#That Which Has Thorns

[sammialex]

Thanks @there-must-be-a-lock for the game !

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ♥️

Upon What Soil (HP, rated E). This longfic proved to myself that I could actually finish something and is honestly one of my favorite things ever for purely that reason. My ode to the rare pairs.

Crash the Cemetery Gates (Marvel/DC, rated E). Count on me to turn fluff into MCD and I'm starting to see that as a perk not a liability, which is exciting personal growth!

Idk if this is cheating but Fake It (til you become it) (Original Work, NR) is an anthology of original short stories that I am just...so proud of. Fandom has been a haven because original writing has scared the pants off me for years, but here I am 5 months in with 5 original shorts? Much fav, such proud.

That Which Has Thorns (HP, rated M). This was one of my first fest-fics and even though it was fairly early for me I think the writing holds up and was a really cool take.

Super WIP so taking the bottom spot here but What We Carry (HP/DC, rated M) is my current bb and I'm really excited about where it started and where it's going.

Share your favs too!! YES YOU!!

[izzystizzys]

TW: discussion of something approximating suicidal tendencies but with the usual crack programming of this blog

“Ah, High General Windu”, says Fox, pleasantly. “So we meet again.”

High General Windu raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him, Fox thinks, though it’s getting hard to tell with all the blood rushing to his head. “If I let you go, will you try to throw yourself out of another window?”

Fox makes a vague shrugging motion - or tries to, anyways. It’s hard to tell where any of his limbs are going, hanging upside down in the air as he is. “I am willing to discuss terms.” A bridge will do just fine.

Impossibly, the High General’s eyebrows climb even further up his forehead. “A compromise, then, esteemed Commander.” And so, he righths Fox the head way up in the air, but leaves him floating just above the ground, at which point several painted shells come skidding around the corner followed by billowing robes and screeches.

“WHAT”, says Kote, calmly, “THE BANTHA-KARKED, FORCE-LOVING KRIFF, FOX.”

“You’ll short out your helmet mic”, Fox advises him, sagely. Fondly, he thinks back to decimating his own on only his second time in the newly-christened official Coruscant Guard Scream Closet. He’d just received the comm about the Zillo Beast being transported to 000, and made sure to take his bucket off thereafter to improve the quality of his closet time.

High General Windu’s face does something complicated between sympathy and constipation.

Because the Galaxy doesn’t hate Fox enough already and Cody wasn’t enough on his own, Wolffe elbows his way through their batch to plant himself in front of him, shoulders squared and shaking with repressed rage. “If you try that again, dickhead”, he begins, in a low growl that quite frankly sounds more cringe that intimidating, “I’m going to resurrect you and then kill you again.”

“Ah, Wolffe”, Plo Koon says, in his deep, shivery timbre, “Remember our conversations about effective conflict resolution and communication of needs?”

Wolffe’s eyes narrow at Fox, because all non-Guard are sweet summer children who walk around buckets off on 000 like absolute lunatics. Fox prays they never have to find out why that’s a bad idea. “I feel”, his ori’vod presses out between clenched teeth, “that if you make me watch you throw yourself out of another window, I’m going to jump after you and strangle you on the way down, you little bitch.”

“That’s fair”, says Fox, and watches High General Kenobi bury his face in his hands. Wolffe twitches in place and makes an aborted groaning noise, the hypocrite.

“Excuse me, High Marshall Commander Fox, but I fail to see what’s so dire about this situation that the Jedi High Council and your brothers cannot help you solve”, says Windu, the only sane one left on this Force-forsaken bloated corpse of a planet. Behind the gaggle of Jedi and ori’vode already gathered in front of Fox, the rest of them come veering around the corner in a commotion that’s quite frankly embarrassing. High General Yoda is mounted on Skywalker’s back like he’s a race-Eopie, which is Fox’ only consolation.

He got up this morning at 0300, bleary-eyed and with a pounding headache as always, and all was right in the world. And then Fox got called into the Jedi High Council’s chambers and was ceremoniously informed that in the wake of Chancellor Palpatine’s unfortunate demise (hah), and through the emergency state of the Senate, as well as several invented promotions foisted on Fox to make the delegation of any and all paperwork less shady, he was now next in the chain of command and-

Well, Fox is the acting Chancellor, in short.

Haha, he had said, and been meet with several seconds of silence, until it got both awkward and exceedingly painful. Wait, he’d said. You’re kriffing serious.

Kriffing serious, we are, had said High General Yoda, and thus Fox launched himself out the first best window with a maniacal cackle of, you’ll have to catch me first!

And catch him, High General Windu sure did.

“The will of the Force this is”, Yoda interrupts Fox’ train of thought. He scans him thoughtfully from beneath his wizened brow, and hems to himself. “Shake things up, this will. Determine the fate of the Galaxy, this shall. A feeling, I have, that a good Chancellor you will make. A better one, hmmm.”

“That’d be high praise, if not for the fact that a dead lemming would make for a better Chancellor than the last one”, says Fox, drawing and indignant gasp from Skywalker. He doesn’t bother with either that or the green goblin’s cackle, lost in the deep sense of resignation that settles over his shoulders like a suffocating blanket.

“Alright, then, get me Thorn on the comm. As my first act in office, I’m firing all the Jedi. No offense, but you’re kind of a disaster. Then, someone get me to the Chancellor’s office, I’m calling Dooku to let him know the war’s off. And please get me Judicial, they’ll be up all night working on my datafolders - I’m having the Senate arrested.”

“Who - is - arresting - “, Bly pants, hands on his knees from where he’s just come sprinting around the corner with his Jedi.

Underneath his bucket, Fox smiles a smile that’s all teeth. “The Senate”, he says, sweetly, wondering if he’s just imagined the shiver that’s gone through the room. “I’m suing the Senate, and taking them all into temporary custody for abuse of sentient rights.”

[arson-09]

Tamlin is actually such an underrated character in acotar. Because of feyres very biased narrative she forces readers to ignore the complexity of his character and man. its sad

Tamlin is a character who is genuinely GOOD at his core. He changed so much of the spring court for good, eliminating slavery within the spring lands and mortals having more protection. Hes a morally good character that made a few mistakes and is boiled down to just those mistakes. Locking feyre in the house and the magical/emotional blow up, which are both pretty decent fuck ups (i dont think siding with hybern fully counts as he was a double agent all along and tamlin was decently justified in thinking feyre was being kept against her will. lets be fr here) and even after he’s extremely fucked over by the nightcourt, his lands and court burned to shit, he still saves rhysand. Saves rhysand and tells feyre to be happy, even when he has every reason to NOT do that!

Hes a character that clearly holds himself to a higher standard. throughout acotar he puts lucien and feyres safety above his own, even sending feyre away when she was the only one who could save him. Even though what he did to her wasnt great its not completely irredeemable, rhysand did much worse things to feyre and other people but hes living his best life while Tamlin seems to find himself unworthy of being a person (acosf wheres hes been in beast form for roughly over two years) hes a perfectionist who now doesnt even think he deserves anyone because he accidentally hurt the people he loves most.

Sjm accidentally created a beautifully rich and morally righteous character who is so extremely fucked by the narrative. Which doesnt even work half the time as sjm cant seemingly commit to making him a full villain (seemingly by accident again she gave him quite a reasonable explanation to everything he did ‘wrong’ but still chooses to make him a punching bag)

If Tamlin was genuinely a morally evil character he wouldnt have NEARLY the amount of fans as he does. Hes a character that requires the minimum amount of media literacy and comprehension to understand and i LOVE him.

[gummi-ships]

Kingdom Hearts 2 - Shadow Stalker & Dark Thorn

[disastardly]

For the five of us on this site that care this specifically about Mystic Force, here are some hi-res pics of their wizard uniforms, courtesy of the Power Rangers prop auction currently going on.

[pinayelf]

My @infamous-if mc, Violetta "Vi" Marasigan, the lead singer of Nighthorn

She’s here to follow her dreams, sing her heart out and maybe make self destructive decisions

[clowwwnbytes]

slay the princess pristine cut spoilers etc

i was brainstorming with buddies on discord and started thinking about damsel ch3 having the blade with her, already pointed at her heart, then just started thinking about the blade as a tool.

i think about the blade so much. a cold reminder of your mission in this world, something so tiny that represents a huge wall between you, your ability to be willing to understand others, to understand yourself.

if you bring it with you you've chosen to take a defensive stance against something and someone you don't understand, but it's so comforting, it gives you options, it gives you control over any situation given you don't underestimate the person standing in front of you. even when you don't want it, when you think you don't need it, it will come back to you. a nagging feeling. you're given the option to be distrustful even when you don't literally have it in you, it's what you've been taught is safety, it hangs over your head and dangles above your heart at all times.

and in damsel ch3 it goes from a tool given weight by the role you're supposed to play, to the same thing but looming over her this time. the expectations of what you're supposed to want and what's best for the people around you and what keeps you grounded, the narrator sang the same tune before, and he hurt her and he hurt you. he hurt himself and his humanity in the process. and now he's taken the backseat and is forced to see how messed up that is by having the smitten be the one pulling the strings of the construct, someone with a perspective so different, but one that ends up hurting everyone all the same, even if he doesn't intend it to do so.

everyone is forced to look at themselves in the mirror.

carrying that blade is suffocating for anyone.

and now im thinking about mr. "let's throw it out the window" contrarian, the only voice you can bring to her heart along with the hero, someone that refused to engage with the narrative and someone that is well aware that his perspective is annoying and unneeded for its purposes.

and then he meets the whole of her, and she tells him about how his courage is beautiful. he's the part of the long quiet that knowingly or not, is more willing to throw aside any kind of logic in order to understand a situation in a way the rest don't want to, and he's *now* realizing that his existence is an important aspect to have.

[rebelcharmings]

eah as random tweets i found on my timeline recently

[gen-0]

“His eyes softened” pt2

Pt 1 here

[dandelionfool]

some pre-war tommy and freddie

[sadromanticghostbf]

small compilation of thomas turning in silly ways

[izzystizzys]

When the 212th collaborates with the 501st, chaos is sure to follow in their footsteps. This has been largely true of every engagement since the start of the war, in Cody’s experience. Had he even an ounce more of a rebellious streak, he might question why and whether the success rate is worth the feral instinct for mayhem his battalion and Rex’ awaken in each other - as it is, he simply fills out the after action reports and then screams into his pillow, which is hard as durasteel and doesn’t warrant the name.

Or, on some days, he steps into the training rooms to work off some nervous jitters only for his foot to catch on someone’s armoured shoulder and faceplant straight into what looks like the entirety of both battalions piled together in a massive cuddle pile.

“What”, he manages between gritted teeth, heaving himself up with one hand supported on Crys’ arm and the other planted in places that make Boil jackknife up with a strangled yelp, “the kriff is this?!”

“We’re watching the Corrie Reality Special, sir”, his own voice calls from somewhere across the room. “The 91st is passing by, so we have satellite access to the Coruscant Broadcast network for a few hours, and we couldn’t settle on a specific show -“

“- so we decided to watch them all”, Rex finishes, sheepishly, where he’s fought his way through wiggling piles, hoots and badly imitated monkey lizard noises. The thought that he shares DNA with these degenerates is enough to drive Cody to the brink of a nervous breakdown some days. “Spopcorn?”

Ah. The Corrie Reality Circuit. When Cody first heard of it, he’d thought it was a prank. Then, they were deployed to the middle of bumkriff nowhere on the edges of Midrim space edging on Outer Rim, with a connection so spotty even classified military intel only got through about half the time, and the whole idea got shelved in favour of clankers and keeping his General’s lightsaber in his General’s hand where it belonged.

Now, a gaudy, glittery monstrosity of a logo announcing a Coruscant Rotational special appears on a rigged up screen, which means one of two things: either Fox is pulling the Galaxy’s greatest long con on all of them, or he’s been murdered and replaced with an evil clone (ha!), because there are no circumstances in which he would agree to star on Coruscant Reality TV.

Cody tilts his head consideringly. Rex smiles at him sheepishly. Tilts the spopcorn bowl at him, invitingly.

“Oh, dank farrik, sit your shebs down!”, someone (Fives, probably) yells out, fed-up…ly.

Cody sits his shebs down.

“Good morning and welcome all of Coruscant to the Great Coruscant Rotational Special: Our Boys in Red Edition!”, a bright red Twi’leki man announces on the screen amidst cheerful jizz music and loud hooting from the training room. “My name is Braham Horton, and I will be your exalted host for this fine, fine late night cycle!”

“And now, gentlebeings of the metropolis, I present to you the images that have driven us all to laughter, joy, and even tears at times over these past few weeks - whodathunkit, that the CSF media project would enthrall a whole Galaxy of viewers and cause the largest recorded peaceful civil protest of all time?!”

“The sorry what now”, says Cody, suddenly thinking back to the urgent meeting General Kenobi was currently in with Generals Windu and Yoda - passing by on the Venator in orbit. “Uhm”, says Rex. Braham Horton, unfazed by the commotion he’s causing lightyears away, chatters on.

“- many hours, so we’ve compiled an introductory little best-of for you, exalted viewers! And what better best of to start off on than the hottest entry of the most explosive bombshell into the villa - please give it up for Commander Thorn and how he stole all of our hearts on Love Island!”

A garish, club-tech jingle Cody has so far only heard buzz through the walls of establishments that generally didn’t allow clones thrums through the training room, followed by what can only be described as the sort of noises spiced up banthas might make. Thorn appears on screen, more oiled up and half-naked than Cody remembers, though just as bleach-blond, hair slightly longer than regulation and smile blindingly perfect.

“I’m Commander Thorn, baseline twenty-four years humanoid - during daytime I might be the scourge of Coruscant’s criminal underworld, but at night I don’t mind playing good cop for you!” He punctuates it woth a sleazy wink and fingerblasters that have Rex honest-to-god gagging, and Cody seeing his life flash before his eyes. If Alpha-17 finds out about this…

Suddenly, Thorn’s smile drops in favour of what might almost be called a scowl on even his handsome face, and the music cuts out. “There, got your soundbyte. Can I go back now? I’m supposed to be on shift.” Indistinct, off-screen chatter and a captioned oopsie… appear in a shower of glitter. Thorn’s face does something complicated. “For HOW MANY MONTHS?!”

Cut to a montage of what Cody can only describe as beaches, oil and abs galore, Braham Horton narrates and extremely close-up shot of what Cody tries very hard not to identify as Thorn’s crotch. His own crotch, in a way. Oh no, that’s weird, stop that train of thought immediately-

“Although our favourite bombshell’s entry into the villa wasn’t without its hitches and hurdles-“, emphasized by a zoom-in on Thorn’s form in a speedo huddled away from a partying crowd of softcore-kriffing contestants on a yacht, “- as well as all know, he would soon find his place in the villa - or places, rather!”

Two crying humanoid women appear on screen, with eyeliner smudges down to their knees. A hoot goes through the room. Cody watches with a sense of impeding doom. “You slept with her after I chose to match up with you instead of Chad?! How could you!”

Thorn, still oiled up with both blasters out for the world to see, winces. “I didn’t me-“

A hysterical gasp, a camera swerve. Three more people stand by the doorway, all clutching their chests with wide eyes. A broad, green Twi’leki man raises a finger to point accusingly. “You were sleeping with them too?! I thought I was the only one!”

“Dear Force”, Cody murmurs, unable to look away from the building speeder wreck on screen. Braham Horton laughs good-naturedly at his misery. “Ah, good times! And who could forget the all-out brawl of the following matching night, where a record number of every single other contestant attempted to physically fight the others for the right to match up with Commander Thorn! Including a somehow returned Chad, who nearly won thanks to the element of surprise. I wish we could show the footage, but then we’d have to slap several warnings on it and probably still get taken off the air.”

“I didn’t know Corries kriffed like that!”, someone (Fives, let’s be honest, it was definitely Fives) calls out into the room, receiving snickers and a well-aimed pillow to the throat for his trouble. He goes down with a choking scream.

“Someone who was less impressed by the hot’n bothered beach weather was Commander Thire, who found himself Less than Impressed by his co-contestants inability to keep it in their pants on Too Hot To Handle!”

Thire’s face, identical to Thorn’s in every way except the ones that matter, appears on screen. His black hair is cut in a cropped mohawk, arms folded over a button-up he’s carefully pieced together with… safety pins? Where are the buttons on it?

“These people are pathological and pathetic and I will spend not a second longer on this farce of an attempt at ‘entertainment show’”, says Thire, air-quotes so sharp they could cut stone. His scowl might be permanently etched into his face, Cody can’t tell. “Unlike literally everyone else, I have an actual job to do. Now move.”

A brief pause, in which cheerful jizz music plays over what is obviously a producer begging off-camera, followed by an eyeroll so hard it hurts Cody’s brain to watch. Thire throws his hands into the air in defeat, marching off into the sea behind him still fully clothed.

“When they didn’t find him until the last episode, I’ll admit, I thought he’d died too!”, Braham Horton cuts in cheerfully. “But would you look at his little lonely island lair - now that’s a fulfilled man, and too many coconuts for my taste! We’ve had to blur his hands out as he discovered the cameras just moments before these holos were taken, unfortunately. And, dear viewer, who could forget this exit-interview for the ages!”

A considerably more clothed Thire appears on screen, eyeing a microphone like he’s about to use it to stab out his own eyes. The reporter clears their throat in audible anxiety. “C-commander, how would you describe your reality experience in one word?”

“Demeaning”, says Thire, blandly.

Silence.

“Um, o-okay”, squeaks the reporter.

“Would you like some more words?”, asks a dead-eyed Thire.

“No, um, I think - I think we’re alright.”

“Because I have many words. Mostly for whoever the *bleep* thought this was a *bleep* good idea, and *bleeeeeeee-*”

“We’ve had to censor most of the Commander’s on-screen appearance, dear viewer, for your sensibilities”, says Braham Horton, eternally and painfully cheerful. “And speaking of sensibilities, who could forget Commander Stone honouring his name in several challenges on ‘I’m A Holostar - Get Me Out Of Here!’”

Soulful violin music fills the gym, overlaid with images of a bald vod Cody surmises must be Stone. Stone stares stonily into the void, glass of bright green something raised to his lips and already half-empty.

“Memorably, he downed a pint of acklay urine within seconds-“

Horrified screams are followed by an image of Stone chewing, yet another thousand-klick stare.

“- or when he ate Tauntaun anus -“

Rex doubles over gagging, and Cody slowly puts his handful of Spopcorn back down.

“- of course the ten minute worm-bath challenge cannot go unmentioned -“

“FORCE PLEASE NO!”, screams someone (Echo) tearfully. Commander Stone, buried to the chin in wiggling orange worms, looks less impressed.

“ - and who could forget his encounter with a horde of ginntho spiders and nests of vexis snakes!”

A remote goes sailing past the screen, missing by a mile, as images of Stone with his whole arm stuck in various boxes fly past. Someone is retching. It might be Cody.

“We would show the infamous butchery challenge wherein the Commander found himself drenched in nexu guts and sandworm brains, but once again, this is family friendly programming and we are not allowed. Nevertheless, a win well-deserved. And now, please welcome the one, the only, the awe-inspiring, the unbelievable: Marshall Commander Fox!”

Another Force-awful jingle, big, blocky letters, and Cody chokes on his own spit when Fox’s scowling face appears on screen. He’s thinner, greyer and angrier than the last time they saw eachother in person. Only the last one is really a surprise.

“I am neither naked nor afraid”, says Fox, arms crossed firmly, foot tapping impatiently on the ground. “I am, however, quickly losing my patience. Explain to me again the point of spending my valuable time undressing in the middle of bum-*bleep* nowhere on the Midrim instead of doing my job as the head of planetary security in the middle of a Galaxy-wide war?”

Several beats of silence follow. Fox grows less impressed with each. Cody knows that look well. Usually, it precedes handcuffs and a cold sonic blast to the face.

“Um… you signed a contract?”, says a producer’s voice uncertainly off-screen. Fox barks out a harsh laugh. “I’m legally classified as military property, my signature holds less weight than if I’d had one of the Guard’s massiffs shit on that contract for me.”

“Ouch!”, calls Crys.

“Gettim!”, adds Longshot.

“But… don’t you sign off military documents all the time for the Senate?”, sputters the producer.

Fox smiles with far to many teeth. It’s also a look Cody knows far too well, and even lightyears away it has a shudder going down his spine.

“Really makes you think about the technicalities of that definitely-not-slave-army, doesn’t it?”, he says, dryly.

“Although considerably less naked and afraid than all other contestants, Commander Fox left us with many memorable moments - such as when he saved the entire crew from an angry Acklay!”

Most of the next holovid is blurred out, though Cody can (unfortunately) guess at the why and how. So can most everyone else, judging by the collective groan.

“Down, boy”, says Fox, flatly, to a hissing Acklay twice his size. It rears its fanged head, and a shudder goes through the room. Fox simply crosses his arms and nails the beast with an unimpressed look. “You are making a fool of both of us. Cut it out.”

Chastised, the Acklay blinks at him, slowly lowering itself back down with a confused hiss.

“No kriffing wonder all the Corrie shinies are such hardasses”, mutters Rex, whom Cody is hard pressed to agree with. “I came from a tube and that look gave me daddy issues.”

“Yes, dear viewer, who could forget these heart-warming moments of good, quality television!”, sighs Braham Horton, dreamily. “Not Coruscant anytime soon, that’s for sure! We are now entering the twentieth rotation of the sit-in protest of a petition to allow the Commanders of the Coruscant Guard to compete on Dancing With The Planets, Coruscant Rotational’s epic dance competition!”

“Dear bum-kriffing Force”, whispers Rex, wide-eyed and awe-struck. “Does Fox know about this?!”

Cody, who’s already dialing the kriffer’s comm-code, wipes a singular tear from his eye. “Not a clue, but kriff, am I going to enjoy telling him.”

[velidewrites]

This Ends In Fire

Everything goes wrong when Nesta Archeron crosses the Wall to find her sister. Kidnapped and trapped Under the Mountain, she must now become the very thing she swore to destroy. But there is a light in the darkness—a flicker of a flame, ready to show her a way out. If she’d only let it.

Pairing: Nesta Archeron x Eris Vanserra

Tags: Rated Explicit; Marriage of Convenience; UTM AU

Notes: My humble submission for @sjmromanceweek!

Read the Prologue on AO3 or continue below!

The mercenary had run at the first rustle of wind between the trees, leaving Nesta alone and entirely at the forest’s mercy. She should have recognised the man for the coward that he was, but, as Nesta had recently found out, hope had a rather nasty habit of making its harborer blind to other people’s intentions. The last of the silver she’d brought along for the journey had gone into the hireling’s pockets, unlikely to ever be seen again. Elain was hardly the type to chase after others, not even to protect her own interests, and, well—it wasn’t like Nesta was ever coming back to do it herself, anyway.

It was cold and dark in the forest, remnants of frost still coating some of the treetops despite winter being well and truly over. The icy weather never quite melted into spring, and seemed determined to last into the approaching summer. Perhaps it wasn’t going to leave at all.

Elain was going to be fine. Nesta wouldn’t have left otherwise, though the knowledge hadn’t made her decision any easier. The Nolan boy would not have been Nesta’s first choice by any means—no man ever would be wherever Elain was concerned—but he was the best suitor their village had to offer all the same. He seemed to enjoy Elain’s company, besides, if the hours Nesta had spent chaperoning in their garden were any indication. Nesta herself was more than inclined to leave after an hour, but Greysen Nolan kept on listening as Elain rambled on about the tulip fields far on the Continent. He’d even sworn to bring them back for her from one of his travels.

It was enough for Nesta to venture out to the forest with some peace of mind. They had money now, the source of which Nesta preferred not to ponder over. Their newfound wealth certainly had nothing to do with Father’s efforts, or lack thereof, anyway. Their clothes, their food, their very survival…it had always been Feyre.

And now, Feyre was gone.

The guilt had been eating Nesta alive for months. At first, she’d pretended not to care, and for the first few weeks it worked sufficiently enough for her to drown herself in other tasks. Housework, mostly, hiring the cook and staff and even a governess to catch Elain up on the final years of education she’d missed out on. Some days, Nesta would quietly find her way into the office, a book carefully placed in her lap as she curled up by the fireplace under the pretense of the house being too cold. In truth, she enjoyed the lessons and wanted to learn alongside them, her own education left so far back in the past it almost felt as though it had happened to someone else.

There was a kernel of truth to that—Nesta had thought of her family’s lost wealth every day in that blighted cottage, and yet she still couldn’t help but feel out of place the day it returned. She never remembered it so hollow, so empty and lifeless. Perhaps it had been Feyre, stubborn and wild, who’d made the house come alive. Even before that cottage—it had always been Feyre.

It was then that Nesta decided to go. Hiring a mercenary had been Elain’s idea, and Nesta had known better than to argue. Refusing would’ve only brought her closer to Elain volunteering herself for the journey, and that simply would not do. Here, in the human lands, Elain was safe. As safe as their kind could get, at least.

For all Nesta knew, Feyre was already dead. The thought did little to stop her—her mind was made up, and the mercenary hired and equipped with the finest iron the village smith could have procured. Whether it would be enough to pierce the beast’s thick fur and reach its heart, Nesta did not know. She could only hope.

Even if she knew hope was a weapon of the fools.

She sighed deeply, turning over her shoulder to see if the man’s footprints had dried off enough for her to keep going. At the very least, they would provide a decent path back to the village, where the mercenary was undoubtedly already headed. Should the Wall prove impenetrable after all, Nesta would know how to find her way back.

The man’s heavy panting stopped echoing through the woods when the Wall finally came into sight. Nesta knew better than to call after him; she had simply sent him away with nothing but a withering look and a curse so unbecoming of a lady of her status she only dared to utter it within the comfort of her own mind. Wretched as it was, she hoped some wolf or other predator lurking near the border would find him just in time to teach him a lesson, and, if luck was truly on her side tonight, let him take it straight to his grave. Leaving a woman alone in the woods at night was dishonourable to say the least.

It was what Feyre had done nearly every night, though, Nesta realised, that familiar guilt crashing into her like a wave once more. Ever since Father failed them, her sister would go into the forest to hunt—alone in the darkness.

Perhaps Nesta had failed her just as much.

She approached the Wall with that thought, her steps heavier somehow despite her best efforts to stay unseen. The beast that kidnapped Feyre may as well have been waiting on the other side, its claws already sharpened in anticipation. Nesta couldn’t see the other side—from where she stood, the forest simply seemed to continue well into the endless night. But Nesta knew—could practically taste the metallic tinge of magic on her tongue. It reminded her of blood.

She wondered how Feyre had withstood it—that strange feeling tingling on her skin as she stood inches from the Faerie border. As if she was being watched.

It could’ve all been in her head, Nesta thought, suddenly incredibly aware of just how loudly her heart was thudding in her chest, thrashing against her ribcage in desperation. Maybe once she crossed the Wall, it would abandon the same way the mercenary had.

What now? She’d made it all the way here—in one piece, as little consolation as it was. Nesta had no idea just how the golden beast had managed to drag Feyre to the faerie lands, but she strongly suspected her chances of succeeding were significantly smaller as a human. She had no magic—not even claws to shred that thin, metallic veil separating their worlds to pieces.

Nesta needed to find an opening.

There were cracks in the Wall. It was perhaps the only useful information she’d gotten out of the mercenary before he’d fled. If she could find a crack large enough for her to squeeze through…

She began heading eastward, at least according to Father’s old compass she’d found in one of the office drawers. Once again it wasn’t lost on her just how little the men in Nesta’s life contributed to her fate. Still, she murmured a “thank you” into the sky, hoping it would find Father in whatever corner of the world he’d sailed off to and pass along the message. It wasn’t though she’d ever get a chance to speak to him again.

Nesta was bracing for her own death.

She wasn’t exactly sure why she’d opted to walk East, but there was something about the direction that compelled her forward. The blood tasted different there, less of rust and metal and more of smoke floating above a fire. There was light somewhere out there, guiding her out of that darkness.

Or perhaps she was simply going insane.

The wind whooshed again then, tangling the loose strands of hair that had managed to find their way out of Nesta’s braid, and she stopped dead in her tracks.

It wasn’t the wind that made her halt, though, but a sound rising above the cold breeze. A loud snap—like the crack of a flame.

Slowly, Nesta turned towards the Wall.

But the Wall wasn’t there.

At first, all Nesta could see was the night—the dark sky sprawling over the hills, quiet and starless. The Wall must have been where the forest ended, where the labyrinths of moss and pine finally stretched into one, singular path.

And then, a spark.

A flash of silver that could easily be mistaken for a glittering star had it not disappeared as soon as it arrived. Had it not flickered again, and again, and again, followed by a wide, curved line of others.

Nesta stopped breathing entirely as she watched those sharp, silver teeth stretch into a smile. As wings, large and ancient like withered marble stretched over a pair of horns, over a body so large she could hardly meet its owner’s blood-red gaze.

Nesta knew what the creature was—she had seen it in her book’s illustrations, the same book the governess forbade the sisters from ever touching. The pages are cursed, she had told them. Plagued with the memory of the world we used to live in. A world unprotected by the Wall, a world of magic and monsters and death.

Right now, Death was staring right back at her. Smiling.

“Are you lost, little one?” the Attor asked, its voice like gravelly sand dragging over stone.

Nesta swallowed the fear in her throat—let it burn her voice cords to near ash as she rasped, “I am looking for someone.”

The monster’s smile widened, wings rustling as they moved to embrace her whole. “And she is looking for you.”

[your-ne1ghbor]

Character conflict

Only thing I will say here is this:

The most terrifying villains

is them knowing they're in the wrong...

[vivispec]

.

[staghunters]

There was a promise in our stride

But we changed courses, headfirst into the unknown