#and the flower is a healer with a bit of wind magic

[dravidious]

You're more amazing than friendship

Speaking of friendship, I started playing Miitopia again today! However, I don't like my old party members, so I'm starting a new game with my OCs. Double however, I don't have enough for all 10 party members. So do any of my mutuals want to pick a class and go on a fantasy adventure with the power of friendship? The leftover classes are Warrior, Chef, Cat, Imp, and Flower:

[redheadspark]

Heyyyy🌼

Could I request a #1 with azriel? 🥹🥹🥹

A/N - I find this PERFECT for our spymaster! Thanks for requesting this, dear anon!

Never

Summary - There was no way Azriel would let you out of his life ever again.

Warnings - A HINT of angst but mostly fluff!

"Az, you have to let me go now,"

"No,"

"Az..baby--"

"I don't intend to let you go anytime soon,"

You huffed, wiggling a bit in the hold that he had on you as the fireplace crackled and popped near you. You had warmth from both sides, the fireplace behind you roaring with fresh logs that magically appeared. And in front of you, your mate that was holding you close and breathing you in. Even while you two were bare under the covers and the night was still rolling by, you still felt that warmth. Not just from the temperature of the room and the body heat of your mate.

But the warmth of your mate and his devotion to you.

It started with the Battle against King Hybren. You were already treading carefully when Azriel wanted you away from the battle. He was protective of you as it was, ever since you two got together and became mates so long ago. He knew you were not a dainty flower of a damsel who need saving, but you were also no warrior. You knew the basics of self-defense thanks to your father when you were younger, and Azriel when he taught you how to spar and use a blade. Yet you still were never one to find yourself in a fight or a battle, that wasn't your scene.

But that day during the Battle, some of King Hybren's soldiers came into Velaris as a surprise attack to take out some of the citizens. You defended yourself against some of the soldiers on your own since you were at your home, but your luck didn't last forever. Taking a knife to the side with a decent wound, you were losing blood fast as a spare Illyrian soldier came and saved you just in time from being murdered from another strike.

Hours later, Azriel found you unconscious in the makeshift medical center that was in the old Community Center building. He was told by the Illyrian soldier what happened, and the soldier knew you as Azriel's mate so he had to report to Azriel immediately. Azriel held you in his arms, weeping in your hair and damning the Hybren soldier who harmed you.

High Lord Rhysan had Madja, his personal Healer, transport you to The House of Wind to heal with all the medical supplies she would need to aid you and your road to recovery. It would take some time for you to fully heal, and a scar would be evident along your skin. But a full recovery was in sight, and Azriel was beyond glad.

Your mate never left your side, not even to meet with some of the serving Illyrian soldiers who wished to pay their respect to the High Lord and Lady and to Cassian for their victory. Rhysand had to force Azriel to leave you for a few hours to debrief the battle with the other commanders and captains, which killed Azriel from the inside out for being away from you. When he made it to three hours, he left abruptly and found you wide awake in bed, crying freely when you weakly smiled at him. He engulfed you in his arms, carefully not touching your wrapped stomach where your wound was, as he kissed your skin wherever he could.

"I'll never let you go again, never," He said against your forehead as you kissed his chin and cheeks in return.

"I'm right here, breathing the same air as you and touching you here, see?" You asked him as you moved your fingers against his forehead to push his hair away from his eyes. Azriel watched the gesture, loosening his grip on your waist and having you sit up and half on top of him. Azriel had to laugh at the quick move, knowing you weren't going to be held down anymore. You kissed away his laugh, and Azriel kissed back soothingly as your fingers ran through his hair again.

"You hold me as if I would float away," You teased, Azriel just smiling and running his bare fingers up and down your spine slowly and intimately.

"Maybe because I don't intend of having you float away from me anytime soon," He explained, pausing for a moment as his fingers moved over to your hip where the slight sliver of a scar was present. You froze as he caressed the scar, no longer seeing that fear that he had in the past when he would see the scar, but more of a look of fondness and contention too.

It took him some time to realize you weren't going to be staying in your room for the rest of your life, away from danger or from harm. You were stubborn, you and Azriel got into plenty of fights over your protection and your well-being in being back at work or out and about. He was relentless in keeping you safe, but you were relentless in being free and able to care for yourself.

So you both came to a medium.

When you were finally cleared to be able to move around and no longer bedridden, Azriel was beyond happy. Having you in his arms again and being able to have his way with you in bed again. You let him, feeling his lips along your skin and rolling his hips into yours with no abandon. He left his hesitance behind with you, and as you two were wrapped up in each other in the afterglow and both catching your breath, Azriel cradled your jaw in his palm and stared at your eyes intensely.

"I hope that in every life, you are there with me.” He vowed to you, making you cry as you kissed him all over again.

"It's you and me together, Az," You reminded him as you as he grinned widely, "Nothing will keep us apart, I promise,"

"I know," he reassured you, leaning up to kiss you as the covers slipped back down again and the fire roared back to life.

The End.

Spring Prompt Sessions

[jarofstyles]

Sugar Sugar 7

Hellllo my lovelies. Long time no see. I’ve been slow w updated for them but here we are! Part 7 to Sugar Sugar!

Check out our Patreon!

Warnings: mention of witchcraft, tarot, metaphysical, etc

—-

H: I’m on my wayyyy. I’ve got a box of donuts for you and Delilah.

Sugar: you’re a godsend. Get here quicker xo

Harry felt a bit guilty about the fact he hadn’t been to her shop yet.

His girlfriend’s shop.

Girlfriend.

Girlfriend.

Motherfucking girlfriend.

The pep in his step increased as he approached the door to his damn girlfriend's store. His lover. They had made it official two days ago, and he had called his mother like a damn little boy. Telling her that the girl he was seeing had agreed and that she would ABSOLUTELY love her. Ever since the divorce, his mother had flourished and was very into yoga and stuff like that- so he figured she would get a kick out of Y/N Whenever she came down to visit.

It was a purple painted door. A window in the front with ‘Canyon Moon’ in a cool font with a neon crescent moon right next to it. It was adorable. There was a painting in the display window showcasing what he now knew to be amethyst and a full moon skillfully painted on the glass. There were crystals laid out on the bottom and some products showcased along with wind chimes and sun catchers gently swaying in the natural air. The chime of a bell sounded as he ironed up the door, and Harry was a bit lost.

It was magical, pun absolutely intended.

The smell of incense he couldn’t place hit him first, making his nose tickle just a little bit as he wandered inside of the shop. It was clean and quirky, the shelves lined with thousands of beautiful shiny crystals that he truly couldn’t even begin to name. All colors of the rainbow, sorted by color and tiny little handwritten signs giving ‘properties’ and names with the pronunciation. That would definitely save him some embarrassment.

He heard soft music playing, it had to be Stevie Nicks. Her raspy voice floated through the air as he heard the slight freak of the wood floor while his feet carried him further inside.

To the left was a room with velvet curtains acting as a door. Sparkling velvet, to be precise. Crystal mobiles hung from the curling every so often along with faux vines- or what he believed to be faux. The plants in the windows were absolutely real and thriving. Green and vibrant, large leaves and impressive height. The wall opposite had packets and jars of dried herbs and flowers. Why? Harry didn’t know, but he found them to be interesting. What did people use them for? He’d have to ask Y/N.

In the back corner were books and incense. He could see the burning one going and showing smoke coming out of a little ceramic ‘mushroom house’, making him smile as he approached it. Multiple books on spells and types of witchcraft, along with astrology and crystals lined the shelves. To Harry, it felt like something out of a fantasy novel. Coming to the healer's domain, all of that. He was 99% sure he had seen a shop like this while he played.

His gazing and awe was interrupted by arms wrapping around his waist from behind, a soft kiss pressed to his shoulder blade covered by the fabric of the Harley Davidson tee shirt covering his torso. Chills littered his skin as he felt lips ghost him, the warmth of her presence making him relax into its hold. It was almost immediately that his heart began to thunder, his stomach a mess of sparkles that only Y/N was able to conjure up.

Witchcraft.

“What do you think, Handsome?” She rested her hand on his tummy, making it jump slightly. He never got tired of her touch, especially like this. Intimate. Allowing him to feel desired. He was thriving in this moment, a stupid grin on his face as he placed his larger hand over top of hers.

“S’unreal.” He muttered. “Like something from a video game. Or movie. I’m in awe.” Truly he couldn’t believe he hadn’t been here before. He felt a bit sad that he hadn’t. She had spent quite a bit of time at the bakery and this was only the first time he had stepped into her own place. There was a comfort in the place that H found to be….a little odd in a good way. He partially attributed it to the fact the shop was so entirely Y/N. Everything reminded him of her as he looked around. The colors, the scent, even the tone of wood. It screamed Y/N and he wanted to stay in here and soak up whatever feeling he got in it.

Y/N smiled with her face smushed against his back, nuzzling betweeen the shoulder blades. There hadn’t been an expected reaction to the shop, but this was better than she had hoped. The actual awe in his voice and watching him from the shadows as he had looked around, picking up things and putting them down. It wasn’t fake, or to please her. He really did find it cool. It helped a part of her that had been a little bit embarrassed from the past where she had been ridiculed and degraded for liking the things she did. To anyone else, they were just pretty rocks. Hell, even to her they could be. That didn’t mean she liked people making fun of them.

“I’m glad you like it.”

His hand rubbed over the back of hers, yet again unable to keep his own hands away when she was in close proximity to him. “I do. It’s sick.” She was too far away, though. Grabbing her hand, he tugged slightly and pulled her away from behind him, making her slide around the front.

There was no wasting time. Now that Harry had his permission to kiss her, his large hands cupped her hot cheeks and tilted them upwards, pressing his lips to hers in an affectionate greeting. It was a chaste kiss, but he elongated the peck because he simply didn’t want to pull away. Giving a few tiny kisses to the bottom lip and one single to the top, tearing his forehead against hers. “Hi, beautiful girl.” Thumbs stroked her cheekbones, a dopey smile on his face as he pulled back slightly to get a look at her.

Her beauty caught him off guard every time. Making his heart stutter in his chest, his stomach twist in those flocks of butterflies. This woman was his girlfriend, the twinkle in her eye was for him and the breathtaking grin was caused by his own actions. Pride swelled in his chest, even more grateful that she had allowed him to be in her life like this. “Missed you.”

It hadn’t even been that long. She had seen him at the bakery yesterday, but he had been swamped with orders for cupcakes for a birthday party. Y/N had spent her lunch break helping him ice the cupcakes, but ultimately she seemed to be a distraction rather than help. He had a hard time being in the same room as her and not having his hand on her.

“Dork.” She teased, reaching up to tweak his nose lightly. “Missed you too, though. I’m glad you’ve come over. The space could use some good energy.” Her ringed fingers brushed over his chest, straightening out his tee shirt. “I have some readings booked with both me and Delilah. She’s behind the curtain with a client now.” She nodded her head in the direction of the velvet curtains.

“Readings?” He had seen the advertisement for readings on her shop instagram, but didn’t know exactly how it worked. “How do they work, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Y/N beamed at the question. For once, a man she was dating actually seemed interested. Genuinely curious. To her, it didn’t matter if he got it nor if he believed in it, but it would be really nice if he did. It was just nice to see him take interest in things she did.

“Come.” She took his hand and crossed to the back where she had her own reading space free. Pulling back the curtains, she exposed a cozy space. The velvet curtains covered each wall except for the one with the window, which was cracked open just a little bit. A plethora of crystals lined the windowsill and herb bundles were drying above the top, hanging from the ceiling. She could see his confusion, a little laugh coming from her.. “They’re protection bundles. The properties of the herbs help with keeping the space clear from any negative energies and things like that.” She squeezed his hand, motioning for him to take a seat on the black velvet armchair in front of the table.

“It’s really like a movie.” He mumbled, looking around the room with another feeling. Almost like he was in a dream or something along those lines. “It’s so pretty. I hope. that isn’t weird to say or anythin.” Harry was tredding lightly as he commenting, hyper aware that he wanted her to be happy and comfortable with his words. This was her thing, her business, and he wanted to say the right things.

“Not weird at all. Don’t worry, love.” Her hands grabbed two different embroidered pouches, placing them on the tablecloth in front of him. “I’m going to do a one card pull for you. You can choose to take what resonates with you. I’ll just have the deck call to you and you can choose which one you want.” The punches were adjusted for him to look at. One was a soft looking leather pouch with an image of a wolf howling at the moon in black thread embroidered on the front. The other, the one he felt more drawn to, was a royal purple cotton pouch. It had the moon and sun along with flowers scattered across the fabric. Something about it just felt comfortable.

“This one.” His finger pointed to it, feeling a little nervous but excited all at the same time. He had never imagined getting a reading. In all honesty, things like this had always been a bit scary to him. The idea of the future, knowing about it, and if it said something bad to him, that was something that unnerved him. With Y/N however, he felt more comfortable than ever. Of course the nerves from his past feelings had lingered, but it was mostly something along the lines of excitement now.

“Okay. Let me light some incense for it.” She leaned back, standing to grab her chosen Sandalwood and lighting it on the tray that rested on the windowsill. “I tend to do it because it helps clear the space and the energy around us. Makes it less dense. I like a clear space for reading. It’s easier for me to focus and not feel so heavy.” Y/N knew Harry was naturally curious and she could feel his eyes on her back.

He was curious, Yes, but he was also admiring the midnight blue dress she wore today. It clung to her a bit tighter than normal, nipping at her waist and letting him see her curves in a way that made his mind wander. It was… a new favorite of his for sure. The man was trying to focus only on her actions, though. This was a new one for him, and he already knew Y/N was probably the best reader.

She sat in front of him with a smile, placing the leather pouch back on what he knew was some sort of crystal plate. “Okay.” She took the cards out, tapping them three times on the table. “Hello, cards. Thank you for giving us guidance today. Been a while since I’ve used you, I’m sorry.” She murmured quietly. “Makes sense that the prettiest boy chose my prettiest deck.”

Harry flushed at her words. The prettiest boy chose the prettiest deck? Oh, she was too good. “They’re hand drawn, have gold foiled accents. One of my favorites, actually. Most people and the cards don't choose each other but I had a feeling you’d want this one.” Intuition came in strong yet again. “I always tell people that the card you choose in a drawing like this means what makes sense. The cards are tools for us. Because you’re my boyfriend, I’ll tell you that I do believe in the cards. I think they’re important, but every deck has a personality of their own. This one is classy, romantic, sweet. You didn’t choose my sassier deck, but I think that’s good for a first time.”

Harry was trying to keep up. It was intimidating, but his mind did go a bit fuzzy. She called him her boyfriend again, and it made him abso-fucking-lutely giddy. Boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend. God. He would never ever get tired of hearing it come from Y/N’s mouth. “Okay. I think i got it…” he muttered, watching her spread the deck out on the table like a fan. Her shuffling skills were insane, and it made him side note to always have her do that for him if he was playing poker dealer. “So…” he looked at the cards, all face down and then at her. “Do I just pick?”

“Yes.” Y/N had to giggle, looking at his face. Harry was obviously a bit intimidated but it was adorable. “There’s no pressure. Go with your gut. Close your eyes, let your hand hover over until you want to stop. Then pull the card out.”

It sounded simple enough.

Doing as instructed, his eyes fluttered shut and he cleared his throat, letting his hand hover over the cards. Back and forth, he went, until. He felt a tiny buzz in his fingers. It caught him off guard slightly, a nervous chuckle leaving him as he placed his hand down and slowly pulled the card out.

Y/N watched him in interest as he opened his eyes, looking down at the card before he turned it over.

“Two of… cups?”

Y/N could have choked.

Two of cups.

“The two of cups… Well, it usually comes about when you’re in a new state of heart. New relationships.” She could feel her cheeks burning. The excited nerves returning to her tummy, looking as Harry observed the card and the image of two golden challises pouring into one another. “It’s… it’s encouragement card. It means a pairing is right, balanced.. That you can give and take evenly, building each other up and making each other happy. People refer to it as the love card. There’s another card called the lover, which is self explanatory but…” She paused, taking a little breath as the smile she couldn’t help repressing grew.

“I’m getting the feeling that it’s something you’ve maybe needed confirmation on? Maybe not the relationship itself, but your contributions to it. It’s a confirmation that you are the other half, an equal. It’s a good thing.” Y/N had never given a partner a reading before so it was all brand new to her, and thr fact that that particular card was chosen felt like the spirits teasing her. Yes, it was Harry’s reading, but it involved her. “Maybe in past relationships you’ve felt like you were pouring too much into it, and the other person wasn’t giving you their all back.” She muttered, looking down as she observed the card. “Something about half empty cups. That seems to bug you. You give and give and give until you’re empty and it shouldn’t be that way. Perhaps it’s been because you’d been wanting something different from the other people you attempted to build connections with. But this card signifies some equality. Level ground. A good opportunity.”

There was a shyness that overcame her as he let out a breath.

It was weirdly spot on. Harry had always been the type to overgive in relationships. He poured all of himself into it, expecting the other person to match his energy- but it never happened the way he had wanted it to. With Y/N, all of it felt so incredibly authentic. He never felt like, at least this far, he was the only one putting effort in. She texted him frequently, she had opened up, and even now. Giving him this reading.

“I mean- yeah.” He murmured. “I hope this isn’t offensive, but it’s a little freaky. Sometimes people say that I give off an air of like… disinterest. But when I care, I care a lot. And it feels like in the past when they see that, they take and don’t give. So I’d say that’s accurate. However…” he gently took her hand into his own, rubbing his thumb over the back of her own. “I feel different with you. Like you said- level ground. Give and take. Especially with all the things you’re teaching me. Been my girlfriend for only a short while, but I enjoy every moment. I hope you know that.”

Harry made her flustered a lot, but moments like this especially. He spoke to her with an ease that had her nervous, intimidated at how good he was with wording things.

“It’s just weird how you got all of that from the card. I like it.” He released her hand, snapping a photo of the card and placing his phone back into his pocket. “Wanted to remember and capture that for when we’re a while down the line.”

Maybe they’d end up married one day. Who knows? That was always the hope in a relationship. Right?

“I came to check out the shop and see my gorgeous girlfriend. Steal some kisses. I left some sweets on your checkout desk… but I missed you.” He stood up from his spot, gently urging her up and coaxing her back into his arms. There was little resistance when he tilted her chin back up, lips pressing against hers chastely. The tiny sparks shot up his back as he hummed contently. Harry would be stealing these as often as possible. “Need to take some design advice from you. Looks incredible everywhere you turn. My place is still a bit bare bones.”

Y/N lifted her hand to stroke his cheek, feeling the stubble brush her fingertips while he spoke. Admiring him while she listened, struck with an idea. He could see it on her face as she lit up, brows rising at the mention of design advice. “Really? You’d want my advice?”

Her design style was more on the eclectic side but she had a weakness for Pinterest, HGTV, and home Reno and deco tv shows. The shop had its set theme but it was still very much her own personal style.

“Of course. You did amazing here.” He teasingly squeezed her chin before dripping his hand to her shoulder, lightly massaging it as they stood in each other’s arms. The curtain was drawn, sure, but Harry had a hard time keeping hands off as it was. “You said something about it being thrifted the other day, right? Some of it?” He looked at the candelabra on the table, half melted candles adding to the mystical ambiance.

“Yes! I love it. Finding things secondhand is my speciality. I’m like… really good at it.” She whispered conspiratorially.

“She is.”

A new voice popped up and the curtain opened revealing Y/N’s best friend and coworker. Delilah was a beautiful woman with golden skin, a halo of dark curly hair and the most defined lips she had ever seen. Bangles clanged on her wrist and her long nails tapped against the curtain as she gave Y/N an impressed look, obviously approving of Harry’s energy.

“He’s good so far.” She narrowed her eyes, the cat-like gaze dropping to his hand on her back and back up to his face. It was intimidating. Harry wasn’t usually one to feel the need to look away, but the energy the woman had was strong. Different from Y/N’s, but similar in strength. It made him feel shy. “I’m watching you. But I haven’t had any bad visions from you. So…” she tossed her hand up. “it’s nice to meet you. The donuts are very good, by the way.” Harry went to reply but she continued talking, Y/N squeezing his cheek as a way to reassure him. It happened a lot. “She has the most incredible luck thrifting. I do think I’m good at manifesting what I want, but the two of us can look on the same shelf and she will find the most incredible item that I’ve not even seen. Unreal.”

Harry beamed in pride. It was a weird thing to be proud of her over, but anything he learned about Y/N was amazing to him. A thrifting extraordinaire, a skilled tarot reader, an excellent kisser, he was adding to her talents daily. “Oh really?” He mumbled.

“I do have good luck.” She said with a bashful giggle. “If you want, we can… I can help you with your place? We can make a mood board of what you’d want and maybe we can go thrifting together to find the stuff?” She asked softly, watching Delilah excuse herself from the corner of her eye. She was good at reading the room, her best friend. “We don’t have to, if you want to do it yourself. But I figure it could be a nice thing to do… an excuse to see you.” She dragged her foot on the ground, making him want to coo. The slight shyness at bringing up these ideas was endearing to him.

“Are you kidding me? I’d love that.” He expressed it as if it was obvious. “I’m shit with interior design for my own spaces. I knew what to do for the bakery because it’s been in my head for ages but my own space? I don’t know how to do all that.” Truthfully it was a bit pathetic. “I don’t have much at all.”

“It can’t be that bad, Harry.” She laughed, pulling away from him. “Come. Let’s make a plan.”

[glamwish]

♡ 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐝   /   ♡  𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥.   /   𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬.  /   𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐨.  /   𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 & 𝐡𝐜𝐬   /   ♡  𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝𝐬  dreamlune / priesm. 💖 ✧*。

&& a heart full of stars. ; a canon divergent nikki from the dress up ni/kki series { miracle/love, shining & in/finity nikki. } thoughtfully placed within multiple fandoms including : dis/ney, king/dom hearts, ff, gen/shin, and various animes and series.         (◍•ᴗ•◍)♡ ✧*。          themes in : imagination, a healing and magical touch , happiness and also enduring pain with a smile. lovingly portrayed by dior { 26 she/her asian. }

♡ rules/info      mutual base only, no hate, ship with chemistry, meme response welcomed, no god-modding, multi / oc / dupe friendly, respect boundaries  &  be patient with reply speed. i read all rules for those who follow           if i see something i know i can’t honor / reciprocate / vibe with, i softblock or hardblock per said blogs preference. i hardblock blogs that rb my starter calls and threads that aren't mutual or involved in said threads.  i made all of the resources on this blog, if you need help let me know.   that’s all !  be kind to one another <3 i do have multiple blogs that are on hiatus : pearlcure , starscrys ; sporadically on @seacharm and my gfx rphbydior.

for those who do not know of nikki and the gacha mobile games : she is a fantasy based female heroine that has extraordinary skills with fashion and being an uplifting lead role. her most trusted friend and ally, a talking cat, momo always travels alongside nikki in utmost companionship. the nikki verse doesn't have calamity or chaos, but caters to happiness. in infinity nikki, it will be the first time nikki faces fears and saves the world with the powers varying within each different outfit. " Following her wish, Nikki embarks on a journey, and to find the legendary suit she is determined to become a Stylist. Stylists are those who are able to control special skills which come from special suits, and to become one Nikki ought to pass an examination to qualify as a professional Stylist. During the exam, she encounters a mysterious presence and accepts a special quest. Advancing through her adventures, Nikki reveals the secrets of the world." BASICS. Her name is Nikki, she is no younger than 19 ( my own take ) and is currently a well known stylist for fashion, and healing a nation. Chosen pronouns are she/her, and prefers quite a bit of chemistry for romance despite developing crushes easily. She loves all genders equally, identifying as pan.

*& 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬. ( please note that it is okay by me to call her by her name even if she does not know your muse! )

main verse ( INFINITY NIKKI* ) : taking place within her own realm and hometown miraland, nikki is transported to a dream like new world where all of her dreams come to fruition and she is tasked for saving those came to harm by ravaged magic. a mysterious dress takes her through a portal and into this world called miraland to find the miracle outfits to help a wounded nation from a blood curse and protecting wishes made by the people. notable abilities so far: floating, wind/flower gliding, various animal/creature care, essling purification, shrinking size, electrician, violinist, and painting.

kingdom hearts ( the heart queen ) : a lawful good character open to all 3 game timelines. a magical queen residing at king mickey's castle for utmost protection. mender of broken hearts, healer and friend to those in need. can fight alongside sora as a healer role.

genshin impact ( stars legend ) : a fallen star, a kindhearted young woman travels teyvat studying fashion and everything that makes each nation unique. she has a heart made of diamonds, would fight with a catalyst and have a cryo vision.

disney ( heart of stars, princess nikki ) much like rapunzel, nikkis world is very euro centric, only resonating with stars and wishes. designing her own dresses and catering to those who want the same, she is a well respected princess with a kingdom free of chaos and villains.

other games / series. i'm willing to place nikki into other verses such as lol/arcane, marvel/dc; with the idea in mind that she is a healer & divine based role. very oblivious to her fame and genuinely wants to help people.

[vicoya]

SACRIFICE. 🩸

🩸

🩸

titled: a resilient rose where: outside of camp, the lostlands when: one day after returning from the mines tw: blood tagged: @alessiathepath

The Tower trained it's witches to manage their energy wisely. Over expenditure was more common among novices casters, and fairly so. They required more energy - more focus - to complete their spells and incantations successfully. And while witches could tap into the Weave, but they weren't ceaseless wells of magic. The Tower couldn't possibly have anticipated Vicoya would go on to learn blood magic after consuming the taint; that she'd go a step further and perform a ritual allowing her to use own life force to heal others. They couldn't predict she'd end up on a battle field, facing down blighted dragons and Aetherians. No one could have prepared her for this.

There was no rulebook on avoiding exhaustion when your own blood was a conduit for magic, when your own life force could restore vitality to others. Every time the question arose - her, or another? - she chose the latter. And look where it got her. She was wandering through the endless snowscape of the Lostlands, a person nor destination in sight. She wasn't entirely sure how'd she made it here, either.

First, she'd been at the entrance of the healing tent, passing out healing potions to whomever tried to enter. As much as she hated to turn people away, there were just too many wounded accumulating at this point, and her magic was all but spent from the recent battle. Luckily, she was a fairly proficient botanist, and the health potions she'd concocted would stem the tide for now. But between healing and potion making and existing, she'd barely had a moment of peace since returning from the mines.

Perhaps that is how she ended up here, in the wintery wilderness and snow. Her feet had moved seemingly on their own accord until she was far, far away from anyone who could ask anything of her. Here, the howling of the wind was more of a comfort than a scare. The wind couldn't demand anything from her other than her warmth, and that was one of the few things she had left to give away.

Vicoya found herself sinking to the floor, her brightly colored robes contrasting against the pale snow as they pooled around her knees. She spied something poking out of the ice - a singular flower, struggling to bloom. How it had even survived her for so long, she had no clue. It was a persistent little thing, to have grown so beautiful in an area so devoid of life. A beauty no one but her would able to admire this far out in the wilderness. Finally, something that was hers, and only hers.

Coya slowly pulled off her black, leather gloves, almost desperate to touch the flower despite how the cold instantly bit into her skin. Doing so revealed a bit of her wrists, the ancient runes carved into her skin raw and angry given their recent use and overuse. Just a day prior the lines of the intricate shapes had cracked open and bled to empower her spells. It would take days before the mangled skin stitched itself back together, and even longer before she'd be ready to use such power again. Yet if they were attacked a second time, she wouldn't have a choice. The same question rang through her head again - her, or another? - and the answer was still the same.

Gently, her fingers brushed across the pale, pink petals. She was scared it'd crumble beneath her if she wasn't careful enough. Luckily, a healer's touch was naturally delicate, and she reveled in the softness of the floral leaves. They were wilted and sagging - clearly the tundra was draining the color out of it as it had done to so many other people and things.

An idea struck her, and a hope bubbled up beneath her chest. Perhaps she could fix this resilient rose before it succumbed to the winter's icy grasp completely. Perhaps she could breathe life into it a new, give it a fighting chance. Even if it didn't end up surviving, it would know it's beauty had at least been seen, and it would know someone was rooting for it, all the way out here.

Coya cupped the bulb of the flower between her palms as her tired eyes fluttered shut. She reached deep inside herself, down to the tainted yet radiant ball of light she called a soul. As she tugged at it, pulled at the magical strings of the delicate Weave, soft tendrils of light began to drift from her palms, stretching out towards the flower as if they yearned to touch it. The wispy tendrils wrapped around the flower in a spiral until every inch of it was bathed in warmth.

Vicoya could feel the energy leaving her with every turn the tendrils made around the bulb and the stem and the leaves. Despite the flower being so small, even this small effort appeared too taxing for the olympian turned legionnaire. She'd drained energy from a well that already been sucked dry, and her mortal body was only built to withstand so much, though she tried convinced people otherwise.

Through blurred vision, she watched as the flower began to stand up straight, and color began to return to its perfectly pink petals. Then she watched a single drop of red fell onto it's soft surface, before slowly trickling into the center of the rose, weaving through the small gaps between the circling petals as if they were a beautiful maze. Then another drop. It'd come seemingly out of nowhere, until she felt the cold sensation of liquid freezing on her face. A shaking hand reached up to swipe just under her nose, and it came away red.

More drops dripped onto the white ground, immediately soaking into the snow beneath her. Her hair was no longer the only thing painting the landscape red now. She tried to blink away the foggy haze that had consumed her vision with little luck. This wasn't something she could will away through stubbornness and grit teeth. Something was wrong.

She turned to make her way back to camp, but dizziness hit her instantly the moment she swiveled her head. Instead of pushing herself onto her feet, she found herself lying in the snow, pale face looking towards the fires of the camp in the far distance. They were even harder to make out through her blurred vision. Next to them, she thought she spied another shape, this one moving towards her. It was taller, black mostly with brown on top. A person, perhaps?

She realized she didn't have the energy nor the time to figure it out. The snow felt like a soft blanket, and she felt warmth overtaking her despite the cold. Sleeping seemed like a great idea, now. It was time to rest, just for a little while...

Just for... a little ..... while..........

[kitsunesfandomtime]

Between Life and Death

Prompt: "I want to be a healer, and love all things that grow and are not barren."

Characters: Izuku Midoriya, Inko Midoriya, All for One

In this forest is where Izuku feels most comfortable among the flowers and the gentle breeze. The sound of birds chirping gently among the wind as he embraces the call of nature in these beautiful green meadows.

Lately there have been patches of barren soil that would seem to cross the land. Random patches that seem to be of someone's footsteps seemingly sucking up life around them.

Thankfully Izuku had some magic to patch up the mess but each day it seemed to grow closer and closer to his village. As if was testing the waters of the area in the dead of night.

He wondered if it was fairies or monsters the thought terrified him as his mother warned him. That he was touched by magic and eventually someone would come for him.

He told his mother and she grew incredibly pale whispering, "He knows he can't be around here."

Izuku didn't understand. Only that she begin to teach him potions for healing and medicine.

Then the patches reached the village and a disease seemed to sweep the land. His mother being a victim along with many others that he was helpless to stop. Left with only books and the knowledge of his mother's dying words.

"You will be ok. You're special he… He's seeking the green meadows that he can no longer have," she whispered as if to assure him. Even as every breath caused her pain, "You will be ok Izuku, he's scary but he won't- He can't hurt you."

Izuku never got an answer. He was the only one untouched by the disease as many other's luck enough to avoid the plague packed up and left. He was slowest to pack up feeling a sense of melancholy at the idea of having to leave his childhood home because of some unknowable monster.

Unfortunately it didn't seem like he was being given a choice.

The death lands have finally reached his doorstep. As if had stood there for the longest time just leeching the life. The delicately cared for flowers and trees were twisted and blackened with decay. Everything that had been full of life was drained from them even the door seemed warped.

Though he couldn't see him he knew the man was in front of him. As he hears a deep voice in his ear, "I have finally found you. My little miracle…"

Izuku felt the touch and it was like he had been tainted. The invisible specter took form in front of him. As the smell of death and decay grew the touch of bones against his shoulder.

But he collapsed from the overwhelming stench of death.

—————

When he woke up the stench remained though it wasn't as strong. Though he was greeted by a man covered head to toe in a black robe. Only the glint of red from his eyes were clear and the stench seemed to be from him.

"I worried I killed you also some how," the 'creature' speaks as Izuku's eyes glance at the others hands. Skeleton white fingers contrasted with the black robe bits of flesh seemed to have been peeled off.

"Even though I'm quite sure those of my blood are supposed to be immune to my poison," the other muses and Izuku felt his mouth dry. This man wasn't human or if he was he no longer walked among the living. Hiding his face under the hood was purposeful.

"You see I've lost quite a bit of my ability to see. Magic can compensate but it still takes a bit of navigating," the man coos as he lifts a hand to pull back his hoodie. "So tell me. What happened to your mother?"

Instead of a head there was a featureless crushed skull. Skin clinging to his damaged skull head as there were no eyes, nose or ears. Any blood that has likely been there has since dried and the skull despite being fractured barely holds its shape.

Making Izuku more sure this man was a walking corpse.

"You killed her," Izuku was quick to tell this man and it seemed for a second he was solemn.

"Oh… I didn't know she had passed it on… I had wished to speak to her one last time," that man seemed almost sincere but Izuku had no idea who this man was. Looking at him suspiciously he tries to figure him out.

Then the thing turns to somehow look at him. Those empty eye sockets send a chill down his spine as the man hums softly.

"Well I guess we will have all the time we need to get to know each other," the man speaks as if a whole village hadn't died. That Izuku's mother didn't die just from his very presence. The whole area smelled of stench and decay when Izuku still held memories of those beautiful meadows.

He snaps.

"Why do you smell and inflict death on everything around you!? You KILLED my mother with a plague and everything what makes you think I would be ok with that!?" Izuku shouts frankly infuriated at the audacity of this stranger. That he would treat his mothers death as just a pity instead of a tragedy.

There is a heavy pause as the figure of death seemed to smile. As if the others shouting was simply amusement.

"Because eventually your power of life will become that of death too if not careful. If you are anything like me," his body creaks as he stands showing how large he was as he walks toward Izuku. Reaching out he grabs Izuku's face as he forces him to look at his 'face'.

"My brother has long since chosen to die instead of live like this," In the pit of Izuku's stomach he feels this is wrong, "I'm just saving you from doing the same."

The other's touch was cold as ice and Izuku felt the darkest pit in his stomach. As he realizes that soon the very meadows he also adores…

"Let me tell you how I have become this and met your mother," the man whispers as he begins to tell him the story of a monster named All for One.

"There once was a man who loved life itself it was a thing he cultivated with glee along with his little brother. Gifted in magic he caused the very tree and land to spawn to life," the man speaks even as his own body seemed to only scream of death and decay. The idea of this man having once had the power of life seemed impossible.

"But it wasn't enough for him. As his little brother worked with him the man noticed men coming to their home and taking from those around them," he starts and Izuku simply listened...

----

Yoichi was the first to point out the men extorting those near by villages leaving the people there with nothing at hand. All for One may have the power of life but he had nothing in the way of defense besides creating walls of trees to cause them annoyance. That should have been enough they could have lived off the land secluded.

It wasn't. Despite All for One's love for his creation there grew a nasty fear every time he saw evidence of these outsiders appearance. Even his brother couldn't reason with him and because he lacked the magic of his brother was ignored.

His little brother refused to help him claiming the lengths he was going was not the deal. All for One's paranoia grows when the man spirals into something monsterous. Claiming if won't use it then he will simply take it to defend them calling his little brother a coward. Unable to see the threat of trying to obtain such things he used his own magic meant to give life to make themselves unkillable.

He sacrificed every one of those men for this power.

And in that moment he realized the 'life' he had praised was also death twisting in on itself. In his attempt to escape death the very power twisted into something dark stealing life from everywhere.

A Lich king.

He was untouchable besides his little brother a caveat he placed on the spell that those of his blood would be immune. Suddenly the small little town wasn't the only thing he wished to conquer. His very body stole life from all that surrounded him with glee as he grew losing sight of the life he once had given freely with joy.

Until the death of his brother fighting against him. And in those final moments the power of life he once had was only that of death. Unable to save his brother, his power of healing was now only bringing death and in that moment the cost was too great. Slowly he began to realize as time passed while he was immortal his body still attempted to decay and age.

Yoichi had left a string of inspired souls to confront and fight him. The monster that sucks the very life out of the land itself gathering others to help him. A lonely task that made him abhor this very body as there was no one to touch him.

Inko had only found him when the latest of these warriors attacked him leaving him on the cusp between life and death.

"You would die if you touched me. You must feel it," he had spoken with a pitiful wheeze and yet still she did touch him.

"I have a talismen of protection. I'll be quick," she whispers and from there is when the miracle happened. By a woman who didn't fear death she had given him a moment of hope until eventually forced to leave. A promise to return to see the boy at least once.

Only to lead to her end.

------------

"My son, you carry life because I had once carried that very magic. Won't you please entertain this old soul?" The lich coos and Izuku feels something like sadness to the monster. A man trapped in a body that is forever decaying every day wondering how much regret the other must have as he remembers his mothers words.

Longing for a Meadow he can no longer have.

Knowing by being with this man there is a chance he will no longer see those untainted lands as everything this man touches beside his kin is death and pestilence. His very nature screams evil and should be something he abhors and in a sense he does still the stench of corpse still greeting his senses but he accepts this fact.

Instead he looks at the hand of the man that causes so much death whose very existence is an abomination. One that just living as he is causes so much death and destruction as the weight of the talismen on his neck from his mother felt heavy.

"You're barren. You aren't even able to cry even if you wanted to," Izuku notes as the other had no face or anything. Yet still clinging to those with life in them despite knowing he will only cause harm.

"I can't stay with you but... I will find a way to cure you so that you can rest. I think that is what mother would have wanted," Izuku speaks because he can't find it in himself to love something barren and full of death. A man of cruelty and yet there is kinship, acknowledgement that the other is a sick man who has survived for far too long.

"Let me try to cure you then I'll stay willingly," he speaks and this earns a laugh from the lich as if the idea was hilarious.

"Go ahead! I don't care for the why you stick around I would adore to see you try," the monster jeers as if it was a joke to him. The loneliest monster did not see any hope in escaping his self-inflicted curse but he would allow the miracle child to try.

What is an eternity to a being who can't die? Izuku knows this but he can't help but wish to see if underneath this monster was a man.

As his mother had seen something so maybe he could find it also.

[healing-fire--rewrite]

Blessings- What are they & Who has them?

Blessings

Most magic isn't super noticeable, just a little thing that someone’s better at than others. Sect cats are skittish of anything more powerful, though, and for good reason- the more powerful the ability, the worse the backlash tends to be. A cat (or any other creature, for that matter) with some sort of ability is called Blessed within the Sects. It’s generally believed that they’re Blessed by their founding deity, but occasionally you encounter a cat who’s been Blessed by a nature or rank deity. It’s also believed that if you’re Blessed by a founder and switch (or leave) Sects, you lose your Blessing.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Seers

Those who can see spirits and receive visions regardless of how far they are from a thin point in the Veil are called Seers, and are said to have two paws in the afterlife.  If they don’t die young, they’re very quickly driven to insanity, often to a dangerous and terrifying degree.  Family members outright ignore and deny their young ones’ visions, out of fear for their destinies and hope that pretending it isn’t there will make it go away.  Once the secret comes out, the Seer is often avoided and feared within the Sect.  They’re usually forced into the advisor position because of their visions of the future.  Seers are not born often; legends say that when a kitten was supposed to die but was saved by Lady Mothflight, a Seer is created.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

What exactly is 'The Veil'?

There are certain places in the world where what the Sects call "the Veil” is very thin, allowing spirits from the afterlife to send messages to the living world.  The closer you are, the clearer the messages are, although they will always come out being somewhat scrambled and nonsensical.  The Starstone is one such place.  The Howling Wind Sect, as the closest Sect to it, gets the clearest messages, and the Roaring Thunder Sect, as the farthest, gets the most jumbled.  When a leader or healer needs direction or clarification, they’ll travel to the Starstone, where the Veil is the thinnest.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Thunder Sect Blessings

Spotshine The herbs and flowers that Spotshine cares for do just a smidge better than anyone else’s. They start growing earlier, die later, and rarely encounter disease. It’s believed she was Blessed by Lady Mothflight.

Tigertalon Tigertalon is a very charismatic guy. When he speaks, you can’t help but listen. There’s just something about him that makes you want to do better and impress him. This ability isn’t invincible; it’s more like he has a good charisma modifier on his character sheet, but his rolls can still be beat. And the more outrageous his tales are, the higher he has to roll to convince you. It’s believed he was Blessed by Noble Wildclaw.

Fire Fire, though unaware of it at this point in time, is what the Sects call a Seer. He's a living weak point in the Veil, and dreams of the future on a semi-regular basis. His abilities are much weaker than most Seers from the past; he cannot see spirits, he cannot see anyone's future if it doesn't directly involve him, and he only receives visions while asleep.

Frostfern You know how pigeons have little homing systems in their brains and always know how to get home? Yeah, that's Frostfern. She always knows exactly which direction the Thunder Sect camp is in, no matter how far away she is. It's believed she was Blessed by Lady Oakleaf.

Bright Bright can sense strong emotions. She couldn't tell if you're a little bit sad, but she could tell if you were majorly depressed. With how young she is, this Blessing is very confusing to her- she can't really tell who the emotions are coming from, or even if she's the one feeling them. With time, perhaps she could learn to focus her Blessing… Bright was Blessed by Lady Daisytail.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Shadow Sect Blessings

Dreamstar The Shadow Star definitely made a mistake, giving The Brilliant Dreamstar this Blessing. He has this… aura around him that makes it almost unthinkable to attack him or accuse him of something bad. There's a spatial limit to this, of course- get too far away from him, and suddenly you're going "hey, wait a minute. I think he DID do those things!" This particular Blessing is why he's able to get away with so much. It does not work when he's actually attacking someone, or if you personally witnessed the thing you are accusing him of. It's a calming, persuasive aura, not a gaslighting girlboss one. He was Blessed by Lady Tallshadow.

Yellowberry Yellowberry’s ability is stronger than most, so she hides it from just about everyone. The only cat who ever knew about her Blessing was Sageroot. She can feel echoes of physical pain from those around her, which makes her an excellent healer. Some have noticed that she seems to know you’re hurt before you even tell her, but they all assume that it’s a Blessing similar to Leopardfur’s, in that there’s a sort of instinct telling her who’s hurt and where. Yellowberry just lets them believe that and doesn’t say anything for or against it. It’s believed she’s blessed by Lady Mothflight.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Wind Sect Blessings

Lapwingstar Lapwingstar doesn’t show off his Blessing very much nowadays, on account of his age and all the things he has to do as leader. In his youth, though, he was the fastest cat around. No one could catch up to him when he went for a run. It’s believed he was Blessed by the Wind Star.

Ashfoot Ashfoot knows everybody's names. It's a purely intuitive thing, and she can't explain how she knows, she just does. She takes one look at a cat and goes "hmm… you seem like a Leafclaw :)" and they go "holy shit how'd you know!" Ashfoot can only tell what their current name is, not what it will be or what it once was. She was Blessed by Lord Greywing.

Morningflower Morningflower is like a living lie detector. It's not always the most useful thing; sure, in politics, maybe, but she's really uninterested in that scene. It suits her much better when dealing with unruly kits and apprentices trying to claim that they TOTALLY didn't do what she told them not to. There are limits, of course. If someone really, truly believes what they are saying, she can't register it as a lie. If someone is unsure of what they're saying is the truth, it will register as a lie, even if it turns out it wasn't. Morningflower was Blessed by Lady Canarysong.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

River Sect Blessings

Leopardfur Leopardfur always seems to just… know where the hunting is best, and often comes home with the best catch. If you ask her about how she does it, she’d have no real answer for you. It’s believed she was Blessed by the River Star.

Lilywatcher If she focuses, Lilywatcher just gets sort of… overlooked. Most cats outside of the River Sect feel an odd sort of deja vu upon looking at her- "I think she may be new, but it feels like I've seen her somewhere before…" Unless she makes herself purposefully memorable and recognizable, she'll just sort of… slip away from your mind. River Sect cats remember her purely because she's a part of their community, which makes her harder to forget, and she doesn't use her Blessing around them. She was Blessed by- interestingly enough- Lady Tallshadow.

Heavy Heavy's Blessing has yet to be discovered, but he has ever-so-slightly accelerated healing. What might take a week for an average cat to recover from might take him about half that. What takes a year for another might take eleven months for him to heal from. He was Blessed by Lord Riverripple.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Non-Sect Blessings

The only known creature outside of the Sects who's Blessed is Sleek, an ancient raven. He's the oldest living Seer of any species and has only gotten stronger with age, and everyone knows that he's just not someone you mess with. He rarely leaves his nest anymore due to his age, and most of what he says is nonsensical.

[kindpetalapothecary]

Good Morning!

What a beautiful day we're having.

The sun had just peaked over the grassy knolls that surround the countryside of Locksnall, and walking to the apothecary was a breeze.

Gold and orange rays could be seen playing in the trees and a small breeze blew flower petals into the air.

It was a perfect morning, and that was only accentuated by the detail of it all. Maybe you'd never seen it before, but the leaves on the tree above you shone. The semitransparent skin of the leaves blocked most of the light, but their veins could be seen through the light.

A butterfly bounced in the air nearby. The wings sparkled a bright blue, warning predators away. Funny enough, the color actually called you closer.

And the grass. The grass below cushioned and tickled your feet as you stood and breathed in, drinking in the moment.

It was duty that brought you, reluctantly, into Kind Petal Apothecary.

You knew the Orc at the counter. She smiled at you as you entered.

"Good Morning, friend!" Her warm voice filled the small space as she put a bottle on the counter. "What a beautiful day we're having. The usual?"

You nodded, and she went about preparing herbal remedies. Just small stuff today really. A few teas and herbs to stock up for winter while they were in season.

You watched Libby as she moved about the shop, chatting with a little fairy and occasionally you as she gathered your herbs.

Libby was one of the kindest creatures you knew. She had a bit of a gruff appearance, but her kind voice was all one needed to know her gentleness. She honored and cared for the earth as she healed its creatures, and quickly rose the ranks as one of the best known healers in the land.

Libby glanced back at you and paused. "You feel it too?" A corner of her mouth came up. "It's nearly spring." A warm gust of air blows into the apothecary bringing in flower petals.

You and Libby share a secret smile, but a yelp from a back corner of the shop interrupts the moment.

"Oh, Oliver!" Libby starts searching frantically around the corner of the shop, "Are you alright?"

A dazed fairy stumbles out of a pile of books.

"Eiiiim okaay..." Oliver fell promptly on his face. Libby gently picked him up and starts to check on him.

"I've gotta make sure this guy is alright." Libby said, as she grimaced, "I think he hit his head. I've got some potion that should help heal him up." She set to work grabbing tools to help the fairy.

"Oh! I didn't mean to keep you waiting. Here." She handed you the herbs you needed. "I wish you a day where you find the most wonderful and extraordinary things among the ordinary. Some of the most potent magic of this world is found in nature."

She went back to tending the fairy, and as you left through the door of the apothecary, the sun shone in your eyes. Yes, as sure as the wind blew through the trees, today was a day of magic.

That day, you reveled in the sunlight, ran across the plains, and played with fireflies. You discovered new flowers, saved a bumblebee, and watched the riverbank flow around your feet.

Yes, today was a magical day indeed.

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

chapter v – gust & flame

Eris Vanserra x Reader

Eris Vanserra has been a prisoner in his own home since the day he was born. He has done what he had to in order to survive and protect the few he loves. And he is playing the long game. Waiting, waiting, and waiting for the right time to make his move, to usurp his wicked father and become High Lord of Autumn Court. But things become even more complicated when a human girl drops into his life. Perhaps Eris can wait no longer to take his throne.

Word Count: 3,000+

Warnings: spoilers for entire ACOTAR series

masterlist

Y/N opened her eyes with a wince. This seemed like deja vu from when she had first arrived in the Night Court.

But now she could recognize her whereabouts. A fire was crackling at the opposite end of the room. But the smell of lavender and fresh flowers was a new addition. 

She tried to sit up to investigate.

Whoever had placed her here clearly meant to lay her on her stomach, and she expected to feel a lightning strike of pain.

But there was none. 

Oh, Cauldron. She had been slashed across her back with a sword. 

“The healers mended your back, but your body will still be sore.”

Y/N quickly turned her head to see that Azriel was sitting in a chair behind her. Papers were in his lap and there was a large mug of tea on the table beside him. 

Had he been watching over her this whole time? 

“How long have I been out?” Her voice was so raspy, somewhat answering her own question. 

“A couple days,” Azriel frowned. 

She glanced around the room, seeing a dozen bouquets. 

The Shadowsinger followed her gaze.

“Gifts from Rhys,” he answered without question. “He and Feyre will never forget what you did for Nyx.” 

“He’s just a baby. Anyone would have done the same…” Y/N shrugged, belittling her own actions. 

Azriel leaned forward, only sincereness found on his face. “What you did was brave, Y/N. I’ve seen 300-year-old males run from lesser. Do not discredit yourself so swiftly.” 

It was strange getting such a compliment, especially from a male – and one as handsome as Azriel. She hoped her face didn’t look as hot as it felt. 

To change the subject, she pointed to the handful of potted plants that sat amongst the bouquets of flowers. “And…the herbs?”

“Rhys has been…researching witchcraft. He also studied the protective smudge Nyx had in his hand.” Azriel smirked. “His way of thanking people tends to involve giving them an absurd amount of gifts.” He gestured to all the flowers and herb plants. “And this will be not be the end of his thanks.” 

Y/N bit back a grin. 

It was sweet, but unnecessary. 

Rhysand was a High Lord – and perhaps the most powerful one at that. He needn’t waste so much money and effort doing such things for her. She was just a human.

Then Y/N remembered...

“Cassian!” She gasped, sitting up even straighter. 

Azriel held up a hand, trying to calm her down. “Fae’s heal quickly,” he assured her.

And then gave her a shy smile, “Stubborn Illyrians, even quicker. Cass is already back to training the Valkyries today.” 

Y/N didn’t know what Valkyries were, but she was too distracted by her relief that Cassian was alright to bother asking. Maybe she’d ask the wind later, if she even remembered. 

“How are you feeling?” Azriel asked softly. 

“Umm…better than I should be.” Carefully, she swung her legs off the bed to stand. “Guess I have you faes and your healing magic to thank for that.” 

“Well, it appears you have even more tricks up your sleeve. Feyre was rather impressed with your salt shield.”

“And Nyx is alright?”

“Yes, Y/N.” Azriel tried to calm her. “He was shaken, but he will be fine. Everyone has just been worried about you.” 

“Oh,” she muttered under her breath. 

It had been awhile since anyone worried about her. There used to be. Her mother. Her sister. Her entire coven. But those days had passed long ago.

“Rhys wanted me to invite you to dinner tonight. Feyre is convinced Nyx is restless and will continue to be until he sees you.”

“Dinner?” Y/N repeated dumbly. 

“Yes, later tonight, at the River House. If you are up for it, of course.” 

The first time she had been to the River House was the day of the attack, to pick up Nyx. But Feyre had walked right out, not even giving them a reason to knock on the front door. If it was as magnificent on the inside as the outside, Y/N was sure she’d feel out of place. 

“Umm…Yes. A-Alright,” Y/N nodded. 

Azriel looked rather happy with that answer. 

It seemed risking her life to save his nephew had finally made Azriel lose all suspicion towards her. (But unbeknownst to Y/N, it had only taken a few days for him not to view her as a threat to his court and those he loved.)

Azriel stood slowly and pointed to the wardrobe. “Mor picked out a dress for you. But wear whatever you wish. I will be here at 7 to take you there.” He opened the door to the hallways to make his leave. “Should you need anything, the House will get it. She’s been worried about you, too.”

Now that she was alone, Y/N slowly walked to the only mirror in the room. 

The healers may have saved her back, but the bruising on her face would have to heal in its own due time. She was still mortal after all. 

She had a split lip and a black eye on the left side of her face, as well as similar bruising below on her cheek, from being punched by the male. 

Despite her injuries, she felt energized after getting two days worth of sleep and rest. And now she needed to get out of her room. 

Y/N closed her door just as two servants were walking by. Surprisingly, there were very few of them. The House seemed to take care of a lot of things. But being the formal location for political meetings, it was still expected to be taken care of by faes. 

“I will meet you after I feed the horses,” one of the females said to the other. 

“Horses?” Y/N didn’t even mean to blurt it out. 

The females both turned to look at her with polite and shy smiles. “Yes, my lady. They belong to the High Lord and Lady.” Then she gave her a side smirk. “But they prefer to…fly, as I’m sure you know.”

“May I come with?” Y/N asked the one who said she was going feed them. 

She bowed her head slightly. “Of course, my lady.”

–––––––––

Eris was riding out with his most loyal sentries. 

They knew of his plan. 

Their exit was purposely planned to gain the attention of the High Lord. Eris wanted his father to see him leaving the Forest House, clearly going on a scouting voyage. 

But as soon as they reached the border a few hours later, Eris would depart from his troops and winnow to the Night Court. 

He hadn’t slept the past two nights, scared out of his mind that Y/N was in danger. 

This morning, he had enough and rushed to his mother’s rooms as soon as he knew she would be awake. 

“If she were dead, you would know it, Eris.” Leonora reassured him. "You would feel it with your entire being."

“But she was so scared and in pain. I could feel it, mother.” 

Eris knew he wouldn’t be in his right mind until he saw for himself that Y/N was alive. And if she was hurt, he wanted to know how it was allowed to happen and to what extent. 

So he knew exactly how much he would hurt Rhysand in return. 

Eris didn’t expect to be able to winnow into the House of Wind, knowing that the entranceway was the only small area that would even allow guests to enter. 

But it seemed Rhysand opened the wards especially for him, for he was standing in a different part of the house. 

A servant was looking at him, and should’ve appeared more surprised to see him. 

She glanced at his bright, red hair. “You must be Lord Eris,” she greeted with a bow. “High Lord Rhysand warned the staff that you would most likely visit.”

“I am sure he did,” Eris sneered. 

The servant only blinked at his aggressive response, maintaining her composure. “Shall we make up a room for you, my lord?”

Eris ignored the question. “Where is…” he hesitated. “Where is Y/N?” 

His question also didn’t seem to surprise the servant at all, as if she was also expecting this from him. 

“She is at the stables, my lord.”

“Show me.” 

--

His entire body was buzzing, knowing that he was getting closer and closer to his mate. 

The servant finally stopped and gestured to the barn just a few yards away. She seemed to know to leave him alone to greet their other guest. 

Eris only nodded his thanks, not used to being polite to the help. In Autumn, he never even looked them in the eye. That was just another unfortunate part of wearing his mask. 

Now that he was alone, Eris allowed himself a moment to take in a deep breath. 

Slowly, he made his way to the opening of the stables. 

When he saw her, the air was knocked out of his lungs. He couldn’t seem to take in a breath. 

Y/N stood barefoot, lovingly petting a black shire horse, who looked to be utterly happy with her attention and affection. 

She wore a casual dress in a soft blue so often found in this court. And Eris was convinced it was actually her nightgown. 

He instantly spotted the bandages that were wrapped around her shoulder and waist, peaking around the fabric of her dress. But he had yet to figure out if it was from a torso or back wound. 

“You’re very a pretty boy,” Eris heard her whisper to the horse. 

A soft wind passed through the stables’ corridor. And that’s when Y/N seemed to finally notice she was no longer alone. 

She whipped around to face him, fear and surprise clear in her eyes. 

That was when Eris could also see the bruises covering her face and the deep split in her lip. 

Y/N quickly took him in, assessing his entrance. 

Eris felt scrutinized as she looked at his attire up and down. He was wearing his Autumn Court uniform of fighting leathers, the colors of his court obvious as ever. He'd never looked more out of place in the Night Court. 

Which was why Y/N whipped out a knife from her back. 

Eris smoothly raised his hands in surrender. “I mean you no harm.” But his words sounded too harsh, too cold.

He cleared his throat. “I did not mean to startle you.” It managed to come out softer.

“You do not belong to the Night Court,” she pointed out, once again eyeing his uniform. 

But before Eris could properly introduce himself, another gust of wind came. This time, it only seemed to swirl around Y/N, making her hair frame her face ever so beautifully. 

“Eris, son of Beron, the High Lord of Autumn Court,” Y/N spoke as if she were responding to the wind and not him. 

Eris tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “The wind has a peculiar way of following you around.”

The acute observation only made Y/N even more uncomfortable and she held up her knife higher. 

But then she squinted, seeming to only be able to stare at his red hair. “You were there that day. I saw you…before…before I…” She shook her head. “You. You were the one who brought me here.” 

Before Eris had a chance to respond, shadows jumped in between the two of them. 

Azriel appeared out of nowhere. No, out of the shadows. 

“Why you here?” He spat at Eris. 

“You know why,” he growled right back. 

“Azriel?” Y/N questioned him with such innocence.

Eris took note of the protective and close stance the Illyrian had toward his mate. And it took great power for him not to growl at him to stay away from her. 

Azriel only slightly turned to her, not wanting to let his guard down with Eris. “Mor offered to help you get ready for dinner. Perhaps you should return to your rooms.” 

When Y/N didn’t move, he fully turned to her and made sure to rid himself of the glare he was giving Eris. “I will be there soon to take you.” 

Y/N eyed him a moment longer before finally leaving. 

She did not lower her weapon as she passed Eris, and she put an egregious amount of space between them as she did. 

But Eris didn’t take his eyes off her as she did so. Even with the distance, he could still see her y/e/c and he took in her scent for as long as he could. Was that a hint of lavender?

Once fully past him, Y/N quickened her steps and disappeared back into the winding hallways of the House of Wind. 

“What happened to her?” Eris growled. 

Azriel’s nostrils flared at question. “She was out hiking in the woods with Cassian and Nyx when they were attacked.”

Eris stepped closer. “By whom?” He hissed. 

“We do not know. But they wanted Nyx. And Y/N risked her life to protect him. When Rhys arrived, he was blinded by his rage, and killed them all. There was no one left alive for me to question.”

Eris gave Azriel his most belittling look. His voice lowered as he muttered, “Unfortunate your High Lord still lives. He broke his vow, after all.”

“It’s unfortunate your High Lord lives, as well. Otherwise you would not need to hide your mate in a court that is not your own.” 

With the word ‘mate,’ Eris lost all composure. 

In one swift motion, Eris unsheathed the knife at his thigh and swung it with the intention of slitting Azriel’s throat. 

But the Shadowsinger caught it. 

“Enough,” a voice said behind Eris. 

Azriel glared at his High Lord over Eris’ shoulder, but still shoved the male away. 

Eris turned to face Rhysand. 

Before he could speak, the High Lord explained, “I asked Azriel to invite you to dinner, but I doubted he would be able to do so before trying to kill you. Seems I was right.”

He offered his hand to Eris, “Come.”

The two of them winnowed, leaving Azriel behind. 

They appeared in front of a manor along a river. It was large, but looked lived-in. Somehow both grand and yet still homey. It was unlike any other home of a High Lord that Eris had ever visited.

“Feyre is waiting for us in the office,” was all Rhysand said before opening the small iron gate and walking up the stone path to the front door. 

But just before Rhysand opened it, he turned to Eris. “This is our home. Do not make me regret bringing you here.”

Eris only gave a curt nod, but still glared. 

When they entered an office, Feyre turned to face them quickly. 

As soon as Rhysand closed the door, giving them privacy, Eris broke the tension.

“Evidently, the bargain failed to kill you. So, there’s no need to be obsequious.” Eris rolled his eyes. “Bringing me into your home, inviting me to dinner with your family…it’s almost offensive that you believe it will make a difference.” 

“We invited you to give you an opportunity,” Rhysand answered, joining his mate’s side as he picked off a piece of lint from his jacket.

“An opportunity for what, exactly?”

“Speak with your mate.” 

It was no surprise that he mentioned Y/N so openly. If Azriel knew, then Rhysand and those closest to him did, too. Eris expected that they would figure it out eventually. 

Eris surprised them by looking at the ground as he carefully asked, “Does she know?” 

“No,” Feyre answered. “I doubt she even knows about mates. Most humans don’t.” 

Eris gave a curt nod before adding, “She must never know.” 

“I can strongly advise from personal experience that it is not recommended,” Rhysand said with a smirk. 

But Eris only scowled in return. 

Rhysand took in a deep breath. “None of us will speak of it to her. I can assure you.”

Eris gave another nod. “I should be on my way.”

He had promised himself to bring the same pain to Rhysand that Y/N had suffered. But being in his mates presence, looking into her eyes, taking in her scent...it had jumbled his thoughts in a way that made it hard to think clearly.

“But you’ve only just arrived,” Feyre argued. 

“We invited you to dinner,” Rhysand reminded him, as if they would be offended Eris left now. 

“I should not linger,” Eris told them. 

Rhysand stepped to him. “You promised Autumn’s loyalty for her. Do you not wish to see who it is you are protecting? The person you so blindly offered your court for?”

Eris seemed to have a storm brewing in his mind. 

Rhysand could tell Eris had trained to protect his mind from his daemati abilities. But the turmoil was still so evident to him. Perhaps because he once stood exactly where the male was now. The torture of knowing one’s mate, but staying away with the belief that they would be happier, safer. 

“Fine,” Eris snapped. 

“Please, make yourself at home in the drawing room,” Feyre told him. 

“I plan on helping myself to whatever spirits you have lingering about,” Eris snapped before walking out of the office and slamming the door behind him. 

Feyre tried to hold back her smile as she turned to her mate. “Why do you treat him so generously now?” She squinted. “Do you truly see yourself in him?”

“Feyre darling, you do not know what it feels like…"

He shook his head at the memories.

"I was aware you were my mate, and you hated me. But at least you knew me. Yes, there was a time when I felt you were out there, before we ever even looked into each other’s eyes. But I do not think I would have had the strength to stay away from you like he is doing.” 

To his surprise, Feyre seemed to give him a look of understanding. “It seems I pity him, too.” 

“I cannot say I expected that,” Rhys smirked. 

“I think one day we will see that Eris has a mask of his own. Perhaps one not so different than your own.” 

“Being mates does not always equate to love,” Rhysand stated darkly. “My parents are proof of that.”

He sighed, “If I see them going in that direction, I will put a stop to it. And Y/N will continue having a place here.”

Feyre leaned into her mate. “This dinner is going to be a mess, isn’t it?”

He smiled. “I will be disappointed if it’s not.”

And then placed a kiss to her head. 

–––––––

let me know if anyone is reading this. send me a message 😔👉🏻👈🏻

how do you think dinner is gonna go?

what do you think Y/N will think of Eris?

chapter vi

[bloodycassian]

Reader x Cassian - Hellish Prompt: Reader is an assassin/spy that was caught and azriel has spent months torturing her for information and can’t get anything out of her and cassian eventually goes to see who this assassin/spy is and the mating bond snaps and cassian beats the $hitt out of az bc of the mating bond instincts and rhys has to intervene and break up the fight (i was thinking this could switch between azriel’s POV at the start and then switch to cassian's POV)

AN- this was SO fun to make. Please more requests like this!! I love the idea of unexpected mates!

TW -blood/ blades.  

Drip, drip, drip. Copper smell filled the small room. Blood leaked down the drain in the floor. You wheezed a laugh bitterly and spat on the ground at his feet. Azriel's rage simmered calmly under his dark shadows. They coiled, ready to strike. Wanting to strike. The sound of your feeble laughs was practically the only sound Azriel had gotten from you for the first week of torture.  The second week was worse, even for him. Truth teller revealed nothing when he gouged into your skin from the bottom up. Truthfully, he was impressed beyond measure. But that didnt mean that he could stop the job at hand. He had to know, and wished he didnt have to do this kind of thing to get the information from you. "Listen..." He sighed, cleaning his blade. He was always nervous whenever he had a back turned to an enemy, no matter how well they were restrained. But he trusted his shadows enough to tell him if something was wrong.  "If you just.. Cooperate and tell me where the Queens are, we can let you go. No trouble, just releasing you back to Rask." He tried to keep his tone neutral, but he was nearing an exhaustion point. Torture every day for two weeks had its toll not only on the victim, but the dealer as well. His shadows seemed to be growing restless too, waiting for a chance to strike.  He watched your reaction from the corner of his eye. Noted the way your head hanging loosely seemed to gain a bit more strength before you spoke. "Losing your touch, Spymaster?" You revealed a row of bloody teeth to him, and grunted when the chains at your wrists stung the magic that weakly attempted to help you.  Azriel could have sighed. He could have laughed and bled you dry. Have a healer come and patch you up enough to keep you alive. The idea was tempting, but he didn't like having anyone besides his brothers see him in this mode of darkness. He could have brought Rhys down to attempt to break into your mind again. After the first attempt and Rhys' reaction to being blocked, he wasn't eager for that again. So he sighed, and brought out the potions laced with Faebane.  + He was convinced you weren't a normal Fae. After months of his best torture methods he was a wreck. "She just-" He tried to hide his frustration, but his brothers knew him best. Cassian smirked by the fire, warming his wings. Rhys seemed a bit more concerned, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Azriel had never been one to spend a long time on torture. Rhys saw the frustration flowing from him after every session with the stubborn Fae in the dungeon cell.  "I dont know what to do anymore. She's the only one to have never broken." He ran a hand though his hair. His shadows seemed weak, exhausted like him.  Rhys considered for a moment, looking between his two brothers. Cassian seemed to be enjoying Azriel's frustration. Maybe a bit too much. Rhys sipped his wine then, with a look of innocence, "Maybe we will have Cassian end it. Perhaps seeing the Lord of Death in front of her will knock something loose."  Cassian's stare whipped to him, a silent plea on his face. "We should leave it to our expert Rhys-" Azriel laughed, cold and bitter. "The expert hasn't got a damn thing out of her. We either kill her or send her back to Rask with all the information she's collected about us. With nothing in return." Shame lined his features. The sense of failure to his high lord was a heavy weight to bear. "Cas...I expect you down there tomorrow afternoon. It will be her last chance." Rhys' no nonsense tone shut down Cassian's retort. His jaw locked with distaste. He hated the cramped cells below the house of wind. Hated the way going underground made his wings feel like they needed to stretch. The worst was when that stale air was laced with the rotting smell of dead mice or old blood. It made his skin crawl just thinking about it.  "Come on Cas, dont you want to see the only one that's outlasted me?" Az asked with a mock grin. He couldn't give the same smile back. Turmoil spilled inside him at the thought of going so far below the mountain.  + Cassian took a long time to go to bed that night. His restlessness about the next day made him wake up over and over, never having more than an hour of peace before being waken up.  Azriel held up a mug of tea to him the next morning. "You look like shit." He handed his brother the mug with a small smile. Cassian glared at him, but took it anyway. He went to the balcony, his heavy wings needing to feel the fresh air. It was like taking a bath after being covered in grime. He sighed in relief, letting the late morning sun graze his body. The cold wind from Illyria was beginning to come in for the winter, and the familiar smell ignited something in him. He felt a draw, but shoved it to the back of his mind. He knew what he had to be this day. "Why the hell do we have to keep them so far down again?" Cassian complained. Around and around and around. Down deeper and deeper into the pit of the mountain that the house above was carved out of. Cassian felt like his lungs were collapsing the further they went. He tried not to let his nerves show, but he knew Az's shadows would pick up on it anyway.  "Remember when you broke your arm chasing down that Attor?" Azriel could have laughed at that memory, but the story surrounding it made the experience soured. More shame on top of the guilt already there.  Cassian hummed in approval, welcoming the distraction the memory brought. He tried not to focus on how each turn of the staircase got darker and darker. How the air seemed to compress around him. He locked his eyes on the scar on one of Az's wings. "And we spent a week fixing the top story of that apothecary?" He asked, keeping his voice steady.  "Yes. Dont you remember how the Attor got out?" Cassian shook his head, and Azriel huffed a laugh. "I left the door open for just a second to get a new knife and..." He shook his head, part in anger and regret, part in shame. "It had escaped before I turned around. I dont know how it happened, to this day."  Cassian stared at the back of the shadowmaster's head. The dark ripples around him seemed to spike. "It happens Az, you can't be perfect."  "It's not perfection, its basic thought. After that we moved all enemies to the lower dungeons. No matter the threat. Rhys even put wards on the arches." He ran a hand over the walls, his fingers catching a few of the grooves that linked each spelled archway to the other.  Cassian left the conversation at that. At least his brother wasn't brooding as much as before. The dim lights began to come into view, and his heart began hammering. Adrenaline singing through his veins. His polished siphons glowed, reflecting red off the dark stone ceiling. He had polished all his black armor the night before, when he couldn't sleep. Something poked, prodded at him all night. Keeping him awake. He figured he may as well make use out of it.  "She's not going to talk to you unless you show..weakness first." Azriel said in a low voice. Cassian nodded, reaching the end of the stairwell with him.  Cassian couldn't see the dark figure in the cell, but he felt the presence nonetheless. The dark draw that you demanded. He wondered how Azriel had dealt with that pull this whole time. The tantalizing draw to you. He shook his head, pushed the hair out of his face and nodded to Azriel.  He opened the door, then began his ritual. At the start of every session he would toss a bucket of water over your body, then a bucket of salt. It made the wounds that handn't healed fully scream in pain. You jolted at the suddenness of it this time. "Good morning, shadowsinger." You ground out, voice rough with strain. Cassian watched in awe at his brother.  Cassian was never one for torture. There was a reason Azriel was appointed to this position. Watching the calm cruelness of him was jarring, but Cassian kept his face straight. He stood behind you, watching the flimsy attempts to pull at the shackles holding your arms up. Lacerations dotted each arm, some light pink scars. Some were still scabbing over. A chill ran down his spine.  "You have a guest today, would you like to see him?" Azriel's voice was cool, calm. Like he was speaking orders to a group of soldiers. He began slicing new lines into your arms, moving up to your neck. He had left your ears in tact, as a last resort if you refused to speak to Cassian. The pull Cassian felt was overwhelming. He walked a bit too quickly around you, plastered on a wicked smile for show, then crouched down. The smile faded when he finally saw your face. Your dripping hair was a horror on its own. Plastered to the skeletal cheekbones, and pale eyes. Those eyes were brighter than anything he'd ever seen. A field of flowers down the slope of Illyrian mountains. His world shifted, drawing the breath from him. "Mine." His mind seemed to roar with that alone, but in a thousand different variations. "Lover, friend, partner, mine mine mine. Mate. My mate." His lips quivered with the realization. With the way his heart soared, and the way he moved without realizing it. He choked a gasp, and fell forward on his knees before you. He saw the same astonishment in your reaction. Azriel dropped his sword, confusion and concern alert on his features. "Cas wh-" Before he could finish, before his shadows could detect that Cassian had even moved, his brother was on top of him. Cassian's knuckles stung with every punch. A new kind of rage flared inside him. It made his muscles yearn for violence. Made his teeth crave the flesh of those that so much as looked at you wrong. There was no mercy for Azriel, it was as if he was an enemy on the battlefield. Cassian held nothing back. You hung limply from the chains that bound you. Crunch after crunch sounded from Azriel. He eventually managed to push Cassian off of him. Then they locked together in battle again. Clashes of armor against armor were deafening. The snarls they ripped at each other were loud enough to make you cringe. Your heart squeezed at the sounds of Cassian's breath. At the scent of blood spilling. You pulled feebly at the chains, your mind roaring to protect him.  Your mate. You tried to watch the battle, but the weakness in your body refused to let you turn more than a few inches. They were panting, Cassian fighting with a ferocity Azriel had never seen. His eyes flared with rage, like he was possessed. "Cas-" Azriel grunted, shoving his brother backwards. His back hit yours, pushing you down and digging those stone cuffs into your wrists. You hissed in pain. Cassian roared and lunged at his brother again, and again.  The darkness that boomed outside the cell was jarring. The stone ceiling shuddered, small rocks and dirt falling from it. Cassian did not stop. He didn't hesitate, coming at Azriel with punch after punch. His fist crushed the wall behind where Az's head had been. 

"Enough." The high lord's cool command was enough to make you still your weak attempts at looking at the two. Cassian's chest heaved as he tried lifting his arm to punch Az again. Pure fury in his heart was enough to make him disobey Rhysand's order.

  Then Rhys' talons gripped him. Freezing his mind, stilling him. Rhys' face shifted to surprise at what he glimpsed at there. "Oh.." He breathed. Azriel panted, backing away from his brother, out of the cell. He locked the cell and wiped the blood from himself, his wings hanging limply behind him. "What- the hell." He panted, nursing his arm. Cassian's eyes locked to your small frame. How your muscles quivered, how your arms shook with the effort of holding yourself up. He felt Rhys' claws recede slowly from his mind, releasing each part of him one by one. He rushed to you.  He picked up Azriel's sword and with a clean, masterful swipe, broke the enchanted stone that bound you. The weak sigh that came from you was heartbreaking. His eyes pricked with tears, and he caught you before you could fall to the floor into the puddle of dried blood. He didnt notice, or care that it was there. He sat there with you, cradled you and shook with you. 

"Cassian... She's.. Cassian's mate." Rhys said slowly, astonished. He didn't take his eyes from his brother in the cell. Azriel froze in place. For a moment, the dungeon was completely still. Totally silent, as if the world waited for what was to come next.

Azriel turned on a heel and left, trudging up the stairs. Rhys dared not touch his mind. "Cassian...." He spoke, trying to get his brother's attention. He did not glance at Rhys, just curled around your body more. Protecting, nesting almost. Rhys knew the feeling too well from the weeks after he and Feyre's bond snapped into place.  "We will check in tomorrow. Be safe, brother." Rhys spoke to Cassian's mind. It was nothing but an ocean of rushing thoughts. Cassian could have bared his teeth, could have tried to fight his brother through the bars of the cell. Hell, he could have probably broken through those bars with the primal strength flowing through him with the rush from the bond. 

But he didn't. He stayed, his warm body pressed against yours. Those siphons glowing against your skin like a fire. He stroked your hair soothingly, his tears like rainfall on your body, through your bloodstained clothes. He didn't remember falling asleep there, but it was the most restful, peaceful night he'd ever had in his existence. 

[julek]

my kingdom for a kiss (upon your shoulder)

read on ao3 | rated T | 6.2K | no warnings | for @asweetprologue <3

The sun shines soft in Toussaint.

Geralt can’t remember whether it’s always been like that — if the golden tint that falls over the city as gently as wind-blown petals is genuine or just a product of his imagination. Spring isn’t in full bloom yet, timid flowers peeking at him from the side of the road, proud birds carrying twigs and feathers to their newly-made nests, the tree branches still cold after the last snow.

They’re not far from the main square, their pace steady and unhurried since they set out to Beauclair in the morning. The midday commotion fills Geralt’s senses, spices and bread and frantic conversations making him shake his head in discomfort — busy cities always take a while to grow used to; thankfully, he never stays long.

Next to him, Jaskier sneezes.

“This weather, I tell you—” he starts, but gets immediately cut off by another dainty, kitten-like sneeze. He wipes his nose on his sleeve, then makes a face at it. “Be the death of me.”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “It’ll take more than pollen to take you, I fear.”

“It doesn’t stand a chance against me,” he says, and strikes a pose, like one of the heroes in the silly novels he insists on buying, but the puffy eyes and red nose dampens it a bit. He doesn’t seem deterred, though. “Besides, I wouldn’t let pollen, of all things, keep me from performing at tonight’s ball.”

Geralt hums, flicking a fly off Roach’s mane. They were in Spalla when Jaskier was approached by a passing servant and asked to partake in some baron Geralt couldn’t care enough to retain the name of’s early spring ball — naturally, Jaskier had jumped at the invitation, eager to be among the distinguished crowds that frequent such events, even more so after a long winter tucked away at Oxenfurt.

“By the way,” Jaskier says, picking an inexistent piece of lint off his doublet, aiming for casual even though he knows Geralt can hear the curious lilt to his voice, “will you be attending tonight?”

“I might not make it in time,” he says truthfully. He rubs his thumb over the contract he’s holding in his free hand, the sharp edges digging into his skin. “I will hunt this afternoon.”

Jaskier nods. “Well,” he says, his voice soft as he bumps his shoulder against Geralt’s. “You’re welcome there. I’ll vouch for you, you know.”

Geralt smiles at him solemnly — then bumps him back, laughing when the bard accidentally crashes into an old woman perusing the wares of a silver-tongued merchant.

“Geralt!” Jaskier says indignantly, smoothing out his doublet and shooting the woman a sideways glance that’s more annoyed than apologetic. “You can’t just push people.”

“Apologies,” Geralt says, not sounding sorry at all. “My balance seems to be off, lately. You know how it is.”

“With your old age, yes,” Jaskier says and pats his arm sympathetically. “I fear you’re showing signs of decay already.”

“Hmm?”

“Oh, yes.” Jaskier takes his arm and loops it through his, a steadying hand at his back. “Your gait is off— look, even Roach looks concerned for your wellbeing.”

Roach looks unfazed.

“And all the lines on your face!” Jaskier gasps in mock-horror. “My, Geralt, we should take you to a healer. Perhaps you’ve been cursed— There! Those dreadful frown lines you sport, old friend… Have you considered retirement? I hear there are great Witcher-friendly settlements in this area, and— hey!”

Geralt smirks as Jaskier rubs the side of his head where Geralt’s innocent and weary hand slapped it. He can see the worn-down sign of the inn he favors when they’re in the city a few steps ahead, can already taste the fresh ale on his mouth.

“Whoops,” he says, trying to school his features into something that isn’t a smug smile. “Seems I’m losing control of my limbs, too.”

+

The Rose and Thorn is as it has ever been. Clean wooden floorboards that creak as they walk in, the blossoming vine hanging over the kitchen door, the innkeeper’s old dog napping in a spot of sunlight pouring in through the window.

It’s good.

Geralt likes routine. He thrives on it. He likes familiar faces and comforting smells and the sound of pans and pots banging together as the cook murmurs a string of expletives that would be considered indecorous on a lady’s mouth. He likes knowing where he stands, likes the well-loved booths and the tankards that are cracked around the edges, the face of an unruly lion faded on the ceramic. He’s pleased with the way the innkeeper’s eyes crinkle with recognition as she nods at him and Jaskier, as she wordlessly takes his coin and points her head in direction of the room he always takes.

They move upstairs, Jaskier’s lutecase hitting the narrow walls as Geralt pushes the door open. The room is simple — two beds and a small table under the tall window, light pouring in through the thin linen curtains. He sets his bag on one of the beds — the closest to the door — and puts his sheathed swords next to it before allowing himself a moment to sit and wind down.

“I’d say lunch is in order, don’t you think?” Jaskier says after a while, even though his words are muffled by the pillow he’d thrown himself face-down onto and he doesn’t seem to be moving any time soon. “I’m aching for something other than apples and jerky, if I’m honest.”

Geralt’s stomach rumbles in agreement. “Too coarse for your fine palate, bard?” He teases.

“Never,” Jaskier says, lifting an accusatory finger at where he supposes Geralt is sitting. Then, because it isn’t as dramatic as it should’ve been, he rolls over, facing Geralt, his hair sticking up at odd places and his face flushed a pretty shade of pink. “I’m well used to all kinds of provisions, but the soul wishes for something a little bit more substantial every once in a while.”

“Hmm,” Geralt concedes. He laces up his left boot tighter than the right one and stands. “Let’s go, then, man of substance.”

Jaskier grins up at him, bright and easy, and leaps out of the bed so fast the wind gets knocked out of him.

Downstairs at the bar, there are steaming bowls of pottage being sent to the patrons that are starting to overflow the room, bread and cheese abundant at every table. It must have been a fruitful winter, Geralt reasons as he nods to the barmaid and gestures to the plates.

“Ale as well, Sir Witcher?” She says as she wipes her forehead, no trace of fear in her voice. She’s probably too busy for it.

“Two, please.”

He makes his way to the table where Jaskier’s already tearing a loaf of bread in two, tapping a rhythm with his fingers on the hard wood as he looks out the window at the passersby. There’s a neatly-made arrangement of wildflowers on the wall by his side, larkspur and thistle with a touch of baby’s breath, Geralt thinks.

“Here,” he says, passing the half-full tankard over to Jaskier and taking a sip of his own.

Jaskier hands him a piece of bread. “So, what are we slaying today?”

“The only thing you’ll be slaying today is your audience’s eardrums,” Geralt says, smirking at Jaskier’s huff of indignation. He takes a bite out of the bread. “There seems to be an archespore around the vineyards.”

“An— the—” Jaskier’s face does a complicated thing and Geralt wants to point out that he looks like a gaping trout before he says, “An archespore?! This mythical— magical— never before seen creature—”

“It’s been seen plenty of times,” Geralt points out.

“Not by me!” Jaskier thumps his fist on the table, defeated, and his ale sloshes dangerously. He wipes a hand down his face. “Ugh. And I can’t even fight you on it, because I’ve got, uh, what do they call it— Geralt, help me out here, what’s the word—”

“A compromise.”

Jaskier gags. “Yes. That. I shall honor my, uh, compromise to the arts and leave you alone and defenseless before such a legendary creature. Naught but two swords and the strength of” —he looks Geralt up and down appreciatively— “roughly twelve men built like bulls to keep yourself out of harm’s way.”

Geralt lifts his eyebrows, unimpressed, and leans back on his seat as a barmaid approaches them with a bowl in each hand. “Thank you,” he tells her, and digs in.

The stew is pleasantly hot and thick with spices and vegetables, the potatoes sweet and the meat tender, and he lets a pleased rumble escape his chest.

He doesn’t get to indulge in good meals very often — when he gets the opportunity to sit down at a proper table and have a proper plate placed in front of him, the food is usually sizable and filling, but never particularly appetizing. It’s mostly overcooked, tough meat — if he can afford it — and out-of-season vegetables that remind him of dried-out fields rather than a lavish banquet.

Jaskier is used to them, though. Or was — right before he was hit on the head with a chunk of stale bread and had the brilliant idea to trail after a Witcher, to trade comfortable beds and roasted pheasants for a hard bedroll spread on the forest floor and charred squirrel, at best. It still intrigues Geralt, watching Jaskier roll up his sleeves and dig into the pottage like it’s the finest meal he’s ever tasted, like it doesn’t pale in comparison to what he’ll be served tonight. Like he doesn’t see it — the immensity of the gap between Geralt’s world and his own.

There are moments of hesitation — moments when Geralt thinks Jaskier will wake up. When he thinks the bard will look around and shake his head in astonished confusion, and his blue eyes will widen comically like they do when he’s caught slipping treats to Roach, and he’ll see through the desperately-sewn seams of Geralt’s life. He’ll see that behind the so-called heroics and martyrdom there’s nothing more than a Witcher and a horse and a lonely road ahead.

But then, just when Geralt’s doubts start to creep into his hairline and show on his face, Jaskier will prove him wrong. Like now, as Jaskier lets his spoon fall into his empty bowl and leans back on his seat, sighing happily, nothing but contentment and warmth on his scent. As he watches through the window again, with a smile that dimples his cheek and sunlight crinkling his eyes.

Geralt feels something touch his leg. When he looks down, the innkeeper’s dog is resting his chin on Geralt’s thigh, his eyes big and pleading.

He picks up a hard bit of bread Jaskier had set aside earlier and carefully brings it up to the dog’s nose for inspection. After a few curious sniffs, the dog gently takes it out of Geralt’s hand, tail wagging excitedly. His fur is soft where Geralt smoothes it out with the flat of his palm, softer than Roach’s mane.

When he looks up, Jaskier’s eyes have abandoned the window, and he’s watching the two of them with a smile that’s half fond, half soft. Too tender.

Geralt’s never been looked at like that. With care. Like he’s something precious, something to be treasured.

It feels inadequate, and he pats the dog’s head to hide the almost imperceptible tremble of his hand. Jaskier’s smile reaches his eyes, and doesn’t waver.

It’s good.

+

The soft breeze wafting through the window as Geralt straps his swords to his back is tempting.

Jaskier yawns.

“You sure you don’t wanna get a nap in before you,” he yawns again, “go?”

He’s sprawled on his bed in a position that just can’t be comfortable, limbs long and bent at weird angles, pants unbuttoned and doublet resting on the back of a chair. His hair is ruffled and his cheeks are pink from the meal and the impending sleep that will follow.

“I’ve read, somewhere,” he continues, forcefully wrestling with the blankets that are firmly tucked into the bed, “ah, that napping increases, um— aha!” He wiggles under the covers. “It increases your strength, sharpens your” — a yawn — “mind, and whatnot.”

“Hmm.” Geralt adjusts his potion belt. “And how’s that worked out for you?”

Jaskier squints at him, managing to stay awake just to be annoyed. “See? You just continue proving my point! That,” he says, gesturing vaguely at Geralt with a half-covered hand, “would easily be fixed with one tiny nap!”

“Your naps are never tiny.”

“Well, no, because as a bard, I require more energy than a Witcher. Besides,” he says, closing his eyes, “I never seem to get enough sleep, you see, since I keep getting assaulted by this beast of a man who thinks dawn is already late.”

Geralt snorts and walks over to his bed. “Should put a contract out, then. A Witcher may come across it.”

Jaskier turns around, facing Geralt. “Oh, no, thank you. One Witcher is enough for me.” Geralt can hear the smile in his voice, though.

Checking he’s got everything he needs, and closing the open windows for good measure, Geralt turns to Jaskier. “I’m going. Stay here.”

This time, it’s Jaskier who has to snort. “Napping, remember?”

Geralt hums. “Don’t sleep through your performance,” he says, closing the door behind him, and the sounds of Jaskier tossing and turning while making indignant sounds makes him smirk.

The walk to the vineyard doesn’t take long. He passes the district alderman’s house on his way over, discusses the payment and whatever information he has to offer about the vineyard itself and the archespore sightings. The man’s face goes white when Geralt asks about any late violent crime.

The sun is still high in the sky when he gets to the heart of the vineyard, the earth uneven and freshly dug up. The victims’ bodies aren’t there anymore, he knows, but the archespore can’t be too far away from him. He draws out his sword and walks deeper into the field, watching the ripe grapevine sway with the wind.

There’s a vine in particular that calls his attention, thinner and bare, no grapes clinging to it. Just as he gets closer to it, it disappears under the ground. Geralt crouches and backs away, waiting to see it come back up — except when it does, it’s not just a lonely vine anymore.

The archespore stands tall and imposing, growling at Geralt as he signs Igni at it and aims for its trunk — he only gets one good blow before it buries itself under the earth. He waits again, looking for the green-brown color, and it shoots back up with renewed force, surrounding Geralt with acid-filled pods.

He casts a quick Quen and gets closer to it, choosing Aard this time as Igni causes it to relocate, and seizes the way it trembles minutely to get behind it and run his sword through its flesh. The creature growls, its jaw-shaped leaves curling around Geralt’s limbs. He struggles and manages to cast Igni at it, freeing himself as the plant relocates itself. When it sprouts back up, one of its pods blows up next to him, making him fall to the ground as the creature towers over him, its screeches deafening.

The archespore opens its forked mouth and screeches louder this time, acid shooting through its pores before Geralt can shield himself. The acid burns his skin where it reaches it, but the creature seems satisfied enough that it misses the opportunity to pin him to the ground. He reaches for his sword and lunges, casting Aard and tearing its leaves and damaging its thick stem.

This time, when it goes underground, Geralt has a feral smile on his face as he takes his Golden Oriole and upends it in his mouth. The venom stops burning for a second, and, when the archespore comes back up, its tendrils reaching for Geralt, he ducks and rolls, positioning himself behind it. The archespore screeches one final time as Geralt runs his sword from its head down to its core before it collapses to the ground, lifeless body still twitching. Geralt throws the severed head far enough that it won’t be able to reattach itself and slices up the remaining pods, their venom oozing sluggishly onto the torn-up ground.

He makes his way back to the city, the head of the archespore dripping slightly from its bag. The sun is setting, painting the walls golden against the pink sky, the shadows cast over the buildings helping the buzzing in his brain. He takes the less-traveled roads to avoid the commotion of the streets, but it seems the city is already mellowed out.

He thinks of Jaskier.

The first star of the night is twinkling against the pink-blue sky, the moon translucent. The baron’s residence is distant, surrounded by a stretch of the city’s walls, but Geralt imagines it’s close, close enough that Jaskier’s voice can carry through the night — that his soft melodies can reach them all.

He thinks of Jaskier, dressed up in his finest clothes that he had especially tailored — because I’ve filled out in the winter, Geralt! — drinking sweet wine from the vineyard he’s just left behind, mingling with the nobles and regaling them with honeyed tales of the Witcher’s heroism. The Witcher who is currently covered in muck and sticky with dried acid, carrying a severed head across the streets of Beauclair.

But Jaskier would disagree. He’d see a knight in shining armor, coming home triumphant after saving a family’s livelihood, the scars of the ferocious battle showing on his face. A defeated beast and a courageous warrior. A tale worth telling.

After dispatching the head and collecting his coin — what they’d agreed on, thankfully — Geralt heads back to the inn. The humming in his veins has simmered down, leaving behind a hint of exhaustion that clings to his bones and makes itself known. He calls for a bath, ignoring the innkeeper’s knowing look — she’s seen him trudge inside wearing worse.

Once he’s in his room, he takes his time unbuckling and sets his armor aside, a filthy pile that he’ll have to tend to eventually. After, he thinks, and sinks into the steaming tub. The room’s windows are open despite him closing them before leaving, tacit proof of Jaskier’s aversion for closed spaces and feeling oppressed, Witcher, and his distinct lack of self-preservation. Geralt’s chastised him enough about being easy prey, but there’s something in the way the bard moves that makes him want to protect, rather than prevent — he’d rather be the one to free Jaskier from his cage than be the one to lock him there in the first place. Not that Jaskier would ever let himself be locked away — he’s feisty enough on his own — but something about him screams freedom.

Geralt can’t take it away — wouldn’t ever want to. So he lets the cool air enter the room.

His bed is neatly made, pillows fluffed and sheets crisp. Next to it is Jaskier’s — somehow, pillows are on the floor and the sheets are turned inside out, twisted like a serpent around the blanket. His side of the room looks like it’s been a victim of a cruel whirlwind — clothes and accessories are strung about the room, picked up only to be frowned at and then put back down.

It’s tempting enough; to crawl under the covers and blow out the candles and get a half-decent night of sleep. Maybe get something to eat from the bar downstairs. Maybe drink some ale. But—

I’ll vouch for you, you know.

He knows.

+

It’s a beautiful night, in truth.

The ball is being hosted in the halfmoon-shaped garden, the cool spring breeze dancing around the guests as they dance themselves, carried away. Moonlight and candlelight alike wash over the cobblestone, a few delicate and intricate paper lanterns placed over a wooden railing casting gentle shadows on the whole scene. There are flowers all around — on tall vases in every corner and on the small centerpieces at every table, on the open hand of every statue and weaved into delicate crowns for everyone to wear.

It isn’t like anything Geralt’s seen before. He’s been to many balls — begrudgingly — but never one in which everyone carries themselves so freely, where raucous laughter is allowed if not mandatory, where not one person sits alone at their table, instead gathered around savoring the food, where there are chairs but no one sitting on them because they’re so busy prancing around the yard, marveling at the flowers and the outfits and the beauty of the night. Where everyone seems to be there because they want to be — because they belong.

He’s standing by a pillar, not hidden but not in plain sight, either. He tightens his jacket around himself, half to fend off the chill of the night air and half to hide the stain on the chemise underneath — a dangerous encounter with a drunk Jaskier and a goblet of wine. His leather band is on his wrist tonight, his silver hair tickling the spot behind his ear and catching on the high collar of his shirt. People are still coming in through the garden gates, the path to the grounds lit by small candles by each side of it, couples strolling hand-in-hand across the grounds and children running around, their flower crowns hanging off their heads.

There’s no music yet, just conversation carrying the night away. He can hear Jaskier’s heartbeat somewhere in the gardens, but hasn’t seen him yet — perhaps he’s encountered one of his old dalliances and is catching up, as he’s often done before.

Geralt moves to the balcony with the stone railing, the one looking out to the lake. The waves are calm tonight, gently rippling back and forth, shimmering under the stars. He leans his elbows on the railing, feeling very small as he looks down.

Heights used to scare him when he was a child. It’s one of the only things he can remember. His house sat on a small hill, and every night, after his mother went to sleep, he would tiptoe across the kitchen and open the window, and he would look down and feel terror beat inside his chest, gripping his heart like a vine.

Now, as he looks down, he can see the scrape of the stones jutting out of the earth, the clear beach beneath him. He can see the boats resting on the shore and the stars reflecting on the water. Looking down, he just feels at ease.

The sound of children protesting catches his attention. When he looks back to the courtyard, he can see two small children — siblings, he presumes — looking at their mother with very exaggerated frowns on their tiny faces.

“You mustn’t use your sister’s dress as a cleaning rag, Petyr,” she says to the boy as she tries to wipe down the girl’s gown.

“But the floors here needed cleaning!” Petyr responds, petulant. “You told us things should be squeaky-clean.”

His mother is about to reply when suddenly a voice cuts in. “And your mother is right, of course,” says Jaskier, winking at her and meeting her smile of relief with one of his own. “But this is a party! You’re meant to have fun, you and your sister! Don’t you like to dance?”

Petyr and his sister shake their heads. “We don’t know how to,” she admits.

Jaskier’s grin is wide. “Well, then you must be born singers!” At that, the girl smiles.

“Mama says our singing sounds more like a dying wyvern’s last breath,” she says simply, and it makes Jaskier laugh, “but we like to sing anyway.”

“And you should! Singing is the way our soul gets to have a laugh,” he says knowingly, and slowly takes his lute out of his case. “I don’t suppose you know what this is?”

The children’s eyes light up. “A lute!”

Jaskier laughs. “That’s right!” He holds it out to them. “Here, try a strum.”

The children look at each other, then at the lute like it’s something precious. Geralt knows it is. “You go first, Fiona,” the boy whispers to his sister.

Fiona approaches the lute carefully, and holds out her little hand. Jaskier takes it on his own, then gently, very gently, he runs her hand through the strings. It’s a simple chord, and Jaskier’s holding the note, but Fiona looks blown away. “Wow,” she whispers. “It’s so… pretty.”

Geralt can see the way Jaskier’s mouth quirks up and his eyes go soft at the corners. It tugs at his heartstrings.

“Now,” Jaskier says, “Do you want to try, Petyr?”

The boy nods, coming forward. He knows what to do, having watched his sister, so he simply lifts his hand and strums. Jaskier’s changed the chord, a lower one now.

“Wonderful!” Jaskier exclaims, and applauds the both of them, making their cheeks flush. “Naturals, the both of you.”

Petyr’s hand is still on the lute, feeling the strings and reaching the pegs. “And what do these do?” He says just as he turns one of them, the string deflating slightly.

Geralt wants to laugh at Jaskier’s pained grimace as he tightens the string back as he explains to Petyr that he should leave those to the adults, but suddenly he feels a pool of warmth in his stomach, an ache in his chest he hasn’t felt before — as if all the spring’s air has been stolen from him.

He watches Jaskier play a silly little ditty for the children to dance with their very amused mother, and he can’t look away. Can’t stop staring at the way Jaskier’s eyes crinkle with joy and his face is full of laugh lines and his own flower crown threatens to fall down, small yellow petals gathering at his feet.

And the thing is — he knows Jaskier. He knows he’s kind, and thoughtful, and painfully honest. He knows he feels everyone’s pain as his own, everyone’s joy as his own.

Everyone’s love as his own.

He knows that he’ll play silly made-up songs for bored children just as he knows he’ll gather herbs for Geralt’s potions without being asked to, just as he’ll buy treats for Roach, just as he’ll carefully avoid the fork on the road to Blaviken.

He sees it, now — the way his face is lit up but not from candlelight but from within, because he’s so in love with the world that he can barely stand it.

And he’s seen him before — has watched his furrowed brow illuminated by wavering candles as he writes well past dusk, has seen the curl of his mouth and the freckles on his nose and the scar that goes through his left eyebrow and yet—

Yet it feels like he’s seeing him for the first time.

There’s a smudge of ink on Jaskier’s cheek. There always is. There always has been.

Geralt’s never wanted to wipe it off.

He wants to wipe it off, wants to tuck his hair back behind his ear and kiss the spot where his jaw meets his neck. He wants to hold him close to his chest tight enough that maybe he’ll crawl into his heart and never leave.

It should scare him. It should feel like standing at the top of a hill and looking down.

It doesn’t.

Jaskier walks into the stage, a space of elevated marble he supposes a statue had been resident of. It suits him, the small pedestal — the way the golden thread of his dark green doublet glitters when moonlight catches it makes something ethereal of him, the few fallen flowers of his crown tangled on his hair — now tousled and matted with sweat — making something beautiful of him.

“Yes, yes, I’ve returned with more!” He exclaims at the whistles and cheers from the crowd, who’ve undoubtedly fallen in love with his first set. “We’re changing things up a bit now— How would you feel about something softer for a change?”

People cheer again, and Jaskier’s face breaks into a blinding grin. “Perfect! Now,” he looks around, “I want you to find the people you love. Your spouse, your lover, your friend, your sister, your child— everyone and anyone your heart beats for.”

The crowd starts gathering around in different groups, and Geralt smiles at how mismatched they are — tiny children and their grandparents, groups of single maidens hugging each other tightly, couples tenderly embracing each other.

Jaskier’s smile is softer, this time. “There,” he whispers. “Because love is something to share— This song I’m sharing with you.”

And then he’s gone — all his stage-borne facade falls away as he starts to play. His fingers are plucking a gentle, easy melody, and he’s humming along. People start slowly swaying to the sound of his voice, their eyes bright and shiny with mirth and love. Then, very softly, his voice barely above a whisper, he sings,

“Wise men say

Only fools rush in

But I can’t help

Falling in love with you…”

It’s incredibly gentle, and Geralt feels drawn to it immediately. He watches as Jaskier sways with the music, eyes closed and brow furrowed, completely lost on it. There are buttercups on his hair and love in his mouth and Geralt suddenly wants to reach for him, put out his hand only for Jaskier to hold.

Jaskier opens his eyes as the last verse comes in. “Take my hand,” he sings, and he does a brave thing and looks into Geralt’s eyes. “Take my whole life, too.”

He would.

“For I can’t help,” he says with a smile, and looks out to the public. “Falling in love with you.”

The song ends, but Jaskier keeps playing the chord progression softly. The crowd isn’t there anymore — they’re all somewhere else, holding their beloved in tender arms and swaying to the tune of their love. As Jaskier’s playing slowly fades out, there is no applause, no enthusiastic cheering nor plea for an encore.

They all know.

Geralt’s looking out to the waves when Jaskier joins him by the railing.

“Hey,” he whispers.

Geralt turns to face him. “Hey,” he whispers back.

Jaskier’s smile is soft as he takes him in. “You came.”

“I did,” Geralt says, voice low. “Was told someone would be waiting for me.”

“And here I am.”

The waves crash against the rocks.

“That was a new one,” Geralt murmurs, looking at the scar on his knuckle. “The song.”

“It was,” Jaskier replies simply.

Geralt looks at him. “I liked it.” It’s no big compliment, but Jaskier seems to understand him all the same.

He always does.

“I’m glad,” he says. “I like it too.”

He leans his elbows on the railing, their shoulders almost touching. Jaskier’s cheek is still smudged with ink.

“You have…” Geralt says, gesturing to his own face, and Jaskier frowns at him. Geralt shakes his head. He licks his thumb and reaches, Jaskier’s skin soft as he swipes the ink away, his mouth slightly parted.

“There,” he whispers, but his hand doesn’t leave Jaskier’s cheek. “Do they really say it?”

Jaskier frowns, confused. Their shoulders are touching. “Who?”

Geralt reaches for Jaskier’s flower crown and looks at him, a silent request. Jaskier nods. Geralt takes it in his hands and gently tucks the loose stems back together, the way he’d seen girls do it in the town square. He doesn’t lose a single petal.

“The wise men,” he says, placing the crown on top of Jaskier’s head, where it belongs. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

Jaskier takes them in his. “It is foolish to rush in unprepared. You taught me that.”

“Am I wise, then?”

Jaskier laughs, shakes his head. “I never said that.”

Geralt doesn’t know what to say, so he stays quiet, watching Jaskier’s rings as they glint in the moonlight, watching Jaskier’s fingers as they play with his.

“I love you, you know,” Jaskier murmurs, looking at their joined hands.

“I know.”

“You’re my best friend.”

Geralt looks at him. “I know.”

He needs the weight of his swords strapped at his back. He wants to be brave.

He looks down.

“I love you,” he says. “I can’t help it.”

Jaskier smiles. “Well, now you’re just being mean— plagiarizing my song right in front of me.”

“Jask.” It sounds like a prayer. Geralt squeezes his hands, amber meeting cornflower blue. “You know what I mean, when I say—”

“I know what you mean,” Jaskier says. “I know.”

They drink each other in, and Geralt knows this is the first time they’re seeing each other. Gently, he places one hand on the small of Jaskier’s back, the other on his nape, and brings their foreheads together.

Jaskier’s hands find their way to Geralt’s waist. Nobody’s ever held him like that. With care. Like he’s something precious, something to be treasured.

His nose grazes Jaskier’s cheek and he whispers, “Can I kiss you?”

And Jaskier’s smiling when he says, “I wish you would.”

So he does. Soft lips against chapped ones, lute-calloused hands against scarred ones. Jaskier kisses him back tenderly, unhurried, and it’s honey-sweet like the wine he can taste on Jaskier’s mouth, like the love he can feel on his scent.

When they pull apart — only because they have to — Geralt circles Jaskier in his arms, pressing small kisses to his cheeks, his jaw, his nose, his forehead. It makes him laugh.

“Tickles,” he says, and there’s a smile in his voice. “Your beard.”

Geralt presses a final, lingering kiss to his mouth. “Sorry,” he whispers against his lips.

The party has carried on without them, as it is wont to do. There’s a harp player on the stage now, plucking a soft melody from its strings.

Jaskier’s eyes are bright when he looks up at him. It feels right, to be holding him like this, to drown in his warmth and press love into his hands like it’s all he can do — and it is. All he can do is watch into Jaskier’s eyes and try not to get lost in them and stop a smitten smile from curling on his lips.

He’s helpless, he knows. It doesn’t scare him anymore.

“Home?” Jaskier murmurs against his cheek.

The inn, he means. “Aren’t you playing?”

Jaskier’s mouth curls into a mischievous smile, one of Geralt’s favorites. “They’ll survive without me, I reckon.”

Geralt narrows his eyes. “Jaskier—”

“Yes, yes, I know,” he protests, rolling his eyes. “We need the coin. Ugh— one would think the guy confessing his undying love—”

“Now, undying is—”

“His undying love for me would change things, would buy me some indulgence— not at all!” He buries his face in Geralt’s neck, letting out a long-suffering groan. “Why must you be so responsible all the time?”

There are many reasons. Looking at Jaskier’s flushed face and capricious frown, Geralt can’t remember any of them. “Go,” he says softly, nodding at the stage. “For me.”

Jaskier groans louder. “That,” he says, poking Geralt’s chest, “is a very unfair card to play.”

“And why’s that?”

Jaskier tangles their fingers together. “Because you know I would do anything for you.”

Geralt’s face softens. He knows. “Go. I’ll wait for you.”

Defeated, Jaskier looks at the stage, then at Geralt, pouting. “Won’t you at least kiss me farewell? I’ve a long journey ahead.”

It’s Geralt’s turn to roll his eyes — still, he reels Jaskier in and presses a chaste kiss to his lips.

“Great start!” Jaskier says cheerfully. “Now, like you mean it.”

“Insufferable,” Geralt murmurs, but he gives in. The kiss is deep and slow, and somehow full of promise. He can feel Jaskier sigh happily against his lips, his scent gone sweet and warm as Geralt’s hands find Jaskier’s sides.

They part, begrudgingly. Jaskier’s cheeks are deep pink and his flower crown sits askew on his head once again, so Geralt fixes it for him.

“We should get one for you,” the bard says, watching him.

“Hmm.” Geralt presses a final kiss to his lips. “Go.”

“I’m getting you one,” Jaskier says stubbornly, ignoring Geralt’s wish, and Geralt loves him too much. “Just wait here.”

He lets Jaskier go, and watches as he runs over to the stand where a young woman is weaving tulips and baby’s breath together into a crown. He watches as he excitedly gestures at it and cradles it in his tender hands, a look of genuine joy on his face. He watches as he turns around, his lips stretched into a too-wide grin as he waves at Geralt, pointing at the crown.

He watches as he walks toward him.

He waits for him to fit into his open arms. He waits for him to place the crown on top of his head and adjust it once, twice, before it’s deemed perfect. He waits for him to kiss his cheek and groan about having to return to his duty as entertainment for the evening.

He waits for him as he plays.

“I love you,” he tells him later, when they’re both tucked in bed and their fancy clothes have been folded and their legs are tangled together.

Jaskier grins. “Say it again.”

Geralt can’t hide the smile that curves his lips — he doesn’t want to. “I love you,” he says, and kisses his cheek. “I love you,” his forehead, “I love you,” his eyelids. “I love you,” his mouth.

He says it so much the words sound foreign in his mouth. He says it until they belong in his mouth again.

“Thank you,” Jaskier says after a while, candlelight framing the tenderness in his eyes. “It’s been good.”

Geralt smiles.

It has.

[songofwizardry]

after everything is done, the mighty nein stay with each other.

not all the time, of course—but they have Sending spells, and letters, and at one point Essek gets hold of an extra sending stone, but still. they stay together.

Caduceus visits them all, one by one. makes the long journey down to Nicodranas, and meets Jester and Fjord and Kingsley on the beach. he brings dried fruits from his garden. they picnic in the shade of the Wildmother's lighthouse. he finds work to do wherever he wanders—there are hundreds of people, dozens of towns, in need of a healer, or someone to help with a farm, or someone to listen to them through their grief. the Wildmother occasionally guides him, the winds urging head East, or, find this gnome in this town. usually, though, he lets his feet guide him.

Fjord and Jester make their way up, down, the Menagerie Coast. after so long in the Empire and the Dynasty, they both find they've missed the coast they grew up on. Fjord picks up new crew, sometimes—young people looking for work on the docks, older ones who give obviously-fake names and don't answer questions. he pays them fairly, and teaches them the ropes, and treats them with kindness as someone once treated him with kindness, and lets the salt water and sea-air do their work. Jester finally sees Port Damali, and Feolinn, and Port Zoon, and they are lovely, even if she still thinks Nicodranas is the best. she leaves dicks in temples and on street corners, and once or twice, she sees a green-cloaked figure admiring her work. she sends messages every day, working her way through their family—just updates, about the dragon turtle they just saw, or how Kingsley is trying his hand at painting, or about the new crew members they've picked up.

the two of them find trinkets wherever they go. it starts off as a joke, Fjord saying, oh, we should definitely buy that box of buttons for Veth, I can tell her we found Buttonbeard. but then they keep going—a book of Lucidian folk-tales for Caleb, a strange pepper plant for Caduceus, an ocean-blue set of fighters' gloves for Beau. wherever they go, they find something that reminds them of their family, and they bring it back.

an expositor's work is never done, so Beau ends up back in Rexxentrum or Zadash at least once a year, often more (and maybe she goes back more often than she strictly needs to, but nobody needs to know that). she sees the house Caleb's found, a small place, not on the academy grounds, but close enough. she stays a few nights, and watches Caleb light the stove with a snap of steady fingers, and is introduced to a loud, demanding black cat, who doesn't have Frumpkin's infinite patience for their bullshit.

the seeds Caduceus gave her serve Yasha well. she goes back to the Blooming Grove in the spring, spends time with the Clays. learns more about the earth. gets more seeds. she and Caduceus spend time together, walking the grounds, tending the plants, tilling, and they don't say much.

when Marion goes back to Nicodranas, they all visit. Jester stays for the longest time, bouncing between spending time with her mother and teaching Luc prank ideas catching up with the Brenattos, but eventually, all of the Nein end up there. they take over several rooms of the Chateau, and stay up far too late (and let Luc stay up far too late with them), swapping stories and sharing drinks: Is Vandran re-reading Tusk Love again? You need to introduce him to more literature! and Wait, so when you say you and Essek were stuck in a snowstorm without the tower, that to-tally means you had to cuddle for warmth, right? and Did you actually just... walk to Uthodurn, Caduceus?

they don't let Essek disappear for long. sure, he does eventually drop off the face of Exandria, researching this or that, at one point sneaking back into the Dynasty to see his brother, but he always shows up again. Jester sends him messages. he and Caleb keep up a continuous stream of letters, eventually finding magical means to get them to each other faster. and with Teleportation spells, he's always visiting—a week in Rexxentrum, heavily disguised; almost a month with Caduceus, using his rose-patterned gardening gloves; a brief stint in Nicodranas, helping out at the Brenatto Alchemists. (a few years after Aeor, he spends more time in Rexxentrum. stays a month. then two. then six. then a year. eventually, he and Caleb get a second cat. and he cannot stay forever, but he still stays.)

for the first time in his life, Caleb has time. and so he takes it. slowly, he walks the streets of Rexxentrum, learning to love it again (he's not sure if he ever really stopped loving it). he works, slowly, with Beauregard—it might take their whole lives to dismantle the mess of power and abuse that the Assembly is; it will probably take even longer. but he keeps at it anyway. he goes back and forth between the Academy and the Soul; when Beau combs through questionable documents, Caleb asks questions; when the mages of the Academy and Assembly hold meetings, Caleb goes to them and keeps his eyes on the Martinet.

he starts teaching. he's not sure about it, at first—the Academy hurt, not just him, but so many others. but with Trent gone, he thinks—there can be a change. and he wants to feel the joy of new magic again, to watch new eyes come alight with it, he wants to show people how it can be used to help, and heal, and love, instead of hurt. so he starts teaching. it's joyous, and energising, and exhausting, and he watches his students – his students – all the while, for the slightest hint that they are being hurt, or forced, or coerced, or trained into something they don't want to be. he watches them grow, and learn. he pushes the envelope of treason, just a bit, talks of magic and wonder beyond the empire and its structures. and with every group, he teaches them the spell find familiar.

the Brenattos open up a new apothecary in Nicodranas. it's bigger, and brighter, and busier than the one in Felderwin—they get more herbs and more customers here, and with both Yeza and Veth in the lab, they're soon coming up with new concoctions, experimenting together. when Veth gets the itch in her bones (and she does, numerous times), she tracks down one of the nein, and wanders with them for a bit—visiting Rumblecusp with Beau and Yasha, a trip investigating Halas' halls with Caleb, a few weeks on the Lucidian ocean. she never stays long, and she always comes home. she hasn't broken that promise yet.

Luc grows up on the coast, and learns to swim. sometimes, she joins him.

when they get a house, she and Yeza – by unspoken agreement – find a place with two extra rooms, a sitting room large enough for several people to fit on the floor, and a garden. Yeza's food is almost as good as Caduceus', so it's no surprised that the nein come and visit, often. Yasha helps them grow beds of flowers in the garden. Jester and Fjord bring all manner of strange mementoes from the oceans. when the academy is closed, Caleb stays for months on end, helping her teach the teenagers of Nicodranas basic cantrips and how to pick locks during the day (we are unleashing a menace, he warns her, but he's smiling), and reading to Luc in the evenings.

they gather, together, in her house, too. sometimes for a special occasion (she and Yeza renew their vows in the garden), but often, for no reason at all. just to be together. there is space for all nine of them—she made sure of that. they talk, and laugh, and fall asleep in a chaotic pile in the Brenatto's living room.

in a few days, they will embrace, and separate, and head back to whatever they've been doing. but they will come back together, eventually.

after everything, the mighty nein stay together.

[gryffindors-weasley]

Closed For Business

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary: When an unexpected visitor arrives at your bookstore, jealousy ensues.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: flirting, jealousy, fluff, kissing

Your shift at William and Bette’s Bookstore hadn’t been too terrible that day. It most certainly had been a busy one, the rather inclement weather not deterring anyone from stopping in, but you suppose a little foot traffic wasn’t quite so bad when you worked a job that you loved. It was a sweet little place, lined floor to ceilings with a variety of books so vast it was impossible to browse through in just one visit. The wooden bookshelves were organized A-Z, winding and curving around the one-floor shop, lamps littering about as a station for hot chocolate and tea resides in the very far corner.

You’d started working there about a year after the second wizarding war had concluded its disastrous rampage. You were in need of something, anything to busy yourself with. It was a cozy little place, tucked warmly and welcomingly next to your favorite bakery; needless to say it always smelled of cinnamon and old books.

You found it when you were in town with Draco, Narcissa having sent him out to a shop you hadn’t entirely known what for. Perhaps it was for new floral arrangements to have around the Manor—it was absolutely that actually. She’d wanted to liven up the otherwise bleak and somber estate, flowers always having been something to brighten her spirits with her husband having been away in Azkaban for a number of years to come. It was then that you spotted it, the ‘help wanted’ sign taped just inside the old window of the little shop. It’d been Draco who nudged you to go for it, both literally and figuratively as he pulled you along by the hand, so you did. You took the leap and they hired you on the spot much to your delighted surprise.

Long story short, you had been working there since you were nineteen, now twenty-four. The owners, William and Bette, had been and continue to be endlessly welcoming and jovial, and you found you hadn’t wanted to work just anywhere else. It was perfect, in a small town of one of a kind shops and equally one of a kind cottages—one of which you resided in with the love of your life. It was a fairytale, as much as it could have been for two magically inclined lovers who’d been put through more than most could even fathom before the age of twenty-five. Most people thought magic had just been a trick of the eye.

Presently, you were helping your very last customer of the day, relief settling upon you only minutely. Granted, he was someone you hadn’t expected to show up to a bookstore, not even remotely nor the one in your tiny town but you suppose books had their charm. It’d been nearly ten minutes since you’d rung up Cormac’s book, ten minutes since the shop was set to close and he still stood before you with a grin that was telltale to his flirting.

He’d been trying valiantly to win your affections ever since your sixth year, and even more so when a certain blonde in particular had been far more successful at it than him. You never cared for the boy then, always far too full of himself to see things with any sort of rationality. He’d been too self absorbed to capture any sort of attention from you. You supposed Draco hadn’t been vastly different, he’d certainly had the tendency to be so arrogant, but he was far changed from that now. Leaps and bounds different.

He’d come in what had to be nearly half an hour ago, and surely he hadn’t been as interested in the books he’d been looking at as he’d tried to be. Not with the way you’d met his gaze on more than one occasion. It was laughable, really, to be so flirtatious was something that seemed to be rather tiring after a while. In fact, he’d been so caught up in trying to impress you he’d just about knocked over the newly added display for new arrivals. Perhaps he didn’t know your heart belonged to someone else, to the very same person it belonged to the last time you were in each other’s company. Surely he didn’t know that otherwise he wouldn’t be making a fool of himself.

You sigh at the ever so distinct sound of the bell over the door ringing out, effectively cutting him short of his words momentarily and signaling the entrance of someone else to tend to. Someone that should have read the sign on the door much like the one rapidly overstaying his welcome as the clock had struck seven. The sign on the door had been flipped, it was obvious as the lone four letter word stared back at you and ‘closed’ faced boldly towards the town in red cursive letters. You didn’t take the time to look for just who it’d been that came in, however, continuing to wipe the counter with a sigh.

“We’re closed,” you call out around Cormac’s shoulder, offering him a polite smile. A silence fell over the small store as you purse your lips, and he was quick to continue the conversation just where he’d left off minutes prior.

“We’re going to be traveling across the country next month. It’s the most important match of the season,” he says, his chin in his hand as he leans with his elbow against the counter. His eyes sparkled as he looked at you and you tried your hardest to suppress your giggle; he looked absolutely ridiculous, his heart eyes for you beyond comical.

“Oh really?” You inquire then, completely amused at the sheer effort he’d been so desperately putting into impressing you. Little did he know there’d been a brilliant Healer, the best of his time, that had stolen your heart since the day he’d healed you after a clumsy mishap. Cormac hadn’t changed one bit as you readily expected, and it felt as though you were back at Slughorn’s Christmas party once more.

He nods, fingers tapping against his lip as the corner of his mouth quirked up into a grin. “Perhaps you’d like to join me?”

You had to stop yourself from letting your jaw drop, from allowing the snort that was ready to sound from falling past your lips. Had he always been so bold? You suppose so, you know so.

It hadn’t been terribly hard to stifle your shocked and utterly amused laughter when a newfound distraction arises mere moments later, the clatter of a book or two falling to the floor well heard across the entirety of the space. You frowned at the sound of it, unaware that it wasn’t just some other customer who hadn’t abided by shop hours that’d done it, rather a certain platinum blonde had been responsible for it instead. You were most entirely unaware of the way he’d been plucking miscellaneous books from their shelves and shoving them back into their spots in a pitiful attempt to busy himself all while jealousy brewed deeply within him. Not to mention the way he’d been staring daggers into the quidditch player’s back all the same. He’d gone ahead and dropped the very books in his hand upon hearing the brazen question, his eyes falling closed as his jaw tenses.

He promised you to not get so terribly jealous as he once had as a teen, as he once had most notably with the very same wizard who’d been fawning over you in that very moment. While he was far different from the boy who’d once put harmless jinxes and hexes just to be insufferable, he was strongly considering setting his maturity aside for just this once. With the way he’d been looking at you, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. But, instead he settles for dragging the tip of his finger along the spines of the books before him as if he was interested in their titles, trailing absentmindedly as his cheeks still burned from his clumsy blunder.

That brief moment for distraction and distance from the ridiculous offer put forth to you was rapidly coming to an end, his attention focused on you once more. You sprayed a bit too much cleaner on the already well polished countertop, wiping it down vigorously as you felt his gaze on you. You were starting to wonder just how you ever escaped conversation with him in the past.

“I’m afraid I have to decline your offer,” you say, tossing the paper towel in the trash as you bit the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from smiling as you thought to the love of your life. The one you so desperately wanted to return home to in that very moment, as you had longed to the whole day. The very man who’d been brooding grumpily just behind the mahogany bookshelves mere paces from you.

Cormac frowns only slightly as his head tilts to the left, his gaze holding yours. “Might I at least ask you to dinner then?”

That was it. That had been the absolute last straw. He hadn’t planned on making his presence known just yet, wanted to hear him make an absolute fool of himself if only for a few moments longer. But he knows there’s absolutely no way he could refrain from chiming in. No, not after that.

You open your mouth to speak, to answer his question despite being at a loss for words—though someone else beats you to it.

“Did you not hear? Shop is closed.” The voice is ever so familiar, holding a certain bite to it that one just couldn’t miss even from a mile away. You could hardly withhold your smile as Draco hopped up on the scuffed wooden counter, his brow raised tauntingly before he turned to look at you. “Right, love?”

You nod, meeting his gaze with a soft smile you tried to keep from growing. The look on his face was nothing short of adoring, but the fond expression held solely for you quickly hardens as it returns to the man in question. He straightens his posture and stands tall in Draco’s presence, the smirk on his lips since dissolving in favor of a tense jaw. He played with the ring on his finger, twirling it round and round as he crossed his ankles nonchalantly and fixed his stare on him rather than uttering the spell that sat so temptingly on his lips.

“Malfoy,” he greets coldly, a short nod to follow as he huffs through his nose.

“McLaggen,” Draco starts, sliding his book across the counter hastily. “I believe this is yours. Is it not?”

He huffs out a humorless laugh as he nods, swiping the book from beneath Draco’s fingertips. He holds his stare for a few fleeting moments, the corner of Draco’s mouth quirking up as he watches him sulk to the door and leave with a not so subtle thud. It was a brief interchange, however, one that spoke volumes of his displeasure and filled the small shop with a tension too thick to ignore.

You exhale a sigh then, brow raised quizzically as you cross your arms and try your hardest to be displeased with his behavior. Granted, he hadn’t turned his hair a rich shade of purple or muted him for the next week with a simple incantation, but you weren’t blind to the way his cheeks flushed pink. Nor did you miss the way his knuckles turned ivory, no matter how brief it may have been.

“Just what are you doing here?” You ask as he swivels in his spot, dipping down to kiss you sweetly.

“Can I not walk you home?” He asks in faux offense, the words pressed into your lips before he kisses you once more. Your smile quickly betrays you at the brush of his lips on yours, more so when they travel upwards to kiss the tip of your nose.

“You didn’t have to come all the way here from St. Mungo’s, you know. I could have apparated, love,” you sigh, your smile still lingering on your lips.

“Where’s the fun in that?” He asks, hopping down from the counter completely. His hands settle on your wrists, uncrossing your arms gingerly before sliding down to envelop your hands. “Besides,” he starts, his lips pressing to your cheek, “that was rather entertaining.”

You roll your eyes immediately, ready to pull your hands from his grasp until he tugged you closer with a laugh. You looked up at him with a beaming smile, one that held a certain mischief he was all too familiar with as you tilted your head. “Not nearly as entertaining as your clumsiness, especially not as much as the blush on your cheeks.”

He quiets the very factual statements falling from your lips with his own, the giggle of yours that sounded against his lips enough to make his blush deepen a shade. You were the only one in history to make his cheeks burn and flush like a fool, the only one in the world to make his heart flutter and pull a genuine smile from him. He supposes, he knows, that it’s always been you. Even when he didn’t realize it, even when he was far too unaware of true love for his own good.

He releases your hands in favor of enveloping you in his arms, your own wrapping around his neck. Any bit of jealousy, no matter how trivial and insignificant it may have been had since dissolved as he lifted you off your feet and spun you. The sheer adoration beaming bright on his face went unseen in the close proximity, your laughter filling the empty shop as his lips trailed from your cheek to the corner of your jaw. His breath was warm and broken against your skin as he laughed softly against it, the mere feeling sending a shiver to run through you.

His hair dipped over his forehead when he found it in him to pull from you, the platinum nearly mingling with his lashes. The look in his eyes, the way they sparkled pale blue and loving was a look far different than the one given to you more than a few moments prior. It just might’ve spoken his feelings more intensely than speaking those very three words aloud to you, it’s loving intensity something he never believed he’d be capable of holding for something, to be capable of having. Yet he’s got it all the same.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous, you know,” you say, smile bright as you run your thumb over his kiss swollen lip and to the pale scarlet dusting his cheeks.

“I don’t believe I ever said I was jealous, darling,” he defends, your smile widening as you reluctantly slip from his arms to retrieve your coat from its hook on the wall. He’d missed the feeling of you so close already, his hand only having just now fallen back to his side only briefly as he watches after you in awe.

“Didn’t have to,” you quip lightheartedly, returning to him to lean on your tiptoes and kiss him sweetly. “You’re terribly obvious, Malfoy.”

He didn’t find it in him to form any sort of witty remark to say, he couldn’t, not with the way your kisses left him breathless and more lovestruck with each passing second. He barely even notices when you grab his hand, switching off each and every lamp in the shop with a simple flick of your finger before tugging him out the door. When the lock clicks behind you, you set off down the cracked sidewalk, the sun dipping deeper in the sky.

“Love?” He asks, hand squeezing yours as he keeps you close.

“Yeah?”

“Since when does he read Shakespeare anyway?” He frowns, brows furrowed to accompany his grumbling as he looks ahead.

You only laugh and lean up to press a kiss on his cheek, the near tumble you almost took from your distraction far too worth it to be embarrassed. Not to mention the smile on his lips. In that moment, you were right where you wanted to be. Hand in hand with the true love of your life as you walk back to your very own home. That was all you needed.

“I love you,” you murmur, “more than anything.”

He huffs out a soft laugh, his heart fluttering. “I love you, more than everything.”

—

Tags: @anchoeritic @amourtentiaa @hahee154hq @dracosathenaeum @snitches-at-dawn @harrysweasleys @awritingtree @lunalovecroft @writeroutoftime @lilypad-55449

[inceptionbigbang]

Aaand... that's a wrap on the Inception Big Bang 2021!

We had so much fun this year! Thank you so much to the amazing authors, artists and betas that joined us. The work you've created left us in awe!

We compiled the general links for the 2021 works here, with a Masterpost bellow the cut.

- All Big Bang Fics

- All Big Bang Art

Keep reading to check out all the submissions! If you haven't seen these yet, you're in for a treat 😁

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Materpost:

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Tapetum lucidum by mooncalf809 (@umbrielchip000)

/ Art by @blackdyed

Arthur/Eames, Dom/Saito - Rated: G - Words: 2k (1/?)

Whole sagas, installments and memoirs have been written about the wars between vampires and werewolves, but really, it’s the petty rivalry between the witches and the elves that one will find of truly epic proportions. It’s an eternal squabble in which they can’t agree on anything, but especially magic and ways to use it.

Unfortunately for Arthur the resident elf healer, his boss Saito seems to think both approaches to magic are necessary, that one completes the other. That’s why he wants to have them both available at his establishment. Oh, and sharing the same workroom.

Enter Eames.

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Only A Winter by IAmANonnieMouse (@iamanonniemouse)

/ Art by @mizunoir

Mal Cobb/Ariadne - Rated: G - Words: 5.5k (1/1)

She’s tall, this goddess, and beautiful like an ocean storm. Her hair hangs in waves past her shoulders, woven with vines and leaves. Her eyes are blue as a bright summer’s sky, her smile as blinding as the midday sun. When she walks closer, flowers sprout in her wake. When she spreads her arms, the wind bellows.

She crouches down in front of Ariadne, head cocked to the side. “What are you doing?” she asks, in a voice that rumbles with every storm.

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washing machine heart by mfoer (@mfoer)

/ Art by @dreaminghigher

Arthur/Eames - Rated: T - Words: 2.5k (1/1)

If something needed to be done, Arthur would be there, no questions asked. Professional, crispy, and clean.

Being in this sketchy ring, however, is kind of the opposite of anything professional. Only the way Eames is moving feels completely mesmerizing, and it’s like he both belongs in this place, but also is the only thing that is real there. Raw. Sincere. Like a flash of bright lightning ripping through the gray dull sky.

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Between Two Lungs by 4ce_in_sp4ce (@darlingandmreames)

/ Art by @rainbyotes

Arthur/Eames - Rated: G - Words: 51k (7/7)

Arthur had figured a system out. He'd learned to hide his coughs and clear his throat discretely, figured out which brands of cough suppressant worked best, learned to ignore the cloying floral taste that seemed to linger in the back of his throat no matter what he did. He'd learned not to work in August because August was when dahlias bloomed and that made hiding his symptoms harder than he wanted to put up with. It was fine. Not great, but fine. But then Ariadne reached out with a late summer job and Arthur knew she didn't have the connections to find another pointman if he said no. Besides, it would be a quick and easy job. He'd managed to hide his symptoms from Eames for almost four years- he could hide them for another month. Right?

In which Hanahaki disease is a chronic illness stemming from unspoken feelings, and Arthur is maybe a bit of an idiot.

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Time Has a Grudge Against Us by aristotle_chipotle (@oceans-foundfamily)

/ Art by @lemon-yellow

Dom/Saito, Arthur/Eames - Rated: T - Words: 16.5k (2/2)

Five years post-inception, Dominick Cobb starts having dreams again. Every few nights, his mind imagines him in a city vastly unlike his own, working long hours, eating at nice restaurants, and going on dates. He's relieved that his subconscious finally seems to be back to its natural state, until he starts finding notes he doesn't remember writing, and his children tell him about things he doesn't remember doing.

Cobb is not dreaming. He and Saito are swapping bodies.

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The Alchemist by SatiricalDraperies (@bayta-darell)

/ Art by @oblolongue

Gen - Rated: G - Words: 4k (1/1)

“They say this alchemist works with the dreaming drug. They say that his concoctions let you dream deeper and stay under longer. They say that he works magic with his science.”

Mal considers Robert.

“Do they say where this alchemist can be found?”

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Lethe by toawildrose (@arosewrites)

/ Art by @flosculatory

Ariadne & Arthur, Arthur/Eames - Rated: T - Words: 12k (1/1)

Perhaps it’s the knowledge that this is Arthur’s mind — and Arthur knows twenty different ways to incapacitate a foe, but Ariadne knows that he would never purposefully harm her. Before, entering the swirling gray mist felt like walking into the mouth of a sinister creature waiting for her to accidentally let go of her tether so that it could swallow her down; now, walking through the nothingness feels no different than swimming in open water — treacherous, yes, but only in the uncaring, unfeeling way that nature is.

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one last night (to find you again) by hot_damn_louis (@rain-or-clouds)

/ Art by @wadebramwilson

Arthur/Eames - Rated: G - Words: 26k (1/1)

“Sir, I am with Kings County Hospital Center, and I regret to inform you that your husband is currently in surgery,” the woman said, her voice even keeled.

All of the air was sucked from Arthur’s lungs. He blinked a few times as the words processed in his brain. It had been years since he had heard those words, since he had even thought about the fact that he was married. It wasn’t something he had particularly thought about frequently, considering his current state of singleness. Or rather, romantic-singleness. He was technically betraying their vows every time he had a one night stand, but he figured that it was likely mutual.

aka Inception Big Bang 2021

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Time to Get Closer by little_specificity (@little-specificity)

/ Art by @noitsnacktime

Arthur/Eames - Rated: M - Words: 6.5k (4/4)

Eames is exhausted, Arthur allows himself to be more vulnerable and the night seems ever-ending.

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The People vs Dominick Cobb by FinelyDressedSpacemen (@finelydressedspacemen)

/ Art by @1deabril

Arthur/Eames - Rated: T - Words: 10.5k (1/1)

It’s the hardest case of Eames’ career, but it would be significantly easier without Arthur Cohen on the other side.

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More than vials by Valkrist (Anouk_Tyrell) (@valkrist)

/ Art by @dreaminghigher

Gen - Rated: G - Words: 1.7k (1/1)

There weren’t many people who would’ve said that it was easy to believe in such a story. They might think of it as a dream, nothing more than an unclear idea made up by a sleeping mind. But Yusuf knew that they were wrong, so terribly wrong, so beautifully naive.

This people would think of their dreams as a faster world, a way to practice the worst case scenario, a method to make them fly. Just a sort of game, nothing more than some hours in between important plans. Sometimes Yusuf would’ve loved to have the same lack of knowledge, just enjoying sleep as a time to rest, but usually he appreciated the truth. Even if this life was dangerous at some points, he could use it to help others when they had lost hope.

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Shadow's Mask by storm_of_sharp_things

/ Art by @blackdyed

/ Art 2 by @blackdyed

Arthur/Eames, Arthur/Eames/Saito, Arthur & Mal Cobb - Rated: M - Words: 13k (1/1)

It sounds like a familiar old joke, doesn't it? Two mutants, an old god, and three immortals break into a museum...

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Unsolved by phrynewrites (@phrynewrites)

/ Art by @finelydressedspacemen

Arthur/Eames - Rated: M - Words: 5k (1/14)

When Arthur’s true crime investigation show tanks, his network enlists the help of TV magic, personable, Bachelorette commentator, Eames, to provide some much needed banter and entertainment value. The show improves with Eames, as much as Arthur hates to admit, and the two fall into a comfortable rhythm of investigating the unsolvable. However, Arthur becomes frustrated by researching with no completion, never solving a case, investigating the unknown and unnatural. He’s itching for himself and Eames to be legitimate investigators, to solve a crime. Enter: the “murder” of Mal Cobb.

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Vengence Becomes Her by deinvati (@deinvatiwrites)

/ Art by @dreaminghigher

/ Fanvideo by @dreaminghigher

Mal Cobb/Ariadne - Rated: M - Words: 14k (7/7)

When Mal's husband takes his own life after being trapped in limbo for something like 50 years, she knows exactly who to blame: all of dreamshare. She swears upon her children that she will burn it to the ground if it's the last thing she does. She will take one last impossible job with the best of the best, determined they should all fail. But what Mal doesn't realize is that a feisty, beautiful, and curious mind determined to save her from herself will win her over and pull off the most ambitious dreamshare feat of all.

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wedding bells are ringing by rednights

/ Art by @ffc1cb

Arthur/Eames - Rated: T - Words: 17.5k (1/1)

Eames calls Arthur up to attend his brother's wedding as his "date" in order to keep an eye on a tail Eames picked up. Arthur has to grapple with a level of emotional intimacy he wasn't prepared for, the fact that Eames trusts him enough to pick him for this job, and just how much he enjoys Eames' arm around his waist.

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Object Permanence by rbcch (@scarletenvy)

/ Art by @ea-stofnar

Arthur/Eames - Rated: E - Words: 33k (1/2)

Arthur leans against the doorframe, arms crossed on his chest, and watches Eames lower Pippa in her crib and tuck her in. Eames’ expression is soft, reverent, so very reminiscent of the way he used to look at Mal, and Arthur aches, he aches for what little is left of Cobb and Mal between the three of them, pieces of their souls and love like shards under all of their skins.

Or, Arthur, Eames, and Philippa form an unlikely family.

In which they hate each other and love her, until life, as they know it, crumbles all around them and changes everything.

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ghosts in the machine by videcormeum

/ Art by @charlieratkingkelly

Arthur/Eames - Rated: T - Words: 22k (1/1)

Arthur is an FBI agent with big ambitions, assigned to work with a notorious agent known as ‘Spooky’ Eames on a series of unexplained cold cases. He expects to debunk Eames’ obsession with the paranormal and move on. He doesn’t expect to fall into an unlikely partnership, or to enjoy it.

'The X-Files' AU.

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Trouble Walks Lightly by GloriousGoblinQueen

/ Art by @rainbyotes

Arthur/Eames, Past Dom/Mal - Rated: M - Words: 1.8k (1/5)

Several months after the circus Arthur and Eames worked for burned down, they find a new home in one owned and ran by Dom Cobb. Despite it being in financial ruin and Cobb breaking their duet up into two single acts, everyone manages to make things work. That all changes when Fischer-Morrow Entertainment starts sniffing around, wanting to turn them into the company's next big investment. Even if they can survive that, certain dark secrets threaten to tear them all apart.

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On the Road by dbshawn (@dbshawnblog)

/ Art by @epheveral

Arthur & Eames - Rated: M - Words: 6k (1/1)

Arthur's local bartender offers to ride with him out to LA

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bloom into you by raincappuccino

/ Art by @noitsnacktime

Arthur/Eames - Rated: G - Words: 4k (1/1)

“It’s fate, Ari,” Eames insists. “We shared a moment. I don’t expect you to understand.”

“It’s fate that he works at a place that makes your body think you’re dying?”

“Look, I doubt there will even be that many cats there. How many can there be? One or two?”

Ariadne squints at him with the incredulous expression of someone who truly cannot believe what a shitshow they’re about to witness. “Eames, I don’t think you understand the concept of a cat cafe.”

Eames swears it’s love at first sight when he shares a moment with the cute guy who works at the cat cafe across the street.

There’s only one problem: he’s severely allergic to cats. But he’s not about to let his immune system stop him from becoming Arthur’s friend—and maybe even something more.

.

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Thank you to our participants!

The work you've created this year is brilliant. See you next year! 😎

[hiveswap]

Kingdom of Ocesed and Sela

When i was a bit younger i had a story set in a world that i put a lot of effort into building. I looked into my notes on it last week, here's the basics, mostly translated from my naitve language. (i took notes in both hungarian and english)

I will explain some of these in more detail if anyone wants me to.

Races

There were three races on the island of Sirenland. Human, Reaper, and Siren.

Reapers had magic related to life and death, with esspecially powerful ones having the ability to ressurrect others. Overuse of this ability could result in a sickness called Healer's fever.

They had a harvest festival, during which they wore masks that looked like skulls, representing the death or nature during autumn. Humans misinterpeted this tradition and combined it with their power over death, leading to depictions of "the grim reaper" as a skeleton that takes dead people's souls.

Sirens had feathered arm and hollow bones, giving them the ability to glide. They were in tune with nature, making them masters of herbs and other plant life.

These races could mix, creating people with unique abilities.

Mixed people are called:

Angels (siren+reaper, gentle but terrifying people with one large eye who can guide the dead to the afterlife. They were shunned, so most of them moved to a coastal area to live among each other.)

Fairies (siren+human, basically a human with some feathers who is good at nature. I kinda nerfed this one.)

and Soul Readers (reaper+human, a person with the ability to see the souls of others as a small flame, and know things about them based on this.)

History of equality

For centuries, a group called the Butterfly society has existed in order to maintain equality between Reapers, Sirens, and humans. They were mostly succesful up until 2004, when their last leader, Angelica Moon, got involved in a revolution against Queen Marie of Ocesed, lead by Prince Hugo, causing the queen to disband the society.

Soon after this, she decleared war on Sela with the intent of taking it over. When it was under her control, she banned Sirens from the Ocesed area of the kingdom.

Culture

Sirenland used to be split into two countries: Ocesed (Kingdom of the Reapers) and Sela (kingdom of the Sirens) humans live on the neighbouring island of Rosecliff. Ocesed and Sela are united into one country by the time the story takes place.

The currency of this country is called Siren silk: it's an exceptionally strong and expensive material. It is so precious that poor regions can't get a hold of it, instead using region specific alternative methods of trading.

Large reaper cities were flower shaped, with each petal housing a district. The capital of Ocesed is a city like this, called Petalcastle.

Siren cities were historically built in a circlular shape. They are layered so the leaders live in the center, while middle and lower class people live around them.

The only Siren town to break this tradition is the Siren Caves, which are located fully undergound, in a large cave system. It's the last tiwn of the Star group. (More on that later)

Sirens were also split into smaller groups, each of which had a different thing they were good at:

1. The eye group (warriors, defenders)

2. The Flower group (Herbal healers)

3. The Star Group (The diaspore: they were the only sirens in the last who lived in ocesed. Fell apart after Sirens were banned, with only one town of them remaining and the rest of the people scattering to the winds.)

4. The Green Star group (former Stars who moved to Rosecliff or beyond.)

5. The Margaret group (the leaders: its leaders called the shots on most matters of the kingdom)

6. Star-Flower alliance (star members who joined forces with certain Flower cities after leaving Ocesed)

___________

I put this together from multiple years of random stuff i wrote down. I skippee over a few tiny details like flag designs, maps and specific people within the story.

A lot of the worldbuilding i did is conflicting cause i changed it around a lot, this is just the most coherent narrative i could put together. I'm thinking of going back to writing about this soon.

[wilteddaisies]

Yours - Chapter One

Azriel x Female!Reader (acotar)

Word Count: 1.5k

Summary: You are Feysand’s daughter and you’ve just come home from your studies in the Day Court. Azriel needs someone with extensive training in magic in order to complete a mission for the Night Court. You happen to be just what he needs.

Fic Warnings: age gap?, probably cursing, eventual smut, wing kink ;)

Chapter Warnings: injury, mentions of blood

Note: The first chapter is here! I am so excited to share this fic. I usually don’t write fanfiction but I just couldn’t get this idea out of my head, so here it is. As always, feedback would be greatly appreciated!

CHAPTER ONE

Gods, you loved flying. Sure, winnowing back to the Night Court would have been faster, but there was absolutely nothing like soaring through the clouds, so high that the ground below faded away and there was nothing but you and the wind in your wings. You sighed as Velaris came into view. As much as you loved the ancient libraries and golden light of the Day Court, the winding streets and twinkling night lights of Velaris would always call you back home. 

Your father was waiting for you in front of your family’s river estate. You landed gracefully before taking off again in a sprint into his open arms. You squealed as he lifted you off your feet and spun you around.

“Daddy!” You laughed as he set you back on your feet, but still held you. You breathed in his familiar scent. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, sweetheart.” He gazed down at you and smiled warmly. “Your mother is at the studio but she should be home soon.” He picked up your bags and led you inside, prattling on about your mom’s business and the hell Cassian has been raising in the Illyrian camps. The elegant river house was just as you left it in the fall. The familiar lavishly furnished rooms and ever lingering scent of flowers welcomed you home. You followed your father up the staircase and to your room. 

“I’ll leave you to unpack and settle in,” he said, setting your things on the bed. He turned around to place a kiss on your hair. “Welcome home.” 

A welcome home, indeed.

That night, the entire inner circle met at the river house to celebrate your homecoming and the completion of your studies with Helion in the Day Court. The atmosphere was warm and lively in the dining hall, Cassian had no trouble convincing your father to open some bottles of his precious good wine to celebrate. You were happily chatting away with Mor about how difficult it was to focus on your studies with so many gorgeous Day Court males around, when Cassian chimed in.

“Males? What males? What are their names? I just want to talk,” he said with mock intensity. 

“You do know I am old enough to date, don’t you, Uncle Cass?” you laugh. “But anyways, they’re all too intimidated by me. And by who my father and uncles are, of course.”

“Damn straight.” He winked and Mor elbowed him in the ribs. 

“Come on, there must have been someone that kept you company while you were in the Day Court,” Mor insisted, her eyes twinkling with mischief. Even Amren and Nesta looked interested to hear your answer, but your father just tried not to look too invested in your conversation, looking down at his plate in a miserable attempt to look disinterested. 

“Well. . .” you began, trying to steer the conversation away from the truth, which was that you had never actually felt that sort of connection with anyone. Well, no one except a certain broody shadowsinger who was considered very, very off limits. 

Thankfully, you were spared the trouble of coming up with some half-assed excuse when a loud crash sounded outside the manor. Everyone at the table tensed, the mood instantly shifting. The darkened eyes and battle ready stances of your family were quick to remind you that centuries old warriors were beside you. Suddenly, weapons you hadn’t even realised they had concealed were drawn. You should have known that no one in your family would show up anywhere unarmed. Cassian drew a sword from who knows where, Mor and Amren held daggers, and Aunt Nesta just summoned her power, that alone being a deadly weapon in itself. Your mother drew your Aunt Elaine close to her. You could see darkness curling around your father’s fingertips and you followed suit, the familiar tingle of magic in your veins sparking a rush of adrenaline. 

Your father led the way as you all stalked out the front door to see. . . Azriel. You rushed forward, pushing past your father to kneel by a bleeding Azriel. 

“Oh Az, your wing.” Your heart shattered at the sight of his broken left wing, the flesh in shreds. It must have been done with something strong and fast, very fast if it managed to reach Azriel, who was amazingly swift on his wings and with his winnowing. The rest of the circle gathered around him, trying to help him up and assess the damage.

“The mortal queens,” he managed to croak out, “I heard whispers of a weapon they made to rival the fae. And when I tried to investigate it, I encountered the beast that guarded it.”

“That’s enough.” Feyre said, “Let’s get you cleaned and healed up. I’ll summon a healer immediately. You can tell us the rest after.”

“I can help.” You say and everyone turned towards you. Your hands were still shaking and your voice wavered at Azriel’s state but you steeled yourself. “I learned a lot of healing magic while I was in Helion’s court. Let me help you.” You met Azriel’s eyes and it was like he tethered you to earth, the strength and resilience you found in them seemed to flow into you, too. 

He nodded once. That was enough for Cassian and Rhys to haul one arm over each of their shoulders. 

“Where to, boss?” Cassian teased but you found pride in his eyes. And when you looked to your father, you saw the same thing. 

“Get him into my room. I’ll take it from there.”

The inner circle had retired to the river house’s various guest rooms by the early hours of the morning, but you stayed awake, the gentle glow of the healing magic from your palms never faltering even though it had been hours. After Cassian and your father got Azriel onto the bed, you made him a salve from the various powders and tonics you brought from the Day Court that would assist the healing process. Aunt Elaine had even supplied some more supplemental herbs and flowers from her garden. 

They all stayed for nearly an hour after you started the healing spell, watching as flesh and bone slowly knitted back together, when your mother finally ushered them all out, insisting that you needed to focus. You shot her a grateful smile as she also stepped out and shut the door behind her. Now that everyone was gone, you could finally focus on the spell. Well, focus as much as you could with Azriel’s shirtless torso gleaming with perspiration. You would think after training in and mastering healing magic, you’d be unfazed by the male body, but Azriel’s stunning beauty was not something you could just get used to. 

It was nearly two in the morning when you heard a soft knock on your door. Your father’s head poked in.

“Sweetheart, you need to take a break.” He said and wiped a bead of sweat from your brow. You hadn’t even realised you were this physically strained. 

“I can’t, dad. Not until he’s healed.” You turned back towards Azriel’s healing wing when your father’s hands enveloped your own, stopping their magic. 

“Dad! He needs-”

“You’re the one who’s going to need healing if you try to continue this spell without taking a break.” His brows furrowed with concern. You knew what he saw, you must have looked a mess. Hair mussed, dark circles under your eyes, and a near permanent wrinkle on your forehead between your brows from holding your deadly focused expression for so long. 

“I know.” You sighed, giving in. “I suppose I could stop for a moment.” He enveloped you in a warm hug that you hadn’t realised you needed until that moment. “I’m just. . . I’m worried about him, dad. He’s always going off on these dangerous quests with the interests of the court being a bigger concern than his own well being.”

“You’re one to talk.” He scoffed. “What was that you said about putting other people’s needs over your own well being?” He brushed a stray lock of hair from your face and then sighed. “That’s my girl, always so selfless and always so stubborn.” He planted a kiss on the top of your head. “You’re a lot like your mother in that way, you know.”

You reluctantly pull away from his arms. “I know, dad.” You rolled your eyes and huffed a sigh, stretching your back, you just realised that standing over Az for so long had really taken its toll on you. “I suppose I could take a shower and change out of this dress.” You were still in your cocktail dress from dinner, you also realised. 

“Yes, please do. I mean this in the gentlest way possible sweetheart, but you stink.” You halfheartedly shove him out of the room. 

“Gee thanks, dad. It’s no wonder how mom fell for that suave charm.” And you shut the door in his face, but not before catching his teasing smile that only he could pull off, somehow managing to look loving and full of himself at the same time. You rolled your eyes before walking into your en suite.

Author’s Note: Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I promise the next one will have more Azriel and a bit more spice. If you wanna be added to the taglist for this fic, you can leave a comment below :)

I do not consent for my work to be reposted or translated on tumblr or any other site, but reblogs are always welcome!

Taglist: @moonchild-cf​ @pansexual-booknerd​ @huffypuffyme​