#Spies are Forever: Live and Let Fly

[ricky-mortis]

Howdy hello- guess who made a wings au :)

More to come with this eventually- I’m working on my designs for other characters at the moment, but for now we’ve got Red-Tailed Hawk for Curt and Eagle Owl for Owen.

For DMA I had Barn Owl wings because a) Barn Owls are beautiful and I wanted to draw the wings for them, and more importantly, b) Owen would probably want to disguise his wings, and it would make sense if it was as a different type of owl. I just assume he’d dye his feathers in some way or another. Look- just don’t think about it too much.

[baldursgat3]

Well I was bored so I did what everyone does and wrote a 3.5k word fanfiction and made a brand new blog to post it on. So.

Anyway that thing that Gortash did to his parents was pretty fucked up right? Oh hey Ascended Astarion what are you doing here?

gn Tav, cw for some allusions to some non-con-ish stuff, haven't even done an ascended run yet but it's fine also spawn Tav

He so rarely called on his ability to compel you, but you felt the sensation begin to creep at the back of your mind. It felt like a spider climbing up your brain stem to weave it's web inside your skull.  "Astarion, please don't-" "You are going to watch and listen. Do you understand? You are going to learn what is expected of you. And until you have, you will be obedient and silent. Am I clear, my darling?" "Yes, my love."

It was only supposed to be temporary - a punishment for having escaped yet again. It didn't matter that you had every intention of returning as soon as the sun began to poke over the horizon, you had still found yourself cornered in the streets by your darling. The look of anger in his eyes only dampened by his annoyance.

"It's like you don't even try to listen to me, dearest." He had hissed, crowding you back against a wall. "Tell me how I'm supposed to keep you safe when you insist on sneaking around and frolicking off to the worst parts of the city in the dead of night."

"I'm sorry." You dropped your gaze to the ground. "I just- get so bored sometimes…" Maybe if you blame yourself, your own poor impulse control, maybe that would satisfy him.

Instead he just laughed. A short, almost incredulous chuckle. "Oh, you're bored. I see, well of course that's all right then. By all means, throw yourself to the wolves then, my love. Since you're bored."

He grabbed your hands in his, muttering a quick spell, and you were home. You watched as he opened his eyes again and his shoulders relaxed. You were here and safe beside him again and he could breathe once more.

But still, "This was the fourth time in less than a month. What do I have to do to make you understand?" Astarion's grip on your hands tightened.

"You could just let me go…" You mumbled bitterly before you could think any better of it. The instant the words escaped your mouth you had regretted them.

His eyes darkened and he pulled you in closer. He brought one hand up to wrap around the back of your neck, holding you firmly in place. "We are not having this discussion again. You know you belong here."

"But if you would just let me out once in a while I wouldn't-"

"It only takes once, don't you get that?" He hissed, his fangs bared. "One person, just like me. Hiding in the shadows, waiting to strike. Do you understand how high profile you are? Do you not see other nobility out with their guards? They don't prowl the dingiest taverns they can find for good reason, my love."

"I can handle myself!" You snapped back. He was already angry, you were already screwed, how much worse could you possibly make it?

You watched countless emotions fly across his face before irritation settled. Truthfully, not the worst possibility. "I know that you're strong and capable. But it's been years since either of us have lived that kind of life. Those skills don't just stay sharp, you know that. You can hold your own against one, maybe two people. But what happens when you're surrounded? And you're alone, I don't know where you are, I can't help you. Do you not understand that I'm trying to protect you?" He spoke, almost as though he was trying to rationalize with a child.

In his defense you did huff like one. "So I'm meant to stay locked up here forever because you're afraid?" That was the wrong word to choose. The annoyed look fell into anger as he pulled you in even tighter.

"Yes." It was short and filled with a venom that shot a wave of fear down your spine. He so rarely called on his ability to compel you, but you felt the sensation begin to creep at the back of your mind. It felt like a spider climbing up your brain stem to weave it's web inside your skull.

"Astarion, please don't-"

"You are going to watch and listen. Do you understand? You are going to learn what is expected of you. And until you have, you will be obedient and silent. Am I clear, my darling?"

"Yes, my love." Were the words that came out of your mouth. They certainly weren't the ones you were intending, though. What do you mean? What are you talking about? What are you doing? All questions that were desperately trying to escape, but none came.

His face softened as he pulled his hand away from your neck to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear with a gentle smile. "There we are. I love you, you know? So much. I just… I don't know what I'd do without you."

~*~*~

For something you found so horrifying, Astarion was remarkably calm about what he'd done to you. "As irritating and, honestly, pathetic as he was, Gortash did manage to strike me with a touch of inspiration." He had explained as you helplessly smiled back at him.

"The magic he used against his parents was… clever, I'll say. It was terribly cruel of him to leave them like that, trapped in their own minds forever. You have to understand, that's not what I'm doing." He looked so sad, suddenly. He grabbed your hand in both of his and held tight and you felt your face drop to match his emotions.

"I love you. Please, trust me. You don't know this life like I do. You're so- so kind. So trusting and wonderful and lovely. And it's going to get you killed. This is only temporary. I can keep you safe like this while you learn what you need to. This life is politics and swindling and scheming. It's not heroics and good deeds. One day- one day I swear we'll go back but for now this is what must be done. Please just… just trust that I know what I'm doing. And that I love you."

You felt the cobwebs clear for a moment, brushed aside to give you a chance to speak again. He was giving you a choice, though you weren't entirely sure what either outcome was meant to be. You did trust him though, you loved him. And maybe he was right. You had no idea really what the life of this caliber was like. He had been of nobility his entire life. "I trust you."

You felt the cobwebs fill your head again as he smiled, so gently, so sweetly. So why did it make your stomach turn?

~*~*~

He never gave you any sort of timeline. You had expected it to take a few months though. He was training you, shaping you into the perfect little accessory to attach to his hip. It wasn't always horrible, especially at first when he would clear the cobwebs away at night to discuss how you were feeling and what you were learning.

It did feel a bit demeaning. He was your partner not your mother, after all. But you could tell how relaxed he was now that he wasn't worrying about you so much. And it was always easier to learn by doing, even if it wasn't technically you doing anything.

Still, you saw the way you responded to other nobles when they asked you things you had no clue about. Truthfully, you found yourself hoping Astarion might just do this for every big event you went to. The idea of trying to remember all of these names and titles and schemes was daunting. It'd be easier to keep him happy if he was practically speaking through you and it took a huge pressure off your shoulders.

It was when the people left that you began to have a problem. Even when it was just the two of you alone. He allowed the compulsion to drop less and less frequently. Some days you wondered if he'd forgotten it was there at all. You hated when he would spend his time talking with this fake perfect version of you.

Jealousy. It must be. And you felt so stupid for it too. It was still you, your voice and body. And, honestly, half the time the responses this fake you gave were the exact same ones you would've given anyway. So what did it matter so much?

It was frustrating not being able to control your own body. You missed being able to reach out and grab his hand whenever you wanted. There were a lot of things you missed. Most things, actually.

You missed kissing him. It's not that he didn't kiss you like this, or that you couldn't feel it. When he kissed you it just felt awful. Your stomach would churn and all you wanted to do was pull away. You honestly didn't even feel that terrible the time he had forgotten you were in there while you had sex. (Something he had apologized for profusely, long after you'd forgiven him.)

But the kisses were so tender and sweet and they were for someone who wasn't you. It was this fake you that he made for himself and you just couldn't stand it. Next time he dusted you off, you had made up your mind to ask him to stop.

If only you'd made that decision a touch sooner. It had already been over a week since you were last freed from your compulsion. As the days ticked by, you grew less and less confident that you would get the chance to ask.

It has been months already. You weren't entirely sure, but it must've been closing in on a year since he'd first started this project. It didn't feel like it but it was winter again so it must've been.

You kept hoping, every night when you went to bed you silently begged Astarion to hear you again, to let you out of your mind. He never seemed to hear you. Instead he would pepper you in kisses and speak to you like nothing was different.

Weeks turned to months. Every day that went by without being in control of your own body was beginning to take a toll on your mind.

Astarion's touch became less and less welcome until you wanted to shriek and tear at your own skin every time you felt him near you. You screamed and begged and agonized, hoping that if you could just yell loud enough maybe he would hear you.

He had forgotten about you. You became more and more certain with every evening spent on your back for him now. The first time he'd used you like that he was devastated. The idea that he'd had a change of heart was somehow even more crushing than being forgotten. You couldn't entertain that idea.

It made more sense that he'd forgotten you anyway. It had been so long, he'd gotten so used to you like this. He couldn't hear you screaming and thrashing inside your head. And when you were alone, he truly hadn't changed that much about you. Perhaps some of the comments you made were a touch closer to something he would say, but that really only served to push the real you further from his mind.

You had to accept it. You were trapped in your own mind, helpless against the man you adored. You were angry and frightened and so, so desperate to be free. It ached in your chest every time words that weren't yours escaped your lips. You raged every time you felt his touch on your skin. His kiss left you longing to tear out your hair and shriek until your throat burned.

You were truly, utterly helpless.

~*~*~

It was summer now. You were pretty sure, anyway. It was a bit hard to tell exactly when spring ended and summer began when you never saw the sun.

Astarion was hosting a rather large event that evening. You weren't entirely sure what it was for or why. You had stopped bothering to pay attention to these things once you realized it was no longer about learning how to engage with high brow politics. The you that had control would handle it anyway.

You were dressed in a lovely ball gown, a favorite of Astarion's. He liked the wide hoop skirt, it kept people from getting too close to you.

It was like any other stupid high end party. Food that was so decadent and rich you could barely eat any of it. Most of it would be thrown away. What a waste. One of the few thoughts you had as you essentially dissociated through the party.

Your body picked up a small hors d'oeuvre, delicately biting the bite sized snack in two. It was far too unbecoming to pop the entire thing into your mouth, despite it being shaped for exactly that.

"Any good?" A voice from behind you startled you and your false self out of your tiny food related thoughts.

The fake you recognized him first, as your mind still tried to bring the world back into focus. You felt yourself lunge forward, hoop skirt be damned, as you threw your arms around the person in front of you now. Somewhere in the back of your mind you found it extremely strange that fake you would be allowed to do such a thing.

When you finally pulled back, you were present enough to see who you were hugging and it, truthfully, made even less sense. "Gale!" You heard yourself as you bounced excitedly on the balls of your feet. "Why are you here?"

"Oh, it's a big event isn't it?" He grinned, patting you on the shoulder. "Should the famed Wizard of Waterdeep not receive such an illustrious invitation?" He laughed, taking a small step towards the food table. "No, Wyll was invited. He brought Karlach as a plus one. She told me and I pestered Astarion to invite the rest of us. He didn't tell you?"

That sounded about right. You couldn't help laughing. Gods you'd missed them all. "He didn't, but everyone else is here too?"

"Well, no. I got them an invite, that's the best I could do. Shadowheart and Halsin are around here somewhere. Who knows about anyone else." He said, filling up a plate with tiny snacks. A small part of you was happy at least someone was eating like a normal person.

"Come on then, and fill a plate for Karlach would you? I said I'd bring them all back something." Gale smiled back at you as he began filling another plate, presumably for Wyll.

"Have you seen Astarion yet?" Oh, that was a good question actually. At least fake you was thinking about your love.

Gale nodded, picking up the second plate. "He met us when we first got here. Honestly, I expected you to be with him. Barely had a moment to talk, though, before he got pulled away."

"Precisely why I'm not with him." You laughed, picking up the plate you'd made for Karlach. "An event like this is going to have him pulled twenty directions. I'm supposed to stay over here to watch over things but-" But? Fake you didn't argue with buts. How strange. The power of friendship perhaps? Or Astarion's attention being so split with such a large event was allowing even the perfect version of you he hand crafted to slip through the cracks. Either way, you weren't arguing. "Well, it'll be fine to slip away for a moment." Strange.

You followed Gale back to where Wyll and Karlach were standing just a bit too close as they chatted. They were both dressed to the nines, Wyll in a well fitted suit with a short, ornamental cape draped over one shoulder. Karlach was putting him to shame though, in a floor length strapless dress with a slit that traveled halfway up her thigh. You'd never taken Karlach for a dress person and, watching the way she awkwardly moved in it, you'd assume you were right. That didn't stop anyone with eyes from stopping and staring as she walked by. You even found your own gaze lingering a bit too long. Very strange.

"Hey, soldier!" Her voice rang out loud and clear as soon as she spotted you. Before you knew it, you were wrapped in her arms and lifted off the floor with ease. You couldn't help laughing as you carefully tried to keep the plate of food balanced.

Your skirt swished back into place as she set you down, beaming at you. "It's been way too long. Just because you can't go out in the sun doesn't mean Astarion has to lock you away in the dungeon." She laughed again. If only she knew.

"I was surprised I even got an invite." Wyll chuckled, stepping closer. "I don't play his political games, but I'm happy to enjoy some good food with some old friends." Gods he was so sweet. If you didn't know just how genuinely he meant it, you wouldn't trust him.

"Well, I'm certainly happy to see all of you!" It's been so lonely cooped up in here, I've missed you so much. Your lungs longed to scream out to them, to beg them for help.

It was enough they'd taken you away from your post, you knew it was too much to ask for your voice to break through as well. It didn't stop you from wishing with your whole heart for your friends to hear you.

Instead, you had a pleasant conversation about what they've all been up to. Stories of the adventures Karlach and Wyll had been on, an anecdote about Tara that made everyone laugh. Halsin and, later, Shadowheart found their way into the circle, bringing their own stories. It would've been lovely were you not begging to be heard.

Karlach noticed first, of course she did. You saw it happen. You weren't sure what did it exactly but, as you were speaking, you saw her brow knit together. She watched you a bit closer. Fake you must've noticed as well, you felt yourself straighten up a bit more, talk a bit gentler.

It wasn't enough, she'd clocked something and now she was watching. The conversation shifted away from you but her gaze lingered. The you in control longed for her to look away, while the real you screamed for her attention. I'm here, please see me, gods please hear me!

You felt her watching you for at least ten minutes before she leaned in to whisper something to Gale. Oh gods, now he was watching you like a hawk. They both knew something was wrong but they couldn't tell what.

If you hadn't been watching them, you would've missed the small hand gesture and whispered incantation from the wizard. You didn't feel anything but clearly he didn't get what he wanted.

Then you felt it. A small tingling sensation in your head then, suddenly, it was as though the doors to your mind had been thrown open and you felt yourself recoil as though sunlight was pouring in. He was digging into your thoughts.

"Gale!?" You called out desperately in your head, watching as he blinked in shock. The gentle, practiced smile that remained stuck on your face completely opposed to the desperation he heard in your voice.

"Are you all right?" He asked, out loud, much to everyone else's confusion. Particularly Halsin's, who had been actively speaking when Gale interrupted.

"Gale, please! You can hear me?" Your mind screamed.

"Oh, me? Oh, I'm fine." Your mouth replied.

"I can hear you. What's going on?" Gale pressed forward, ignoring the questioning looks he received.

"Um, Gale-" Wyll had started but the wizard was disinterested in interrupting whatever connection he had with you right now.

"Gale, gods, Gale." What could you even say? You had to say something. But how could you explain this? You knew they all disapproved of the way Astarion kept you squirreled away but they never argued because you were both happy and it really wasn't exactly their business. But this? This was different. This was… well. Fucked up.

He was smart though. It didn't exactly take much to put two and two together. Two different answers, two different versions of his dear friend. "What happened? Does Astarion know about this?"

You would've flinched had you been in control of your body. "Really, Gale, I'm all right, I'm not sure what you're talking about." You still smiled warmly.

"He- he's the one who did this but-!" You panicked as you watched a darkness take over Gale's face.

"Okay, does anyone know what's going on right now?" Wyll tried to interject again, only to be met with a misdirected scowl from Gale.

"It would seem our resident vampire lord has gone a bit too far." He practically spat. He had never been overly fond of your relationship in the first place. You were never sure but Astarion was certain it was jealousy - partially why you were so surprised to see Gale had been invited at all.

"Use your words, Elminster." Karlach folded her arms, already impatient to know what was happening.

Gale turned back to you as his anger turned towards sadness. "I don't know how, but he's puppeting them. This-" He waved a hand at your calm, relaxed smile. "This is all fake. I can hear them, they're trapped in there."

"Gale, please, don't get angry, please." You were trying to do damage control now. You didn't want this to break bad for Astarion, you just wanted to be let out. "I- I just think he might've forgotten me, if you just-"

"Forgot you!? What do you mean forgot you? How long have you been in there?"

"Gale! Please don't cause a fuss, please. This- this doesn't have to affect the night. He just needs a reminder, that's all, it's all right."

"How long."

"I… I don't know. Over a year…" You knew saying that would be a bad idea. The rage took over his face again, while the rest of your companions watched with varying levels of confusion.

"Over a year." His voice was flat, his typical affectations and charming cadence gone. "Would someone be so kind as to request the presence of Lord Ancunín? I think we need to have quite the conversation."

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I've been dreaming of the Undersea Marauder.

There are so many rules in this world. So many shackles to keep him down.

Let nothing obstruct his errant path.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

A fish is bound to the water his entire life.

It’s not a life for him.

Floyd is on his back, set adrift in the face of the Coral Sea. His hands cradle the back of his head, and he finds himself staring up. A flock of birds form an arrow, slicing through the sky. He wonders where they're going, what they'll do there.

Some merpeople dreamed of trading scales for skin, but Floyd thinks about giving up his fins for feathers. A pair of wings with which to witness all manner of strange things…

He chuckles soft.

Wouldn't that be so freeing?

“Eheheh. I wanna try it, too! Wait up for me, birds. Here I come…!”

Floyd rights himself and dives unto the frigid waters. His powerful tail undulates like a teal ribbon, propelling him after and faster. He steadily gains, chasing the shadows of the birds that skim the surface of his home turf.

Floyd approaches, lifting himself toward the shimmering boundary between sea and sky. A second later, he breaks through with a mighty splash.

His body elegantly arcs in the leap. He’s a skipping dolphin, a flying fish.

Free.

Floyd launches higher and higher, zipping past the flock. He collides with some birds, screeching with laughter as they spin like cars out of control.

Here come the clouds now—he easily bursts through them. They’re made of cool and fine-grained beads of water, refreshing him as he flies.

And higher still he goes, the sky dimming, a gradient of light to dark.

Floyd is among the stars, each twinkling like diamonds in greeting. The planets, like massive globes of sugar orbiting him.

The eel is weightless, effortlessly floating through space. With his arms, he paddles--and though there should be no gravity, the space warps and gives like water, letting him sail as smoothly as a ship after a storm.

He reaches out and plucks a star out of the cosmos, giving it a curious lick. The taste is like sweetened milk, and so he pops the entire thing into his mouth.

Then begins his descent.

At the peak of his jump, surrounded by the stars, he bends downward and plunges.

But there are no longer any waters waiting for him.

He crashes through a canopy of leaves. They scatter like papers, raining down verdant, brown, scarlet, tangerine, and gold. Sunlight pierces them, giving each a magical glow.

Roots come, skittering by him like a snake might slink. Thin tendrils extend from them, brushing his face.

Maybe there is some other name for them? Hyph-something, myce-whatever. Floyd does not care to remember his twin's excitable rambling.

Alarmingly, he spies an ugly bulbous cap poking out from a root. His nose crinkles with disgust.

Shiitake mushroom.

Floyd paddles through the fungi and plants, the scent of dirt and chlorophyll filling his nostrils. It's fresh and green mixed with damp and earthy, nothing like the salty smell of the sea.

Jade would like this, he thinks.

Daisies push through, their petals tickling his skin. He takes a shaky breath, holds, shakes again, and...

Sneezes!!

A great gale is unleashed, clearing his surroundings in an instant. Floyd is sent flying up, up, and away--

He shoots out of the dunes. Sand scatters from the force he emerges with, throwing particle clouds up into the air. Floyd flails, trying to balance his body. No use--he flops uselessly under the pull of gravity.

A scream rips from his throat. Not of terror, but of joy.

The landscape unfolds into a sandy expanse. In the distance, he sees an oasis guarded by palm trees. And below, a great city crowning the desert.

There are bright tents and stalls pitched, merchants hawking their wares. Vases and lamps with unique patterns, ripe fruits, adornments in a variety of designs.

Families and friends mill about in the packed marketplace, satisfied with their mundane lives, the schedules they keep. So content, so peaceful.

Floyd grins.

And he lets himself plummet straight into a stall.

The weight of him collapses it with a loud THUD. The merchant looks on, horrified, and his circle of customers gasp, putting distance between themselves and Floyd. Sticky with fruit juices, he removes the strand of black hair that clings to his cheek.

"Eh, guess it could be worse," Floyd shrugs, tossing off a chunk of watermelon sitting like a hat on his head. A line of juice dribbles down his forehead.

He notices the crowd staring and wiggles his tail in a casual pseudo-wave. One person immediately faints--but luckily, they're caught by a concerned onlooker.

"Riffraff!" the merchant shouts, waving a fist. "Scoundrel!! I demand compensation for what you've wrecked!"

Floyd rolls his eyes. He sounds like Azul.

The eel hauls himself off the pile of fruit--and peels right past the feet of the customers. The merchant's face heats.

"Guards! GUARDS!! Come quickly, HELP!! There's a sea monster on the loose!!"

Floyd rapidly drags himself across the market, digging his talons into the ground, his tail pushing him forward. He gleefully writhes as people scream and flee, clearing a path for him. His laugh, cackling.

He's at the waterways that thread the city when heavy footsteps spill into the street.

"He went that way!!"

Floyd doesn't look back before he dives back into his natural element.

The water welcomes him, its streams washing off the sand that paints his skin, loosening the hair that clumped from fruit juices. A tender kiss, a kind hand.

He has returned to the sea.

The channel goes deeper than Floyd thinks. It widens, becoming an entire ocean bathed in sunlight. A coral reef teeming with life stretched out below him, and when he runs his hand along it, tiny seahorses escape and trail bubbles.

He turns his head this way--a school of rainbow tropical fish race by. The other way, a band is in full swing. A carp on the harp, the plaice on the bass, bass on brass.

Floyd twirls as he passes, happily humming along to the tune. The music wraps around him, giving a warm embrace. He almost misses his name being called, almost forgets himself.

"... od....... loyd... Floyd! There you are."

A face that matches his appears beside him. He is followed by a boy with lilac skin, a series of squirming tentacles at his beck and call.

“Where did you vanish off to?” Jade asks. “Azul and I were starting to get worried about your whereabouts. Weren’t we, Azul?”

“I’m more concerned for the places he visits rather than Floyd himself. Who knows how much collateral damage he could cause unsupervised,” the octopus merman grumbles.

“Oya, Azul… Could it be that you lack faith in Floyd? Even though he has unquestionably served you since middle school?"

"You're saying strange things again. I recall him losing interest and changing his mind last minute more often than 'unquestionably serving'." Azul raises a brow. "So? Where were you all this time?"

Floyd flings himself at the duo, slinging his arms around their shoulders and pulling them close.

"F-Floyd?! What is the meaning of this?" Azul sputters, struggling against his binds.

"I was everything and everywhere all at once," he responds with a laugh. "I was as free as a bird! I'll tell you guys about it~"

"Fufu, it sounds as though you've been away on quite an adventure. We would, of course, be more than happy to hear of your escapades."

[rory-multifandom-mess]

Okay, for real this time. 11 and 16 with V and N.

OOOH THESE ARE SOME GOOD ONES! Ok ok we got some eNVy! Bet!

11. "I thought you didn't want me" and 16. "Why haven't you kissed me yet?"

Genre: Hurt/No comfort

.

.

.

Oooh, boy, this is awkward. Really, really awkward. Of course, that purple thing had to be nosy all over again. Of course, she had to tap into their memories again, because screw their privacy, right?

V had done everything to make sure her stupid memories of that stupid mansion stayed repressed and forgotten about, especially for N, but no, she just had to dig them all up.

There they were, hanging out at Uzi's place, chilling while she played on her stupid computer, N read his stupid books and V had been bouncing a stupid ball off the wall. They were just talking, like normal people, laughing at each other and poking fun at stupid things.

Eventually, N had fallen asleep. And V tried her hardest to stay awake.

She failed and entered sleep mode.

At first, she thought she was dreaming about the mansion again, a repeat of all of the horrors and terrible things she had seen that day, and the monster Cyn had forced her to become.

But then she saw that damned crow again, sitting on N's shoulder like she was all high and mighty. V knew who it was as soon as she saw it, but she couldn't wake up. She couldn't get herself to wake up like she did last time, and then Uzi went on and uncovered her feelings for N and spied on her and now N knew and V finally got herself to wake up and-

The moment V had woken up, she sat up on Uzi's bed, where she had fallen asleep. N woke up at the same time, quickly sitting up, and immediately turned his head to look at V.

Their eyes locked, both of them blushing.

Then Uzi turned in her chair to look at the both of them, their eyes wide.

"Uh... Whoops?" She muttered.

V shot a glare at Uzi, gritting her teeth. Oh, how she wanted to lunge at her and pop her little head off. She wanted to rip her apart and kill her and destroy and maim and-

No. She couldn't. What would N think? What would he think of her after that? Uzi is his best friend. His only friend.

V shook her head, and instead of even threatening her, she fled, her wings bursting from her back as she took to the sky, breaking a hole in the ceiling of Uzi's room.

She heard N shout; "V, wait!" but it was too late. She was gone.

V flew as fast as she could to get away from them, her core beating and her mind racing. She flew straight to the sky, quickly breaking through the clouds and into the silence of the atmosphere. She found a rooftop above the clouds and almost crash-landed there, rolling on the ground.

She stood there for a moment, glaring at the ground, her hands balled into fists and her arms shaking with rage at her sides, her tail lashing around like an angry cat. She was furious.

She let out an angry yell and turned, punching the side of the roof. It cracked around her fist, pieces of it flying off from the sheer strength and force behind the strike.

She breathed heavily, stormed towards the edge of the roof, and sat down, putting herself in a ball.

The worst part was that she still had a crush on N. The biggest, stupidest crush ever. And she hated him for it. She hated him for being so cute and loveable and everything she ever dreamed about. She hated how sweet and kind he was despite being built for slaughter.

She hated that he never changed since the mansion. He hated that she had changed so much.

She hated that she knew he had a crush on her too.

But she had to stay away for his safety. She had to pretend she hated him for his safety, so Cyn wouldn't rip him away from her again, so he could live and be happy forever.

So she wouldn't have to hear his horrified screams as he was torn apart and ripped in half. So she wouldn't have to hear his pleas for her to do something and save him.

She tensed at the memories, gripping her sleeves righter and shoving her face into her knees.

Suddenly, she heard someone land behind her.

"V...?" Asked the familiar voice.

It was N.

"Leave me alone," She said, trying to be assertive. Her voice cracked. She cringed. Damnit.

N didn't say anything. He walked up next to her and leaned against the ledge, next to where she was sitting on top of it.

Silence befell the two of them. Uncomfortable, tense silence. Neither knew what to say. V didn't want to say anything. She wanted nothing but to disappear.

"...Uh... The... The breeze is nice, right?" N asked, smiling nervously.

V paused. She was about to snap at him, but... Something told her otherwise. She sighed and lifted her head, looking out at the night sky, the clouds moving across the sky beneath them. The bright moons shined above them, illuminating their faces and the rooftop and the fluffiness of the clouds.

"Yeah," She said flatly.

A beat passed.

"So, um. That was one memory, huh?" N said again, awkward as ever.

V didn't respond.

"Listen, I'm sorry about Uzi. She- She just gets curious."

"Curious? Curious?!" V shouted, turning to him, her face full of fury, "She probed our minds, N! Don't make excuses for her!"

N put his hands up, startled.

"Wh-why are you getting so riled up about this, V? I-I thought you wouldn't have cared-"

"Because I do care, N!" Digital tears formed in her eyes as she stood up on the ledge, glaring down at him.

He looked up at her, surprised. A bead of sweat rolled down his display.

She opened her mouth to say more but stopped herself.

If I say any more, it'll kill him.

She searched his face for a reaction, then huffed, turning away, her wings flaring out of her back.

"V, wait!-" He said, jumping up on the ledge as well and grabbing her arm, "Please don't go."

She froze, tensing up. Her core ached her urge to hug him stronger than ever. He's said that to her before, It was all too familiar.

She decided to humor him, turning slightly towards him.

Cyn can suck my shiny metal ass.

"I... I didn't know you wanted me," N admitted sheepishly.

V stared into the middle distance, her mind racing.

"I've wanted you since the mansion," V said under her breath, quiet and hushed, almost embarrassed to admit it.

"Then, um... Why haven't you-- Y'know..."

"Why haven't I kissed you?" She finished for him, turning to look at his face.

He nodded eagerly, nervous.

"It's complicated, N. I- I can't tell you. It's for your own safety."

N frowned.

"It's always for my safety. Why can't it be for something else? Why can't I know what you know?"

V didn't answer. She sat back down in her ball, hiding her face in her knees and curling her tail around her legs.

"Why can't I know?" N echoed, jumping down and leaning against the ledge again.

V didn't answer.

N sighed.

He lingered for a moment longer.

Then he left without a word.

V looked up at the sky, tears falling from her eyes.

"Why do you hate me?" She asked no one in particular. Maybe she was talking to God. Maybe she was talking to the Devil himself.

"Why do you hate me?" She sobbed again, her wings appearing from her back and wrapping around herself.

.

.

.

This was not as fluffy as it should've been. Whoops

~~~~~~~

Prompt Post! Lizzy x Doll; "Stay with me forever"/"Because I love you!" N x V; "I thought you didn't want me"/"Why haven't you kissed me yet?" <- You are here! V x Thad; "I'm in love with you" V x Thad "I missed you so much"/"I can't stay away from you" N x Thad; "Can I kiss you?" N x Thad; "I want you. Only you." V x Thad; "I thought you didn't want me." Sam x Uzi; "The way I feel with you"/"I can't stay away from you." Uzi x Thad; "Please don't leave me"/"I'll always love you" N x Thad; "Please marry me"/"Why haven't you kissed me yet?" N x Uzi; "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen"/"I'm better when I'm with you" J x Thad; "Please don't leave me"/"I'm better when I'm with you."

[aminiatureworld]

Blowing in the Wind

Characters: Xiao, gn!reader

Premise: In which Xiao mourns for the one he loves

Word Count: 2,248

Warnings: Major character death

Author’s Note: I’m alive! I know I keep disappearing, but honestly I’ve had a pretty rough start to the year. Not to make one of those author’s notes where I list all the crazy stuff that’s happened but yeah… it’s been rough. But here I am! Back and ready to regale you all with as much angst as possible. It is my favorite genre after all! I hope you enjoy it!

Xiao

My words will never reach you. I will never hear you call to me again. You lie far below me, and your spirit is far above.

 Liyue had a special energy, frenetic and lively yet filled with the ancient calm of a city that – until recently – had been led by a god whose age was as unfathomable as his power. It was that power that the Traveler was basking in one clear cool morning, a morning that promised a clear, calm day. Paimon flew next to her, chattering about this in that in the way that was Paimon, attention caught by every glittering object and unfamiliar scent that they drifted past. Though Paimon could sometimes be overwhelming, Lumine couldn’t bring herself to chide her traveling companion. At least not now, when the world was in a reverie of just waking up.

Drifting past Third-Round Knockout, Lumine spied a familiar figure sitting at one of the tables. Evidently her traveling companion did too, for Paimon let out a loud “Hey! Zhongli!” momentarily disturbing the peace.

If Zhongli was disturbed by the sudden cry of his name he didn’t show it. Smiling, the ex-archon put down his cup of tea. “Ah, Traveler, Paimon. How lovely to see you.”

“You too Zhongli!” Paimon enthused, immediately flying over. Sighing, sure that this would end in Paimon begging for a meal, Lumine followed.

I only figured out what I wanted to tell you after you left. Now I have the words but no one to tell them to. It is worse to realize too late than to not realize at all.

Sure enough the offer of tea was made, then a meal, then the realization that Zhongli didn’t have as much as ten mora on him. By that time fronting the bill Lumine allowed herself to be lulled into a gentle reverie of conversation, finding such well worth the cost of paying to sate Paimon’s invincible appetite.

“It’s truly a beautiful day, very auspicious. The adepti will be in a good mood today, for Cloud Retainer will not have to worry about her equipment being damaged, and Moon Carver and Mountain Shaper in return will be glad for the peace and quiet. If not, Cloud Retainer might be inclined to look in on her neighbors and then…” Zhongli shrugged. “Forgive me, I did not mean to speak of the past. It is a day for such musings I suppose.”

“You always have such interesting stories Zhongli!” Paimon enthused. “Besides, it’s more interesting than talking about our recent activities. These commissions, I wonder when we’re actually going to start being paid properly!”

“Why do you call it a day for reminiscing?” Lumine interrupted, knowing well that if Paimon began to complain the group would be liable to be sitting there all day.

“Ah, a reason that touched someone else more than it did myself. Still, it was a sad story, one cannot have a part in it without somehow changing. Then again, I suppose it is that way with most things in life. Adepti, human, deity, one cannot exist without being touched by those around us. Only there are some who carry the burden more easily than others. Some are forever changed, cut themselves off from the world for fear of the repetition of history, for fear it is them that brings calamity.”

“Xiao,” Lumine whispered. For a moment there was a pause, as if to attempt to conjure up the man in question. Yet soon enough Zhongli nodded his head, a soft smile painting his lips.

“Let me tell you a story. It is one worth doing so, even if it is not one very pleasant to speak of.”

You were so perfect. Everything you did was perfect. And I destroyed you.

“It was back when Xiao first began his contract with me. He was wilder then, having just been freed from great suffering, yet also somehow happier. Or perhaps it was only that he was more willing to be happy. He would walk among the people scattered across Liyue often, though even then he despised the bustle of what would one day become this harbor. In truth, I do not know the proper details of the matter, but it was on one such voyage that he met, well, them.”

I can still remember the first day we met, the sunset in your hair. It was like a halo had formed around you. I could not believe that you were not an adeptus yourself. If was only when you bowed to me I realize that you were human. You were my equal even then, even when you were calling me ‘my lord’ and making some stupid promise about not meaning to trespass.

“Xiao was immediately entranced by them, or so it seemed to me. You know how time differs between humans and adepti. Yet even by human standards, I think they must have fallen in love quickly. What is that concept that you humans so love? Ah, yes. Soulmates. In truth, I do believe that, if there are those meant for one another, than they must have been. Xiao did not change, not per se, but he did soften. It made me happy to see, for though I had freed and named him, I had not been able to teach him what is so difficult for those of us who live above the clouds to learn, the value of humanity.

“You may think Traveler that Xiao does not much think of individual humans, but that is not the truth. Indeed he was much wilder then, much more willing to shed blood to make sure that impurities were treated. I do believe if I had not forbidden him from killing humans he may have done it, not for hatred but for lack of understanding. Yet he softened then, for in this love was a window to a new world. Xiao had previously walked amongst humans, but now he lived among them too.”

You always told me how much your life turned upside down after you met me. Yet I changed so much more. I’ll never be that way again. I couldn’t without you. Everyone would stare at me, and you would not be there. You would not tell me that they did not hate me. You would not tell me that I was not destroying them.

“I do not think that Xiao understood the fragility of humans at the time. He did not understand the ways that they so easily fall, did not understand that time passes differently for us. Nor did he understand that most crucial aspect of human life, their ability to survive. A human may love and may lose and they will live on, as long as they survive those first harrowing moments. An adeptus is not the same, will never change, will never move on. That is one of the reasons that adepti do not enjoy the company of humans. Adepti rarely understand humans on their own terms, and if an adeptus does manage to befriend, or even love, one, that will not change. An adeptus that loves a human dooms themselves. Yet I did not have the heart to try to tell Xiao such a thing. Even if I had, I do not believe he would have listened.

“Yet even time was not as kind as one might have hoped, for Xiao did not see his love grow old, though that may have had its own ravages, its own sorrows. No, not all tragedies come at the end of a blade, some come with a sudden chill, a cough that does not go away, an illness that ravages towns and cities.”

They said that your village was safe, that the illness was in Mondstadt. They said that you would be alright. They lied. They were all liars. They lied and they killed you because of that lie. Or maybe I killed you, who knows, maybe I was the one who brought calamity on you all.

“I only met them a few times, did not witness their death. Xiao did however, and just as he was changed in their meeting, so too was he changed in their parting. It is a pity, they were too young to die, the reason too mundane, too foolish. Yet that is what one must accept when one walks with humans. They either are cut like flowers, their life draining from them just as it began, or they wither, skin and bones and wrinkles and living frailty. Which one is more tragic? The swift end or the drawn out pain? But that is not for us to decide, only to accept.

“Xiao, however, could not accept such a thing, could not find a way to edge his grief in something. There are some tales that are sad when they end, yet some live on, haunting us, refusing us all the peace we may be allowed, the comfort and the calm.”

You’ll never know how I reacted. I’m glad you won’t. But if you’d been there, it’d wouldn’t’ve happened. If you were there I, I wouldn’t’ve been crushed.

“It is not for me to say how Xiao was changed, nor what his actions were. He has ever been loyal and his moral code ever strict. Yet one can be cruel even when one is not committing outward wrong. And Xiao has ever been committing wrong against himself since. A penance not even I can absolve him of. Just as an adeptus will ever love a human in life, so will they ever mourn them in death.”

I never had any use for my name, or at least I don’t now. I am grateful to Morax for it, but I hate it. I hate it so much. It is worthless now, for now you will never use it.

The breeze was soft, the sunset warm. He had not moved in hours, had not budged an inch. It was like this every year. Only when the sun went down, when a new day came could he pry himself up from his spot, kneeling in the ground.

You had always seemed a bit self-conscious about your birthday, explaining how weird it felt to be a year older, to realize that the past year was over, that you were different now, older now. Even if you assured him you were still young, you also seemed to be in mourning over your past self, even though you had been them a mere day ago.

Yet you seemed to love when he came to visit you, loved the flowers and leaves and stones he found for you. It was a special day, your birthday. It was a day that you two always had together. It was the day you had come into the world, and how could that not be such a joyous thing, something worth celebrating? Even now, even when you were gone, even when he should curse it, he could not help but love today. Even when it meant staring at your grave, the pain in his chest stronger than ever, the grief drowning him.

“A beautiful sunset.”

The familiar voice of Morax echoed through Xiao’s ears. Always he waited at your grave, and always his benefactor came, as if he might ease some of the weight. Xiao did not in truth believe he did, but he could not bring himself to dismiss Morax either. He could not heal Xiao’s pain, but Morax was still the only one who could watch over him. Maybe that was enough.

“It’s… fine.”

“I’m sure they would laugh at you for saying that.”

“Maybe.”

A pause. Xiao did not mean to be so dismissive. And yet, he did not know. He would never know now. You were gone.

“I do not wish to interfere in your grief, in your memories. Yet I must tell you, Alatus, Xiao, one I named, you sell yourself cheap. As do you sell the one you loved. You blame yourself for the fickleness of fate, you blame them for leaving you. Even if you say you do not. You have never accepted the transience of humanity. It is that, as much as the impurities you defeat, which is killing you. It is the knowledge that their heart would break at your never ending grief that gnaws at your heart.”

Xiao did not know what to say, merely letting Morax walk back down the gently sloping hill. He was right, he was completely right. Why did you leave him? Why? The unfairness bubbled up inside Xiao, as did the shame. It was not your fault you were born human. It was not your fault you died. Yet it hurt, it hurt so badly. It burned a hole in his soul, and nothing would heal it. Not a millennia, not all the birthdays in the world. You were gone. You were forever gone.

Eventually night came, and with it the reprieve of knowing another birthday was over, the sorrow of another year gone without you. You would be centuries old now if you had been born an adeptus, yet Xiao’s love for you burned bright as ever, a flame that would never die so long as the yaksha could remember his name, remember who he was.

There was a breeze floating along the hill as Xiao began to walk towards the Inn, it played at his hair, danced around his mask. Xiao it seemed to speak into the night. Xiao.

[gotnofucks]

Lover’s Quarrel

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Summary: You have the powers to resurrect if you’ve been murdered, and a jealous Steve Rogers indulges heavily in your abilities. He would not let you steal his best friend, that was for sure. So what, if your rivalry regularly caused fire and harm to public property? You just couldn’t let the other win. 

Words: 4.3k

Warnings: Smut, enemies to lovers, violence, killings and murders (but reader cannot die, it’s weird. She has some sorta powers that help her revive when she’s been murdered), language, 18+ ONLY

A/N: Is this crack fic? Idk. Maybe?

The sixth time Steve killed you, you decided he needed to be dealt with in a similar way. It doesn’t matter that he cannot come back from the dead like you. He just needed to go. You were tired of him offing you every time he felt threatened by your existence. But this was the last straw. He had pushed you off the Quinjet while flying home from a mission and you’d fallen into the lake and drowned. You would NOT recommend dying that way.

Bucky had dragged out your dead body and watched over you as the blessing of the necromancer worked its magic over you and brought you back to the world of the living. The first words out of your mouth as you spewed out water were, “I am going to kill your best friend and you can’t be mad at me for that.”

Bucky, far too happy to have you back – poor guy still mourned every time you died – ignored your comment and pulled you into a hug. He’d never quiet gotten used to seeing you die. You patted his back, muttering a few there-there’s until he was calm enough to press quivering kisses on your head and temple.

“You need to stop dying.” He said into your hair, holding you close.

“I would not be dying if your best friend didn’t murder me every time! He is a menace, Buck!” You cried in exasperation. The said best friend was watching you from a few yards away, and he rolled his eyes as your words reached him. He scoffed loud enough for you to hear and you sharply turned your head to glare at him.

“You!” You shouted, quickly standing up and marching over to him. “You rascal!” And then you pried out your wet shoe from your feet and threw it at his stunned face. Unfortunately, it didn’t hit his face but smacked against his chest, leaving the wet print of your soles against his far too tight t-shirt. He gaped at you open mouthed before baring his teeth in warning.

“Oh god, every time you come alive again, you’re even more awful than before!” Steve shouted, and then just because he is fucking drama queen, he threw out his hands. You sneered before turning to look at Bucky meaningfully, the most obvious ‘see what a dick he is’ look on your face.

Bucky shuffled uneasily, caught between your quarrel once again. He came behind you and gave you his jacket to wear to shield you from the cold. And just like that, your anger melted a little. Somehow, with his steel blue eyes, Bucky Barnes could sooth every wound you’d ever had. Even those given to you by Steve Rogers.

“I am so sorry. I should have seen what he was about to do. I wouldn’t have ever let you fall had I known.” He apologized and you swore your heart physically quivered. You pulled Bucky into a hug, hiding your face in his chest, savoring his arms coming around you to hold you tighter. You could have stayed in his embrace forever, but it was an annoyed groan that ripped you both apart.

“Is there any way you can stay dead a little longer?” Steve asked, breaking your moment. “I mean, I’ve tired a bullet and knife and water and poison. What can I do that you’d be gone for just a little longer?”

He was worked up, a red flush creeping on his face and neck. Pacing, he was muttering, and you wondered for the millionth time how Bucky could be friends with him. He was just so extra! You wanted to tell him to shove a stick up his ass, along with the one already there when he turned swiftly like the wind and threw a dagger at you. A metal hand caught it before it could hit you and you were pulled into the warmth of Bucky’s body quickly.

“Steve! Cut it out.” Bucky yelled, glaring at Steve. “You will not kill her again. I don’t care if she can come back alive again. You won’t hurt her.”

With that, he dropped the dagger on the ground and walked away with you. Unable to resist, you looked over you shoulder and flipped Steve off. Fucker could kill you a hundred times and yet he would not be able to do anything. As far as you were concerned, Bucky was as much your best friend as his. And if Steve Rogers couldn’t control his jealousy without trying to behead you every time he felt you were stealing Bucky from him, you would just have to make his death look like an accident.

“I don’t think I need to tell you that you can’t kill him either?” Bucky said teasingly, his eyes soft and fond. “I need you both to survive.”

You groaned, bumping your shoulder in his and snuggling into him as a cold breeze hit your wet clothes. He could read you like an open book.

“You are no fun Barnes.”

There was rubble and fires and shrieks. Natasha was yelling in Russian as she ran about with a fire extinguisher and Clint crawled out of his vents to help Bruce out who was turning a dangerous shade of green. Tony was sitting in the ruins of his kitchen, his mouth half open as he spied on the ensuing battle in the middle of it.

Sam was using his shield to push Steve away who was shouting curses that had probably not been invented yet. Bucky was holding you back by your middle, yelling in your ear to calm the fuck down but all you could think of to do was smacking Steve’s face with that chair that was currently on fire. You suppose once everyone was calm, you’d feel guilty about your part in destroying the Avengers kitchen but right now that wasn’t important.

What was important was that Steve had tried to kill you. Again. He had actually thrown a fucking grenade at you. You barely had the time to kick it away where it exploded in the kitchen and then Steve was on you, calling you a bitch in all the 9 languages he knew.

“Calm the hell down, Steve!” Sam yelled, struggling to keep Steve at bay from you. You were glad to see that Steve’s nose was busted. That will teach the bastard to ‘look down his nose’ on you now.

“She pierced my ears! The fucking bitch pierced my goddamn ears!” Steve yelled. Even you had to admit, the golden hoops looked amazing dangling from his ears. Just perfect.

“You are lucky I didn’t stick a knitting needle in your eye Rogers!” You sassily replied, “The only reason you’re still in one piece is because I promised my best friend that I wouldn’t hurt you.”

The muscles in Steve’s arms tensed and Sam groaned, barely keeping his own footing. A dark shadow seemed to have crawled over Steve’s face, turning the blues of his eyes an angry shade and had you been a weaker person, you would have trembled. This was the face of someone who had stood against armies alone and came out victorious. But for all you cared, he could kiss your ass.

“He is MY best friend. Mine. Not yours, not anyone else’s. Bucky Barnes is mine and I will kill you a thousand times until it sinks in your thick skull!” Steve growled. You scowled, a scathy remark bubbling on the tip of your tongue when you suddenly stopped. Why say when you can show? So, looking Steve directly in the eyes, you went limp in Bucky’s arms, turned around and cupped his face. And then you kissed his cheek.

Steve let out a strangled cry behind you, but you focused on Bucky who was blinking in disbelief at your audacity. And so, just for the heck of it, you kissed his other cheek. And then his forehead.

“Bucky Barnes, you are my best friend and always will be!” You said, hugging the life out of him. You heard Steve break away from Sam, heard Bucky yell out a curse and holding you protectively as his jealous pal came rushing to claim him. And all through that and the chaos that ensued later, you just smiled broadly.

Tony was giving a lecture, and he sucked. He gesticulated too much for your liking, and you really didn’t like how he kept emphasizing things by looking pointedly at you. It wasn’t even that much of a big deal, and even if it was, it was not your fault. Like every other time, the only person who could be held responsible was the blond super soldier sitting beside you, wearing the same shade of annoyance on his face as yours.

“I repeat” said Tony, his hair askew, “we do not use Friday to settle idiotic, absolutely ridiculous personal vendettas!”

“You have Friday tell you how pretty you look every day!” You countered and Tony slammed his hand on the table.

“Because I am!” He huffed. “You, on the other hand, stopped a mission in the middle to ask Friday who had a higher score! I mean, what the actual fuck? And what score?”

Steve had the decency to look at least a little sheepish. You however didn’t put up with any of that nonsense. It was his idea anyway, and you wouldn’t take the fall for him. Not when Tony looked murderous like this.

“Rogers bet me he’d take down more enemies than me. We only asked Friday to keep a count. I had literally nothing to do with it.”

Tony turned the ire of his glare at Steve who was too busy giving you a dirty look. He was just pissed you won, and that Bucky had spent the entire ride back tending to your wounds rather than Steve’s. It wasn’t your fault his jealous ass always threw a fit whenever he saw you and Bucky together.

“You said the team could use Friday as we saw fit.” Steve said, though he did look a little guilty. It wasn’t like him to lose command and control. Even when he’d been Captain America, he had never let anything rattle him. Not until you had come prancing in his life and stealing his best friend.

“I said the team could use Friday, not stop everything in the middle of a high risk mission to see who has a bigger dick.” Tony said, and then he just collapsed in his chair. Poor guy had been working too hard to carry the team forward, and in that moment, even you felt guilty. Your rivalry with Steve shouldn’t have to affect everyone else, not when they had been so welcoming and loving to you ever since you joined.

You walked over to Tony and dropped a kiss on his head, caressing his hair. “I am sorry Tones. You won’t have more trouble from me.”

Tony looked at you as if seeing an angel. He looked at you as if you were the solution to all his troubles. Despite every furniture of his you’d broken and set fire to, he was so grateful to have one sane voice between them. Cupping your hands, he looked imploringly at you and asked, “Really? You’re gonna stop fighting with Steve?”

At that, you solemnly nodded and patted his hand gently. Poor him and the poor team going through hell because you and Steve couldn’t settle your differences. It was obvious what had to be done.

“Of course I will” You said magnanimously, because of course you were the better of the two. “Steve just needs to find another best friend and there won’t be any reason to fight anymore.”

If any of them had been drinking water, they would have spit it out. Since they didn’t, they just kind of choked on their saliva and sputtered at you in absolute disbelief. Tony actually looked betrayed and Steve seemed to have licked a lemon, if the look on his face was anything to go by.

“She” He said, voice thick with contempt, “needs to go away. We can launch her in outer space or somewhere from where she can never return. You know why? Because Bucky is my best friend. Since we were yay high!” And he raised his arms a foot off the ground to show just how high.

And just like that, the moment was gone. Rogers opened his mouth and any goodwill you had had went poof. So, you did the only reasonable thing any sane person would do right now and that was to flip him off and call him a pig. You knew he was inching to strangle you; you could see his fingers twitch. A part of you was anticipating it, for Bucky would never forgive him for killing you again. Just as he would have lunged at you, push Tony out of the way and did you away for good, Bucky burst into the room with the expression of a cantankerous 100 year old grandpa who had had enough with the world.

“For fucks sake! Just shut up you both!” He yelled and paced the room. His eyes were bloodshot and hair disheveled, a clear sign that your rivalry was taking a heavy toll on him. Steve opened his mouth to say something when Bucky raised a finger to shush him. “No no no! You listen to me you oblivious, utter moronic fucklets!”

Your mouth dropped open. Bucky never cursed at you. He had never called you a fucklet before.

“You two need to stop. You hear me? You need to STOP!” He raked a hand through his hair before kicking the ground in frustration. “I can’t eat. I can’t sleep! I can’t fucking breathe without you both arguing over who is a better friend to me. So, here’s an idea. Instead of fucking me over in the middle of your sexual tension, why don’t you find a room and fuck each other? Because I tell you now, I cannot fucking take it!”

Silence sat pregnant in the room. You blinked at Bucky. Steve blinked at Bucky. Tony blinked at Bucky. And Bucky didn’t blink at all.

“That – uh – what?” You said, eloquent as ever. “That is so stupid.” And you laughed awkwardly.

Steve glanced at you and then stammered, “What? That – I haven’t – that has nothing to do with it. She and I – what?”

You both found each other’s eye, quickly looked away and just became silent. The tension in the air was suffocating you, and a terrible heat was settling in your stomach. Without another word, you walked out of the room, muttering about how ridiculous the whole idea was. The three men watched your exit, and a moment later, Steve left too, still very much in disbelief.

Tony and Bucky sighed, sitting across from each other and just taking in the fact that the elephant in the room had finally been address. A moment later, Tony began drumming on the desk, looking up at the ceiling.

“I couldn’t have put it any better myself.”

You felt antsy, as if staying one more moment in your room would drive you mad. You kept jerking your legs and arms, a weird restlessness in every action of yours. What the hell was Bucky saying? The sheer nerve to imply that you…you and Steve had some sort of feelings for each other. You hadn’t heard that kinda crap since you nursed your nephew who’d had diarrhea.

The only reason you and Steve fought was because you wanted Bucky. He was supposed to be your best friend, and clearly it was his inability to decide who he preferred more that had led you here. And to pretend, on top of that, that it was you who was at fault was just ridiculous. As if you’d touch Steve Rogers with a ten foot pole.

But…would you? You suppose he couldn’t be that bad to touch. He did have gorgeous eyes that got all dark and dilated when he fought with you. And his breath hitched when you got him mad and he bit his lip to stop from cursing you and he flushed a very becoming shade of red that started from his cheeks and disappeared down the neckline on his tight shirts that –

Holy fuck!

The realization rocked your world. What the hell? When you thought about it again, it seemed as if you’d just described Steve being aroused. Did you really fight him and got him mad to stimulate yourself? Oh god. Bucky was right. You wanted to fuck Steve.

This wouldn’t do. This wouldn’t do at all. You quickly changed into your work out gear and rushed to the gym, intent on sweating out whatever feelings you might have for Steve. After all, nothing says fuck you like imagining someone’s face on a punching bag and just going to town on it. Thankfully, when you arrived the gym was empty.

You’d been working on your stretches for only a few minutes when your worst nightmare entered the gym. He probably had the same idea as you and froze the moment your eyes met. His blue eyes narrowed at you and you stood up straight. You hated Bucky for putting the thought in your head. Now all you could think of was tackling Steve to the ground and fucking him senseless. You still wanted to beat him, but in a very different way.

As Steve entered, his eyes fixed to your form, you decided it was time to leave. After that fiasco in front of Tony, you didn’t think yourself capable of talking to Steve. Staying alone with him was something you didn’t trust yourself with. So you picked up your bag and started for the door when his voice stopped you.

“Running away? Am I to believe that there is something that finally scares you?”

Anger, red hot anger simmered under your veins when you turned to face him again. He had a mocking smirk on his face that made you grit your teeth. His eyes, dark and challenging beckoned you to him, but they didn’t hold resentment there either. Something between you had changed today. The very air around you was different, thick with tension and apprehension that had your nerves tingling.

“Scared?” You scoffed, dropping your bag on the matted floor and walking until you stood right before him. He towered over you in height, but he’d never been able to actually look down at you. “Me, scared of you? You wish Rogers.”

One corner of his lips lifted up, and he put his hands on you. One hand hooked around your waist and pulled you closer, the other trailing a finger down the side of your face to your neck, following the path down your arm until his fingers intertwined with yours.

“Oh, I so do wish” He whispered and his lips met yours. You rose up on your toes, mashing your body against his and mapping the planes of his body with your palms. The smell of his sweat and soap surrounded you, your arms coming to hold him around the shoulders as he hitched you up so you could wrap your legs around him.

Like everything in your relationship, the kiss was explosive. You didn’t melt against each other like people do in books; you collided like two warring armies intent on conquering the other. You collided like night and day, basking your surroundings in the dawn and dusk of your lust. Steve took your bottom lip between his teeth and bit down, smiling as you shamelessly moaned.

“What do you say?” He asked, pushing you against the wall, his hardness digging between the heated center of your legs.

You pulled him closer, letting your lips trail over his jaw and neck before you branded him with a quick bite. “You’ve always been so aggressive Steve, let’s see you let loose some other way. I sure do hope you fuck better than you fight though, or I’ll just be disappointed.”

Steve growled, kissing you again as he ground his cock against you, trapping you between the wall and his hard body that prevented any escape. Your hands slipped under his t-shirt, meeting the firm muscles on his abdomen that rippled under you. He pulled back just enough to allow you to remove your clothes, his own being flung sideways without any care.

Even before, you’d never thought of Steve as anything but beautiful, but now, seeing him in all his glory, you could only look him up and down in appreciation. He was trembling slightly, as if holding himself back with effort, his eyes not leaving you for a second. You both looked at each other, naked and unashamed before frantically coming together. His hands were everywhere, squeezing your ass and thighs as his lips pulled at your breast.

Your fingers rolled his nipples softly until he moaned, and then you pinched them. He jerked under your touch, kicking the back of your knees so you collapsed down, and he covered your body with his. Anger, arousal, lust and longing, all emotions built together in a storm of incoherent desire that had you both rolling over each other, fighting for dominance and power. Steve pinned you down with effort, holding your wrists in one hand over your head as he gave a smug smile to you.

“Will you finally surrender today?” He asked, positioning his cock at your entrance that was drenched. You would have loved to taste him, to have him taste you, but as of now, all you wanted was for him to slide inside you. You hungered for him, burnt for his touch. For years you’d been left wanting, and now with the prize so near, you weren’t about to wait any longer.

“The only surrender today will be yours.” You whispered sweetly before slamming your head against his. Steve jerked hard in surprise, allowing you the opportunity to free your hands and roll over him. You sat on his pelvis proudly, his throbbing member right underneath you and as he blinked at you, stunned, you rose up over his tip and slowly sunk down.

Steve groaned as your wet channel fell like velvet heat along his shaft. You had never been so full before. He stretched your limits, as he had always done, and you decided you very much preferred rendering him speechless like this under you than your usual punches and throws. His hands dug into your waist, helping you bounce on his cock and you threw your head back at the feeling.

It was a beautiful ache, one that took your breath away. As you rolled your hips and clenched down there, Steve’s voice rose in appreciation and you grinned. You finally had the golden boy at your mercy. You fucked him, changing your pace to punish him, never letting him up. For every time he killed you, you bit on his lips and neck, marking him. It was punishment and cherishing, a culmination of feelings you didn’t understand.

“Touch me.” You brokenly said, and his fingers found your nub. The slapping of skin, the sounds of debauchery and the smell of sin filled the air. You leaned over him to meet his lips, the heat in your gut bubbling until you snapped and came atop him, falling blissfully. It was one moment of weakness and the world titled, Steve having finally pushing you on your back.

“You’ve always been strong, because I’d hate to break you when the fun has only just begun.” He said and thrust into you hard and fast. He was an animal in heat, a man possessed, and you didn’t mind one bit. You met his every thrust with a raise of your hips, you clawed at his back until he bled, your lips tasting of the salt of sweat and tears and desire. He brought you impossibly closer, looking right into your eyes as he took you.

For the life of you, you couldn’t look away. You couldn’t get enough of his grunts and moans, of the breathy whispers of your name that slipped between curses, of the way his lashes would flutter over the dark blues that kept your eyes captive. He had you completely in that moment, mind and body; and for some reason, his gaze felt infinitely more intimate than his cock that was currently spearing you open. You keened in pleasure, whimpering as he touched your overly sensitive clit and had you coming again.

A minute later, he twitched inside you, his warmth flooding your core and you sighed. You laid entangled and sweaty, both of you spent and tired and yet completely overtaken by the urge to be closer still. To think this is what you’d both missed for all these years.

“So, what do you say, still feeling aggressive?” Steve asked and you looked at him with a grin that you couldn’t have suppressed had you wanted to. Oh yes, some battles were never meant to end, but they sure could be altered to meet new demands.

“With you? Always.” You replied, kissing him deep until he couldn’t think of anything but you. “Just remember one thing.”

“Oh yeah, what?”

“I am still a better best friend to Bucky. I did fuck you to keep him happy after all.”

Steve frowned darkly and before you could blink, he was over you, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“I think this time I’d fuck some manners into you.”

“I think this time you should actually put your back into it. I did all the work before.” You taunted and he dived at you.

Meanwhile, in Tony Stark’s office

“Friday, what’s the score?” He asked smugly, offering Bucky the packet of blueberries. Bucky was sitting with his feet on the desk, a small smile on his face.

“I am afraid I am not at a liberty to say Boss.” Friday replied. If the AI could blush, she would.

“Seems like they are at an impasse.” Tony suggested, and Bucky shrugged, licking his lips.

“Well, some things never change.”

[theladyofbloodshed]

AU where we pretend ACOSF didn’t happen - part three

No matter how many times she experienced it, Nesta would never enjoy winnowing. It made her disorientated. But when Azriel took her from her dingy little apartment, it didn’t feel the same as the other times she had endured it. When his shadows came around her, all the light and warmth of the world was swallowed. She hadn’t cared that she clung to him tighter than she’d clung to anybody in years. A rigid fear took hold that if Azriel let go of her, she’d be lost forever in shadow.

A hazy light came into view and Nesta blinked several times until her eyes adjusted. They were still in darkness but a spray of stars was overhead and they faced a modest sized house that was lit up inside with a soft yellow glow.

‘Will she mind?’ Nesta remained with her hands wrapped around Azriel’s arm. He was good enough not to shake her off.

‘She will be glad of the company. But she will also not mind if you want to be alone.’

Of their happy little inner circle, Azriel had always been the most mysterious, the most guarded. She had presumed - like Cassian - that Azriel was an orphan. That he had never been loved either which was why they flocked together seeking the love they’d been denied. Already, Nesta was guilty that she was intruding upon his privacy.

Quietly, he unlocked the front door using a touch of his magic. ‘Only myself and my mother can unlock it. I’ll change it so you can too. It’s very well protected.’

So don’t worry about that overbearing bat coming here, Nesta thought to herself. He hadn’t bothered in a year, nobody had, anyway.

‘Az?’ A soft voice called from one of the other rooms. A small female shuffled into the kitchen in a cream dressing gown over her night dress. At the sight of Nesta, her face shifted into delighted surprise. ‘I was not expecting to see you until Wednesday.’

Her brown eyes surveyed Nesta, taking in the too-thin waist, the sharp bones of her face, the pockets of grey that had made their home under her eyes. Likely she could smell the wine on her too, feel the shame radiating from her skin.

‘This is Nesta Archeron. Nesta, my mother, Rovena.’

Realisation dawned upon Rovena then she nodded in understanding at the luggage Azriel carried. As she stepped across the kitchen, her wings rustled. Clipped. Another female whose wings had been so badly damaged she’d lost the ability to fly.

One arm scooped around Nesta’s back and a warm hand took hold of her own. Rovena guided her to the rounded table then settled her into one of the low-backed chairs.

‘Tea, I think,’ she said to herself while she lit the stove. ‘Are you staying too?’

Nesta pleaded with Azriel silently. Please, don’t leave yet. Azriel took up a chair opposite her, watching his mother rummage through the cupboards while she hummed to herself.

‘She’s a night owl,’ he explained, ‘it’s who I get it from.’

Rovena joined them. She couldn’t hide her smile every time she looked upon her son; there was so much love radiating from her. Although none of them talked much, the silence didn’t feel like it needed to be filled. Occasionally, Rovena would ask a general question: if they were warm enough, if they wanted anything to eat.

A look passed between mother and son; both shared hazel eyes and golden-brown skin. She had the same elegance as her son too, cheekbones carved from marble, and sleek black hair. The shadows that so often flocked around him were gone in this house.

‘I’ll put fresh sheets on your bed,’ the female said, touching Nesta’s arm as she departed.

This was a home. Nesta’s eyes took in the plants growing from baskets hanging from the ceiling and herbs in pots across the windowsill, the rows of spices above the stove, the dishes in the sink, the slant of the rug from where it had been trodden on. Through one of the doorways, Nesta spied a cosy living room where Rovena had been sewing before they arrived.

‘I’ll come by in a few days to see how you are. If you need anything, let me know.’ Azriel withdrew his hand from his pocket and pulled out a handful of money. ‘Take this, in case you go out with her to the village.’ Azriel coughed and dropped his voice to almost a whisper. ‘I don’t know how much you have been drinking, but if you are going to stop, it can cause problems if you quit abruptly – it’s better to reduce your intake. In my room, there are a couple of bottles of wine in the cabinet by the bed. If you need them.’

Rovena eclipsed her son in an embrace by the door, despite the fact he towered over her. Still, Azriel stooped down accepting the kisses on each cheek. She stroked a hand to his cheek and his eyes fluttered shut. ‘Maybe you’ll stay for dinner next time.’

‘I will,’ he promised.

The first few days spent at Rosehall were a different sort of discomfort than Nesta was used to. Rovena was kind enough. She did not comment when Nesta skipped every meal, but continued inviting her to the table and set a plate in her space still. One evening, when Nesta put a couple of potatoes swimming in butter on her plate, she still did not pass a comment. Rovena had offered her a walk to the village every day, but Nesta hadn’t wanted to leave the house. She hadn’t managed to go into the living room, feeling like she was infringing on the female’s privacy. Mostly she stayed in her room, drowning in regret and self-loathing. The guilt was beginning to settle about her decisions in the last year. She hadn’t meant to hurt anybody. She hadn’t meant to be so venomous, but it was the only way she knew how to survive. It was how her mother had taught her to be.

Nesta hadn’t yet dared go into Azriel’s room either. The shaking of her hands was her own punishment for letting herself become such a wretched creature. When he arrived as promised for dinner, Azriel had taken one look at her trembling hands and collected the bottles himself and tucked them into the doorway of her room. He had also brought her a pile of books from the House of Wind’s expansive library to occupy her time.

‘How is Velaris?’

Rovena placed a steaming joint of beef onto the table in front of Azriel to slice. With it, she had roasted carrots drizzled with honey, cooked mountains of creamy mashed potatoes and sprigs of asparagus. Nesta’s plate remained empty.

‘A few issues with the mortal queens. I’ve hardly been in Velaris. Illyria?’

‘Autumn is on its way,’ she said, gesturing to the window behind her. ‘Every year, I’m surprised by how quickly it comes around. It comes quicker to Illyria,’ she explained to Nesta.

Azriel made to put slices of meat onto Nesta’s place then halted. While his own and his mother’s had slowly been filled, her plate remained bare. Nesta shook her head.

‘Are you not hungry?’

Nesta was. But she was too stubborn to let the throb of her stomach win. Rovena’s cooking made her mouth water every day, but she didn’t deserve to eat.

‘I’m not a good cook,’ his mother said. ‘Where have you been? The mortal lands?’

Nesta was grateful that Rovena had tried to turn the topic away from her, but guilt gnawed away at her. Rovena had spent hours preparing this meal for her son.

‘Your cooking is wonderful.’ Heat pecked at her eyes, threatening to spill them with tears. She clenched her fists into the fabric of her dress. A gentle hand stroked the length of her upper arm.

Nobody pushed Nesta to eat – and she was thankful for that. Her instincts saw compassion as a threat. When the dinner was finished, Nesta helped Rovena to clear the table. She ran a sink full of hot soapy water, despite the female’s insistence Nesta did not need to clean them herself. The scalding water felt good on her skin. She knew that her hands would glow red when she was done, but at least it gave her something to focus on. The conversation behind her dissolved into a muffle as the roaring in Nesta’s head took over as she cleaned.

Beside her, Rovena removed another item from the oven. A waft of hot, sweet apple filled her nose. Her hands were immobilised above the sink as she caught a glimpse of the golden crumbly topping.

‘Would you like some?’

Nesta eyed it carefully. ‘Maybe a little.’

The whole room seemed to sag with relief as Nesta tucked into the apple crumble. Rovena heaped a dollop of clotted cream on top – to counteract the tartness of the blackberries she said. Azriel watched appreciatively, not Nesta, but his mother. Rovena’s eyes sparkled with satisfaction when Nesta had eaten every last crumb.

As the night waned, Azriel asked to speak with Nesta alone. A sudden fear seized her that he would take her back to Velaris, he’d announce she’d spent enough time hiding and drag her back to that festering apartment. He tilted his head to one side so a lock of black hair curled around his temple.

‘My mother said you prefer to wash in the sink than the bath.’

Dread coiled through Nesta’s ribs, tightening her chest. That night had been her undoing. That night had ruined her life.

‘The Cauldron,’ was all she could say about it.

Azriel’s gaze was heavy when he said, ‘I’ll have a shower installed.’ He rubbed a hand through his hair. ‘You won’t go in the living room when a fire is lit.’

The female was more perceptive than Nesta had given her credit for. Nesta shook her head. ‘My father. Cassian. Hybern.’

She had lost the ability to form a sentence. Cassian’s wings snapping. The bone jutting from his leg. Her father’s neck popping. The walls were closing in on her. Nesta wanted to scream. All she could see was the king of Hybern using her father as a shield. The Illyrian legion turning to ash after she’d screamed Cassian’s name so loudly her throat bled.

‘Nesta.’

Azriel’s soothing voice brought her back. Her hands were wreathed with silver fire. Had she looked in a mirror, her irises would have been ringed with silver too.

‘I’ll come back in a week. Think about whether you’d like to train your fire. To manage it.’ He pursed his lips as if he was about to speak then thought better of it.

‘Say it.’

‘Last winter, did you ever have a fire in your home?’

‘No.’

Nesta’s walls began to thaw. Rovena always ensured Nesta had a spot at the table, always offered her a walk to the village, and always patted the space on the couch in the living room in the evenings. More and more, Nesta was spending time with her. Rovena would sew new dresses or embroider beautiful patterns on others while Nesta was content to curl up with a book at the end of the couch under a blanket. Like her son, she was quiet, but Rovena’s quietness did not unnerve Nesta. The female was tactile; she always touched Nesta's shoulder or the small of her back as she passed her, always brushed a hand against Nesta's cheek or hand in thanks when Nesta had helped her round the house.

Once a week, another female was brought to the house by Rovena. She was slightly older though her wings were clipped too, but with her, without fail, were two whizzing bundles of energy. A girl whose wings had not been clipped would fly around the house with feral delight while the women packed up the dresses to sell, and a smaller boy would chase her around on foot because his wings were not yet strong enough to carry his weight.

The first few visits, Nesta remained in her room listening to the children zoom through the house giggling with excitement. Eventually, Rovena coaxed her out and encouraged Nesta to join them at the kitchen table for a cup of tea while they talked. Mostly Nesta listened. Marsela owned a shop in the village that sold clothes for females and children. Rovena sold the ones she made to her friend for stock. They were beautiful garments; although the dresses were thick and made from wool, there was a delicate beauty to them. If she sold them in Velaris, they’d fetch much more coin, but the females in Illyria were too poor to indulge themselves.

The small boy, Lorin, tugged on the skirt of Nesta’s dress at the table then raised his arms. It was instinctual to respond, so Nesta lifted him onto her lap so he could inspect the dresses too. He leant back in her lap, pushing his wings into her chest.

‘Mine?’

‘Not yours,’ his grandmother replied swiftly, moving one of the sleeves out of his reach. ‘Where’s Lule?’

‘Lule,’ he repeated, elongating her name. Lorin tilted his head up to Nesta then registered that she did not look like the females he was used to. His dark eyes locked onto her blue ones. He had Cassian’s eyes, the same rich, earthy brown full of warmth. She had to look away, but still her hand remained on Lorin’s waist, holding him steady as he leaned forwards again to swipe something off the table.

A bang shook the door frame as Lule ricocheted into the kitchen. A toothy grin lit up the room. Even the collision didn’t dampen her spirits.

‘She’s just discovered she can fly,’ Rovena explained, holding out her arms for Lule to fly into. ‘And she is faster every week with these wings.’

‘And I am too old to run a shop and chase after these two,’ their grandmother sighed. ‘Come on. If you can walk all the way home, there’ll be a treat on the kitchen table.’

Nesta found she looked forwards to their visits, if only to squeeze Lorin who never minded her presence. His wings were picking up speed as they flapped, but he couldn’t manage to lift himself more than a step or two, so he’d fall forwards into Nesta’s outstretched arms. Lule would usually be clambering on her back or locking her arms around Nesta's neck or leaping off the furniture into flight while the females managed their business in peace. She forgot how much she hated herself in these moments. Forgot what a failure she was to everybody who ever mattered. The two children didn’t care if she’d decapitated the king of Hybern or was Cauldron-made, they were just glad of another person who'd crawl around the floor with them playing silly games.

As promised, Azriel returned weekly – always with a new selection of books for her. The training was hard. The first couple of sessions, he’d taken her to a rugged wilderness, deep in the heart of Illyria where she blasted craters into the ground without control. He was a patient teacher, never scolding her or yelling at her. She remembered dance lessons where her feet were hit if her steps were wrong.

‘You’re letting the banks of the river break. You are in control of your magic, Nesta, only you. Allow only a trickle of it to seep out – then when you are confident, allow a stream.’

It was exhausting. Azriel was dead on his feet for most of his visits too with shadows under his eyes as well as the ones that danced around him.

‘You’re teaching my mother to read.’

Nesta felt heat creep up her neck involuntarily. It could hardly be called teaching. Rovena had a habit of examining the spine of whatever book Nesta was reading and it had taken Nesta an embarrassingly long time to realise that the female was illiterate. They had started with assigning sounds to letters and practising writing them in the evenings. It was growing colder in Illyria, but Rovena had stopped lighting fires and the pair bundled into blankets in the living room. When they didn't practise reading, Rovena marvelled at Nesta's sewing skills, though they were rusty and little practised since she was a child. The praise was still welcomed.

‘Why didn’t you teach Feyre?’

Nesta’s iron shield went up. ‘She was nine when we lost our money. Most children learn by the time they are six. It’s not my fault my sister is slow.’ Her pulse throbbed painfully in her neck. ‘Elain is only a year younger than I. Why was it my duty to teach Feyre? Why not Elain? Why couldn’t my father – who sat on his backside for years – teach Feyre? Why do I get the blame?’

Nesta’s fire erupted from her palms, scorching the ground around her black. She couldn’t stop it. It burnt and burnt all around her. Her dress caught fire – and still the flames came from her.

[chazukekani]

Previous // Next

Summary for Code:04 is here!

Please notice that this is just a summary so not every single detail is included!

Stormbringer Summary 5

Code 04: Grantors of disgrace, you need not wake me again

Recap: N and Verlaine escaped from the laboratory.

The chapter begins with an excerpt of Rimbaud's diary. He wrote that there was once an anti-government movement 'May Revolution', and the leaders were called 'The Fauns'. They created a secret weapon which was named 'No.12 of Darkness' that can control gravity freely. Once Rimbaud acquired this weapon, he was ordered to educate him and trained this weapon to become a spy, and its name was Paul Verlaine.

-  Unbelievable. The Secret of the Gentle Forest was decoded. Here it lies the most fierce beast, and Verlaine...

Rimbaud wrote in his diary.

-

Verlaine and N were at the top of a tower crane. Verlaine had N here because he wanted to know why N knew the Secret. However, N claimed that the last 6 pages of the Secret was erased by Rimbaud himself so he couldn't tell much. Verlaine couldn't believe that's actually Rimbaud who altered the information.

He was strong, Verlaine referred to Rimbaud. He is the only one who was capable of battling with Verlaine in his organisation, and they were partners. Not only this, Rimbaud also called Verlaine his friend, but Verlaine just felt like he couldn't like Rimbaud.

Verlaine left N on the tower crane alone and left.

-

It was a night with a clear sky, a train was moving on the railway and Mori was sleeping inside. At once, a human showed up on the railway, and stopped the train. The train was derailed as a result of mass shock.  Verlaine went inside the train and searched for something, and he believed no one inside the train was able to survive after the shock.

Verlaine found the body of Mori, and he approached to confirm the breath. But that wasn't Mori. It was a man who wore the outfit of his, but was not Mori himself. Turns out it was Mori's double, Hirotsu. A tiny person also appeared afterwards, and that's Dazai.

Suddenly, there was light in the dark, and that was flame. By the mountain near the railway, there were 50 and more sniper bullets aimed and shotted Verlaine, and the target was in utter pain.

'Don't think these little rocks could kill me...' Verlaine was trying to use the woods beside him to attack the snipers who were hiding in the mountain, but he stopped

'Hoho- You really look like my subordinate when I take a closer look' said an elegant lady, Kouyou. She summoned Golden Demon and launched offense towards Verlaine.

'You can't beat me alone,' Verlaine said.

'Who said I am alone?' Verlaine then felt his whole body sinking down to the ground, and turned into multiple snakes that were about to swallow him. That was the Lieutenant's ability (reference to Dead Apple manga, former Port Mafia executive), that could manipulate the state of objects.

'Ability organisations are stronger than ability users,' Dazai observed and smiled. Various ability users from the Port Mafia were launching all kinds of attacks towards him, such as the ability of slowing the time and freezing. In fact, Dazai sent 420 Mafia members which included 28 ability users to the scene to defeat Verlaine.

'I will mourn you,' Dazai said to Verlaine, and took out Rimbaud's diary from his pocket.

The next moment, a black wave inflated and spreaded to the whole field.

'-- You hatreds, your dumb torpors, your weaknessses,

And your brutalisation suffered long ago,

You give back, O Night, like an excess,

Un-malevolent, of blood, each month or so, (extract from The Sisters of Charity, by Arthur Rimbaud)' Verlaine said the spell.

The wind calmed, the buzz on the ground vanished as if escaping from something. The invisible waves were flooded in the atmosphere.

'The door was opened,' Dazai observed. A black object appeared far far away in the forest. Right after, where Verlaine were, ejected a form of dark energy. The car that was hit by this energy was completely deformed with half of it vanished and the remains were just like a wrapped paper.

On the mountain, there was a monster who controlled a dark sphere. When people touched the sphere, they died.

No.3 Forces, annihilated; No.5 forces, all dead, No.8 forces, no response, as reported from Dazai's walkie talkie. The mountained was eliminated, and the ground was distorted. All the mafia members were screaming and suffering.

'It's all in the plan, we will win if the next attack succeeds,' said Dazai.

-

Up in the sky of Yokohama, Chuuya and Adam were inside a helicopter and they jumped off from it due to the attack from the monster. Adam was able to fly in the sky because his body allowed him to transform himself into a flying machine.

Similar to Chuuya, Verlaine was also intolerant to poison despite having ample physical strength, so actually it was their plan to approach Verlaine closely, so that they can inject poison into Verlaine's body. It was notable that Adam mixed this poison pill.

It was very difficult to get closer to Verlaine because he had activated his corruption, which he lost his consciousness and attacked the surroundings without rationality.

Nonetheless, Chuuya did put a toxic pill into Verlaine's mouth, which he has his conscious back. Yet Verlaine splitted out the pills right after.

'You always surprise me, Chuuya,' Verlaine spoke. He told Chuuya that once he said the spell, he would have his human personality unlocked and become a mad beast that generated ability singularity. However, that is Rimbaud who thought about adding a spell on Verlaine, which enabled him to get back to a rational form after using his corruption.

'He always thinks about what he could do for me,' said Verlaine.

'But you betrayed him,' Chuuya replied

'Because I wanted to save you,' Verlaine answered.

Suddenly, a finger touched Verlaine's face.

'What an unexpected offense. I bet no one could foresee this. What a joke,' said Chuuya

Verlaine turned back, and realised that was Adam's finger.

'Do you wanna hear an android joke?' Adam's finger was installed with a tiny syringe, and this enabled poison to be injected into Verlaine's body.

'Seems like a child's trick can defeat the king of assassins. Thanks for listening to my android joke.'

-

It returns to another section of Rimbaud's diary. Rimbaud was thinking about what presents he should give to Verlaine on his birthday. He came up to a conclusion: a black hat. That was not an ordinary hat. The materials used inside the hat consists of 10% platinum, 10% titanium and the rest were made with rainbow-coloured ability metal which was installed with the ability of the Fauns inside. By wearing this hat, it enabled Verlaine to act on his own will and less interfered by external instructions and interruption. In other words, Verlaine was a step closer to a man with free will by having this hat.

Rimbaud gave the hat to Verlaine on his birthday, and he did not look surprised or happy either way.

'Just take it,' Rimbaud told Verlaine, and there was no response. They drank some wine that night and said goodnight to each other.

-

The battle was so called ended, but the field was left with gravity waves and the forest was completely destroyed. Verlained passed out, but still alive. Dazai told Adam and Chuuya that N was rescued from the tower crane, but disappeared during transportation.

-

'I can't die here...' said N. The car that he was taking bumped into a utility pole because he injected some form of medicine to the driver. He took out an old style flare gun and shooted.

'Is this some mistake made by the offense team?' Chuuya noticed the shot far away.

'Shit...' Dazai's eyes were in despair.

The shot that shooted from N's flare gun was exploded with colourful metal pieces floating in the air like snow, and even accompanied with some music. Verlaine suddenly yelled painfully. His eyes were filled with blood and the blood stream was clear on his face and grabbed his chest hardly.

'That was not the effect of my pill!' Adam shouted, 'The gravitational field was unusual here!'

The space was deformed, and Verlaine was flooded inside his own gravity wave.

'The world ends here...' Verlained whispered just like an old man who's dying 'Run, Chuuya.' Verlaine smiled sorrowfully.

The sky was divided, the thunder was coming and the atmosphere was expanding. N saw the ability form of Verlaine. It was a black beast, the opposite of god, and original demon -- Guivre the Beast. The monster annihilated all the aircrafts incoming and was about to proceed to the city center.

'See that Verlaine! That's your end!' N laughed, almost screamed. 'An unique being like you will die because of such a boring creature like me! HAHAHAHA DIE VERLAINE!'

-

Here comes a flashback during the night of Rimbaud and Verlaine's mission of stealing Arahabaki.

'Don't give this kid to the French,' Verlaine was holding the young Chuuya on his arm.

'What?' Rimbaud was confused.

'Don't hand him over to anyone, and don't let him go back to the lab. Grow this kid in a farm and just never let him know about his truth.'

'What are you talking about?' Rimbaud asked once again.

'Think about it Rimbaud,' Verlaine's voice was tense and hostile at the same time, 'If someone tells you you're not a human, how impactful it will be. You are not born with god's blessing but just a programme, how hurtful it is. You cannot see the moon and live in darkness forever without any hope, and no one will come save you. Even such a feeling of despair is designed by someone else!'

'We have this conversation countless times, Paul,' Rimbaud stepped forward, 'You are a human, everyone sees that. Instead of thinking how you were made, isn't it better to think what you should be as a being?'

'Paul...' 'Don't get close.'

'I am sorry. Anyways, should we go back and have a chat?' Rimbaud stepped forward again.

'No, it's too late.'

A huge fight between the spies broke out.

-

Adam had an idea to stop the destruction of Guivre. Almost at the end of the Great War, Britain had developed something that was currently the energy source of Adam's machines. However, the initial usage of Adam's energy source was a mass destruction weapon. Adam smiled and continued. If they used Adam's weapon inside him, they could burn and melt the Guivre.

So they put this in practise. Adam asked Chuuya to tie Adam's own arm to an electric cable. However, Adam pushed Chuuya away when he was about to trigger the weapon. He explained to Chuuya that the weapon inside him was called the Shell (55 minutes reference). It can burn down the surroundings of 22 yard radius, and the internal temperature could reach 6000 degree celsius, and that is almost the temperature of the sun surface. This was sufficient to destroy the Guivre.

'Don't do this!' Chuuya cried

'Don't you have your dream! To build an investigation organisation purely ran by machines right!'

Adam silenced for two seconds.

'My dream is to protect humans,' Adam replied, 'and my dream comes true now.'

'Wait!'

A gigantic fireball. It burned the woods, and boiled the land, and altogether evaporated. The Guivre moaned miserably and decomposed in the air. Adam sacrificed himself and the monster was destroyed.

However, the tail of the beast in front of Chuuya and Dazai was forming into something. That piece of tail suddenly grew a face out of it, something like a reptile. It then turned into a huge form of creature. Its head was pretty much the head of the former Guivre, but the number of eyes were different, and it had red eyes.

'Don't look at it, Chuuya,' Dazai warned, 'He was sensitive to emotion, so don't let him see you.'

'I know how to defeat this ability singularity,' said Chuuya, 'I recalled from my memory.'

'Let's brief me that,' Dazai smiled.

-

They figured out how to open Chuuya's door. In order to activate Chuuya's corruption, he needs to say the spell 'Grantors of disgrace, you need not wake me again'. Together with the hat gifted by Rimbaud, Chuuya could control the door with his own consciousness. However, there's a problem. Once Chuuya said the spell, the log inside his programme will altogether be erased, which means Chuuya could no longer find out whether he was human or not via the programme.

Chuuya was flying in the sky. He grabbed his hat tightly and recalled his friend's word

-- I am satisfied that I can protect you.

And he said 'Grantors of disgrace, you need not wake me again.'

The battle between the gigantic beast and a tiny Arakami (God of Arahabaki) began. Dazai was directing the forces to launch offense towards the beast. Meanwhile Chuuya's physical body could no longer tolerate the power inside his body. He was bleeding severely. Finally, Chuuya created an enormous fireball that was as if the second sun in the night. Finally, the beast disappeared and Dazai nullified corruption.

Code:04 End

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

head+heart, m | jjk, myg

pairing(s): jungkook x reader x yoongi

summary: It's been a lot lately. You'll be all right, but there's no denying the effect on you, mentally. You want a blissful moment of escapism to whisk away your worries. That's why they come to you. Jeon Jungkook. Min Yoongi. To take over the head and heart.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; smut (fem reader, nipple play, dry humping, scratching / marking, f and m-receiving oral, hair-pulling, penetrative sex against a counter); PWP; softdom!Jungkook and softdom!Yoongi

indeed, it's headspace!JK and heartspace!Yoongi

--

So tired.

You bit into the powdered donut, closing your eyes as the strawberry jam flooded your mouth. Far too sweet, almost achingly so. You didn't generally like sweet things, but this taste was nostalgic one, reminding you of a time when your greatest worries were external and not internal terrors that threatened to eat you up. You thought the pressures of others was the worst, but, no, the worst was when their words became your words, the constant barrage of those expectations festering in your day-to-day thoughts, becoming so ingrained that you couldn’t separate them from you.

It drained you, the people’s poison.

Such is growing up.

Warm breath drifted against your ear.

"Give me a taste of that sweetness," murmured a silky, silvery voice.

You didn't open your eyes. You simply removed the powdered donut from your mouth and tipped it towards the direction of the voice, sugary residue and strawberry jam still clinging to your lips. In an instant, his mouth fitted over yours, the tip of his tongue licking it all up, your name a soft groan emitting from his throat.

You opened your eyes.

Jeon Jungkook's persuasive dark brown orbs were watching you intently, framed by long black hair. He kissed you again, teasingly, letting his lips linger on yours with the pastry's aftertaste.

"What are you doing here?" you murmured.

His eyebrow raised, smirking. "To grant all your wishes," he purred, leaning his shoulder against you, his elbow touching yours on the kitchen counter. Navy flannel pajamas with a white t-shirt. Acting as if he lived here. He did, at least to the degree of you never kicking him out, letting him walk in and out of your space without a care. You let him do whatever he wanted and he knew it.

You noticed the red jam dripping from your donut and leaned forward, tongue sliding out to lick it off. Jungkook's larger body pressed against yours, letting you feel his shiver, not bothering to hide his lust. He said your name again, slowly, forming it delicately with his perfect lips, savoring it like it was his own sweet treat.

"You've been working hard lately, haven't you?" he whispered against your ear. You felt one of his arms wrap around your waist. "Overworking yourself and that pretty head of yours. You need a break."

"I need a break from you," you mumbled, placing your donut on the small white plate you had set up for yourself.

He chuckled. "You wanted me this morning. Moaned my name when you came with my cock and asked me to fuck you harder. Begged for it… and me."

Jungkook dug his fingers into your side, reminding you of his grip on your hips when you woke up, coaxing you first thing in the morning to get on your knees for him.

"Such a bad liar," he teased. His free hand tucked a few spare stands of your hair behind your ear before leaning in, inhaling deeply. "Even wore that perfume I love so much. Warm, sweet, sexy, just like you."

His lips traveled on your skin, down your ear to your silver earrings, lightly flicking them with his tongue before nibbling the sensitive flesh underneath. You shivered slightly, not saying anything.

You always let him have whatever he wanted.

"You gonna tell me to leave?" he whispered, nipping at the space under your ear.

You bit back your moan. "What's the point? You always come back."

"You want me to always come back."

You didn't reply. He knew already. You felt his hands travel up and down your sides, kneading your softness through your tight clothes.

"Jungkook..."

"You always want me to come back and touch you," he purred, kissing your neck all over. "Always looking so pretty so I can make you my mess." Skin on fire under his hot mouth, feeling his hard body press against yours. "Is that why you're wearing this red dress? Want me to take it off you?"

The whimper left your mouth before you could stop it, caused by his hands sliding up and pressing against your breasts. He moaned in your ear, squeezing firmly and running his fingertips over your hard nipples. No bra. You contemplated wearing one, but you weren't going to leave your safe space anytime soon.

Jungkook would make sure of that.

"So fucking sexy." Voice deep, enticing, shameless. "So big. Fuck."

He pinched your prominent nipples through the fabric and you inhaled sharply, pressing your ass into his rapidly hardening crotch. He rolled his hips into you, groaning at the friction.

"I love how big your nipples are," he breathed, craning his head past your shoulder to look at them straining the red silk. You felt his fingertips graze them, tweaking the hard nubs gently and making you moan in his arms. "Look at them. Fuck, they want me so bad, don't they? Want my hands and mouth all over your delicious nipples, don't you?"

You pressed your head back against his collarbone, staring up at him, lips parted. You could see the little mole under his lip from this position. The sharp curve of his chin. The hunger in his eyes.

"Do you ever stop?" you asked, somewhere between a whine and an accusation. Breathing already shallow, raising your chest into his touch.

Jungkook smiled, devious. "No." Let your name fall from his lips once more, not bothering to hide his possessiveness. "Not when it comes to you. I want you to want me forever."

You placed your hands over his, your silver rings against his knuckles.

"Started the festivities before me, hm?"

You shivered in Jungkook’s hands, hearing that familiar raspy voice. Tucked your head back, arousal spidering through your veins, seeing him. Your shadow.

Min Yoongi.

He gave you his familiar, pensive smile, hands loosely in the pockets of his black slacks, white shirt neatly buttoned up. Jungkook always acted as if he owned this space. But Yoongi was the space. He was home, just his presence alone.

You heard Jungkook click his tongue, pinching your nipples roughly, instantly making your breath hitch.

“It’s not a competition,” Yoongi chuckled dryly. “You always try to make it one.”

Jungkook didn’t reply, holding you close, sandwiching you between the counter and himself, hands all over. Yoongi closed the distance, dark eyes sparkling with mirth under waves of black hair. He spied the donut, half-eaten, red jam spilling out of the white-dusted pastry. His gaze shifted back to you.

“What do you want? I can give you anything.”

“Don’t…” You bit your lip, feeling Jungkook grind his crotch into your ass. “Don’t need anything.”

“Need and want are two different things,” Yoongi mused, pulling his hands out of his pockets. One of them held a small silver tin. He placed it on the counter. Eyes on you. “You need a break. You don’t want one.”

Your eyebrow twitched, focused stare on Yoongi as you pushed back against Jungkook’s hips, not letting him have his way so easily. He sucked in a breath and responded in kind, hot breath against your skin, teeth catching the top of your ear and biting down, hot sparks flying through you.

“They’re taking so much from you,” Yoongi continued, his fingers on your chin now, caressing your cheek gently as Jungkook violently humped you from behind. You kept your stance, not budging despite the harshness of his movements, intently listening to Yoongi’s words.

He was your mirror.

“You keep giving. That’s dangerous. Their selfishness will hurt you. They’re think of you less and less as a person and more and more like a factory. They’ll treat you like a thing they’re entitled to and not like a human being with feelings.”

You saw your reflection in his dark eyes.

Yoongi pressed his middle finger into your lower lip, exhaling deeply at the way it sank into the plushness. “I know you and your exquisite mind think you can take it,” he whispered. “But you don’t have to. I can catch you before you fall.”

“We,” Jungkook cut in sharply, finally speaking up with a growl in his chest.

Yoongi leaned in, casting shadows over your face with his, that slight, barely-there smile teasing you.

“Don’t let them dictate you. It can be made right,” he purred, lips brushing against yours. “Wecan make it right.”

Kiss deep and intense, hand sliding down to hold yours and squeeze it, pressing your silver rings into his palms, murmuring your name, savored by the depth in his voice, inhaled by your desperate breath and shaking your heart, pushing back into Jungkook greedily, leaning forward to kiss Yoongi more, more kisses that made him smile, amused at your eagerness.

“These hands are too talented to be slaving away on that keyboard,” Yoongi muttered. “Shouldn’t they service the ones you love most?”

You gasped into his mouth as Jungkook’s hands slid down your belly, closer and closer to the overwhelming heat below. Yoongi bit your lower lip delicately, smirking at your whine.

“The two you love most.”

Jungkook wandering fingers found the slit of the dress, tracing the exposed triangle of thigh.

Yoongi pulled back, releasing you slowly, gasps and shivers mixing into your voice.

“Who are they?” Yoongi nudged, using his free hand to tangle the tip of his finger with the silver necklace on your neck, the one at the top, above all others. He yanked at it lightly, the silver chain cutting into your skin, the double pendant swinging on the delicate chain.

“Min Yoongi,” you gasped.

Unforgiving fingers pressed into your flesh, leaving his marks on you.

“Jeon Jungkook.”

Jungkook slid his hand into your inner thigh, digging his nails in and scratching your skin. You closed your thighs around his touch and he chuckled, kissing your ear.

“You want me?” he murmured. “Want me and hyung to dominate your thoughts?”

You couldn’t lie.

“The two of you already do.”

Yoongi smiled knowingly, letting go of your hand. He popped off the lid to the small silver tin.

“You need to rest, you know.”

“I’ll rest when I’m dead.”

He plucked a small circular hard candy from the tin. Held it out.

“Mmm, until then, we’ll take care of you.”

You opened your mouth, tongue extended, breath hot on his fingertips as he pressed it onto the wet muscle, the citric acid burning, a sharp sour that gradually turned into sweet. Your eyes widened, bringing it into your mouth, sucking on it.

“You remembered.”

Yoongi chuckled. “Of course, I remembered.” He placed the lid back on. “I remember all your favorite things.”

The hem of your dress was going up, pushed aside by Jungkook’s exploring fingers, a sharp click of his tongue as he realized you were wearing panties. You spun the sour candy with your tongue, Yoongi watching with interest, the tart lime cutting through the syrupy strawberry jam from the donut.

“I’m going to win one day, hyung,” Jungkook muttered childishly, one arm around your body, underneath your breasts, pushing them up, the other against your stomach, fingers trailing over the smooth fabric of your underwear, coaxing you to soak them, whimpers quivering in your throat.

Yoongi smirked. “I’ll enjoy watching you try, Jungkookie.”

-

“You have more rings.”

“I brought them,” you murmured, sucking in a breath.

“Mmm. Seven now. A magic number.”

You bit your lip, gasping softly, the pleasure crawling through you slowly, sourness on your tongue fading into sweet.

“You should have let me buy you at least one.”

You watched Yoongi pick up the plate with the donut on it and set it aside, away from the path of certain destruction.

“If I want it, I buy it,” you gritted out, fingers spreading out on the counter, silver rings glinting in the light. “I’m not waiting for anyone, not even you.”

Yoongi stopped right in front of you, tilting his head, the side of his lips quirking upwards.

“So stubborn.”

Your head was slightly tipped back, your usual silver necklaces hot against your skin, hotter than usual with your chest rapidly rising and falling, jaw tense, the on-edge feeling spreading through your nerves, staring into Min Yoongi’s eyes, the eyes of your shadow, your always and forever, as you sat on the edge of the kitchen counter, legs spread wide open, red dress popped up over your ass, and Jeon Jungkook’s tongue on the sensitive bud above your slit, occasionally dipping down and drinking in your nectar, your own version of sharp sour-sweet.

“You look good like this, as you always do,” Yoongi purred.

Your neck heated from the praise and you tried to respond, but Jungkook’s fingernails dig into your thighs, forcing you to look down at him and his marks that he was leaving on your skin, sucking hard and sending shocks up your spine, tugging you closer to his face and forcing your legs wider, burying his hands in your softness. His dark brown eyes flashed in warning.

Do not ignore me.

You snapped the candy in between your teeth, glaring down at him.

He flicked his tongue against your clit and made you flinch, hips rising and pressing into his hungry mouth, the pleased glint in his eyes as he worked you, sucking faster and licking harder, pulling you deeper and deeper into his pace, into his eyes, that perfect shape that was determined to make you his, determined to make you fall for every curve and angle of that beautiful face, determined to be your every thought and every dream, coaxing you with his soft, deft tongue that made you involuntarily whimper, inciting you to roll your hips into his face as your head fell back, hair tumbling in between your shoulder blades, neck completely exposed as you moaned his name, spilling onto his lips and chin, drenching him with your orgasm.

Jungkook groaned under you, tongue sliding out and into your pulsing walls, intoxicated by the way your muscles shivered around him, latching his lips to your pussy and lapping it all up.

“Fuck, look at that body line.”

The sugar in your mouth was gone.

Your head lowered, breathing hard, gazing at Yoongi with half-lidded eyes. His own were roaming all over you, from your neck to your chest, nipples now firmly stretching out the red silk, to the way your dress collected around your waist, flaring out to your bare hips and thighs, softness spread wide and tipped up towards Jungkook’s mouth, his dark head bobbing with his strong hands holding you still.

Jungkook was kneeling, with you sitting on the counter. Yoongi was standing right behind him.

Yoongi took a step forward, stance spread to accommodate Jungkook’s legs in between them.

You drew your fingers into your palms, pressing your nails into them, knuckles taut.

A slow, open-mouthed smirk.

His hand outstretched, pushing Jungkook’s head deeper between your legs.

Jungkook growled, ready to push back, but he stopped the second he heard your needy gasp, breathless and wanton, sliding back to give him more access, arching your back even more, his voracious eyes locked on the way your nipples strained against the slippery fabric, the curve of your breasts prominent, and the line that went from your ribs to your core defined and flexed, rocking your hips into his face and chasing the pleasure as his tongue licked you hard and fast, Yoongi’s fingers tangled in his long hair commanding the pace, pushing you to the edge and using Jungkook to do it, completely aware of the effect the younger man had on you and not worried about it, encouraging it, letting Jungkook have the headspace because he knew.

Yoongi knew what space he owned.

Your hand lifted shakily from the counter, twisting your body slightly to place it on Jungkook’s forehead, pushing back his black hair to look into his chocolate eyes, your fingertips touching Yoongi’s fingertips, enamored by his intense gaze, falling into it, gasps and whines escaping your lips, giving in to Jungkook like you always did, because you couldn’t avoid it, you couldn’t help but feel everything he did to you, feel the delicious pricks of pain as his nails and fingers dug into you, feel the way his tongue conducted the symphony of pleasure and let it sing through your nerves, feel the slight hopelessness knowing that you couldn’t get away and that he would keep trying no matter what.

And knowing, deep down, that you really didn’t want to get away.

Your breathing stuttered, low moan falling from your gasping mouth.

“You’re so troublesome, Jungkook.”

He grinned under you as you came on his face again, this time quickly sliding down to suck it out of you, you crying out as your pussy shuddered, throbbing around his exploring tongue, Yoongi tipping his head back so his nose rubbed against your engorged clit, making you hiss and your core clench powerfully on Jungkook’s tongue, his erotic groan vibrating your entire body, the pleasure soaring to an all-time high.

“J… Jungkook, fuck…” you moaned, fingers tangling in his long black hair.

“Ah, can’t stand this.”

Yoongi let go of Jungkook’s head and reached over him, yanking the straps down your dress, exposing your bare breasts, and Jungkook moaned again, adding his hot breath into your scorching heat. You gasped as the edge of the fabric skimmed your hard nipples, the barely-there friction stroking the waves of blazing arousal, chest heaving as the aftershocks rippled through you.

You pressed your thumb against Jungkook’s forehead, caressing it softly, closing your eyes and exhaling his name, lost in his silver tongue and inviting lips, knowing you were fruitlessly fighting a war that you were never going to win because, in the end, you always wanted him and the intrusive way he invaded your thoughts.

-

“You have bad habits.”

“You’re one of them.”

His shiny lips curved into a smirk, mole winking at you. You sucked in a breath, tremors quivering in your chest. Jungkook licked his lips, wiping his chin with one of your kitchen towels. You narrowed your eyes.

“You enable me.”

You did.

Your grip tightened on the white shirt, a lazy tongue flicking your nipple, large hands fanning across the small of your back and in between your shoulder blades, pulling you closer, your dress bunched around your waist, completely useless in covering you now. Jungkook was watching with earnest, leaning against the other side of the counter as Yoongi sucked hard, earning a yelp as you grabbed fistfuls of his shirt. He rolled his hips into yours, pressing your ass against the cabinets.

You sharply looked away from Jungkook and his amused grin, instead looking down at the black head of hair occupied with your breasts.

“Y-Yoongi… please…”

He kissed up your chest, taking his time, nails digging into your back, scratching you up with his red lines of lust, now face-to-face, dark eyes darker, burning with fire and torrential waters, capturing your lips as he completed his thrust into you, one of your legs coming up to wrap around his waist, moaning into his mouth as Yoongi filled you, taking over everything, locked in his embrace, his kiss, his hands, his cock, fucking you with ease because you made it easy, always giving him everything because he was everything.

“Yoongi, fuck, yes, Yoongi…”

Adjusting your tightness to suit his needs so he filled you in all the right ways, pushing your hips back to match his pace and deepen his strokes, feeling pleasure rise through you like smoke, trickling through your veins and nerves, his satisfied smirk against your lips, one hand on your back and the other on the counter, fucking you and you fucking him, roughly smacking your hips together, your own kitchen counter digging into your back, but nothing else mattered, only Yoongi’s cock and the way it swelled and stretched your soaking walls, you biting your lip and moaning in your mouth as you came, wave after wave of ecstasy making your pussy throb and clench around him, your viscous juices gushing down and coating his length, squelching loudly as he fucked you through it, chuckling.

“You always know how to bring the best out of me,” Yoongi purred. “My perfect plaything.”

You felt your silver rings dig into your fingers as you clutched his shirt, right above his heart.

He slowed a little, prolonging his orgasm, and you whined, squeezing him tighter, not wanting him to change the pace, but Yoongi, as he always did, did as he liked, teasing you, building up your desire until it was unbearable, desperately holding him to you. Yoongi inhaled deeply, closing his eyes.

“Burning wood, sweet chestnut,” he murmured, commenting on the layered notes of your perfume.

His eyes opened, open-mouthed smirk suddenly on his lips.

“And sex.”

Yoongi thrust into you, hard, and you moaned, suddenly feeling a hand in your hair, fingers gripping your head and pulling back, bending you backwards over the counter to see long black hair and mischievous chocolate eyes, Jungkook’s pink lips lowering, tongue sliding between your lips in an erotic, messy kiss as Yoongi relentlessly fucked you from below, both hands on your hips to lift you to your tiptoes so you had to take it, take him and his punishing cock burying into the deepest parts of you as Jungkook’s mouth traveled over your skin, nipping down your neck, sucking on your collarbones, barely able to gasp, pitch hitching when that hungry mouth latched onto your nipple, sucking hard and pinching the other, making you cum instantly, soaking Yoongi’s cock with sweet stickiness, one of your hands still clutching his shirt, the other snaking around Jungkook and grabbing the crown of hair at the top of his head, your nails digging into his scalp, palm on his forehead, raising your body into his mouth and Yoongi’s cock, your head nearly touching the counter with how arched your back was, your eyes closing, your wanton moans resonating against the walls, pleasure overtaking all your senses.

Taste.

Your own sour-sweet that lingered on your lips, given to you by Jungkook’s tongue, and the faint hint of the sour-sweet of the candy Yoongi gave you at the back of your throat.

Sound.

The slap of firm hardness into drenched tightness, flesh on flesh, tongue on swollen nipples, mixing with grunts and cries of pleasure.

Smell.

Your own smokey, sugary perfume, mixed with the whispers of musky woods and fresh fruitiness of the cologne of the two men blending together, now rubbed into your skin from them having their way with you.

Sight.

Darkness, amplifying the final sense.

Touch.

Sensation everywhere, ice cold from the counter, scalding hot with arousal, long fingers digging into your flesh, nails leaving crescents of lust behind, wet warmth of Jungkook’s nimble tongue on your sensitive nipples sending sparks all over, core pulsing with fervor with every violent thrust of Yoongi’s cock filling you completely, your pussy shivering and tightening around it to feel the contours, the veins, the head twitching deep inside, so close, so close, begging for it, pleading for it, wishing for the moment of ice and fire, tension inside so tight that it seemed almost unreal, almost as if you stopped breathing, floating in free-fall.

That moment.

Pure bliss.

“A-ah, Yoongi…”

The tension snapped, wail consuming your lungs and throwing your head back, brutal, pulsating throbs overwhelming, wave after wave of pleasure shaking you, burning your veins, muscles clutching Yoongi’s cock and massaging it roughly, splattering his crotch once again with your sour-sweet nectar, knuckles white in his white shirt, silver rings standing out on your skin. Yoongi sharp hiss vibrated in his chest and traveled through your fist, rattling you, his cock jerking and filling the condom in jolting spurts, Jungkook’s mouth suddenly leaving your chest, the sound of clothing being removed, but there was nothing else, nothing but riding the high of your orgasm, flinching and rolling your hips into Yoongi’s to elongate it, relishing in the intensity, the power, his racing heartbeat under your clenched fist, his growl of your name so delicious and perfect to your ears that you would always want it, always yearn for it, and him.

Always and forever.

You opened your eyes.

Looked up.

Jungkook was on the counter, furiously pumping his rock-hard cock, purple-red tip right next to your lips, long black hair hanging down, impatience twisted in his handsome features, jaw clenched tight, still wearing his navy plaid flannel and white shirt, not caring, not caring if your were ready or not, shoving the head between your lips and you opening your mouth obediently, watching his face as hot strings of saltiness poured onto your tongue, his eyes screwing shut and low moan emitting from his lips, shuddering and shaking from his own forced pleasure.

You swallowed it all in large, calm gulps, Yoongi’s cock still inside you.

Your tongue circled the throbbing tip, licking it off, sucking softly. Jungkook sighed, satisfied, lightly thrusting the head in and out between your lips. He opened his eyes and looked down at you.

You gazed back at him, not fighting it.

Wanting it, and him.

“I’m going to win someday, hyung.”

“Sure you will, Jungkook.”

-

“Can I have the rest of this?”

“Should you be having sweets?”

Jungkook cocked an eyebrow, defiant smirk on his lips before firmly biting into your half-eaten powdered donut.

“But I like my donuts with jam in middle.”

You felt Yoongi lean in, his body pressed against you. His teasing lips brushed against your earlobe, promising you that this was how it was going to be, all day, all night.

“Ah, you overwork yourself so much that you need the two of us to force you to rest.”

“I’m ambitious, just like you.”

You felt Yoongi's fingers tangle in your hair, chuckling deep in his throat.

Jungkook stuck his tongue into the powdered donut, coating it with red strawberry jam, naughty chocolate orbs fixated on yours, framed by messy black waves.

“I’ve always liked that about you.”

-

drabble | for you, 20210612

--

masterpost

[thewincestgospel]

Wincest and J2 High School Fics

2028 AD by inlustwithsammy 

It's in 2028. Sam and Dean got reincarnated and they have no idea who they were in their past lives. They live a normal life as high school students. They grew up as best friends who live close to each other. Dean is still a playboy. Sam is still a nerd. Some things never change.

a first time for everything by riyku  In which Jared announces that his family is moving, and Jensen suddenly becomes very concerned with time.

A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More "Touch Me" by gothpandaotaku

Sam Winchester, the jaded new kid at school. Dean Winchester, the school badass who rides a motorcycle to school every morning. When they collide, sparks fly- the wrong kind. It's hate at first sight. But over time they find they have a lot more in common than they thought...

All The Other Kids  by AureaMediocritas   Dean and Sam roll into another high school. The first weeks through five students' eyes.        

Baby Steps by cherie_morte    AU: Jared is nine years old when his mom marries Jensen's dad.

The Ballad of the Invisible Boy by dollylux   This is a story of adolescence. This is a love letter for the slow burn, for Led Zeppelin, for the 90s. This is the first of two sets of stories about how Sam and Dean didn’t fall in love. They never had to. It was always there, this desperation between them, like a real, breathing thing. When they came together, it was inevitable. As sure as continents colliding, as the phases of the moon and the life and death of stars. This isn’t a love story, but it’s a story of love.SeriesPart 1 of Invisible Boy.

Becoming What We Pretend To Be by locknkey  In a fit of pique Sam brags to his high school friends that he can get Dean as his boyfriend. Dean's never been able to say no to Sam. Pretense is a slippery-slope when you're romancing your brother and it's all too easy to for the lines between what's real and what's fake to become blurred.

Bend and Break by Winmance  If Jared had to describe his life, he would say that his life is lonely. Between the bullying and his parents lack of interest, the only true joy he has is Jensen, the baseball player with who he's having sex. But everybody has a limit and Jared is about to find out his own.

Best Birthday Ever by ballsdeepinwinchesters prompted for: w[ee]cestiel + bottom!Sam For Sam’s sixteenth birthday, he only asked for one thing. He didn’t want a car, or money, or even a dog (Dean hates dogs). All Sam wanted was to get f***** by Dean and his friend, Cas.

Bitchface No.5 by bookworm1805   There's a new kid in school and Sam is being a bitch, but Dean doesn't see how the two things are related.5 stars

The Craziest Thing by thefourofswords  Sam and Dean find themselves de-aged back to 18. The only solution anybody seems to have is to go back to high school.

Crown and Anchor Me (or let me sail away) by Sena Sam Winchester is fifteen years old, at yet another new high school in yet another state, he doesn't get along with his distant, distracted father, he's figuring out that he likes guys just as much as he likes girls, his clothes never fit and his limbs ache at the joint ever since his growth spurt started, he has to study for the PSAT and, oh yeah, he's a little bit in love with his brother, Dean, who's taken a break from hunting monsters to work at a local garage for minimum wage.

Flagstaff by  Linden  John tracked Sam down in Flagstaff, four days after he got home to find him gone.

Go, Dean... by orphan_account  Prompt: Teenage Dean joining the football team and Sammy cheering him in the stands, Dean calling him his little cheerleader and making him wear the outfit while he rides his big brother... How's that for enduring football?

“Thought you wanted to be my little cheerleader, Sammy,' Dean said, tossing the gathered supplies onto the bed and crawling back between Sam’s legs. His lips sealed themselves to Sam’s, and he kissed him breathlessly. 'Loved watching you bounce up and down out on the field, everyone watching you, wishing you were theirs.'”

Good as New  by  sixtysevenlmpala  When an asshole at Dean and Sam's high school breaks Dean's amulet, he doesn't react well. But as always, Sam's there to make it better.

Hope You Don't Mind by compo67  Jared has no problems being an introvert in a family of extroverted women. He enjoys his alone time as a freshman in high school... that is until signs for prom start showing up. With both his sisters going, he begins to wonder if maybe his time alone is a little lonely.

I'll Give You What You Like by soulmatecest Jared is, by all means, the worst cheerleader in the world.He absolutely fucking sucks; Jensen’s not even sure how he made it to the cheer squad and why would anyone take a look to his really bad dancing moves and still think ‘oh yeah, we definitely need to get some of that for the team.’Jared is honestly a disaster at this.And yet, Jensen has done pretty much nothing apart from staring at him most of the game as Jared dances terribly in a short skirt. Because even if Jared sucks, he’s also the most beautiful omega Jensen has ever seen.

The Jock and The Nerd by JuniperLemon  Unrelated Wincest High School AU. Sam and Dean go to the same school. Dean asks the school nerd, Sam, on a date. Little do they know that it'll lead to so much more. Is there more behind Sam than what meets the eye and how will John react to Dean's bisexuality?

Kiss Me by lotrspnfangirl  Worst case scenario: Jensen would be freaked out and spend the next three weeks until graduation, completely avoiding Jared and not speaking to him. And as much as that would hurt… It was only a dollar to get a kiss from Jensen at the kissing booth.

Little Pieces by compo67 Jensen the Bad Influence is better known as the town hellraiser. He stays out late, skips class, and takes bets on chess games after school. His partner in crime happens to be Jared, raised in a strict Catholic-Protestant household, and reigning chess champion. Together, they've skimmed five hundred dollars from their classmates with no end in sight.If they can survive high school, conquering the rest of the world must be a piece of cake.It just happens that the world has something else in store for them--something no one planned for in a million years.

Mr High School by  kinkylittlered This is for a bingo competition on livejournal. Each chapter has prompts. AU Sam is a popular boy in high school and Dean is an invisible boy who is coming to terms with his sexuality. Each chapter will have different warning, eventually leading to slash

Putting On A Show by BewareTheIdes15  Lightning fast Dean's grin slants into sly and Sam's stomach lurches hard enough that his lungs get jealous and jump in on the action. Without so much as a glance in Sam’s direction for approval, Dean lifts one shoulder and says, "I'll make out with Sam."

Say the Words by dollylux  A new boy rolls into town, and Jensen Notices. (And... his girlfriend notices him noticing.)

Touch and Go by versaillesatnight  Dean Winchester doesn’t date. He fucks around, sure, but the whole dating thing? He’s never seen the appeal. Enter Sam.

Verses Like Yours and Mine by rivers_bend Sam and Dean are regular brothers--no hunting, no demons--who fall in love anyway.

White Knight by echoes_of_another_life  Jensen is a senior and protects shy freshman Jared, who is being bullied.

Worth It by saltandbyrne Turns out the only thing more uncomfortable than sitting through class with a half-woody and a pair of panties wedged up your ass is doing it while your panties are soaking wet from your brother's mouth.(Sam is 14).

You Didn't Listen When You Went To School by Posse Magnet (rhink_is_my_kink)  The kids at school know the new Winchester brothers are different. Everything about them is strange. From the way Dean effortlessly completes any physical challenge that gym class can throw at him without even breaking a sweat. To the way Sam is the smartest kid in all his classes, even though he's a freshman, and all his classes are college-level and full of seniors. But the most peculiar thing about the Winchesters, the thing that everyone notices: the way they come tumbling out of empty classrooms, closets, bathroom stalls, untidy hair, messy clothes, cheeks flushed with a color that’s almost as intense as the color of their lips.

you're a real f*ing page-turner by  grace_fully Jared's days pretty much all run together, one big muddy mess of emotional turmoil and confusion and shitty friends and shittier classes. not to mention that his best friend is equal parts awesome and a complete jerk, his little sister is also kind of a jerk, and he thinks privately that someday his books are going to be the only thing to stand by him in the end. luckily, life has a way of turning things around on him.

Your Pretty Face Is Going to Hell by sonofabiscuit77 While the Winchesters are living in a small-town trailer park, sixteen year old Sam accidentally spies on his brother with an older man. The discovery triggers feelings in Sam that lead him and Dean down a path which will change their lives forever.

[duskandstarlight]

Embers & Light (Chapter 32)

Notes: Thanks for being so patient waiting for this latest chapter. As usual it turned out to be a hefty MF so I hope you enjoy reading it :) I think this chapter has got the most locations in it so far: Windhaven, Ironcrest, The Steppes and Velaris!

As usual, let me know what you think. And if you enjoy reading it please do hit the reblog button. Thank you, thank you, thank you <3

And during the wait for Chapter 33 (which I will post on Sunday 28th March / 4 April if all goes to plan), do feel free to drop into my anon box--I love hearing from you guys! 

Chapter Thirty-Two Cassian

Despite a day and night of rest following the initial bout of healing at the cottage, the next week tumbled by in a whirlwind of activity. If life were a play, Cassian thought, then everything had previously been in intermission and the Gods had suddenly deigned to continue the show.

After speaking with Maya, Feyre and Rhys had winnowed an exhausted Cassian and Nesta back to Windhaven before leaving immediately for Velaris. By the time Cassian  waved them goodbye, Nesta was already lying in the foetal position on her length of the couch, her head nestled into the corner. Silent silver flames danced in the hearth and Cassian only had time to groan before he collapsed onto the branch of cushions directly opposite. His wing had landed with an unceremonious thump onto the coffee table, moulding itself around a stack of books, the tip of his fingers grazing Nesta’s thigh. She did not bat him away. Her eyes were already half-closed, her breathing deep and even.

Cassian heard the gentle reassuring thump of her heart in his ears before everything had turned dark.

It was the click of the backdoor that had woken him the next day, heralding Mas and Roksana’s arrival. Cassian had blinked the sleep from his eyes only to be met with the crown of Nesta’s golden head and the scent of jasmine and vanilla entangled like something vital in his lungs. 

Only then did he remember the nightmare that had dragged him from sleep in the dead of night. His eyes had snapped open, his body bound and immovable by the heavy weight of death and the illusion of powdered ash in his mouth. His chest had heaved but he’d managed to whip his head to the side—searching for her—only to find Nesta blinking blearily at him, as if his torment had pulled her out of the clutches of sleep. She hadn’t said a word, had only climbed across the cushions until she was lying at a right-angle to him, her body stretched across the intersection of the couch.

As soon as her head had lain next to his, Cassian had found himself able to move, as if the bindings holding him prisoner had suddenly been cut free. Shuddering, he had wound his hands through her hair and pressed his face to her scalp, breathing her in—the scent of her that told him she was safe and sound. That she was not the crumbling ash that coated his tongue.

Nesta’s hand had come up to clasp at his elbow, a silent comfort that told him she was there, before they had tumbled into the comforting dark together.

He hadn’t dreamt after that.

Biting back a sleepy grin, Cassian watched with amusement as Mas halted abruptly at the left-hand archway to the living room.

“Sorry anak,” she apologised with a mortified, unnecessary flush to her brown cheeks. Her hazel eyes flitted from him to Nesta, no doubt clocking how close their heads were and how Cassian’s fingers and nose were still buried in Nesta’s hair. “I didn’t realise you were still sleeping.”

With the swiftness of a mother prone to scooping up little ones before they got themselves into trouble, Mas grabbed for Roksana as the youngling tried to enter the room, gathering the little girl tightly to her chest. Roksana had made to lurch forward and her wings were still spread wide, ready to aid her attempt to launch across the room—towards Sala who was spread out by the fire.

Slowly, the manticore lifted her head from where it was resting on her huge paws and cocked it to one side. The beast’s sandy ears pricked forward in intrigue, her beautiful almond eyes soft and curious as she soaked in the sight of the little Illyrian buzzing with energy.

“Manticore!” Roksana exclaimed with a delighted clap of her hands. She looked up at Mas with unbridled excitement and then, to Cassian’s surprise, to him.

Cassian had never seen the youngling’s face so unfettered—so childlike. In fact, Cassian had never heard her speak. He knew she spoke the odd word to Mas and Nesta, but with him present, the youngling usually remained mute.

An ache rippled over Cassian’s wings as he folded them in and sat upright. Biting back the grimace that wanted to fight its way onto his expression, he shot Roksana his best smile and told her, “The manticore’s name is Sala.”

“Sala,” Roksana repeated quietly, turning her head to peek up at Mas with wide hazel eyes. The housekeeper grinned at the gesture and dropped a loving kiss to the wind-snarled mass of the youngling’s hair.

Nesta, who had been as immovable as a rock, finally stirred, no doubt dragged from the blanket of sleep by the sound of voices and the loss of Cassian’s hand in her hair.

Those steel blue eyes immediately sought his and everything in Cassian tightened as he found them to be clear and trauma-free—as wide and open as the moments after he had kissed her. After he had made her shatter on his tongue.

“Hello,” Nesta croaked. Then, she spied Roksana and Mas, and the sleepy smile that graced her face had all of his desire dissipating. His heart softened as Nesta propped herself up onto a forearm and said, “Hello.”

“You can go to Nesta only,” Mas told Roksana sternly as the youngling scampered across the room, scrambling up onto the sofa so she could wrap her arms around Nesta’s waist.

“She wants to pet the manticore,” Mas told Nesta with a faint, amused smile as Roksana whispered the word twice more to Nesta with a point of a stubby finger towards the fireplace. “Your manticore,” the housekeeper corrected with a toothy grin, even as Mas glanced nervously at the beast who had jumped to her feet, eager to greet Cassian as he rose from the cushions.

Cassian stretched with a groan that evolved into a wide yawn. His limbs were stiff from sleeping for so long. He needed to fly—to exercise and warm up his muscles. He needed to bathe. Gods, how long had they been sleeping? Eighteen hours? More? He usually only slept that length of time after battle.

“Devlon and the other instructors trained you this morning?” Cassian checked with Mas.

The housekeeper nodded. “More balance and footwork,” she told him. “Then applying that to self-defence.”

Cassian’s nod indicated that he was satisfied. “Take the salve from the bathroom cupboard on your way out today,” he instructed. One quick sweeping assessment of the Illyrian had told Cassian that she was sore. “It looks like you could do with it.”

A muzzle was thrust into Cassian’s hand and he looked down to find Sala staring up at him beseechingly. She let out an indignant whine as if to punctuate that she didn’t appreciate being ignored and Cassian snickered, before he bent down to scratch behind the beast’s ears.

When the manticore began to purr loudly, Roksana clapped her hands in delight.

“She’s very friendly,” Nesta told Roksana with a smile. She smoothed back the girl’s wild hair and kissed Roksana’s chubby cheek. Nesta’s hair was mussed, golden strands falling from her coronet which was now loose, no doubt from where his hands had been in it all night.

Cassian wasn’t sure she could look more beautiful. An intense urge overtook him and he almost felt the tug at his ribcage as he imagined striding across the room and slanting his mouth on hers.

Gods, he needed to taste her again more than anything.

Ignoring the sharp, knowing glance Mas threw his way, Cassian created some distance. Doing his best to appear casual, he leant against the right-hand archway that led to the kitchen and took the time to wrangle back some semblance of control.

But then he had watched Nesta introduce Roksana to Sala and everything tightened in a completely different way. His throat bobbed at the look of wonder on the youngling’s face as she stroked Sala’s fur and Cassian knew the sight was something he would cherish forever.

With a fervour that surprised even him, Cassian wished Feyre was with them. Because he knew what he wanted for next Solstice—a painting of this. Of Roksana before Sala, Nesta cradling the youngling’s body from behind, her chin tucked atop the girl’s dark tangle of hair, a secret smile on her face. Just the thought of Feyre brushing the moment onto canvas had sent shivers down his spine—and in that moment Cassian had understood just how irrevocably entangled he was with the female before him. How completely and utterly besotted he was in a way he had never thought possible with anyone.

Later, Roksana had buried her face into Sala’s neck, her small hands clutching at the manticore’s ears and whispered Sala’s name. And when Nesta had laughed, the sound had only confirmed to Cassian what he already knew: that he had never been so content. That he would live with the pain of being so near to Nesta and not being able to have her if it meant he could witness her smile freely. If he could hear her laugh without trying to stifle it as if it were a fire to be put out.

Over the following week, training the females, overseeing the military units and ferrying between Windhaven and the cottage preoccupied Cassian’s every breath. Nesta was just as busy, and she spent any free time she had in the widows camp or running errands with Mas. She had even flown to the travelling market with Mas, which had set itself up for a few days in the Paya valley, selling all means of goods, from spices and fresh produce to jewellery, weapons and swaths and swaths of fabric.

When he did not winnow to the bungalow to deliver them in person, Rhys spoke frequently into Cassian’s mind to deliver updates. Azriel bled in and out of shadows scouting for Kallon and utilising his most-trusted Illyrian contacts to feedback information of the ongoings in Ironcrest’s camp—the former attempts of which had been futile. And all the while they waited with bated breath as news continued to reach them that Marsh had still not left his bed.

It was only a matter of time until Kallon had the right to the title of Prince of Ironcrest. They all knew it. The question would be whether he’d come back to claim his title. And if he did, how the princeling would wield his new found power to rally his cause and drum up the discontent even further.

Given their demands and duties, Cassian and Nesta did not often find themselves alone, something which Cassian found to be both torture and a blessing. Even during their flights to the cottage they flew separately—Cassian on his own wings and Nesta atop Sala—and Nesta had even taken to bringing Roksana with her once the majority of the girls had recovered enough to be taken to Velaris by Mor. The little Illyrian had been delighted to discover Caer whom she adored even more than Sala, most likely due to his endless patience whenever Roksana clambered onto his back. Caer would pad around the grounds outside the cottage, carting Roksana about as she tried to balance herself with outstretched wings. Whenever she toppled off—which was frequently—the manticore would nuzzle at Roksana’s stomach with a teasing growl, which never failed to elicit squeals of giggles that cracked even Frawley’s hard exterior.

Lorrian, who had taken a shine to Roksana well before her visits, had used the youngling’s attendance around the cottage as an opportunity to give her some much-needed flying lessons. Cassian had watched with amusement, leaning against the paddock railings with Nesta and Frawley by his side as Roksana zoomed around the paddock with such speed even Lorrian had stumbled to catch up with her. Cassian had even spied a few of the girls peeking curiously from around the barn doors, no doubt drawn by Frawley and Nesta’s amused outburst of laughter. In the end, even Maya and Samra had come outside to watch.

After the lesson, Frawley had awarded Roksana with a huge mug of hot chocolate, before depositing the youngling swiftly into the tub for a much-needed bath.

In the rare moments that Cassian and Nesta were alone, Cassian found things… difficult, and it was through no fault of Nesta’s. After all, it was Cassian who had given Nesta the choice of deciding what their activities between the sheets had meant. Yet, Cassian could not help the bitter disappointment that wound through him when Nesta did not seek him out again at night—neither for company or for something more heated.

The problem was that Cassian had not truly known the gravity of what he would be dealing with in the aftermath. Knowing what Nesta now tasted like—the scent of which had faded but not disappeared from his tongue—tested a new reserve of Cassian’s strength, and Cassian found himself flitting between an almost terrifying, composed calm to a fervent, primal yearning that had him shaking with the need to touch her… to consume her… to please her in every way possible that went beyond carnal lust.

Oddly, it was the small things that set him off: when she stood too close or when those smoky grey eyes searched for him over anyone else. The worst was when she allowed a small smile to grace her beautiful face or when she taunted him, each teasing jab or jest enough to tell him that she was no longer wading through the muddy waters of trauma. That she was happier—more content.

Sometimes Nesta would touch him without him prompting her to, her fingers snagging on his arm or her body brushing against his as she moved to make tea at the kitchen counter. And those light touches… they burned, as if Cassian was nothing but an animal and Nesta was on heat. His body itched and trembled and begged for her, and Cassian had taken to pleasuring himself at night and first thing in the morning, recreating the sounds of her moans in his head and the grasp of her fingers in his hair. The way she had finally said his name and the weight of her breasts cupped in his palms. The way her body had arched and moulded to his as she had begged for release.

And finally, the way she had reached for him. Those fingers as they had dipped just below the waistband of his pants…

Fantasy and memory became friend and foe. And Cassian pleasured himself in the shower. After training. In the middle of the night. And even then, Cassian was only sated for the briefest of moments until that need crashed down over him again and he had to think of any grotesque image that would cool his blood: Devlon. Marsh. Kallon.

As a consequence, Cassian found himself keeping his distance whenever it became too much. It hurt to do it, as if something was tearing inside of him, and he knew Nesta had clocked it. But she didn’t bring it up and nor did she broach what had happened between the bedsheets. She did not shut him out. Did not poison him with words or derisive looks, even when, for the most part, Cassian thought his actions called for it.

And all the while her scent lingered like the sweetest perfume. It was worse when they were together. Then, it grew stronger. It filled his nostrils, his mouth, the taste of her heady and wonderful and almost sinful in its reminder that Cassian had experienced his one chance with her: one kiss, one touch, one taste.

That was another reason why Cassian was keeping his distance. What was it Nesta had said when he’d told her that the others might scent what they had done? It’s a complete invasion of privacy. So, when the others had arrived, Cassian had created space between them whenever he could. Had watched the way Nesta’s eyes had become more hollow whenever he ensured he was stationed at the opposite side of the room. He hadn’t had the time to communicate to her that his distance was to try and respect her wish for privacy—to prevent the others knowing what they had done—and he had been forced to watch her tumble into the dark depths of her trauma without a hand to haul her out.

Until he’d had to act as a tether, anyway.

Despite his efforts, Cassian suspected that all of his friends had sensed a shift. Mor’s gift was truth, after all, and Azriel and Rhys knew him better than anyone. His brothers had always reprimanded him for wearing his heart on his sleeve to the detriment of no-one but himself, but Cassian couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help a lot of things when it came to Nesta, and he didn’t trust himself not to let that carefully formed leash slip and ruin everything he’d promised her.

He’d already failed once; If you summon your healing magic, I’ll taste you again.

Mother Above. Cassian had even had to resort to training Nesta with Lorrian at the cottage—an unacknowledged chaperone—using the excuse that Nesta needed to not only practice with the bow, but spar with other opponents so she could experience different fighting techniques. And whilst that was true, it was also because training was sacred to Cassian. It taught people to survive and endure and he would not taint the opportunity by tackling Nesta to the ground and slanting his mouth on hers.

Not to mention that she probably didn’t want him to do that, anyway.

“Struggling?” Lorrian taunted at Cassian one evening after dinner.

The two of them had stepped back out into the paddock in order to exhaust some excess energy. They had left Nesta in the cottage living room with Frawley, Maya and Samra. Roksana, who had been running around all day with the manticores, had passed out in front of the hearth, curled up between the two beasts, one of her little wings curved around Caer’s head.

Maya’s eldest daughter Ailie remained upstairs. In fact, she rarely came out of the room she shared with her mother and sister, still too traumatised to face even those inside of the cottage. When she did emerge, she’d sit in front of the armchair by the fire and stare at the flames, as if she were hoping she were one of them and she could escape up the chimney and out into the freedom of the open sky.

But Samra—the youngest of Maya’s girls—was slowly and shyly come out of her shell, although she stuck to her mother like glue, clearly terrified that she might disappear.

“Struggling with what?” Cassian drawled to his friend, as he tapped his siphons to rid himself of his armour. It disappeared scale-by-scale, revealing a short-sleeved tunic layered over a long-sleeved one. Both were fastened at the waist by a lightweight rope of leather, which Cassian tossed to the side before shucking off the short-sleeved top.

Usually Cassian favoured fighting in skin, but Illyria in the depths of winter tested even his fierce warrior blood.

Snorting, Lorrian flared his own siphons and a gleaming emerald arm appeared in a wave of light. “You’ll feel better once you have beaten the shit out of me.”

Cassian raised a scar-slashed eyebrow. “That’s defeatist of you.”

Lorrian rolled his magical arm as he adjusted to the additional weight. “You have intermittent aggression and arousal seeping from your pores. I’m surprised Nesta hasn’t detected it.”

With a dismissive wave of a hand, Cassian replied, “I’m not that bad.”

The way Lorrian grunted told Cassian that he didn’t agree, but to Cassian’s relief, the no further comment came.

Cassian did not need his friend to point out that in the past week the two of them had sparred more frequently than they usually did in months.

“I’m acclimatising,” Cassian said shortly as they began to circle one another, their fists held up to their faces.

For a few turns, there was only the sound of their feet on the wet, spongy earth beneath the soles of their boots. Cassian’s eyes did not stray from Lorrian’s face, allowing his peripheral vision to drink in his friend’s every movement.

It was true that Cassian had more weight behind him than the colonel, but like he was in the skies, Lorrian could be as quick as hell in the training ring. Cassian had learnt long ago that sparring with Lorrian wasn’t about throwing the fiercest punch, but being alert enough to recognise when the bastard was going to duck and strike a fierce upper cut to the gut.

“You’ll stay in Velaris for a few days?” Lorrian asked, after their third round of circling.

Cassian flashed his friend a grin as if to tell him he knew what he was doing. It turned out to be more of a grimace. “You know that I am. Quit trying to distract me.”

“And Nesta’s going with you?”

“You know she is.”

“My point,” Lorrian continued with a slight pant, “is that you better master your shit before you get there. I imagine tensions will be high enough without a snarling general in the mix.”

“Things have been mending. She’s doing well.”

“Incredible,” Lorrian corrected, his eyes flitting to Cassian’s solar plexus in a way that betrayed his desired move. “I’ve never met anyone more resilient. Frawley holds her in high regard and we know that doesn’t happen often.”

In the corner of Cassian’s eye, something moved at the far left-hand side of the paddock, but then Lorrian’s right elbow dropped and Cassian had the opening he had been waiting for. He lunged, his fist flying for Lorrian’s jaw and the colonel barely had time to slam his left arm up to deflect the blow.

But Cassian did not give Lorrian time to recover. He was already moving, his left fist cutting upwards to land a sharp jab to his friend’s ribs. Lorrian tried for a shot to the face but Cassian’s right arm was already deflecting and counter-jabbing before the colonel had time to so much as think about doing anything else but blocking.

Breath sawed out of them and Cassian knew that to any onlooker they were barely more than a blur of grunting flesh and lethal wings.

It was only a lightning fast parry from Lorrian as he jumped back on agile feet, that spared him from being thrown to the forest floor.

It struck up a distance between them again, and for a moment, there was nothing but the sound of wings as they flared outwards and tucked in tight.

And then they began again. Circling one another and panted for air, before one of them created an opening and then there was nothing but punches and blocks and counterattacks, of footwork and grunts and wings thrown out for balance. Cassian felt himself slip into that calm—the mantra that felt like a dance to him—until he landed a precise counter-head blow as Lorrian stepped in for a hook to the ribs.

Lorrian’s knees hit the floor with a thud and Cassian stepped back, breathing hard, giving his friend space to recover. Turning, he used his wrist to wiped the blood away from his lip, only to find Maya watching him with wide-eyes, her arms wrapped tightly around her body.

He lifted a hand in greeting and she offered him a small smile in return, before she turned on the spot and disappeared back inside the house.

“That was better going than last time,” Cassian told Lorrian. He extended his hand to help his friend up from the ground but Lorrian only waved him proudly away. “But you’re still dropping your left arm and leaving your face open. Once that falls apart so does all of the rest.”

Shaking his head in irritation, Lorrian spat blood onto the damp earth. Neither of them had been going at full pelt, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t roughed one another up a little. Cassian’s ribs were already bleating from the impact of Lorrian’s fists and he knew he was already sporting a bruise on his right cheekbone. “I spent all this time mourning the loss of a limb, but when I magic it back for hand-to-hand combat it feels wrong.” Grimacing, the colonel rolled his arm in its socket. “It’s like learning all over again and the worst damn thing is that even when I magic it away at the end of the session, my brain still creates a phantom soreness where my limb should be.”

Chuckling, Cassian clapped his friend on the back. The sparring hadn’t only been a method of burning off energy for Cassian. Now Lorrian had taken up the position of colonel, Lorrian had asked Cassian to train with him more regularly. Whilst Lorrian’s magic could bring his limb back into temporary existence, Lorrian’s muscle memory had depleted over the years. Training with Cassian provided his friend with the opportunity for his brain to reconnect with his lost limb for those times when he needed it the most. “You’re Illyrian, Lor. You can deal with some pulled muscles.”

Another grunt. “It would be easier on my body if you didn’t fight like a damn God.”

Cassian flashed his teeth. “I can’t help that I was destined to lead on the battlefields.”

“And so modest, too,” Lorrian grumbled. Then, he sobered. “Nesta seems a little better.”

Cassian had not spoken to anyone about Nesta’s trauma, but it was there so plainly for anyone to see that he did not jump to deny it. And… pride wound through him at how well she was doing. At how she hadn’t shut him out. “Yes. I hope—“ he blew out a long breath, suddenly unable to stifle the worry that took hold of his brow. “I hope Velaris doesn’t make it worse.”

“You think it will do that?”

“As you guessed, there are a lot of unresolved tensions and conflicts,” Cassian admitted. Not to mention that Nesta herself had once begged him not to send her back to Velaris. Cassian did not know why she’d had a change of heart. He knew she wanted to visit the girls and help them to settle, but she’d asked to come back with him before that. “Nesta wasn’t happy in Velaris,” he finished simply.

“Does she know it’s your birthday on Hogmanay?”

“No,” Cassian said shortly. He shot his friend a sharp look. “Don’t tell her.”

Cocking an eyebrow in confusion, Lorrian asked quizzically, “Why?”

“Because Nesta has enough to worry about. If she thinks there will be a party that she has to attend with my family where she has to pretend that she’s happy, then she will bolt.”

Lorrian frowned. “She won’t bolt from you, Cass.”

But Cassian was not so sure. Lorrian did not know the Nesta in Velaris; the sharp, angry female who had been so terrifyingly sick.

“What you have seen is not Nesta at her most traumatised,” Cassian told Lorrian in a long breath. “When she came here…” He trailed off, his throat bobbing. “Things were very bad. Velaris was toxic for her. The War was hard on her—more so than any of us.”

Kallon had highlighted some of Nesta’s habits during their trip to Ironcrest and Cassian had no desire to voice them aloud again.

This time it was Lorrian’s turn to clap him on the shoulder. “And now Nesta is stronger. She’s built herself from the ashes and become someone the females revere, Cassian. You know what the Illyrians are calling her.”

Cassian did know. Did not want to think too hard about the silver-flamed Diyosa with a fierce manticore by her side. Together they protected and defended the females of the Night Court.

“She might be the only High Fae in the history of Illyria to have the respect of our people,” Lorrian continued. “She’s already winning over the majority of the female population by doing nothing but being herself. She could single-handedly sway the rebellion if we played our cards right, Cass.”

Cassian did not say anything. Was too scared to.

“Even the males have begrudging respect, you have seen how Devlon is around her. At the very least, they recognise that she is powerful. Is she still going with you to instate the new law tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

Rhys had offered Nesta a choice: to assist Mor in settling the last of the girls into the library or to come with the rest of them to each of the Illyrian camps to announce the new clipping law.

“This is what you have been campaigning for all your life,” Lorrian said quietly. “Nesta could pave the way for something new. Something better. You both could.”

“You seem to have forgotten that I am nothing but a lowly bastard,” Cassian stated gruffly, as together they walked out of the paddock and past the barn. “And that I have done very little to stifle this rebellion.”

“You earned the title of Prince of Bastards a long time ago, amongst other names.”

“That is not a title.”

“Is that what you’re worried about?” Lorrian asked with a flicker of surprise. “That you’re not good enough for Nesta?”

Cassian stalked towards the back door, suddenly keen to find Nesta and go home. He wasn’t angry, just… uncomfortable. Lorrian had hit too close to the bone.

“Don’t do yourself a disservice by labelling yourself as something others have tried to falsely pigeon hole you into,” Lorrian told Cassian sternly as they reached the threshold. “You can’t dismantle a faulty system if deep down you believe what the oppressors have drummed into you.”

Then, with a final clap to Cassian’s shoulder, Lorrian disappeared into the cottage.

___  

As the pastel hues of dawn bled into day the next morning, Rhys and Feyre winnowed into Windhaven.

Even if it hadn’t been for the star-kissed breeze that wound its way through the mountain pass, Cassian would have known his brother and his mate had arrived. Cassian was halfway through correcting Emerie’s stance when her head whipped to the right of the sparring rings, along with every other female who had turned up for practice that morning.

Only Nesta did not turn, but like Cassian, she had been expecting them. Rhys had spoken into Cassian’s head the evening before whilst he and Nesta were eating dinner, informing him that he and his mate would arrive just after dawn the next morning. They planned to watch the females train, before Rhys would carry out his quarterly observation of Windhaven’s aerial fleet so he could witness the progress Cassian had insisted they were making in reforming the Illyrian troops.

Feyre would join Nesta and Mas on an inspection of the camp—the widows camp in particular—before they would all reconvene for a quick lunch. From there, they would travel to each of the camps main squares to announce the new clipping law, whilst Mor would winnow to the cottage with Frawley and transport the remaining females to the library.

Cassian knew that Nesta was not looking forward to going back to Ironcrest, but she did not change her mind about accompanying them to the camps. For some reason, the fact that she was willing to brave it at her own expense had only served to make Cassian fall for her even more. And although she had retired to bed early that night, she had left her bedroom door ajar just as she had promised during their time in Ironcrest. Cassian had watched her read in bed out of the corner of his eye for an hour or so before the faelight in her room winked out.

It had taken a long time for her breathing to become deep and for the blankets to stop rustling as she tossed and turned in bed. Cassian had fought the urge to crawl in beside her; to fold her into his body and tangle their legs together. To reassure himself with not only with the sound of her heartbeat but the patter of it against the centre of his palm.

Now, Nesta stood beside him with her hands on her hips, using the opportunity to catch her breath. She was dressed in her favourite leathers and her golden brown hair was weaved back tightly from her face. It revealed her flushed cheeks and pink nose, which was thanks to the frigid bite of frost that had kissed the landscape the night before.

“Back to work,” Cassian ordered the females firmly, as their attention lingered on the new arrivals. He heard the same command echo around the adjoining sparring rings from the other trainers. “I want three sets of ten lunges on each leg, followed by twenty one-two punches against your partner’s sparring pads,” Cassian continued.

He was teaching the youngest age group that morning and Nesta remained at his side to assist with the demonstrations. “Remember to make two clean punches,” he told the females. “It should sound like a beating heart—boom, boom—but your fists should move in a fluid movement like an arrow. One fist is the head, the other is the tail.”

He held up his palms so Nesta could demonstrate. Unsurprisingly, her punches were perfectly formed.

“Good,” he praised her. “Partner up with Emerie again whilst I do the rounds.”

Leaving Nesta with the shopkeeper, Cassian weaved his way around the ring, stopping when he needed to gently correcting a stance or a technique. In the corner of his eye, Cassian saw Sala give up her station beneath a copse of young pine trees. The manticore gently nudged off Roksana who had thrown her arms around the beast’s neck, and slunk over to Rhys and Feyre, her silver tail a blaze cutting through the brisk morning air.

The manticore paid no heed as Rhys stilled and his magic crackled—a male ready to protect his mate—but something angry rose in Cassian. He stifled it. Told himself he’d be nervous if a young manticore was roaming around near his mate without its fae counterpart beside it. Yet… the females around the camp had accepted Sala more readily than Cassian had anticipated. To them, Sala and Nesta were a gift from the old Gods—a level or protection against the evils in Prythian—and whilst they kept their distance they did not flinch when Sala walked by.

It helped that the manticore was good with the children. She allowed them to tug at her ears and hang around her neck, only letting out a warning growl if they pulled too hard or she’d had enough.

And the males… even they treated Sala with a level of begrudging respect and terror. Nobody could dispute the old magic that clearly stated that Sala was Nesta’s and Nesta was Sala’s. Cassian couldn’t say he was put out by it. If anything, it offered Nesta an undisputed level of protection that meant she could roam the camp and surrounding skies with more freedom. There had been so many times this week when Nesta had come back to the bungalow in time for dinner, her cheeks glowing and her eyes so wonderfully bright that Cassian couldn’t stop the delighted, relieved smile that graced his expression.

Ignoring the magic that was heavy in the air, Sala drew up at Feyre’s side. Feyre’s eyes were a little wide as the manticore nudged her muzzle into her hand in greeting, before the beast sat back on her haunches. Those golden eyes fixed back on where Nesta stood in the sparring ring, her weight braced on a back foot as Emerie pummelled her fists into her hands. But when Feyre dared to run her hand down the silken fur of Sala’s head, the manticore’s eyes briefly slatted in pleasure.

“She’s on our side, you know,” Cassian told his brother later, as they stood at the lip of the mountain pass where the sparring rings jutted out into the Illyrian sky. Feyre and Nesta had disappeared to the widows camp whilst Rhys observed the Windhaven forces. “Quit acting like Sala is going to tear Feyre limb from limb.”

Rhys’s attention slid from the males engaged in a sword fight to pin Cassian with violent stare that did nothing to quell Cassian’s irritation. “In case you have forgotten, Sala is a manticore. I believe I have some leniency to be wary of a beast who could rip out my mate’s throat with little hesitation.”

“Bullshit,” Cassian retorted, making sure he kept his voice low so as not to draw attention. “A manticore has its own moral compass and its own ability to judge who is and isn’t a threat. And,” he continued, “Nesta would never harm Feyre. She would never allow Sala to attack her.”

“Nesta’s magic is so vast you could add up the magic of six of the High Fae nobility and it would seem like a drop in the Sidra in comparison to Nesta’s. So excuse me if I take precautions given her relationship with my mate is volatile at best and the manticore answers to no-one but her.”

Barely contained fury split across Cassian’s expression and he clamped down on it, lowering his mental shields on instinct so Rhys’s dark consciousness could step inside his mind. Stop spewing shit, Cassian snapped internally, his voice thunderous now he did not have to control the level of his voice. And stop disrespecting Nesta. Her trauma runs deeper than you could ever imagine, yet here she is, defending the Illyrian people and fighting for what is right.

And Rhys… his brother actually blinked at the force behind Cassian’s words. It was not often that Cassian truly lost his temper—not like this.

Releasing a slow breath, Cassian finally loosed the words he’d needed to say aloud for a long time; If you don’t forgive Nesta, you will forever drive a wedge between the two sisters. You forget that Nesta is an empath. Why do you think she turned down every job you offered her? Your offers were never genuine.

Rhys observed Cassian with a level of scrutiny he hadn’t been subject to in a long, long while. Cassian did not squirm, only stared his brother down, unflinching. You can’t welcome Nesta to the Court of Dreams without a level of trust, brother. Let her show you what she’s capable of. Give her space and time. Nesta is strong and fierce and proud but she feels deeper than anyone I’ve ever met. She is well aware of the wrongs she’s committed. Do not think she does not suffer for them, but she is not someone to be controlled. Nesta cannot and should not be tamed by anyone but herself.

This time Rhys’s blink was laboured as if a realisation had just clicked in his brain. Cassian knew that he had not considered that he might prevent Feyre from mending a relationship that she yearned for. And to know he could be the cause of his mate’s unhappiness…

Rhys wasn’t without fault—nobody was—but this bias had gone on too long.

His brother seemed to think so, too. Ok, Rhys conceded. You’re right. I’m sorry. But know that it will always be my instinct to protect Feyre, you know that. Even if there’s nothing to protect her from I will never stop worrying.

Cassian did know. It was why he was so worried about this afternoon. About Nesta joining them whilst they announced the new law to a population of hostile, backward Illyrians.

But Cassian graced Rhys with a taunting smile that was free of his earlier anger. I understand. But you should know that if I see you mistrust Nesta or Sala again, I will drag you into the sparring ring. And we both know who will win that fight, brother.

Rhys’s velvet soft laugh echoed around Cassian’s mind and then that midnight dark retreated. Cassian carefully stacked up his mental shields until they were a ring of indestructible fire.

And all the while, Cassian did not voice what they both already knew: that it was his instinct to protect Nesta, too.

___

“What if instating the clipping law today motivates the rebellion?” Feyre asked uncertainly as they ate a quick lunch together in the bungalow.

Azriel had arrived a few minutes prior and they all sat together on the couch, plates balanced on their laps. Mas had been busy preparing food dosas that morning and even Rhys’s eyes had lit up with delight as he thanked the blushing housekeeper, piling copious amounts of potato onto his pancake.

It struck Cassian as he surveyed the people in the room before him—his loved ones— that the bungalow too small for so much company. And that was without Mor or Amren, the latter of whom had remained behind in Velaris to watch over the wards, alongside overseeing an important meeting with the merchants in stead of Rhys.

Cassian also suspected that Rhys’s second remained behind because his brother didn’t want any of the Illyrian’s to glean just how much power Amren had lost in the war—how she was no longer the nightmare the children of Prythian were told about—the ancient, terrifying other who would drink their blood if they misbehaved.

The new law would be decreed in all of the market squares of the major camps. Alaksander would travel with them and would be publicly clipped—a living example of what would happen to anyone who disobeyed the law that had been instated for centuries. Alaksander would prove that the new penalty for clipping another’s wings was not just a threat: the Night Court would follow through on their promises.

All of the Illyrian nobility had been informed of the impending law by Night Court winnowgram, each letter signed by both High Lord and High Lady. The reaction had not been a pleasant one and even though Cassian knew the amendment to the law was progress, he couldn’t help but wish it was not a bastard who had stooped so low as to mistreat girls in such an abominable way. What might have been different if Alaksander had not been brought up on the cold and brutal fringes of society, where only iron will and sheer luck meant you survived? It didn’t excuse his actions, but Cassian couldn’t shake the leaden sensation in his gut that whispered; what if, what if, what if?

“It could go either way,” Cassian confessed finally to Feyre, his expression grim.

As he spoke, cold fingers brushed against the back of his hand and Cassian looked down in surprise to find Nesta’s forefinger curl around his. He had dared to sit next to her, unable to emerge triumphant from the battle that came with his innate need to oversee what she ate—fetching her chai when she barely touched her tea, spooning more yoghurt atop her dosa to counteract the spices. Feyre, he knew, had watched the entire process with a bemused expression that bordered on amusement. Rhys’s eyes had just glimmered knowingly. Azriel remained stone-faced, but Cassian knew his brother was raising an internal eyebrow at him as those shadows whispered and whispered and whispered.

Cassian adjusted his grip until their fingers intertwined just as a soft, gentle breeze fluttered down that tether. It smelt sweet like summer. Like freshly cut hay bails and the muted perfume of flowers and grass. In his mind, Cassian caught a fleeting image of Nesta running her hands through a golden field of wheat as she walked towards a lone large oak tree, its gnarled trunk a safe haven as she sat against it and opened a book.

Want coiled inside of him and all Cassian could think about was raising Nesta’s hand to his lips and pressing his thanks to her skin. Something primal growled as he fought the urge and Cassian hoped to the Mother that Nesta’s scent had faded from him enough that his mere proximity to her didn't scream to his High Lady, I pleasured your sister until she shattered on my tongue.

For some absurd reason, the thought made Cassian want to bark a laugh. Nesta twisted her head to look up at him and Cassian wondered if she’d felt his amusement with her empath gifts or whether it had tunnelled down the bond.

He didn’t really care. He squeezed her hand.

“It will either continue to ignite any existing hatred of our Court or scare them enough that they will start to see us as a real threat,” Azriel said.

The Shadowsinger had already finished his food and was now standing at his usual spot by the fireplace. Sala sat intently before him, her eyes tracking his shadows as they wreathed about his body. It was almost as if the manticore was hoping he would send out a tendril for her to play with.

Cassian felt like telling the manticore that Azriel was all about hard work and very little play. But it was that work ethic and the Illyrian spies his brother had in place across the clan territories that had ensured that word had got out about what had happened in Ironcrest. Rhys had been adamant that condemning the Ironcrest royalty right off the bat might spark Kallon into action before they were ready. They still needed to find out where Kallon was, whether he’d managed to get the sword to work, and why he had needed the girls blood. Cassian was sure it was dark magic intended to revive the blade, but until they knew for certain… They needed answers and they needed them fast.

So, the leaked information had been selective—devoid of details about the sword and the pit of blood—but the bare bones had been enough to spark intrigue; each retelling whispered of Nesta Archeron, the witch of the Eastern Steppes and their manticores. Of clipped girls kept in cages and rebellion sentries killed for their crimes by a member of the High Fae who did not treat the Illyrians as lesser.

As Azriel had assured Nesta a few days prior when he’d visited for dinner; Stories that thrive on the grapevine have a tendency to wreak more havoc than the complete truth.

The key was to use the power of rumour to slowly unravel the success of the rebellion’s cause amongst the Illyrian people. If Kallon was relying on the females to sway any future referendum for an independent nation, the Night Court would reveal their despicable actions and hope that it would be enough to show the females of Illyria that the rebellion would only result in continued subordination and abuse.

“I am keen to side with the latter,” Rhys said lightly, as he picked a piece of invisible lint off his already immaculate shirt. “This is the first true reaction they have seen from us. It reasserts our authority above petty threats.”

“And it helps,” Azriel continued coldly, “that the rebellion sentries lost their lives. It eliminates further problems down the line.”

“Had the Blood Rite gone ahead, I did initially suggest that we should have allowed some of them to get caught up in the casualties,” Rhys mused.

“We can’t kill every Illyrian that stands against us,” Cassian snapped, his temper rising, even though he knew Rhys had never been serious about messing with the Rite. “That makes us the evil ones in the scenario. It sparks further rebellion later down the line when we squash down every fly that strays onto our path.”

“That may well be true,” Rhys reflected, “but Nesta has certainly done us a favour by ruling some of them out of the equation. Either way, going to all of the camps today is the start of something new—something better.” He turned to Nesta. “You’re ready?”

Nesta had been silent during the meal but to Cassian’s delight, she had cleared all of the food on her plate. Even so, her fingers tightened around his, her knuckles turning white as she rose up tall and lifted that regal chin. “Yes.”

To everyone’s surprise, the Shadowsinger let a faint, reassuring smile grace his mouth, as if he saw through Nesta’s indifferent mask. “It will reassert authority,” he reassured Nesta quietly, his voice as smooth as midnight.

Cassian relaxed slightly at his brother’s words. Nesta liked Azriel and he was the least likely person she would snap at. Sometimes that understanding consumed Cassian with a bitter jealousy that he couldn’t shake, that territorial part of him raging that Nesta would sooner listen to his friend over him, but now… it was needed, and it was useful.

He also knew that he wouldn’t give up their shared fire for anything.

Rhys nodded in agreement. “My Inner Court works on choice,” Rhys told Nesta. “You can help Mor relocate the girls this afternoon if you’d prefer or you can come to each of the camps with us.”

It was an olive branch and one Rhys meant, even if it scuppered his brother’s plan to reassert that Nesta was not someone to be messed with: a benevolent yet wrathful queen that would defend and protect those who needed it the most.

Nesta shook her head, but Cassian felt her inner turmoil in his stomach, the sensation deep and wounding. So he stood, helping her rise to her feet, their hands still entwined. He cocked an arrogant, lazy eyebrow and allowed a grin to spread across his face as he gave in to temptation and kissed the back of her hand, as if she were royalty and he a lowly pauper. “I think you’ll terrify them, witch,” he drawled, and Cassian didn’t have to observe anyone in the room to witness their surprise as Nesta’s lips twitched up into a small, true smile—a smile she saved for Mas and Roksana and him.

“You don’t have to do anything, Nesta,” Feyre said thickly, her hand coming to rest gingerly on Nesta’s arm as she also stood from the couch. She was no doubt thinking of the image Cassian had accidentally let slip the day before when Rhys had asked Nesta to share her memory of the cave. He had been so terrified of Nesta reliving the previous day’s trauma that the ring of fire around his mind had slipped.

It had been too late to fumble after the images that had tumbled through the exposed cracks of his mental shields; Nesta’s haunted blood-streaked face and that dead look behind her eyes as he desperately cupped a palm to her cheek in the bathroom—as he tried to get her to engage with him.

Feyre had looked as if she had been hit in the stomach—had looked physically ill—and even Rhys’ violet eyes had flicked to Cassian’s for a second, his dark eyebrows raising imperceptibly before Nesta had allowed him into her mind.

And that memory…

Even now, the thought of it made Cassian want to shatter things. They had all witnessed Nesta’s sheer panic as that male had pressed his body against hers, pinning her to the ground. Had all seen the boy’s cruel face that had pushed to the forefront of Nesta’s mind when it had happened—a face that Cassian was certain was that human piece of filth. But then Cassian’s pyrite had exploded with power, the ruby light throwing the male off of her just in time for Nesta to scramble to her feet and thrust that sword through his groin.

“You’re involved in this either way,” Rhys told Nesta from his position across the couch, puling Cassian abruptly from his thoughts. Silver flames from their position in the hearth danced in his brother’s star-flecked irises. “What you displayed was an incredible amount of power that they will fear. You need to remind them of that.”

___

When Nesta emerged from her bedroom in full leathers with a bow slung across her back, Cassian thought he might self-combust.

The leathers were a gift from Rhys and rather than being made up of the usual black, the scales were lined with a smoky silver that shimmered and danced. The effect was both sublime and unnerving; the whispering silver a promise of the danger that could be wrought from Nesta’s fingers should anyone cross her.

Clamping down hard on the arousal that smacked him in the face, Cassian quickly looked away, only to find Azriel observing him with a sly grin.

“Ditch the bow,” Rhys ordered.

Nesta bristled. “But—”

“No.” Cassian’s words were a deathly snarl that were forced between gritted teeth. Besides the lunacy of asking Nesta to go into the camps unarmed, Rhys’s tone was not the way to deal with Nesta—it was not the way to speak to his mate.

Feyre whirled on Rhys. “You can’t be serious?”

Rhys’s violet eyes did not move from Nesta’s, nor did his expression turn neutral as he spoke to Feyre mind-to-mind. “You’re powerful enough without it,” Rhys told Nesta simply when he was done explaining to his mate. “That’s the message you want to send. You have your own magic and you have a manticore at your side.”

Cassian clenched his fists as Nesta removed the new bow Lorrian had gifted her a few days prior. The bow she had taken to wearing almost everywhere.

“At least take a dagger,” Cassian ground out, striding towards Nesta and unsheathing one of the knives at his thigh in one fluid movement.

Mother above, the thought of Nesta with no weapon made him want to vomit.

But Nesta shook her head. “I’ve got one,” she told him as she buried her fingers into Sala’s ruff and took Rhys’s outstretched hand.

Her lips twitched as Cassian scoured her body in vein. He was so close to her that he could almost taste her skin, but he ignored the heady rush and crossed his arms firmly over his chest. He stared down at her and demanded, “Where?”

A taunting eyebrow lifted as Nesta replied coolly, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Cassian couldn’t help it. He laughed—the sound loud and booming and true.  “At least tell me you’re wearing —“ he started, needing to know she was wearing the pyrite. That if some shit went down and he couldn’t reach her, if her magic failed, then he could protect her like he had that day at the cave.

Metallic blue shimmered in Nesta’s irises—her power writhing beneath the surface. The sight of it was a relief and Cassian wondered if Nesta had known that. If she had summoned it so she could assure him that she had her own arsenal of weapons. “I haven’t taken it off.”

Fine. Good.

“Now, now children.”

Feyre’s teasing voice filtered into Cassian’s ears and then her slim fingers were wrapping around his hand.

But Cassian did not break his gaze from Nesta, watched the fire dancing amusement in her eyes until Feyre folded him into nothing.

___  

Ironcrest was just as they had left it; beautiful yet punishing, the strong wind a slap to the face as they winnowed directly into the roughly hewn market square located in the centre of the valley. To the left of them the sparring rings rose like teetering, grass-topped towers and to the right, the cliff face layered with the nobility’s residences staggered their way up into the clouds.

It had been decided that the royalty across the camps would not be granted a visit prior to the clippings. The Night Court would not bow to the Illyrians haughty sense of authority. Instead, the Illyrians would be reminded that it was they who were subject to its Court’s wrath should they not abide by law.

For the brief second it took for them to materialise into the camp, Cassian witnessed the awe alight across Feyre’s face—the painter in her no doubt drinking in the beauty around her—before her expression turning into the stony mask of a High Lady unimpressed with the brutal actions of her people.

Beside them, Nesta, Rhys and Sala appeared in a glitter of midnight. Seconds later, Azriel stepped out of the shadows with Alaksander beside him, the bastard bound in ropes of cobalt light. The Illyrian’s face was full of such stark fear and apprehension that Cassian knew he’d be begging when he learnt that his penalty was far worse than death.

Aside from the howling wind, the activity in the camp seemed to pause at their arrival, as if it was waiting with bated breath. Crowds had already formed in the square around a circular wooden platform that had been built around the middle of a stone fountain.

The fountain itself was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful structures in the camp. Water flowered downwards into multiple stone basins that grew in size until they met the wide reservoir at the base, which was obscured by the wooden scaffolding. At the very pinnacle of the fountain, two stone warriors rose towards the sky—Enalius and Oya—who sported crowns. Rather than being inlaid with jewels, the crowns were set with two angled stars that lay atop the front and were tied together by a circular ribbon that ran through their middle—pareho. 

At the base of the fountain, hidden by the platform, Cassian knew lion faces were carved into the stone—beasts ready to fight beside their chosen companions in the battle against evil.

“Here we go,” Cassian muttered under his breath to Feyre as he spotted the all too familiar figure of Lord Rufous—Ironcrest’s senior war-lord—stalking towards them across the wide circular platform.

Cassian turned to Nesta, ready to prompt her should she forget their plan, but she and Sala were already moving—Nesta an unwavering, lethal Queen as she floated towards the steps that would lead them up onto the raised planks.

Sala slunk by her side, her silver tail flicking dangerously, her sharp fangs visible and pointed beneath her muzzle, and Illyrians stepped back warily to create an unobstructed path. Some jumped out of Nesta’s way, their eyes wide and scared as they discovered that the rumour of the manticore was grounded on truth. But a few of the females dropped to their knees and bowed to the earth. A handful of them even dared to reach out and brush Nesta’s arm, as if they wanted living proof that she was not a mirage.

Cassian tried not to bristle—tried not to snarl and launch himself towards her and unsheathe his sword in the same motion. A slow, steadying breath allowed his head to clear as he reminded himself that Nesta could protect herself. That she was strong and fierce and brave and that she did not need him to step in and fight her battles for her. So Cassian watched Azriel stride after her, his hand gripping Alaksander’s arm as he led the restrained male towards the stage. Feyre and Rhys filed in behind them, their magic trailing an invisible yet somehow detectable path behind them like a royal cloak, and Cassian took up the rear, his hand casually resting on his sword as he stalked after them, his expression as hard and unyielding as granite.

When Nesta slowly ascended onto the platform, Lord Rufous faltered. And Nesta—Nesta—smiled at him, the movement cruel and twisting and terrifying. And in that moment, every single rumour that had spread through the camp like wildfire lit as a threat in her eyes.

Those dark beady eyes fell to Nesta’s fingers, where embers sparked with the promise of flame, and Rufous stilled, seemingly frozen to the spot. Even the males beside him halted, although their expressions remained cruel and calculating.

“She killed Ironcrest warriors,” Lord Rufous snarled when he finally found his voice. “That witch is not permitted on our lands.”

Cassian snarled right back, the sound a low, territorial warning in his throat as he bared his teeth at the war-lord. Rhys scraped a nail down Cassian’s mental shield but he ignored it. They both knew he couldn’t help it. “Then the Ironcrest nobility should have ensured that girls were not caged and slaughtered like animals.”

“Where is Lord Marsh,” Rhys cut in smoothly, before Cassian could royally fuck something up. “I called for his presence today.”

“He and his wife are indisposed,” Rufous sneered. “As is his son.”

“And pray tell me, where has Prince Kallon scarpered off to?” Rhys asked with a light deliberation that should have set alarm bells clanging through Rufous’s thick skull.

“He has business with the warriors in the north of our territory,” Rufous replied coldly, but the male’s onyx eyes slid warily to Sala as the beast pinned him with a glare that sung death.

“How interesting,” Rhys mused, as he picked off an imaginary piece of lint from the exquisitely tailored shirt that was lined with silver thread—starlight shimmering in a night sky. “And here I was thinking that Princeling Kallon abandoned his territory and his people after our recent findings.”

Rufous’s lip curled but he did not retaliate. Instead, his gaze slid to Alaksander who looked as if he might have fainted if it were not for the Shadowsinger holding him up. “He’s not one of ours,” Rufous sneered.

“He was on your territory with many other males who belonged to your camp,” Rhys responded calmly, but this time his voice was laced with the dark sort of promise that should have finally made Lord Rufous take stock of who exactly he was speaking with. “And he will receive a punishment that is fit for his crime.”

“Is that why we’ve all been called here then?” Rufous asked. “To witness a killing of a bastard who has no relevance to our camp? We do not control the filth that comes out of Windhaven. We can’t help it if those savages clip their females.”

“If the Illyrians in Windhaven are savages, then I do not know what to call the males in your camp,” Nesta said, her voice brimming with a fervour that burned like ice. “How many females have been mutilated here? How many girls? It is a sin what has been allowed to happen here.”

Lord Rufous was slowly turning purple with rage—no doubt at having been spoken to with such derision by a female—but he remained where he was, his darting glances between Sala and the fire burning at Nesta’s palms enough to keep him stationed in place.

“I do not believe that I need to remind you or the Illyrians here in Ironcrest that clipping has been against the law for centuries,” Rhys began coldly before Lord Rufous could open his mouth to form a retort. His voice was suddenly ringing out across the crowds, his magic amplifying the sound. “As Lady Nesta has pointed out, I have it under good authority that many of the females in this camp have been mutilated, so I would not take it upon yourself to lie to both your High Lord and Lady that this is a one off occurrence when I can see for myself that it is not the case.”

Rhys nodded to the bodies of Illyrians who had gathered around the fountain—at the females who had turned up not only to witness a public visit from their High Lord and Lady, but to see the High Fae who had protected their gender at the potential cost of her own life.

A sharp click of Rhys’s fingers summoned a rickety looking stool that appeared out of thin air. “Sit, observe and do not speak,” Rhys ordered with another snap of his fingers and a deliberate pointed finger.

For a moment, Rufous looked as if he was going to object, but then Sala prowled forward. The manticore’s ears lay flat against the back of her head and her nose wrinkled as her lip curled into a cruel smile, baring her lethally sharp incisors.

The blood that had threatened to turn the war-lord the colour of beetroot drained so quickly that Cassian thought it was a wonder that he didn’t faint. Sala slowly encourages Rufous and his warriors to step backwards until the war-lord’s legs bumped against the stool. There was a moments pause and then, when Rufous failed to sit down, Sala let out an ear-deafening roar. Spittle flew onto the war-lords leathers and the male jumped out of his skin, his backside hitting the seat with an audible thump.

The males at Rufous’s side leapt to unsheathe their weapons, only to find that they were stuck in their scabbards.

Feyre raised her chin. “We won’t be using those. If anyone so much as dares to touch their weapons you will receive the same punishment as this traitor.” She jerked her head towards Alaksander whose knees were all but knocking together.

“Well said, darling,” Rhys purred, bringing his mate’s hand to his mouth so he could press a kiss to the back of her palm.

And then together they turned back towards the crowd.

___ 

Alaksander had begged when Nesta had cut his wings. Had fallen to his knees and begged as Nesta floated over to him, her irises misting silver.

“You were part of a group of males who raped and mutilated young girls,” Nesta had told him in a voice that had bordered on ethereal. “As punishment, you will never taste the skies again.”

That fated forefinger finger had risen and at the tip, a single silver flame had burned so hot Cassian could sense the molten heat of her magic from where he had stood flanking his High Lord and Lady. And somehow Cassian knew that the hoards of Illyrians that had gathered could sense it to—the immense power of the eldest Archeron sister who had been gifted with the magic to protect and defend.

Alaksander had started to sob, the sound cracking around the market square in such a broken way that Cassian was surprised the male’s ribs did not splinter. He tried to tuck in his wings but Azriel made him turn so his back and wings faced the crowd.

The male had tried in vein to keep his wings tucked in tight, but Rhys had lifted a hand and slowly, painstakingly, Alaksander’s wings had spread as if an invisible force was pulling them open.

“We do not take pleasure in this,” Rhys informed the many faces that had gathered around them. “We have trusted Illyria to uphold the laws the Night Court have decreed in the past, but they have not been followed. Lest this new law be a lesson to you all.”

“Should any of you clip another's wings then you will pay the same price,” Feyre continued. “We have eyes and ears in every corner of this Court. Do not think because you are far removed from Velaris that we will not catch wind of barbaric acts and that we will not dare to interfere.”

And then, with a nod from her sister, Nesta’s flame had seared through the tendons on either side of the male’s elbow joints. Alaksander had screamed, his back arching as he tried to flinch away from the permanent damage that Nesta had inflicted to his treasured wings.

It was that desperate, broken scream that had sleep eluding Cassian as he lay in bed hours later. His thoughts were too loud, too insistent, and the images his mind conjured were too bright and colourful.

He was worried about Nesta. She had healed Alaksander between trips to the other camps without a word. Had slowly knitted his tendons back together only for her to cut them again as they stood before the next clan. She had not balked. Had only kept that icy, murderous expression across her face that told Cassian she was thinking of every wronged female as she took away Alaksander’s flight.

Even so, Cassian knew Nesta had found no true pleasure in it, only a grim determination that what she was doing was right. And it was something that the crowd had understood, too. Nesta was two sides of a coin: she could protect and destroy and she would indulge in the latter if it meant fighting for the former.

By the time they had arrived at the House of Wind, the exhaustion that came with the day’s events had been stark across Nesta’s face. She had barely registered the food Cassian had made her eat in the dining room as soon as they had arrived, or the way that Sala had placed her head in her companion’s lap. Feyre had summoned the wraiths up to the House, clearly worried herself for her sister’s welfare, and Cassian had watched Azriel’s spies lead Nesta away to her old room in search of a bath and a warm bed with a forlorn expression on his face that had resulted in a quirked eyebrow from Azriel.

When Cassian had checked on Nesta an hour before he retired to bed himself, he’d only spotted the slope of a satin-strapped shoulder and the golden tangle of hair spilled across a pillow beneath the piles of blankets atop the mattress. Sala had lain at Nesta’s feet, her chin between her paws, but the manticore had hopped off the bed when she’d spotted him, rubbing her face against his middle with a loud, rumbling purr.

Letting out a long groan of frustration, Cassian flipped over onto his back in defeat—his mind too busy to grant him the peace that came with sleep. It was well after midnight now, the night sky overcast and muted through the view Cassian was afforded in the gap between the curtains. Occasionally, the cloud coverage would break to reveal a dusting of stars as they glinted softly against the smoky blue of the night sky and a beautiful crescent moon.

A dull pounding began to echo around Cassian’s skull; the result of his continuous efforts to strain towards something that simply would not come. So, when he heard the quiet patter of feet coming from the corridor outside his room, Cassian initially thought it was a new addition to the throbbing in his head. Even so, instinct had him reaching for the knife beneath his pillow. But then the doorknob turned and a soft, buttery wedge of light crept across the floor, illuminating the sweeping outline of Nesta’s curves as she stepped into the room. Sala’s golden eyes glinted as she sloped in behind her companion.

Nesta’s scent hit him moments after that—sleepy jasmine and vanilla. He didn’t sit up. Cassian had learnt to treat Nesta like an easily startled animal when she chose to expose herself. Opting for slow, measured movements was key—or better, no movement at all.

“Ok, sweetheart?” he rasped through the darkness, barely daring to believe he wasn’t dreaming as she leant against the carved oak door. It clicked shut behind her and Cassian pushed the weapon back beneath his pillow.

For a moment, Nesta stood there and Cassian tried not to notice how her nipples had peaked from the cold or how painstakingly beautiful she looked with dishevelled hair and her eyes half-shuttered from sleep.

He clamped down hard on the sudden need that washed over him, imagined sinking his teeth into the meat of it until it squirmed uncomfortably—a beast trapped beneath a paw—as Nesta walked silently across the room. Sala slunk through the shadows too, hopping up onto the bed so she could curl up by Cassian’s feet. But Cassian was too preoccupied with how the mattress dipped as Nesta slid beneath the sheets. At how his heart was beating so hard he knew she must be able to hear it.

She was still too far away—too far, too far, too far away on his stupidly enormous bed—and Cassian resisted every urge that screamed at him to grab her.

Instead, he rolled onto his side. Savoured the sight of her silhouette from the intermittent moonlight that filtered between the billowing amethyst curtains.

“It’s too quiet in my room,” Nesta admitted eventually, her voice hoarse from lack of use. She stared up at the ceiling. “The silence woke me up. I miss the wind.”

Now Cassian’s heart raced for an entirely different reason. “I had Rhys loosen the shield around my room here a long time ago,” Cassian told her, knowing Nesta had already clocked the soft howl of the wind as it whipped around the neighbouring mountain peaks. “Whenever we used to stay here as younglings I could never sleep either. It took me a long while to realise that Rhys could alter the magic for me. He did the same in Azriel’s room.”

Not that Cassian often entered Azriel’s bedchamber. His brother was fiercely private like that.

“Is that why you choose to stay up here rather than in the other houses?” Nesta asked. “So you can live in the sky?”

“Partly,” Cassian admitted with a lift of a shoulder. “I never had reason to set my roots down in Velaris permanently and buy my own place. My home has always been Illyria, even if the bungalow is small.”

Nesta frowned, clearly unconvinced by Cassian’s words. Before the threat of the rebellion, Cassian had spent very little time living at the bungalow, more often than not having one of his friends winnow him to where he needed to be when he was required to oversee a military unit or kick a stubborn war-lord into line.

But she only said quietly—as if it were their secret, “I like the bungalow.” She rolled towards him and as the face of the moon was again cast free of a cloud Cassian finally saw Nesta properly.

“I didn’t think I’d like Illyria but I do,” she confessed.

“I’m glad,” Cassian replied softly. “It’s not for everyone.”

Nesta shrugged. “It’s brutal and cold but it’s…” She trailed off, searching for the right words. “Freedom, somehow. I’ve never had a home really, but being there feels right.” A blush graced her cheeks and Cassian wanted to stroke it away with his thumbs as she looked away. “I don’t know if that makes sense.”

“It makes sense,” Cassian replied hoarsely.

Silence draped over them like a blanket. But then Nesta asked, her voice smaller than usual, “Can I stay here? In your room, I mean?”

“I’ve already told you I’d rather sleep with you beside me,” he reminded her, something cracking inside of him at the glimpse of vulnerability she allowed him to see. “Stay whenever you want.”

Nesta stifled a laugh. “You won’t be saying that if you have company.”

“I won’t have company.”

Nesta turned her head to smile into the pillow. “Liar.”

“I’m beyond lies right now, Nesta.” The intensity behind his words didn’t have Nesta physically recoiling but Cassian knew her—knew that she would start to panic. So, he shot her a slow grin. “I wouldn’t be stupid enough to turn away a haughty witch now, would I?”

A huff of breath caressed his cheek. “I didn’t realise you had such common sense.”

Cassian’s laughter sparked him into action, his resolve to keep his hands to himself wavering as he reached for her. And when Nesta moved towards him and melted into his embrace, her back moulding into the hard planes of his body, he almost groaned at the comfort of it—at the knowledge that she wanted to be held by him.

Their legs tangled together and Cassian curved a wing around them, carving out a safe space for the two of them.

Emboldened, Cassian dared to bow his head to the nape of her neck and breathe her in. And even though he had spent the last week desperate to touch and taste her, Cassian found he had never been more content in his life to lie with someone and merely hear them breathe.

Minutes passed and when Cassian shifted slightly to get more comfortable Nesta’s fingers curled around his arm. It was a silent order to stay and Cassian realised they were in the exact same place they had been the other morning, when they had awoken.

They both slept, after that.

Tags (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @arinbelle @superspiritfestival @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @mylittlebigplanet @biggestwingspan-az @bellsqueen @ekaterinakostrova @bookstantrash @prophecyerised @rainbowcheetah512 @awesomelena555 @wannawriteyouabook @iammissstark @lovelynesta @melphss @nestalytical  @darkshadowqueensrule @laylaameer01 @a-trifling-matter @grouchycritic7794 @thalia-2-rose @champanheandluxxury @swankii-art-teacher @princessconsuela02 @lavendergoomsltd @little-diyosa @princessofmerchants-reads @jeakat @sjm-things @imwritingthesewords @nestable @inejbrekkxr @silvernesta @inyourmindeye @amelie775 @iwastoowildinthe70s @helen-the-weirdo @pizzaneverdisappoints @wishfulimaginings @trash-for-nessian @my-fan-side @sophilightwood @hatemecozuaintme @vidalinav @onceupona-chaos @inardour @thesunremembersyourface @teagoddess99 @ellies-iced-coffee @simonmqb @misswonderflower nessiantrashh 

[refinedbuffoonery]

Broken Like Me (1)

masterlist.

THIS FIC IS NOT INTENDED FOR READERS UNDER THE AGE OF 18. Please see the masterlist for content warnings. 

Here it is, the long-awaited dark!MacRiley AU! First, I want to thank my lovely beta readers and my life-saving brainstorming/workshop buddy. You all know who you are. ❤

This fic adheres to canon through 5x05 and then goes off the fucking rails. Backstory and other important tidbits of information revealed in the latter half of season 5 may be used, but timeline-wise anything after 5x05 does not exist in this fic. Also, Jack is dead and is staying dead, so don’t get your hopes up for a happy ending. 

I will do my best to update this regularly, but hanging out in and writing such dark headspaces is HARD. I will definitely be taking breaks to write fluffier fic, because a big chunk of this story is all hurt and no comfort. 

Without further adieu, let’s get this party started. (It’s not a party. In fact, it’s like...the opposite of a party.) 

*****

They say he was a good man. 

A good soldier. 

A good father. 

A good friend. 

They say they are sorry for her loss, sorry he was taken from this world too soon. 

They say Jack would be proud of the legacy he left behind, would be proud to have gone out in a blaze of glory. 

Riley is sick of it. 

It’s like she’s a teenager, and Jack is leaving her all over again. Only this time it’s worse. This time there’s no coming back. 

The guests at the wake gaze at the folded up American flag on the fireplace mantle with deep respect, but Riley only feels anger every time she glimpses the piece of fabric the government sent back in his place. A flag and a life insurance claim feel like a mockery of the kind of man Jack Dalton was. 

Was. Past tense. 

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

*****

Mac has never been afraid of Riley before. 

He’s seen her angry and upset, but the rage-filled woman he stopped from killing Anya Vitez with her bare hands back in Croatia is someone he does not know. 

The frightening part is that Riley isn’t a hot-headed person. In work mode, she is cold and calculating, so for her to go after Vitez like that...something inside her snapped. 

Three weeks have passed since then, and every time he looks at Riley, Mac remembers holding her back, fingers digging sharply into her waist until she stopped fighting him. He sees the fury radiating off Riley’s body like heat waves off asphalt—sees the way she clings to it, finds purpose in it, letting it consume her so there’s no room for guilt or grief. Mac knows the feeling all too well. And he also knows there will be a very loud thud when she finally comes crashing back down. 

But he also knows that the woman is like a loaded gun, safety off and desperate to fire at something. 

Which is why he worries when Matty calls them in for an op and Riley isn’t there. She’s at Vitez’s trial, Matty informs them, but that doesn’t make Mac feel any better. Whenever there’s downtime during the mission, and Mac’s mind is free to wander, he can't stop thinking about her. This new Riley is becoming obsessively vengeful, and if someone doesn’t reel her back in soon, she might do something she can’t come back from.

The thought plagues Mac every second there aren’t bullets whizzing toward his head. 

After the op, Mac drives to Riley’s apartment. Upon arrival, his ears are assaulted by Riley’s upstairs neighbor blasting Macklemore’s greatest hits. Mac hears the lyrics clear as day, even though both his truck windows and the apartment windows are closed. 

Riley really shouldn’t have moved out of Mac’s house, not if this is her best option. He still doesn’t understand why she did. 

It doesn’t take long to notice the GTO is missing. Riley should be back from the trial by now, but Mac has a sneaking suspicion where she is. 

The drive to Jack’s apartment seems to take forever. The brick building is in an older neighborhood, one of few affordable ones with trees planted along the sidewalks—a luxury in LA. Sure enough, the GTO is parked on the curb, not far from the fire escape that connects to Jack’s living room.

Looking up, Mac spies a familiar body perched on the stairs. 

Riley sits on the fire escape, soaking in the last rays of sunlight. Her eyes are closed, head resting against the brick wall. Mac doesn’t say anything as he sits beside her on the narrow metal stairs, their hips and thighs just touching. 

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Should he hug her? Hold her hand? Leave her alone? Riley isn’t a super touchy person. Mac decides on the latter, picking at his fingernails while his gaze drifts west to study the sunset. 

Several minutes pass before Riley says, “Hey.” Her voice is low and scratchy, like she’s been crying. 

“Hey,” Mac repeats. “How long have you been here?” 

Riley shifts beside him, sitting up. “I don’t know. A while.” 

“This isn’t the first time you’ve come here, is it?” 

A sigh. “No, it’s not.” Mac figures as much. Aside from the constant clamor of the city, Jack’s apartment is relatively quiet. It’s not in the greatest neighborhood, but it’s safe enough for Riley to sit alone and think. Or not think. Whatever she feels like doing. 

Riley rests her head on Mac’s shoulder, and a wave of protectiveness floods his system. It’s new, this need to watch her back more than the others’. It came on so gradually that Mac doesn’t know when it started or what triggered it, only that he feels it all the time now. Especially after Jack’s…

He avoids examining the feeling too closely. 

Without warning, Riley says, “If you hadn’t held me back, I would’ve killed her.” 

Knowing exactly who she was talking about, Mac glances down at Riley in surprise. He knows it’s true—thinks so himself—but hearing it come out of her mouth makes his stomach turn. The last, and only, time Riley killed someone...it took her months to piece herself back together afterward. And that death was in self-defense. 

This one would’ve been murder. Intentional and vindictive. 

Mac isn’t sure Riley could come back from that, at least not as herself. The woman who would emerge from that would be a total stranger inside his best friend’s body. Mac suppresses a shiver. “I know,” he says.

“Thank you for stopping me.” Riley’s voice is quiet. So, so quiet. 

“You would’ve done the same for me.” Gingerly, Mac wraps his arm around Riley’s shoulders, ready to let go at the first sign of her discomfort. When she doesn’t react, he relaxes and holds her more surely. 

The sky is painted in vibrant oranges and reds, fading into deep blue overhead. Subtle strokes of pink outline the scattered clouds hanging above the horizon. Out of all the sunsets Mac has seen, all over the world, nothing quite compares to the ones here at home. He wishes Jack was here to see it. 

Mac spends far too long debating whether to bring it up before asking, “Why did you go to the trial?” Agents, especially secret ones, don’t go to trials, mostly to keep their identities safe. Publicly tying oneself to a case is never a good idea, for more reasons that Mac can begin to name. 

“I swore I’d be there every step of the way. I meant it.” Mac tries not to bristle at the snarling, defensive edge to Riley’s tone. “Eventually, she’ll make a mistake, and I will be there when she does. And then I’m going to rip out her entire organization from the roots up.” 

Fear wraps its ugly hand around Mac’s heart. Until every single person associated with Tiberius Kovac is behind bars, there will be a target on Riley’s back, and Riley will have put it there herself. Losing one person to Kovac is more than enough; Mac refuses to lose Riley too. 

“How can I help you?” 

Riley looks up, eyes wide like she’s expecting him to try to talk her out of it, not offer to help. “You don’t have to do that.” 

“And miss out on all the fun?” Mac almost smiles as he quotes her. Almost. 

She sits up. “Honestly, I don’t know. I’m going to hack Interpol first, to see which of her colleagues might also be dirty. So unless you secretly picked up hacking…” 

Mac huffs. “Sorry, I only hack hardware.” He expects some insane, crackhead plan, not something so…reasonable. Maybe Riley isn’t as off-the-rails as he thought. 

But only maybe. 

A seagull perches on the railing below them, honking and squawking for seemingly no reason at all. Gulls are just like that. It glares at Mac, pinning him to his spot with a beady yellow eye, challenging Mac to shoo it away. 

Go find some tourists to harass, Mac wants to snark at it. Leave us alone. 

The seagull cocks its head, as if to say, I know something you don’t. 

Mac narrows his eyes. I bet you do. 

He swears the seagull shrugs before taking off, flying low over the GTO before sailing over rooftops on its way back to the ocean. It passes a billboard advertising a new blockbuster spy thriller, the product of millions of dollars and Hollywood plot recycling. Mac saw the trailer. The movie is about a soldier who joined the CIA in a quest for retribution after his best friend came home in a box. Usually Mac likes watching spy movies—mostly to make fun of them—but this one hits a little too close to home. 

It takes a monumental effort to tear his gaze away. 

When his eyes finally meet Riley’s, Mac understands the silent ache in them—the ache that’s surely reflected in his own eyes. He and Riley are drowning, but at least they’re drowning together. 

Mac frowns. That must be the dimmest “on the bright side” thought he’s ever had. 

Riley doesn’t say anything more, so neither does Mac. They sit on the fire escape until long after the sun sets and the temperature drops, and the city's nightlife stretches its limbs as it wakes. Mac shivers, but Riley seems oddly unaffected by the cold. That or she’s too numb to notice. 

He threads his still semi-warm fingers through her icy ones, letting their joined hands rest on his knee. It seems like his last tether to the Riley he knows and loves, one who’s slowly slipping away from him and being replaced by a woman who might very well bring the world to its knees as payback for all that it’s done to her. 

Mac has no interest in ever meeting that woman. Mostly because he refuses to lose his Riley, but also because Mac knows he won’t be able to resist that other Riley. She will slash his restraint beyond repair, and Mac will follow her to the ends of the earth. 

He will find a way to keep them both afloat. He has to. 

Or else the Phoenix may very well be hunting him and Riley again, and this time, they’ll deserve it.

*****

Entering her apartment later that night, Riley realizes too late that it isn’t empty. Bozer is still there, and he’s making dinner. Locking the door behind her, she hears a rushed, “Got to go, Matty. She’s home.” 

Bozer crashed on her couch the night they got the news and never left. I don't want you to be alone, Bozer keeps saying, despite her insistence she doesn’t need a babysitter. Other than that, they don’t speak to each other much. In fact, Riley wouldn't have noticed he said anything at all if not for the way he stares at her, standing at the stove and twirling a wooden spoon between his fingers. 

"What?" she snaps. 

Carefully, Bozer asks, "How was the trial?" 

"Fine." Riley knows he cares, and that he’s hurting too, but nothing he says or does is going to help her. The sooner he figures that out the better. She drops her keys and jacket on a chair before heading for her bedroom. 

“You hungry?” he calls after her. 

Riley yanks off her boots, chucking them into the closet with too much force. “No.” 

“Have you eaten anything today?” 

Her fuse is running short these days, and she’s just about had it with his incessant smothering and questioning. Riley marches into the kitchen, rolling her shoulders back and bracing her hands on the counter. “Last I checked, I still have a mother, so if you’re just going to keep nagging me, then I think it’s time you get the fuck out of my apartment.” 

Bozer’s eyes widen and his mouth opens, but no sound comes out. 

“Get out,” Riley snarls. 

Still struggling to regain his ability to speak, Bozer stammers, “At least let me finish making you dinner first.” 

“Fine.” Cracking her knuckles, Riley retreats to her bedroom once more. “I’m taking a shower. You better be gone when I come out.” She doesn’t wait for a response. 

When Riley emerges, her dinner is cold, and Bozer is long gone. 

She doesn’t eat.

*****

On the second day of Vitez’s trial, Riley sits in the back of the room long after the trial adjourns for the day, thinking. She didn’t recognize the witnesses who testified today, and as the prosecutor called each one forward, Riley wished she had her laptop so she could look them up. Now, as she stares over the rows of empty wooden seats to the section where the jury sat, Riley can only hope that the witnesses’ testimonies are enough. 

Riley knows there’s more than enough evidence to convict Vitez—especially since she recorded the confession herself—but obsessing over the trial is easier than facing the reality waiting outside the courthouse doors. 

Her mom invited her to visit his grave today, after the trial, but Riley declined. Facing that slab of granite will make it real, make it…permanent. 

She knows what it says. Jack Dalton. Beloved. Gone too soon. Someone asked for her approval before it was made. It doesn’t say nearly enough to encapsulate all that he was, but at the time Riley couldn’t think about it—couldn’t look at it—long enough to suggest any changes. She still can’t. 

Chewing her lip, Riley anxiously toys with her rings, spinning them and moving them from finger to finger. 

At the wake, one of his old Delta buddies joked that the gravestone should read “Yippee-ki-yay, motherfuckers,” but Riley didn’t laugh. 

Riley hasn’t laughed since Matty broke the news. It’s like the part of her that knows how to feel joy died in that explosion too. 

Instead, she wants to scream at the universe until her voice gives out, cursing it for taking her dad away too soon. Because that’s what he is. Her dad. Riley doesn’t even know when she started calling him that again, but if she has to guess, it was sometime between the first “I’m proud of you, honey” and him kicking her ass at skee-ball for the millionth time.

Tears leak from Riley’s eyes without her consent. 

It feels like she failed him, in a way. By not being there. By not keeping him alive. 

Now the best she can do is make sure his death means something. 

Vitez will go to prison for the rest of her life, that Riley is sure of. But the rest of her organization is still out there, and Riley intends on putting every single member behind bars. No amount of justice will even begin to heal the Jack-shaped wound in her heart, but at least the world will be better for it. Safer. 

But she’d rather live in a more dangerous world with him still in it than a safer one without. That way they could save the world together, like they always did. 

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

Anger rumbles through her body, like a Texas thunderstorm in her veins. It’s the only emotion Riley feels anymore, ever since the sadness gave way to numbness. 

A woman in a security uniform pokes her head in the room. “Excuse me, ma’am. I need to lock up for the night.” When Riley doesn’t respond, the woman adds, “Are you okay?” 

Are you okay? Riley hates that question more than all the others. How are you? Have you eaten today? What can I do to help? 

She feels like she’s dying. She can’t eat. Nothing will help. 

But that isn’t what people want to hear. Even Mac asked that last question, yesterday on the fire escape, although Riley didn’t automatically despise the question like she usually did. It’s different coming from him than anyone else; his offer was genuine, not coming from pity or obligation.

She isn’t surprised Mac recognized her need to do something. After all, he had been the same way after his dad was killed. 

Coldly, Riley finally says,“I will be.” The woman doesn’t deserve her abrupt answer, but Riley can’t quite bring herself to care. She lets the anger the questions bring up fuel her, lets it hold her together. 

The anger is all she has left. 

Riley stands, her heels clicking on the floor as she exits the courthouse. 

She’s coming for all the monsters who hurt him. She’s coming for the ones who rendered him nothing more than ashes on the wind, the ones who turned her life into a nightmare she can’t wake up from. 

Because she doesn’t need to wake up to become theirs.

~

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[nemycchi]

Among the Stars

A Childe X Lumine Fanfiction

General Rating

Angst, Love, Family, Betrayal, New Beginnings

Maybe, in another life, this was not how things would have ended.

Lumine likes to think that that is the case. That somewhere out there—across the stars she once traversed, across the worlds she once explored, a version of herself is living contentedly. Maybe in a quaint house filled with various trinkets from her adventures, maybe even in a big mansion overflowing with memories of her conquers—the details do not matter, as long as it is a home.

As long as it is with him. As long as it is with them.

She pulls at her crimson scarf—worn-out from years of use, both from her and its previous owner, as the winds of Snezhnaya blows harder, sharper and colder against her skin. She should be well-acquainted by now to this harsh weather seemingly ever-present in this region of Teyvat from constant visits but she shrugs it off as the lack of warmth reminds her of the years that went by.

Ah, there it is again. That fleeting feeling—like a thief in the night, sneakily closing in when your guards are lowest. Kind of like how he easily slid into her life unabashedly, taking her world by storm—

And apparently leaving with a destruction of the same magnitude.

But she guesses that she should be thankful—for he left something to remember him by. Far more important than anything she has right now, far more important than she is and will ever be.

Lumine sighs deeply. It seems like her old friend—a ghost of tantalizing blue eyes and soft touches, is back again to prompt her to spiral back down into the abyss—into the void she so desperately avoids recalling lest she forgets the present, which is far more important now that she is not on her own anymore.

So, despite the turn her thoughts took, she smiles. Though she thinks he would be disappointed at its bitterness as she trudges on the snow-covered cobblestone walkway, steps slowly but surely taking her back to him.

For a second, she has the half-thought to turn around and start walking away, but no, she has been steeling her resolve for the last four years already, and she knows that it is time to face him once more. Maybe for the last time. Not to fight again, but to let him go. For her sake, for their sake.

At last, with finality in her eyes, she stops before him. Her hand reaches out to touch the polished marble and its coldness seeps into her core, even through the fabric of her glove.

“Hey. I’m here.” she whispers into the thin air reverently, silently praying to Barbatos that he carries her words to him.

And as tears start tracking down her eyes, she promises herself that this would be the last time she weeps for him.

For her sake. For their sake.

 

---☆☆☆---

 

Four years ago, she found herself and Childe tucked away in an open cave, not too far from the Harbinger’s headquarters in Snezhnaya. There, under the dark of the night and the guidance of the stars—he succumbed to his feelings.

“I love you, Lumine.”

And she cried. She never knew that she was capable of such fickle thing that mortals of Teyvat do in distress or in utter elation. In her case, she would attribute it to relief—to the consolation that through her seemingly never-ending journey in this world that persisted for years, her love would be returned.

No, scratch that. Despite the lack of utterance, she believed that it was not her who fell first. Rather, it was him. Though from the hesitance in his eyes and the hint of reticence in his voice, she figured it was a fact that was hard to swallow. Especially for him—a footman of the opposing side.

And so even in that moment, regardless of the warmth coursing through her veins, she found herself asking why now.

“But, Childe—”

Before she could continue, he stopped her by pressing a finger on her lips.

“Sshhh. Come now, ojou-chan. Let’s not think of trivial matters such as allegiance and all that, okay? I can practically see the gears in your pretty little head turning at an alarming rate!” the playfulness in the way he spoke was not lost on her.

Fresh tears still streaming down her eyes, she thought about what this could mean. At the end of the day, it was useless. He was still a Harbinger and she an outlander bound to oppose them. They were destined to face one another, especially then when war is literally on their doorstep—with the Tsaritsa pledging allegiance to the Abyss Order and the knights of the rest of Teyvat on their way to Snezhnaya.

A war is brewing, and their love would be nothing but a thorn on each other’s side.

Yet, even with that knowledge, she chose not to say a word anymore for she knew that he knew as well.

A flash in his usually cold stare and she was brought back to that surreal moment. His finger slid from her lips to her jaw, slightly tracing its curve before cupping it in his hand.

“Just for tonight, let’s forget that. Just for tonight, can I be… Ajax and you—Lumine?” he whispered, pain evident in the shift of his tone.

Gold met the pleading ocean and she realized the weight of her answer. It’s now or never.

And so, allowing herself that moment of weakness, she surrendered. Just like how he did. They will be honest. To each other. Just this time. Just for tonight.

As she raised herself up on her toes, hands reaching out to him, she promised that she will never forget this. The warmth of his arms around her, the sound of his voice as he called out her name in reverence, and the latter satisfaction as their love burned hotter than the brightest star in the sky. She wished upon its luminance that she could keep him like this, with her.

Forever.

 

---☆☆☆---

 

The time of judgment was not kind for it decided to show itself the day after that fateful night. The cold of Snezhnaya never seeped into her bones deeper than it did that moment, with her still standing and four of the Harbingers down the ground.

It was a battle she could not afford to lose. She cannot allow herself to waiver, even with blood coating her arms and one leg clearly limping. She cannot lose—she must buy time until her allies arrive. The outlander trudged on and dread churned in her gut at the inevitable fate that lies ahead of her.

And there it really was. A scene she never wanted to see.

The rest of the Harbingers stood on her way, including him.

She watched the brief flash of pain across his eyes before he looked away.

No, Ajax. You knew the consequences. You cannot hesitate now.

Lumine smiled bitterly at the reminder. She knew this yet at that moment, she genuinely wished she never came down in Teyvat, or that she was just a normal mortal in this world instead. Maybe she would not have to swallow down her tears as she gripped her sword harder in one hand, anemo energy already collecting on her other.

She knows that she is a breath away from losing, with their sheer number against her sole prowess, yet she fought on. She jumped at elemental strikes of varying colors to her best ability, she dashed to evade a multitude of physical attacks on her person with agility she did not know she still possess.

It went on and on, like a game of cat and mouse—with her being hunted down and one slip-up could mean her end. However, no matter how much she tried to ignore it, she cannot help but notice the lack of enthusiasm in the chase of hydro spears coming after her as she twisted between pillars. He was clearly trying not to hit her and she hated it somehow.

Though it seemed that that moment of distraction as she observed was the perfect opportunity for her other opponents to send her flying across the platform. She gasped loudly as she landed on her broken arm and leg.

It hurts.

Her eyes glazed over, unfocused, as she spotted icicles rushing towards her from all direction. Maybe this was the end. Maybe it would be better this way for her. Maybe she bought enough time already. Maybe she was enough.

She closed her eyes, awaiting her demise as she laid broken on the ground. But it never came. Instead, she found herself covered in a bubble of hydro magic frozen in patches. Through the gaps between the ice, she spied the man she came to love standing in front of her.

No, it can’t be!

But it was apparently the reality as she watched his former allies charge at him for this act of treason. Before another burst of ice covered the bubble, she remembered hearing a faint whisper.

“I’m sorry, ojou-chan.”

 

---☆☆☆---

 

Jean and Barbara arrived, along with other knights which prompted the remaining Harbingers to flee. Three additional to the first four they came across with of the Tsaritsa’s strongest footmen lied unconscious and another one was barely breathing a few steps from the bubble they found her in. As the familiar pulse of healing thrummed in Lumine’s veins, she did not waste time and she scrambled to reach him.

His mask lay useless and cracked beside him, his bow beyond repair. His clothes were in tatters except his scarf, which somehow remained intact. All these were duly noted but at the sight of his eyes, she crumbles—presence of the Knights of Favonius be damned.

She cried her heart out, as his breath slowly stuttered even more—as the almost non-existent glow in the blue depths darkened even more.

The acting grandmaster of the knights was somehow moved and she sat next to her, placing her hand on the fallen’s chest to attempt to heal him. But from the way she took her hand back abruptly, and the manner with which she looked away, Lumine realized the cold and harsh truth.

Right then, the unforgiving wind of Snezhnaya breezed through them. It was not strong at all, yet she felt faint—as if it took her life away. And as the coldness settled deep in the recesses of her heart, she swore she heard the faintest of a wish as a whisper in the gust.

“Keep living, ojou-chan.”

 

---☆☆☆---

 

Back in the present, Lumine kneels on the ground in front of the marble stone depicting his name. It has been four years since that day yet she remembers each and every detail of their parting clearly. She recalls with bitterness the moment when they won for it certainly did not go without its costs.

Aether is safe and is now back in their realm. As for her, she is left down here in Teyvat—for she has found herself something to tie her existence on. She does not just live for herself now. She lives in honor of his name—in honor of what they created, of what he left behind. And she swears that she will continue to do so until the end of her days.

But sometimes, as loath as she is to admit, she finds herself unable to forget his eyes, his touch, his everything without pain. It hurts. And it still hurts to this day.

So, she resolves that maybe, it is not something she has to carry anymore. That maybe, she must let go to be able to feel again. Not in that manner—for she knows that she will never love again the same way, but for her to be free once more.

Lumine tightens her hold on the scarf as she pries it away from herself. Tears continue to fall down her golden eyes as she folds it neatly and places it atop the stone.

“You’re free now, Ajax.” she sobs, acknowledging the conclusiveness of her words.

Just like that day, the winds blow gently and she looks up to the night sky filled with a multitude of bright stars.

It is over.

Done.

It is time to move on.

Wiping the tears from her eyes, she stands up and turns her back from him. One last time, she reminds herself not to look back anymore—for her sake, for his sake. She walks away, with finality—allowing the comforting familiarity of the darkness of the night to embrace her in place of the warmth that will never be there anymore.

 

---☆☆☆---

 

“Careful now—”

Upon opening the door of her past lover’s family house, Lumine feels the landing of a soft body on hers before she heard the last of the warning.

“—Big Sis. I was going to warn you, but she got to you first!” Teucer sheepishly chuckles from the distance.

She laughs a little at his antics before setting the small girl currently taking up residence on top of her on her lap instead as she sits down on the wooden floor.

Deep blue eyes seemingly filled with tears stared back at her with such an intensity reminiscent of the person she got it from.

Ajax.

“Mhm, did my little angel miss me that much?” she pulls the girl into her arms and she nuzzles her hair affectionately.

She felt more than heard her affirmation when Alyona—her daughter, their treasure—buried her head deeper into her chest. She cards her fingers through her sunshine’s golden locks and slowly rocks her back and forth.

Lumine sighs as her earlier thoughts come back again.

Maybe, in another life, this is not how things would have ended. Maybe, things would have been different.

But there is no reason to dwell on trivial matters such as what-ifs and what-nots anymore. She will be happy, she will be contented. She will be home—as long as she is with her—Alyona, her new beginning.

“Say, little angel. Would you like to hear about a new story? Of the brave knight named Ajax?”

[lunatens]

felix felicis (iii)

word count: 3.0k

part iii/iv

genre: fluff, harry potter au

pairing: hufflepuff!felix x ravenclaw!reader

a/n: it’s been uhhhhhhhhhhhhh over a year since i last update this whoOPS i am so sorry to keep you all waiting. thank you to everyone who patiently waited, and to everyone who’s new, i hope you like it!! there will be one more part to this series (that i will try my best to write in less than a year lol) (also for obvious reasons w**jin will no longer be a part of this fic)

the day of the gryffindor vs ravenclaw quidditch match has your stomach in knots, not about the game itself (you really couldn’t care less about the results) but about the boy you’re going to be spending the next couple hours with.

“okay y/n, first things first: that tiny ball is the golden snitch, and-” 

“felix, i’m not stupid,”

“right, yeah, sorry i’m just uhh..excited is all,’ he says shyly. you watch as the two teams whizz around the pitch, trying to keep track of all the different balls and players as felix rambles on about the rules to you. despite chan, changbin and jisung being your closest friends, you’ve never actually come out to watch them play before, always finding an excuse to stay indoors instead of sitting miserable and alone on an uncomfortable bench in typically  less-than-pleasant weather. 

“wow y/n, your friends are actually really, really good quidditch players.” felix comments with a look of mild surprise. “too bad they’re not hufflepuffs!”

“actually, at your last game they were telling me they wish you were in gryffindor, so i guess you’re not too bad yourself,” you comment with a small smile, and you have to stifle a laugh as felix’s face turns bright red. you hate to admit it, but felix is really, really cute--especially bundled up in his yellow hat and scarf, his hair sticking out and gently waving in the breeze whenever someone flies by on broomstick.

you watch the game in silence for a moment, still trying to find the appeal for the sport. the game’s been going for a while now, with neither team having found the snitch yet, although gryffindor’s leading in points. jisung zooms around the far end of the pitch, expertly evading the ravenclaw beaters’ attacks and catching the quaffle with a flourish. it doesn’t take long before he’s put the quaffle through one of the ravenclaw goalposts, and the gryffindor crowd roars in excitement. jisung does a lap of the pitch, posing ridiculously and waving to the crowd to get them even more riled up. you hear felix squeal in excitement beside you, and turn to look at him with curiosity.

“that’s just the best feeling ever, flying through the air and just having fun like that. it’s so freeing,” he says with a contented sigh. you furrow your brows and turn back to look at jisung, who’s now rejoined his team as the game continues.

“really? i mean, it doesn’t seem that great. it looks so cold and windy, and what if you fall? yeah, no thanks i’d rather stick to the ground,” you state. it’s not like you want to offend felix or anything, but you just really don’t get the hype about flying. 

“what?? you don’t like flying y/n?? but it’s so epic!” felix says in disbelief, and you shake your head in response.

“the only time i’ve ever ridden a broomstick is way back in first year, when we had to learn the basics, and i’ve got no interest in trying again.”

“i’ve never met someone so opposed to flying,”

“well, that’s what happens when you fall off and break your wrist and can’t take proper notes for weeks,” you say, wrinkling your nose at the memory. “see unlike you, i’m not gifted with good luck.”

felix looks at you blankly for a moment, thinking to himself, before a wide grin creeps onto his face.

“no.”

“i haven’t even said anything yet!!”

“ok but i know what you’re thinking and i am NOT riding a broomstick, felix!”

“oh come on y/n, live a little!! it’ll be so much fun! what, are you afraid of heights?” felix asks teasingly. you shoot him a glare in response.

“yes!! besides, i don’t even own a broomstick.”

“yeah i kinda figured, so we can just use mine! i’m sure we’ll both fit, it might be a bit squishy though…” felix trails off in his own thoughts, and you choke on your own spit. you turn to look at the pitch, trying to focus on the game rather than thoughts of being pressed up against felix and holding onto him for dear life, breathing in the scent of h-

“eh, i think it’ll work fine. so it’s settled, after the game i’m taking you for a ride.” felix says definitively, interrupting your thoughts (good timing too, your brain was entering dangerous territory). 

“i dunno, felix…. it really doesn’t sound safe, i mean two people on a broomstick? i don’t care how lucky you are, i’m not taking any chances.”

“y/n, i promise nothing bad will happen. we won’t even go that high, and we can take it slow. trust me, it’ll be okay,” felix says, tentatively placing a hand over yours and looking into your eyes. you’re silent for a moment; has felix ever been this sincere in his life? you let out a sigh of defeat.

“i better not regret this.” you mumble, and felix squeals in excitement. your heart flutters a bit when he grabs onto your upper arm enthusiastically

“you won’t, y/n!! it’ll be so much fun, i can’t wait. it’s gonna change your life for the better,” felix says confidently, and although you roll your eyes at him, you can’t help but smile giddily to yourself. 

*** 

the game ends in an overwhelming victory for gryffindor, and you and felix dodge red and gold banners and streamers on your way out of the pitch past ecstatic gryffindors and gloomy ravenclaws. you finally make it out, your stomach filling with dread as you remember what’s happening now.

“i’ll be right back y/n, i’m just gonna go grab my broomstick from the locker room!” felix says excitedly, before rushing off into the depths of the pitch structure. you stand awkwardly by yourself, shoving your hands into your pockets for warmth. your breath escapes your lips in visibles plumes, the air growing colder as the sun begins to sink lower into the sky. one of your professors walks by, reminding you to return to the castle, and you nod, telling them you’re just waiting for a friend. it’s not a complete lie, right? you think to yourself. the adrenaline from not only your upcoming flight, but also breaking the rules again (and for felix, of all people) fills your body with jitters.

as you wait for felix for what seems like forever, your mind starts to wander. watching the game with him today was...surprisingly fun? and my goodness, the way his eyes sparkled or his voice got squeaky when someone made an awesome play was maybe the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. not to mention his freckled cheeks, rosy from the biting cold, or his tiny hands that flailed excitedly when talking about strategies. was chan right after all? do you have feelings for felix? no, that’s absurd. you’re just excited to have made a new friend is all...haha...right?

you don’t get the chance to think more about it before someone pounces on you from behind.

“Y/N!!! YOU CAME!!!!” jisung’s loud voice rings in your ear.

“ew get off me, you’re all sweaty,” you say with a grimace as you shove the excited boy off your shoulders. “but good job guys, you did great! who knew you were actually good at quidditch huh,” you tease, and chan gives you a playful nudge.

“i saw you with a certain hufflepuff boy in the stands,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows, and you slap him on the arm.

“ok he practically forced me to go, it was the only way to stop his stupid begging and whining,” you argue, and your three gryffindor friends nod their heads in clear disbelief. 

“sure y/n, keep telling yourself that.” chan says, giving you a pat on the head which you swat away. 

“sorry that took so long, i-” felix’s out-of-breath voice stops mid sentence when he spies you with the other boys. “oh uh, hi,” he says shyly, clearly not expecting their presence. your friends grin knowingly and changbin and jisung start to whisper to each other. chan puts on a friendly smile and greets felix back, reaching out to shake his hand.

“thanks for coming out even though your house wasn’t playing,” he says, and felix seems to warm up to chan a bit. 

“i’d never turn down a chance to watch a good quidditch match! you guys are amazing,” he babbles, and you giggle at his enthusiasm, glad to see him and chan connecting. 

“you’re not so bad yourself dude. too bad we’ll have to crush you in a few weeks,” chan teases, and all the boys laugh.

“i’m impressed you were able to drag this one out, we’ve been trying to get them to come to our games for years,” changbin groans, gesturing to you. felix shrugs in response.

“i mean it wasn’t too hard, just a small bribe of some chocolate frogs and here we are,” felix says, and you feel three pairs of eyes burning into your soul. you can practically feel the smirks on their faces, and you can already hear the teasing you’ll experience later. 

“well anyways, we’re gonna hit up the great hall for some snacks on our way back, you coming? you’re welcome to join us, felix,” jisung invites.

“um actually...felixistakingmeforarideonhisbroomstick,” you splutter out, and you hear jisung make a strange noise of disbelief at what he just heard.

“sorry, what?” chan asks, and the grin on his face tells you he knows exactly what you just said. you let out an annoyed huff and repeat yourself.

“felix is taking me for a ride on his broomstick, and we better get going before it gets too late.” you say in defeat and embarrassment, reaching to grab a confused felix’s hand so you can get away from your friends before they have the chance to say anything about it. jisung opens his mouth to make what you assume is a raunchy joke about riding broomsticks, but a death glare from you shuts him up.

“okay, have fun! but not too much fun,” chan says with a wink before quickly ushering a protesting jisung and changbin back towards the castle. you’re grateful for the falling darkness, because you can feel how bright your cheeks are burning right now. 

“i’m so sorry about them,” you apologize, and felix laughs it off.

“they seem fun,” he says, then tugs on your hand gently. “follow me, i know the best place to go where we won’t get caught. trust me, i sneak out all the time with hyunjin and minho and we’ve never seen a soul.” you nod nervously as you follow felix’s lead, praying that you won’t regret this.

after a bit of walking and some light conversation, you arrive at a small clearing near the edge of the lake. 

“this is SO against the rules,” you mutter to yourself as you step over some large roots. felix gets to a spot where the sky above is clear (and growing darker by the minute), and there’s lots of room around you. he straddles the broomstick and motions for you to join him. as you make your way behind him, you can’t help but wonder if you're more nervous about flying or about the prolonged close contact with felix. there are so many layers of clothing between us, you tell yourself, it’s fine. you place your arms loosely around felix’s waist, nervous to get any closer.

“we’re gonna start off just hovering, okay? we’ll take it slow, it’ll be alright. you can tell me if you want to stop, but i really think it’ll be fine, trust me,” he says to comfort you, and you nod. felix kicks off the ground, and you gasp as you feel your feet dangling in the air. instinctively, your arms squeeze tightly around felix, and you press yourself as close to him as possible.

“i can feel your heart racing, it’s okay just relax!” felix says with a laugh.

“easy for you to say, you practically live on a broomstick,” you grumble, and you feel felix’s body shake with giggles underneath you.

“i’m gonna take us a bit higher now,” felix says, and you press your face into his back as you feel yourselves rise higher, the air getting colder as you ascend. you feel a gentle breeze tangling your locks, and the broomstick begins to inch forward. you open one eye slightly and let out a small squeak as you see how far the ground is below you. you’re almost above the height of the trees now, and felix is doing slow laps of the clearing. 

“see, it’s not too bad, right?” he asks, and you force yourself to open your eyes again. if you don’t look straight down, you have to admit the view is really nice. trees and rolling hills pepper the landscape, and you can see the quidditch pitch and hogwarts a bit farther in the distance. the last rays of sun are reflecting off of the lake, and the twilight sky is beginning to sparkle with the night’s brightest stars. 

“yeah, i guess it is pretty nice,” you begrudgingly agree. your knuckles are white as you hold on to felix for dear life, but the more time you spend up here the more you realize how stable he’s keeping the broomstick, and how much he does seem to be taking caution to make sure you’re comfortable. you let out a shaky sigh as you try to relax and take in the scenery as you hover above the trees. 

“there’s one more thing we can do, if you’re okay with it,” he says, asking for your trust. you say nothing, simply nodding into his back; you’re afraid if you open your mouth you’ll regret it. as soon as he has your confirmation, the broomstick suddenly bursts forward and you can’t help but let out a piercing shriek.

“FELIX!!! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!!” you manage to yell over the howling wind. your eyes are tearing up from the cold night air, and your throat feels dry, and you’re convinced your heart’s stopped beating. felix just lets out a joyful laugh in response, yelling back to you “SHOWING YOU THE BEST THING ABOUT FLYING!” before plunging the nose of the stick into a dive towards the ground. he pulls up, of course, and does a few more fancy tricks before slowing down to a more leisurely pace above the treetops. 

you sit there in shock for a moment, wide eyed and breathless, trying to take in the wild turn of events.

“WHAT WERE YOU THINKING!! YOU IDIOT WE COULD’VE DIED OR SOMETHING,” you scream in between breaths, still trying to get your heart to stop racing. 

“but we didn’t, right? i told you you could trust me!! was that not fun??” he asks, giddy with adrenaline. you choose not to respond, because he’s right--as much as his sudden moves scared the living daylights out of you, you have to admit it felt pretty freeing. 

“this is my favourite view,” felix says to change the topic, and you lift your head up to look around. you’re coasting above the lake, the last rays of sun painting the landscape golden. more stars are out now, and the glow of the castle feels truly magical and welcoming. you steal a glance at felix, cheeks nose and ears bright red from the cold but an awestruck look on his face nonetheless. you don’t think you’ve ever seen him look so peaceful and content, and the feeling spreads to you as you finally relax your grip a little and rest your cheek on felix’s back. 

“thank you, felix,” you mumble, feeling surprisingly at ease now. 

“sorry, what was that?” he asks and you can hear the grin in his voice.

“i’m not saying it again,” you warn, and he remains silent. part of you wishes you could live in this moment forever, gliding over the mirror-like surface of the water with the warmth of felix to stave away the cold tendrils of night air.

“we should uh, head back. it’s getting pretty late,” he eventually says after a comfortable silence passes. you nod in agreement, and felix takes you back to the quidditch pitch, where he returns his broomstick quickly before coming back to walk with you to the castle. the walk back is mostly silent, with the two of you hiding from professors and prefects a couple times but making it back to the ravenclaw common room unseen. there seems to be some shift in the energy between you now, the silences feeling a bit more awkward than before, but neither of you wants to acknowledge it. 

“well, uh, thanks for trusting me. and sorry if i scared you,” felix says with a small laugh as you reach to door to the common room. 

“it’s okay, i uh...i actually had a really good time. you’re right, you know, it is a really wonderful feeling being up there.” you admit. you have to stop yourself from adding “with you” to the end of that sentence. “so thank you for everything, lix,” you say and you cringe at the nickname that accidentally escaped your lips. felix tries to hold back a smile but fails miserably, blushing at the nickname. 

“goodnight, y/n,” he says after clearing his throat.

“um..goodnight,” you say before going to answer the riddle to enter the common room. as you mutter the answer and begin to enter, you hear felix call after you.

“y/n?”

“yeah?”

there’s a long pause.

“uh, nevermind. goodnight!” he says, and before you know it he’s down the stairs and out of sight. confused, you creep up to your dormitory to get ready for bed. your dreams that night are filled with the wind rushing through your hair, beautiful landscapes whizzing past you, and most importantly of all, felix’s joyful laugh ringing in your ears.

[husheduphistory]

Little Green Men: The Alien Encounter of Kelly Kentucky

On the night of August 21st 1955 Sheriff Russell Greenwell was working in the police department for the tiny town of Hopkinsville, Kentucky when the night took a sharp turn into bizarre territory. Multiple adults and children stormed into the building highly distressed and saying they needed Greenwell’s help. One of the adults, Billy Ray Taylor, had a racing pulse twice the normal resting rate and the children were completely hysterical. All of them were known in town as very level-headed people. There was no trace of alcohol on anyone and they were a family who took care of themselves, preferring to involve their shotguns rather than the police. What they told Greenwell was that they had spent the last several hours defending their home from attackers, but these attackers were not of this world.

The Sutton Farm was located in nearby Kelly, Kentucky and was the home of  Glennie Lankford, her young children Lonnie, Charlton, and Mary, her older sons Elmer "Lucky" Sutton and John Charley "J.C." Sutton, Lucky’s wife Vera, J.C.’s wife Arlene, and Arlene’s brother. Lucky Sutton was home with his family after his last stint with a traveling carnival and his friends Billy Ray Taylor and his wife took the opportunity to stop in and visit everyone. It was a hot Sunday night and at approximately 7pm Billy Ray went to get some water from the well in the backyard when he saw something he could not explain. When he returned to the house he told everyone that he just witnessed a large silver object smoothly traveling through the sky before it went over the house and dropped silently to the ground somewhere in the distance. He was laughed at and the night continued on.

Location of Kelly, Kentucky. Image via wikipedia.org.

The calm did not last long. One hour after Billy Ray’s sighting the Sutton’s dog began to bark incessantly at the back door. When Lucky and Billy Ray went to go see what was going on in the yard they found themselves staring at a glowing light hovering around a three and a half foot tall creature that shimmered like metal with an “oversized head…almost perfectly round, [its] arms extended almost to the ground, [its] hands had talons…and [its oversized] eyes glowed with a yellowish light.”

Frantic and terrified, Billy Ray and Lucky grabbed their shotguns and prepared to  fire on the creatures with Glennie and the children watching in bewilderment. Glennie had lived on the property for decades without incident but the commotion coming from the two men concerned her and she sent her younger children to bed before they could get too upset over the outlandish claims coming from Billy Ray and Lucky. Was it a prank? She pressed the two for an explanation but there wasn’t time for any answers. A small glowing figure began to approach the house and for the first time that night shots rang out. The creature raised its arms and did a “flip” before disappearing into the darkness. It was only the beginning of their night.

According to the Sutton family and friends, over the next few hours they found themselves under attack from the little creatures that they could not explain. While hiding inside the home one pressed its face against a window and again flipped out of sight totally unfazed when bullets took out the screen. In a later interview Glennie recalled hiding in a hallway with Billy Ray when they saw one of the beings approaching the back door. She was overcome with shock and fell backwards before her sons carried her into a bedroom. She later stated that “It looked like a five-gallon gasoline can with a head on top and small legs. It was a shimmering bright metal like on my refrigerator.”  At one point during the night Billy Ray stepped outside onto a porch where his head was covered by a small overhanging roof. By now the entire family was on alert and they were horrified to see what they described as a claw-like hand reaching down from the roof to grab Billy Ray’s hair from above. The screams cut through the night and Billy Ray was pulled back inside while Lucky ran out and began shooting toward the roof. More than one person reported seeing another small glowing creature jump down and charge into the woods.

Newspaper article showing the roof where one of the creatures reached for Billy Ray Taylor. Image via https://www.kentuckynewera.com/

For several hours the entire group remained huddled in the house listening to something scratching on the roof and waiting for the unimaginable. Finally, at approximately 11pm they all ran outside, leapt into their cars, and raced to the Hopkinsville police department.

As outlandish as their story sounded, Sheriff Greenwell could not ignore what he was hearing and he decided to go investigate. But, he was not going alone. When the team arrived back at the Sutton farm it included Greenwell, the state police, members of the military police from nearby Fort Campbell, and a photographer from the Kentucky New Era. While searching the premises they found casings from Billy Ray and Lucky’s guns but absolutely no other evidence to suggest anything had happened on the farm that night. Each family member was interviewed individually but all the stories were consistent. With nothing to go on they finally left the site with the family hesitantly returning inside the house. They were not inside long. Before dawn they were all back in their cars, fleeing the house after the creatures came back, appearing in Glennie’s bedroom window and clawing at the screen.

Newspaper article from the Nevada State Journal. Image via Skeptic.com.

When the Suttons returned to their farmhouse they arrived to a chaotic scene. The news of their encounter was spread all over the nation by radio hosts telling their stories and newspapers printing their words alongside shocking illustrations of the “little men” that came out of the sky that night. Curiosity seekers flocked to the farmhouse to investigate the scene for themselves and, in some cases, to take souvenirs.  Unfortunately, some also arrived armed with accusations, claiming the family completely fabricated the entire encounter for publicity. The Suttons denied the claims but they did not help their case when they took down their “No Trespassing” signs and replaced them with a price list for admission to the property, information, and photographs. The adult members of the family were again interviewed separately by local radio personality and professional sketch artist Andrew "Bud" Ledwith and every account was the same. They all swore that they were attacked by creatures that stood just under three feet tall, glowed a shimmering metallic green, floated above the ground, and had pointed ears and claws. Tired of being harassed and spied on the family quickly stopped speaking to the media, left the property, and attempted to move on with their lives. Some reports state that after living in the country her entire life Glennie moved into an apartment building to be surrounded by people, she no longer felt safe in isolation.

Illustration of the creatures as described by Billy Ray Taylor. Image via history.com.

Illustration of the creatures as described by Lucky Sutton. Image via history.com.

With no concrete answers as to what haunted the Sutton family and their friends that night the floor was open for theories to fly. Despite Glennie and her sons insisting alcohol was not allowed in the house many said the entire incident was nothing more than a drunken hallucination. Others believed these little silver men were actually a pack of great horned owls which were known to act aggressively toward people. Some even claimed the creatures were monkeys that Lucky and Billy Ray brought home with them from their stint in the carnival.

Great horned owl at night. Image via Youtube.com.

In 1956 ufologist Isabel Davis began an investigation into what became known as the “Kelly–Hopkinsville Encounter”, an investigation that would result in a nearly 200 page report for the Center for UFO Studies. It was far from alone, as the years moved on many other ufologists became fascinated with the event and their varied explanation and opinions did little to pinpoint what happened that August night. The Air Force UFO-investigation program Project Blue Book was aware of the case but no documentation indicates that they officially pursued it. Project Blue Book’s civil investigator (and founder of the Center for UFO Studies) Dr. J. Allen Hynek called the ordeal "preposterous" and offensive to "common sense.” Ufologist Jerome Clark writes about the possible logical explanations, but also admits there was no evidence of a hoax. Some adopted the tale as solid truth, others became staunch supporters of the owl theory, but with every theory and re-visitation the Kelly–Hopkinsville encounter grew in notoriety. With newspapers focusing on the green metallic glow the world was given a term still familiar today, “little green men.”

In 2005 a commemorative event was held to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of the Kelly-Hopkinsville Encounter and there was a very special guest in attendance. Geraldine Stith, the granddaughter of Glennie Lankford and daughter of Lucky Sutton was there to answer the questions and dispel the rumors. She stated “I thought, I heard it from the horse's mouth, if people want to hear the story, let's get it right.” In 2010 when the town of Kelly was looking for fundraising opportunities they focused on the alleged alien encounter and created an annual event, the Little Green Men Days Festival that still takes place every August. Stith is a guest every year, telling the tale of her family’s terrifying night of the unknown and listening to stories from others. Despite the festive atmosphere structured around the encounter, Stith does not want what her family endured to be lost stating “My family went through something, whether it be paranormal or extraterrestrial, that changed their lives forever. I just want people to realize the terror they went through that night.”

A scene from Little Green Men Days Festival. Image via wkms.org.

Despite countless studies, theories, books, interviews, and experiences, the answer to what haunted the Sutton family and friends that night in August has never been found.

********************

Sources:

“How the 'Little Green Men' Phenomenon Began on a Kentucky Farm” https://www.history.com/news/little-green-men-origins-aliens-hopkinsville-kelly

“The Eerie Story Behind the Small Town Everyone Is Flocking to for the Eclipse This Summer“ https://www.countryliving.com/life/a44064/eclipseville-hopkinsville-ky-history/

“Steven Spielberg, Some Green Men, and Hopkinsville“ https://kyforky.com/blogs/journal/steven-spielberg-some-green-men-and-hopkinsville

“Tales from the path of totality: 62 years ago today, they say, ‘little green men’ invaded this Kentucky farm town” https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/morning-mix/wp/2017/08/21/tales-from-the-path-of-totality-62-years-ago-today-they-say-little-green-men-invaded-this-kentucky-farm-town/ 

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Marvel Super Heroes Secret Wars #7-9

November, 1984

BERSERKER!

The death of an Avenger! The X-Men’s greatest battle! And, introducing the all-new SPIDER-WOMAN!

The cover sure isn’t burying the lede. This comic sure does introduce an All-New (presumably All-Different) Spider-Woman! Jessica Drew, move over! For now. You’ll be the Spider-Woman that endures in the long run.

Last times on Secret Wars: Some amazingly powerful being from Beyond the universe called the Beyonder kidnaps a bunch of heroes, villains, shades thereof, and chunks of random planets to put on a big toy commercial where action figures can bonk off each other.

The X-Men ditched the other heroes to do their own thing, as they’re wont to do. The villains storm the hero base and drop a mountain on them. The heroes take refuge at a small village where Johnny Storm finds a new girlfriend but there’s also a Galactus.

Galactus starts preparing a device to eat Battleworld, which would let him win the toy commercial in one fell swoop.

Oh, and Wasp was kidnapped by Magneto, escaped, crashed her escape ship, found the Lizard, and then got lasered to death by the Wrecking Crew. It was a Bad Time and I am sad, even though we know Wasp will be okay by the time they get back from Battleworld.

This time: Further not burying the lede.

The cover promised a new Spider-Woman and dammit, here’s one right away, first page. Truth in advertising!

Spider-Woman herself wastes no time introducing herself to everyone, that she comes from a chunk of Denver that got raptured by the Beyonder (still want that miniseries), that she came to help when she saw evidence of super fighting, and that she can pick up and throw large rocks so clearly she’d be able to help.

Captain America is hesitant about all this and Spider-Woman assumes that he thinks she’s a spy but as Captain America points out, why would Doom need to mess around with spies when he’s got so much power at his disposal.

Spider-Man is also hesitant at this new character. For different reasons.

Spider-Man: “She tossed that boulder as easily as I could have... at least! I wonder if she sticks to walls, too! And I wonder if I can sue her for infringing on my shticks! I should have gotten a patent or trademark or something...”

Cap tries to settle on the argument that a Secret War is too dangerous but Spider-Woman has the exceptional point “I suspect that it’s no less dangerous for the spectators, Captain America -- I might as well pitch in!”

And then the obvious toy pitch vehicle that the Wrecking Crew was driving in the swamp yesterday drives through the village blowing shit up, restarting the fires that the heroes just put out, and most insultingly of all, throwing Wasp van Dyne’s dead deceased corpse out the hatch before driving off.

Those dicks.

The heroes rush to Wasp and take her to Zsaji. That cool lady tries to heal Wasp but Jan has no pulse and isn’t breathing and might be beyond Cura. This may take Phoenix Down.

But since she went and got herself disintegrated on the Moon, Wasp is clearly dead forever.

-Looks over at Avengers #243- Hush, you!

The assembled heroes want to rush Doombase and kick the shit out of the villains and specifically the Wrecking Crew but Captain America tells them no.

Captain America: “Now, listen to me -- ! While we’re off getting even, what if Galactus starts to use that world-eating machine he’s building up on that mountain? Then every living thing on this world -- including these innocent villagers and all those people from that suburb of Denver will die! We’ve got to stay right here, ready to attack him! We may have only seconds to react when it begins!”

She-Hulk storms off while the other heroes debate the Galactus situation.

I’m sure this is fine.

Meanwhile, on the more volcano-y side of the planet, Xavier orders Cyclops, Rogue, and Wolverine to pursue Doom’s Four villains Molecule Man, Titania, Absorbing Man, and Doctor Octopus to try to capture them before they can return to Doom.

Back over at Doombase, Titania sees that her “little Owie” has been badly hurt and begs Enchantress to help.

Volcana: “Enchantress! You’re a sorceress! You could use your magic to transport me to my Owen!”

Enchantress -busy getting drunk-: “Yes... but why would I, mortal?”

Volcana: “Well... because... because I need you to! I can’t fly a ship! I -- I don’t even have a driver’s license for a car! Ultron won’t help me -- ! He only takes orders from Doom!”

Enchantress: “It takes much energy to transport a body as bloated as yours! I cannot be bothered!”

Wow! You’re a dick!

Volcana catches a lot of fat jokes and she’s not depicted as looking any different from Standard Comic Book Body Type. But also, don’t fatshame at all, Enchantress.

Anyway, Volcana promises anything to Enchantress if she helps.

Enchantress: “Rash words, mortal wench... and later, you shall deeply regret them!”

Its very handy for the villains that Volcana just showed up because their airship almost immediately gets show down by the X-Men. So even with Molecule Man out of commission, their numbers are back to Doom’s Four. And Volcana calls dibs on beating up Wolverine.

The X-Men have numbers but they’re not doing super well. Professor X is on the scene trying to be the field leader but the chaos of the battle and the villains’ minds being blocked by Enchantress’ magic makes it hard for him to coordinate.

Magneto even gets smack-talked by Absorbing Man.

Absorbing Man: “Tell me, Magneto. What’s scum like you doin’ hangin’ around with the X-Men? Sure, they’re outlaws -- but I thought you was big time! You got mass murder raps, manslaughter, terrorism, what else? Probably everything! You’re one of us! On second thought, a creampuff like you belongs with them losers!”

I can’t believe Magneto has to take that from a man who constantly carries a large metal orb with him everywhere.

Wolverine manages to slice off Absorbing Man’s arm, although the guy was made of rock at the time so it wasn’t as gory as it could have been.

Absorbing Man just. Picks up his arm and runs off to hit someone with it.

Amazing.

The villains manage to pin down the heroes with some Volcana blast and then steal one of the X-Men’s ships and get away.

Professor X declares that this is Totally a victory.

Xavier: “We lost nothing, save one of our ships -- which matters little -- and we gained much! We coalesced as a fighting unit passing our greatest test to date and I think we proved ourselves -- beyond a doubt!”

Like, you had a scuffle with some villains that ended inconclusively even though you had the advantage of a sneak attack, the villains stole one of your ships, and there was no major damage to either side.

It was largely pointless. But I guess Xavier has a vested interest in declaring it a huge success since it was his inaugural go at being field commander.

Meanwhile, skulking around Galactus’ ship, DOOM complains about doing that.

Doom: “Doctor Doom - a burglar! Rummaging about in another being’s home, seeking to steal some priceless thing! Bah! What choice do I have? I need a key, a way -- ! My armor’s sensors have led me to prize after prize -- hundreds, thousands of devices which, in the hands of a man as brilliant as myself could provide power to conquer entire galaxies -- ! Yet, all of them combined are not enough to defeat Galactus -- let alone the Beyonder! There must be a way! Doom must be supreme!”

Unfortunately for Doom, despite the volcano distraction making Galactus sigh and have to spend time fixing the planet so he can eat it, he senses something amiss in his house and mentally yeets Doom back to Battleworld.

The villains return back to Doombase but Doctor Octopus can’t help Molecule Man because dammit he’s a nuclear physicist, not a medical doctor! Ultron tells Volcana that there are medical devices that could fix Molecule Man up nicely but since he doesn’t have any relevant orders from Doom, he’s just going to stand here and look pretty. And Enchantress says she could heal him with a wave of her hand but refuses to because Volcana already gave her a blank check.

Absorbing Man returns and reattaches his arm by basically hoping like hell it’ll just be better if he holds it in place when he reverts to skin flesh.

And the Wrecking Crew have to throw the Lizard into a cell because he hasn’t stopped trying to eat their faces for killing Wasp, his new best friend.

The Wrecking Crew doesn’t get a chance to enjoy being back at base because She-Hulk has broken in and beats the crap out of them off-screen.

Titania comes in and starts fighting She-Hulk STARTING AN ENDURING RIVALRY.

Its fun how much got its start in Secret Wars.

The two fight more or less evenly from what I can tell but uh Doctor Octopus joins in as does the Absorbing Man and the Wrecking Crew once they catch their breath.

And She-Hulk is strong but this is a stomp.

In another part of Doombase where the Enchantress is sitting in “sullen reverie” refusing to get involved in the fight she can here, instead thinking about how much she’s going to seduce the crap out of Thor.

Doom arrives at Himbase after being expelled from Galactus’ ship and refuses to explain anything to Enchantress. He just stumbles over to his sweet bed and collapses in it.

Doom: “It is over... Finished...”

Back over at Zsaji’s Village, the heroes realize that She-Hulk took off. Hawkeye figures that she went after the villains and asks to go after her.

Hawkeye: “She can’t take ‘em alone, Cap! She needs us!”

Huh! When the chips are down even though they fought, Clint and Jen sure are coworkers.

Hulk also asks to go after her since she’s his cousin. The acknowledgement of which is what I’ve been wanting all along.

But Cap tells them no.

Hulk: “I don’t suppose you’d consider putting it to a vote?”

Trying to appeal to his love of democracy. How wily.

Captain America: “My heart would vote ‘yes’ in a minute... Too many innocent lives are at stake here, though! Many more than the few people on this planet -- we’ve got a universe depending on what we do here! We can’t allow ourselves the luxury of making decisions with our hearts!”

But Cap receives a psychic skype from Professor X who tells him that the X-Men can take Galactus watching duty for a bit so run along and save your teammate, you scamp.

Cap accepts.

Its fun how the tide of battle has shifted back and forth.

Now the heroes are largely fresh, having been sitting on their ass staring at Galactus, and the villains are bloodied from several fights with the X-Men and She-Hulk. Plus, their big gun Molecule Man got Wolverine’d.

But next issue is something so big that it overshadows basically everything else in Secret Wars.

December, 1984

INVASION!

YEAH ITS VENOM

OR WILL BE

Also, a bunch of other stuff happens. The cover is kind of funny for maybe unintentionally presaging what would happen where the black costume being more remembered than everything else in Secret Wars in general but definitely this issue specifically.

There’s actually a lot of really cool stuff happening in this issue.

Cap(tain America)’s group of heroes storms Doom’s Doombase, lucking out that Doom is too stunned by being expelled from Galactus’ ship to attempt any kind of defense and nobody else on his team has the braincells to be watching out for an attack.

Enchantress hears the heroes breaking in but she’s well and truly drunk by this point.

And bemoans her secret god meeting with Thor. That she was going to try to cast a spell on him to bend him to her will but is aware that she might have flipped good for him instead. And even now wonders what she’ll do if Thor shows up in front of her.

The villains still beating She-Hulk to her death hear the heroes breaking into the base and run off to ambush them, Doc Ock slamming She-Hulk against some wreckage as a coup de grace.

Wrecker gets the jump on Iron Man and Doc Ock dumps a convenient tank of water on Human Torch but Spider-Man jumps in and drops Bulldozer with one punch before he can pulp an extinguished Johnny.

The Thing tries fighting Absorbing Man but wouldn’t you know it, the Thing’s thingness fades at the worst time again, leaving him powerless.

Spider-Woman jumps in to save him.

She didn’t get to really do much in her actual introductory issue, despite being on the cover and splash. She just kinda shows up and goes ‘i can definitely help!’

She makes a much better second impression this time. Almost like she’s aware that she needs to sell herself.

Spider-Woman: “A clean knockout -- ! Of the awesome Absorbing Man -- ! And it’s only the fifth time I’ve ever been in a fight! The new Spider-Woman wins again!”

Marvel really wants you to like this non-Jessica Drew.

Piledriver charges Hawkeye, mocking him for missing with his arrows and gloating that arrows are useless to a guy who’s immune to bullets.

Piledriver: “Hawkeye the Archer! Hah! Boy you gonna need Hawkeye the M.A.S.H. doctor in a minute -- ‘cause I reckon this good ol’ boy is gonna ‘mash’ you!”

Good one, Piledriver. Good banter.

Hawkeye: “Those shots were just warnings, dummy! I don’t want to have to hit you! From my bow, at this range, an arrow hits a lot harder than any bullet! Back off... please...”

We did learn in the Hawkeye mini that Hawkeye’s bow has a ridiculous draw strength.

This is a pretty good Hawkeye moment people don’t really point to a lot.

Also, I do love when an invincible or durable person who isn’t used to getting hurt gets hurt once and goes ‘NOPE! I DO NOT CARE FOR THIS!’

Hulk busts into Enchantress’ drinking room and unfortunately falls for her “I am but a helpless female!” routine. She gets all up in his business, magically puts him to sleep, and then pours herself another drink.

It could have been a good day for Enchantress if Captain America hadn’t come in right after.

Captain America: “What have you done to the Hulk?”

Enchantress: “For the moment, he is merely asleep. Doubtless dreaming dreams of me! But, alas, he can never truly have me, for I am yours, my handsome captain! Am I not beautiful? Come to me...”

Points for audacity but Captain America is a champion of not thinking with his dick. Blah blah willpower is legendary, socked Prometheus in the noggin. You get it.

Anyway, he socks Enchantress in the noggin with his shield and knocks her out.

Hawkeye and unthinged Ben try to find the rest of the heroes but run into Klaw and Lizard, who Klaw let out of his cell because he didn’t like to see anyone imprisoned but also because he liked the way Lizard talks. What an audiophile.

Ben Grimm: “Uh... any ideas, Hawk?”

Hawkeye: “Well... I guess we’ll have to outwit ‘em!”

Ben Grimm: “Us?!”

Hah.

Thor, Iron Man, Spider-Woman, and Mr Fantastic find Volcana and Molecule Man.

Iron Man makes the dubious tactical decision to charge right into Volcana’s plasma burst and burns out his armor.

Mr Fantastic pulls him out of the way and the other heroes try to get through Molecule Man’s fused air molecules invisible shield. They fail until Captain Marvel just lightbeams right through it. Because its transparent.

Love it. Love that her power works like that. Because it should.

Captain Marvel grabbing Molecule Man pulls open his Wolverine wounds and he passes out. Volcana surrenders to spare her boyfriend more pain.

Not that Monica intended that or knew he was wounded. This is still early Monica before Nextwave hardened her outlook. This is the Monica who was horrified when Blackout and Moonstone got pulled through a singularity.

Titania tried to drop a forty-ton beam on the heroes’ heads but is interrupted by Spider-Man thanks to his spectacular spider-sense.

She out-muscles him by a lot but she can’t actually lay a hit on him because he’s got superior spider agility. Maybe if she had more experience it’d be different but she’s basically in the angry flailing stage of her skill tree so far.

Spidey brags “With a little room to operate, no one can lay a glove on me -- not the X-Men, not the Absorbing Man, and not you!”

Titania: “When I get you I’ll -- AGGH!”

Spider-Man: “All you’re going to get is frustrated... and, eventually, trashed!”

Titania: “No! It’s not fair! *UHH!*”

Spider-Man: “But, if we were fighting in a broom closet, that’d be fair, right?”

Titania: “Stop it! Stop it! Stop -- !”

Spider-Man: “You ought to be happy, cuddles! You aspired to be a bully, and, man, you’re a classic! You talk tough and nasty when you’ve got the upper hand -- but when you’re losing -- well, that’s when the whining little wimp-ette inside comes spilling out!”

And then he defenestrates her without a window.

Fun fact: she apparently developed a Spider-Man phobia from this.

Understandably.

Y’know, in terms of embarrassing and traumatizing people, Spider-Man is having a good run in this story.

Captain American and Human Torch find a passed out Piledriver who fainted from blood loss after staggering away. And they find Ultron, standing between them and Doom.

Ultron is an Avengers-tier stomper who takes down entire teams and there’s just two heroes who coincidentally were both portrayed by Chris Evans. And the Human Torch’s fire is ineffective as Ultron gloats.

Ultron: “The core of the hottest star could not melt my adamantium body, human! Nothing can harm me! I am invincible! I am mechanically precise and computer-swift! I am perfect!”

When Ultron grapples Human Torch and starts throttling him, Cap tells him to use his nova-flame. Then hides behind his shield.

The flame melts a good portion of the room and the air being superheated somehow doesn’t make Cap crispy. And when the nova flare of the nova flame fades, Ultron’s chassis is still intact.

But the heat damaged something inside and Ultron is down. Johnny is also down, spent from the nova.

I like that the Fantastic Four would have their own way to deal with Ultron should that ever come up. Has it? You’d think it would.

Captain America proceeds to Doom alone but Doom is non-responsive from being Galactus’d.

And Reed, Spider-Man, and Hulk finds Hawkeye and Ben Grimm, where they have outwitted Klaw and Lizard.

Lizard: “Disssturb our gamess-s and the Lizard will dessstroy you! Once we finissh, we will do as you s-ssay!”

Well, whatever works!

With the fighting done, Captain Marvel finds She-Hulk, barely alive. The heroes jam her into a healing tube saving her in the nick of time.

The heroes also jam the villains into healing tubes because they’re heroes and are nice like that.

Considering the heroes were fighting to take prisoners and the villains very much weren’t, it’s lucky that the heroes won the majority of conflicts and got away from the one they didn’t.

The villains that didn’t need bacta treatments - or whatever is in those tubes - got shoved into cells. Also, Doom, because he might need the healing juice but it would require peeling him out of his armor and its probably booby-trapped.

Hawkeye and Captain Marvel return to the village to bring Wasp’s body to DoomHerobase for a funeral but they’re in for a surprise.

It turns out that Zsaji WAS able to heal Wasp who wasn’t dead just in a laser-induced death-like stasis. AS YA DO. It nearly killed Zsaji to bring Wasp back from such grievous injuries.

Colossus learns this by getting into her exposition drugs while she’s passed out and mind-melding with her.

Of course, it just makes the big lug fall deeper in love with her.

The important takeaway is that Wasp is alive. Just like we knew that she would be. The universe has been set right.

Over at Herobase, Reed Richards fixes the Iron Man armor after Rhodey got it a little melted.

Iron Man, James Rhodes: “I’m curious... were you surprised there was a black man under the metal?”

Reed Richards: “Hmm... No, I never gave it a thought! I knew there was a man under there...”

Its a nice exchange.

Its kinda ruined retroactively by Illuminati revealing that Reed knew Tony was Iron Man and would have known about Tony having to step down due to his alcoholism and likely knew about Rhodey taking over.

Dammit, Illuminati!

Elsewhere in the base, Spider-Man spots Hulk and Thor coming out of a room with Thor sporting a brand new cape and helmet. They tell Spidey that there’s a device in there that will make any clothes you want.

Except Spider-Man doesn’t bother asking which device and they don’t bother specifying so Spidey just picks the likeliest one and gets a black glob.

An important black glob.

To eventually be revealed to be an alien goo symbiote and later eventually tied to a dark god that predates the universe.

But for right now, its a way to incorporate a new costume design that a fan submitted. And Spider-Man handwaves it not looking like his old costume by assuming he was thinking of the new Spider-Woman.

So that’s how it is, Pete? She ‘ripped’ you off so you’re gonna rip her off?

You know whats really funny?

A month before this came out, in Spider-Man’s own book, he had learned that the costume was a living symbiote and had gotten rid of it.

It be like that with Secret Wars but its still funny that we’re finally seeing him get the costume just as he’s getting rid of it.

Anyway, Spider-Man’s new costume buzz is interrupted by the planet shaking and someone yelling in his brain.

Professor X: “CAPTAIN AMERICA! COME AT ONCE! IT HAS BEGUN! GALACTUS IS DEVOURING THE PLANET!”

It’s nice that the crises are waiting their turn.

January, 1985

ASSAULT ON GALACTUS!

The issue titles for this story are all so excited.

The X-Men were left on Galactus watching duty so when the big lug starts trying to eat the planet, the X-Men charge in to attack him.

Hm.

Y’know, I sometimes wonder what iconic storylines would have been like if a different set of characters handled it. This used to be great What If fodder. I know there was one where the Avengers tackled Galactus’ first appearance. And because it was the tone of What If at the time to viciously shoot down any divergence of the 616 timeline, THINGS WENT HORRIBLY WRONG.

Think of it like the Turn Left episode of Doctor Who.

POINT BEING, I wonder how the X-Men would have handled Galactus’ first appearance. Of course, this would be the O5 roster so they’d have their work cut out for them.

Heck, even with Storm on the team, the X-Men are over their heads with Galactus.

She hits him with two massive lightning bolts and Galactus keeps working like he didn’t even notice.

The X-Men seem to realize how out of their depth they are (especially sans Phoenixes, their usual Galactus-fighting go-to) but at Professor Xavier’s command they charge in anyway.

Galactus sends out a defensive drone so he can continue not paying the X-Men any mind and the mutants find themselves completely bogged down in fighting the drone while Galactus does his thing.

And from Zsaji’s sweet village, Captain Marvel, Wasp, and Hawkeye see a massive explosion where the X-Men were.

I guess they’re totally dead forever.

Wasp: “Should we head up there now?”

Hawkeye: “No! We’d better wait for Cap... and strike as a unit!”

Hah.

Its the expression, really. Like Hawkeye thinking to himself ‘oh I want no part of that.’

The non-X-Men assemble at Herobase to rush to the fight.

Mr. Fantastic: “Hurry! No telling how long the X-Men can hold out!”

Spider-Man: “Yeah! Where’s the rest of the alphabet when you need it?”

HAH!

Oh, Spider-Man, you are a delight.

In the airship over, Thor notices that Hulk looks glum and tries to cheer him up.

Thor: “If ‘tis that you do not fit in these chairs that depresses you, count yourself fortunate! They were made, I think, for insect men... or by trolls, for torture! If ‘tis the impending battle troubling thee -- just think! What greater chance for glory has man or god e’er known? More even than Ragnarok, this is the battle I was born millennia ago to fight! You, too, are a warrior born, Hulk! A taste of battle and the berserker battle-lust shall rise in thy soul!”

Hulk: “I doubt it! I lost that when I gained the intelligence of my human side -- Bruce Banner! And now I’m slowly losing that, too! I’m not savage enough... or smart enough to be a relevant factor!”

Well, You Tried, Thor.

Johnny Torch is trying to cheer up Ben Grimm who is as grim as his name over his powers popping in and out as they please.

And then the rocks pop back on just as Ben is dramatically bemoaning that he can’t control them.

The Thing: “Whoopie! I’m the Thing again! I’m so happy, I even like you!”

Human Torch: “Yeow! You lummox! Put me down! Jeez, I can see the headlines -- ‘affectionate hug slays Human Torch en route to battle -- universe destroyed as a result’!’“

This book has some decent lines.

Iron Man ogles Spider-Woman under the pretense of not trusting her but then goes a little ‘I’ll show them all!’

Iron Man: “A lot of guys have worked with Iron Man before -- but that was when Tony Stark was in this suit! I think they’ve started to realize there’s a different guy in here, now... an’ they got their doubts! They’re keepin’ their distance -- don’t quite trust me yet! Don’t matter! As long as I got this armor, I’m one ba-ad dude -- especially since Richards souped it up! As soon as that fight starts, I’ll show ‘em -- show ‘em I’m Iron Man! The real Iron Man! James Rhodes is Iron Man -- now and forever!”

Rhodey pls.

Also meanwhile, because this is a long flight, Spider-Man starts hopping all around the interior of the airship overexcited because he’s just discovered that the totally benign goo suit he got has webshooters!

And he squirts Johnny in the face to prove it because that’s just how Spider-Man is sometimes.

Johnny complains that this webbing is even harder to burn than his old stuff which will turn itself into a bit of a plot hole down the line when its revealed that symbiotes are weak to fire.

Whoops.

Its fine though. Pre-modern Venom has always had sloppy writing around it.

He also demonstrates the goo suit’s ability to change shape.

I can’t believe that Marvel were cowards and never had Peter go around in the Summer Variant suit.

Reed lets himself go down a melancholic musing rabbit hole and starts poking holes in the story logic.

Mr. Fantastic: “At face value, the whole thing is absurd! Why would a being so far removed from us and so powerful as the Beyonder bring us across the universe for a stupid, simplistic ‘good-versus-evil’ gladiatorial contest? Is he a mad god? A cosmic idiot? And why us? Why this odd collection of beings, mostly from Earth? And why Galactus? He doesn’t fit! Human beings and even gods may be tempted, but Galactus is a force of nature -- no more capable of having enemies than a hurricane or an earthquake! Why is he here? There must be more to this... but what possible purpose could there be?”

Credit where its due, these are things I’ve been wondering!

But Reed is so busy pondering this that he runs the airship into the energy discharge from Galactus’ machine and crashes the ship on top of Colossus.

Smooth move, absent minded professor.

With only seconds before the world starts to burn, the Avengers, Fantastic Four, and assorted leap into battle against Galactus.

Iron Man manages to get past Galactus’ defense drones and punch his world eating engine, thanks to the upgrades done to the armor.

But now that they’re being successful, Reed interjects and tells them to stop winning so hard. Yes, really.

Mr. Fantastic: “Ben, we can’t go through with this! At last I see a purpose here -- a meaning to the universe for this insane conflict! WE MUST NOT STOP GALACTUS!’

Then Galactus effortlessly blasts the heroes away.

Which, if nothing else, gives Reed a chance to catch his breath to EXPOSIT MORE.

Mr. Fantastic: “For the first time this whole thing makes seom sense to me! I see a possible purpose in it! This is a chance to rid our universe of the threat of Galactus! All we have to do is let him win this contest! If the Beyonder indeed, grants hsi wish, he’ll be freed of his planet-consuming hunger at long last!”

The Thing: “And if the Beyonder reneges?”

Mr. Fantastic: “Re-energized by consuming this world, Galactuc will attack -- I know it! And force the Beyonder to pay up -- or be destroyed in the attempt. Any way you look at it... the universe wins! Countless billions who would have eventually fallen prey to Galactus -- will live in peace!”

Spider-Man: “Yeah, but why us? Why were we picked to decide the fate of the universe?”

Mr. Fantastic: “Why not us? We picked ourselves, remember? Besides... we beings of Earth seem to have a knack for being pivotal in the cosmic scheme of things.”

Reed, some offense but you’re the last person who should be speaking on this.

Galactus is only alive now because you had a hunch that he had some Big Important Role in the cosmic order and saved his life.

You may remember that because THE ENTIRETY OF SPACE PUT YOU ON TRIAL FOR IT.

Turning around on that because now you have a different hunch that everything will be a-okay if the Beyonder kills Galactus, is just such a classic Reed move.

Anyway, the discussion ends because Galactus raptures Reed and the entire mountaintop his machine was sitting on.

Since the suspects of Reed rapturing were Galactus or the Beyonder, its not very surprising that its Galactus forcibly inviting Reed up to his solar-system sized apartment.

What, you thought that the Beyonder would be more present in this story that it initiated? Fool.

Anyway, Galactus wants to have a friendly talk at Reed. Because Galactus is one of the few people that can talk down at Reed and he just has to sit tight and listen.

Meanwhile, over at the former Doombase, locked in a Doomcell, its Doom. Still in his catatonia OR IS IT?

Doom: “THE WORLD SHIP IS THE WAY! Galactus’s home itself is the way I seek! At last, I see!”

He activates the get-out-of-jail-free button hidden in his ankle which activates a point-singularity power supply that busts the door off his cell.

He ignores all of the other imprisoned villains to free Klaw.

Doom: “You, yourself, Klaw, are a ‘recording’ of sorts, due to the time you spent as a wave of vibratory energy coursing through the walls of Galactus’s homeworld! Come with me!”

Klaw: “Where to? Toodle-oo, toodle-oo!”

Doom: “To the lab! I’m going to dissect you!”

Klaw: “Oh, good!”

If it were anyone else that would read as sarcastic.

Its also revealed that Doom talks to himself because he is constantly recording.

Doom: “Every utterance of Doom must be recorded for posterity!”

How on-brand.

Meanwhile, back over at where the fight was, Cyclops OPTIC BLASTS out of the hole Magneto buried the X-Men in to save them from Galactus’ exploding drone.

Good job, Magneto.

Buuut. The fight is over so the X-Men just vaguely wander over to Zsaji’s village to catch up with Captain America’s group.

Zsaji wakes up from her Wasp-healing coma and runs over... right past Colossus to embrace Johnny. To make Colossus sad in the background.

But Johnny is too worried about Reed being raptured to make out with his new space girlfriend right now.

The heroes debate what to do.

Cap(tain America) wants to just stand ready until Galactus comes back and Cap(tain Marvel) suggests finding some spaceships at former Doombase and mounting an assault on Galactus’ imagination-ruiningly huge homeship.

The Thing offers the daring option of ‘hey Reed said not to fight Galactus and dangit what Reed says goes!’

He’s as bad as the Inhumans, I swear.

Reed reappears right about when Iron Man and the Thing are about to come to blows over the ‘do whatever Reed says’ plan.

The Thing: “Stretch! What happened?”

Mr. Fantastic: “Not much! We had tea...”

NOW I KNOW that Galactus likely has some robot servant or device that makes tea for him. But I can’t get the image out of my head of Galactus holding a tiny teapot and serving Reed tea.

How dare this comic cut away and let that happen off-panel!

Anyway, their big OFF-PANEL talk?

Mr. Fantastic: “He told me that I was a ‘force of the universe’ just as he is -- ! That I’m a ‘universal champion of life’ just as he is an instrument of death!”

Now. Nooooow. Champion slash Avatar of Life is a legitimate thing in Marvel, once filled by, uh, Captain Marvel. The Kree guy version. So the position is open.

I just find it easier to believe that Galactus was saying random nonsense to try to befuddle Reed into doing what Galactus wants rather than it being official.

The Avatar of Life page on marvel wiki doesn’t seem to credit it. It only has two versions of Adam Warlock, Drax, and Cancerverse Mar-Vell.

Anyway.

Mr. Fantastic: “I don’t what to say! I’m more convinced than ever that it’s right to let Galactus do what he must! And if I’m a ‘Champion of Life’ does it not make sense to allow Galactus to slay us so that countless billions will live? Or was he telling me that I must fight to serve even these relatively few lives here? I just don’t know...”

Yeeeeah. More convinced than ever that Galactus was filling Reed’s brain with cognitive chaff so to speak.

But Ben “Thing” Grimm is like ‘hey if Reed tells me I gotta die for the good of the universe then I’m ready to die so we’re not fighting unless Reed says so.’

Hawkeye: “This is a real crock! We’ve got to fight! Quitters! Cowards!”

I rarely say this but I think Hawkeye has a point.

Anyway, Galactus reappears the mountaintop, his machine, and himself to get back to snacking on the planet.

Far be it from me to tell Galactus how to ‘mortals are beneath my notice’ but maybe he’d get better results relocating his machine to the other side of the planet. Get some element of surprise, a head start.

No? Fine.

Captain America: “All right, listen up! I’m going to fight! The rest of you come or not as your conscience dictates!”

Wasp: “We’re with you, Cap!”

Captain America: “Good! But first... I just want to tell you, Professor Xavier, that despite our differences, you and your people did us -- and the universe, as far as I’m concerned -- a great service, earlier!”

Professor Xavier: “It was an honor!”

Captain America: “I hope you, the X-Men... and Magneto will come and fight side by side with us now! No one here will deny you’ve earned that much!”

Think about all the grief that could have been saved if people were willing to give Magneto the benefit of the doubt at the beginning of the story! Womp womp!

Meanwhile at Doombase (because the heroes are all off doing stuff and when the heroes are away Doom gets his base back), Doom observes the battle against Galactus starting AND that the Beyonder has cracked open his portal to watch the fight.

But more importantly, Doom cut Klaw into slices.

Back over at the heroes fighting Galactus, the heroes are fighting Galactus.

As in, directly. No drones.

Its a sign that they’re making some sort of progress.

He’s still batting them around like leaves in the wind.

But the Terrific Three show up to actually help.

Mr. Fantastic: “Galactus used enormous amounts of energy transporting his homeworld here -- and I’m sure he hasn’t fed for months! His power is almost depleted! We can take him!”

Captain America: “Richards, I -- I’m glad you’re here -- but what made you change your mind?”

Mr. Fantastic: “I... thought about what Galactus said -- and I’m still not certain that, in the cosmic scheme of things, what we’re doing is right -- but I realized just how badly I want to see my baby born, Cap! I want that more than anything -- ! And I’m going to fight for it!”

Aww.

He’s going to be waiting a long time for that baby though.

Not because of comic book time but because of intense drama reasons.

The heroes manage to reach the top of the mountain and start trashing Galactus’ machine despite Reed insisting that they ignore it and prevent Galactus from escaping.

And Galactus just animation-cell-slides-up ‘I must return to my homeworld’ style.

And as Reed explains how badly they done fucked up, Galactus takes a last look around his homeworld/spaceship. Because he doesn’t need his machine to eat planets. It just makes the process more efficient. So if the heroes are going to be annoying about him eating Battleworld, he’s just going to eat his own dang home!

Mr. Fantastic: “He’s devouring his own living world -- perhaps the greatest energy source in the universe! Moments after he’s finished, this godforsaken planet will be next! We won’t be able to stop him this time! Then he’ll probably consume the sun too! He’ll want every iota of energy available in case he must do battle with the Beyonder! We’re dead men!”

Wow. Is that the most kirby krackle we’ve ever seen?

But as Galactus converts his home into POWER COSMIC, Doom is ready with his own plan to steal that power, aided by a series of lenses he’s turned Klaw into.

As ya do?

You’ll have to tune in to the last quarter of Secret Wars to see if Doom succeeds in doing that thing that he always tries to do.

My thought is: maybe.

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