#and why tower of dawn is the best book

[gracie-rosee]

Sometimes I just think about how Chaol had never even killed anyone before the competition, yet had trained his while life and trained others to do so. And how Dorian had never been raised to even consider the possibility of ending anyone else’s life, choosing to surround himself with books and life (much to his fathers dismay,) yet growing up to be someone who wouldn’t give it a second thought if anyone were to harm those he loves.

There’s something so heart wrenching to me how Chaol was the one who was meant to protect Dorian, but it ended up being the reverse. That was really all Chaol ever wanted. He devoted his life to protecting him at all costs and yet despite that, he had never taken another life until it was absolutely necessary, and even then it wasn’t easy for him. And then think about Dorian. Dorian who grew up learning stuffy court politics rather than war and bloodshed, standing up and protecting Chaol with his life. Without hesitation. Sacrificing himself and his freedom so that Chaol might have a chance to live.

It’s the complete reversal of their characters after QOS. Chaol was always meant to be the warrior, the protector yet he ended up being the most sympathetic and kind hearted leader. He ties his life to a healer he falls in love with. Dorian on the other hand, was always meant to be protected. And not just by Chaol, but by literally everyone. As seen with Aelin willing to sacrifice herself even though he just as easily could. And yet despite all that, and despite being coddled his whole life, he turned out to be one of the most daring, the most selfless characters we see. Dorian going from the crown prince who would never be seen hurting a fly to the “You once asked me where I stand on the line between killing to protect and killing for pleasure … I’ll stand on the other side of that line when I find your grandmother” and the “It is not such a hard thing, is it—to die for your friends.” King we see emerge from the rubble of his shattered home.

Chaol came out of the shattered glass castle as a broken, deeply scarred man, who found his healing in himself. Dorian came out of the glass castle as the man who shattered it. They both grow and heal and change, but it’s just so interesting, the vastly different paths they took. And how similar Chaol’s journey was to how we expected Dorian’s to be, and vice versa.

The protector, becoming the protectee. Such a hard hitting trope.

[myfictionaldreams]

Day 6: Dry Hump- James Potter

Summary: James Potter was your best friend, and he was unequivocally in love with Lily Evans. However, he has one secret he trusts only with you: he’s never kissed anyone.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, inexperienced James & experienced Reader, friends with benefits vibes, kissing/making out, dry humping, cumming in pants, teasing, nearly caught

Part 2 // Part 3

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kinktober masterlist😈 

AO3 Link 

James Potter was your best friend. He had many best friends, including the other Marauders and fellow Gryffindors, but he was YOUR best friend and had been since the first year at Hogwarts. James was the one person you always ran to and shared all happy memories with; if you needed cheering up, he’d be the only one who could pull a smile to your lips. It had always been just the two of you until he became infatuated with Lily Evans.

It had been years of hearing about how wonderful Lily was, which you knew anyway as she was your friend. Finally, you convinced her to say yes to one date with James, even though she did wait until everyone was finishing their time at Hogwarts and about to graduate. He’d waited long enough, and you were thrilled to see him getting his dream date.

This was until he casually announced one day, “I’ve never kissed anyone”.

He’d mumbled it to himself under his breath. James had gone from pure exhilarated joy to fear and doubt at the weight he’d put on his shoulders for having to be the perfect date for Lily. You’d taken him to the Shrieking Shack to try and get away from everyone else so that James could blow off some steam, but all he’d done so far was sulk in his armchair and stare into the fire whilst waiting for Sirius and Remus to join after their lesson.

Then, out of the blue, he admitted his secret that he had yet to kiss anyone. A frown dawns on you as you turn away from the book in your hand to inspect the messy-haired Marauder next to you visually. “What?” you asked with a hint of uncertainty as if he was telling the truth, “How have you never kissed anyone before?” Your mind raced to all of the parties in the Gryffindor tower where most people, including yourself, had made out with others, but now that you thought about it, you’d never seen James lip-locked with anyone else.

It was James’ turn to frown as he looked at you blankly, “When would I have had time? I’ve just wanted to be with Lily, and she’s always said no when I’ve asked before. Anyway, I don’t see why you’re saying it in that tone; it’s not like you’ve been kissing loads of people”. You give James a tight-lipped smile to show that he was, in fact, very wrong with that statement. His eyes widen as he realises the truth, “Wait, you have? Since when?”

“James, how can you be shocked? I’ve kissed plenty of people before, especially during those parties with the fire whiskey that Sirius always steals for us. You wander off with the Marauders or fawn over Lily, and what am I supposed to do? Stand on my own? Absolutely not, I go and find some fun”.

Your best friend’s mouth drops open in shock. Still, he quickly covers it up by looking away grumpily, “Great, so I’m the only person in our year who hasn’t kissed anyone, and now, I’m going to take Lily out, and she’s going to refuse to see me again because I don’t know what I’m doing, we’re going to finish school, and I’ll never see her again, and I’ll die alone!”.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his over-the-top rant, shutting the book with a loud snap and facing him completely whilst still in your chair. “James, you need to chill out a bit; I’m sure it’ll be fine. Do you really think Lily’s been going around snogging loads of boys? I’m sure she’s just as inexperienced as you”.

James’ shoulders dropped in relief as he turned back towards you with hope in his hazel eyes, “Do you think so?”

Your face immediately gave it away that you’d been lying as you sighed, “Ok, I might have seen her making out with a Ravenclaw a year ago, but still, I wouldn’t worry about it! You’ll be excellent! You’re James Potter, the Gryffindor King, a founding Marauder and Gryffindor Seeker. You can sure as hell make out with Lily Evans correctly”.

The pretty Marauder smiled thankfully at your dramatic declaration, “That’s true, thanks, Sweetheart”. Relaxing back into your seat, the book returned to your hand, assuming the conversation was officially over. However, only a moment later, James is whining pathetically, “But what if I’m not good? What if I hurt her or lick her wrong or-”.

“Lick? Why are you licking her, James? I thought we were on about kissing?”

“We are! But you know, people use tongues and-”

“James, I don’t know what you want me to say; if you’re that petrified with kissing, why don’t we practice a little so you can stop freaking out”. It took you a couple of long seconds before the offer you’d just given him genuinely dawned on you. You weren’t sure why you had said it, expecting him to say no but wishing for him to calm down and thinking this was the only option.

James’ head snapped towards you, giving his full attention as he asked, “Wait, you’d do that?” He pushed himself up off the chair's arms, and his eyes were wide and hopeful again.

Lowering the book, you spoke slowly, “Yeah, sure. I mean, it’s just a kiss, and at least we’re friends, so no feelings have to be involved”.

“Yeah, that's a good point! Okay, right, so, um, how do we do this? Do I come over to you, or do we stand?”

Sighing at James, you stood abruptly, dropping the book and strutting to him with arms swinging. The marauder sits up suddenly, taking his feet off the stool he had been resting on as he stares up at you with wide eyes that you can see the whites of his eyes beneath his glasses. “What are you doing?” He questions uncertainly as you straddle his lap without a word, your knees resting on either side of his toned thighs, your fingers slipping around his neck and interlocking at the base of his skull.

“I’m going to kiss you, James. Is that alright with you?” You didn’t mean to sound sassy as you asked with a single raised questioning eyebrow, but you also needed to make sure that he was happy for this to continue.

Those two wide hazel eyes stared at your lips, licking his own to moisten as he slowly nodded, “Uh yeah, just tell me what to do.” A pang of sympathy rushed through your chest at seeing James becoming nervous, which was not usually a sight that you had to see as he was usually such a confident, happy person. You would have spent some time to explain that it was normal to be nervous during your first kiss, but you didn’t want to allow any more time for him to freak out, so loosening your intern locked fingers, you moved them to cup each of her freshly shaved cheeks and pressed your lips delicately against his. You wanted it to be quick enough that he didn’t even have time to tense, even though he did proceed to lock up as you moved back to assess his reaction.

“See, it’s not so scary. You’re supposed to enjoy this, James”. Thankfully, as your face lowered once more, he forced himself to take a steadying breath and relax the tension in his muscles as your lips caressed his.

They were softer than you’d anticipated, plump and smooth like a pillow and instantly, your eyes and his close. However, James surprised you by moving his first. His hand lifted and rested on your hip so gently that you hardly felt it until he gave your body a little squeeze to test the waters of how much he could get into the moment. So you rewarded him by pressing your face harder against his, lips beginning to move and rubbing against each other on instinct.

James even amazed himself with how naturally and quickly he could make out with you. Tilting your head, you deepened the kiss, nose pressing into his cheek so that you could smell his skin that had remnants of his aftershave, which was always spicy and woodsy. As the air became necessary, you pulled back enough to take deep, greedy breaths, now noticing he was doing the same thing but looking up at you with half-lidded eyes.

“So what did you think-”

James didn’t allow your sentence to finish as his other hand cupped along your jaw, pulling your face closer again until the two of you kissed with much more heat with the movements. His mouth opened wider to match how yours was moving against his; your heartbeat quickened as you leaned further into his tall, warm body, melting into his touch and kiss.

Then you wanted to take a risk and licked his bottom lip, which you were ultimately greeted with a praising deep groan of satisfaction that vibrated James’ entire chest and sent tingles straight to your core.

Ok, wow, you thought as James attempted and succeeded with his own lick back against your tongue; you were definitely getting turned on by this. As if he was reading your mind, James pressed harder on your hips, willing you to move down, which you did, your skirt pushing up on your thighs so that when you sat on his crotch, your panty-covered pussy was flush against the material of his trousers.

As one, the two of you pulled away from each other. Mainly because you were now sitting on his very hard erection and also because he knew you could feel his evidence of being aroused. You both stare at each other with wide, unblinking eyes, lips slightly swollen and the taste of his spit still on your tongue.

However, you didn’t want to stop and awkwardly sit back in your seat, and he wasn’t rushing to push you off, either. You were horny, and so was he. Yes, James Potter was your best friend, but that didn’t have to matter; you just wanted him to enjoy the moment and show that it wasn’t as scary as he thought.

Enough time passed, and if he didn’t want to continue, he would have said something by now, so you took the opportunity to lean back in, your thumb attempting to soothe him, stroking across his cheek in timid circles. As your mouths reconnected, your hips ground down on his crotch. You were hoping that he knew enough about anatomy to tell that the warmth from your pussy was a sign of arousal, wanting him to know you were just as turned on as he was.

You do it a few more times, rubbing back and forth with increasing pressure until James makes a pained noise that has you stopping altogether and checking in on him.

He’s looking everywhere but at you, as he apologises, “Sorry, it’s just these trousers are tight and rubbing me painfully”.

“You could just take them off”, you say once again, not thinking before you speak. James looks at you with dramatically wide eyes as he, too, realised what you’d just said. Quickly, you clarified, “I’m not saying that to have sex or anything; I just mean, we could kinda carry on doing what we are doing, but if your trousers are hurting, then just in your boxers”.

You’re surprised by his automatic response of a nod, yes, his arousal blocking all thoughts of Lily as he begins to undo his belt easily. Rising onto your knees to give him room, he pushed the offending material until his thighs were bare and his plaid boxers were on display, barely containing his length. Not wanting him to feel exposed, you lowered yourself once more, and both groaned at the contact, yours at a higher pitch as you could feel the entire outline of his cock against your cunt.

James was bigger than you’d thought and was currently pointing down his left thigh, so you angled your hips in this direction. Tilting your hips forward slightly, your clit grazed along his shaft, causing a hitch in your breath as it caused pleasure to pool in your abdomen, moisture slickening your hole with each movement.

You’re breathing just as heavily as he is, lips still moving against each other, exploring, tasting, needing more. You were kind of proud of him when he moved his face down your jaw, leaving open-mouthed kisses and causing more pleasure to pulse through you. You were half tempted to rise onto your knees again to show him the evidence of your arousal that had soaked through your panties and onto his boxers, but you didn’t want it to stop.

As your fingers delved into his messy black hair to hold his face closer, he thrust his hips up against yours to add to his stimulation. He was still apprehensive, so he didn’t push too hard, but he rocked back and forth until his tip was pressed against your clothed folds. The muscular thighs beneath yours tensed with each thrust, the muscles defined from all his years of playing quidditch.

His hands remained in place, one on the opposite side of your jaw to where his mouth still kissed, and the other hand helped to move your hips back and forth in time with his own ruts. You’d never actually gotten off like this with anyone before. Usually, underwear would be removed at this point, and more direct contact could occur, but it was still exciting to have some barriers between you. The lace of your underwear was quite rough against your most sensitive area, especially your engorged throbbing clit. You were sure to be sore afterwards, especially with the amount of pressure you were rubbing against each other; with each passing second, the need to find completion made you both desperate.

As his lips found yours again, his tongue began to delve and explore the hollow of your mouth, along your palate and even over your teeth; your pussy began to clench, fire blooming in your core with the impending release.

Pulling back, your fingers moved to rest on his shoulders to hold on tighter as you quickly moaned, “Please don’t stop; I’m going to cum”.

James moaned huskily, out of breath, but both of his hands were now on your hips, moving both his hips and yours faster to find his orgasm. Resting your forehead on his, you both shared the same area, still tasting the other in your mouths, sweat beginning to coat your faces. You were sure you could feel his own wet patch against your arse cheek from where precum was dribbling from his tip and staining his underwear. 

“Ah, fuck- James!” your head tilts back as you finally orgasm, thighs shaking and pussy fluttering around nothing. However, just as you were beginning to come down from your pleasurable high, James suddenly grabbed you painfully, both arms wrapping around your waist as he sat up further on the chair, nearly knocking you off of him if it wasn't for his grip around your midsection. Reassuringly your arms wrapped around his shoulders as his face nuzzled into your chest, his body shivering as thick spurts of cum soaked his boxers.

His moans were like music to your ears and sounded slightly pathetic, making you cling to him more, attempting to run your fingers through his hair to calm the crazy style, but to no avail. Your pussy felt like it was on fire due to the rough stimulation and the untouched orgasm, but it felt so good you savoured the sensation for a few minutes whilst trying to catch your breath.

“There you go, Potter. Not only have you kissed a girl for the first time, but you’ve also made her cum”.

James laughs, loosening his grip slightly to look up at you, but then you both hear the worst noise imaginable: voices from a few floors below, especially those of Sirius and Remus. You scrambled to your feet, straightening your clothes and sitting back in your chair, picking up the book and opening it to a random page as James pulled up his trousers, both of you ignoring the bodily juices completely.

James just about had his feet back on the footstool before Sirius and Remus walked in, but both immediately halted and looked between you and James. It was Sirius who spoke first, eyes squinting in accusation, “Why do you both look so guilty right now? What did you do?”

[juniperwoodwell]

Exhausted

Welcome to the first post of my Keanuverse writings! This was a request from @scarlettspectra! I gave myself the goal of 1k words for each character since I'm still learning how to write for them(which I achieved), it's not my best work but I had a ton of fun writing! I hope you enjoy!

Pairing(s): Neo (Thomas Anderson) x F!Reader. Aged up!Ted Theodore Logan x F!Reader. Tom Ludlow x F!Reader

Word count: 3,383k

WARNINGS: use of Y/n, Cursing, suggestive flirting, fluff, a bit of angst, minor references to death, aged up Ted (18-19), most likey OOC for all three.

Notices: For Tom's story it is written in first person. Not sure if they even count as fluff. And I'm not sure why all of them end with sleep... I'm just that exhausted I guess.

-

"Neo" Thomas Anderson.

“Where’s Y/n?” Neo’s voice cut through the hum of conversation in the rec room of their ship. Trinity's shrug was almost imperceptible, but Neo caught it.

“Where do you think?” She didn’t need to elaborate; they all knew Y/n's penchant for losing herself in her work. Neo nodded, understanding, and made his way to find her.

Y/n lay in a chair, her brow smoothed out in sleep, her breaths soft and even. Neo stood beside her, the dim lights casting shadows across her face. He reached out, his fingers brushing against the strands of her hair, a stark contrast to the constant chaos of their reality.

“What does she even do there?” Neo asked Morpheus, who had been waiting nearby.

The older man’s laugh rumbled low. “Whatever she wants. It’s her construct, her rules.”

Neo observed her for a moment longer before making his decision. “Want to join her?” Morpheus asked, knowing the answer already.

When Neo entered Y/n's construct, he was greeted by a world unlike anything he had seen in the Matrix. Towering skyscrapers were replaced by lush trees, the cacophony of the city silenced by the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds.

“Neo, what a surprise.” Y/n's voice reached him before he spotted her, nestled beneath a tree, bathed in the warm glow of simulated sunlight. He approached, the soft grass yielding beneath his boots. She patted the spot beside her, and Neo couldn't refuse. As he settled next to her, Y/n leaned against him, their connection tangible in the serene stillness.

“What are you working on?” Neo gestured towards the notebook nestled in her lap, his eyes lingering on the sketches and notes scrawled within its pages.

“Her,” Y/n replied softly, nodding towards a figure seated at a nearby picnic table, engrossed in a book.

“Your mother?” Neo asked, understanding dawning in his eyes.

Y/n nodded, her gaze distant. “Trying to capture her essence, her spirit. It’s proving more challenging than I anticipated.”

Neo pulled her closer, a silent understanding passing between them. He admired her resilience, her determination to resurrect a piece of her past.

“Tell me what you've achieved,” Neo encouraged, eager to share in her triumphs.

“Well, her physical appearance is mostly accurate, but...” Y/n trailed off, a shadow crossing her features. “But her presence, her aura... that’s proving elusive.”

Neo listened, his heart aching for her. Despite their reality, Y/n persisted in her quest for connection, for closure.

“I feel like I'm at my wit's end,” Y/n admitted, her frustration palpable.

Neo stood, offering his hand. “Let's walk,” he suggested, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Hand in hand, they wandered through the idyllic landscape, the sun casting long shadows across the grass.

“Wits end, huh?” Neo teased gently, the corners of his mouth quirking up.

Y/n rolled her eyes, her laughter echoing in the tranquil surroundings. “A bit dramatic, I suppose.”

As they walked, Neo couldn’t help but admire Y/n's simplicity, her authenticity in a world built on deceit.

“What made you finally decide to join me?” Y/n asked, breaking the comfortable silence between them.

Neo glanced down at her, his gaze softening. “Curiosity, I suppose. And maybe a bit of... admiration.”

They paused, the world around them shimmering with an ethereal beauty. Neo pulled Y/n close, her warmth seeping into his bones.

As their lips drew near, a jarring ring cut through the peaceful scene. Reality beckoned, but for a moment longer, they lingered in their shared sanctuary.

A few hours after departing the simulation, Y/n navigated the ship's corridor, her steps weary but determined. As she reached her room, she found Neo leaning casually against the doorframe, his presence both comforting and electrifying. “Neo…” she breathed his name, a mixture of longing and anticipation hanging in the air. “Got a moment?” he asked, his voice a low murmur in the dimly lit hallway. She nodded, her resolve wavering in the face of his magnetic pull. “For you? Always,” she replied, her voice a whisper carried on the currents of their shared reality.

Once inside her quarters, Y/n settled onto her bed, the weight of the day settling around her like a heavy shroud. Neo joined her, his presence a grounding force amidst the chaos of their world.

As she removed her shoes, his eyes traced her movements, a silent acknowledgment of the strength she carried within her. When she turned to face him, his touch was urgent, his lips meeting hers with a fierce intensity that ignited a fire within her soul.

In that fleeting moment, time seemed to stand still, the boundaries of their reality blurring as they became lost in the ecstasy of their connection. It was a sanctuary, a brief respite from the trials that awaited them beyond the confines of their shared embrace.

As they pulled away, breathless and exhilarated, Y/n's heart soared, her desire for him consuming her entirely. Neo's laughter echoed in the quiet of the room as he trailed kisses along her jaw, his touch a balm to her restless soul.

Reluctantly, he pulled away, a hint of regret in his eyes. Y/n protested, her need for him palpable in the air between them. “If we continue, you'll never rest,” he cautioned, his voice a gentle reminder of the responsibilities that awaited them.

Y/n met his gaze with defiance, her determination unwavering in the face of his gentle admonishment. “That's not for you to decide,” she countered, her voice a whisper against the backdrop of their shared intimacy.

Neo's smirk was both infuriating and endearing as he regarded her, his gaze lingering on her with a mixture of admiration and desire. “Very well,” he conceded, his fingers trailing along her cheek. “Let's rest, for now.”

Y/n smiled, her eyes alight with mischief as she draped her arms around his neck. “Agreed,” she murmured, pulling him close for one final kiss before surrendering to the call of sleep.

As Neo guided her beneath the covers, Y/n felt a sense of peace wash over her, his touch a soothing balm against the chaos of their days. “Will you stay?” she asked, her voice a soft plea in the darkness.

Neo nodded, his gaze unwavering as he ran his fingers along her back. “Of course,” he replied, his voice a whisper against the silence of the night.

As Y/n drifted into sleep, Neo remained by her side, his presence a steadfast reminder of the love they shared amidst the tumult of their existence. In the warmth of their embrace, they found solace, a sanctuary amidst the storm.

And as the world faded into darkness, they surrendered to the sweet embrace of sleep, their dreams intertwined in the tapestry of their shared existence.

Ted Theodore Logan

-

Ted’s joyful greeting interrupted Y/n’s intense focus, her eyes reluctantly leaving the dense textbook pages. With a weary smile, she raised her gaze to meet his, her exhaustion evident.

"How’s it going, babe!" Ted’s tone brimmed with joy as he slid into the seat beside her, his presence a welcome distraction.

Y/n couldn’t help but smile at his infectious enthusiasm, though she couldn’t hide her weariness. "Very... Very slowly," she sighed, running her hands down her face in exhaustion.

Ted's mischievous grin widened as he settled beside her, his excitement palpable.

As she looked at him, a mix of concern and curiosity flickered in her eyes. "What are you planning?" she asked cautiously, bracing herself for one of Ted’s wild ideas. His grin grew wider, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. "I’ve just had the most excellent idea, dudette. Let’s go!" With a swift motion, he grabbed her hand, pulling her up from her seat, his enthusiasm contagious.

Y/n hesitated, her responsibilities tugging at her conscience. "Ted Theodore Logan! I can’t just leave; I’ve got a paper due in the morning," she protested weakly, knowing deep down that Ted’s persuasion was hard to resist. But his determination was unwavering, and before she knew it, she found herself grabbing her jacket as Ted dragged her along to the Circle-K.

Standing before the familiar store, Y/n couldn't help but voice her skepticism. "Really, Ted? The Circle-K again?" Her hands found their way to her hips, her gaze fixed on the unassuming sign above.

Ted shrugged, undeterred by her doubt. "I know, I know. But tonight, we embark on a daring quest: to conquer every slushie flavor they possess!" Y/n couldn’t suppress a laugh at his infectious enthusiasm. "Alright, dude. But this time, you’re footing the bill... with your pretzel money," she teased, a playful grin tugging at her lips.

With a theatrical flourish, Ted swung the door open, bowing as Y/n entered with a mock curtsy, their banter echoing through the aisles as they filled their cups with an array of vibrant colors. But by the time they added the cola flavor, the mix turned a dark purple—not a very appetizing color. Y/n handed Ted her slushie and told him she’d go get some snacks. They met at the counter and pulled out all their loose money. Ted refused to let Y/n spend a dime on anything tonight, so she negotiated a penny, which he agreed to because he couldn’t argue with her logic.

Exiting the store, they embarked on their customary leisurely stroll home, tongues stained and spirits high. Ted's tongue became the subject of Y/n's laughter, prompting a playful exchange as they walked hand in hand. Ted stuck out his tongue, and Y/n laughed loudly. "Your tongue is so purple!"

"You should see yours!" he countered as he nudged her shoulder. She nudged him back a little harder, then bolted ahead. Ted followed after her, catching her with his free hand and pulling her into him. "You’re mine now, babe!"

Their journey led them to Y/n's backyard and her cherished treehouse, adorned with twinkling lights. It was her sanctuary, a haven away from the chaos of the world.

Ted sat down on one of the three beanbag chairs on the floor of the treehouse. They hadn’t had much time together lately. Y/n had been sent to an all-girls high school after getting into trouble too many times, being the third member of a certain-rockin'-duo. Ted and Bill had blamed themselves for a while, but now, they all had their own paths. Y/n was an A-student, and the boys were still very passionate about their band.

Y/n sat on the floor beside the window, next to where Ted was sitting. She looked out toward her house; her parents were in the dining room building a puzzle. 'How boring' she thought.

"Y/n," Ted’s usually bouncy, aloof demeanor wasn’t present in his voice. When she looked over at him, she saw the vulnerability she saw in him when he was around his father. "Yeah, Teddy?" The rare use of that nickname caused his heart to race. Only she could call him that, only Y/n. He looked away and shook his head, finishing off his slushie. Y/n sat up and placed her hand on his knee. "What’s wrong?" she asked, suddenly concerned.

"I- It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it," he quickly smiled to cover up his sullen attitude. "That won’t cut it. Tell me, or I’m kicking you out." He laughed. "Again!? But I just got pardoned!" he exclaimed gleefully.

Y/n stood up, her hands on her hips. "Teddy, I’m going to sit down." She spoke but didn’t give him a chance to respond. She straddled his hips, causing them to sink further into the beanbag. Ted’s face erupted in red, his ears, cheeks, and neck red as a tomato.

"Talk." She crossed her arms, knowing this was like Wonder Woman's lasso of truth to him.

Ted groaned, a mix of surprise and irritation. "Fine. I was gonna tell you anyway! You didn’t need to..." He motioned to her hips. She raised a curious brow, and his head fell back. "You’re acting like I don’t do this all the time." His head snapped back up, and he glared at her playfully, his hair looking wilder than usual. Y/n reached forward to thread her fingers through it. Ted’s eyes fluttered shut at the feeling.

"I miss you," he admitted softly, his hands finding their places on her hips. Y/n’s face softened in understanding. "Oh- I see… I have been really busy, haven’t I?" Ted nodded. Y/n continued to play with his hair. "You haven’t been around; even Bill misses you."

Y/n hummed. "Yes, I bet he does. But my sweet boyfriend misses me more, doesn’t he?"

"More than anything," his words were slow and mumbled. He was exhausted; this was probably weighing on him more than he realized.

Y/n removed herself from his lap; his hands reached for her as he groaned in protest. "Hold on for a sec, babe." Y/n spoke sweetly as she moved to open the trunk in the corner of the treehouse.

She pulled out a thick, fuzzy blanket and then moved back over to Ted. She sat down in his lap, her legs draped over his, and her head rested on his shoulder as she put the blanket over them. "Teddy, I’ll try and make more time for you and Bill. I’m sorry I didn’t realize sooner that I was neglecting you." He shrugged tiredly, a goofy, tired smile on his lips, his eyes still shut as he struggled to keep his head up. "It’s totally cool, babe, no worries," she smiled at his words, allowing sleep to consume her.

Tom Ludlow

-

The sun was setting over LA, casting a warm glow that enveloped the balcony of my apartment. The fading daylight's gentle warmth kept me company as I lounged outside. A cold glass of iced tea sat on the table beside me, the ice cubes clinking softly as they melted. It was 7 o’clock, and I waited patiently, soaking in the tranquility of the evening.

Thirty minutes passed, and finally, the door to my apartment swung open and then slammed shut. "I’m home," my boyfriend's rough, tired voice echoed through the space. I rose from my chair on the balcony and made my way inside. "Green, Yellow, or Red?" I inquired, our signal for the mood we were in after work: Green for great, Yellow for moderate, Red for really shitty. I found him by the front door, shrugging off his coat. I crossed my arms and leaned against the doorway.

"Red. Bright fucking red," he grumbled. I nodded silently, understanding that it was my cue to let him set the pace. When he turned to face me, his shoulders visibly softened. "Look at you. Did you dress up for me, or?" he teased, a smirk playing on his lips. Even on Red days, we didn't bring our troubles home; they stayed on the doorstep. But we would address them eventually.

I smiled and shrugged, playfully turning away and heading towards the kitchen, with his heavy footsteps trailing behind me. His favorite meal awaited him on the table, along with a beer at his usual spot. He chuckled as he took in the spread. "You're amazing," he said, wrapping an arm around my waist and kissing the top of my head. I leaned into him, and he embraced me tightly, seeking solace.

"Don’t tiptoe around me tonight; I’ll be alright," he confessed, turning me to face him. His eyes scanned me from head to toe. I wore his favorite outfit—not too flashy, just the right mix of sweet and sexy. "Shall we eat?" I nodded, kissing the corner of his mouth, feeling his hands softly gripping my hips. I could tell he needed to unwind, and I was determined to help him relax.

So we sat down to dinner. I held a glass of wine in my hand while he nursed his first beer. Across from each other at the dining table, he turned the attention to me. "How was your day, sweetheart?" he inquired. I hummed, "Boring. Forced leave is stupid." He rolled his eyes. "You fell down a flight of stairs and had a mild concussion. I think it’s justified," he remarked. I scoffed, "I wouldn’t be here if I had just bought those new shoes you told me to." Tom chuckled, taking a long sip from his bottle. My wine remained barely touched.

"You're worried," he stated, knowing me like the back of his hand. He could read me like a book, even from the day we met. "Yes... I mean, you rarely have Red days anymore, so of course I’m worried," I confessed. He nodded, understanding, placing the bottle on the table before standing up from his seat. Standing beside me, he lifted my chin and kissed me tenderly. I melted into his embrace; I was supposed to be the one to relax him, not the other way around.

He pulled me up from my seat, guiding me to the living room as he peppered kisses along my jawline. His warmth enveloped me as his body pressed against mine. Sitting me on the couch, he knelt in front of me, and I tilted my head, curious. He smirked, "I can’t let my girl get stressed over me," he declared, his knuckles brushing against my ankles as he slipped off my heels. My eyes brimmed with affection as I watched him. What a sap. I chuckled at the thought, and his gaze met mine, his smile genuine.

"What’s so funny?" he inquired. I shook my head, smiling. His eyes darkened, locking onto mine like a predator eyeing its prey. Tossing my shoes aside, he stood up, maintaining his intense gaze. "I won’t ask again," he asserted with feigned authority. "You're a sap," I teased. He laughed, a genuine, happy sound. Surprised, he smiled. "A sap, huh? Why don’t you slip into something comfy, and I’ll come find you in the bedroom."

I nodded and stood, grabbing his hand and giving him a brief kiss before darting off to our shared bedroom. "Comfy" meant wearing his shirt and a pair of PJ shorts. I sat on the bed, organizing my bedside table, removing empty pill bottles and water bottles. This room had become my sanctuary during my leave, but I had let it become cluttered. As I threw away the last bottle, Tom entered the room. His expression was soft, and I noticed his hands were damp.

"Did you wash the dishes?" I asked. He nodded. "Oh, Tommy, you didn’t have to," I said, touched. He shrugged, "It gave me some time to think. Ready for bed?" I nodded wearily, then crawled under the covers. I watched him as he shut the bedroom door and began undressing, but he disappeared into the bathroom to change. "Tease!" I exclaimed, hearing his deep chuckle from the other side of the door. "Nothing you haven’t seen before, baby," he quipped.

When he emerged, he wore a pair of low-waisted black sweatpants. Nothing else. It was warm, and I didn't blame him. He climbed into bed, and we leaned against the headboard, me nestled against him with a book in hand. He turned on the TV, the volume low, quickly finding a rerun of an old TV show. This was our routine. If we weren’t tired, I would read while he watched something.

Tucked against his chest, I read my book. "How many is this?" he asked. "Four. Hopefully, next weekend I’ll have finished the fifth one," I replied. He hummed, kissing my head. "We lost an officer today. He was just a kid. It really hit me hard, and I’m not sure why," he confessed. I placed my book face down, looking up at him. "Oh, baby…" I caressed his face, kissing his cheek. He held my hand, kissing my palm.

"I’ll be alright. I’m taking the day off tomorrow. It’ll be just us," he assured me. I smiled, nuzzling back into him. "I like the sound of that. A day of infinite possibilities." We relaxed into each other, my book untouched, and the TV left on. A peaceful slumber enveloped us in its warmth.

[mother-above]

The Golden Warrior | Chapter 1

Azriel x Reader

Summary: To you, love was a poison that slowly killed. It was something that could make the strongest of warriors and leaders weak and vulnerable. You had successfully evaded romance and relationships for a century until the day you realized it had been plaguing you from within.

Chapters: 1/?

Warnings: 18+, violence, and swearing

*masterlist*

A/N: Hello! This is my first ever ACOTAR fic and I hope I do Azriel and the other characters justice! This fic will follow the majority of the plotline from the 2nd and 3rd books but please note that I took some creative liberties in some parts and shifted from the plotline in the 5th book.

The towering mountains looked especially magnificent against the blue and pink-hued sky. Crisp morning air whipped around you as you whirled past the horizon, your white and gold-tipped wings beating hard and straightening into a glide. This was always the best part of your day, flying just before the sun rose.

You craved the sun’s soft warmth and glow against your skin. Keeping your eyes on the brightening horizon, you focused on the breeze that swept the scent of the wisteria, lilac, and honeysuckle that adorned the Palace. The beautiful home made from sunstone sprawled below you, its bridges, and towers glowing as it waits to be sun-kissed. You couldn’t believe you managed to protect the Palace for 49 years, a pang of guilt flowed through as your fae eyes focused on a rebuilding village miles away.

You were hoping to catch the sunrise today but then two sharp whistles came from somewhere within the castle. With a groan and a roll of your eye, you dove down with blinding speed. With a swoop, you land gracefully on Thesan’s office balcony. You slammed his door open and glared at the High Lord who perched on his desk.

“Did you just fucking whistle to get my attention? Like one of your birds? A simple shout of my name would have sufficed!” you snapped.

Thesan smirked, “Well it worked, didn’t it?”

You grabbed a decorative trinket from a nearby shelf and hurled it at him, “What are you doing up so early? I thought you and Callon would still be rolling in bed at this hour.”

He crumpled a piece of paper and threw it straight onto your forehead. "I may be your cousin but I'm still the High Lord. You can't say things like that!"

With a mischievous smirk, you sat on the couch and clasped your hands pleadingly. With the grace of a seasoned actor, you softened your features and gave him the most innocent look you could muster. "Forgive me, High Lord of Dawn, I was just wondering why you summoned me. You know I don’t like to be disturbed during sunrise."

Thesan wanted to scold you for being so dramatic, but he couldn't, not when you were his little cousin whom he loved fiercely. "Rhysand and his courtiers are coming for a visit in two days.” He held up a hand and gave you a pointed look. “Before you ask, I don't know how long they'll stay here."

All traces of your playfulness disappeared; the face of a hardened warrior took over your features. You jumped up and stalked over to Thesan, your power, and energy rolling off your body.

“Those evil little Night Court brutes are coming to the Palace. Why?”

Thesan looked at you coolly, deciding he was going to approach this cautiously when he noticed the absence of the usual jewels around your neck. “Rhysand wants to come by and have diplomatic meetings and spend some leisure time here in Dawn Court. I have no doubt he’s here for something else, but we’ll find out eventually, and please, when the guests are here, wear your siphons and glamour them if you want. I can’t have them catching a whiff of what you are.”

You grumbled as you waved a hand over your neck to magically place the necklace on yourself. The necklace had three sapphires strung together by a chain of diamonds, it was gifted to you by Thesan when you reached maturity. The largest jewel sat in the middle flanked by two slightly smaller counterparts. It was beautiful and fit for Dawn Court’s royal family, but it also had a purpose. It helped you contain and conceal some of your magic, you could even see your power thrumming underneath it if you looked close enough.

With your overwhelming magic mostly contained, Thesan lets out a breath and finally felt comfortable enough to bark out orders to you. He wanted you to check on all the wards, secure the vaults that held ancient artifacts, and make sure all the guards and servants were briefed about the Night Court. Even though your guests weren’t due for a couple of days, Thesan reminded you to keep your wings hidden just in case they popped by early. Only the Peregryn’s and a select few people in your court knew that you were half High Fae and half Peregryn. And even fewer people knew the extent of your power. Thesan had them partake in an unbreakable vow to never reveal your true nature until the day you decide to reveal yourself.

By the end of the day, everyone in the Palace was exhausted from their efforts to prepare themselves for the upcoming visitors. Callon, who was Thesan’s lover and the Captain of the Peregryn legion was pissed that your cousin had invited them to Dawn. He was running himself ragged and snapping at you the entire day to make sure the troops were ready and planned all the security around the Palace and surrounding villages. Callon was annoying you so much that you had to remind him that he was outranked by you and to watch his tone. He apologized and you just scoffed, he was, unfortunately, a man in love, and it made him a nervous mess. You expected better from the captain of the Peregryn legions.

The sun had set and you, Thesan, and Callon had settled down by the fireplace and shared multiple bottles of wine. They were laughing at a joke Callon made when you heard a faint whisper in the corner of the room. You look and see nothing; you were about to ignore it when another whisper was heard. You looked at the pair, but they were in deep conversation, and no one seemed to have heard it, you looked back again and saw these dark wisps moving from the corner and going past the half-open door. You excused yourself and quickly slipped past the doors keeping the black wisps in your sight. They were no longer whispering but moving faster through the halls, you keep your footsteps light hoping you wouldn’t startle whatever this was. You stealthily followed it around the castle, and it seemed to be looking for something, it wasn’t until it reached the doors of the vault was when you did something. Not exactly sure what to do, you quickly leaned down and wafted the dark wisps with your hand. It spasmed and you swear it was almost startled to see you, it lingered for a few more seconds before disappearing into thin air.

“Mother above, what in the hell was that?” you said out loud.

With the Night Court arriving in a few days, there was no way this wasn’t their doing. Bursting into a run, you screamed Thesan’s name as you bounded up the stairs hoping it gave Thesan and Callon enough time to separate themselves from whatever they were doing in the few minutes they were left alone. You opened the door and Thesan was already standing, his eyes big at the sound of your panicked voice.

“What?” his eyes looked for any bodily injuries. “What is it?”

“I saw these black wisps moving around the Palace. They were trying to go into the vault before I stopped them,” you said.

Thesan frowned and then his jaw clenched, something he did when was he aggravated. “That must be the Shadowsinger, it’s incredibly annoying that he got through the wards. We'll have to strengthen them now. I’ll take the first half of the Palace and you reinforce the wards in the back.”

You nodded and hurriedly made your way to the south side of the Palace. Shadowsingers were extremely rare, and courts coveted them because they were the best spymasters. People could train for years but nothing would ever beat a shadowsinger. Until now, you honestly thought they were this tall tale they’d tell kids to scare them into behaving. You began to feel uneasy, was the shadowsinger in the Palace or was it just his shadows that he snuck in? Either way, you hated that this person was able to infiltrate your court.

***

The day of their visit finally arrived, and you peered in the mirror making sure you looked perfect, you wanted to make a good impression, this was the first time they’d meet you. Your lavender silk dress hung over your body perfectly, you gave a little spin in front of a mirror and examined the low back. Just in case anything turned hostile, your wings will have no obstructions if you ever need it. You waved a hand over your sapphires and glamoured them to be invisible, they were glowing brighter these days and it was easier to hide them than explain why your sapphires are more than jewels. Reaching for a mauve-colored bottle, you reapplied the color onto your lips and considered dusting blush on your cheeks, but you decided against it.

You lifted your hand and tenderly brushed the scars on the right side of your face. There were two parallel jagged lines, one nicked the bottom of your eyebrow and dragged up to your hairline. The other ran across the top of your cheekbone. You weren’t thrilled that it was so prominent, but you never thought to hide it. It was usually the first thing people noticed when they looked at you, the day Thesan was freed from Under the Mountain, he tried to get rid of it but even the High Lord of Healing couldn’t do anything about it. You could glamour it to make it disappear, but you wanted it there. It was a reminder of what had happened when Amarantha ruled Prythian, of what you endured and did for the people of Dawn Court.

Smoothing down your dress one more time, you left your bedroom suite and walked to the entrance to join Thesan and Callon. You were admiring the wisteria that hung along the arches above when the air shifted. Darkness filled the air for a split second then the High Lord of Night and two other courtiers appeared in front of you. The High Lord’s power hits your senses before you could even get a good look at their faces, your eyes are drawn to the violet-eyed male standing in the middle. Your eyes shift to the female on his right and then swept to the even taller winged male on his left. The High Lord was attractive, his feline smile already told you what kind of man he would be. What caught your attention was the winged male, he was the most attractive person you had ever set eyes on. His hazel eyes flickered to meet yours and it took everything in you not to gasp, you didn’t expect his gaze to be so scrutinizing. Rhysand gives a delicate nod to Thesan and his courtiers bow to your High Lord. Thesan returns the nod as you and Callon bow respectfully to the Lord of Night.

Glowing gold and moving with grace, your cousin opened his arms and swept it to gesture to the Palace. “Welcome, Rhysand. Allow me to introduce you to my cousin who happens to be my 2nd in Command.”

A friendly smile graced your lips as you allowed your golden glow to shine through, it was more subdued than Thesan, but you preferred it that way. “Welcome to Dawn Court, High Lord Rhysand. I look forward to getting to know you and your courtiers.”

Rhysand took your hand and pressed a kiss on top, a customary gesture that was a sign of respect to females in your court. The smile he gave you had you fighting a blush that threatened to bleed onto your cheeks. “Please, call me Rhys.”

Thesan introduces Callon and like the tough Captain he was, his greeting was reserved as he sized up the males and female. Rhysand introduced Feyre Cursebreaker and you threw all propriety out the window when you grabbed her hands and thanked her for bringing your cousin back.

Rhysand then gestured to the tall muscular man next to him, “This is Azriel, my spymaster.”

It was then when you noticed the small wisps of shadows that surrounded the tall Illyrian, you did your best not to gawk at them. He was dressed in all-black formal wear, his clothes just as refined as Rhysand and Feyre. The only difference was he was the one strapped with a weapon, from the looks of it something special and much older than you. That handsome man was the shadowsinger, probably the same one that was spying on you a few days before. You’re not sure if he or his shadows know it was you that disrupted its spying, but he showed no signs of recognition as he stepped forward to kiss your hand. You noticed the significant scarring on the tops of his hands and fingers, averting your gaze, you focused on the way his lips pressed onto your skin.

“Lady Y/n,” he said, his voice low and heavenly.

While he wasn’t as outspoken or flirtatious as his High Lord, his hazel eyes held yours in curiosity. It was only broken when Thesan clapped his hands and gestured for everyone to enter the Palace and have lunch before the diplomatic talks started. You fell into step with Feyre who stared up at the wonder of the Palace. Her eyes traveled from the hanging flowers to the bridges and towers of the estate. She tells you that it was beautiful which filled your heart with pride. This was your home, a place that you bled and fought for.

Thesan had used magic to make the dining table smaller, he preferred his meals with guests to be more intimate. It also made it easier to read them if they were in proximity. Thesan and you sat at the ends, a reminder to Rhysand that he was still in your court, and if this bothered him, he said nothing. Callon and Feyre sat by your cousin which left you flanked by Rhysand and Azriel. The Palace conjured chairs suitable for wings for Callon and Azriel, the spymaster nodded in appreciation. With a wave of Thesan’s hand, a feast appears on the table and the smell of roast beef and stir-fried vegetables filled the air. Everyone eagerly dug into the food and compliments from Rhysand had your cousin smiling in thanks.

Casual conversation flowed and it surprised you, this was not what you thought Rhysand and his courtiers were going to act like. You were expecting arrogant bastards, and you bluntly told that to Rhysand’s face. Thesan almost choked on his wine and Callon’s face blanched. Rhysand’s violet eyes widened in surprise, no one had ever spoken to the High Lord of Night like that. Azriel and Feyre looked at you in shock, they couldn’t tell if you meant to be rude or if you were genuinely curious. You innocently looked at Rhysand waiting for a response, no one at the table breathed until a deep and genuine laughter came from Death Incarnate himself. A beat later, the sound of chuckles comes from Azriel.

“In the spirit of keeping up our alliance, I thought it’d be beneficial if we acted more like ourselves instead of the ‘arrogant bastards’ we could be,” said Rhysand, an amused smile on his face.

Content with his answer, you smiled at him and continued to eat completely oblivious to the situation.

Thesan took a deep breath and faced Rhysand. “While my cousin is a strong and competent second-in-command, she has the horrible habit of saying the first thing that comes into her mind. I profusely apologize for her comments, she has much to learn as a courtier. My cousin hasn’t had a lot of experience in court.”

You stopped chewing when you realized how rude your comment sounded. You apologized and Rhysand brushed it off, he told you that it was a smart observation to make. As mortified as Thesan was and embarrassed you were, that conversation ended up making the atmosphere more casual and friendly. You discover that Rhysand is an overconfident flirt, but his advances aren’t disgusting, you find yourself enjoying the banter. It also helped that the true object of his affection was the woman next to him. You had an inkling of his feelings after observing how he looked at her. Feyre was curious and asked many questions, and Thesan answered them patiently. It was Azriel whom you kept stealing glances at, he looked like the quiet type, but his silence was unnerving. His shadows were calm, but you could swear they twitched every time you looked at them.

You were about to ask Azriel about Illyrians, you had never met an Illyrian and you were so curious to ask about his species of faerie when Feyre cleared her throat.

“Were you there Under the Mountain?” asked Feyre. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

Rhysand and Azriel leaned in, they’ve been to Dawn Court a couple of times over the past centuries, but they have never seen or heard of you. They were surprised when Thesan introduced you as his second in command, they were usually well updated knowing who held power in the other courts.

“My cousin,” you said as you shot a pointed look at him. “Is like an overprotective mother hen. He didn’t let me make a lot of public appearances in court until I was about 50 years old and whenever we had visitors, he made sure I was off somewhere doing some training or working with the other healers.”

Feyre’s brow furrowed as she looked at Thesan.

“While suffocating at the time, it was what saved me from being trapped Under the Mountain. I had broken my arm during training the day Amarantha invited the High Lords to that party. I didn’t feel like being a courtier, so I didn’t heal myself and used that as an excuse to stay behind. Only a few faeries knew of my existence, so Amarantha and her people never noticed my absence. The day she drugged the High Lords and used the spell, Thesan used the last of his power to put wards up to protect the Palace and send me a note with instructions,” you said as your eyes clouded thinking of the past 5 decades. “I went crazy the first year, the pressure of protecting the estate and the villages around it was too much. Everyone I knew and trusted was Under the Mountain, I was alone for a while. I raged when I realized I couldn’t leave the court for fear something might happen to it while I was gone trying to get my family back.”

You weren’t mad that he was protective when you were young. Yes, it was isolating but you understood why Thesan did what he did. If they knew the true extent of your power, you’d probably have the biggest target on your back. You sipped your wine and looked at your cousin as his remorseful brown eyes stared back at you. The day Thesan winnowed back to the Palace, you held each other and wept. He promised to never leave you alone again.

Azriel studied your side profile as you talked, he took in every curve of your nose, cheekbones, and lips. You were the female that caught his shadows, they practically ran to him in distress because they’d never been detected while spying before. All his shadows told him was it was a female who discovered them, they failed to mention it was Thesan’s 2nd. His eyes traced the jagged scars that did nothing to hinder your elegance. Your beauty rivaled Morrigan, he even dared to think that you may be more alluring than her. He watched you as you told your story, he could see your radiance dim as if the mere thought of the last 49 years had drained you. He could see the pain in your eyes, it was the same thing he felt when Rhys locked them in Velaris. At least Azriel had his family with him, from the looks of it, those closest to you were trapped Under the Mountain.  

“I understand how you feel,” said Azriel.

All heads turned to him; it was the second time he had spoken out loud since arriving in Dawn Court. Amused, Rhys watched his brother lean closer to you as if he was captivated.

“Something similar happened to me, I can’t imagine not having your family there to help you.” He looked at the permanent marks on your skin. “Your scar—was that from one of Amarantha’s creatures?”

A low warning growl comes from Callon as he glared at the Illyrian, how dare he mention your scar. Rhysand almost spit out his food, Azriel was the politest and most well-mannered person in his inner circle. Azriel hated talking about his scars, yet he blatantly asked you about yours, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Rhys looked at Thesan to see if he was mad, but your cousin was just as curious as how you would respond.

Your fingers went up to trace the jagged lines, and the memory of torn flesh resurfaced. “This happened about 20 years ago, a Bogge was slaughtering faeries in a village. I’m no High Lord but I was the next best thing for my people. I went and hunted for it or-- at least tried to drive it away but I barely made it out alive, if I wasn’t a gifted healer myself, the scarring would be worse.”

“How did you escape it?” asked Feyre, her mouth opened in shock after hearing that you encountered the wretched monster by yourself.

This was when you had to lie and tell half-truths to protect your other identity. You looked at Thesan and he gave a discreet nod.

“The Golden Warrior came just in time to drag me up into the air. Bogge can’t fly so it wasn’t able to reach me. With teamwork and a miracle from the Cauldron, we were able to kill it,” you replied.

Azriel looked at Rhysand, but his brother was already on it. “We’ve heard about your warrior-- the Golden Warrior,” said Rhysand. “We heard this faerie had deadly power, the ability to bring down armies onto its knees.”

All playfulness was gone from Rhysand’s handsome face, his demeanor was all business. Callon bristled at the change in mood, but the High Lord of Dawn just frowned.

Thesan tutted in annoyance. “You could have waited until tonight’s drinks to bring up politics, Rhysand.” He waved his hand, and the table cleared, and tea and pastries filled the space. “Please continue.”

“We were just curious about the Golden Warrior; his power is something that could be useful in the future.”

Thesan squinted at Rhysand. “You know something I don’t know… what is it? You wouldn’t be visiting me if something big had happened. Is Amara…” he trailed off; he didn’t like saying her name. Especially after he watched her kill one of his Peregryn courtiers and plucked the white feathers of their wings. The next day, she wore a feathered dress to dinner just to watch Thesan and his court try to hide their fury.

“The evil queen is dead and will stay dead,” reassured Rhysand. “I just wanted to visit my allies and make sure everything between our courts is okay. If something or somebody like Amarantha pops up again, I want to know if we can depend on Dawn Court to ally your foot soldiers and Peregryn legions.”

Thesan frowned again and looked at Callon who gave him a small nod. You bit down on your tongue before you could say something that would contradict Thesan in front of the visitors. Your cousin does not like conflict, he tried to avoid it at all costs. He looks at each of his guests who look at him expectedly, his gaze reached yours and you glowed a little brighter as if to beg him to say the right thing.

“My court knows how I feel about war but… historically, you know I’ve always been loyal to the solar courts,” said Thesan.

You exhaled in relief and Rhysand’s relaxed demeanor returned. It wasn’t a clear “yes”, but it was much better than outright rejection. After the table was cleared, you offered a tour of the Palace and its grounds. Feyre gladly accepted and Thesan let you take the lead as you walked through the Palace. Staff, visiting nobles, and citizens both winged and non-winged, waved at your group and you waved back. The Night Court would nod and keep quiet, curious to see how your court was run. They decided that while Dawn Court was a little bit more formal, they saw that they had good relations with their people, and parts of the Palace were open for the public to enjoy, such as the library and gardens.

Rhysand was itching to talk about politics so after leading them to Thesan’s office, they walked in before Feyre insisted you finish the tour while the males talked about some stupid hunt, they had attended in Autumn Court a century ago. The Lord of Night gave her a look of longing before everyone parted ways, it was subtle, but you noticed it. Once the doors were shut and you walked a good distance from the door, you looked at Feyre with a sly grin.

“Is there something going on with Rhysand?” you asked casually.

She looked at you in shock, “No! What makes you say that?”

You made your way to show her the bedroom suites her court would be staying at.

“I can feel the attraction, you’re both constantly looking at each other.”

Feyre’s cheeks turned red. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. He’s the most insufferable person I know, I’m not sure how you can handle all that flirting. Besides, I should be the one asking about your obvious interest in Azriel.”

It was your turn to look stunned as Feyre smirked. “I’ve never met a shadowsinger before, it’s hard not to stare at the shadows moving around him. It’s-- unnerving.” You weren’t lying, it was one of the most peculiar things you’ve seen in your life. It didn’t help that he was the most beautiful male you’d ever seen, but his shadow’s movements and his piercing gaze were hard to ignore. You were still mad he got through the wards, you were hoping to talk to catch him off guard one day and ask him about his spying.

You find yourself getting along with the Cursebreaker even though you knew there were ulterior motives for her visit to Dawn Court. The rest of the day was spent roaming around the castle due to Feyre’s “curiosity”, it was tiring but it was better that you were present instead of Feyre going off by herself. It was becoming obvious that they were letting Feyre look for something and used their meeting with Thesan as a distraction.

***

After dinner, you found yourself feeling extremely restless once everyone retired to their rooms. Wrapping a shawl around your shoulders, you walked out of your chambers for a stroll around the Palace. You were making your way to one of the courtyards when you heard a whisper to your right. Looking at the spot, you see this wisp of a shadow and you huffed in annoyance.

“Show yourself,” you commanded, eyes focusing on a spot in the shadows. You couldn’t see anything, but you swear there was a figure somewhere in all that darkness.

Azriel froze, no one ever saw him when he was in the shadows, he was supposed to be undetectable. The High Lord of Night himself couldn’t see Azriel unless the shadowsinger made himself known but somehow, you saw him. Quickly removing the surprised look on his face, Azriel stepped out of his shadows and was met with your calculating gaze. He couldn’t help but think how beautiful you looked under the moonlight.

“Why were you following me?” Your voice was cold, and all traces of the gracious and friendly host were gone.

As smoothly as he could, Azriel said, “I wasn’t following you, I couldn’t sleep so I decided to go for a walk.” Azriel wanted to cringe, he was capable of infiltrating courts, but he was stumbling.

Detecting the blatant lie, your eyebrow quirked up unimpressed by the spymaster’s skills. You sized him up and then jerked your head towards some cushioned seating in the courtyard. “Come and have tea with me, I need to talk to you,” you said already walking away from him.

His footsteps followed you and it was only until he adjusted his wings and settled down on the cushioned seat that you conjured tea and cookies from the kitchen. You prepared your drink in silence, the both of you eyeing each other in anticipation of who would break the silence. He seemed content to sit there, so you sipped some tea before clearing your throat.

“What is the night court doing here, Azriel? Between you and me, I don’t think the three of you came here to talk about alliances and politics.”

His hazel eyes met yours, he didn’t think you’d be so blunt. “What makes you think that?”

“Your shadows,” you said watching the wisps dance behind him. “I caught them looking around the palace, what were you doing?”

He inhaled slowly, keeping his handsome face neutral. “I was just doing reconnaissance. Making sure no surprises were waiting for us in Dawn Court.”

A muscle in your jaw ticked, “My cousin may be stubborn at times, but we have always been loyal to the solar courts. After 50 years of chaos, how would we even have the time or energy to launch an assault on the Night Court? I don’t know how it is back at Night but we’re still rebuilding most of our cities.”

Azriel’s shadows swarmed around him as he guiltily thought about Velaris. How protected his city was from Amarantha’s wrath. “I was just doing my job. I apologize on behalf of Rhysand; we didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I think you were looking for something the other night,” you continued. “You know…you guys can just talk to us, right?”

The shadowsinger shifted in his seat, squirming under your attentive gaze. “We think Dawn Court is hiding something powerful,” he admitted before realizing what he said.

Azriel wanted to slam his head on the table, he couldn’t believe he just said that. He cursed himself for revealing any information, Rhysand had lectured Feyre on how to deflect questions, who knew the spymaster was the one to need a refresher? He looked at you with this renewed sense of realization, there was something different about you. Were you a siren? A witch? He was the best spymaster in all of Prythian and here he was spouting whatever came into his head. Even if this was his first time meeting you, Azriel felt as if he could trust Dawn Court’s second-in-command.

Fuck. They know we’re hiding something, you thought. Stirring more honey into your tea, you forced yourself to be nonchalant.

“That’s quite an accusation, shadowsinger,” you said coolly. “Something that you shouldn’t repeat in front of Thesan if you want a solid answer for our allyship.”

 This must have been the strangest situation you’ve been in in a while. You and Azriel stared at each other, gazes burning, waiting to see who would reveal their secrets. The visible scars on his hands and wings told you that he has been a warrior his entire life. He was probably the most dangerous faerie you’ve ever met. This male had infiltrated the Palace and spied on you, that act alone should have pissed you off and made you hostile towards the male, but it didn’t. You were only intrigued by the handsome faerie in front of you.

Azriel smirked, “So, you’re not denying that Dawn Court is hiding something?” His voice came out in a taunting purr.

You think about the glamoured sapphires around your neck and the wings that hide beneath your skin, of that dark power that you have. This was why Thesan spent decades hiding you, so other courts and faeries weren’t going to be sneaking around and finding ways to utilize your gifts.

With a bored huff, you lean on the palm of your hand. “We have nothing to hide, Azriel. I think everyone’s just a little on edge after what happened Under the Mountain, scared that someone like Amarantha is going to wreak havoc on our frail country. We’re all feeling vulnerable which is why I think we should call it a night. Politics should be discussed with everyone present in a meeting room, not over tea and cookies.”

The shadowsinger doesn’t respond for fear he would say something stupid again. You had found a way to graciously end what could have been an ally-ending conversation and he was thankful. Who knows what he could have said, he might have even revealed the existence of Velaris or irritated Dawn Court’s 2nd to the point of no return. He stood up and gave you a courteous bow, but not without taking one last look at the strangely magnetic fae with the sharp eyes.

This is going to be an interesting few days you thought as Azriel walked away.

As he sauntered toward the direction of the guest suites, he could swear he could feel your gaze sear through his back. He wished he knew if it was curiosity or if you were imagining driving a knife through his back.

[kemendin]

A Bit of Well-Deserved Softness

Gale basks in the quiet delight of his home in Waterdeep, and the drow with whom he shares it. Gale x Ace!Tav Words: 3200 A/N: This all started when my dear friend @deeafrotailmisstress gifted me this wonderful Dhamari/Gale art for my birthday a while back. And of course I went 'well now I've gotta write a fic to go with this'. And so here is the result! Post-game fluff, so general spoiler warning.

Waking up each morning was not, strictly speaking, Gale’s favourite part of the day.

But it was undeniably one of the best parts.

It was the breeze that always stirred his senses first, cool and light and laden with salt as it tumbled in from the open window. Cavorting round the bedroom like an eager sprite, sweeping up the scent of well-worn books; until at length it darted through a gap in the gauzy bed hangings and Gale could draw in a long, full draught of it as he lay there. Breathing happily of home.

Then the sounds would start to filter in. The cry of restless seabirds outside his window, and the multitudinous clamour of the city below, gently muffled by the bulwark of his tower’s enchanted walls. 

Sometimes, as he listened, he would make a game of it - keeping his eyes closed against the dawn as he sought to isolate one distant sound or another, then supposed what it might be and its location.

On this particular day, however, very little focus was required to recognise the heavy peal now echoing across the city of Waterdeep, signalling that the morning was already half spent. 

Gale scrunched his face in astonishment, and hurriedly palmed at his eyes to open them. He was greeted by a room radiant with sunlight, warm and strong even through the semi-translucence of the bed canopy; and in that moment he had no alternative but to acknowledge that it was, indeed, quite late.

A rueful huff of surprise fell from his lips as he turned his thoughts back to the previous evening. He hadn’t greeted his pillow until well after midnight, and truthfully, he wasn’t accustomed to retiring at such an hour. Months of gruelling travel had impressed upon him the need to retreat early to his tent - to rest, if not to actually sleep - because daybreak came soon for weary bodies and even sooner for brooding minds. And in what seemed like another lifetime - in the years before he was daily being menaced by threats of ceremorphosis and self-combustion - more often than not he would become so absorbed in his evening literature that he simply didn’t go to bed at all. Why bother with such mundane things as sleep, when he could instead be seated in his favourite chair by the hearth, with a heavy tome and a purring tressym vying for place upon his lap?

And so instead of slumber, the night would pass in glints of wine, and in the crisp sigh of pages, and the fire would crackle its soothing counterpoint to the clink of ivory keys, until at last even the flames fell quiet and there was only the piano’s solitary melody to usher in the dawn.

But now - now things were different. Now he had something else to stay up late for, and something - someone - to retire with. And he looked forward to both occasions immensely.

Read on AO3

Gale gave a lazy turn onto his side, and felt a fond smile tugging at his mouth. The ‘someone’ in question was currently well-burrowed into the blankets beside him, hardly visible at all save for a mane of wild black hair flared across the purple-cased pillow. It was he who’d insisted on curtains round the bed; even after several years spent living on the surface, abrupt sunlight was still painful on his eyes, and he’d grumbled enough each morning that before their first week in Waterdeep was over, Gale had held up his hands in defeat and promptly gone down to the tailor’s shop to have some hangings made.

Levering himself up, Gale leaned over his bedmate, and after a moment he lightly eased the blankets back so that he could consider the drow beside him. Dhamari was resting on his stomach, a fact which on its own spoke volumes to his level of comfort. He’d confessed once to the wizard that he was careful never to leave his back exposed while sleeping, lest an enemy take him by surprise. Gale had gotten the impression that when it came to survival in the Underdark, trust was frequently considered to be the greatest enemy of all.

But this was Waterdeep, not a backstabbing drow metropolis. This was Gale’s tower, safe and secure. And although Dhamari rarely required the wizard’s protection, Gale was of course always ready to offer it, should such necessity arise.

He continued to hover over his partner, gently studying the sleeping sorcerer - his face like a page from a favourite book which Gale had long since memorised, yet never tired of reading. Skin the muted blue of an early twilight (save on those rare occasions when he became flustered and warmed to a faint purple, which Gale personally found quite endearing). A visage marked with sharp tattoos the colour of storm clouds, curving down from his brow to cradle his eyes and cut across his cheeks, emphasising the narrow angles of his face. So often Gale would see Dhamari’s lips drawn back in fury as he bared his pointed teeth; but now his mouth was closed, and soft with sleep.

Gale sighed, slightly wistful. A glance in the mirror each morning reminded him that their shared adventures were penned in deeper lines fanning around his eyes and across his forehead, but Dhamari appeared virtually unchanged. He was still young for a drow, not even midway through his second century, whereas Gale was… well, he preferred to think of himself as accumulating wisdom, rather than gaining years. But he knew that unless he borrowed a page from his old friend Elminster, and sought out some arcane means of extending his own life, Dhamari would far outlast him.

Yet what would ordinarily be rather melancholy musings seldom troubled him these days. After all, he’d had his chance. He had gazed upon the promise of immortality, wrought of metal and Netherese magic, and glimpsed for a moment the very summit of all his fervent strivings. And then he had glanced beside him, and seen again the choice he’d made in the depths of Moonrise Towers. And in the end he’d found that he couldn’t bear to release the soiled, bloodied hand caught so tightly within his own, when becoming a god would make him, for better and for worse, untouchable.

Whether I condemn this world or not, he’d said, I choose you.

And Gale held no regrets for making that choice. Wonderings, yes - that was only natural. Speculations and suppositions, silent imaginings of what might have been, had he faced both Karsus’ folly and his own, and decided differently.

But regrets? No, none that he could find. And he had no intentions of spoiling his remarkably good mood by looking for them.

Canting his head, Gale reached and lightly brushed his forefinger along the curve of Dhamari’s long ear. It twitched beneath his touch, and the wizard chuckled in quiet delight, knowing now that his partner was at least marginally awake.

He nudged the ear again, more firmly this time.

“Come on, Ari. Time to face the day.”

He drew the blankets back farther, eliciting a barely-audible grumble from the drow, accompanied by a small expression of displeasure. Dhamari clutched defiantly at the pillow with both hands, and pressed his face deeper into its plush embrace.

Gale smiled even as he shook his head in admonishment. “Come on now, up you get,” he said in a mild voice. “We’ve plans for today, remember? Need I remind you, the bazaar only remains on the Material Plane until sundown - and that is now several hours closer than I’d initially projected. As things stand, we may only have time enough to peruse two-thirds of it.”

At this, Dhamari twisted his head enough so that he could crack one eye open. To Gale it often looked like drawing back the shutters on a narrow window at night - seeing the drow’s moonlike iris floating in a field of black.

“Unless more than two-thirds of the offerings are books,” mumbled Dhamari, “I doubt that will prove a problem.”

Gale huffed archly. “While rare tomes may be the main attraction for me, this market offers much more than books, I can assure you,” he replied. A barely restrained eagerness crept into his voice as he leaned himself over Dhamari. “Just picture it - wonders from across the realms, laid out at our very fingertips. And,” he added, “most of them brought from places of which you have never even heard, let alone clapped eyes on.” He tapped a teasing finger on the end of Dhamari’s nose. 

“Be warned - I may very well decide to quiz you afterward. So you had best be sure you’re paying attention to what we find there.”

But Dhamari made such a face in response to this, his nose wrinkling and his upper lip curling unpleasantly, that Gale burst out laughing.

“You’re an awful grump in the mornings now, do you know that, Ari?” he chuckled. “I don’t recall you being anywhere near this cantankerous in Baldur’s Gate. Not until you’d picked your first fight of the day, at least.”

“That’s because you’ve spoiled me,” grunted Dhamari. “You’re making me soft, Gale. Soft and lazy.”

“Ah, but is that such a terrible thing, my love?” Gale asked him, his lips still quirked in amusement. He wriggled forward until he was nearly draped over the drow. “After all those months slogging through mud and brambles, staving off darkness and despair - personally I am more than delighted to give myself over to a bit of luxury. And by that I mean hot baths, silk sheets, stout meals, and a bottle of wine that doesn’t smell as though it was left to age inside someone’s forgotten pair of farming boots.”

He set his chin on Dhamari’s shoulder for a moment. His smile broadened when he saw how the drow’s own mouth had curved grudgingly at the corners, and so he pressed on:

“We deserve that, you and I. We deserve a bit of softness. A few weeks, at least, free of fighting and fear -“

“And full of food, if you’d have your way,” Dhamari broke in. “You spent five hours in the kitchen yesterday. Who are you expecting will eat all of that? Tara?”

“I thought I might pack up most of it and take it with me when I visit the Academy tomorrow,” Gale answered brightly. The invitation to meet with the Blackstaff in person had not been a complete surprise, considering the sum of both recent events and his exploits as a former apprentice, but he’d read it with anticipation nonetheless. “I’m sure there are at least a dozen famished young wizards-in-training there who would appreciate a lavish, home-cooked meal.”

Dhamari’s lips pursed lightly. “So now that you’ve succeeded in spoiling me, you’re branching out,” he noted. He stretched his shoulders back - as much as he could beneath Gale’s weight - then added pointedly, “That sort of decadent treatment would never be allowed in any drow academy.”

“Then it’s a good thing we aren’t in Sshamath,” returned Gale, his smile unsullied by the drow’s griping. “For any number of reasons, I daresay.” 

Dhamari still kept much of his drow life to himself, and rarely talked of the city where he was born. Gale suspected this was not so much due to discomfort on Dhamari’s part, but rather an attempt to avoid shocking the wizard with tales of his Underdark existence. Such light treading was hardly necessary; Gale had seen more than his share of horrors over the course of their conflict with the Absolute, and he’d gleaned enough from what Dhamari did say to form a rough, unhappy picture of the other’s past. But there was something touching, something unexpectedly tender, in Dhamari’s wish to shield him from such understanding, and so Gale did not press the point.

He saw his partner’s visible eye narrow slightly; but then it closed in a slow blink, and when it opened, the drow’s manner was easy again.

“Yes,” Dhamari agreed, and he offered a wry little smile of his own. “A very good thing.”

Gale grinned. “Now we are in Waterdeep,” he proclaimed grandly, with a small sweep of his hand. “The Crown of the North, City of Splendours.” Tipping his head, he set his cheek on Dhamari’s shoulder, and his eyes were alight as he went on with quieter zeal, “And there is so much I want to show you. To share with you.”

He let a heartbeat pass, a moment of pure bliss as he gazed into the drow’s open eye, and saw his devotion reflected in the obsidian depths. Then -

“On which subject,” he added, and in one dramatic movement he sat up and swept the blankets off them both. “Time to get up.”

Dhamari let out another long, loud groan in protest; but under the encouraging knead of the wizard’s fingers into his back, he reluctantly levered himself up. Chuckling, Gale reached over and smoothed down a few of the most aberrant strands of the drow’s wild hair. Dhamari glanced at him across his shoulder, squinted, and then gave a hard, deliberate shake of his head, instantly nullifying the other’s efforts. 

Gale huffed fondly. “Alright,” he said, “suit yourself.” He leaned away to tug aside the bed hangings, and then swung his legs over the edge of the bed; but further efforts towards verticality were impeded by the drow who now latched himself onto Gale’s shoulder.

Gale turned his head, arching his brows at the offender, but any mild rebuke melted away as he watched Dhamari almost idly nuzzle his forehead against his shoulder. The drow had been immensely touch-averse at the start, so much that early on Gale had considered their holding hands for pleasure as well as purpose to be a noteworthy accomplishment. He’d never pressed Dhamari into closer contact than was comfortable, but gradually the sorcerer came to realise, with the other’s reassurance, the rewards of gentle physicality. To see him be so easy with it now, without flinching or fear - Gale could feel his own heart brimming with elation, and with pride.

He reached around with his free hand, again combing his fingers through the narrow mane of Dhamari’s hair, and he smiled when his partner leaned automatically into the touch. After a moment the drow lifted his head, but it was only to prop his chin on Gale’s shoulder this time. He blinked still bleary eyes up at Gale, and then his gaze wandered slowly from the wizard’s face down to his chest.

“I like this,” Dhamari murmured at length.

Gale’s smile widened, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “As do I,” he assured him.

Dhamari shook his head. “I mean this,” he said.

Gale felt an unanticipated brush upon his chest. Tucking his chin, he looked on with faint bemusement as the drow’s finger traced the dark line of the orb still marked upon his skin. 

“You do?” Gale’s brow furrowed quizzically. The ball of half-formed Weave still buried within him slept now, thank the gods. No longer throbbing tortuously beside his heart, its gnawing hunger assuaged at last; and by this point he wasn’t overly concerned that it might reawaken. All the same, it remained an uncomfortable reminder of what his hubris, more than once, had nearly cost him, and he would have vastly preferred to be rid of it altogether.

“Yes,” replied Dhamari, through a jaw still braced upon Gale’s shoulder. He splayed his hand out over the orb, and smiled a little. “It’s… striking. It suits you.” He flicked his eyes up again, one ear angling lower in an almost shy expression. “And it makes me think about our first night together.”

Gale pushed out a rueful breath. “The night when you categorically tore me apart for allowing the orb to control every facet of my existence?” he asked. “How could I forget? I’ve rarely been subject to such a brutal awakening.”

“You needed it,” said Dhamari, and both his face and tone were, for an instant, unrepentant.

“I can't argue with that,” conceded Gale. He’d been so long mired in misery and woe that he hadn’t been able to recognise the dark depths to which he had fallen; not until Dhamari’s harsh candour yanked painfully at his numbed senses, and showed him a better path than the precipice beneath his feet.

“Good,” said Dhamari. “We argue enough as it is.”

His fingers continued to trail thoughtfully along the lines that flowed up the side of the wizard’s neck. But Gale caught his hand and brought it to his lips instead, and pressed several long, leisurely kisses to the drow’s twilight skin. It was an act of consecration to him, of worship - but a different sort than the one he’d once ascribed to. One that now asked nothing of him, save what he desired to give.

Not for the first time, Gale wondered that he could ever have bowed his head before she who demanded his death, and called it love.

He lifted his eyes again, and from their corners he could see Dhamari. Still with his chin set on Gale’s shoulder, the harshness of his features now made so much softer by the contentment - the happiness, Gale dared to deem it - hovering on his face. Gods, how he loved that expression. He wanted to sit here for an eternity and drink it in, certain it could fill him as well as any wine, and would grant an even headier feeling of delight.

But they did have plans for today, after all, and Gale was not about to give them up, no matter how distracting Dhamari could be.

Not this time, at any rate.

“Come on.” He placed one more kiss on Dhamari’s knuckles for good measure before straightening up and passing his partner’s hand back to him. “Enough of your moon eyes. We’ve got a magical bazaar to peruse.”

He gave a little pop of his shoulder, enough to dislodge the drow leaning on him, and got to his feet before Dhamari could latch on again. He padded over to a chair nearby to retrieve his purple houserobe, glancing back towards the bed as he shrugged it on. 

Dhamari had scooted to the edge of the bed, and was now perched there with his legs - rather shorter than Gale’s - dangling above the rug-festooned floor as he yawned, stretched, and tried without much concern to rake down his rumpled hair. Gale felt his lips twitch in fond amusement at the sight. The drow was a danger, a menace, and yet here and now he looked so domestically harmless that Gale almost couldn’t believe the stormy trails of destruction that Dhamari tended to leave in his wake.

Almost.

With a rueful shake of his head, Gale turned and strode briskly for the bedroom door. “Up!” he called back over his shoulder. “Before I send Tara in to drag you up with her claws.”

The last thing he saw before closing the door behind him was Dhamari’s disgruntled face, glowering at him in (mostly) feigned outrage over the wizard’s tressymic threat.

Gale laughed quietly as he headed downstairs, mentally framing each moment of the last half hour. Perhaps there might be days, he thought to himself, when waking up was his favourite part.

[ainyan]

FFXIV Write: Day 15 - Ruse (Free Day)

Okay. I can do this. Deep breaths. I’ve got this.

The mantra ran over and over through Ryne’s head as Miss Miurani approached her desk, checking each student’s homework from the night before. It had been geography, and that was usually right up her alley. It had hurt, almost physically, to shove her book back in her bag and refuse to open it last night.

I can do this. It will work.

As Miss Miurani approached, Ryne saw the faint frown curve her lips downward and inwardly quailed. It took every onze of willpower she had to maintain an expression that would have been far more at home on Gaia’s face - boredom. “Ryne? Where is your homework?”

She couldn’t meet those curious indigo eyes. Not and maintain the ruse. Lie. “I didn’t do it.”

It took a moment for the teacher to process her words. “Oh, did you run into trouble?” she asked gently. “I can extend the deadline if you need. I’m sure your father can help you if you’re stuck…”

“No.” Oh, how hard it was not to cringe even uttering that word to any adult, but most especially Miss Miurani.

Another moment of silence, and when Ryne risked peeking under her eyelashes at the teacher’s face, she saw that the Au Ra’s eyebrows had drawn together in a frown of confusion. “I see,” Miss Miurani said slowly. “No, you didn’t run into trouble, or no, you don’t need me to extend the deadline?”

Why didn’t the woman just get mad already?

“No, I didn’t run into trouble, and I don’t need an extension.” Ryne sank down in her chair and lowered her head to try and hide her face, certain she would break at any moment. “I don’t want to do it.”

She knew even Gaia was staring at her at this point. Little Chai-Kai was almost in tears, so shocked was he to see Ryne actually defying the teacher.

I’m going to one of the hells for this.

But if it worked, it was worth it. Right?

“I see,” Miss Miurani said slowly. “We will discuss this later. For now, take out your books and turn to page 63…”

*****

When the bell in the church tower struck three o’clock, Ryne was out of her seat like a shot. For the first time since Miss Miurani had come to Seventh Dawn, the school day had been an agony for her. She’d even had to ignore Gaia at lunch time, and again during recess - which hadn’t been hard, as Miss Miurani had set her to cleaning erasers for not having her homework.

“Ryne-”

Before Miss Miurani could do more than say her name, Ryne had grabbed Gaia’s wrist and dragged her from the schoolhouse, pretending not to hear. She darted down the street, ignoring her best friend’s protests as they flew towards the alley that led towards their houses. “Ryne!” Gaia gasped, setting her heels and dragging the younger girl to a stuttering stop once they were out of sight of the school, “what in the hells has gotten into you?”

“Don’t let her see you!” Ryne hissed as she released Gaia’s wrist and darted back to the mouth of the side-street, peering cautiously around the corner. She could see Miss Miurani standing on the porch, hands on her hips, and could imagine the woman’s frown. “Come on, come on.”

She watched as the Au Ra turned and locked the schoolhouse door, then pocketed the key and set off down the street, a determined sway to her hips. Silent as a mouse, Ryne and Gaia watched as she strode past their street and on towards the main street. They followed behind her, barely keeping her in sight, until she disappeared into the Sheriff’s office. “Oh thank the gods,” Ryne breathed.

“Mind telling me what this is all about?” Gaia asked tartly. “You’re acting very strange, Ryne.”

Rubbing her hands together, Ryne glanced up at her taller friend. “I just figured, maybe if they talk… maybe if she thinks I need some discipline…”

Gaia’s brows rushed together. “You did all this to try and hook them up?” she asked incredulously. “Ryne!”

“I gotta try something! It’s ridiculous. Anyone can see they’re made for each other.” With a mulish set to her mouth, Ryne turned and began to march back up the street, angling for the church where her Aunt Minfilia worked.

Gaia trotted after her. “Where are you going now?”

Ryne winced. “Now I gotta go pray that my dad doesn’t take a chunk out of my hide for this.”

Rolling her eyes, Gaia followed on her friend’s heels.

FFXIV Write 2024 (Daily Prompt List)

Day 15 - Ruse (Free Day)

OC: Kal'istae Miurani

NPCs: Ryne Waters, Gaia Augurelt

AU: Stars over Western Waters

[alpydk]

Red on You (Part 3) - "Little Piece of Flesh"

RuganxGale - Despite the interruptions, I got the chapter done! I'm just fucking loving this. (Going to warn: not really edited because of time. Will do that tomorrow but want it off my mind.)

Ao3 Link

Gale had spent time cleaning the tower before he slowly drifted towards Blackstaff Academy. The cool evening breeze was a welcome distraction from the heated anger that seemed to cling to his chest. Glasses had been washed and put back in their respective places, a knowledge that only one would be needed on future nights rather than the two during the previous year. The bedsheets had been changed from the deep blue cotton that smelt of ale, the scent too much of a reminder of long nights of embrace and what-ifs.

The library of Blackstaff would be a welcome distraction from his thoughts, he confirmed to himself as he passed the empty shop faces. Waterdeep was quiet for once, unusually quiet, he noted as his footsteps rung through over the cobbles. The City of Splendours usually had some hustle and bustle even during the later hours, the taverns spilling out onto the streets, the odd couple laughing as they returned home from an opportunity at courtship, but tonight there was little of it. There was only an eery silence hanging over the cold stones of the Street of Silks.

Alone again, after a year of joy. What fools these mortals be… The words had come to him as naturally as they did in the past. A fool to be in love again and again. A fool to think he could be loved. The courtyard of the academy lay vacant as he approached, its walls high and imprisoning. Gale remembered the events of a year ago, as he’d watched Rugan be dragged away by the dark-haired Zhentarim. Why was it so much easier to fight for love a year ago than it was now?

The dancing lights shone above as he walked the empty corridors to the library, passing by a classroom that held too many powerful memories for him to want to stop. He’d find a copy of A Dove at Dawn, sequester himself away to an alcove and while away the hours until morning, possibly conjuring a cushion or two for comfort if the mood took him.

“Gale, a bit late to be perusing the literature, is it not?”

He smiled to himself, the soft voice of the half drow pleasant to his senses. “Lissa, my dear. There is no period of time, too early, nor too late when it comes to the matters of literature.”

Lissa stepped forward, the dancing lights reflecting on the white of her hair, her lilac eyes twinkling. “Spoken like a true wizard. So, I guess the real question I ask is, is it only the books you are here to see?”

“Aside from the wonders of fantasy and imagination, you mean? Maybe I could be persuaded to enjoy some kaeth with an old colleague.”

She smiled, softly linking her arm with his, her hand delicately clutching to his forearm. “Kaeth it is.”

---

“Stop being a pillock and keep your head down, will you?”

“Watch the hair!”

Rugan and Astarion hid behind a stack of crates, a small group of undead shambling past their location. They had run north under darkness along the streets, losing both Friol and Darnys in the chaos, their plan of going back to the tower ruined, as the horde had blocked the paths to the west.

Holding a palm across his mouth, Rugan held his breath as best he could, the sounds of his panting muffled from the creatures which hunted them. Sobering up had happened surprisingly fast with the flood of adrenaline to his system, but he wished he had a bottle at his side now to drown out the nerves. Dying in this way had never been part of his plan. Gnolls in caves, Guild or Zhent interference, hells, even by his own hand; those had been the expected methods. Dying to zombies in an alleyway with a vampire a few days before a proposal to a wizard was just insane in his mind.

As the world grew quiet around him, he peered over the wood behind him. “I think they’re gone.” His breath was heavy, a year of the simple life taking its toll on his physique. “Come on, if we can get back on to Warrior’s Way, maybe we can get close to the fort and slip through to the tower before dawn.”

Astarion dusted off his trousers, frustrated at the situation he’d suddenly found himself in. “And head back through those things? Are you mad?” He looked up and down the alley, trying to work out exactly where he was, the brown and red stone of each building giving him no real landmarks to navigate from.

“Clam it. Those things are out there, and I don’t know about you, mate, but I’d rather have a wizard with a fireball or two than follow after Friol and her lackey.”

 “And what if we’re caught? I may be undead, but at least I’m not undead.”

“Look, you coming or not?”

A not-too-distant scream could be heard, signalling to them it was time to move again. Rugan peered out, looking south down the darkened street. Shadows danced from the entrance of a nearby store, the clang of a lute ringing out before being met with the groans of death. Even if they moved quick enough, they’d run straight into the lifeless beings that now roamed most of the Dock Ward. “Fuck,” he whispered to himself, realising his options were limited. “West… Maybe we can get down by the coastline.”

“And do what? Take a swim?”

“Astarion, you’re being a prick right now.”

“Well, excuse me for seeing flaws in your plans.”

The groans grew closer towards the alleyway, the smell of rot and decay spreading quickly through the streets. Rugan lowered his head, the knowledge of no easy way home becoming clearer to him. Sighing, he spoke, “North it is then…”

---

Andora placed the cool compress over the brow of the high priest. For some time, they had been trapped in the small scriptorium; the door barricaded with a bookshelf pushed diagonally across the exit. Moonlight shone through the one available window some feet off the ground, and she tried to imagine a path up to it should the door be broken down. Use the desk, sandals into the stone cracks, pray the window can be opened…pray…

A hacking cough erupted from her superior, one that had grown over the time they’d been trapped. He had no sign of injury upon his body and none of the undead outside the door had got close, yet still he had fallen ill.

“Let me get you some water, father.” She stood from the cold floor and found the jug upon the desk, her eyes glancing over at him as she poured into a small silver cup at its side.

“I fear water will not fix my ailment, my dear,” he sputtered, his hand grasping at the symbol of Ilmater that hung around his neck. “Come, pray with me.”

She approached cautiously. She could not help but notice the sweat that beaded on his skin, the pale complexion under the dim light of the room. An odd smell permeated her senses, a reminder of the gnome she had tried to save: rot and corruption. She knelt by the side of the priest, taking his cool, clammy hand in her own, closing her eyes, prepared for his holy devotion.

“Dearest Ilmater,” he whispered, a faint thud from the door interrupting him. “Your burdens are my own and for that I thank you. For with those burdens, I have found the strength to aid in those less worthy.” With his words, he glanced at Andora, who sat quietly, eyes still closed. “It is now that I beg of your help to save me from the horrors that have been beset upon me. I, who have been so faithful and pure of heart and-” Coughing interrupted his prayer, fluid from his lungs forcefully expelled onto the floor in front of him.

Andora was quick to pull her hand away, rising to her feet with open fear in her large, dark eyes. As she looked at him, she could see the veins in his neck bulging, a purple black trail risen over the pallor, pathways of the disease’s command throughout his body. She wanted to save him, wanted to help him as she had tried to the gnome, but she knew what was happening and she knew how it was going to end. Backing up towards the desk, she wordlessly went over the plan again. Use the desk, sandals into the stone cracks, pray the window can be opened…pray…

The high priest’s body jolted and twitched before her very eyes, a spattering of blood from his lips dripping onto the floor beneath him. She backed up further; the desk hitting behind her legs, but she could not turn and take her eyes from the sight. The hissing of his lungs as his last breaths whistled through cracked lips filled the air, merging with the dull thuds of the door. Her own breath stuck in her throat; her legs frozen to the ground as his own snapped around him, trying to find a footing on the floor as if he were a newborn to the world. His head jerked up, eyes bloodshot and pinned on her presence. Again, she was the prey to the wolf that hunted her, but it was as she realised this that she found the strength to move, turning on her heels and climbing onto the desk. …pray the window can be opened…pray…

---

“And then I told him: Then let us hope I never wake.”

Lissa had sat for some time in the small alcove of the library, listening to Gale unload about the relationship issues he had been struggling with. Kaeth had been passed between them, topics of poetry and the arcane discussed at length, and often they had found each other’s gaze. Neither could deny the chemistry between them, the static that seemed to sit in the air as their fingers met.

She could see the glow of the Weave in her eyes, reflecting her own, hear the magic he commanded simply in the way he spoke. “Sounds like quite the exciting relationship,” she commented, sipping from her mug.

Gale chuckled. “An understatement, my dear. Rugan and I are as if one were to add water to an oil fire. We act and react upon one another. What some may see as exciting, others may see as reckless and dangerous.”

“And which do you see it as?”

He sighed, the light conversation now having become deeper than he had wished. He had only known Lissa for a short while; her joining the academy as a professor, only a recent addition in the last few months. Getting to know her had been easy, though. She was open, positive, and quite the beauty, even he had to admit. Maybe in another life or time, he would have fallen for her. He considered his answer for a while, watching as she drew small circles into the table with her fingertip. “If you had asked me a week ago, I would have responded that it was exciting.”

“But I ask you now.”

“Hm. That you do.”

The flickering of unexpected torchlight from the window was a thankful distraction from the weight of his thoughts, the orange glow quickly growing in the courtyard as more torches lit up the area. With the flames came the sound of voices, commanding bellows from a small group of paladins. “Into the tower! Quickly!” Silver armour and swords reflected the light, glowing beacons of justice marching upon the academy without remorse.

Gale and Lissa rose to their feet, confusion shared between them at the potential attack that was under way. Without hesitation, kaeth abandoned, they ran from the library, neither knowing what they would come to find with the might of Tyr now on their doorstep.

---  

Darnys panted for breath under the lamplight of the store. Under different circumstances, she considered robbing Sorynth’s, but tonight would not be that night as the sounds of spreading fear echoed to the south. “We could have used them, Friol.”

“They’ve had their use. They were a distraction to help us escape.” Friol rubbed at her knee, the dull ache now a pounding reminder of how she’d wished to kill Rugan herself. She caught her breath, leaning on the cool glass of the shopwindow. “Fucking wizards.”

“What do they have to do with anything?”

“It was their magic item that caused this. If Tib’s hadn’t grabbed it, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

All Darnys wanted to do was run, to keep running and get rid of the memories of what had happened at the base out of her head. She watched as those she had once called friends had clung to their stomachs, as their flesh had torn, and they had turned on one another. Mads had tried to get out the protection ward as they rushed him, a single bite to his eye enough to have him on the floor spasming and screaming before he soon clawed his way up the staircase towards her. She was a coward, though, not like him. She had run, and she had kept running, just like her so-called leader. “So, what are you suggesting we do?” Following orders was the one thing keeping her sane right now as her hand clutched to the hilt of her sword at her waist. Can’t think if you’re following orders.

“Same thing you were tasked with doing a day ago. Find me Tibs and find that artefact.”

---

The undead had stumbled from the temple to the Halls of Justice, confusion breaking out as paladins and clerics turned on one another. Though their spells could break through the walking corpses, what was one spell when a single bite was enough to spread the corruption so quickly? Swords met armour, war cries met screams and soon they were changed, mutated soldiers of an army that could only ever increase.

A small party had banded together and escaped the chaos of the temples, their desperation taking them to the academy to seek further aid. Tibs watched, the flesh of his chest now nothing but bone under the amulet, a dark ooze running from an eye socket that held nothing. He no longer thought, no longer felt. He was simply commanded by the magic around his neck, magic that had only one calling. Death.

[pixies-and-poets]

SO!!!! Recently @bowletta sent me an ask about vamp!Phantom taking care of Woodrow while he was sick, and my brain went "yeah but what if Phantom was sick instead, WHAT ABOUT THAT HUH??? How do vampires even get sick?"

And then... this entire story exploded into my head almost instantly. Apparently that ask was just two days ago but it feels like longer because this fic has been clawing at my brain incessantly the whole time. It is BY FAR the longest Phanpire thing I have written and makes me all squishy inside!! These bunnies SO are not done with me yet! I hope you enjoy my Phandrow vampire AU hurt/comfort fic ty ty

One Paw in the Grave

It was the middle of the night, and the poet found himself wandering the castle.

By any measure, its rooms and hallways were oppressive. Dimly lit by torches, if they were lit at all; windows closed by default so that no one would forget to close them and let any sunlight in during the day; barely-visible portraits and suits of armor and tapestries haunting the imagination at the corners of one's eyes. It led to a feeling of claustrophobia- and yet, this was his home now, and there was comfort and familiarity in it.

The poet felt the alternating textures of cold stone and ancient carpet beneath his footpads as he went onwards, with no particular destination in mind. He had written well in the past few hours, and thought he deserved a break. It was still a long time before the dawn, before his Lord would return. Perhaps he would visit the castle's plentiful library, and find a new book for inspiration-

And then a noise peirced him to his core. It was a plaintive howl, from far up above, echoing as if it came from within the castle itself. Even worse: the howl terminated suddenly into a series of sharp yips. Then the howling started again for a few seconds, and then more barking- the distressing cycle began to repeat. Like an alarm.

Just as the writer was recovering from his shock and beginning to move again, a blur passed him. It was one of the castle's servants, a Depleter, traveling somewhere in a hurry. He turned and blinked after the newcomer, only to hear a scrabbling- a Lone Wolf skittered and scrambled past him, going the same direction, down the hallway and dashing up a set of stairs. The howling had not stopped. In terror, but at least able to move, Woodrow pulled his coat close around himself and dashed after them.

"Excuse me," he said with trembling voice as another wolf came up beside him, "what's going-" ...but the canine rabbid had overtaken him and disappeared to join the others without saying a word in response.

Woodrow followed the noise of the howl, and the flow of what seemed like every servant in the castle, up and up, along further hallways and stairwells, until he arrived at what he knew to be the castle's tallest tower. He climbed up the stairs, panting and out of breath - he was never a very energetic creature at the best of times, and especially not lately. Indeed, he seemed to be the last person to arrive on the scene. So frightened was he, that he just now registered that the howling siren had stopped at some point.

As he reached the landing at the top of the stairs, he saw the wooden door that led to the small garret observatory was ajar. A multitude of the castle's residents were inside, crowded around something, whereas even more were on the landing as they could not fit inside. In front of the door, looking angry and out-of-sorts, was a Spooky Buckler whom Woodrow recognized as the captain of Lord Phan's guard.

"What's- going on?" the poet asked again, this time his ragged breath choking out the words. "Has something- happened?"

The Buckler looked at him furiously, the pinpricks of light in his black eyes glowing extra-bright. "Of COURSE something's happened, idiot mortal. Get out of here. You should not be here."

Woodrow's heart leapt into his throat. "W-why?!" he stammered. "What's wrong? Is- where's Tom-"

"Get OUT of here, little prey," snarled the Buckler ferociously. "You will only trouble us."

"No! I want to see him-"

"You shall not," said the guardsman, now closing the door behind him. "It will break you." He slammed the bottom of his shield onto the ground in front of the poet. "Now GO. To your chambers."

----

Woodrow stared down at his paws in the candlelight. He was too riddled with anxiety and terror to care that he had sprinted through the castle and exhausted himself for nothing. He sat now in his room, as he had been ordered.

But for how long had he been here? Twenty minutes, an hour? It was impossible to say. Of course he could not read, or write, or do anything- he had only stared at his paws, or lain in bed and stared at the top of the canopy. He tried to fall asleep, but of course he could not do that either. He had found himself staring at the bloodstains on blankets and pillows, stains that it was as pointless as it was futile to try and remove. Stains of his own blood, to which more were added every single day, at the border between darkness and sun.

Every second seemed eternal. What was going on? What was the emergency? Surely Tom could not be in trouble... that was impossible. He was, after all, himself- the great beast of the night, unchanging and ever wonderful. And yet- vampires WERE vulnerable. Mortals had figured out so many ways to kill them, had pinpointed their weaknesses. What could have happened-

The poet jolted as if electrified, and nearly screamed as the heard the door to his room slam open. Then, when he looked up- he DID scream, and jumped out of his chair.

In the doorway, several Depleters and Ghostly Walkers were supporting a large, ghostly body that was unrecognizably Tom. Only- he was naked, and he was not well. Splotches and speckles of livid red covered his chest, his neck, his arms, and even parts of his face - in some places smooth, others swollen into a welt or rash - they were burns. Half of his fur had been burned away. No blood swirled in his belly, only a gramophone that itself now looked old and tarnished. One of his eyes was swollen shut, and with the other, he looked up weakly. "Tristan..."

The poet dashed over, reaching out a hand to gingerly touch the side of the vampire's face where there appeared to be no injuries. "Oh, Tom!" he cried in anguish. "What- what happened-"

"Get him into the bed," came a gruff voice, and Woodrow saw the captain of the guard again, in the hallway. The ghosts supporting Phantom did so, laying him down in the bed that he and his beloved prey so often shared. They lifted the blankets and covered up his lower half.

"Begone now," said the vampire, weakly but firmly, looking out at his servants. "Prepare the ritual for the next sunset. I shall summon you if I need more attention."

"But my Lord-" the Captain began.

"I shall be FINE," said Tom Phan, and the others all bowed and left, closing the door. No one remained in the room but the vampire and his beloved.

Woodrow had been standing at the bedside in shock, and now clambered onto the bed, sitting up next to the vampire. Tom's eyes were closed, and he was propped up on some pillows. Once his servants were all gone, he let out a tremendous cough, a bit of darkened old blood dribbling from his mouth.

"Oh, Tom," the poet said again, his voice shaken with grief, taking up one of the vampire's large paws in both of his own. "Who did such a thing to you? How could this happen??"

Phantom opened the less-injured eye, and smiled weakly at the poet. "My darling," he said with a quiet laugh. "Surely you must have realized that I have enemies?"

"Well..." said the poet, stroking the velvet softness of the vampire's paw-pad and looking down at the claws that extended above them. "I suppose so, yes. Creatures of darkness usually do. I know you have rivals. I just, I never thought-"

"You never thought anyone could best me, eh?" The vampire smiled wider. "You are as sweet as your blood, mon cœur. If charmingly naive."

"Before you tell me what happened, tell me- will you be alright?"

Tom nodded. "Yes. I am stable for now, and I will recover. But I will not do it on my own. I am not mortal, and I will not heal naturally. There must to be rituals, although it is too late to perform them tonight. Until then, I desired to rest here throughout the day. I am stable for now."

"Rituals?" asked the poet.

"Yes," said the vampire. "And I will need plenty of fresh blood, too- Ah! Stop it!" Woodrow's hand had gone immediately to his own collar, ready to unbutton his coat. "Do not be silly. I need far, far more than you could give. Even at your fullest."

"Still- can I at least help? Please, Tom, let me."

"Mmm..." murmured the vampire. "I do not think it will be nearly enough to matter. Still, I suppose it couldn't hurt, either."

And before the ghost could say more, Woodrow had taken off his coat and thrown it aside, as quick as he had ever done anything in his life, nestling down under the blankets next to his Lord. Slowly, weakly, but eagerly and deliberately, Phantom slid his arm underneath his beloved's neck and lifted him, pulling him close to his side. He closed his eyes and bit into the usual spot, but without the usual panache or passion, and drank and swallowed at a steady pace. Woodrow felt no pain; not today. Only that familiar, curious sensation: as if every vein and artery and cell in his body was being pulled towards the wound as his blood was taken from him. He released a heavy sigh laden with worry and agony and love, and ran his hand through his darling's hair as he tenderly fed.

It was not long this time before Phantom left off, letting go, licking his lips and his fangs. Woodrow got up silently to clean and treat his wound- it was something Tom usually did for him, but he could manage it for himself today. As quick as he could, he returned to sit on the bedside.

"Do tell me you feel at least a little better now," he said, putting his glasses back on, and Phantom nodded, seeming contented indeed.

"Now..." the poet continued. "Will you tell me what happened?"

Lord Phan sighed. His swelling had gone down somewhat, and he looked at his beloved with both of his eyes. "Tristan," he said, "there are worse things out there than other creatures of the night. I have enemies. Mortal enemies who wish me great harm. And the worst of them all are the Brothers."

"The Brothers?" said the writer curiously. "Go on."

"Yes. There are two of them, twins, although everyone thinks of them in terms of the firstborn and the young one. The firstborn, the Red Warrior- he is a vampire hunter. Well, a hunter of vampires and werewolves and all manner of physical beasts. And the secondborn, the Green Mage, is a ghost hunter. Now, do you see? I am their perfect target- a vampire, but also a spirit. With me they can collaborate. I coalesce into being their perfect rival- and oh, how I hate them both."

"Are they Rabbids like us?"

"No. They are humans."

"Humans!" cried Woodrow.

Phantom laughed wryly. "Indeed, I do not blame you for being surprised. They are hardly intimidating creatures, normally. And yet- when they are powerful, they are astonishingly so. Take the Princess of this very kingdom, for example. She wields power that keeps us creatures of the night isolated here on the outskirts - places like Spooky Trails, the Darklands, Forever Forest. But she is busy, and more of a protector than a fighter- and so she sends the despicable Brothers into the places her magic does not touch, to do her dirty work. Still, I am smarter than them- usually."

"I see," said Woodrow quietly. "So you encountered the Brothers tonight?"

"Indeed," Phantom continued. "It was... I was a fool. I thought them above using such dirty tricks. But they lured me into a trap, like a feral and careless animal. I was ambushed." He shook his head, his face contorted with disappointment at himself. "An injured Toad, in a clearing- I could not resist, you know. Pathetic creatures, but their blood tastes like mushrooms- one of the few times I can get a taste of old food, that I remember from centuries past. Mushroom soup! Ha-" another violent cough- "Ah- but 'twas not an injured Toad at all. Merely one in cahoots with the vile Hunters, playing along. As I got ready to attack, he sprang up, gave the call, and out jumped Red and Green, and-" he closed his eyes again for a moment, then opened them, and lifted his arms to stare at the burns and patches of missing fur.

Woodrow did not speak, only stroked a non-injured patch of his shoulder, methodically, repeatedly, lovingly.

"And, well, they attacked me," said the vampire finally. "They had brought everything in their arsenal. Holy water from the springs of Star Road. And they had Power Stars- vile, holy things, each one of them a miniature sun. They used them on themselves, all glowing like the agonizing sunlight, and being in their mere presence was enough to injure me. They hardly needed to lay hands on me at all. I struggled, but they got the best of me, I-"

"Tom," whimpered the poet, tears dripping down from behind his glasses, as he held the vampire's paw to his cheek.

"I shall spare you the gory detail. Just now that- I actually looked far worse than you see me now. I really believe they meant to kill me, tonight. It was all I could do to retreat in the end. I turned into a bat, and with all of my strength flew home, to my tallest tower. The powers of my servants and of the castle itself stabilized me, and restored me somewhat. But I will need further rituals to heal."

"And you will heal?" the poet asked softly.

"Yes. I will be my old self again, in time. Although how much time, I cannot say."

They were quiet for a long time. Woodrow let Tom rest from his long speech, and from reliving those memories. As the vampire closed his eyes, his prey gently stroked his hair, his cheeks, anywhere he could find a spot with no burns.

Then the writer suddenly spoke, after some time. "My Lord," he said, softly but with determination. "These brothers... where can I find them?"

The Phantom opened his eyes, meeting those of his partner, and let out a laugh. "Oh! What shall you do, my lamb, my dove? Do you wish to avenge me? You, gentle artist?"

"I.... I must do something. Perhaps I can spy on them, and make sure they do not repeat such a plan as tonight."

The vampire's smile became tender, and he reached up to touch the other's face. "Very well," he said. "c'est une bonne idée, mon amour. We can speak of such things later, perhaps. They do not know you, and they do not know your relation to me. But for now- you must keep yourself safe and whole. That is the best you can do for me."

"But how can I help you? How can I help you right now, besides giving of my blood?" He swallowed, trying to fight the lump in his throat. "I... I am frightened, Tom. I- I did not know you had such enemies."

The vampire was quiet for a moment. He took his companion's small, delicate paw into his own, and stared at the flickering candle on the bedside table.

"Mon poète," he said. "Have you never considered the power you have? You know a mortal can kill a vampire. It is not even difficult. The hardest part is access."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm taking about you, chéri. You could so easily snap your umbrella in half, and with its broken shaft, pierce my heart. You could go out and procure a bulb of garlic and slip the whole thing into my mouth when I am in my death-rest. There are so many, many ways you could harm me."

"Tom-" Woodrow said, his voice trembling. "I... suppose you are correct, but it has honestly never occurred to me. Why would I ever do such things? Such horrible things? Not even when I first came here did I consider it, and now... to drive a stake through your heart would be to drive a stake through mine own. As you live or perish, so goes my soul. Oh, surely you understand that I love you with every drop of blood in my body, all of which I would gladly give, if it were the only way to save you-"

"Shhh! Calm down, mon cœur!" The vampire squeezed his companion's hand; the poet had grown extremely passionate indeed. "You do not need to explain. I know you would never do such things. And therein lies the beauty. You are not my thrall; your loyalty to me is of your own will. And yet... I trust you, as I have never trusted a mortal creature of the daylight, in all my years of undeath. At first when I brought you here, I had fearful day-dreams of your betrayal... but I soon saw that I could share your bed, that I could pass into torpor by your side, and that you would not harm me. My sweet dove of the dawn... I can assure you that I love you, as you love me."

Woodrow felt himself melt; in an almost involuntary movement, he was under the blankets again, nestling into his beloved's body, ever so tenderly, careful of the welts and rashes, his eyes closed, his glasses off, his face buried in the crook of his neck.

...It took him a moment to realize.

"But Tom," he said softly. "You never answered my question. How can I help you now?"

"By being with me," was the answer. "Because, when you have existed for as long as I... in darkness and cold and an endless cycle of hunger... well, sometimes when faced with the prospect of your own annihilation, you want to take it. Well, what would be so bad about letting their holy light burn me away to nothing? Finally, rest..."

Tom felt the warmth of tears on his neck as Woodrow reacted to the thought. But he continued: "And yet, I refused to take that rest. Because I wanted to get home. I needed to make it home. I have a reason to exist. To get home and hear the poems you wrote tonight. To get home and see your face."

"Oh, my Lord-"

"Shh. None of this My Lord, anymore." The vampire nuzzled into his beloved's head, his chin on his wispy hair, and spoke softly into his ear. "You are my partner, the sustainer of both my body and soul. You may not be vampire, but you shall be Lord in this castle just as much as myself. I declare it. I heard my Captain refusing to let you see me, although I was too weak to argue at the time. But I wanted nothing more than to see you, to touch your face, for I thought I might still perish in that moment. From now on, none in this place shall refuse your desires. I am yours, and you are mine, and we are Lord Tom Phan and Lord Tristan Woodrow. ...Now, doesn't that sound nice?"

"Dearest Tom! Why, it's almost like a fairy tale... the strangest and most macabre one to still have a happy ending." He pulled away and looked the other in the eyes. "...Is this a proposal? Are we getting married?"

Tom laughed again, weak but jolly, his large body shaking under the blankets. "I do not think there is such need for the rituals of the living," he said. "I have enough rituals to worry about at the moment. ...But when I am recovered, we can discuss it." He smiled. "Now... I do believe the sun must be coming up, for I feel myself sink ever more into exhaustion. Will you read me your new poems, while I fall into my rest?"

"Of course, my dear," said the writer. "I do not need to retrieve my notes, for they are still fresh in my head."

And so while the injured vampire closed his eyes, his fellow-Lord purred verses into his ears, words that only the two of them would ever know. The vampire's powers kept the poet safe from his own misfortune - and though he be but mortal, and weak, he would do anything to protect his darling in turn.

[physalian]

Can I complain about modern fantasy book titles and covers for a second?

I don’t like these books anyway. Why doesn’t matter, they have their audience and I’m not part of it. But eight whole books, and I read seven of them (not Assassin’s Blade) a few years ago now, and I could not tell you in what order they should be read if someone handed me a blind pile, or even what cover belongs to each book because they’re so painfully generic (and missing numbers on their spines).

Nor could I tell by the titles which are also painfully generic. Yeah they read like fantasy titles but there’s nothing distinct about them, they’re just fantasy buzzwords and they’re so vague that even Tower of Dawn leaves me vaguely recalling that kingdom with the giant birds, I think? Heir of Fire might be the romantic side quest that lasts an entire book, but that’s based more on my memory of the order of events than the title or cover would suggest.

Blank of X and Y she used for ACOTAR (which I did not read and know nothing about so I skipped them) is just so boring to me if the Mad Lib is nothing special. “Heir of Fire” could be a Game of Thrones fanfic for how unique and evocative the title is. A Court of Thorns and Roses literally stole the cadence of A Song of Ice and Fire but guess what?? Those aren't just nonsense words. Ice and Fire and how they're related are hugely thematic and relavent elements in those books. "Thorns and Roses" just ripped off a Poison song.

I assume these were the original covers since they’re not so manicured and actually have character. The titles are the same but the colors are so much bolder and the imagery isn’t a greyscale girl for 7 out of 8 titles. They’re distinct and memorable and while they’re still not evocative of the actual story, if I was a bigger fan of the books I’d probably have stronger associations. They do try. I have fuzzy memories coming back of EOS having the cool pirate with the map hands, KOA being the climactic battle book, QOS... might be the boring side quest with the dragons. This does not look like assembly line popcorn fantasy. This looks like it has heart, and an air of mystery. They draw you in and have you asking questions, they have you wanting to know more.

These books are, in my opinion, superior in many ways to anything SJM has written, but the covers? The exact same problem on steroids. And I only read four of them, there’s six total apparently. King’s Cage is the best title of the bunch. I know immediately from the title “that’s the one where the protagonist spent the whole book as a political prisoner in, you know, the king’s cage”.

But the covers, though they all share the same aesthetic and would look pretty on the book shelf, are absolutely devoid of any and all context within the book, save King's Cage. They’re all feminine crowns and tiaras, too. They could have at least given a man’s crown or at least something with harsher angles and thicker lines to evoke, idk, maybe the titular character the third book is about? It helps that the series (at one point) was only four books so it was less titles and ambiguous covers to juggle, but now there’s six so I guess that’s out the window.

Pretty, but purely window dressing. The best thing they have going for them is how distinctly minimalist they are that sets them apart from other fantasy.

I have incredibly mixed feelings about these books but the colors. Very much carrying on the PJO tradition of titles that actually fit the books and art to go along with it. There’s so much drama and movement to each one and they are, once again, scenes from each book, so many little details to look at. Festus was a huge part of TLH, then Percy's back in action, front and center in SON, then... uh, MOA... then Percy and Annabeth looking scared shitless in HOH and then... uh, BOO. Exists.

They all draw you in and I very much remember the cover drop for House of Hades and losing my mind over it. Much more face-focused than the reserved originals, much bolder, but still, mostly, Percy Jackson.

I looked this up on google images and couldn’t even read the titles there tiny at the bottom. The exact same color scheme for every single book. This is for the box set, I know that, so the spines all make one image when you line them up, but the spine doesn’t have to be the same image as the front cover.

That said, the cover images are still distinct and still hold true to the originals—showing actual elements from the books, like Blackjack and Polyphemus and the Labyrinth. Updated but a bit too sleek for my tastes (maybe that’s just nostalgia talking). The titles though, love the titles. At least they kept the series number on the covers (unlike TOG or RQ).

Now this. This here. These have everything. Bold, distinct colors on the spines, beautiful unique and very fantastical art, art that actually pertains to the book it’s about with an air of mystery every single time. You want to ask why there’s a kid floating in Long Island Sound, who that giant eye belongs to, who has that pegasus so frightened, what’s in the golden coffin, and… well the last one is just noire and I like it.

The titles, though. The. Titles. “Sea of Monsters” cannot in any way match up with the plot of the rest of the series. These covers are perfection.

Now I did not read these books, just saw the movies. These covers are dated, but there still wonderfully, charmingly whimsical, for an entire series about wizards and witches. The colors are distinct, the font choices reflect the vibes of each book, the art depicts the stories within the pages—Harry joining the Quidditch team, Fawkes coming to the rescue, Buckbeak, the mermaid egg thing and the other competitors in the Tri-Wizard Tournament, the (I think?) prophecy room/Ministry of Magic, the Remembrall (I think??), and, you know, the last one is cool too. The style of the drawings are rather unique to Harry Potter. Harry also visibly ages across each one.

The titles themselves, like PJO (while predating PJO so setting the trend I’m aware) cannot be separated from their books. Order of the Phoenix? That’s the book about the Order of the Phoenix. Deathly Hallows is about, shocker, the Deathly Hallows.

Putting Twilight here at the bottom. I like these despite them being minimalist because, unlike every other cover on this list, they’re minimalist fantasy. Barely urban fantasy. The red and white motifs are evocative of the romance genre and vampire fiction and at least the covers of Twilight and Breaking Dawn do reference scenes in their books, with Edward catching the apple in the cafeteria and them playing chess on their honeymoon.

They also speak to a more adult, mature audience with the sleeker look. These are romance novels with vampires, *not* fantasy novels with romance. You see any of those covers among other adult romance in a bookstore and they’re going to catch your eye. The titles… eh. Not so much. Nothing to do with the story they just sounded pretty and evocative but this is romance, not fantasy, they’re supposed to be sensual and evocative and “Bella Swan and The Broody Vampire Boy” would not at all fit that vibe.

—

It’s not like these modern fantasy novels are devoid of creative terminology. I don’t like SJM at all but her books did have some really creative and wonderful moments in isolation. It’s like the publishers were afraid to be authentic and sincerely fantastical, so they went with something safe and clean and uninspired both in title and in art.

“Throne of Glass” means nothing to me and could be applicable to like, four of the books in that series. If I squint I can see it as a metaphor for the fragile state of the ruling house but there is quite literally glass everywhere so maybe it’s just one cool element—that should have then been on the cover—but like, the whole book is about the Assassin’s trial, right? So call it The Assassin’s Trial or Tournament of Assassins. You know. The plot of the book, not just one random ass element in the background.

Be authentically fantastical, or don't write fantasy.

[charlewiss]

loved by you / daniel ricciardo

masterlist

summary: first rule in y/n's book: don't fall in love with your brother's best friend, daniel. what do you do when the inevitable happens?

word count: 784 words.

you weren't planning to fall for daniel ricciardo. in fact, you had avoided it since you can remember. him, being your brother's best friend, was there since you could remember. at birthdays, anniversaries, even on holidays like christmas and new year's. it was almost impossible to get away from him, but you had done it successfully.

at least until last new year's party. after a couple of drinks, dancing and getting sweaty on a random club in monaco, your brother, who had invited you, was nowhere to be seen. so, in a moment of clarity, you decided it was time to go home.

'hey, are you alone?' daniel appeared out of nowhere, wrapping his hand on your wrist, just when you were about to get out of there. without intending to, he drawed you into him, causing you two to clash in the middle. 'oh, sorry about it' you said, trying to put some distance between your bodies, as to remember the rule you had set all those years ago to yourself: don't get too close with daniel ricciardo.

getting more sober because of the realization, you continued to explain 'yeah, michael disappeared a while ago so I decided it was best to go home' you checked your phone, showing him the time. 'it's kinda late already'

'i will go with you' he sentenced, and interlaced your fingers together, now taking the initiative and getting you two out of the packed club. at the sudden drop in the temperature, you shivered and daniel noticed instantly, taking his hoodie off to give it to you. 'here, it's too cold for you'.

you two made it back to the hotel were you both were staying. but too stupid to notice or too drunk to care, one thing led to another and now daniel and you were kissing in his room, bodies pressed against eachother and messily walking to the bed. when you two separated to breathe some needed air, it was like something clicked on daniel's head. you were about to push him into the bed when he stopped you.

'i really want to be with you, but you're michael's sister' he said, realization now dawning on his face. 'you didn't seem to care when you were all over me two seconds ago, dan' you said annoyed. 'what's the real problem?'

after a few seconds, he spoke, now fiddling with his fingers and with his eyes glued to the carpet below him. 'if this goes sideways, I don't want to lose you. or him' the curly haired boy whispered. you scoffed. 'you won't. why are you so scared? your job is 100% times more scary and you do it without a second thought' you said, sitting on the bed to put your heels back and preparing to leave the room, thinking that he didn't want anything to do with you.

'i've been doing it my while life. i don't care about the consequences it could bring. but I don't want you to go through it' he said, not finally looking at you. 'and you think that pushing me away will help? you think that if something happened to you now, I wouldn't care?' getting up from the bed and making your way to the bathroom where you checked your hair and makeup to ensure that you didn't look too messed up. 'at least I won't break your heart' you heard daniel said softly, still sitting on the bed.

'how are you so sure you'll break my heart? is this supposed to be a fucking game to you?' you almost screamed, getting out of the bathroom and going to confront him. he got up from the bed quickly and towered over you. 'stop talking bullshit, y/n. i don't deserve it'. you half laughed again, now grabbing your purse that was laying on the floor and making your way to the door. 'oh, i'm sorry sir, you don't deserve what? being faced with your stupidity? you could use some self reflection sometimes'

what you didn't know was just how much he wanted this too. he wanted to be the one you thought about before going to sleep and the firs thought when you wake up. he wanted to be the one to make you laugh. but he also knew the trouble it would cause you to be that close to him. the amount of press, the hate, the distance that would inevitably broke you two apart. he didn't know if what he had to offer would be worth it at the end. he knew you deserved the world, he just didn't know if he could give it to you.

'no, I don't deserve being loved by you'.

[rohanneofcoldmoat]

I've been thinking about Tyrion and his connections to the next Battle for the Dawn/Second Long Night, and there's just so much there. Tyrion effectively begins his story by heading to the Wall, it's his stated intention to do so in his first chapter. When he arrives there he befriends key players Jon Snow and Jeor Mormont and has firsthand experience with the primal, supernatural fear generated by the Others and the dangers lurking beyond the Wall.

As he stood there and looked at all that darkness with no fires burning anywhere, with the wind blowing and the cold like a spear in his guts, Tyrion Lannister felt as though he could almost believe the talk of the Others, the enemy in the night. His jokes of grumkins and snarks no longer seemed quite so droll.

Jeor later says that House Lannister has never been a friend to the Night's Watch, but Tyrion's experience there in AGOT results in him breaking that mold a bit. The issue of the Wall is raised again when Tyrion is acting hand, and while he maintains a level of distance and disinterest to protect his image, he does offer them help. Throughout the book, he consistently sends the Watch men, usually as a punitive alternative to executing them, from Janos Slynt to the various dungeon occupants he sends with Alliser Thorne to the men who planned on helping the Redwyne twins escape Kingslanding. And in the instance where Thorne demands an audience and calls Tyrion a fool for brushing him off, Tyrion is once again reminded of that feeling of doom and danger he felt while looking out at the lands beyond the wall.

Tyrion remembered a cold night under the stars when he'd stood beside the boy Jon Snow and a great white wolf atop the Wall at the end of the world, gazing out at the trackless dark beyond. He had felt—what?—something, to be sure, a dread that had cut like that frigid northern wind. A wolf had howled off in the night, and the sound had sent a shiver through him.

And the issues of the Wall and the dangers lurking beyond it are raised again, when Tyrion's power and influence are considerably reduced as Master of Coin. He advocates for the Gold Cloaks who deserted their post during the Blackwater to be sent to the watch rather than crippled and left to beg in the city. Tyrion also tries, insistently but unsuccessfully, to convince his father that Janos Slynt is the wrong man for the job of Lord Commander. Clearly, there's a level of personal grievance there, as Tyrion sent Slynt to the Wall to get rid of him. However, the scene is couched with Tyrion expressing genuine concern and regret that Jeor Mormont may be dead, and as a result there's a sense that Tyrion is genuinely advocating for what he believes to be the best interests of the Watch.

Tyrion liked that notion not at all. "The black brothers choose their own commander," he reminded them. "Lord Slynt is new to the Wall. I know, I sent him there. Why should they pick him over a dozen more senior men?" --- Tyrion hitched forward. "Janos Slynt is the wrong man, Father. We'd do better with the commander of the Shadow Tower. Or Eastwatch-by-the-Sea." --- Tyrion's anger flashed. "Lord Janos is a hollow suit of armor who will sell himself to the highest bidder."

So Tyrion has been something of a "friend to the Watch" consistently throughout the series, and it's almost certain he's going to meet up with/became an advisor to Dany. If he continues his efforts advocating on behalf of the Night's Watch in that role, I think he'll find a much more receptive ear.

That night she dreamt that she was Rhaegar, riding to the Trident. But she was mounted on a dragon, not a horse. When she saw the Usurper's rebel host across the river they were armored all in ice, but she bathed them in dragonfire and they melted away like dew and turned the Trident into a torrent.

[prose-for-hire]

Headcanons for spending the Christmas period with the Scoobies:

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! ❄️

A/N: I think most main characters are mentioned, so there should be a little something for everyone (You seem to get on with everyone, you’re welcome).

She’s a long one, so it’s below the cut.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption and food mention. Also a bunch of super cheesy holiday cheer (yay). 

- Giles is, naturally hosted the big meal

- Nobody had any plans that year and so he just said that his door was open if anybody wanted to come

- But he had enough food planned out for the entire Hellmouth by then

- Xander was the first to agree, Christmas around his place was not what you would call festive

- Xander had taken to insisting you and the others did Christmas activities leading up to Christmas, you couldn’t tell if this was because he wanted to stay clear of his parents or not

- Either way, you always agreed. That night it was baking and assembling gingerbread houses

- His collapsed about twenty times before he gave in

- While you were fixing his and your own, he decided to convince you all to come on Christmas Day

- Willow reminded the room once again that she was Jewish and wouldn’t be celebrating Christmas

- But when Xander decided that it was less a celebration of Christmas and more a way to warm up your holiday blues together, she agreed

- So did you, Buffy and Dawn

- (It was a rare holiday season that had lined up where you were all single and without your family around)

- After finishing the gingerbread houses Buffy called Giles in to get him to judge the best gingerbread house

- When he stopped in front of the leaning tower of gingerbread that had been Xander’s effort everyone’s jaw dropped

- Xander cheered and gloated his way around the room, conveniently forgetting that it was technically your win

- You had done all the hard work after all

- Dawn sulked in the corner for the rest of the evening after not winning the contest

- Later that month, as Giles was still planning what had turned into a five-course meal at this point, you had been surprised by a visit from Angel

- He was surprisingly big on Christmas and had brought Christmas presents early, muttering something about an LA apocalypse between then and the big day

- He was annoyingly good at gift-giving, he’s more of a listener than a talker

- So you knew you had to get him something equally as good

- You had to race to the store that evening, having not even started your gift shopping yet

- You had Tara and Anya with you, bribing them into coming by buying them something at the Espresso Pump

- You had to get gifts for Angel and his team, you knew Cordy the best and you really missed her (and her high standards) so you needed to pick something very good for them

- The crowds were hard to manoeuvre through and Anya kept elbowing people off the sidewalk that wondered into her path

- It was why you had invited her, she was like a battering ram in these kinds of situations

- She also always had a knack for haggling

- You had found some dusty antique books for Angel and she managed to get the price right down for you

- (but she also warned that if you bought her anything discounted for Christmas you would be sorry)

- By the time you were done it was late and you still needed to wrap your presents

- You grin, having an idea

- You called up your friends, inviting them over to your apartment

- For a ‘gift wrapping party’

- Aka a Trick-your-friends-into-helping-you-wrap-presents-party

- Xander brought alcohol and some gifts for Angel’s team he clearly swiped from a gas station on his way to your place

- Willow had already wrapped hers (cos she loved giving gifts, not because she wanted to be involved Christmas) and she had helped with Buffy’s too 

- but they both came for the party element

- (and… to help you obviously)

- Tara and Anya were already with you, seemingly in high spirits despite the three of you having to fight your way out of the mall

- You cranked the Christmas music up and everyone got their preferred drinks, some danced while the rest of you wrapped up your presents

- You had even bought Oz a little gift, knowing that Angel would no doubt see him in LA when he was touring

- You had always been close with Oz and you knew that although he wasn’t big on Christmas, you wanted him to know that you thought about him

- Angel ended up crashing, literally having heard your music from across town

- He was a bit hurt that you hadn’t invited him but once you explained why, you swear he smiled at you

- Maybe just for a split second

- But that was a Christmas miracle in itself

- You hugged him and loaded him up with presents for him and his team

- He was really grateful and you all partied through the night

- Angel seemed to relax and so did everyone else

- There were drinking games and a lot of bad singing to Christmas hits

- After recovering from your party and saying bye to Angel (and wishing him good luck for his apocalypse) you all piled round to Giles’ place

- You promised that you would help decorate

-You and Buffy were in charge of the tree

- While Anya, Tara and Xander were hanging paper chains

- (with anya and Xander fighting over the placement)

- Willow had joined Giles in the kitchen, watching the cookies that they had made

- Willow and Tara had been very close at your party the night before

- You decided you needed to do a bit of match-making

- You asked Giles to help you reach the top of the tree, getting him out of the kitchen

- When Buffy saw what you were doing, she instantly understood and winked at you

- Buffy went over to Tara, under the pretence of saving her from being stuck in the middle of another argument with Xander and Anya

- The witch went into the kitchen, unaware that it had been perfectly orchestrated by you and Buffy

- When you heard laughter coming from the kitchen your heart leapt

- You could only hope they were going to be together again

- By the time you were done, the house looked amazing

- Giles thanked you all with festive drinks and freshly baked cookies

- Everyone kept asking you what you wanted for Christmas, you were apparently notoriously hard to buy for

- They all groaned when you told them your only wish was for snow

- Some days, you were such a cliché

- By Christmas Eve, you had all of your presents wrapped and ready to take to Giles’ for the next day

- You had made a short trip to the hospital to visit Faith, none of you had been on the best terms when she was last conscious

- But you wanted her to know that she had someone thinking about her at this time of year

- You knew how lonely she had always been

- You left a Christmas card on her bedside table and replaced the grapes with ones you had freshly bought

- You squeezed her hand and told her she was invited to Christmas dinner the next day if she could hear you

- You ran more errands through the day, it was your favourite time of year so you didn’t mind one bit

- Most of it was ingredients for the ever-growing menu Giles had been

- He had a lot of spare time on his hands and he wanted to make it a good festive celebration for everyone

- You were laden with loads of bags, weaving through gravestones

- It was at this point you realised if any demon came your way you would be a great target

- You would not let go of the bags if your life depended on it, so a vampire could very easily overpower you

- Luckily though, nobody had stopped you

- Perhaps even demons had a little bit of Christmas spirit

- (Or, maybe, they had better things to do)

- You knocked twice on the door of the crypt before you entered

-  Spike squinted at you before muttering something to the tombstone next to him

-Harmony removed the lid and popped out to greet you

- You weren’t necessarily close with them, but they liked that you weren’t threatening their lives every time you saw them

- So, they let you off on a lot of things that they wouldn’t with anyone else

- Namely, they let you live despite often walking into the crypt they were living out of uninvited

- “Oh, I’m glad you’re here Harm!” you found yourself saying, much to the room’s surprise (mostly your own)

- You reached into your bag

- (that was much more akin to Santa’s sack by now)

- You handed her a wrapped present, it was a unicorn figurine

- She ripped into it and squealed with excitement

- “Spikey, look! Look! Aw, how cute! I can restart my collection after my horrible minions destroyed the others”

- She pulled you into a bone-crushing hug, whispering ‘oopsie’ when you made a noise that told her she was suffocating you

- “Don’t encourage her, pet, she’s already sending me round the bend about the bloody trinkets” He groaned as Harmony released you

- You were building yourself up to say something to Spike but you weren’t sure how to go about it

- You clutched the (gift wrapped) bottle of spirits in your hand, took a deep breath and tried your best

- “Spike, It’s Christmas and because at Christmas, you tell the truth… I wanted you to know that it wouldn’t be the same if you didn’t come to Giles for Christmas Dinner”

- Spike wasn’t convinced.

-He insisted it was a stupid idea, but he did snatch the liquor-shaped gift you bought him to try and convince him to come

- Honestly, as annoying as he could be, it just wouldn’t be the same without him at the meal

- It was a time to have good-will to all men (…women, people, demons and even vampires)

- So you wanted him to know he was invited

- He nodded at your gift and then gestured towards the black stocking hanging against the corner of one of the nicer tombstones in his crypt

- “Lucky dip” He said, a sparkle in his eye that meant only one thing

- It was some kind of trick

- You shuffled over there anyway, knowing that if you didn’t Harmony could probably bite you from where she was stood

- Having a chunk bitten out of you wouldn’t be the best Christmas present

- You reached in, frowning as you felt around inside the sock

- You retrieved your ‘present’, frowning at the object in your hands

- It was a single, unwrapped lump of coal

- “Uh, thanks… Spike. See you at Giles’ tomorrow”

- It was that or an tangerine, so you had lucked out really

- By Christmas morning, you were super excited

- You had always loved this time of year and you were so grateful to your little Scooby family

- You dressed quickly and made your way to Giles’, catching Dawn and Buffy on their way too

- Dawn hugged you and listed all the cool things that she had received from Buffy and her Mom

- (Joyce was on a trip for the holidays, healthy and promising to make it up to her girls in the new year)

- She liked talking to you because you never appeared to just be humouring her, you seemed genuinely enthusiastic about her new gifts

- Buffy mouthed ‘thank you’ to you and linked her arm with you

- You had never seen her so carefree and you were so glad that there had been no evil plots this Christmas

- When you arrived, Giles was busy in the kitchen but he did greet you over the sound of an electric mixer

- Willow and Tara arrived soon after, holding hands which made you smile

- Xander and Anya had even managed to keep the arguing to a minimum when they sat on the sofa in front of you

- It was so cosy and warm in Giles’ living room

- There was a fire, helped along by the coal you had sourced from Spike

- The tree looked beautiful in the corner and everyone was in a good mood

- You couldn’t remember a time when you and your friends had been so happy

- You laid the table as Xander found something festive on the tv

- Willow and Tara had brought dessert and were discussing the recipe with Anya who was looking into trying human hobbies in the new year

- She was apparently going to start with baking

- You all tucked into the meal, it was so much food but the best you had ever tasted

- Giles had covered every single food group

- After you couldn’t possibly eat any more of Giles’ food, you pulled Christmas crackers that Giles had brought

- You all groaned at the terrible jokes and fought over the colour of the little hats

- It was late afternoon when Spike took you all by surprise and entered the house, slamming the door behind him

- He grunted a greeting and went straight into piling a plate high with food

- You and Xander had to hold Buffy back more than once

- And Tara hid all the sharp wooden objects from the immediate area

- Giles gave you a withering look when he figured out who invited the vampire

- You apologised but convinced him that it was Christmas... which was your excuse for everything at this time of year

- It was lucky they were all so fond of you

- When you asked about why Harmony hadn’t come, Spike snorted almost shooting mashed potato through his nose

- He was on his third plate and it appeared to have a blood-gravy poured over the top which you tried not to think about too much

- “Didn’t want to come. ‘Fraid her archnemesis over there was setting a trap to ‘kill ‘er to death’” He gestured to Buffy who shrugged

- She was still 50/50 on whether or not to stake Spike, stating it would be giving the world a Christmas present

- But after a quick look from you, she rolled her eyes and ripped a turkey leg from the centre of the table

- Later on, you all played party games

- You paired with Giles, hoping that he would let you coast through the trivia questions

- Buffy and Xander were a team

- And Anya had to join with Willow and Tara (who were much more interested in each other than the game – which irritated a very competitive Anya)

- Dawn and Spike joined forces and managed beat you all

- Ending in you all accusing them of cheating

- Although none of you could figure out how they did it

- The argument settled down eventually and you swapped presents

- You all had a lot of fun that year and promised that this would be a new tradition

- Except Spike, who claimed that he would eat you all given half the chance

- You ignored this and focused on all the positive things

- Everyone loved your gifts

- And you got some great things, your friends knew you really well

- But your favourite gift came from Tara and Willow

- They led you outside, whispering under their breath

- You frowned for a moment until you saw it

- The first flakes of snow started to fall around you

- You couldn’t believe it, it never snowed in Sunnydale

- Everyone raced outside, making snowmen and snow angels

- You even had a massive snowball fight, where Spike sulked and went home when he realised he couldn’t even throw snow at you all without getting a headache

- You played in the snow until it the magic started to wear off

-You all went back in and warmed up, watching films together wrapped in blankets until late

- You couldn’t stop yourself grinning as you leaned against one of your friends

- It was the best Christmas you could remember

[mentallyinwalmart]

TOG TANDEM READ RANT (spoiler free! My recommendation for first time readers)

There are two major issues with the EOS/TOD tandem read ESPECIALLY the way everyone is pitching it to first time readers. I originally read the series in order, and did the tandem read on my reread. My opinions/two major critiques are as follows:

1. TOD is not a completely terrible book like some people pretend, it is interesting, and stands just fine on its own. EOS however is the best paced and one of if not the most exciting and thrilling books in the series. While swapping between the two stories can improve some of the more tedious or frustrating parts of TOD, so much more of the magic of EOS is lost when you constantly jump back and forth from the incredibly well written book that Empire of Storms is. Tower of Dawn doesn’t suck badly enough to warrant chopping up one of SJM’s best books across the board, and objectively lowering the quality of the cohesion of the writing/story progression.

2. they were literally released in this order on purpose, if you’ve read the series already you should know why it’s so important that the length of time between EOS and KOA is and feels so fucking long and that certain characters fates are ALWAYS on your mind… SJM emphasizes that and effectively ups the stakes by choosing to write the penultimate book from the POVs/geographical locations she does, so far removed from our typical POV protagonists

If you want to tandem read, that’s fine go ahead! If you want to skip TOD completely, slay, that’s what my sister did and frankly idgaf! But the whole “tandem read is the BEST way to do it” trend I’ve been seeing was making me angy :)

[viridianphile]

The Tale of Two Insufferables

Hermione felt alone in this world. And it just dawned upon her. That no matter how she excels in class, show her worth in the wizarding world, all the wizards and witches in hogwarts are still gonna call her an insufferable know-it-all swot.

But who cares? And so what? She’s got the library for company, and her books. Merlin, how could she feel alone? When she could just bask in the glory of escaping in the world of fiction?

Not even her friends, her best friends could fill in that sickening gap within her heart she never knew what it was and what’s the cure for it. But seriously, what the fuck was that? Even she couldn’t decipher the feeling. Maybe she just felt all alone, in this world. Worthless, she felt.

Whatever, she thought and indulged herself in reading alone in the Hogwarts library.

“Well would you look at that, the swot is alone”

A mocking sneer coming from another insufferable and undesirable wizard in the history of Hogwarts. At least for her, though.

“Malfoy,” she warns.

Unauthorized, he sat beside her. Legs swinging haughtily and manspreading following the subtle lift of his hips.

“Hey”

He greeted like it was all fine invading her personal space, sitting beside her uninvited whilst being enemies-sometimes-acquaintance is completely normal instead of clawing at each other’s throats.

She threw him a sharp look that made him remember too much of the time she punched him in the face. It made him chuckle for such a fond memory.

“What are you doing?” she motions towards his whole corporeal existence that doesn’t seem to read the room.

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. Right, what is he doing there? Why? Why sit next to Granger? It seemed a pull gravitated him towards that very spot next to her. Or maybe he’s in the mood to piss her of. Maybe both, or none of it at all.

“Honestly Granger, I have no fucking clue”

“You have ten seconds to vacate the seat before I—“

“Alright” and then he stood, plopped next to the seat he left like a child throwing a silent tantrum. His arms crossed, looking everywhere but her.

“Do you have a death wish, Malfoy?” a threatening tone, she gave him a quizzical look when he just sat there not too much of a change as it’s just a seat apart.

Malfoy’s in a silly goofy mood today, Hermione thought.

“I wish that swots realize that library seats are free real estate”

“Really? A muggle phrase? Since when did you become fond of them huh?”

“Since…you”

Hermione blinked.

Malfoy blinked.

Both of them, two, three, four times, a deafening silence stretching between them. Hermione furrows a brow and Malfoy clears his throat, completely ignoring the awkward retort he just dropped.

“Is that Jane Austen?”

And now he’s mentioning Muggle authors? The boy sitting one seat apart from her must be an impostor, a dupe!

“You’re mad Malfoy, and please, it’s Oscar Wilde, where did you learn that from?”

He smirks, smugly running a hand through his blond locks. He forgot to gel it today, she told her once he looked better without it.

“Oh well besides having a massive library at home, I happen to purchase a muggle bookshop. Named it, ‘Books and Crooks’”

“My cat?”

“Yes, your cat”

Theo appears out of nowhere, followed by Malfoy’s slytherin gang, “OH FOR SALAZAR’S SAKE DRACO GET TO THE FUCKING POINT!”

The Slytherin boy shouts across the room, earning a couple hisses and annoyed expressions from the students sitting dispersed around the expanse of the Hogwarts library.

Malfoy gave them a warning look before turning his attention on her, he stood following another run through his hair and straightening his tie.

“Oh Granger, there’s something I have to tell you—er, rather show you…” Draco buckles, cursing himself inwardly. It’s so uncool of him, a trait he didn’t know he possesses for he was a self-proclaimed epitome of coolness.

Hermione waits, a puzzled look on her face. What’s this ferret up to?

She remained seated while towering her, looking nervous. He pulls out his wand and flicks, suddenly the tower of books around her all flew to his command, their spines flapping and fluttering around her head forming a halo.

Hermione stands, gasping in awe of the sight. The book she was reading falls down into her hands and the pages fluttered, slowing down for her to notice the enchanted words dancing and highlighted in bold.

She read..

‘Dearest swot,

Please don’t push me away. You don’t have to be alone in this world.

And surprise…

I’m afraid you’ve bewitched me, body and soul. (Quote by Jane Austen)

P.S.

Can I be your date for the Yule ball?

Let’s be insufferable together,

D.Malfoy

She finished reading and the books fell out neatly to where they’re stacked. A few beats of silence followed, Hermione processing the whole situation.

Malfoy steels himself, the whole charade was unplanned. He didn’t think of a better confessional letter, he didn’t mean to make things turn out like this. It’s all supposed to be eloquent, chivalrous, and poised. He had a script in mind of which his hazy brain forgot—oh, if only he got a brain like Granger.

Granger, oh, Granger. Wherefore art thou Granger?

Lost in thought, the overthinking blonde thought he should be swallowed by the ground by now. He didn’t realize that Hermione was staring at his face, a blush on her cheeks that equally matched his.

“So..uh…what do you think about the book?” he steps closer, his beating heart pounding hard on his chest it almost hurt. Please… he pleads in his head, fighting the urge to take her hand in his, kiss it then let his lips linger.

Hermione swallows, her pulsing heart racing as he takes a slow step forward. She couldn’t fathom how a minute ago she was skulking about her affection deprived life, the next second this blonde twat which was supposed to be her enemy confessed in the most unique and interesting ways like he didn’t think it wouldn’t make her heart beat the same match as his.

“Well the book was clever, I admit”

Malfoy takes another step, this time a few inches separating the two insufferables. Theo wipes an impatient hand through his face, his gang and him entirely immersed, anticipating the moment meanwhile snooping from afar.

“Yeah? Tell me more about it”

A nervous smile but with ardent will and determination, Malfoy briefly reaches the end curl of her riotous brown hair , twirling it lightly with his fingertips. As if he couldn’t help but at least feel a bit of her..

“I think we’re both perfectly matched insufferables”

“And yes, Malfoy. I can be your date for the Yule ball” she added.

Hermione’s heart flutters once more before the whole library erupts in cheers.

“FUCKING FINALLY” Theo, a tired but definitely pleased wingman shouts in enthusiasm.

“The abomination you’ve created Granger, applause, applause. Draco’s going to gush about you like a giggling school girl in the dorms,” Pansy smirks, earning Theo’s approval, a panic but blushing Draco, and a happy and contented Hermione.

End.

A/n: honestly, word vomit. I’m stressed and I just need a dose of dopamine that is dramione. Cheers.

[lainalit]

hey, about your sjm's abelism against lucien, i'd just like to say i 100% agree!! i'd like to point at other abelist things in sjm's writing and i apologize in advance bc this might be long.

as a disabled person, yeah sjm is pretty fuckin abelist, unintentional or not. tower of dawn's disability storyline starts out as ehh to downright awful as it employs the abelist fantasy trope of *~magical healing*~. although chaol comes to accept disability and others who are disabled by the end (which is good!), he gets fully healed :/ also yrene's treatment of him in the beginning was atrocious. telling him to stand up even though he couldn't?? it read like an abusive medical care worker

on acotar-related things, i disliked how feyre's father is depicted as useless until his death, where he "finally does something" buuut it ends with him dying. if someone is ill enough that they cannot do anything, calling them useless and then killing them when they save the day gives me the ICK.

finally, the way nesta's mental health was handled was abelist (same could be said with feyre and tamlin in their own ways) sjm cannot depict PTSD/trauma consistently or, hell, equally between her characters. her knowledge of this disorder seems so misinformed, either that or she purposefully cherry picked qualities, which is an awful way to portray any disorder. nesta's """healing""" in acosf was absolutely miserable. sorry not sorry but i don't think getting dicked down, chocolate, and meditation will help anyone get better from literal Post Traumatic Stress Disorder!! it's giving a middle aged white woman telling my disabled ass "have you tried yoga?"

anyway, sorry about my rant 😭 as someone who liked sjm as teen during early tog and acotar book 1, i am. very bitter sometimes.

Hi,

It is definitely good to get a perspective from someone who has a disability rather than from someone like me who is ablebodied and only has family members who are disabled, so my perspective is limited in that regard, so thanks for your views on the matter.

I hadn't read ToG yet, so I can't judge if it's ableist or not, but if it's true, like you said with the whole magic healing, then that's pretty bad, especially if she has no knowledge or even personal relations with topics like paralysis. The thing is magic healing in itself; I don't hate so much. It makes sense in a fantasy setting to maybe have advanced healing abilities, but to outright make a character who is disabled to completely heal and have no side effects or struggles later on is such bullshit, and this trope should die out as it is right now.

The problem with Papa Archeron I have is that he is a nonexistent character till the end. I don't know why sarah even bothered to write him in the story; he hasn't even gotten a name.

Also, his health problems are so vaguely described that I often forgot that he had any, and the fact that he is a deadbeat makes it even more atrocious that she portrays a man with physical and mental health problems as such an unlikeable throwaway character.

Don't get me started on Nesta. I hated every second of Acosf; everybody was constantly dogpilling on her, and for what?

Did she have problems and made mistakes? absolutly, but why is the inner circle (besides elain and feyre) in nestas business? Like,  nobody besides her sisters truly cared for her and wanted her to get better; they just wanted her powers and making her amiable so she could sit with them on their stupid dinner table and fondle rhysass ballsack.

The fact that they know to some extent that mental health problems existed in the night court since we got the library with the sa survivors, but the ic couldn't fathom to maybe just ask some healer what the best course of action for nesta is since she obviously struggles, is so baffling to me.

But since SJM thinks hiking/ training= therapy, I'm not surprised by anything anymore.

Don't worry, rants here are always welcome💙

[blodgmonster]

Tandem reread of Empire of Storms and Tower of Dawn commentary. Part of one of several I assume.

I've never done the tandem read before. It should be interesting and take some of the sting out of Tower of Dawn. Reading about Chaol when I know Aelin is suffering innumerable tortures was difficult to handle.

-- Erawan has shed his Duke Perrington skin.

-- why would Darrow turn down Aelin? Yeah, she's not the perfect princess and has a past and her court is a bit sus. But she's also the only living Galathynius, a magical powerhouse, and willing to fight for her country, for her world. Don't those things outweigh the negative?

-- Chaol's paralysis is handled in a slightly...ableist manner isn't it?

-- "I assume she has the misfortune of sharing your bed these days." Sick fucking burn, Yrene!

-- "So you, Granddaughter, will not die for this but one of your Thirteen will." Fucking bitch.

-- Fam, I am STRUGGLING with this tandem reread. I get going with EoS and get into it and then I have to switch to ToD (time of death), my least fave of the series (I know that'll piss off some folks) and it's like pulling teeth.

-- Yrene holding the crying healer's hand. I love Yrene. She deserves so much better than Chaol.

-- I LOOOOOVE the Baast Cats

-- oh shit! I forgot that the healer Yrene comforts in the baths is the one who gets killed.

-- Aelin roasting that asshole commander from the inside out is priceless.

-- "'She's not Valg is she?'

A low laugh. "No. As cold as one but no." DING DONG YOU WERE WRONG, BRANNON.

-- I forgot about the overseer from Endovier and Erawan peeking out through his fucking chest.

-- some fanart has ruks with four legs. I thought they were just massive eagles with two legs. I wonder which is correct. Either way, I love them.

-- "'Bring my body back to the cabin.' Something in Manon's chest broke — broke so violently that she wondered if it was possible for no one to have heard it." That's LOVE, babygirl

-- " Manon met Sorrel's eyes, then Astrin's. And Manon gave the Thirteen her final order. 'Run.' Then Manon Blackbeak whirled and brought Wind-Cleaver down upon her grandmother."

-- This bitch killed Manon's mother (her own child), Manon's father, made Manon into a weapon, mutilated Asterin, wants to kill Abraxos, and is in the process of trying to kill Manon. Fuck her.

-- "A Crochan Queen." Fucking game changer.

-- I looooooove that Manon hears a solitary boom and KNOWS it's Abraxos coming for her and TRUSTS enough to throw herself off the balcony. Their bond is off the charts.

-- Man, I reeeeeally don't want to switch over to ToD. I like Yrene and Nesyrn and Sartaq and the ruks and the baast cats. But Chaol.

-- Yrene is struggling to ride a horse at a walk, grabbing the saddle horn and freaking out at any unexpected movement. I swear her and Chaol have a horse race later in the book. When did she suddenly become a good enough rider to gallop flat out across the desert?

-- the young healers dragging Chaol around like a Ken doll...

-- "they will try to move you somewhere else. Never let them do it."

-- Abraxos is the BEST mother hen. I love him so, so, so much.

-- Chaol's brother is named Terrin and unless I'm mistaken SJM'S son is named Taran. Very similar.

-- "He wished he'd been able to walk. So she could see him crawl toward her." Chaol, boy!!!!!! Improvement in more than just your feet!

-- "She was fine with it, she told herself. She had been a replacement for not one, but two of the women in his life. A third...She was fine with it." Nesryn, baby girl, you deserve soooo much better. And is name is Sartaq.

-- "He should have been better. Treated her better." DO YA THINK!??? He regrets treating Nesryn poorly and so he treats Yrene shittily. Chaol, I take it back, you're still a dipshit.

-- "'Don't you waste one heartbeat being afraid of a coward who hunts women in the darkness,' Chaol snapped at her." Chaol, make up your mind. Do you suck or are you alright?

-- Elide tells Lorcan her uncle locked her in the dungeon and there's a surge of dark power that sacres everyone around them. Delicious.

Mmmmkay, I'll start a part two. I'm starting to warm up to the tandem read a bit. But it's still a bit of a slog.