#T: Midnight Rider

[devilsanddarlings]

@ofblackskies

“Hm.” Ziggy pretended to consider, tongue darting out to wet her lips when the kiss broke. “I suppose we could do that,” the redhead eventually conceded after she felt she’d kept him waiting long enough. “We would need to stop at the grocery store on the way back to my house though. I’m not sure we have milk, much less apples.”

As his lips twitched again, Nick shook his head a little bit. "Okay, okay. I'll save you all of them... if you make me a deal." Slowly, a sly little grin overtook the Goode's features and, even though he did in fact kiss her back again, it did not go away. "You have to make candy apples with me. I have a craving." And not just one for her.

[raidensharkgun]

Whirlpools riders in a nutshell ( I guess)

[hhnguyen]

make me proud

Bringing my Sully Reader series to a bittersweet, yet hopefully comforting end.  

♢ Pairing: Tuktirey x Oldest sister!Reader, Sully family x Oldest sister!Reader

♢ Word count: 3.2k 

♢ Genre: angst, sibling love, fluff, grief - Warnings: cursing, major character death

⌲ Description: Time was passing by, and with hazy memories Tuk finds herself reminiscing about the person her sissy once was. 

M A S T E R L I S T

R e c o m m e n d e d   p l a y l i s t : 

⌲ ashes - Celine Dion ⌲ brother - Kodaline ⌲ the nights - Chlara  ⌲ the call - Regina Spektor

“Hello there,” Grinning, Tuktirey watched from a safe distance at the insistent yapping from a nest of Viperwolf pups. 

This pack specifically was only a couple of months old, but friendlier than those residing further away from her village, thus more used to the comings and goings of the Omitikaya and not trying to kill anyone who came too near.

Tuk found herself visiting the energetic pups several times a week, always making sure their protective mother and pack weren’t too near when she snuck closer than anyone would recommend. 

But she was confident in her abilities to protect herself, the bow slung over her body never left behind when outside the borders of her home. Not to mention the two extra daggers strapped to each thigh with firm leather holsters. 

Allowing herself a couple more moments of silent admiration, she swallowed back a giggle as one of the bravest of the pups came bouncing over in her direction, stumbling clumsily over its legs and trotting the last couple of feet before rubbing its leathery body against her ankle, no sign of viciousness present. 

Bending down to give the creature a little scratch behind its ears, the wolf gave a yip in satisfaction, tail thumping against the ground until a far-off howl sounded. 

Forgetting Tuk’s presence all the pups started to howl in reply and she used their distraction to swiftly turn back around and climb up the tree she had come from, safely keeping herself a distance away as the rest of the pack came running through the bushes with their newest prey for the day, growls mixed in with the barks of the youngest. 

With one last glance, Tuktirey started her short journey upwards before giving a sharp whistle. 

A screech replied her quickly, a shadow flying over her only for a few seconds before landing down on the large branch before her, leaves fluttering down the ground from its appearance hidden within. 

“Hey there boy,” Tuk trailed a gentle hand down her Ikran’s neck, somewhat feeling a little melancholic today, tracing the midnight blue skin with yellow and green marks. “Mawey Atanzaw.”

The old ikran listened, calming down and nudging his head against her hands as she smiled, nuzzling him back. She wasn’t the only one seemingly restless today. 

Atanzaw himself was aware of what day it was, having acted impatient from morning until now. 

Oh, what a shock that day had been for everyone; Tuk’s iknimaya was a moment still prone to come up in discussion to this day, four years later. 

She had followed the same rites of passage as all her family before, making it all the way up to the Hallelujah Mountains without much issues. And just when Tuk thought she had found her bond, Atanzaw had swooped down from the sky like the vicious beast that he was known for. 

Chasing away her first prospective Ikran and snarling at her. 

No one had seen the animal since your death nearly seven years ago, the ikran having taken to the skies and never seen again after your body was brought back to Metkayina village to be buried with the ancestors. 

She had been frozen to the core, all reason of what she was doing vanishing, until the realization that the ikran wanted her to fight; prove her worth to become his newest rider. 

An occurrence that had never happened before in the history of her clan. 

Once a rider died, it was well known their mounts refused to take any other. 

But there she had been, faced with the fiercely loyal best of her long passed oldest sister. 

“You want to see her, don’t you?” Tuktirey whispered, gently tracing the lines of his face as Atanzaw scuffed. “How about a little flight, then we’ll go.” 

Swinging herself up on the saddle, the ikran didn’t need any more direction to follow their usual flight route circling her home forest. 

Leaning forward to rest her whole body upon the warm skin of her mount, Tuk took a deep breath; eyes closing and feeling the wind whip past her as they soared above the trees. 

The sun was slowly setting, painting the sky in a beautiful picture of soft oranges, pinks and yellow, bathing her in a backdrop of warmth and comfort. 

Ten years have passed since your death. 

Tuk remembered that day more clearly than the others. 

When her family had finally managed to pry her and Kiri away from the grasps of their enemies, her eight-year-old mind thinking everything was going to be alright from there out as they floated above the water on Payakan’s fin until she noticed the usual bright absence of her oldest sister. 

Her questions had been answered in the worst possible way as she was led to the flat surface of rocks in the middle of the dark ocean, the flames of the sinking boat being the only light to illuminate them

But it had been bright enough for her eyes to take in the scarily still form of you. An image of cold serenity with a wet cloth covering your body from the neck down, eyes closed as if you were dreaming. 

Tuk had thought you were. 

Simply sleeping that is. 

Sinking slowly down to her knees beside you, small hand shaking your shoulder to wake up, to hug her and assure her that everything was okay now. That their family was safe and they could go home. But you wouldn’t wake up. 

“Why won’t sissy wake up, daddy!” Her child self had sobbed, hiccuping and whipping around to stare at her dad for an answer. 

He had only scooped her up in his arms, tugging her head into his neck with comforting nothings, apologizing for something she couldn’t hear through her sobs of denial. Kiri had stared, seeing but unseeing, fists clenched by her side as their mother sank down and pulled your damp head into her lap. 

The bright roots from the tree of souls brought her back to the present as Atanzaw swooped down slowly. The area was empty from what she could see, because Tuk had arrived late to her family’s tradition of visiting you on your death anniversary.

Instead of heading straight to the tree and connecting her queue, she found a slab of high rock several feet away and sat down. Her ikran settling down on his stomach beside her with a grumble as she absently traced his neck. 

“Come on, Tuk Tuk! Atanzaw won’t wait for us forever!” Your voice seemingly whispered in her ears, your bright laughter following as the memories of her small self rushing out of the hut for your weekly sister bonding time. 

“Tuk Tuk, mom and dad won’t be happy if you don’t clean up before dinner!” What an ongoing issue it had for you to force her to simply clean up after a day of adventures outside. 

“Why are you crying, Tuk Tuk?”

“I-I had a n-nightmare of you leaving m-me…”

“Awe, my sweet little Tuk. I’ll never leave you, okay?”

“Y-you promise, sissy?” You had grinned so widely that it seemed like you could shield the entire world from her. “When have I ever broken a promise?”

Tuktirey couldn’t help but scoff, the sound feeling loud in the emptiness of the space as she plucked out handful of grass and letting them flutter to the ground. 

“You’re a goddamn liar, sissy,” She couldn’t help but mutter bitterly. 

“Careful now. She won’t be too happy hearing you say that.”

Looking over her shoulder to face the familiar deep voice of Neteyam, grinning almost innocently. 

Tuk rolled her eyes, never stopping her aggressive little plucking of nature. She would apologize to Eywa another time. 

“What are you doing here, Teyam?” 

Her oldest brother heaved a sigh as he sat down on her other side, his ridiculously broad shoulders brushing her own. Just like everyone else, he had grown into himself as a strong male Na’vi. She knew that if their father decided to step down today as Olo'eyktan, Neteyam would be more than ready to take his place. 

But alas, Jake Sully was still a stubborn male who assured he was more than capable for a couple more years before letting the role of leader go to someone else. A stubborn old fool, their mother had berated him to their amusement. 

“I assumed since you didn’t show up earlier, I would find you here sooner or later.”

Her brother, now twenty-five was one of the respectable leaders of their clan, as a general and heir to their father. Neteyam even surpassed Jake in build and height, all the teenage softness melting into a strong wide jaw and high cheekbones. 

“You didn’t have to wait,” Tuk muttered again as he chuckled.

“And let you remain here alone ruining that poor grass?” Her hand stopped at his pointed words with an inward sigh. 

Pulling her knees against her chest, she wrapped her arms around them, never taking her eyes away from the gently swaying branches of the Tree of Souls. 

“What’s the issue, Tuk?”

“What makes you think there is one?”

She didn’t have to look to know about the brow Neteyam raised at her. “You’ve been acting odd the last couple of days. Even mother and father have noticed.”

Tuk gnawed at her bottom lip. “I don’t know how to say it.”

“Since when have I ever judged you?” 

That was true. Neteyam was always willing to offer an ear for her problems, often ending the conversation with a comforting hug to brighten up her days. 

“I…think I’m forgetting her.” Tuk’s whispered admission floated into the air with a shuddering breath, eyes welling up with tears she let trail down her cheeks. 

A guilt that had bothered her ever since she realized with horror how she couldn’t seem to recall how your smile had looked like, if the colors of your eyes had been as yellow as she remembered, or a more dark orange. 

“Oh Tuk…” She didn’t fight the hold Neteyam slung over her shoulder, pulling her into his side, lips pressing against the crown of her head. “Why are you beating yourself up over that?”

“I can’t forget her, Teyam,” Tuk’s voice shook. “She’s…sissy. What kind of sister would I be if I can’t remember what her smile looked like? How her laugh sounded. It’s not right.”

“Who told you that?” Neteyam’s voice was a low comfort. “It’s the truth isn’t it?”

“No, not even close, Tuk Tuk.”

Tuktirey shook her head. “Don’t do that. I don’t want your lies, Teyam.”

“Do you believe Y/N would call you a liar?” His question made her pause because she didn’t know. 

She didn’t remember what you would have said in moments like these, and it was that exact feeling that was eating her up from the inside. 

“You were eight, Tuk,” Neteyam continued seriously. “A child in the midst of war and mayhem. We all were. Trauma has haunted us all since then, you as a child couldn’t even escape it. Your memories warp over time, and no one would blame you for forgetting details of scenarios over a decade ago.”

“But it’s sissy!” She repeated vehemently. 

“Sissy would tell you to suck it up and stop being a wimp.” 

Words that your oldest brother would never use on a daily basis made them both freeze, before sharing an airy laugh together at how you would 100% say that to their faces. 

“Yeah, she would…” 

How Tuk hated the truth of those words. You would have told them much more than that with narrowed eyes and hands on your hips. Probably including a couple of cuss words followed by your signature whack to the head. 

“A day does not go by where we don’t miss her,” Neteyam’s voice had taken a note melancholy, Atanzaw in his silence seemingly agreeing with a rumble from his chest. 

“Y/N will always leave a mark within our lives long after we’re gone as well. Just look at Lo’ak. That fool has managed pretty well for himself.” 

Giggling at their inside joke, Tuk could see what he meant. 

After the war ended, everyone besides their second brother decided to return to the forest. Lo’ak had been firm in his decision of remaining with the Metkayina, Tsireya by his side as mates and to lead the future generations to come. They were doing incredibly well last time the family had heard, welcoming a healthy baby girl as their first child and naming her after you. They had promised to come for a visit the moment the babe was old enough for long travels. 

None of the family had expected Lo’ak to be the first one to create a family and life for himself, but he had put all the credit on you. How he promised to be strong for your sake; A promise he had now fulfilled to its brim to the pride of everyone else, your parents especially. Kiri herself had taken over the role of Tsahìk, with their grandmother only growing more weary by the day, and there was no one else suited better to the role than her. 

 That left only Tuk, with her eighteenth birthday having passed, she was officially an adult in human terms. She had chosen to become a part of the hunters, often led by Neteyam as well. 

She took after you a lot in that sense, her sense of adventure and adrenalin. 

“You think sissy would be proud?” Tuk asked carefully. 

Neteyam nudged her enough to catch her eyes as she followed his gaze to the tree, his small smirk obvious. “Why don’t you go and find out?”

“W-what?”

“I think of all days, that today is when Eywa might feel a bit more giving than usual.”

Despite her confusion over his mysterious words, Tuk listened and stood up. Walking the distance towards the closest root, she expected the same familiar connection to Eywa and hearing the whispers of the past brush over her mind as well the warmth spreading through her body. However her heart hammered when she felt her mind being pulled in further, as if dragging her away from the ground itself. 

Where was she? 

Slowly looking around, Tuk could vaguely recognize it. It was still home, in the forests on one of the many wide branches belonging to their trees. But it was taller than most she remembered, somewhere further away from their village. 

“Should I be offended that you look confused?”

Gasping, Tuktirey whirled around quicker than she had ever moved. Her hand covered her mouth, blinking as if in a dream as you grinned at her. 

Looking just like you had back then. Burnt orange like the sunrise, that was your eye color. 

“...sissy?” She was too afraid this wasn’t real. Because it didn’t feel like it.

Your grin widened, beaming almost - arms opening wide. “Hey Tuk Tuk.”

Tuktirey propelled into you mid sob, somehow still feeling smaller than you despite her couple inches on you. The familiar warmth of your grasp around her body brought her back to her childhood almost frighteningly fast, making her think how she managed to ever forget that feeling. 

“How tall you’ve become,” You murmured gently, hands trailing down her long braids, kept neatly within a leather tie. 

“I-I can’t believe this. How-”

“Eywa has granted us the gift of seeing each other again. A rare occurrence.”

Although not wanting to part from your arms, Tuktirey forced herself to pull back slightly. 

Only to be startled by the fact she had to look down to meet your sparkling gaze. You had always seemed like a larger-than-life figure to her. Towering above like an impregnable shield, it was now she realized how you had only been sixteen. How young your features looked now compared to her own eighteen. 

Had you always been that slight? 

“I don’t know what to say.”

You chuckled, reaching up to brush a singular braid back and tuck it behind her ear. “Do you have something to say?”

“I-I thought I did,” Tuk admitted, grasping your smaller hands tightly as you watched her patiently. “But now I’m not so sure.”

“Well, then how about I start?” Meeting your eyes, she watched them crinkle. “I missed you, Tuk Tuk.”

Eywa knows how she managed to smile, a light laugh following despite her tears. “I miss you so much, sissy.”

“You are stunning. I always knew you would be.” 

“How could you?” The words slipped out before she could stop. “You’re not here.”

But you simply snorted, obviously disagreeing. “I’m always there, Tuk. Even if you can’t see me, or feel me. Or even want to remember me. I’ll always be there.”

“Then why did you leave?” Tuktirey couldn’t help the choked question, knowing better than to expect an answer to it. 

You had been shot. Not chosen to die. But you defied all expectations as always, answering with a smirk. 

“Shit happens.”

Their dad would have been proud to hear that. 

“You are so much like Dad,” She huffed out almost exasperated. 

“And don’t you let him forget,” You winked.

A cribble crawled over her skin, the leaves of the trees rustling almost in warning as your face tilted up towards the sky, smile faltering the slightest.  

“We don’t have much time.”

“No,” Tuk shook her head, gripping your hands tighter, probably near painful but you gave no indication of it. “I want to speak with you more. Apologize or something, I can’t forget you!”

To her surprise, you laughed. Loud and coming from your belly. “Forget me? Oh Tuk Tuk, you worry too much.”

“What?”

“You fear the natural sides of life. Apologize? For what? How do you expect to forget your favorite sibling?” Your joke did not dry the fresh tears gathered in her eyes, before your eyes softened. 

Hand coming back up to cup her cheek, thumb gently brushing against it. “You are allowed to forget my face. Even my voice. I would never hold it over you, Tuktirey. But this,” You patted her heart. “That will never be gone. You’ll always find me there, okay?”

Lips wobbling, Tuk sniffled almost pathetically as she nodded. “Okay.”

Her blurry vision took in your face carefully, for what felt like the very last time for a long while. 

Looking at your shining eyes, loving wide grin with the same hint of mischief you always carried around. 

The wind rose as you reached up to press a gentle kiss to her forehead, hands squeezing hers one last time before stepping back and letting go. 

“I love you, sissy.” Tuk managed to croak out as the surroundings were starting to brighten. She swore it was a tear running down your cheek as your grin widened enough to show your teeth. 

“I love you too, Tuk Tuk.” And then a classic you-move; offering her a two-finger salute with a wink. “Make me proud, tiger.”

With a sharp gasp, Tuktirey was back; eyes flying open and stumbling back only to be balanced swiftly by Neteyam.

But he didn’t look concerned. There was a knowing glint in his expectant smile as she stared at him silently, almost stunned. 

That smile widened at the look on her face. “So what did she say?” 

As reality caught up with her, Tuk straightened before huffing out a laugh, wiping away the stray tears on her cheek. 

With twinkling eyes, she ran her tongue against the inside of her mouth in thought before blurting out. 

“That you’ll always be a sniveling crybaby!” 

Cackling, she ran away with a squeal towards Atanzaw as Neteyam growled playfully behind her, bringing up the chase as she took to the skies; heart and soul lighter than she could ever wish for. 

Am I crying? Maybe.

taglist @nao-cchi @eywas-heir @ssc7514 @spicycloudsalad @calums-betch @httpjiikook @ricecakeslove @fanboyluvr @iwaslikeblah   @the-wandering-pan-ace @avatarloversblog @eternallyvenus @enchantinggoateefox @arianapntn @heydemonsitsme @slyvixen1029 @promiseofeywa @love13tter @directioner5life @bambisposts-blogs @melllinaa  @sugarmummystuff6 @lovekeeho @marit332 @hai-kbai @missroro @lola2004sworld @kage-yaa @enchantinggoateefox> @meeeeep5 @wolfangnight @lemon-lav @singular-itae @dueiosy @bobojojoba69​ @littlelia007  @wintersfalcvns @astraeasworld @asweetblueberry2​

[camlovesjace]

GHOST RIDER, modern Jacexoc!fem

SUMMARY: Jacaerys had been acting weirdly, going out many nights and coming back in the mornings, Cellys is suspecting he was cheating...but the truth was far away worst. WARNING: violence, cheating suspicion, use of bad words, murdering, graphic descriptions (also, writer is not an english native, had patience pls)

Once again, he was gone. He had slip out of the bed at midnight and didn't come back, as usual lately. Cellys was worried, freaking out was a most clear description, her friends had talk with her, saying he was probably sneaking around with some other girl and that she should dump his ass away from her before he break her heart deeper or found him red handed. That thought made her shiver, she could barely think of it without feeling the knot forming on her throat.

Jace. Her Jace. Sneaking around with other girl?

It sounded so unrealistic, but nothing else could explain his behavior. He always arrived home in the mornings, tired and exhausted. His abstinence in home was like an empty place without solace, and she didn't realized she was getting distant when he was around.

She used to look at him, she notices everything he does or don't does.

He looked disturbed, his mind anywhere else but not there.

Then she heard the door opening, his lazy steps entering in the apartment, the sun was shining with it´s first rays of golden, it was a constant reminder of the day embracing the night. She pretended to be fall asleep, covering her back with the sheets and blankets, she heard his soft gasps of tiredness, he was coming to the bedroom.

He walked in, his presence itself was relieving, but it didn´t made her felt better. The idea of him in the arms of someone else, with his hands touching other skin, his lips kissing someone else...his love being torned apart from her, it was killing her.

His weight get into the bed, he was moving quietly but his lazy movements made the mattress move up and down slightly.

"Babe..." he murmured, his voice was low and hoarse but she didn't opened her eyes, trying to look as slept as possible. She could felt his hazel gaze on her back, then his arms wrapped her waist under covers as he cling behind her, like a hurted dog.

He buried his face on the back of her neck, his nose smelling the sweet aroma of her hair, a smell that always bring him home. She could smell a strong burning smell, like the smoke of a bonfire. The way his arms felt so heavy around her showed her how tired he truly was, and once again, that knot on her throat felt tighter than ever.

She broke down, crying as his warm body held hers, her soft almost inaudible cries hitted him like a punch in the guts.

"Hey, hey...what´s wrong?" he whispered, sitting in bed and turning her to face him, his grip was firm but gentle, seeing her eyes covered in tears all of them pouring down her cheeks -like if she were holding them for so long- while her chest moved up and down quickly in a painted breathe.

A wave of protectiveness washed over him, as he pulled her into his arms deeper but she broke the hug, getting away from him in bed. Then the realization made him felt sick.

"No" he spoke, his tone sounded more hard than he would've wanted, but into his chest he only felt guilty. Guilty for making her feel like this, for making her think he was doing that to her. She the love of his life, the best thing that's ever been his and the most precious he has.

"Do not do this worse" she whispers, trying to clean her cheeks but it was useless, tears were locked in for too much weeks and now they were scapink in a tsunami of emotions that made her stomach twist in pain "Jace, i know...i know-"

"No" he interrupted her, he moved quickly over her, holding her wrist and pinning her on the bed, his eyes held a plea on them "You need to believe me, please, please, my darling" he begged, desperately.

Knowing the truth would be dangerous for her, but he knew staying by his side would be much more. He didn't wanted her to leave, to go away from him and never see her again, to never heard her laughter or to feel her warmth on the bed every time he need solace from the dark curse on his soul.

"Aren't you? Tell me you're not doing it, tell me that even if it is a lie" she says, her lips on a soft pout, her heart was sinking on her stomach. He looked down at her, still pinning her body under his, not wanting to let go.

"I'm not! Cellys, i'm fucking not" he shouted, but his own tears made his confession sound weaker, not because it wasn't true but because he knew he was being selfish. He wanted her to stay, he told himself he would be able to protect her, to not hurt her in the path...but he was doing it by lying to her "I would rather die than betray you that way, you heard me? i would rather to be a damn rotting corpse buried in the darkest place of the world and the hell before hurting you like that" his tears were pouring down his cheeks, his grip on her arms tighten but not enough to make her feel pain.

She felt completely devastated, torned by the suspicion of his cheating and his sincere voice when he said he would never, she wanted to believe him so bad. She wanted to say she choose to trust in their love, but what if she was wrong? what if he lied? once again.

What if...?

It´s been a while since they talked, Cellys was out with a female friend on Verona, for the long weekend. But he knew it was an excuse to stay away from him, from home. She didn't believed him, and he understood why, he was lying after all. But not in the way she thought he was lying, her suspicions of cheating made him felt offended, but how could he blame her? He was, in fact, being distant and having an erratic behavior.

But there he was, sitting in a dark place in the middle of nowhere. The blood slipping through his fingers, the bone still noticeable under his knuckles. His body was sore, he could feel the heat of the fire around his neck. Even if his own fire could not hurt him he still felt the wound.

The sun was still hiding, extending his course.

The man sat next to him, in the bench, his pale skin was similar to the white tone of his bones, that were covered in an orange and blue flame.

"It is done" he announced, not disappointed but neither proud. The dead body of a man behind them, his soul was lost...as well his own.

"I know it's fucking done" Jace says, his voice was lifeless and rough, like if it carried a demoniac tone with it. The sun started to rise, the golden color was heavenly, and it reminded him to Cellys. Her sweet smile, her gentle touch, how it was to feel her breath against his neck when he held her.

He was losing her...

"Be careful in the way you spoke at me, child" the man says, the rage on it was heavy but Jace was not afraid of him, he was mad too. This was ruining his entire life, he wanted to give up.

He would rather die but not let his girl to think he would cheat on her like a bastard. No when he would fight with the devil himself to protect her and her feelings.

"I don´t wanna keep doing this, i wanna go home..." he says but the man only laughs.

"You think you have an option?" he mocked, then his gaze darkener "if you don't do what i say, i guess i must start to give you reason to..."

Jacaerys felt his skin burning as the sun rises more and more, he gasped in pain when his flesh started to cover his bones back, his fingertips found his jaw when the skeleton under was being replaced by skin and muscles, the fire dying.

"What...do you mean?" he asked, breathless. The smell of smoke burned his nostrils, it was the smell of his flesh killing the fire that was around his bones. The process was painful but more bearable than the first time he was turned into this monster.

"The girl" the man says, a smile pulling of the corner of his lips "She is pretty, isn't she? An angel"

A shiver ran down his spine with that protective instinct over him he had felt so many times before, but this time was much stronger than ever.

"Touch her and you're dead" Jace threatened but it sounded like a pathetic and useless warning in the ears of the devil.

"Oh, boy, i'm already are"

dt; @nebulamorada <3

[azsazz]

Hiii 👋 just wanted to say I adore your writing ☺️ I always get so happy when I see you’ve written something new 😁

I was curious to ask, what are some of your favourite modern AU jobs/roles for the bat boys (whether you’ve written about them or not)? Or just any ACOTAR characters?

CEO Rhys has been done a lot, but for good reason, it’s so perfect. He almost has to be effortlessly rich and/or in some position of power, like a prince, or a mafia boss.💰 I also kinda like to imagine him as a nepo baby set to take over his father’s company, but he breaks away or gets cut off, so with his very little actual job experience (as he was all set to inherit), he gets a barista job at a lil coffee shop. ☕️

Cass would definitely suit something physical, like an ice hockey player, or a firefighter, or a personal trainer. I could so see him being a gym teacher as well, imagine him coaching a kids ice hockey team. 💪🏽 He would SO volunteer to be a nude model in life drawing classes in his free time 😆 Though I hadn’t considered it before I read your stuff, I think he really fits a small town rancher too. I can so picture him in jeans, boots, and a flannel shirt, driving around in an old rusty faded red truck 👨‍🌾

Az could easily be in the FBI or something, but choosing something further away from his canon role, I seriously think he’d be an awkward computer programmer / software engineer nerd, or a twitch gamer, 👨🏻‍💻 with a secret anonymous OnlyFans or erotic audio patreon on the side. 😏 And I reckon he’d ride a motorcycle and tinker with it in his spare time, so might also enjoy working at a garage. 🏍️ I really love him in Midnight Muse, and think he suits a shy amateur artist / tattoo artist as well.

I also love the bat boy band idea I’ve seen a lot recently, where Rhys is the charismatic lead singer and guitarist, Az is the quiet songwriting bassist, and Cass is the energetic drummer. 🎶

Sorry it’s so long, I just love thinking about this stuff 😄

Hiiii!! Thank you so so much! I saw this message this morning but wanted to wait until I could give it my full attention and have my computer around, so thank you for your patience! 💙

Okay, some of my favorite AUs for the batboys? This is a wonderful question!

Rhys: Normally, I just think of Rhys as always having some sort of money/job inherited. So CEO, mafia, anything that puts him in a position of power, really, but i think it's mostly because those just reflect the books.

I do, however, love love love art school rhys. painter rhys. working at the local art supply degenerate rhys who still has wealthy parents but is trying to stick it to the man rhys. steals erasers and petty things from the art supply rhys. love him so much.

There's also something to be said about young adult rhys who's messing around with his little sister's best friend rhys. he gets me going too.

also captain of the hockey team rhys is a solid choice for him as well.

Cass: LOVE ME SOME RANCHER/COWBOY/SMALL TOWN CASSIAN. but, these are all very different. small town cass doesn't trust women, heart broken at a young age with the girl he thought was his forever. doesn't want to leave town, likes the ranch because its safe and its what he knows. cowboy cass or bull rider cassian, famous for breaking horses and backs. grumpy, gruff rancher cassian always gets me going tbh he's fucking hot as shit

i also always see him in a blue collar role like a mechanic or welder are the two i mostly attribute to him.

def something physical as well, we love hockey cass, rugby cass, wrestler (wwe lol) cass, dang i had another on my mind for sports cass but i forgot. sad. OH surfer cassian. jock type tho i can see him as. love the firefighter vibe for him too, he'd fill out the tight fire department t-shirt WELL LADIES and also volunteers for wet t-shirt contests. omg gym teach cass would be adorable as hell! oof another thought, contractor cassian ffs that would be so yummy

Az: Az i agree fits the FBI (stalker) vibes. i also like to think of him in finance or computer science too. omfg the erotic audio that's iconic and i'd def subscribe to that. hmmm what else could i see azzy doing...maybe something with music or writing...i could see him being a ghost writer of some sort and then one day his song plays on the radio and he's like hey i wrote that and literally no one believes him. something behind the scenes or where he can go unnoticed is mostly where i place him, tbh. honestly maybe even something military because he takes comfort in having a set schedule and people telling him what to do at every minute of the day. he'd fare well i think. perfect. operative because if the mission goes south and he gets captured he's not telling a soul anything.

Eris: idk why this thought came to my head but i was thinking about architecture but i think eris would be a fantastic interior designer lol. like i could see it. maybe i was just thinking about him furnishing az's new place and having a lil sparky. i could also see him as a lawyer too or something like that, something where he can be the know-it-all, smirking at them and looking down his nose at them...

Lucien: Architecture for sure. or professor. I could see him doing either of these. maybe even lawyer tbh, he would be good at that too, though i know he's immaculate at twisting stories and words so you gotta be careful of that.

Tamlin: poet? lol. professional gaslighter? jk i love tammy. maybe he installs security systems? haha just kidding just kidding. he's a tough one tho. idk why i added him but i guess also a musician but low-key soothing music, instrumental for sure...prob has a podcast where he just bullshits all day

hopefully i didn't rant for too long about this 🤭💙 this was so much fun though thank you for asking!

[sots-nxck]

genuinely thank you so much for your nellis sfms. this fandom has been so small for a long while now, so creators like you really are what keep everything afloat. even though you may not post frequently per se, your work is so amazing and i look forward to every single one of your posts!! i wish i could show appreciation in other ways than just liking and reblogging! guess that’s why im writing this long paragraph haha.. again, thank you so much!!! also… what are some of your headcanons for nellis, or the survivors in general? :D

T^T this brightened my day oml ty <33 The fact the fandom is so small is what got me into figuring out SFM in the first place and I appreciate all nellis creators out there helping keep this ship alive! <3 Thank you for all the love! I'm actually thinking of opening up commissions for anyone who's interested and wants to support further, but I still have to think of pricing and make the post :') Honestly I'd probably need a whole post of its own to go over my nellis head cannons so I'll stick to a some character ones I have. Nick: It's cliché but he definitely had a really shitty childhood, a single child to absent parents, drug addiction, etc. He had trust issues and pushes everyone away but he's secretly a romantic when he actually loves someone. Poor guy is just touch starved. He's also bisexual as sin. Ellis: Idk why but I always assumed Ellis's dad was abusive/ was taken away when he was young (mainly because it's the only person Ellis never mentions in game so he was either a bad part of his life or not there at all). He was raised by his mother and grandfather who got him into old rock music and cars (midnight riders and jimmy gibs) His first crush was one of keith's guy friends but he never told anyone and everyone he knows still thinks he's straight. Rochelle: She isn't super close with any of her family so the 3 other survivors mean the world to her. She lived with her boyfriend, Jacob, before the infection and is very career motivated resulting in several arguments about their future. Their rocky relationship is also why she moves her interest to Francis (another ship I have) x) Coach: He's 100% a family man. The kind to invite his friends and family over for Sunday barbecues and drinks. He falls into the father figure roll of the survivor group because of his want to be an actual father. He lost his wife to illness after 10 years together and never remarried or had children because of her inability to conceive.

[codihastoomanyideas]

Mashup Ideas

Below is a list of mashup ideas that I've accumulated over time that I just can't figure out how to attack personally. It's a mix of songs that sound similar enough to me; a lot of them were collected from listening to what my parents play on the radio, so expect mostly 2nd generation rock with a few left-fielders thrown in.

If anyone figures out how to mash these songs up, please lemme know with a tag! I would love to hear and share what you make!

Earthbound “Otherworldly Foe” / Bell Biv Devoe “Poison”

Foghat “Slow Ride” / Free “All Right Now” / AC/DC “Highway to Hell” / Edgar Winter “Free Ride”

Ringo Starr "It Don't Come Easy" / Eric Clapton "Let It Rain"

Bachman-Turner Overdrive “Ain't seen nothing yet” / I have no idea who sings this but it’s not ABBA “take a chance on me (there's nothing more that I can do)”

.38 Special “Hold on loosely / The Cars “Just What I Needed”

Bachman-Turner Overdrive's "Let It Ride" / Guns n Roses's "Paradise City"

Yes "Owner of a lonely heart" / Santana "Smooth"

Beatles “Ticket to Ride / Rolling Stones “Under my Thumb”

Bust a Groove "natural playboy" / Junior Senior “Move your Feet”

Nicki Minaj “Whip It” / Liz “When I Rule the World” / QT “Hey QT”

The Hollies “Long Cool Woman” / T Rex “Bang A Gong (Get It On)”

Shaun Mendes "In My Blood” / Olivia Rodrigo “Vampire”

ELO “Telephone Line” / Derek and the Dominos “Bell Bottom Blues”

Cher “Turn Back Time”/ Bruce Springsteen “Born in the USA” / Journey “Faithfully”

Offspring “Pretty Fly for a White Guy” / Gorillaz “Feel Good Inc.” / B-52s “Love Shack” / Madonna “Material Girl”

KK Bubblegum / Baka Mitai

Marshall Tucker “Can't You See” / Gregg Allman “Midnight Rider” / Creedence Clearwater Revival “Bad Moon Rising”

Bobby Darin “Beyond the Sea” / The Chords “Life Could be Dream”

Hozier “take me to church” / Pink Floyd “Breathe”

Earth Wind and Fire “Boogie Wonderland” / Jamiroquai “Canned Heat”

Cosby Stills Nash and Young “Woodstock(We Are Stardust)” / Deep Purple “Smoke On The Water”

Grease “Summer Nights” / Beatles “Twist and Shout”

[legends-of-apex]

Gashes To Gashes | Robbie Reyes x Reader

Rating: T (for non-sexual intimacy, undressing, mentions of injury, tooth rotting fluff, mild spoilers for AoS S4)

Word count: 1.7k

Summary: Robbie comes home one night and finds you already asleep on the couch. He decides he can’t sleep without you and takes matters into his own hands. Reader is gender neutral, no use of y/n

A/N: I miss him so much okay 🤧 I know there’s not a big audience for him or anything but someone’s gotta feed the few that are here! Enjoy <3

When he found you sleeping on the couch, the clothes you were wearing that morning still draped over your form and crumpled, he knew you’d had a bad day. Usually you’d be changed into pyjamas or one of his shirts by now. Although it was well past midnight, you were usually still very much awake when he came through the front door. But here you were, fast asleep on the couch in your daytime clothes. It was an adorable sight.

Two empty plates cluttered the coffee table in front of you. He knew there would be a cellophane-covered plate for him sitting on the kitchen table too if he cared to look. But he couldn’t have cared less about food right now.

Robbie hadn’t been home yet that day. Instead he heeded the Rider’s demands and went out on the hunt from the moment he finished work. He shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the hook by the door next to yours and Gabe’s. As the jacket slipped from his tired shoulders, the stress of the day did too.

Now, finally, he was home.

In the darkness, he relied on the deeply embedded memory of the house's layout to stop himself from bumping into anything. So many night sneaking out from beneath his uncle’s nose as a teen had prepared him for this. He knew each floorboard that creaked, each piece of furniture he might stub his toe on. All of this too avoid rousing you or his little brother from slumber.

He risked waking Gabe just to make sure he was alright. He twisted the bedroom door handle and let it open just a crack, there he saw his baby brother content and sleeping soundly. Golden street light streamed through the blinds and illuminated his soft face and the floppy hair that rustled in the breeze of his sleeping breath. His wheelchair sat at the bedside, piled high with school books he must’ve cleared from his bed in a rush of sudden drowsiness. Content, he closed the door behind him with a soft click and then turned his attention back to you.

He was glad you hadn’t waited up. He didn’t want you losing sleep over him. But the position and clothes you were in had to be uncomfortable. You’d definitely wake up cold and with a sore neck if he just left you there draped over the couch cushions. That’s what he told himself to justify gathering you into his arms and carrying you through to bed. In reality, he just couldn’t sleep without you - without knowing you were there beside him and safe.

Your very presence was a comfort and an anchor to him and he knew he’d miss you too much to sleep, even if you were just in the next room. He would never forget just how cold the sheets felt after the first night you’d spent there in his bed all wrapped up in his arms. It wasn’t just the company of another that he adored but also the way you snuggled into him like a stray cat to a rug beneath a roaring fire. Your soft touches were fresh air to him. The next night he spent alone, his bed suddenly felt too big, too empty and so painfully cold. Since then, he’s never been able to sleep well without you and despised the thought of even having to try.

“Robbie?” You croaked, feeling that distinct, unmistakable warmth radiating from him and seeping into your skin. “You okay?”

You stirred just as he pushed the bedroom door open - awakened by the hinge’s unoiled creak. After bringing a curled fist to rub your eyes, it was impossible to distinguish his features in the darkness but you knew him by his demeanour and touch alone. No one else you’d ever met smelled so distinctly like ash and motor oil or moved like he carried the weight of a thousand struggles on his back. No one else felt like home the way that Robbie did to you.

“Yeah, baby, I’m alright… better now I’m with you. Are you alright?” He answered softly with a press of his lips to your forehead followed by the gentle scrape of the hair on his upper lip. When you made a sound of disgruntlement at his question, he faltered, “Long day?”

“Longest I’ve had in a while. Can’t believe I fell asleep before you got home.” Usually your worry kept you up more than anything else. No matter how many times he came home in one piece you always worried.

“Lemme kiss it better then we’ll get you back to sleep, huh?” He set you down on the mattress and you yawned as soon as your back knew the plush mattress below.

You hummed. “I should probably get out of these clothes first.”

“I can help with that.”

He started with your shirt. Each undone plastic button exposed a fresh inch of your skin to the cool night air as he went. He let his eyes close as his warm lips pressed against your bare shoulder, the base of your neck, then the centre of your chest. His lips were void of all except appreciation and care. You laughed quietly as he undressed you so gently. Usually Robbie shimmying off your trousers meant an entirely different ordeal to this. But tonight he was just trying to get you comfortable enough to be able to rest with him.

He barely bothered kicking off his own trousers before getting into bed, much more concerned with wrapping his hoodie around your shoulders when he felt your slight shiver. He lay down beside you and in the dark you reached for him immediately, to feel his warm skin on yours. His arm wound around your waist then curled up your back to press you close to him. You found his cheek and he leaned into that precious, treasured touch. Being home with your hands on him after a night letting the Rider take over was the best medicine he could ever ask for. He thought it was more than he deserved.

“Mmhmm. I missed you.” You threw your arms around his shoulders and hugged his head close to your chest.

“I missed you too.” He replied, enjoying your embrace for a moment. You tried to enjoy it too but as you swiped your thumb over his cheek you felt the unmistakable raised and bumpy ridge of a gash entrenched into his skin.

“What’s this?” You questioned.

“It’s nothing, baby. Let’s just get you back to sleep.” His hand covered yours, turning your palm to press a single chaste kiss to it.

He needed so desperately to calm your worries but he should’ve known that wouldn’t work. Tiredness radiated off him in droves; It thickened his voice and weighed down his limbs. He just wanted to let the mattress swallow him whole, to rest here with you forever, but you had to know he was alright.

“Robbie…” your voice held a tinge of warning.

He sighed, knowing you wouldn’t let it slide and he couldn’t blame you for that. If you came home with so much as a scratch on you he’d want names and addresses - and that was even before he was possessed by a spirit of vengeance. His stomach knotted at the memory of Quake only a few hours ago. How she’d all but begged him to kill her but the Rider didn’t seem to think she deserved to pay her penance just yet. “Some powered chick was snooping around Canello’s looking for the charger. We had a uh…disagreement, and she punched me in the face.”

You broke out of his grasp and flicked the bedside lamp on to get a better look. Harsh light flooded the room and you both winced at the sudden brightness but the irritation at the bright light was soon replaced with worry. “She did that? With one punch?” You asked, examining his battered cheek.

It was just a small gash with some bruising surrounding it. Nothing to worry about, really. But the fact that it had yet to heal was strange and more than a little concerning. Robbie bleeds just like anybody else but the blood he came home covered in wasn’t ever usually his own thanks to how quickly the demon heals him. That woman must’ve packed one hell of a punch. It was nothing like you’d ever seen him recovering from before. You had yet to see a scratch on him that wouldn’t fade within an hour until now.

“Yeah, she was strong. But vida, you should go back to sleep. It’s late. You don’t ever gotta worry about me.” He's whispering so as not to startle you any more, thumb running over your chin as he looks up at you with his deep, endless brown eyes that almost pleaded with you to believe him.

"I always worry about you,” you replied honestly. Because of course you did, how couldn’t you? He might have been invulnerable by any reasonable standard but you dreaded the day he encountered something that the Rider couldn’t heal. “Are you sure you don’t need anything?"

Robbie swallowed thickly and shook his head before telling you something that almost made your eyes water.

"Nah. Just you."

All he wanted was you here in his arms and in his bed. With the softness and desperation in his eyes, you believed him. You flicked off the bedside lamp and settled back down in his arms. He thumbed your hip and tugged you closer with a touch so soft for such well-worked hands. You all but melted into him, into his chest, into the faint smell of burn and blood, and the comfort that he brought.

You let your hand rest on his chest as you often did. It was a sweet habit of yours, one which Robbie loved. But tonight things were a little different. You slid your hand down the soft burgundy cotton of his shirt before letting your fingers dive beneath the hem and graze just above his belly button. Your palm splayed out, rising with each slow breath he took. He wasn’t sure what comfort you derived from touching him like that but the touch grounded him, brought him back to Earth again from wherever he was floating that night, untethered. He needed your skin on his as tree roots needed soil and sunlight. That touch made him feel human again, like maybe the weight he carried wasn’t so heavy after all.

Robbie Reyes tag list:

@icy-spicy

I’ve lost the rest of the tag list for him yall I’m so sorry 😭 Please let me know if you’d like to be added!!

[katyawriteswhump]

The Highwayman, the Stableboy & the Christmas Bride (Stobin/Minor Steddie)

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles Day 17--Platonic Stobin Day. When Robin is forced into an arranged marriage, she and Steve take drastic action...

WC: 939. Rating: T.

CW: none really. Tags: Historical AU. Minor Steddie. Crossdressing. A bit silly.

***

Lady Roberta burst into the stable-block, petticoats trailing in the muck. She flung her arms around Steve: “It’s horrible enough that I’m marrying a man three times my age—and that he’s a man! Why does it have to be at Christmas?”

“I suppose Lady Buckley was trying to soften the blow.” Steve rested his cheek on her hair, rubbed circles on her back. In all their years of friendship, he’d never seen her so distraught. “Surely Lord Hootenanny’s fortune cheers you?”

“I couldn’t care less.” Robin sniffed hard, in her wonderfully un-ladylike manner. “Maybe you can become his stableboy and leave with me?”

“I suppose you’ll still require a snot-rag, but… uh…” The tremble in his voice betrayed him. She peeped up, wiped her eyes—pushed his hair from his brow and gasped. 

Damn. He’d wished to conceal his latest bruise.

“What happened?”

“Your fiancé’s boot collided with my face. Apparently, his stirrups weren’t shiny enough. I don’t think he’s going to want me.”

The determined jut of her chin was as distressing to Steve as her tears. “We must run away. There’s no other choice.”

“You say that every week. We’ll be caught, and you’ll have to marry him anyway.”

 And I’ll be flogged to within an inch of my life. Or, just as likely, hanged.

“If we don’t run, we’ll never see each other again. I’ll miss everything about you—even the stink of the horses. You’re my best and only friend.” Her head sank to his shoulder again. “But I don’t want you getting hurt.”

I can’t stand the thought of you getting hurt. Or of you living in the power of that violent bastard.

He groaned softly. She was right. They had no choice.

***

After midnight struck, he scaled a rope to her window. She threw up the sash, and he scrambled through. He thrust at her the bundle he carried, which had made climbing harder than usual: “These riding britches should fit you fine. You got the gown for me?”

She gestured to some crinolines on her four-poster bed. “There you go—one of my maid’s. I adjusted it myself.”

While she changed in her closet, he slid the gown on. It slipped straight down and puddled around his boots. “I see your legendary needlework has not improved,” he grumbled. She emerged, looking delighted and dashing in her britches.

As she pinned the gown about him, however, her hands trembled, and terror gripped him too. Lady Roberta would hopefully pass for her twin brother under the shadows of night. Her rogue of a brother was often seen sloping around with serving wenches—hence Steve’s heinous disguise. The plan after that, nevertheless, was fraught with even greater danger. 

Riding together on her brother’s horse, they made it through the village. Steve cursed the skirts that forced him to sit before her, side-saddle, with the pommel gouging his thigh. Once into the forest, a full moon lit their path, ensuring they remained vulnerable prey to pursuers from Buckley Towers, or…

Robin gasped, hastened their trot. 

“What is it?” asked Steve.

“Pursuers. Only one, mayhap. We can out-speed them.”

His heart lurched miserably. “Are you insane? On a steed carrying two? Sweet Jesus, I feel my neck stretching already.”

“If we die, Steve, I vow we die together.” 

He clung, white-knuckled, to the saddle. Robin pushed into a gallop. Their pursuer proved not only faster, but knew the terrain better and overtook them. Soon, a vast stallion and its rider blocked the track, silhouetted against the moonshine. Could this be a henchman of Lord Hootenanny, who would flay Steve alive on the spot?

“Get out of our way, or I’ll blow your brains out!”  That was Robin, who’d whipped out… “I stole one of Papa’s duelling pistols,” she whispered.

“Maybe you should first ask if I be friend or foe?” came a reply that set Steve’s heart hammering more excitedly than ever.

“This is your last chance!” Robin sounded desperate, out of her mind. “Let us pass, or—”

“Robin, no!” He grabbed her arm. Her shot flew wide. The blast and recoil sent them tumbling from the saddle of the spooked horse in a cloud of choking gunpowder. They landed in the mud, in a tangle of his petticoats. Ow, ow, ow! My ribs! The whalebone corset had been a terrible idea. His ears rang with the crack of the pistol, and the sound of a familiar laugh.

“Eddie?”

“Stevie, my lad, I thought it be you. Why are ye banged up like a doxy?”

“You know him?” asked Robin; damn, he was glad she was alright. “What’s a doxy and why are they banged up?”

“He wants to know why I’m dressed like a whore.” Steve took Eddie’s hand, who dragged him to his feet. Steve offered Robin the same assistance but found her scrambling up, unaided. “Meet my lover, Robin. Hellfire Eddie.”

“The infamous highwayman?”

“One and the same.” Steve turned to Eddie. “I didn’t think you’d get my message so soon.”

“My spies act fast,” said Eddie, slapping Steve’s padded derriere.

“Not in front of a lady!” seethed Steve.

Lady Roberta, however, looked pleased as punch. “Can we join your gang? Oh my goodness, I can become a notorious highwaywoman!” She flung her arms around Steve and smacked a kiss on his cheek. “Steve, this is singularly fortuitous. Our lives can start over.”

“Till we ALL get hanged,” mumbled Steve.

Eddie insisted Steve rode with him, rather than Robin, for the journey back to his thieves’ lair. 

“Then out of that ridiculous finery,” husked Eddie. “You know I like to wear the petticoats when I plow ye.”

***

Thank you for reading :)

[aldbooks]

ACOTAR Masterlist

AO3 ALDBooks

ACOTAR 🥀

Like After Images - Valkyrie Week prompt 'Blood Rite' *TW*

Several weeks after the Blood Rite, once the excitement of Nesta's mating ceremony and the birth of Nyx subside, the Valkyrie wade through the aftermath of what they faced in the Blood Rite

The Temporary Roommate - T - 3/3 - 13,951words

ACOTAR Secret Santa 2022 gift Mor's meddling family sends her and Emerie away to her estate for two weeks. It's either the best, or the worst thing that ever happened. She hadn't yet decided.

A Strange Melody - M - 12/12 - 19,752

ACOTAR Secret Santa 2023 gift for @sunshinebingo - a Gwynriel Little Mermaid AU

ACOTAR Writing Circle 3

A Friendly Wager - M - 1/1 - 2,205 words

Gwynriel oneshot fluffy fun - Alternate storyline A Fresh Spark

“Because of you I didn’t sleep at all last night” prompt Gwynriel

“I’m guessing you stole them?” Prompt Gwynriel

Azriel and his mother headcanons

Gwynriel/Kanthony headcanon

The necklace - Angsty Gwynriel

Snap me baby one more time - Nessian 2,175 words

Inspired by all the gym bro thirst traps that keep crossing my FYP that remind me of Cassian. Here's a silly little Nessian one shot with a side Gwynriel and Emorie plot (naturally)

Bodyshop - E - 4/4 - 19,441 words

Inspired by the song Unholy by Sam Smith & Kim Petra Mor and Cassian drag Azriel to Rita's the strip club the partially own with their friend Rhysand to see a new troop of dancers. A trio of women who go by the name Valkyrie.

Don’t you wanna be more than friends? - M - 3,839 words

Azriel and Gwyn have been growing steadily closer thanks to their midnight meetings in the training ring but, tonight, something is different... TW: mentions of SA

“Who says I want to reject it?” - Elucien

Drunk confessions - Elucien

Elucien angsty Drabble & Part 2

More angsty Elucien 

The haircut - Lucien cuts his hair and Elain has feelings about it

Gwynriel/Elucien drabble

Should've Stayed Dead - M - 4,437 words

Nessian (sort of) Lucien receives a message requesting a meeting with the Night Court. Specifically, the Archeron sisters. Cassian's POV

Angsty prompts requests:

Elucien [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11]

Gwynriel [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

Lucien/Feyre [1]

Her tears like diamonds on the floor - 1,610words

Angsty Gwynriel Starfall drabble

Embrace - E - 14/? :

Collection of Smut prompt requests including the following ships:

Amren x Varian

Gwynriel

Helion x LoA

Feysand

Elucien

Viviane x Kallias

Jassa

Nessian

Gwynriel week prompts:

Solstice Night

“You’re the new ribbon Az”

To Win a Prince - Cinderella AU

Elucien story inspired by Persuasion - The Remembrance of Regret

Unchained Melody - angsty/smutty Gwynriel

Rosaline inspired Gwynriel scene

Gwynriel sparring

My Jolly Sailor Bold - Gwynriel mermay

The Final Frontier series - part of Gwynriel Dirty Deeds December 2024

I thought my demons were almost defeated but you took their side and you pulled them to freedom - Gwynriel based on @acourtdelaluna head canon

Moth to Flame - Gwynriel Summer Solstice

Frost and Flame - Pure angst from Lucien's POV, no happy ending

The Flame of Night - Ghost Rider inspired Elucien

A Court of Light and Shadows series - Elucien/Gwynriel

This series consists of an Elucien prequel then a Gwynriel and Elucien story that run tandem to each other - the directions for the tandem read are in the notes of each respective chapter for those interested

A Breaking - M - 1/1 - 2,899 words

After witnessing the almost kiss on Winter Solstice, Lucien makes a decision.

A Court of Shadows - E - 37/37 - 94,718 words

Azriel has begun to notice that his thoughts regarding a certain priestess have begun to shift. Before he can fully set aside his more inappropriate musings, Gwyn makes a proposal he can't resist

A Court of Light - M - 31/31 - 88,258 words

A year after the events of A Breaking, Elain feels a tug on the bond and realizes her estranged mate is in danger. Lucien, now returned to the Night Court, wonders if he might have been too hasty in his decision to leave, and if there might still be a chance for him with his mate

[asknarashikari]

https://x.com/krboykisser/status/1821348956674130339?t=yHj1DwAU_qIvGxc86S6guw&s=19

Emu: *angry mom look* Shouma...

Rider's reactions?

They be looking weird at Emu for focusing on him having a midnight snack than on... whatever the hell's going on with Shouma's stomach-slash-Driver

[fountainpenguin]

Everyone wish "Happy birthday" to the most specialist boy in the world!! SnifferMyFeet is 1 year old! 🎂

A face many beyond his mother do love!!

Ah, it feels like only yesterday I critically injured Joel in a 'fic chapter and left him in desperate need of grafts from someone with similar biology, not knowing where I'd go from there... and then I woke a few hours later to find THIS GUY dropped in our laps?? sdlkfj, that will never happen to me again... Sniff, my beloved brain-chemistry-altering deus ex machina...

Anyway, I have a multi-chapter 'fic about Sniff being oh so very baby... So baby, in fact, that he's a newborn hybrid who refuses to nurse from his mother dragon. Huh... What's up with that?

Well, never fear! The Fox Dragon and her hybrid son Rhetoric are on the case! Rhetoric's raised hundreds of foxes... Feeding one little endermite should be a breeze!

- Collector's Fee -

🚥 Pixels Imperfect AU

It was only a matter of time before Grian’s off-color soul attracted the wrong attention in the server hub. The thing about foxes is… they like to take. And the Fox Dragon is no exception. Meanwhile, a nurse plots to kidnap a baby. AKA - Grian gets locked in a museum with newborn SnifferMyFeet. Etho and Joel plot to rescue him.

Chapter 1 - Mama Ender - 5,200 words

❤️ Read on AO3

💛 T - Ongoing multichapter

💚 More MCYT 'Fics

This story takes place in the Between dimension, where server hubs lie. It kicks off with a focus on OCs (and SnifferMyFeet), with Etho, Grian, and Joel on deck to show up soon. Enjoy!

“Why aren't you also wishing PiglinMyNose a happy birthday?” -> He's Joel's cam account (LazyBeans26) who changed names; Sniff was new :) Born...

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

💙  🧡  💚

There's really something to be said about flying west on your mother's back, the sun arcing behind you like a phoenix from the dust. Everything's fuzzy in the early light. Morning's reach casts a great, winged shadow over permafrost and pebbles. Endermen scatter, poofing in zigzags. Ohhh, yes… Rhetoric latches his fingers more tightly in his mother's white and ginger neck fur. His tail streams behind in the wind, flapping like the edges of his open jacket. What a rush. It fights against him, threatening to rip him from the dragon like a picked-off scab.

Look at it all. A rosy pink, purple, and orange glow seeps across the hills. Blue shadows paint their undersides in lumpy triangles hundreds of blocks high, like they were painted with a brush too big for precision. The dropped brush itself could've created this waterless valley. Stray goats and wraiths flicker into view with every hill they pass. They dot the sagebrush and glacier chunks… or what's left of them these days. Slithering monsters with rattly bones and three great necks roam these lands now. Rhetoric can't see them even from the air, but the black roses below wave in the whistling breeze.

They're fresh. Someone would've plucked them up for dye.

The flowers stain the ground in rows like memorial stones. Sculk seeps from a deep scour in the earth just beyond them. Some hybrid in a midnight blue hoodie fights the good fight below, striking with a stone hoe. It's a slow and sticky process; the sculk clings in goopy lines like saliva in a yawn. Yikes. Write home and tell me how that turns out for you.

Charlotte beats her wings and flies beyond it. Rhetoric blinks. Her shadow skims the dry valley below. One by one, flowers slip out of render distance behind them.

The Ender Dragon lurks underground, deep within the cave city of Lower Evernight. Charlotte circles the hill twice, then swoops straight towards the sagebrush and ice. Rhetoric clings to her neck like a bur, arms and legs clamped like honey. The ground blocks blur together, then vaporize in a sweep of smoke. Fox Dragon and hybrid rider drop into the depths of the cave. With a twitch of Mother's claws, her world edit commands repair the gash. Rhetoric shifts, peering past her wispy fur as Charlotte glides across the underground city like a fluffy kite.

This isn't his first time visiting the City of Ever-Shifting Blocks. Granted, it… might be his second. But the cave's no less breathtaking than he remembers, and that's saying a lot for a guy immune to drowning. Endflame lanterns gleam far below, lighting the darkness with pricks of purple. Everything's arranged in a circle like a giant chocolate chip cookie. It'd take all 98 of the Between dimension's dragons to devour one of those, and he snorts at the thought. His mother's mane ripples against his cheek and he nestles tighter to her fur.

It's easier, traveling with a dragon in a place like this. The aboveground world's in anarchy and a city filled with enderman never keeps its streets and signposts for long. Everybody wants pretty things. The easiest way to keep things involves taking them when you see them around. In a way, it's no surprise Jean and Charlotte are thick as, well…

(He chuckles at his own joke.)

Jean's nursing cave lies tucked away, high on the underground city's wall, where her children can reach her if they need to, but will probably think twice before making the effort. Beyond triplet endflame lanterns (one to either side of the door, one above) and a small viewing platform encased in a fence, it lacks decoration. Only on the outside, though… What professional thief openly displays her goods in a city of pickpockets? Hm. Rhetoric's last trip to Evernight ended on that viewing platform. Will Jean step out again this time?

Or are we going in? The ever-present itch - the need - to go deeper coils in the backs of his hands.

With a few swishes and swoops, Charlotte lands like a perching parrot in front of the iron door that divides it. She folds in her wings, almost knocking Rhetoric straight off. Not today. Her form blurs, melting in size and color, until she's standing like a hybrid with a swishing ginger tail. And from there, she slides Rhetoric from her arm to the ground. Charlotte wore her fox-eared hoodie and baggy pocket-covered pants for this trip. Out of place? Undignified? Below her status? Perhaps… but Rhetoric can't blame her. Showing up at her mother's door in her usual treasure hunter's garb probably wouldn't go over well. At least this way, she's inconspicuous in a crowd. Only the five glowing dots pulsing on the underside of her left wrist would give her away.

Rhetoric unbuckles the saddle still hanging from her back. Since he has no inventory space himself (Born without it; long story), he goes to set it on the ground… then stops. He glances over the rail at at the violet lights of the city far below. Hmm…

The thing about Evernight is, not only are there thieves lurking here, and not only can they see in the dark, but endermen and endermites alike can teleport. They could be watching him as they speak. And there's a drop straight to the Void down there somewhere. Endermen and endermites can swim in the Void. Fox hybrids can't. He tucks the saddle under his arm instead.

Charlotte keeps her ear pressed to cold iron. "I don't hear babies," she reports. "Let's give this a shot."

"I'll be ready to grab."

Charlotte presses the button beside the door. It pops open, whacking her arm, and they both jump back. No babies scramble for freedom from the nursing cave, but the small hall between them and the next door is filled with water. Clever… Baby enderman probably make one attempt to escape and never again.

They wade over, taking careful steps in their boots. This iron door, though, must have its button on the other side. To be polite, Charlotte takes the stick from the wall and knocks, introducing herself with a call… but the grunt they get in response is as much of a "Let yourself in," as you'll ever get. Fair enough. With a wave of her hand, Charlotte dissolves the neighboring blocks with world edit, then steps around the door in the place they used to stand. Rhetoric follows with the saddle, ducking out just before the blocks rematerialize behind him.

Oh. Hels. Yes. Now, this is the treasure-filled cavern he'd envisioned on his last visit, lying awake in the embassy kicking and squirming, unable to lie still unless his eyes and fingers could caress secret ores and gems. "Kick me, Mother, for I am dreaming," he mutters.

❤️ Read on AO3

[newcountryradio]

New Country 27e jaargang  #T1255(S814) (C55) van 18 november 2024  (wk 47) uitzending op Smelne fm & Crossroads Country Radio

Album van de week:  Dwight Yoakam - Brighter Days  

Classic album: Tim McGraw – Live Like You Were dying          2004

Hits of the Year : 2014

Maandfavoriet :  Bellamy Brothers – Doing It This Way  

Maandartiest : john Denver        

John Denver - Sunshine On My Shoulders      *maandartiest

Kenny Chesney & Pink – Setting the World On Fire         

John Michael Montgomery – The Little Girl                                

Jamey Johnson – Midnight Gasoline

Zach Bryan – High Road  

Flatland Cavalry -  Countryman.

Josh Ross – Single Again .

Morgan Wallen – Lies Lies Lies .

Jelly Roll – I Am Not Okay   #1

Dwight Yoakam – Wide Open Heart     *Album vd week

Dwight Yoakam – I’ll Pay The Price  .    Album vd week

Brooks & Dunn – Believe   *Entertainer 1996

Zach Brown Band – Sweet Annie     2014

Billy Currington – Party For Two  .

Brooks & Dunn – My Next Broken Heart  

Bellamy Brothers – Doing It This Way.  . favoriet 

Conner Smith - Faith From A Farmer ( (sofi )  

Tim McGraw – Drugs Or Jesus

Tim McGraw – Live Like You Were Dying    (classic album )

Gary Allan – Every Storm (runs out of rain) 

Jerry Kilgore – Cactus In A Coffee Can .

Clay walker -  What’s It To You    (3 in 1) 

Clay Walker – Rumor Has It

Clay walker – This Woman And This Man

Dwight Yoakam - I Don’t Know How to Say Good-Bye (Bang Bang Boom Boom) 

Sam Barber -  Restless Mind (feat. Avery Anna) nw op 13

Cody Johnson -  The Fall. renew *5

Morgan Wallen - Keith Whitle Album #1album

Anne Murray – Just Fall In Love Again

Marty Robbins – El Paso

Dustin Lynch -  Trouble With This Truck       Truck song

John Denver – And So It Goes  

Matt Stell -  Smooth     juweeltje

Kelsea Ballerini - Cowboys Cry Too (with Noah Kahan vw

Dwight Yoakam -  Brighter Days   (Album vd week)

Sarah Hobbs – Delta Dawn

Willie Nelson – Last Leaf        

Wated Major – Blood On My Hands

Robert Weston – Water Into Shine . dutch

Ben Steneker -  Ain 't It A Beatiful Day

Tim McGraw – Shotgun Rider   #5  2014

Joe Nichols – Yeah  #4 2014

Jason Aldean - When She Says Baby  #3  

Luke Bryan – Play It Again      #2 2014

Florida Georgia line - Stay      #1 2014

[ladyeckland28]

Midnight Cargo

A vampire thriller by Ecky

The endless ribbon of asphalt stretched out before Max Callahan's Kenworth W900, disappearing into the inky darkness of the Midwest night. The clock on his dashboard blinked 11:23 PM, a silent reminder of the long hours he'd spent behind the wheel. His eyes burned with fatigue, but the promise of the biggest payday of his life kept his foot steady on the accelerator.

In the passenger seat, a sealed manila envelope held his motivation: $50,000 in cash, with another $50,000 waiting at the delivery point. All for transporting a single, nondescript crate from Detroit to a remote location in New Mexico. No questions asked, no paperwork filed. It was the kind of job that screamed trouble, but after two years of barely scraping by, Max couldn't afford to be picky.

The CB radio crackled to life, breaking the monotony of the engine's hum. "Breaker 1-9, this is Nighthawk. Any cowboys out there got their ears on? Over."

Max reached for the mic, grateful for a distraction from his own thoughts. "This is Lone Wolf, reading you loud and clear, Nighthawk. What's your 20? Over."

"About 30 miles behind you on I-80, Lone Wolf. Fair warning, I passed a group of bikers heading your way. Looked like trouble. Keep your eyes peeled. Over."

Max's grip tightened on the steering wheel. "Copy that, Nighthawk. Thanks for the heads up. Lone Wolf out."

No sooner had he replaced the mic than a distant roar reached his ears. In his side mirror, a cluster of headlights appeared, growing rapidly larger. Before Max could react, a pack of motorcycles swarmed around his truck, their riders whooping and hollering as they performed dangerous stunts on the empty highway.

"Jesus Christ," Max muttered, fighting to keep his rig steady as the bikers weaved in and out of his lane.

One rider, astride a massive black chopper, pulled up alongside the cab. Even in the dark, Max could see the man's wild eyes and shark-like grin through the open-faced helmet. The biker revved his engine, then made a slashing motion across his throat before accelerating away with the rest of the gang.

Max's heart pounded in his chest as he watched the taillights disappear into the distance. Something about that biker's gaze had chilled him to the bone. He shook his head, trying to dismiss the encounter as just another bunch of adrenaline junkies looking for a thrill.

An hour later, Max's eyelids were growing dangerously heavy. Just as he was considering pulling over for a quick nap, a sign appeared in his headlights: "LAST STOP DINER - 24 HOURS - NEXT EXIT."

Deciding that some coffee and a hot meal were worth the delay, Max took the exit. The diner's parking lot was surprisingly busy for the late hour, with several trucks and a handful of cars scattered about. Max carefully backed his rig into an empty spot, making sure the trailer was secure before heading inside.

The diner's interior was a throwback to the 1950s, all chrome and red vinyl. A jukebox in the corner played a scratchy Patsy Cline tune. Behind the counter, a weathered woman with graying hair tied back in a messy bun poured coffee for a couple of weary-looking truckers.

Max slid into an empty booth, his body groaning in relief as he stretched his legs. A young waitress with a nametag reading "Cindy" approached, notepad in hand.

"What can I get you, hon?" she asked, her smile tired but genuine.

"Coffee, black, and whatever's hot on the grill," Max replied, returning her smile.

As Cindy walked away, the diner's door swung open with a bang. Max's blood ran cold as he recognized the wild-eyed biker from the highway, now flanked by two equally intimidating companions.

The lead biker scanned the room, his gaze locking onto Max. A predatory grin spread across his face as he sauntered over to the booth.

"Well, well," the biker drawled, his voice a gravelly rumble. "Looks like our friend from the road decided to take a break. Mind if we join you?"

Without waiting for an answer, the biker slid into the seat across from Max, while his companions loomed at the end of the table.

"Name's Fang," the leader said, still grinning. "And I think you've got something that belongs to us."

Max's mind raced. How could they possibly know about the crate? He decided to play dumb. "I don't know what you're talking about, pal. I'm just passing through."

Fang's grin faded, replaced by a look of cold menace. "Don't bullshit me, trucker. We know exactly what you're hauling, and who hired you. Now, we can do this the easy way, or we can do it the hard way."

Before Max could respond, the diner's door burst open again. This time, a statuesque woman with long, raven-black hair strode in, followed by four more bikers. The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.

"Fang!" she snapped. "Stop toying with him. We need that cargo now. The moon is almost at its apex."

As she spoke, Max noticed something off about her appearance. Her skin was unnaturally pale, and when she opened her mouth, he caught a glimpse of elongated canines.

A chill ran down Max's spine as the impossible truth dawned on him. "You're... you're vampires?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

The woman's head snapped towards him, her eyes now glowing with an eerie red light. "Clever boy," she purred. "But not clever enough to stay out of our affairs. Fang, bring him. We'll need fresh blood for the ritual."

As Fang reached across the table to grab Max, all hell broke loose in the diner. One of the truckers at the counter smashed his coffee mug into the face of the nearest biker. Another overturned a table, using it as a makeshift barricade.

"Run!" someone shouted, and Max didn't need to be told twice. He bolted from the booth, narrowly avoiding Fang's grasp.

The next few moments were chaos. Max found himself being pulled behind the counter by the older waitress, who was now brandishing a large kitchen knife with surprising skill.

"In here!" she hissed, shoving open a heavy metal door. Max stumbled through, finding himself in a walk-in freezer. The waitress followed, along with Cindy, the cook, and two truckers. They slammed the door shut just as snarls and the sound of breaking glass erupted outside.

As they huddled in the freezer, their breath forming clouds in the frigid air, Max's mind reeled. Vampires. Actual, bloodsucking vampires. And they were after whatever was in that damned crate he was transporting.

"What the hell did you bring down on us?" one of the truckers demanded, his voice shaking.

The older waitress, her face grim but determined, gripped her knife tighter. "I don't know what kind of mess you're in, mister," she said, looking directly at Max, "but those things out there are straight out of a nightmare. And something tells me this freezer won't hold them for long."

Max nodded, the gravity of the situation sinking in. As inhuman shrieks and the sound of splintering wood filtered through the door, one thought dominated his mind: How long until dawn?

****

The temperature in the freezer seemed to drop even further as the sounds of destruction outside intensified. Max could hear the vampires tearing through the diner, overturning tables and smashing dishes in their search for him and the others.

"We need a plan," Max said, his breath visible in the frigid air. "We can't just sit here and wait for them to find us."

The older waitress nodded grimly. "Name's Rita," she said. "Been working here for thirty years, and I'll be damned if I let a bunch of bloodsuckers destroy my diner." She turned to the cook, a wiry man with graying temples. "Frank, where's that propane torch you use for the crème brûlée?"

Frank's eyes widened in understanding. "Under the prep station. If we can get to it..."

"Fire," Max breathed. "Of course. Vampires are supposed to be vulnerable to fire, right?"

One of the truckers, a burly man with a thick beard, spoke up. "That's all well and good, but how the hell do we get to it? Those things will tear us apart the moment we open this door."

Cindy, the young waitress, had been quiet until now. Her voice shook slightly as she said, "There's a vent. In the ceiling. It leads to the kitchen."

All eyes turned to the small grate in the corner of the freezer's ceiling. It was barely big enough for a person to squeeze through.

"I can fit," Cindy said, her jaw set with determination. "I can get the torch and maybe find some other weapons."

Rita shook her head. "It's too dangerous, girl. I can't let you—"

A loud bang against the freezer door cut her off. The metal bulged inward slightly, and a inhuman snarl filtered through.

"We're out of options," Max said. He turned to Cindy. "You're sure you can do this?"

Cindy nodded, her face pale but resolute.

Working quickly, they used boxes of frozen food to create a makeshift pyramid. Cindy climbed up, and with Frank's help, managed to pry off the vent cover. With one last look at the group, she pulled herself into the narrow space and disappeared.

The minutes that followed were some of the longest of Max's life. The vampires continued their assault on the door, each impact making the hinges groan in protest. Rita and the two truckers braced themselves against it, but Max knew it was only a matter of time before the creatures broke through.

"So," Rita said, her voice strained from the effort of holding the door, "want to tell us what's in that crate that's got these monsters so riled up?"

Max shook his head. "I don't know. I swear. It was just supposed to be a delivery job. Fifty grand to transport one crate, no questions asked."

The bearded trucker snorted. "Helluva thing to not ask questions about, buddy."

Before Max could respond, a new sound caught their attention. A rhythmic thumping was coming from the vent. Moments later, Cindy's face appeared in the opening.

"I got it!" she whispered fiercely, lowering a bag through the vent before wiggling out herself.

The group gathered around as Cindy emptied the bag's contents: the propane torch, several large kitchen knives, a meat tenderizer, and a can of cooking spray.

"Good thinking," Frank said, grabbing the cooking spray. "Improvised flamethrower."

Just then, the freezer door buckled inward with a screech of tortured metal. Through the widening gap, Max caught a glimpse of glowing red eyes and gleaming fangs.

"Get ready!" Rita shouted, hefting a knife in each hand.

The door exploded inward. Fang stood in the opening, his face twisted into an inhuman snarl. Behind him, Max could see the female vampire and several others, their eyes burning with hunger and rage.

"Now!" Max yelled.

Frank unleashed a stream of flame from his improvised flamethrower, catching Fang full in the face. The vampire screamed, a sound like nothing Max had ever heard before, and staggered backward.

Taking advantage of the confusion, the group charged forward. Rita slashed with her knives, opening a deep gash across one vampire's chest. The bearded trucker swung the meat tenderizer like a hammer, crushing the skull of another.

Max found himself face to face with the female vampire leader. She hissed, baring her fangs, and lunged at him with inhuman speed. He barely managed to dodge, feeling the wind of her passage as her claws scraped his shirt.

"The crate," she snarled. "Where is it?"

"Go to hell," Max spat, swinging the propane torch in a wide arc. The vampire danced back, wary of the flame.

The battle raged through the kitchen and into the main area of the diner. Tables were overturned, booths were ripped apart, and the air filled with the acrid smell of burning vampire flesh.

Despite their advantage of surprise and their makeshift weapons, Max knew they were fighting a losing battle. The vampires were simply too strong, too fast. For every one they managed to injure or drive back, two more seemed to take its place.

As Max found himself backed into a corner, the female vampire advancing on him with murderous intent, a new sound cut through the chaos. The deep, rumbling roar of a diesel engine.

Through the shattered windows of the diner, Max saw headlights approaching fast. A massive semi-truck plowed into the parking lot, horn blaring. It didn't slow down as it neared the building.

"Get down!" Max screamed, diving to the floor.

The truck smashed through the front of the diner in an explosion of glass, wood, and twisted metal. Vampires were sent flying, crushed under the wheels or impaled on shattered beams.

As the dust settled, the truck's door opened. A figure stepped out, silhouetted against the headlights. In one hand, he held a pump-action shotgun. In the other, a gleaming machete.

"Somebody order a rescue?" a familiar voice called out. It was Nighthawk, the trucker from the CB radio.

The tide of the battle turned. With Nighthawk's help—and his seemingly endless supply of shotgun shells loaded with what he called "special wood chips"—they began to push the vampires back.

But Max knew the fight was far from over. As he helped Cindy to her feet, his eyes met those of the female vampire leader. She was bleeding from several wounds, her once-beautiful face now a mask of fury.

"This isn't over," she hissed. "The Master will rise, with or without you. And when he does, your world will burn."

With that, she and the remaining vampires retreated into the night, leaving behind a scene of utter devastation.

As sirens began to wail in the distance, Max leaned against a broken table, his body aching and his mind reeling. He looked at the survivors—Rita, Cindy, Frank, the two truckers, and Nighthawk—all battered and bloodied but alive.

"So," Nighthawk said, casually reloading his shotgun, "I'm guessing you've got one hell of a story to tell, Lone Wolf."

Max nodded wearily. "You have no idea. But first, we need to get to my truck. Whatever's in that crate, it's the key to all of this. And I have a feeling our vampire friends will be back for it before dawn."

As the group made their way to the parking lot, Max couldn't shake the vampire's final words. The Master will rise. Your world will burn. Whatever he had gotten himself into, he realized it was much bigger and more dangerous than he could have ever imagined.

And the night was far from over.

*****

The group moved quickly through the devastated parking lot, their eyes darting nervously into the surrounding darkness. Max led them to his truck, which miraculously had been left untouched during the chaos.

"Everyone in," Max ordered, unlocking the cab. "It'll be a tight squeeze, but we can't risk splitting up."

As they piled into the truck, Nighthawk hung back, his shotgun at the ready. "I'll follow in my rig," he said. "We'll need the firepower if those bloodsuckers come back."

Max nodded gratefully. "Thanks, Nighthawk. I owe you one."

"Name's Jack," the other trucker replied with a grim smile. "And from the looks of it, you might owe me more than one before this night's over."

As Jack jogged to his own truck, Max climbed into the driver's seat. Rita took the passenger side, while the others crammed into the sleeper berth. The engine roared to life, and Max felt a small measure of comfort in its familiar rumble.

"Where to?" Rita asked as they pulled out of the lot, Jack's truck close behind.

Max hesitated. "I'm supposed to deliver this crate to a warehouse outside Albuquerque, but there's no way in hell I'm doing that now. We need somewhere safe, somewhere we can open this damn thing and figure out what we're dealing with."

The bearded trucker, who had introduced himself as Bill, spoke up from the back. "I know a place. Old buddy of mine has a junkyard about fifty miles from here. It's isolated, fenced in, and he's got enough tools and scrap metal to build a fortress if we need to."

Max nodded. "Sounds like our best option. Give me directions."

As they sped down the dark highway, Max filled the others in on the details of his mysterious job. The cash, the secrecy, the strict instructions not to ask questions. In return, Rita and the others shared what little they knew about the vampire attacks.

"It started about a month ago," Rita explained. "At first, it was just rumors. Truckers talking about weird encounters on the night roads. Then people started going missing. Whole families in some cases. The cops are baffled, and the media's barely reporting on it."

"Why isn't this national news?" Max asked, bewildered.

Cindy, her voice shaky but determined, chimed in. "Social media blackouts. Anyone who tries to post about it has their accounts suspended. It's like... like something's covering it up."

A chill ran down Max's spine. Whatever was in that crate, it was part of something much bigger and more terrifying than he had imagined.

About an hour into their drive, Jack's voice crackled over the CB radio. "Heads up, Lone Wolf. We've got company."

Max's eyes flicked to the side mirror. In the distance, he could see a cluster of headlights approaching fast. Too fast.

"Everybody hold on," he growled, pressing the accelerator to the floor.

The truck surged forward, but the pursuing vehicles – motorcycles, Max realized with a sinking feeling – were gaining quickly. As they drew closer, Max could make out the riders: the vampires from the diner, led by the female leader on a sleek, black sport bike.

"They're going to try to run us off the road," Rita said, her knuckles white as she gripped the dashboard.

Max gritted his teeth. "Like hell they are."

He swerved suddenly, using the bulk of his truck to block the entire highway. In his rearview mirror, he saw Jack doing the same, creating a moving wall that forced the vampires to slow down.

But the respite was brief. With inhuman agility, two of the vampires leapt from their bikes onto the back of Max's trailer. The sound of tearing metal filled the air as they began to claw their way toward the cab.

"Frank!" Max shouted. "There's a toolbox under the bunk. See if there's anything we can use as a weapon!"

Frank scrambled to obey, emerging moments later with a crowbar and a flare gun. "Will these do?"

"They'll have to," Max replied grimly.

Rita rolled down her window and leaned out, flare gun in hand. The wind whipped her gray hair as she took aim at the nearest vampire. The flare shot out with a hiss, striking the creature square in the chest. It screamed, an unearthly sound that set Max's teeth on edge, before falling from the truck in a ball of flame.

But the victory was short-lived. The female leader, her face a mask of fury, accelerated her bike and pulled alongside the cab. With a leap that defied physics, she landed on the running board, her clawed hand smashing through the driver's side window.

Max yelled in pain as her talons raked his arm. The truck swerved dangerously, tires squealing on the asphalt.

"The crate!" the vampire hissed, her eyes glowing red with hunger and rage. "Give us the crate, and you may yet live to see the dawn!"

In that moment, as he fought to keep the truck on the road with one hand while fending off the vampire with the other, Max made a decision. Whatever was in that crate, whatever forces were at play here, he knew he couldn't let it fall into the hands of these monsters.

With a surge of desperate strength, he jerked the wheel hard to the right. The massive truck tilted, its wheels leaving the ground on one side. The vampire leader's eyes widened in shock as she realized what was happening.

"Hold on!" Max roared to his passengers as the world turned upside down.

The truck rolled, the sound of screeching metal and breaking glass filling the air. Max caught a glimpse of the vampire being thrown clear before his head slammed into the side of the cab and everything went black.

When he came to, Max found himself hanging upside down, held in place by his seatbelt. The cab was crushed, smoke curling up from the crumpled hood. Around him, he could hear groans of pain from the others.

"Everyone alive?" he croaked, tasting blood in his mouth.

A chorus of pained affirmatives answered him. As Max fumbled with his seatbelt, a new sound reached his ears: slow, mocking applause.

Through the shattered windshield, he saw a pair of expensive leather shoes approach. His gaze traveled up to find a tall, aristocratic-looking man in a tailored suit standing before the wreck. Behind him, the female vampire leader and the remaining bikers gathered, looking battered but triumphant.

The man smiled, revealing gleaming fangs. "Well done," he said, his voice cultured and cold. "You've led us on quite the chase, Mr. Callahan. But I'm afraid your little adventure ends here."

As the vampires began to pry open the wreckage, Max realized with a sinking feeling that the night's horrors were far from over. In fact, they might have only just begun.

*****

Max's head spun as he struggled to focus on the aristocratic vampire approaching the wreckage. The taste of blood in his mouth and the ache in his bones told him he was in no shape for another fight. But as he glanced at his battered companions, he knew he had no choice.

"I must commend you on your tenacity," the vampire said, his cultured voice at odds with the carnage surrounding them. "But I'm afraid this little game of cat and mouse has come to an end. I am Lord Erebus, and you have something that belongs to me."

As the vampires began to tear into the overturned truck, a thunderous boom split the air. Lord Erebus staggered back, a look of shock on his pale face. A smoking hole had appeared in his expensive suit, right where his heart should be.

"Game's not over yet, you bloodsucking bastard," came a gruff voice. Jack emerged from the shadows of his own truck, his shotgun still smoking.

The female vampire leader hissed in rage and launched herself at Jack, but he was ready. Another boom, and she was thrown back, screeching in pain.

Taking advantage of the chaos, Max finally managed to free himself from his seatbelt. He tumbled to the roof of the overturned cab, then turned to help the others.

"The crate," he gasped to Rita as he helped her down. "We can't let them get it."

Rita nodded grimly, blood trickling from a cut on her forehead. "On it."

As Max and the others extricated themselves from the wreckage, a fierce battle erupted around them. Jack's shotgun boomed repeatedly, each blast sending vampires reeling. Bill and Frank had armed themselves with pieces of twisted metal from the crash, swinging desperately at any vampire that got too close.

Cindy, despite her youth and apparent fragility, proved to be a fierce fighter. She had found the flare gun and was using it to great effect, the bright flares causing the vampires to shriek and recoil.

Lord Erebus, having recovered from the initial shotgun blast, strode forward with inhuman speed. He grabbed Jack by the throat, lifting him off the ground.

"Insolent mortal," he snarled, his refined demeanor cracking. "You dare to challenge me?"

But Jack wasn't done yet. With his free hand, he jammed the barrel of his shotgun under Erebus's chin and pulled the trigger.

The vampire lord's head snapped back, his grip loosening enough for Jack to break free. But to everyone's horror, Erebus remained standing. The lower half of his face was a mangled mess, but it was already beginning to heal.

"Fool," Erebus gurgled, his voice distorted but still terrifying. "I am ancient beyond your comprehension. Your mortal weapons cannot destroy me."

Max, realizing they were quickly losing ground, frantched for a plan. His eyes fell on the leaking fuel tank of his overturned truck.

"Rita!" he yelled. "The crate! Get it open!"

Rita, who had been trying to pry open the twisted trailer, nodded in understanding. She redoubled her efforts, finally managing to create an opening large enough to reach the mysterious cargo.

As Max watched, she dragged out a ornate wooden box, intricately carved with strange symbols. Without hesitation, Rita smashed it against a jagged piece of metal, splintering the wood.

Inside was a collection of ancient-looking artifacts: a gnarled staff, a crown of blackened metal, and a vial of what looked disturbingly like blood.

Lord Erebus's eyes widened in fury and fear. "No!" he roared, lunging towards Rita.

But Max was faster. He snatched up the items and sprinted towards the leaking fuel.

"Everyone, get back!" he shouted, pulling out his lighter.

His companions scrambled away from the wreck. The vampires, sensing the imminent danger, hesitated in their attack.

Max flicked the lighter and tossed it into the pooling diesel fuel. Flames erupted instantly, racing towards the truck. He threw the artifacts into the growing inferno just as the heat triggered an explosion.

The blast knocked Max off his feet. Through the ringing in his ears, he could hear the vampires screaming in rage and pain as burning debris rained down around them.

As he struggled to his feet, Max found himself face to face with the female vampire leader. Her once-beautiful features were twisted with hatred, her clothes singed and smoking.

"You've ruined everything," she snarled, her clawed hands reaching for his throat.

Max stumbled backward, his foot catching on a piece of twisted metal. He fell hard, the vampire looming over him with murderous intent.

But as she lunged for him, a strong hand grabbed her from behind. It was Rita, her face set in grim determination.

"Not today, you bloodsucking bitch," Rita growled, and with strength that belied her age, she began to drag the struggling vampire away from Max.

The sky was beginning to lighten in the east, the first hints of dawn approaching. The vampire's eyes widened in fear as she realized what Rita intended.

"No!" she shrieked, clawing desperately at the ground. "Release me!"

But Rita held firm, pulling the vampire further and further from the shadows. Max, shaking off his daze, scrambled to his feet to help.

Together, they dragged the thrashing vampire into the open, away from any shelter. As the first rays of sunlight crested the horizon, the vampire's shrieks reached a fever pitch.

Smoke began to rise from her skin, which blackened and cracked like burning paper. Her thrashing became more frantic, then began to weaken. In a matter of moments, she crumbled to ash before their eyes.

Around them, the remaining vampires howled in despair as the sunlight advanced. Those too slow or too injured to retreat burst into flames, turning to ash in seconds.

Lord Erebus, his face now mostly healed but contorted with fury, glared at Max from the receding shadows.

"This isn't over, mortal," he hissed. "The Master will rise, with or without the artifacts. And when he does, your world will burn."

With that, he seemed to melt into the shadows, disappearing just as the sunlight reached his hiding place.

As quickly as it had begun, the battle was over. Max and his companions stood in stunned silence, surrounded by piles of ash and the smoldering remains of his truck.

Jack was the first to speak. "Well," he said, casually reloading his shotgun, "that's gonna be one hell of an insurance claim."

The absurdity of the statement broke the tension, and soon they were all laughing, the sound tinged with hysteria and relief.

As the adrenaline wore off, the full extent of their injuries became apparent. They were all battered, bruised, and bleeding, but miraculously, no one had been killed.

"So," Bill said, wincing as he prodded a particularly nasty cut on his arm, "what the hell do we do now?"

Max looked at the burning wreckage of his truck, then at the strange group of survivors gathered around him. "First, we need to destroy whatever's left of those artifacts. We can't risk them falling into the wrong hands again."

Rita nodded in agreement. "And then?"

"And then," Max said with a tired smile, "I think we all deserve a hot meal and about a week's worth of sleep."

They worked quickly, gathering the scattered remains of the artifacts and tossing them into the still-burning wreckage of the truck. As they watched the flames consume the last remnants of their nightmarish encounter, a sense of finality settled over the group.

Cindy, her face streaked with soot and dried blood, spoke up. "You know they'll come back, right? That Lord Erebus guy, he's still out there."

Max nodded grimly. "I know. But we'll be ready for them next time."

As they turned to leave, Rita laid a hand on Max's arm. "You know, for a trucker who was just in it for the money, you did alright, kid."

Max smiled, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the nearby flames. "Thanks. But I couldn't have done it without all of you."

Jack chuckled, slinging his shotgun over his shoulder. "Well, don't go getting sentimental on us now, Lone Wolf. We've still got to figure out how to explain all this to the cops."

As they trudged away from the scene of their battle, the rising sun at their backs, Max couldn't help but feel that this was less an ending and more of a beginning. Whatever challenges lay ahead, whatever dark forces were still out there, he knew he wouldn't have to face them alone.

The mysterious cargo was destroyed, the immediate threat neutralized, but Max had a feeling their war against the shadows was far from over. As they walked down the empty highway, battered but unbroken, he made a silent vow. He would uncover the truth behind the vampires, find out who or what this "Master" was, and put an end to the darkness that threatened to engulf the world.

For now, though, he was content to bask in the warmth of the sun and the companionship of his unlikely allies. They had survived the longest night of their lives, and whatever the future held, they would face it together.

As they crested a hill, they saw a diner in the distance, its neon 'OPEN' sign a beacon of normalcy after the chaos they'd endured.

"First round of coffee's on me," Max said with a grin.

And as they made their way towards the promise of hot food and strong coffee, Max knew that while his life would never be the same, he wouldn't have it any other way. The open road had always called to him, but now it held the promise of not just freedom, but purpose.

The sun climbed higher in the sky, burning away the last remnants of the terrifying night. But even as the warmth seeped into his battered body, Max remained vigilant. For he knew now that darkness could lurk in even the brightest of days, and that the battle against the shadows was far from over.

But for now, surrounded by his new friends and fellow warriors, Max allowed himself a moment of peace. They had faced the darkness and emerged victorious. And whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them the same way they had faced the night: together, with courage, determination, and a readiness to fight for the light.

As they pushed open the door to the diner, the smell of coffee and bacon enveloping them, Max couldn't help but smile. It was a new day, full of possibilities and potential dangers. But for the first time in a long while, he felt ready to face whatever it might bring.

The adventure that had begun with a mysterious cargo and a lonely stretch of highway had transformed into something much bigger. And as Max settled into a booth with his newfound family, he knew that this was just the beginning of a much greater journey.

The end... for now.

[willowwind78]

1 Annabel- Chapter 5

˜ Chapter 5- Faust: First Part - Johann Wolfgang Van Goethe ™

Wild dreams torment me as I lie.

And though a god lives in my heart, though all my power woken at his word,

Though he can move my every inmost part – yet nothing in the outer world is stirred.

Thus by existence tortures and oppressed I crave for death, I long for rest.

˜ ™

Annabel returned down the hall to her own room confused and unnerved.  The floor was cold against her bare feet. She had not given it much thought earlier. Now, she wondered how she could have ignored her half-frozen toes and what time it was. She pushed the curtain aside and looked out the window.

The night sky glowed with millions of stars. The blackness went on forever, the moon shining like a light bulb in the sky. She could do nothing but smile as she slipped out of her pajamas and scurried to the wardrobe. A worn pair of jeans, white t-shirt, light sweater, and some socks, she tip-toed out of her room and down the hall. Carrying a pair of brown leather boots in her hand, she was careful to not make a sound as she crept down the steps and out the front door. On the last step she sat and pulled her boots onto her feet.

Struck by the beauty of the night, she reached down and felt the cool softness of the grass against her fingertips. A deep breath filled her lungs with the smell of rotting leaves that was fall. She half ran, half hopped to the converted stable beside the main house. The door creaked and moaned as she slid it open and disappeared into the darkness. Instinctively her hand reached out to grab a helmet where it hung, exactly as she had left it with a dark leather jacket. She threw them over the seat, pushed the small bike out of its holding and walked it nearly a quarter of a mile down the drive towards the dirt road.

Once past the mailbox, she swung her leg over the worn seat. Grinning from ear to ear, she clipped the turtle shell helmet under her chin, pushed the start plug and twisted her right hand. A familiar “Bwat-ta-tat-tat” filled the night air. The twinge of sulfur infected her nostrils. She wasn’t much for speed, but it sure beat walking. Off at a fantastic thirty-five miles per hour, the cool wind pulled tiny tendrils from her braided hair.

The Vespa twisted and turned with its rider past small forests of trees, along rocky hillsides and past field after field of sleeping sheep and cattle. At this time of the morning, there was not a soul to be seen. Every man woman and child was snug in their bed, preparing for the next day’s work.

From the first time she was allowed out on the scooter, she was enthralled by the feeling of freedom when straddling the old seat. The only thing that existed in the world was her, the dirt beneath the wheels and the wind flowing relentlessly across her shoulders. It was the closest to flying she had ever come. Complete exhilaration filled her every pore. While she contemplated at times, upgrading to a motorbike, the Vespa held a special place in her heart for midnight riding and it was easier to avoid deer.

She drove down the road in whatever direction the world took her. Father Samuel taught her long ago that there is purpose to all we do and following the path of God was as simple as letting go and allowing Them to lead you. While she often doubted Father Samuel’s wisdom, when she was on the bike, his words never rang truer. She paid no attention to where she was, just went where an invisible force tugged at her to go.

Within what seemed like no time at all, she arrived in an unfamiliar location. As the bliss of freedom wore off, reality began to settle in and she wondered to where she had traveled. The point she had left the graveled road was uncertain. Standing here in the woods without the faintest clue as to where she was, she started to ponder if perhaps she should have listened a little less to God and a little more to the Randall McNally folded beneath her seat.

With a flick of her foot, the kickstand came down and the Vespa sat neatly on the dirt path. Pine trees had left a thick bed of needles creating a crunchy trail beneath her feet. Unsure of where she was headed, she felt the need to travel on foot and after setting her helmet and jacket on the bike she started down the ever-thinning deer trail towards the unknown.

Tall oaks that had somehow managed to not get choked out by the pines, left pesky acorns threatening to wrench her ankles at nearly every step, but she picked her way along what felt for no particular reason, the way to go. Since the path seemed clear enough in the dark, she felt confident she could find her way back when she needed to.

Luckily, she was completely absorbed in watching her feet as she walked, so there was little chance of her falling off the steep cliff when the tree-line abruptly ended. The ground stopped. She looked up and out upon the horizon. It was breathtaking.

A small church nestled itself into the valley surrounded by a field of recently harvested corn. The white-washed walls were stark and out of place against the dark background. A faint glow had begun in the east where the sun was threatening to rise. A tiny graveyard lay next to the church, between the fields cut by a short dirt drive. As the sun peaked over the horizon, she followed the rays of light into the cemetery and was pulled in.

A young man, far too young to be mourning this kind of loss, knelt in front of a newly erected tombstone reading:

Tolle lege

Christina Evans

1995-2013

Beloved wife, daughter, sister and journalist

Tears filled his eyes. A glint of silver sat in his hand.

            Annabel’s heart ached for him. His pain and thoughts echoed across the distance to her as if they were her own. He had come to take his own life on his wife’s grave. His blood would flow into the ground and in some way, he believed he would be with her again. The blade was poised, firmly grasped in his right hand, over his left wrist. His words carried across the wind to her ears.

            “Heavenly Father, please forgive me. I do not understand. What did she do wrong? Was it me?” Tears openly flowed from his eyes, down his cheeks and dropped to the ground. “I loved her! Damn you I love her!” His body shook with a mixture of anger and pain, the muscles twitching and relaxing at sporadic intervals. Several times his arms tensed, readying the knife above his wrist, only to be relaxed and nearly dropped to the ground.

            He looked up suddenly when he heard a voice behind him. A man, dressed in a charcoal gray three-piece pin-stripe suit and a dark red bowtie leaned against the fence, the watcher. “God considers the taking of one’s own life the biggest sin you can commit. Some might say… unforgivable.” He paused momentarily as the figure straightened and began to walk toward the young man. “Far greater than murder, gluttony, pride, envy, or even greed. Those that commit suicide are doomed to burn in hell for eternity. Is that what you want?”

            “I… I don’t care anymore.” His head bowed as he stared at his left wrist. “Anything is better than the hell I am already in.”

            “I can take away this pain away if you want. You will never have to feel again.” The suited man’s tongue spoke eloquently. It brought comfort and soothed even Annabel’s ears. She watched as the stranger glided through the cemetery, so smooth that he seemed to float across, his wing tip shoes leaving not a trace in the dewy grass. He placed his left hand on the shoulder of the mourning man in what should have been a comforting gesture but felt like something else entirely. “Imagine no pain, no worry, everlasting life. It is yours if you want it.”

“I never want to feel again. Not now. Not ever.” He looked up with tear-stained eyes, red and swollen with pain. “What kind of God would do this? Take away a life so young, so promising?”

The man in the gray suit’s mouth twitched only slightly. “My God will alleviate your pain if you choose to follow.”

“I choose.” The kneeling man said without hesitation. “I choose to forget.” The knife poised over his wrist, reverberating with intent.

“You would hand the devil your soul?”

            “Lord, if you can hear me. I am done with you! You have taken everything from me!” the man’s voice echoed across the open ground. Hatred. Scorn. Loathing.

            The stranger leaned toward the man, his lips nearly caressing his neck as he whispered into his ear. “You give me your soul? Openly?”

            “Anything to take away this pain, yes.” With a quick slice, the blood began to flow, while simultaneously the suited man sank his teeth deep into the other man’s neck until his body collapsed in a lifeless heap. A shimmering cloud emerged from the man’s body like the smoke from a djinn’s lamp. Suddenly, the cloud shattered into a million pieces of shiny silver confetti that dissipated when they hit the ground.

Reality sucked back like a vacuum cleaner. The world shifted as Annabel returned to the hillside where her body stood motionless. Choking on a lump in her throat, she couldn’t scream. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. She stared in horror at the body laying on the ground, blood oozing from its wrist in ever slowing pulses. The sun rose above the horizon, casting light upon the world as if everything were still good and wholesome in it. Tears filled her own eyes. She slumped to the ground, hanging her legs over the side of the hill, dumbfounded, yet entranced by the surreal scene.

Questions filled her mind, bogging down her senses with confusion. Who was the man in the gray suit and where did he come from? What was he? Did she really just see him bite the other man? Was she even awake? She pinched her arm. Ouch. Yes, she was awake. How could she possibly see everything from so far away?

Eventually, something caught her eye. She tilted her head to the right unsure of what she was seeing. No, it couldn’t be. She caught herself attempting to leap forward to get a closer look, just before she would have fallen two hundred yards down the steep, rocky cliff. She squinted and peered, then closed her eyes and reopened them again.

No matter how many times she repeated this action, she could not change what she was seeing. Two men walked out of that cemetery into the trees and one of them was looking at her.

[comfort-questing]

farewells

In the gray and drizzling dusk that night - while Sorcha lay curled up next to Trig in Kitren’s tent, drowsily counting her slow breaths and wincing along with her feverish shivering - one of the captains came by to say that there would be a gathering at midnight, for the special mission that had been discussed earlier.

It wasn’t a long matter, and it didn’t need to be; only two of the three of them were awake to listen anyway, Kitren cross-legged in the corner with a bit of leatherwork in her lap, Sorcha hazy with exhaustion amid the blankets. So they both nodded to the captain, and saluted at the end, and the tent flap fell back with his going, leaving them together in the silence.

Somewhere in her half-conscious daze Trig had wriggled partly out of the blanket wrapped around her, splinted arm laid across her chest and free hand knotted in the ends of her matted dark hair. The wet wheeze at the bottom of each breath had returned, an ominous fluid sound in her lungs as Sorcha bent closer; the healers had warned them about likely outcomes with two arrow wounds to the chest, and Sorcha chewed on her lip in sudden fresh anxiety. Reaching down she tugged up the blanket, then let her fingers trail across her friend’s fever-warm forehead, brushing the messy hair clear of her eyes.

"Likely she goes back with messenger, soon," said Kitren, the sing-song off-accented lilt of her voice heavier now with some unknown emotion. "When dragon's dead, the army has no use of the rider."

Sorcha looked up quickly, alarmed. "But she can't ride. Not like this."

Kitren shrugged. "They will make so that she can. To the safe places they bring her, and maybe to die there just as likely." Her voice was quiet but steady, colorless in the night. She put her head to one side. "I go now and harness Llifann, for the battle tonight. You to come?"

"I come," said Sorcha, her heart fluttering nervously at the words. "Just a moment."

As Kitren let the tent flap fall, Sorcha slipped down to the ground by her friend again, pressing up against her in what seemed like a vain attempt at closeness. Trig hadn’t been lucid for the last few hours, the growing struggle for breath taking more and more of her effort.

"Hey, Trig," she whispered. "Saying goodbye."

She didn't expect an answer, but Trig's eyelids flickered then, her cracked lips moving.

"What, Trig?"

There was a hint of a smile on Trig’s face, then, as she repeated the words ever so slightly louder. “Be careful and … come back in time for supper."

Sorcha chuckled, helplessly. "That a joke, Trig?"

Trig let her eyelids slide closed again, but she was still smiling. "Kind of a joke. Anyway… what… what’s…“

"We're going out there.“ Trig’s hand was limp in hers, bones sharp through the skin, thin and hot in her grasp. "If it works, it’ll be - valuable, and if it doesn’t, then -” She swallowed hard, words running short. “But anyhow, someone's got to try something," she finished, lamely.

"I know," said Trig in a breathy whisper, and coughed, roughly. "I don't like to think… what could happen when you do, that's all."

"We can't worry about that, or else we'd never do it." Sorcha gritted her teeth, willing herself not to cry; she didn’t want to cry now, of all times, and make Trig have to comfort her again as she’d done so many times before. "But I'd really rather not die, all other things equal."

"Reasonable impulse." Weakly, Trig squeezed her fingers around Sorcha's hand. "Good Sorcha. Don't be frightened... Don't ever be frightened."

Sorcha bit her lip, remembering that first morning in the Academy courtyard, the sun glancing off Eletra's scales and the dragon pups scrabbling at hers and Trig’s legs. Don’t be frightened, Sorcha. How could she have seen that it would end here, years later amidst the fires of war, with her saying farewell to Trig and neither of them knowing whether they would survive to meet the other again? But she'd been so much younger then, and very different; she wouldn't have been able to bear it if she'd known it. Now she could, or at least partly.

"Here, dearling," Trig said, softer now. "Closer. So I can say goodbye." At Sorcha's hesitance, she added, "If I'm gone away. East, wherever they take me… when you get back."

They both knew there were other possibilities, other reasons they might not meet again. But that thin facade put over the truth made things easier, for the moment. 

And so nonetheless Sorcha pressed her face into her friend’s shoulder, and let Trig’s hand fumble its way up to her head, just as they had done when they were Academy senior and junior in the bright days long gone now.

"Warded from all assaults upon body or soul..." muttered Trig, "warded beneath, above, in front, behind, to either side… And if Thou shouldst in Thy will bring us to the extremity that all fear, let our passing be not more than our strength can bear... lead us safely through the night and - and - "

Trig’s words ran off into muddled coughing then, and Sorcha was never sure if she finished the creed along with her, or if it were her voice alone that spoke the last words:

"...And into the bright of morning."