Ellie lifted you effortlessly, slamming your back against the wall next to the doorframe. The force of the impact knocked the air from your lungs, leaving you gasping as you clawed at the hands that held you captive. "Lay a finger on me again, and I swear I'll end you."

You caught yourself shifting your gaze from her deep, forest-green eyes to the vivid crimson handprint emerging on her cheek. As you tried to find the right words, they eluded you, leaving your mouth agape in silence. Her eyes, shadowy and intense, revealed a flicker of vulnerability, a crack in her facade. Ellie seemed to carry a weight of remorse for what had just happened, yet her fingers clutched your shirt with an unyielding grip.

As she leaned closer, locking her gaze with yours, a rush of emotions surged through you. Then, just like that, she released you and settled back into her chair, leaving the other students wide-eyed and speechless. A wave of humiliation washed over you, making your stomach churn. In a flurry, you snatched your backpack and gathered the shattered pieces of your iPad, hurling the remnants toward the brunette before storming out.

Dr. Miller hurried from a faculty meeting, her beloved matcha latte spilling over the rim of her plastic cup as she dashed toward her classroom. A look of bewilderment crossed her features when she spotted you racing out of the lecture hall, and she quickly stepped in your path to halt your escape. 

Adjusting the items in her arms to free a hand, she softly rested it on your shoulder, her initial confusion giving way to worry. "Y/N, what’s wrong? Did something happen?" You shrugged off her concern, stepping back from her touch. 

"Dr. M, I appreciate that you believe in me, but sometimes what you see isn’t really there." With that, you turned away from your compassionate professor and hurried back to the apartment you shared with Dina and Jesse.

The October wind whipped against your tear-streaked face as you sprinted, its icy breath leaving your cheeks flushed and red. The humiliation you felt was unlike anything you had ever encountered. Sure, Ellie had pulled some messed-up stunts before, but this was a new level of cruelty. You were accustomed to her childish antics—tripping you or swiping things from your hands—but completely shattering your iPad was beyond the pale. 

 Your iPad was more than just a device for taking notes; it was your sanctuary, a place where you poured out your heart and soul. Without it, you felt adrift, a wave of despair crashing over you. Your hands trembled as you fumbled with the key to your apartment, the door creaking open with a reluctant groan. With a forceful slam, you tossed your backpack onto the kitchen counter and stormed into your bedroom. Sliding down the wall, you let out rough sobs that shook your entire body. 

Why me? What did I do to her to deserve this? Fuck you, Ellie Williams.

☾⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽☾⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱

You lost track of time as you sat there, tears streaming down your face, until a throbbing headache surged through you. Nausea clung to you as you finally pushed yourself up from the floor. With a heavy heart, you opened your bedroom door and shuffled to the kitchen sink, your hands quaking as you filled a glass with water. The refreshing liquid slid down your throat, but it did little to soothe the relentless pounding in your head.

After setting the glass down, your gaze fell on your backpack, anxiety creeping in as you realized you had no way to study for your calculus test without your notes. The absence of your iPad was a painful reminder of Ellie's relentless torment. Thankfully, Dina was in your calculus class, but the thought of borrowing her notes made you cringe; her note-taking skills were far from impressive. 

As you glanced at your phone, a few notifications popped up as you unlocked the screen. Dina had called you twice, and a flurry of texts from both her and Jesse filled your inbox, all laced with concern. You couldn't help but roll your eyes at their messages, a smile breaking through as you appreciated the care they both showed.

You pushed aside the notifications, losing yourself in the endless scroll of social media, desperately trying to avoid the nagging feeling of confinement that came from being without your journal. Suddenly, your thumb halted as you stumbled upon a post from your brother. It showcased a family gathering, a post-summer bash that had completely escaped your notice. The realization hit hard: you weren’t on the guest list. While it shouldn’t have shocked you, the sting of exclusion was still sharp, a painful reminder of how things had changed since last year.

Frustration bubbled up inside you, and you flung your phone onto the couch, wishing the intrusive thoughts would vanish. Staring blankly at the wall, you sank into silence, weighing your options. The clock ticked toward 2 PM, and soon Dina would burst through the door with Jesse, the inseparable duo who seemed to thrive on each other’s company. They were adorable, a fact that only deepened your envy, a feeling you weren’t proud to admit.

A soft knock at your door pulled you from your reverie, irritation creeping into your voice. "Seriously, Dina? Did you forget your keys again?" You rose from your seat and swung the door open, only to be met by an unexpected face. 

"Abby? W-what are you doing here?"

Abby Anderson, the assistant captain under Ellie, wasn’t someone you typically chatted with, making her sudden appearance all the more surprising. She offered you a gentle smile, which helped to ease the tension bubbling inside you. "Hey, Y/N. This might seem a bit out of the blue, but I heard about what happened in class today, and I wanted to come by and apologize."

Her words ignited a fire within you; why should she be apologizing for that worthless Williams? "Are you kidding me?" you snapped, fists clenched tightly at your sides, teeth grinding in frustration.

Abby quickly raised her hands in a gesture of peace, her voice rushing to calm you down. "I know what she did was fucked up, I am not denying that. I just want you to know it's not your fault, she's going through some serious shit right now and I really don't think she knows how to cope."

You shook your head at her words, "Abby, I'm not upset at you. I'm upset at her for not being a fucking adult and apologizing to me herself. And to be honest I don't really care what she has going on, that's no excuse to break my shit!"

Abby nodded, her expression understanding. "You're right, I don't disagree with you. I've known Ellie since we were in squirt league together, she's not an easy one to read and honestly I'm struggling to figure out where she's coming from. Nevertheless, she is my best friend and I feel the need to protect her."

Mulling over Abby's words, you let out a sigh. "Would you like to come in? I'm sure Dina wouldn't mind seeing you."

Abby smiled at your invitation, thanking you as she passed through the threshold of your apartment. This was her first time visiting without Dina, and she seemed a bit uncertain about where to settle. Sensing her hesitation, you gestured toward the couch in the living room while you retrieved a couple of beers from the fridge. "Feel free to sit there if you want."

As she took a seat, you cracked open a beer, taking a hearty gulp before offering her one. A burst of laughter escaped her lips. "You do realize it’s not even 3 PM, right?"

You shrugged nonchalantly, "who gives a fuck, it's Friday and I don't wanna think." Abby looked a bit worried at your response, placing her unopened can on the coffee table. You finished your beer, crumpling the can in your hand and tossing it into the recycling bin, already reaching for another. This wasn’t your usual drinking style, but you felt the need to escape, so why not? Fuck it.

Settling next to the hockey player, you glanced at her over the top of your can, raising an eyebrow at her amused expression. Abby chuckled and shook her head. "You’re nothing like I expected."

Laughing at her remark, you nudged her shoulder playfully. "Fuck you, Anderson."

A comfortable silence enveloped you both until she broke it again. "You really are doing her a favor, you know? She doesn’t deserve your kindness or your patience, yet you keep giving it. Why is that?" 

Trying to distract yourself, you fiddled with the frayed threads of your ripped jeans, pulling them apart and rolling them between your fingers. With a shrug, you replied, "I don't know, Abby. I guess I can't stand by and watch someone fail at something they've been working their whole life for."

Abby’s gaze fell on your troubled expression, a wave of sympathy washing over her. "Yeah, she really doesn’t deserve you." 

Her words carried a weight that eluded your grasp, complicating the situation far beyond your expectations. With a heavy sigh, you murmured, "Maybe I’m not worthy of her. There must be something I did to make her loathe me so intensely. If only she could see the real me, perhaps she wouldn’t wish I didn’t exist."

The blonde next to you appeared to be wrestling with her thoughts, finally reaching for her beer can and taking a long sip. After wiping her lips, Abby turned to you and said, "Hey, there’s a party at the hockey house tonight. Dina was planning to go and mentioned inviting you. You’ll have her to hang out with, but don’t forget about me. Hell, we did share a beer at 2 PM, after all.

You smiled back at her, clinking your can against hers. "Thanks, Abby." The idea of attending a party filled you with anxiety, yet something about the girl beside you made it seem like nothing could go wrong, so you found yourself agreeing to join.

As you chatted, Dina and Jesse burst through the front door, takeout bags in hand. The aroma of Chinese food wafted through the air, making your mouth water. It was common for you to skip meals until dinner, as morning and afternoon nausea made it difficult to eat. But when dinner arrived, it was a different story.

Dina greeted Abby with enthusiasm, clearly thrilled to see one of her favorite teammates. "Hey, Abs! Want to stay for dinner? We could carpool to the party!" She raised her eyebrows playfully, prompting a laugh from Abby.

"I appreciate it, D, but Ellie asked me to help set up for tonight. I was just about to head out," Abby replied, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder and flashing you an encouraging smile before crushing her can and tossing it into the bin next to yours. Dina observed the interaction and decided to bring it up while serving General Tso's chicken and fortune cookies, pouring your share onto a paper plate she had grabbed from the cupboard.

Jesse looked as if he were bracing for an explosion, casting nervous glances your way throughout dinner, which only served to irritate you. Setting your fork down with a clatter, you turned to him and said, "Can you please stop looking at me like I'm about to combust any second?"

A flush of pink spread across his cheeks, clearly embarrassed by his lack of subtlety. Dina rolled her eyes at him, giving his shin a swift kick from beneath the table, prompting a soft "ouch" to escape his lips. "Sorry, Y/N. I heard you had a rough day."

You shot a glare at Dina, realizing you should have expected nothing less from her, considering he was her boyfriend. Shoving a piece of chicken into your mouth, you tried to ignore him, grains of rice tumbling off your fork and scattering into your lap. Just then, Dina reached across the table, halting your movements and preventing any more rice from joining the mess.

"Y/N, I'm really sorry about her, only a few on the team actually find her shit amusing. We're gonna give her hell at practice tomorrow, don't worry. Abby even insisted on it."

The mention of Abby made your cheeks heat up, recalling how kind she had been to you. But that warmth quickly faded as you found yourself longing for that same kindness from another player, a frown settling on your face. "It doesn’t matter, D. Nothing’s going to change. Whatever I did to her is so unforgivable that she’ll never let it go. It’s just absurd; all I did was bump into her by mistake. Before that, I had never even spoken to her!"

Dina instinctively withdrew her hand, sensing your need for some distance after your emotional outburst. She wished she had the right words to comfort you, but the truth was, she was just as puzzled. Ellie was an enigma that everyone was eager to understand, and sometimes it felt like even Ellie was still trying to figure herself out.

"I'm sorry, Dina. I didn't mean to freak on you, I just can't stand this. All I want is to be her friend, but I can’t understand why she’s treating me so poorly." You absentmindedly pushed the chicken around on your plate, watching it scoop up bits of rice from the sticky sauce.

“Y/N, I assure you, you haven’t done anything wrong. No one deserves to be treated like this.” You turned to her, your frown deepening. “Let’s just forget about Ellie for tonight. She’ll be too busy with the party to even notice you. Plus, we’ll be right there to support you! It’s time to break out of that shell; you have so much charisma to share.”

A smile crept onto your face as you appreciated Dina’s ability to lift your spirits, grateful for her unwavering friendship during tough times. “You’re right, to hell with her! I’m getting wasted tonight.”

Jesse hooped and hollered, cheering in agreement. "Fuck yeah! Let's get crunk."

Dina chuckled, shaking her head at the two of you, a playful grin lighting up her face.

@liasxeatt

@vahnilla

[babbygirlblues]

Chapter 3: Ch-ch-ch-changes (Time may change me, but I can’t trace time)

By the end of the week your calendar has 5 ‘X’s’ from Tuesday to Saturday. On Sunday morning something magical happens. 

One of X’s pigeons flies through your window and small bits of dirt and feathers fall onto the fall as it skids across the floorboards. 

You untie the paper-wrapped package attached to its back and quickly go to get it some seed mix and a bowl of water.

Once the bird is happy eating and drinking on your living room floor, you skid back over to the package and rip it open. 

A set of tubes knock together with a glowing red liquid inside. 

A slip of paper is folded up between them reads: 

Should be enough for about 10 trips. 

Test: Earth, within 10 years

X

You carefully pour a tube into the little accelerator box, and take your place in the centre of the circular mat, another gift from X. You’re racking up quite the tab. 

Glass twists up your legs until it reaches your head, turning your skin a glistening lucid sheen. 

You take a deep breath and press the watch.

It clicks.

Did it work?

Your vision slowly creeps back in, and you immediately recognise the night you’ve chosen to come to. 

You’d put in these coordinates and this date almost instinctively. 

God! You’d forgotten how cold it was. 

You’re on the outskirts of St Petersburg, Russia for your first mission with Natasha. 

At this point, you were friends, close friends but your feelings for her had long changed from platonic.

Icicles form on the smooth surface of your skin that is tinged white and blue like the ice. 

It was the same that day. 

You look on from the otherside of the mountain, almost invisible against the white snow beneath you, and watch the two of you climb side by side. 

On foot you follow in Natasha’s footsteps up the snow covered mountain. You’ve turned to glass to avoid the deadly cold climates and feel a bit guilty for it. Fog puffs from Natasha’s mouth with every breath but she doesn’t seem cold though which makes you feel a bit better. 

The two of you are on the way to a base up ahead that was recently raided by an unknown enemy. 

Natasha has a worried and knowing look in her eyes but she refuses to say anything she may suspect about those responsible for the attack.

You don’t push her for answers and follow her lead loyalty. Missions like this were usually left to mid-level agents like Natasha. It was never something that Fury let you risk exposure for, even though it occasionally came at the cost of agents' lives. 

Curiously though, you’ve been posted for this one. You don’t care, if anything you’re just excited to spend time with her. It feels good to know that you’ll be here to help protect her if anything goes wrong. A welcome change from the times you watch her leave, and only to wait desperately for the moment she comes back off a carrier safe and sound.

The mission is simple. Salvage anything you can from what was abandoned, destroyed or set on fire. Then destroy what was left for real.

The base is hidden behind a rocky interface between two mountains. It looks dangerous. As you start to climb you drop back to follow behind Natasha in case she slips or a rock beneath her comes loose from the mountain face. It looks like a rocky landslide could take off at any moment. You’re prepared to catch her and carry her up, floating above the rocks at any moment. 

You’re not sure if it’s appropriate to offer her a flight up before anything goes wrong.

She stumbles a couple of times when the rock beneath her twists and —-. Each time your feet are off the ground and your hands are a hair's width away from her, ready to lift her from the rocky avalanche. But she always catches herself like a dancer who already anticipated the movement beforehand.

The base is small, a huge garage for helicopters that take agents to the base, rooms for armoury, file storage and dormitories. The control rooms are the worst damaged, computers with screens caved in, and most servers have been ripped from the racks and look like they’ve had hammers taken to them.

The whole time, Natasha moves like she’s in a trance. Skimming through file after file, electronic and hard copies like she’s searching for something. Every piece of garbage she picks up seems to add a piece to the puzzle that she’s solving in her mind. 

However, you feel aimless, digging through scraps of metal and paper, hardly understanding what’s in front of you. 

You can’t help but wonder again why you’re here. There is no pressing need for your powers and you can only string together simple sentences in Russian. You feel useless.

It took a few hours of searching before Natasha decides you’ve seen enough. She comes out of the last room and tells you that there’s nothing left to see. 

You pour a special SHIELD technology petroleum through the whole base and set it on fire. You stubbornly insist that she stay outside and at least 200m metres away the whole time. 

There’s no-one available for a pick up so the two of you get posted in a safe house until morning. You arrive at the door of an old cabin at sunset and it feels impossibly colder inside than out. 

Natasha takes a look at your shivering figure and is surprised by how charming she finds your arms curled into yourself. You could have stayed in glass form, but once the mission was officially complete it felt weird.

The cabin is a single room with a bathroom at the back. It’s completely barren except for a small couch and kitchenette, and a thick layer of dust has settled on almost every visible surface. The fireplace is black with soot and old charcol, but it’s calling your name.

“Do you want to search the cupboards for any food?” Natasha asks. 

She gestures to the fireplace, “I’ll get started on a fire.” 

“Yeah, okay.” 

You go through every drawer and cupboard in the place until you find one of them has a few cans of tomato spaghetti. They expired 2 years ago, it’ll have to do. There’s a fork and spoon in one of the drawers and you grab them both. 

Natasha comes back in with a few logs and a handful of twigs, a blisters like wind follows inside before her, blowing snow and cold air through her hair and into the room. She lets the door slam shut behind her.

Kneeling in the fireplace to start a fire and with her bare hands you watch her rub sparks into one of the dryer logs. Somehow smoke starts to blow, the grass and sticks turn the sparks into flames and soon a blazing fire glows and starts to warm the room. 

You almost run over to her, entranced by the warmth and red glow of the fire. You offer her the cans you found. You take a seat next to her on the ground and huddle together to conserve some warmth.

She opens the lids with the knife strapped to her calf and places them on a rack above the fire to warm up.

Natasha chuckles at the way you aggressively rub your hands together and practically moan at the warmth from the fire. Your face is going red from the heat. 

“You can change to glass, you know.” She says. “I don’t mind.”

“And let you suffer alone?” 

“You’re the only one suffering.” She laughs. “I’m Russian, I don’t get cold.”

“That’s impossible.”

After you’d choked down the old spaghetti in silence, you got up to look at the sleeping situation on the couch.

The bottom pulled out to extend it into a bed and the backrest cushions made up the bottom half of the ‘mattress’. 

“Voila!” You display the bed to her.

“You can take it.” She says. 

“What?”

“I’ll take the floor.”

“There’s plenty of space.”

“It’s ok.” She insists and refuses to move from her spot on the floor.

“This is ridiculous, we can easily share the bed.”

Granted, you were incredibly nervous to sleep next to her. And worried about anything your mind might accidentally conjure up during the night. Your power can sometimes show up, sand creeping from your fingertips to create various objects in your dreams, but you haven’t had any incidents for many years. 

“Fine.” You relent to her wishes.

You pass her two of the cushions to make an improvised mattress on the floor. She pieces them together and sits on it. She turns back to face the fire and her hair drops to cover her face from you. 

You collect the other two remaining cushions and move them onto the ground next to her. A small gap between the two of you. 

“What are you doing?”

You lie down and your feet hang off the end, but it’s reasonably comfortable and warmer than sitting on the cold floor. You close your eyes and try to relax.

“Sleeping, what does it look like?” You try to keep the smile off your lips, but fail. You blink one eye open to take a peek at her, and she’s smiling at you like you’re an idiot. 

Eventually she concedes and lies down on her cushions, her body parallel to yours across the floor. The light from the fire dims slightly and the sun is long gone from the sky.

You wonder if she’s fallen asleep, because it's silent for a while before she speaks.

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Go for it.” You say.

“The sand.” She says. “How does that work?”

She’s never really asked about your powers before. You’ve mentioned places you’ve lived, your mothers, but nothing much more. It was never important to her, even though it's all everyone else seems to care about.

It doesn’t surprise you that she’s curious to know more. 

“How can I make stuff?” 

“Hmm, yeah.” There’s something more to her question. 

“Well, you know about my mother, and how she had the same powers. She was born from her planet. The planet grew out from its core which was a powerful stone, one of the most powerful entities within the universe. When she was born she literally emerged from the sand dunes. My sand is the same, it’s a connection to the planet, and its core, the power stone.”

“What I make is basically up to me. It could be anything, the only limit really is my imagination.”

“But some things would be pointless to make because it can only be sand or glass. Swords are good, but a bed wouldn’t be that comfortable.”

“And it turns black once it loses connection to your body?”

“Yeah.”

The conversation lulls. You’re not sure what else to tell her.

Natasha breaks the silence. 

“The mission today?” She says

“Yeah.”

“I asked for you to come.”

“Oh.”

The silence stands still in the room and your mind reels for something more to say. Why? Ok. I’m glad you did.

“The base was one I’ve been to before.”

Oh. “KGB?”

“No.”

A heavy feeling presses deep on Natasha’s chest. She can’t get the next words out. 

“Whatever it is, I promise you can tell me. And it won’t change anything.”

She tells you about the Red Room. About her mother abandoning her as a baby. Training, graduation and then her career as a spy. When she’s finished, the fire is almost out. Her voice is weary and she’s too tired to hold back her tears. 

You reach across the space between you and gingerly loop your pinky around hers. She sniffles into the darkness and squeezes your finger tightly. 

With all the determination in your voice that you can muster, you tell her, “You are the most incredible thing in the entire universe.”

“That is so much, too much, for one person to go through. I’m so sorry.”

She sobs. You shift to hold her hand properly and try to inch as close as you can, almost tipping off the side of your makeshift bed. 

“Can I move closer?”

“Yes.” She immediately replies. 

You shuffle the cushions over until they press next to hers. 

“I wish things had been so different for you.” You whisper.

“It’s truly astonishing how strong you are. How kind you are.”

“No. I’m not a good person.” She warns you. 

“I don’t believe you.”

“I’ve done terrible things.” 

You tell her that anything she’s done for them was not her fault. You’ll tell her everyday until she finally hears you. 

“Love is unconditional.” You tell her.

She says she doesn’t deserve love.

“You deserve love from anyone you want it from.”

You don’t want to push her. The words on your lips are I love you, I love you! Please pick me.

“Anyone would be so lucky to love you.” 

There’s a moment where you fear you’ve pushed too far. Dread seeps through your stomach that you’ve made her uncomfortable after she’s just opened up to you. You curse yourself for taking her painful confession and making it about you.

Before you can apologise, Natasha leans over and presses a hot kiss to your lips.

~~~

You wish you knew earlier how the night would end. You’d kick yourself out just to take her place and experience it with her again. You watch the pair of you disappear behind the curve of the mountain, Natasha was right there and your heart calls out to her.

But you can’t stay. Years from now, Natasha is waiting to be saved and finally you have a way back to her. 

Yelena and Kate are waiting too.

You close your eyes, and with a deep breath, you tap the gadget on your wrist and let it take you back to your apartment in New York, present day.

[kyndredravenstories]

Eyes of Infinity: Chapter 17

Hello, I have been posting my work on AO3 and recently decided to venture here to Tumblr. Please note: This story is 18+. No minors. Please read tags carefully. Link to AO3 below but I will also be posting the chapters here.

Pairing: Sylus/Female MC with some elements of Xavier/Female MC

Genre: Romance, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst, Adventure, Smut, Porn with Big Plot and Big Feelings

Content Warning (For the entire fic): Explicit sexual content, spoilers and alterations to existing lore and cards/memories/tender moments/secret times, size kink, size difference, vaginal sex, cunnilingus, anal sex, fingering, all kinds of fingering, elements of consensual somno, dom!Sylus, jealousy, possessive!Sylus, Mephisto stalking, typical game violence, battle and combat

Summary: To love him meant stepping over the threshold and crossing into darkness. To be with him meant accepting the lure of the shadows. And to protect him from betrayal meant sacrifice. I knew not how, only that I would not let time sever our paths ever again.

Previous Chapters: Ch 1 / Ch 2 / Ch 3 / Ch 4 / Ch 5 / Ch 6 / Ch 7 / Ch 8 / Ch 9 / Ch 10 / Ch 11 / Ch 12 / Ch 13 / Ch 14 / Ch 15 / Ch16

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In response to the White Wolf's request, a tidal wave of protests washes over the ring. Chaos, shouting, and furious gestures break out among the Chieftains and the entire crowd. The audience leaps to their feet, protesting with a fury I've never seen before. The weight of over one hundred eyes falls upon me, and I stare at the sand in the ring, afraid to look up. I don't need to see them to know what they're thinking.

Did the Kismet have something to do with this? Surely, I am going to protest this development. I have that right, after all. No man can take a bride without her consent. It's my duty to stand up right now; to chastise this Outsider. The Kismet is the symbol of salvation and renewal for these people, and the White Wolf has betrayed their trust by declaring her as his own.

But, my body does not move. Not a muscle.

I focus on the White Wolf instead of the Tribe's venomous glares. This peculiar and foolhardy warrior. Is he not afraid of divine retribution? A curse? The animosity of so many warriors? No matter how strong he is, he cannot overcome all of these people. Yet, judging by the way he stands still as stone, he fears nothing.

Beside me, Sorocan's hand flies to my wrist and tightens on it like the death grip of an adder. Sweat breaks out on the nape of my neck as I watch her eyes catch fire with fury. She looks at me, her upper lip rising up over her front teeth in an expression of disgust.

"Don't you dare move, girl," she hisses. "Look at the ground. He has no right..."

I tune out the rest of what she says, for despite my shock at the sudden turn of events, my eyes can't help but stray back to the man in the center of the ring. All the other faces melt into a kaleidoscope of blurred colors as my vision snaps to the White Wolf's beautiful red eyes. His hawk-like piercing gaze quickens the blood in my veins, and with each pulse of my heart, the mark around my wrist bites deeper into my skin. My hand comes up to clutch at my shirt right over my heart. I dare not hope this is my savior, but if this is my chance, I dare not waste it either. Could this man be an answer to my prayers? Is this the turn of fate that will finally free me from this prison?

No. Impossible. The Chieftains won't permit it.

Sorocan will not.

I dig my nails into the arms of the chair beneath me, hoping this foreign warrior can withstand the numerous obstacles before him. I can't possibly fathom what he wants with a woman he's never met before, but his determination to have his way is written in the proud tilt of his chiseled jaw. My gaze roves over his lean warrior's body. He's strong, and his eyes blaze with a calculating gleam. Surely he knew the opposition he would face in demanding the hand of the Kismet. Surely, he came prepared to fight and take what he sees as rightfully his.

I have no doubt he can take me by force.

The other warriors protest and clamor at his demand, but they do not approach him. Even Tögöldör and Batu seem wary of him, their fists tight at their sides and their shoulders squared as they face him. One leans back on his spear, a predator prepared to strike. The other stands stiff and coiled like a snake, prepared to lash out should the White Wolf take a step in his direction. The Arataan is the size of an onyx mountain bear, and the warriors' demeanor suggests they view him as something equally dangerous.

The Chieftains' faces are pale as they clamor with the crowd. But, they haven't refused the request outright. If they could have, they would have immediately. No questions asked. For the thousandth time, I wonder – just who is this mysterious stranger? Who is he to stir such fear and awe in the strongest of warriors and Chieftains? Who is he to think he can ask for – and take – that which cannot be given? He said I am his. Brazenly so, like a man claiming his life mate. The last thing I want is to be stolen away to be someone's possession, but at this point even that is better than being chained to a rock and sacrificed in the name of something I have no faith in.

My earlier question bounces back like a boomerang. Indeed, it seems this man is my only hope. The mark on his wrist marks him as the one I've been searching for. Gritting my teeth, I yank my wrist out of Sorocan's grasp, ignoring the sting of her nails clawing at me. I rush to stand, and a cold pressure reminds me of the chain strapping my ankle to the chair. Sorocan glares daggers at me, pulling on my arm to get me to sit back down. But, I won't. I refuse. Something stirs deep inside me; bubbling to the surface like boiling water. I hate this woman. What right does she have to enslave me? What right does she have to take my life?

My hands tremble, and something faint as the first snowflakes of winter gathers at my fingertips. A golden glowing light. An ethereal warmth. Power. Magic. I've never been able to feel it before, but now –

Devour...

I gasp at the sudden voice in my ear, so loud it seems to rumble through my very bones.

Devour...

The mark on my wrist aches. At first, I don't understand. Devour what? Or...whom?

This woman before me? Sorocan? What use is she –

Devour him...

Unbidden, my eyes shift back to the ring.

I meet a knowing blood red gaze.

Devour him...he's already yours...

As though he can hear the voice, too, the White Wolf smirks. An expression of arrogance; of confidence. All around him, people continue to yell and shout. Yet, he is unaffected. In this moment, there's no one around us or between us. The mirth at the corner of his lips tugs them into a gentle smile. He raises an arm as though reaching out to me, bending his fingers into his palm. His lips move, and I recognize the command on them. The invitation.

All of the anger and pain I've been bottling up for months hits me all at once. Tears sting my eyes, and my lip trembles. I step forward, but the chain on my foot holds me back. I lift my skirt when I feel something warm and alive snaking around my leg. Hot enough to alarm me, but not hot enough to burn. It's a fine black and red mist. My breath catches as the chain dissolves into thin air.

Snap.

It's more than one kind of freedom.

Not just my body, but my mind as well.

As soon as I'm free, I barrel through the crowd in front of me. I push people out of the way with every ounce of strength I can muster. Some warriors jump in front me to stop me. My body moves on instinct. I dip and dodge. Sorocan is shouting for them to bring me back immediately. But, all I can see is the White Wolf and his outstretched hand. I run to him, the wind biting at the places where tears stream down my face.

As I step closer and closer to him, his image blurs and shifts. For a split second, I see shining onyx horns adorning the top of his head. Black scales and armor wrap around his skin. A large reptilian tail sways behind him. As soon as the image comes together, it vanishes. As I jump over the barrier to the ring and sprint through the sand of the arena, it's just him standing there...

Just him.

Elation swells through me until my heart nearly bursts.

A gasp of relief and I'm flying into his arms.

Another breath and his powerful arms lift me into the air. He spins me around, and his scent wraps around me. Warmth. Safety. As it melds with my senses, I look up at him. He holds me up as though I weigh nothing. My lips part to call his name.

And I stop.

Nothing comes from memory.

He senses it immediately. Catches my hesitation. The crimson in his eyes darkens like a churning storm. He looks at me with expectation.

"I'm sorry...I..."

He realizes, then, that I don't remember who he is, and the result of that knowledge transforms his features. His eyes grow wide then narrow again, arching brows furrowing his beautiful face into a look of raw, unchecked hurt. His pain rips into me like the claws of a beast; it's like I've been thrown into a frozen pond.

He lowers me to the ground, sliding his hand up my forearm. Our fingers twine together like saplings seeking warmth in winter. He stares at our palms as though expecting something. His hand is huge over mine. Instantly, I know that I've held this hand before. Many times. Again following my instinct, I cover his calloused knuckles with my fingers. I've missed this hand, this strength, these impossibly warm arms. Pulling him towards me, I close my eyes and press my cheek against his chest.

People are still staring at us. Angry faces. Bewildered. Outraged.

But, I'm the one unaffected now.

The White Wolf's heartbeat murmurs against my ear. I close my eyes.

One beat.

Then two.

And then it all makes sense.

When I look at the White Wolf again, he is no longer nameless.

"Sylus," I smile. "Sylus, you found me."

I can't describe the expression on his face now. It's too profound for words. Relief is too weak a term. Happiness is too vague an emotion. He leans forward, nearly staggering, as though a terrible weight has been lifted from his shoulders. Only I can hear his shaky breath as he reaches out and ruffles my hair. Schooling his face back into a merciless mask, he looks back towards the crowd. I press close to him, squeezing his hand in mine.

"Can we go home?" I ask, my voice hoarse. "This isn't quite what I had in mind when you described a getaway. Next time, maybe run it by me first."

"Where's the fun in that, kitten?" he asks, his face stone cold yet his words soft and tender.

Our Chieftain's voice bellows out across the ring. "Silence!"

After a moment, the crowd quiets. I squeeze Sylus's hand tighter.

"Arataan," our Chieftain's deep voice booms out. "This is one wish we cannot grant you."

Sylus smiles, but the expression doesn't quite reach his eyes. His fiery red orbs remain cold and aloof as he speaks in turn, "This is not a negotiation. Either you release her, or I will take her."

He shifts his weight between his feet, and the warriors around us start. Some even take a step back. Tögöldör stabs his spear forward defensively while Batu's eyes narrow. The Chieftain signals for them to stand down.

"You have won a place among our people with your strength and might. You have saved one of our sister Tribes from destruction. Have you done all of this planning to doom us all to death and ruin?"

Sylus raises an elegant brow, unamused at the accusation. "Interesting that you mention ruin when it is your Speaker playing games."

"Hold your tongue, you insolent whelp," Sorocan hisses, completely out of character.

Sylus blinks back at her, unimpressed. "Find another Kismet. You still have time before the ritual. Isn't that so?"

The Chieftains look crestfallen, and I've never seen Sorocan so pale. Her blue eyes sear into me from across the arena, her knuckles white as she clutches her staff.

"Fight, then," our Chieftain rasps. Then again, louder - "Fight, then! If you are declared Champion, we will speak again. Until then, you are to keep your distance from the Kismet. She belongs to our deity. No mortal man may covet her."

A chuckle rumbles in Sylus's chest. His thumb traces the back of my hand. "I do not need to covet what is already mine," he smirks.

More clamoring from the warriors and the audience. I suppose I can understand their apprehension. Losing me as a sacrifice means inciting the anger of their God. Sorocan's eyes have me immobilized. For months, she's been the warden on the other side of my chains. But, I've always been able to empathize with her at least somewhat. After all, she was only trying to protect her people. Now, though, I don't know how to feel when I witness the desperation in her gaze. Is she even real? Where has the gem taken us? What is this world? Is all of this a dream? A hallucination? If so, then why can't we just sweep through here and get out?

If that was an option, something tells me Sylus would have already done it.

"Speaker, what say you?" The Chieftain lays a hand on Sorocan's shoulder. She finally breaks eye contact with me and bites her lip. She steps up to stand closer to the Chieftain, raising her staff in the air as she addresses the crowd.

"The rules of the Conclave are absolute and binding. Should this White Wolf claim the title of Champion, his wish will be granted."

Deathly silence follows this proclamation. I can't believe she's agreed to it.

"However," she pauses, as though for dramatic effect. "Young warrior, what you have asked for is not for this Speaker to give. The Champion is one chosen by the Gods, blessed with their strength to aid the Tribes. The price of the wish you ask for is steep. You will fight with a handicap, and if you persevere, you may take the gem and the Kismet as your own. Are you in agreement?"

Sylus rubs his long graceful fingers across his bottom lip thoughtfully. "I'll agree to these terms," he says. "So long as you agree to mine. The Kismet is not to be harmed or removed from this village for the duration of the Conclave. She is to remain here. Lastly, the only Kismet I will accept is the woman I hold now. Should these terms be violated," his voice drops to an icy baritone. "You will not be fond of the consequences."

From there, everything is a blur. Sylus stays by my side as the Chieftains and the Speaker say prayers for the coming year ahead. Flowers are scattered throughout the ring to give blessings to the Champion candidates. At last, the horn blows one last time to signal the end of the first day. The opening ceremony of the Conclave is concluded, but the celebrations are half hearted. Sorocan comes to take me away with a group of warriors after the processions are complete. As I turn to follow her back to my tents, Sylus tugs me against him one last time. I thrill as his hand strokes my cheek.

"Wait for me," he says softly then pushes me gently back to my jailer.

I stumble towards her, my knees weak and my heart racing. As I follow her to my quarters, I wrap my arms around myself. My mind reels, thoughts muddled and hazy as I struggle to process the memories of my actual life with everything I've experienced in the last several months here. Now that I remember the truth, I'm more helpless than ever before. I don't have my weapons, my Hunter watch, or any of the gadgets I've grown used to. I can't call for backup, and I have no idea where I am. Did the gem transport us into a Protofield? I've never seen one so extensive, especially not one with other people in it. Were they real? Was it possible to be trapped in a Protofield for this long and survive? And, if this was a Protofield, where was the Wanderer responsible for generating it?

Too many unanswered questions. I wish Tara was here, and remembering her only sharpens my longing for home. I dig my fingers into my arms, pressing my lips together. Whatever the situation may be, moping isn't going to help anything. Besides, I trust Sylus. He'd brought us here for a reason. He told me to wait for him. Sure, but that didn't mean I was going to twiddle my thumbs while I waited at the top of the tower like a princess in a storybook.

If we could simply walk out of this delusion, Sylus wouldn't have agreed to Sorocan's deal. Now that I've seen a part of her true self, I can only imagine what sort of cruel handicap she'll set to ensure Sylus doesn't claim the title of Champion. I can't let my impulses drive any of my decisions. I have to act carefully, no matter how much I want to punch the old woman in front of me well into next week. I grit my teeth when she chains my leg to the post in my yurt and leaves without a word.

Determination realigned, I stand up and start exploring the room. I've made so many rounds in this yurt over the last few months, pacing in circles like a caged tiger. But, I'm different now. I'm no longer a wandering outsider with no memories, but a fully trained Deepspace Hunter. My eyes see more than most, and my mind responds to situations with a strategic outlook.

The chain on my leg is a lost cause. Sylus managed to break it in the arena only thanks to his Evol. I don't have the kind of the strength that requires, nor does my exploration of the yurt leave me with any tools that would be up to the task. I examine the mark on my wrist. If I had to guess, I'd say it reminds me of the Linkage that's trapped Sylus and I together in the past. More than ever, it resembles a coiling serpent.

That thought triggers something, a memory of Sylus standing in the ring.

For a moment, I could have sworn he looked...strange. The image is fuzzy no matter how hard I try to remember it, but I can't forget the horns and tail I saw.

My heart squeezes tightly in my chest. The mark on my wrist throbs. Something catches my attention in the corner of my vision, and I turn my head to see one of the many lavish decorations placed in my quarters as "tribute" to my status. It's a large round and flat piece of reflective metal that's about as tall as I am. I approach and kneel before it, my hands trembling as they reach up to touch my hair.

My long onyx hair that is turning starlight white right before my very eyes.

Eyes that should be green.

I blink, and when I open them again they are crimson red just like Sylus's.

Deeply disturbed, I gasp and back away from the mirror-like object. I bring my hair in front of my face, confirming the change in hue.

What's going on here? How is this possible? I've never experienced effects like this in a Protofield. I squash down a wave of panic, especially when an even bigger fear manifests.

Sylus – the one I held today and the one that asked me to wait for him. Is he a part of this illusion? Is he even real? Am I still lost in this world all alone? Or has he really come to help me escape it?

We will find the truth together – his voice lilts across my memories. It was the last thing he said to me before we were brought to this place.

The truth? What truth?

I take a deep breath and steady myself, but balance remains out of my reach. Minutes drag on like hours, and with each moment's passing I struggle to keep my composure.

That's how Sylus finds me that night.

Unsteady. Uncertain. Full to the brim with trepidation and doubt.

His Evol mist materializes from thin air, first appearing as a ghostly cloud of falling black feathers then swelling into a spinning portal. He steps out of it with his hands in his pockets, the sight so familiar that I can't help but let out a shaky breath of relief. His massive height dwarfs the yurt around me. If possible, he looks even bigger than I recall. The fighter's gear isn't helping. It accents his muscular shoulders, lean powerful waist, and long legs.

Goosebumps break out all across my arms. A pleasant weakness wraps around my knees. I stand up to greet him, and in the span of another breath, he's enveloped me in his reassuring heat and scent. We stay like this for an unknown span of time. I'm not ready to let go yet. I hope he isn't planning on leaving anytime soon because I don't want to be separated from him again. I take another deep breath. Then another. Finally, I pull back to look at his face. His sharp eyes roam over my features. Subconsciously, I flick my hair away from my shoulders. His fingers reach up and tease a white lock between them. For a moment, he looks to be deep in thought.

"Interesting," his eyes snap back up to me, and there's a playful glint in them again.  

"It just...happened...I looked in the mirror and suddenly," I wave my hands in a vague gesture of frustration, struggling for the right words as his thumb softly brushes over my cheekbone. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised anymore. Nothing that's happened here is normal." I stop rambling and worry my bottom lip, acutely aware of his unblinking gaze. "Does it...look weird?"

I peek up at him through my lashes. He looks quite amused, the fiend.

"Didn't I tell you before?" he asks. "No matter what you look like or what title you hold, no matter if you're a Hunter or a Sorceress," the pad of his finger slides down my cheek to tuck some hair behind my ear, "you are Ellara."

"A sorceress," I frown, trying to mask my embarrassment. "Where did that come from?"

The pain from the moment of our reunion slips across his face as quickly as a glare of light across a pool of water. It's a split second. So fast that I doubt my own vision. It's dark in here, after all. Maybe I imagined it. I've seen this man get shot, get sliced with a knife, and suffer other wounds. Yet, I've never seen him really express pain unless it was to tease me and my anxiety.

"You like to read those kinds of novels, don't you? Fantasy stories," he jokes, but the humor is hollow behind his words. "Luke brought one home the other day."

So that's where my favorite book had disappeared to. I pout at Sylus, always amazed at how readily he accepts whatever comes his way. "So, are you going to tell me where we are?"

The tension relaxes from the line of his mouth. His eyes soften from ruby stone into mellow aged wine. He thumbs my earlobe between his fingers. Gently. Teasingly. I squirm back, heat flushing my cheeks.

"If I do, it will ruin the point of the exercise," he smirks.

Folding my arms across my chest, I vent a hot breath of frustration and disbelief. Honestly, this man is quite insufferable when he wants to be. "This isn't funny, Sylus. Do you have any idea what I've been through the last few months in this hell?"

His expression grows somber, though his hand continues to stroke my hair. "I do." His words are full of sincerity, and I wait for him to elaborate.

And wait.

My patience snaps, but somehow I can't be angry with him. Not when I've missed him so much. I reach out and place my hand on the center of his chest. Immediately, he covers it with his own.

"Didn't you tell me we would find the truth together? How does keeping secrets help anything?"

Sylus says nothing, just pulls me against him again. I hate it when he leaves me out of things; when he tries to keep me at a distance to "protect me". I want to prove that I'm strong enough to walk in his world right beside him, not behind him. But, right now, this embrace feels too good; he feels too good. I abandon my questioning for now. The tension that's been building inside me for months has snapped like a rubber band. I can't help feeling that everything will be alright now that he's here.

He lifts me into his arms, glaring down at the chain on my foot. Black and red mist gathers around us, making his silver hair sway with the breeze. With a snap of his fingers, the chain around me evaporates into black ash. My heartbeat quickens. I have to admit I find that threatening irked expression of his insanely hot. And his power, too. It should scare me, but instead it just...

I swallow past a sudden lump in my throat.

"Sylus..."

"Shush, kitten," he rumbles down at me. "Let me hold you. These months haven't been a walk in the park for me, either."

Oblivious to the direction of my fanciful thoughts, he walks to an arrangement of luxurious furs, handwoven red and gold blankets, and plume-stuffed cotton pillows decorating a wide sofa. It's an area that acts like a lounge for eating and receiving company. Of course, my company has been nonexistent these months. It's all for show, just like my fancy jewelry and clothes. I've grown to hate this spot, sitting on my own, curled in a ball, only able to see sunlight through a slit in the tent.

I want to protest his choice of destination and wrap my arms tighter around him. But, I don't get a chance. In moments, Sylus settles us comfortably among the silks, wool, and fur. He positions me in his lap and wraps me in a white fox-fur blanket while he leans against the wooden spine of the seat. The four-seater looks like it will barely fit one more now that he's sprawled in it.

He reaches down and slips off my shoes one by one, tossing them carelessly in some random direction. My toes curl. Despite the blanket, I shiver in the chill of the coming night. The maids haven't come to do their evening rounds yet. Usually they would have come by now to stoke the fire and set up a hot bath.

The thought startles me.

"Sylus, if someone sees you here–"

"They won't," he says, matter of fact. I frown at his fighter's gear.

"Aren't you cold wearing this?"

Not that I mind the view.

Not in the least.

The expanse of his abdomen has me mesmerized for a moment before I force myself to look away. I don't dare look at him; he always seems to know when I ogle his body and can be quite smug about it. Hopefully he missed it just this one time in the darkness. Despite my criticism, I'm already reaching up to toy with a few of the multi-colored braids tethered to his chest piece. They're softer than they look. Each one is an enemy defeated. Each one is its own challenge overcome.

"Worried about me?" Sylus huffs. As if he doesn't know that I really do worry. Too much.

Ignoring him, I snag another nearby blanket with my toes and awkwardly pull it up. It takes some shuffling – Sylus looking far too amused all the while – but I manage to wrap it around his shoulders.

"You're fighting tomorrow," I fuss at him. "What's going to happen if you get sick?"

"It's not that cold," he chuckles.

It is though; it's just that he radiates more heat than any normal human being.

"Honestly speaking," his eyes captivate me as his voice drops to a low drawl, "I prefer your warmth to this covering."

"Well, I'm too small to cover all of you, so..."

I work hard to keep my thoughts in line as I wrap the fur around him. As I do, I notice something off about the leather of his gear. It's quite worn in some spots, and there's stains. Dark ones. I rub at them with my finger until I have no doubt as to their origin. Old blood. I've seen it often enough to know.

Uncomfortable, I bite the inside of my lip, thinking back to what he said about the hardships he's had to face here. What did he have to overcome to find me? What deals did he have to make?

He urges me to look at him. "It's not my blood," he says as though reading my mind.

"You always tell me that lie," I frown and wrap my arms around him. "When are you going to realize that it does the opposite of what you intend?"

His sensual mouth curves into a bitter smile. We lapse into silence for a while. One of his hands strokes my hair, and I let myself relax into him, giving in to the waves of pleasure. Who knows how long we have left to be together tonight? Who knows when I'll be able to see him again? Here we are, worlds away from Linkon and N-109, and nothing has really changed except the color of my eyes and hair.

Is there a reality where we don't have to part at the end of every meeting? Is there a place where we could be...more?

Maybe it's not a place. Maybe it's a choice. But, it's not one I can easily make. At least, not without giving up other things I love.

"Mmm...It's warmer now," Sylus breathes, resting his chin on top of my head. He shifts, and I instinctively tighten my grip on him.

"Don't go," I whisper.

"I'm just moving you to the bed. You should rest."

"Don't want to..."

A sound of amusement tickles the ear that's not pressed against his chest. "If you don't want to lie down, I can hold you until I leave."

"What if I don't want you to leave?" I throw out the challenge but chicken out of making eye contact.

"Then, I suppose..." he caresses a confident trail up my spine, "we'd better make the most of our time before dawn." I nearly give a very unladylike moan when his hand settles on the nape of my neck and starts to massage my tense muscles.

"Sounds...promising..."

"Are you sure?" he murmurs, a thrilling teasing edge to his tone. "Weren't you worried about me being seen?"

"Maybe Sorocan's way of getting back at me is...ugh...denying me dinner and a bath..."

"Hmm...seems rather petty of her."

"Stars, that feels amazing..."

"She's always been a small-minded one."

I can't muster up two fractals to give about Sorocan and her retribution right now. As Sylus's hand travels down from my neck to my shoulders, I go limp as a ragdoll in his arms. Closing my eyes, I float in the darkness and nuzzle into his neck. His lips press against my forehead and linger before pulling away. After a few minutes, he does it again. My temple this time.

Gentle, doting, and sensual kisses.

It's relaxing...until it's not.

Suddenly I'm aware of how soft those lips feel; hot, pliant, and just moist enough to leave a cool sensation in their wake. Their slight drag against my skin makes me shiver in anticipation. Meanwhile, his other hand starts moving, too, stroking ever so softly over the ridges of my thigh. I love how his huge palm dwarfs me; love the feeling of him completely and utterly trapping me against him. I'm reminded of that steamy night in my tiny shower cabinet; of his sinful mouth and tongue between my legs.

I shift around restlessly. The next time he leans in, I open my eyes and tilt my face up. Without pausing, I slide my hand along his cheek and twine my fingers into his silky hair. Pulling gently, I coax him into a kiss. Once. Twice. Our lips mold together gently at first, our eyes open and devouring each other. Both of us a little hesitant as though each one of us is afraid the other will vanish at any moment. I grow bolder with each touch, however, and soon I'm shifting my position to straddle him on the seat.

With our fronts pressed against each other and my legs on either side of him, I can no longer deny my need. Maybe I should feel bad about that. After all, we're trapped in some kind of mutant Protofield and we have no idea what it's going to throw at us next. But, maybe that's even more reason to act on feelings like this now. As a Hunter and as the leader of Onychinus, we are both all too aware of how short life can be.

As we drown in each other's red eyes, his right one begins to glow.

Devour him...comes the voice again.

He's yours...always been yours to claim...

I reach up and brush the pads of my fingers along his cheekbone right under his glowing eye. His sharp gaze traces my movement, and he shifts back just enough for me to notice. But, he doesn't stop me. His brows are relaxed, his pupils dilated. Even in the darkness, I can see a faint tinge of pink flushing his cheeks.

"Are you looking into my heart?" I ask him, feathering across his cheek to his ear.

"You wear it on your sleeve, kitten," he tilts his head and nuzzles into my touch. "I don't need to use this eye to know what you desire."

"Then...am I being too greedy...if I ask you to keep these eyes only on me?"

He catches my hand with his and joins them in a way I've grown to long for. A faint light pulses between our palms as my Evol yearns to Resonate with his. To join with him. Be one. Our bodies, too. And our hearts.

"You've always had that right," he answers huskily, kissing each of my knuckles in turn. "Perhaps it's been said before," he kisses down to my wrist, "somewhere in another time and place, but..." I gasp when he bites me gently right in the crease of my palm. "Only you can touch me like this. There is no other." My face flushes, my belly tensing and aching as his tongue wraps around one of my fingers and draws it into his mouth. I pull back, frightened of how good it feels.

"Don't run from me," he whispers, and I balk at a new expression I've never seen him show me before. Need. Raw need. His eyebrows are furrowed, his eyes consuming me, undressing me. Beneath my other hand, his heart is pounding just as fast as mine.

Devour him...

"Sylus, I'm hearing something...a voice. It's telling me to...devour you."

"Then why don't you?" he asks, unafraid. "I'm more than happy to be your prey." His long-fingered hands and broad palms whisper down my sides, encircling my waist, lifting me up. "And...to experience everything you have to offer in return."

He leans forward, locking our lips together again. My eyes drift closed, body thrumming with a growing primal hunger. As his wicked tongue enters my mouth, those same hands grasp my hips and grind me down against his hardening length. The thick cotton trews leave nothing to the imagination. Just anticipating him entering me - stretching me, filling me until I can't think or move or –

"Tell me again, sweetie, do you want it?"

"Yes," I manage to gasp out before I'm entirely submerged the flames of his desire. His kisses are more fiery than usual. We come together then break apart in short bursts of passion. Soon, every breath he takes steals mine away. I float in dizziness and euphoria until I push against him to come up for air.

"Sylus...I can't breathe..." White strands of my hair fall across my face, and he gently brushes them aside. It's so dark now that I can hardly make out his features. I gasp as his lips slide down to my breasts. He yanks the ties out of my blouse in a single motion, peeling away the fabric. Our hands join again – as if he can't stand for them to be apart – and he gently guides them behind my back to support me, allowing me to relax. I cry out as his scorching kisses counter winter's chill against my skin, sighing as he suckles first one nipple then the other.

I'm squirming now, frustrated at being able to feel him at my core yet missing the pressure that will drive me higher.

"We should...hnn...light the fire...hey, no biting there," I mumble incoherently, complaining yet not truly displeased. Sylus ghosts his lips over the bite on the swell of my breast, easing the ache. He releases my hand so he can grind my hips harder against him, and I arch back, needing more and more. My fingers tangle further in his hair.

"It's OK. I don't need to see," he sighs against my skin. "I can feel every inch of you, and darkness..." his hands slip beneath my skirts, running fiery trails up my legs to my hips, "... makes a person more sensitive."

The initial contact of his talented fingers with my dripping folds is so intense it has me clawing at him. Pleasure knifes through me as he slides those same fingers against my core, touching my clit just enough to make my whole body shudder. My thoughts melt away, leaving nothing but sensation. I can't help the greedy whine that leaves my mouth as he worships my breasts with his mouth and makes teasing passes against my entrance down below.

"Your body is hotter than your lips," he declares between long sweet kisses. "I missed this taste." He nuzzles his chin against my chest. "Missed your scent." In response to the excitement in his voice, more wetness rushes down my thighs. "So wet and soft," he groans, "mmm...kitten..."

I'm so hungry for him now I can hardly think straight. My hands trace the delicious expanse of his smooth chest, running down the valley of his abs down to the hem of his pants. I fumble, clumsy and shaky as I seek to undo unfamiliar ties and drawstrings. He seems to shift away, and I make some kind of noise in protest.

"Now, now...focus, sweetie," he growls into my ear.

"T-Trying...you keep moving..." I mumble.

"No, not on that." He presses his thumb against my clit, forcing me to stop my assault on his pants and to dig my nails into his arm. "Focus here."

I can't stop moaning and whimpering as he inserts first one finger then another inside me, pumping them both in a torturous steady rhythm. Slow enough to make me see stars; slow enough to make me bite into his skin. His hands don't stop for a moment, giving me no quarter, the pace never changing even as I start to buck and moan against him. My orgasm is just out of reach. I recognize this brand of play, but this time it feels like I might cry if he drags this out anymore than he already is.

"No more," I beg him. "I want to...want to..."

Still maintaining the same pace inside me, he gives me a wicked smile. "Just a little more, sweetie. A little higher. You can endure it, can't you?"

His tone is mischievous and sly. Even in this state, I can't resist his challenge. Biting my lip, I squeeze my eyes shut and try to ride out the euphoria of his teasing. Time loses meaning. Again, I come close to the peak; again, he navigates me back down and away from it. Another few seconds, and I'm begging again.

"Sy...lus...please...let me...let me..."

"I think you can go higher," he drawls. "If you can hold on a little longer, I'll do as you like." His words drip honeyed promises. "I'll flip you over right under me and let you take as much of me as you can handle." I stop breathing momentarily as his fingers move in time with each of his words. "Just...like...this..."

The sounds of him moving inside my gushing center is lewd and mortifying. I try to shy away from it, but Sylus isn't having any of that.

"A little more," he croons, his own voice breathy and husky with yearning. "I want you to show me how much you missed me these long months apart."

Tears sting at my eyes and stream down my face. My whole body is shaking and trembling. Nothing makes sense anymore. I'm talking, but nothing that I'm saying is registering. The pad of his thumb brushes against my cheeks.

"Are you alright?" he asks, his fingers slowing even more. I might scream. Genuinely.

I shake my head, insistent. "No, Sylus. Just take me. Please."

His smooth chuckle makes my walls clench tight around him. He kisses up along my neck, nibbling on my ear. "Alright, since you asked me so nicely."

Whatever he does next with his fingers nearly renders me unconscious. My climax slams into me so hard that my soul leaves my body. I float in and out of awareness until a pair of hands lifts me up again and spreads me open in the most intimate of ways. I hold my breath.

"You did so well for me, kitten. Let me reward you." Even as his sultry voice echoes in my ears, I see stars again as he slides into me. Slowly, carefully, gently. When he's all the way inside, he churns his hips and settles in. Just a little too big; a little too much. Sylus curses now against my jaw; his big body is shaking, too. He's losing his composure swiftly. If he doesn't move now, I'm going to lose my mind.

"Take me, Sylus...I can't wait anymore..."

With a sexy groan, he pulls partially out of me then thrusts back in. He's still moving slowly, as though he's afraid of breaking me. It's not an unreasonable concern. Our bodies are so different, one might think they'd never be compatible. But, just a few thrusts in, discomfort melts into sweet ambrosia. My whimpers turn into moans and cries and more nonsensical begging until slow sweet love-making transforms into a desperate animalistic rut. He rolls me onto the furs on the floor and looms over me as he thrusts his cock as deep as it will go. The yurt is filled with the sounds of slapping flesh and throaty moans, neither one of us concerned about someone overhearing our exertions now. We're too lost in each other, too deeply joined and blissful to care about such things. 

Pressure builds and builds in my belly until I really do explode. When I nearly fall over, Sylus holds me up. As I struggle to get my bearings, he keeps pounding into me, leaning over to whisper darker things into my ear.

"Look at you taking me to the hilt...you are a greedy one..."

I mumble something in response, but I'm too delirious to comprehend it. The second time I climax, it happens in sync with his own orgasm. Sylus moans in pleasure, and as I bask in the incredible sound of his voice lilting like that, he fills me with his hot cum. It leaks out of me and drips down my thighs as my legs and arms shake and tremble.

"Looks like we can't use this blanket anymore," he teases, breathing hard. "Should I get a new one?"

I shake my head and lose all strength in my limbs. Sylus catches me against him and stands, walking us to the bed. Everything is spinning, and I can't reconcile the way I feel like I'm about to pass out. Sylus whispers my name, but even when I open my eyes I can't see anything in the darkness.

"I'm sorry, Sylus...so tired..."

"There's a hot bath set up in the White Wolf's tent," he says. "Can I take you there to get cleaned up?"

I nod weakly.

"I'm sorry, sweetie," he kisses my forehead, though his voice is entirely unrepentant. "Perhaps I was too mean tonight."

"Next time," I promise. "I'll make sure to return the favor."

Next time, I'll make him beg.

His chest rumbles with a laugh. "Do you have to be competitive right now?" When I don't immediately answer him, he sets me on the bed and readjusts his clothes.

I prop myself up on my elbow. "It's late, maybe you should–"

He stops me with a finger to my lips. "Let me take care of you."

"But, the fight tomorrow..."

"A guaranteed victory." Wrapping another large blanket around me, he takes me into his arms in preparation for a Jump.

"You can't be arrogant about it. You don't even know your handicap."

"You're overthinking it. We need to win in order to get out of here, right? So, that's what I'll do. There's no more to it than that."

[rosanna-writer]

Out of the Woods (2/3)

An AU that diverges from canon after Rhysand leaves a head spiked in the garden. Aware of the unsnapped mating bond and unwilling to get between another High Lord and his mate, Tamlin hands Feyre over to Rhysand. Panicked, shocked, and desperate, Rhys scrambles to gain Feyre’s trust, find her a hiding place, and cover his tracks before returning Under the Mountain. And then learns the hard way that Feyre Archeron can never leave well enough alone.

Another update for @officialfeysandweek <3

Some text is lifted directly from both A Court of Thorns and Roses and A Court of Mist and Fury, and just a note that I've chosen not to use warnings for this fic.

Ch. 1 | Read the second chapter Here on AO3 or under the cut.

Sweat dripped from my brow. A muggy, heavy, oppressive heat blanketed the woods, the sort of weather I fantasized about on the coldest winter nights, then silently cursed when the seasons changed. Warm weather meant long days covered in bug bites and desperately hunting to save enough coin to tide us through the next winter.

This wasn't the temperate warmth of the Spring Court. This was summer.

But I could hardly complain. I passed enough bushes with plump red berries to put a damper on my gnawing hunger, and I had plenty of daylight to burn while I searched for a place to sleep.

I'd need to eat something more substantial eventually. But I'd starved enough to know I had until morning to get my bearings before the hunger pangs became too severe.

The trees looked no different from the ones below the Wall. Older, perhaps, more gnarled and covered in moss, but familiar. I spotted a few ordinary birds and squirrels in the branches, but…far fewer of them than I'd expect.

As if something routinely picked them off.

Around mid-afternoon, I came across a deer carcass, reduced to nothing more than bone. Hardly unusual—bugs and rot came for everything eventually. But when I crept closer, I noticed scorch marks on the ribs and antlers.

I didn't stop to examine it—more urgently than finding food, I needed fresh water. And though my pack was full of tools courtesy of Rhysand, he'd neglected to leave me with a map of this place. I'd have to locate a stream on my own.

Once, I passed a crumbling stone tower, the sort with long, narrow slits for archers to shoot through. The last remnant of something, though the ivy-covered stones were so worn down that I couldn't say what. A few hours later, I passed it again, though I was absolutely certain I'd never doubled back.

And I could've sworn I spotted a face peering down at me from the top.

I bolted through the trees and didn't stop running until I nearly collapsed in a heap. My ragged breathing echoed in the too-quiet forest, and I nearly vomited onto a patch of toadstools. But I was still utterly, blessedly alone.

A few hours later, I found the stream. Later than I would have liked, but the water ran clear and cold—at first, I assumed, due to the snow capping the mountain peeking high above the trees to the west. But strangely, it ran towards the mountain and not away.

I didn't question it. A few fish swam in the water, and if I wanted to catch a few to cook for dinner, I needed to hurry up and find a sharp stick to use as a makeshift spear. The sun had nearly dipped below the horizon. And then I'd need to start a fire and find a flat place to camp, ideally with a boulder to block the wind…

I hadn't missed this. The Spring Court had been a welcome reprieve from sunburn and my undershirt sticking to my back and too many tasks to complete before darkness fell. I hated feeling cooped up inside, but I preferred the safety of the manor's walled, manicured gardens to the harsh woods.

Rhysand had said to keep hidden, and a fire might as well be a signal flare. But I needed to eat, so I risked it.

A strange, suspicious mist descended the moment the kindling caught the spark. I shivered. All day, the sky had been a clear, cloudless blue, no signs of rain or fog.

My stomach growled, and I busied myself with coaxing the campfire to life, ignoring the tang of magic causing the hair at the back of my neck to rise. I'd learned from other hunters that no good ever came from acknowledging any spirits in the woods.

When lights began to dance in the distance, playful and inviting, a promise of treasure if I followed them deeper into the trees, I ducked my head and dutifully ate my fish. Something called my name, and I pretended it hadn't.

By the time I'd cleared away the bones and ash and made myself comfortable in my bedroll, whatever was out there had stopped trying to bother me. Perhaps it was reckless, but I kept the tent in my pack and slept in the open that night to see the stars.

It had been so long since I'd had a chance to admire them.

I let the sight of it soothe me as the full weight of my exhaustion and grief and the terror of the day finally hit me. The Spring Court had become my home, a place where I'd found true happiness. With Tamlin, I'd had peace and stability, more than just a comfortable bed, a full belly, and time to paint.

I might even have fallen in love with him.

But he'd handed me over to Rhysand without a fight. Cast me out, as if—

You can call me Rhys, you know. No one uses my full name besides my prisoners and my enemies. No invisible talons, this time—his words floated into my head as if they'd been carried on a night-kissed breeze.

It was as gentle as an intrusion into my mind could be, but I still sat bolt upright in shock. My hand flew to my chest. "What the hell?" I hissed aloud.

I'll teach you to shield to avoid this in the future.

You'd better, I grumbled, laying back down. But how did it go? Are you alright?

She believed the lie, though it disappointed her to hear she'd lost out on an opportunity to torture you to death. I had to…cheer her up. For quite a while.

My blood ran cold. I wished I had something better to say or a way of thanking him for bothering to save me and enduring that bitch's touch. But all I had was, I'm sorry.

Could I trouble you for a favor? If you don't mind me looking out your eyes, I'd like to see the stars.

I nodded, then remembered he wasn't actually here with me and said, Alright.

I braced myself for slashing talons, but again, they never came. Instead, I felt Rhys's mind curl up against mine, as if he'd slid into the bedroll with me. I'd never been close to someone like this, our very souls sharing breath.

We couldn't hide from each other like this. It was deeply, painfully intimate to feel him brushing up against the very core of who I was. But…I wasn't afraid.

Thank you, he said, and pressed this close, along with the words, I could sense his gratitude I'd let him in, his homesickness, his exhaustion from keeping up a charade for so long, his shame that he'd allowed Amarantha to bring him so low and hadn't fought back.

And guilt—so much guilt—for all the lives he hadn't been able to save.

I'm glad I could help.

We stayed like that for a long while, silent and intertwined as we stared up at the moon together.

I know you have questions, Rhys said eventually. Just ask.

What does it mean to be mates? I know we have a….a bond. But I don't understand why that makes Tamlin so afraid of you. Or why'd he just let you walk into the manor and take me.

In the Night Court, it has been illegal for millennia for a male to kill anyone who makes advances towards his mate. Other courts, like Spring, aren't quite so modern. You are your own person, with every right to reject the bond after it snaps into place. But in the eyes of many faeries, you belong to me, and our kind have gone to war for less.

I hadn't realized a mating bond could be rejected. Perhaps Rhys was merely biding his time, ensuring he knew where to find me so that when it finally snapped, he could be rid of me as quickly as possible.

A High Lord wouldn't want a human girl. Especially not one so…prickly as me.

A harsh, bitter laugh echoed in my mind. The world believes I rule over and delight in a Court of Nightmares, and beyond our borders, my people are hated. I wouldn't expect my fated equal to be particularly cheerful.

It did seem absurd when he put it like that. I'd known Rhys for hardly a day, but he moved like an apex predator, terrifying even with mere scraps of power at his disposal. I couldn't imagine him with someone soft.

I wouldn't have expected my fated equal to exist at all. And not merely because I was human.

The next words were so quiet, I almost thought I'd imagined them. Neither did I.

We went silent again. I squirmed in my bedroll, utterly undignified as I tried adjusting it to let in a bit of the cool night air without taking my eyes off the stars. But still, it was easier than talking.

I should let you rest, Rhys said eventually, the words laced with reluctance.

I didn't want him to go. Not because I'd miss him, but because I didn't want to be alone in this strange forest, sharing the dark with creatures intent on drowning me or eating me or or both. Since coming to Prythian, I'd never felt farther from home.

Stay a little longer?

Alright. Until you fall asleep.

I rolled over, trying to get comfortable on the hard ground. Sweet dreams, Rhys.

Sleep took me before I heard his reply. Exhaustion, perhaps—it had been quite the day—or he'd used his powers to ensure I drifted off quickly. But regardless of which, my sleep was dreamless and restful, enough that when the sun rose, I dragged myself out of the bedroll without too much trouble.

Another breakfast of foraged berries, and then I broke camp and continued to wander. If it rained, I'd need to build a shelter; I didn't relish the thought of finding a cave to huddle in. The Mother only knew what kind of creature I'd have to share it with if I did.

Around midday, I'd found an ash tree and perched in it as I used a sharp rock to fashion a few branches into stakes. The jeweled hunting knife that Lucien had gifted me was probably still in my bedroom in the manor, and I was cursing my stupidity for leaving it upstairs during lunch when a talon brushed against my mind.

I bit back a surprised shriek and nearly fell out of the tree.

Plotting my demise, Feyre darling? The words glittered with wicked delight—as if the thought of me attempting to kill him was exciting.

Scare me like that again, and I just might.

Something in him…dimmed. Like a star winking out. I didn't mean to frighten you.

You said you'd teach me to shield myself, I said pointedly.

I know. Amarantha doesn't trust me enough to allow me into her meeting with an emissary representing her king in Hybern, so while we have some time together, start by shoving me out.

I didn't know how. Yesterday, he'd speared my mind so completely, his talons digging into me from every possible angle. He'd surrounded me from the inside out.

At least make an attempt. No mate of mine should go down without a fight, he hissed.

I imagined planting my palm on his face and wiping away a smirk as I pushed him far away from me. And to my surprise…it worked. With those claws at a distance, I took a shaking breath.

Not yet—I can still get back in. A retreat isn't over until you've blocked the enemy out entirely.

Rhys wasn't my enemy; he'd said that last sentence like a rule that had been drilled into him over and over. He hadn't sounded like a High Lord, but like….a military commander. A trained warrior.

Lucien had said he wasn't old enough to have fought in the War, but…was Rhys?

I'll answer that question if you put some gods-damned walls up, he said.

Right. He could still hear me. I imagined a wall of adamant snapping down, black as night and a foot thick. His claws scraped against it but did not find their way through.

I pictured a crack in the wall, just thick enough for my voice to pass through. Good enough?

An excellent start. The words were ribboned with pride as they passed through the opening I'd created for him.

I couldn't remember the last time anyone had been proud of me.

My shields had either kept that thought from Rhys, or he'd chosen to ignore it and said, To answer your question, yes. I began training in a war-camp at the age of eight and later commanded a legion in the War. I was quite young—for a faerie, at least—when the fighting broke out. My father was still High Lord then.

If I thought too hard about how old that must have made him, I'd end up with a headache. And I couldn't imagine how he must have felt, an ancient immortal mated to a teenager who'd grow old and die in the blink of an eye.

Not that I would have asked because an even more horrible thought occurred to me. You were one of the faeries who fought alongside the humans, right? Not…the others?

The Night Court was part of the mortal-faerie alliance. Was that not part of your history classes in school?

Perhaps it would have been if I'd ever attended.

I could practically feel him go still in that preternatural way faeries did. I said nothing, just waited for something horrible and judgmental, some cruel comment about ignorant humans.

But it never came.

Apologies. I shouldn't have assumed.

He'd said he was sorry twice in as many days, far more consideration than I'd ever expected from a High Lord. I had no choice but to trust him, but…he still seemed intent on earning it anyway.

Before I could respond, Rhys swore to himself and said, I have to go. She's summoning me. Keep practicing—raise and lower your shields until it's second nature.

He pulled out of my mind without saying goodbye. And in this strange, still forest, I didn't even have the wind for company.

***

The days blurred together after that. I spent most of them on my feet, mostly concerned with finding enough food. Fish from the stream and a few foraged plants would sustain me in the meantime, but I needed something more permanent than a tent if I wanted to fell a deer and preserve the meat.

I stopped flinching each time talons knocked against my shields. Rhys slipped into my mind at every opportunity, even if it was just a few minutes alone. In those brief snatches of time, when there was only time for a single question, he only ever asked if I was alright.

It was the most anyone had ever fussed over me in years.

Most nights, we spoke mind-to-mind for longer. We didn't talk about the fact that Amarantha usually slumbered beside him when his talons brushed my shields, but I could sense it. Though I'd eventually made a lean-to for shelter, I crawled out of it to let him see the stars through my eyes.

It helped, I think.

Enough that I figured he tolerated my questions as a thank you. I peppered him with them at every opportunity, interrogating him about magic and the Night Court and what the other High Lords were like. When he finally deemed my shields strong enough, he showed me memories of a hidden city nestled deep in his territory.

Velaris, the City of Starlight. A place of peace and prosperity and so much art that I wanted to weep. I missed painting.

Before long, a summer thunderstorm rolled in, the dark clouds blocking any decent view of the stars, and—damn my luck—it was a new moon. I huddled under the roof I'd fashioned of branches and brambles, curled up in my bedroll and desperate to stay dry.

There would be no tracking the constellations. And I assumed that meant I wouldn't hear from Rhys, either. But to my shock, invisible talons caressed my mind anyway. Always the tone of surprise with you, he said as he slipped through the opening I'd made for him.

I can't show you the sky tonight. I figured you'd rather rest than stay up just to talk to me.

Have you considered that speaking to you is one of the few things I like better than watching at the stars?

I hadn't. At best, I was a complication that made his already miserable life Under the Mountain more difficult. And I spent my days wandering around the woods in search of food, which hardly made for scintillating conversation.

We have a magical thread tying our souls together. You don't need to bother trying to flatter me.

I'm not. You think in textures and colors, and I could listen to you talk about it for eternity.

He meant it. And for an immortal…eternity wasn't an abstract concept. His mind nestled closer to mine, the closest thing he could manage to blocking the howling wind with his body.

So on my darkest night in the forest so far, I showed him the paintings I dreamed about—the images I'd collected and hoarded in my memory, keeping them safe until I had canvas in front of me again.

But I couldn't continue on like this forever. The days were still long, but they'd get shorter soon. And the weather would turn.

On occasion, Rhys managed to send me supplies that appeared in the lean-to—a canvas tarp, a lantern, another flint, all conjured from thin air. Even if he got his hands on winter gear, I doubted it would be enough to get me through the winter without losing a few fingers and toes to frostbite. I'd be alright, perhaps, if I managed to make myself a bow and the cold spared the fingers I used to draw back the string.

There was still time—the leaves on the trees hadn't yet begun to turn. But we needed a new plan.

I'd been mulling over possibilities when I'd stumbled upon my answer, as if the forest knew just what I needed. In search of more plants to forage, I'd wandered deeper into the trees than ever before.

I emerged in an unfamiliar clearing. A perfectly circular clearing, one that must have been made deliberately.

Because a small, whitewashed cottage with a thatched roof and half-crumbling chimney sat in the center. Ordinary—almost mortal. There was even a well, its bucket perched on the stone lip, and a wood pile beneath one of the round windows of the cottage. No sound or light within—not even smoke puffed from the chimney.

I should have turned back. The few birds had gone quiet, the insects no longer buzzing. As sure sign of a predator lurking nearby.

This place was a trap. But I was growing desperate, and I longed for a bath and a bed and a proper roof over my head. So I took a few cautious steps down the path.

I could hear faint singing, the voice bright and clear. The lyrics that I could make out were horrible ones, something about sisters drowning one another. I paused.

The voice, honeyed and beautiful as it was, didn't seem to be luring me in. I took a cautious step back. Nothing tugged me forward. I tried again and made it all the way to the trees without any difficulty.

If I had to guess, whatever lived in the cottage could be reasoned with. It—she, perhaps?—wasn't a mindless beast. Still quite possibly intent on eating me, but…maybe not, if I could prove my worth or make a bargain.

Gathering my courage, I started down the path again. I raised my fist to knock, but the door swung open soundlessly. Practically inviting me in.

From the threshold, I could see shelves piled high with junk. The cottage was practically stuffed with everything from books to pottery to dolls to jewelry to taxidermied birds.

An immortal hoarder probably had winter survival supplies somewhere among the mess…

My gaze landed on the spinning wheel next. The humming, I realized, came from the steady turning as the cottage's occupant worked the thread. Her dark hair gleamed in the afternoon sunlight, but her hands were just a few shades too pale to be human.

She'd probably kill me if I stepped inside without permission. I took a breath, steadying myself, then rapped my knuckles on the weaver's door.

[daenysthedreamer101]

Daughter of Steel and Bronze ~ HOTD

Ch 3 - Dragonstone

HOTD x Targaryen!OC, eventual Targaryen!OC x Harwin Strong

Warnings: none, does scary Vermithor count lol?

Masterlist

"In 107 AC, after the first day of Princess Rhaenyra's name day celebrations, she and her cousin, Princess Daena, went to the Dragonpit to visit Rhaenyra's dragon, Syrax. But instead, they were met with the sight of Daena's father, Prince Daemon, and his blood-red dragon, Caraxes. Daemon took Daena to the ancestral seat of House Targaryen - Dragonstone. It was said he took her to the dark, grim caves below the castle. Nobody truly knows what happened down there. But what is known is that on that day, Princess Daena proved to everyone the strength of her Targaryen blood by claiming the dragon of the Old King Jaeherys - Vermithor, the Bronze Fury."

(Fire & Blood, Being a History of the Targaryen Kings of Westeros, by Archmaester Gyldayn)

~

It was the most amazing feeling in the world. As Caraxes flew over King's Landing and headed toward Blackwater Bay, Daena could see the entire city. She could see the Red Keep, the Dragonpit, and the Sept. Her father held her with one of his strong hands. 

"Embrot!" (Down!) Her father commanded and Caraxes dipped down. Daena screamed, not expecting it. Her silver hair whipped in the air and she could feel the wind whipping at her skin, but she didn't care. She felt alive. She felt happy. She felt free. If this is how she felt flying on someone's dragon, she could only imagine how it would feel if she had her own. As they flew over the Blackwater River and out into the sea, she realized where they were going - Dragonstone. 

Soon, she was able to make out the island of Dragonstone. Thankfully, today was a bright and sunny day, even above the usually gloomy island. The sky was blue and clear, with no cloud in sight. As they flew closer and closer, Daena could now clearly see the sharp edges of the castle. A grim place, Dragonstone was built by Valyrians with arcane arts, fire, and sorcery. 

"Tegot!" (Land!) Her father said and Caraxes started to descend. They flew down and made a circle around the castle. They landed on one of the beaches. 

"Kesīr iksi, dōna riña. Zaldrīzesdōron." (Here we are, sweet girl. Dragonstone.) Her father whispered in her ear as he unfastened all the protective belts and chains that were keeping them safely seated on the saddle. He helped her down. She did most of it herself, but quite clumsily. Daemon chuckled as Daena almost tripped and fell, but he caught her. 

"Kepa... ȳdra daor sōpagon rȳ nyke!" (Father...Don't laugh at me!) Daena huffed, her cheeks red from the flying and embarrassment. 

"Forgive me, sweet girl. You just look so adorable when you're angry." Daemon jested. Daena huffed and turned her head dramatically. They were soon greeted by some of the knights who lived on Dragonstone and the castle maester, Gerardys.  

"Prince Daemon...Princess Daena. We were not expecting you here. We were told you were in the capital, celebrating Princess Rhaenyra's name day." Maester Gerardys said in a soft voice. He was an elderly man, though not as old or bald as Grandmeaster Mellos, Daena noticed.

"I came here for business, not for pleasure." Daemon bit back, already annoyed with the maester. 

"And what would that business be, my Prince?" The maester asked. Daemon wanted to curse him off, but remembering his daughter was with him, he held his tongue.

"Getting my precious Daena a dragon, of course," Daemon said with a wide smile. Daena whipped her head up to look at her father. She didn't know! She had no idea this was happening. 

"Really? Father, do you mean it?" Daena asked, shocked. Daemon nodded with a smile reserved only for her and took her little hand into his. They were now heading for the castle. If Daena thought the castle was dark and grim from the outside, once she entered it, she realized the inside was even darker. 

~

After supper, she was shown to the room she would be residing in. It was a cavernous place, that looked more like a cave rather than a room, but she liked it. She put her hand on the hard, stone walls - they were warm. There was a large bed, a chest of drawers, a closet, and a big window high on the wall that let the sunlight in.

She lay on her bed and just enjoyed the ambiance and warmth of Dragonstone. She thought of her father's words - that he was going to get her a dragon. It seemed almost impossible in her mind, you don't just get a dragon, you have to earn the right, and you have to bond with one. But she knew one thing was true, her father was a man of his word and would try his best to help her claim a dragon.

She didn't even notice falling asleep. The bed was warm and cozy, how could she not? She slept a dreamless sleep. The sun set and darkness fell upon the island. Daena could feel herself slowly waking up. She was in between two states - sleep and reality. While her mind barely clung to sleep, she felt something tugging at her consciousness. Something was calling for her. A distant roar could be heard. Suddenly the image of the Old King's funeral came into her mind. But why?

She was a mere toddler back then. All she remembers was the sadness in the air and how quiet it was. But the feeling in her heart told her it wasn't that. Then, she remembered - a great, bronze creature came into her mind. 

"Vermithor" -  the dragon of her great grandfather, King Jaeherys. She remembers him burning the Old King's funeral pyre. The second largest dragon in Westeros, he was a formidable beast. Yet even back then, at the tender age of three, she was not afraid rather she was fascinated. 

Daena woke up with her heartbeat hammering in her ears. Her hands were clammy and her face was covered in sweat. Her feet were numb and she could barely see a thing. Only one thing was on her mind - "I need to see him! I need to find Vermithor!". 

She slowly regained control of her body and realized it was the middle of the night. There would be no more sleep for her that night, so she decided there was only one logical thing to do - sneak out to the caves and find the Bronze Fury. She quickly dressed back into the black riding suit Rhaenyra lent her the previous day. Not bothering to braid her hair, she hastily ran through it with a comb. 

Putting on her leather boots she nervously approached her room door. How would she leave unseen if there was a guard in front? Praying to the gods above under her breath, she carefully opened the door. She looked around - the hallway was empty and dimly lit by a few torches. She exhaled in relief. 

"Now, all I need to do is find a way to the caves...and then hope I don't become dragon food." Daena thought as she silently walked through the hallways. The castle was deadly silent, almost to an uncomfortable degree. It was eerie and dark, like something out of a scary ghost story her mother used to read her back at Runestone. She knew she couldn't leave from the main exit - she would get caught instantly. Therefore she went to the kitchens, which were also thankfully empty. She slipped out of the back door and closed it carefully. 

She turned and saw nothing but darkness. The wind was cold and whipped her hair around. She had no idea where she was going but her heart guided her anyway, and she made sure to listen to it. Making sure to avoid any busy spots, Daena somehow ended up in front of the caves.

"This is it...Now or never." She whispered to herself as she took in the scent of the salty air around her. As she entered the cave, she swore she felt a deep rumble reverberate through her chest. Soon, her life would change forever.

~

With no torch in hand, she was practically blind - it was pitch dark in the caves. She had to rely on her instincts and pure luck. Surprisingly, it wasn't cold in the caves, on the contrary, it was warm and the air smelled of ash and burnt flesh. She took many blind turns and hit many dead ends. After a while, Daena felt herself becoming frustrated and she started regretting leaving her room.

 "Father is going to kill me...If a dragon doesn't snatch me first." She thought darkly as she hit another dead end. She slumped against the rigid walls, now starting to panic. She was lost in a dark cave full of dragons. She closed her eyes, not allowing her tears to spill. In that moment she felt the same sensation she felt while asleep - a dull ache deep in her chest. Then, the ground trembled. 

What surprised her the most was that she wasn't afraid - the rumble only made her more determined to find what she was looking for. Taking a deep breath, Daena focused on the ache in her heart. 

"You're calling me...You want me to find you...I will find you." She spoke to the great beast that was calling for her. In a trance-like state, she walked slowly and followed the invisible string connecting their hearts. She walked and soon came upon a giant stone door. In front of it were two torches, lighting up the hallway. She somehow managed to pull one out of the brazier. 

She then walked toward the door and touched the handle - "I have to do this! It's the only way...I have to prove the strength of my dragon blood!" Daena told herself and then she pushed the door open.

The door creaked loudly and the sound made her cringe. Holding her torch high above her head, she walked carefully and observed the room she was in. She couldn't see far away but she could see high stone pillars all around and a large staircase that led up toward a stone platform.

Determined to prove herself, Daena went up the staircase, step by step. Once she reached the top, the ache in her heart disappeared and was replaced by a warmth that spread through her body. She put the torch down on the ground. As she moved closer to the edge of the platform she would meet eye-to-eye with the Bronze Fury himself - Vermithor. 

Vermithor shot a blast of fire through the air, lighting up the entire cave. Daena was in awe. Awe and shock, that is what she was feeling. He was a fearsome beast of almost a hundred years, only bested in size by Vhagar herself. He roared in her face, the sound reverberating through her entire body. Her eyes were wide with fascination and respect. 

He had scales that were the color of bronze and great tan wings. Her lilac eyes met his amber ones. He took a whiff of her scent, blowing her hair back. The only thing she could hear was the sound of her own heart beating loudly in her chest. She took a deep breath and in a soft voice sang in the language of her ancestors. 

"Drakari pykiros, Tīkummo jemiros, Yn lantyz bartossa, Saelot vāedis.

Hen ñuhā elēnī: Perzyssy vestretis, Se gēlȳn irūdaks, Ānogrose. 

Perzyro udrȳssi, Ezīmptos laehossi, Hārossa letagon, Aōt vāedan. 

Hae mērot gierūli: Se hāros bartossi, Prūmȳsa sōvīli, Gevī dāerī. "

High Valyrian:

Embrot! - Down!

Tegot! - Land!

Kesīr iksi, dōna riña. Zaldrīzesdōron. - Here we are, sweet girl. Dragonstone.

Kepa... ȳdra daor sōpagon rȳ nyke! - Father...Don't laugh at me!

The song lyrics: 

Drakari pykiros, Tīkummo jemiros, Yn lantyz bartossa, Saelot vāedis.

(Fire breather, Winged leader, But two heads To a third sing)

Hen ñuhā elēnī: Perzyssy vestretis Se gēlȳn irūdaks Ānogrose. 

(From my voice: The fires have spoken And the price has been paid With blood magic)

 Perzyro udrȳssi, Ezīmptos laehossi, Hārossa letagon, Aōt vāedan. 

(With words of flame With clear eyes To bind the three To you I sing)

Hae mērot gierūli: Se hāros bartossi, Prūmȳsa sōvīli, Gevī dāerī. "

(As one we gather And with three heads We shall fly as we were destined. Beautifully, freely)

***

It finally happened! In the future chapters, we'll see how grandpa Vermy and Daena bond.

Hope you liked it, and thanks for reading! ❤❤❤

If you have any opinions feel free to comment!

[tomtenadia]

Detours to You - Ch 12

Good weekend everyone!!! Ready for an another chapter?

MASTERLIST

Two days had passed from the fire and Rowan’s house had been transformed quickly in a chaos of toys. Although Maya was good at tidying up at night before bed, during the day his house was mayhem. And he was happy. His two girls were still recovering from the shock. Aelin had taken a couple of days off work after Elide and Lysandra had forced her to. Maya had been quieter than usual and that worried him. Both of them were struggling to sleep and in the past two nights he had found himself sandwiched between them. Maya would climb at his front and just cling to him, while Aelin played big spoon and rested against his back. He knew they were both struggling. He would have loved to stay at home with them but there was so much to do and he was helping the police with the investigation on the building fire. The previous day he had gone and collected the last few belonging boxed in the flat and finally closed that chapter of their lives. Rowan hated not being with them but he knew that Aelin was going back to work and would take Maya with her. They had called the school and explained the situation and Rowan had gone to the school to get Maya’s homework and the last lessons she had missed. Being in primary school it was still basic stuff but he felt that it was important and he and Aelin had been helping her at night.

That morning he was standing outside the tall block of flats and waiting for Captain Falliq and the chief of OFI. They were meant to go inside the building and try to find more proof of what caused the fire. They had the mechanics but now they had to discover the why and Nersys was positive it was arson.

Connall Moonbeam was the first one who met him. He was Fenrys brother. They had all done the academy together. Fenrys was still on active duty at station 3 but Connall had to retire from active duty after an accident during a fire that left him with bad lung problems and a problematic leg so he found a permanent position in the office for fire investigations and slowly made his way up the ladder.

“Morning Con,”

“You really are back, I thought Fen was taking the piss.”

Rowan laughed “Yes, I am.”

“And Chief nonetheless. Good, we did need a change of leadership.”

The both remained in silence while they waited for Nersyn to arrive.

“Do you really think it’s arson?”

“Nes thinks so.”

Connall sighed “You know how hard it is to prove and from what you told me this building was badly managed anyway. I need to make sure that the actual cause is human intervention and intentionally caused.”

“I know, I did try and explain to her but she believes Hamel was trying to get rid of this residential building to transform it into a business one,” he added with restrained fury “Apparently flats are not profitable. No matter that the monster charges an extortions for rent.”

Not long after, the captain emerged from her car and Rowan smiled at her wearing safety shoes and a hard hat. He had explained her the risks of entering a building after afire.

“Good morning guys, Sorry I am late but I was checking an anonymous tip we got about this fire. The person believes this was intentional. Apparently someone else had eyes on this building to make it commercial.”

Rowan was furious. Where were people meant to live if every rich bastard decided that buildings in the city centre were only good for business?

The three of them entered the building and slowly made their way to where overhaul had identified the origin point. 

Rowan walked to the main switchboard and with his torch illuminated the panel “It originated here,” he showed them the scorch marks of the origin point. Slowly he removed the panel and showed them the mess of the cables.

“That is not safe.” Added Connall, staring at the mess of badly tangled cables, they all looked ruined by years of bad maintenance but there was nothing pointing to arson.

Rowan would definitely jail the bastard just for negligence.

“Rowan, go back there, please?”

He pointed the light back to where Connall had indicated and they spotted a cable with a clean cut “This has been snapped with tools. And see the protective plastic around? It’s peeled back to expose the cables but it’s far too perfect and neat. This was deliberate.”

“Do you think they keep maintenance logs? Any trace of who was the last person to come down here? Only technicians have access keys to this panel.”

Nesryn took some notes “I am sure I will be able to find that for you.”

Rowan walked around the ruins of the place until his feet ended up in a puddle “Water, the guy had mentioned water too.” With his torch he followed the trail and noticed that the wall had all the marks of an internal water leak. With his axe he hit a specific point and water burst out with force, beneath it the electrical wiring was fried. Connall helped him to open the hole a bit more and with their torches they inspected the inside “If I remember the blueprint correctly, this is just below the flat that was the epicentre.”

“Shall we go upstairs?” Prompted Rowan, while already moving. The other two followed suite. As per protocol the flat had been boarded up but Connall and Rowan were two people who had the authority to go in so they slowly took down the boards and stepped in. The flat was a mess of burnt items. He could still see the signs of a family living there. A mother and her eighteen years old daughter. Their dreams, their hopes. All destroyed because of one man’s greed.

According to the report from his men, the fire in that room had been brutal. The kitchen had gone up in seconds and for the two women there had been no escaping. Rowan and Connall moved the appliances and found traces of sparks too and then water. They inspected the building for a good hour while Nesryn followed them in silence and took notes of their theories. The cut cable was a definite proof of a deliberate act, but the rest seemed like gross misconduct. Now it was her turn to piece all the details together and build up a case strong enough to jail Hamel forever.

When they finally exited the building the cop took a deep breath of fresh air, while Connall removed his white face mask to prevent him breathing dust particles that would cause him issues.

“This was very interesting and I have collected a lot of images and notes to help with my investigation. I have the copies of your reports as well so hopefully I will have something more solid soon.”

They thanked the cop and both men remained alone “This was sick.” Added Connall.

Rowan’s stare was on the top floor where Aelin and Maya lived. A barrage of what ifs crossed his mind. They had been quite far from the fire but still… If… If… If… Now that flat lay empty and his two women were safe at his house, he had to concentrate on that, for the sake of his sanity.

“I will send you and Nes any updates as soon as we analyse the samples I took.”

“Keep me posted, please.”

The two men said goodbye and Rowan jumped back in his pickup and drove to the bookstore.

*

Working helped. Aelin felt much better after a whole morning surrounded once again by books and her two friends. Maya had been in a better mood too and spent the morning in the children section or helping her mum shelve books.

She was busy helping a customer when she spotted the white shirt and dark jacket of the chief of the TFD entering the premises and Maya’s scream of joy at seeing her father.

“Dad!!” She ran to him and Rowan lifted her up effortlessly.

“Hi munchkin, how are you?”

She lifted Elf “we have been helping mum with all the books.”

With Maya still in his arms, he walked to the counter to greet Elide and Lysandra.

“We kept an eye on them, being busy helps a lot.”

“Dad, I fixed the kids section.”

“You did?” He kissed her “Show me.”

Father and daughter walked towards the back of the shop and Aelin joined her two friends.

“He is so adorable with her.”

Aelin stared at Rowan listening to what Maya was saying and agreed. Rowan was amazing with her.

“Lorcan asked me if I want one too.”

Both women squealed “What did you tell him?”

“Yes, of course as long as they are not a grumpy little thing like their father.”

“Now we have to convince my cousin Aedion to pop the question and make Lys a married woman.”

Lys rolled her eyes “If he doesn’t get a move on I am going to propose.”

Elide clapped her hands happily “Look at us responsible women.”

“Rowan needs to pop the question too.”

Aelin stopped “Rowan and I… it’s complicated.”

“In what universe? You already have a daughter and now live together too. You are basically married without the paperwork.”

“And didn’t you kiss the other night?” Added Elide.

“It was just to comfort me. It was sweet but it had nothing sexual about it.”

“Sure, but it moved something, eh?”

It did. Old feelings had started to come back quickly and being in the same house with him was not helping. She was torn between the version of five years before who was madly in love with him and the new version who was still struggling with his return and was scared of trying again.

“Maya is the most important thing just now. My needs can wait.”

“Until you two are alone in that big house of his and he can finally have your way with you and make you scream so hard you scare the squirrels.”

Aelin burst out laughing “Lys, you definitely read too many romance books.”

“No such thing.” She added quickly.

“We are just saying that the sexual tension between you is thick and we are expecting fireworks when you finally decide to stop being stubborn.”

Rowan came back with Maya half holding three books in her hands “dada bought me some books.”

“You are a bad influence,” joked Aelin, while taking the books from her daughter.

“As long as she is asking me to buy her books, I am happy to indulge her.”

“Also, I come here with an invitation,” he started “The annual hockey game between TFD and PD is on the 22nd. I know you are closed like all the shops for a couple of days and you are invited.” He turned to Lys “Aedion is welcome too if his job at the academy allows him to.” Aedion had been in the army for a very long time and when he retired he was offered a job as trainer for the recruits.

“It’s a good thing that you are back. We have been loosing for the past few years and Westfall has been a dick about it and brags to no end.”

Aelin glared at Elide for the D word and the young woman froze.

“Mama what is a dick?”

The adults froze “Maya, auntie Elide meant a stick.”

The girl seemed to accept the answer and went back browsing her books in silence.

“I will let you know all the details and give the tickets to Aelin.”

Rowan then kneeled beside Maya “I have to go back to work, but you keep company to mum and I will see you tonight.”

Maya wound her arms around his neck “Thank you for the books,” a kiss on his cheek.

Rowan kissed her back then stood and then pulled Aelin to him depositing a soft kiss on the crown of her head “I should be home by six.”

In response she leaned against his chest and nodded “be careful.”

“Always.” He pulled back, saluted the women and disappeared.

“Sure, no feelings.” Added Elide.

“He is totally disgusted by you.” Continued Lysandra.

Elide lifted Maya on the high chair “What do you think, little one? Your mum and dad like each other?”

The girl nodded energetically “Yes. Mum is happy.”

Aelin stared at the door where Rowan had disappeared and thought about her daughter words. Yes, since he came back she had felt happier. She had found herself craving his presence.

Maybe she was too afraid for nothing.

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[jazlynriddle]

Welcome to your life - Pt 3:

It's My Own Design Ch 11:

Summary:

Ominis fought to control his expression, to keep his hands from trembling. Five years. Five years since he'd seen his parents, and this. This was the reason they'd given him the honour of their time? This was the reason they'd sought him out at Hogwarts?

The bitterness welling up within him was thick enough to gag on.

New year, new allies, new responsibilities, new avenues of revenue, and new aspects of their own Ancient Magic to explore. As the Keeper and their partners enter their last year at Hogwarts, it remains to be seen if the new school year will bring with it new problems or adversaries, but they are confident in the strength of their relationship with Sebastian and Ominis. The three of them would endure, no matter what befell them.

And if they were wrong?

What a joke, they would suffer no alternative.

Warnings: Sebastian x MC x Ominis! Drug Addiction! Spoilers! Slow-burn corruption! Dark content! Fucked up 1800s orphanages! MC has no love for Anne or Solomon! Dubious happy ending (it's happy for MC, Seb and Ominis at least).

You can also read on AO3! (chapter specific warnings below)

Notes:

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, descriptions of gore and death.

Hopefully this chapter is exciting enough to make up for the cliffhanger last chapter heh heh, it's gonna be a bit of a roller coaster for a bit, so strap in and enjoy the ride!

Good lord, how do I get a break- Literally the day after uploading the last chapter, I get stomach flu and can't write for a week because I'm curled up on the toilet floor for like three days, then the following week my partner falls sick, so they aren't super available for me to bounce my ideas and I got stuck for like three days on a single point that was refusing to come out like constipation.

So, once again, this chapter is completed mere hours before my upload time.

I am so tired-

The Keeper scanned the bare and rocky mountainside, searching for the unknown trespassers that their wards had alerted them to. So far, all they’d seen were several wild goats sleeping amongst the boulders or prancing away across the loose stone gravel at the sight of the Keeper and their partners.

Unfortunately, they hadn't been able to return to Dìon till the weekend, and every day had been wrought with anxiety, bracing to bolt from Hogwarts, regardless of when and where they were, if the wards indicated any move from the intruders to approach Dìon castle.

Fortunately, however, the intruding party had kept their movements mostly restricted to the sea-facing side of the mountain west of Dìon. What on earth were they doing up here?

"Hang on, I hear something." Ominis called out, drawing Sebastian and the Keeper's attention, he gestured off towards the side of the path. "It came from over there."

The Keeper and Sebastian approached the spot Ominis had pointed at, finding that it was a blind corner and that there was a path hidden behind some boulders.

As they set upon the path, a deep and thundering roar shook the mountain side.

The Keeper froze, that sounded oddly familiar.

"Hey, wait!" Sebastian called out as the Keeper shot forward, sprinting towards the source of the roar.

As the Keeper rounded a bend along the mountain trail, another roar split the air and a man garbed in familiar clothing flew past, flailing and screaming as his body was thrown off the cliff.

"Poachers!?" Sebastian exclaimed as he caught up, Ominis close on his heels.

Forgoing an answer, the Keeper flung themselves into battle, throwing a Confringo at the unguarded back of the nearest poacher. Their eyes flickered across the stone shelf, sizing up the situation, spotting no less than ten poachers and a large dragon backed up against the steep mountainside.

A large and familiar dragon.

The great and noble beast was severely injured, blood streaming from its side and one of its wings hanging from its body at an awkward angle, as it blew fire at the attacking poachers. Fury ripped through the Keeper, and they threw a cruciatus curse at the exposed back of the Poacher Executioner leading the Poacher pack.

Not only did these scum dare to trespass on their territory, they also dared harm a Hebridean Black. The self-same dragon that the Keeper had freed with Poppy, in fact!

Without missing a beat, Sebastian followed the Keeper’s lead and joined in, throwing an imperious curse at another Poacher. Forcing her to attack and dispatch two of her allies, before they knew what hit them, and then promptly commit suicide with a well-placed diffindo at her own throat.

Meanwhile the Keeper turned their wand on the next opponent, throwing a bombarda at their target and blowing the side of his head wide open, splattering the comrade to his left with grey matter.

Ominis wasn't very pleased to hear the use of Unforgivables in his presence, but at the moment, he was more concerned with the fact that there was a bloody dragon right in front of them. Literally. He cast a depulso on one of the poachers, throwing the woman backwards and off the side of the cliff with a scream. They had to get rid of the poachers quickly before they could figure out what to do about that.

He would chew his lovers out later, when they were safe.

The remaining Poachers spun about to face the newcomers in alarm, realising that they were now pincered between an angry dragon and the Keeper's party. The trespassers retaliated, shooting reductos and expulsos at the Keeper and their partners.

Sebastian easily sidestepped a diffindo, before he and the Keeper began raining a barrage of curses back at the poachers as the intruders spread out across the rocky high mountain outcrop. Though, amusingly enough, it seemed that one of the poachers had managed to forget about the dragon behind them, stepping backwards into its range and was summarily flattened under a large and clawed paw.

Flinging a confringo through the air, the Keeper dodged, and rolled towards Ominis, throwing up a protego to block a bombarda rushing towards him, before countering with a stupefy that threw the poacher backwards onto his ass. With a shrill shriek, the man's head was quickly crushed in the maw of the dragon.

On the other side, Sebastian jumped back, narrowly dodging a killing curse, a vicious grin splitting his face as he fired right back with his own, the bright green spell hitting his target and dropping the poacher dead on his feet. Oh, how he'd missed the thrill of battle.

To his right, yet another poacher attempted to cast the levitation charm at the Keeper while they were casting their counter but barely got the Levi out, before she was stopped by a depulso from Ominis. The purple hued charm throwing the poacher right into the line of the dragon's fire.

As he did so, the Keeper cast an accio, pulling a poacher over by their robes, while Sebastian cast a depulso on another, slamming the two together. Before Ominis cast a levitation charm at the two dazed Poachers, holding them suspended in the air for the dragon to roast.

With that last burst of fire, the dragon collapsed to the floor, evidently drained of its ability to fight.

The last two poachers attempted to flee past the dragon, now that it was down, but the Keeper used their Ancient Magic to throw a boulder at one, hearing a satisfying crack as the large rock shattered her spine. While Sebastian cast a well-aimed diffindo at the other, slicing his head clean off. Well, at least if that guy became a ghost, he'd be able to join the Headless Hunt.

With the last of the poachers dead, the Keeper sprinted over to the dragon, ignoring Sebastian and Ominis' alarmed warnings.

The Keeper slowed as they neared the large creature, crouched and reached a hand out towards the dragon's snout carefully. "Hey, remember me?"

The dragon growled lowly but didn't move away or attack, simply continuing to lie there, her large chest rising and falling with laboured breaths, quietly allowing the Keeper to rest their hand on the side of its head.

Her sleek black scales were far too cool, the last time they met, the Keeper could feel the heat radiating off the dragon's hide even from a distance. They examined the dragon's blood covered side, the gash was rough and jagged, more like something a pointed object would do, rather than a spell or a blade. Thick and dark blood pooled in the dips on the floor, its rusty stench permeating the air, and every rattling breath from the dragon came accompanied by a fine reddish mist.

The Keeper glanced around, spotting a bloodstained and pointed rock jutting out from the side of the mountain, as well as the broken remains of chains and shackles scattered about. Perhaps while trying to fight off the restraints, she had injured herself upon the stone, or perhaps it had been intentional.

A pang of sympathy washed over the Keeper, aye, they too would probably rather fight till the death than to be captured and used by humans for entertainment.

"A- are you alright?" Ominis' worried voice caught their attention, and the dragon growled aggressively as he and Sebastian approached tentatively.

"It's okay, they're friends..." The Keeper murmured, stroking the side of the dragon soothingly and feeling it relax slightly in response. "Yes, I'm alright, I rescued this dragon from the Poacher Pack with Poppy in fifth-year."

"With Poppy!?" Sebastian's eyes widened with shock, before smiling wryly at the Keeper. "I suppose I shouldn't be so surprised, crazy things often happen around you."

Ominis shook his head helplessly, how did he end up saddled with two reckless idiots who flocked to danger like a Niffler in a jewellery shop?

"Omi, do you think we can do anything for her?" The Keeper asked, turning their gaze towards her injury.

Ominis took a few cautious steps forward. "I can try, but I don't know much about beasts..."

The dragon gave a deep growl when Ominis raised his wand towards it, and he flinched, lowering it slightly while the Keeper soothed the dragon, before trying again, this time without protest from her.

He waved his wand over the dragon, casting a quick Diagnosa. Ominis felt his heart sink at the readings the spell was returning. If this were a human, they'd have no chance of recovery. He couldn’t be sure about a dragon, but the low percentage of blood left in its body was not encouraging.

"I- I'm sorry, I don't think we can help her, she's lost too much blood, and I don't think we can get enough replenishing potion in her in time. If such a potion would even work on a dragon." Ominis shook his head, his voice thick with regret and remorse.

The Keeper lowered their head, feeling their teeth grind together in frustration and anguish. Once again, they were being forced to watch someone they'd come to care for slip away. Fig, Lodgok, and now the dragon who'd managed to see what little good they could still carry in their cynical and selfish heart. Yet another, who’d chosen to trust them.

A burning anxiety flickered within the Keeper's chest, stealing the air from their lungs. If they lost Sebastian or Ominis, it would surely hurt far worse. No, they would not let that happen. No effort or craven deed was too much to ensure that they would never have to experience that.

This, the Keeper vowed to themselves.

The three jumped as the dragon abruptly began to shift, stepping back as she rolled onto her side and, to their horror, began to dig her own claws into the large open wound. Blood gushed from her side and the dragon roared in pain.

"What in Merlin's nam-" Ominis gasped, covering his nose and mouth at the new spray of iron filling the air. Even Sebastian's face paled and contorted in disbelief.

The Keeper's mind raced, trying to understand the dragon's actions. Surely, she understood that they were not going to harm her? What was she doing!?

As the dragon ripped and tore at the gash in her side, the Keeper noticed something shifting under her scales.

With a roar, the dragon tugged a final time and a round glob of viscera fell out from her side, landing on the floor with a wet splat. The dragon slumped to the floor limply, her chest heaving with heavy and tired pants.

The Keeper stared at the round object resting in the pool of blood. Could it be!?

The dragon lifted her head, using her tongue to lap gently at the object, cleaning the sticky red fluid from it and revealing a familiar scaly purple egg.

She'd used her body to hide her egg from the poachers, to keep it safe and warm. The Keeper felt a surge of respect for the dragon. Such love, such self-sacrifice.

"Is that an egg?" Sebastian breathed, his voice filled with shock and wonder.

A moment later, the Keeper felt their jaw slacken when the dragon slowly nudged the egg, rolling it across the floor towards them with a soft warble.

Irony was bitter on their tongue and sickening to the stomach, to think that the egg they'd rescued for the dragon would return to them in the worst way possible.

The Keeper had wanted to keep it then.

Now they wished they didn't have to.

They shook themselves out of it quickly. Regardless of how disgusting it felt, this was a great responsibility being entrusted to them and one deserving of a worthy response.

The Keeper bowed, going down on one knee and meeting the dragon's brilliant purple eyes. "I swear to you, I will ensure that your young will be safe and well taken care of."

The dragon regarded the Keeper for a moment and, despite not speaking the same language, they somehow felt like their sentiments had been conveyed. Heaving a satisfied breath, the exhausted dragon laid her head on the floor and relaxed her large, scaled body.

Forcing their trembling hands to still, the Keeper gently scooped the scaled egg into their arms, feeling the warm pulsing heat radiating from its surface as they sat down cross legged beside the dragon. Uncaring of the blood that seeped into their clothing, they cradled the bloody egg in their lap and stroked the dragon's snout as her breathing gradually slowed.

Sebastian and Ominis stood solemnly behind them, offering the Keeper their silent support as the seconds ticked by slowly, the heat in the dragon's breath cooling and the spark of life fading from those slitted orbs.

A moment after the dragon took her last breath, Sebastian hesitantly commented. "Um, hey, I know I don’t know much about dragons, but I’m fairly certain that that’s not how they lay eggs."

Ominis promptly smacked him on the head and stooped to place a comforting hand on the Keeper's shoulder. "I'm sorry for the loss of your friend..."

They took a deep breath, stroking their hand across the dragon’s snout with a sad smile. “She laid her egg long ago, Poppy and I rescued it from the Poachers and returned it to her after helping her escape captivity.”

“I see… that’s why she trusted you.” Sebastian nodded in understanding, before asking. "...should we bury her?"

The Keeper stood slowly, cradling the egg carefully in their arms, and considering their new responsibility. Gazing down at the dragon, they thought of her determination to protect her child and shook their head.

"No, we will harvest whatever materials we can from her..." The two boys wore incredulous expressions at the Keeper's declaration. "...and use the money we get from her to care for her child. I believe she would have wanted this."

Ominis still looked rather disturbed by the idea, but Sebastian nodded his head in agreement. "You're right. She already gave her life protecting her egg, there's no value greater than that."

The Keeper carried the egg over to Ominis, took his hand and placed it on the warm surface, allowing him to feel the thumping heartbeat under the scaled shell.

He sighed. "I see your point... we'll need to get what it needs quickly and that will cost us."

Sebastian's eyes widened in surprise. “You're agreeing? That easily?”

Ominis rolled his eyes. “Our lover just swore to personally see to the care of their friend's child. I'm not so callous as to disregard the weight of such a promise.”

Pleased to have his agreement and uncertain how to thank him for understanding, the Keeper placed a grateful kiss against his cheek, before taking a step back and speaking clearly. "Tynx, Tibsy."

The two elves popped into being beside them, and Tibsy squeaked in horror as her tiny shoes splashed in the blood on the floor, Tynx barely flinched but his expression appeared equally as disturbed by their surroundings.

“Master... what-” Tynx began uncertainly, cutting himself off and turning his attention to the Keeper, seeking answers from them rather than the environment.

The Keeper smiled in approval, that instinctive trust was exactly what they wanted from their elves. “I apologise for summoning the two of you to do such a ghastly deed, but I will need both your aid to harvest and store parts from this dragon.”

Following the Keeper's gesture, the elves set their wide-eyed gazes upon the large carcass and Tibsy began to sway alarmingly. Fortunately, Ominis seemed to have seen this coming and stooped to catch her before she collapsed into the blood.

“Tibsy!” Tynx exclaimed in alarm and shuffled to her side quickly. That was also good, loyalty to each other would help them work better together. Hopefully, Penny would fit in fine with these two.

Tibsy shook her head, struggling to regain her footing with Ominis’ supporting hand under her elbow. “Tibsy- Tibsy is being sorry Master!”

“It's quite alright, Tibsy. Do you think you will be able to handle helping with such a task?” The Keeper asked gently. “I'd like you to be honest and tell me if you can't.”

“Tib- Tibsy can!” The small elf nodded her head furiously, and the Keeper was quite pleased that she was clearly trying to work through her unsurprising aversion to gore.

“I appreciate the effort, but I don't want you to push yourself. If you feel unwell, you are to take a break.” The Keeper instructed with a small smile.

“Look Tibsy, it's nothing different from what you do, gutting fish in the kitchen and all.” Sebastian leaned down to pat the small elf on the head with what he probably thought was a reassuring grin. “Just that the fish is now bigger. And a lizard. And every part of it is valuable.”

“Sebastian-” Ominis hissed through clenched teeth, when small goosebumps rose on Tibsy's spindly arm.

“What?” Sebastian, naturally, didn't seem to have noticed, and once again, Ominis promptly smacked the buffoon with his free hand.

As this occurred, the Keeper had turned to Tynx, who was gazing worriedly at Tibsy, and added, despite knowing that he would do so even without instruction. “Tynx, keep an eye on her and see that she rests if need be.”

The elder elf gave them a grateful nod and the Keeper saw him pause in easily discerned hesitation.

“What is it?” They asked, it was fairly obvious what he wanted, but they waited for him to take the initiative.

The elf's eyes flickered to the headless body collapsed a few metres away, before finally speaking. “May I ask what happened here?”

“You may.” The Keeper nodded with a faint smile. “This dragon gave her life defending herself and her egg from these poachers. I plan to sell her parts to raise the child she sacrificed herself for.”

Tynx and Tibsy, who had also been listening, stared at the purple scaled egg cradled carefully in the Keeper's arms, their big eyes wide with shock, as the realisation that they would be helping to raise a dragon sank in. The Keeper watched the elves carefully, gauging their response, it would be problematic if their servants had a fear of dragons after all.

“Master should be hurrying home!” Tibsy exclaimed, wringing her hands worriedly. “Mountain is cold and baby eggies must be warm. Master can leave mommy dragon to us!”

Tynx silently removed his suit’s tailed coat and offered it to the Keeper, who blinked at him in surprise for a moment, before accepting it with a smile and wrapping the bloodstained egg in the heavy cloth.

“Thank you, Tynx and Tibsy.” The Keeper nodded approvingly. “The parts can be stored in the Keep for now and the bodies of the poachers cast into the ocean.”

“Yes, Master.” Tynx bowed his head and Tibsy nodded.

“Where will we put the egg though?” Ominis asked with a small frown.

“The Poacher Pack kept it in a cage, over a fire, when Poppy and I rescued it from them.” The Keeper recalled.

Sebastian hummed thoughtfully. “We can probably place it on the wood stove then.”

“Good thing you finished installing that last weekend.” The Keeper smiled fondly, setting that up had had Sebastian running all over the building, routing pipes through the floor that would spread heat from the wood stoves all throughout the castle.

Sebastian shrugged. “It's not winter yet, but heating takes priority and it'd be rubbish if we had to spend our Christmas holidays patching up any problems with the system in the cold. Magic’s great, but if we keep using warming charms, we’ll be exhausted in no time.”

“Indeed.” The Keeper nodded with a dry chuckle, placing the wrapped egg carefully into their satchel and removing their nab-sack to summon Sepulchria. “Let us be off then.”

After the two boys were seated securely behind them, the Thestral took to the air, leaving the battle torn outcrop behind.

"So, now what?” Sebastian turned to his partners and folded his arms. The three of them stood before a stove bearing a contraption he’d thrown together from sticks and wires, and in which the cleaned egg now rested, suspended over an open flame. “I don't know much about dragons, let alone how to take care of one.”

“Might there be books in the library on dragon care?” The Keeper suggested in an uncharacteristically tepid manner.

“Wait, you don’t have a plan?” Ominis blinked in surprise.

“Not really, but I’m not going back on my word, so we’ll just have to wing it.” The Keeper shrugged.

“Heh, wing it.” Sebastian laughed and Ominis gave a tired sigh.

“So, books?” The Keeper prodded Sebastian again.

“Ah, yes, right. Hmm, in the restricted section perhaps, since raising dragons is illegal.” Sebastian answered after a moment’s thought. “We might be able to get the recipe for a milk substitute and some basics, but I doubt there'll be a comprehensive guide to dragon raising in there. Such a thing is usually a family trade.”

“We don't even know what breed of dragon this is.” Ominis shook his head with a concerned frown.

“Oh, it's a Hebridean Black.” The Keeper provided, before their eyes widened in realisation. “Poppy recognised the dragon mother’s breed immediately upon sight, perhaps she might know more on dragon care.”

“That's right, Poppy did mention that her parents are poachers, she might have some experience or knowledge of how to care for illegal magical beasts.” Ominis’ voice was cautiously hopeful.

“Poppy's parents are poachers!?” Sebastian exclaimed in shock. “Really?”

“Yes, well, it's not something she'd proudly proclaim now is it. For obvious reasons.” Ominis sighed.

“You don't say.” Sebastian shook his head. “Still... she's definitely going to be suspicious if we just up and ask her how to raise a dragon.”

“I think... we can trust her with this.” The Keeper murmured and Sebastian gave them a surprised look.

“Didn't you say you don't want her to know about Dìon till the castle is completed?” Sebastian asked.

“Well, we can't bring the egg to Hogwarts either. That's far too dangerous.” Ominis pointed out.

“We can work around that by bringing Poppy and the egg to Feldcroft.” The Keeper suggested.

“Oh, that’s a good idea, can’t believe I didn’t think of that.” Sebastian shook his head, pausing for a moment before adding. “Are we going to tell Poppy about the mother?”

Surprisingly enough, it was Ominis who shook his head. “I don’t think we should tell her. It wouldn’t change our plans, and she would only feel conflicted, knowing that we’re engaging in poacher-like behaviour.”

“Oh, now you understand where I was coming from.” Sebastian rolled his eyes.

Ominis folded his arms and frowned in Sebastian's general direction. “Oh, don't misunderstand me, I still think what you did was wrong. In fact, what I'm suggesting is also wrong. Lying by omission is no different than lying outright, and that's hurtful.”

Sebastian blinked at him for a moment, seeming quite thrown by that response, when Ominis eyes softened. “But yes, I do understand that you were just doing your best to avoid hurting me, just as I'm suggesting we do for Poppy.”

With a wry smile, Ominis shook his head. “If I hadn't understood that, I wouldn’t have been able to forgive you for it.”

Sebastian's eyes went wide, before sliding off to the side, while a small, happy, yet almost embarrassed smile formed on his lips.

“Well, I agree, we can’t be certain how she’ll react. And frankly, I'm more concerned about how we're going to sell the dragon parts in the first place.” The Keeper shook their head.

“Oh, that's right, while they're worth a lot of money, Dragon parts and eggs are classified as Non-Tradeable Materials so it's not like we can just sell ‘em on the regular market.” Sebastian grimaced.

“We'd have better luck fencing them to actual Poachers since they would already have established contacts with people who would buy such items.” The Keeper too, grimaced in distaste. The idea of having dealings with that crowd after all their history was unpleasant, but they couldn't afford to be picky on this.

“I suppose beggars can't be choosers.” Ominis murmured, clearly having come to the same conclusion.

“Well, we can discuss this further after searching the library and consulting Poppy.” The Keeper shook their head. “We need more information. We can invite her to visit Feldcroft tomorrow, during the Animagus class with Natty tonight.”

“I'll drop by the Restricted Section tonight, after the lesson, to see if I can find the recipe for a milk substitute.” Sebastian nodded.

“Good idea, I'll go with you to help with the search.” The Keeper agreed.

“Tomorrow's already Sunday… I'll help Penny with preparing the store for the Monday opening this evening, since we’ll need to move our wares into it after speaking with Poppy at Feldcroft. So, you two can focus on your search tonight.” Ominis chimed in.

“Much appreciated, thank you.” The Keeper gave him a grateful nod. “Alright, it's a plan.”

The two boys nodded and the Keeper bit back a sigh. They were already so busy furnishing and setting up the castle, training as Animagi and in wandless magic, learning Ancient Magic and studying for their NEWTs. They really hoped it wouldn't be too difficult, adding care for the baby dragon on top of all that, at least they had now a third elf to help out around the castle.

“Norwegian Ridgebacks drink chicken's blood and brandy? That is both gross and disturbing.” The Keeper grimaced as Sebastian read aloud from the book they'd found, Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit.

The three lovers were sitting, as always, in the otherwise empty common room, Sebastian in a single armchair beside a couch that Ominis and the Keeper were seated upon together.

“At least that's not too hard to acquire, hopefully it'll be the same for Hebridean Blacks...” Ominis flashed a wry smile.

“No such luck there, I'm afraid.” Sebastian sighed, tracing his finger across the page. “Says here that our dragon chick will need a spoonful of Re'em blood in a quart of mead.”

“Excuse me, but did you just say Re'em?” Ominis’ tone was absolutely appalled.

“Yeaap.” Sebastian drew out the end of the word, ending it with a disheartened pop.

“Let me guess.” The Keeper commented dryly. “Rare and expensive.”

“And a regulated material at that, since Re'em are an endangered magical beast species under protection.” Sebastian added.

“Right. Of course.” The Keeper sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over their face. Great, another problem that needed solving.

“Well, at least Poppy accepted our invitation to visit Feldcroft tomorrow.'' Despite the attempt at optimism, Sebastian's tone was flat and drained of enthusiasm. “That's something.”

“Yeah...” The Keeper sighed again, leaning to their left and resting against Ominis, feeling him brush his fingers comfortingly through their hair. “We don't have much time. It's been two years, and the book says that an egg that has gone for over three years, without hatching, may never do so.”

With a frustrated groan, the Keeper buried their face in the crook of Ominis’ neck, murmuring in a strained voice against his collar. “…unfortunately, we don't know how old the egg was when Poppy and I rescued her, so we can’t afford to wait till we graduate.”

“At least we know how to hatch a dragon egg now. We can begin the process tomorrow, after Poppy's visit, and teach Tibsy how to keep the temperature fluctuating like a dragon's breath.” Ominis pressed a kiss to the Keeper's forehead and held them close, rubbing a hand over their back.

“Yeah, according to the book, if we start tomorrow, the egg should hatch after about two weeks.” Sebastian nodded as he closed the book in his lap. “The dragon must have known that the more time passes after a year, the lower the egg's chances of hatching. Yet she left it in its shell this whole time.”

“Probably because she couldn't find somewhere safe enough.” Ominis murmured, brows furrowed in sympathy.

The Keeper nodded, inadvertently nuzzling their cheek against his clothing. “I don't think it's a coincidence that she only showed up alongside the poachers trespassing on our land. There wasn't any indication of a dragon living on that mountain before. She must have been chased here. Those poachers were probably tracking her the whole time after Poppy and I got her out.”

“Can't imagine being on the run with a baby for two years...” Sebastian shook his head, his jaw tight. “Damn those blasted poachers.”

“Goes to show how unbearable her own experience must have been. Better to never hatch, than to be born into captivity.” The Keeper released their third sigh.

They'd be lucky if Poppy even knew anything that would help with raising a dragon. No, they'd likely need to find a means of feeding the dragon chick themselves. Maybe they could kidnap a poacher and interrogate them...

“Re'em blood?” Poppy blinked. “Oh, I know a guy who trades the stuff.”

The Keeper, Sebastian and Ominis all felt their jaws go slack at her casual declaration.

“I'm sorry, but could you run that by us again?” Sebastian asked in a voice thin with disbelief.

Poppy shifted uncomfortably and her eyes averted, focusing instead on the egg resting on a grate in the fireplace, and her expression was fairly abashed as she elaborated. “I'm not sure if they told you, but my parents are poachers and they raised me under the assumption that I'd be... joining the family business.”

She grimaced. “My uncle, twice removed, peddles the wares of the trade in a private room at a pub-cum-inn in Knockturn Alley on Saturday, during the night. The Phantom's Flask, is what the pub's called, third floor, room thirteen.”

“Are you sure about this?” The Keeper asked cautiously.

“Yes, you made a promise to this little one's mother, that you would take care of it, and I know well how that feels.” Poppy's smile was gentle and nostalgic, perhaps recalling how she’d rescued Highwing, and the decisions that precipitated her rebellion against her parents. “May she rest in peace... Would you take me to visit her grave sometime?”

“Of course.” The Keeper nodded.

“Thank you, Poppy, for helping us with this.” Ominis placed a hand over his heart with a grateful smile. “It means a lot to us.”

The girl beamed bright at his words. “And I'm happy to have been trusted with this secret. I'll do whatever I can to help, and I'm glad, if anything, that my shameful background can be of some use.”

The Keeper grimaced. “In contrast, I feel like mine is going to be a bit of a problem.”

At the confused expressions, the Keeper elaborated. “Thanks to Rookwood and Harlow, my face is likely well known in Poaching circles. Your uncle might be wary of having dealings with me.”

“That's true...” Poppy frowned, pausing for a moment. “…I'd offer to go, but...”

The four of them grimaced in varying degrees of distaste at the very thought, before Sebastian cleared his throat.

“I ca-” Sebastian began.

“No.” Both Ominis and the Keeper interjected in unison, before he could even finish his sentence.

“Oh, come on.” Sebastian grumbled, while Poppy giggled at his sulky expression.

After several minutes had passed in silence, Ominis sighed. “I'll go. I'm familiar enough with the manner in which such underworld deals are made, thanks to my own... stellar upbringing.”

The Keeper grimaced, it was basically their only option, but the thought of sending Ominis into the lion's den lay bitter on their tongue. “I'll tail you from a distance and remain downstairs in the pub, in case you need assistance.”

Ominis nodded, his expression stony, and Sebastian frowned, opening his mouth once more. “Then I'll-”

“No.”

“But-”

“No, Sebastian.”

“Arrrgh!”

“Oh, I almost forgot, music! You should play music for the egg. And make sure it gets lots of fresh air and keep the mood light around it.” Poppy added, to the absurdly long list of requirements for a healthy baby dragon, as the Keeper walked her back to the Feldcroft floo, where she could return to Hogwarts after their discussion.

“Mood?” The Keeper cocked a quizzical eyebrow.

“Yes, no arguments or raised voices about it, treat it like a human baby.” Poppy explained and the Keeper gave her a flat stare in return. Did she really think they, of all people, would know how a human baby was supposed to be treated?

“I... see.” The Keeper nodded after a moment, well, at least they could probably do something about the music, perhaps it'd be worth investing in a phonograph.

Oh, they'd been thinking about making a more subtle intruder alert chime of sorts for the castle doors, perhaps they could repurpose the phonograph for a door chime when the egg was hatched.

“Thank you, Poppy. I don't know what we would have done without your help.” The Keeper smiled, they'd never have had this problem without Poppy, but they'd also never have had this solution either, and despite the immense responsibility the egg presented, they didn't really regret the path they'd taken to get here. “Would you... like to be there when the egg hatches?”

“You are most welcome.” Poppy gave them a wistful smile. “Oh, I do wish I could, but it would probably be better for me not to be present. I wouldn't want to mess up the imprinting process. Dragons are clever creatures and if they see you as family, it'll be easier to take care of it.”

“I see, thank you for your consideration.” The Keeper nodded as they came to a stop beside the floo. “I’ll see you tomorrow in class then.”

With a cheery wave, Poppy stepped into the floo and disappeared in a puff of green smoke.

The Keeper heaved a sigh and began returning to the cottage, it was barely noon and they still had much to do. They were going to introduce Penny to Tibsy and Tynx when they got back to Dìon, and then they would be preparing Vesters and Venum for its opening tomorrow.

They wouldn't be paying the poacher fence a visit till next weekend, so they'd just have to endure the anxiety until then. This was a dangerously tight schedule to be running on, if they didn't succeed in getting Re'em blood next Saturday they wouldn't have food for the newly hatched dragon the weekend after.

Reaching the cottage, the Keeper pushed the door open and stepped inside.

“-and we both know you wouldn't be able to restrain yourself if the man insults me.” Ominis’ lecturing tone easily clued the Keeper in on the topic of their discussion.

“How is that a bad thing!?” Sebastian exclaimed incredulously.

“It's not, and I appreciate it, but it doesn't change the facts, my dear. You're not cut out for that type of subterfuge.” Ominis shook his head with a wry smile, and placed a gentle kiss against the brunet's cheek, eliciting a relenting sigh from Sebastian.

“Come darlings, let's not have raised voices by the egg, apparently that's bad for the little one.” The Keeper chuckled, placing a hand on Sebastian's shoulder and the other on Ominis’. “Poppy's orders, the baby is to have music, fresh air and good, er, moods about it.”

“Why do I feel like we just adopted a kid?” Sebastian cocked an eyebrow.

“Probably because we did.” Ominis drawled.

“Just had to pick a kid that can't be tamed or trained, didn't we.” Sebastian sighed dramatically.

“Well, I distantly recall someone saying that children are a gift, guess that means no one really gets to pick.” The Keeper snickered. “Then again, same guy was looking to pick a kid from the orphanage, so I'd take that with a grain of salt.”

“Psssah.” Sebastian scoffed. “Nothing less than a month with a kid is enough to know what you're getting yourself into, picking a kid at an orphanage after a short chat might as well be the same as rolling a dice.”

The Keeper snorted. “Fair. Come on then, let's get this kid back to the castle and into its toasty bed.”

Scooping the egg into their arms and wrapping it in a towel, the Keeper tucked the precious burden into their satchel and headed back out of the cottage with the boys.

“What colour is Penny liking?” Tibsy bounced about excitedly.

Next to her, Penny's eyes roved over the many bolts of coloured fabric, rolled up upon the shelves of the textiles shop in Diagon Alley, with some uncertainty.

“You don't need to hold back, Penny.” Tynx reassured her with a small smile. “Our Master is quite generous with their allowance and sincere about wanting you to have a wardrobe that you're comfortable with. As long as it's not neon coloured or dizzyingly patterned, that is.”

“Yes yes, Master is being very kind and good to Tibsy and Tynx!” Tibsy nodded furiously. “Master lets us do what we want when the work is done and lets us use leftover coins for anything we are wanting!”

To the bewilderment of the two elves, Penny's expression only fell further.

“What's wrong?” Tynx decided to ask plainly, since the store was mostly empty, the human cashier dozing off in a chair behind the counter on the other end of the shop.

Their master had given them the evening off to help Penny settle in, after they'd finished transferring their goods to the shop in Hogsmeade, and they'd decided to start off with getting Penny something classy to wear around the castle. Her current clothing was fine for tending a shop, but unacceptable for attending their owner, Tynx couldn't abide by something chequered flashing about the castle.

It was dinnertime for the humans, which left the three elves the space and freedom to move about the textile store without getting caught underfoot and receiving irritated glares for being in the way. Humans were so ignorant to the struggles of those that much smaller than them.

“Penny is...” The white-haired elf shifted uncomfortably, wringing her hands together. “Penny feels unworthy of such kindness. Penny thought the Master would simply have Penny tend the store. Penny didn't think the Master would buy clothing for Penny.”

Tynx nodded in understanding. “Yes, our Master is quite a strange one, but they seem to genuinely care about us.”

“Penny is unsure if that would extend to Penny.” Penny shook her head. “Penny isn't like Tibsy or Tynx.”

She covered her face with her hands. “Penny was a trap, Penny didn't warn Master about the chest in the shop and Master could have died in there. Penny was afraid of punishment, even though Penny hoped for the day that Mistress would no longer own Penny.”

Tynx felt her pain deeply, recalling how wrought with guilt he had been when his previous Master wouldn't allow him to feed his young human daughter. The turmoil he'd felt, torn between fear for his own life and the pain of seeing the little girl, that Tynx had spent more time caring for than her father himself, starving.

“Penny, our Master is not like your old Mistress.” Tynx placed a hand on her shoulder. “Ours understands that you didn't have a choice.”

“But Penny hurt them, by not telling the truth. Penny hurt so many people.” The elf sobbed quietly into her hands. “Penny is a terrible person!”

Tibsy, who'd been standing uncertainly beside Penny, now wrapped her arms around the other elf. “No, Penny is wrong! Penny had a terrible Mistress, Penny is not bad!”

“Nobody here blames you for what you were forced to do, Penny.” Tynx placed a gentle hand on the younger elf's head. “It's not your fault, you were afraid. Bad people make good people do bad things. That's why we need good people who are strong to stop them.”

Tynx smiled as Penny lowered her hands from her face. “Our Master is strong. Our Master stops bad people from doing bad things. You will be safe with us. You don't need to be afraid anymore.”

Penny's brown eyes were wide, and at his words, they began brimming with tears again. “Thank you... Penny- Penny will do her best to be worthy of this second chance!”

Tibsy beamed and took out a small aqua handkerchief from her pocket to offer Penny. “Tibsy is happy to have Penny here! Tibsy can help Penny make nice clothes and then Tibsy can show Penny the nice animals!”

“That's right, our Master's first and only obligation for Tibsy and I, was to wear nice clothes that we like.” Tynx nodded. “So, we can start with what colour Penny likes.”

Wiping away her tears with Tibsy's handkerchief, Penny nodded with a wistful expression. “Penny... Penny likes green.”

She ran her gaze across the racks of fabric, before picking out a soft turquoise bolt of cotton, with small faded green flower patterns scattered across the cloth. “Penny can make a dress with this.”

Tynx nodded in approval, a simple design and a colour that is gentle on the eyes, the Master would be pleased.

He smiled as Tibsy dragged Penny over to the cashier. Tibsy had proven herself stronger than he'd expected, yesterday while they were carving up the dragon, and Penny had shown herself to be hardworking earlier. Now, he knew too that she was kind at heart and a gentle soul.

His responsibilities had grown, another person he had to protect. At least that wasn't difficult while they were the Keeper's. He hoped this would never change, and he would do whatever it took to protect their Master.

For the two younger elves in his charge.

Dark and dank. That was the impression the Keeper got, after a mere ten steps into Knockturn Alley. Most of the shops bore no windows or were shrouded in darkness, the occasional signboard bearing shop names, were barely legible in the dim light of the sparse lanterns scattered along the path.

The Keeper had slipped into a corner to don a heavy brown hooded coat, before taking the turn into Knockturn Alley, with the hood raised of course, the better to conceal their identity in the shady alleyway. A quick scan confirmed that the other visitors of the alley were either attired in similarly concealing apparel or were dressed more like Ominis.

Their blind partner was wearing much more... opulent garments, looking every inch the confident pureblood young lord, with his slicked back blond hair and dark emerald bespoke suit. He’d been quite bitter when he recounted to them how his parents had merely sent him an allowance, and the address of their family tailor, upon realising that he'd ran away from home and into the Sallow residence.

Understandably, he hadn't taken his parents' comment, that he should at least maintain appropriate attire even if he refused to return home, very well. He felt it indicated that they cared more about how he reflected upon them than they cared for him. To their chagrin, neither the Keeper nor Sebastian had been able to argue with that interpretation, merely offering him comfort in lieu of words to the contrary.

Still, if he was to leverage his status as a noble, to lend credence and weight to his words, despite his young age during this negotiation, it was quite fortunate to have a tailor whose work would be charged to the Gaunt family accounts.

The Keeper walked slowly, keeping Ominis within their sight as he strode confidently through the alleyway, and occasionally bristling at the looks that the blond got from other denizens of the dark. Some leering at him, others with envious eyes gleaming from under dark hoods, and they had a feeling that some of these figures weren't even human.

Fortunately, his affected confidence and pristine appearance seemed to keep the lurkers at bay, and even more so that Ominis didn't require light to see. Elsewise he might have stumbled, or had to ask for directions, and the Keeper really didn't want Ominis to interact with these people if it was avoidable. His confidence here was very much an act and they didn't want to chance someone finding that out.

The Keeper's on the other hand, was less so, and it only took a few sharp, threatening glares to dissuade any interest in them as they carefully moved across the uneven stone floor of the alley.

Several minutes of tense walking passed before they spied Ominis slipping through the door of a rather large building, the Phantom's Flask was, in fact, a fair bit larger than the Three Broomsticks. Not too surprising perhaps, since the upper floors doubled as an inn.

Following him through the door a few seconds later, the Keeper scanned the surroundings, quickly spotting Ominis as he spoke with a large, muscled man for a moment, before heading up the staircase to the left. At least that was settled, now then...

The pub itself was surprisingly clean, considering how dilapidated the alleyway had been, they'd expected the inside of the building to feel like an even more unpleasant version of the Hog's Head. Instead, it felt a little more like the Three Broomsticks in layout and sitting, albeit much darker in colouring and far dimmer in lighting.

There were a trio of vampires seated at a nearby table drinking from goblets of, presumably, blood. So, it was possible that the pub's dim lighting was for the sake of guests who found light unpleasant.

Around the pub were also several groups of goblins and a few clusters of humans that were clearly dark wizards and witches, from their attire. A table in the rightmost corner had several heavily scarred people seated around it, engaged in rowdy conversation, and they wore very little clothing, revealing what looked like bite marks on each individual. Perhaps werewolves?

All this the Keeper observed, along with the occasional guest that looked more like a creature than a human, as they slowly drifted towards an empty table near the staircase. Where they could hopefully keep the stairway within sight, in case Ominis fled down it and they needed to rush to his aid.

“Hey.” The large man, who'd spoken with Ominis a few moments ago, approached the Keeper before they got to their destination, and they eyed him warily as he did so. “A word of advice, most guests here will be uncomfortable if you keep your hood up. I'm the doorman of this establishment and if you start any trouble, I'll be escorting you out. So, keep any personal grievances outside the premises.”

“Thanks for the advice, I'll keep that in mind.” The Keeper tipped their head respectfully and the large man returned to his position between the door and staircase.

They considered their options as they took a seat at the empty table as planned, in view of the stairway. While they were reluctant to reveal their identity, the Keeper could see that all the other guests were indeed not concealing their faces, and in a situation like this, any insistence on keeping their hood up would inadvertently draw more attention instead.

Well, when in Rome, do as the Romans do. So, with a sigh, the Keeper lowered their hood.

Almost immediately, one of the men sitting at a table on the left, leapt from his seat. His face was contorted in anger, his hair matted and unwashed, his face haggard and eyes wide with fury as he lunged for the Keeper, seeming to have forgotten the existence of magic in his rage.

“You! You are the reason the Ashwinders are no more!” The man shouted, his expression crazed, and the Keeper was halfway out of their seat when the attacking man dropped to the floor like a rock, not even partway to their table, and lay there unmoving.

Across the room, the large doorman from before flicked his wand and levitated the petrified man through the air, before tossing the man unceremoniously out the door.

“Apologies for the disturbance.” The doorman nodded politely at the guests, and the Keeper returned to their seat, eyeing said doorman with renewed interest.

A nonverbal cast at this distance and at that speed. Impressive, clearly the doorman was as proficient in magic as he appeared to be physically, and it was apparent that the owners knew how to pick their hires well.

Glancing at the other three men who'd been sharing a table with their attacker, the Keeper returned their glares, but the men didn't seem keen on attacking them as recklessly as their less kempt friend, and returned their attention to their own discussions. Perhaps that guy had been more deeply affected by whatever happened to the Ashwinder organisation after Rookwood's death, or perhaps the others simply didn't wish to incur the wrath of the doorman.

Needless to say, it was clear that the rules of this pub were well respected, and that the security was reliable. They'd have to be careful when they were leaving the premises, but at least they were safe in here, which also bode well for Ominis upstairs.

“Hey, kid.” From their right, approached a tall and slender woman with long white-gold hair that flowed in waves down to her narrow waist, and the skin peeking out from under her uniform and apron almost seemed to glow in the candlelight.

Her beautiful features contrasted heavily with the indifferent scowl painted across her face and her deep blue eyes flicked up and down the Keeper, as though sizing them up. “Can I get you something? Milk perhaps?”

The Keeper cocked an unimpressed eyebrow at her, and she rolled her eyes. “What's with that look? Oh, I know, strawberry milk, right?”

When the Keeper continued to stare impassively at her, she gave them a sharp toothed grin and set the mug she’d been holding down on the table. “Just kidding, here's some complimentary water. That'll be fifty galleons.”

An amused snort escaped the Keeper, but no further response was given, and the woman heaved a heavy sigh. “Ugh, tough crowd.”

Then, she flipped her hair over her shoulder and bent down to rest her elbows on the table, a sweet scent drifted through the air, and her position placed her ample cleavage on full display. Her voice lowered into a more sultry tone and her tongue lightly traced her lower lip. “Or can I get you something a little... sweeter?”

In response, the Keeper plucked the mug of water from the table and raised it in her direction with a nod. “This is sweet enough, thanks.”

The woman stared at them, jaw hanging like a marionette that’d lost a string, utter shock painted across her delicate features. “You’re-”

“Fine. Thanks.” The Keeper interjected with a tight smile.

Taking the... hint, the woman gave a dazed nod, before distancing herself from the Keeper's table with an almost lost expression.

Shaking their head, the Keeper regarded the mug of water warily. They gave it a sniff, nothing. Still, there were many odourless and colourless poisons, and potions they wouldn’t want to ingest, such as Veritaserum. No, it wasn't worth the risk.

Setting their mug back down on the table, the Keeper sighed. They'd been here for a mere handful of minutes, and they hadn't had even a quiet moment to themselves.

Perhaps a boring wait was too much to hope for, they thought dryly to themselves as a goblin left one of the other tables and approached theirs. The Keeper eyed him with a carefully neutral gaze as the heavyset goblin stopped beside their table.

“I'd like to discuss something with you, may I sit?” The goblin waved a hand towards the seat across from them.

His tone was polite and his voice deep and rough, his clothing looked like those of a blacksmith and his build was powerful, even for a goblin. He looked like a single swing of the large hammer strapped to his back could fling a human clean across a stream.

The Keeper gave him a slow and cautious nod.

With a small smile, the goblin seated himself and placed his elbows on the table. “I'd wondered what Ranrok's slayer would look like, a child who could take down a monster like that. I thought you'd look more terrifying and disturbing.”

The Keeper's eyes narrowed. “And who's asking?”

“Apologies, where are my manners?” The goblin chuckled. “The name's Borgok.”

“I'm Ranrok's uncle.”

Notes:

I've updated the map to include the site of the dragon's passing and grave, it's on the left! =D You can also view the artwork in HD for free on my Patreon page!

Does this count as a cliffhanger? I'm not sure, what do you think? xD

My mom came up with the idea of the dragon hiding her egg in her body, and declared that that's what she'd do if it would protect me. I am equal parts touched at my mother's self-sacrificial love and disturbed. Now you know where I get my brain from xP

Honestly, I wouldn’t be alive if not for my powerful and strong single-mom, in more ways than the obvious. So, I wanted to touch on that love somewhere in this series.

I also wanted to touch on a belief I have, that lying by omission is bad, obviously, lying is still lying. But it's one of the easiest types of lying to accidentally do without realising, because of good intentions. Even my sweetheart of a mom without a single manipulative bone in her body, has accidentally done it.

It's bad, oh, it's definitely bad, I was incredibly upset when I found out. Good intentions pave the road to hell, and all that. Yet, I could forgive her because I understood how that happened and the why.

An action can be unacceptable while being understandable. And lying is one of these, while the act of lying should be condemned, it behoves us to understand that the intentions behind it matter and this understanding is necessary for people to empathise with each other and find better ways to avoid the need for bad actions like lying.

Evil begets evil, one harm creates the need for another. It is more prudent to seek the source of an act of evil. A man stealing to feed his kids is bad because he's hurting the person he's stealing from, yet if the government had given fair chance for education and employment, or if the people around him were kinder or could afford to be kind, he wouldn't have had to steal.

It's understanding the “why” that allows us to address the true root of the problem. Much like how Sebastian's act of murdering his uncle is ultimately due to the societal failings of the wizarding world, allowing Solomon to continue to abuse the children under his charge.

The existence of slavery or any situation where a person may be coerced into harming others in the way Penny was, is where the blame should lie, for the many people harmed by her owner. Personal justice for the individual should not be taken as an acceptable substitute for systemic growth.

Punishing Solomon and Penny's owner is not sufficient and does not truly solve the problem, it's like tying up a severed limb, sure that helps to stop the bleeding, but bro still needs proper disinfectant and care or he's gonna die of gangrene. Abolishing house elf slavery and improved resources for children suffering abuse is the true solution.

Or I just really needed to give Penny a hug after seeing how she responds if MC is the biggest bastard on Earth and says she should have told them the truth and then punished herself as necessary afterwards. What a cold-blooded arsehole-

[cartoonfanaticmonsterrobotalien]

Solar Opposites in Mighty Solars Issue #41: “Stolen” Pt. 2 Ch. 3

Cut to the Silver Blade’s cave where he waits for Qourra to enter her State. Qourra finally enters the state, creating a dome of water around her.

Maverick: Now destroy the last southern water bender!

Qourra: STAY AWAY FROM ME!

Aqua sends an ice shard to Qourra, who destroys it by breathing frost. Qourra struggles and pulls off the chain on her right arm, swinging it toward Maverick, followed by Aqua. Maverick dodged the attack, but Aqua was caught off-guard and slammed against a wall, losing her water appendages in the meantime. Bullet erupts lava toward Qourra, who swings the chain around her arm before directing the lava flow with water bending back to Bullet, causing him to retreat to avoid the lava. Qourra rips off the chains on her legs and waterbends herself away before propelling herself with bloodbending to rip off the final chain. She lands in front of Maverick and bends four boulders and circle them around her before bloodbend in to push the boulder away. The three Silver Blades retreats to avoid the attacks. Qourra breathes ice in fury while the Mighty Solars and their friends enter the cave.

Yumyulack Solar-Opposites/Vil-Gil-An-T: WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?!

Terry Solar-Opposites/Mighton: Holy shit! We gotta stop them!

Qourra ice fires toward Maverick, who dodges the attacks and flies out through the open roof. Qourra propels water from her feet and gives chase.

Cheery Smithers/Bloody Sympathy: Aw man! I think Qourra has definitely lost her mind!

Qourra: ENOUGH OF THIS SHIT!

Phoebe MacCarthy/Starburst: [Blocks Aqua’s attacks with her lasso] Look out!

Quasarblast gasps.

Korvo Solar-Opposites/Quasarblast: Mighton, Starburst, Mighty Pupa, you took on Bullet! Vil-Gil-An-T, Fung-Irl, Lightspeed you take on Aqua! Venus Tip, Nighthowler and I will go find our friends!

Terry Solar-Opposites/Mighton: Are you sure?

Korvo Solar-Opposites/Quasarblast: We’re the Mighty Solars! We got this! Together! We’re a family! And our weirdness is what makes us strong! No matter what! So Mighty Solars, let’s roll out!

Mighton smiles tearfully and kisses his husband's cheek

Terry Solar-Opposites/Mighton: I love you you brave fuck.

Korvo Solar-Opposites/Qausarblast: And I love you too.

The two alien husbands kiss and then the heroes out their hands together and break.

Korvo Solar-Opposites/Quasarblast: Mighty Solars, roll out!!

All: Right!

Maverick flies out of the cave with Qourra giving chase. Maverick sends two boulders toward Qourra. Qourra dodges the attacks, but is pushed off by Maverick. Maverick grabs Qourra and tosses her away, slamming her against a column, while the trapped humans in the tube witnesses the fight.

Miss Frankie: What the fuck is happening now?!

Randall: Shit! WE'RE GONNA DIE!

Then, one of the Silver Cops presses a button and then each different types of slimes appears underneath each separate tubes with Miss Frankie, Principal Cooke, Ms. Perez, Randall, Mia, Jamie, Darcy, Kevin and Sherbet inside as they gasp.

Jamie: Jesus Christ!

Darcy: Eew! Gross! I just bought these shoes!

Ms. Perez: Uh, Darcy, now is not a good time for worrying about fashion!

Darcy: Sorry!

Jamie: It's okay, babe. I love you.

Darcy: I love you too! And Frankie, I love you too! And you two girls and-

Miss Frankie: Aw Darcy! I love you guys too! I’m sorry we all grew apart after graduation if from college!

Kevin: I love my kids and wife! And you guys!

Mia: I love you guys!

All: We love you too Mia!

Principal Cooke: slime is almost reaching I love you guys and… uh what does the slime in my tube spark red lightning-

Suddenly, Quasarblast, Nighthowler and Venus Tip arrived and knocks out five Silver Cops while a few other Silver Cops ran away screaming. Nighthowler then got about her labtop and puts on a microphone on her her ear as she hacks into the tubes’ system.

Sonya Solar-Opposites/Nighthowler: Okay! It’s done!

The slime then drains away as the tubes open up and frees the Solars’ humans friends as they embrace Quasarblast and Venus Tip.

Korvo Solar-Opposites/Quasarblast: Thank goodness you’re all okay!

Miss Frankie: And Thank God you guys are alright! Now let’s get the fuck out of here!

Korvo Solar-Opposites/Quasarblast: Right! Come on, we have to move fast!

The gang then head about the temple as the rest sees them.

Kevin’s Daughter: Daddy!

Kevin’s Son: Dad!

Kevin: Hey! You okay? No one hurt you?

Kevin’s Wife: Uh huh. Everyone is okay honey.

Louise: Guys, you look like a mess what happened?!

Miss Frankie: Aw man, you don’t wanna fucking know.

The scene then cuts to Mighton, Starburst and Mighty Pupa fighting Bullet who throws metal stars but luckily Mighton is able to smash some of them. Starburst even uses her lasso to smash them to the ground.

Terry Solar-Opposites/Mighton: What are you smiling about?!

Bullet: I was remembering the last time we fought!

Terry Solar-Opposites/Mighton: Yeah well a lot has changed inside then!

Then, Fung-Irl uses her plant powers to create a vine and throws Aqua towards Bullet as they scream.

Aqua: Stupid fucking little brat!

Mighton kicks Bullet in the face.

Terry Solar-Opposites/Mighton: It’s over bitches! You messed with us long enough!

Monica Miller/Lightspeed: Yeah! That’s what you get for blowing up Earth!

Bullet: We did what we had to!

Phoebe MacCarthy/Starburst: Give it up you two bitches! You can’t win!

Bullet: We’re going to prison. If we’re going down today, you're coming with us!

Bullet punches the floor, causing rocks to fall down. He melts the walls around him and Aqua and directs it downward as it burries him and Aqua alive!

Pupa Solar-Opposites/Mighty Pupa: Hang on!

Mighty Pupa creates a platform through his telekinesis and the rest of the Mighty Solars ride out of the cave, where they watch the cave collapse. The fam run out of the cave. Cut to Qourra grunting resisting the poison. Maverick zooms past her multiple times to fully knock her out.

Qourra: N-no….

Maverick: The poison has done its work. It’s over you lose….

Qourra cries. Maverick starts to suffocate Qourra, when he feels a sharp thorn in his leg. He turns to see a huge thorny vine created by Fung-Irl approaching him. Cut to the surface where the rest of the Mighty Solars made it out, of the cave while Quasarblast and Nighthowler embrace their family with Venus Tip and Mighton and Quasarblast kiss Cut to Fung-irl nodding at Staburst for the signal in the center. Cut to Qourra, no longer held by Zaheer's bending, tumbles over. Maverick flies out to grab Qourra and tries to fly away, but is slowly being sucked in by the vortex. After multiple failed attempts to escape the vine, he drops Qourra and flies off, only to be caught by Starburst who flails her rope and manages to catch him by the ankle. Starburst drops down and flings Maverick with Qourra. Fung-irl then turns the thorn into a huge flower as she giggles. Stacy G blushes. Qourra succumbs to the poison and collapses. The citizens runs up to Qourra, while the rest of the gang look on with worry. Quasarblast and Mighton trap Maverick in an electric rope as blood trickles from Qourra’s nose.

Maverick: No! No! You don’t understand! You Shlorpians are supposed to be afraid of us!

Terry Solar-Opposites/Mighton: Grrr! You shut…shut…

Korvo Solar-Opposites/Qausarblast: gasp in joy Come on Terry! Say it you brave strong man!

Terry Solar-Opposites/Mighton: SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH YOU CORRUPTED SILVER BITCH!

Mighton then punches Maverick unconscious as Qourra is taken away to the paramedics. The asylum cops then take Maverick and takes him away to the asylum. Mighton pants

Korvo Solar-Opposites/Quasarblast: puts his husband on the back You did good honey. You did good!

Mighton groans. Then, he falls into Quasarblast’s arms as he looks up and smile at his husband.

Terry Solar-Opposites/Mighton: Thanks baby…

Then, Mighton touches Quasarblast’s cheek lovingly.

Terry Solar-Opposites/Mighton: You very brave today you beautiful invisible stud. Thanks for not giving up on us! Because you never do! That’s what a true hero is! He looks out for the ones… I love you…

Korvo Solar-Opposites/Quasarblast: I love you too…

The two superhero aliens kiss and moan lovingly. The kids then ran up and hugs their dad along with Phoebe, AISHA and MAX, which ends up surprising Mighton, Fung-irl, Lightspeed and the rest of their human friends.

MAX: Hi.

Mighton yelps in surprise.

Terry Solar-Opposites/Mighton: Another AISHA?! Where did he or she come from?!

AISHA: This is MAX. Korvo’s sister sent him to join us. It’s a long story.

Mighton gasps.

Terry Solar-Opposites/Mighton: Janiz sent you?… Oh Korv… I am so sorry… you still miss your big sister, huh?

Quasarblast nods tearfully as Mighton wipes his hubby’s tears away and comforts him as Quasarblast breaks down in tears.

Korvo Solar-Opposites/Quasarblast: I wish I could see her again.

Mighton wipes his hubby’s tears as he smiles at him.

Terry Solar-Opposites/Mighton: Don’t give up. I’m sure you will see her again one day. I promise…

Quasarblast tearfully smiles and embrace Mighton in a kiss as they moan lovingly.

Korvo Solar-Opposites/Quasarblast: Mmm, oh my sexy Mighton. Yess…

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Sunday, December 24th

Holland with a forced laugh: "No one's going to die here. This is just a friendly get-together amongst colleagues. We're all on the same - side."

~~Reunion~~

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Frenemies by veronyxk84 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

Upon a Wishing Star by TheAcidQueen (Buffy/Spike, Dawn, E)

Swan Song by HollyDB (Buffy/Spike, E)

Online and Offline by RavenclawSlayer (Buffy/Faith, E)

A Cozy Little Christmas by Maxineeden (Buffy/Spike, R)

Tears of Faith by Willow25 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Seeing Black by VoronaFiernan (Buffy/Spike, Adult Only)

Party Clothes by Desicat (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Dessert by scratchmeout (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Hooker by Rea (Buffy/Spike, PG)

True Love finds a Kiss beneath Fresh Mistletoe by Tessa (Buffy/Spike, R)

Call Me Ace! by JoshuAB (crossover with Space Ace!, Xander/Willow, oneshot not rated (T?), collection rated FR21)

[Chaptered Fiction]

The Return of Lost Love - Chapter 1 by fandom_lover_101 (Buffy/Riley, T)

In Case You Haven't Noticed... - Chapter 1 by Sdhuskerfan (Buffy/Giles, E)

Buffy...4.0?ish? Ch. 9 by Sweetbutnutty (Buffy/Spike, G)

Bound, Ch. 56-59 by RavenLove12 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Destiny or Choices Made? Ch. 37 by charmed4lifekaren (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

Hell Hath No Fury, Ch. 5 by the_big_bad (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

A Vampire and a Slayer Walk Into a Park... Ch. 8 by holetoledo (Buffy/Spike, Adult Only)

Hello, Darling, Ch. 3 by Spikelover4ever (Buffy/Spike, R)

Let Me Count the Ways, Ch. 1-3 (COMPLETE!) by though_you_try (Buffy/Spike, R)

Fate Plans and We Laugh, Ch. 19 by Hermionetobe (Buffy, Dawn, Faith, FR15)

Out For A Walk... Bitch, Ch. 5 by MaggieLaFey (Buffy/Spike, Adult Only)

The Plunge, Ch. 20 by Harlow Turner (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

A Very Summers Winter, Ch. 24 by VeroNyxK84 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

Last Hurrah, Ch. 9 to 11 by ClowniestLivEver (Buffy/Spike, R)

You Kiss Me, Ch. 9 by scratchmeout (Buffy/Spike, R)

Closer, Ch. 7 by all_choseny (Buffy/Spike, R)

Friends of a Friend's Cousin, Ch. 2 by ClowniestLivEver (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

Other, Ch. 1 by Grief Counseling (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

[Images, Audio & Video]

Vid: soldier poet king by raisedbythetv89 (Spike/Buffy, Spike & Dawn)

Digital drawing: Those Who Hold With Fire by Dirtyaim (Buffy/Spike, R)

BtVS sleeve tattoo by Nikita from MyStory studio via RichPatience4292 (Faith, Willow, Spike, Buffy, worksafe)

A Saint Willow candle by Elle___driver (worksafe)

Kali and Buffy by LobbyRinth (RWBY crossover, Kali Belladonna & Buffy, probably worksafe - skimpy outfits)

[Reviews & Recaps]

Just finished Buffy and here's what I think by FeatheredDrake

i just watched once more, with feeling for the first time by likeshinythings

[Recs & In Search Of]

Spotlight Saturday: Spangel fic recs and vid recs by februaryfangfest

Roleplay: 21+ female anon looking for RPs from different fandoms (including BtVS) that are mostly nsfw

[Community Announcements]

Delay/Outstanding Pinch Hit at buffyversesecretsantaex

Just a few ships that count as rarepairs at otherwordlychemistry a.k.a. btvscrackships (join on AO3, LJ or Discord)

[Fandom Discussions]

the running bit of chao-ahn pisses me off so much by iateabunchofsmartiesandnowimdumb

Spike is a wet cat in every sense of the word. He is hissing at me... by just-browsing1222

Mayor Wilkins... would NEVER have left his murder daughter to struggle alone with debts and a sister by the-crooked-library

If Wesley had returned to Sunnydale in season 7 who would he get along with...? by LightBlueSky55

Is there an episode of Angel… [where we can see it's Christmas time or just December]? by JellyfishDry9464

I hate the fact that Fred was villainised and judged for wanting revenge... by GoblinQueenForever

Would Adam have known that Dawn was fake? by DifficultRice7075

Isn't 'big spoon little spoon' with a sexy vampire sort of like snuggling with a corpse? No body heat... by chrisabraham

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Which episode from Season 1-4 would have changed the most if Dawn existed? by DifficultRice7075

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Join the editor team :)

[tavtime]

What the Harvest Hopes For

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Rating: M Chapter: 2/? Words: 4.7k/11.2k

Ships: Astarion/Tav, Shadowheart/Tav, Halsin/Tav, Lae'zel/Tav, Karlach/Tav, Wyll/Tav, Gale/Tav, others tba

Additional tags: Polyamory, Novelization, Canon-Typical Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, others tba

Summary: There is nothing like impending doom to make you realize how casually the powerful play dice with the lives of the small. Unfortunately for them, Sura Tav has decided she doesn't appreciate being used as currency, and she is no longer playing.

Read ch 2 below, or on AO3

The warnings about goblins proved gruesomely accurate. 

As their group moved further north, the scent of fire and torn earth that rode the air near the crash faded. Instead, a new smell overtook Sura: underneath the forest scent of loam, these trails stank of drying blood. She began to sight disturbances in the landscape. In places, branches had broken or been torn from trees near ground level, bushes had been trampled, and the forest wildlife that would have ordinarily moved through the periphery of her awareness as she hiked was conspicuous in its absence. As they neared their destination she even saw the occasional little body, slicked in gore and dirt and left to rot where it fell; apparently, goblins cared nothing for collecting their dead. Violence had touched this place, and recently. She pricked her ears up, alert for any sound. 

It was no surprise, then, that she heard the attack before she saw it. As they approached the grove the sounds of running beat down the road, heavy footfalls in soldiers’ boots, interspersed with the strangled shouts of pained men. With a hsst! and a wave of her hand, she dropped into a crouch, and bade the others to do the same. 

The path to the grove’s entrance split at a rocky knoll and meandered around it to either side. Sura motioned to Lae’zel and Astarion, pointing with her chin. They took her meaning and split off from the group, around the base of the hill to the west. Astarion trailed Lae’zel into the shadows, daggers appearing in his hands. 

Keeping low, the rest of the party crept up the hill. At its crest Sura crouched behind a boulder, and peered down at the clearing that lay before the gate.  

A tiefling—not one of the pair they’d encountered earlier—stared down from atop the wall at three humans waiting at the foot of the gate. The humans appeared to be mercenaries, or adventurers, perhaps; well armed but lightly armored. One of them crushed a rag across the tricep of her sword arm, seeping with blood. Another held a shield from which protruded two crude arrows.  

“Zevlor!” shouted the third, his face flushed with fury. His entire body shook. “Get your bloody arse over here and open the godsdamned gates! Hurry!” 

Even as he said it, it was too late. A rising cloud of dust was visible back the way the mercenaries had come along the road, gaining ground. Whoever had given chase would be on them in seconds.  

A second tiefling appeared on the wall next to the first. This man was older, spine stiff; he held himself with authority. “By the Hells, what is—Aradin! You led goblins here?!” His voice rose in pitch as he spied the approaching cloud of dust. He began to form a command: “Open the—!” But an arrow whistled past his head, and he ducked down behind the cover of the parapet.  

A wave of goblins broke over the clearing. They poured in from every direction, seemed to erupt from the very ground. Gate solidly closed and to their backs, the humans tried to form a defensive line. An act of desperation: their foes outnumbered them three-to-one. Their leader raised a club, his face grim and determined.  

One of the smallest goblins, faster than the others, closed on him. The creature leered, displaying its many wretched, pointed teeth, and brought its jagged blade up to strike. 

Before the mercenary could so much as raise his weapon to attempt a parry, another man vaulted over the wall and landed between him and the oncoming attack, brandishing a rapier. The man’s left eye emanated an otherworldly greenish hue. With a twist of his hand, the edge of his rapier took on the same ghoulish glow. He ducked the goblin’s swing with a graceful, low half-pirouette, and ran it through at the throat. Blood fountained from the creature when he shook it free of the blade. 

Enough! Sura heard Lae’zel cry in her mind. Htak’a!  

There came the pull of magic behind her. Gale...? But it was prayer, not incantation, that echoed in her ears. Shadowheart stood in the center of the hill, palms extended to the heavens, face and arms swimming in oily shadows. Thick strands of blackness oozed out of the air. They curdled in her mouth, and she smiled at Sura, gone to darkness.  

“Benedictus,” she rasped, and splayed her arms wide.  

It felt as though she was cut free of gravity, untethered from the ground. That was the only way to describe the sensation that passed over her. Sura had been on the receiving end of clerical blessings before, but those? Those were pedestrian things. This was akin to being cradled in the cupped palm of devotion itself. Shadowheart pulled the darkness of the world into herself; she was a great sink of it, a ravenous well. Her fervor resounded out of her: 

may we brandish your triumph and your blessed shadows as a mighty blade—your power be my shield—your will my dagger  

Shadowheart tore blackest night out of the fabric of brightest day, and drank it down and down and down. Power torrented forth to fill the void left behind. Sura felt herself honed, furious as an arrow, all her senses alight. Her pulse pounded in her ears—her own, and her companions’. The flex of Lae’zel’s shoulders as she brought her greatsword down to cleave the skull of a snarling worg sang gloriously in her muscles. Gale’s magic crackled along her skin. And the man before the gate, who slashed his rapier through the air in great lightning arcs—she felt him, too, dimly on the edge of her awareness, but there he was. His magic was brimstone and rot on the back of her tongue; warlock’s magic. The worm in her head heaved, trying desperately to connect with the parasite she understood at once he must also bear. 

Her fingers itched for a weapon she did not have. 

As though he understood this yearning before she expressed it, Astarion bounded up the side of the hill, and skidded to a stop in the dirt next to her. His eyes blazed with what she felt as wild exhilaration, as intimate as her own. Blood coated his hands, slashed across his cheek and down his face. Not his own blood, as it turned out. Under one arm he carried the limp body of a goblin archer, and in his other hand... 

Into her lap he dropped the most hideous bow she had ever seen—ill-used, poorly strung, the size and tension wrong for her. He cast the goblin’s body at her feet, and she saw the quiver full of arrows strapped across its back.  

She could have embraced him for the ecstasy of it. Joy burned bright in her veins. It crawled its way up her throat, tore free in a whoop. She snatched up the bow, and dove for the quiver. He bared his teeth to her in a vicious grin, free and unrestrained. She understood at once that this was the first genuine smile he had offered since he met them. 

His teeth were very sharp. 

Good hunting, he offered. In her mind it came to her as a growl, a joy to mirror her own, and then he was off again, dashing down the hill and wading back into the goblins at Lae’zel’s side.  

In truth, the fight was all but over. The humans huddled at the foot of the gate, wounded, but not mortally so. The final goblin staggered toward them. The stranger with the rapier had shattered its right kneecap, and its leg below the knee was a gruesome mess. Yet it advanced, wielding its blade as though to ask a desperate, fatal question.  

There was only one answer to be given to such a query. Sura rose to her knees and drew an arrow from the quiver in one continuous motion. Her hands moved of their own volition, unburdened by thought or decision, guided by instinct and the psychic whisper of Shadowheart’s benediction. She let the arrow fly, watched the arc it described as if in a dream. The blessing flickered in her mind, one last caress before fading away, and she knew it would strike true for what seemed like ages before the tip of the projectile buried itself between the beast’s shoulderblades. 

In the aftermath there came an unnatural stillness. It did not last. A sob broke the air: at least one of the goblins’ initial volley of arrows had found its mark, and a woman atop the wall fell to her knees next to the now-still body of the tiefling who had been stationed at the crank. 

Zevlor’s head and chest reappeared over top of the battlement. He called out, “Open the gate! Damnation take us all, get inside before more come,” and the gate began its creaking ascent. 

“Come on,” Gale said. Sura turned to find him supporting Shadowheart, her hands clutched unsteadily at his forearm. 

Sura’s eyes flitted over her for injuries, but found nothing. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” Shadowheart inhaled deeply, held it, and exhaled forcefully. She shook her head, and then stepped back from the wizard. “Just a bit dizzy, that’s all. It’ll pass.” 

“Is that... normal for you?” Sura intended the question as simple concern. Her voice grated as she asked it, though, and she got the sense that it had come out wrong. 

Shadowheart glared. “I’ve had a long day.” She started down the hill. 

Sura shot Gale an inquiring look, but he only shrugged. Together, they set off after her. 

-------------------- 

“What in the Hells do you think you’re about, leading them straight to us?! There are children here, you incompetent fool!” 

“I’d like to see you do better with a horde on your arse! But that’d require you to take a risk, Gods forbid—” 

“I have a duty to those in my care! A concept that is apparently beyond your grasp!” 

“As though you’d ever care about anything but your rotten hide.” 

The gate had barely closed behind them when the shouting started.  

“What a cordial reception,” Astarion remarked drily. “They must get scores of visitors, with hospitality like this.” 

“If that man is the leader of these—these teethlings, then he will know where to find the one we seek,” Lae’zel growled. She brushed past them all to the front of the group. Blood still dripped from the end of her sword, trailing wet splatters in the dust behind her. “He will tell me what I wish to know.” 

“Well, he might,” Sura started. She had to jog forward three paces to catch up to Lae’zel, and laid her hand on her shoulder. Lae’zel turned her head to glare at the hand, but she stopped to listen, which Sura chalked up as a tentative success. “He might also respond poorly to threats, and call a campful of terrified people down on top of us. Hold back for a moment. Show his people we stand together. It will make moving among them easier, and faster.” 

Behind her she could feel—if not see—a scowl darken Shadowheart’s face. Lae’zel searched her eyes and said nothing, her mouth pressed into a thin line. Then, with a single, affirmative jerk of her head, she fell into step at Sura’s shoulder.  

The source of the commotion was not difficult to find. A path led from the gate deeper into the grove. Zevlor and Aradin stood chest-to-chest in the center of it, snarling invectives.  

“You had one responsibility to this grove and everyone in it, and you failed it,” Zevlor said. “We were secure because of one man. One man! And you lost him to your ridiculous overconfidence!” 

The skin over Aradin’s knuckles strained bone-white, his hands balled into fists. “Overconfidence? What would you know of overconfidence, you cowardly bastard? You almost got us killed!” 

“Yet you’re very much not dead,” Sura interjected, sidling up to them. “Considering the alternatives I think that perhaps warrants a little civility? Just a touch?” 

“What Aradin knows of civility would fit in a thimble with room to spare,” Zevlor fumed. He leaned forward, menacing the smaller man. “You bring death to our doorstep, and have the audacity to—” 

Sura put herself between them, ignoring Aradin’s outraged harrumph at finding himself presented with her back. She raised her hands, palms out, and spoke quietly. “Peace. Your kin need you, ydvyr, more than you need to best a bull at a contest of stubbornness.” 

Zevlor’s shock at being so addressed washed over him in a wave. He took a deep breath, and let it out through his nose. He seemed to deflate.  

“Of course,” Aradin said snidely, over her shoulder. “Of course there’s no arguing with a foulblood except in the language it—” 

Sura spun on her heel, her face a mask of sudden fury. She brought the back of her hand swinging toward his face with her momentum as she turned, freezing a hair’s breadth from his cheek. 

Aradin blanched. His whole body flinched away from her.  

“Walk,” she breathed. She was in no doubt that he heard her. “Tend to your people... somewhere else.” 

He staggered backwards. Her companions parted around him as he receded. Gale raised an eyebrow at her. She turned back to Zevlor, feeling abruptly sheepish. 

“Apologies,” she said. “I forgot myself.” 

“No, my friend, the fault is mine,” he replied. “In all honesty I’d almost forgotten what it was like to be offered such grace by a stranger. Aradin’s an ass, but there’s no call to compound his stupidity with my own.” He shook his head, then offered her his palm. “That’s twice now you’ve intervened on my behalf. You have my gratitude. Call me Zevlor.” 

“Sura Tav,” she answered, grasping his hand in her own. “And these are my traveling companions.”  

“Adventurers, eh? I’ve met a few of those in my time. Though you’re among the more... exotic.” He eyed the group speculatively, gaze coming to rest at Lae’zel. “A strange company, to be sure, but it takes all kinds, doesn’t it?” 

“Funny you should say so. Forgive us our haste, but we need your aid. On our way up the path we met a pair of your people who said we could find a healer in this grove. My... companion is also in need of information.” She jerked her head in Lae’zel’s direction. “We think a man named Zorru might be able to help us. Can we find him here? It’s urgent." 

Zevlor’s brow clouded over, thinking. He turned away, and began walking the trail further into the grove. He motioned for them to follow. “Zorru should be helping to take inventory of our supplies. You’ll find him in our camp”—he pointed west, along a branch of trail that led down into a wide cave mouth—“in the grottoes among the cliffs. As for the healer, well. I only wish I could be of more help. There was a healer here: the archdruid, Halsin. But he went off with Aradin and his men on their expedition, and didn’t make it back with them. Halsin had an apprentice, Nettie. You could try to sneak in and speak with her. She’s retreated to the inner grove, with the rest.”  

“Why would we need to sneak?” 

Zevlor sighed. “They’ve named a new archdruid to act in Halsin’s stead, but she’s an unpleasant woman, as like to strike you down as say hello. Her name is Kagha. She blames us for the attacks on the grove, and not just the goblins—the roads in the area have been befouled with beasts for days, perhaps weeks. Not our doing, of course, but there’s no convincing her of that. The druids are preparing a ritual to seal the grove. We’re being pushed out. I don’t imagine they’ll let you stay long, either. If you leave the walls, go armed.” 

“Where will you go?” Shadowheart put in. 

“No idea,” Zevlor said. “We can’t go back the way we came. We were headed for the Gate, but... most of us aren’t fighters. We’re not likely to make it far.” 

“Where are you coming from?” 

“Elturel,” he replied gloomily. “We’ve no home left there any more. Not after... recent events.” 

“I’m sorry,” Sura said, bowing her head. 

They drew to a stop at a cross-path, and Zevlor nodded to her once more. “Again, thank you for your help. For what it’s worth—it was good to find a friendly face here.” 

“Take care of yourself, Zevlor,” Sura said. 

Immediately upon his departure, Lae’zel stepped forward. “We know our destination,” she said. “I will question this Zorru at once.”  

“Haste may serve us less well than we think in this matter,” Gale interjected. “If the roads are as perilous as we’ve been led to believe, we’d do well to gather what information we can about the journey before undertaking it. It may be that this Nettie can help us after all—and if so, she’s undoubtedly the quicker option, given that we’re already here.” 

“If she’ll see us,” Shadowheart said. “Zevlor seemed to believe that a lost cause.” 

Sura shrugged. “Won’t know until we ask.” 

“We waste time!” Lae’zel said. “There is but one cure, and the path to it is within our sight. Action, not discussion, is required.” 

“All right. What if we split up?” Sura proposed. “Lae’zel, go and find Zorru. Learn what you can. You should...” she looked around. “... someone should go with you.” 

“I volunteer,” Astarion said. His grin as he said it twisted his lips in a way that gave Sura pause. 

“Any particular reason?” 

He batted his eyes at Lae’zel. She scowled at him. “What can I say? I like her! She puts on a good show.” 

Behind her eyes she felt a headache building. Sura rolled her neck left, then right, wincing. “Right. The three of us will see if we can find this healer, and whether she has anything to offer us. Meet back here as quickly as you can. We’ll need supplies for the journey, as well. Eyes sharp for anything useful.” 

-------------------- 

After Lae’zel and Astarion had vanished into the mouth of the cave, Gale wandered up beside her, and said without preamble, “I didn’t know you spoke Infernal.” 

“You don’t know my favorite color, either,” Sura responded, shoving her hands into her pockets as she walked. “Nor how I take my toast.” 

“Fair point,” he said. “We’ve known each other for all of an afternoon, and these are hardly conducive circumstances to sharing oneself deeply. I simply appreciate learning where I encounter it. What gave you cause to study the language?” 

“Didn’t study anything. Picked it up at home.” 

“Ah,” he said. She offered him nothing further. He looked at a loss for what to do with the information.  

At the base of a rocky outcropping that rose to overlook the water, a shout pierced the air. Sura’s head whipped around, seeking the source of the noise. 

“Up there!” Shadowheart pointed up the path to the top of the hill. 

“At my flanks!” Sura huffed. She sprinted out in front of them without awaiting a response. Gale and Shadowheart scrambled to keep up. 

Atop the hill a tiefling woman was laid out on her back in the dirt. A bugbear stood straddled over top of her, brandishing an axe. The woman howled and tore at its legs, but fruitlessly: though her claws drew blood, the bugbear seemed not to notice, or care.  

Sura didn’t even slow down. She dropped her shoulder and threw herself against the creature’s chest, sending them both sprawling. They rolled to a stop in a bush, Sura astride the bugbear in a tangle of limbs. The creature howled out its rage and surprise, flailing with its axe. It opened a bright stripe of blood along her forearm as she went for her knife. She hissed in pain. But the knife was in her hands, and she brought it up in a flash, and drove it down into the bugbear’s throat with all her weight behind it. It gave a horrible, strangled gurgle; she felt its spine give, with a sickening crunch. And then it moved no more. 

“Are. You. Crazy.” Someone’s hands scrabbled at her forearm. She came back to herself to find Shadowheart gawking at her, eyes wide, face pale. Her hands tugged at the sliced sleeve of Sura’s tunic, ripping the material further back and away from the gash. “Aren’t you an archer? What were you even—though, no, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Of course you would tackle a bugbear. Why wouldn’t you? You’ve thrown yourself headfirst at everything else.” 

The fussing was... unexpectedly touching, if brusquely delivered. Sura batted her away, and rose to her feet, pausing only to wipe the gore from her knife on the bugbear’s ratty fur. 

“Leave me be, I’ll be fine.” She gingerly inspected her arm, then pinched the fabric closed around it. “It isn’t even that deep,” she lied. 

“Are you all right?” Gale asked the tiefling. He knelt next to her, helping her to sit up. She held a palm to her forehead, and winced, but nodded. 

“I think so... thanks. Glad you came along. Another minute and I’d have been a goner.” She looked from one to the other of them, and wrinkled her nose. “Hold on, I know why you’re here.” 

“... you called out for aid?” Gale said.  

She shoved herself away from him, and clambered to her feet. “Come off it, you reek of the Hells. You’re here to get your devil mistress’s prize back, aren’t you?” 

Sura sheathed her knife. “Helm’s honor, we’re not looking for anything of the kind. We’ve had a long day, and it did include a jaunt to Avernus I’m truly not keen to repeat, but we were only passing by when we heard you.” 

“Nobody takes a ‘jaunt’ to Avernus.” 

“Unfortunately,” Shadowheart said, “we also wish that were the case.” 

The woman considered them with narrowed eyes, then shook her head. She sighed. “I suppose if you really wanted it, it would’ve been easier to take it off my corpse.” She fished her hand under her collar. From some interior pocket of her shirt, she withdrew a disc, palm-sized and metal. “Damn thing’s brought me nothing but trouble. Hells, the bugbear could probably smell it on me. It has power, though. Take it, if you like.” 

As one the three of them leaned forward to examine the object. Gale sucked in a breath. “That’s a soul coin,” he murmured. “However did you come by that?” 

“Don’t ask. Do you want it, or not?” 

Sura recoiled. She had never seen one of these before, but she knew them by reputation: currency dearly coveted by the worst of men and devilkind alike. An accursed reliquary for a single damned soul. Contacts had tried to tempt her with them, once or twice, when no other price would move her to do the invariably reprehensible work they desired of her. She had always refused them.  

Gale made the decision for her. “That’s very generous of you,” he said. He took the coin delicately between his fingertips, and brought it up to his eyes. It flashed dully. He examined it a moment, then secreted it away into a pocket among his robes.  

“Just... take care with it. And with yourselves,” the woman said.  

As they turned their backs on the woman, Sura thought she felt a whisper of magic in her mind. The coin was a weight at the edge of her awareness. She had spent the vast majority of her life balking at any involvement with soul-magic, and for good reasons. Though... she had also never played host to a mind flayer parasite before. She wondered if this was an advantage they might need, considering what lay before them.  

She wondered if that justified it. 

-------------------- 

“That wound will sour if you don’t look to it.”  

“It’s fine, really, I swear.” 

“At least clean it!” 

“And reopen it? Look, the bleeding’s stopped already.” 

“Unbelievable,” Shadowheart muttered. She’d bothered Sura about it all the way back down the hill. “If your arm falls off I won’t be held responsible.” 

“Look on the bright side. If we don’t find a cure, a one-armed illithid is easier to take down.” 

“ Unbelievable .” 

Their way led them high up along the edge of a ring of standing stones, which Sura presumed to be the grove proper. They followed the outer ridge of them down and to the east. Just within the gated entrance, the path had been narrow and overgrown at the edges, but as they passed into the hollows beneath by the cliffs, it opened out, became wider and flatter.  

At a low bench to one side of the path, a halfling had established a perch for himself. Trinkets and artifacts of the grove’s daily existence surrounded him in piles on all sides; a magpie among his nest.  

“Ho there!” he greeted as they approached. “The heroes of the hour! Come here a moment, I’ve something for you.” He dug into a great canvas satchel by his feet as they approached. After a moment’s rummaging, he triumphantly produced a corked bottle of violently green liquid, which he pressed into Gale’s hands. 

Gale peered at it. “A tonic of some sort?” 

“Restorative,” the halfling smiled. “One of the archdruid’s own concoctions. In case your good deeds have left you in want of a pick-me-up.” 

“Much obliged,” Sura said. “Who can we thank for the courtesy?” 

“Call me Arron,” he replied. “Pardon my saying so, but you seem lightly equipped, for adventurers. I’d be willing to trade for anything you’re in need of, if you’ve anything to offer.” 

She held out her hand. “Sura Tav. And my companions, Gale of Waterdeep and Shadowheart.” Formalities completed, she swung her pack off her shoulder and plopped it into the dust at her feet. She crouched next to it and began digging out the day’s accumulated oddments and gold. The pile was smaller than she’d have liked, but she pushed it toward him all the same, grimacing. “I know it’s not much, but we’re in odd circumstances. We need hiking packs for three, bedrolls for five. None of it has to be nice, just functional. And a rough map of the area, if you can.” 

He looked from the pile, to her, and back to the pile. He raised an eyebrow. “Odd circumstances indeed. You brave the roads with so little?” 

“We aren’t gifted with an abundance of choice,” Gale said. “The area is truly so dangerous at the moment?” 

“Far more than usual,” Arron said. “A goblin horde has set up to the west of here; you’ve already met a few of them. They’ve been sniffing around. We’ve killed all that have come near the walls, but it’s only a matter of time until the bulk of the horde figure out where we are. There’ve been other things, too, things we’ve never seen hereabouts... ogres. Drow. All manner of unpleasantness.” 

“And you’re content turning the refugees from Elturel out into the midst of that?” Gale snipped. 

A dissatisfied grumbling sounded from the man’s throat. “Content? Certainly not. But Silvanus demands that we defend the grove, at all costs. We pray that they go forth with his protection.” 

From further down the path, there came a clamor of raised voices, the sounds of a scuffle. Sura stood and refastened her pack across her shoulders. “What’s that?” 

Arron groaned. “Doubtless another squabble between the refugees and Kagha’s aids. There’s been nothing but grief since master Halsin departed. They’ve been asked to stay out of the inner grove.” 

“Do you know of a way for us to get in there?” Sura asked. “We were told you have a healer, and we badly need her consultation.” 

Arron shook his head. “You could try speaking to the guards at the entrance, but I suspect you’ll find no luck. Here.” He dug into his pack again, and pressed another bottle of green tonic into her hands. “I’ll gather the supplies you requested; return for them in an hour or so. And may the Oak Father keep you.” 

-------------------- 

[keicordelle]

Not a Champion, Just a Knight, Ch. 3 (So Goes the Darkness)

Fandom: FFXIV Rating: M Pairing: Past F WoL/Haurchefant Greystone Word Count: 4.4k Archive Warnings: Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions of Violence Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Haurchefant Greystone Lives, Angst, Tragedy, Dark, Grief/Mourning, Body Horror, POV First Person

Summary: You have ever been my hero. Now, you must be the world's. I pass my mantle to you.

Atop the Vault after racing to save Aymeric, Ser Zephirin hurls his Spear of Fury and Haurchefant is not fast enough to save the Warrior of Light. As she lies dying in his arms, she makes one final request of him: that he take up her title and become Eorzea's new hero. Overcome with grief, he vows to avenge her death, and sets his sights and his rage on Thordan and his knights twelve. Even so, he is not the vaunted Warrior of Light, and he cannot face these challenges alone.

-

The door to the Lord Commander's office banged loudly as I threw it open, the guards that might once have impeded my warpath having long since abandoned their post. Barely contained rage simmered under my skin, feeding the dark flame until I felt it might pour out of me if I weren't careful, and I swallowed down as much of the emotion as I could stomach as my eyes landed on Aymeric, head in his hands as he sat behind his desk. He hadn't so much as looked up when I entered, and that needled at me. He ought to at least have the decency to look me in the eyes and face the consequences of his actions.

(He looks like a man on the brink of despair, the voice of reason whispered in the back of my mind, but it was just as quiet as the voice of darkness had once been, smothered behind a sea of injustice, and I couldn't find the compassion within me to offer him right then.)

"Aymeric. This has gone on too long. Honoroit is on death's door this morning because of your rumors! They beat him and left him for dead on our doorstep; he's lucky to even be breathing. This has to stop! Innocent people are getting hurt because of us!"

"What do you suggest we do, Lord Haurchefant?" he asked without looking at me, voice low but surprisingly strong. "I can think of naught I might do to aid the innocent, and we are at last on the precipice of change."

"We are on the precipice of civil war!" It came out as a roar, and at last he looked up, startled, his pale eyes darkened with misery.

"I don't know what to do anymore," he admitted, more candid than I'd ever heard him. Gone was the proud man who'd taken up the Lord Commander's office in hopes of bettering his country; all that remained in its place was a broken knight, weighted by tragedy. I peered at him, pushing aside my anger to truly take his measure for the first time. Exhaustion shrouded his eyes, dark bags speaking of little sleep and great stress. He cheeks seemed sunken, the angles of his face seeming too sharp, and he looked to have lost weight. His shoulders drooped, and his lower lip was red and torn from the worrying of his teeth against the soft flesh.

"Short of abandoning the city to the church and handing myself over for public execution, I know not how I might resolve this chaos," he continued. "Though I fear even that would not stop the cries for blood at this point. The Holy See will not be happy unless we are all four of us eliminated. But even if my death were enough to put an end to all this, I would not see the city left undefended before Nidhogg's might. With the Warrior of Light and Estinien both fallen, there is none but us who might stand a chance at-" He cut himself off as the pounding sound of heavy boots against marble sounded, his lips drawing into a thin line as he looked past me to the Temple Knight who burst in, fully armored and breathing hard.

"My lord! Apologies for the intrusion, but there has been a development in the conflict with the church. Riots and fires have broken out across the city, and the streets are in chaos!"

-

Read the rest on Ao3!

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[ritualoflovesmemory]

The Death of Severus Snape (From Ch 3)

“Do you have any idea how many students I’ve had to comfort this year, Severus?! How many dozens of children, CHILDREN, Severus, have come to me for aid because they feared you or your Carrows would torture them if they took their injuries to the hospital wing?” A wild fury was etched onto her face as she shot spells one after another. She didn’t even bother with incantations and kept accusing her enemy as she shot another flurry toward him. “Not just my ‘Puffs, but Ravenclaws and Gryffindors, too! I’ve even patched up Slytherin first and second years who were put under the Cruciatus by the Carrows and your Junior Death Eaters! You are no teacher,” a bright blue spell flew dangerously close to his left shoulder, “no headmaster,” a sickly grey spell almost hit his right knee, “and a disgrace to these hallowed halls of education!” a pink curse slipped just under his hastily erected shield. 

Electric shocks shot up from his foot all the way through his torso. The pain wasn’t as bad as a Cruciatus, but it also wasn’t pleasant. Snape growled as he ducked against a wall, trying to regain feeling in his fingers. He would have to banish her through one of the windows… Yes, perhaps that would be enough for her to see the benefit of living to fight another day.

Severus leaped back to his feet, blocking a dark blue spell from Sprout before dodging a hex fired Slughorn from his position lying in a growing pool of his own blood. The fool had somehow summoned the will to drag himself to a position to fire the hex, which he only just noticed at the last moment. Snape fired a blasting hex at the ground near Slughorn, before returning his attention to Sprout.

A squelching sound and a spray of blood caused Severus to look downward. There, protruding from his chest, was a significant length of arrow.

Another suddenly burst forth from his chest, not six inches to the right of the first.

Snape turned to look down the hallway. His already fading vision saw Firenze galloping towards him, a third arrow already aimed at him. As he fell to the ground, the third arrow found its mark. He didn’t even have time to fully remember Lily Evans’ face before the darkness closed in.

[adriankyte-writes]

Sneak Peek

Freefall Ch 3 (Untitled and unedited)

He follows the scent of fresh air, down a corridor and around a turn and straight into a pair of guards. They’re armed, but he’s faster. He leaps, putting his superior strength into play, passing over their heads and rebounding off the wall. He slams into the first with a fatal crunch. He turns on the second, who barely manages to turn his weapon on him.

John charges the soldier who fires wildly at him. He feels the sting of the bullets as they impact they strike. One takes him in the shoulder, but the rest hit on his carapace and don’t penetrate. He hurls himself at the soldier, ripping the weapon from his hand with a vicious twist. The pain of the gunshot compounds with the pain of the torture and he is filled with a combination of fury and hunger.

With a twist of his head he sinks his fangs into the man’s throat. Blood pours into him and he devours it greedily. Hot and heady it rushes through him. His extremities tingle and his heart begins to race. Warmth floods through him, he hadn’t even realized he felt cold, until the sudden absence of cold overwhelms him. He sinks into it, luxuriates in the feeling.

He feels, and ignores the hands pushing at him feebly, striking at his back and face. He drinks, his strength flooding into him. The hands cease to strike at him and he whimpers slightly as the flow of warmth stops. He drops the corpse, watching it sink boneless to the ground.

He looks at it, pauses, he knows he should feel something. He should be disgusted at having taken a life this way. Except that he is a soldier. He has killed before, and this man was an enemy. The only difference between killing him with a bullet and killing him with his teeth is that now he is stronger and faster for the kill. He licks his lips tasting the last of the blood.

[rosanna-writer]

we said hello and your eyes look like coming home (22/?)

Summary: A canon-divergent AU where the bond snaps for Rhys on Calanmai, Feyre unwittingly accepts it, and Fire Night magic proves to be more transformative than anyone bargained for. Feyre drags a mate she hardly knows out from Under the Mountain, then puts him back together as war with Hybern approaches. Warnings: dubious consent, canon-typical sexual violence, canon-typical violence Rating: Explicit Chapter Word Count: ~3.6k

ch. 1 - 10 | ch. 11-20 | ch. 21 - i wouldn't marry me either | ch. 22 - burn all the files, desert all your past lives

This fic turns one year old today!!! Thank you to everyone who's been reading, commenting, and kudos-ing; it's been wonderful to have you along for the ride <3

Some text in this chapter is lifted directly from both A Court of Thorns and Roses and A Court of Mist and Fury.

Read on AO3 or you can find the twenty-second chapter below the readmore.

Rhys wasn't back by the time I woke up the next morning. I'd expected it; we'd spoken through the bond throughout the long night handling the aftermath of the attack on Sangravah, and by the time I'd been unable to keep my eyes open, he'd still been working. I knew Rhys—if he'd slept at all, it had been in his office in the House of Wind, when he'd been too drained of energy to fly home.

The townhouse felt too empty.

It wasn't cold, but like a sentimental fool, I slipped on the dressing gown he'd left on the chair in my room the other day. The fabric was midnight-blue and the size far too big for me—the silver-embroidered cuffs extended several inches past my fingertips.

I padded downstairs, only to be hit by the smell of something baking. Bread, perhaps. And…cheese? Definitely not Rhys.

I crept towards the kitchen. Perhaps I should have been more worried about an intruder, but I trusted that Rhys's wards still kept out anyone who wasn't allowed inside. It was probably Cassian here with food.

Around the corner, I spotted a dark-haired female with her back to me—the first time I'd ever seen her fully corporeal. Nuala.

Cauldron boil me, the last time we'd seen each other, she'd been painting Illyrian markings for luck and glory all over my naked body. I had no idea what to say to her.

But before I could run back upstairs, she turned at the sound of my footsteps. I froze.

She smiled and said warmly, "You look well."

I caught the flicker of recognition in her eyes at the sight of me in a dressing gown that obviously belonged to the High Lord. If it had been someone else, the words might have sounded sarcastic or suggestive. But she really did sound pleased to see me.

My cheeks heated anyway, which was utterly ridiculous. The bond might have been a secret, but it wasn't as if Rhys and I made much of an effort to keep our hands off each other in public—his tongue had been down my throat on the banks of the Sidra more than once already. And yet I still felt…caught out.

"It's good to see you," I said after several moments of painful silence.

Nuala nodded towards a plate of chive-and-cheese scones that I hadn't noticed were sitting out on the table. "Those are still warm, if you're hungry."

Awkwardness aside, I still didn't have it in me to pass up food, so I sat and nibbled on a scone. It was warm, soft, and buttery—I was tempted to scarf it down like an animal but managed not to.

And it was a relief to have something to with my hands and a reason not to say anything. The oven was still on, and Nuala went back to stirring something in a bowl on the counter.

"My sister is gathering intelligence on the soldiers that attacked last night," she said, answering a question I hadn't known how to ask.

Azriel had said the twins were spending time with family after their return from Under the Mountain, and I'd assumed that meant they weren't working. I couldn't imagine what they'd endured during the last fifty years—I barely felt functional after only a few weeks in Amarantha's court. My appetite vanished.

"You don't have to be here. I can manage on my own." I'd run the household of our family of four with far fewer resources than I had now—it would be no trouble to take care of that for just Rhys and me, especially if it meant Nuala and Cerridwen could recover for the rest of their days if they wished.

Besides, Rhys would do his fair share of the work with far less complaining than Nesta ever had.

Nuala smiled. "Rhysand said the same thing. But after last night, Cerridwen and I both chose not to take his offer to retire from service."

"Why?"

"A court needs well-trained spies and trusted servants to remain secure. We're difficult to find on short notice."

The twins saw the storm clouds gathering on the horizon, too. And even after all they'd survived…they were here. Had chosen to be here.

I'd never forget the blanket they'd left for me in that cold cell, not if I lived a thousand years.

"Thank you. For everything."

She shrugged. "We were caught unawares and trapped there. You're the one who walked in eyes open."

We didn't speak of it again after that. I ate another scone while she baked some sort of egg dish with vegetables and a crust. When she put away the flour, I was relieved she didn't mention the raven I'd painted on the inside of the cabinet door. She must have known it was new and that Rhys certainly hadn't painted it.

When I insisted on washing the dishes before heading upstairs to get dressed, Nuala let me.

I dug the plainest gown out from the back of my closet. Not because I particularly wanted to wear it—I was most comfortable in Illyrian leathers or the silky, billowing pants and sheer sleeves of Night Court attire—but because I didn't want to cause a stir if I could avoid it or appear too faerie.

It was stifling to feel this covered up. I'd grown used to the caress of a breeze against my skin when I wasn't in leathers, and if I needed to run, I hated the thought of having to lift up my skirts to do it. Faeries—at least the ones in the Night Court—never made a fuss about bare legs or an exposed strip of skin around a navel.

I could endure this for a few hours, though. I'd been braiding my hair when Rhys winnowed in, directly onto my bed. He lay on his stomach, his head propped up on a fist and his feet in the air to keep his shoes off the duvet.

As usual, he looked aggravatingly put-together, no sign at all of the long night he'd had. Not a hair out of place, and he'd changed into a fresh tunic and pants.

Something like distaste flickered in his eyes even as he said, "You look beautiful." It was the first time he'd seen me wear a dress, I realized—or at least, the first time he'd seen me wear one of my own volition, if the scraps of fabric I'd worn Under the Mountain even counted.

"I don't," I said, voice flat, "and no one likes a liar, Rhys."

He stood and came closer, flicking my nose instead of kissing me hello. "You'd look beautiful in a potato sack."

"No one likes a cad, either."

He huffed a laugh as I tied off the end of the braid and rose from the chair. In a single absurdly graceful movement, he leaned down to kiss me properly while lifting me into his arms to fly. I let myself melt into the warmth of his solid body against mine, and for a moment, I considered getting the damn dress off and Rhys into bed for the rest of the day.

But I couldn't keep putting this off.

I held on tight as we vanished into dark wind and appeared again hundreds of feet over a vast, blue sea. Even though I'd expected it—we'd planned to slip through one of the holes that had formed in the Wall—I let out a shriek and clung tighter to Rhys. The wind roared; water rushed towards us—

Was that a scream from the fearless Cursebreaker? We're not even in free fall. The words seemed to glitter with wicked amusement as they crossed the bond.

Rhys was right, though. His wings strained against the wind but kept our descent controlled, snapping open at just the right angles so we stayed on course. I tipped my head back to take in the particular contented smile he only wore while flying.

It disappeared as we approached the Wall. I couldn't see it, but I felt the crackle of its power setting my teeth on edge all the same. Rhys gripped me tighter.

The feeling got worse as we approached. And as we swept through, there was a horrible moment where I felt ripped in half, as if it wanted to scatter incomplete pieces of me among the mortals and the fae.

But it passed in an instant.

I was back in the human lands. The home I thought I'd never see again.

There was barely time to process that before we were slipping into the space between worlds as Rhys winnowed us to the woods just outside my family's estate.

He'd offered to glamour himself to appear human and accompany me, but I'd said no. Perhaps another time, but…this felt like something I had to do on my own. So I kissed him goodbye and walked towards the manor alone.

The white marble walls and emerald roof were grand, but totally unfamiliar. I passed neat hedges as I walked up the flagstone path, and my heart squeezed at the sight of flowers and shrubs that had been planted there—Elain's doing, no doubt.

At the double doors, I rang the bell and waited, my stomach churning. Azriel's reports had assured me that all was well, but…perhaps it wasn't. Perhaps something had gotten overlooked.

A ruddy-faced housekeeper I didn't recognize opened the door. "May I help you?" she said, blandly polite.

"I'm Feyre Archeron. I'm here to see my family," I said.

Her eyes lit up with recognition at the sound of my name. That was a relief, at least; I wasn't forgotten. "Your father is away on business, but your sisters—"

"Feyre? Is that you?" Elain—Elain. Cheerful and lovely as always, untouched by the monsters and horrors I'd encountered in Prythian. Safe. Just as I'd remembered her.

I nearly sobbed with relief. But as far as she knew, I was merely back from taking care of an elderly relative, so I kept my voice light as I said, "It's me. I'm here while our cousin stays with Aunt Ripleigh to give me a short break."

The housekeeper stepped aside as Elain launched herself at me. I embraced my sister, relieved at how she'd filled out since I'd last seen her. Taken care of and eating right, then. "What a wonderful surprise!" she said.

There were footsteps on the stairs, and I looked over Elain's shoulder to see Nesta standing with a hand braced on the rail.

Staring as if I were a ghost.

I'd forgotten how cunning her eyes were, how cold. There was no reason to believe Nesta knew anything about what I'd been up to for the past few months, yet….she'd always been made of something different. Something harder and stronger.

"What are you doing here?" she said, face carefully blank.

"Visiting. It's…good to see how your fortunes have improved," I said.

Elain's brow furrowed. "I know Nesta's visit didn't work out, but didn't you get our letters?"

She didn’t remember—or maybe she’d never actually known, then, that I wouldn’t have been able to read them, anyway. But it still made my heart sink to imagine my sisters sending letters that were doomed to never reach me. If Nesta had tried to visit, though I doubted she'd actually wanted to see me, some magic must have turned her away.

I shook my head, and Elain ushered me inside, complaining about the uselessness of the post. Nesta continued to stare wordlessly, and I half-listened as Elain recounted the story of the mysterious stranger who'd appeared at their doorstep with a wildly lucrative investment opportunity and given them a trunk of gold just for agreeing.

Tamlin's doing, and it matched the reports that Azriel had given me. I'd expected this. And yet, it still didn't quite prepare me for how strange it would feel for Elain to hook her elbow through mine, apologize for not having a room ready for me, and offer to show me the rest of the house.

The manor was beautiful, if a bit…sterile. Beautiful and richly appointed, but everything was new and untouched, with none of the sense of the age that permeated the townhouse in Velaris. I couldn't help but marvel at it—Nesta and Elain were cared for, with enough money to ensure they'd never be hungry again.

Nesta fell into step beside us, a quiet, stalking presence. Her face was still impassive, and she seemed content to let Elain do all of the talking. But it was better than her flinging insults, so perhaps it was a blessing.

We had tea and sandwiches in the lush garden, which was in full bloom for the summer. After months in Prythian, human food tasted like ash in my mouth, but I didn't care. It had been so long since I'd eaten a meal with my family and had enough for all of us.

Never again would I brace myself for a fight if I dared take more than my carefully allotted quarter after hauling a carcass for miles.

It was simple enough to spin stories about reading to Aunt Ripleigh as she instructed me on deportment from her bedside. None of it was particularly interesting, and instead, I asked about the garden and the social season that I'd missed.

The purple-and-white tulips at our feet had once been bulbs brought all the way from the continent, Elain told me, beaming. She'd tended to them herself, planting and weeding in between the balls and parties and gossip of the social season.

"It sounds like you've been busy without me, then," I said, setting down my teacup carefully.

"It was a welcome respite," Elain said, a shadow darkening her lovely face for a moment. "I'm grateful our situation has changed for the better, but I'll admit this season was a bit…strange."

My blood went cold. Of course this had all been too good to be true. Something was wrong. "In what way?"

"People acted as if we’d all just been ill for eight years, or had gone away to some distant country—not that we’d been a few villages over in that cottage. You’d think we dreamed it all up, what happened to us over those years. No one said a word about it."

I relaxed again. In truth, it was a warmer reception than I thought my family would have gotten after so many years of poverty. It was better than being treated as if we were diseased.

Perhaps something had happened, though. It might explain why Nesta was so quiet. She'd barely touched her food and just stared with those piercing blue-grey eyes that were an unsettling mirror of my own.

"That does sound strange," I said. We went quiet again, and I set my tea down and turned back to my plate. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Elain staring, too. "What?"

Elain shook her head. "You just look so…different. Not in a bad way of course. It's just as if there's a…a glow about you."

I froze. The only sort of people who were ever described as glowing were ones who were happily pregnant. Gods, I hadn't inadvertently given them the impression I was with child, had I?

"Did something happen at Aunt Ripleigh's house?" Elain asked. "Did you…meet someone?"

The tilt of Nesta's head was pure predator as she added, "Did you, Feyre?"

I wanted to say yes. Perhaps I was too much of a coward to admit to my human family that I'd fallen in love with a faerie, but I could have told a few half-truths. I didn't want to subject myself to an interrogation, though.

"Just good food and rest," I said.

Nesta got to her feet, straight-backed and regal as she stared down her nose at me. "We're out of tea. Why don't you come with me to get another pot from the kitchen?" It wasn't a question.

I followed her before Elain had a chance to object or insist on coming with. As soon as we were inside, Nesta's hand clamped down on my arm, and she steered me towards an empty sitting room and shut the door behind us.

"There is no Aunt Ripleigh," Nesta said.

Cauldron boil and fry me. I could kill whoever told her. "Of course there—" I started to say.

"Don't. I saw that look on your face when Elain asked if you'd met someone. She and Father don't remember that beast taking you away, but I do. Tell me what the hell is going on, Feyre."

All these months…Nesta had known. And kept it to herself.

She'd seen through Tamlin's glamour somehow, probably just because her mind was so thoroughly her own that he couldn't have violated it. And if a High Lord hadn't been able to fool her, I shuddered to think what she made of the sentries Rhys had sent, who were supposed to have been unseen by human eyes.

There was no point in hiding the bond from her, too. I pulled the chain with my mating band out from where I'd tucked it under the bodice of my dress. "I did meet someone in Prythian."

"You're married," she breathed. The disbelief in her voice shouldn't have stung as much as it did. Nesta had never made a secret of how thoroughly she doubted any man would ever find me an acceptable bride.

"In a manner of speaking. The fae either marry or mate if the Cauldron blessed them with a soul-bound partner. I have a mate. Rhysand, the High Lord of the Night Court."

Nesta barked a harsh, bitter laugh. I didn't know what to make of it until she said, shaking her head in disbelief, "Mother expected me to marry a prince, but you're the one who's ensnared a faerie king and become his consort."

"I didn't ensnare—"

"Then what? He forced you?"

"No!" I had no idea how to look my sister in the eye and tell her a magical stag had done it. Nesta just crossed her arms and stared me down, waiting for an explanation. She said nothing because she didn't have to—there was pure command in just the way she held herself. I took a breath and continued, "Rhys loves me, and I love him. He isn't the one who took me. That was Tamlin, the High Lord of Spring. Rhys got me out and took me somewhere safe. It's a long story, but yes, I am Lady of the Night Court now."

"And this Lord Rhysand is the reason we're now…taken care of?"

I didn't want to give Tamlin the credit. His kindness rang hollow—uncomfortably transactional, in a way—when it was clearly recompense for kidnapping me. And in truth, Rhys was the reason I hadn't worried about Tamlin impoverishing my family a second time in retaliation for swearing fealty to Night. "Yes."

"Then give him my thanks and don't come back here again."

The words might as well have been a slap to the face. I hadn't expected a warm welcome from Nesta, but…I'd hoped, at least, that she'd be something closer to civil.

"What about Father?" I said. "I haven't seen him since I was taken away."

"What about the rest of us? If anyone learns our sister is a fae sympathizer, any standing, any influence we have—gone."

Nesta's hand was resting on the back of an armchair, and she gripped it so tightly that her knuckles had gone white. The set of her shoulders was stiff.

It was the closest to afraid she ever seemed to get.

She had reason to be, as much as it hurt. Our family had tumbled into ruin once, and we'd all nearly starved to death because of it. I could not blame my sister for wanting to cling to the good fortune as fiercely as possible. I knew, deep down, she only did it because she wanted to see Elain safe and happy.

"There's more I need to tell you before I go."

"Stay the night, then. We can speak privately for longer after the servants have left for the day, but you'll need to leave before breakfast."

We wouldn't be overheard in the garden either, but Nesta clearly didn't want Elain to know any of this. I had half a mind to blurt it out before Nesta could stop me as soon as we sat back down with Elain. But this was for the best.

I trusted the walls surrounding Nesta's mind; she'd keep my secrets. But anyone with daemati abilities could pluck information right out of Elain's, and the chances were too high that someone intent on hunting me down might do just that. Elain couldn't know.

"Thank you."

A single nod—downright affectionate from Nesta. "Elain bought paints for you. She'd appreciate it if you left something for her; I know she misses the decorations you left in the cabin."

"I'd like that," I said, meaning it.

There was nothing else to discuss; we returned to the garden after that and made our excuses to Elain for taking so long with the rest of the tea. The three of us spent the rest of the afternoon sitting in the sun, chatting and catching up. Nesta was still quiet, but…we didn't fight. No one insulted each other.

Even as a knot formed in my stomach at the thought of unburdening myself to Nesta later, I savored the peace as I painted foxgloves around the doorframe to Elain's bedroom.

This day had been a gift, and I was intent on appreciating it.