#I swore I wouldn’t draw wings but here we are

[redwiresgo]

Drawing absolute self indulgence of my anime loving self. Magnet is by far my favorite Vocaloid song to this day.

I know folks who love Titania’s trial music (it’s not my cup of tea) but I blast Magnet during the fight.

[milfsloverblog]

Respite in Heaven (NSFW)

Pre-fall!Lucifer x angel!reader

A/N: This fic was inspired by another one of my favourite Ghost song which you can listen to here (the very last part is a work of art). I love Lucifer. I love to think that they had an Angel lover back in Heaven. And I love to think that the only reason they still dream of Heaven is for that lost love. Anyway, enjoy! <3 ps: it’s more like pre-fall, mid-fall and post-fall Lucifer.

AO3 link in title

“We shouldn’t be here!” You half-whispered half-giggled as Lucifer dragged you through the tall grass.

“Says who?” The Lightbringer answered without ever turning around, their hand tightly holding onto yours.

“You know who!” You said as you reached your favourite spot under the pomegranate tree.

“I do not care what God thinks, not when I have the sweetest of all angels in my arms.” Lucifer smiled as they helped you sit down by the tree and placed a soft kiss on your knuckles.

“You should not be saying these things,” You whispered, knowing He had ears everywhere. “Nothing escapes Him, you ought to be more careful.”

“I would say it to His face if it meant you and I wouldn’t have to hide anymore.”

“I know, Lucifer, I know.” You pushed a soft smile, brushing your fingers through their messy white curls.

Lucifer closed their eyes, revelling in the softness of your touch for a moment before eventually pulling you on their lap. One of their hands snaked under your white linen dress, slender fingers running up the expanse of your thigh.

The way your brows furrowed didn’t go unnoticed by the Lightbringer and they tutted lightly.

“Something is worrying you,” They said, their fingertips reaching the apex of your thigh and grazing against your bare core. “Talk to me, my Angel.”

You knew you weren’t their Angel, and you would never be. You belonged to God, and so did they. But you wanted to, you wished to be theirs so badly. And that’s exactly what you were worried about.

“We could break away together.” Lucifer whispered in your ear, two of their fingers slipping between your folds.

You couldn’t help the moan that tore itself from your throat, your hips bucking as you searched for more friction.

“I would be the shadow,” They went on, dipping their first knuckles into your wetness before lazily drawing circles on your clit. “And you will be the light.”

And it was oh-so tempting, to give up on everything you had and everything you knew, only to run away with Lucifer. But you could never, no matter how good they made you feel and how strongly your heart beat for them.

“W-we can’t-“ You closed your eyes, your head growing dizzy as the Angel continued their ministrations between your legs. You moaned again, quickly hiding your face in Lucifer’s neck to keep yourself quiet.

Lucifer wrapped their pristine white wings around you, shielding you from the outside world.

It was no secret that the Lightbringer was God’s favourite Angel. And it couldn’t have been made more obvious, you simply had to look at how beautiful God had made them. They were the tallest Angel in all of Heaven, had the whitest and largest wings, and the softest features in the whole realm. And somehow, you had been lucky enough to catch their eye.

“Are you not happy here?” You asked, carefully pulling away from them. “Don’t we have all we need? All we want?”

“I don’t know, do we?” Lucifer cocked their head, pushing their fingers inside you up to the hilt.

You let out a pitiful strangled cry that had your lover’s lips pull in a proud smile.

“Nothing ever lasts forever, my Angel.” The Lightbringer whispered before attaching their lips to your neck and sucking on your pulse point, their fingers dragging in and out of your heat in loud, wet, and you dared to think, sinful sounds.

“We-I-can’t, I can’t-“ You were too far gone to even think of anything else but the pleasure building behind the navel that you didn’t possess. “God will be furious.”

“Don’t you see, sweet Angel?” You swore Lucifer’s voice was now tainted with bitterness. “That the God we hail is nothing but the Wizard of Oz?!”

You didn’t know what that meant, or who the Wizard of Oz was, but that was the last of your concerns at the time.

“Please, Luci-“ You whined, your hips moving on their own accord to meet the Angel’s thrusts.

“We will break away together,” Lucifer repeated, curling their fingers inside you and quickly finding your sweet spot to rub. “Say yes to me.”

“Y-Yes!” You cried out when the coil finally snapped inside your belly, making you see stars as you mindlessly swore allegiance to the Morningstar.

“Good,” Lucifer whispered barely audibly as they helped you ride your orgasm. “We will go softly into the night.”

Your head fell forward, forehead pressed against the other angel’s alabaster skin. You weren’t sure, but you swore you could hear distant thunder then. Whether it came from the outside world or from within Lucifer’s chest still remains a mystery.

-

Only you were right when you said Lucifer ought to be careful with their words, for God had ears everywhere. There they stood a day later, God and Lucifer, facing the entirety of the realm on top of the holy mountain.

“You were blameless in your ways from the day you were created till wickedness was found in you.” Your creator’s voice echoed through heaven. “Through your widespread trade, you were filled with violence, and you sinned. And so you shall be driven in disgrace from Heaven. I expel you, guardian cherub, from the Holy mountain. Your heart became proud on account of your beauty, and you corrupted your wisdom because of your splendor.”

You could feel your heart thumping loudly against your ribcage as you realised what was about to happen. Lucifer, however, never wavered. They kept their chin high and looked right into their creator’s eyes as they spoke.

“You shall be thrown to the earth, a spectacle of you will be made before kings. By your many sins and dishonest trade, you have desecrated your sanctuaries. May a fire come out from you, may it consume you and reduce you to ashes on the ground in the sight of all who are watching.” God added, slightly turning to address the crowd of angels. “Shall any of you be sharing Lucifer’s deviancy, speak now.”

You didn’t even think twice before moving to take a step forward when Lucifer’s head suddenly snapped towards you.

“No.” They answered, and you knew it was said to you more than to God. You exchanged a look with the Morningstar, your head shaking from side to side as if to convince them to come clean and beg for forgiveness. But Lucifer only smiled and turned back to face their creator. “No, it is just me.”

“So be it.” God nodded and with a single wave of His hand, Lucifer was sent tumbling from the edge of the Holy mountain.

“No!” You whispered in horror and made to run towards the edge only to be held back by small cherubim hands.

The silence was deafening as the angels mourned the loss of one of their own, each wondering who would be next to suffer this fate.

You didn’t know how long you had stayed there, kneeling by the edge of the mountain and waiting, hoping that Lucifer would find a way to climb their way back up. But they never did. And you had eventually stopped hoping.

—

"What power would Hell have if those here imprisoned were not able to dream…of Heaven?" Lucifer’s eyes filled with tears, their lips slightly quivering before their mask fell back into place. Morpheus had struck a nerve and he knew it all too well.

“One day, Morpheus, we shall destroy you.” The Lightbringer promised. But not today. No, not today for Lucifer wasn’t ready to part with their dreams.

And so, as always since centuries, that night somewhere in Hell, the Devil dreams of an Angel. And as always, somewhere in Heaven, an Angel dreams of the Devil.

————————————————————————

tag list: @weemssapphic @larissaoftarthweems @principal-weems09 @pro-weems-places @readingtheentrails @catechristiesstuff @kimiinou

[incandescentlysomething]

Lady of the Ashes: Chapter 3

House of the Dragon Season 1

Aemond x TargaryenOC

Chapter Word Count: 3763

She was his everything… For her…he would do anything.

From the moment of her birth, Aemond Targaryen swore himself to the protection of his niece Aelinor Velaryon. As the two grew up inseparable, they find themselves entangled in the Dance of Dragons, battling to stay together even as their families try to pull them apart.

IMPORTANT: Instead of the six year time jump we saw in the show, we're doing a nine-year time jump. I was in no way comfortable building toward future events with Aelinor only fifteen years old. Here is a list of current ages. Aemond: 24 Aelinor: 18 Jacaerys: 19 Lucerys: 15

Let me know what you think!

Masterlist A03

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 P.1 P.2 Chapter 3

Nine Years Later

The citizens of Dragonstone felt the dragon before they saw it. The fishermen working at their boats, the merchants unloading their hauls from the ships, all felt the world swallowed by shadow as the sun above them was blocked out. The first time it happened, as the shadow of dragon wings passed overhead and the heat of the day was blocked, some of them had screamed that it was Balerion, returned from the dead. There had been chaos in the streets.

But now they knew better, and some of them even lifted their arms to wave at the young Princess as she flew by.

Aelinor Velaryon Targaryen laughed when she saw a few scattered expressions of fear below her, pulling hard on the handle to draw Darrax away from the shore. He’d been known to swoop down and steep the catches of unlucky fishermen, but now he was so large that he would destroy everything in his path if he tried.

“Come, Darrax,” she leaned forward to pat his neck. “Let us carry on.”

The girl was a sight to behold, and many people from the harbor and the castle both stopped their tasks to watch her and her mighty dragon turn toward the sea.

Darrax had not slown in his growing, now with a wingspan rivaled only by Vhagar and a body only slightly smaller than that of Vermithor. His obsidian scales sparkled a million shades of blue and green as the light of the sun reflected off of the waves. He was fast, carried by his large wings, and it was easy to see why the people of Dragonstone had shouted ‘monster’ the first time he flew above them.

But he was also gentle, for he had his rider to care for.

Aelinor had grown much since her childhood, though those that truly knew her would have said that she had not changed at all. She wore her hair in a long plait down her back, and it flapped behind her in the wind, a streak of brilliant silver against the sky. Her reins were modified with a single handle, so that she might be able to command Darrax with only one hand. She rarely needed to, however, as the bond between dragon and rider was so close that she could command him with just Valyrian.

“We aren’t fishing today, Darrax,” she called. “Just stretching our wings.”

The young woman had been stretching her wings more and more often as of late, as she found it suffocating to be in the presence of her parents. Her mother was pregnant with her fourth child by Prince Daemon, and while Aelinor wouldn’t mind supporting her mother in such a time, it was difficult to do so without encountering her father. He had been growing ever more persistent in his desire to train her and Darrax, and she was beginning to run out of excuses.

They swept around the west side of the island, keeping low so that they both might enjoy the spray of the sea. If anyone had asked, Aelinor would have said that she went this way so that Darrax might rest on the cliffside that faced toward the west. But Darrax did not need any such rest, and there was only one reason that she always flew west.

This day, like all the rest of them, she looked west and found the skies empty.

Aelinor sighed, too used to the disappointment for it to sting much. It had been a long nine years, with no word save what came through official messages to the Princess Rhaenyra. She knew that Aegon and Helaena had wed, and that they now had two children. She could not imagine that to be a good match, struggling to reconcile the odd and insect-obsessed Helaena with an image of motherhood. Nor was the Aegon that she remembered the type of boy who should have been a father. Aemond…there was little news of Aemond. She knew it was no fault of his own, but she still found herself hoping to hear from him, even after all these years.

Darrax let out a huff, sensing his rider’s emotions, and then he dove.

“No! NO, Darrax! No!” Aelinor’s shouts were silenced as Darrax plunged beneath the waves.

For a few moments she was weightless, and then he was splashing back to the surface, his wings causing great waves around them as he launched himself back into the sky.

Aelinor sputtered and spat out water. She was completely soaked, but she was laughing. “Darrax!” She scolded, though they both knew she didn’t mean it. “You silly creature. Let’s go home then, so I can dry off.”

Darrax pumped his wings, driving himself up and over the cliff, cutting across the island to carry them back to Dragonstone.

An hour later, Aelinor was walking through the halls of the castle. She was no longer wet, though her leathers had pasted themselves uncomfortably tight against her skin. She had undone her long braid, letting her hair fall past her hips. A bath. A bath was what she needed after that sojourn into the sea.

She reached up with her bad hand, grabbing her glove with her teeth and pulling it free. Then she carefully stretched out each of her fingers, looking forward to warm water and bath salts.

“Aelinor,” her father’s voice echoed from in front of her, the man himself stepping out from an adjoining hall.

She didn’t slow her pace. “Price Daemon.”

He didn’t protest her use of the title. He had never been one to argue trivial matters, and he couldn’t care less whether she called him Father or not. For nine years, his eldest daughter had held him at arm’s length, resentment simmering between them like oil in a pan.

He knew she didn’t like him, but he just didn’t care.

“I wish to take you flying,” he fell into step, watching as she carefully tended to her crippled hand. “So that you might learn to—”

“To what? To fly into battle? Against who, Prince Daemon?” She demanded. “My mother might feign ignorance, but anyone can see that you are preparing for something. I will not be brought into your schemes.”

“You are your mother’s daughter, and with that comes specific—”

“Correct. I am my mother’s daughter. And the daughter of the man who raised me,” she didn’t say whom you murdered, though she had been tempted more than once over the years to confront him about the murder of Ser Laenor. “My loyalty is to them, and not to you.”

Daemon let out a scoff, but fell away, and Aelinor did not look back. 

She stepped into the warmth of her bedchamber, finding the bath already full and steaming.

“What did—” A girl stepped out from behind the dressing screen. “Rhaena!”

The two girls had grown closer in the years they had lived together on Dragonstone. Though not as close as sisters, they were dear friends. Aelinor decided not to wrap her in a hug, given that she still reeked of seawater, but she beamed at her cousin.

“I thought you might need it,” Rhaena laughed. “Darrax take you for a swim again?”

Aelinor was already stripping out of her leathers. “Of course he did. He’s positively impish.”

“I wonder where he gets that from,” Rhaena rolled her eyes, watching as Aelinor practically dived into the bathtub.

“It’s so warm. Thank you, Cousin.” They had never stopped calling each other that, all too aware of the boundaries that would be ripped down if they had to acknowledge what they were — sisters. But still, since the marriage of their parents a few years ago, they had been sisters in all but name, and Aelinor was eternally grateful for the female companionship.

“Your mother said that she wished to speak to you,” Rhaena said. “It sounded important.”

Aelinor gave a slight nod, dread already pooling in her gut. She knew what this was about, as did Rhaena. It was the same topic that had been haunting the halls of Dragonstone for months, casting a pall over everything Aelinor did.

“She knows my feelings on the subject,” she finally said. “But she is my mother, and the Princess of Dragonstone besides. My feelings have little relevance.”

Rhaena passed her a cloth, and Aelinor started to scrub some of the salt from her skin. “But shouldn’t your feelings matter? After all, it’s Jace, of all people.”

Rhaena’s expression was genuine, but Aelinor could hear the question she did not ask. Rhaena was, if not in love with, certainly interested in Jace. But it had never been a secret that, to secure Jace’s own place on the throne, he would marry Aelinor. With her pure Targaryen looks, they would be able to secure the claim of any of their future children. In recent months, Rhaenyra had begun making plans in earnest. After all, both Aelinor and Jace were older than Rhaenyra had been when she first wed Ser Laenor.

Aelinor sunk lower into the bathtub, letting the water lap over her mouth and nearly to her nose. She did not want to think about these things. She did not want to imagine having children with Jace, and certainly did not want to imagine what that would mean. Her brother was nice enough, having grown out of the worst of his childhood impulses, but he was still Jace. Luc would have been more agreeable, if he weren’t still a babe in her eyes.

At least she knew Jace felt the same way. They were not suited to each other.

But they would do whatever was required to win their mother the throne.

“It could be worse,” Aelinor sighed, trying to force some levity into the situation. “I could be marrying a Lannister.”

“At least they have gold,” Rhaena smiled. “What if it were Aegon, or worse, that rogue Aemond? When traders come from King’s Landing, they say that his face is—”

“I know what the traders say,” Aelinor snapped, biting her cheek to keep from cursing aloud. “I would like to bathe alone now, Rhaena. If you please.”

It was a dismissal as plain as any, but Rhaena did not fight it. She just said her farewell, stood, and walked to the door.

She should not have let it bother her so. It had been nine long years, and the rift between their families seemed more insurmountable than ever. But there was still that tiny part of her that sprang to attention whenever she heard even a whisper of Aemond. And too often, it was cruel, malicious whispers that her family seemed to take at face value.

The door creaked open, and Aelinor groaned. Gods be damned. Couldn’t she just have one bath in peace?

“Aelinor? May I come in?”

“Of course, Mother,” Feeling no shame at her own nakedness, Aelinor did not open her eyes as she heard her mother glide into the room and take a seat at her dressing table.

“Did you have a nice flight?” Rhaenyra asked, with almost forced politeness.

Aelinor shrugged. “As good as any. But I can confirm that the sea is quite frigid this morning.”

“Then perhaps you should not be swimming in it.” Her mother laughed.

Aelinor sighed, opening her eyes and moving to rest her chin on the side of the bath tub. “Out with it, Mother. I can see that it’s bothering you.”

Say it. Say that it is finally time for me to do my duty and wed Jacaerys. 

But that was not what Rhaenyra said. “Ser Vaemond moves to challenge Lucerys’ succession to the Driftwood Throne.”

“What?” Aelinor sat back. “But it’s settled. Why is Lord Corlys allowing it?”

“He isn’t. He’s been gravely injured in the Stepstones,” Rhaenyra gave her a sad look, appearing genuinely bereaved by the injury to a man they all admired. “Baela wrote. We must make for King’s Landing to defend Lucerys’ claim before the Iron Throne.”

Aelinor’s mouth dropped open. “When?”

“We will leave tomorrow,” her mother stood. “And Aelinor?”

“Yes?” Already her mind was awhirl with everything that this might mean.

“This is…” She watched as her mother searched for the words. “We need to present a united front. We’ll be bringing our dragons, and I…I ask you to remember who your true family is.”

It was both a warning and a scolding, all wrapped up in one. 

Aelinor nodded, and stared after her mother as she left the room.

She sat there for a long time, stewing in the bathwater. There was so much to think about. On one hand, she was more than a little relieved that she was not yet formally betrothed to her brother. But on the other, there was a genuine twinge of fear. She did not want the legitimacy of her brothers challenged, and she did not want their futures left uncertain. It was a settled succession, and Ser Vaemond was risking everything by drawing it into the open.

Her mother’s ascension to the throne would be questioned if her children were declared illegitimate, and Aelinor knew she would not be immune to that. She might look more Targaryen than Jace and Luc, but it was plain to see that she was not the daughter of Ser Laenor. Gods, this could ruin everything.

But, there was one thing that stood out above all else. 

She was going back to King’s Landing.

She was going back to Aemond.

King’s Landing

“Get up!” Aemond snarled at the squire in front of him. “I thought you were here to train, not lie on your back like a whore!”

The boy scrambled to his feet, wiping mud off of his cheek. “Yes, my Prince.”

Aemond sighed. There were many young lords looking to squire for him, and so far none of them had impressed him at all. Most weren’t even worth using as training fodder. He had to give the Blackwood lad some credit — at least he hadn’t started crying yet.

“Keep your sword up,” Aemond rolled his eyes. “And maybe you’ll be able to stay upright.” It was as close as he would get to offering advice.

“Prince Aemond!” A voice called.

Aemond looked toward the walkway, seeing Ser Criston hurrying down the steps. “What is it, Cole?” He did not have much patience for his mother’s lackey, having always found Ser Criston to be a bit…well, if loyalty could be a fault, then it certainly was in Ser Criston.

Cole stopped, offering a curt nod that could perhaps pass as a bow. “Your mother The Queen bids you attend her. She is in her chambers.”

“Wonderful,” Aemond couldn’t imagine what his mother could have to say. He loved her well enough, and she him, but they never had much use for each other. She often scolded him, calling him too wild, too unruly, and yet he knew he did not get half the scoldings that his brother did. “Take care of this one.”

Ser Criston stared at the Blackwood boy in disdain, but nodded, shedding his white cloak and setting it away from the mud. 

Aemond sheathed his sword, removing his gloves and hurrying toward the stairs. His boots splashed through the dir, and he saw many curious eyes turn his way.

Only once he was inside the castle did he slow to a walk, making his way toward his mother’s chambers. He passed many groups of lords and ladies, all of whom bowed in greeting, but he did not acknowledge them. They weren’t with his time.

A group of ladies-in-waiting gathered by the stairs, meaning he would have to walk straight past them. He recognized one of them by her red hair: the Tully girl. He thought her name might have been Myria or Myra or something like that. She had been presented at court a few months prior, with it plain as day that her family was angling to make a match between the two of them.

Now, as she had when she had first seen him in the receiving hall, she did not meet his gaze, bobbing a curtsy without ever looking him in the eye. He hurried past, hearing them erupt into giggles when they thought he was out of earshot. 

It was always like that. Why shouldn’t they laugh at the maimed prince? He was practically a circus attraction. All he had to look forward to was a future married to some random lady who couldn’t look him in the eye, let alone work up the courage to speak to him. He tried not to let it bother him, after all, they weren’t worth his time.

His chambers were in the same tower as his mother’s, and he passed the closed door of his room as he knocked on her door. “Mother? You sent for me?” A maid swung open the door.

“Yes, Aemond,” his mother was seated on the sofa, his niece and nephew playing with a maid on the floor in front of her. “You can all leave us.”

Aemond stood with his hands behind his back, quirking a smile at his young niece as she was carried from the room.

“Sit, Aemond,” Alicent sighed. “We need to talk.”

“You make it sound very serious,” he dropped into the chair across from her. “How may I help.”

He swallowed nervously. Was this to be it then? Was today the day that he would be officially tied to one of the sycophants roaming around the castle? Gods, don’t let it be the Tully girl. Someone with some backbone, at least.

“I called for you because I think this is something that should be entrusted to your skills. You  know the dragon keepers better than anyone.”

That did catch his attention. “The dragon keepers? Is something wrong with the dragons?”

Alicent sighed again, and he realized suddenly that his mother looked worried. More worried than he could ever recall seeing her, except that day when he had lost his eye. Even his father’s declining health had never caused the dark circles that now surrounded her eyes, and he could see that the skin of her nails had been picked until it bled.

“The Princess Rhaenyra is coming to make a petition,” she said finally. “She brings with her all of her children, and all of their dragons. The Dragon Put must be made ready for her and her hoard, and I must prepare a feast and a ball and all the like.”

Aemond felt his mouth go dry. “Her children? All of them? It couldn’t be. It seemed almost impossible. Nine long years had passed since…since…

“All of them,” his mother confirmed. “Which is the other reason I needed to speak with you.”

More likely, it was the only reason she had asked to speak with him. Subtlety was not his mother’s strong suit, and there was no reason the dragon keepers could not be briefed through a simple message. She had wanted to speak to him about his half-sister’s family, in person, for a reason.

Alicent leaned forward. “Aelinor will be with them, Aemond. But she is not the girl you remember. It has been nearly ten years, and you must remember who she is, and who you are.”

“And who is that, mother?”

“You are the legitimate second son of the King,” Alicent said. “And she is the bastard daughter of a false heir, who has spent nine years being fed their lies and derision, far from any realm of reason. The Aelinor you knew is gone.”

Aemond tensed. “That seems….Father has settled his succession, and we should not—”

“I am not here to argue succession with you, Aemond!” His mother snapped. “I want to be sure that you understand. When they enter this hall, it must be us, and it must be them. The fate of our family may very well depend on it.”

He knew that the succession crisis was constant fodder for the King’s critics, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Blast the Seven Kingdoms, and damn the succession. He didn’t care if his half-sister or her bastards, or his own damn brother ascended the throne. He disliked them all equally. All he cared for was Aelinor.

“Besides,” his mother sat back, fanning herself weakly with her hand. “She is betrothed to Jacaerys.”

“What? Jace?” Aemond spat, unable to contain himself. “Why have I not heard of this?”

“They haven’t been to court to announce it.” Aliecent sighed. “Knowing Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon, Jacaerys has almost certainly bedded her already. What better way to secure their line?”

“That Strong boy will never—”

“Watch yourself, Aemond. Please.” His mother waved him away.

He didn’t want to draw out the conversation longer than necessary, and quickly stormed from the room. His mother had certainly achieved her objective, which was reminding him why he hated Jacaerys Velaryon so deeply. His own chambers were only a few doors away, and once he was there, he flung open the window and screamed into the open air. He didn’t give a damn if everyone in the courtyard could hear him.

For nine long years, he had stared across the sea toward Dragonstone. He had requested this chamber specifically because it faced south. And for the first few years, with decreasing frequency, he had begged his mother to grant him permission to fly that way. To where Aelinor was. To…he wasn’t quite sure what he had wanted to do. But he hadn’t wanted to leave her alone.

And now they had given her to Jace. Jace did not deserve her. That Strong boy did not deserve to breathe the same air as her.

Or, did he?

It had been many years since he had seen Aelinor, and she could have changed. She could be different to how he remembered her.

And she might not…

No, he wouldn’t let himself think about that. The truth was staring him in the face, the rage settling into his bones with every seething breath he took. Jace did not deserve Aelinor, but then, neither did he. He was just the scarred second son, after all, and she should be the lady of some great house. He wasn’t jealous, he was concerned for his childhood friend, who had been treated so carelessly by her family.

Given to Jace. He cursed aloud.

Still, his gaze drifted to his writing desk, and to the small box that sat in the top drawer. It had sat there for almost eight years, waiting.

And it had all been for nothing.

[the-lonelybarricade]

A Court of Faded Dreams: Chapter 51

Chapter title: This Is the Hardest part

Fic summary: In her grief after Rhys sacrifices himself to restore the Cauldron, Feyre accidentally sends herself back in time. Back in her human body, in her early days in the Spring Court, Feyre must be careful how she alters the timeline as she tries to save Rhys and Prythian from Under the Mountain.

It's here!! Thank you as always to @noirshadow for betaing this story despite my allergy to timely updates. I appreciate you so much!!

Read on AO3 ⟡ A Court of Faded Dreams Masterlist

Wind whipped over the white-capped mountains, billowing frost off the rocky peaks like drifting white banners. The snow announced their location just as effectively as any banner would; the howling valleys beneath Feyre and Cassian belonged to the Winter Court.

Frozen wind rushed past them with every powerful stroke of Cassian’s wings, lashing Feyre’s cheeks as she braved a glance towards the barren landscape below. The cold leaked into her chest as she thought about the distance still separating them from the Night Court. And how perhaps the white banners hailed more than just their arrival to Kallias’s court—Feyre knew that Cassian would need to rest soon.

If he were by himself, he might have been able to make the full trip. But with her added weight? The waning sun glistened against his forehead, and this close to him she could just make out his labored breathing over the rushing wind.

“Maybe we can stop in Winter,” Feyre suggested, needing to shout so her voice wasn’t lost. “Kallias could winnow us the rest of the way.”

To the Hewn City, at least. They would have to get to Velaris on their own.

“I’m fine,” Cassian said. As if Feyre couldn’t see the tension he held in his jaw, or hear it in his voice. “We’ll be in range of Rhys soon.”

This was assuming Rhys would be in the Night Court. Feyre knew her mate. If it were her, she would have been sweeping over every inch of land and sea between Velaris and Hybern. He had even said as much to her, in another life.

I would have torn apart the world to get you back.

“I’ll fly all night if I have to,” Cassian added, as though sensing her train of thought.

Feyre recalled when Cassian had first started training her. When she had been so lost inside herself, and the only way her friend had known to draw her out was by giving her something to punch. Over and over again, until she’d ruined the sparring pads, and Cassian had offered her his own bare hands.

It should have been me.

She imagined this was his own way of doing that. Pushing his body because it would distract his mind. It was the one thing he could control, the one way he could help his brothers when Feyre knew that every fiber of his being was likely screaming for him to fly to Hybern and make things right. Feyre didn’t know what else to offer him, so she said nothing, letting him fly them across Winter. She only hoped her heavy heart didn’t add to the weight he carried.

The sunset eventually offered a new set of challenges.

Darkness crept, slowly and stealthily, over the skyline. And once the daylight had been fully eradicated, navigation became much more difficult. But what was worse, the temperature dropped.

Cassian continued flying without complaint. The exertion was keeping him warm, she was sure. The Illyrian leathers she wore, though rumpled and stiff from her tumble through the sea, were at least fur-lined. But they were hardly equipped for a night spent in Winter’s mountain range. A shiver was already working up her spine. She clenched her teeth so they wouldn’t chatter.

Feyre would try, for Cassian’s sake, to endure the cold.

It must not have been very convincing, because Cassian swore. “We’re almost to the Middle.”

The thought wasn’t very reassuring to Feyre. The Middle was filled with dangerous creatures that crawled out at night. There would be nowhere safe to stop, and then she would need to wait until Dawn to convince him to rest. What if he became too exhausted before then? Feyre imagined them plummeting into a bog, having to fight off the creatures of the middle through physical force alone.

It was time to make a decision as High Lady, even if Cassian wouldn’t like it.

Just as Feyre opened her mouth, Cassian stiffened. She gasped against a blast of air as they made a sudden dive toward the icy, snow-dusted plains below. They slammed into the frozen earth with such force that a cloud of frost burst upwards on the impact. She worried it was powerful enough to crack the ice, but it held strong as Cassian dropped her—carefully—to her feet.

“Cass, what—”

He was staring over her shoulder, and she cut herself off to turn in the direction of his gaze, where darkness was erupting from a vacant space in the air, unfurling night and star-swept smoke and, eventually, the sight of her mate’s rumpled hair and wide violet eyes. There was no smug half-smile waiting for her, just open distress that faded into soul-wrenching relief the moment their eyes met.

The sound that came out of her was choked, like some garbled thought had gotten stuck in her thickening throat. Maybe it was her body trying to purge every word she’d tried to send to him while the bond had been muted. I’m okay and are you safe and how are my sisters and I’m so sorry that they took Az.

But foremost, always foremost, was I love you. I’ve missed you so much.

It was all Feyre could do not to drop immediately to her knees in the snow. Somehow, she managed to scramble across the ice, slipping from the momentum as she barrelled into her mate’s waiting arms.

Rhys caught her easily, pulling her firmly against his warm chest. He was shaking, or maybe that was the winter frost still trembling in her bones, beginning to thaw as she buried her face in his neck and inhaled the scent of citrus-and-sea. A broad hand tangled in the back of her hair, cradling her against him as his other began roaming over her neck, her shoulders, her back. Searching for injury or simply convincing himself that she was real.

“Thank the fucking Cauldron,” he breathed. “I have been looking everywhere for you.”

And that must have been all he was holding on to, because as soon as he finished speaking, Rhysand’s knees buckled, dropping them both to the ground. Ice stung Feyre through her leathers, but she didn’t care. She wove her numb fingers into his hair, lifting her head to look into his face.

Feyre was not used to looking at him without feeling the mating bond tethering their minds together, always providing her with an inkling of what her mate was thinking, feeling. She didn’t need it now to see the warring anguish and relief and love glistening beneath the layer of unshed tears that collected at his lashes. He was doing a better job keeping them contained than she was. Feyre was only aware that her tears had begun slipping freely past her cheeks once he cupped her face in his large hands and swept his thumb across to chase them away.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. For failing the mission, for leaving Azriel behind, for making Rhys worry.

He continued stroking her cheek in a gentle rhythm, slow and steady, as he scanned his eyes over her face, her dirty clothes. A shadow passed over his features, more of that anguish he couldn’t hide from her. Even without the bond.

“Azriel did precisely what I asked him to,” he said, voice rough. Cassian must have told him, then, or maybe he had drawn the memory from her mind. “We all knew the risks. He decided to make a sacrifice for his court and we…” he took a deep, shuddering breath that dispersed into a cloud of winter air. Then another. Like the next words were painful to him. “We will recuperate and move when the time is right.”

“They won’t kill him,” Cassian said, standing a small distance behind to offer them privacy. Snow crunched under his boots as he walked closer. “They’ll probably make the bastard wish he was dead, but they’ll keep him alive. He’s too valuable.”

It was far from comforting to imagine Azriel being tortured for information. Just the thought of what they might inflict on him, if it were even a sliver of what she’d seen him do to others, to the Attor. Feyre felt suddenly like she’d be sick.

Rhysand nodded grimly. “We’ll get him back. And Hybern will pay for every ounce of blood.” Then her mate was scooping her into his arms, standing in one smooth movement. “For now, I’m grateful that you’re safe.” He turned to Cassian and offered his brother a small, sad smile. “That you’re both safe.”

Cassian didn’t smile in turn, but he did reach his arm out to clasp Rhys firmly, and affectionately, on the shoulder. “Let’s go home,” he said, more like a plea than any of them would acknowledge.

They disappeared into a cloud of smoke, and soon the blistering alpine air gave way to the scent of burning oak crackling in a hearth. Rhys set Feyre down on the carpet in the foyer, though he quickly caught her hand to thread her fingers through his own, unable to resist touching her. She eyed the rooms flanking the foyer, taking in the familiar sights and smells of their home. The brine of the Sidra drifting through the open window, spices wafting from the open door that led to the kitchen, and… the scents of their family. Of Rhys, mostly, and his brothers. But she could also detect the soft, floral hint of Elain, the unyielding fire and steel of Nesta.

Feyre hesitated, peering towards the door to the sitting room, uncertain what version of her sisters waited for her. An Elain that stared absently out the window, a Nesta who was angry with the world?

She turned to her mate. “My sisters,” she said, quietly. “Are they…”

Rhysand nodded toward the sitting room. “Why don’t you see for yourself.”

The distance between Feyre and that doorway felt suddenly like a gaping chasm. She stumbled before it, uncertain how to cross, but her sisters had already heard them come in. They rushed to wedge themselves into the doorframe—both of them, screeching to a halt on the other side of that great distance between them.

The seconds stretched into eternity as Feyre stared at her sisters and they stared back. Dressed in fae clothing, their eyes wide and ears upturned.

It was Elain who took the first step, as she always would in the unending push and pull of their sisterhood. The sea and the moon and the vast, all-seeing horizon that allowed them to meet in the middle. On occasion.

Elain ventured forward, stopping half way with her hand pressed to her lips to stifle a cry as she whispered, “We thought you were dead.”

Then it was Nesta, pushing onwards with Elain at her heel. Her lips were pressed together as she studied Feyre’s rumpled appearance. The braid that had faced battle then ocean then wind.

Feyre studied her back. Searching for any sense of that eerie power Nesta had taken from the Cauldron before.

“You look like Hell,” Nesta said.

Elain shot her a disapproving look. But Feyre understood what she meant: you look like you’ve been through a lot. And deeper under that, I was worried about you.

“You look…” Feyre swallowed. Her tears were already returning. “You look like yourselves.”

Not the sisters from before. Hollowed and aimless and angry at the world. They looked like the sisters she had known from this time, the ones who had been a bit more prepared for Prythian, who had thrown themselves into the Cauldron. For her.

“Thank you,” she said, before plummeting forward. Closing that final distance between them to throw her hands around both their shoulders. Nesta stiffened and Elain hugged her back fiercely and Feyre felt finally as if she’d accomplished something great in this timeline as she whispered, voice breaking, “I love you both.”

She couldn’t remember the last time she had said it to them. Had she ever?

They didn’t say it back, though Elain did hiccup softly, her fingers burying into Feyre’s shoulder. And that was okay. They didn’t need to say it, they had proved it. They had traded their humanity, overcame everything they’d once believed about the fae because she had turned up scared and honest at their doorstep.

Nesta gasped in her ear. Feyre pulled back, thinking that she was crying, but it wasn’t tears that swam in her eyes as she stared over Feyre’s shoulder.

It was something else.

“Nes…” Cassian said. The syllable eked out of him like weight shifting onto a creaky floorboard. There was no lightness to his voice. No humor.

The General of the Night Court staggered forward when his eyes met Nesta’s. Then he stopped, straightening as if remembering himself. Even with the soldier’s rigidity he forced into his spine, Feyre thought he still looked moments from dropping to his knees.

Nesta didn’t move to him. She stayed where she was, even after Feyre released her from the hug. Eyes so guarded, like distant fortresses of ice. She scraped them over Cassian, assessing him, tensing her body like she was preparing to defend, to attack. With her hair swept into an elegant braided crown, there was nothing to hide the delicate pointed tip of both her ears, nor the way Cassian’s eyes gravitated towards them.

He swallowed. Feyre had the sense that Nesta’s decision had been a sacrifice for more than just her sisters. And that Cassian’s reaction would define whether it had been worth it.

Finally he said, in that same strained voice, “Did you do something different with your hair?”

It wasn’t a complete transformation, but Nesta’s expression softened in response. She pushed past Feyre and Elain, moving with the same grace she had always possessed, though now it felt sharpened. All that lethal might and fluid grace that Nesta had been honing for years, finally contained in a body that could wield it properly. Growing into herself, the way a child grows into a pair of oversized gloves.

Cassian stood, a soldier at attention, as Nesta approached. Like he worried any sudden movement might ward her off. But the piercing look in her eyes, far from volatile or skittish, told Feyre that her sister would not be easily swayed from this path. She moved towards him with purpose, and Cassian met it unflinching—but more than that, awed. Overwhelmed. Feyre wondered if that was what she had looked like, the first time she’d seen the daylight after those months Under the Mountain. Or when she’d met Rhys, on Calanmai.

Like his world had ended and begun as Nesta raised a hand and placed it over his chest. Still, he didn’t move. Only watched, lips parted open, as Nesta pushed onto her toes and kissed him on the cheek.

That seemed to be his undoing.

Cassian’s posture crumpled, arms moving as if on impulse, finding Nesta’s waist to tug her closer. He bowed his head forward until it rested on her shoulder.

“Cass,” Nesta murmured. With a gentleness Feyre had only ever heard directed towards Elain.

“I just need a minute,” he said.

Rhys chose that moment to slip around them, looking harrowed himself as he herded Elain and Feyre quietly into the next room. Elain, who might usually have filled the silence with pleasantries, had an aimless look about her as she claimed an armchair by the window.

Feyre admired the way ribbons of moonlight poured over her sister’s features from the large window that overlooked the city, shining like a polish against her ivory skin. There was no denying that Elain’s ethereal beauty had only been heightened by the transformation. But for a moment all Feyre could see were brown eyes, once hollow, staring vacantly towards the city. In the back of her mind, she could hear Elain whispering, we were supposed to be married next week.

Feyre couldn’t resist asking. “Are you happy with it? Your choice.”

Elain turned, blinking rapidly like she’d been startled back into her body. Then those warm eyes focused on Feyre, and she offered a small smile.

“It feels…” Elain started thoughtfully, flickering her attention to the tips of her fingers as she stretched her arm outwards. “It feels familiar in a way I don’t know how to explain. It’s a little overwhelming, but even so… I feel settled. Like I am one step closer to knowing myself.”

Her eyes turned back toward the city, lips curling downwards.

“I can hear his heart,” Elain said. The admission was so quiet that Feyre wondered if she should be hearing it, until Elain turned back to her, eyes wide with concern. “Is that normal, for mates?”

“I…” Feyre looked towards Rhys for guidance. She could hear his heart often, but not once he was in another room, let alone a different Court. Did that mean the Cauldron had granted Elain Sight once more? Or was it simply a unique quality of her bond with Lucien?

Elain’s eyes turned glassy. She pressed her hand to her chest, like she could feel it now. “I’ve been listening for him, but that’s all I hear.”

“If you can hear his heartbeat, that means he’s safe,” Feyre said, sympathetic. “And if you hear or see anything else that might be helpful, let us know.”

Her sister nodded, before turning back towards the window. Feyre wondered if it had been difficult witnessing Nesta’s reunion with Cassian. Cauldron knew how long it would be until Elain could have that moment with Lucien.

“Go rest,” Elain said, drawing her legs up into her chest. “I take it you’ve had a long journey. Your mate has been worrying a hole into every inch of this carpet.”

Rhys, behind her, scraped out a laugh for Elain’s benefit, but it was weighed down. He had been so patient in letting her have this moment with her sisters, knowing Feyre needed the reassurance that they were okay. But Rhysand wasn’t—nor were his brothers. A cautious look over her shoulder showed her mate’s face, edged towards a devastation she knew he was trying very hard to contain. It had always been easier when it was his own life at stake, but now they had so many people to protect. So many to lose.

Was this their fate? That one trio of siblings would always be fractured? Feyre tried not to dwell on that as she took her mate by the hand, leaving Elain in the sitting room with an apologetic grimace. Elain looked like she appreciated the privacy, anyhow.

With Feyre’s magic still dormant and Rhysand passive beneath her guidance, they walked to their bedroom the human way. Step by step, with none of the urgency they normally possessed. Even without their bond, she could sense her mate retreating into his mind. Perhaps he was relishing in the absent bridge between their minds, so that this anguish could remain his own. She wondered what she would find. A howling void, if it were anything like what she felt watching her sisters go into the Cauldron. A raging, dark tempest.

She decided not to interrupt the silence, merely guiding her mate to the bed. He was pliant as she arranged them, coaxing his head to her chest, hoping that even in the dark recesses of his mind he would hear her heartbeat and know she was with him.

There was no magic to comfort, no darkness or starlight or wings she could wrap him in. Just her arms, her scent, her wordless love. It wouldn’t be enough to soothe the pain of what he lost, but it was all they had to hold onto. So Feyre stroked her fingers through his silken hair and Rhysand held her back, tightly. Holding each other in silence for minutes, or hours.

And eventually he murmured, “I know what I need to do, as a High Lord. But I feel lost on what to do, as a brother. It would make me a damned fool to try and break him out of Hybern. But all I want to do is go back there and bargain my own life for his, if that’s what it takes.”

“He would be furious if you did,” Feyre said.

“I know. And I know that this is how they felt, all those years I was Under the Mountain.”

“But you came back,” she whispered. “Against all hope, all odds. They got you back. And we’ll get Az back, too.”

Rhysand nodded absently. Feyre wondered if he’d heard her at all as his jaw worked, restraining all that black, vicious anger that lived behind his eyes. She could already see him calculating, trying to determine the best route forward. A glimpse of the boy from Windhaven, bloodied and bruised, pulling himself up to get back in the training ring.

For his brothers, she knew he would keep getting back in. Again and again and again. As many times as it took. And this time, he wouldn’t be going in alone.

Feyre woke to the sun breaking through the curtains, arriving steadily, just as it had every morning since the moment she woke up in the Spring Court. Even now, its warm rays broke through the frost crawling over the window pane, reaching towards Feyre and her slumbering mate to say, get up.

This was the hardest part—getting back up.

It wasn’t enough to face the wreckage once. To let it be done. They had to pull themselves together and face it again. And again. Every day, pulling them steadily towards that inevitable convergence.

At least her mate was with her. Strong arms, banded securely across her waist. They were tangled, Rhysand’s face pressed into her chest, his inky hair spilling over her shoulder, her collarbone. She had been worried he wouldn’t sleep through the night. Or worse, that he would have left, flown all the way back to Hybern to fight for Azriel.

But he was there, bathed lovingly in the sunlight. His chest rose as he took a slow breath, reminding her to do the same. She needed to be strong for him. For all of them. Inhale. Like Cassian had taught her. Exhale.

Feyre pushed her fingers through Rhysand’s hair, scraping her nails gently against his scalp to wake him. She felt guilty doing so, to force him back into this cruel reality when he looked so peaceful in his sleep.

Violet eyes peeled open. He blinked at her, then shut them, arms tightening around her. Resisting. Feyre took another deep breath, continued stroking her fingers through his hair until he relaxed, until he raised his head and murmured a hoarse, “Good morning, darling.”

It didn’t feel like a good morning.

Feyre didn’t realize she’d said it down the bond until she heard the soft caress of his laughter, more restrained than usual, though it still made her chest flutter. I suppose your magic is back.

Her magic, but more importantly, their bond. She knew he felt as relieved to have it back as she did, because Feyre kissed him and he sighed. Rhys kissed her back fiercely, reaching down the bond so he could hold her there, too. This at least made sense to their bodies. This, at least, felt good. Reminded them that they were alive, and that the glowing thread Feyre could feel shimmering between them once again was something that no one could take away. Not Amarantha, not Hybern, not even the Cauldron.

She opened her mind to him, letting their minds entwine in tandem with their bodies. They made love beneath the beaconing dawn, every touch aimed to comfort, to reassure, to lend the strength they needed to get back up together.

It was midmorning by the time they made it to the breakfast table, hand in hand, uncertain who was pulling who. The others had already assembled, gathered around the dining table, silent as they picked at a plate of fresh pastries that Feyre could guess Elain had gotten up early to make.

Mor was there, staring at her uneaten pastry. She raised her head as they came in, red-rimmed eyes meeting Feyre’s. She offered a tight smile that was much closer to a grimace. Miryam was on the bench beside her, looking in much better health than Feyre had last seen her. That, at least, was reassuring.

“How are you feeling?” Feyre asked.

“I could ask you the same,” Miryam said, suppressing a shiver. “I never want to feel magic like that again.”

That much, they could agree on. Though Feyre knew as she flitted her eyes to her sisters, sat together on the opposite side of the table, that they would need to feel that magic again. Very soon.

“We were all worried sick about you,” Mor added, surprising Feyre by reaching for her arm. She offered an affectionate squeeze���forgiveness, or perhaps an apology. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

She meant it, too. Even if the sorrow in Mor’s eyes made Feyre wish she were drowning again.

“Where’s Cass?” Rhysand asked, causing them all to stiffen at his tone.

“He wasn’t at the House of Wind this morning,” Mor said with a shrug. “I assumed he was—” with Nesta. Mor didn’t need to say it. The way she pressed her lips together, glancing towards Feyre’s eldest sister, said enough.

“I haven’t seen him since last night,” Nesta said, words razor sharp at the unspoken accusation. She grabbed a pastry, playing at indifference as she ripped a chunk of it away. “He said that he needed to leave. I thought he was going back to the war camp.”

Rhysand swore. Mor stood up, a hand over her mouth.

“He wouldn’t,” she said, face turning ashen.

Nesta’s eyes flickered between Mor and Rhysand, some of that anger curbing. Her brows pushed in, worrying at that small piece of pastry between her fingers until it was reduced to crumbs.

Rhys disappeared before anyone could discuss going with him—and that finally pulled Feyre out of her shock. She reached towards the space her mate had just occupied, lips parting open. Then closing. He was… gone.

“Oh, these stupid, impulsive Illryians!” Mor shouted, shaking the table as she slammed her hands against it. Tears shimmered in her eyes.

“What happened?” Nesta asked with a viciousness that was more fae-like than she probably even realized.

Feyre rubbed her temples. She reached for Rhys, scrambling against his mental walls. They stood firmly in place, allowing nothing to slip through.

“Cassian went after Azriel,” Mor said. “And now Rhys has gone after them both.”

I’m not mad, Feyre said down the bond. How could she be, when both of his brothers were in danger? But please, please, be smart. Be safe. Come home to me.

“When did he leave?” Mor demanded.

“It was the middle of the night,” Nesta said, more retreated. She wrapped her arms around her chest, face burning as she added, “Two o’clock—maybe three.”

He would have needed to fly all night, to have gotten to Hybern. After having already done so much flying. What was he thinking? By the time he got to the island, he’d be too exhausted to fight.

Feyre debated going after them. The two of them alone, against Hybern’s men and his magic and the Cauldron. She started pacing, weighing the best strategy, trying to think like her mate—even if he, himself, wasn’t thinking practically. The troops were already stationed in Summer, maybe they could advance. No. The Cauldron at full force would wipe out too many of them.

She felt well and truly like she was on the verge of a breakdown by the time her mate reappeared with Cassian slumped over his shoulders. A rush of darkness brushed everything off the table, sending the plates crashing to the wooden floor. Rhys heaved Cassian onto his back atop the table, who groaned.

“You stupid prick!” Rhys snarled, grabbing him by the collar and shaking. “What were you thinking?”

Cassian’s wings splayed out, covering almost the entire width of the dining room. They were littered with arrows, dripping blood and salty water onto the floor.

“I needed to get him back,” Cassian said through gritted teeth. His face was pinched, dirt sticking to his cheek and brow. Feyre felt everything go quiet as she surveyed his labored, wet breathing and her eyes dipped to the split flesh arching up from his navel to the bottom of his sternum—too deep for Rhysand to heal, though Feyre could see he was trying.

“Get Madja,” Rhys said to Mor.

It was a stone cold, unfeeling command. Rage was seeping out of her mate in dark tendrils, coiling through the room until even the sunlight dimmed.

Feyre swayed. Unprepared for the sight of the gore and the fear it struck deep inside her. Somewhere far in the back of her mind, she was aware of Mor rushing out of the room, of Elain and Miryam following.

A hand closed tightly around her elbow. Nesta, watching with her lips pressed together as Rhys moved his hands over Cassian, trying to stave off the blood. Bile surged in Feyre’s throat at the sight of that raw flesh. Her bones creaked beneath Nesta’s grip.

“Do you think I didn’t want to go after him too?” Rhys was saying, teeth bared. His hands were covered in blood—so much blood. “Do you think I don’t know what they’re going to do to him?”

“You’re needed… here,” Cassian choked, the words mostly gargled. “I’m just—a soldier.”

“Just a soldier?” Rhys echoed, all that lethal anger sharpening. Even on the brink of consciousness, Feyre could see Cassian stiffen. “You are my brother. You are my general. I can’t…” Rhysand’s voice softened as he watched Cassian’s eyelids flutter shut. “I can’t do this without you. So you better not die, you fucking bastard. That’s an order.”

Cassian huffed, the only indication he was still conscious.

In the distance, Feyre could hear the door open. Then Madja rushed in, Mor at her heels. Rhys moved aside to let the healer take stock of the wounds. Madja was frowning, but her expression was not so grave that Feyre worried he wouldn’t make it.

She went to work quickly, brows bunching in concentration as her hands flared with glowing white light. They all fell into silence as they watched Madja work, their attention fixed on the healer’s every movement as her hands roamed over Cassian’s body. The lips of the wounds, mercifully, began to reach towards each other, knitting shut.

“Is…” Nesta bit her lip. “Is he going to be okay?”

“He’ll be fine,” Madja said. Nesta’s shoulders sagged. “He’ll need a few days rest. No training. Or flying.” She scowled at the red line across his stomach. “Or throwing himself in front of swords.”

“What happened?” Feyre asked, turning to Rhys.

His anger hadn’t curbed. She could still see it simmering in his eyes, fists clenched at his sides. “He didn’t even make it to land before they shot him down.” Feyre’s eyes fell back to those arrows through his wings. “He landed on the Northernmost peak, who knows how long he’d been fighting before I got there. The bastard had that wound in his gut and was still taking men down. They pushed him off the cliff just as I got there.”

And indeed, looking at her mate she could see his wet hair hanging down his face. He trekked sand and seawater across the dining room as he came to stand in front of her. His eyes glowed, like lightning had struck an ocean. Nesta’s eyes fell to the blood on his hands.

Feyre asked, softly, Are you angry that Cassian got hurt? Or that you weren’t the one who went after Az?

Her mate stared. Jaw clenched. Say what you mean.

That tone. The cold rage, the sharpness. Feyre wasn’t used to hearing it directed towards her.

She brushed her mind against his, gentle. Are you angry at Cassian, or yourself?

Rhysand looked away, which was all the answer she needed.

Come, Feyre murmured, grabbing one of his blood-crusted hands. Rhys flinched. Let’s get you cleaned up, and leave Madja to her work.

It was all of a week before Cassian was well enough to join the morning training sessions. Feyre was grateful he was healed for a multitude of reasons, among them being that she finally had company on the training ring.

Convincing Rhys to join her in the last week had been… difficult. He and Cassian had quickly made up, but every day that passed weighed on him. It was another day that Azriel was in Hybern’s hands, subjected to the King’s will.

Her mate was restless—they all were.

“I’m surprised you were able to sneak past Nesta,” Feyre said in greeting.

Cassian grinned as he strolled into the ring, flexing his arms. “Who would've thought a flesh wound would be enough to earn this much attention?”

A flesh wound was a mild way of putting it, Feyre thought. And Nesta had certainly been attentive. Though her sister would deny it, Feyre didn’t think she’d seen Nesta leave his side for the duration of his bedrest.

“I assume it’s too soon to practice with swords,” she teased, reaching for a pair of fighting sticks.

“Depends on who will be swinging them,” Cassian said. “I trust you not to gut me.”

Feyre lobbed one of the sticks at him and he deftly reached out to catch it in midair.

“I wouldn’t be too sure,” she teased. “You did take the last pastry at breakfast.”

“Oh?” Cassian dropped into a fighting stance, spinning the stick expertly around his knuckles. “Come get even then, High Lady.”

Just as Feyre was about to charge, the center of the ring erupted into darkness, and out stepped Rhys. He was frowning, a letter crushed in his fist.

“What’s wrong?” Cassian asked, drawing up short.

Rhys passed the letter to him, saying, “Eris Vanserra has requested an immediate audience. He says that the Autumn Court has Azriel, and they’re willing to negotiate a trade.”

[sodadrabbles]

Hey! I really like your writing and was wondering if you could do a request! If not its totally understandable. Could you do a fic where phill and techno find a pheonix hybrid reader (like with the wings and tail) passed out in the snow? I just think it'd be kinda cool, thanks for considering my request!

Ohoho, phoenixes are my favorite mythical bird to mess with! I hope you enjoy this, I had a lot of fun writing it :]

Paring: c!Philza + c!Technoblade x phoenix!Reader (Platonic!)

Rating: Fluffy with a little mention of death.

Summary: You passed out in the snow- What happens when an old man and an anarchist find you? 1.4k words

Cold. That was probably the most simple way you could describe the situation you were in. But it isn’t a simple cold. It’s a freezing wind that pierces your skin with ice and sends a chill down to your bones. You could feel it deep inside you, like a curse or illness. But it was just the freezing arctic winds. You should have been prepared for this situation, you knew it would happen, yet you let yourself wander this far. 

Snow swirled in your vision as the wind whipped against you, freezing and unrelenting. You shiver again and try to curl your wings closer to your body, but the joints where the fiery appendages meet your back ached. You had been flying for too long, and now you have had your wings stretched even longer. The melting heat that usually poured from the ends of your feathers was starting to feel lukewarm at best, and that told you clearly that time was running out.

The arctic just isn’t the place for a phoenix, as warm as their cores might be, the icy arctic can put them out in an instant. It’s unforgiving, it made you question how anyone could live out here. But you had heard the rumors of the two men that lived far away from the Greater DreamSMP, sheltered away in the far snowy tundra. But in your state of ever-growing drowsiness, you couldn’t recall their names. 

You sigh, a tired and heavy sigh, as you finally let your wings rest. The large limbs droop and you can see, at the very tips of your largest feathers, where your fire burns the hottest, your flame could no longer melt the snow under them. Your time had come, though a few days early. But you showed no fear of the process, one you experienced so many times before, as you let your body slump to its knees, before falling forward into the crunchy snow. 

‘I’ll wake up in a few hours.’ You thought to yourself, feeling the now cold wings pressing into your back. ‘Just a little nap for now.’

---

“I just don’t see why I needed to come with you, Techno.” The blonde man huffs, pulling his heavy coat tighter to him. The snow had been picking up fast, the winds howling louder than the pack of wolves Technoblade had adopted. The piglin walking beside him was much less bundled up, the warm blood of his kind seeming enough to keep him warm through the oncoming blizzard.

Techno just snorts in response to his old friend, so unused to the snow, keeping his pace against the freezing wind. He had just been minding his business, brewing some potions when he swore he saw what he could only describe as ‘a column of white-hot fire’ sprout up from distance. It, quite frankly, scared the shit out of him. So, he grabbed Phil and dragged him out to investigate the strange occurrence.

After a few more moments of fighting the harsh weather, the two arrived at where the fire had come from. In its wake lie what was now a puddle, and scorched grass beneath that in the shape of a person. The two men glanced at each other before Techno stepped forward and reached out to touch the grass. Before he could, however, the spot of the grass that was once scorched burst into flames again, ash rising from wherever the fire touched. It swirled in the warm light, moving against the wind to take its shape. Despite how the wind roared the ash moved so calmly and in such a distinct way, forming the silhouette of a person. Of you. 

Once all the ash of your ‘death’ had clumped back into your form, burning red light filled the cracks and sealed the process. You felt your consciousness slip back into place, your memories, your being. You felt the heavy weight of your wings, the light flicking of your birdish tail, and the warm crackle of your fiery feathers.

And then you fell.

You had expected this, and yet as you tensed your muscles in preparation for impact, you found yourself getting caught by two separate pairs of hands. You open your eyes and blink, glancing at the two men now staring bewildered at you. Wait, there are other people here?

You gasp and scramble to push away from the two, but the older one- A blonde wearing a green bucket hat- Held tight onto your shoulder, holding you in place. He spoke, his voice was calming and warm, unexpectedly paternal. “Easy,” he breathed, using his other hand to steady you. “We aren’t gonna hurt you.”

You’re hesitant to comply, but carefully you steady yourself to your feet. You stare at the blonde man, his eyes heavy from many years of living. It surprised you a bit to see another immortal face to face. But as you looked closer you noticed the way the part of his robe that wasn’t torn refused to move with the wind, it hit you. An elytrian. 

You snap out of your thoughts as a gruff voice to your left draws your attention. You glance to see a large piglin standing there, his eyes still wide in shock. He was tall and broad and just standing near him made you feel small. You didn’t like feeling small. Out of instinct, your wings spread out. Not to full length, but enough to calm the anxious feeling of a prey animal being stared down by a predator. You feel the elytrian’s presence disappear from beside you. “What the- Mate, you’re on fire!” He exclaims, staring at the way your feathers spark and crackle like a fireplace. 

Yeah,” you laugh at the elytrian. Had he never seen a phoenix before? “That’s what phoenix wings do.” Your response doesn’t earn any laugh from the two, only more confused stares. The piglin is the first to speak up. “A… Phoenix?” The way he says the word makes you step back. This time the elytrian speaks up. “Aren’t phoenixes extinct?”

You stare at him, eyes wide. Had they really? Sure, it had been a while since you met another of your kind. Phoenixes were not social creatures, they preferred their seclusion and stuck to their own. You just assumed…

“No, clearly not.” You straighten your back and try to puff your wings. You wouldn’t let yourself be intimidated by the two hybrids. “I’m here, so we aren’t extinct.” 

---

After you explain why you were in the arctic in the first place, you managed to earn the two’s names. Philza and Technoblade. You had recognized the two names, you heard stories about the two Anarchists from your friends in the Greater DreamSMP- How Techno had taken down L’manburg twice, and Phil helped him turn New L’manburg into L’manhole. You had admired those stories- Admired the bravery it took to stand up to corruption.

It was the remaining members of L’Manburg that drove you from your home in the Greater DreamSMP- With Tommy building his hotel near your home and being unable to find safety in Las Nevadas with Quackity, you wanted to find somewhere to go where you would be unbothered.

Though you must admit the life you found wasn’t what you expected. Phil allowed you to stay with them in the arctic, after much arguing from Technoblade. So you built yourself a home. You got to meet Ranboo formally- You had seen the ender wandering the Prime Path a few times, as well as near Snowchester. You weren’t too fond of him, but you learned to accept him. 

You finally were able to learn of what happened to your species. Techno had an astounding collection of books. His library was impressive, but he never allowed you inside. He claimed your wings made him too nervous, and that made you laugh. The worries made sense- You once set part of Phil’s house ablaze as he was teaching you how to brew potions. 

Techno had handed you a book with no title, its leather cover stamped with a fiery bird. The piglin watched you as you flipped through the pages- Phoenix hybrids had, in fact, been hunted to extinction a long time ago. You remained to be the only one and would be for the rest of your life. 

And somehow, this didn’t bother you. You found all you needed right here- even closure.

[lailannajacobs]

Heart of the Night

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Summary: Bucky finds you after a mission that didn’t quite go as planned. 

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: lil bit angsty 

A/N: This is my submission for @wkemeup​​ 9k challenge, it’s not quite as edited as I would have liked but the end of the school year is always super busy so here it is! Congrats Kas, you are such an incredible writer, your talent absolutely blows my mind, it’s just unbelievable and I hope one day to have a tenth of your skill! You deserve everything great and more! <3

The needle trembled, metal glinting off the fluorescent light in your bathroom as it hovered just above the skin of your abdomen. The air reeked of copper. The pristine sink was marred with the dark red streaks of failure. You tried to swallow, but it felt like you were choking on your own throat. 

The needle approached the bloody canyon made by a knife you’d been too careless to avoid, and hovered there, trying to find its mark. The world swayed. You’d lost too much blood already. The needle clattered into the sink, black thread trialing behind it like a broken tether. You were somehow conscious — delirious? — enough to think you were lucky it hadn’t gone down the drain because you didn’t have time to call a plumber. Wait no. You’d just have to get a new one from the cabinet. You tried to reach for the needle. Your body didn’t react. Instead, it swayed dangerously, only your fighting instincts keeping you from tumbling to the floor by gripping onto the edge of the sink. At least there were some things blood could wash off from.

“YN!” that familiar voice burst into your apartment, “pool table. Five minutes. I swore to Sam that this was the day we finically beat Vision and his perfect calculations.”

You swore at the joyful ness in his voice. You couldn’t match that tone right now if you tried. But you had to. The mission had gone well. You’d done what you’d set out to do. Only you, the ever-present failure, had gotten yourself stabbed along the way. The only mercy was that no one else had noticed and you’d disappeared to your apartment without drawing suspicion. That was, until now if you couldn’t pull yourself together. You willed your body to close the bathroom door, but it wouldn’t move. If anything, everything only spun even more.

“Where the hell are...”

You felt his presence in your doorway. Felt his gaze like a physical thing. You were always aware of him. Even now was no exception. Maybe if you pretended he wasn’t there, he’d go away. Right. And the three-inch gash in your stomach would stitch itself up. You turned your head, not realizing how many abdominal muscles it took to look over your shoulder. Your pride and the death grip your slick fingers held on the porcelain were the only reasons the spinning didn't send you tumbling to the ground.

When your bathroom came into focus again, the only thing you really saw was Bucky taking up most of the doorway. And he was seething. His normally cool eyes were raging hurricanes, framed between hard lines of frustration on his face. They scanned you from top to bottom with deathly calm, from the sports bar you had on that exposed all your skin and the bruises you garnered during the mission to the sweatpants you’d changed into. An X-ray would have been less intrusive. You shivered. It was probably the blood loss.

You wanted to make up some excuse for your failure, but his anger was justified. You were a liability on the field. They were bound to have figured it out eventually.

He said nothing as he stalked over in a few brisk strides, fury emanating from him in waves. He stopped beside you, the pleasant smell of his freshly showered body chasing away the tang in the air. You closed your eyes. It was a coward’s move, but you’d take any peace you could get before everything you’d worked so hard to keep got taken away from you.

“Sit,” he ordered in a low, almost growly voice, “now.”

You went to sit on the toilet but tipped backward before you could make it. His arms gathered around you, easing you onto the closed seat. Your head lolled back and you squeezed your eyes shut.

“No.” He decided, “I need an explanation. Talk to me.”

It seemed like too much work. All you wanted to do was go to sleep.

“No,” he ordered as if you’d spoken the words aloud. Maybe you had.

You opened your eyes, caught in the crossfire of his icy stare, “Hydra agent during the extraction.”

“Shit,” he muttered.

The extraction of the French Prime Minister had been more than an hour ago. You should have been stitched up a long time ago. You should not have been dripping on the pale bathroom tiles.

“Surface wound,” you continued as professionally as your body would allow, knowing that even though you’d live, your failure was the reason for his fury, “came here. Was in the process of fixing it.”

“We have medics,” he growled, “what were you thinking?”

You didn’t answer. You weren’t about to tell him how your presence was a poison that would likely get them all killed eventually. Or that your constant mistakes were your own consequences to deal with — to fix. He probably knew that all ready. His question had to be rhetorical.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as if he were trying to steady his anger. You stared at him, the winter soldier kneeling before you, his calloused hands still resting on your hips. He let out a sigh, his breath warm on your stomach.

“I should call for a medic,” he still hadn’t opened his eyes.

“Please don’t,” you whispered, “I can take care of my own mistakes.”

His lids snapped open, piercing blue eyes pinning you to the spot with their ice cold intensity. He was obviously still pissed. But he didn’t call for a medic. Instead, he got up, warm hands leaving behind nothing more than goosebumps and shivers — from the blood loss, of course— and picked up the needle.

“This is going to hurt,” he murmured once he was kneeling in front of you again.

You tried to nod, but the motion sent your vision spinning again and you gripped onto his shoulder for support, the metal sturdy beneath your grip.

He looked up into your eyes, “are you sure you want me to do this? It’ll leave a scar and it won’t be pretty.”

“It’s only fitting,” you coughed a laugh, “at least the outside will start looking like the inside.”

His brows furrowed but he didn’t say anything. He knew what you were. You were a mutant who somehow got the ‘gift’ of being able to make anything stop functioning. You could make plans fall apart. Kill a software program. Stop a body’s functioning. Even ruin a functioning team like the Avengers. With skill, you should have been one of their greatest assets, ruining everything that threatened the world. But your ‘gift’ extended to yourself as well. You ruined everything you touched. Even the good. Especially, it always seemed, the good.

He pierced your skin without warning, but you were glad for the pain. It gave you something else to focus on than the echoing thoughts of your failure. But Bucky was gentle. Despite the anger you knew must still be there, his movements were delicate and focused, hesitating whenever you winced or sucked in a breath.

By the time he tied the knot, you were surprised you were still upright. He might have been efficient, but you couldn’t tell if it had taken seconds, minutes or even hours. His hands cupped your face and eyes you hadn’t realized you’d closed fluttered open. He was so close now, his expression pinched with worry. You couldn’t help but wonder how it could be for you.

“I’m almost done,” he said softly, “but you’ll probably need a transfusion.”

Adrenaline kicked in. You couldn’t. He couldn’t. Not when you could barely keep your eyes open.

“Please don’t take me there,” you begged, “I can’t hurt anyone else.”

Your abilities rarely activated while you were asleep, but you wouldn’t risk the lives of the other patients or the doctors by going down to the medical wing. Years ago, when you’d realized what your abilities were, you’d stopped sleeping anywhere near anyone else. Now, hurt, there was an even greater chance you might lose control.

If you hadn’t been working so hard for consciousness, you would have also told Bucky to leave. But it wouldn’t have mattered. For some reason, he always stayed. Even when he was within the radius of your power. Even when you told him to go. Especially then. He always stayed.

“I won’t hurt anyone else,” you choked out, “I always hurt someone else.”

His thumb brushed across your cheek, “and yet you saved me today.”

You looked away from his burning gaze, your tears threatening to spill.

He continued, mercifully ignoring your watery eyes, “even though you were hurt you dropped that Hydra agent before he could shoot me in the back. We didn’t lose a single agent today, YN. That’s because you were there.”

“No,” you tried to shake your head, but his hands held on tightly, “they — you — saved yourselves. I got stabbed.”

“You got stabbed because you were busy watching everyone else’s back,” he growled, that earlier anger returning.

“I ruin things,” you repeated for what felt like the millionth time.

But it didn’t matter. He never seemed to believe you. But he needed to. You desperately needed him to before you ruined him too.

“Please leave,” you whimpered.

His answer was simple, “No.”

He took his hands back, but it was only to find some gauze to place over your cut. Once he was done, he scooped you up so gently the movement only hurt a lot instead of blinding pain and brought you to bed.

You gripped his shirt, fist balling up at the hem with all the strength you had left, “you need to leave, Bucky. Now.”

For some reason, the bastard smirked, “Someone has to make sure you don’t die in your sleep.”

“I’ll be fine,” you snapped, though it lacked any kind of force.

He didn’t look impressed, “If you were fine you wouldn’t be begging me to leave. You’d be downstairs with me and we’d be getting our asses handed to us by Vision and Sam like every other Thursday night.”

You wanted to protest. You wanted to protect him, but you had no fight left in you. And with the plush mattress calling you to sleep, the world went dark before you could figure out a way to get him to leave.

“All right Destructo, show me what you’ve got.”

You weren’t a fan of the nickname, but you weren’t about to tell the Tony Stark to shut up and use your real name. And anyways, as much as you hated using your abilities, and how you were always overcome by the tidal wave of fear that sent fear rolling like waves throughout your body, you always felt better — healthier even — after using them. And he was giving you free range now.

Eight suits surrounded you in a perfect octagon, hands out like they were ready to strike. Tony had somehow altered his suits so that they’d shoot bubbles — of all things — instead of small blasts and said you’d only be alive if you managed to take them all down before a single bubble came out.

A small grin unwittingly made its way onto your face.

“Glad to see you’re having fun,” Tony remarked, “it’ll come in handy for future testing. Ready?”

You nodded and ignored the bit about future testing. They might have thought they wanted you now but after they saw how much of a curse you really were, they weren’t going to keep you around long enough for future testing. You prayed that day wasn’t any time soon.

But you were ready now. That was until Tony’s voice crackled through the intercoms once more, “just make sure you don’t kill anyone of us in the process. I’d hate to miss Taco Tuesday.

You lifted your chin, “Give me thirty seconds with the enemies and you’ll have your taco.”

“Such confidence,” he remarked with a chuckle.

It was false bravado but you wanted this. You wanted out of your hell hole. So you weren’t about to let him see any of the very real fear that you actually might kill him. in the process.

You let out your power in a giant blast.

You bolted upright, gasping for breath. Black spots clouded your vision but you forced through the waves of dizziness, looking for the one person you couldn’t bear to hurt. He was supposed to have left. Your next breath never came. Bucky’s long limbs spilled over the edges of the chair in the opposite corner of the room, his phone resting on his chest. His eyes were closed, a peaceful look on his face but that didn’t mean anything. The dead often looked at peace.

Then his phone rose and fell with his chest. You held back a sob. Your relief would have sent you tumbling if you hadn’t been sitting. He was alive.

Without your blinding panic, the rest of your room came into focus. He’d left all the clothes you’d strewn over the chair in a neat, folded pile on your dresser. You glanced over at your alarm clock for the time, which was…off. Your dread clenched it’s fist around your stomach. It had been on. So had your air conditioning unit. And where was the constant hum of your ancient refrigerator?

“They’re all fried,” Bucky’s gruff voice came through the silence as if he’d actually been sleeping, “the phone gave a nice little shock when it died. Snapped me out of my sleep that’s for sure.”

Your heart was still trying to hammer its way out of your chest when you said, “You could have gotten hurt. I don’t know how you’re not.”

“I do,” he replied simply, eyes finding yours.

“No, you don’t,.” you shook your head more than you had to, “No, you can’t.”

“I can because I’ve trained with you almost every day since you got here. I know that your gift,” you scoffed at the word but he kept going, “your gift works differently depending on who and what you’re targeting. And I know you don’t target people. Not unless you have to and even then I see that it kills you to do it.”

You looked down at your sheets, hating the way his words resonated through your body, refusing to go away. But you could still ignore it.

“That might be true, but Tony has been making his suits to withstand me. In case I can’t control my powers and they hurt anyone on our side. He might say it’s in case we meet another mutant with powers like mine, but we all know that’s not true.”

“Why can’t it be both?” he huffed then took in a slow breath. It did nothing to hide the growl in his voice when he asked, “None of us are perfect, why do you have to be?”

Because, even as a full grown adult, you were afraid you’d somehow end up back in that orphanage, unloved and unwanted because all you did was ruin things. And you didn’t know what you’d do if you ruined the closest thing you’d ever had to family. Perfect kept you here. Perfect kept you safe.

He stood from the chair, and came to kneel beside your bed. He brushed aside the hair that had stuck to your forehead with sweat, calloused fingers resting gently on your cheek when he was done.

“You’re one of us now” he whispered as if he could read your mind, “and I — we — won’t let you go that easily not matter what you think of your abilities. Even if that means I have to inspect you for cuts and bruises myself after every mission. You are good, YN.”

You could only nod, taken aback by the ferocity in his voice. Still, it didn’t stop you from looking him over head to toe once more just to make sure he was okay. Then you noticed something off with him.

“Where’s your arm?”

He ran his hand through his hair, a sheepish look on his face, “it might have fallen off a few seconds before you woke up.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach, “I hurt you.”

He shook his head fiercely, “you didn’t. I’m fine.”

“But I could have,” you protested.

“But you didn’t,” he said, “you never do. Because despite what you might think, you control this thing inside you and we all trust you with it.”

You were about to object but he stopped you by pressing a light kiss to your forehead, and when he pulled back there was that lopsided little grin on his face that made you realize how light headed you were feeling, “one day we’ll get to a place where you’ll find this funny. I promise.”

And somehow, you believed him.

[autumnslance]

FFXIV Write 2021 #15: Thunderous

((A longer one. Violence, blood, and fire. Not safe for heretics or dragoons as we step back to last week and the aftermath of “Heady”...))

“There they are!” X’rhun exclaimed. “Thank the gods!”

Alberic only puffed a breath in agreement as they ran across and down the ravine to where Aeryn was tending to an ashen-faced Heustienne.

“The cavalry has arrived,” the injured dragoon said dryly, her damaged chainmail removed to allow Aeryn access to the wound. Not the worst Heustienne had ever taken, but more than bad enough.

“Thank Halone you’re safe,” Alberic said as X’rhun dropped to his knees next to the women to lend his own aid if needed. “We heard from Kal Myhk you’d tangled with a group of heretics—”

“They took us to Avengret,” Aeryn’s voice cut him off; quiet, too steady, too calm.

For a moment the world paused, until X’rhun’s tail lashed as he turned to look up at Alberic.

Aeryn wasn’t looking at him, her hands resting on her knees now, feet tucked under her. Heustienne’s gaze flicked between Aeryn and Alberic, her own questions barely held back.

“Let’s get Heustienne upright,” X’rhun said gently. “And then get back to—”

“Anyx Trine?” Aeryn interrupted. “Will they tell me the truth if I ask? They must know. If what she said is true.” She turned her head slightly toward Alberic without raising her face, looking at his boots. “She said I should ask you.”

“Aeryn…” His mouth was dry.

She looked up finally, lips parting to say more, but instead she drew in a sharp breath, eyes wide and shining silver, not seeing Alberic or anything else around her now.

He groaned, whether in fear or agony or relief, he wasn’t certain.

——

Alberic followed Corran Striker into the house. It was a pleasant little place, clean and airy. The edges of the walls were lined with brightly painted flower and vine designs, and small pieces of colored glass bordered the custom-framed windows to allow some of the light to also reflect rainbows into the rooms--that couldn’t have been cheap, Alberic thought.

“Please, leave your helm and lance by the door. I think my wife will forgive the boots this time.”

“I keep the lance close to hand, you understand,” Alberic replied as he at least set down his helm on the table by the door.

There was evidence of children; their house slippers by the door, a doll on a chair, a set of tin knights cluttering the low table in the sitting room. His heart ached. “What a lovely home,” he said. “Will the missus and children be joining us?”

Corran shook his head. “Emelia’s running some of her crafts all the way to Fallgourd in the Shroud, and took Zaine and Aeryn with her for the fun. They’ve been cooped up too long, she thought.” He smiled fondly. “It’s a way she deals with her homesickness, and shares that part of herself with our children; she grew up traveling part of the year selling wares as a girl in Thavnair.”

Relief, but also renewed wariness prickled along Alberic’s spine as he followed Corran to the kitchen, leaning his lance on the wall right behind his chair as he took the offered seat at the dining table. “Thavnair? That’s a ways away. Explains the colors though.”

“I got rather lucky,” Corran replied, his tone warm and genuine. “She misses it, but is somehow willing to stay with me.”

“Ever think of visiting?” Alberic asked casually as Corran went about the motions of preparing the lunch he had offered the tired dragoon when they had accidentally met in the treacherous priest’s chapel. Corran had seemed surprised to learn of Comfraire’s heresy, but had offered hospitality despite his own shaken state.

“If there wasn’t always so much work to do, perhaps someday we could,” Corran said quietly.

“I think I’d take the chance, perhaps even move permanently, were I a common man with a family. Get the children far from the war, among the wife’s people.”

“I won’t lie; the thought has occurred to me,” Corran said. “Though I’m surprised, Ser Azure; I’d think one like you would want to keep promising future soldiers for the war in Ishgard.”

Alberic shrugged. “As I said; were I a common man, with a foreign wife who misses her home and children with futures to think of.”

The chronometer in the hall ticked steadily as Corran worked. “Perhaps. Though much as she misses Thavnair, I’d miss Coerthas. I love my home, Ser Azure. There’s little I wouldn't do to see our homeland prosper.”

Alberic did not reply, not trusting his tongue to respond to the man’s gall.

As Corran came to the table with sandwiches and a decent-looking ale, Alberic smiled. “Then perhaps you can aid me in protecting our homeland,” he said. He hoped he was wrong about Corran. “I am tracking a dangerous creature I believe the false priest Comfraire was working with, coordinating an imminent attack from the Horde.”

Corran raised an eyebrow. “I’m but a simple farmer, Ser. I don’t know what help I could be.” He glanced down at his plate.

The chronometer in the hall continued to tick.

“Know you of anyone Comfraire spent time with, when not pretending to holy duties? Places the priest liked to go when not tending the church? I hear you were among those who escorted the fellow on his daily walks.”

“A duty many of us in the community shared,” Corran replied, tone growing strident. “Do you accuse me of heresy merely for minding an old man on his daily constitutional?”

“No of course not,” Alberic answered. He pulled the correspondence he had found in Comfraire’s hidden desk drawer from his pack. “These letters however do indicate guilt.”

“Well that is another story, isn’t it?” Corran asked, leaning back in his chair. The humble farmer demeanor fell away as he crossed his arms. “Why play along?”

“I wanted to be wrong. You seemed like a decent man with a family you love.”

“I do love them,” Corran replied, voice low and cold. “You’re very unlucky you came this day.”

“She doesn’t know what you really do, does she?”

“And once we’re rid of you, she never will,” Corran said bluntly. “Our war doesn’t concern her.”

“And the children?”

Corran’s grey eyes clouded like thunderstorms, his lips drawn into a snarl. “You’ll never touch them.”

They both leapt, chairs clattering to the ground. Alberic reached for his lance while Corran moved with preternatural speed to the sideboard, pulling a hidden blade he managed to raise in time to block Alberic’s swing.

The house was torn and broken as they fought, Alberic barely able to acknowledge the damage as they threw each other against walls and through furnishings. Corran had an advantage with his shorter blade in the cramped space, but Alberic was a far more practiced fighter. If he could get hold of a sword--or better disarm Corran of his--then the heretic would soon be at his mercy.

He finally saw his moment, spinning his lance to baffle Corran’s blade before using his more heavily armored frame to knock the taller man through a door and into what had to be the master bedroom.

The sword went sliding the opposite way down the hall, and Corran laughed bitterly.

“Give it up, Striker,” Alberic said, pointing his lance. He could see Corran’s waist and legs, but the broken door obscured his head. “Tell me about the coming attack!”

Corran's laugh only continued, growing deeper and more growling. Alberic’s eyes widened as he saw Corran’s body jerk, bones cracking and skin tearing, swelling as scales overtook skin.

He swung to drive his lance down through the man as a roar shook the windows, and through the back wall an aevis tore its way inside, the colorfully bordered window panes shattering across the bedding. The dragon leapt at Alberic, and he swung up, barely blocking the creature’s jaws from clamping onto his still helm-less head as they skid down the hall from the momentum of its impact.

Alberic managed to roll out of the way as the aevis let loose a gout of flame, the fire catching on broken furniture. It came for him again but he had made it to his feet, dashing back toward the kitchen for room to move. The aevis lunged at him as Alberic braced himself, a heel against the base of the sink.

His lance caught the beast’s chest and with a roar of his own from his Inner Dragon surging forth, he used the dragon’s momentum to pierce it deeper, throwing it over his shoulder and halfway through the large window, more bright glass breaking as the thing flailed, screaming flames across the yard as it bled out around the lance through it.

Alberic had no time to retrieve his weapon as Corran came for him, tearing apart the walls to fit his new bulk through them to get to the dragoon. He was larger than most transformations Alberic had seen, a heavy red wyvern, powerful and burning, his eyes filled with the same intelligence they had held as a man.

Alberic swore and dove out of the way of claws longer than his own hands. He managed to duck and roll under and past Corran and back into the hallway, needing the smaller space to disadvantage the dragon. Assuming said dragon didn’t just shoulder the walls out of his way, his fiery head rearing back to blast Alberic.

He barely managed to dodge, the heat unbearable as the walls with their pretty flower paint warped, melted, and crisped in the heat, flames now filling the house. He couldn’t last in here much longer, but also couldn’t let this fight further endanger the rest of the village, the commotion surely drawing attention, though any other knights would be too far away while Corran likely had more allies nearby.

His feet hit more metal that clattered, and he remembered Corran’s sword. As the beast came for him again, Alberic ducked to retrieve it, rolling in low as Corran leaped at him. With another shout, Alberic swung up, sliding along the floor on his knees as Corran passed overhead, the sword slicing down the wyvern’s side.

Corran screeched, landing heavily against the door in a tangle, blood flowing freely, wings and talons unable to get purchase in the too small space.

Alberic breathed heavily as he stood and hurried into the kitchen. The aevis was still jerking through its death throes, making a pathetic, pained cry as he yanked his lance from it, more blood pumping onto the sink and floor.

Alberic returned to the hall. Corran watched him, panting himself, lifesblood pooling around him as smoke filled the air.

“Finish me,” the dragon rumbled, in something resembling Corran’s voice. “But I want a promise first.”

“A promise?” Alberic asked. “Why should I pledge aught to a heretic?”

A weary claw gestured, holding a limp, blood-covered ragdoll. Alberic went cold. “For...them. They’re innocent. But we both know...Inquisitors….”

Alberic coughed as he shivered. They wouldn’t care that the children were only children. They wouldn’t care if Mistress Striker was Thavnairian--if anything, that would make it worse for her, no matter if she truly was unaware of her husband’s sins.

“Maybe...she’ll take them home,” Corran said. “She misses it. They could have…Not this.” His eyes met Alberic’s.

They were the grey eyes of a man.

Alberic nodded. “I promise,” he answered, as he pushed his lance through the wyvern’s heart. “Your family won’t pay for your sins.”

When he opened his smoke-stung eyes again, the dragon was gone, Corran Striker’s lifeless form before him, eyes colorless glass, smiling in relief.

Alberic considered for a moment, then drug Corran’s body toward the heaviest flames devouring the house, throwing him into the fire. With luck it would be so burned as to obscure how he had truly died, if Alberic was to keep his reckless promise.

The aevis in the kitchen was dead finally. Alberic retrieved the correspondence knocked to the floor during the scuffle, and gritting his teeth, threw all but one sheet into the flame as well; there was mention of a tower. If nothing else he could salvage something from this mess.

The heat and smoke were too much now, and people outside were shouting and trying to put out the flames, a woman screaming as she glimpsed the dragon half-hanging from the kitchen.

Alberic stumbled outside, battered and bloodied, and fell unconscious at the feet of the Strikers’ neighbors.

—————

It took only a few eye blinks before Aeryn’s groan echoed Alberic’s from a moment before. X’rhun tried to call to her, but she was on her feet in the next eye blink. She whirled in Alberic’s direction, braid whipping so quickly the end came back around to strike her cheek, unnoticed. Her eyes were a storm, lightning crackling in them.

Alberic did not move. He distantly realized that there was nothing any of the three of them could do to stop her of all people.

She flung herself forward and he took the weight of her body slamming into his, her hands gripping at his coat.

That was all.

Alberic didn’t dare move as she trembled against him, head down. X’rhun and Heustienne watched, breath held. Perhaps they had realized the same thing he had.

"I'd forgotten the windows,” Aeryn said hoarsely. “They were almost new; a Starlight gift from him, for Mama."

Alberic said nothing. What could he say?

“You didn’t tell me.”

He sighed. It took a moment to make sound. “By the time I’d realized who you were, why you were so familiar...Well, we had that mess with Estinien and neither of us were in any shape for more terrible revelations. Not the easiest thing to tell a girl you’re the man that killed her father, regardless of the why. And...If the Inquisition, the Ward, if any of them had found out…”

“I’d have handled them,” she said. Neutral, a matter of fact. She wasn’t one to boast.

“Perhaps,” he said. “I thought...Your mother took you to Thavnair. You would have a life there, away from the war. I never expected you to return. To be...this.”

“You should have told me.”

“I know. And you know I’m a sentimental, craven fool.”

She laughed, a wild, bitter noise, finally looking up. Her eyes locked with his, and he thought for as much as she looked like her mother, her eyes were too much like her father’s.

“X’rhun, can you make sure Heustienne gets back to Anyx Trine?” She said, not breaking her gaze with Alberic. The storm still rumbled in her eyes, but all he could see was old smoke.

“Of course,” the Seeker answered. “Aeryn—”

“I’m going home,” she said, shoving Alberic away. He staggered, barely managing to keep his footing. She was stronger than she looked. “I need time to think and rest.”

“You mean Revenant’s Toll, yes?” X’rhun demanded, tail still lashing.

Aeryn only nodded once as she retrieved her pack from next to Heustienne.

“Call me via ‘pearl when you arrive,” X’rhun insisted.

She paused for a moment, then nodded again, shouldering her pack and walking away.

“What the seven hells am I missing?” Heustienne asked after they watched Aeryn’s red coat vanish among the hills. “What did she see? What did you do?”

“Later,” X’rhun said, helping her to her feet. “Let’s get back to something resembling civilization first; Avengret’s heretics may still be on the trail.”

Alberic said nothing, simply following along as they made their way across the wilderness.

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Monstrous Secrets Chapter 6

Eris Vanserra x reader

Word Count: 1970

Summary: The High Lord’s meeting.

It was by sheer bad luck that you were sitting next to your cousin when Beron and family strode into the gathering of High Lords. It was by even worse luck that Eris had his sleeves rolled up, inadvertently revealing the bargain marks that so perfectly matched yours. You could see realization dawn on each of your friends’ faces even as his family remained perfectly oblivious. You hoped with every fiber of your being that they didn’t think you’d struck a deal with him willy-nilly, even more so that you didn’t make a deal about Mor.

Rhys, if you can hear me, let me explain before you jump to conclusions.

Judging from the almost simultaneous crinkle of their noses, Rhysand and Feyre seemed to notice the scent of your bond with Eris. 

Well, at least they won’t think something worse I guess.

Nesta just raised an eyebrow.

Doesn’t matter. We don’t get along anyway.

Mor’s eyes just flitted between you and your mate, growing wider and wider in horror.

Please don’t hate me.

Cassian and Azriel, though, were the worst with their twin expressions of disgust that they didn’t even attempt to hide. 

And there goes life as I knew it . . .

Then your eyes strayed to Eris himself. The first time seeing your mate in over fifty years, and it’s like this, under these circumstances. You would not cry in front of these people, you swore to yourself. You wouldn’t. Though Cassian’s accusing scoff of, “Just tattoos, huh?” What’d you sell to him, your soul?” damn near made the tears fall despite yourself.

You studied Eris instead of acknowledging your (former?) friend, noticing the struggle etched into his face that made it look as if he wanted nothing more than to hold you.

Rhysand’s voice flitted through your mind, “So that explains why I thought I smelled you in that meeting with Keir . . .” Nothing more. Such a neutral statement that gave you no hints as to what he was thinking.

It was Feyre that reached over, across Rhys, to touch the hand you had clenching the arm of your chair. Her eyes spoke of someone who knew what it was like to have a mate that was hated and to be forced away from them. If anyone in the world would understand what you were currently suffering through, it was her. “Go to him,” she ordered softly. “We’ll sort out the rest later.”

As soon as you were on your feet, Eris was moving--family be damned, apparently--towards you. You met in that undefined no man’s land between the people of the Autumn Court and the rest of the High Lords. In an instant, you were hauled up into a desperate kiss--audience be damned this time. His hair was cut short, you noticed when you went to grab a fistful. You wondered when, exactly, he’d done it and why.

“What is the meaning of this?” Beron demanded.

When Eris pulled away slightly, you opened your eyes to see that his were still squeezed closed and his jaw was clenched.

“Well?”

Eris’s jaw twitched again, to the point you were worried about his teeth cracking under the strain. You leaned up on your toes, cupping his face in your hands, and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips while sending soothing feelings across your bond.

“They seem to be mate,” Rhys announced as your returned your weight to your heels, and you could just hear the cocky smirk on his face like he’d known the entire time.

“Be that as it may,” Helion spoke up, reminding the group that there were, in fact, others present beyond the Night and Autumn Courts, “we have more important matters to discuss today.”

Eris reached up to grasp one of your hands so he could kiss your knuckles before parting.

The meeting continued relatively smoothly after that, despite how tense the situation with Tamlin was or the curious/awkward/angry glances people were shooting at you and Eris. It wasn’t until you were in the suite provided for the Night Court that anyone even brought up the topic that left such a stain on the atmosphere. When they did, you couldn’t help but think about how Eris was probably going through the same and worse at the hands of his father wherever he and his family had disappeared to. The sharp pings of anxiety and pain that were slipping through the bond only made you worry more, fingers tracing over the black bands instinctively.

“How long?” Cassian demanded as Azriel vanished with Mor, neither sparing you so much as a parting glance.

You shifted your wings nervously, and your hand fell away from the tattoo, not wanting to draw even more attention to them. “Remember that first ball I went to in Spring when you all wanted me to play spy?”

He snarled as he turned and punched a nearby column, thankfully not doing much damage to the thing.

“Now, now, don’t destroy this place,” Rhys teased though you could still hear the strain in his voice and see it in the way his mouth was pinched at the corners. To you, he asked, “Why did you never tell anyone?” Tell me? he added in your head, clearly hurt.

You scoffed, arms moving to curl around your middle. Your wings were starting to cramp with how hard you had them squeezed against your back. “Can you imagine how his father would have taken that?”

“Doesn’t explain why you never told us!” Cassian shouted.

Wow, having your closest friend turn on you hurt more than you could have imagined. Still, you snapped at him, not wanting to back down. You’d earned your place, Cauldron damn it, and it wasn’t by being cowed every time a male raised his voice. “Don’t you think I wanted to?!” Now, you were toe-to-toe with the feared general. “At first I kept quiet because I was a fucking slave and an Illyrian and he was a fucking heir to one of the courts! And he was betrothed to my friend and I didn’t even know if it would go anywhere! And then--”

“And then Mor happened,” Feyre realized, “and you couldn’t because how could you tell your family that you loved a monster?”

On some level, you knew that she could relate because Rhys had a similar reputation; she had to, in order to put it into words that succinctly. Against your better judgment, you argued, “He’s not a monster.”

Cassian scoffed.

“He’s not!” Your head whirled back to his, hand whipping out to shove him back even just a step. “So only Rhys is allowed to have that sort of façade?! Eris was trying!” You knew you were broadcasting your anger in a way that was likely overwhelming to Feyre and Rhysand, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to care. “You heard it from his own lips; breaking off that engagement was all he could do for her. There wasn’t time for a better plan. Not when the one he’d been working on before got blown to smithereens!”

“So you’re going to blame her?!” Cassian’s fist clenched in a way that made your stomach do the same. 

“No!” you shrieked. “Cauldron, no.” The mere thought of it brought tears to your eyes yet again. “Do I wish we’d both been more open and talked about this shit before that happened? Yes. Do I wish Eris and I had come up with a plan sooner? Absolutely. Would I ever blame her for the shit she went through? Never.” You looked at the ceiling in an attempt to blink back your tears. “She was my best friend, and I have barely been able to look her in the eye for five hundred years because of something that could have been solved easily if not for the backwards beliefs of others. You cannot imagine what it’s been like all this time. You just can’t.”

Fere seemed to notice something based on the gasp that slipped past her lips and the worried look she leveled you with. “When was the last time you saw him before today?”

Your wings shifted nervously, a tell you’d been trying to rid yourself of ever since Rhysand pointed out in your youth. Again, your hand moved to touch one of the black bands; however, that was a consions, self-calming action. “We said our vows while Amarantha was stealing the High Lords’ powers,” you admitted aloud for the first time. It felt even more horrible than any time you’d thought those words to yourself. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Rhysand’s fists clench. Even Cassian seemed taken aback by the admission. “It was too dangerous to meet after that.”

“So tonight . . .” Cassian’s voice was much calmer now, as if he was starting to understand your side. He was, after all, your closest friend even if he was pissed at you.

“Was the first time I’ve spoken to or even laid eyes on my husband in over fifty years.”

Feyre and Rhysand exchanged a look that told you everything you needed to know about whatever mental conversation they were having. No doubt, they were discussing how horrible that sort of separation from a mate would be, especially after the taste they’d gotten when she was recently undercover in Spring.

“Don’t mistake what I say next for forgiveness or finality,” Rhys said after they looked away from each other once more, “because there’s clearly a lot we need to discuss as a group and as a family.” The spark of anger in his eye, something so rarely directed towards you, made you shrink in on yourself a little. His voice slithered into your mind through the little passageway in the mental wall you kept open just for him, Especially the fact that you think of yourself as less than him because of what you are. “But he will be allowed here tonight without any harm coming to him. Just stay in your room to spare Mor and Az.”

“His father won’t let him out of his sight, Rhys. Not after this.” He’ll be lucky to make it out without blood being spilled.

He lifted a brow as if to say, “Oh, really?” as he strode over to open the door to dramatically reveal Eris Vanserra posed on the other side as if to knock. His violet eyes turned icy as he gave your mate a once-over. “From the sound of it, I’m about five hundred years to late, but if you ever hurt her--”

“You’ll let your dog finish what he started,” Eris interrupted. “I’m aware.” His gaze was locked onto yours as he spoke, and you could feel the shared urge to have your arms wrapped around the other. You could read the tension in his stance, the way he was holding himself revealing that he was in pain as well as worried about you. He was wearing a different shirt, this one with the sleeves fully covering his tattoos. None of this boded well for what he’d been enduring while you were fighting with your friends and family.

Rhys made a noise somewhere between a snort and a scoff, oblivious to the observations you’d been making. “Traded one of my cousins for the other. Just destined to be part of the family aren’t you, Vanserra?” He waved off whatever Eris was about to argue, ignored the golden flames that shone in his eyes. “Just go. Enjoy the time you have together before the world goes to shit. Again.”

Immediately, you stepped away from Cassian, who you were still close enough to feel the heat off his body because of the arguing mere minutes (had it been only minutes?) before, so you could grasp Eris’s hand and lead him to your room.

[hlizr50]

Bonus Chapter - Gwyn POV

So we had some technical difficulties, but here's the whole thing (copy/paste was not my friend).

Thanks for the fun @yazthebookish @daevastanner and @bookprofessor

Warm clouds of breath puffed out of Gwyn’s nose and mouth, drifting into the air – the only things obscuring the twinkling of frost-white stars.

She had been in the training ring for nearly three hours. Sleep hadn’t been an option, not even a consideration. The priestess had nearly worn her leathers under her robes to the service, knowing that the singing and celebration would open a crater so wide in her soul that she would take leave as soon as acceptable and retreat to the safety and solace of the frigid night air and sharpened steel. Gwyn scoffed, a hot bitter laugh that rose unbidden from her chest.

This night, the library was no sanctuary. It had been a stark reminder of her weakness, her failure.

Her guilt.

The only thing that had made her choose her usual camisole and leggings under her robes was the inevitable tongue-lashing she would have received from Merrill. Knowing the state she would be in, Gwyn wasn’t sure if she would burst into tears or jump to strangle the beautiful crone in a fit of rage and pain. Best not to test her luck.

She cupped her hands over her mouth and breathed into her palms before rubbing them together, willing the blood not to freeze in her fingertips before selecting a sword from the rack. She had spent extra time stretching to combat the cold air seeping into her muscles, kept in constant motion. Numbness threatened the ends of her fingers and the tip of her nose, but as a whole she was limber and warm. And so, weapon in hand, she turned to face her foe.

The ribbon.

She silently thanked the Mother for her competitiveness and hyperfixation on this goal, grateful for the distraction that it gave her from the glaring absence of her sister. The raw edges of that wound had begun healing in the two years and some months since the attack at Sangravah, but holidays always seemed to tear it wide open. This was the first time she’d had an outlet for her sorrow.

So she closed her eyes and breathed, centering herself in this moment, letting the grief fall away. All that remained was her, the sword, and the ribbon glowing silver in the moonlight.

“I am the rock against which the surf crashes,” she whispered, eyelids drifting open. “Nothing can break me.” Feeling herself balance, muscles thrumming with anticipation, she sliced the sword. And watched the ribbon wave, uncut, in the winter breeze. She groaned, but set her feet, took a breath, and swung again.

The ribbon simply glided over the blade, taunting her as it straightened. She felt a warm bubble of frustration begin to glow in her chest. Her lips tilted up in a grim smirk as she took her stance again, preparing to swipe the sword. But just as she lifted her arm the sound of boots softly hitting stone seemed to echo from the silent night behind her. The priestess spun to face…

Azriel?

Perhaps the warmth under her breastbone had not been frustration, after all.

“I’m sorry. I knew you all were going to the river house, so I didn’t think anyone would mind if I came up here, and –“

“It’s fine,” the shadowsinger answered coolly. “I came to retrieve something I forgot.” Gwyn regarded the shadows that were his constant companions. It almost seemed as if they were… looking at her? Was that even possible?

Perhaps the chill was seeping into her mind.

The priestess smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I was trying to cut the ribbon.” She lifted her arm, sword in hand, to gesture to the offending strand of silk. Hopefully the ribbon would heed the threat of the blade pointed blatantly at its length and behave.

“Aren’t you cold?” He asked. Gwyn just shrugged, in spite of her frozen nose and fingertips.

“Once you get moving, you stop noticing it.”

Azriel nodded in silence, and for a moment his eyes caught hers. Something flickered there, like a match struck in a hurricane. Gwyn lowered her gaze. She could only imagine what the spymaster saw when he looked at her, the memories and images that might churn behind his hazel eyes. It had been he who had found her that night – nude, bloodied, trembling. Is that who he saw, even now?

Is that who he would always see?

“Happy Solstice,” she offered, an attempt to break the silence and to interrupt the path of her own rumination.

“Are you kicking me out?” Azriel snorted. Her eyes widened, gaze flashing back up to him.

“No! I mean, I don’t mind sharing the ring. I just… I know you like to be alone.” Mother above, Gwyneth. Could you sound any more like a rambling fool? She let herself grin at him, and her own panicked musings. “Is that why you came up here?”

“I forgot something,” he reminded her.

The priestess fixed him with a skeptical eye. “At two in the morning?” She felt her grin widen with amusement, corners of her eyes crinkling.

“I can’t sleep without my favorite dagger.”

Gwyn thanked the Mother for the ridiculousness of his words, lest she be completely unraveled by the crooked smile that he’d offered her. That smile, alone, was a gift. She knew that Azriel did not hand them out freely.

“A comfort for every growing child,” she remarked scathingly, and she swore he nearlyreleased a snicker. She wouldn’t be surprised if he did sleep with a dagger, or four. Actually, now that he mentioned it, she had absolutely no doubt that he did. Maybe he clutched one close to his chest, cuddling it like a teddy bear. “How was the party?”

One of his shadows broke away from him and twirled with the fog that her question had puffed into the air. Like a little dancing duet. She wondered what had prompted the shadow’s bravery.

“Fine.”

The shadowsinger definitely left some things to be desired as far as conversation went.

As if he realized that very thing, he tried again. “It was nice.” And that wasn’t much better. “Did you and the priestesses have a celebration?”

“Yes.” Though she couldn’t really call what she had done ‘celebrating’. “Though the service was the main highlight.”

“I see.”

Again. His gift for words was astounding. But Gwyn took it as a challenge, to see just how far she could draw him out from behind the indifferent mask of the spymaster. So she tilted her head at him.

“Do you sing?”

Azriel blinked at her in surprise and she felt a small twinge of satisfaction in her chest. “Why do you ask?”

“They call you shadowsinger. Is it because you sing?”

“I ama shadowsinger,” he corrected. “It’s not a title that someone just made up.”

Gwyn shrugged at him. Semantics, and beside the point. “Do you, though? Sing?”

“Yes,” he chuckled.

Oh, this was quite the development, and she had so many more questions! What was his favorite song? What kind of music did he prefer? The priestess wondered what his voice would sound like, if it would be just as velvety and smooth as it was when he spoke. She took a breath to ask if she could hear –

“Try cutting the ribbon again.” The abrupt redirection of the conversation was as clear a signal as there could be.

Another time, then.

“What – with you watching?” The shadowsinger nodded, and Gwyn felt her skin prickle with nervous anticipation. Which was silly. Azriel was present daily at training, and he had worked with her privately on multiple occasions. Maybe it was the holiday. Maybe it was the winter chill. Maybe it was her shattered heart, broken but healing, and the emptiness Catrin had left behind. Maybe it was the desperate hope that he saw more in her than the broken, bleeding girl he’d found in the temple two years ago. But that wholly undivided attention on her, in that moment, sparked something inside of her. So she took a breath, found her footing, and swung.

It was all she could do not to throw her head back and groan and the still-intact ribbon, gently swaying, taunting her under the stars.

“Again.”

Gwyn delivered another blow. She knew her technique was good – she was the definition of determined, a perfectionist. And yet…

“You’re turning the blade a fraction as it comes parallel to the ground.” Azriel pulled the Illyrian blade from the scabbard between his wings, shadows content to observe. The priestess also watched intently, determined to correct even the slightest error. She wanted to be the first to cut the ribbon. “Watch.”

He moved his arm slowly, mimicking her movements and rotating his wrist the same way that she had. The siphon on his hand seemed to glow in the moonlight, and she found her gaze sliding between his wrist and the pale scars that covered his fingers. It was far from the first time she had noticed them, but that didn’t keep her from wanting to know what had happened to cause them. But she had also noticed that he seemed to hide his hands as often as possible. Gwyn was not known for thinking before she spoke, but she knew that this particular conversation would come on Azriel’s terms. “You see how you open up right here?” He then shifted his wrist, correcting himself. “Keep your wrist like that. The blade is an extension of your arm.”

Gwyn mirrored the movement, slow and controlled, biting her bottom lip as she worked to correct her wrist position as her arm moved through the air. It took three times before she could do it without the error. “I blame Cassian for this,” she huffed. “He’s too busy making eyes at Nesta to notice such mistakes these days.”

Azriel laughed. “I’ll give you that.”

“Thank you.” She practically beamed at him, the dual achievement of correcting her swing and making the shadowsinger laugh lighting her veins with pride.

And then he dipped his head and shoulders, almost a bow. His goodbye.

“Happy Solstice,” he said before turning to head into the House. “Don’t stay out too much longer. You’ll freeze.”

Gwyn nodded before turning herself back to face the ribbon. She was eager to try to slice through it, after the impromptu lesson. But as she breathed in, a bone-deep weariness slumped her shoulders. Where earlier she had known that sleep would be an impossibility, now she felt calm. Almost at peace, the jagged wounds around her heart softened and comforted. The forced exhaustion and focus of training would have had something to do with that, of course. That had been her plan.

But she couldn’t help but wonder if the easy banter, the soft chuckles, and that crooked grin had been a balm to her soul, as well.

He hadn’t retrieved his ‘favorite dagger’. Hadn’t retrieved anything at all. But whatever it was that Azriel had intended to do in the training ring that night, their conversation and lesson had seemed enough for him to leave the ring calm and content – as far as she could discern. He had smiled. He had laughed.

She put the sword back in the rack, determined to remember what Azriel had taught her the next time she was in the ring. Looking up at the stars, she blew into her cupped hands and rubbed them together, encouraging warmth back into her frozen fingertips.

“Happy Solstice, Catrin,” she whispered, sending the cloud of her breath as a messenger into the heavens.

Her legs were heavy and barely able to carry her back to the dormitory, into her bed. She didn’t bother to remove the leathers, even though she knew she would regret it in the morning. All she could think about was sleep. And the sweet lullaby in her soul, a deep rich voice glowing blue and gold, swathing her in comfort and peace and hope.

[tumbledfreckles]

No Such Thing As An Easy Mission

There was nothing more annoying, James decided, than rescuing someone who did not want to be rescued. 

It should have been an easy mission. Well, easy was a relative term. Straightforward was probably a more accurate description. Get in, find the mark, get them out. Do it as quietly, discreetly, and quickly as possible.  

Simple. 

That the place he was getting in was an extremely secure, exceptionally well guarded safe house for Lord Voldemort. It was said that the man himself resided there often. Presided over meetings of his Death Eaters. Many an Order member had gone in, never to be seen again. 

Dumbledore had acknowledged the precariousness of the mission when he’d asked it. 

“I wouldn’t normally ask something like this,” his eyes didn’t twinkle, his face sombre and his tone gentle. “But we need them.” 

He hadn’t said who, exactly, James would be extracting. In case he was caught, in case the worst happened, it was better that he didn’t know. But he knew where they would be, that they had some combat experience, and that Dumbledore thought them valuable enough to risk James’ life for. 

“You are the only one I trust with this, James,” the use of his first name surprised him. He wasn’t sure his former headmaster had ever used it before. “But it is unfair of me to ask this of you.” 

“You’re not asking,” James replied firmly. “I’m offering.” 

He’d said goodbye to the boys. As they did when any of them went out on a mission. Hell, the way people were disappearing they should probably do it every time one of them left a room. 

“Come back, yeah?” Remus had clasped his shoulder, so tight James had almost winced at his werewolf strength. 

“Be safe,” Peter had squeezed his arm. 

“Don’t fucking die,” Sirius had hugged him, extra to the last. “Or I’m drinking the last bottle of Dad’s whiskey.” 

“You will bloody not,” James had choked a laugh as he thumped his brother on the back. “It’s mine.” 

“Ours, as Dad would say,” Sirius shook his head sadly as James pulled back. “You never were great at sharing, Prongs.” 

How he wished he was sitting at home, drinking that whiskey with his friends now. 

Getting in had gone to plan. He’d taken down most of the security wards, taken out numerous guards in a way that spoke to the ample practise he’d had in recent months. Being proficient in sneaking had been honed at school, something to be proud of. Being proficient at hurting people, even Death Eaters, was something he struggled with on a daily basis. 

James had made his way to the cell block Dumbledore had described. The masked man they’d captured in the last battle had come up trumps under Veritasium. It was exactly as he’d intoned, right down to the solid door on the final cell, behind which sat the person James was here to rescue. 

It took him longer than he wanted to admit to get the door open. Several spells, unlocking spells, blasting spells, a few curses, a hex or two. He swore several times, counting the seconds it took, knowing each one would reduce the amount of time he had to escape. Hopefully, the person he was rescuing could move quickly. 

He couldn’t have been more wrong. 

“Of all the gin joints, he had to walk into mine.” 

James' jaw dropped as he took in the figure before him. “Evans?” 

“James Potter. Fancy seeing you here,” She stood up, casually, as if they had all the time in the world. Twirled her wand around her fingers, just like she had in school. “I take it you’re the cavalry?” 

“What the fuck -” He stopped. Swallowed. Tried again. “We need to go.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Lily shook her head, moving toward him and the door. “Thanks for getting the door open though. They spelled the inside of the room to be impervious to magic. It’s why they left me this.” 

He ignored the wand tip she tapped against his chest, “Come on.” 

“Still not a good listener, huh, Potter?” She stepped even closer to him. He could feel heat radiating from her. “I’m not coming with you.” 

“You don’t have a choice, Evans. You can’t exactly stay here.” 

“Oh, I’m not staying,” she smirked at him.

“Then let’s go,” James shifted uneasily, his ears pricked for any sounds outside the cell. 

“I have a job to do.” 

“No, I have a job to do. We need to go.” He took her wrist, trying to ignore the electric shock that coursed up his arm when he touched her. By the way her eyes flicked down, he was sure she felt it too. 

“I need to finish what I started,” she tugged at his hold, frowning when he didn’t release her. “Come on, Potter. It was cute when we were younger, but surely you’ve learnt by now how to take no for an answer.” 

“I’m not asking you on a date, Evans. I’m trying to rescue you. Now, let’s go,” James couldn’t help the tension in his voice. Any moment now they were going to be discovered. While it was always going to be a stressful mission, it was so much worse now that he knew it was her. 

He needed to get them both out. 

“It seems we’re at an impasse, Potter,” she’d moved forward again, coming shoulder to shoulder with him. He could smell her familiar scent at this distance. It brought a wealth of memories. “You have two choices,” she continued, while he told himself to focus. It wouldn’t do to lose his head over her, like he had when he was young. 

“And what are they, Evans?” He looked at her properly then. He’d been avoiding it. As if he would ever have been able to get out of this without looking at her. 

Lily was more beautiful than he remembered. Either his memory wasn’t as good as he thought, or she’d improved with age, like a fine wine. His expression must have changed as he took her in, for her brow furrowed before she answered. 

“You can go back the way you came. Get yourself to safety. You’ve done your job, you’ve freed me. You can leave.” 

“I’m not going without you,” his voice sounded gravel, even to his own ears. 

She didn’t look surprised. “Option two it is then.” She moved her hand, pulling her wrist from his grasp and placing her fingers in his instead. “You’re coming with me.” 

Before he could protest, she’d started to move, tugging him along behind. James stumbled the first step out of the cell, before his brain caught up and switched back into mission mode. He crept silently behind her as they made their way out of the cell area and up the stairs into the manor itself. 

She knew her way around it, James gave her that. Lily didn’t hesitate as she ducked them down a long hallway and selected the third room on the right. She braced her back against the door, hand on the doorknob, wand ready. He nodded, she opened the door for him to lead through. 

Their preparation was in vain. The room was empty. James lowered his wand as Lily pushed past him to the benches and cauldrons set around the room. 

“What is this?” 

“Snape’s lab,” Lily answered distractedly, lifting books, opening draws, pushing scrolls of parchment around. 

“Snape’s?” James looked around him again, half expecting the vile man to appear at the sound of his name. 

“You remember Snape, don’t you, Potter?” She didn’t even look up, her voice dry. 

“Unfortunately,” he muttered. “So he really is a -” 

“Death Eater,” Lily finished his sentence. “Yeah. Since just after school I think.” 

“I’ve never run into him,” James knew he wouldn’t have missed the greasy git, even behind a mask. 

“He doesn’t really do duels. He’s more of an inventor.” 

“I remember,” James would never forget how he’d suffered at the end of one of Snape’s inventions. Werewolf gashes had nothing on the slicing spell that had seen him nearly bleed out in the middle of a corridor during rounds. 

Lily’s face implied she was also thinking of that night. If not for her quick thinking, James might not be standing here now. “Right. Of course.” 

“So, what is all this? What is he doing for them?” James was eager to move on from that memory. If he lingered too long, he’d recall what had enraged Snape so much that night. As vivid as the pain of Sectumsampra still was, even more clear was the feel of his lips on hers moments before. 

Their first kiss. 

Also their last. 

“Creating potions. For cursing, for destroying. For blowing us all to bits,” Lily opened a notebook, scanned several pages before shrinking it and shoving it in her jacket pocket. “He’s trying to win them this war without needing to cast a single spell.” 

“That bastard.”

“That about covers it.” 

“How do you know all this?” James couldn’t help asking, even as he moved back toward the door to check for signs they’d been followed. The manor was curiously silent. 

“Research. A chance meeting. Some well timed Legilimency.” 

“You saw into his mind?” 

Lily almost grinned at the disgust in his voice, “I washed several times afterwards, don’t worry.” 

“You should get hazard pay.” 

“Oh, believe me, I asked.” 

“Who are you working for?” James’ curiosity wouldn’t settle, despite the circumstances. He hadn’t seen her since school. She’d run a mile after the incident with Snape, blaming herself for him ending up in the Hospital Wing. There hadn’t been enough time left in the year to get them back on track before she’d vanished completely. 

“Same person as you, it would seem.” 

“You’re not at the meetings.” 

“Not enough snacks.” 

“Evans.” 

She sighed, still searching. “I’ve been working on my own. Dumbledore agreed. It was the only way I’d help.” She looked up at where he stared at her. “I couldn’t let anyone else get hurt.” 

“That was not your fault. Lily -” 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she snapped the book shut and pocketed it. “All done. Let’s go.” 

“Not a moment too soon,” James could hear noise at the far end of the hall. He pulled his cloak out and waved it invitingly. “I trust you remember this?” 

“Only because it broke my poor Prefect heart when I found out.” 

Despite her sarcasm, Lily moved swiftly to him, ducking under the cloak with a practised ease. And she did know it well. When they’d become friends in seventh year, they’d taken many an enjoyable stroll down to Hogsmeade, and made midnight raids to the kitchen for study supplies. 

Her back pressed against his chest as they shuffled slowly down the hall. His arms wrapped tightly around her waist as he pulled them back against a wall to avoid a patrolling goon. Her hair tickled his nose as her head rested just under his chin for several breaths before they edged down the stairs. His lips brushed her ear as he bent to whisper. 

“The door is unlocked, but we can’t open it without suspicion.” 

Her hand rested on his at her waist, as her chin tilted up to reply, “So, what’s the plan?” 

“In about thirty seconds, a diversion will happen upstairs. I set it before we left. We go then.” 

Lily nodded. James felt her twirl her wand in her hand, despite the small space. Then she did something he never expected. 

She relaxed back into him. 

Her hands smoothed along his forearms. Her body melted into his until he wasn’t sure where he finished and she began. Her cheek turned to brush against his chest, nose nuzzling into his neck. He never wanted this moment to end.

“Evans,” his whisper was a question, a plea. 

“Shhh,” she murmured back. “This has to get me through the next few years.” 

Before James could ask what she meant, several explosions went off upstairs. Footsteps from all over the manor thumped against the floor, all heading for the sound. A masked Death Eater came through the front door, and charged past them. 

“Go,” James pushed Lily, but she was already moving. 

The cloak slipped as they moved through the open door. James tore it off them once outside, shrinking it and shoving it in his pocket as they ran. They were almost out of the ward zone, almost safe to apparate, when a shout came from behind. James felt a curse hit him square in the back a second later. He fell over the ward line. 

“James,” Lily had gone several feet before she realised he wasn’t beside her. She came back, falling to her knees next to him. 

“Get out of here, Evans,” he growled. “I’ll be right behind you.” 

“Yeah right.” She made to pull him to his feet. 

“Lily, just go. You’ve got the information.” He could feel strength draining out of him by the second. He was dead weight. 

“Quiet, Potter. I’m being a white knight.” Lily pulled his arm over her shoulders, wrapped hers around his waist, and pulled him into a side along apparition. 

His head spun, his stomach lurched, and when they landed in an empty field, his worthless legs gave way, pulling her down on top of him. His eyes stayed closed as he groaned, a sound loud enough that he didn’t hear the words she muttered next. But the relief was instant. 

“Thanks,” he sighed. 

“All part of the service.”

He expected her to get off him, and was pleasantly surprised when she didn’t. Instead, Lily shifted her weight to her elbows, freeing her hands to gently cup his face. He opened his eyes to see her blinking down at him. 

“Alright, Potter?” she asked. 

He smiled, “Alright.” He brought a hand up, shifting her hair back from her face, mirroring her hold of his head. “But maybe you should stick around, make sure I’m okay.” 

“I only left to keep you safe,” Lily’s thumb brushed across his cheek, his lip. “But it looks like you need me here to make sure that happens.” 

“I’ve always needed you, Evans. Stay. Please.” 

“Well, seeing you asked so nicely.” She smiled as she said the words, but James never saw it. Her lips had pressed down on his, and he was only too happy to oblige with a kiss of his own. 

[sayonarasanity]

Reverberation 

Chapter II

link to first chapter

link to AO3

“It’s dead.”

Levi’s unimpressed, vacant gaze observed the lifeless body of the bird lying in her palms. He held the door to their house with one hand and wore a sweatshirt over a pair of plain sweatpants. His straight, black hair was combed.

“Seems like it,” he confirmed, voice flat. Then looked at her eyebrows rising, but he didn’t seem quite curious. “What do you want to do with it?”

“Bury it, obviously,” Hanji replied. “I found it on my way here. I thought it was just wounded at first, but its heart isn’t beating.” She lifted the little body to her ears one more time, lips curled downwards, waiting to hear the sound of a silent heartbeat. She wore gloves so she didn’t feel its body temperature, but no doubt, there was not even a flutter of a beat coming from the body, it was dead.

“The snow is too thick,” Levi spoke as Hanji lowered her hands down with the bird. “You can’t reach the earth. Even if you do, you can’t make it halfway without having your hands get frozen.”

“But I can’t possibly leave it out in the snow like this, Levi!” Hanji objected, overcoming the urge to tap her foot furiously on the ground. She didn’t want to be seen as a grouchy child.

“Hanji, you’re supposed to be smart.” He folded his arms, locking his eyes with her. “Do you really want to take this risk?”

“You’re exaggerating,” Hanji frowned, responding to his gaze. “I won’t lose my hands. I am wearing gloves.”

“What a great protection,” Levi murmured sarcastically, then turned his head over his shoulder and shouted, “Mom!”

“Coming!” Levi’s mother responded from somewhere inside the house. Hanji supposed it was the kitchen. Delicious smells were coming to her nose. As Hanji had learnt from her earlier visits here, Kuchel was a great cook and a beautiful, kind woman. Much like her son’s opposite.

“Hanji!” She smiled at her widely when she came in a hurry, drying her hands in her apron. Her long, black hair was tied as a ponytail, and her blue eyes were shining warmly. “How are you darling? Oh, why are you standing there? Levi, why didn’t you invite her inside? Come on in, honey.” Before Hanji could say anything to reject her, she caught her arm and drew her inside, closing the door behind them. The house was warm, and she immediately felt her cold face lulling with it. “I’ve just made an apple tart. Take off your coat and come to the kitchen with Levi.”

Hanji was dizzy, listening to her rapidly putting one sentence behind the other. Kuchel didn’t notice the dead bird which was still lying in her palms and it was Levi who in the end stopped Kuchel just as she turned her back to get back to the kitchen.

“Mom,” Levi called. “Hanji wants to bury a dead bird.”

Kuchel looked at Hanji, with a somewhat surprised expression plastered on her face. She blinked her eyes a few times, “Oh,” she said as if she was trying to digest what Levi had just said. And when Hanji pulled her hands upwards, she finally saw the bird. “Oh!” she said again, as realization sunk in. “A bird!”

“A dead bird,” Levi deadpanned.

“I want to bury it,” Hanji said, after glaring at Levi for a few, intense seconds for good measure. “I can do it on my own though. I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

“Ah, but Hanji, darling,” Kuchel sighed, she seemed like she was trying to find out ways to reject her without breaking her heart. “The snow—”

“I know,” Hanji interrupted. “But I don’t care. I can’t leave it on the cold like this.”

Kuchel’s eyes were soft as the summer clouds while they were looking at her, and there was a little smile on her lips. “You’re such a sweet, sweet child.”

“No, mom she’s such a weirdo,” Levi presented his own idea, his arms were still folded, and he looked bored out of his wits.

“Levi!” Kuchel chided him, her soft look was replaced with a frown. “That’s a very rude thing to say to your friend.”

“I didn’t mean it as an insult,” he defended himself.

“Yeah, it’s okay Mrs Ackerman,” Hanji nodded. “He knows he is as much of a weirdo himself too. So, I don’t really get offended when he says that.”

Kuchel was apparently confused, but she was most probably convinced about the fact that her son and his possibly the best and only friend were a pair of odd, little human beings. “You can just call me Kuchel, sweetheart,” she said, at last, smiling again.

Hanji spared a moment to think, swirling the name inside of her head until she was satisfied with how it sounded. Then nodded, beaming at her. “Okay.”

“Good,” Kuchel reached with her hand and patted her hair which was covered with a green knitted hat.

“What are we going to do about the bird?” Levi asked, emphasizing each word. They both turned their gazes on him to see him impatiently tapping his foot on the floor, one eyebrow high above the other.

“We’re going to bury it, of course,” Kuchel said before Hanji even opened her mouth to give a response.

“Haa?” Levi was shocked, eyes widening and his foot stilling its motion. “Mom! I called you here so that you could talk some sense into her!”

“What’s so senseless about burying a poor, dead bird?” Kuchel asked innocently and Hanji smirked, barely stopping herself from bouncing but she did throw Levi a triumphant look, making him even more irritated.

Levi was still more or less astonished, so he just stared at his mom as she removed her apron and folded it neatly. “Come on, little grump, go change your clothes. Put on something thick and warm. Wear gloves and a scarf.” Then she turned back to Hanji and winked. “You wait here, honey. We’ll be back in ten minutes.”

She walked away to climb the stairs and Levi finally moved, murmuring “Women,” under his breath as he followed his mother upstairs. Hanji just grinned, then leaning her back to the wall she knelt to a sitting position. “You’re going to have a funeral little bird,” she whispered and smiled woefully at the inanimate, still body of the dead animal inside of her palms.  

-

The three of them walked or rather struggled to walk on the thick, soft snow. Some parts were frozen which made the whole journey even more tough and risky. Hanji tried her best not to fall face down, which would also result in her crashing the innocent bird. But she put far too much focus on not dropping the bird rather than not crashing it so when she absentmindedly stepped on an iced part of the pavement, her supposedly sturdy boat slipped, and she lost her balance.

A panicked yelp escaped her mouth just as the world moved around her, she saw the blue, wide sky rather than the white, snowy road and readied herself for a harsh landing as her body locked itself and did nothing to save her from her situation.

A gloved hand caught her collar. “Watch out, idiot,” Levi hissed, drawing her close to him. She stared at him, blinking her eyes in shock as she was trying to decipher the events of the last few seconds.

“You saved me!” She exclaimed, eventually, looking at Levi as if he was the embodiment of a Marvel hero.

“Yeah, thank fuck for that,” he winced visibly as he checked his back to glance at his mother, face painted with pure fear but much to his relief Kuchel was way too occupied by trying to just walk so she didn’t seem like she had noticed anything. Also, she was far behind them, so she hadn’t possibly heard her son swearing. Levi sighed, relieved then glared at her. “Give me that damn bird.”

“Language,” she whispered harshly under her breath. Levi swore a lot for a boy in his age. Hanji thought it was most probably his uncle’s fault who lived with him and Kuchel. Levi didn’t accept it though.

“Give it to me,” he repeated. “Before you break your ass.”

Hanji scowled and almost pouted in annoyance but put the bird in Levi’s open palms. Her arms had been hurting as a result of carrying the bird in the same position for too long anyway. She shook them on her sides, wrinkling her face as she felt the pain spreading from her joints and shoulders to the rest of her arms. Then her hazel brown eyes turned to the bird again, lying motionless in Levi’s palms this time.

“Poor thing,” she sighed.

Levi observed it for several seconds, his sharp blue-grey eyes distant and thoughtful. Hanji wanted so bad to know what was going on inside of that raven-haired head. “We all have limited time,” he said at last.

Hanji hadn’t been expecting to hear that, so it caught her off-guard. It sounded way too gloomy coming from an eleven-year-old boy. And Hanji wondered if there was any specific story or event to push him to utter these words now. She wanted to ask but didn’t think he would answer. Talking to him sometimes made her feel like she was preying on a gazelle, trying to be as cautious as possible with her steps as to not scare and made it run away.

“Yeah,” she agreed for now, as another bird flew past above their heads, fluttering its wings and twittering as if it was lamenting for the dead.

-

They buried the bird under a big, old—ancient in fact—tree which was located in a park near Levi’s house. It was indeed hard to dig up the snow first and earth later. They had to take turns and rest every now and then for some blood to reach their fingertips. Hanji had taken her hat off and lied the bird on it, ignoring the fact that they were going to put it under the cold earth anyway. And everything was okay until they covered it with brown soil and then white snow.

After that something started to tickle her nose like she was going to sneeze. Then her eyes followed, they were also burning, and her lips curled downwards again, and she pressed them together as a gulp shaped in her throat and then pat—

Her vision was blurry but not because of the tears, but because there was snow on her glasses and her face was icy wet.

“Don’t start weeping like a baby.”

She heard Kuchel gasping in shock but couldn’t look at her for her eyes were tightly shut. Slowly, she took her glasses off then wiped her face in a deadly calm. Then used the tissue in her pocket to clean her glasses, she had taken it with her before she left home for she knew her glasses were going to get foggy one way or the other.

And then she put the glasses back on, in slow motion, cautiously.

Now that the world around her became full HD again, she could clearly see Levi’s sly smirk as well as Kuchel’s wide, bewildered eyes. “So, you wanna play it dirt, Ackerman?” she asked as she gathered snow in her hands and formed them as a big, fat ball.

“Afraid, Zoe?” Levi asked back as he copied her, making a snowball in a respective size.

“You wish.”

They threw the balls at the same time but both of them dodged the attack. Hanji immediately got up, already forming another ball in her hands. She took quick steps away from him and just as Levi stood up from where he was sitting, she pulled her arm back and threw the ball. And it hit him right on the head. His shoulders rose to his ears as he tilted his to the side. She was laughing victoriously when suddenly she tasted snow in her mouth. She spitted aggressively and had to swallow some of it, frankly, it didn’t taste that bad. Then she wiped her mouth with her sleeve, “Ugh, you little—” she grunted and crouched down again.

After that, it just became a vicious and bloody snowball fight. Neither of them was backing down, despite Kuchel’s warnings like, “Levi don't throw it to her face, you’ll break her glasses,” or like, “Slow down you two. You will get sick.” They didn’t listen to her though. Hanji was having so much fun, even though Levi was not holding himself back in any way. She had a ball to her face her head and chest countless times and they were very harsh ones at that. Yet she had also managed to hit Levi from the same places just as harshly. Her face was hurting from smiling and from the cold, but she was hot inside the coat and her sweater underneath.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Kuchel said, with a stricter tone this time. “Levi—”

A snowball to her face cut her sentence in half. It was her son who had thrown it, and she was solid as a rock for a second. Then she wiped her face and smiled viciously just like Levi did at the time. And Hanji thought the mother and the son had never looked this much alike.

“Oh, you’re so on, my boy,” Kuchel said and kneeled.

The three of them played snowball for the rest of the afternoon. Their laughter, screams and sometimes painful groans filling the air until they were exhausted to death. But as she laid down on the snow breathless, with a grin attached to her face as if it had no intention of leaving and watching the quiet movements of the clouds, she thought with all sincerity that it was worth every damn second of it.

-

Kuchel invited Hanji to their house after their intense snowball fight. Hanji accepted because she was too tired to walk back home and too hungry to gather enough strength in a short time. They took off their coats and wet socks. Kuchel helped them hanging the clothes on top of the heater. Hanji had to borrow a pair of socks from Levi and was very amused to see they were Sponge Bob themed.

“Don’t say a word,” Levi had stopped her coldly when he saw how her face had brightened up.

Currently, Hanji was sitting in their kitchen, as Kuchel was preparing hot chocolate for her from her own special recipe and Levi was making tea for himself. Hanji found it weird for an eleven-year-old boy to be so fond of tea but then again everything about Levi was kind of weird. She was getting used to it slowly.

“Good evening my dear family.” A man around his thirties stepped inside the kitchen, removing a black, bowler hat from his head. He was a tall and slim man, wearing a simple white shirt and black trousers. His eyes were a dark blue, and his hair was long, combed back.

“Welcome,” Kuchel greeted him shortly with a smile on her face before going back to her work. Levi merely tched quietly upon his uncle’s appearance then went on preparing his dear tea. “You left work early?”

“Yeah, left it to Traute to close for today,” he said as he left his hat on the kitchen table and then he noticed her. “Hello, little one.”

She beamed at him. “Hello, Kenny!”

Kenny took the seat across from her and reached the inside of his shirt pocket. “How’s your father?” he asked as he took out a packet of cigarettes.

Her father was a doctor working in the town’s hospital and Kenny had a little market at the centre of the town, so they more or less knew each other. “He is fine,” she replied, putting her elbows on top of the table. “Trying to get on well with furious patients.”

Kenny laughed, “Everyone is sick for no reason nowadays,” he said placing a cigar in between his lips.

As if she had sensed it, Kuchel turned to Kenny and slapped his hand, causing the tobacco to fall from his mouth. “Don’t smoke in front of the children.”

“Alright, alright,” Kenny grunted. “Geez.”

A great opportunity to fill them in, Hanji thought. “Did you know that smoking causes %90 of all lungs cancer deaths and %80 from chronic obstructive pulmonary disease?”  

“What language are you speaking, kid?” Kenny snorted as he put the cigarette back in its packet.

“She is warning you, scientifically,” Levi placed a tray next to Hanji’s elbows then put two plates of apple tart on top of it. “Not that you would understand. Also, you have no will power to quit it anyway.”

“Hanji, don’t you have anything to say to that brat?” Kenny asked, waving his hat in Levi’s direction lazily. “He is drinking tea like he is sucking his mother’s milk. Don’t you think he is too… small for that?” He travelled his gaze around Levi as if trying to emphasize his point.

Hanji opened her mouth to respond just as Levi said, “At least I am not going to die pathetically from a lung disease because I inhale poisonous smoke.”

“You little scumbag,” Kenny scoffed, and his face crumpled in discontent as he looked at his niece.

It caused a slap from Kuchel to his shoulder this time. “Talk properly to my boy. He is just a kid.”

“A kid! Hah!” He exclaimed then put his hat back on his head. “Right. I don’t like kids anyway.” Then he looked at her. “You are an exception though little Einstein.”

“I’m surprised you know about Einstein,” Levi murmured, and it made Hanji laugh drastically, but she put a hand to her mouth right after. Afraid that she would offend Kenny. Yet he didn’t even spare a glance at her.  

A muscle moved on his jaw. “I am sparing you for the sake of my sister, brat. Don’t push your luck.”

“I am not afraid of you.”

“Oh, you should be—”

“Enough!” Kuchel interrupted, putting two cups one of which contained hot chocolate and the other black tea on the tray. “Leave the kids alone, Kenny,” she warned and looked at them. “You can go to your room, love. Call me if you need anything.”

Hanji nodded and slipped from her seat as Levi took the tray in his hands. They were about to leave the kitchen when they heard Kenny saying, “Leave the door open.”

“Kenny!” Kuchel yelled, while Levi simply rolled his eyes and Hanji merely blinked at him. “They are just children!”

“For fuck’s sake,” he whispered under his breath as they left the kitchen and started climbing the stairs.

“I don’t understand,” Hanji said, confused.

“Never mind,” he sighed.

They sat on the floor, leaning their backs to Levi’s bed and ate their tarts which were as delicious as they smelled. Hanji swayed left and right unconsciously, savouring the taste on her tongue and hummed happily. “Did your mother learn to cook like this in Heaven?”

“No,” Levi replied shortly.

Hanji rolled her eyes sipping her hot chocolate.

It had been almost five or six months since they have met. Ever since that night on the roof of a half-constructed building their friendship started to build up. Throughout the days they met in the same place, Hanji had told Levi about everything she knew about the sky and space. The names of the constellations and stars, the planets and black holes. Levi listened quietly, so quiet that it nearly made Hanji suspicious that he wasn’t interested in or didn’t care about anything she had told him. But then he had started asking questions and even saying the names of the stars and the facts about the planets with her. Talking with him eased her mind and also thrilled her in a way that only her books managed to do. Unfortunately, they didn’t go to the same school, but the nights spent on that roof and days on his or her home had been an almost miracle like an escape for her.

“Your uncle is nice,” Hanji blurted suddenly when the silence stretched far too long for her liking.

“He wasn’t,” Levi replied, unexpectedly, taking a long sip from his tea.

Hanji stared at her, curiosity climbing up to her eyes. “What do you mean?”

He looked beyond his window, watching the pink sunset and its reflection on the cream, tulle curtains. “He used to have a gang.”

“Oh?” She sounded way too excited without even meaning to. “Do you mean… like… an illegal gang?”

“Are there even legal gangs?”

Hanji shrugged. No idea.

“Whatever,” Levi put the teacup back on the tray. “He was actually the leader of the gang and, I heard that he had done some very… dirty things.” He clicked his tongue. “Useless man.”

It was quite rare to see Levi willingly talking about his life, so Hanji held her breath to not make a sound so that he wouldn’t get distracted and stop.

“He had been to jail before I was born. During the same time my dad passed away, I guess. Mom said she had to take him out of jail with the money she had put aside and with some money left from my grandpa.” He played with a stray string poking out of his t-shirt absently. “She said, he had deserved a second chance.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. I am kind of angry at him for being a pain in the ass for my mom but also, you know—I am glad that she wasn’t alone when I was born. And he is not that bad anymore, though still an asshole. But that’s a given. He was born like this; he cannot help it.”

Although his words carried an air of heaviness and severity, Hanji couldn’t help but laugh at his last sentence, the cheerful sound dispersed the gloomy atmosphere. And she was glad that afterwards, his features had relaxed and soften albeit barely, it was there still.

“I like spending time with you,” she said, suddenly.

He was taken aback, eyes widening slightly. “You do?”

“I thought it was obvious,” Hanji replied. “You are my only friend.”

He snorted, amused. “Same.”

She smiled and drank from her hot chocolate which was losing that specific quality gradually.

“I like spending time with you too,” Levi said after a while. It was so quiet and tender that Hanji thought she was daydreaming. Then, when she looked at him surprised, she had seen the slight pinkness on the tips of his ears.

Her smile turned into a toothy grin. “I know,” she said. “It’s very obvious.”

He smirked in return.

-

Levi insisted on walking her home because he didn’t trust her in walking properly in the limited light now that the sky was somehow dark, and the stars started winking and blazing from their respective places above.

“Say hi to your mom for me,” Kuchel said as she was seeing them off.

“Sure,” Hanji waved at her. “Thank you for today, Kuchel!”

“Anytime, darling.”

Walking at night was slightly harder because the area of the town Levi’s house was located didn’t have great lighting. They opted to walk on the side of the road rather than the frozen pavement. Cars were sweeping past them, and it had started to snow again. The wet asphalt reflected the yellow streetlamps lined side by side, and little snowflakes melted the second they met the ground.

The boy walking in front of her reached behind with his hand as they were about to cross the road. And he didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. Hanji took her glove off from one hand and reached forward, grabbing the steady and warm hand stretched out for her and her mouth curled upwards. And the wet road reflected the blurry image of a raven-haired boy and a green hatted girl, holding hands on a cold, frosty winter night.

---

Hanji’s father was a tall man with a bearded, straight face and brown, slightly balding hair. He wore thick-framed, rectangle glasses. Behind them were a pair of soft-looking, hazel eyes and above them were dark, bushy eyebrows. They were raised, creating wrinkles on his forehead as he looked up from his book when the two of them entered the room.

“Dad,” Hanji gestured to Levi with her hand. “This is Levi.”

Her father looked over the boy, glasses slipping down his nose. It was the first time Levi meeting him, despite the times he had been here within almost a year they had known each other, Levi had never come across with her father.

“Nice to meet you, Mr Zoe,” Levi, the ever-respectful boy that he was, greeted her father in such a nice manner that Hanji was shocked. So, he did manage to be decent at times, ha! One of the things that she most liked about Levi was that there was no end to getting to know him. And just like it was impossible to count the drops on a river, she thought a day couldn't come in which she didn’t learn a new thing about him.

“Levi, huh?” Her father closed the book that he was reading and adjusted his glasses. “The infamous Levi that my daughter keeps nagging about?”

“I don’t nag about him,” Hanji objected, feeling her cheeks getting hotter. She knew introducing Levi to her father was a huge risk.

“That’s me,” Levi confirmed. And Hanji nearly pinched his side.

To both of their surprise, Mr Zoe let out a loud, uproarious laugh. “So, you are not imaginary after all, ha kid!” The man went on laughing, leaving Hanji stunned and annoyed and very much embarrassed.

“Dad!”

Worse thing than her father laughing like he had been watching videos of people tripping down, was that Levi snorting right beside her as if he had no shame.

“I am sure she has imaginary friends as well,” Levi pointed out, his face giving nothing away, except for a vague tremble on his lips.

It made Mr Zoe laugh even harder. He was beating his knee basically at this point.

Hanji glared at his head. You are so going to pay for this.

He responded to her stare from the corner of his eyes. Challenging. Bring it on.

“We’ll be at the attic,” she informed her still laughing father while feeling quite betrayed by her own biological parent. His father was a more  obnoxious  version of her so to say. He had this habit of laughing at things that were not relatively funny to others.

“Sure, sure,” the man replied, wiping the tears from his eyes with his index fingers. “Nice to meet you, Levi.”

Hanji dragged Levi out of the room before he could answer. Then pushed him towards the stairs while also putting her hands on her shoulders. Then positioned herself securely, a mischievous smile placed on her lips and she jumped on his back.

“What the hell, Hanji?” Levi snarled, sounding both astonished and frustrated. They stumbled left and right dangerously at first until he grabbed her legs on instinct to find his balance. Hanji grinned.

“Revenge.”

“Are you fuc—” He gritted his teeth, his hands gripping her legs painfully. “You can’t be serious.”

“Of course I am.” She patted his shoulder and then wrapped her arms around his neck. “Come on, Captain Levi! Carry me up!”

“God-fucking-dammit.” The swear left his mouth in a sharp, but a quiet whisper. Hanji laughed. Levi grunted, scoffed and swore under his breath as he began to climb up the stairs one by one, cautiously and slowly. They were almost half-way done when Hanji remembered something very important.

“Wait!” she exclaimed. “Wait! No-no-no-no-no! Stop, Levi! Stop! Stop!!!”

“What!” he snarled.

“Get back down,” she urged his shoulder. “I need to take something from the kitchen.”

He inhaled heavily like he had swollen a curse so big it would probably ruin her life lets it come out. Then, without uttering a word, he turned around and started to walk down, quietly. Hanji could feel the angry tension radiating from his body as if he were an atom bomb ready to destroy everything at any second. For that, she kept quiet as well. There was no need to provoke him even more. Just until they entered the kitchen. It was a success for her standards anyway.

“To the fridge,” she ordered, and Levi obeyed, still silent. Hanji opened the door of the fridge and searched the shelves knitting her eyebrows in concentration while doing so yet, couldn’t find what she was looking for.

“It’s not here,” she pouted. “Come on. Over there.”

Levi inhaled again through his nose, possibly absorbing yet another curse. Hanji pointed to the kitchen cabinets and Levi walked closer to the counter. She searched the cabinets until she found what she was looking for inside one of them and at the top of the shelves.

“Hold still,” she warned before putting one hand on Levi’s shoulder to lift herself up a little bit. However, she must have put so much pressure that Levi hissed between his teeth. “Almost there,” she informed, as her fingers touched the items at least and she pushed them closer with her fingertips. She bit her lip, and wrinkled her face, a sweat drop slipped down her temple, and just as she pressed a little more on his shoulder and Levi let out a whopping, “Fuck,” she grabbed two packets of chocolate milk, holding them tightly between her fingers and let out a loud, huge sigh of relief.

“Mission completed,” she said, as she wiped the sweat away from her forehead with her sleeve, and her body relaxed. “We may return to the head-quarters.”

“I am going to kill you,” he said, darkly, but carried her out of the kitchen, nonetheless.

“Maybe I’ll let you,” she laughed, boisterously. “Come on now! Up, up, up to the attic!”

It took a little too much effort on Levi’s side and a little too much fun on Hanji’s until they made it safely to the attic. She turned the light on after they climbed inside one by one and gestured the room with her hand.

“Ta-da!”

Levi observed his surroundings, trying to seem like he wasn’t interested but Hanji noticed the sparkle in his eyes when he took everything in. “You have a tent here.”

“Yes!” She jumped a little on her feet. “A book tent!”

It was indeed a book tent. She had piled the old books on top of each other, creating a short wall of two sides. Another line of books was behind them to support, and to avoid an avalanche. A wide and thin, navy sheet was spread from one end to the other. It was also a cave of sorts. Somewhat small, and just a little bit vulnerable. Yet, it had walls made of books and a floor made of a star-map.

Oh, right.

“Let’s get in,” Hanji grabbed his arm and pulled him forwards. “You’ll love it.”

They crawled inside under the sheet. The atmosphere here was dim and darker because the sheet was filtering the light, but it only increased the mystery and made it even more dreamy and so very exciting.

“Is that a star-map?” Levi asked, looking at the dark blue blanket they were sitting on.

“Yep,” she approved, nodding. “My father bought it for me as a birthday present. And I thought it would be cool to use it like this. It feels like I am sitting on top of the stars.”

Levi snorted. “Four-eyes, that’s kind of creepy.” He shook his head, and a ghost of a smile flew above his lips. “You’re a goddamn genius.”

She beamed at him, and her cheeks almost hurt from smiling so wide. She felt like there were fireworks in her eyes, and while she didn’t think it took that much of a brain to spread a blanket on the floor the fact that Levi complimented her caused the fireworks to explode in her stomach and their lustre reached up to her eyes.

“Orion,” he pointed with his finger and traced the lines all the while saying the names of the constellations he knew. “Taurus, Hyades, Auriga, and… what was that Pse- Pso- Poseidon?”

“No,” Hanji giggled. “Pleiades.”

“Right,” he chuckled.

Hanji opened one of the chocolate milk and gave the other to Levi. “Sorry, I forgot to prepare tea for you.”

Levi eyed the milk, sized it up for good before taking it from her hand. “Whatever.”

His grumpy face was hilarious as he put the straw in between his lips and drank the milk almost pouting. He didn’t have much tolerance for sweet things, unlike Hanji. Chocolate milk especially was her religion.

After they finished their chocolate milk Levi played with the straw absent-mindedly until he said, “Hanji?”

“Hmm?”

“Why did your father say that?”

“Say what?”

“That I wasn’t imaginary after all?”

“Oh,” she laughed, nervously. “It’s because I don’t really have any friends. I wasn’t joking when I told you you were my only friend.”

“But we are in middle school now,” he raised a brow. “Even I made some friends in class.”

“That’s great!” she said, but she would be lying if she said she didn’t envy him just a little bit.

“You’re actually outgoing,” he went on. “Why?”

She sighed. They were going to have that conversation then. Levi’s grey eyes watched her seriously, and with caution. He was giving her all his attention, focused on the words that were about to leave her mouth. Hanji thought that was the actual reason why they were so close. Because when no one cared to hear a word from her Levi listened to her telling stories of gods and goddesses, heroes and villains, ancient people and ancient folks, tales of love and tales of hatred. When no one bothered seeing her colours, Levi sat down in front of her and let her paint everything she ever wanted.

“They think I’m a weirdo,” she confessed. It wasn’t that hard though. She wasn’t even getting that offended anymore.

“I think you’re a weirdo too.”

“But you mean it in a good way,” Hanji pointed out. “They don’t.”

At that, his eyes turned as cold as an iceberg. Hanji swirled her index finger right next to her head. “Like I have a screw loose here,” then she tapped her temple. “I too thought that it would change in middle school, but it didn’t. Kids are cruel wherever you go.”

“Assholes,” Levi grunted. “Fuck it, Hanji. You’re obviously too smart for them.”

She laughed. “Yeah, I don’t care. I have you,” she shrugged and ignored the disturbing thought that Levi had other friends now and it was just a matter of time for him to get bored of her and then she would be alone yet again—

“Don’t worry about it,” he told her, and she twirled her head in shock. Had he just read her mind? “I won’t leave you alone.”

Oh, God, oh, no. She was about to tear up. Her nose started to itch again as if she was about to sneeze, and she did sneeze too or pretended to so that she could send the tears back to their places.

“Gross,” Levi said in disgust.

After that, they laid down and Hanji talked and talked. Telling him about pheromones and how some animals used them to trick their preys and a neurological condition called synaesthesia which was basically seeing colours on intangible things. Levi asked some questions and hummed every now and then to indicate that he was listening. Sometimes he made sarcastic comments like, maybe you’re unintentionally releasing trick pheromones, four-eyes, or comments like I think you are a rainbow basically when he couldn’t think of only one colour he thought he would see on her. Hanji told him he was black and blue. And he said how smart of you, I didn’t know the colour of my eyes and hair.

If I am a rainbow then that would make you the sky, genius. She told him and he didn’t say anything back.

She put her head on his stomach and he placed his arms under his head. “Hanji,” he said.

“Yes?” She asked feeling curious about what he had to say.

“You’re a cool weirdo.”

She laughed and smirked up to the navy sheet. The light flowing through the little holes on it made her feel like she was watching a starry night. “You’re not so bad yourself, clean-freak.”

now

She is dead.

Dead. How simple it is for one’s tongue. How easy to say, to summarize and fit a whole life in only one syllable, in mere four letters. Years are hidden within that single word, memories lost behind its dark shadow, loved ones buried under its cold weight.

Kuchel is dead. The woman who is always so full of life, so beautiful to exist in such a cruel world, so good to face its dreary winters and so gentle to deserve the hard slap of fate is gone now. No longer breathing. Just like that. But no scratch that. Not just like that , death never is. The living will never know, and the dead will never be there to tell.

Hanji holds her head with her hands, elbows resting on her knees, she leans forward. What now?

“How is he?” she asks, her heart already aching for she knew the answer beforehand.

“That’s… actually the reason why I called you, kid,” Kenny says. “I can’t reach him. I haven’t seen him since the funeral and couldn’t find him anywhere.”

Panic is quick to boil her blood. “Where might he be? Maybe he left the city?”

“He wouldn’t. Not yet,” he sounds thoughtful. “But I don’t think I can find him. To be honest, I am afraid I would make things even worse.”

“Why?”

“He needs someone who knows him,” he replies. “And there is no one left who knows him better than you. Kid, I know it’s too much to ask, but that brat is the only family I have left. I don’t want to fucking lose him too.”

“But how…”

“Just think about it,” Kenny cuts in, he sounds tired Hanji realizes and she feels her sorrow doubling itself just by hearing his voice. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to come, but just think about it at first. Then let me know your answer.”

Levi. Hanji cannot even imagine the pain he is going through on his own. He had always been so fond of his mother, always so protective and caring even though he was trying to be subtle about it, it was never hard to tell. He must be devastated.

“What am I going to do?” she groans.

“What you need to.”

Hanji shrieks and jumps in her place as she looks at the person who has just talked with wide eyes. “Mr Jeager!”

Zeke adjusts his glasses and throws a leg over the other. Then inhales through his nose. “Such a lovely night, isn’t it?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for the bus,” he replies simply.

“No, I mean—” she sighs, obviously she had been so preoccupied with her thoughts that she hadn’t noticed him sitting next to her. “Whatever.”

“So,” he continues. “How many days do you want off?”

“Huh?” She blinks her eyes at him. She didn’t remember mentioning him about asking for a day off.

But Zeke doesn’t look at her, instead, he searches the road to see if there are any busses on the way. It spares her a moment to consider his offer and she realizes that once Kenny asked her the question, she had already made her mind.

“About a week please,” she says, without hesitation. “I need to help an old friend.”

[drabbles-of-writing]

Splitting You in Two

This is part of my Four Years AU

AO3

Masterpost

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Sharing a curse had its ups and downs.

On the upside, the Owl Beast was no more. And less elixir was needed to combat it now.

On the downside, the Owl Beast was never completely gone. Half-a-beast is what Eda called them, though Luz claimed they looked more like harpies.

Instead of turning into Beasts, Eda and Lilith were plagued with half-transformations, leaving their minds half-conscious.

They could switch, it seemed, between their states of mind. Sometimes they were more sentient, other times they were more beastly. Due to the curse altering their state, it was imperative that they remained calm.

If calm enough, the curse would even eventually settle down on it’s own. Of course, they still took an elixir after the fact, just in case.

Most of this was determined after Eda’s first two transformations with the shared curse. They had gone surprisingly well, since both Luz and King were used to this by now. Aside from a minor amount of damage to the edge of the marketplace, they got off pretty clean.

Eyes, however, had begun to drift towards Lilith.

A first transformation was never meant to go well.

,

Lilith was in the backyard with Amity, showing her how to make illusions like plants or objects seem natural. Luz was sitting crossed-legged in the grass and leaning against the house, watching Amity with rapt interest.

“Keeping an illusion still is simple enough,” Lilith said, almost drawing a spell circle in the air on impulse. “But making it look natural in it’s environments is easier said than done.”

“Wouldn’t that help confuse people if it looked unnatural?” Luz called over.

“Yes, but that’s not the point.” Lilith said calmly, sparing the human a mildly annoyed glance. “Illusions are not only for ambushes and pranks, contrary to what the twins would have you believe.”

Amity snickered, and Lilith’s mouth curved slightly upwards.

“Create an illusion of something simple,” Lilith instructed. “Like a flower or leaf.”

Amity drew a circle in the air and created a black feather, no longer than a finger. She held it in the palm of her head, showing it to Lilith.

“Oooh,” Luz grinned, despite this being rather easy magic.

Lilith raised a brow as Amity ducked her head shyly and muttered under her breath.

“Now,” The witch continued on. “Movement is a very delicate thing.” She said. “Making something life-like is a difficult task, which is why we’re focusing on smaller objects like these. It’s imperative to know the perceived weight of your object and to know what your surroundings feel and look like.”

She glanced to Luz, and deciding to make the most of the situation, gestured for her to stand up.

Luz was surprised but obediently stood, fiddling her hands together.

“Do you have a wind glyph on you?” Lilith questioned.

“Uh,” Luz patted herself down before remembering that was probably a bad idea and felt around much more cautiously.

She eventually pulled out a wind glyph from her cloaks inside pockets, showing it off proudly.

“Good, I want you to get it ready.” Lilith nodded and turned back to Amity.

“When the wind from Luz’s glyph reaches the feather, I want you to move it how you think a real feather would move.” She said. “Be sure to judge the force of the wind and to remember how the feather is shaped.”

“Got it,” Amity nodded, holding the feather higher and focusing on it.

“Luz?” Lilith glanced at the human. “Would you do the honors?”

Luz nodded and held up her glyph, aiming it right towards Amity’s outstretched hand. She activated the glyph and let it go, watching as it disintegrated into the wind and flew towards the green-haired witch.

Once the wind breezed by, the feather rose into the air. Amity was laser-focused on the illusion, making it tilt and turn as it fluttered off, resembling a kayak in the air. 

She continued to focus on it until it lay peacefully on the grass, a few meters away from them.

“Not bad,” Lilith praised with a nod. “Perhaps I should’ve started with something harder for you.” She lightly teased.

Amity lit up, her shoulders straightening. Until she forgot to focus on the feather and it poofed out of existence.

“However, with that in mind, the feather was a bit too buoyant.” Lilith continued, holding her hands together. “It looked more like a boat. Feathers usually flip and flutter in the air. Granted, Luz’s wind was a bit too light to show most natural movements.”

“Oh, do you want me to make it stronger next time?” Luz asked, looking at Amity instead of Lilith.

“I would prefer it,” Lilith said, her voice slightly strained.

“Just tell me yes or no, Lilith.” Luz muttered, digging in her pockets again.

Lilith frowned and narrowed her eyes at the human for a moment before decidedly ignoring it. Amity shuffled her feet and cleared her throat awkwardly. She opened her mouth to say something before slowly shutting it again, her eyes drawn to Lilith’s hands.

“Now, while Luz is searching for her glyph, I want you to try something a little heavier.” Lilith continued, turning back to her apprentice. “Perhaps a pencil rolling on the ground, or a sweater.” She said, raising a hand and gesturing with it.

“Of course, that depends on how strong the wind is, so let’s just try with something like a large leaf or…” Lilith paused.

The witch had suddenly gone still, staring at her mentor, face whiter than a sheet and pupils slitted so thin they were like a pen line.

“Amity?” Lilith said, brow creasing in worry.

She followed the witch’s gaze, which wasn’t necessarily on her, but rather her hand.

Her left hand, which she had been gesturing with, was suddenly gnarled and inflamed. Her nails are grown to claws and her skin had hardened into a scale-like texture.

“Luz!” Amity cried, stepping back. “Luz, she’s--it’s the--”

Luz jerked her head up, whirling back to the two. She saw Lilith staring in shock at her hand and in a flash, leapt to her feet.

“Amity, get back!” Luz warned, pulling out a fire glyph she had found in her search for a wind glyph.

Lilith hadn’t moved, transfixed at her hand. More scales popped up and her hand grew in size, feathers sprouting at her wrist and growing along her arm. She raised her other hand and noticed it was beginning to do the same.

She was thinking so much and nothing at all, a blend she despised but couldn’t stop.

,

“Lilith!”

She jerked her head up. Amity had stepped back, closer to Luz, but not close enough. Her eyes were wide and terrified, her ears pressed back.

Lilith had seen this position many times before, and that remembrance sent a spike of pain through her chest.

“Amity,” Lilith breathed, her voice raspy as feathers suddenly sprung up around her arms. “I’m-I’m okay,” She said quickly, reaching out before she sharply pulled back, remembering what her hand looked like.

“We need to go get Eda,” Luz said, grabbing Amity’s shoulder and pulling her gaze away. “Lilith, stay right where you are!”

“You know as well as I that once I am cursed I will have no say in the--”

Lilith’s retort was cut off as there was a loud rip and she snarled, her knees buckling beneath her. 

A single wing erupted from her back, soaked and mangled with black feathers that stretched far, far above her head. 

Amity jerked back, covering her mouth with her hand as she gasped. Luz turned to her, taking in her horrified look. A part of her would wonder if that’s how she looked during Eda’s transformations.

“We gotta go,” She said, turning Amity away from the sight. “Come on.”

Lilith’s transformation was increasing tenfold, and Luz could tell by her screams of anguish and the sound of flesh and bone ripping and remending behind her.

Luz grabbed Amity’s wrist and ran to the back door, throwing it open. She looked back for just a moment to usher Amity inside, and in those moments she swore she’d never been so scared for a woman like Lilith.

A second wing had grown from her back, were wet and limp. They hung at her sides like shades, and were shaped just like a ravens. She could see a similar jet-black tail poking out of her dress, also wet and tangled. Her hands were enlarged and scaled, with nails like claws. Her feet were worse, and had truly become massive talons. She was sure her legs were no different.

Feathers could be seen coming out of her sleeves and around her neck, sticking up at odd angles. Her ears had elongated, not to the extent of the owl beast, but long enough, with tufts of fur in them.

When Lilith looked up towards them, her eyes were jet black, and her pupils were the color of her eyes.

Luz grabbed Amity’s arm, about to yank the two of them inside the Owl House.

The second Luz touched Amity, and Luz swore it was the millisecond, Lilith’s lips curled back into a growl, exposing dagger-like fangs far too big for her mouth.

Faster than Luz thought possible for her, Lilith lunged towards them, her wings raised over her head and talons extended.

,

Luz yelped and shoved Amity through the door before grabbing and slamming it shut, wincing as she heard, and felt, Lilith ram her body against the wooden door, hissing and snarling as she clawed at it.

“E-Eda was...wasn’t like this...” Amity choked, holding her hands close and stepping away from the door, shaking.

“She was, you just weren’t here.” Luz shook her head, locking the back door and slipping through the kitchen. “The curse switches between a feral or mostly-normal state. Lilith must be too freaked out right now.”

Amity showed no sign of having heard her, only staring in silence at the closed back door.

Luz was about to try and comfort Amity when she paused. She waited and listened.

Not a sound.

Lilith had stopped attacking the door.

The realization chilled Luz to the bone. She took a step back and withdrew an ice glyph, nervously looking around.

“Amity, come h--”

The large kitchen window suddenly smashed to bits, sending glass and random kitchen items falling off the counter and scattering on the floor. Luz leapt forward and grabbed Amity, tugging the both of them down as she covered their heads with her cloak.

Lilith snarled and scrambled up, glass digging into her shoulders and still-wet wings. She dug her claws into the counter and pulled herself up, hissing as her eyes darted about the room.

Luz sprung up and threw her ice glyph, leading it to shoot out towards the cursed witch.

Lilith ducked and the spike went out the broken window. Lilith howled and grabbed the spike, climbing onto it with a shriek and running at the girls.

Luz rolled to the side and so did Amity. Luz stumbled to her feet and searched for another glyph, looking up just in time to see a claw swiping at her.

She jerked back, but Lilith’s claws grazed her face, and Luz quickly felt blood well up around her left eye and blurr her vision.

Lilith pulled back for a moment as Luz stumbled into the kitchen island and slumped to the ground, her breathing rapid as she raised a hand to her bloody eye.

The witch opened her mouth in a roar before a blast of magenta fire struck one of her wings.

She shrieked and flailed about, the dampness of her wings stopping it from catching ablaze as she spun around.

Amity was standing with fire hovering over her hand. She looked furious for a brief moment before terror quickly came back at the realization Lilith was now focused on her.

She attempted to throw another ball of fire at her as she stumbled back. Lilith snarled and lunged for her, her talons slamming into Amity’s shoulders and chest as the girl hit the wall and slumped to the ground, smaller than a mouse in the face of the beast.

Lilith’s wings arched over her head and her maw opened wide, flashing fangs that could split bones in half without a second thought. Amity winced and could only squeeze her eyes shut, turning her head away as Lilith’s claws dug into her flesh, surely creating scars.

Lilith lowered her head till it was inches away from Amity, unaware of the frantic footsteps and slamming of doors as someone ran down the stairs towards the kitchen, where Luz was frantically trying to grab at a plant glyph that had fallen out of her pocket.

She sniffed the girls hair, pausing and making a face that could almost be described as a frown. She clicked and rumbled, her jaw slowly shutting as Amity peeked open an eye.

Lilith tilted her head, eyes narrowed.

“Amity?” She said, her voice husky and growly, but clearly confused, and if Amity didn’t know any better...scared.

“Get off her!”

There was a flash of green, and a massive vine sprung out and wrapped around Lilith’s throat, tearing her off of Amity and sending her crashing to the floor.

Instead of Luz holding the other end of the vine, Amity whirred around to instead see Eda standing in the doorway, gripping the vine for dear life as Lilith thrashed and kicked about on the floor, with King standing behind her and clutching a golden bottle.

Lilith got right back to her feet, hissing and pulling against the vine with a roar. Eda yanked her sister closer, getting ready to take a bottle of elixir from King, who was holding it fearfully.

Luz wiped at the blood over her eye and rushed to Amity’s side. The girl was staring off into nothing, seeming to be in a state of shock. 

“Amity? Amity!” Luz waved her hands in front of Amity’s face and shook her shoulder frantically.

Amity perked up then, staring at Luz in surprise, like she had forgotten where she was. Her gaze instantly went to the blood trickling into the human’s eye.

“Luz, you--”

Amity reached for Luz, but they were both startled by a blood-curdling shriek, and both turned back to the fight going on just a few meters away.

Lilith was beating her wings, though they still couldn’t lift her off the ground. She tugged and pulled at the restraint, snapping her jaws. Eda barely dodged as she grabbed the elixir from King, hissing right back at the half-a-beast.

Faint scales were popping up on Eda’s hands, plus feathers on her arms. Luz figured that if there was a reason to worry of Eda transforming at this moment, Eda would’ve told them.

Granted, this entire situation was probably a cause for a concern or two. 

Lilith stepped back, her talons clacking against the tile and making a fragile one crack. Luz grabbed Amity and hoisted her to her feet, pulling the two of them back. She held Amity close to her protectively, never taking her non-bloody eye off the witch.

Lilith opened her mouth in another angry shriek, her wings raised high above her head and brushing the ceiling. Eda took her chance and sharply tugged Lilith forward, shoving the open bottle of elixir into Lilith’s mouth.

About half the bottle made its way into her throat before she spat it out, growling and nearly snapping off Eda’s ears for her troubles.

In moments, however, she began to calm.

Lilith’s wings shrunk, and the gnarly scales and size of her hands and feet began to grow fainter and fainter. Her legs gave out from under her, and Lilith tumbled to the floor in a heap.

Her wings were still visible, just far smaller now, and many of her feathers and glimpses of scales could be seen. But when she opened her eyes with a gasp, only one of her eyes were an inky black, the turquoise one completely normal.

A wave of relief swept through the room, and Eda finally relaxed, looking almost ready to fall herself. Luz slowly released Amity, letting the girl stand beside her. She held her sleeve to her eye again and glanced at the girl, who had her hands wringing together close to her chest, looking more anxious than the day before a test.

“Edalyn?” Lilith mumbled, her voice hoarse as she coughed.

She looked down at the bottle of elixir and recoiled, seeing her reflection in the glass. She lifted a hand to her face, feeling around her jet black eye.

King waddled over, brushing by Eda as he took the elixir and held it up to Lilith, out of everyone, giving her a sympathetic look.

Lilith swallowed and mumbled a thanks before drinking the rest of the elixir, shuttering and cringing as the rest of her transformation vanished back into her body.

“You alright?” Eda asked gruffly.

“I...I believe so.” Lilith nodded, still holding the elixir as she stared at the ground. “Is...is this...normal?”

“Wish it wasn’t,” Eda sighed, shaking her head, looking so much older than she already was. “You should’ve seen me when I had the whole curse on my back.”

Lilith’s flinch didn’t go unnoticed, but nobody mentioned it.

Eda’s gaze went to the girls then, and she sprung up the second she saw the blood Luz was trying to hide. She rushed around Lilith, taking Luz’s hand and pulling it away from her eye.

“Is it bad?” Luz asked quietly, looking up at Eda with wide eyes as she wiped away as much blood she could.

“...no,” Eda breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s a bit deep, but you’ll be fine. It just got above your eye, you’ll see.”

Lilith looked back around, shame and horror evident as King stood by the witch, shuffling his feet. She caught sight of Amity’s trembling state and began to sit up, but Eda beat her to it.

“Kid, hey,” Eda said softly, and Amity finally looked up at her. “Is anything broken?”

Amity swallowed and shook her head, looking like a small child after they’d gotten in trouble. She crossed her arms, like she was trying to hide the claw marks dug into her body and through her shirt.

Eda sighed and pulled her arms away right after, wincing at the sight.

“It doesn’t hurt that much,” Amity mumbled, avoiding her gaze.

“Amity,” Lilith breathed, shakily getting to her feet, using a nearby table to help herself up. “Amity, great Titan are you--” “She’ll live, Lilith.” Eda growled, not even sparing a look back.

Lilith slowly turned away, her eyes downcast as she stared at the ground, more specifically, at where her talon had cracked the tile.

“C’mon, let’s see if we can call that healer friend of yours. I’d rather try to avoid risking a hospital visit.” Eda sighed, gently placing an arm on Amity’s back.

Amity nodded numbly, letting Eda guide her past Lilith, who still refused to look up, and out of the kitchen.

Eda glanced at Lilith, and for a brief moment, her anger subsided, and it was replaced with dull sorrow. 

She sighed and continued on without a word.

,

King still stood where he was as Eda sat Amity on the couch, grabbing the few healing glyphs she had as Luz called Viney on Amity’s scroll. They fell into a quiet rhythm, trying to ease Amity’s pain before the shock wore off. Luz didn’t even start to worry about her own until Eda instructed her to do so.

King glanced towards Lilith, who was now slumped in a seat at the kitchen table. He fidgeted his claws for a moment before climbing onto one of the chairs and then onto the table, hesitantly walking over until he flopped down by Lilith’s head, which was buried in her arms.

“It’s not so bad,” King said, and Lilith peeked an eye out from behind her hair. “I mean, Eda used to eat any random animal she found in the woods. I’m pretty sure she actually made a small species of bird go extinct in this area.”

Lilith didn’t seem to lighten at all. She moved her arms to look at one of her hands, and King sucked in a breath.

Her fingers were still coated in blood, most of which had to be Amity’s.

“Do you…” King twitched his tail nervously. “Want a hand towel?” 

Lilith nodded, never taking her eyes off her hand.

King walked across the table and leapt onto the kitchen island and then to the counter. He picked up a towel that had fallen into the sink and dampened it underneath the faucet.

He carefully stepped around the broken glass, ignoring the smashed window, and jumped back over to the table, holding out the towel.

Lilith looked up then. She stared blankly at the towel for a few moments before taking it from King and wiping it over her hands.

King sat in front of her, lightly tapping his claws on the table, unsure of what to do. He shyly lay a paw on Lilith’s arm, wrapping his tail around himself.

Lilith paused and glanced at King, offering him a small forced smile before it fell again.

“I messed up again, didn’t I?”

King looked back through the kitchen door. Luz was sitting on the floor by Amity, holding paper towels to her eye as she talked to her on occasion before going back to talking on her scroll, presumably to Viney. Eda was still focused on healing the worst of Amity’s marks, her eyes glazed and not at all there.

“I mean, Eda did stuff like this before. I don’t think we can blame you for this one.” He said simply.

Lilith deflated, letting the towel fall back to the table as she hunched her shoulders.

“But, uh, I mean, the curse is different now.” King said quickly. “Once you get the hang of it, then you’ll be perfectly fine. Remember Eda’s last transformation? She was barely any different.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Lilith mumbled. “Edal...she went through decades of this,” She said quietly, curling her hands close to herself. “And now she had to see it from me.”

“She managed,” King shrugged. “I mean, now it’s better for her to deal with.”

“You…” Lilith turned to King before shaking her head. “You have a strange sense of grudges, you know that? You’re always focused on only the present, unless it’s something extremely personal that happened to only you.”

“Amity crushed my cupcake and that is unforgivable.” King huffed, crossing his arms. “But...yeah. I find it easier to focus on the now than the past.” He admitted, appearing to space out for a moment.

“And that’s why you never learn,” Lilith sighed.

“I said I prefer to focus on the present, that doesn’t mean I’m ignoring what happened.” King grumbled, narrowing his eyes. “Last I checked, I’m not the one who has the whole house still mad at her.”

Lilith looked away, holding her chin in her hand as she muttered, but quieted down pretty quickly.

King sat up and fumbled with his tail for a moment, continuously glancing back in the living room, where Amity was now laying back on the couch with Luz happily chatting to her without a care in the world.

His gaze went back to Lilith, who, in stark contrast to the lit living room, was sulking in the dark kitchen, the only light coming through the broken window, only reaching halfway across the table.

Then he finally noticed her back.

“Your bleeding!” King gasped, standing bolt upright.

“Oh, am I?” Lilith mumbled, raising her head and trying to turn back.

The glass that had stuck into her wings from crashing through the window had transferred to her back. Chunks of glass were sticking out, somehow making her black dress even darker as it soaked her upper back and shoulders.

“Eda, Eda!” King called, stumbling and falling off the table before springing right back up. “Lilith’s covered in glass!”

“I’m fine, King,” Lilith hissed, a bit frantic as she tried to reach for him. “I’ve had worse than a bit of…”

Lilith trailed off, spotting two red heels in the doorway. She slowly looked up, facing Eda watching her.

“...I’m okay,” Lilith said, slowly straightening up in her chair, obviously trying to hide a wince. “King’s just being anxious.” She said with a wave of her hand.

Eda huffed, storming over and grabbing Lilith’s shoulder, sharply turning her to get a look at her back, where King was fearfully pointing.

She looked over the injury for only a few moments before releasing her sister and dragging a hand down her face, exasperated.

“Turn around in your chair and I’ll get them out.” Eda sighed. “We’ve got a few spare healing glyphs somewhere, or I can make a few. Is there glass anywhere else?”

Lilith blinked up at her sister, too stunned for words. She shook her head, never taking her eyes off her.

“Just scrapes,” Lilith said quietly. “You don’t have to--”

“You think you can remove glass from your own back?” Eda raised a brow, crossing her arms.

“...I can manage.” Lilith mumbled.

“I can help!” King offered, raising a paw.

“Don’t ask King for help, he’s clumsier than Luz.” Eda said sternly, much to the demon's annoyance.

“Look, I know you don’t want to help me, and I know you’re worried about those two,” Lilith said, keeping her voice from snapping as she gestured towards the living room, where Luz and Amity were quietly talking.

“So please, spare me your pity.” Lilith said, crossing her arms on the table and laying her head on them, turning her head away.

Barely a few seconds later, there was a sudden pain in her back.

Lilith yelped and jerked up, feeling something slide out with a sting. She whirled around, seeing that Eda, with her bare hands, had pulled out a large chunk of glass from between her shoulder blades, revealing it was covered in blood.

“You know,” Eda said, placing the shard on the table in front of Lilith with more force than necessary. “For someone who managed to become the leader of the most powerful coven in the Isles, you’re the most stubborn, idiotic person I know.” She growled.

“You’re no treat yourself,” Lilith grumbled back.

“Nope, no, shut up, shut it.” Eda raised a finger. “This isn’t about one-upping each other. You’re so stubborn that you’d rather bleed out than admit that, for once in your life, you had no control over a situation.”

“I’m not going to die, Edalyn.” Lilith muttered.

“Yes, you’ll be fine, but you know as well as I that if you were that hurt, you still wouldn’t let me at least try to be nice to you.” Eda growled. “Face it, Lily, things are different now. And you don’t have a say in it anymore.”

Lilith gritted her teeth and curled her lip, flashing sharp rows of fangs. She gave a low growl, and Eda reciprocated, revealing her own fangs, her golden tooth noticeably longer than the others, as she gave a deeper growl.

The two stayed in a stare-off for a few seconds, causing King to fearfully hop off the chair, instead hiding underneath it.

That’s when the front door opened.

“Viney!” Luz’s voice drifted into the kitchen. “How did you--”

“I had Puddles fly me,” Viney replied, and you could faintly hear the sounds of cooing outside. “Amity, c’mere, let me see how much you guys managed to patch up.”

Lilith’s growling fell right then, Eda’s following a moment after. She turned her head downwards, her ears pressing back.

“You should go check on them,” She said softly.

“Yeah, I should.” Eda agreed, taking a step back as her eyes narrowed.

She continued to stare at Lilith for a moment longer, and her sister didn’t look up. King crawled out from under the chair, looking up at her with his tail hanging underneath him.

Eda opened her mouth to say something before slowly shutting it again, thinking.

“Tell them I’m sorry,”

Eda almost didn’t hear what Lilith said, her voice was quieter than a whisper. Eda blinked and looked her sister up and down.

“Tell them yourself.” She said instead.

She backed up further, the light coming through the kitchen entryway bathing her as she continued watching Lilith, who continued to sit at the dark table as she turned away.

With that, Eda walked out of the kitchen without another word.

King watched the doorway for a few moments, tuning out the words of the others before climbing back up onto the table by Lilith. He rested his head on her arm, closing his eyes as she used her other hand to stroke his back.

Her eyes stayed transfixed on the glass shard sitting in front of her, the blood already starting to dry on the wooden table.

In the stretching shadows, the shards in her back almost looked like spikes.

[wr1ter-reader-dreamer]

Angel (Pt. 4)

Harry Styles x Reader

A/N: This one was inspired by Harry’s song Only Angel. It’s five parts in total. If you like it, be sure to give it a reblog and check out the other parts linked below. Thanks, and enjoy <3

Warnings: Slight jealousy, some making out. Swearing. It’s long. Seriously. 

Masterlist

Part 1  -  Part 2  -  Part 3  -  Part 5

Forty-five minutes later, I was all dolled up and in a cab on the way to the house where the after party was being held. Now that the situation with Harry was resolved, I was free to relax and fully enjoy my accomplishment. I had been working toward becoming a Victoria’s Secret Angel since I was eleven years old, and now, eleven years later, I finally was. 

Giddy with excitement, I pulled out my phone to text Harry and tell him that I was close. He replied almost instantly, like he’d been waiting for me.

‘Good. I’ll be out back by the pool.’

I nodded to myself and put my phone away since the cab was pulling up to the house. Thanking and paying the cabbie, I stepped out. My stomach filled with nervous excitement, and I couldn’t help but grin as I looked up at the bustling house.

It was a modern two story with large windows that allowed me to see the party in full swing inside. Music could be heard thumping at the windows, and people could be seen walking around and mingling. I caught sight of Elsa on the second floor, looking out the window at the city, and waved when she saw me. Her face split into a wide smile, to which I smiled back, and she motioned for me to meet her downstairs. Nodding at her enthusiastically, I made my way to the large front door.

The music was louder inside, the deep bass thumping through my heart immediately. I smiled and waved at a few of the girls and other people I knew as my eyes searched for Elsa. It didn’t take me long to find her quickly descending the stairs, eyes searching for me.

“Elsa!” I called when I spotted her.

She squealed and rushed to pull me into a hug, “Y/N, you made it!”

I chuckled at her enthusiasm and returned her hug, “Ya, sorry I’m late. I had something I needed to take care of.”

“Oh?” she asked, pulling back to look at me, “Is everything alright?”

“Oh ya, it just took a while,” I said with a reassuring smile.

“Good, now let’s get you a drink.”

Elsa kept me close to her side for the next hour, insisting on getting some alcohol in me and taking me to see the other girls. Every time I tried to break away, telling her I was supposed to be meeting someone, she protested and demanded that I stayed with her a little longer. Knowing how she could get when she drank and not wanting to upset my best friend out of the girls, I stayed. But time was ticking and I knew Harry had to be wondering where I was, if he was still waiting at all.

Finally Elsa became engrossed in a conversation with some photographer, and I was able to slip away. I knew she wouldn’t miss me so I didn’t feel bad about ditching her, especially since I had Harry waiting for me. 

I moved quickly through the crowd in the house, making my way out to the pool. The view caused me to pause in my search for just a moment, insisting that I take in the lights in the trees and the fields in the valley below. Shaking it off before I could get too sucked in, I searched the crowd for my childhood love.

There was a makeshift dance floor and a DJ booth set up to one side of the pool. A large crowd was dancing, and I briefly wondered how all these people got invited before moving my attention the the couched and chairs around the pool. Some groups were smaller than others, and there were even some people in the pool, but I couldn’t find Harry anywhere.

Sighing, I moved closer to the dance floor, hoping that he was over there. After a few moments of scanning the crowd, I was about ready to give up when I spotted his soft brown curls.

I realized that the reason I hadn’t been able to see him before was because he was laying down on one of the couches that had its back to me. Now, I saw that his head was on the lap of one of his band members, the woman who had played the drums. In fact he was surrounded by women, models to be precise. I rolled my eyes at how the young women leaned forward and ogled him as he spoke. Harry just basked in the attention, the exact same attention whore he had been since we were younger.

As Harry laughed, pushing himself up and out of his bandmate’s lap, I considered turning around, going back to Elsa, and getting black-out drunk. Harry was the same as he’d always been. He had always loved attention, especially the attention of pretty women, and right now, he had the attention of a lot of pretty women. I honestly didn’t know how I could compete with that, and I was jealous. I was now willing to admit that I was jealous of the attention he gave those women because I still loved him, and because of that, I didn’t want to be sober anymore.

Just as I was about to turn around and go drown myself in a bottle of vodka, Harry caught site of me. His entire face lit up, granting me with a large, genuinely happy smile and a view of his dimples. Looking away only briefly, he made a quick excuse to his group and in turn earned a knowing smile from his bandmate. Then he was pushing himself up and practically bounding over to me.

I couldn’t help but laugh, my heart melting at his enthusiasm. He was like a big puppy, so happy to see his person after a long day away. I realized that I was that person he was so excited to see, but refused to think about what that meant.

“Angel, you finally made it!” Harry called over the music, engulfing me in a giant hug as soon as he reached me.

“Hey, Harry,” I laughed, hugging him back.

I could feel the eyes of the models Harry had just left watching us as we stayed connected a few seconds longer than appropriate, but I didn’t care. Harry’s hugs had always been my favorite. He held you so close and secure, you just couldn’t help but feel safe. His hug brought out all of the feelings I was never good at hiding and didn’t want to deny anymore.

All too soon Harry squeezed me tighter then released me, pulling back to look me over. He whistled lowly and appreciatively at what he saw.

“Damn,” he swore, biting his lip, “you look gorgeous.”

I blushed a little but smiled. Alessandra and Elsa had helped me pick this dress months ago when I was first told I’d be walking as an official Angel, wings and all. I was worried that it was too much, but they both insisted that I looked amazing and this was the perfect place to wear it. Now, seeing Harry’s face, I was glad I did.

The dress was essentially simple, all tight black material clinging to my curves and stopping mid thigh. The stunning part was the neckline. A black collar twisted around my neck then parted at my chest, remaining open in a deep V that stopped just above my belly button. A harness shaped chain of crystals held the two sides closed and wrapped around my shoulders to drape delicately down the open back. At first I was self-conscious about putting so much skin on display, but considering I had just walked a globally broadcasted fashion show in nothing but lingerie and heels, I decided it really didn’t matter.

“Thank you,” I answered, giving Harry the same inspection he gave me, “You look pretty good yourself.”

He took a step back and did a little spin so I could see his outfit fully, making me laugh. He was wearing fitted black jeans and an open black suit jacket. Underneath was a loose fitting sky blue shirt with little white flower-like symbols on it. The shirt was halfway unbuttoned, leaving his smooth skin and a simple silver cross on display. When he moved, the swallows on his chest played peek-a-boo through the opening. His short hair sat as messy chocolate curls, a perfectly styled mess. All in all, he looked every bit the heart throb we both knew he truly was.

“Thanks, angel,” he grinned.

“Of course, but that sure is a lot of skin on display tonight, Mr. Styles,” I teased, trigging on the lapel of his jacket.

Harry laughed, dimples on full display, “You’re one to talk. Aren’t you afraid you’ll get cold wearing this dress in December?”

I shrugged, a coy smile tugging at the corners of my lips, “No. I figured if I got cold it’d be easy enough to find a man willing to lend me his jacket.”

“You’re not wrong there, love,” He said, glancing around, “you’ve already got them all starin’.”

I rolled my eyes internally, knowing full well that this wasn’t even the most revealing outfit here. It was obvious to me that Harry was jealous, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me kind of giddy. Seeing Harry again and resolving our past was bringing up feelings I’d been burying since I saw pictures of him and Taylor Swift for the first time. I had missed him and all the fun we’d had together. I was scared to admit it, but I hoped that the way he was acting, his choice to release that song, meant that he missed me too. Most of all, I hoped he wanted me back too.

Deciding that teasing Harry was fun, and that I wanted to see more of his jealous side, I looked around, “Really, you think so? ‘Cause I haven’t had a boyfriend in a long time, and I wouldn’t mind finding a cute one.”

“Well I might know of a pretty cute guy who’s been looking for an Angel,” Harry hummed, pulling me against his chest.

“Ya?” I grinned as I placed my hands on his shoulders.

He nodded, “Ya, and right now he’d like to ask that Angel to dance.”

“I don’t know,” I teased, “if it’s who I think it is, this Angel might not want to dance with him.”

“And why the hell not?” Harry asked, pulling away in mock offense.

I grinned at him, disconnecting myself and preparing to run, “Because if I remember correctly, he’s not a very good dancer, and I have a reputation to uphold.”

He growled and lunged after me, but I just laughed and took off running toward the house the best I could in six inch heels. Harry caught me in no time, picking me up from behind and spinning me around. I squealed and giggled, drawing attention to us but not caring. Harry growled again, nipping at my ear as he carried me toward the dance floor. I laughed again, stilling in his arms so he didn’t accidentally drip me as he walked. 

“We’ll see about me being a bad dancer,” Harry growled, placing me down on the edge of the dance floor and spinning me around to face him.

I chuckled as I stumbled against him, “Whatever you say Mr. Styles.”

Turning back around, I pressed my back against him front. I took a second to listen to the music, letting the heavy bass take root in my heart, before I started moving against him. The music guided my hips, prompting me to roll and dip with the beats. Harry stood behind me, stunned for a few moments, but quickly recovered and placed his hands on my hips. Matching the movement of his hips to mine, he danced with me. With a smile on my face, I slid my hand up to tangle my fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. He pulled me closer and buried his face in my neck, pressing a kiss there. I closed my eyes and basked in the feeling of Harry dancing against me. 

It had been a long time since I had danced with Harry. The last time was when I was 17, the same night we slept together for the first time. He had rented out the club with his bandmates and thrown a party. I tagged along with my brother, hoping to blow off some steam after a hard week, but never expecting that my crush would tell me he liked me back. I wore some skimpy shorts and a top, typical club attire, and Harry was pissed. He didn’t like all of the male attention I was getting, especially since a lot of it was coming from his bandmates. So when I moved to the dance floor and started dancing, he followed me. 

That night Harry was quick to press against me, immediately matching my moves and whispering in my ear that I was asking for trouble. I just turned around and asked him how I could get into trouble with him always around to protect me. After that we danced for hours, and at the end of the night he kissed me and told me he’d been waiting to do that for years. I went home with him for the first time after that, and even knowing everything that happened after, I’d do it again in a heart beat. 

“So,” Harry spoke up, pulling at my side to get me to turn around to face him, “still think I’m a bad dancer?”

I smiled up at him and wrapped my arms around his neck, “No, I never did. I was just teasing you.”

“Of course you were,” he huffed, pulling me even closer, “You always were a tease.”

I shrugged, “Your reactions are funny.”

“Hmmm, you think so, angel?” Harry hummed, leaning down to press his forehead against mine.

The music changed, playing the first slower song I’d heard since arriving. I didn’t recognize it, but it was obvious that Harry did because he smiled down at me. I realized why a few moments later when his voice drifted through the air. Rolling my eyes at his obvious pleasure over them playing his song, I allowed him to sway us to the beat. We danced in silence, simply enjoying each other’s company. I laid my head on Harry’s chest and listened to the words of his song. It was soft and sad, but still good. I began to realize that I had been missing out by not listening to his album before.

“What’s the song about?” I asked, propping my chin on Harry’s chest to look up at him.

“This one?” he asked as he looked down at me.

I rolled my eyes but smiled at him, “What other song would I be talking about?”

He shrugged and returned my smile, “I don’t know what goes on in your crazy mind.”

I rolled my eyes again and nudged him, “So what’s it about?”

“Just drifting apart from an old girlfriend,: he answered with a sheepish smile.

I frowned, beginning to get suspicious of his avoidance of the question. Why didn’t he want me to know who it was about?

“Which one?” I asked, pulling back to look at him better.

Harry averted his eyes but answered, “Taylor.”

I made a face, old feelings of jealousy and resentment rising to the surface. I loved Taylor Swift’s music, and I thought she was an amazing person, but thinking about Harry’s relationship with her still upset me. She was, after all, the woman I thought he left me for. She was definitely a sore subject. Clearing my throat, I untangled myself from his arms and moved off the dance floor. 

“Angel? Where are you going?” Harry asked, following close behind me.

“I don’t feel like dancing anymore,” I answered as I made my way to the back door, “I’d rather get a drink.”

He frowned, “I’m sorry, but I wan’t going to lie to you.”

Turning back over my shoulder, I shot him a small smile, “I know, Harry. It’s ok, I just need a drink.”

“Well, then let me get my angel a drink,” Harry said, taking my hand and moving in front to lead me to the kitchen.

After weaving through the crowd in the interior of the house, we made it to the kitchen. Harry didn’t ask what I wanted, but went ahead and made me a Malibu and Sprite.

“You remembered,” I laughed as I took the cup from his outstretched hand.

“Of course,” he said, leaning on the counter beside me, “It was the only thing that didn’t make you gag.”

I shrugged, no longer ashamed by my intolerance for the taste of alcohol, “It’s not my fault alcohol tastes so bad.”

Harry chuckled and opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a call of my name from behind us. We turned to find one of my fellow Angels in the doorway, a large smile on her pretty face.

“Hey Romee,” I said, turning my body to face her more fully, “what’s up?”

She held her empty cup as she moved further into the kitchen, “Just needed a refill.”

I nodded, but didn’t say anything as I watched her mix a drink. Romee was a relatively new Angel too, having been added just two years before me, but we weren’t close. Ever since I had been announced as the newest Angel she had been cordial, but somewhat cold. I had tried to show her that I wasn’t there to replace her, but it didn’t matter, we would never be friends.

“So,” Romee said after taking a sip of her freshly made drink, “are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

I fought the urge to role my eyes, unsurprised by her request. It was no secret that I grew up with Harry, and it would be obvious to anyone who had seen us together tonight that we were close. It was also obvious that Harry was a very handsome, very eligible young man, so of course Romee wanted the chance to properly flirt with him.

“Harry, this is Romee Strijd,” I said, “and Romee, this is Harry Styles.”

Romee smiled as she extended her hand out to Harry, “It’s nice to meet you, Harry.”

“You too, love,” Harry answered, giving her a charming smile as he bowed slightly to kiss her hand.

She giggled and twirled a strand of hair around her finger, “Wow, what a gentleman. Where have you been all night?”

This time I did roll my eyes, taking a giant swig of my drink as Harry answered, “Oh you know, just looking for an angel.”

Romee smirked, taking a step forward so she could rest her hand on his chest, “Well lucky you, you found one.”

Jealousy reared its ugly head in my chest, flooding my body with heat and urging me to grab that bitch by the hair and haul her away from my man. But then Harry shot me a look over her shoulder that calmed me down. His eyes were playful, telling me that he knew what she was doing, and he wouldn’t fall for it.

“You’re right,” Harry said, smiling and stepping around her so he could wrap an arm around my shoulder, “and she’s right here.”

A smug smile slipped onto my features as Harry pressed a kiss to the side of my head, and Romee’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. She definitely wasn’t expecting that.

“I see,” Romee said, her features relaxing into an obviously fake smile, “you’ve stumbled across the newest addition to our ranks.”

“I wouldn’t say stumbled, more like finally found what I’ve been searching for,” Harry answered without taking his eyes off of me.

I smiled up at him and laughed when Romee just huffed and walked away.

Harry made a face at me, “Oops, did I just get you in trouble?”

I shrugged and turned so that I could wrap both hands around his waste, “I don’t care. The look on her face was worth it.”

He chuckled, leaning down to bump his nose against mine, “It was pretty great, wasn’t it?”

I scrunched my nose up and nodded. It was great to see him chose me over Romee. It was even better to hear that he had been searching for me. He may have thought I’d given up on him, but he hadn’t given up on me.

“So,” I started, my tone teasing, “you’ve been searching for me?”

Harry blushed but didn’t deny it, instead closing to tuck a piece of hair that had fallen from its place back behind my ear.

When he didn’t answer, I chose to keep teasing him, “So what is it about me exactly that you’ve missed enough to search for me?”

He rolled his eyes, “Definitely not how much you love teasing me.”

“Hey!” I protested, smacking his chest with my hand, “You like it when I tease. It means I’m giving you attention.”

“I guess that is true,” he conceded with a smile.

“You still haven’t answered.”

Harry sighed and looked up at the ceiling, “Well, let’s see. Your smile…” He paused to trace my lips with his thumb, “your laugh…” This time he tickled my sides, causing me to giggle, “your voice…” He paused again, a smirk tugging at his lips, distracting me from the path his hands were taking, “your ass.”

With that he smacked my ass causing me to screech out his name. He just laughed, letting me slip out of his arms as I pushed away.

“Harry Styles,” I said, hands on my hips and a stern expression on my face, “just what do you think you’re doing?”

He shrugged, still smirking as he took a step toward me, “Just answering your question, angel.”

I huffed and crossed my arms over my chest, “I was giving you the opportunity to be sweet but you ruined it.”

“C’m on angel, you know I’m just a dirty boy at heart,” he said innocently, still advancing toward me, “I can’t help it.”

Rolling my eyes, I took a step back, trying to keep distance between us. I knew from experience that we were treading in dangerous waters, and keeping our distance was probably the best option. Unfortunately for me, the kitchen didn’t agree, and the next time Harry took a step forward, my back made contact with the other counter.

“Shit,” I breathed as Harry crowded into my space, securing his hands on the counter on either side of me.

“You’re mine now,” he growled playfully, face only a hair’s width away from mine.

“Oh ya?” I asked, my eyes glued to his lips, “and what are you going to do with me?”

“‘m gonna kiss you,” he breathed.

He waited only a second to make sure I wasn’t going to protest before closing the distance between us. Our lips crashed together, each of us pouring years of pent up emotions into the kiss. Without missing a beat, I opened my mouth for him as I ran my hands up his chest to tangle my fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. Harry moaned lowly when I gave a sharp tug, chasing me to grin into the kiss. This only spurred him on more, as he pushed himself against me harder and deepened the kiss.

I moaned when Harry bit my lip, and he responded by grabbing my hips and lifting me onto the counter. My legs parted for him naturally as he slotted himself between them. Now that I could feel his hardening member pressed up against me, I couldn’t stop my hands from wandering down. Panting against Harry’s lips, I stroked his clothed member once before gripping it tightly. He moaned again, this time louder than before, stoking the fire inside me. Matching his moan with a small whimper of my own, my hands scrambled for the button of his pants.

“Angel,” Harry moaned, his voice sounding pained.

“Harry,” I answered back with determination as my fingers finally managed to pop open his button.

“Angel, wait,” he said more forcefully this time, covering my hands with his own and stopping me from unzipping his zipper.”

“Why?” I whine, still trying to accomplish my goal.

Harry chuckled lowly but didn’t move his hands, “Angel, we can’t do this here.”

Frowning, I looked up at him with pouty eyes, “Why not?”

“Y/N,” he raised a brow and took a step back, “I really don’t think you want to risk someone walking in on us.”

With that minuscule distance, the lustful haze lifted from my mind just enough for me to remember where we were. My eyes widened comically and I cursed, causing Harry to laugh.

“That’s what I thought,” he chuckled, buttoning his pants.

“I can’t believe I almost fucked you in the kitchen of a house where there are at least a hundred people partying,” I blinked, still a little dazed from that kiss.

“Me neither,” Harry said, clearly amused as he helped me down from the counter and covered me while I fixed my dress, “I would never expect such deviant behavior from my angel.”

I rolled my eyes and slapped his chest, now fully back to reality, ���Shut up! It’s not my fault I got carried away. I haven’t been fucked in five years.”

“Wait, what?” Harry stopped, eyes wide at my admission, “You haven’t had sex in five years?”

I blushed, but nodded, “Not since the last time with you.”

“Why not?”

I blushed even harder, “No one ever came close enough to you to catch my attention.”

“Is that right?” Harry asked with a smug expression, gathering me back into his arms.

I rolled my eyes, “Well that and the fact that I was always too busy to really look.”

“Well it sounds like you, my angel, are in need of a good fucking.”

I scrunched up my nose at his crude way of putting it, but didn’t bother denying it. Instead I said, “Think you could help me out with that?”

Harry grinned, lust lighting up his eyes, “It would be my pleasure.”

[beautifulbows924]

Defending Beauty

Lucifer (Supernatural) x Reader

Masterlist

(Set after Season 11- Jack doesn’t exist in this timeline, and Chuck & Lucifer have repaired their relationship to an extent. Lucifer is living at the bunker, and so is Gabriel (who was kidnapped by asmodeus, but was found earlier in this timeline). The archangels will occasionally help out on hunts when the hunters need a helping hand).

A/N: Hey everyone. Wow! I keep starting these little things I get inspired to write and then I forget about them or I don’t think they are good enough to post- but I swear I’m getting back into writing (FINALLY). I’ve been really into reading supernatural angel fanfiction lately, so this was born out of that. I should have some more fanfics up soon with other Supernatural characters (Castiel and Gabriel cough cough). Remember to feel free to request for Supernatural (or anything I write about really). I love you all! I’m so excited to be getting extremely close to 2000 followers. I’ll have to do some kind of Challenge or something once I reach the goal. As always I hope you enjoy, feel free to leave any feedback:)

Word Count: 1750+

Warnings: FLUFF, Angst?, Good guy Lucifer? (Reformed), Strong Language, Typical SPN Violence, and Suggestive Themes.

Summary: Reader has always been kind to Lucifer, who seems to be misjudged by everyone in his life. The Winchester brothers don’t like this, and have no problem letting them both know it.

“Why do you feel the need to defend him!? He’s the goddamn Devil!”, Dean yelled, face close to yours with his hands clenched in anger.

“Because Dean! Lucifer is real and he isn’t just some little red man with horns and a pitchfork tail. He is beautiful, because he’s an angel and he used to be God’s Favorite”, You paused to take a deep breath, venom seeping into your words, “Just because all you and Sam want to see of him is the devil- you can’t even take a look around and see him for who truly he is. He may be a fallen angel, but he’s the only angel I’d ever get on my knees for. Even GOD himself has forgiven him Dean, so don’t patronize me for agreeing.”

You glared at him, challenging him with every word.

“Well now I know why on every hunt it looks like all you want to do is suck his dick!”

“Dean enough”, Sam said softly from behind his brother. His voice getting louder when he started to address you, “We’re just worried about- how close you seem to be with him. I know you weren’t around for a lot of the apocalypse stuff, but he hurt us a lot. We don’t want to see that happen to you too”, He confessed.

“You don’t choose who I spend my time with. Gabriel has “hurt” both of you and yet neither of you have any issues with me hanging out with him. The only reason we are having this conversation is because you don’t like that I appreciate his help. Why? Because he’s the “Devil”. So what? He’s proved time and time again that he can be trusted. Hell he just saved Sam from Death yet again! But no, only you two get to choose who receives forgiveness- who gets a pass when it’s convenient for you. If I remember correctly Cas started an apocalypse too, so stop being hypocrites when it comes to Lucifer. He hasn’t even asked for your forgiveness, but the way both of you treat him is ridiculous. Grow the fuck up.”

You swiftly turned away from both of them, the sound of your heavy footsteps echoing off the bunker walls. You couldn’t believe Dean- all Lucifer ever did was help and he couldn’t stop treating him like some kind of monster. He had come immediately and helped save his brother’s life, but nothing was ever good enough for him. Either of them.

You scoffed at the thought of what Lucifer would think of this outburst. Sam and Dean hated how you viewed Lucifer, and it was obvious your feelings were more than just simple respect. You felt like such an insignificant human with a crush on a mighty archangel, God’s favorite of all things. Your door slammed shut behind you, and with a quiet sigh you laid down on your bed. Your hands pressed against your face in frustration of the prior events.

The fluttering of wings startled you, whipping your head around you turned to see Lucifer leaning casually against your headboard. Anyone else would have missed the slight narrowed look to his eyes and the left tilt his head made sometimes when he was trying to figure something out, but you weren’t just anyone.

“How much did you hear?”, You asked, hoping to get this conversation out of the way as quickly as possible.

He seemingly ignored your question, shifting closer to where you were seated at the edge of the bed.

“You know I never wanted to experience something as stupid or as dangerous as love. And to love a human? It’s simply beyond comprehension-”

“You don’t have to rub it in Lucifer, I understand”, You said, cutting him off before you had to bear the rest of your heart shattering in your chest.

You didn’t know what response you were expecting, but you jumped a bit when strong arms wrapped around your waist and a head leaned against your back. It was comforting and you allowed it, thinking it may be the last chance you would get to do so with the archangel.

“I don’t think you understand Y/N. I may be a fallen angel, but I wasn’t supposed to fall for you. It was never in my plans to let any of humanity into my heart- and if Hell were to see me now they would scoff at my sincerity”, Lucifer said, holding onto you tighter as if you might slip through his fingers at any moment.

You turned a bit to face him again, his arms still wrapped around you. He looked up, blue eyes meeting yours and you swore that you could make out a hint of vulnerability swirling there.

“Lucifer- I uh, I care about you quite a bit, and I don’t know if that’s what you mean regarding how you feel about me but-”, Your words were stopped suddenly at the feeling of cold lips pressed to yours. You were frozen at first, until you realized what was happening and returned the kiss passionately. A hand instinctively reached up and tangled into his hair tugging on it a bit. He groaned and gripped your hips pulling you into his lap. You gasped at the sudden movement, allowing his forked tongue to make its way into your mouth. You fought for dominance, but he quickly won against you. The kiss lasted for as long as possible before you needed to breathe.

You pushed on his shoulder with the hand that had been resting in his hair to signal for him to lay back against the bed. You laid down against him, your head on his chest listening to his heart beat, right hand absentmindedly playing with his t-shirt. His arm wrapped around your waist, drawing soft circles with his fingers.

“Was that- I mean, What was that?”, You whispered softly to him, confusion seeping into your voice as you wondered if he could really feel the same way about you.

He laughed a bit, smiling down at you. “You are an odd little creature aren’t you, do we need to do a repeat of the last 5 minutes as proof of how I feel?”

You blushed at this, the way he was holding you almost felt like confirmation enough, but you couldn’t help your need to know for certain.

“I just can’t believe that happened”, You pressed further, “It almost feels like a dream”.

The hand that was still rubbing circles into your side, pinched your skin softly. “No dreams here, little human. Although, I heard a mention of you on your knees earlier, and that sounds like quite the dream to me”.

You laughed a bit at that looking up at him, “Sweet moment ruined”, you said.

“Me sweet? Never”, He said gesturing with his hand to himself.

You leaned up a bit to press his lips to yours again. He smiled into the kiss and you pulled back to see the brightest smile you had ever seen grace his features. You couldn’t help but smile back in pride that you had caused such a look.

“How long have you had feelings for me?”, You asked suddenly, curious as to when he realized it.

He looked away a little at that, you would swear he even seemed embarrassed at the posing of your question. You laced your fingers with his, giving his hand a tight squeeze in encouragement.

He scratched the back of his neck with his free hand, “When I first came back to the bunker after my father helped me to reform my vessel. You were the one who would ask me to do things with you. You would read to me when I would sit next to you on the couch. I wouldn’t even have to ask- you would just suddenly switch from reading in your head to aloud as if it was customary. You would always have coffee ready for me in the morning when you realized that despite my angelic status I enjoyed it. And when it came to Sam, Dean, Gabriel, or even My Father himself. You would defend me, the devil, Satan- you looked past how everyone viewed me and truly saw me. I don’t know if I can ever make up for the mistakes I’ve made in the past, but I would like to start by learning to see humanity, angels, everyone the way you do. Kind and without any judgement. Somehow you’ve changed me, my little human”.

He breathed in shakily, before speaking again, “And earlier today when you prayed to me. I was terrified- me”, He laughed without humor, “I thought I might show up and find you dead, taken from me. I would never be able to forgive myself if something happened to you on my watch”.

You could see the pain in his eyes at the thought of losing you, “I’m not planning on leaving you anytime soon Lucifer, my angel”, You said softly, caressing his cheek with your hand.

He hummed in response.

“Since I first laid eyes on you, I noticed how lonely you seemed. How you would hide behind your hard stares and smirks. I wanted to treat you without looking through the eyes of others, especially knowing how well most of them judge character”, You laughed taking a pause, “I started noticing the way you’d gravitate closer towards me whenever we were in a room with others, and I liked the idea of us. A cherry red color became my fate when anyone would point it out, or notice it too. Because I never thought that you would want me as anything else other than a way to feel less alone.”

“I’m glad I was wrong”, You murmured softly into his neck, leaving a kiss there and continuing all the way up his jawline until you kissed his lips roughly.

“Me too”, He said, pulling away to look at you directly in the eyes, then settling you back into his arms.

You yawned quietly, your head resting on his chest again.

He laughed a little bit at the noise, but leant down to place his lips against your forehead.

When your eyes closed he told you, “Get some rest my little human, I’ll watch over you”.

He tried to pull away, but you snuggled further into his embrace and whispered, “Please stay”.

“Of course”, He responded quietly, knowing there was nowhere else he would rather be.

The comforting feeling of his arms wrapped around you as he whispered sweet words of nothing into your ear, lulled you right to sleep.

True to his word, Lucifer watched over you all night.

And God couldn’t help but smile in the morning, when he saw you and Lucifer together. Lucifer finally trusting a human enough to sleep in their arms, even if he didn’t need to.

*Thanks for reading! Leave a Note or Reblog if you Enjoyed it* ~Rose💛

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[needs-to-stop-looking-at-valves]

Let's say Megatron wants to have his Bride and Knockout wreck him to Pit and back, but Bride is still feeling petty over the whole 'Knockout is pretty' incident. So when dear doctor comes fully prepared and with clear experience of what his liege likes best, the two of them get a bit... Competitive. ~G🏩

(what can I say, your KO x Megs headcanons have some amazing hardcore stuff💥 If you feel like it, go wild with the scenario)

Let’s do this, let’s fuck up tits mcgee up here.

*this WILL include rough shit. Maybe overloading in wounds, maybe a shock stick up the valve- I’m making it up as I go along. But this isn’t for everyone, this is what MEGATRON would want. You have been warned.

“YOU’RE NOTHING BUT A TIN CANNED WHORE!”

You could feel your vocal processor strain under your screams. You thought Megatron telling Knockout he was pretty was just him being an absolute dick bag. But no. Megatron had the gall. The NERVE to actually invite the medic to your berth. Knockout wasn’t even THAT attracted to Megatron. He just liked the big, powerful mechs giving him compliments and making him feel good. It’s why he just sat there and watched as you threw yet another vase at your sparkmate. This one hit him square in the chest, making him swear. He found you gorgeous while you were angry, but he knew better than to push it when you were in the throwing stage.

“You said I could invite ANYONE to the berth, so long as you were here too!”

“Not HIM! I’m a SEEKER, he’s a GROUNDER. You shouldn’t even be LOOKING at him!”

You threw a plate this time, barely missing his face. You were known for your tantrums, and while he found it stunning, he was also terribly fearful of getting too close. Hell hath no fury like a seeker scorned. You were looking around for something else to throw, before Knockout stood up, hands gently raised in hopes of getting you to stop, just for a moment.

“As much as I’m into watching a meltdown, why don’t we cool it down, just a bit? There’s no need to be jealous. Starscream is just as prideful as you, but even HE concedes that I’m pretty much a piece of art.”

You turned to look at him. This red tricycle actually had the nerve to say YOU were jealous. Your anger turned towards him now.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m saying there’s a reason why he wants him to frag him stupid. I’m gorgeous, I’m small, I’m quick witted, I can bring him to his knees in a sparkbeat- really stop me at any time.”

This ground pounder HONESTLY thought he could hold a candle to you. You couldn’t believe it. You folded your arms across your chest, arms perked all the way up, just in time to catch his attention.

“You think fragging him is just so easy, don’t you? It isn’t. He’s nothing but a hog in metal skin.”

“I just don’t think you know what you’re doing. Watch. Big M, on your knees. Now.”

“What?”

Knockout suddenly brought out his shockstick, and jammed it right into Megatron’s bust. After a cry of pain, he was brought to his knees, lightly swearing. You were about to kick his aft for hurting your Megatron (as much as he deserved it), when Knockout grabbed a hold of his chin, forcing his gaze upon him, and him alone.

“Pay attention, my liege. I don’t want to repeat myself. Now, be good, and open up that panel for me.”

Megatron obeyed promptly, and you watched as his shockstick was used to slowly rub against his big spike. Knockout looked at you, looking almost bored as the warlord slowly grinded against the weapon’s end.

“See, you really think I can’t do what you can do. You don’t think I can’t be pretty AND fuck his processor out. And all without wings. Take a gander. He isn’t even looking at you. It’s funny, how I could be his little bride, all without the tantrums and rules. I’m the medic. I know exactly what his body needs. You wanna cum already, don’t you big M?”

He looked down at the mech on the floor, and he nodded furiously. You had your wings spread out and everything, yet, this medic had ALL of his attention. Knockout tore his weapon away, before slamming his pede right on that spike. Megatron threw his helm back in a loud swear, and he overloaded, right over his pede. You wanted to throw Megatron out like yesterday’s garbage. How DARE he overload so quickly and easily? Knockout snickered as he dug his pede into him, forcing more beads of overload to dribble out of him, all with him groaning in clear satisfaction. Knockout lifted his pede up, and pushed it towards his drooling face.

“Clean me. Now.”

Megatron held onto his pede, and like the slut he was, he lapped up all of his overload clean off his pede. He did so hungrily, eager to satisfy. Knockout looked towards you, and had the nerve to fan you away, like some service drone.

“Why don’t you go and yell at some Steves? I’ll take care of him. Clearly you can’t.”

You couldn’t believe it. Megatron even went so far as to KISS his pede once he was finished. And Knockout didn’t even look mildly aroused. That was when you had an idea.

“Alright, how about this, you absolute stain. Let’s BOTH make this loser overload. Then, once he’s all dried up, we’ll see who HE likes best.”

“Megatron admitting I’M the fairest con on board the Nemesis….what bragging rights. Alright, deal. Just don’t scratch the paint once you lose, ‘bride of Megatron’”

He snapped his servos, finally making Megatron stop with the pede kissing. You both decided that as your ‘guest’, Knockout could go first. Knockout helped himself to your berth, sighing as he sank into the sheets.

“Oooh that is some soft stuff right there. Megatron, buy me these pillows once we’re done here, Breakdown would love these.”

And you thought Megatron was a whore. Knockout was here, toying with another mech, while he already had a hunk of a mech at home, waiting for him. Greedy. Megatron looked over at you in almost permission, before Knockout jabbed his shockstick right into Megatron’s neck, really getting throughout his frame. Megatron turned to look at him. Knockout shot him a grin, and after exposing his valve panel, made a ‘come here’ motion with his servo.

“Get over here. Show me what the pits of Koan have to offer~”

Megatron didn’t even hesitate. He was on that berth like a fly to shit, and his spike was in him faster than you could say ‘slut’. Megatron thrusted into him in a hungry, forceful fury, much to Knockout’s delight. It was funny, despite the fact that Megatron was on top, Knockout was the one in charge.

“You feel SO good-”

“Less talking, more fucking me. Make your little bride jealous~”

He even had the ballbearings to shoot you a wink as he said this, right before Megatron adjusted his stance, and REALLY started slamming into him. It didn’t help that Knockout was not only smaller than you (making his valve smaller), but the fact that he was using Megatron’s back as a scratching post; tearing through his metal enough to draw energon. All while he threw his helm back and offered such loud, slutty (and totally fake) moans of ecstasy. All while Megatron was eating it all up. You couldn’t believe the ‘yes, fucking scratch me’, and the ‘shove it all in me, big mech’ you heard between the both of them. It was like a shitty porno. And Megatron was enjoying every second of it. The berth rocked from the force of his thrusts, fluids sullied the sheets, and drool dribbled down his tratorious grin.

“You’re gonna overload, aren't you? I can feel you fucking throbbing.”

“I am. I’m g-gonna overload, let me just pull o-”

“No no no. Go on, overload in me.”

You stomped your pede on the floor, damn near ready to tear his helm off.

“Don’t you overload in that waste of paint.”

Megatron hesitated, only to have Knockout chuckle.

“No no no. Overload in me. Come on, stuff me. It’s nice and tight for you. I know you want to.”

Knockout then managed to hook his pedes around his shoulders, and with a good, tight grab of Megatron’s aft, he overloaded. He didn’t even try to hide it. He swore, he groaned, held onto the wall and everything. All while Knockout snickered. With a snap of his servos, Megatron slowly pulled out of him, revealing a full valve, slowly spilling out fluids as he rubbed at his node. All while Megatron stood there, holding onto the headboard, panting in clear content.

“I do believe it’s your bride’s turn.”

“You….might have to give me just a second, dear.”

You wouldn't believe your audials. Megatron needing a BREAK? Knockout smiled smugly, spanking Megatron right on his node, all while meeting your optics.

“Aw, was I too much for you, big grey? That’s fine. You take your time. Nothing important you need to do anyway.”

You were going to kill him. Completely and totally.

[98prilla]

Deathworlder Down

Next

Previous 

AO3

based on @delimeful wibar

Warning for some disturbing imagery/body horror this chapter. Virgil’s having nightmares.

...

Fear.

 Pounding, aching fear.

 Shadowy figures surrounded him, discussing him in words he could almost hear, hushed voices he could almost understand, and it grated at him, it hurt his ears. He tried to cover them, but found he couldn’t move, not a muscle, his eyes were open but he couldn’t even blink, his fingers wouldn’t even twitch, and he could feel his heart hammering in his chest, but despite his panic his breathing remained steady and even. The shadows moved closer, their whispers growing louder, echoing in his head, screaming tempests against his ear drums, and he wanted it to stop, he needed it to stop, but it just grew louder, and louder, and then it was the suited beings again, holding a scalpel, and he screamed, as his chest was sliced open, the flesh peeled away to reveal the organs beneath, his heart visible through the blood leaking from him, and he realized though he was screaming in his mind, he wasn’t making any sound, his vocal chords as paralyzed as the rest of him, and he couldn’t look away, as they started ripping out his insides, tearing him apart, the pain splintering through his being, blacking out his vision, and he tried, he tried desperately to writhe and claw and fight his way free, but couldn’t even lift his head, and he was aware of them adding new parts, shoving metal and wires and circuit boards into him, the pop and crackle of electricity against his skin shocking him, sending him into spasms that somehow defied whatever drug they’d given him, back arching at the intense, radiating heat flowing up his spine, and he finally did break free, break out of whatever drug they’d used, a keening, desperate wail shoving past his lips as he shoved himself off the table, as he snarled and clawed and bit and slashed, anything, everything, to get free, until he’d fought off the beings, his breathing ragged and uneven as he looked at the monster they’d made him, all mechanical parts and twisted limbs, broken bones and spasming muscle.

 “Virgil?” Suddenly a shadow Logan was there, looking down at him, head tilted and eyes empty, hands strangely still, assessing him like the specimen he was and he shuddered, twitching uncontrollably.

 “No. That isn’t Virgil.” Patton, voice hollow, and he screamed again, because his feathers were torn from his body, bent and broken nibs trickling blood down his wings, though he didn’t seem to care. “Virgil wouldn’t do this to me. And he did.” He shook his head, trying to deny it, but memories rushed back, his hands, moving against his will, the metal twisting around his bones, jerking him around like a marionette, Patton, begging, pleading, but he couldn’t stop, the single thought in his mind echoing destroy, destroy, destroy. His hands, ripping handfuls of feathers, feathers flying around the room, getting stuck in his grinning teeth, his manic laugh, his twisted soul.

“No… nonononono…” He curled tight on the ground, ignoring the fire racing through him, the intense, burning, heat, trying to make sense of this, of anything, noticing for the first time his hands were stained red, seeing Patton’s agonized face in his head, his hands on his throat, pressing down, down down-

 “Virgil!” Roman’s voice rocked his world, and suddenly his eyes snapped open, hissing at the sudden brightness, too confused to understand anything, vision blurry, from tears, he realized, his breathing stuttering in and out, barely enough to keep from passing out, his throat tight, barely a pinhole of space for air to wheeze in and out of, his chest felt so tight, so constricted, and there wasn’t enough air, and he was hot, why was he so hot, the wires, the wires twisting through his veins, no, he had to get them out, they would make him hurt them, hurt Patton, he couldn’t hurt Patton!

 He started scratching at himself, clawing at himself frantically, uncaring of the wetness slipping down his face, he had to stop it, he couldn’t-

 Bloody feathers, crushed neck, broken wings, shattered body, he couldn’t-

 Hands. Hands on him. He hissed, growled, tried to shove them away, but he was weak, so weak, he couldn’t do anything, couldn’t get away, and they were stopping him, and he was going to hurt everyone, he had to let go, he had to stop himself, he was just a monster, just a toy, just a broken sack of bits and pieces that didn’t even fit together right anymore, why couldn’t they just let him stop?

 “please. Please, I can’t, I can’t, I won’t, i… i…” He doubled over, curled into a ball, shaking so hard his teeth were chattering, feeling as if he was shattering into a thousand pieces, broken and stomped on and wrecked.

 “kiddo. I need you to breath.” He flinched back, away from Patton, eyes wide with fear, shaking his head frantically, as he scooted away, the grip on his hands letting him go.

 “n-no… no! I’ll h-hurt y-y-you they’ll m-make me h-h-hurt-“ he broke off, running out of air, all of it dedicated to keeping the spots in his vision from growing larger, from taking over and plunging him into black.

 “virgil. You have never, never ever, hurt me. And they can’t hurt us, anymore. Do you remember that? We’re safe now, remember? You broke us out of there, and kept us safe. You’re safe, Virgil. We’re safe. We’re ok. We’re ok.” Patton repeated softly, using the gentle chirp of his native tongue, ruffling encouragingly when Virgil finally looked up at him, struggling for a few moments, before tentatively chirping it back.

 “We’re… we’re… ok.” He echoed slowly, tongue thick in his mouth, head pounding, it hurt to think, it hurt to do anything, but he forced his mind to remember, to remember what he was missing, flashes of a slim, multi armed figure, of a bulky, scaled one, of a… a ship, and he managed a slightly larger, shaky breath.

 “M-Mindscape?” He managed, and Patton nodded, eyes soft with worry.

 “That’s right, kiddo. You got sick, do you remember that?” He remembered feeling not great, but that was normal. He remembered being dizzy, but that was all. He shook his head, feeling confused again, feeling slow and tired and hazy.

 “That’s ok, Virgil. I just wanna help, ok? Will you let me do that?” Patton asked, taking a small step closer. “Will you let me help?” His gaze flicked to the others in the room, pulling at a dull memory, at familiarity, he knew them, knew them and they didn’t spark… fear. Not quite. But the scaled one’s gaze was sharp and angry, and the crystal one’s gaze was sharp and piercing, and both sent unease tingling down his spine. But Patton was asking, and he trusted Patton, and if Patton trusted them, then they couldn’t be bad.

 “O-o-Ok.” He managed, letting out a soft sigh when Patton closed the distance between them, resting a hand on his leg, and instantly, the fight and stress drained out of him, eyes fluttering shut.

 “You’re gonna be ok, kiddo. I promise.” Then nothing.

…

“He's hotter, Lo.” Patton said, voice shaking, as he felt Virgil's forehead. Sweat coated his skin, and he was panting for breath, shaking, obviously in pain, not just from the lines of red up and down his arms, where he'd started clawing at himself, before Roman stopped him. “he’s getting worse."

 “We need to get him to drink. He’s severely dehydrated. I… hate to suggest this, but IVs may be the best option here. I know, it will cause added emotional strain, but his body does not have the strength or resources right now to fight off this illness. And I’d rather have him be upset or afraid than… than dead.” His words caused Patton to draw in his feathers, shrinking to nearly half his normal size, and he buried his face against Virgil’s side. Roman’s scales shifted, scraping against each other as they flattened, conflicting emotions racing through him.

 He didn’t like Virgil. Didn’t trust him, wouldn’t have him here, if it had been up to him, but the thought of him… dying, still sent a spike of unease through him, one he could pretend was just for Patton, who was so attached to Virgil.

 “ok. If it’s the only way, ok.”

 He disinfected and bandaged Virgil’s arms first, before letting Roman shift him back onto the couch, fetching the medical supplies and hooking up the bags. Finally, he was standing over Virgil with the IV line in hand. All he had to do was insert it. He found himself incredibly resistant, now, to the idea, now that he actually was doing this, mind flashing to the moments he’d seen in the vidi, the pain and agony that had accompanied nearly every experience with a needle, but this was different. This was to help.

 So he swiftly located the vein on the human’s wrist, slipping the needle in and securing it with gauze and tape, relieved when Virgil did no more than moan slightly, rolling onto his side and curling into a ball. He doubted the reaction would be so placid when he actually woke up to find a needle in his arm, but that was a future worry.

 “Alright. That should help hydrate him, as well as give him some of the basic nutrients he is sorely lacking in, as well as some very moderate medicines. I doubt anything we have would do him any harm, but I don’t want to take chances and accidentally make things worse. Patton… you need to sleep.” He added, looking at the disheveled ampen, who shook his head.

 “No, no, no! I have to stay! What if he wakes up?”

 “He won’t for a few hours, at the very least, which is long enough for you to get some sleep. You haven’t slept since we found him.”

 “Well neither have you! You’ve been pacing yourself silly!” He sighed, shoulders slumping.

 “Alright. You’re right. If Roman stays on watch and promises to get us if anything changes, will you come rest with me?” he asked, knowing Patton wouldn’t turn down that offer, not with how rarely he was willing to offer tactile comfort, but they could both use some, right now.

 “Ro? I know you don’t like him, but-"

 “I’ll take care of him. I promise, Patton.” Roman swore, kneeling down so Patton could hug him, smiling as he butted against the underside of his chin, before stepping back, chirping an ampen thanks, hesitantly following Logan down the hall and into his room, Roman hearing the door slide shut.

 He let out a low breath, scales flattening as he tried to calm himself, staring down at Virgil’s unconscious form.

 “I don’t know what to make of you. I will never say this out loud again, but you terrify me. And I will not lose another family, to humans. But… every time you panic or lose control or lash out, it’s always at yourself. It’s always to protect Patton. You always choose to harm yourself over any of us, but you’re still a human, a death worlder, a dangerous, violent, creature.” He said, though it sounded much less convincing now, that it usually did in his arguments with Logan or his silent fuming.

 Virgil moved slightly, his breath hitching, and his face creased, as if sensing Roman’s displeasure.

 “no… please… m-mom…” Virgil mumbled, trying to reach out to something that wasn’t there, something only in his mind, and after a moment, Roman realized Virgil was crying, curling tighter.

 He’d known Virgil had been stolen off his planet, but he’d never thought about the implications of it. He hadn’t considered that Virgil had clan, would have a mother or a father, that he’d lost everything, to aliens, without even having a chance to fight to keep it.

 Roman knew how it felt, to lose everything, in the blink of an eye.  

 “and then you go and say something like that.” He sighed, shifting into the chair left beside the couch, hesitantly reaching out to brush back the human’s hair, mimicking the motion he’d seen Patton do countless times, to soothe or relax the human, surprised as Virgil instantly settled, a shaky breath escaping him before his body seemed to go lax once more, leaning into his touch.

 “this doesn’t mean I like you. It’s only because I promised Patton.” He grumbled, not moving away, despite himself.