#LET ME SPEAK!!! LET ME EXPLAIN THE DEPTH AND THOUGHT BEHIND EACH SONG.....or just stream it lol

[auroraswife]

shameless plug but i did want to share the playlist i've had since book one for the relationship between agent m and my detective <3 it's been an angst ride but the fact that i finally am able to start adding some love songs to it after this book is so personal to me <3

[ageofevermore]

Unsaid Emily

SUMMARY — and maybe it was the midnight ink on her wrist that tied her to him

WORD COUNT — 1.7k

───── ･ ｡ﾟ☆ﾟ: *. ☽ .* : ☆ﾟ. ─────

They had said goodbye to a child eight years before welcoming the second with shocked and scared hearts. They had promised to do things differently -- to like whatever she liked, watch whatever she watched, and love whatever she loved. They drew no boundary at personal belief when it came to this second child that shadowed the life of Luke, but they made no attempts to forgive and mend the empty spaces in their hearts where they had already done this. They had already gone through first steps, words, and heartbreaks. They had captured Luke’s seventeen years of life in their memory so perfectly watching hers felt faulty. They tried with everything they had to love her as they never loved Luke, but somehow that caused even more of a divide as everything was reminiscent of the deceased first born brunette. 

She had been away at school when his birthday rolled around; for the first time in her seventeen years of pitiful existence she didn’t blow out the candles on a stale chocolate cake. She spent the day away from stories of her brother, and instead  spent it knowing somewhere in the universe he wasn’t being smothered by Mitch and Emily’s persistent opinions. She couldn’t outrun home forever though. An amazing music program in Santa Monica pulled her away from LA for most weeks out of the year, but her mother was persistent that she abandon the dorms and visit home every so often. It was that fear of Luke again. He had instilled so many traumas that even trust with her was unruly and weak. 

She heard the doorbell ring as she was unpacking her pile of homework, the weekend away from school meaning nothing for the multiple classes she was taking weekly. Though the private boarding school was diverse in the makeup of their structured courses, she was still on a tightly wound schedule with instrumental practice and vocals along with mandatory academics like calculus. She hates calculus. She had only started around the corner because she heard the sound of her brother's name roll off of a stranger's tongue. The defined L sound was unmistakable, and partnered with the topic of music, the correlation was undeniable. 

“Yeah. That’s Luke, when he was two.” Mitch explained the picture between the girls grasp, eyes growing damp at the topic of his greatest failure as a parent. Luke was his perfect gift. 

“Do you have any other children?” The girl asked, gently setting the picture frame down and bringing her chocolate eyes up to Mitch’s. The gentleness of her expressions were weighing heavy on the hearts of a family that lived with the memory of Luke on their mind daily. Even with the retelling of his story the only fragment of his existence that she knew, hearing these words hurt.

“A daughter. Lily.” Mitch looked just behind the guest, eyes trailing over his daughter that shared the same midnight toned hair and hard blue eyes as his Luke once had. She stepped past the threshold connecting the foyer to the living room, ignoring the butterflies that spread through her stomach at a certain point across the hardwood. 

“I’m Lily.” She smiled tightly at the girl, hand extended in a polite greeting that was in no way authentic. Her heart was beating her ears, palms collecting sweat at the idea of knowing Luke from somebody else's perspective. 

“Julie.”  The two smiled at each other, both looking equally displaced despite this being Lily’s house, and having been Julie’s personal decision to come. Luke just had that effect on people. His memory made you hurt so deeply that anything other than crying felt wrong. 

“Did I hear the doorbell?” Emily asked, hand softly brushing against Lily’s back. Emily hadn’t even flinched when her child pulled away from the embrace, just accepted what had become routine since implementing the memory and the love of Luke. In remembering one child Mitch and Emily had completely pushed away the other. 

“Mom, this is Julie.” Lily introduced the two, her eyes wandering around the space that suddenly felt so full. She had stood in this same living room for seventeen years prior to the current evening and never had she got the sense of being complete. 

“Hello, Julie.” Emily smiled, looking over the girl standing in their living room with nothing more than a name to her purpose. “Oh, that’s a beautiful sweater.” 

She had never heard her mother speak so freely kindly towards others' clothing. She had woken the same morning, expecting the looks of judgement and unwarranted warnings that band-tees and vans had been the very wardrobe to have taken Luke’s life. 

When she had gotten Sunset Curve tattooed to the flesh of her wrist, binding her life to her brother's memory, they had gone mental. It had been tears of disappointment and pain at the foundation of an argument. They had come around eventually, but only off of the premise that they didn’t want to drive Lily away and watch her face death like Luke did. 

“Thanks. It’s my moms.” Julie looked down at her sweater, fingers softly brushing along the knitted material. By the solemn expression in her eyes, Lily knew that death had been upon her. Nobody bore such a heavy gleam without the persuading of trauma and grief. 

“Julie lives in the house where Luke and the band rehearsed. She was just telling me she found a song that Luke wrote.” Mitch looked down at Julie, all while Lily couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on her. Looking around the room again, her heart jumped painfully in her chest at the orb of afterlife reflecting from the sun just behind Julie. As she stared into the rainbow colors of the orb, she couldn’t help but feel as though a set of eyes was sharing the encounter with her. 

Blinking away the delusion, Lily’s thumb traced the tattoo on her wrist, her eyes welling with tears. She might have rivaled a ghost all of her childhood, but she missed the soft and tender memories of her brother she didn’t have the heart to relearn. She could love him with everything she had, but never would see ask her parents about his short lived life. 

“It’s a song about a girl named Emily?” 

A tear fell from Lily’s eyes, while warm pools of grief framed the waterline of her blue optics, threatening to spill over at any second. She traced the spot where the orb of afterlife had once floated above the air with streaks of rainbow, but the sun had moved away and stopped casting a spotlight on the space. 

“Emily…” Mitch whispered into the open air of the space, eyes glazing over as he looked down to his wife that had beared two children and loved the first more than anything worldly. “I’m Emily.” She pleaded, although neither she nor Julie knew what she was asking for with her desperation soaked tone. 

“Then I think your son may have written a song for you.” Julie handed over the old and tattered piece of notebook paper that bore the same handwriting as all of Luke’s journals still stashed away in the attic. The same handwriting that lived permanently on her wrist, taking the shape of what his dream had once been. 

“First things first, we start the scene in reverse.” Lily had to shake the thought of music out of her focus, her body so heavily convinced that somewhere in the depths of her home a song was playing softly. The dimension of the vocals she heard was unlike any streaming platform ability, making her wonder if her mother had broken into the vinyls again. 

“All of the lines rehearsed disappeared from my mind when things got loud. One of us running out, I should've turned around, but I had too much pride. No time for goodbyes, didn't get to apologize, pieces of a clock that lies broken. If I could take us back, if I could just do that and write in every empty space the words ‘I love you’ in replace. Then maybe time would not erase me, if you could only know I never let you go, and the words I most regret are the ones I never meant to leave. Unsaid Emily. Silent days, mysteries and mistakes. Who'd be the first to break? I guess we're alike that way. He said, she said, conversations in my head, and that's just where they're gonna stay forever.” 

It was a ringing between her ears that brought the delusion to a standstill. As her fingers curl around her wrist as if to physically grab the midnight ink, the whisper of a voice in her focus becomes too prominent to ignore. 

“If I could take us back, if I could just do that, and write in every empty space the words ‘I love you’ in replace. Then maybe time would not erase me, if you could only know I never let you go, and the words I most regret are the ones I never meant to leave. Unsaid Emily. If I could take us back, if I could just do that, and write in every empty space the words ‘I love you’ in replace, then maybe time would not erase me. If you could only know I never let you go.” She hears the words through herself so clearly, she’s certain the words she can practically feel are the same as what’s written on the page between her mother's fingertips. She doesn’t understand it, but somehow she knows. 

It’s him. Luke. Her big brother. 

Her wrist flashes hot for a second, startling her enough to abandon the tight locked gaze she has on the empty space behind Julie and look down at her reddening skin. “And the words I most regret are the ones I never meant to leave. Unsaid Emily.” 

A cold shock ran through her body in contrast to the searing hot pain circulating her wrist. She sniffled when the last sung Emily sounded through her body, the vibrato sounding so close to her it was paralyzing. When she found her bearings and the jelly like feeling in her legs dispersed to her heart, she looked back up at Julie.  

With one last fleeting glance towards the empty space behind Julie, the sight of a blue-eyed boy looking tearfully beyond herself, calmed the burn in her wrist. She made eye contact with the boy, a name fitting comfortably on her tongue despite the impossibility of it all. 

“Luke…” 

[kayluhoh]

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to these songs, or she ra and the princesses of power. 

You don't have to read this. It was just fun for me to do.

Songs that make me think of Catradora.

Milk & Honey - Jessarae

I imagine this song as the music of the future looking back on the past. “Slow chariot lay me down oh she's coming to set me free and oh I was lost, now I'm found the spirit will move in me.” this lyric encapsulates this perfectly. Even after Adora saves Catra from the ship, she still has a lot to work on. Adora is there and helps to set her free of her self deprecating thoughts. To put the cherry on top, she’s with the girl she’s always wanted.

Butterfly’s Repose - Zabawa

    I imagine this song as more of a lullaby that they both receive at one point, in the first verse, “You don't have to speak. Don't need to talk to me. Baby, I already know.” This lyric strikes me, Catra and Adora really do know each other, so I’d imagine they both have trauma from the war and from growing up the fright zone with Shadow Weaver. When one or the other gets flashbacks, I imagine the other already knows the reason behind it. Secondly, the lyric, “The shadows in your head. They've got you down again. Got you feeling low. But it's time to rest now. Let it all melt now. Wipe your tears.” makes me imagine them holding one another in bed trying to sleep. both of their self-doubt being soothed by one another. Thirdly, the lyric “The future's looking bleak Your will to live is weak But, honey, hold on for me,” reminds me of the time Catra almost died on the ship as well as the kissing scene. They both saved each other because they needed each other. Finally the lyric in the chorus, “Stay right here I'll stay here with you, my dear,” is self-explanatory. The word stay is said so many times in this show because they kept leaving each other. Now that they have each other it’s hard to even think about leaving, reminding one another that they’ll stay too is so important.

I Go Crazy- Orla Gartland

    I Imagine this song pre kiss, season five, more specifically when Catra leaves with Melog. The first verse, “I've got no clue what you're thinking. You move your hand away from mine. Shifty eyes and indecisions. Why does this happen every time?” this is what must be going through Catras head when she says “Adora doesn’t want me, not like I want her,” because Adora is choosing everyone else above herself It makes Catra question what the hell goes through Adora’s head. Secondly, the lyric in the chorus, “Three words, two hearts, one maybe. Say something before I go crazy now. And my tears, your tears, don't phase me. Say something before I go crazy now,” makes me imagine Catra screaming this to the void, she’s loved Adora for so long, and now she is wondering if she’s too late. Finally the lyric in the bridge “But I'm still so devoted to you, it scares me,” captures Catra’s mentality so well, Catra is not one to follow others, but for Adora she makes an exception. This must be so scary for Catra, to let someone take the lead. Even after leaving for so long, she trusts Adora so much and that must be terrifying.

Soldier, Poet, King - The Oh Hellos

    This song is just fun, I just like to think of Adora as the soldier and Catra as the poet in a medieval AU and then they fall in love ok bye.

It’s Alright - Mother Mother

    I can’t find a better way to explain this as a Catradora song besides telling you that Adora is singing the Chorus and Catra is sing the verses, then singing the chorus at the end with her.

Safe & Sound - Taylor Swift, The Civil Wars

    Alright this one will be a little more detailed. The first line of the song, “I remember tears streaming down your face, When I said I'll never let you go,” reminds me of the childhood scene when Adora tells Catra, “You look out for me and I look out for you. Nothing really bad can happen as long as we have each other,” *chefs kiss*. Next, the singular line, “When all those shadows almost killed your light,” Should immediately make you think of Shadow Weaver and everything she did to Catra and Adora. It seemed like their entire childhood was spent protecting each other from her. Next, the lyrics, “I remember you said, "Don't leave me here alone," But all that's dead and gone and passed tonight” this lyric makes me feel like Adora acknowledges that she left Catra, but Catra forgives her for it and wants to leave it in the past. The lyrics “The war outside our door keeps raging on,” also encapsulates the war between Etheria and The Horde, but also the war between Catra and Adora. They both still have a lot to work on before everything can be close to perfect. Finally the chorus, “Just close your eyes, the sun is going down. You'll be alright, no one can hurt you now. Come morning light, you and I'll be safe and sound,” is a lullaby for Catra from Adora in my mind. They’re together now, and Adora is not gonna let Catra go as long as she can help it.

In the Name of Love - Martin Garrix, Bebe Rexha

    The entire first verse of this song screams Catradora to me. “If I told you this was only gonna hurt If I warned you that the fire's gonna burn Would you walk in? Would you let me do it first? Do it all in the name of love Would you let me lead you even when you're blind? In the darkness, in the middle of the night In the silence, when there's no one by your side Would you call in the name of love?” there’s a lot to unpack here, but mostly this first verse is about trust. Catra spent so long in distrust and pain, she’s going to have to learn how to trust people again. This is Adora asking if Catra would let Adora take care of her, lead her, and help her because she loves her. I feel like this is something Catra would struggle with. Finally, the lyric, “When there's madness, when there's poison in your head. When the sadness leaves you broken in your bed, I will hold you in the depths of your despair,” speaks volumes. it’s all about the two recovering from everything healing themselves and healing each other. Love is the root of healing and trust. The love is there but it’s going to take a lot of work and practice to heal and to trust, but they are both there for each other.  

Let me know if you want more of these! They were fun!

[inforapound]

The Shimmering  Chapter 2

A/N - A story about a lonely King who finds comfort in an unlikely person. Let me know what you think. Or if you’d like to be tagged. Thanks for reading. 

Pairing - Ivar and OFC

Words - 1,600

It was always in that thin layer of sleep, just before dawn, as the body begins its climb from the depth of slumber, that the images would come. The susurrus flutter of white wings snapping through the air to reach a perch. Surely a dove, as the gulls that soared high above the harbour, had grey markings on their wings.

As a boy, he used to wonder what kind of pathetic dove would not even murmur or coo while roosting, settling its wings. As long as he could remember, we woke from that dream. His bird, always hidden from view, except for a flash of those creamy white wings. It felt as though Odin was mocking him. Goading, by placing a song-less, faceless dove in his sleep. While, in every floating image, the scream of a raven echoed somewhere in the distance. He used to ask the All-Father why he was teased with the flash of a bird he could not see. A bird who made no sound with the laugh of a raven kraa’ing in the background. Was it a taunt? A reminder that there was a life out there, on the other side of what he could see and feel, that would never be his? He used to ask this question as a boy. Now, as a grown man, an unmarried King, unable to produce an heir with no family, he just woke and waited for the night to return.

The heavy rain and rolling thunder were an unwelcome sound that morning. Odin had plans and Ivar was quite sure he was not part of them. Looking out the open shutters of his bedroom chamber, the sheets of rain pelted the dirt, creating muddy streams down the edges of the lane. The fog of melancholy settled in his chest like a familiar friend. Another day to endure. Winter was growing near. His pain, aggravated by the cold, growing impossible. Life as a hated King was a quiet one.

The wall was near complete and it was time to ask the Gods to bless it. Hold its strength and continue to see that Kattegat and Ivar’s terror remained. If they even care. Ivar was not sure.

“Slave!” his voice ripped through the nearly empty room. The door burst open and a skittish woman stepped in.

Without turning from his view at the window, “Have the girl brought to me.”

“In your chambre, My King?”

Swiveling, he shot the slave a piercing look.

“Yes. Right away,” she rushed, leaving the room and closing the door behind.

Inhaling slowly, his eyes never strayed from the small tributaries of water flowing around piles of excrement in the street. The door behind opened again and the sound of shifting feet moved into the room.

“At the table,” Ivar uttered in a voice sounding far away.

The screech of a chair scraping across the roughly cut floorboard grated his ears. Then it was quiet.

“Leave,” Ivar commanded

“Just me?” the guard asked.

Breathing out an irritated sigh, “Just you.”

Once the door was again closed and they were alone, the peace returned. She did not shift in her chair, nor scrape the soles of her shoes over the wooden floor. Ivar could not hear her breath. He waited. And waited. Perhaps, a friendly match. How long could she sit still, silently in fear? How long could he stand in agony, looking out that window, without crying in pain?

Silently calling a truce, he winced and turned stiffly to face his repulsive prisoner. He must interrogate her. Get to the bottom of these tales. Ensure she was a worthy sacrifice. Looking up, his first reaction was confusion. Had the halfwits brought in the wrong captive? Where was Reek? Before him sat a young woman. Long brown hair, oval face, blue eyes and lips that looked too large for her other features. Sitting with a straight back, she clutched her hands tight, resting on the tabletop. Her posture could be mistaken for confidence. It was not that, he noted. Acceptance? That knowing that came to some right before certain death.

“You look...” his words slipped out before he had made the decision to speak, “washed.”

Saying nothing, her eyes dropped to her rough, worn hands. Ivar could see her knuckles were white from how tightly they gripped together. Good, he thought, nearly smiling. Why did he care that he could put fear into a useful slave? He could not answer, other than, he just did.

“Do you accept my decision to offer you to the Gods?”

A flash of uncertainty moved behind her plain features. So subtle, it barely registered to his eye.

“Yes? Speak freely, Reek. Give me an answer,” his tone was calm but expectant.

“King Ivar, does it matter?”

“What?”

“Does it..” she hesitated.  

Ivar jerked his head, urging her to continue.

“Does it matter if I do?” Dropping her eyes to the table, she looked back up to him.

“No,” he replied softly, hobbling forward on his crutch and taking the seat across from her. He was too tired to care what it looked like. A king and a slave, seated together.

Studying her face, he was mildy intrigued by her steady demeanor.

“What is it about Christians?” His nostrils flared at the word. “Why are you quick to accept defeat. Roll over and die ahead of fighting? Hmm?”

Mumbling something, she looked back down to her hands.

“What?” He rubbed his eyes and forehead with his hand. “Try not to annoy me,” he sighed wearily. “I am being nice,” his voice sounding worn.

“I am not a Christian My King,” she looked back to him.

“What are you then?” Who is your god?”

“I am not sure I have one.”

Grunting, Ivar cocked his head to one side. Squinting, he pondered her words.

“I have been a slave here for nearly five seasons. A slave before here, in Wessex, nearly my whole life. I never went to any church and I am sure my mother would never have been welcome.

Ivar furrowed his brow. “Why?��

“She was a whore,” she said flatly.

Exhaling loudly, Ivar shook his head. “So no fight for your life?”

Scoffing, she caught herself, her face again serious. “There is not a man, woman, or slave, pig for that matter, who does not know about your skill with an ax. I know I cannot fight with any hope of success. You or your guards.”

“Hope? I do not fully understand this hope.”

“Me either,” her tone was dry.

“Very well, no fight.” his tone resigned. He grabbed his crutch, readying to stand.

“I have...” she hesitated, her words trailing off. Dropping her eyes from his, she wet her lower lip anxiously.

“Go on,” Ivar prodded without any inkling of what she might say.

“I have barely survived life here. I have fought, hidden, covered myself in shit. Stayed in the shadows so the filthy drunks do not lay their hands on me. I am always, each winter and each summer either cold or hungry and usually both. The ache is permanent. I once thought I would grow accustomed to it but....”

“Being sacrificed would be a relief?”

“Dying, knowing that I could have eased your discomfort, feels like a very small victory.”

Studying how her eyes flitted from his, not staying away long. Her mouth, how it must have felt dry causing her to continually lick her lips for relief. She was not being defiant or cocky. Was not threatening him. She was simply telling the truth.

“That is your fight Reek?”

Nodding, she stared at her hands.

“What is this... shimmering? The word sounded funny to her ears in his accent.

“I cannot explain it. But it does provide comfort.”

“You heal?”

“No,” her eyes flashed up to his. “I can relieve. Not cure.”

“How?”

“I cannot answer that. I do not understand how it happens. I wish I knew. It is just something that I do with my hands and mind.”

Ivar was not sure why he was not snapping at her. Was not demanding that she tell him. Looking over her soft shoulders and bowed head. Listening to her plain words. He believed her.

“You have this ability and yet you do not believe in any gods?”

“King Ivar,” she blinked rapidly, subtly shaking her head. “I do not understand it myself. It has just always been.”

Straightening in his chair, he leaned forward, placing his elbows on his chair. “Does it work for everyone?” He shifted again. His legs screaming.

“So far,” she answered quietly.

“Could you do it on me?” Why was he asking her, he wondered?

“Not if I am dead.”

Air shot from his noise with amusement, his eyes bright.

“Guard!” he bellowed, startling her in her seat. The doors burst open and the guard stepped in. “Take the prisoner away and bring her back after second meal.”

“Not to the ceremony My King?”

“The celebration will be postponed until tomorrow.” He spoke never taking his eyes off Reek. “The weather is poor.”

Stepping forward, the guard motioned his arm for her to stand. Glancing to Ivar she stood, stepping around the chair and turned to the following the guard.

“Reek?”

Stopping, she looked back over her shoulder.

“See you tonight.”

MASTERLIST

@naaladareia @yanii-the-hippie @youbloodymadgenius @medievalfangirl @lol-haha-joke @geekandbooknerd @readsalot73 @whenimaunicorn @dreamwritesimagines @equalstrashflavoredtrash @jaydelesley4 @fangirl-nonsense @flowers-in-your-hayr @grav3yard-gh0st @wuxiesalt @yourpurplequeen @didiintheblog @mamabearlovr @silly-bullshit-collector 

[silviasutton1989]

T.T.K. Ch. 21 Part 1  “Mad”

Yup... still here. If you all are still out there and still interested I apologize for my lack of consistency on here. I just got my laptop fixed so I’m hoping I can finish this story up soon.  

Summary: Liam now believes it’s Olivia that has been trying to kill him all along. But as Olivia’s Winter Festival kicks off that is the least of her worries. 

Rating: This chapter is rated MA  TRIGGER WARNING this chapter contains violence against women (and men) please be advised before continuing. 

Word Count: 2200

Catch up Masterlist (I will update this thing eventually I promise)

The King's shoes made a noticeable echo with each step he took deeper into the depths of the palace dungeon. Every guard bowed every staff member humbly acknowledging his presence.

"Your Majesty." They say. The king doesn't respond his mind in shambled circles. It was almost comedic to him to be finally killing the traitor who attempted to end his life and yet it was the one person he would have given his life for.

The king freezes. There she was her long red hair covering her head completely. Her dress tattered, her head bowed. From this angle she looked weak but he knew far too well she had all power over him. He opened his mouth to speak, to gain her attention, to demand she stand to her feet and explain how could she do this to him. That last thought made his voice squeak and silenced him.

"Cat got your tongue, Your Majesty?" Her voice voice so calm and unnerved as if she wasn't about to die in a matter of minutes. 

"I...I came to see if you wanted explain yourself. How could one of my highest ranking royals commit treason against their king. Why...why in God's name are a you laughing?! Are you mad woman? I am about to have you hanged and you laugh!"

Her chuckles grow even louder and it only fuels his anger even more. The King without a second thought opens the doors to the cell, takes his attacker into his arms and kisses her forcefully. The kiss softens and becomes gentle, almost as if an apology. And it was then, once they parted that her hard exterior faded. he could see the fear in her face he could finally see the girl he has loved since childhood, the woman he has secretly loved up until this day, and the ghost of the woman he would love till the day he himself died.

"Why did you do it?!" The king cries clutching her so tightly in his arms not caring that his guards were watching, his voice cracks as he sobs the words. His tears streaming down his face damping her red hair. She  backs away from him, quickly wiping away her own tears.

"I think you know why. I think you have known why all along.

 Liam's knee bobbed uncontrollably underneath the embellished table. Olivia's winter ball was splendid. The first day went off with out a hitch and he watched her host the nights festivities like a true royal. Any other time he would be proud of her, but tonight he was confused and angry and hurt. The cadence for the Cordonian Waltz began and as he expected, Olivia stood before him, beautiful and now knowing what he knew, dangerous.

"Liam, may I have this dance?"

Liam held her tighter than he knew he should have, trying his best not to look at her not to even breathe in her scent. It would weaken him and he knew that.

"You look well Liam. How have you been?"

"Hmm... I've been excellent. You know I just wanted to thank you for everything you've done after my father's death."

" You don't have to thank me." She smiles softly at him and he sucks in a breath.

"No you pretty much ran the entire court while I mourned my father. I mean how does one get a whole building of people to keep quiet on a former king's electrocution?"

"Just took a little assertiveness...and a firm clutch on things I guess." Olivia could feel his nails digging into her waist but tried to ignore the discomfort. 

"Yeah but why? Why hide that?  What did you hope to gain from covering my father's murder?" It was then Olivia finally saw the anger leering from his eyes.

"I did that for you Liam." She tries to keep her voice low as they both continue to spin apart then quickly back together across the dance floor keeping up with their best smile. "Do you want the government involved in this? We have been our own independent country for centuries but if they get a whiff of a monarch being killed it would be the end to Cordonia's monarchy for sure."

"Of course you are worried about the monarchy."

"If you have something to accuse me of, don't be shy come out with it." 

Liam stops dancing and so does Olivia they stand neither taking their eyes off each other, neither noticing the music continues without them. 

"I need to know where you were the night of the Homecoming Ball. You lied before. And Olivia, as your King I warn you not to do it again."

"Liam?" She felt his hand clutching her arm. He leaned in closer speaking into her ear.

"If you're going to try to kill me again just do it. Right here! Let everyone see you betray me."

"Again? You've gone mad!" She yanks her arm free and backs away. A new song begins to play and the guest all gather the dance floor creating more space between the two.

"You don't think I know about your little accomplice? I know he's here I know he's working for you Liv. When Bastien finds him I ---I will kill you if I have to Liv."

Her eyes widen at his threat. "You are just like your father!" She spats.

"Yeah I may be. But are you just like your mother?"

"Hey you two!" Riley steps between them smiling brightly holding her barley noticeable belly. "Drake finally let us out. I guess he felt Lythikos was the only safe place in Cordonia!" She chuckles but it soon dies once she realizes she the only one. Olivia and Liam were still staring daggers at each other. "Olivia can I speak with you for a moment. I'm um...having an issue with our room."  pulling her away, motioning for Drake to handle Liam.

"What is it Riley? What's so dauntingly wrong with your room?"

"Oh nothing I just saw World War 3 starting on the dance floor and thought it would be best to put some distance between you too. Olivia what is going on? I expected you two to be all over each other by now- I mean in an entirely different way than scowling at each other."

"Constantine's death changed Liam, I don't know. Don't ask me to explain the twisted workings of that man's mind. I mean honestly I think the man has lost his mind he actually thinks I--- I'm going to get some air." 

She leaves her concerned friend heading away from the party, not slowing her pace until she couldn't hear the music anymore. It was silent. Dead silent. Olivia found herself in an open balcony letting the crisp air chill her. She took several breathes barley hearing the faint sounds of footsteps approaching with her with Liam's words ringing in her ears. 

"You don't think I know about your little accomplice? I know he's here I know he's working for you Liv. When Bastien finds him I ---I will kill you if I have to Liv... But are you just like your mother?" .

She prayed it was Liam, or Riley behind her, but with the sound of the door locking she shuddered in the quick understanding that it wasn't. Instead of screaming in fear instead of turning around to face him, Olivia decided to watch her mountain tops. 

"How long?" How long have you been here?"

Mick walks as close to her as he pleased pressing his nose so deep in her hair breathing her in. 

"I've been waiting on you for months. I was so patient with you Red! But now..." His hands grip her shoulders. 

Olivia took another breath. She needed to calm herself. She let him breath in her hair one final time before leaning her head forward then rapidly swinging it back striking Mick square in the nose.  He howls staggering backwards giving Olivia just  enough space to run the door. In seconds she undoes the lock swinging it open before it's forcefully slammed back shut a strong grip onto her arm tossing her to the ground.

"See. This is why I came back for you Red! You haven't learned shit. Somebody has to teach you!"

Mick wastes no time in undoing his belt buckle a smirk on his face  before kneeling down with the duchess laying his whole body on top of her his hips pinning her to the ground. The sounds of her grunting against him only exciting him more.

 "So much fire in such a tiny body." His teeth clenches between the flesh of her neck biting down hard, as if she were meat. 

Olivia waited for her moment, thrusting her knee between his legs pushing him off of her as he cries out in pain. She runs towards the door again. But as she opens it she stops.

A thought creeps into her mind. A strange and devilish thought that turns her on her heels closing the door yet again.

"Mick." She walks back over to his hunched over body. "I don't think we have been properly introduced." She throws a quick kick to his side hard enough for him to plummet onto his stomach.

"I am Olivia Nevarkis!" She moves towards his head "Dutchess of Lythikos." spiking it  causing him to spin over to his back blood pouring from his forehead. "My blood is savage! My blood is fire!" Olivia places her heel deep within his neck smirking at the gurgling noises beneath her.  "My blood is ice! And you sir could NEVER break me."

Olivia drives her shoe in deeper not even noticing her balance faltering until Mick has her free foot in his grip tossing her onto the ground beside him.

He stands to his feet not wasting a second to grab the duchess pinning her to the wall clutching her red locks and throwing the back of her head into the concrete wall.  His eyes are bloodshot as he flings her body across the room. Paintings and vases all crash to the ground with her. Mick marches over picking her up one final time holding her against the wall with his hips. Both hands clasped around her neck.

"I guess we have a change of plans." He tightens his grip as Olivia squirms to breath "First I will kill you. Then I will...well you can guess that one." He smirks.

Fire is rising from Olivia's chest. Time is running out and she knows it. Just within reach is a candlestick holder. She stretches her arm out her fingertips barley graze the fixture. She reaches more...more ...just a little....But time is out and the room grows dark, her arm drops.  Her eyelids grow heavy, her last image is Mick's greedy eyes  before there's nothing left but the sound of crashed glass somewhere far away.

Breath.

The first freeing breath Olivia took was not only healing but painful. Her body hit the ground with a thud. But hers wasn't remotely the loudest. Like a dream there was Mick lying motionless on the ground next to her, pieces of glass scattered around his head.

"Olivia are you ok?!" Riley throws down the remaining glass vase to help her friend up. "I came to check on you and  I heard all this commotion. We need to call the guards before the attacker comes to."

"No! No...he's no attacker. Just a....a drunken employee of mine. He wasn't too happy about being fired tonight."

Riley looked over the Duchess questioningly. 

"Look, Riley thank you. You seriously just saved me but please don't tell anyone about this. I will handle him ok?"

Riley didn't have a moment to argue as Olivia scooted her out the room  and the door slammed behind her.

Riley couldn't shake what she had just witnessed. She went back to the party and the second she saw Liam sitting in a dark corner of the ballroom, with Bastien beside him she hurried right over.

"Liam I need to talk to you. Something is going on with Olivia. You need t--"

"Riley I am fully aware of what's going on with Olivia and once we find her accomplice my guards will be apprehending the both of them."

"Apprehend? You're gong to arrest Olivia? For what?"

"She's the person that has been set out to kill me from the very start! I didn't want to believe it but...it's all adding up now. It's been her all along. History just has a way of repeating itself doesn't it?" Liam laughs dryly as his gulps down the rest of his drink. I used to think my father was the cold one but he has nothing on a Nevarkis."

A tiny drip  onto Mick's forehead woke him, attempting to rise but his arms and legs are bound by restraints. 

"Fuck! Should have killed that bitch weeks ago." he mutters  struggling to pull himself free.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. " Olivia's voice echos throughout the dark room. "My great great great grandmother invented those cuffs. They are designed to tighten as the prisoner moves. Her idea of training them to remain still."

Olivia lights a kerosene lamp giving the room a little more light. With it Mike can now see the shine of the blade in The Duchess' hand and he smirks. 

"Red stop it. You know damn well you have no idea what to do with a knife. Now put that thing away before you hurt yours---"  Olivia flings the knife and it lands mere inches from Mick's head.  

"Oh Mick...poor poor Mick." Olivia steps closer to the slab removing the knife tracing Mick's body with the tip of the blade, a maddening look in her eyes. "Dear, the only person  getting hurt tonight is you."

Tagging: I tag randomly so if you would like to say tagged let me know if you never want to be tagged again let me know.

@walkerismychoice@darley1101@speedyoperarascalparty@mfackenthal@jadedpixiescribbles@boneandfur @andy-loves-corgis   @blackcatkita@missevabean @snyggflicka@stopforamoment@agent-bossypants @endlessly-searching-for-you@indiacater@tmarie82 @umccall71@hopefulmoonobject@choices97@blubutterflyy @fluffy-marshmallow-heart@itsmychoicebih@kinkykingliam@blznbaby@viktoriapetit@alicars@butindeed@greyeyedsmile14@gingerjane15@barbaravalentino@mymandrake@choicesbyjade @drakesfianceee@confessionsofabrokegirl@drakelover78@drakewalkerrosenberg@grumpycommoner@drakewalkerfics@choicesteamdrake@choicesfanficlibrary@alesana45@thequeenchoices @pug-bitch@drakewalkerwhipped@drakewalker8@gardeningourmet@jovialyouthmusic@walkerduchess @the-whiskeywife  @sirbeepsalot

[gathering-storm]

Unseen Savior (drabble)

There he sat, legs dangling off the edge of a seldom used bridge. The pain in his eyes resonated with the icy chill of the crystal waters below, hair matted from lack of care.....he had to reason to care anymore, all effort seemed pointless. ‘guess no one found my note....or no one cares’ he thought to himself whilst giving one last glance around to see if he was wrong, to check if someone had come to show him the love and compassion he craved. His final words to his family and friends had been lain out the night before upon a single piece of lined notebook paper in his finest handwriting, each word carefully chosen to tell of his grief and his desires for forgiveness in a way that would emphasize his lack of will to continue without seeming as a cry for aid....the time to help had long come and gone. With a gulp of trepidation he stood, shaky limbs coursing with adrenaline as he peered at the rushing water below “just one step...then its over” he mumbled, lips tasting the cold of this early winter morn, images of his life flashing in his tattered mind. Every abuse, every bit of bigotry directed towards him, every mention of his depression being “just a phase” weighing on him like an entire world resting upon the tired shoulders of his soul, pushing him onward to the only solution capable of ending the agony once and for all. “this is best”, he whispered raising his right foot, set to step over the edge and embrace eternity....the white-capped water looked so welcoming, so inviting, so....soft....a torrential hug from nature before the reaper took him, “farewell...” he finished, his breath coming as steam in front of him as though his soul had already started to leave him. His forefoot fell, his weight beginning to tip over the edge....his eyes closing in anticipation for the impact soon to come. ‘3...2....1′ he mentally counted only to realize he was not falling a moment later, a weight on his shoulder was keeping him in place...a hand perhaps? ‘no’, he pondered sorrowfully in sheer doubt, ‘I must just be hesitant without realizing it’ he considered, unknowingly doing so out loud “no, it is not your hesitation which halts you”, a warm, raspy voice responded as the weight, the hand, became heavier, pulling the forlorn man from the edge gradually, “’tis a friend.” This voice jolted his eyes open, his head turning toward the source rapidly, portals to a broken heart running with tears upon seeing the gentle face looking to him. Long silver hair draped the head of this stranger, their cheeks rounded but strong, chin square yet soft. Their skin bore the wrinkles of age, lines accrued over years meshed with some semblance of remaining youth “please, I beg of you, reconsider”, spake this self paradoxical male, “you have much to live for, even if ‘tis not readily obvious.” he encouraged with careful precision, each word emphasized in the way a doting father might speak to a injured youth. “I doubt that....”, came the downtrodden man’s response, the bitterness in his voice nearly as biting as the air itself, a voice without hope is often so, “if I have so much to keep going for, why can’t I see it?” he asked with no expectation of an answer beyond the ever generic vein of ‘you don’t trust ______ deity enough’ or some other such patronizing condescension. “you are seeing life through the eyes of a wounded fighter blind to all else but the pain consuming you”, the other explained softly whilst pressing subtly on his shoulder, gradually motioning for him to sit only to take a position beside him behind the bridge’s railing, “I can see in your eyes a spirit injured by judgement, hatred, anger and perceived abandonment”, he continued looking deep into their hazel orbs, the brown overtaking its green companion, “you feel each injustice as a dagger to your heart, blade digging in as if driven by the hand of an unseen tormentor....” “And this helps me how?” he questioned, shocked by this entity’s insight, his expression and vocal tone showing the surprise. “all you’ve done is psychoanalyze me..” he added once more looking over the edge, gaze focused on every ripple and hard wave below “to solve any problem, one must first acknowledge and be willing to face it”, his companion answered directing, with a finger on his chin, his gaze back onto him, “think not of the crashing waters as your release, picture instead they are an abstract representation of your inner turmoil”, he instructed before standing, free hand still on the shoulder of  this man he sought to save, “turn your gaze further downstream, on the other side of this bridge”, he coached, motioning to a bend in the water where the icy depths slowed to a peaceful stream, vicious foam replaced with a gentle trickle courtesy of a gated dam sitting mostly closed, “though at first sight where the coursing is at its most violent the river may seem unruly, unrestrained, where there is aid it calms to a gentle brook.” “yeah, that’s the problem, no one ever tried to help me...” the younger male replied watching the calmer flow, starting to in some measure understand the metaphor presented him, “I was always fed that line of it being temporary, about it just being a phase....I’ve struggled with this most of my life...” “I will not lie to you, I cannot promise should you rescind your desire for death this day you shall be cured, that all the pain will depart like a storm wafted away by a gentle breeze”, the softer man replied, the method in his words sincere, stalwart and unshaking ,yet filled with subdued emotion and brimming with honest compassion, “there will be times in the days, the months, the years to come when this doubt shall return in force, the same drive may again consume you...but I implore you to look past the darker voices plaguing your thoughts and to focus instead upon where the water is peaceful...there is always something to strive for, be it great or small.” His honesty caught the wounded man off guard, expecting only some placating reply instead of such a point-blank answer “like what?” he asked choking back the tide of feelings threatening to bubble forth. “The kiss of a warm morning’s breeze caressing your face as you wake, the chorus of birds singing their lovely songs like a choir from heaven, the refreshing splash of water upon your skin as you enter a shower set to the temperature you prefer and the scents of your favorite bodywash”, he replied with a lyrical cheer to him, “your favored music played only for you from within your devices, the innocent charm of a feline’s or canine’s face looking to you for attention, hope for a love that shall surely come or one which has, your career or the one you hope to have”, he listed, each one carefully considered before being spoken, “these are but some of the things often overlooked which give reason to even the most downtrodden of lives, embrace them as one would a treasured stuffed animal or close friend, let their warmth chase the chill from you.” With each example listed the sensations accompanying them briefly flowed through this suicidal man, every one bringing alongside it a measure of comfort as the message sunk in, burrowing past the doubt, past the pain. Unable to restrain himself further, he embraced his savior, arms cinching tightly around him while he burrowed his face into their chest, soaking their sparrow-tailed suit in the wet emblems of his troubles “yes, let all your woes flow unto me, may the weight be relieved you”, they encouraged, a gentle hand upon his head stroking his black hair in smooth soft lines from back to front, “focus on my words and the beating of my heart, the rhythm calming the storm within you.” “why...why do you care so much?” the now whimpering man questioned between strangling knots in his throat, looking up to the face of this mysterious stranger “you deserve not death, you deserve not judgement, you deserve....compassion and tender care”, came the response as a soft kiss was placed upon his forehead, “‘tis my duty, my honor to aid those such as yourself who need a shoulder upon which to cry or a figure to see them into brighter days.” “who are you?” the man asked, managing to stifle himself, his thoughts no longer on an end and instead on the future given him with his refusal to give up “Amaru is the name I prefer”, the caring entity answered with a smile, “as to the nature of my existence, it is as I have done.”. He stood, motioning for the other do so as well only to embrace him the moment they were both to their feet before retreating, leaving only his hands upon their shoulders “should you ever require my presence again, merely speak my name...”, he advised, tone trembling somewhat, hinting at a soon farewell, “there are others in need, thus for now, this must be goodbye.” With those last words, Amaru vanished, his warming presence lingering for the rest of the day, wherever the one whose life he had saved traveled, an ethereal hug constantly around him as a reminder of both whom he had met and what he had overcome.

[court-0f-dreamers]

ACOTAR: Restrung Chapter 2

Fic Summary: What if it was never up to Tamlin to break the curse? What if, instead, in a true test of love, Amarantha sent out Prythian’s most abhorred and cruel Highlord, to watch his land fall into ruin while trying to change the heart of a hateful human? A Court of Bitterness and Jasmine…A Court of Rhysand. Set in the same universe as our favourite Sarah J Maas characters, but with a twist. 

If Rhysand were to take Tamlin’s place how different would our story be? Or would it stay the same? 

Chapter 1  Chapter 3

Tags: @acourtofdaisiesanddreams, @thelaughingzeebra, @rkjar1646, @empress-ofbloodshed, @22skybarr, @samariumpoisoning, @deezrmuhsheeple, @purpleboybunny, @krm00623, @ladysailorcaptaindoctor, @acourtofpainandfeelz, @throne-of-ashes-and-beauty, @illyrianinterrasen, @not-illegal-if-u-win, @urban-skys, @thrones-of-rosess, @samayla, @nerdperson524, @fracknugget, @valkyrienikolea, @bibliobug, @rokusasu, @ataurusinabookshop, @the-candor-shadowhunter, @allthenamesaretakenofcourse, @demydreamer-otaku-and-book-lover, @illyriangoddess, @ourbooksuniverse, @kaliejane26, @atya-malik133, @akcmirran, @always-namelessismyprice, @the-song-of-the-wind, @bibliophileinnightcourt, @tothedreamerswholookup, @icantpeopletoday, @girl-who-fangirls, @angelcakes12332, @feyreeedarlinggg, @books-are-friends-not-objects, @rapcookie, @sirixslyobsessed, @nerdofmanypages, @rowaelinsmut, @nieliadamteragram, @eternally-reading, @dreamingofradescapes, @nerdybirdsgettheworms, @justhappym, @myhighladyfaeofthenightcourt, @1800-fight-me, @unicornbooks, @aileana-kameron, @kylooreens, @ddiieettzz-blog, @sahannahsa, @celaena-sardothiien, @bluephoenix222, @howtotameyourillyrian, @ame233, @tswaney17, @a-court-of-fangirl-and-tears, @high-lady-of-rochambeau, @fallingstarsfallenangels, @verifiefangirl, @urbisie, @rhysand-vs-rowan

CHAPTER 2 4 days later

I need this. A few moments just for me. No one cares anyway, Feyre thought, as she leaned her head back against the coarse wooden grain.

She had had a surprising few days. After her night in the forest, she had had three days of kills. Three days of food. She was able to sell the pelts in the marketplace, where a mercenary gave her twice the normal amount for them. Yet, she couldn’t stop thinking about that creature. At the most unexpected moments she would see those keen eyes, or remember that sense of home.

The rhythmic thumping sound brought her back to the present. From the sound, it was pretty obvious what was going on between Feyre and Isaac in the Hales’ old barn.

He held her, her legs wrapped around his waist, and lifted a single iron cuffed hand to push his hair off his sweaty brow.

She gripped his slight but toned shoulders harder.

He released her legs, spinning her around. She now faced a shoulder-height shelf piled high with rusty, old milk pails. She grabbed the edge and arched back urging him deeper.

His hands came around her front, squeezing her breasts, his fingertips grazing her erect nipples.

She looked down at his hands. Lean knuckled fingers, that often helped his father on the farm. She tried not to think back to last week when those hands were deworming a pig.

“More”, Feyre urgently whispered back. He increased his pace, and she arched even closer to him as the sounds of their meeting filled the barn.

She also heard a slight rustling to her side. It was a goat poking its nose in the hay strewn across the floor. It lifted its head, slowly chewing a mouthful of straw. Its beady eyes held her stare with idle tenacity.

“More!” she said, and slid her hand down. She groaned as her fingers rapidly moved between her legs.

She tried to ignore it when the goat sat down and watched.

Isaac stepped closer and thrust harder against her inner depths. For a few moments nothing else in the world existed but their bodies. Nearly there…

The door flew open. 

SHIT! Feyre thought. 

Nesta was standing there, hands on her hips, looking far too much like their mother. Shit shit shit. 

“What the hells Nesta?! Why are you here?” Feyre shrieked, as she grabbed for her clothes. She clamped down the anger and embarrassment welling inside her. No, I will not be embarrassed. She knew what we did here. “Get dressed and get outside.” Nesta said sharply, staring them down like disgruntled queen.

She buttoned my tunic and pants, not bothering to say goodbye to Isaac as she pushed her way through the doors. “Really, Nesta...!” Feyre started.

“I don’t care about your sad little tryst. There is someone waiting to see you at home, and you better start explaining yourself now.”

                                                    *** *** ***

Aalop Archeron dropped the bowl of thin soup. With even shakier hands he tried to pick it up, nearly falling over in the process.

Rhysand cringed inwardly. He should be used to this.

The older man’s cane slipped dangerously on the now wet floor.

“Father, let me”, Elain said rushing forward. “Please Sir, forgive us, please,” she whispered, bowing her head to him, unable to make eye contact.

Rhys’ expression remained impassive. He had worn this face many times over the last five hundred years. The cold, dark, soulless Highlord. For the last fifty years, this had become his face to the world. The mask he couldn’t remove.

Unless you do your job and free them, he reminded himself.

“Enough.” he said, the low tenor of his voice an unfailing command. “I don’t care. Where is Feyre, your youngest daughter?”

“She is c-coming, Sir,” Elain said, still unable to so much as lift her head up as tears silently streamed down her face.

“Please. Please.” their father begged. “Take me. I will do anything. Please. I will pay--”

Rhysand forced a cruel laugh, “You think you can pay me? How much is a life worth to you, Aalop Archeron?”.

The fact that he knew their names scared them as much as his words.

He casually picked up a small wooden carving from the table, examining the fragile object in his large hands - a winged woman with shining halo. He stared at it, the work was so delicate, and her face triggered a wisp of memory-

Behind him he heard a gasp.

He turned towards the door where Nesta held a shorter, thinner version of herself tightly in front her.

Such big eyes, was his first thought, big stormy eyes.

Feyre looked around the room, taking in the scene. Then she looked at him, and he wished she didn’t.

“Who are you? What do you want?” she spat. She seemed to look straight passed the mask, she seemed to look straight into his soul. And then across her face swept a hard look of hatred.

He would have hesitated if he hadn’t had fifty years to get used to that look.

“Now now now, Feyre”, his mocking voice drawled out her name. “Is that any way to speak to your new Highlord?”

She looked shocked. He saw her take in his immaculate black on black suit, his unnatural poise, perfect face, and his clearly non-human pointed ears. “Alright, pack your things; say goodbye. You killed a Fae in the forest, someone who was a vital part of the running of my court. As the treaty demands, you must now come with me to repay the debt.”

“What! This is absurd. I didn’t know. There is no law--”

“ENOUGH.” Rhysand raised his voice and very slightly released the damper on his power. Night filled the room. Wisps of darkness reached out and caressed Nesta’s cheek, trailed across Elain’s shaking shoulders, and clouded Aalop’s vision.

The fear in their eyes was real. He could hear it in the erratic beating of their hearts.

Good, he thought. He wanted this over as quickly as possible.

“Feyre,” her father pleaded.

Rhysand’s night receded.

Aalop reached out for his young daughter. “He has promised me that you won’t be harmed. That you just need to live in his court. You will be treated well, and then he will release you when you sentence is served. I-I am s-sorry my love”. His eyes beseeched her to understand. Understand how he couldn’t help his child. “You have always been too good for us…”

Elain finally looked at her, “Feyre, he will kill us all. He will raze this town. Feyre, help us.” she said between sobs.

Nesta said nothing, but released Feyre’s shoulder and stepped aside.

Rhysand watched shock, betrayal and then fearful acceptance cross her face. He couldn’t stand this stifling house anymore. With the single word “Hurry”, he stepped outside and waited at the road.

He was so angry. And the emotion burned through his guilt.

The fools! They had so much. They had their free lives, they had a roof over their heads, and most of all, they had each other. Yet they gave her away so easily. Even as their selfishness suited his cause, his anger grew.

He couldn’t hide his deep frown.

The Archerons mistook it for impatience.

“Go Feyre. Go.” Nesta pushed her out sold chattel.

Feyre turned away from the door and walked alongside him, looking back at her family with hungry eyes until she lost sight of them.

He looked at her small face and her stiff shoulders as she kept pace with his long strides. She was trying to be brave in front of the beast that took her away.

He was about to reach his hand out but stopped. She doesn’t want to touch you, he thought.

“We are going North”, was all he said before he grabbed her by the bag and winnowed them away.

                                                   *** *** ***

This wasn’t real. This wasn’t happening to her. It took Feyre at least an hour, or longer, who knew, to get used to the idea that she was flying. No, not flying. Appearing and reappearing. Like her whole body was being shattered into a middle pieces and then reassembled in the blink of an eye. Each time in a different place across the land.

The first time she saw a sweet-smelling dark garden, the second was a stifling sandy beach, then so much orange and yellow she couldn’t tell the roof from the floor. Then, snowy blizzard. Warm light. Hot brighter light. Cold night. And then it was over.

The male next to her had barely touched her but she felt his magic release her from his side.

She tried not to look at him. He had the most stunningly beautiful face she had ever seen. That only made the terrible dark power rolling off him more terrifying. 

He turned away, panting.

They were outside a massive black wrought iron gate. Beyond it were red mountains to one side, partially obscuring the edges of a river bordered by more sharp dark mountains. On the other side were black buildings with heavy smoke churning out of the chimneys atop them.

But Feyre’s eyes were focused on the gate and its surrounding fence, and she couldn’t help but notice the intricate work, the curling whorls interspersed with ugly dangerous-looking spikes. Spikes facing inwards. This wasn’t a gate to keep people out, but one to keep people in.

She forgot all the assurances of her safety he had granted her before they left.

She was looking at the Gates of Hell.

He reached towards the double-doored gate, and at his touch it opened.

“Welcome home”, his voice, calm and soft, didn’t hide the malice at the last word.

6 hours later.

It was midnight and nothing was keeping me inside this house.

They told Feyre it was a “house” but in reality, it was a palace. A dark, festering palace atop a red mountain that looked like the maw of a giant beast. She supposed it was a fitting home for the male who ruled over it.

The city was called “Velaris” and from the little Feyre saw of it, it was a place of nightmares. It was mostly a ghost town, the buildings daubed with moist black streaks of mould. On her way in, she saw a family of faeries with long blue limbs being threatened by large, angry insectile creatures with batons. The night court police perhaps, Feyre assumed, and gave them a wide berth. Upon seeing their Highlord in the streets they immediately stopped and returned to their posts. Feyre tried not to think about how terrifying the male next to her was if these creatures feared him. The citizens hurried away without glancing in their Highlord’s direction.

After that he rushed her into this palace,and she didn’t see another being while they wandered through hallway after hallway. It might have been grand once. The red uncut stone of the walls might have been warm, the high ceilings open and inviting, but like the rest of the city it felt abandoned. Feyre tried to track the turns and distances they travelled, but she quickly lost count. She had never been in a place like this. They turned abruptly and headed down a dark staircase.

He’s taking me to the dungeons, Feyre panicked.

It must have shown because he immediately stopped, and said, “These are my private chambers. Only those closest to me can enter here. You will not be harmed.”

They went down more twisted hallways and then travelled up a long spiral staircase, which finally opened over a wide white-marble antechamber lined with high windows. Feyre realised the whole palace had been carved out of the mountain itself, and they were now at the summit.

The Highlord stopped at the first door on the left. A single glossy black door.

Throughout this journey, her emotions were a riot, swirling between blind panic and brave resignation. All those thoughts stood still when he pulled out a heavy golden key and placed in it her hand, careful not to touch her, “Your room. Once you are inside no one except your handmaiden can enter without your permission.” he said. He paused for a moment, hesitating, and then started to step away, his head low.

Who are you?, Feyre thought forcefully.

His head snapped up like she had shouted it. He looked at her for the first time since entering Velaris, really looked at her. Feyre didn’t dare look away from those fierce violet eyes.

He stepped closer, tilting his head to the side.

“What do I do now?” she blurted, “Highlord”, she quickly added.

That broke the strange silence over them.

His expression changed, and he gave her that frustratingly cool smile. “Tonight? Whatever you want. I don’t care. Eat, sleep, read, stare at the wall. I’ll come get you in the morning. Until then, feel at home.” He said mockingly, knowing she could never feel that way.

He spun on his heels and walked away, hands in his pockets, with an aura of complete satisfaction.

A beautiful Fae was waiting in her room. Cerriwden, she said her name was. She spoke softly and moved through the rooms with silent grace, her straight, waist-length hair swaying behind her. Rooms, Feyre had rooms now. There was a sitting room with a desk, shelves of books, and a large fireplace framed by a comfortable couch. The bedroom was dominated by a decadent high-canopied bed, and was connected to an equally large bathing room holding a sunken grey tub. Each room was at least three times the size of her whole house.

Cerriwden ran a bath for her and helped her into clean, soft night clothes. Her warm, sure hands on Feyre were the only reminder that this was real, and not a twisted dream. And though Cerriwden spoke little, her gaze was keen, taking in everything Feyre did.

Well, she doesn’t work for me, Feyre thought.

Occasionally, Feyre noticed a twinge of pity, of sadness when the handmaiden’s clear black eyes met hers. In those moments, Feyre felt shame, and guilt, and hurt. She wasn’t going to be kept here, a prisoner in a lavish cell.

Which brought her here, at midnight, with her legs thrown over the ledge of her window, high above the sleeping city. Feyre tried to judge how quickly she would die if her accidentally slipped right now. She had used the trimmings of the rich curtains to fashion a rope, and she planned to attach it to the multiple balconies and balustrades that dotted her path down the mountain face. Just like the trees in the forest at home, she told herself as took in deep breath and jumped.

She made leap after leap, careful not to look down the at the dizzying fall should she miss. But her forest and her home were far from here. She didn’t know if she was thankful or angry at that fact. Thankful that despite the little they had, her family were not in this place. But angry that they were left to die. Without her, how would they feed themselves? And deep down, she hoped they would realise how much she gave them, and then they would come to regret how they barely fought to keep her.

A few more leaps and she was at the bottom. She was careful to tuck her homemade rope into her bag. She then grabbed the bow and two fighting knives she took from home and secured them within easy reach.

Preparation first. Know your what you are dealing with, Feyre, she thought. Then figure a way out.

She was not prepared for the sight of Velaris at night.

Feyre’s senses were assaulted as she took in the scene before her. Everywhere the sights, sounds, and smells of the crowd was overwhelming. The streets were teeming with High Fae, pushing each other around, yelling, leering, grinding against each other. Thumping music blared from doorways, different beats and rhythms, all merging on the street into a chaotic cacophony. The main street was lined with bars and restaurants, all filled with fae and faeries. Feyre sensed the threat of violence slinking underneath the revelry, a manic intoxication was could be uncorked at any time.

Her subconscious had picked it up before she acknowledged it. This was not the celebration of a happy, satiated people. These were the revels of a cruel and angry court. Her eyes narrowed to the faeries interspersed between the High fae. The faeries were waiting on them, servicing them, desperately trying to keep their establishments from being torn apart by them - the faeries were being abused by them.  She tasted something bitter in her mouth. Fear.

She was an outsider here. She was a weak human. She quickly walked away from the broadway. She avoided the storefronts closing for the nights, patrons throwing down their rubbish as they left,  smashing bottles and swearing. She was careful to dodge a drunk vomiting man only to nearly walk into someone pissing off the broadwalk. Thankfully, no one paid much attention to her.

She decided to make for the docks. Docks meant ships, and ships meant a way out.

But there were no ships.

By the waterfront inside the abandoned boatshed, there were only more faeries. It was quieter here, but somehow even more dismal. There were faeries from every part of Prythian, it seemed. Some looked like humans, some seemed like an extension of nature itself. A faerie with verdigris skin and hair like the richest leaves sat next to a pale white faerie with skin like translucent tissue paper. Groups of threes and fours clustered around barrels filled with fire, clutching packets of food in paper. Others were sitting up on thin bed mats and cardboard mattresses laid on the floor. There was muted conversation amongst the heads held low. Feyre had seen enough of hunger and poverty to recognise it on all these faeries instantly. She didn’t dare speak to anyone, it was clear that no one here wanted to be noticed either.

She crossed a bridge to the other side of the river and entered another cluster of buildings.

Here were hundreds of houses built almost on top of each other. They had sprouted up in a disorganised mass, a colony that had grown too quickly and irregularly, crawling from the waterfront to cling to the steep mountain face. But there was a beauty in it, for it was the only speck of colour in this city of stark black, tarnished red and drab grey. All the shanty homes were painted every colour of the rainbow. Though fading, with nothing of the bright technicolour of Elain’s garden in spring, it had a coherence and unity that was lost everywhere else in the city.

As she walked through the uneven alleys, she saw the walls of the homes were crumbling, roofs replaced with corrugated iron, and doors and windows sealed shut with makeshift wood planks. There were signs of the fae that inhabited those homes, with occasional clotheslines, rain waterpots on doorsteps, and the telltale flicker of a candle beneath a door frame. But for so many homes, the silence was eerie.

Until she heard something.

The scratching of claws against a wall. A girlish scream cut short. The sounds of scuffed boots on the ground.

She cautiously turned the corner.

Four creatures with bat-like faces, leathery wings and insectile bodies were crowded around a Fae girl.

“Hmmm, out after curfew. Your Highlord’s rules don’t protect you now”, one of them hissed. They leaned in close. Their leering glances made it clear what she needed protecting from.

The girl looked around for any path to run into, for anything that might help her.

They creatures started clicking, rubbing their claws together, purposefully taunting her.

Before Feyre could consider the consequences she picked up a large rock and aimed it. The creature closest to her grunted loudly as it hit him on the back of the head.

They turned towards Feyre in unsettling unison.

“RUN!”, Feyre yelled to the girl, who needed no encouragement as she bolted towards Feyre. They both ran through the pot-holed alleys that bordered the homes, turning often in the hope they could lose the creatures.

“Attors!”, the girl exclaimed pointing to the right, “We need to go this way. Attors hate water”, she pointed back towards the docks.

They veered sharply right, ducking under a low clothesline.

Straight into the path of a waiting Attor.

“Aren’t I lucky? I get two of you all to myself”, his voice dripping with vicious pleasure.

Feyre palmed the knives she had hidden in her boots as they backed away.

They barely got three feet away when the Attor flapped its leathery wings and appeared behind them, obstructing their path out.

“Rhysand has been careless”, he hissed gleefully. “Let’s get rid of those”, he reached over and with one swipe knocked both the knives out of Feyre’s hands, cutting her skin with his razor claws.

Defenceless now, Feyre tried to reach for her bow.

My bow!, she realised belatedly it wasn’t on her back. She had made the thin linen string herself. It must have snapped while she was running.

Panic seeped into the souls of her feet. This is it. It’s over.

The Attor moved in closer, reaching towards Feyre. “I think I’ll start with you”, he rasped, breathless at the thought.

Suddenly his head jerked up, and before either of them could make another movement, a bone-shuddering tremor snapped through the ground. Immediately followed by another.

Feyre held her breath as everything stopped. A hundred feet behind the Attor, still crouching from the impact of their landing, were two leather-clad Fae.

They stood together and started walking towards them, their magnificent wings flared out wide, spanning the length of the alley. The way they moved their tall, muscular bodies with restrained ease, the weapons strapped to every inch of them, and the fierceness of their expressions made it clear who they were - Warriors. These were the Fae of dreams and nightmares. And they were beautiful, in all their gloriously and deathly fury.

Feyre made herself small and started to inch back the alley. For whatever reason they were here, the distraction could save her life. They surely didn’t even sense her insignificant human self.

“Who in the hells are you?” the Attor hissed at them.

“I’m glad you asked,” said the broader one with shoulder length hair and rough-cut features, coming up to them, “now you will know who sent you back to that pit you crawled from.”

In a flash of silver, he unsheathed two short swords and scissored them across the Attor’s thick neck. Feyre stopped still, barely noticing the black blood spraying the walls as its lifeless head rolled towards her feet.

“Oh I lied. I didn’t let you live long enough to find out”, he said with an angry half-smile.

The taller one, a dark Adonis, rolled his eyes. Shadows swirled around his ears as his gaze turned to her. She was trying to still her hammering heart, when he nodded and said, “Hello, Miss Feyre. I’m Azriel, and this is Cassian. Welcome to Velaris”.