#had to put fairytale: a true story in here even though it’s different from the pin pricking/blood rituals

[theloverstomb]

Girls and their rituals

POISON FOR THE FAIRIES 1986 dir. Carlos Enrique Taboada

ANGELA 1995 dir. Rebecca Miller

FAIRYTALE: A TRUE STORY 1997 dir. Charles Sturridge

CELIA 1989 dir. Ann Turner

DON’T DELIVER US FROM EVIL 1971 dir. Joël Séria

[bridgyrose]

Ladybug Week Day 1: Soulmate au

Blake put a hand to the White Fang mask she wore and pulled it off as she looked over the city of Vale. Months of being stationed here with Adam had felt like years as she kept her head down, waiting for her orders. Dust heists had come to a stop after the first few were thwarted by an up and coming huntress, the same huntress that she had hoped to see again today. 

She wasnt sure what it was about her that made her heart flutter, but she knew one thing when she first saw the huntress: that she was her one true love. It wasnt that she believed in soulmates or fate or destiny, but there was something about the huntress that made her feel different. And she wanted to feel it again.

So here she sat on top of a dust shop as she waited for any sign of that huntress again. Though, Blake did have to admit that she was starting to get bored of waiting. The night was a lot quieter than expected, and without any excitement, the chances of seeing that huntress again seemed pretty low. And if she wasnt going to find her sitting around, then maybe she could find her on the streets. 

Blake stuffed her mask back into her pack, tied a ribbon to hide her ears, and made her way down to the streets to search for the huntress. She wandered through the streets as she walked past each shop, lingering as she passed by the window of a bookshop. She remembered the fairytales her mother had read to her when she was younger and the few books she’d stolen to read. The thought of being able to walk into a store and find those books again made her smile a bit. And if she was lucky, there’d be a book to help her find the huntress that took her heart. 

She pushed open the door and made her way into the store, only to pause when she heard a voice call out to her. 

“Welcome to Tuckson’s book store,” Tuckson said from behind the counter. “We have everything under the sun.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Blake said as she meandered around the shelves of books, almost getting lost as she read each title, trying to find an old book of fairytales. Her eyes ran past romances and tragedies, a few she had recognized as titles she’d pilfered from past raids. Finally she found what she was looking for and reached out to grab it, only pausing when she saw another hand reach for it. 

“Sorry about that,” a girl said as she pulled her hand back. “I didnt see you there.” 

Blake looked at the girl next to her and paused when she recognized her as the huntress that she’d been looking for. It wasnt like her to be caught off guard like this, she didnt even hear the huntress walk over, let alone hear her standing next to her. 

“Everything okay?” the girl asked. 

“Y-yes, everything’s fine,” Blake said quickly as she grabbed the book she was after. “I wasnt expecting anyone else to be here.” 

The huntress looked at her curiously. “You werent expecting others to be in a shop?” 

“Yes… no… I-I mean I wasnt expecting to not notice anyone else here. I guess I got lost in the titles.” 

“I understand that. Whenever I come here, it feels like I’m in another world. There’s so many stories here to go through, so many different worlds to see and experience. It reminds me of all the stories Yang used to tell me when I was younger.” 

Blake tilted her head as she watched Ruby pull a book from the shelf. “Yang?” 

“Yang’s my sister,” the huntress explained. “She helped me get into reading as much as I do. Oh, my name’s Ruby by the way. What’s yours?” 

“I’m Blake,” Blake answered, almost smiling now that she knew the name of the huntress that had caught her eye. “What book is that?” 

Ruby flipped through a few pages of the book in her hand. “The Girl Who Fell Through the World. Its one of my favorites. When I was younger, I always wished I could fall into the Ever After and just… not have to deal with anything here.” 

“Do you not like being a huntress?” 

“No, I love it, but when I was younger I-” Ruby shook her head and closed the book. “Nevermind about that. I should probably get going.” 

“Wait!” Blake called out as she reached out to Ruby. 

She froze as her hand touched Ruby’s, a small rose emblem glowing under the scratches on the back of her hand. It had all been exactly like her mother had told her: she’d know her true love and soulmate by a single touch. Her eyes then went to the back of Ruby’s hand, seeing the same glow but a different symbol, one that she had used for her own emblem. As the light dimmed and faded, the symbols stayed. 

Blake finally pulled her hand away from Ruby’s, a blush running across her cheek as she stared at the emblem on the back of her hand. She was equal parts thrilled about finding the one she was meant to love, but also nervous about Adam finding out. Afterall, she was supposed to be with him. 

Ruby finally spoke, offering a hand to Blake. “Maybe we should talk things through. I know a small cafe we can go to. Quiet and will give us some privacy.” 

Blake took Ruby’s hand and nodded, a small shiver running down her spine as she gently squeezed. “I’d… I’d like that.” 

She made a quick glance at her pack as Ruby led the way, remembering the mask that she’d put away. Ruby was supposed to be her enemy, a huntress that always got in the way. And yet, she was her soulmate, which meant their love could never be. 

At least, not yet. 

[tklpilled]

lullabies

freminet often feels detached from the world.

it’s all he knows how to be. in the house of the hearth, there’s no room for error. he has to be strong. he can’t have any weaknesses.

(he does. he has lots of them. he cries when it rains sometimes, he freezes under extreme pressure. he’s just a pathetic child, deep down.)

so he’s built up walls, so many, too many for even him to count, and even if someone, somehow, manages to break through one, they aren’t even close to knowing him. he likes it that way. he hates when attention is on him. he doesn’t want to be known.

(yes he does. he’s so, so lonely.)

he’s not weak. how can he be, with so much protection?

(he whispers those words to himself late at night, trying to convince whoever may be listening.)

but when he’s underwater, things feel a little less overwhelming. he can forget about it all, even if just for a few minutes. the creatures down there don’t want to hurt him. they aren’t going to abandon him.

(and yet father is still here, and lyney and lynette. he’s slowly starting to wonder if, maybe, they mean it when they say they’ll stay. after all, they’ve gotten past most of his meticulously crafted walls. someone who doesn’t care wouldn’t spend all that effort on him, would they?)

freminet is on the couch one gloomy day, watching pers toddle around the room, when lyney suddenly sits beside him, throwing his arms around his shoulders.

“what’s wrong, dear freminet?” is all he asks. 

freminet hums, closing his eyes. he feels himself beginning to lean into the touch, but he quickly stops himself. “…i’m fine,” he says.

lyney sighs. “come on, there’s no use lying. i can see right through you.”

“nothing’s wrong.” it’s mostly true. it’s not that nothing is wrong, it’s just that he doesn’t know what’s wrong. he gets days like this a lot.

“cheer up,” lyney says with a poke to his side, seemingly realising he won’t get any answers. freminet flinches, tensing up. “oh?”

freminet blinks up at his older brother, confused. lyney pokes him again, as if that explains anything. freminet jumps again.

ah. he sees where this is going.

“freminet,” lyney starts, a smile growing on his face. “are you ticklish?”

“no,” answers freminet immediately.

more fingers start prodding at his sides, making freminet squirm almost uncomfortably. “are you sure—”

“i’m not ticklish,” freminet says, a bit more forcefully than he had intended, then shrinks in on himself.

lyney blinks. “o-oh,” he says, and despite the situation, freminet feels a twinge of pride at knowing he’s managed to make lyney stutter. “my apologies, i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

freminet stares down at his hands in his lap. “i’m not weak,” he mumbles, not looking up.

“hm?” lyney tilts his head, as though he hadn’t heard correctly.

freminet squeezes his eyes shut. “it’s a weakness. i…don’t like it. i’m not weak.”

he knows it’s a silly thing to say, especially knowing that lyney himself is ticklish, too. the difference, though, is that lyney is so much stronger, it hardly has any effect on his skill. but freminet…

he’s not strong enough. he can’t afford something as childish as being ticklish.

(he feels even more embarrassed about it knowing that this is lyney, the same person who has read him fairytales and acted out sappy bedtime stories for him; things that are arguably more childish.)

ugh. he wants to put his diving helmet on and hide for days.

“freminet,” lyney begins, sounding a bit amused. it only makes freminet want to hide even more. “being ticklish doesn’t make you weak. it’s fun, between people who care about each other.”

freminet knows he’s right, but still…

“i won’t tickle you if you don’t want me to,” lyney continues, “but please, don’t say things like that. you’re not weak, alright?”

freminet is quiet for a long time. lyney stays put the whole time.

“…is it really fun?” freminet asks finally, in such a tiny voice that he’s surprised lyney can understand it.

his brother laughs. “i suppose, for some people. it depends who you ask, i guess.”

freminet thinks to when he was younger—to when his mother would tickle him on occasion, to when he would watch his friends get into tickle fights and how he would smile along with them even though they weren’t touching him. he thinks about watching lyney and lynette tickle each other, and suddenly the gloominess in his chest is replaced by longing, so strong it’s almost painful.

“okay,” he whispers. “you can. tickle me. if you want.”

he regrets those words as soon as they leave his mouth—what if lyney doesn’t want to? what if he just laughs and walks away? what if—

all his worries are cut off by fingers crawling across his stomach over his shirt, and he doesn’t have time to think before he’s choking back giggles.

“it’s okay,” lyney teases. “you can laugh.”

so he does. it’s been so long that freminet himself forgot what it sounded like. he squeaks as lyney’s hand travels along his stomach, then suddenly dances along his sides up to his ribs, making him burst into a fit of proper laughter. 

lyney coos. “i can’t believe you’ve been hiding this from me all this time! you really do need to laugh more, freminet, it’s so cute.”

“b-behe quihihiet,” freminet whines, covering his blushing face with his hands. he squirms, moving closer to lyney as he does. “wait, wahahait, wait!”

lyney stops, one hand resting on his side and the other on his ribs. “yes?”

“ihit tickles,” freminet chokes out.

“do you want me to stop?” lyney’s fingertips press into his skin gently, making him squeal.

still…

“…no.”

for the first time in a long time, freminet feels like he’s in his own body again.

[the-evil-lovable-simp]

Big Jack Horner x reader

Part 1

Tw: possibly bad for some audiences maybe

You're sat on a log in an enchanted forest, getting away from all the chaos in the town, Puss doesn't mind, he likes all the attention anyway. You inwardly cried you hated all the attention you got from your stupid fairytale, you wish you were a nursery rhyme or even better, neither. Your fairytale was a creepy one, not horror, just twisted and sad, you had gained the sympathy of death himself, that and the fact he can't kill you. You looked at your hands, stitches, not lots, but noticeable. you sighed, wondering when you'll get new ones. You were taken out of your thoughts when you got hit in the back of the head, this caused your right eye to pop out of its socket.

"Aawwughh..." you groaned sadly, leaning forward and grabbing it, plopping it back in. You look to the side to discover a bowling ball had hit you. You hear someone approaching, this scared you since a lot of people like to see if your abilities are true, you got up to see who is quickly getting closer. When you did, you made eye contact with a huge man, in almost all purple, with a pink bob, and he was on the heavier side. He grimaced at the stitches but then looked as if he was thinking. He went to grab the bowling ball like it weighed nothing, putting it in his weird handbag.

He looked at you with mischievous child-like glee.

"Say, are you magic?" He asked waiting for an answer as he watched you lower your head in sorrow.

"I guess you could call it that..." You answered sorrowfully, hoping that was the end of the conversation. He chuckled darkly.

"Great!" Grabbing your waist, as he did so, you felt something pop, it might have been one of your organs again.

"Mhm, not even fighting against it? Pathetic,". He scoffed acting like you weren't a person and just a mere object, I mean, you didn't really feel like a person most of the time, more like a living doll. But what happened next you certainly didn't expect, he opened up his bag and shoved you inside.

You fell through the darkness, watching different objects fly by you, hey this is like that little girl you know, Alice. Oh, you imagined how nice it would be to have that story instead of your own. You then realised that you had stopped floating and there was peace and quiet, no one to look at you funny or even just thinking you looked cool, just you, your thoughts and random floating objects. Closing your eyes and drifting off trying to ignore existence. That's when something gently tapped your face, you opened your eyes to a jar with what you thought was a bug inside. You felt bad, so you softly grabbed the jar and lightly pulled on the cork to set it free. You watched it fly out and glow, satisfied, you closed your eyes again trying to finally sleep.

"Excuse me, do you know where we are?" someone asked, without opening your eyes again you nonchalantly answered.

"In some guy's magic bag,"

"Oh......Well, while we're here how about we get acquainted," your eyes snapped open finally wondering who was speaking, only to see the bug.

"What would be the point?" you said leaning back, making yourself slightly float away from the little bug.

"It's healthy to talk to people, especially in stressful situations," he answered as he flew up to you and landing on your shoulder.

"This isn't stressful though," you sighed opening your eyes.

"Oh and why's that?" he asked quietly.

"It gives me a chance to know what death might be like," you said looking at the tiny bug on your shoulder.

"Oh..." the bug states, shocked. That's when the bug notices the stitches all over your arms.

"Let's talk about something else, like maybe your childhood," the bug encouraged, although you really didn't want to talk about that.

Your eyes became lifeless as they started to leak.

"What's wrong?" the bug asked worried. You turned your head to him.

"Thinking about my childhood," you said simply, although the bug looked as though it was a puzzle.

"Listen..." the bug stayed silent, "I, can't die...".

"I can't count how many times, I 'should' have died..." You turn to the bug, making eye contact, his antennas are lowered. You floated there together until the silence was broken, you coughed, your body reminding you one of your organs had popped. You closed your eyes to rest and the bug didn't stop you this time.

——————

Ta da!!!!! Hopefully bits didn't go missing while pasting it on here 🤪

[adarkrainbow]

Lost media quest: H&G Epic Tales (part 1)

Some times ago I stumbled upon the trailer for an animated storybook adapting "Hansel and Gretel". I even made a quick post about it and then moved on my way. However, what I was not expecting was that my casual search would end up throwing me into a whole "lost media" investigation...

So I present to you the first report of my search for the lost media "Hansel and Gretel - Epic Tales".

"Hansel and Gretel - Epic Tales" is the English title of an interactive, animated storybook originally created by a Dutch team - hence why it exists also under the Dutch name "Hans en Grietje - Epic Tales".

Its trailer (posted around 2012/2013) is still around the Internet - on both Youtube and Vimeo, in English. It showcases you all the effort put into the product as well as the quality of it all - because when you think "Interactive storybook" you think "Just some still pictures you flip over while a voice narrates in the background". But here, not at all: you have entire animated tableaux allowing for a true point-and-click kind of game, intercut with entire animated segments and sequences - making this interactive storybook quite close to a full cartoon or simplified video-game.

In fact, I am not the only one to say this: numerous reviews pointed out this application could be considered a full cartoon in itself. And if some comparisons are left a bit generic "A cartoon feeling", "It could be a Saturday morning cartoon" I have seen one review even going as far as to compare this traditional 2D animation to a Disney movie!

I especially love the art style here which is reminiscent of classic, old fairytale cartoons - and I will come back to this element later because I do believe the game has easter-eggs or nods to classics of the fairytale animation.

Not only that, but as the trailer indicates, this game was supposed to be the first of an entire line of animated, interactive storybooks, the "Epic Tales" line, each reinventing fairytales, all narrated by the same storytelling character you see in the trailer, Silvertongue the (elf? dwarf?) who beats up gnomes to bring books to life... To have such a big project coming from Dutch folks isn't so surprising given the strong Dutch love for fairytales (it is the land of the Efteling park, after all).

In fact, the Epic Tales line had not only its own website (that you can see in a different promo for the app, here) but also a Facebook page and a Twitter account to promote the release of the game.

The game was released on iOs format and distributed by Apple. You could get it on your iPad or iPhone by just buying it on the App Store or iTunes store. And it was met with very, very positive reviews. Everybody agreed on saying this game was awesome, the dub very good, the interactions fun, the music delightful - in a word, absolutely perfect. Here is a handful of positive reviews I could find in English ; coupled with another handful of articles in Dutch this time. Mind you, some people do complain about the story being a tad bit too "light" for their taste - as in everybody agrees it is a visual treat with splendid visuals and a goofy tone perfect for kids, but some do complain about a lack of "darkness" (one review even regretted the "psycho-drama" of the original story, absent from this light-hearted story). I personally think there's enough dark Hansel and Gretel retellings out there to allow us a nice light-hearted, goofy, innocent version, but oh well, that's just my opinion... I'll return to these changes in a later post.

These online articles are notably quite precious for bringing additional screenshots of this now unfortunately lost media...

Lost yes: for if you check the App stores and iTunes pages today, it seems Apple has removed the game from their offer. And given Apple was the only distributor... it seems you cannot get it anywhere else.

The Epic Tales website (epictales.com) has been brought down - though you can still find it back thanks to Internet Archive's Wayback Machine, which did preserve several versions of it. The Facebook page for Epic Tales is still here too, though inactive since the app's release. As for the Twitter account... it seems that after a few years of inactivy it was briefly taken over by a little girl who posted goofy pictures of her on it... Was it the account-owner's daughter, niece or little sister? I don't know but it seems clearly that this account is a dead-end too.

Now, outside of the trailer, official accounts and online reviews, the last remaining official bits of this animated project (because there is one un-official element I will go to later) are the Anikey Studios videos. Anikey Studio is one of the two big teams that worked on the "Hansel and Gretel - Epic Tales" project, alongside Cloud Castle Interactive, and while the Epic Tales line seems dead and gone, Anikey is still working a lot, regularly creating and publishing animated shorts. They have a Facebook, a LinkedIn, an Instagram - but more interestingly a Vimeo account on which they regularly post videos (itself doubled by a Youtube channel). And they post yearly Demoreels collecting bits and extracts from their animation projects. Including "Hansel and Gretel - Epic Tales".

Now, unfortunately they only use the scenes from the trailer of the interactive storybook, so nothing new - but still it worth checking out. The extracts most prominently appear within their Demoreels of the years 2016 and 2012 (I am using the Vimeo version, not the Youtube ones).

And so far, at first glance, this is it. If we do just a superficial search, it is a good-looking app that got removed by Apple ; a big hopeful project with a lot of effort put into it that everybody forgot about or did not notice ; a whole line of fairytale animations that got cancelled right after its first instalment. A first instalment seemingly disappeared into the limbo of "lost media"... But for me, it was only the start of the investigation - because if you know me, you'll know I can get incredibly frustrated when I see something cool I just happened to miss ; and as an enjoyer of both traditional hand-drawn animation and fairytale adaptations, this app seemed so wonderful...

As such, I am currently undergoing a sort of investigation to collect everything I can find and save about this animated storybook. Given I am not an expert "lost media hunter", I might find nothing at all - but at least it will be a fun ride playing the investigator for once! Plus something within the occult forces of the world seem to constantly condemn my blog to focus on "Hansel and Gretel"... I don't know why but every time it gets brought back to me one way or another. So who am I to oppose the mysterious flow of nature?

If any of you ever heard of this app before - if maybe you downloaded it some time ago, if you know someone who played it, or maybe if you still have it somewhere in your Apple product, please do contact me! Even the slightest memory can be of incredible use for such an investigation. Myself I am going to perform a breakdown of all the information I could find, and the following posts of this series are going to try to "reconstruct" what the app was about, and how the story unfold in this version - because here's the thing, it isn't just a regular, straightforward Hansel and Gretel retelling. They actually added and changed several elements in it... But that will be for another post.

Oh yes, I almost forgot. The application is somehow listed within the catalogues of several Dutch libraries. I don't really know much about how these libraries work, but if somehow there is a Dutch person who sees this post, could you eventually bring me some help? It would be very appreciated!

[bestworstcase]

“it sounds crazy but i think we’re in a fairytale,” “that world is just make-believe,” “we’re not in the stupid book we’re in its stupid sequel,” “but… she learned her lesson in the end, right?,” “but ascension wasn’t in the book” & “what else did alyx leave out?,” “that can’t be right,” “i just don’t get how the story is both real and not,” “she was selfish, like the world was just make-believe,” “the more i tried to get the story back on track, the more she distrusted me,” “i couldn’t even be the make-believe hero”—3/5 of the way through the volume and they are still HAMMERING on this, and while it initially was conveyed mostly as humorous exasperation, the tone began to change in 4 and in 5-6 the drumbeat has become dead serious.

like. it is profoundly centrally important to the arc narrative that rwby+j don’t know how to make sense of this situation—even though they’ve undergone notionally similar revelations about both the realness and not-realness of fairytales. one or two humorous beats upfront while they get their bearings is only to be expected (this place is weird!) but it’s been constant since the minute they figured out which story they fell into.

what this says to me is either:

1. the kids really did not learn anything in V4-6 except insofar as the amount of factual information they knew about the world increased; none of them engaged whatsoever in thinking critically about the potential realness of fairytales or about the unreliability of fairytales as a source of information. this is a lot more plausible than it sounds on its face, because a) they are traumatized teenagers who had the fate of the world dumped in their laps overnight, they had a lot of fires to put out and an abundance of other fish to fry, and b) the way the kids react particularly to jinn’s revelations very much focuses on ozpin lying to them personally—there is little if any engagement with the bigger picture of ozma having used fairytales and myths to construct a false reality. thus, the ever after confronts them very suddenly and very unavoidably with a lot of ideas they really should have considered prior but glossed over because they were worried about a million other things, and this provokes fear and discomfort and subconscious rejection of the untrustworthiness of fairytale on historical matters.

or,

2. the ever after tangibly is different from, say, the girl in the tower or the story of the seasons, and the girls have picked up on this even though they can’t quite articulate why; the enormous and increasingly heavy emphasis placed on this difficulty they’re having with the ever after is flagging this difference for the audience (because we would otherwise take the ever after in stride as another real-but-not-fully-true fairytale—we have none of the characters’ hang ups or myopia about this).

or,

3. both.

now of course the most recent addition to my stable of dead horses is that the ever after is a genuinely fictional world and that “both real and not” is an accurate description in the most literal sense—because that makes the most sense—but the first possibility is also very. ooooh. because if true it means the girls are a lot further behind on getting to ‘if we can’t beat her, reason with her’ with salem than i thought they were—like, if they haven’t even really grasped “sometimes stories are real but not true” yet…

…and the thing is. that kind of dovetails in a skewed way with ruby’s “real life isn’t like a fairytale; that’s why we’re i’m here” mentality in that she understands perfectly well that the world doesn’t work like a story but she feels compelled and obligated to make it do so; the real-but-not enigma is entangled with the way she thinks about herself and her purpose in life. the fairytale isn’t real but it’s her duty to reify the fairytale or die trying.

and it strikes me that this is probably what ruby’s personal resolution, in this arc, is going to revolve around: reconciling the distress she’s feeling about how ‘the girl who fell through the world’ can be real but not true is her emotional off-ramp from “fairytales aren’t real but you exist to make them true”—because these are two sides of one coin and incidentally also the first step in realizing the answer to the salem problem.

i’m sort of wondering now if the final ‘retelling’ of ‘the girl who fell through the world’ might actually be something along the lines of ruby getting to experience it through alyx’s eyes—a literal re-enactment of the story with herself literally rather than metaphorically in alyx’s shoes, or else a lost fable-esque situation where she’s following along and watching over alyx’s shoulder. (<- actually. maybe that’s who “lewis” is? the kind one, the clever one, the… silent one who has no bearing on the story because he is a passive observer following along in alyx’s footsteps. ‘lewis carroll’ is a pseudonym. a mask, as it were.)

[porter-pumpkim]

The crown siblings

Did some more proper artwork on a few characters I'm working on for yet another story!

Putting a little info dump down here 👇

Captain Tarnished silver crown! Formerly known as the currently missing princess silver crown, Minor demigod of the sea.

Tarnished crown refuses to even eknowladge his biological family, he hates nobility, seeing them as heartless and uncaring for those below them, he wants nothing to do with nobility, at least he steals out of necessity for those the kingdom has abandoned rather than sitting high and mighty while hoarding everything. From Tarnished crown's view a greedy pirate and a greedy noble are the same, just one gets away without punishment. he sees his crew as his family, and does his best to provide for himself and them. Tarnished is very interested in boats and weaponry, having several books on the subjects of different boat types and the builds of different weapons, needless to say he's certainly collected quite an inturesting armory. Both himself and many of his crew are former slaves to slaver pirates, even if tarnished isn't exactly a good person he still tries to fight for those who had their lives stolen from them like his was, he has no mercy twords slavers.

copper, formerly known as prince copper crown, local musician.

Copper went missing the same night as tarnished, though unlike his brother, copper was able to escape before it was too late, unfortunately, copper became horribly lost trying to get back home, and was afflicted by a corrosion infection that left him mostly blind, and made his eyes very sensitive. Copper was adopted by a new family and now lives in a small woodland village, he is mostly known for his musical talent, primarily with wind pipes and the fiddle, often playing near the village center or the local taverns, both for the money and for the fun of it, he also enjoys collecting little trinkets that he likes the feel of, keeping his little item hoards on shelves in his room. Copper has no real contact with his old life, in all honesty he barely even remembers it.

Princess gold crown, also known as Goldie.

Princess Goldie stayed in the castle the night her siblings ran away, considering their father is a busy man, Goldie was mostly raised by the castle staff, primarily one of the royal jesters, jester hat, though unfortunately, jester hat went missing after a trip with the king to a neighboring kingdom, leading to a strained relationship with the other kingdom, and Goldie mostly being alone now that her siblings and primary parental figure were gone. Goldie is emotionally distant, trying her best to live up to expectations, after all, she's the only remaining child in the crown family, by now she's assumed those who went missing are dead. Secretly Goldie still loves "childish" things, dolls, fairytales, the idea of true love, but she doesn't allow herself to indulge in such things, she has a role to play and thinks she needs to leave childish things behind.

Little doodle dump! (Mostly tarnished)

little note, the bestial snake compass belongs to my friend, not me, but is part of the story as one of tarnished crown's two boyfriends, and the second mate of the ship.

Also that one doodle is sort of a "what if tarnished was never a pirate" au

there's some humanized designs of the pirate boyfriends there,

Also tarnished can controll water, but if he over does it he will start uncontrollably bleeding, so he doesn't do it much

[pof203]

A Summoner Birthday

Special Quest: Kimun Kamui

Oh wow! This place is made out of candy. Is the rest of this world like this?

Not really. Some places are based on different stories. I hope you like it here.

Kimun Kamui: It's not like anything I've ever seen.

You brought your scout master and friend, Kimun Kamui, to the virtual fairytale world because he was curious about what kind of place it is.

Kimun Kamui: I heard there was a river near here. I would like to see that.

Lupin: Okay, let's go.

Lupin and Kimun Kamui: Boom chicka boom!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry if that is not the right cheer. It's been awhile since I played that event.

With that, you and Kimun Kamui go to the river.

You and Kimun Kamui arrive at the river without and problems.

Kimun Kamui: (happy) How wonderful! This place almost reminds me of when we went camping during the jamboree.

Lupin: (also happy) I had a feeling you would.

Kimun Kamui: How about we do some fishing? I wonder what fish in a virtual world tastes like.

Lupin: Nothing really, it's just ones and zeroes.

Kimun Kamui: I'll be the judge of that.

You and Kimun Kamui go fishing in the river. The both of you are sitting by the bank with your lines cast out, waiting for a bite.

Kimun Kamui: (sighing) This is relaxing. Just you, me, and all of Mother Nature... Even though she's not real in this world. It's just so hard to believe that this place is fake. Those friends of yours really outdid themselves.

Lupin: I think Kurogane and Boogeyman would be happy to hear that. They originally created this world to teach naughty children a lesson. Now they use it as a kind of resort for those who wish to take a break from reality.

Kimun Kamui: I don't see why they should. Spending time in reality's great outdoors can be good, too.

Lupin: I'm sure it is. But for now, let's enjoy this place while we can.

Kimun Kamui: Hmm. I suppose you're right.

You and Kimun Kamui continue to sit by the bank a little longer, waiting for a fish to come. You suddenly notice that Kimun Kamui is looking a bit down.

Lupin: Kimun? Is something wrong?

Kimun Kamui: I'm find. It's just that... This river. It really does remind me of our camping trip... It also reminds me of...

Kimun Kamui suddenly frowning at his memory of what happened during that fateful time during the scout jamboree. You put a hand on his shoulder to comfort him.

Lupin: You have to put that past you.

Kimun Kamui: Can I?

Lupin: Look, I don't pretend to know what it is you went though, but I want to help you just as you helped us.

Kamun Kamui: Thank you, Lupin. Though, I get the feeling that you do know.

Lupin: Oniwaka, Zabainyya, Horkeu Kamui, and... Wakan Tanka. I guess you're not far off. I just want things to be good... For all of us.

Kamun Kamui: I know you do. If anything, I want the same thing. We are all nature's creations. If we forget something like that, then just who are we? I want to help others grow into their best selves. Though Wen Kamui still haunts me, I still want to keep helping others grow. I helped you, Shiro, Aizan, Moritaka, and Kagutsuchi. You shouldn't be the last.

Lupin: And we won't. We will help you just as you helped us. We will keep getting others to grow and become their best selves. No matter how hard it may be.

Kamun Kamui: It's true that this road won't be easy, but at least we will travel it together.

You and Kamun Kamui hold each other's hand with this renewed hope to keep growing and learning new things.

Suddenly, Kamun Kamui's line begins twitching.

Kamun Kamui: (excited) I think I got a bite!

Lupin: That's wonderful!

You both grab hold of the fishing line. After a few good pulls, you managed to pull out... some water grass that got caught on the hook.

Kamun Kamui: (a bit disappointed) Oh, that's a shame.

Lupin: But at least we had fun.

Kamun Kamui: (smiling a bit) That's true.

It started to get late and you both decided to go back to Candyland to return home.

[sailoryooons]

The Iron Ring | Epilogue | pjm (m)

❀ Pairing:  fae prince! Jimin x human! female reader

❀ Summary: After finding a mysterious ring while cleaning out your late grandmother’s attic, you receive the unlikeliest of visitors: a fae prince who claims you have something that belongs to him. Discovering the fairytales your grandmother told you are true is the least of your problems when you’re taken to a world dangerous and unfamiliar.

❀ Word Count: 5,831

❀ Genre: fantasy au, strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

❀ Warnings: Jumping around and no clear timeline, unexplained things because this is just a shortly little tie-up for scenes we didn't get in the final chapter, explicit language, sexually explicit content including hand jobs, grinding, unprotected vaginal sex, nipple play, a lot of spit and making out and overall passionate sex in a bathtub, Jimin and reader being simps TM, reader being a wicked little bitch in her scene with Jin honestly we stan because the Jiminfication of reader

❀ Published: December 9, 2022

❀ A/N: Here is the promise epilogue for just a handful of scenes to put the cherry on top of the massive overhaul that was the last chapter of this series. If reading the side character stories is something you're interested in (like Yoongi and Khione or Hoseok and Taehyung etc.) please let me know here. This sex scene is brought to you by SZA's new album thank you

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | Series Masterlist | Series Playlist | Previous Chapter

“Stop fidgeting,” you giggle, swatting at Jimin’s hands as he adjusts the collar of his button up again. He’s already pulled it away from his neck several times, complaining that the human shirt-style is far too restricting for his taste.

Jimin’s taste is open chest shirts that reveal far too much skin for lunch with your mother, but convincing him that had taken a lot of begging. And kissing. And moaning.

“Your fashion here is dreadful,” Jimin huffs, crossing his arms. You’ve put him in nice jeans, a button up shirt and let him keep his earrings and jewelry on for meeting your mother. Though he wears a glamour to seem less faerie, Jimin stands out. “My chest was made for ogling.”

People are ogling anyway. Jimin has turned heads all morning as you walked into the store to buy him an appropriate outfit for lunch, and as you walked into the French café tucked in the corner of a shopping district.

Even your waitress had given him a glass of water with trembling hands, red cheeks and a stutter. You couldn’t blame her. Even dressed as a pedestrian, the King of the High Court was a work of art to look at.

“Just admit you’re nervous,” you hiss at him. “It’s okay to be nervous, you know?”

Jimin glares at you, green eyes darkening. You can sense that he’s nervous through your mating bond, but you’ve also gotten better at reading Jimin in general.

When you returned to your world a few days after the Battle at High Tree, as they’ve come to call it, you’d discovered that two days had passed. While Jimin assures you that time is different and sometimes it might be a year that passes, your world is almost always moving slower than Faerie.

Entering your grandmother’s home that first time had sent such a wave of relief that you were alive and well that you had sat in your room with walls painted of her life story for an hour and cried. When you finally felt strong enough to call your mom, it was deep into the hours of the night.

You’d become a bit of a night owl, of course.

Meeting your mom sparks your own nerves. It’s only been two weeks since you last saw her and told her everything. She had barely survived the shock of your slowly changing ears and your tales. And you had barely survived the shock of learning that your father, though not half-fae, had someone far in his bloodline that was a part of the Summer Court once upon a time.

I always knew where my mother came from, you mother had whispered, watching you with haunted eyes. But after the loss of your father, it was easy to turn it all into dreams.

Years of frustration with her had melted in that moment. You could understand now, why she had thrown out your books of magic and fantasy. Why she had been steadfast in having Namjoon curate a normal experience for you in a normal world.

The thought of losing Jimin… well it inspires understanding. Sympathy.

You don’t expect your mother to accept your half-in-her-world-half-out approach right away. And she doesn’t. The tightening of her mouth and the strain in her voice during that conversation was evident. She doesn’t want this for you and yet, she knows it’s in your nature.

Like me, once she had said. Like your grandparents and your father.

Now that you’re intimately familiar with the fae, you can see those traits in your mother. When she enters the café, she commands the room the same way Jimin had. She is sharply beautiful, with angular features that would look strange on anyone else. But her chic style and eye for aesthetics lends itself to the powerhouse of her beauty.

The chair scrapes sharply against the brick patio as you shoot to your feet. Jimin looks up at you, frowning as you ring your hands nervous as your mother approaches. For Jimin, this is a new version of you. One that is timid and awkward.

You’d never really been timid with him, even when you were afraid.

“Hi,” you greet your mother, voice high-pitched and reedy. Her gaze is sharp as a blade as she regards Jimin, lips pursed. She ripples with tension as she hesitates at the chair across from you. “It’s nice to see you.”

Jimin stands and walks around your chair, surprising you both. He bows at the waist, not a full ninety-degree angle but deeper than the king of the High Court should to anyone – especially a mortal. He looks up at your mother, a gentle smile on his lips and eyes glittering.

“It’s an honor to meet you. Thank you for taking the time to meet me.”

She looks down her nose at him, eyes narrowing a second before she nods and pulls her chair out. “Of course.” Her tone is tight, but it softens a bit when she looks at you, lips twitching in an almost-smile. “It’s not every day your only child runs off to her grandmother’s native land and comes back with a boyfriend.”

Jimin settles next to you and sips his water. “Mate.”

Her eyes narrow at him, unperturbed. “I heard stories about you as a child. Boyfriend will do for now.”

You hold your breath as Jimin swallows his water and places the glass on the table. Though he has come a long way with his biting wit and razorblade attitude, there is a moment of tension before he bows his head. “I like you, I think.”

With a humph your mother picks up a menu. “We will see if you suffice.”

Letting out relieved laughter, you lean back as Jimin slides a hand on your thigh and gives you a squeeze. You realize everything is going to be okay.

-

The throne room of the High Court needs work. The dais of diamond is scuffed, the glass throne has long since been shattered and gathered dust, and the floor to ceiling windows of glass with gold inlaid art have long since been broken, covered in grime, or cracked. Though Jimin’s court – and by association your court – is slowly coming together and there are fae returning to restore their homelands, it’s slow work.

Which means the throne room simply won’t due for an audience, which dampens the dramatic flair you wanted for your upcoming meeting. Nonetheless, the study that you’ve discovered tucked in a corner overlooking a flowing stream and garden is just as well.

Today, the windows are cast open. It’s light and airy, with a fresh breeze spinning the spider silk curtains and airing out the smell of old books. There are hundreds of tomes in the shelving that line the walls, in languages and symbols you can’t begin to read.

Though small, the study is beautiful. An ornate desk of gold with curling, filigree designs stands in the middle over a blush rug. Like everything in the High City, the palace is made of floor to ceiling windows of spelled glass and diamond.

It’s like the world is spun in gold, Jimin whispered as he led you through the palace, all clear ceiling and gold chandeliers.

Behind you, the afternoon sun throws the room in a shade of rose and pomegranate. It’s warm at your back where you stand behind your desk with your arms linked behind your back, chin set. A fine set of china sits on the desk, the teapot steaming with the scent of rose and lemon.

A knock on the door pulls you from your thoughts. You tell them to come in, lifting your chin a bit as the double doors swing open to reveal a set of guards and your visitor for the next hour.

Seokjin looks beautiful as ever, sweeping into the room in his all black, the sigil of his court stitched in silvery finery over the heart of his tunic. His hair has gotten longer and you see twinkling stars throughout the inky strands.

Stopping just short of your desk, Seokjin links his hands behind his back. He looks healthy, golden skin glowing and dark eyes swimming with fathomless cosmos that did not exist when he was possessed not long ago. Now you see the endless night in them, the dark fire of being a Shade, the whispers of the sky.

Neither one of you speaks, regarding one another. Seokjin is a king – the stars in his hair, though blinking in and out of existence like sentient beings - is crown enough. Your guards close the door and though you cannot see beyond the broad frame of the Night Court king, you can sense his Dreadwolf in the hall.

“You look well,” you offer, voice even. Seokjin gives away nothing. “Would you like some tea?”

“No bow?”

Your smile is razor thin – a trait you’ve picked up from Jimin at court. “I could ask you the same. You’re in my home at my behest. However, if it pleases the Night Court’s pride to be addressed so formally…” You dip slightly, not quite at a forty-five-degree angle, but close enough. “Welcome to the High Court, King Seokjin.”

His lips twitch, so minute you almost don’t catch it, but you sense he almost smiles. “You’ve spent far too long with Jimin.”

“You’d have bowed to him first.”

“You are my court until you marry him.”

It’s hard not to wince. It is technically true. You’re the granddaughter of Yvaine, and a member of the Night Court. The only Shade the Night Court has, beyond the king who currently stares at you with a knowing glint in his eye.

“Would you like tea?” you sigh, gesturing to the steaming pot. “It’s your favorite.”

“Trying to win me over?”

“I don’t have to,” you fold your dress against your legs and sit. You flick your eyes to the seat in front of your desk and he tentatively does the same, not quite leaning against the back of the chair. “You wouldn’t have come here if you didn’t agree with me.”

“I thought it would be a funny little adventure.”

You pour him a cup, rose and lemon filling the room. “You can needle me all you want, but you know just as well as I do that you have to name me heir.”

“I don’t have to do anything.”

“No, I suppose that might be true. But with the rumblings of how close your court was to losing you, you having no heirs, and the fact that Jungkook can serve me because my bloodline is enough…” You tsk at him. “Your options aren’t great. So needle me all you want, Seokjin. But like calls to like, and in both blood and bone, the Midnight Tree recognizes me as the heir to your throne.”

“Why are you so interested in being named heir, hmm? Looking to continue Malik’s work with Jimin and impose your authority on the other courts again, starting with you claim to my throne?” He takes the tea and blows over it. You watch the water ripple, sensing magic. You roll your eyes – you’d never poison him. “Whatever will the other courts think?”

“They think that Jimin and his mate fought to dispel an evil from this land, saved the Night Court from obliteration when their king was at risk, and that the High Court would never do something as stupid as a conquest while they are weak and rebuilding.”

“So that’s it. You’re weak and need allies.”

“We have allies.” You feel the thunder in your voice. “You need allies, Seokjin. And I offer this meeting as a courtesy. Naming me heir does nothing for my court. My status does not change – I am the mate to the king of the High Court, I am a Shade of the Night Court, and they call me Cythraul’s Bane these days. What does title to heir of a court I don’t desire offer me?”

Seokjin sips the tea as his jaw works. You watch him with a flat expression, giving away nothing. The truth is – there is something in it for you to be named heir. You can rightfully claim the things that once belonged to your grandmother – heirlooms, houses, lands that you can sell for things that the High Court now needs.

But Seokjin doesn’t need to know that you’re looking for this title for nostalgia and money purposes. You and Jimin have already worked this out – Seokjin needs you more you need him. He needs the protection of an heir that wants nothing to do with his throne, the commitment to the Shade bloodline, and the security of hushing rumors that his little half-niece is stronger than he is.

Seokjin sets the cup on the desk. “You pick up the game fast.”

“I had a trial by shadow fire.” You don’t miss the opportunity to throw the world play in there, to barb him. Even as loose allies, you’re not friends. There is too much estrangement there. “You live an eternity. You have time to think about it.”

He hums. “I’ll consider it.”

It’s as close as a concession as you’ll get from him. So you smile, full of teeth when you lean back in your seat, pleased. “Tell Jungkook to come in. I’ve grown fond of him since he nearly ripped your head off at the Battle at High Tree.”

-

Night lily blooms in the dark green house that Jimin has given you in an empty, and otherwise unneeded room in the palace. Though it took a lot of troubleshooting – and a lot of Jimin’s help – you were finally able to suspend the room in night.

Of course, it isn’t night like the Night Court. It is artificial night, powered by a crystal that feeds off as much magic as you put inside of it to mirror the magic of the Night Court that lives inside of you. It’s a bit of clever channeling that requires a tiny amount of energy, but it makes you happy.

Especially when you see flowers from the night court with their glow in the dark throats and speckled petals, and dripping neon sap. Your heart squeezes as you grin at the lilies, straightening up from your crouch just as someone comes in.

You turn to look over your shoulder as a figure slips into the room, a single orb of fae light leading them down the dark, twisted hallways that lead beneath the castle. Namjoon grins when he sees that you’re not so in the dark as it appeared, extinguishing his light.

“Hi!” you gush, running up to him. With Namjoon, you don’t have to be the king’s consort. You’re not an heir. Or a Shade, or a bane of anything. You’re just you and Namjoon is just Namjoon, who smells like vanilla and spice when you throw your arms around him, holding him tight. “I missed you.”

Namjoon, as it turns out, is hundreds of years old. He was one of your grandfather’s best friends, and watched over him when Oberon and your grandmother left Faerie long ago. Namjoon’s ever watchful eye turned into more as he discovered the wonder of the human world.

At first, you had been angry with Namjoon. Angry for deceiving you, angry for altering your memories, angry for… so many things that you realize now, he was asked to do by a friend he had known for a lifetime, only to watch that friend die suddenly. For your grandmother, who was the last familiar face.

For your mother, who begged him to give you once chance at normal.

Though it hadn’t worked out, you were enjoying not normal. And you were happy to discover that Namjoon was no different in Faerie than he was in the human world, loving the ancient tombs of the library, tending to plants in the Citadel and studying the High Tree.

A member of the Summer Court he might be, but Namjoon is a roving Faerie at heart, who has found far too many things like e-books and newspapers and museums in the human world. He is fascinated by the moral ability to ache and hurt and make music, write and paint in such small amounts of time compared to eternity.

But he still visits. Like today, when you promised that you would show him the night garden you had been working on.

Letting you go, Namjoon holds you at arm’s length, two dimple popping out proudly as he smiles down at you. “Come on,” he says eagerly, shaking you a bit. “Show me what you’ve grown.”

-

Night in the High Court isn’t eternal, but it’s beautiful. Millions of stars paint the sky, thousands of collars and so close, you feel as though you could reach your hand up to touch them. You can see them now, flittering through the glass ceiling of the recently-finished throne room.

You’re not much for sitting on the throne. It feels ridiculous and a bit tedious to sit in an opulent room made for appearances. Well – you are working. You’ve been sharing audiences with Jimin all day, listening to the rapidly growing members of his court and trying to settle land disputes, claims to long-abandoned homes, problems with infrastructure, nixies gone wild.

The usual.

Though you find it anxiety-inducing, hearing all of these problems that the people Jimin’s court are plagued with regularly. Jimin sits in these all day. While you move about the High Court’s lands on his behalf and work with the new citizens and repairing parts of the palace, Jimin almost never leaves the throne.

You admire the way he will sit there for hours. He never cuts anyone off, he never dismisses a single person who wishes to speak with him, and Jimin lets none of the lords wishing to reclaim lands that aren’t theirs push him around.

Now, you watch as a centaur bows deeply before turning to leave the room, having been granted a larger pasture for his heard, who had been defending it for a long time once the cythraul began to come through the High Tree.

When the double doors to the throne room boom closed, and the guards bow deeply at Jimin’s dismissal, your mate finally melts into the chair, eyes closed, head pressed to the high back. Exhaustion weights heavy on him, despite how beautifully he’s dressed today.

A midnight blue tunic hangs artfully on his frame, the chest cut low to reveal tawny, smooth skin. He has necklaces on, little stars and moons and hourglasses that you’ve found all over the High Court. It seems that time and rotating spheres of planes and universes are a popular motif, and you’ve since learned that with his full powers of the High Court, Jimin is able to perform magic far beyond that of the Night Court.

Freezing objects in time in space – though he can’t freeze time itself yet – aging things forward and backward. Sensing portals and dimensions and becoming energy sensitive are all things that he remembered when he was much younger, but is once again trying to grow into.

Leaning over the arm of the chair, you brush your fingers through his silver locks. He’s grown out his hair substantially. It’s pushed back by a silver circlet with the seven stars of the courts, and an earring catches the moonlight as he tilts his head to lean into your touch.

Jimin almost purrs under the gentle raking of your nails against his scalp. He quivers under your touch, head lolling to the side as he lets go completely. You grin, seeing how much your tired king reacts to your touch.

It’s hard to get over.

“Come on,” you whisper. He whines when your hand drops from his hair and you stand. “Don’t out, it’s beneath you.”

He’s pout increases, bottom lip stuck out as he looks up at you with glossy, green eyes. Jimin has a talent for switching between a doe-eyed sweetling and a siren-eyed vixen at a moment’s notice, something that he increasingly weaponizes against you. Not that you mind.

“It’s not,” he assures.

“Fine, remain seated on your throne. I’ll just run myself a hot lavender and orange blossom bath while you- “

Jimin brushes past you, his steps silent and gait smooth like a dancer. You love the way he spins around to face you, a grin on his face. He moves through the world like a velvet ribbon, graceful and elegant as is common among the fae.

“Thought so,” you grumble as he offers you a hand and a smile.

Coming up with a palace staff is difficult. It isn’t like the Night Court, where there have been generations of faerie loyal to Jimin and the royal family. The old staff members of Malik’s court were few and far between after the collapse of the High City, and those who remain haven’t known Jimin for a long time.

Earning trust among the fae is not common. So the palace staff is small, mostly made up of allies that he made when he was in the Night Court, and a few High Court faeries who were recommended by Hoseok and even Seokjin.

Then there is, of course, the occasional Nightingale who appear and disappear on a schedule you don’t yet understand, but has been put in place by Yoongi and Khione to assure that you aren’t murdered in your sleep.

You don’t hear from them much, but you did come to your room one day to find a mysterious tomb on the history of the Night Court, it’s laws and practices that you used in your battle of wits with Seokjin. It did not have a note, but there was an unmistakable symbol that you could not remember the shape of the moment you looked away from it.

Khione, though maybe not a friend, is an excellent ally.

The palace, like the rest of the city, sits on a network of moving bodies of water. There are pools and caverns underneath the building that have pools of water that move slowly into the large lakes beyond the city limit, and over the waterfall that empties from the basin where the Citadel lives.

Because of the easy access to water, the palace has its own unique plumbing and water filtration system that turned on when Jimin poured his magic back into the High Tree. It’s like the entire place was built by a maker to respond to the magic of those who live inside of it.

That is, at least, what you gathered from Yoongi’s explanation of the building.

Inside of the en suite bathroom is rough-cut crystal dub, hewn into the floor of the bathroom. You have to be careful getting in and out of the steps once wet, but the rose quartz glows warmly when you enter and tap one of the gold spouts. Water spits from it immediately, rushing hot and steaming to fill the deep tub.

Jimin stands staring in the doorway, too tired to do much beyond admire the way you pop open a jar of salts to pour it under the running water. Next, you dig out dried lavender, sprinkling it over the filling tub, following by dried orange rinds.

You glance over your shoulder at Jimin, his eyes cat-like in their study of you. You beckon him over with a finger. He doesn’t hesitate, drifting toward you wordlessly before stopping right in front of you, looking down through full lashes as you begin to untie the two strings that hold together the collar of his shirt.

“What’s the point of the strings if you keep such an open collar anyway?” you muse, letting your fingertips brush over his warm skin. His breath stutters slightly and you smile. “Are they really there for modesty?”

“You’ll have to ask Rika.” You drop the strings and push the shirt backward over his shoulder. It falls down his middle and waist, before dropping to the floor. “I’m not in the artistry of making clothes.”

“Hmm. You give them ideas. I see you down in their little studio sometimes, pouring over sketches.”

Jimin’s skin is perfect. He is golden and warm, flesh smooth under your fingertips as you brush your hands down his chest and over is stomach. You poke his soft flesh and he flexes, making you giggle and slap his abdomen lightly.

“Show off,” you huff, fingering the button on his trousers. “Don’t flex your muscles for me.”

“I thought you liked them.”

“As insufferable as your personality can be, I rather like that instead.”

With a sharp movement, you pull Jimin’s trousers down. He’s in linen undershorts, like briefs but not. And he’s semi-hard just from your teasing touches and words. Jimin notices you looking at his clothed cock and grins. You go read, realizing your mistake when he grabs you by the chin and pulls your face toward his.

“Huh,” he clucks, nose brushing yours. He’s so close that his lips touch yours when he speaks, your gasp swallowing his words. “I think you like something entirely inappropriate.”

“Entirely untrue. Faeries don’t lie.”

Jimin half laughs, half growls as he kisses you.

The kiss is scorching, his mouth hungry and all-consuming as Jimin licks into your mouth. You moan in surprise against him, tilting backward with the force of his onslaught but his hands are on your waist, already hiking up the fabric of your dress as he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth.

Kissing Jimin makes you dizzy. He always kisses you like his survival depends on it, sometimes slow and sometimes fast, but always starving for you and wanting more. He makes little sounds of desperation between the kisses, catching his breath in pitchy tones that drive you absolutely wild.

Jimin’s hands feel like heaven when they grip the soft flesh of your inner thigh, massaging and pulling you close to him as he peppers your jaw and throat with kisses. Each one leaves a wet trail fresh on your skin, more tongue and teeth now that you’ve ignited the want in him.

It’s hard not to let him rip the dress you have on, made of dark blue silk with cape shoulders and silver broaches at the shoulders. When you convinced him to gently take it off, his movements grow softer, more reverent than greedy.

“In,” you laugh between the wet smack of your mouths. “You need to relax.”

“I’m wide fucking awake now.”

“Be wide awake in the bath. Let me take care of you.”

It wins him over. Jimin doesn’t take his eyes off you as he bends down and pulls his briefs off. From your peripheral, you can see his cock spring against his stomach, dark tip swollen and begging for attention with pearls of precum.

You’re torn between wanting to drop your eyes to his cock as he stands and watches you peel your slip off, nipples hardening in the cool air under his heated gaze, but you keep your eyes on his. You could lose yourself in those deep, green pools.

“What?” Jimin asks, hint of a laugh in his voice. “Why do you look like that?”

“Like what?”

“You have moon eyes.”

You flush, feeling warm beyond the heat of lust. “I just love you.”

Jimin gets a look on his face for a moment, one you don’t understand. For a split second you feel insecure about the admission, standing naked in front of him and telling him that. But the next, the anxiety is gone as he scoops you from the floor, making you squeal as he steps into the warm water and sits down in it carefully.

Water laps over the side, the smell of lavender and orange filling your senses as you breath in. Jimin flicks his finger toward the faucet and the water stops – a trick you have yet to manage – and leans back against the rose wall of the tub, pulling you with him.

Your knees scrape lightly against the rough bottom but you don’t care, coming alive under Jimin’s touch as he settles you over his waist. You can feel his heavy cock brushing your stomach as you straddle him, shotting a thrill through you.

For now, he seems intent on swallowing you whole again, bringing wet hands to tangle in your hair and yank your mouth flush against his.

The mixture of warm water, Jimin’s touch and the gentle brush of his tongue makes your brain fuzzy. You float as you kiss him, your fingers knotting in the hair at the back of his neck, holding him close.

Slowly, you lower yourself a little more, grinding on his cock. You both whine in between spit-slicked kisses, a shudder going through you as you seek friction on his velvety shaft. You’re dripping for him, making the glide even easier as you roll your lips lazily, smiling against his mouth when he lets out a loud curse.

Jimin’s hands go to your waist, submerging under the water. He doesn’t take control, but his grip is hard, dimpling your skin as he grips onto you, letting you tease both of you. It feels like you’re tingling all over, heat rushing through your veins. His cock head nudges your clit and you let out a wanton sound, letting your forehead fall against his shoulder, slick with water and sweat from the heat of the water.

“Fuck,” Jimin rasps, lips pressed to your ear. His tongues snakes out, licking your lobe playfully. “Fuck please don’t tease me.”

“Oh, am I teasing you?”

“Enaid.”

The name shivers through you, a ripple of love and a million other feelings. You reach a hand down between you, firmly grabbing him in your hand, giving his cock a gentle squeeze as you lightly stroke him.

When Jimin is at your mercy, he sounds so beautiful. He leans is head back, face tilted toward the ceiling, mouth open to let sighs escape through pillowy lips. You watch him, the way his neck has light pink splotches as he grows flushed, thighs twitching underneath you as you pump him.

A grin spreads over your face. Seeing him like this is your favorite. Hair presses against his temples and he squeezes his eyes shut, trying not to lose himself entirely to your hand.

Thankfully, you don’t make him wait longer.

The crown of his cock catches your aching hole and you hiss between your teeth, ring of muscles clenching as you slowly sink down on him. It feels like you can’t breathe, every inch of his thickness stretching you to the max until you’re seated and he’s fully sheathed in your fluttering walls.

It takes quick breaths to adjust, your panting against his neck earning a hum from him as his fingers dig painfully into your hips. “Fuck,” he whispers. “So fucking tight.”

“Feels fucking full.”

“Yeah?” he mouths messily at the side of your jaw, voice a low whisper as he says, “Fuck yourself on my cock, baby. Make me feel good.”

Your eyes nearly roll back in your head at the request. Leaning away from him, you put your hands on his shoulders for balance, slowly rolling your hips into a languid rhythm. You can barely breathe at the feel of him inside of you, so fucking deep that you can think of nothing but Jimin.

There’s no rush. Jimin lets you find a pace you like, picking up speed when you feel comfortable enough. It feels divine, the way your walls hug his length, the way his tip hits deep inside of you. You laugh a bit, head dropping back as you sink down on him again.

“Hmmm?”

You moan his name as you take a moment to gather enough thoughts to answer his question, most coherency scattered to the wind. “Feels like you’re in my stomach,” it comes out whiny and pitchy. “It feels really fucking good.”

“Keep going, baby. You look so fucking beautiful like this.”

Jimin leans forward, taking a nipple in his mouth and sucking generously. You give a high-pitched squeal, the stimulation adding as you grind yourself on him, clit rubbing against his pelvis. You’re dizzy and overheated, Jimin focused on flicking his tongue devilishly around your pert bud, your eyes rolling back in your head.

Fucking Jimin always feels different. Even at this lazy pace, you feel like you’re going to fucking lose your mind. An orgasm gathers deep in your stomach, a swollen raincloud looming in the distance. You move a little harder on him now, water splashing over the side of the tub as you increase the size of your movements.

“Fingers,” you beg him as he lavishes your tits. He pulls his mouth away with a lewd pop, looking up at you with swollen lips and glassy eyes. “Please.”

He understands. Jimin’s mouth meets yours, a messy exchange of moans and spit. It’s sloppy but it’s good, especially as his hand slides down your abdomen, fingers finding your clit. You gasp into his mouth as he applies gentle pressure, slowly circling your bundle of nerves until you’re shaking on top of him, barely able to keep it together.

Jimin senses your coming apart, increasing his attention on your clit as he begins nipping the column of your throat, sharp teeth pinching your skin, rough tongue laving over it to sooth the sting.

“Shit,” you gasp, shaking above him. “Gonna – fuck.”

“Come on,” Jimin urgers. He plants his feet on the bottom of the tub, helping you as he thrusts gently up into you. “Come all over me.”

Hiding your face in his neck, you feel your orgasm open up on you. You clench hard, muscles clenching and a scream working its way out of you. You shudder in Jimin’s arms as he fucks you gently, letting you ride your orgasm, shaking and crying in his lap.

It sends him over the edge, Jimin curses and crashing his mouth with yours, sucking your tongue into his mouth greedily. You meet him with the same hunger, so fucking overwhelmed with the heat of his desire for you, for the way he makes you feel, for the way he whimpers your name between teeth and tongue.

As you come down, you catch your breath in his arms. He leans his head back, letting you lay against his neck, just trying to level yourself again. It always takes a bit, trying to come back down from the post-orgasm bliss. Jimin responds in kind, eyes closed, hand drifting up and down your spine.

“I love you,” he murmurs, eyes still close. Your eyes flutter open, looking up at him. “And I like when you look at me like that. So keep doing it.”

You laugh and close your eyes, just happy where you are. “Okay.”

Another day closes with you in Jimin’s arm, and your forever grateful for that one ring in your grandmother’s attic.

Previous Chapter

[demonsandmischief]

Our Moment Finale

Marvel - A Captain America Fairytale AU

King! Steve Rogers x Female Reader

1.8K Words

Here's Pt 1 and Pt 2

-Part 3-

the conclusion

----

You didn't waste anytime getting home, collapsing onto your bed with a sob that you muffled with your palm. It seemed nothing good could ever truly be yours.

You glanced around the small attic space with blurry tears. The house was supposed to be for you. Your father had left it in your name, yet your step-mother was able to work her way around that.

It was the only reason you stuck around, the only reason you put up with all of it. You were over it.

Peaches was the only thing that you felt a connection to. Your father adored her, and you were honored that you got to bond with her.

You made up your mind. It was time to move on. You dried that last of your tears and began packing a bag. You carefully folded your mother's dress and put it back in the box you got it from. One day when the memories weren't as painful, you would come back for it.

You wished things could be different with your life, but mostly with Steve. You should have known better than to get tied up with the king. It was too good to be true. You felt you had done everything you could to win over his trust, but obviously not enough.

You strapped your bag to your horse. The next town was about a days ride, and you could figure out where to go from there.

---

Steve didn't hesitate to saddle his own horse as quickly as possible. He had to go after you - had to explain. He couldn't lose you. You were the only good thing to ever happen to him.

He stalled in his tracks. Explain what exactly? That his biggest fear was being used and never being loved? He shook his head.

"My king, where are you off to?" a guard asked confused.

"I have to leave."

"But the ball-"

"Tell the court I will explain when I get back."

"Wait, you can't leave without someone going with you."

Steve was already racing down the path, his heart racing along with it.

"There's no time for that," he called. He could take care of himself.

He thought of you as he followed the familiar trail. He thought of the first day you met, and all of the moments thereafter. You always made time for him, always listened to what he had to say. You were attentive and doting.

He had screwed up.

The trail became less familiar. He didn't know where he was going, or how he would find you. He swallowed down the panic. He couldn't lose you. It was a constant circling thought.

Eventually the trail ended and he slowed to a trot. He saw a house up ahead, and a royal carriage in front of it.

He slowed, finding Sam speaking to a guard.

"What are you doing here and how did you get here so fast?" Steve asked.

Sam took his horse's reins. "I know something has been up with you lately, but you can explain later. The lady you talked to at the ball is in the house."

Your step-mother. He had some words for her, but first he needed you.

"Thank you, Sam. I owe you," Steve said, heading for the door.

"Your highness, it's a pleasure to have you in our home-"

"Don't act like I don't know what is going on," he said, cutting her off. "I will deal with you later. Is she here? Where is her room?"

The lady paled even beneath the layers of powder on her cheek.

"S-She's not-" she swallowed at Steve's fierce look, before gathering her wits. "My king, she's not here. She's hardly ever here. I'll show you where she prefers to spend her time."

Steve followed her down a hallway to a door with a winding staircase. She guided him up and into the small room at the top. The ceilings were so low that he had to scrunch his shoulders.

He took in the space, feeling upset at your living conditions.

"Leave me," he demanded, unable to look away from the small bed in the corner, one that contained a single blanket and a pillow, folded neatly on the end.

The step-mother was right. It looked like someone hardly lived here, except there was a freshly cut flower on the windowsill, soaking in the low, dusty light. And the books you had borrowed from his own library sat tucked by the bed. Most importantly, the beautiful dress that he never got to say anything to you about was hanging from the sides of a box under the bed. You must have been in a haste to leave.

He frowned, bending down to pick up a folded piece of paper. Were those the things you did by yourself? What had you gone through?

Steve cursed. He wished he could have started the night over. He wished that he had gone through his original plan instead of being sucked into his own insecurities.

"Where would she have gone?" he asked impatiently to the lady who was lounging on her couch.

"If she isn't in the barn with that horse, I have no clue."

There was no sign of a horse or you. He closed his eyes, feeling the anxiety creeping in and swallowing him whole. It was dark and late, and you were somewhere all alone. It was all his fault.

"She might know someone in the next town over," Sam suggested. "We could head over tomorrow."

"That's a days journey. I'll start the route tonight."

"You're exhausted, Steve," he protested.

"Just in case," his words dropped to a hoarse whisper, his mind plunged into the darkest corners.

Sam nodded. "We will catch up with you tomorrow then. Be safe."

He nodded, already going down the dark path, his heart thudding loud in his ears.

---

You were taking a break and letting Peaches rest. The fire you built was warm and soothing on your stiff limbs. Even after the incident in the woods a while back, it didn't scare you to be out alone. The stars and the moon made it seem as though you could feel your parents, and you enjoyed the sentiment, especially after the day you had.

You rested your head on your hand, your eyes fluttering closed. They were dry and sticky from the tears that had fallen.

You gave a shuddering hiccup, unable to give into the heartbreak anymore. You were cried out. Beyond upset - a numbness covered your whole body like a scab on a wound.

You jolted, hearing steps near you and you staggered quickly to your feet.

"Thank god you're alright," Steve said, rushing towards you. He pulled you tight into his embrace, and it took everything in you not to hug him back.

"What are you doing here, your highness?" you asked confused, trying to pull away. He didn't let go, only eased back so his hand remained on your shoulders.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I believed her over you. I'm sorry that it took me so long to come after you. I'm sorry for everything," he said the words so sincerely that tears filled your eyes for the millionth time tonight. He caressed you cheek, using the pad of his thumb to dry a fallen drop. "And it's just Steve to you."

"But you still did it," you whispered, voice thick with tears. "You don't trust me."

"I do trust you," he said earnestly. "and I care about you. It has been a long time since I shared those emotions with anyone."

"It doesn't matter," you successfully pull away. His hands drop dejectedly to his side. "You're a king, and I'm me. It would have never worked out."

It was quiet a moment. "Why didn't you tell me what you were going through at home?"

You sat down and Steve followed. "I didn't want you to think I was using you. I guess we both have our own insecurities."

He looked into the dimming flames of the fire. "Insecurities or not, I shouldn't have accused. I'm sorry I hurt you."

He waited, but you said nothing. "We're both exhausted and need sleep. Why don't we head back?" He stood, holding out his hand to you.

You shook your head, "I'm not going back."

He paused, fully expecting that response, but it still took him aback. He definitely wasn't going to leave you alone in the middle of nowhere though.

"Okay," he nodded, heading to his horse.

You frowned.

He turned with a blanket, draping it over you, before tending to the fire. Finally, he sat next to you with a sigh. His body was pressed against yours and you couldn't help but sag in relief at the support.

"You can't stay. You have to get back," you protested.

"Shh," he eased, kissing your forehead ever so softly. "Sleep a bit and then we will talk."

---

Gentle light breaking through the trees awoke you from your slumber. You shivered from the damp cold, curling closer to the source of warmth beneath you. Your eyes fluttered and you realized you were practically laying on top of Steve.

You called his name, shaking him gently.

"We fell asleep," you told him with a yawn, falling back onto his chest. It was the best sleep you ever had.

He hummed, wrapping his arm around your waist.

"I'm sorry. You must be freezing," he said coming to, easing the both of you up. Your cheeks heated and you moved to get off of his lap.

He adjusted the blanket so it was pulled tight over your shoulders.

"Come back with me, please," he whispered, turning your chin to look at him. "You can stay with me. I just want to be with you."

"You want me to stay with you?" you asked.

"We could get married in the summer," he grinned, the first genuine smile you had seen in a while.

"Married?" you asked, biting back a smile.

He nodded eagerly. "I'm falling in love with you."

---

Epilogue:

"Come on," Steve encouraged, pulling you eagerly down the hall to your favorite room in the palace.

Things were working out good, really good, between the two of you.

"What are we doing?"

"Close your eyes," he smiled, taking his large warm hands and covering them for you.

He pulled them off with an exaggerated ta-da, revealing a new shelf next to his in the library.

"Now you have your own spot for all of your favorites."

"Thank you," you smiled, leaning up to kiss him. "I love it. I love you."

And they lived happily ever after.

---

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[duskandstarlight]

Embers & Light (Chapter 39, NSFW Nessian)

Notes: Well, over a year you've had to wait for these two to seal the deal... BUT NO LONGER. And because I'm thankful to you all for sticking with this story, I've granted you with over 16k of sinful naughtiness. I think it's safe to say this is NSFW but you guys have read my smut before, you know the drill.

Embers & Light has always very much been the alternative story to Habits, but I couldn’t help but write in some crossover moments here to highlight the differences in events--timeline is a fascinating thing! Lemme know if you spot the moments :)

Please let me know what you think :) Comment and kudos will make my day!

I won't be able to write much of August (wedding & mini-moon) but I'll be doing my best to get you guys something as soon as possible. Hopefully by the end of the month, anyways <3

Oh! And I got a bookstagram. Find me at bookships.and.fandoms (and bear with me, I cba to take pretty pics atm)

Chapter 39 Cassian POV

Cassian stared at the doorway and the staircase beyond it, his gaze fixed and unwavering. Nesta had slipped out of the living room to follow Feyre up the stairs over ten minutes ago and he was already consumed with the biting sort of worry that gnawed at your insides.

He wasn’t concerned about what Nesta might be discussing with Feyre—that was her business—but because he couldn’t help but fret when it came to Nesta’s wellbeing.

It was a myriad of concerns that trampled through his mind like a herd of cattle. Had she slept enough? Had she recovered from being caught in the crowds the day before? Was her conversation with Feyre going to have her take three steps back rather than one forward? Cassian had spied the book of fairytales she’d slipped into her bag. Had guessed what she’d intended to do with it.

And then there was the fact that Nesta had left the bed before he’d woken again. Cassian couldn’t help but feel disappointed that she’d not been there when he’d opened his eyes, especially after the night before.

But that was how it was with he and Nesta. When the sun dipped below the horizon, Cassian often felt as if they were on the right path; as if once the world shut its eyes, the pressure was off and their play could continue. But as soon as light bled back into the sky, things weren’t the same. They weren’t cold… but Cassian felt suspended in a limbo of flirtatious banter and respectful distance. Which was hard, when all Cassian wanted to do was be as close to her as possible: to hold her hand and wind a hand through her hair. To kiss her brow and mouth and sink his teeth into her neck—

Cassian’s jaw tightened. He wanted to do wicked things. He wanted to make her moan and shatter. Wanted to know how she felt wrapped around him. Wanted to see if she’d gasp awake as he pushed inside of her.

Their trip home was going to be a turning point. Or at the very least it would be a milestone—a hammered notch as they progressed towards something. Yet, Cassian wasn’t naive: he wasn’t expecting Nesta to fall into his arms and never leave. But he hoped that it might make Nesta see their connection—not the tie between them, but the chemistry that Cassian knew would forever exist even if the mating bond was severed.

From the very first moment his gaze had settled on the haughty, vicious sister Cassian had known. Had nearly been brought to his knees—the heart-stopping moment so powerful, it suspended time as he felt something turn inside of him, as if something that had lain dormant had finally snapped open an eye.

And because of that Cassian would willingly allow Nesta to forge the reigns when it came to whatever it was between them. He could go slow. He would take the chance that Nesta might grow to accept him, even as he was seized by the terror that she might grow bored and draw a line under things before he had the chance to prove that he was worthy.

Cassian took a deep, steadying breath that made his ribcage heave. Thought of the lullaby that sat in his room at the House. Used that to ground himself and banish the painful thoughts.

Nesta had cared enough to gift him a piece of his past that nobody else had ever gone to the effort to find for him. And that was… everything. It was everything to him.

“I can hear the worry grinding gears in your brain.”

Rhys was standing where Mor had been a few moments earlier, his hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers, his eyebrows raised. Cassian hadn’t noticed Mor slip away. Couldn’t even recall what she'd been saying to him. Had he ignored her? He didn’t know. Didn’t really care. They all knew he was head over heels when it came to Nesta anyway.

Cassian blinked. It took him a moment to process Rhys’s words, but his body finally caught up. An instinctive grin tugged at the corners of his mouth and he commanded his eyes to sparkle, even though it was all fake. “I was under the impression you didn’t think I had one.”

Rhys didn’t chuckle or retort with something dry. Sometimes his brother allowed him to indulge in his self-deprecating behaviour, but it didn’t seem like today was one of those days. Instead, he cut to the chase. “They’re fine.”

Cassian bristled. Didn’t bother to pretend his mind wasn't solely on what was happening upstairs. “Feyre’s speaking with you now?”

Nesta would hate that. Would know if her sister was communicating to her mate whilst they were talking.

His brother’s laugh was as smooth as velvet. “No, she locked me out. It’s a habit she’s started recently and it’s usually coupled with the mental finger.”

This time, Cassian’s smile was genuine, as was the chuckle that chased it. “Feisty.”

“You have no idea,” Rhys responded with a wink.

Mor, who had breezed back to Cassian’s side with a new cup of coffee, rolled her eyes. “We do actually, you two are like rabbits.”

“We’re mated,” Rhys replied with a wave of his hand. “It’s to be expected.”

Mor lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “Cauldron, I need to bed someone rather than hearing about my cousin’s exploits with my best friend.”

“Head to Rita’s and find yourself a pretty fae,” Cassian drawled, tugging Mor into a one armed hug.

“Mmm,” Mor hummed, but she chewed on her lip again. Glanced nervously at Azriel, who was in deep conversation with Elain. His shadows were tucked in neatly to his frame rather than trailing, ever-moving and loose around his body, but Cassian knew he could hear them.

Cassian dropped a friendly kiss to Mor’s head before he let her go. Tussled her hair, grinning mischievously when she squawked in disapproval.

As if sensing that his cousin wanted a change of subject, Rhys looked square at Cassian. “Azriel will come over later to update you on the latest movements.”

Cassian sobered as if someone had poured icy water down his back. “Not later,” Cassian corrected firmly.

Tomorrow. No the day after that. Cassian couldn’t guarantee that he’d be able to stop once he’d had his first proper taste of Nesta.

But of course they couldn’t do that—wouldn’t. The situation in Illyria was too dire for them to be so selfish as to lock themselves away for days.

It didn’t mean Cassian didn’t want to, though.

“You’ve got plans?” Rhys asked lightly and Mor froze.

You’ve got no idea, Cassian thought. But then realised his brother knew. Of course he did. Surely everyone in this room knew how desperate he was to get back to Illyria. To have Nesta in his bed again, writhing and moaning, their bodies slick with sweat as they moved in unison.

Clenching his jaw, Cassian grounded that desire between his teeth, until it was nothing but broken, delicious shards that scraped down his throat. His blood coiled. “Yes. Maybe.”

If she doesn’t change her mind.

“It has to be tomorrow, Cass.”

Biting back a sigh, Cassian nodded. “I know. Come at noon. I suppose I’ll be camped out in Illyria for the foreseeable future.” He cast a stern look at Mor. “Send me letters.”

“You have a housemate,” Rhys reminded him. “You’re not going to be entirely alone.”

Mor grinned slyly. “A very beautiful housemate.”

Cassian was more than aware of that.

He grunted and unable to stop himself, he voiced the fear that always niggled away at the back of his mind. “For now.”

But Rhys just loosed another manicured shrug, that was at odds with the ground-breaking revelation that followed it. “For a long while. Nesta has expressed her desire to remain in Illyria long-term despite the discontent. Assuming you don’t mind sharing your bungalow.”

It felt as if an iron band of hope was clamped around Cassian’s chest. He stared at his brother. Tried not to blink. Crossed his arms firmly over his chest, protecting his heart. “And you know this how?”

“Nesta spoke with me. We have arrived at a truce, of sorts.”

That must have been what they’d spoken about yesterday on the balcony. He wanted to know more—everything—but Cassian would not press Rhys. If Nesta wanted to tell him, she would. He had to respect that.

So, he bit back his curiosity and grumbled, “About time.”

Rhys clapped his hand on Cassian’s back, but there was something wary in his expression, as if there was something he wanted to say but wouldn’t. Finally, he said, “Patience is a virtue, brother.”

“I’m not the patient sort.”

“You are when it counts,” Rhys countered, and Cassian didn’t say anything because they both knew what he was referring to. Rhys had been the first to know. Had witnessed Cassian in a tangled web of despair and longing and unwanted visions. His brother had immediately put two and two together. Because he’d been there, too. Knew what it was to want someone you thought you couldn’t have. To hope that someone might finally grow to see you in colour rather than in black and white.

Cassian cast another look towards the empty doorway and the quiet hallway beyond it.

A shiver of anticipation ran through him. It was time for them to go home.

***

In the end, Cassian folded to his worry and had Elain fetch Nesta from upstairs. It was time to go, he’d insisted, even though there was no true reason as to why they needed to leave quite so quickly.

“No guesses required to identify why you want to head back to Illyria,” Mor muttered out the side of her mouth, as the creak of the stairs a few flights above heralded the sisters return. Cassian jabbed his elbow into his friend’s ribs and Mor yelped through her grin, even as she had to sidestep, the nudge throwing her off balance. “What? It’s all over your face. You think I can’t read you after five hundred years?”

“Don’t announce it to the room,” Cassian muttered darkly under his breath, “and you won’t find yourself torn to pieces.”

Mor briefly bumped against his arm, the jostle affectionate. Unfazed by his threat, she glanced sideways at him with rich chocolate eyes. “I won’t. We just want you to be happy, you know.”

Cassian’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “Now isn’t the time for a lecture about finding a more suitable mate.”

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He hadn’t meant for it to happen, hadn’t meant to voice what he’d kept inside for so long.

Mor’s eyes widened, but she wound her arms around his waist. Cassian allowed her to tuck herself under his arm. His friend scented of citrus and cinnamon. When she craned her neck to look up at him, her expression was glowing with sincerity and Cassian realised that she hadn’t been insinuating that Nesta wasn’t right for him at all. “We’re all cheering you on from the sidelines, Cass, I promise.”

The muscle in Cassian’s jaw flexed. He looked away from her, towards the doorway again, unable to help himself. “Don’t say anything.”

She tightened her grip on his waist. “I won’t. I promise.”

“She doesn’t want it.”

Mor untangled herself from him. Shook her head in disagreement. “She does. She just isn’t ready to admit it yet.”

They both fell quiet as Nesta walked through the door with Elain and Feyre. The first thing Cassian noticed was that she scented of water and salt—tears.

Heart pattering with concern, Cassian quickly scanned Nesta’s expression and body language, searching for clues. But Nesta remained close to her sisters rather than apart, her fingers snagged in Feyre’s, her expression not in tatters but smooth and calm, like still waters.

“Ready to go?” Mor chirped from beside him. “I can winnow you back when Sala arrives.”

Nesta’s grey-blue eyes slid to Mor. “I called her on my way down.”

“Then you have time to see the snowdrops you gave me before you leave,” Elain responded eagerly, tugging at Nesta’s arm. “The cuttings took well to the soil. I planted them beneath the shade of the birch trees near the river.”

Cassian watched Nesta disappear into the garden. Surveyed the way a strand of golden brown hair that had escaped her loose braid floated on the breeze, as if it was part of the element rather than separate, as Elain bent to show her the snowdrops.

Yet despite the clear ease to Nesta’s movements, Cassian couldn’t help but ask Feyre whether everything was okay when she came over to hug him goodbye.

“We’re fine,” Feyre assured him, as together they watched Mor tentatively sit beside Azriel on the couch. For once the Shadowsinger’s shadows didn’t lighten, but Azriel still turned to her, drawn by some magnetism as she began to speak with him.

Slim fingers closed around his. Squeezed. “Thank you for fetching the book of fairytales for Nesta.”

The strand of ebony hair that had wrangled free of Cassian’s hair tie tickled the side of his forehead as he inclined his head. That had been a long time ago, when Nesta was a viper that he dared to poke with a stick, just so he could get a reaction. “Of course.”

“You travelled all that way on barely healed wings just to fetch a book.”

It wasn’t just a book, but Cassian knew Feyre understood that, so he only grunted, “Az took me most of the way. He waited to winnow me back.”

But Feyre’s eyes were burnished, as she asked, “Is there anything you won’t do for my sister?”

“It depends,” Cassian replied honestly. Because although he’d rather die than see Nesta hurt, Cassian wouldn’t hesitate to stand up to her when her fire was ill-wrought. And that’s what he liked about the both of them: if he was an ass Nesta told him straight, and he did the same for her. A grin slashed across his face. “Your sister has claws and teeth when she’s angry.”

It wasn’t long before Sala landed on her four large paws in the garden, prompting goodbyes. Mor winnowed Nesta and Sala, whilst Az’s scarred hand closed around Cassian’s arm.

Together, Cassian and his brother passed through realms of shadows and light and raging wings. Then Illyria was taking shape before Cassian bit by bit: there was the sting of winter on his cheeks, the crunch of snow beneath his feet, the scent of pine and untamed air. It felt like that wonderful first heave of your lungs after being starved from air. It alerted Cassian senses—woke him up.

Not bothering to say goodbye for the second time, Azriel bled straight back into shadow, but Mor raised a hand in a parting wave from where she stood beside Nesta and Sala. Her long golden hair caught on the breeze. It tussled behind her like its own puff of wind, before she vanished into nothing.

When Cassian’s eyes snapped to Nesta, he found her standing with her eyes closed, breathing in the wilderness of their surroundings. After a few beats, Sala jumped onto her hind legs, climbing up Nesta’s body with her snow-crusted paws to knock her head impatiently against Nesta’s.

A breath of laughter clouded in front of her as Nesta ruffled Sala’s ears. She murmured something Cassian couldn't identify in the manticore’s ear, before Sala dropped onto all fours and padded through the snow in the direction of the main camp.

Cassian watched the manticore go. He suspected Sala was going to seek out the widows camp and check everything was in order. It was the kind of thing Nesta would fret about—that whilst she was warm and fed, others might not be extended the same courtesy.

Or, the dark part of his mind whispered, she wants Sala out of the house.

You can fuck me wherever you like in the bungalow, Cassian.

The many needles of thrill pierced through him just as Nesta met his stare from across the snow. Suddenly, Cassian didn’t know what to say. His tongue felt swollen and thick in his mouth, words suddenly as viscous as tar. The atmosphere had altered—the aura surrounding them despite the distance suddenly heavy with promise: a change that pointed to something new.

The siphons on the back of Cassian’s hands glowed in anticipation. Nesta merely raised an eyebrow at him. Turned. Walked towards the house just as he caught the thick scent of jasmine and vanilla on the wind.

Cassian’s nostrils flared as it wound around him; invisible ropes of arousal. And then he was moving, following Nesta’s footprints.

His friends had winnowed them to the back of the house, halfway between the small stone outhouse and the backdoor. They weren’t far from the bungalow, but it felt like miles as Cassian stomped noisily after Nesta, his boots compacting the snow as if they were grinding shards of glass into powder.

When Cassian drew up behind Nesta, she already had a hand half-raised towards the door. Even though he wasn’t touching her, she was a whirlpool of warmth. It sucked him in, begging him to line his torso against her back, so when she cursed, realising she hadn’t taken her gloves off, Cassian didn’t hesitate to reach over her shoulder and rest his palm against the wood, encasing her.

The touch of his bare skin—or Nesta’s—was the key to the magical lock. A thunk sounded as the bolt released but Cassian didn’t push open the door—was too preoccupied with the female before him—who had twisted to stare up at him.

As soon as their gazes snagged, history began to knit together in a rush of thread, until it was a tangible, living thing. Because this moment had been written in the stars as soon as Cassian had seen Nesta in her amethyst dress in the human realm; her hair wielded into a mighty crown, her expression haughty and defiant, yet burning with the potential of a life not yet lived. They’d denied that history, even as it waited patiently in the wings. It had watched as they danced around each other, fumbling and snarling their way to this very moment—

They moved in unison. Cassian’s head bowing just as Nesta reached upwards; her body bowing to his, her palms sliding across his jaw until they were around his neck. Their lips met with a force that rattled Cassian’s bones. This wasn't a brush of a kiss. This was immediate and awakening: Nesta tasted like life and breath, like destiny. And yet again, Cassian knew with startling clarity that they were meant for this, he and Nesta. They were meant for each other and nobody could tell him otherwise, including her.

A soft breath whooshed out of Nesta as her back hit the door, but then Cassian was pushing it open, guiding her inside in a whirlwind of noise and wreckage.

The scrape of wood on the flagstone tiles sounded as Nesta’s back knocked against the table before Cassian turned them, his wings grazing against cupboards and the cool walls. Items clattered and shattered, but Cassian used his wings to keep a check on his surroundings, the touch guiding him to the left-hand wall where he could press her against the wall and devour.

Because Cassian could not tear his mouth from Nesta’s. Couldn’t stop tasting her. Couldn’t stop craving the roll of her tongue and the sound of her guttural moans. It fuelled a fireball inside of him; it roared into life in the centre of his heart, before spreading throughout his limbs, rushing through his body until it settled deep in his groin, aching and burning—screaming for relief.

When they finally hit the wall, the thud of their bodies shook the cabinets and the porcelain within it. Without thinking, Cassian took the brunt of it, his hand flying to cup Nesta's lower back and head to purposefully shield her from the hurt.

Because he was coarse and rippling, galloping towards a primal sort of wilderness that Cassian wasn’t sure he could control.

If Nesta was ignorant to the fact or wholly aware Cassian didn’t know. All he knew was that her hands were scrabbling at his leather like dancing flames, tugging him closer.

When he pressed his body over hers, aligning every inch of her to every inch of him, she whined.

Cassian swallowed it. Slanted his mouth across hers. Tucked his wings in tight as every muscle in him tensed in anticipation.

Nesta tasted of chai and vanilla and embers with a destiny to roar.

Another strangled noise came from her throat as Cassian sank his hands deep into the hair at her scalp, coaxing strands free from her braid as his fingers threading through her hair, just as he had done the night prior when he’d coaxed her to sleep. But this wasn’t a soothing touch. This was a touch to startle every nerve ending to life.

Time began to bleed around them, but Cassian only registered the fluidity of the frantic dance they had not learnt. The way Nesta arched into him as his palm slid back to span her waist. The pant of her breath against his skin. His heaving chest. The way his wings began to spread again of their own volition, like a fan unfolding to reveal a secret pattern—as if they were controlled by nothing but the ache of his cock as it strained against the leather of his pants.

As if in acknowledgement that his body was no longer ruled by him, his hips slanted upwards of their own accord. It was a desperate bid to relieve the ache, and his throat vibrated with a thunderous growl as Nesta dug her nails deeper into the leather of his jacket, using it for leverage as she arched into him.

Something turned further inside of Cassian, like a lock beginning to grind as a key turned. And then it felt as if he were plunging beneath water; ducking into the depths and travelling beneath an invisible barrier before emerging on the other side buoyant and surging with power.

Ruby crashed through his veins, like the walls of a dam broken free and… singing light. Magic roared so loudly in Cassian’s ears that he no longer heard the galloping beat of his heart or the sawing of their breath.

Reeling, he tore his mouth from Nesta’s. Her eyes were just as wide, puddles of startled moonlight—endless mercury—and Cassian didn’t need to look down to know that her hands were wreathed in silver.

For a moment they stared at one another. Time slowed until it was sluggish around them and then the feeling receded, as if Cassian was being carried by a wave as it was dragged unwillingly from the shore on thundering feet.

Sound bled back into Cassian’s ears, like raindrops slowly blotting paper. A moan whispered on a wind carried through him, the words fleeting—her name three times, like always—before they dispersed into nothing and ragged breathing filled the hole.

Fuck, they needed to be careful. He needed to be careful if just kissing her led to some transcendental experience. Cassian knew Nesta became open during sex—had seen tumbled images of tangled limbs and heard her moans—and he couldn’t afford to lose her when she had finally let him in. Couldn’t let her down, even though he wanted nothing more than to finally be found worthy by someone.

That twisted rope between them couldn’t widen and strengthen. Couldn’t finally open and click into place with a consensual snap.

Because Cassian had heard stories of mates who had gone to bed. Who had fleetingly accepted what they wanted in their hearts but not in their minds. And after they had both finished and life had been breathed into that bond, only death could sever their Cauldron-blessed connection.

Cassian would not have a mate with regrets, but he didn’t have the will-power to deny himself of her any longer. Not when he could scent how much Nests wanted him. When he could feel it like an unquenchable ache in his bones—an ache which made him tremble and shake. His rocky warrior exterior ground to nothing but sand.

As if Nesta could read his thoughts she tipped her head back, baring the column of her neck.

A resounding guttural sound dragged from his throat. The noise was animalistic and unchained. A booming crack ricocheted around the walls, the muscles in Cassian’s back burning as his wings snapped outward.

Something toppled from somewhere and crashed to the floor, but Cassian didn’t bother to raise his head to look at what it was.

And then time seemed to both slow and drive into a frenzy. Cassian launched at Nesta’s neck at the same time he tugged at her hair, urging her head to fall back even farther.

His lips were against the column of her throat in the blink of an eye; his teeth scraping, his mouth sucking until her blood pounded in his ears. Nesta’s knees buckled but Cassian quickly pinned her body to the wall, holding her up, his knee sliding firmly between her legs…

And… nothing. There was no panic or sensation of being trapped—no sudden fire launching him back thirty feet—but Cassian still tore his mouth from Nesta’s neck. Had to know she wasn’t panicking. “Ok?” he rasped.

A frown burrowed Nesta’s brows. Her swollen lips parted in confusion. Somehow it made her look more beautiful.

Cassian raised a shaking hand to trace it away. “Nesta. Are you ok?”

Understanding dawned like millions of unfurling petals.

When Nesta spoke she was short of breath, the words an exhale. “Don’t hold back.”

Cassian practically arched into her at the words but he made himself remain still, even as his body vibrated with tension. His bones creaked but he held fast.

That stubborn, beautiful chin lifted and Nesta’s eyes glinted wicked yet pure. Always an oxymoron, his Nesta.

“Don’t hold back,” she repeated, her voice stronger this time. She pushed her hips against his thigh and the friction had her lips parting, a shaky breath tumbling from her lungs. “I can take it.”

The words were like slashing knives of pleasure, severing the leash on any control Cassian thought he had.

The subsequent rush of air Cassian loosed was akin to a snorting horse.

Then he was moving and their mouths were fused together again, their tongues a delicious push and pull of control and pleasure before he yanked away.

“Thank fuck,” he gasped. His hands flew to her hips, guiding her to ride his thigh. “Thank fuck, Nesta.”

The friction had Nesta moaning, her fingernails digging so hard into the leather of his jacket Cassian was sure she had dented the material. But he didn’t care. Didn’t care about anything but the living fervour that clawed at them.

His hands were everywhere at once. Tangled in her hair. Sliding over her cheek. Cupping her ass. Attacking the buttons at the back of her dress, until they popped and scattered. Until he could pull the material down her arms, exposing tantalising creamy skin.

At the first sight of her breasts, Cassian growled. He bowed his head to capture a nipple sharply between his teeth before he laved over it with his tongue, smoothing over the wound. He relished the way Nesta cried out. Arched into him. She began to tear at his jacket. It snagged on his wings but Cassian shrugged it off until it hit the floor with a thud.

The first slide of Nesta’s palms beneath his tunic was like oil sizzling in a pan. Cassian hissed as the callouses of her palms scraped deliciously over his skin and scars and ink. Snarled as she made quick work of the stays and fastenings. Tried to focus on her other breast as she inched her hand beneath the tight leather fabric and eased him free.

Fingers wrapped sinfully around him, causing Cassian to snarl around a peaked nipple—to buck sharply—pressing them more firmly against the wall.

“Don’t bother,” Nesta moaned as Cassian wrenched desperately at the fabric of her dress, trying to coax it further down her body. She ground down onto his thigh as it to emphasise her point—her need—and the heat of her burned.

It was all Cassian needed to hear. He fumbled desperately with her skirts until a hand was under the material and sliding up her thigh. Until fabric ripped and her underwear fell away in what Cassian imagined to be a ripple of lace.

In one swift movement, Cassian lifted Nesta’s body upwards, until her legs were gripped tightly around his hips and her back was flush against the wall. Her hands flew to find purchase, grappling at the back of his neck, and when she was steady she raked her hand purposefully through the hair which had come loose from his tie. Tugged at the leather until his hair fell over his face. Whined. Tangled her fingers through the ebony strands as if they were her reigns.

Cassian splayed the hand that wasn’t supporting her body against the cold wall. Tried to catch his breath, but the position evened out the height between them. Just a slight movement would allow him to capture her lips with his, and Cassian couldn’t deny that demanding tug that drove him to devour. Nesta seemed to feel the same way. Moaned in relief as Cassian tasted her as if he couldn’t get enough, gave back as good as she got. Over and over they moved, until they were nothing but an undulating wave of tongue and teeth and groans. The pleasure was a surging, roiling entity. It was all consuming. It overtook Cassian’s body, demanding that his hand drag from her ass straight to her core.

When his fingers slid through wetness, Cassian’s groan sounded like thunderous defeat. He dropped his head to Nesta’s collarbone. Gently pressed his lips to her clavicle. To her shoulder. Tried to ground himself as he slid straight to the spot that made her keen—as pleasure ignited down the bond like a crashing wave. Brushed over it again and again and again. Relishing in the noises he coaxed from her. At the curling fists of desire that clenched agonisingly inside of him.

Cassian had to see Nesta fall. Had to look into her eyes as she broke.

But he wanted to be inside of her when it happened.

Cassian was reaching for his cock at the same time that Nesta let out a broken moan. “Do it,” she breathed. There was no bite of authority in her voice, as if all of the energy she had directed in the pursuit of pleasure had smoothed over the serrated edge of her personality he loved so much, leaving a softer version in its wake. “Please. Just—”

A satisfied snarl ripped from Cassian as he felt her want. And in that moment, Cassian knew there would be nothing gentle about how this was going to play out. It was going to be rough and frantic, riding a wave of pleasure that had been building for too long. Knew afterwards that they would sink to the cold floor in a mass of tangled limbs and mingled breath.

And Cassian wanted that. Had never wanted release so badly in his life.

Something clambered in the back of his mind. Something he needed to remember, but his limbs were moving of their own volition. He didn’t even bother to pump his cock or squeeze it to relieve the tension. Only cared about finally being inside of her.

The heat and slickness of her was sinful and divine when he lined himself up at her entrance. The hand he had braced against the wall came to span her cheek. It relied on Nesta clamping on tightly to his waist with her legs and the press of his torso against hers, but they managed it.

Shaking, Cassian raked back the hair that had fallen free from her braid back from Nesta’s face, just as she tugged him in for a bruising kiss.

There was a moment when everything paused and trembled. As Nesta pulled away and stared at him, her eyes swimming silver—glowing with it—her pupils obscured.

His magic surged at the sight of it. Crashed against his skin as if it was trying to escape. His siphons burned bloody.

“Cassian,” Nesta panted. Despite the keen desperation, there was cushion to his name. Gently, Nesta bowed her head until her forehead rested against his. The gesture was surprisingly tender. It tugged at his heartstrings, triggered his hips into movement as they finally pushed forward.

The tight heat that wrapped around him like velvet was so immediate that Cassian swore. Sweat trickled down his back and seeped into the tunic Nesta hadn’t gotten round to discarding. He trembled as Nesta’s breath stuttered and he felt the burning pain mixed with pleasure as he sunk in an inch. Felt the stretch of Nesta’s body as it strained to fit around him.

Claws dug into his back—Nesta’s nails—biting into his skin, until the metallic tang of blood infused the air.

Cassian’s body stilled before he even had a second to register that he needed to stop. That instinct buried deep to make sure she never hurt.

And then a knock rapped at the front door.

“No,” Nesta moaned. She shifted her hips and Cassian sank a little deeper. That pain flared again through the pleasure and Cassian grip on her turned vice like.

Sense stumbled into his desire addled brain, like a fawn on gangly legs.

But then it righted itself.

Another sharp rap at the door cleared his head completely.

He bowed to bury his face in the crook of her neck but Nesta whined. Tilted her hips again, urging him deeper. “Nesta, stop.”

“No.” Her whimper was doused in frustration, but all Cassian could feel was that sharp needle of pain.

He tried to pull back, but Nesta clamped down around him with that incredible strength of hers. The strength that only seemed to appear at times of desperation or anger.

Cassian’s jaw flexed, his features hardening. “I’m hurting you.”

“You’re not,” Nesta countered, defiance colouring her expression.

“I am,” Cassian retorted, not allowing for a passing beat of their hearts to pass before he replied. “I’m hurting you. Don’t pretend that I’m not.”

I can feel it, Cassian wanted to explain, but didn’t. Knew somehow that if he did they might not end up joining at all.

Desire fogged Nesta’s mind and it fuelled the punch to her next words. “I don’t care.”

Ire punched through Cassian’s desire enough for him to see red. “Well, I do,” he snapped.

Nesta’s nostrils flared at his tone and her eyes burned silver. Cassian wondered how everything had gone southward so quickly—they were on a sinking ship and he needed to patch it up. Knew she felt rejected. So, he kissed her and pushed back that unquenchable ache he felt for her. Knew it hit home because she gasped softly into his mouth, her surprise tart on his tongue.

He pulled out. As soon as his cock fell free that pain throbbed and ebbed. But Nesta moaned all the same.

Moaned again as he drew his head back to stare at her.

She surprised him when her eyes remained open rather than closed off. There was no hard shield. Nothing but want and a vulnerability that made his heart squeeze.

It gave him the courage to do the right thing.

He kissed her again. Trailed a thumb across her swollen lips, ignoring the desire that roared as Nesta sucked it into her mouth, her tongue darting across the top before the bit down lightly.

“This is how things are going to go,” Cassian murmured lowly, pulling his thumb out of her mouth and across her jawline, trailing the wetness all the way to the sensitive spot behind her ear. Nesta shuddered.

“I’m going to get the door and send whoever it is away,” Cassian continued. He paused to let the words sink in. Lowered his head to trace a path with his nose, up the slope of her shoulder, all the way up her neck until his lips were grazing the shell of her ear. “You will go to your bedroom. When they’re gone, I’ll find you.”

Another shiver coursed through Nesta’s body. Her fingers tightened around his neck.

When Nesta next spoke, Cassian knew he’d piqued her interest. “What then?” she demanded.

“Then I’m going to make you come until you see stars.”

Nesta’s entire body froze. For a long moment, she didn’t so much as breathe, but Cassian felt the throb of her blood and magic as it pounded against her skin.

Then, Nesta’s hands worked between them, until her small palms were splayed across his chest. She pushed firmly, indicating that she wanted to get her down. Her body slithered to the floor, her lean legs falling away from his body.

The sudden distance between them felt like miles.

Nesta lifted her chin. “Hurry or I’ll start without you.”

A breath heaved at Cassian’s lungs and he felt his pupils contract, pushing out his irises until they were swallowed by black. The image of Nesta sprawled on the bed wearing nothing but skin, her legs open, a hand moving between her legs had that coil within him tightening to the point of pain.

A growl spiked through the air as another knock sounded at the door.

Nesta must have known she’d wrangled back control, because she arched a cool eyebrow at him.  “I thought you were going to answer the door?”

A dark chuckle forced its way out of his chest, but it was mechanical rather than true. Because there was nothing funny about resisting Nesta right now and his body seemed to know that.

Cassian reached for her before he knew what was happening. Rested his forehead against hers. Breathed once. Twice. “I need to calm down,” he confessed.

Nesta snickered, but the sound fell flat as her breath hitched upwards at the end. It betrayed the effect he had on her, even as she said silkily, “Did the image of me pleasuring myself get you hard?”

“I was already hard,” he growled. He pressed a lingering kiss to her mouth. “As you well know.”

A hand reached between them. Stroked over him—the touch feather light but tantalising enough that Cassian bucked into her touch.

And then cunning words, “Maybe I’ll let you watch.”

A string of swear words left Cassian’s mouth. He yanked back from Nesta, as if someone had tugged firmly on a leash. Tugged up his pants and jerked ruthlessly at the ties until they fastened, trapping his cock back into the leather.

With a growl, Cassian waved a hand towards the living room—to Nesta’s room to the right of it. “Leave before I fuck you against the wall, Nesta,” he barked.

Nesta’s sly laugh skittered over his skin, and without pulling her dress back up to cover herself, Nesta sashayed through the nearest arch and disappeared.

*** It had been Mas and Roksana at the door, laden with bags full of groceries and supplies from the market. With full access to the house, there was no reason why they shouldn’t have just come right in. Which meant Mas had suspected somehow, enough so that she had left the bags on the front step and remained standing with Roksana a few feet back.

“I am sorry Sinta, but the meat might spoil,” the housekeeper had apologised as soon as he’d opened the door, his hair a tangled mess from where Nesta had yanked it free of its tie. He hadn’t had the sense to recover it from the floor, but he had righted his tunic and fastened his pants.

And thank the Cauldron for that, because Roksana peeked up at Cassian with wide eyes from her position of safety behind Mas’s legs. He didn’t know when Lorrian had brought the youngling back to the camp, but Cassian guessed it hadn’t been easy on the two of them to take a little girl out of the warmth and back into the snow.

Cassian tried to soften the eyes that he knew were a little wild. He raked his hands through his hair and sent them his most disarming smile, but there was fuck all he could do about his scent. So he thanked her, trying to keep his voice light and conversational. Ordered her to take the rest of the day off.

To the housekeeper’s credit, she did not linger. Had merely nodded and rushed Roksana back into the snow, towards the main vein of the camp.

Yet, whilst the housekeeper’s interruption had been unwanted, it did grant Cassian some breathing space as he rammed perishables into the cool box. Because even though Cassian would allow Nesta to decide how this all played out, he needed to lay down a rule of his own: he could give her the space to decide what she wanted—for him to prove that he could be what she needed—but there was one thing he could not suffer through.

And if they had stormed ahead in a hurricane of lust; with Nesta’s back against the wall as Cassian pounded into her… Well, it would be too late for Cassian to lay down his one condition once they were sweaty and sated. Nesta was more likely to get up and walk away. To not look back.

Cassian found Nesta sitting at the dresser in her room re-braiding back her hair.

Leaning against the doorjamb, Cassian opened his mouth to explain who had been at the door, but an iron band closed fast around his chest, robbing him of breath.

“What are you wearing?” The words came out of him eventually, entirely uneven to the point of being choked.

Because Nesta was wearing his shirt. It was the same steel blue shirt she’d worn that first day in Illyria. The shirt that was an identical match to her eyes, purchased before Cassian had realising what his subconscious had done. A shirt he’d had to hide away in the spare room because Cassian hadn’t been able to bare seeing it in his closet—of being reminded that his mate was a ghost who had banished him away.

Go home, Cassian.

Nesta met Cassian's eyes in the mirror. Announced with cool simplicity, “You ripped my dress.”

“And this is your way of torturing me?”

An indifferent shrug. “Why wear my own clothing when I know what fate it will suffer?”

Cassian knew his nostrils billowed, but he remained propped up against the doorframe. Pretended he was stuck to it like glue because his body was trembling for him to launch across the distance and claim her mouth. Her neck. Her.

The silence seemed to unnerve Nesta. Cassian knew that from months of living with her. From months of studying her slight tells when her masks slipped.

Right on cue, Nesta reset her posture—a gesture that most people read as defiant. But Cassian knew it was also a sign of nerves. She shrugged with feigned indifference, even as her throat tightened and that damned pulse fluttered temptingly against her throat. “You liked it the last time I wore it.”

Cassian huffed a breath. He had liked it the last time she wore it, even if she’d been so gaunt that he’d worried she might wither away. But the shirt… it had put images in his mind that Cassian had long tried to store away, imprisoned in rock and flame: her in his clothing, not fucking other males but him, her lithe legs wrapping around his waist as he sank deep—

Which brought Cassian neatly to the point he needed to discuss with her…

Nesta’s eyes tracked Cassian in the mirror as he peeled himself out of the doorway and came to stand behind her. When their eyes locked into place, it felt as if someone had punched him in the chest. There was something deep in Nesta’s gaze that made it feel as if he was tumbling down a rabbit hole, that magnetism between them drawing him in like gravity.

When Cassian’s fingers brushed Nesta’s neck—ran down the braid she had draped over her shoulder—Nesta shivered. “You had your hair down then,” he rasped. Didn’t wait for her to protest, as he slowly coaxed the tie free from the end of her hair.

Nesta turned preternaturally still, watched him gently part her hair in the mirror until it fell free from her plait, his calloused fingers brushing over her skin as he coaxed her hair to fall down her back.

The pulse hammering at her throat and the warmth radiating from her skin were the only indications that Nesta was alive rather than stone.

Only when Cassian had finished and lifted his hands from her neck, did Nesta come back to life.

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. But she cocked her head slightly to dissect him. “It’s a nuisance like this. It gets in the way.”

“It’s beautiful,” Cassian corrected, his voice rasping, like sand scraping against skin. He ran a hand through her hair as if to emphasise his point, his fingers running down, down, down until her waist.

When Nesta stood and turned into the warmth of him, Cassian scented what she wanted. But there was something else simmering in her expression—surprise. As if she’d caught the truth in his words and hadn’t expected someone to truly think her beautiful.

She stepped closer, until the lines of her torso ghosted his. Until Cassian’s heart pounded so hard he could hear the frantic tempo of it in his ears. Nesta tilted her head back so she could stare up at him and Cassian’s hand weaved through the mane of her hair before he could stop himself.

He was desperate to touch her again. Desperate.

But Cassian waited. Waited for Nesta to reach up on tiptoes and press her mouth to his.

The kiss was not like their bruised, desperate kisses from earlier. It was coaxing and unsure; the tentative beginning of something that was not merely fuelled by ardour. But it soon blossomed into something more, like a snowball rolling down a mountain blanketed white, gaining speed as it grew and grew—

Dragging his mouth away from hers, Cassian fought for breath. Battled to remember what he needed to do and say. But then Nesta was tugging his head back down again, her fingers tangled in his hair, the gesture indicative of an insistent need that Cassian knew would not go away.

As always, Nesta tasted divine. Addictive. He could taste the curl of her power on his tongue—silver and white, life and death—and he wondered if she could taste his. Knew his siphons were glowing scarlet—

“Nesta,” he murmured hoarsely, her name a caress against her lips. He couldn’t invoke a distance between them, couldn’t stop touching her. His nose brushed hers as her drew back an infinitesimal amount. Closed his eyes. Inhaled deeply, summoning courage. “You can dictate how this goes between us. But if we do this, I can’t—there’s no-one else. Just you and me.”

The subsequent pause was one of the worst of Cassian’s life. It was barely a breath. The blink of an eye. But it felt as if it was malleable and elastic, drawn out by the hands of fate as everything suspended in time.

He didn’t want to open his eyes, but in the end he managed it. Caught Nesta’s eyelashes flutter downwards, casting shadows on her skin. Her fists tightened in the fabric of his tunic, anchoring him to the moment.

She swallowed. Shook her head. Agreed with a conviction he had not been expecting, “No-one else.”

The relief that swooped through Cassian was so fierce it was painful. But he still didn’t dare to believe it.

He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger so Nesta could not look away. So he could look into the deep waters of her irises and know she was telling him the truth.

But her gaze was steady and unwavering, as he demanded, “Say it again.”

His voice cracked but Nesta didn’t appear to notice. Her grip on him tightened. “No-one else,” she repeated on an outward breath.

A low, ravaged moan sounded from Cassian’s throat. “Diyosa,” he murmured, slipping into Illyrian. Goddess.

“Bruha,” Nesta corrected. She fumbled over the pronunciation but Cassian felt as if he had been an ember that had burst into flame. Witch.

He let out a rough bark of laughter. Then he swore in a long, drawn out moan. “No Illyrian,” he ordered roughly. Pressed his mouth firmly against hers, the kiss searing. “Otherwise this will be over far too quickly.” Another kiss. “And I want to take my time.”

The smile Nesta painted against Cassian’s lips was feline. “You’ve made a lot of promises, General. I hope you don’t disappoint.”

Cassian snarled. Spun her body until her back was cradled against his chest. “I have, haven’t I?” he mused lightly, even though the hammering of his heart must have beat a betraying rhythm against her shoulder blade.

In the mirror, Nesta’s expression grew less poised and controlled. Delight mixed with anticipation clung to her features at this game they played; this tussle for control. She did not try to wrangle free from his hold or shift uncomfortably in his arms at having her back enclosed against his.

It thrilled him—that trust. Enough so that when he met her eyes in the mirror, Cassian found that his irises had been swallowed by his pupils until they were only a ring of chocolate gold.

Slowly, Cassian brushed Nesta’s hair over to one shoulder with his left hand. Traced his fingers down the arc of her neck to her collarbone. Continued a path down the centre of her chest, to the pyrite which glittered between her breasts.

When his fingers met the first button of his shirt, Cassian toyed with it. Purposefully grazed his nose against the shell of her ear. “Shall I start here?” he murmured. “Undress you in front of the mirror whilst you watch?”

Nesta suppressed a shudder, but Cassian caught it. Could swear he felt her blood boiling beneath her skin as he slipped the button free of its hole. Then another. And another. Until there were no more buttons and the material hung free.

Leaning back into his body, Nesta rested her head against his chest. Curved her back slightly so her chest thrust upwards, silently instructing him where she wanted his hands.

And Cassian couldn’t deny her. He turned his palm so it was face up and curled into a loose fist. Brushed his knuckles down her sternum all the way to her bared naval, before bringing it back up. His fingers ran up the side of the material free of buttons, until he was at her collarbone—her shoulder—leaving a litter of goosebumps in his wake.

This time, Cassian snickered when she shivered. Dropped a slow and deliberate kiss to her bare shoulder as he slowly, slowly inched the material down, down, down over her arm. Repeated the motion on the other, until the shirt pooled onto the floor, exposing her bare body to the mirror: endless creamy skin, divine curves, the luscious full weight of her bare breasts, and… lower.

Nesta’s eyes, which had been tracking the fabric as it fell away, snapped to his as a feral growl ripped from him. And she moaned at the expression on his face. Grabbed at his hands, pulling them to her body.

“Touch me,” Nesta hissed, but it came out strangled. Almost pleading. Another crack in her armour as it broke and fell away.

The sight was enough to threaten Cassian to his knees. He guided her body backwards, his hands splaying firmly across her stomach despite her whine, until his legs hit the edge of the mattress

Neither of them broke eye contact in the mirror. Not when Cassian coaxed Nesta down to sit on the bed with him. Not when he pulled her between his legs, her back firmly against his chest. Not when he bowed his head to kiss the slope between her neck and shoulder.

When Cassian finally brushed a thumb over her nipple, Nesta back bowed so fiercely Cassian was thankful he had an arm strapped across her stomach.

The small noise she loosed fuelled his fire and Cassian held on to her. Stroked over that peaked nipple again as Nesta careened into his touch. Followed it with a firmer roll with his thumb and forefinger. Used the fingertips of his other hand to draw slow, tantalising circles across the silken skin of her lower stomach, before he moved southwards…

The air around them hushed when Cassian’s fingers stilled. Anticipation built and only when it vibrated with tension did Cassian slide his hands to cradle Nesta’s hips.

A snarl of frustration, but Cassian paid the sound no heed. Only grazed his thumbs over Nesta’s hipbones. Watched her expression in the mirror—the way her face contorted as she squirmed into his touch as if she was a puppet on strings. Ground back onto him, pressing into that building ache that was bordering on painful.

Fuck, Nesta.

Cassian wasn’t sure if he had spoken out loud or in his head, all he knew was the blessed, fleeting relief he felt as he bucked into the small of Nesta’s back on instinct. He was rock hard and thirsting to be touched, but the thickening scent of Nesta’s arousal pulled his focus.

A groan rumbled from Cassian’s throat as Nesta’s hand darted between her legs. He caught her wrist just in the nick of time. Kissed the heart of her palm. Rumbled into her ear, “Not yet, sweetheart.”

His voice was coarse enough that Nesta shivered, the goosebumps travelling down her skin like a cresting wave. She didn’t struggle against him, nor did she move to disobey him as he dropped her wrist. Instead, she waited, trembling and shaking at every pass of his thumbs over her skin.

Cassian buried his nose behind the shell of her ear. Breathed Nesta in, steadying the drum of his pulse.

Not once did he take his eyes off of hers in the mirror, especially as he murmured, “Shall we find out if you’re wet for me?”

Nesta squeezed her eyes tightly shut, as if the movement would steady her. Swallowed hard. It was so unlike her to take stock, to show any signs that she was rattled, that Cassian softened. He nuzzled at her neck, trailed a line of kisses instilled with promises. A hand flew up to tangle in Cassian’s hair, keeping him there.

“Yes.”

The word stuttered out of Nesta on several staccatos, but she forced her eyes open and met his gaze in the mirror. Watched as he pulled her tighter against him and hooked her legs over his thighs so she was spread wide. Slipped his hand across and down…

The first ghost of a touch had Nesta panting through her nose. The second had her gritting her teeth. The third had her moaning, her back bowing so sharply as he skimmed straight over the place she wanted him the most.

Her head hit the centre of his chest with a resounding thud that had his bones creaking, but she did not look away from him. Seemed to know the game they were playing without him having to express it.

When Cassian brought his fingers lower and discovered just how wet Nesta was, he had to force his wings in tight to his back to hide his surprise. Growled, “You’re soaked.”

Pleasure and embarrassment twisted in Cassian’s stomach, and Cassian wanted to tell her that it was not something to be ashamed of, that he wanted her just as much as she clearly wanted his fingers between her legs.

Her eyes glinted steel, her stare commanding. “Make me come—“ she ordered, but Cassian chose that moment to roll his finger over that spot at the apex of her thighs.

The command bottomed out of Nesta as she inhaled sharply. Satisfaction bloomed inside of Cassian; because he may have done this countless times before but barely enough with her. And nothing seemed to matter apart from him seeking out her satisfaction. Of learning about what made her body freeze with pleasure and what made her come undone. “There?” he murmured into her ear, repeating the movement, before he passed his fingers down further. Until they were at her entrance, playing gently before he drew upwards and circled.

This time, Nesta groaned. Her hips jerked sharply beneath him, tilting, guiding him to just the right place.

Picking up on the cue, Cassian increased the tempo and friction until Nesta’s hips were rolling in a punishing rhythm against the hard length of him.

And Cassian snarled in satisfaction, his fingers tightening around her hip in a plea for her to keep moving—to not stop pushing back on him—because it was blissfully good. The rapid tightening in his groin was almost painful, the cord so tight that Cassian thought it might snap. But he couldn’t stop Nesta, not when she looked so bewitching, the arousal so stark on her face as he stroked and circled and pressed.

Burning pleasure clambered to its peak and Nesta’s eyes grew so heavy they fluttered closed. Something unintelligible left her lips, her head tipping back into the heart of his chest.

When Nesta’s arms wound around his neck, her knuckles accidentally grazing the leather of his wings, Cassian part-snarled, part-roared. Swore. Held her even tighter as his wings snapped out high and mighty behind him. They wrapped around Nesta’s body before Cassian’s pleasure-fogged mind could stop them curling towards her, starved for her touch.

Fuck, he was unhinged. So desperate for relief—in the scent and feel of his mate—that his control was barely there. Enough so that he didn’t react when Nesta reached out her hand—

Sense knocked Cassian for six only when Nesta’s fingers were millimetres from touching the membrane. He drew back his wings so fast  the air around them stormed, but he swooped in before surprise could register on Nesta’s face. Dipped his chin and coaxed her head even further back so he could claim her mouth.

The taste of her lips was as vital as breathing, the scrape of her nails on his scalp grounding. He moaned into her mouth at the same time as she whimpered. His hand was still moving between her legs, interchanging the same three patterns over and over again, mixing things up as soon as Nesta’s moans grew too untamed: he wanted to draw out her pleasure, not sate it with a few choice strokes.

Pulling away, Cassian pressed a kiss to her forehead. Coaxed her to dip her chin until she was looking back at their reflection in the mirror: ebony and golden brown, tan and cream.

Nesta’s irises were wisps of silver, but when he traversed past that bundle of nerves so he could slip two fingers inside of her, they flickered into living flame.

That was indication enough that she liked what he was doing. Cassian had quickly learnt that Nesta became completely readable between the sheets, that mask slowly crumbling away until she broke completely.

Curving his fingers as much as he could, Cassian pressed upwards hard—again and again— revelling in the strangled sounds Nesta made. The way she writhed but tried her best to hold his gaze.

Cassian dropped a lingering kiss to the crown of Nesta’s head. Murmured into her hair, “Is that good, sweetheart?”

The only response Cassian received was a long moan which extended into a whine as he withdrew his fingers. Then a sharp cry as he swept them upwards, swirling them in a well-practiced motion that had Nesta’s lower half seizing in pleasure.

Cassian circled again. Again. Firmer. Faster. Nesta’s cries grew louder, her breathing became more laboured. A silver wreathed hand flew to his forearm—not to stop him, but to keep him there.

Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.

The bond between them creaked and cracked as it expanded.

Nesta panted his name.

“Are you going to come for me, sweetheart?” Cassian scratched out.

In vain, Nesta attempted to burrow her head into his shoulder, but Cassian’s voice dropped out of soft and into the role of general within the fraction of a heartbeat. “Eyes on the mirror, Nesta, or I’ll stop.”

It seemed to take all of Nesta’s energy to fight her leaded eyelids and meet his dark eyes in their reflection. When she did, Cassian’s magic roared and pounded beneath his skin, as if it was trying to break free and join Nesta’s. There was a pressure and power fuelling the sensation that was separate to him. It was like the magnetic force which rules the relentless ebb and flow of the tide—that desperate crash followed by a scrabbling, thundering retreat.

That twisted rope between them grew corporeal, tugging at their ribcages as if it was clambering to remind them both of its existence. Of the cost of this exchange.

Something deepened in both of their gazes, but if Nesta had felt what Cassian had, she gave no indication. She only arched her hips back into his, grinding backwards.

Cassian loosed a rough groan that skittered across the shell of her ear. Her gaze was purposeful but hooded, as if she was in a continual battle with the pleasure weighting her eyelids.

“Good girl,” he praised as Nesta’s eyelashes fluttered from the strain of maintaining eye contact. And then his fingers were everywhere at once and Nesta’s moans fell away to short gasps that rose in volume.

Nesta tightened her fingers around his neck, scrabbling for purchase, for some sort of tether as her pleasure launched high into the air. The hand that had been at her hip, steadying her, encouraging her to roll back on him moved to her breast; cupping and pinching and rolling as she stuttered pants and words that Cassian couldn’t make out.

When Cassian slid two fingers inside of her again and pressed down firmly on her clit with his palm, Nesta’s cry was wild.

“Look at me,” Cassian ordered as Nesta’s eyes flew shut. His voice was resonant—startling—even to him. It punched through the bubble that had encased them—their entwined scent—and Nesta’s eyes snapped open.

For a beat, time seemed to stand still around them. Their gaze fastened back into place and for a moment, Cassian could see a conflict of thoughts swirl in the magic of Nesta’s irises.

He froze just as anguish crashed down that bond, right into the heart of his chest.

It knocked the breath from him. Confusion rattled inside of his head but he came up empty of answers. Had he gone too far? Had he hurt her somehow?

“Sweetheart—“ he started, but stopped. Unsure of what to say because he could still smell how much she wanted this. Could feel how soaked she was. But perhaps that was what the mating bond did. Fooled reason with an overwhelming drive to pleasure and claim.

Cassian went to draw his hand away but Nesta’s hand whipped out, her fingers curling around his wrist. Desperation flooded her next words—the plea in them stark. “Don’t stop.”

As if to punctuate her point, she rolled her hips. His fingers slid over her of her own accord and she stumbled a moan. Light barrelled down the bond and Cassian’s blood spiked, thrilled as he felt the truth of her words, as she ground back into him again.

“Fuck that feels good,” Cassian grunted into her ear. His hips pushed into the small of her back, accentuating his point. It chased the delicious reprieve from the ache in his cock, even as he knew this moment wasn’t about him. As he pulled her back into the solid muscle of his chest, steadying her movements so he could pick up where he left off: so he could watch the pleasure whip away her conflicted expression until her eyes were once again blazing with the promise of flame.

Silver mist climbed from Nesta’s fingertips into the air. It crawled over the glowing ruby siphons across the backs of his hands, past the corded muscle of his forearm and the rolled up sleeves of his tunic, to his chest, his neck…

A sheen of metal shone in Cassian’s eyes, flickering across his irises so they appeared to turn a metallic gold. The lick of Nesta’s magic didn’t burn. It was a rush of heat—the tender caress of a lover’s kiss instilled into his skin over and over again, ascending Cassian to another realm of pleasure, as if he’d climbed a staircase to an entirely new place.

It felt like an extended method of foreplay Cassian had never been privy to before, lighting up every nerve ending until he was so hard he could cut stone.

Gritting his teeth through the pain-cloaked pleasure, Cassian focussed instead on Nesta’s bare skin.

The tempting fullness of her breasts. The way desire had completely rewritten her countenance. The way she whimpered and then cried out.

Cassian sped up his movements. Until his fingers were no longer teasing, but dancing over her with sure, quick movements designed to thrust her towards a crescendo.

Nesta’s magic swirled into flame, the heat of it a licking promise down Cassian’s limbs. He groaned, swore at the exquisite pain on her face as she hung at the precipice, ready to plummet into rapture.

Her climax became a tangible, living thing and Cassian wanted to see it play out for as long as he possible could. Wanted to see her break for him again and again and again.

So, he waited until she reached the summit and when she was there he slowed down his movements. Ordered through her whimpering, “Look at me Nesta.”

Metallic irises met his, and then Nesta was trembling and shaking in fits and bursts as her release ripped out of her like a taut cord cut loose. Cassian drew her orgasm out as best he could, suspending that pleasure until finally Nesta slumped against him, spineless.

She turned her head to bury it in his shoulder and Cassian let her. Stroked her hair. Pressed a kiss to her sweaty head. Murmured, “Good?”

Slowly, Nesta nodded, but for a long while, that was the only communication he received. But Cassian let her recover. Watched the way her ribcage moved as she heaved for breath. Relished the way her body was splayed out over him, her legs held wide open from where they were hooked over his thighs.

Unable to help himself, Cassian brushed over her sex. Delighted in the way Nesta shuddered rather than batted him away. Fresh desire reignited across her expression and Cassian played gently for a few minutes, revelling in the wetness that had gathered from her release.

Finally, Nesta lifted her head to meet his gaze again. “Did I burn you?”

“No,” Cassian replied hoarsely, his heart squeezing at the genuine fear in her words. He let out a rough laugh, passed his fingers lightly over the knot at the apex of her legs for the last time before he withdrew them.

Nesta moaned softly, even as her brow twisted into a small frown.

“It felt good,” Cassian elaborated. He kissed her shoulder at the same time that he pushed his hips into hers as if to demonstrate just how much he’d liked her magic. “I’m being strangled to death in these pants,” he confessed.

When Nesta cocked her head, her hair moved in a golden tangle. Then she smirked. Unravelled her limbs from him and turned.

Nesta slung her legs over his waist so she was straddling him just as Cassian’s hands caught in her hair. A booming sounded as his wings snapped out and fanned behind him, settling like falling fabric.

“We can’t have that,” Nesta remarked, her breath a whisper against his skin.

“No,” Cassian agreed roughly. “It’s your favourite part.”

Nesta snorted a laugh, but it was not derisive. “Egotistical bat,” she muttered.

A slow, smug smile was Cassian’s only reply. Because he was more focussed on her mouth. With the feel of her silken skin beneath his palms as he ran them up her legs and over her rounded ass. His touch was a promise as he tugged her into his body and ground up into her core, the seam of his trousers doing nothing to relieve the damning ache in his cock.

Together they gasped, and then, as always, they moved at the same time, their mouths slanting one another within a fraction of a second.

The heat of Nesta was liquid, the touch of her smoke—feverish and everywhere all at once. It was the same heat that had roared into existence when Cassian had pinned her against the wall earlier, yet… better somehow. Passionate and awake rather than fogged with lust. Life-giving.

A shuddered groan was pulled from Cassian’s chest as Nesta’s hands slid beneath his tunic and met his burning skin. And then the tunic was on the floor—the rest of his clothing was torn from him soon after. It all happened at such speed Cassian could barely keep up, but when Nesta reached for his bare, burning skin—the tattoos on his arms and the faint scar on his stomach—her fingers were gentle.

“Battle scar,” Cassian panted in explanation, as Nesta’s fingers lingered on the silvery tissue that wound over his lower abdomen: a permanent reminder of what had happened to him during the final battle with Hybern. “The trauma was too great for Madja to heal completely.”

“I remember,” Nesta replied shortly and she looked so fierce that Cassian reached for her. Cupped her cheek with his palm.

“Still breathing, Nes.”

Nesta nodded, but when she kissed him this time there was something fierce and desperate about it, her fingers burying deeper into the mane of his hair.

And then a hand was trailing down his skin and closing around his cock. The touch was sinful and a glimpse of the heavens. When he hissed into her mouth, Nesta gripped tighter—until pain laced the pleasure—just how he liked it.

His groan was that of rumbling thunder as she began to move her hand. It was everything Cassian needed, but it was too much, too good. He scrambled to hold on to some sense of control, because he’d never been this close to losing it from just a few touches.

Then Nesta stopped. Glanced downwards—

The realisation thumped through Cassian so loudly his heartbeat punched like a fist against his ribcage.

“Don’t you dare,” Cassian choked out.

Nesta’s eyes shot to his, but rather than looking startled she arched a challenging eyebrow.

“If you so much as try to put my cock in your mouth I’ll explode,” Cassian rasped.

Before she could protest, he was gathering her to him and had slipped a hand down between her legs.

Just the touch of his fingers had Cassian seizing back control. Nesta stilled at the sudden pleasure, as if she was trying to coax time into suspending the sensation.

“Still so wet,” Cassian purred against the tip of her ear.

Gliding his fingers over the centre of her, Cassian paused briefly at the apex of her legs, toying with her clit, before he ran them back down. When he drew his fingers back, rubbing them together and raising them to the faelight, they glittered.

Nesta’s nostrils flared as if she was an animal in heat. And Cassian knew before he spoke that his voice? would be what pushed them over the edge. But he said it anyway, his voice dropping impossibly low,  “Is this all for me?”

Nesta launched at him until their mouths collided, until they were nothing but a clash of teeth and tongues, their skin so flush they may as well have been fused together.

Burying her fingers deeper into the tangled mane of his hair, Nesta tugged sharply. Met his gaze head on. Demanded, “Fuck me.”

All it took was those two words. Cassian moved, flipping them so Nesta’s back was flush against the mattress. He covered her body with his and Nesta whined at the contact, her body bending and arching towards him as if she were a plant and he was sunlight.

Cassian ran a hand up her bare thigh to her ass, coaxing her leg to bend, but Nesta was too impatient. She broke free from the weight of his body, repositioning herself until legs were wrapped tightly around his hips.

An uneven laugh choked out of him. “So stubborn,” Cassian chided darkly, but he allowed his hips to fall into the cradle of hers. Hissed as he loosed his control and thrust so his cock could glide through her centre. “Fuck,” he grunted. “Nesta, fuck.”

Nesta’s breathy whine fuelled the sparks of pleasure that crackled through him like static energy. He kissed her hard. “There’s a high probability I won’t survive this.”

The snort Nesta loosed tried to sound unaffected, but her voice shook as she accused him, “Liar.”

But he wasn’t lying. And Nesta knew it. She had to know it because his walls were now shattered around them in splintered shards.

Yet, Cassian found himself assuring her. “Not lying," he grunted as he passed over her again. Pressed a lingering kiss to her mouth—a parting goodbye as he moved to kiss the underside of her jaw, down the column of her throat. Down further, to flick his tongue and scrape his teeth over both nipples.

He moaned when she moaned; their sounds a chorus of want until he couldn’t take it anymore. Cassian’s claws clipped around the metal of the bed frame at the same time that he pushed off of the palms that were framing her face, until he was on his knees before her.

Despite the desire coursing through him, Cassian’s head was nothing but clear as he slid his hands under Nesta’s ass and lifted her effortlessly, positioning her so that the undersides of her thighs were flush against his knees.

Nesta’s hair was tousled over the pillow, her lips swollen and parted as she surveyed him. When she tried to wrap her legs back around his hips, Cassian held firm. And despite the fact that Nesta listened to nobody, she allowed him to bend her knees and press his calloused palms to the insides of her thighs in silent instruction.

They fell open and a growl rumbled in Cassian’s throat. His hand was fisting his cock, lining it up to her entrance before he knew what was happening. But then he remembered the pain from before. And even though Nesta was more than ready for him, the thought of hurting her made him feel physically sick.

When he moved away, Nesta let out a strangled noise. A hand shot out, closing around his wrist. “You said you’d fuck me.”

Cassian wanted to explain, but that meant alluding to that tie between them, that instinct that couldn’t allow him to see her hurt. Cassian knew Nesta wasn’t ready for that. Knew that if he so much as breathed a word about it that this precious moment would fall away.

And Cassian was selfish. He had to see how this played out. Had to know if Nesta could grow to accept the bond between them—deem him worthy enough to accept something that was Cauldron blessed.

So, he only drawled, “Patience is a virtue, sweetheart.”

One swift movement had Cassian gathering Nesta into his arms. This time, he allowed Nesta’s legs to wind around him. She gripped him like a vice and Cassian knew it wasn’t from fear of him dropping her. When he sat back against the headboard and guided her onto his lap, Cassian expected her to bite out a comment about doing all of the work, but Nesta only let out a pleased sound. Weaved a hand back into his ebony hair. Wrapped a tight fist around his length, twisting once at the tip, before she guided him to her entrance.

Cassian hissed a curse as she closed around the head. Murmured her name into her mouth. Gripped tightly at her hips when she didn’t stop sinking down on him, as he felt that pain mixed with the sweetest pleasure.

“Nesta.” The way he said her name was firm and commanding, but he still had to dig his fingers hard enough into her skin that he was sure it would leave temporary bruises. The thought made him falter, but then that sharp pain flared again as she resisted against him, and he knew that the bruises were a necessary evil. “Nesta,” he barked, “Go slowly.”

Something creaked and cracked between them. A stretching, growing pain reached its fingers down that bond, the sensation strong rather than constricted as it fought to make its way down their usually thin tie.

Nails dug into Cassian’s neck. A whimper sounded in his ears as Nesta fell forwards, burying her face into his neck. “Please,” she whined in frustration. “Cassian—”

She broke off as she clamped down around him and Cassian felt an ebb of pleasure cut through the pain—that promise of something more.

“Don’t make me hurt you, sweetheart,” Cassian pleaded and the rawness in his voice stopped her resisting against him. He eased a hand between them, touched her right where she wanted him. Allowed her to tug his face upwards so she could kiss him. It was infused with desperation and Cassian eased his hold on her hip. Allowed her to lower herself downwards until she had slid another inch deeper. Continued to stroke her until Nesta began to shake.

“I’m going to—,” Nesta gasped against his mouth. Her body trembled and Cassian’s blood roared at bringing her to the edge again so soon, despite the pain. “Cassian—”

Abruptly, Cassian moved his hand away.

Nesta’s snarl whipped around the room, but Cassian smoothed the sound away by fusing his mouth on hers. She stopped shaking but the sharp bite of Nesta’s glare pierced its teeth through his flesh in a flash of silver.

“It will be better if you wait,” Cassian gritted out in explanation when they parted. Nesta’s breath gusted against his skin. “And I don’t think I can hold on if you come so soon. You feel so good, Nesta. So tight.”

As if on cue, Nesta contracted around him and Cassian ground his teeth together so hard that the muscle in his jaw worked. But he let Nesta slide down on him another inch. Then another. And another. Until their hips were finally flush with one another and that pain had bled away until it was nothing.

The moaned words that fell from Nesta were indistinguishable, but he felt her tremor. Felt that surge inside of him as Nesta repeated herself with a whine that indicated she was toppling over the ledge of control, like a glass teetering before it fell.

And then she was moving and Cassian let her. He was unable to think or breathe. Could only focus on the feel of her.

“Fuck,” Cassian groaned. His head thunked back hard against the headboard as she ground her hips into his, testing the feel of him. “This is better than I’d dreamed.”

No soft snicker, only an untamed whine. Then teeth scraping a sinful path down his neck to his pulse.

Cassian’s hips kicked up hard as her teeth nipped.

“Sorry,” he gasped, because even though Nesta had told him not to hold back, he was still concerned about hurting her. But Nesta’s fingernails bit into his skin and her body moulded to him—a delicious second skin—as she inhaled sharply. “Again,” she demanded with a fierceness that did not allow disobedience. “Do that again—”

It didn’t take a second command for Cassian to thrust up hard. And true to her word, Nesta took him all. Did not change her mind and ask him to hold back. Instead, Cassian knew that this was exactly what she wanted—no, needed. She needed this punishing rhythm just as much as he did.

And it felt… incredible. Beyond anything Cassian had ever felt before. The blood roaring in his ears intermingled with Nesta’s cries and the slap of his hips meeting hers, was the only thing he could hear, his senses narrowed down to the sensation of her wrapped around him, so tight …

It was too good. It threatened to break him, to take everything that he was and reform it entirely, as if he was going to shatter and be pieced back together as someone else entirely. The air around them became taut with pressure, tanning leather stretched too tight over a rack, as if their joining controlled one of the essential elements.

“Cassian.” That one word threatened to break him. Not bat or it or you, only his name falling from her lips as if it was their secret. “More.”

Exhaling a curse, Cassian planted his feet firmly on the mattress and thrust up with as much vigour as he could muster. The movement had them slipping from their upright position and Cassian’s claws absent-mindedly closed around the metal bed frame, strapping them in for the ride as his body coiled and tensed as he slammed into her over and over.

Nesta cried out. Grabbed fistfuls of his hair as they moved together as if they had been made for this moment, their wild gasps melded together until they were one.

Only when release teetered too close to the edge did Cassian drop the rhythm. Cupped the breasts he had dreamed of more times than he could count. The breasts he’d had the privilege of seeing bare and glorious only twice before.

Capturing a nipple between his teeth, Cassian scraped his teeth hard enough that Nesta stopped rocking and angled her hips until he was pressing impossibly deep inside her. She whimpered. Clenched and unclenched. Throbbed in a way that told him she was as close as he was—that if he wasn’t so close himself, he could drive her over the edge with a few well-timed thrusts.

The understanding had him letting out a jagged groan. “Are you close, sweetheart?”

A whine in response, but Cassian didn’t let it go. He raked back the hair from her sweaty forehead. Pressed his lips to her swollen ones in a lingering kiss. Watched the frown that knitted her brow as she was overtaken by the feel of them.

“What do you need, Nesta. Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

Nesta wound her hands around his head, buried her face into his neck. Began swaying and circling her hips in a rhythm that was dictated purely by the chase of pleasure. “Just… this,” she panted. “I just need this.”

Then it was only the licking fire of her breath against his skin. The magic that curled around them like a heated blanket and the building anticipation of both of their releases, which pulled at him like a strange sort of magnetism, begging him to fall with her in unison.

“Cassian—” Nesta began in warning, but he had already felt her begin to quake, as if the ground was moving beneath their feet—the mountains trembling.

That pull became a driving force—a cresting wave of pleasure so profound that Cassian felt that twist inside of him—that signal that he was about to join her.

He groaned, jerking his head back so it collided with wood, the pain grounding him enough that he could say, “That’s it, sweetheart. Come for me.”

As soon as the words left his lips, Nesta broke, as if she’d been waiting for him to ask it of her. Her cry was muffled and Cassian wanted to tear her mouth from his neck—to hear her break for him—but then she was sinking her teeth into his skin right over his pulse.

Roaring, Cassian kicked his hips up hard on instinct as she marked him, but the shock distracted him. Clouded the desperate clamber of his release so he could hold himself back.

Cassian held tightly onto Nesta as she slumped against him. When she lifted her teeth from him, Nesta whined like an animal. Dragged her tongue over the dent she’d made in his neck—once, twice, three times.

He shuddered. Couldn’t help it. Turned his face into her hair. Breathed her in. The gesture was tender, like an animal tending to the wound of a significant other—its mate.

And wrapped in this moment, Cassian could almost believe that this was something more than sex for Nesta as her forehead came to rest on his collarbone. As she kissed the hollow of his throat. Then the knot. His lips.  

“Good?” Cassian asked softly. He lifted a hand to her face, ran a calloused thumb over her cheekbone.

Nesta made a rare, content sound that vibrated through him like a balm. She leant into his hand, her eyelashes swooping down.

When she finally pulled back to survey him, her eyes were still dark. She shifted her hips. Moaned quietly. Rasped, “You’re still hard.”

It was a miracle Cassian hadn’t followed. If it hadn’t been for her teeth in his neck, Cassian would have been wrestling with the embarrassment of finishing too soon.

“I was too preoccupied with your teeth in my neck.”

A flush crept its way up Nesta’s face, like vines reaching their wicked encroaching fingers up a wall. But she raised her chin. “You wanted me to do it.”

It was true, he had wanted her to. And he wanted to do the same to her—to mark her as his so everyone would know that she was off limits for the brief hours before her body healed.

“And what about you?”

The patter of Nesta’s heart broke into a sprint. It was the only thing that betrayed her feelings, her expression devoid of any reaction. “What do you mean?”

Cassian leant forward until their noses brushed. Lifted his eyebrows. “Do you want me to bite you, Nesta?”

Nesta’s nostrils flared. If she had wings, they’d have flung wide by now. Would have collided with furniture and cut through air.

That was answer enough.

In one movement, Cassian lifted himself up and over, until Nesta was on her back and he was pressing her body into the mattress. Breath gushed out of her lungs but it was not from fear, not as Nesta turned herself out bare and tilted her chin for him—for once not in defiance but as an act of vulnerability—of complete and utter trust.

Every instinct in Cassian clambered to the surface, but he closed a fist around it until its life fluttered against the cage of his palms and fingers: his to control, rather than the other way around.

Slowly, Cassian lowered his nose to the exposed skin and breathed her in: her scent and the life that pummelled beneath her skin, the roaring of her blood as it crashed through her veins. It took everything in him not to move inside of her, to thrust up hard and feel the way her breasts would move against his chest.

“I could do it right here,” Cassian murmured, his mouth ghosting over the pale column of her neck until he came across that pulse. He brushed a tongue across it.

The movement was a mirror of what he’d done before in the human realm and Nesta knew it. But this time she did not jerk back from him demanding what he’d done. Instead, her body drew up beneath him, exposing more of her neck, begging for more.

Cassian groaned, raking his teeth over that swell at the same time that he pushed in deep. Nesta’s groan was guttural and everything. His blood turned molten, so hot that he expected his skin to melt away until he was nothing but bones.

“Please,” Nesta panted, her fingers tightening around his back.

Another flick of his tongue over her pulse. “Do you want me to bite you or fuck you?”

“Both.”

That was enough to loosen the fist on Cassian’s control. He sat back on his knees, prying her hands from his neck, coaxing her fingers until they were above her head and clasped around the railings of the headboard. Nesta’s breasts rose with the movement, her peaked nipples so tempting he bent to take one into his mouth. Then the other. Suckled until she mewled and her nipples were no longer rosy but red from his attention.

Cassian lifted his head and surveyed Nesta. Warned her, “Hold on tight.”

And then there was no thinking, no worrying or desperation to hold back. It all came as easy as breathing, their tempo,the snap of his hips and the shift of the mattress as her body shouldered the impact. At some point, Cassian’s body fell over hers, needing to feel every inch of her against him. His wild, punishing rhythm dropped into a rough rocking that was intimate at the same time it was claiming.

Nesta didn’t seem to mind—let out a pleased moan of consent, her legs clamping tighter around his hips until they were flush with hers. When he next moved she whined, and Cassian felt that change inside of her—somehow—that twisting fist of pleasure that glimmered down the bond, pushing against the walls of that thread, pushing it wider and wider, like a heart expanding.

Silver-wreathed fingers tugged his head down until Nesta could claim his mouth, fusing them together so they were complete. Cassian shuddered as her fire cascaded from her fingertips and down his body. His magic, attracted to hers, began to suck out of his pores, but it didn’t leech him of power. Instead, it was like his magic was searching for its mate, desperate to be reunited.

Then that sensation again, as if Cassian had ducked beneath something and had come up for air somewhere else.

Ruby greeted silver like a long-lost lover, blending until their magic was a metallic sheen of scarlet—a fog that misted their bodies, rubbing tantalisingly against their skin as they rocked and moaned their way to release.

“Don’t stop,” Nesta begged desperately through stuttered breaths, and Cassian wondered how many times she’d reached this pinnacle with other males only for it to be taken from her.

Cassian’s hand found its way to her face, his thumb stroking over her cheek as that coiled release twisted across her devastatingly beautiful face. “Can’t,” he panted honestly, his other hand searching for hers across the mattress until he was clasping it—holding on for dear life. “I’m so close, sweetheart. You have no idea how good you feel.”

“Come with me then,” Nesta pleaded. Her eyelashes had fluttered downwards as she took in a sharp breath of pleasure, but now they opened. Stared deep into his soul. “Come with me—”

Then her body turned both loose and taut, clamping yet completely molten as her release ripped out of her.

“Fuck,” Cassian swore. Invisible hands clasped around his ass, tugging him deeper—deeper. Everything in him tightened as Nesta crashed around him, and that siren called to him, singing her name, over and over as pleasure clawed at him, desperate to whip out of him.

Nesta, Nesta, Nesta.

Cassian launched at her neck, his teeth sinking deep enough to claim as Nesta cried out, her body trembling as he continued to thrust into her, wringing out her release at the same time he desperately clambered towards his own.

He managed to pull out just in time, his teeth still deep in her neck, his release spilling hot onto her stomach in bursts of pleasure.

And even though Cassian had vowed to bite her and Nesta had already marked him, he found himself apologising at the red, angry dents in her skin. How was it that he couldn’t bare to hurt her but biting her neck was a completely different story?

“Sorry,” Cassian rasped. His mouth was as dry as a desert as he gingerly touched his fingers to the marks, but Nesta’s fingers clasped around his, halting him. Then she raised her other hand and brushed her knuckles over the identical marking on his. Reminding him that she’d done the same—had been the first to do it.

“I liked it,” Nesta admitted brazenly, but she didn’t stop him from dragging his tongue over the marks. Shivered instead. Held his head to her.

“That was intense,” Cassian rasped eventually against her ear, after the quiet had settled over them like a blanket. He nuzzled at her neck again, unable to help it—just one more precious moment like this until he had to pull away.

When Cassian pulled back to meet Nesta’s eyes, he found that the blue bled back into her irises. “It was always going to be intense,” she replied frankly.

Then Nesta looked down at her body, as if she’d only just remembered how he’d marked her in a different way. “You didn’t have to do that—pull out. I can take a tonic.”

Cassian hadn’t wanted to pull out at all—and neither had that tie which bound them together—but that wasn’t the point. “I’d rather be cautious,” he explained—a little too shortly, because Nesta bristled.

“Neither of us have had a tonic in a while,” Cassian elaborated when Nesta’s expression hardened.

He tried not to think about how his body had been desperate to spill inside of her. For him to press as deep as he possibly could until he was spent.

Climbing off of the bed, Cassian disappeared down the hallway and into the bathroom. When he returned, he was holding a wet towel.

“A while?” Nesta queried, picking up their conversation, as he began to clean her up.

Cassian cocked an eyebrow, but he didn’t dare meet her eyes lest she read him. His shoulders turned rigid at the thought. “Have you been sneaking people in and out of the bungalow that I’m not aware of?” he asked.

They both knew that Cassian would tear any male she brought back to the bungalow to pieces, but neither of them voiced it.

“You go back to Velaris,” Nesta accused. “You visit the other camps.”

For a moment, Cassian stared at her. Did she believe that he’d been fucking other fae? She had taunted him in Velaris the other day, but Cassian had thought that it was just their extended, agonising tussle of foreplay.

Perhaps you should go in search of some female company tonight.

Cassian managed to huff a breath, but it wasn’t one of amusement. He knew that his expression was steely as he said, “I told you that I don’t sleep with Illyrians. And I haven’t been fucking around in Velaris.”

From the way Nesta’s expression darkened, Cassian wasn't sure she believed him.

She opened her mouth to throw back a retort, but Cassian wanted the discussion to end. If she knew he’d barely touched another female since he’d met her, she’d run the other way. It was too intense a confession for someone who didn’t know what they wanted.

“It was self-inflicted,” Cassian supplied, his tone flinty enough to warn her that he wasn’t willing to discuss the subject any further.

Climbing off of the bed to further his point, Cassian extended a hand towards her. Banished any of the rigidity to his posture. “Come stand in the tub with me.”

There was a sinful promise behind the order. Already Cassian could envisage how he’d press Nesta against the tiles, his lips trailing open mouthed kisses as he kneeled before her—

Nesta must have thought similarly, because the pleasure that sparked in his stomach was not his own. But still she studied him, her head cocked as if she was trying to figure him out. Her hair was a muss of golden brown, her skin glistening with sweat that Cassian wanted to lick off.

Nesta parted her lips, taking stock, but Cassian didn’t allow her to speak. “I’ll make it worth your while,” he vowed. Meant it. Because already he was turning hard again, that desire to have her roaring.

He’d known this would happen. Knew that finally being inside of her wouldn’t sate him but stoke the embers into flames. But Cassian didn’t hide it—utterly unashamed of this need for her. From the way Nesta’s nostrils billowed, he knew she'd marked the change in his scent.

Nesta’s eyes flicked to his cock and the she-devil smirked, her lips curving in a way that had Cassian thinking about how they might wrap around him—how her tongue might feel, how warm she’d be…

In one supple movement, Nesta stood. Took his hand, her slim fingers threading around his large ones. Raised her chin and levelled him with a smoky blue gaze that promised wicked, wonderful things. “Then lead the way, general.”

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[padme-amitabha]

Anidala Week 2021

 Day 1: Missing Scene or Favorite Scene(s)

Anakin Skywalker could not take his eyes off the girl. He noticed her the moment he entered Watto’s shop, even before Watto said anything, and he hadn’t been able to stop looking at her since. He barely heard what Watto said to him about watching the shop. He barely noticed the strange-looking creature that had come in with her and was poking around in the shelves and bins. Even after she noticed he was staring at her, he could not help himself. He moved now to an open space on the counter, hoisted himself up, and sat watching her while pretending to clean a transmitter cell. She was looking back at him now, embarrassment turning to curiosity. She was small and slender with long, braided brown hair, brown eyes, and a face he found so beautiful that he had nothing to which he could compare it. She was dressed in rough peasant’s clothing, but she seemed very self-possessed. She gave him an amused smile, and he felt himself melting in confusion and wonder. He took a deep breath. 

“Are you an angel?” he asked quietly. The girl stared. “What?” 

“An angel.” Anakin straightened a bit. “They live on the moons of Iego, I think. They are the most beautiful creatures in the universe. They are good and kind, and so pretty they make even the most hardened space pirates cry like small children.” 

She gave him a confused look. “I’ve never heard of angels,” she said. “You must be one of them,” Anakin insisted. “Maybe you just don’t know it.” “You’re a funny little boy.” The amused smile returned.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, looking upset and embarrassed. “I don’t fully understand, I guess. This is a strange world to me.” He studied her intently for a moment, thinking of other things, wanting to tell her of them. “You are a strange girl to me,” he said instead. He swung his legs out from the counter. “My name is Anakin Skywalker.” She brushed at her hair. “Padmé Naberrie.”

Both Anakin and Padmé were laughing now, and their laughter increased as they saw the look on the unfortunate creature’s long billed face. Anakin looked at Padmé and the girl at him. Their laughter died away. The girl reached up to touch her hair self-consciously, but she did not divert her gaze. “I’m going to marry you,” the boy said suddenly. There was a moment of silence, and she began laughing again, a sweet musical sound he didn’t mind at all. “I mean it,” he insisted. “You are an odd one,” she said, her laughter dying away. “Why do you say that?” He hesitated. ” I guess because it’s what I believe…” Her smile was dazzling. “Well, I’m afraid I can’t marry you..” She paused, searching her memory for his name. “Anakin,” he said. “Anakin.” She cocked her head. “You’re just a little boy.” His gaze was intense as he faced her. “I won’t always be…” he said quietly.”

— Terry Brooks, Star Wars : Episode I - The Phantom Menace

This is one of my favorite Anidala scenes ever because their story starts so sweetly. This scene is so unique to them and after watching the OT, it’s fascinating to see a young Darth Vader as a sweet and innocent child. His interactions as a slave boy with a young queen in disguise is also fits with the fairytale-ish tone and themes in Star Wars. Anakin and Padmé’s first meeting is just precious. 

This is probably the only time, Anakin and Padmé can be themselves without older figures telling them what to do. This is one of the few times Padmé is Padmé Naberrie - not Queen Amidala or Padmé Amidala. It’s interesting to see two young people from different social classes and vastly different cultures and worlds sharing a genuine moment of connection. 

I can add very little to this scene but Anakin proves he has enough clairvoyance (as Admiral Motti mocks him in ANH) to be certain he has met the girl he would marry someday. Even in TPM, little Anakin Skywalker is just as much a slave to Watto as he is to the Emperor in ANH. 

Even Padmé is somewhat surprised by his intensity at such an young age. Anakin also emphasizes on his identity as a person so this scene has dark undertones and references to Darth Vader.  

Another scene I love is the chilling visual parallels with Vader and Padmé in ROTS. The stark contrast between their “deaths” but also the similarities show that they are still connected even while their lives hang in balance. 

Padmé gives birth to life and Anakin loses his humanity. She is in a well-lit medical facility and he is in a cold, dark one. Even their heartbeats are in sync as if they are connected via the Force (which could very well be true, since she was slightly force-sensitive from carrying the twins). 

As the mask lowers on Vader, he whispers (since his vocal cords are badly burnt), “Padmé, help me” and Padmé, always on Anakin’s side, hears his plea and tries to tell that to Obi-Wan with her dying breath. It’s very likely that she heard him through the connection they shared like their connection during the ruminations scene and how Leia felt Luke in ESB and but she was unable to respond as she had given birth and probably lost the temporary force sensitivity. 

 As Anakin takes his first breath as Vader, Padmé takes her last. 

Vader rises like Frankenstein’s monster and Sidious marvels at his new “creation”. Padmé dies all in white, like the angel Anakin believed her to be. The parallels are also reminiscent of the “Death and the Maiden” motif.

Anakin has always felt connected to Padmé since he met her and this is the last time he feels their connection. And that’s how he knows Padmé is truly dead and he has lost her forever.  

Even the chorus “I am a Sith Lord but I could not save her” (even though the lyrics are actually Sanskrit) is haunting. This is where the colors of the republic fade and the black and white symbolism of the empire begins. 

Anakin is now Vader - more machine than man - and stands beside Sidious to assist him in building a tyrannical empire while Padmé dies and takes with her all the colors, love, laughter, cultural beauty, and freedom of the Republic era. Padmé was the personification of the Republic - a flawed but well-intended system and her death represents the democracy whereas Vader represents the Empire. 

Her funeral arrangement makes it seem like she’s drowning like Ophelia - implying that she’s returning to where she belongs. (Her planet Naboo is mostly associated with water and Padmé has often expressed her love for water and lakes in AOTC).

Padmé dying of a broken heart is also fits in with the fairytale whereas Anakin finds himself in a very different world after he wakes up - a world where most of the Jedi had been slaughtered and the survivors were declared traitors, a world where democracy doesn’t exist anymore. And he finds himself kept alive my machinery and he cannot die like his beloved, even if he wishes to. He is now very much a part of the new empire - with his humanity and limbs lost - and he gradually accepts his role as the imperial enforcer. 

Anakin and Padme’s story comes to a conclusion here as their reverse arcs are completed. They have both come a long way since TPM and Padme’s experiences mold her into becoming more emotional and in touch with her feelings from the stoic, reserved Queen Amidala whereas Anakin’s dreams, compassion and search for his identity are lost as he becomes his master’s servant and becomes colder and more stoic. Padmé’s journey was to become more human and learning to put love and family over duty and transition from Amidala to Padmé as Anakin’s unfortunately was to become more inhuman and machine-like, from Anakin to Vader. 

These scenes are where the prequel trilogy ends and the originals begin. 

[bridgyrose]

The Ever After doubles as something of an afterlife. There are characters based on people Team RWBY (and Neo) knew who previously died, though they're not really the same.

(This will be a fun idea)

Ruby took a few, slow, deep breaths as she paced around the forest she and her team were in. The Ever After. They couldnt possibly be in a place that was written about in a fairytale. It was all supposed to be make believe, a story designed to help young kids figure out the world around them. “R-right, the… the Ever After. And we’re… sure this is where we are?” 

“I figured you’d be much more excited about this,” Yang said as she put a hand on Ruby’s shoulder. “Like a dream come true.” 

“We need to find a way out,” Ruby said as she started to walk forward. Find a way out, find a way back to Remnant, to Vacuo. Be the hero, the one who would stop Salem… all of it on her. Not that she had any idea on how to stop Salem. Ozpin didnt have a plan, she didnt know where to start with trying to find out a way to stop her, Yang was still missing her prosthetic, Atlas was gone… 

“Gah!” Ruby yelled out as she slammed a fist into a tree. She panted as she watched her hand shake, a sprinkle of rain came down onto her along with a crack of thunder overhead. Her head still reeled with the thought of being told Penny was dead. 

“Ruby,” Penny’s voice called out in almost an echo. “Ruby!” 

Ruby nearly perked up and looked out in the direction she heard the voice. “Little, you said there’s a village down this way, right?” 

“Yes, there is,” Little answered. “Should be where Jinxy is and where we can find Yang’s arm.” 

“Great! Then we need to start-” 

Weiss frowned and put up a glyph to stop Ruby from rushing off. “We still dont even know how far that village is. We cant run off and expect to find it.” 

“Weiss is right,” Blake said. “We still dont know how everything is laid out or if the village is that close.” 

Ruby frowned and looked around the glyph for a moment and towards a bridge in the distance. “I heard Penny! She’s down here!” 

“Penny’s dead.” Weiss sighed and dropped her glyph. “I know you want her to be down here, but I watched her die.” 

“I know you said she’s dead, but… I really heard her voice.” Ruby took a few steps down the path, her voice cracked as she spoke again. “M-maybe it works differently if she died in that space. Maybe she really did end up down here.” 

“She might have a point,” Yang said. “I mean, we ended up down here too, right? So what’s to say that anyone else who died up there didnt end up down here too?” 

Ruby smiled a bit and started to run down the path. “I’ll race you guys there!” 

“Wait Ruby!” Weiss called out. “Slow down!” 

Ruby used her semblance to rush down the path and across the bridge, her heart pounded at the thought of seeing Penny again, to feel the warmth of her touch, to finally tell her exactly how she felt. Far too many words had been left unsaid for far too long and now she could finally have the chance to say them to her. To finally come out and to tell her-

“And here we have a fine ruby, great for decoration!” Penny’s voice said. 

Ruby stopped at the edge of the village, a blush across her cheeks as she looked out towards the denizens and the cart they surrounded. And there stood Penny, or at least a puppet like doll that looked like Penny who stood next to a racoon. But it had to be Penny. She sounded just like her, her emerald green eyes sparkled in the sun just like they did when she first met her in Vale, no doubt it was her.

With a deep breath, Ruby walked over to join the crowd and watched as one of the denizens grabbed the ruby that Penny had been holding. A small smile crossed her lips for a brief moment as she watched Penny grab the next item for auction. 

“And here we have a pretty black bow,” Jinxy said as they motioned for Penny to show off the item to the crowd. “For this rare object, I’ll part with it for the small price of… one’s first kiss.” 

Ruby froze for a moment as she caught a good look at the bow, recognizing it as the bow that Penny had worn. The green power symbol that held the bow together was all too familiar of the one that Penny had worn. She slowly started to raise her hand, just for the chance to talk to Penny once more. 

“And sold to the girl in red!” Jinxy said as they pointed to Ruby. “My assistant will take your payment.” 

Ruby slowly walked up to Penny, her heart pounded in her chest as the world almost seemed to come to a stop. Here she was, ready to tell Penny exactly what she had been wishing to tell her for weeks, for months. And now, she was going to kiss her. 

Once she reached the top of the stairs, she smiled as she looked into Penny’s eyes. “Penny, I’m glad I found you again.” 

“Penny?” Penny said as she cocked her head a bit. “My name is Penelope. But I am afraid I do not know who you are.” 

Ruby froze for a moment as she took another look at the Penny in front of her, her fingers shook as she gently reached for the bow. “But you’re… you’re Penny. We were friends.” 

“I think I would remember someone like you in my life. But, I can not say I remember much from my ascension. Jinxy found me a couple days ago and offered to let me be here since my purpose is to help those around me. And you still owe us payment for the bow. Unless… unless you do not have a first kiss you can give.” 

Ruby felt her heart shatter the longer she looked at Penny. Every facet of her was the woman she had grown to know in Atlas over the last few weeks, the same friend she had made all the way back in Vale. And yet, sitting right in front of her, was someone that she didnt know anymore. The Penny she had known was gone, and in replacement was the Penny that was here as part of the Ever After. 

Jinxy let out a sigh and put a hand on Ruby. “I’m afraid we’ll have to sell the bow off to the next person if you cant make the payment. Maybe there’ll be another item that you can make a payment for.” 

Ruby slowly nodded and turned to walk off the stairs. Her legs shook with each step, her heart felt like it was going to pound right out of her chest as it tightened up with each breath, even the words she had wanted to say wouldnt leave her lips. And yet, all she could do was get herself back to the crowd to join her team who had just arrived and listen to Penny’s voice. 

“Sorry about that everyone,” Penny had said as she pulled out the next item. “We will auction the bow again, but for now, the next item will be this golden scepter!” 

“All for the price of a hug!” Jinxy added. 

“Everything okay, Ruby?” Yang asked. 

Ruby shook her head and went back to watching the auction. “No. Lets… lets find your arm and then find our way out. We have friends waiting for us.”

[roseromancebooks]

Title: To Tame a Dangerous Lord Author: Nicole Jordan Genre: Regency Romance  Spice Factor: ✩✩ Length: 443 pages Review: 3/5

I started reading this book a few days ago. Admittedly, it took me a day or so to get into it as the start felt a little bit slow. Nevertheless, once it truly begun I simply couldn’t put it down and read the majority of the book within an evening.   I’ll outline the things I didn’t like about the book, then end by detailing all the bits I did like. Before this though I'll provide a brief summary of the book.

The book revolves around a love story between Madeline Ellis and Rayne Kenyon, Earl of Haviland. This immediately appealed to me as I'm also most inclined to love stories concerning Dukes, Earls and Viscounts when seeking out a regency book. Shamefully, I do often put a book back onto a book shelf when I realise the book surrounds a second son (awful, I know... but I like what I like!). In this book, Madeline is a gentleman’s daughter, not the child of an aristocrat. In actuality, the book begins with her seeking employment as a governess or aid. Having lost both her parents, it’s within an inn that Miss Ellis first means the love interest, Rayne. After just meeting the two indulge themselves in a kiss to avoid the incessant persistence of the villain of the tale. Nevertheless, Nicole Jordan does quite well at distancing the characters enough that the indulgence of a kiss does not eradicate any sort of tension most enjoyed within forbidden regency romance novels. Without going into too much detail from here the pair inevitably end up in a marriage of convenience (agreeing not to love one another). From here, the book itself is involves Madeline trying become as seductive as possible in the bedroom to make her so desirable, Rayne will love her.

In true regency romance fashion Rayne has sworn himself against love, and Madeline secretly loves Rayne. This develops into a plethora of misunderstandings that eventually accumulate into the usual life threatening moment where the male love interest finally realises he has in fact has fallen in love.

What I didn’t like:

One thing I did not like about the book was the repeated mentions of how plain and ‘not beautiful’ Madeline was. This came from multiple characters within the book. Now this might not deter some, but I must admit, I am a sucker for fairytale, so I'd rather not be repeatedly reminded how plain the heroine is. Especially even by the love interest. This is rectified by the end of the book as he repeatedly states she’s beautiful, for me the damage was done. Another thing I didn’t like, as aforementioned, was the first few chapters. They felt quite dragged out in terms of the content itself. It felt lacking and I wasn’t committed in the story. I would have liked a more interesting background. 

I also did not understand why the characters liked each other at the beginning. I didn’t see the interest they had. I would have enjoyed some more development, particularly on the male love interests part, but once again I think that’s due to the initial few chapters feeling lacking.

What I liked:

When the book finally started, it really started. I loved the love scenes, it was graphic in a romantic way that most regency romances are. The scenes involved a bed, bathtub, table and chair. Quite different places each time! Her learning the art of seduction added a brilliant hotness to the book. There were around three to four love making scenes and a number of ones that came quite close. There was ample description and the scenes lasted for many pages. I often hate when a scene begins and it only lasts for a page or so. I also really loved the dialogue shared too during these scenes.

This book gave me what I like to refer to as the ‘heart clencher.’ Very typical of regency romances, the tensions were high. He did not want to love Madeline and ever time his exterior broke, it sent rushes through me. I found myself screaming at the pages begging Madeline to confess her love to him all the time, but in the best of ways. I really do love it when the male love interest refuses to love but eventually gives in for the heroine. This book was exactly that. 

I definitely recommend this book, especially for Bridgeton lovers. Give it a go!

[anime-grimmy-art]

Told you guys I’d ramble in due time.

I absolutely adore Bravely Default 2. It came at a really bad time cos I can’t waste 70 hours on a jrpg, but well, it’s too late to be concerned about that now. And as is tradition with me obsessing over a new game / show / whatever, you’ll basically find a fullblown review disguised as ramblings right under the cut. Be aware that I’m gonna talk about EVERYTHING, so spoilers are a given. Some maybe even for the previous Bravely Default games.

Also, if you wanna talk about this game in any capacity, hit me up, I’m DESPERATE to talk more about it.

Just for reference on how long this is gonna be, I made a voice recording while driving to remember all the points I wanna make, and that recording is almost 2 hours long. I did cut it down but still, this is gonna be a lot.

I’ll start off with the things that actually bugged me about the game, since there are only 3 things that really bothered me. First of, I really don’t like that you can name Seth. He has too much personality to be a self insert and player integration is not that big of a part in the game that this decision can be justified. It wouldn’t bother me that much if it didn’t leave a bad mark on the ending. First of all, we were robbed of Gloria desperately shouting for Seth, which makes the impact work less, and it’s just so prevalent that the name can’t be said because you have all the normal sound design going. If they’d just let the credits still play I wouldn’t have batted an eye, but because every other sound comes in it’s so obvious they’re just silently shouting in this scene, which makes it look silly. Like I said, this decision is more a detriment than an addition, and it’s a shame it casts a shadow on an otherwise heartfelt ending.

Speaking about lost potential, the other thing that really bothers me is the lost potential in certain plot points and character conclusions. I mainly mean Adam and Edna here. Both of them have been built up to be these formidable foes but they just, die. If it was just Adam I’d be fine with it, since you expect Edna to backstab him and be the actual big bad of the story, but I cannot fathom why they dropped Edna this HARD. If not Edna herself, I don’t understand why we don’t get more of a reaction from the Fairies and especially Adelle. I mean, Edna was her sole reason she left for her journey in the first place, then Edna dies and that’s it? No part where she grieves for a second? No concern from the others about Adelle? Mind you, I haven’t finished all the Sidequests, so maybe there actually is one in which this is addressed, but I think even just a Party Chat after Bad End 1 would have been sufficient to show how Adelle suddenly feels about the loss of Edna. It would have made Bad End 2 / The Secret Ending even more impactful, because, yeah, of course, you kinda know Adelle isn’t going to turn her back on fairy kind, but one of the reasons she doesn’t leave is because if Enda didn’t get a happy ending, then she shouldn’t either. It would have been amazing foreshadowing if she showed this sentiment before this scene happened. Other than that, it’s a shame that we know so little about Edna, or rather, how she became “bad”. I get she’s supposed to be corrupted by the Night’s Nexus, but how did it even come to this? It can’t have been a gradual thing, after all, Adelle says Edna was always good natured and then just disappeared one day. Really would have loved seeing more of that plot point.

Ok, last gripe I have, some choices in the soundtrack and sound design. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love the OST, and I will get to that, but damn, whatever Revo used for the lead instrument in Wiswald hurts my ears. It’s a really good track, but I always have to turn down my volume because these high pitched sounds physically hurt. And for sound design. Dude, the Night’s Nexus is the least threatening, nightmare fueled abomination that ever existed. I get that its growl is kinda supposed to be layered with Edna’s or sth, but it, it just sounds silly. If they went the route of just swinging between different voices or began distorting it from phase to phase, it would have been fine. But the choice they made really made an otherwise creepy design just absolutely silly.

Ok, enough jammering, on to the good stuff. Like I said, there’s going to be a lot, so I’ll try to be brief in each aspect.

Gameplay

I honestly like the new battle mechanics more than the old ones. This individual, turn based system feels way more dynamic and it’s easier to strategies in battles. Because nothing made me more angry than setting up for a heal and the enemy suddenly being faster than me and killing my healer. Now it’s easier to plan ahead a bit.

I also found myself experimenting more with the jobs. Not sure what it really is, but none of the party members leaning more towards certain types of jobs and the job leveling being way faster probably helped.

And I know some people get up in arms because the boss sometimes can be a real pain in the ass (looking at you pope dude), I still found it very interesting getting around counters or even using these counters as a benefit. As an example, I made Adelle my main physical fighter and gave her lots of counter abilities to help her profit from being countered by enemies themselves. Now, she can attack enemies, get countered, automatically evade that counter and earn a BP at the same time. Made a lot of boss fights way easier and fun to exploit.

Music

Ok, I will try my best to be really, really brief, because in my recording this part takes up almost 40 minutes. Anyways, Revo might have just become one of my absolute favorite composers ever. I don’t know what kind of magic he used, but I initially wasn’t that impressed with the OST, but every time I listened to it, I just fell in love harder and harder. Before getting into specifics, I wanna highlight the two things that made me love this OST overall. First of all, this soundtrack almost seems like a refinement of BD’s. While losing some of that fairytale vibe, it sounds even more fantasy now. And in contrast to the original, this almost sounds more balanced? Like, BD’s OST felt high energy throughout, BD2’s on the other hand manages to find a good balance between high and low energy pieces. Like, the character themes or battle themes are absolute hype, but the overworld themes are a lot calmer and easier to listen to while exploring. Second big point that makes this soundtrack amazing is that Revo is an absolute god at using emotional progression/storytelling and leitmotifs in his songs. And heck, do I love myself my leitmotifs. You’ve got some obvious ones, like the final battle theme in which all the character themes and other leitmotifs are integrated. Then you got some maybe more subtle once, just like how the overworld themes are just the main theme, just a lot calmer and using the lead instruments of the towns of the areas.

But my absolute favourites gotta be the character themes and the main theme. I love how fitting the themes for the characters are and in general, each of them is such a bop. At first I prefered Elvis’, because I sure am a sucker for jazzy vibes, but over time Adelle’s became my fav. It’s just something about the trumpets, and how the theme almost sounds a bit melancholic and bittersweet, that drew me in. And considering her story, mostly her bad end, that the bittersweet tone really fits.

Then there’s the main theme. Just like BD’s it shouts “triumphant anthem” and it definitely gives you a very familiar vibe, but I’d argue it has even better emotional progression. Heck, the first time I heard the music start up in the reveal trailer, I didn’t have to look at the screen to know this is gonna be a BD game. Also, the credit song version had me weeping at the true end. I’m someone who’s very easily affected by music (if me shouting about soundtracks on this blog wasn’t proof enough) and just hearing that ending song, getting the after credits scene, just for the second credits to start as a freaking duet. Dude, at that point I just started sobbing, I’m not gonna lie. Just this little part showed how much Revo knows how to put emotion in a song and also write it in such a way that he can elicit strong, emotional reactions from you too. 

Story

People have been complaining how the story is too boring and kinda disappointing in comparison to the last one, but I just think the games tried to accomplish different things here. Since the BD series is a celebration of old, classic jrpgs, “cliche” storytelling is a given. Though, BD did throw a lot of meta stuff in there too. BD2 in contrast just feels like a direct execution of that initial idea. It feels familiar, it feels comfy and it feels safe. Except for the little things with the endings and then overwriting the Nexus’ “save file”, BD2 doesn’t really get that meta, which is totally fine. It doesn’t try to reinvent or innovate anything, it just wants to be a fantasy story, that might be cliche, but still fun and enjoyable in its own right.

I’d also argue that the pacing is a lot better than the old game, because with BD I sometimes found myself skipping through scenes to get on with the story. Not that this game didn’t have me rushing through stuff as well, but I found it kept my intrigue way better than the original.

Characters

Next to the music, this is the part that I absolutely love the most. While, yes, they did lose a lot of potential with some characters, mostly with the villains, the main cast is just so much fun. I love these 4 dorks so, so much.

I honestly can’t stand how much people compare them to the original cast. Yes, ofc, I’ve been doing my fair share of comparisons too, but calling these four a more boring version of BD’s party physically hurts me. Because except for some initial impressions, the Heroes of Light are completely different from our beloved Warriors of Light.

While yes, Seth and Gloria give off strong Tiz and Agnes vibes at first, they both grow into such different characters that they’re not really comparable. I think this shows with Adelle and Elvis even more. I do understand how people could compare Adelle and Edea, since they’re both the feisty girl type, but I can’t understand how people can see Ringabel and Elvis as the same character type. While those two are the “suave” party members, they act so differently from another. And that’s honestly apparent the first time you meet them. 

Anyways, I love these 4 so much.

We technically don’t know a lot about Seth at all, but they manage to pull so much out of just the fact that he’s a sailor, that it makes him really endearing, really fast.

I was kinda disinterested with Gloria at first, because again, the initial impression was Agnés2.0, but she grew on me a lot. Gloria is way more hard headed and honestly sassy in comparison to Agnés and I absolutely adore it.

Elvis. Elvis, my man. I love this fantasy scottosh wizard so, so much. He’s such a ridiculous character but so endearing at the same time. You got all this dorkiness, with him setting himself on fire as a student, him doing god knows what for a good drink or just laughing danger and prejudice in the face. But then you got his super empathetic and caring side. Mind you, most of his wise moments come from quoting Lady Emma, but still, as much as he’s hopeless with certain social situations, he’s actually still really good at reading the room and playing things smart. He’s a smart and powerful idiot, which makes him a danger to everyone and himself, and I love him for it. (I also can’t believe they called him Lesley I MEAN COME ON)

And then there’s Adelle. I liked her from the start, but I didn’t think she would stick out to me. I think now she’s my favourite character. Not even talking about all the stuff that happens in chapter 3 and onward, because these story threads are awesome in their own right, but there’s just something about her personality that’s interesting and appealing to me. Like I said, I’m not surprised people compare her to Edea, I did too at first, but while Edea walks very close to the line of a Tsundere, I was really surprised that Adelle is, well, not a Tsundere at all. Yeah, of course she’s putting Elvis down a lot, but that stems more from her preventing his ego from going to his head than her being all embarrassed. No, Adelle is actually really well adjusted when it comes to communication. While it’s hilarious that she and Elvis met with her chucking her shoes at him, the two just got along well right from the start. Adelle in general has this really open and helpful personality, but also doesn’t shy away from putting her foot down, even if that sometimes comes out as an embarrassed sputter. She’s also the mother hen of the group. She looks out for the other three and gets concerned about them real fast. 

I dunno, Adelle just really grew on me over the course of this game, and then her kinda being paired with Elvis too, as partners and as partners, makes me like her even more. Because as much as I like their personalities individually, I like their character dynamic even more. I honestly love the relationships between all four of them a lot. You really feel them grow closer as friends and all the little character sidequests just always made me really happy.

Conclusion

You might not believe me, but I really held back there. This could probably have been 3 times its length. As much as I love this game, it’s of course not perfect. It struggles and flails in some parts a lot and it certainly has some aspects that might turn people off. But for me, it was just a very familiar and comfy game that didn’t necessarily deliver anything new, but that told its story in such a way that it still got me excited to keep going. The soundtrack is absolutely amazing and the conclusion of the story actually got me to cry. While not groundbreaking, this game is highly enjoyable and leaves you absolutely satisfied at the end.

Also, I would like to iterate that I am desperate to get more content about this game, so if you wanna chat about it, hit me up.

Anyways, anyone else felt like having a fever dream when everybody in chapter 2 started talking fantasy scottish? Cos I sure did.

[petite-ely]

Afraid // JJ Maybank

Seven- Mommy Issues

Pairing: JJ Maybank x fem routledge! reader

Warnings: mommy issues, mother abandonment, anger, maybe some mistakes, tell me if I missed anything

Description: y/n has always wanted answers about her mother, but the truth seems more harsh than what she had in mind.

A/n : hello, hello friends. Sorry for not updating sooner. I had absolutely no inspiration, lol. Anyways, hope you enjoyyyy! :) (also I know the gif is terrible quality but I really wanted to put this clip and I couldn’t find any cleaner option to make a gif)

Previously

Afraid Masterlist

Song recommendation

Gif made by me!

As a child, y/n never realized how her family was different than the others. A lot of kids on the cut had single parents, it wasn’t that big of a deal. Her mom had left when she was only three, to go pursue her dream job in Colorado. It wasn’t a bad thing in the girl’s eyes. It didn’t feel like she was missing out on anything.

As she blossomed into adolescence, y/n finally understood how unconventional her family was. She heard the other girls at her school talk about their mothers. About the cakes they made or the precious moments they spent together. Mother-daughter bonding moments. She had to admit it she felt jealous. Or maybe was it envious?

She had lived all her life without a mother to kiss her scraped knees or braid her hair before going to sleep. And she would have given anything to experience it, even for one single night.

It wasn’t that she didn’t love her brother or her father, far from it, she adored them. They were both so precious to her. Still, she felt as if something was missing from her. Or more like someone.

She didn’t remember her mother, she was so young at the time, but she cherished the stories her father had told her. She fed her imagination on these stories. Making up fake memories where her mother was still there. In her heart it was all real. Reality was bitter compared to the sweet comfort of her imagination.

By the time she was 12, she’d heard the famous story enough to know it by heart, each word of the letter engraved into her head. She begged her father again and again. She wanted more stories, even the smallest anecdotes, she wanted to hear them all. Anything to improve the sketch, constantly redrawn, of the woman she didn’t remember. The woman she couldn’t really call a mother.

She knew the story by heart and yet it felt incomplete. She’d heard enough fairytales and read enough books to know when a story was complete. This one wasn’t.

And she was right.

A week after the twins’s 13th birthday, their dad gathered them around the kitchen table. He wanted to talk. It was very important. Y/n had to admit, this was quite strange, as her father was never the one to bring up important issues. In front of him was placed an envelope, yellowed with the years.

The girl knew this envelope all too well. Every scratch, every little bump, she could almost feel them on the tip of her fingers. It was her mother’s letter. This time, when he pulled out the folded pages, a third paper came out. The missing part.

Big John didn’t say anything, only slid the pearl white sheet to the twins. And though no words came out of his mouth, a million could be seen in his gaze. He wore an unfamiliar expression on his face. It was mix of sadness, fear and regrets. It was the expression of a man who only wanted to protect his children from being hurt.

The missing paper read as so:

“This is my dream, John.

And I know you might think there’s a way for us to fix this, but there isn’t. This time you can’t fix it.

When I got pregnant with the kids, I was so scared. And when I told you, I saw this glimmer in your eyes. This flame suddenly being lit inside of you. You were so excited to have your first child and it was twins! You seemed so happy. It was beautiful.

Then I thought that maybe we could do this, maybe I could be a mother. I had you, so everything would be fine. My friends kept talking about this amazing connection that felt with their babies when they were carrying them. But I never felt it with the twins.

And I thought that maybe once I held them in my arms I would finally feel it. That motherly connection. It never came. And I tried, John. I tried so hard. But I just can’t.

I do love them, I love them so much, but not the way you do. Not the way a parent loves their child It can’t do it, I’m sorry. I wasn’t meant to be a mother. Life is cruel that way sometimes.

If there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that you were meant for this. I can see it in the way you look at them. You can do this, John. I know.

Be the parent I will never be able to be.”

Y/n’s curious eyes scanned the paper excitedly. Her face showed a variety of emotions in the span of a few minutes. First, excitement and joy, then, confusion and finally, anger. The tip of her ears burned red, her hand shaking beneath the table.

John B. placed the paper on the table, a loud sigh escaping his lips. Though, compared to his sister, he seemed relatively calm.

Y/n couldn’t contain it anymore. She stormed out of the house, her feet shoeless and her shoulders bare. She had no idea where she was going, but she ran.

It didn’t matter. As long as she was going somewhere. As long as she was moving and running, then she wouldn’t have to think. And if she was thinking, then her mind would take her to a bad place. She didn’t want to go there. So she ran.

The Routledges were never reputed to be angry people, much less violent. They were generally very calm, maybe a bit arrogant, but always composed. Of course, when a Routledge was after something, they would do anything in order to obtain it.

But y/n was one of the exception. She was the first Routledge woman in nearly 150 years. For generations, every Routledge man had sons, who had sons, who had sons until her father. He had a son and a daughter.

She wasn’t an angry person or mean in any way. On the contrary, she was kind and gentle. But compared to her brother and her dad, she felt emotions deeply.

And maybe it was her mother’s side and not the Routledge in her. It was so intense, sometimes. Almost blinding, at some moments. It was like the emotions took over her. It didn’t happen very often but it felt like she didn’t control her body anymore.

When she finally came back to her senses, y/n was standing on an empty beach. She hadn’t realized how far she’d gotten until she felt the warm sand under her feet. A cold breeze wrapped itself around her shoulders. She was so far from home. And so alone.

She walked to the ocean, letting her toes dip gently into the water. The water was cold but calming. Her anger slowly disappeared with each breath she took, until finally she could see everything clearly again.

Y/n turned away. She thought of going back home, when a wave of emotions hit her. She fell to the ground. It was like the air had been sucked out of her lungs.

Her chest burned, she felt like she had swallowed fire. Her shoulders shook and loud sobs escaped her lips. She dug her hands into the sand, trying to ground herself. It didn’t stop her tears from crashing onto her shirt.

A shadow appeared in front of her and she recognized its shape in a matter of seconds. It could only be one person.

“Are you hear to laugh at me?” She said through tears.

“No, not this time,” said John B. He sat down beside her, his eyes looking into hers. “Oh, y/n.” He wiped the tears off of her face

“I’m sorry,” she sniffled. “It’s just that, that,” he placed his arm around her shoulder, she took a deep breath. “Part of me always thought that she would come back.”

“That she’d come stay with us and finally be our mom. But she’s never coming back, ever,” her tone was almost accusing. “I lost so much time making up scenarios for her and she doesn’t even love us.”

“You know that’s not true,” reasoned John.

“Yeah, but it feels like it.”

“We don’t need her anyway,” stated the boy. “We’ve got dad, surfing, plenty of fish and well, each other. It’s not that bad is it?”

“No, you’re right.” She looked at him. “I just feel like I’m missing out on something. Like I’m,” she paused, looking for the right word, “incomplete.”

“I get it. If the roles were reversed and dad wasn’t there, I guess I would feel that way too,” confided her brother. “But don’t give her this much power. She doesn’t get to make you feel this way. You’re whole on your own, y/n/n.”

“Thank you, bird.” She slid her arm around his shoulder, letting her head rest on top of it. “You know, you can be an amazing brother sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

“Yeah, sometimes.”

“Hey, bird?” “Yeah?”

“How did you find me, anyway?”

“You always come here when you wanna be dramatic.”

“I do not!”

“You so do!”

And slowly, the imaginary memories fell apart and disappeared. Y/n didn’t need them anymore. She’d be better in the real world.

Taglist

@kaelyn-lobrutto24 @poguestyle17 @im-a-stranger-thing @lasnaro @thoughtsofthestars @briandaflores19 @lunaposey @allycat449-blog @ifilwtmfc @kitty084 @coloradogirl07 @ponyboys-sunsets @chaoticbisous @p0gue420 @sloaneemily @babygal-babygal @itsagurl @mendesmaybank

If you wanna be added or removed or if I forgot you, tell me and it’ll be modified!