#Unbound

[cloudedmoonofficial]

Crocus - Unbound Marauder

Children: Breezeheart and Crowstalker

Crocus had always lived in the barren desert. She knew the best times to get a drink, where to find her food, how to survive. She didn’t know how to take care of kittens. She couldn’t even remember ever being a kitten. Was she ever this young and helpless? 

When she was young, she could remember the various travelers her and her mother would stumble across. Some mean and cruel, some kind, most indifferent. 

But Crocus has heard of a group of cats who take care of kittens. They live together in huge colonies and help each other survive. They won’t take in adults, not that Crocus would be comfortable giving up her life of solitude anyway, but maybe, just maybe, Crocus could offer her kittens a better chance at survival by taking them to these Colony cats. 

Crocus knew how to survive.

Art by Tennelle

[ninthcircleofprythian]

Unbound

Part 5 - As The World Caves In

Summary - Not having a mating bond didn't stop the love Azriel and Celeste have for each other or their commitment. When an unknown magic lingering from Celeste's past causes her to lose all memories of the last century, will they be able to rebuild their life without a bond tethering them together?

Word Count - 8.2k

Warnings - character in pain, mentions of past abuse/DV, flashback dream, mentions/allusion to torture, vomiting, description of wounds, wing amputation, mention of blood, character has a panic attack, mentions/allusion to sex, seizure, memory loss, character injuring another character, talk of/description of scars.

Author's Note - make sure you checked those warnings y'all. We are getting into the thick of it now.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Hair braided and skin burnished into a rosy pink from scrubbing, Celeste sat back in bed reclining against the headboard. Az had insisted on carrying her like an invalid and she had given up on insisting she was fine. In fact she was beginning to question herself whether she was fine. The pain that had dulled temporarily was beginning to ramp up once again. Pulsing with a deep throb behind her eyes and now settling into her front teeth. She rubbed at her lip, testing the pain’s response to applied pressure. 

The click of the door opening caught her attention and Azriel entered, carrying a tray with some food. He circled the bed, moving to place the tray on the nightstand instead of over her lap. The smell that wafted from the steaming bowl was actually making her feel a bit queasy but she held that to herself. 

“Just let her take a look, okay?” He asked gently, knowing that healers usually made the worst patients and expecting her refusal. He met her look with concern as he took a standing position on the other side of the night stand. 

Before she could gather his meaning, a knuckle rapped on the half open door followed by a lilting voice. “Knock knock.” Sweet, willowy Marin trailed in with her tote already being slipped from her shoulder. Dropping it onto the chest at the foot of the bed, she began digging inside. 

“Isn’t very often we meet like this,” she bantered, carrying a hint of humor. “What exactly did you get yourself into since earlier this afternoon?” She dripped a couple drops of oil into her palm from the bottle she dug from her bag. It was mostly used as a conduit to aid in gathering information through touch. 

“Nothing. I came right home after I left you,” Celeste responded with a shrug. 

Marin rubbed her hands together slowly, testing the soft heat of the aided magic between her own palms first. “And when did the headache start?”

Celeste shot a questioning look in Azriel’s direction wondering what exactly he told her before she came into the room. Marin caught the gaze and answered. “You were rubbing your temple earlier when I saw you,” she motioned for Celeste to lie back. “But he did tell me what he knew, as he should have.” 

Azriel felt a flicker of admiration at her perception of Celeste’s pain earlier. He didn’t know as much about her as he did Selah, only that Marin was known to be a bit of a partier, frequenting Rita’s nearly as often as Mor. 

Picking up on the tense aura radiating from him, Celeste addressed Azriel from her reclined position. “Az, sweetheart, stop hovering.” 

Arms crossed and wings tense, shadows closing the distance between them he responded, “I’m not hovering.”

“It’s okay,” Marin smiled. “It doesn’t bother me.” She laid her fingertips gingerly to Celeste’s forehead, holding her smile with a nod toward Az. Turning to assess her patient, she gave Celeste a sly wink. “So when did the headache start?”

“This morning after I left the house,” she responded, eyes drifting closed. “I thought it was still from the hangover the night before.”

“Did you feel well when you woke up this morning?” Marin’s fingers continued their trailing sweeps. Azriel’s shadows had inched over and were now following her fingertips. “Curious little things aren’t they?” Marin said with a giggle.

“Az.” Celeste admonished. “You’re hovering.”

“I am not,” he said stoically.

“They’re cute.” Marin lifting one finger to swirl a little vortex of shadows before continuing her palpation down the side of Celeste’s face. 

“They’re not puppies,” Az spoke sharply.

Celeste whipped her head in his direction. “Azriel!” She immediately regretted the movement, hissing in a breath between her teeth. 

Az dropped his crossed arms and rocked forward into movement, smoothly bringing himself to stand just behind Marin’s shoulder. Marin’s hands had pulled back and she rubbed them together once more.

“Where exactly is the pain? And what does it feel like?” she queried.

Celeste settled herself into position again before answering. “Right here,” she said, pointing above her eyebrow. “And behind my eyes, like a throbbing ache. And right before you came in I felt it like a pulse in my teeth. The light bothers me too. And my neck feels stiff and painful when I move too quickly.”

Az’s brow furrowed into a deep crease as his shadows again gathered over him.

Marin resumed her feather light touches, this time focusing along Celeste’s scar. “How exactly did you get this?”

Celeste tensed at the same time Azriel did. A creak of the leather coming from his siphon gloves as he balled up his hands. Her scar, while she had accepted and grown to love it, wasn’t something she spoke about often. Hardly ever in fact. Azriel was obviously aware of its origins and she had recounted the history to Nesta in confidence. She had alluded to her past with the others through a handful of conversations but left them to assume based on the context of how her scar had come to be. 

“You don’t think that has anything to do with my headache do you? I’ve had it for well over a century,” she stated.

“Mmm, it’s unlikely. But I am picking up a strange energy that seems to only be coming from the scar,” Marin’s face squinted in contemplation. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“What kind of energy?” Azriel stepped closer. The shadow’s earlier warning rang through his thoughts as that same wispy strand made its way to curl around his ear again. Az’s face tightened in concentration trying to pinpoint further the feeling it conveyed to him.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Marin answered, eyes still on Celeste. “But it’s old. It’s been there since the injury was made.” She moved her hands to her lap. “It’s alright. You don’t have to tell me if you aren’t comfortable.”

Celeste’s heart pounded in her chest at the same moment a small spark of rage hit her. The fear she felt at even the mention of her scar’s origin made her angry. She was tired of that fear popping up randomly and controlling her. 

“No, it’s fine,” she stated forcefully. “My previous–” the word husband had nearly slipped out, so used to referring to Azriel. She swallowed before continuing. “My previous–partner did this. He was extremely cruel and—”

Az reached in front of Marin, whose eyebrows had raised slightly at the mention of a previous serious partner. He placed a scarred hand over one of Celeste’s and squeezed, his face grim and eyes burning a heated golden green. 

“And he slashed my face as punishment for one of the times I tried to escape.” Celeste swallowed thickly again fighting back the tears, squeezing the hand in return.

Marin astutely honed in on the word escape and the implication that the attempt wasn’t the only one. She sighed a heavy breath and gave Celeste an apologetic look, but didn’t comment any further. 

“Well your heart rate is good. I don’t detect any signs of bleeding, swelling or injury,” she stood to collect her things, sidling past Az’s wings. “And you are free from infection. I’ll leave you this.” She pulled out a vial of tablets and deposited it into Azriel’s waiting hand. Celeste recognized it as a curative for motion sickness. “Take one every four hours for the dizziness and pressure. You can continue the papavera if you feel you need it but I would only take half doses. If you don’t feel better in the morning, let me know.”

“Thanks Marin.” Celeste called as Marin reached the door, Azriel trailing behind her. 

“Would you like me to get you home?” He asked, obviously attempting a less severe demeanor. 

“Thanks, but it's alright. I’d prefer to walk.” Marin flashed a brief smile before slipping out the door.

Azriel allowed her to let herself out and returned to the bed, tipping one small red tablet into his palm. “Take this.” 

“You scared her.” Celeste noted as she reached for the water next to her and grabbed the pill. Throwing it in her mouth and swallowing, her eyes didn’t leave Azriel’s face as she mentally chided him. 

“I didn’t scare her,” he responded seriously.

“You hovered,” Celeste managed a weak pull at the corner of her mouth.

“I didn’t hover,” he spoke softly, knowing she was trying to lighten the mood with humor. “Are you–,” he started to ask.

“I’m fine.” It came out more harsh than she intended. She felt a strange mix of fear and anger swirling briefly as she answered. “It’s–just.” She drew in breath before sighing resignedly. “I’m fine.” 

Azriel didn’t utter a word, knowing she was no longer referring to the pain in her head, holding that mask of perfect neutrality as he stole another squeeze against her hand.

Later as velvety twilight darkness fully enveloped the room, a single faelight burned above Az’s nightstand, the tip of his wing carefully positioned so that it wasn’t glaring into Celeste’s eyesight. She reclined, head tilted back, still propped against the headboard as Az shuffled through the stack of paper he was reading. He plucked out a small map, holding it side by side to whatever report he was studying, his roving eyes referencing between the two. 

Celeste slowly rolled her neck toward his side of the bed, staring wistfully at his strong profile as she studied the emotions in her own mind. 

Noticing her look, Az shifted his wing up to further cover the light. “Is it bothering you? I can be done now, it’s not important.” He dropped the papers to his lap as he began gathering them into a neat stack.

“Do you think my scar has anything to do with the pain?” Her voice was hushed in the quiet room.

He used the beat of a moment it took to set the papers aside on his nightstand to subdue the flare of anger that sparked in his chest. “I don’t know,” he said, now turning to face her. “The energy Marin mentioned is intriguing though.”

Celeste sat and digested that for a moment, rolling it around in her brain as if she hadn’t just sat there doing the same thing for the last many minutes. “Yeah. Intriguing,” she said, still barely above a whisper.

Azriel held the space quietly, waiting to see if her rolling thoughts would produce more words. He didn’t move to touch her or urge her into speaking. It was always her choice how much she wanted to talk about these things and he knew she hated feeling pitied over it. 

“How come I’ve never felt it though? This energy? Don’t you think I would have known it was there?” Her eyes held a tender pleading in them, almost willing him to have the answer.

His own eyes narrowed, trying to gauge the thoughts that were swirling behind her dark eyes. “I’m not really sure,” he started. He thought of the possibility that the object used to create her scar had held some sort of magic unknown to Celeste. Thinking of magical objects, his thoughts flashed to that fearsome mask that Nesta had once placed on herself centuries before. How the powerful pull of that mask had bled into her very being, changing her to the point of being something else, no longer able to distinguish herself from the mask. He mentally shook the thought away, careful to not allow the internal shiver to slip past his own mask.

“Sometimes objects can carry a magic that can be imparted to other things,” he pondered aloud, eyes remaining unfocused. 

Celeste jumped at his words like she had been touched by a shock of faelight. Heat rushed to her face and the burn reached her eyes in a flash. “I’m not an object,” her voice wavered, well above a whisper now.

Immediately realizing his choice of words, Az no longer held the space but shifted abruptly to meet her. One arm slid along her shoulders to pull her body to him as the other curved up along her face to press her into his chest. “Sweetheart, I didn’t mean it like that,” his voice low and close to her ear. “That’s not what I meant. At all.”

His fingers folded themselves into her hair, rubbing at her scalp. She allowed the reprieve of his warmth to surround her. She knew that wasn’t what he meant. In the depths of her soul she knew that Az had never viewed her as an object, something to be possessed. The anger that built inside the cavernous void of her chest wasn’t at him, but herself. She knew she was loved here, in this life she had built for herself. She knew she was cared for and free and most importantly, safe. She loathed the creeping feeling of fear that popped up into her safe little bubble. She hated that the memories of her past sometimes bled into the life she had drowned them out with. 

It was in the rare times like this, when the emotions made her body harder to read, that Azriel wished for a mating bond. If only he could feel what was storming around inside her. He wished for a golden thread connecting the deepest parts of their souls so he could feel her feelings instead of interpreting them. He hated feeling helpless in knowing how to help her. He wished he could shoot his own feelings down a bond to her instead of relying on the words that came so hard for him. 

Celeste shuddered against the hard muscle of his chest, a poorly stifled sob escaping her. “I know,” her voice quivered. “I know that’s not what you meant.”

He felt her wipe her face along his chest, nuzzling as if to burrow inside his body, trying to settle inside his ribcage. The emotional chasm that she had once opened there, throbbed. If it were physically possible to tear himself open and let her in, he would have. He pulled both his arms tighter around her.

A few beats of silence passed, both of them sitting in perfect stillness before she sighed a heaving sigh and pulled to sit up. “I’m tired,” she voiced, moving to slide her body down the mattress. Azriel grabbed the edge of the covers, lifting them to allow her to settle comfortably. Propped on one elbow she leaned toward her nightstand, fingers grabbing the tiny bottle of papavera still sitting there. He notefully watched her measure out a dose before tossing her head back to swallow it.

Turning over to extinguish the faelight still burning, he heard the glass bottle being replaced on the stand. Darkness immediately took over and he moved by feel alone to curl around her folded body, spreading a wing like a cocoon over them both. Slowly the shadows broke the silence as they danced along Azriel’s ear, echoing the same question he had already asked himself. 

Which pain is she trying to dull?

She was cold. She felt her shoulders dance a small shiver as she reached behind her, grabbing for the covers that Az was no doubt hogging. Instead of soft fabric, her nails scraped against even colder cement. Her eyes flew open in confusion but her sense of sight was only met with the pitch black of night. 

Pushing up forcefully against where the mattress should have been beneath her only added to her bewilderment before a searing hot slice of pain rendered her nearly unconscious. Celeste lay there, arms folded beneath her chest, heaving on the cold floor and willing herself to not vomit. 

A dream. This is a dream. It’s not real.

The pain and the feel of the hard surface beneath her crashed through her memory. She remembered this. She didn’t want to be here. 

This is a dream. It’s not real.

This is a dream. It’s not real.

But it certainly didn’t feel like a dream. The fuzzy edges of sleep that normally pervaded her mind in dreaming weren’t there. The almost weightless feel of her body that happened as she moved was not present. Pushing up again, she willed her brain to wake up, hoping that clamoring from the bed would kick start her mind into reality.

“This is a—” she spoke aloud as she shoved upward. Again, she was assaulted with the blinding hot pain that collapsed her. A pain that was originating directly between her shoulders.

“It’s not real,” she wept openly, forehead to the floor. 

“I assure you,” a slithering voice echoed in the cement chamber, a ball of bluish faelight now rising to the ceiling. “This is very real.”

Whipping her head to one side, unwilling to attempt rising again, Celeste was met with the one face she had hoped she would never see again.

“No,” she sobbed, nearly retching. The feeling of the soup she ate earlier rising, burning her throat. The sensation rattled her sense of reality.

“Yes,” Tyrik corrected. His thin frame sat upon a low stool, much too low for his height. He was leaning over, legs spread far apart, elbows propped atop his knees. One hand was held open palmed toward the ceiling, controlling the movement of that small ball of light. In the other, he twirled something thin and flat in his fingers. “I did have to get a bit creative. But it was only to teach you a lesson.”

Celeste had ceased repeating her mantra over and over in her head. She felt as if she had no control over her mind and how to shake herself out of this nightmare. Feelings she had buried long ago were taking over and controlling the synapses firing in her brain. She didn’t feel like herself. She didn’t feel like the version of herself that she had worked so hard to transform into. Everything about what was going on around her flooded her nervous system and she felt the shift latch into place. The shift to the shaking, cowering, terrified Celeste. She just laid there, resigned to the forces at play around her.

“I will say it did pain me some to have to resort to such measures,” Tyrik continued deviously. “What a shame to see such a magnificent looking set be destroyed.” 

Celete’s attention was drawn to his hand, the one that had been toying with the thin object. Tyrik swept his fingers across his temple, moving to rid his face of his long strands of sandy hair, before tucking the object behind his ear.

Her heart stopped. All the blood in her limbs ceased to circulate. Her body was washed over with a shocking cold, not from the floor or the room surrounding her, but from the outright panic. Behind his ear sat a long, thin feather, almost the same sandy color as the hair surrounding it, but flecked with deep points of brown. This time she couldn’t hold the wave back any longer as she barely turned her head in time to purge her stomach onto the stone floor. 

“It does seem to have had the desired effect though,” Tyrik droned on, his coal black eyes not meeting Celeste’s at all, but staring almost hungrily at the large open wounds along her back. “You definitely lost the fight you had in you earlier.”

Celeste couldn’t go without air any longer, her brain forcing her to gasp a forceful breath which she then shuddered out into another heaving sob. The pain was becoming too much. Maybe if she could control her arms once more she could push herself to the point of unconsciousness and slip out of this gods awful hellscape. 

Before she could gather the willpower and strength to do so, Tyrik rose from his seat approaching Celeste across the short distance between them, his voice hardening. “I want you to remember, my pet,” he said as he moved into a squat next to her face. “I could have let you bleed out. But what a waste that would have been.” Tyrik trailed his knuckles down her cheek as Celeste screwed her eyes shut. The stench of his cloying sandalwood scent made her gut lurch dangerously again.

“Let this serve as your reminder,” he breathed, closing the distance between them, fingers still dancing along her cheek. “Of the so few options you have left next time.”

He abruptly rose to standing at his full height. Celeste kept her eyes forced closed, not watching him leave. With a flick of his wrist he poised the ball of faelight against the far wall before slamming the heavy door into place. The sound of grinding metal setting the lock still rang in her ears long after he was gone. Celeste just remained frozen, taking up her mantra again.

This is a dream. It isn’t real.

This is a dream. It isn’t real.

After a long measured silence, she had nearly convinced herself that when she opened her eyes she would be awake. Even though she could still feel the frigid cold under her, she expected the warm light of morning to be filling her room. The room she shared with Azriel. 

Azriel.

My husband. 

The thought of him hit her squarely in the chest with a pounding reminder that she had escaped. This prison was no longer her life.

Az. My husband. 

“Azriel, Az, Az.” She pleaded her new mantra aloud and she willed her eyes open wildly. Instead of the soft light of day, she was met with the harsh blue of the faelight—and what it was left there to illuminate. Her reminder. 

Beautiful flaxen wings, soft feathers spread as if about to take flight, attached to still dripping cartilage and bone. Separated from the body they belonged to and nailed haphazardly into stone. 

She had no time to think or plan her movements, her body’s response to the gruesome sight taking over her muscles, shoving herself full force from the floor with a choking gasp.

As she bolted upright from sleep Celeste’s brain didn’t even register the bright light of late morning spilling in through the windows. Gagging down the urge to scream she began gulping down air in retching gasps. Her mind was still telling her she was trapped as her legs flailed about in the tangle of sheets. Ripping them from her body in a panic, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and nearly toppled forward, grasping the nightstand with her left hand to catch herself. 

She sat there holding that position as the fog of sleep and the dream evaporated and she had willed herself to stop hyperventilating. With a strong squeeze of her hand, Celeste gripped the edge of the table grounding herself back to reality. Swiveling her stare toward the same table, she assured herself that her senses weren’t deceiving her. A shimmer of sapphire caught her attention.

Her ring. The one given to her by Azriel on that Solstice long ago. A shock rocked through her and she nearly choked out a laugh in relief, the mantra of his name still echoing inside her brain as she continued to calm her nerves. Releasing her grip on the table she clutched her hand to her chest in reassurance as she fingered along the band’s edge. The slip of paper on top of the nightstand caught her attention.

I cleared your schedule.

-Az

His slanted neat script was scrawled along the paper. Short and simple and to the point. As she stared at those two little letters of his name, she felt that deep void in her chest shrink and the lingering panic swept away. 

Righting herself to stand, she had the jarring realization that the floor wasn’t about to tilt from under her. The memory of last night trickled back to her and she discovered that the pain in her head was gone. Not a single twinge or throb remained. 

Celeste made her way into the washroom on slightly trembling legs. As she brushed her teeth she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were bright without any darkness beneath them from lack of sleep and she felt well rested but noticed she was still a bit shaky as she dropped her toothbrush back into the holder.

From the bedroom she heard a familiar soft swooshing sound, the subtle displacement of air that told her Azriel had just winnowed into their room. Peeking her head around the doorframe she saw the shadows nearly covering him beginning to dissipate. Before they could even reveal his full form, she tread across the room throwing her arms around his waist. 

A forced exhale of air escaped him on impact as he rocked back on his heels, momentarily startled by her intensity. “Hey,” he said as he slipped his arms around her in return. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” Her response came out slightly muffled as she pressed her nose into the front of him, breathing in a deep inhale. The familiar scent of chilled night air and cedar flooded her senses. The scent of Az.

It was just a dream.

Az. Az. Az.

“You sure?” he asked as she felt his arms pull her tighter against her.

“Yeah. No headache or dizziness or anything.” 

Azriel’s hands moved to her shoulders as he gently nudged her back to study her face. The concern and disbelief were evident in his features. 

“Really Az. I feel great.” She said, “I just had a bad dream, that's all.” 

She relaxed into his embrace once more, turning her head against his chest. Azriel pressed his lips to the top of her head and drew her in tighter, his thumbs moving in sweeping arcs along her back. 

Pulling in another breath of him, Celeste was reminded of the Night Court woods. After escaping Tyrik she had snuck through the ports to stowaway on a boat and made the long journey over the sea. Even after landing in a new land, Prythian, the paranoia and fear still had a hold on her and Celeste was determined to put as much distance between her and her former captor as possible. So she traveled through darkness and rough weather for weeks until she no longer felt the urge to keep going. One night in the woods, staring up at the most beautiful night sky she had ever seen, she had finally felt safe. Celeste had often wondered over the years if there was some connection. Some cosmic reason why the person she chose to spend her life with and the place she first felt safe both smelled the same. 

Az broke the silence, the rumble of his voice vibrating against her ear. “Hungry?”

“Starving.” She answered, pulling away with a smile.

As they descended the stairs together Az’s hand slipped to the small of her back from habit. Reaching the bottom of the stairs Celeste found a familiar face perched at her dining room table. 

“Good morning sunshine,” Cassian sing-songed at her as she made her way to her seat. 

“Morning, Cassian,” she responded before turning to Azriel as he placed a plate in front of her. “I told you if we fed the strays, they would keep coming back.”

Azriel let out a throaty chuckle as Cassian’s face went from shocked to playful in a heartbeat.

“Somebody woke up chipper today,” he said slyly. “And for your information, I already ate. I just have some time to kill before–well, before nothing.”

“You ate here earlier this morning.” Az retorted. As he took a seat beside her, Celeste reached out and rested her hand on his thigh, giving a small squeeze. His own hand settled on top of hers. Before he could even bring his mug to his lips a harsh knock sounded on the door.

“We’re moving,” Azriel directed at Celeste in jest even as he moved to answer the door. As much as he griped about the constant intrusions, he actually loved it. Having his family close by and comfortable enough to gather in his home uninvited was one of Azriel’s secret prides. The lack of Celeste’s smile at his joke however gave him a second of pause. He observed her eyes unfocused in thought with her fork hanging empty mid air before his lingering shadows along her arm started her back into the present. He felt that little seed of worry beginning to bloom as he moved to open the door.

“Hello Nes,” he greeted. No response came, instead Nesta went storming into the dining room, shoes clacking loudly upon the floor and her face pulled into a serious scowl. 

“So this is your plan is it?” She raged at Cassian as Azriel resumed his seat at the table. “To come begging pity at your brother’s house because you're hungry instead of apologizing?” 

“You know I can’t think clearly on an empty stomach, my love.” Cassian smirked at her with a childish gleam in his eye. 

Nesta’s growl came out as half a scream in frustration directly at him as Celeste reached to the sideboard behind her to grab the coffee urn. “Coffee, Nes?” She asked calmly.

Spinning on her heel and raising a pointed finger towards Celeste, Nesta spat through gritted teeth. “And you –”

The movement jerked Azriel into motion, the wing closest to Celeste flaring out in defense as he slid his chair back in preparation to stand, hands grabbing the table. “Easy,” he warned. The depth of his voice sent a chill over Celeste’s skin. She knew he didn’t see Nesta as a threat but the events of last night had him on edge. She ran a soothing hand down his arm before slipping her hand into his. 

Cassian smirked even wider at his brother as Nesta took a huffing breath and dropped her hand to smooth her skirt. “I thought you were on my side,” she continued to Celeste. The sharp daggers of her glare softened, showing a glimmer of hurt. “And here you are feeding him while I’m trying to hunger strike him into an apology.”

Celeste leaned toward the end of the table where Nesta stood rigidly, grabbing her hand in consolation. “Nes, honey, I am on your side.” 

“Wait a second,” Cas interjected which she pointedly ignored before continuing. 

“But I can’t fight this fight for you.” Celeste squeezed her hand before dropping it and returning to her coffee. “Also, I don’t think that is how a hunger strike works.”

With a heavy sigh, Nesta slumped into the end chair and crossed her arms. “I was out of other ideas.”

Cassian straightened himself to his full seated height. “For the record I would just like to state that I didn’t do any–”

“Admit the defeat brother,” Az interrupted as he gathered Celeste’s empty plate. “It’s for the best.”

“I know,” Cassian said in reluctant defeat. “But I just can’t help riling her up sometimes. It makes the apology that much sweeter.” He threw a heated stare at Nesta as she whipped her head towards him. 

“Is that what this is about?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “All this for the make-up sex? Seriously, Cas?” When his continued silence was his only response, she rose from her seat slowly. “Home. Now.”

Celeste tittered a laugh into her hand as Az wrinkled his nose at the scents that had permeated the air. Before Cassian could make it to the entryway, he spun around clutching his head. 

“Damn you Rhys! The worst fucking timing.”

Celeste’s eyes swung to Azriel as he barked out a laugh, then watched his eyes slowly unfocus as he was now receiving the same incoming message inside his head as Cassian. 

Before Nesta could scream in frustration herself, Celeste sidled up to her. “C’mon Nes, I finished that book I was telling you about. You can borrow it. I’m sure you can find some great ideas in it for later.”

“Fine.” Nesta huffed as she joined Celeste climbing the stairs. 

As they climbed the wide staircase, Celeste began to feel her heart pound harder with each step. Just a few short steps from the top and it had reached a racing thud in her ears and her vision began to dim. She clutched at her chest with one hand and gripped the banister with the other.

“Celeste?” Nesta paused, her voice laced with concern as she gripped Celeste’s forearm in an attempt to steady her.  

“I’m ok. I just –” Inhaling deeply, Celeste tried to gather herself. One deep breath in and out had the blackness receding from the edges of her vision. The next and the thudding reduced to a light canter in her chest. “I think I just need to sit down. Help me to the study.”

“We have to head over to the River House,” Az’s voice carried through the entryway as he and Cassian filed out from the dining room. “We will –”

Just as her final footstep landed at the top of the stairs, Celeste felt a thrum of pain shoot through her, encompassing her head and zinging down her spine. She didn't even feel the clash of marble against her kneecaps as she slammed down and doubled over in pain with a yelp.

“Celeste!” The panic was immediate in Azriel’s voice as he leapt up the stairs, Cassian on his heels. Nesta was clinging onto her waist in an effort to keep Celeste from tumbling backwards down the staircase.

“I don’t know what happened.” Nesta’s voice wavered. “She was dizzy or something and then just collapsed.” 

“Celeste, sweetheart.” Landing onto his own knees in front of her, Azriel slid his hands to cradle her face. “Talk to me.” 

Celeste could hear the fear in his voice. She was trying to concentrate on the feel of his hands against her skin and suck in a deep breath before her own fear took over. She was willing herself to suck in a gasping inhale, feeling her chest heaving but no air moving as another thrum of pain clanged through her and with a rasping scream everything went black. 

Everything was happening out of order and flying by in quick succession as if the memories were a deck of cards being shuffled. The pain was too great to make sense of anything. Tyrik’s voice said words that were unintelligible. Her bloodied wings stretched out and nailed to the wall. The bobbing blue of the faelight. The searing pain was no longer just in her shoulders but it was everywhere, everywhere, everywhere. This time when she pushed herself off the floor there was no more pain, just black - and quiet. 

Celeste’s eyes slowly peeled open, her body felt as if it was weighed down. The waning evening light filtering into the room. A single tear slid down her cheek and into her ear, but that's the only thing she felt. Lying on her back she dully registered there was no pain in her shoulders but it felt as if she had been crying for days. Her head was pounding and the light hurt her eyes. As still as possible, she surveyed the room around her, one she did not recognize. This wasn’t the cold windowless room buried beneath the estate. A flare of panic rose in her chest knowing it must be fairly dire for her to be up here in one of the guest rooms.

I was caught. Again.

Celeste fought the urge to sob as the panic flared again and threatened to obliterate her stillness. One deep sly inhale through her nose and she mastered the emotion, shoving it down forcefully knowing that any impulsive reaction would only bring harsher punishments.

“Hey,” a whisper soft voice pulled her attention. “You gave us quite a scare.” 

The tow haired female was sitting elegantly to her left, leaned forward slightly, her face hopeful with a sad concern creasing her brow. Another striking female stood beside her, similar in look but with more rounded features, her hand clutching on the shoulder next to her. Although Celeste did not recognize them it didn’t scare her. She usually didn’t remember being seen by the healers, their faces all blending into a blur of the tragedies they are called to mend.

The sound of the healer’s voice triggered a movement that caught Celeste’s attention. A dark hulking pair of wings stirred from the back corner of the room, whipping around to reveal a severe face. The worry clearly written across it confused her.

He probably faces punishment if I die.

His long strides brought him to the foot of the bed in a heartbeat, scarred hands gripping the footboard and strange shadows hovering over his shoulders. A second male popped up from the seat he had been occupying during their conversation, broader in frame and even more imposing. Side by side, winged and staring down at her with bright hazel eyes.

Guards.

The word slammed into her thoughts, inciting that flare of fear once more. Their job to assure her cooperation no doubt, or to enact punishment on Tyrik’s behalf. Either way, Celeste’s outcome is not ideal. She didn’t recognize these males either, but their sheer size and muscular build tells her they are here for one thing. Brute strength.

Dread crested again, this time proving harder to push away, but she tried anyway knowing it could mean her survival. Tears fell steadily now and Celeste pushed herself to sit quickly, startling the faces surrounding her but needing to move her body to expend the jittery energy. 

“Celeste,” the scar handed male uttered gruffly. At the same time Celeste blurted out, “Is he here?” 

She hadn't spotted Tyrik’s face in the room. The question brought an even more tightened and confused look to that dark male’s face. Snapping her attention back to the healers, Celeste found their brows drawn in similar confusion. 

“Where is he?” She questioned them, no longer holding down the racing panic. “How mad is he? Please don’t put me back there.” Her voice wavering and reaching a crescendo of fear. 

The sitting healer jumped up from her seat, grabbing for Celeste’s hand. “No one is putting you anywhere, honey,” she said in a rush, her nimble fingers caressing Celeste’s hand in a grip. The words didn’t register, the fear of her mind having overridden every thought process other than her survival. 

“Nes, I don’t think–” the second healer started but her words were clipped off, startled by Celeste’s next move. 

With a quickness, she pulled herself into a kneel, the soft mattress giving way under her knees. Immediately noticing the sensation she expected was missing. The searing pain between her shoulders was gone but this realization only served as tinder to the fire of her panic.

“I won’t try again. I swear I’ll obey. I’ll do anything. Just please don’t take me back there.” Celeste was sobbing beyond control now, her hands grabbing at her face feeling for the raw wound, only to find smooth, raised skin where the weeks old slash should be. The confusion launched her into the height of panic and the next sob came out in more of a scream.

Now beside the bed, the scarred handed male reached out and attempted to grab her wrist. “Celeste–” his voice came out tight with worry. “Sweetheart.” 

Before she could even process his plea, another body rushed through the door. This male unwinged and with searing violet eyes. 

“What the–” Rhys started, but chaos erupted.

Feeling as if she was being cornered, Celeste screamed. A guttural, begging scream as she scrambled backwards, slamming her back into the headboard. Azriel’s extended arm, having just grabbed hold of Celeste’s wrist, was met with hot pain as she tore her nails down his forearm in long ripping gashes, her eyes feral like a wild animal.

Rhys swept in and herded Feyre and Nesta out of harm’s way just as Cassian swiftly wrapped his arms around Azriel from behind, pulling him back across the room over his roaring protests. In his own panic he clawed at Cas’s hold, the beading blood from his arm smearing brightly over them both.

“I know,” Cas whispered lowly in his ear. “I know.”

Celeste continued her wild pleading from the bed. “I won’t try again. Please, don’t let him kill me.”

Rhys turned his wild look towards Marin and Selah who had hurried in the room behind him as he continued to usher his mate and her sister towards the door. 

“Do something. Now.” Pure High Lord command in his voice.

Quickly assessing their patient's crouched form, Selah attempted to approach Celeste calmly, hands raised to show she wasn’t a threat. “Hey, it’s ok. Everything is ok.”

There’s no way out of this. I’ve injured a guard. I’ve tried to escape again. He will never trust me. He’s going to kill me.

Celeste’s mind snapped and in that instant she decided that she would rather die at the hands of a stranger than have Tyrik ever lay hands on her again. 

With surprising quickness, she launched herself from the bed and onto the body of the approaching healer. 

Selah went down with a startled yelp, head crashing into the floor with a thud. A wild scream tore from Celeste’s throat, sounding terrifyingly close to the cry of the wild cats that resided in the mountains outside the city. 

On instinct, Cassian released his wrapped hold on his brother, knowing that his urge to rush to her in this moment would be too strong even for him to hold back. Cas was strong, but not strong enough to keep his brother from his wife in this state for long. 

As his arms pulled back however, Az stumbled. Clutching his still bleeding arm, eyes glazed over, Cassian recognized the shock immediately. The split second decision was made as he rushed to Celeste and poor Selah, still trapped under her. 

From the doorway, Rhys’ own instincts jumped in. He swiftly took Cassian’s place, planting himself between Azriel and the action behind him while sending out a pulse of power around them both before Az could gather his bearings and join the charge. 

Cassian’s muscled arms attempted to repeat the hold around Celeste, but she was wild with fear, screaming and flailing out of his grasp. He didn’t want to hurt her, his heart was already in his throat at the idea that she was terrified of him. Instead, he grabbed at the shirt she had been changed into, slipping his arm through the slits at the back meant for Azriel’s wings, and hauled her still kicking onto the bed.

Silently, he thanked the Mother above that Marin was at the ready, poised for action. The needled vial slipped into Celeste’s shoulder before Cas even had time to hold her still. Her thrashing mellowed in just a breath, her wild heartbeat racing the sedative along her body. With a final sluggish kick of her feet and a heartbreaking whimper, she slid into drugged slumber. 

“So how much do we tell her?” Feyre asked from her seat by the fireplace, hands wringing in her lap. 

“First we need to know how much she remembers,” Rhys stated from next to her, hand placed comfortingly on her knee. “Then go from there.”

A wretched noise escaped Azriel’s throat, despite his attempt at suppressing it, his hands gripping the back of Nesta’s empty chair for dear life. Cassian sidled closer from his place next to him, tucking his own wings in tightly to make the move. He was careful not to tread on the edge of Az’s dragging wings and threw his arm over his brother's slumped shoulders. Az’s shadows briefly scattered before returning to envelope them both.

They had all gathered in the cozy living space of Az and Celeste’s townhouse, chairs cobbled together from the dining room and pushed into all the available space. The entire Inner Circle, minus Mor, and a few of the healers from the group Celeste managed.  After the panicked flurry of finding out something had happened to the alarming ordeal of Celeste waking up, they were all more than a little shell-shocked. 

“And how exactly do we do that? She woke up fighting like a caged animal.” Amren said flatly from her spot on the sofa. “Not exactly a good time to start peppering her with questions.”

A low attempt at a growl came from Azriel in warning. Cassian tightened his grip along his shoulders in a squeeze. Leaning into his side, he pressed his head into Az’s temple and whispered something softly to him. 

Feyre briefly noted what a sadly beautiful painting that snapshot in time would make but dismissed it quickly knowing no one would want to commemorate a time like this. 

Rhys had already given a severe violet look in Amren’s direction in a warning before continuing. “Well, we at least know where she thinks she is, so that gives us a start. We need to —”

“We need to convince her she is safe.” Nesta’s firm voice interrupted from the doorway, returning from her bedside vigil. “She needs to know she is safe before anything else.”

Azriel’s head snapped up upon hearing Nesta return. Catching his intense stare she added, “Selah is with her.” The comment meant only for him and his worry. She continued, addressing the rest of them. “She thinks she’s still back in Valhallan. We have to assure her she is safe, which means you can’t be there when she wakes up again.” She nodded toward Marin. 

During the chaos that ensued with Celeste’s wild panic, Marin had done the only thing she could think to do and sedated her. 

Marin nodded weakly back in acknowledgment. “I–I’m sorry,” she hiccupped. “I didn’t know wh–what else to do.” One of the other healers reached out and clasped Marin’s hand in her own.

“You did the sensible thing,” Amren stated matter of factly.

Rhys shot her another severe look before placating Marin. “Don’t be sorry. You didn’t want her hurting herself or anyone else further. There weren’t a lot of options at that moment.” 

“You can’t be there either,” Nesta indicated toward Rhys. “It’s obvious she thinks she’s still back there. She saw you and panicked and she will probably remember your face when she wakes again next time. She’s terrified of males in general right now.” Her last statement hung in the air hinting.

“I’m not leaving,” boomed Azriel. 

Nesta didn’t respond. She didn’t waver either. 

“I’m. Not. Leaving,” he exacted ominously, that calmly cruel mask slipping naturally into place.

Nesta again didn’t respond, instead she slipped her gaze to her clasped hands resting along the sofa back. She may not have had any qualms about pushing her own Illyrian’s boundaries and directing him around but she wasn’t stupid enough to voluntarily go toe to toe with the Shadowsinger. 

“I’ll stay with you,” Elain said as she turned from her seat on the sofa next to Amren to meet Nesta’s eye line. “We can wait together.” She suggested it as if there were no question that Nesta would be the one to be there when Celeste awoke again, because there was no doubt about it. 

“Me too,” Feyre volunteered, still twisting her hands in her lap. “But–what about another seizure? How can we be sure it won’t happen again?”

Another grieved sound escaped Azriel’s throat as his mind shuttered back to Celeste’s collapse on the stairs. Before she could say one word to him through her pain she had passed out, his hands barely catching her before her head could hit the marble. He had watched helplessly as her whole body had trembled and seized, Nesta stopping him before he could gather her in his arms with the command to not move her. It had felt like an eternity before Cassian could get the healers to their house. 

“We can’t,” the healer beside Marin piped up. “At least not until we can assess the situation better. She needs to be stable for that.”

Nesta drew in a deep breath and held it a moment to steady her own nerves. “Then we keep her calm. We make sure she knows that she is safe and keep her calm,” she took another steadying breath. “That’s all we can do right now.” 

“Alright,” Rhys said, reluctantly taking charge of the conversation. “Selah, Nesta, Elain and Feyre stay. Everyone else, we can reconvene later if needed.”

“Notify me of any news,” Amren stated as she rose to leave. “And Shadowsinger…” she looked toward Azriel, her usually stiff persona softening a touch before slowly adding, “We will get through this.”

The animosity from earlier melted as Az nodded at her, his face lined with grief.

As everyone filed out, Azriel ducked away from his brother's arm and dropped himself down in one of the now empty armchairs by the fireplace. Cassian remained standing, facing his brother from behind the other chair. 

Elbows on knees and gripping his face in his hands, Azriel whimpered out, “I knew it was worse than she said. I knew something was really wrong.”

“You couldn’t have predicted this.” Cassian offered consolingly. “You had no idea this would happen.”

@mybestfriendmademe @lilah-asteria @chairofchaos @weekendlusting @pit-and-the-pen

@sarawritestories @ceoofyearning

[thedansome]

A meme outfit and an important message

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

Alduin: My therapist told me to write letters to all the people I hate and then burn them. So I did that.

Alduin: But now I don't know what to do with the letters.

[renegadesstuff]

He called him 'Jask' 🥺🤏🤍

[sweetsweetperil]

I fear you

From the inside,

An ache I cannot bear

Creeping up on the outisde

Reaching the surface,

Gasping for air,

I swallow hard, my pride

But there was none left to spare

Eating me alive

Can’t remember a time

It wasn’t there

[thattransdad]

OMG I hate X media because it's all about X and X is a bad thing 😳

....have you considered that that is the point of the media?

[hyunsuksswife]

[arcofacatboy]

Remember when, towards the beginning of Unwind, Connor sees a storked baby on someone’s doorstep?

Connor has just escaped the juvies less than 48 hours beforehand. Right now, his main focus is not getting caught by juvies and being unwound as a result. He has Risa and Lev to look out for - not that he knows either of them very well at this point - but his main goal, at this point, is saving his own skin (literally). Connor didn’t object when his classmate, and fellow unwind, Andy Jameson, sacrificed himself for him. It was implied in a Facebook post (all the way back in 2011!) that Connor and Andy were friends - and Andy was ultimately unwound because he saved Connor’s life. Andy is never mentioned again. Connor feels no guilt over Andy entering a divided state for him.

And yet, when Connor sees that baby on the doorstep, he panics.

It’s not like the general public in the Unwind Universe care about storks that much. Starkey was tormented by his status as a stork - everyone else thought he was a joke because of it, and he hated himself for that. Bam feels similarly, and is no stranger to becoming aggressive with those who try to belittle her because she was abandoned as a baby. No adults seemed to want to help them in this regard - they sent Bam and Starkey off to be unwound in the end, because their status as storks and the lack of affection from everyone in their lives came to be too much, and their anger was no longer contained and internalized. Bam lived - but Starkey ultimately died because he, more than anything, wanted to be something other than a stork to be unwound, who wouldn’t amount to anything.

But that’s not the point here, really. Connor doesn’t know Bam or Starkey, let alone that Starkey will die at his only remaining hand. He’s not panicking because someone he knows is a stork, and is suffering because of it. Someone he knew was a stork, and died because not a single person in his neighborhood cared about keeping him alive.

A baby was put on the doorstep of Connor’s parents. They knew why he was there - they had been storked, and they were now legally, and morally, obligated to take in the baby as their own.

But they already had a seven year old and a four year old! Two boys, no less! They had no need for a third son. Surely no one had seen them be storked by whatever irresponsible girl had gotten herself pregnant and given her baby up to good, hardworking people, who shouldn’t have had to bear the burden of her bad decisions.

Surely no one would notice if they just moved the baby to the doorstep of the neighbors. Surely they wouldn’t mind raising a son.

But no one said a damn thing.

Two weeks later, the baby boy showed up on the Lassiter’s doorstep - again.

He was visibly sick, so close to death that only then, out of pity for the infant, did the Lassiter parents take him in. He died in the hospital - most likely alone, having never known a world in which he was wanted. He never knew a world in which he wasn’t passed from porch to porch, doorstep to doorstep, suffering, alone and sick, because of the silence and apathy of everyone around him.

Everyone in the neighborhood came to the baby’s funeral, a funeral that was only held because it would have looked terrible for the Lassiter parents to not hold a funeral for the baby that died on their watch, and was technically their son. And they all cried. They knew they were all responsible for that baby boy dying, so they cried and cried, never admitting guilt, never admitting that one of them could have saved the baby’s life - and they chose not to.

Connor was only seven when the baby died. And yet, at sixteen, the death of the baby still haunts him. And here he is, face to face with the same situation. There is a baby on a doorstep - and the recipient of this precious gift is complaining about having to care for another unwanted child.

He remembers the death of the baby who could have been his neighbor, or his baby brother, if anyone around him had showed an ounce of compassion. A horrible thought strikes him.

This baby could suffer the same fate.

Connor is already so close to death himself. He could be caught by juvies at any moment. If he gets caught, Risa and Lev could die, too.

But, if he doesn’t act now, so could the baby.

So he goes to save her. He confronts the recipient of the storked child with no real plan. He just wants to save the baby. He can’t let another baby die because of human selfishness and apathy.

Risa steps in, making up a lie that she and Connor are the baby’s parents, and tells the recipient that she’ll take her baby back. Risa is furious with Connor, and chews him out. What could make him do a stupid thing like that? The three of them could be caught at any moment, and a screaming, crying baby isn’t going to make escaping persecution any easier.

But Connor couldn’t let Didi die.

Unwind came out in 2007 - it celebrated its seventeenth birthday last November. Unwind is now so old that, if it was a teenager, it couldn’t be unwound itself! So why bring up a well-known scene from the very start of the book.

Like the book itself, it comes back to Neal Shusterman.

@nealshustermanreal - remember what you wrote. While The Schwa Was Here might have been your first critically acclaimed book, Unwind is why you’re here today - why you are anything to anyone. And while all your books (that I’ve read) have complex themes of morality, like the anecdote I just mentioned above, remember that Unwind is what most people who know you, know you from. They know about Baby Lassiter, and they know about baby Didi. They know that silence, apathy, and complacency does more harm than good - they know that because of you.

And yet, here you are. People are dying in droves, and the people that aren’t dying are being injured, having their homes destroyed, being forced to watch their loved ones die, or otherwise being terrorized. Palestinians are dying. And yet, you wait over two months to say anything about it. You wait until your book tour, promoting a graphic novel you wrote about another genocide, is over. You send out an email quietly, an email that only those who are subscribed to your newsletter will see. And your statement seems to be an afterthought, squeezed between a paragraph on how you approach presenting your books on tour, and links to where you can buy a signed copy of your new, shiny graphic novel about genocide. And this is what you say.

Most of your fans, at least on this platform, know of this email. We’ve all seen it. But I want to focus on that last part.

“I’ve taken a stand - by refusing to feed that mentality. The situation is tragic for everyone. We need empathy everywhere.”

You are being selfish. You wish to try to see why both Israel is justified in their slaughtering of Palestinians, and why Palestinians don’t deserve to be slaughtered. This is not a topic in which you can have your cake and eat it, too. Either you support the country who has proven that they will continue to murder Palestinians, destroy every aspect of their culture, and bomb every place that Palestinians cherished and loved, or you denounce that. Your refusal to acknowledge that the citizens of Palestine are the current targets in a genocide, to acknowledge that Israel will call anything or anyone they don’t like “Hamas” to slaughter them without criticism, and to acknowledge that all of this was the result of Israel wanting to destroy Palestine does not paint you as someone who is refusing to feed a black-and-white mentality. It paints you as someone who, because they aren’t being directly affected by this genocide, doesn’t think it’s their problem. That, by definition, is apathy.

This isn’t a perfect comparison by any means, but.

You are leaving Didi to die.

[cloudedmoonofficial]

Catcher - Former Field Colony, Unbound Exile

No home. No family. But Catcher has what he’s always wanted: Independence.

No schedules. No expectations forced on him. No legacy to uphold. He can just be. 

Born in Field Colony, the strict rules of Colony life weighed heavily on him, in ways he didn’t realize until he had finally decided to leave. As a kitten, he heard stories of cats who left, cats like Wolfthorn, and how older cats would whisper curses and judgment upon them. But Catcher couldn’t help but envy them and stare out across their border into the barren desert lands. 

Since leaving, Catcher has had his fair share of troubles. It’s difficult being an Unbound cat. He still sneaks into Alliance territory to hunt or drink some fresh water from time to time…and to also meet up with a certain kindred spirit he’d never thought he would find. 

Field Colony is too stuck in the past and rigid for Catcher to ever consider going back, not that they would let him anyway, but that doesn’t mean all of them are bad. Art by Tennelle

[ninthcircleofprythian]

Friday is quickly approaching...

And you know what that means - UNBOUND PART 4 (Dancing With Your Ghost) will be dropping.

Still haven't caught up on the background chapters? Don't worry - I gotchu

Part One - They Don't Know About Us

Part 2 - Don't Pull Away

Part 3 - We're Going To Solstice Dinner --- And We're Gonna Get Married

TAGLIST

@mybestfriendmademe @lilah-asteria @chairofchaos @weekendlusting

[thedansome]

Speaking strictly from personal experience, don’t trust wizard with gold. They will literally 200 spells scrolls if left unsupervised.

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

In English, we say, "Reality."

In TES, we say, "Legends don't burn down villages."

[phijodo]

Something I did for Mermay!

Trying to focus on emitting vibes and emotions through my pieces has been so challenging and gratifying.

Thanks everyone for sticking around in this art journey of mine ♥️

[renegadesstuff]

The way he looks at him 🥹

[mangouuuuu]

Janus