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reborrowing · 5 months ago

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curses and confessions, part 3

first | prev | Stranger Swap masterpost

angsty family reunion, attempt 2 word count ~2.1k

Val

The full moon came in the next few days and strangely, the magic that came with it was easier to stave off than usual. Val could almost blame practice, but it had only been the last two months that they’d been able to influence the timing of the initial trade at all. The headache came, dull and heavy, as steadily as always. They pushed it off until Sunday afternoon, at which point Phoebe asked them to please just get it over with before it interfered with her Monday classes.

They still hadn’t told Phoebe why they were on edge. Not exactly. She wouldn’t just drop it, of course, so they cautiously told her that they had heard something crawling around their loft while they were asleep. Not someone. That, they kept to themself. Because how stupid would it be to tell her that they were afraid of someone sneaking in their house and taking their things? That’s all Val was to Phoebe, after all, and now she cooked them dinner and gave them a place to stay.

But the intruder hadn’t been a borrower, at least not one like any Val had ever met. They were huge, muttered in a strange language, and glowed a faint yellow in the dark of the loft. When Val stopped looking at it directly, it looked more like a beetle than a man, and it had hissed at them once it noticed they were awake. It ran out into the wallways with a sack of Val’s belongings and they’d been too afraid to chase after it.

It had flung their things off their shelf at random, so far as they could tell. It hadn’t been looking for food or clothes but it had torn up the closest thing Val had to a family heirloom. They weren’t sure if what they had seen was real but they knew their things were missing, including one end of their father’s shawl. They didn’t want to lose the rest of it and they really didn’t want to have to fight that thing.

Val had been worried about the beetle-man following them out here, but they hadn’t seen any sign of it. It was possible it had left and stayed gone but it was just as likely that it was simply afraid of Phoebe. Or maybe it was still exploring or tracking them or…

Maybe Phoebe had a point about answers making it easier to deal with your problems. Maybe.

They helped her into the side table drawer that they’d been sleeping in the last few days as the day wore down. She seemed eager to get a feel for how Val chose to set up their space up close, but not so eager that the two of them didn’t make a few adjustments for her own comfort. They left the drawer slightly open to set out the goofy-looking bird ladders she’d bought a few months back so she didn’t feel so trapped. And to keep herself entertained, she’d asked Val to leave her phone at one end, against a towel to cushion vibrations and prevent a personal earthquake.

Val, for once, was going to actually sleep on the bed. It still felt wrong to take her place so directly, but curling up beneath so many blankets was too cozy to fight now that they’d tried it. Even the smell was something of a comfort, now that they were used to Phoebe as somewhere safe to be—though they kept that thought to themself. Their only complaint was that slight itch of worry about the beetle coming back and that was nowhere near enough fear to keep them from falling asleep in such a comfortable nest. And besides, they could…probably handle it while they were like this. It had seemed like a giant in the loft, but it was probably no larger than their hand now.

A short yelp woke them suddenly some time later. They jerked upright before they could remember where or what they were. The blankets flopped loudly to the floor as their ears flicked and tried to scan the dim room around them. They really hoped Phoebe hadn’t been on the bedding trying to get their attention. Surely, she would have yelled again, right? Something lit up off to their left and Val flinched, imagining that beetle flitting somewhere in the shadows.

“Phoebe?” they called.

Val pushed themself out of bed and hesitantly grabbed the handle to the drawer-slash-bedroom waiting in the side table. The opening was too narrow for Val to see anything but the glow of the phone inside. Val tapped a claw on the side of the drawer as if they were knocking.

“What’s wrong with you?” hissed someone who was not Phoebe.

“Wrong with me!? Who even are you? Hey, let go!” cried someone who definitely was Phoebe.

“Are you stupid!? Be quiet!”

Val’s heart jumped as they registered the voice. They weren’t sure if it was in fear or excitement or anger or maybe all three, but it jumped hard. Val’s grip tightened around the drawer handle.

Hollow?

Hollow had run the last time they saw each other, and for good reason. This was wrong.

Here?

Val were getting used to the size trades by now but they didn’t want to be seen like this, not by another borrower.

Again?

They were a monster.

Why would he come back?

“I’m gonna open this now, s-so…” they murmured.

Hollow chittered out a high-pitched noise that made Val’s chest hurt. Val hadn’t heard anyone but themself make that noise in a long time. It was kind of like a borrower equivalent of scream, the way it grabbed their attention and demanded urgency, just at the end of the human hearing range to keep their fear from drawing the wrong attention. Val rolled their shoulders forward as if that could hide them from someone they towered over.

In the drawer, Hollow pressed himself into the corner, dragging Phoebe along with him. The terror on his face made Val ache. In their memories, Hollow was fearless, even reckless. Was that a teenage bravado he'd outgrown or had it ever even existed? Maybe it had been smothered.

Hollow looked like he'd been put through a blender, with missing limbs and scars that loudly proclaimed that he had fought hard for every breath he took. That he’d earned his right to live. And what about Val? What had Val earned? They were hardly a borrower at all. They’d be dead if it weren’t for the mercy of the humans that had caught them over the years.

“Val! Make them let go of me?” Phoebe shouted.

Her asking was enough to do it, really. Hollow blanched at the idea of Val making him do anything and all but threw Phoebe across the drawer. Val reached out to catch her before she could faceplant and Hollow cringed back into the corner.

“Sorry,” he whimpered.

“It’s okay,” Val said softly.

“What? They attacked me!” Phoebe said indignantly.

“I’m sorry!” Hollow repeated, the panic in his voice rising.

Val curled their hand around Phoebe, scooping her up and out of the drawer, and she readily leaned into the rescue. She was slightly sticky and bleeding on one arm, which gave them a good excuse to look at something other than Hollow. They grabbed her a piece of a tissue to keep from making a mess, but it didn’t look serious, just some stray claw marks.

Hollow hadn’t moved. Val had expected him to run again, like the last time. But no, the back of the drawer was too high to allow an opening to squeeze through and there was no chance he was taking a step towards them.

“What are you doing here, Hollow? Why would you come back? Is something wrong?”

It was hard to imagine Hollow wanting to show up here. He’d had a year to do it and hadn’t, and when they did, Val had scared him away entirely. So they’d accepted that he wasn’t interested in reconnecting. They didn’t like it, but they couldn’t blame him. It was Val’s fault that Zee had caught them in the first place and Val’s fault she made Hollow so miserable. Some wrongs were unforgivable.

“Wait, wait, Hollow? Like, your brother? The one that stabbed you?” Phoebe asked.

“Mhm. It’s fine,” they said.

Hollow flinched at the accusation. He crouched low, staring at the floor, with his tail stub bent submissively between his legs. He was mouthing something to himself but said nothing. He had always been like that, overquiet, on the relatively rare occasion he was overwhelmed. His throat choked up to keep him from saying anything. It was a useful enough instinct to keep a little kid from screaming at predators but most borrowers outgrew it. Val wished they could reach out and comfort him, but the only things they could think to do would only make things worse. God, how were they this useless, even this huge?

“He stabbed you!” Phoebe repeated.

“With a pen knife, in self defense,” Val said levelly. “No one’s trying to hurt anyone here.”

Phoebe gestured at her fresh scratches dramatically and Val tried not to roll their eyes. She could probably pass them off as cat scratches once they switched back. Compared to the obvious breakdown Hollow was having, it was nothing. It was fine.

“Why don’t we get you cleaned up? Hollow, you can take a few minutes to calm down. You could leave before I come back but I—I wish you wouldn’t,” Val said, flinching when their voice cracked.

They nodded curtly without looking down, sparing Hollow the intensity of their gaze, and turned toward the bathroom with Phoebe. They dug through the cabinet almost robotically, their thoughts still with Hollow. They’d been sick after seeing him the last time, what, a month ago now? They’d spent most of the last decade assuming he was dead—that they had then befriended the person that had killed him. And Hollow had spent all of that time ignoring them. And now here he was, wanting what?

“Val?” Phoebe’s voice pulled them back to reality.

“Sorry, here,” they said, handing her an alcohol wipe.

She winced as she rubbed the corner down her arm, but her frown was fixed firmly on Val.

“Couldn’t you un-do the thing by now? Go back and catch up with them face-to-face? We slept like four hours, isn’t that enough?” she asked.

They didn’t feel like they had slept for four hours. They felt like they'd been interrupted in the middle of a half-hour nap[. But when they probed at that little space in the back of their mind, the brick wall threatened to break apart. They just needed to push and they would fall back to where they belonged. They nodded slowly. They weren’t even sure it would help, revealing that they were unquestionably friendly with the unit’s human.

“If you actually want to, that is. And you don’t think they’re going to hurt you,” Phoebe added. “I’ve got your back either way.”

“No. I don’t think they understood who you even are like this, I don’t want you to—”

“I mean emotionally, dummy. You’re obviously upset. You can talk to me, really.”

She reached out and gave their knuckle an encouraging rub. Their hand twitched as Val tried not to flinch at the invitation. They didn’t talk about things. That never went well, not in the long run. This was the sort of thing you only talked about with someone you love and the people Val loved always left, didn’t they?

Hollow had left once, twice, and now he was gone by the time that Val and Phoebe returned to the bedroom.

Val sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed, setting Phoebe on the pillows. They closed their eyes and focused inward for a few seconds until the world grew back to its normal size and the shirt they had been wearing collapsed around them.

They wanted to be numb. That was the easiest way to handle this. Not sleeping, not feeling, just getting to the next day unharmed. Phoebe pulled away the shirt that cocooned them and passed them their own clothes. The hairs on the back of their neck rose as they dressed. They could feel her trying not to stare.

“Are you okay?” she asked gently.

Their eyes watered. They shoved the back of their hand across their face, angry that their body kept feeling against their will. They wanted to be fine and they weren’t.

“I—no. And I don’t know what there is to say about it. But I wouldn’t mind being held.”

Soft warmth curled around them and pulled Val away from the overwhelming world they lived in. Her hands engulfed them until they felt good and small, unburdened by larger concerns. They weren’t supposed to fit here, it was the last place a borrower was supposed to be, but as Phoebe held them to her chest, they could almost feel like they belonged. They felt insulated, protected. Her heart beat around them and it all felt dangerously close to love.

taglist: @da3dm @gt-brainrot @gt-daboss @whumpsday (please dm, ask, or comment to be added to the taglist! tags are easy for me to miss)

#no betas no serious edits we die like men you get basic proofreading and that's it #giant tiny #g/t #giant/tiny #g/t stories #g/t writing #my writing #stranger swap #oc: hollow #oc: val #oc: phoebe

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dreaamerwrites · 2 years ago

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things you said under the stars and in the grass >> Cho Guesung, because you know he is our starry-eyed babie.

things you said -> still accepting! things you said under the stars and in the grass.

couple: cho guesung x gender neutral reader rating: G notes: ??? unconfirmed r/s status? lmao

♫

He's lying in the grass.

Arms and legs sprawled out, chin up, eyes wide open. You can make out the way they shine even in the darkness, the lights of the training grounds long since shut down now.

"Everyone was looking for you, you know," you murmur, not bothering to announce yourself. He knows it's you.

He knows it'll always be you.

Guesung merely grins, a lazy, sideways tilt of a thing as he pats the ground beside him. You settle down beside him, legs folded in front of you. It's clearly not what he had had in mind.

"You're doing it wrong," he rolls his eyes.

His hand wraps around your wrist and he gives you a tug. One time. And then once more, with purpose. You roll your eyes back at him before flopping backwards onto your back as well.

The grass scratches at the back of your neck and your ears and you shiver at the sensation. He wiggles beside you until you're pressed to his side, shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm. The bare skin of his arm is warm against yours, even in the cool evening air.

"I don't know why you enjoy this," you whisper. It's much too cold for May. "The grass is so prickly."

He merely snorts.

"Very romantic," he teases back -- but there is nothing teasing about the way he shifts his position, then.

Guesung slides one arm under your head, pulling you into his side easily; prickly grass suddenly replaced by his very solid, very warm chest.

If he can feel your breath hitch, he thankfully doesn't comment on it.

"Look," he whispers into your hair. "The stars look amazing tonight."

You twist slightly, glancing at the way his face is still turned up to the night sky, and then follow his gaze. Up, up, and up -- past the empty goal net, past the training ground stands, past the concrete of the building that has come to mean so much to him in such a short period of time.

Up, up, and up -- until all you can see are stars.

Endlessly, they stretch on, sparkling in the air as if someone has painstakingly sewn them into this blanket of peace and night.

"They're beautiful," you agree, voice so soft you wonder if he'll even hear you. His grip around your shoulders tightens. "I don't think I've ever seen them like this."

He hums in agreement, tilting his cheek until it rests against the top of your head. Your hair catches his stubble and you want to laugh but the moment seems too fragile for it. The stars are too delicate. You're not sure when you'll get a moment like this with him again.

After all...

"I'm going to see the stars in England, too," Guesung promises quietly. You wonder if it's meant more for him than you. "I'm going to see the stars in England. Maybe Spain. Maybe Germany. But definitely England."

Something catches in your throat and you force yourself to continue staring up, up, and up.

(After all, come the end of this summer, who knows when he'll be here like this again?)

"I know," you murmur into the fabric of his shirt. He still smells of his shampoo and body wash and freshly cut grass, still soft and worn post-training. You try to commit the scent to memory. "You'll see them in England. I know you will."

The silence that stretches between the two of you after that feels like the stars. Endless. Fragile.

But then his lips are on your forehead, brushing a soft kiss there. Barely touching, but quietly hopeful in its own gentle, careful way. You grip at his shirt more tightly, your heart pounding.

"You'll see them with me too," he murmurs against your hair.

You can't tell if it's an invitation -- or a question.

Regardless, you shift slightly to look up at him. At his eyes, still shining in the darkness, staring right back at you. The prettiest stars you've seen all night.

"If you want me to," you reply.

This time, his smile is full. Wide and sincere and warm as he pulls you in, strong arms firm and secure around you.

"Of course. I want you to be there," his voice comes rough, when he finally replies. The sound seems to resonate deep in his chest and it shakes you right through from your fingers to your toes. "I always want you."

He knows it'll always be you.

#QUICK I'M HITTING POST SO THAT I DON'T CONVINCE MYSELF NOT TO LMAO #cho guesung imagine #cho guesung drabble #cho guesung #my sweet cutison nation anon #this is for u #my no 1 cheerleader #my no 1 bebeto #ilu #dreamer answers!!#no beta no editing no proofreading we die like men #PS - here's to looking forward to cgs' career :' ) reach for the stars bb u deserve it all

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notsofunsenpai · 1 year ago

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💕 Beautiful 💕

A smile came across your lips as you looked down at your scarred body,you had recently took your bandages off and never felt so proud in your life while staring at the two identical marks/scars under your chest.They had just healed,these scars tell a story and you wouldn't dare to hide them. You felt more like yourself and couldn't be any happier. You felt brawny arms wrapped around your waist along with feeling a head on your shoulder,"Look at my pretty boy." He said in a flirtatious tone. "My beautiful boy." He said kissing your neck then spins you around to make you face him,pressing his lips against yours. "My handsome husband of mine,so lucky to have you baby boy."your husband said giving you more kisses on your lips. His lips started to move to your jaw,collarbone then to your scarred chest,leaving a trail of kisses and compliments as he goes.He went back up to your lips,the kiss was filled with love and passion. You wrapped your arms around his neck,feeling his long brown tail wrapped around you slightly,bringing you closer as he deepens the kiss.The two of You stayed like that until you guys needed to breathe, he stares at you lovingly,"I love you baby." He says,making you giggle softly at him.

"Well? Arent you gonna say it back?" He clicks his tongue at you,wanting an answer,with a grin on his face."I know my ass didn't just give you kisses and compliments for you not to say it back." He adds to his little rant. You playfully rolled your eyes at him as you give him a peck on the lips,"I love you too,my darling." You said,watching his ears and cheeks turn pink as his eyes softens as you stared at him,then embarrassing hide his face into your shoulder. You chuckled at his reaction and hugged him,god you loved this man so much.

#hello tumblr #vtuber #fanfic #no proofreading we die like men #kenjivtuber #sunkenji #my edit #lbgtq rights #readerkenji #reader x kenji #readerxkenji #vtuber x reader #x reader

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re-whump · 7 months ago

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Glass Eden - Enclosure

prev congrats on not being eaten, but you're still trapped with the snake contains: non-human whumpee (borrower and lamia/naga, both tiny), captivity, pet trope, neglect, dehumanization, communication barrier, conditioned whumpee, concussion, (mild) emeto

Poe

It had to be a game of some sort, yes?

She had few ways to truly lose and I even fewer to win, but it must be a game.

The master of the house had thrown me in here for entertainment, after all. I had assumed it would be his entertainment, but apparently I wasn’t even worth that.

I couldn’t know if I’d been spared out of mercy or boredom or merely saved for later. I wasn’t even sure she was intelligent enough to have had a reason, that my survival wasn’t mere whim. The master of the house kept her like a pet, so it was possible her relatable visage was mere coincidence. Then again, it had seemed like she had been trying to speak with me, and the master of the house was hardly a compassionate figure. He threw me in here for sport, he may as well be keeping a person in a cage.

I think he knew that she wouldn’t finish me off. He left before she had released me. But I also recognized the silver box on the other side of the glass and its ominous black eye. He was still watching, or at least recording to watch later. He would be able to entertain himself with my inevitable death, over and over again. He would watch her feed on me and be able to share it with however many of his awful kin as he liked, just as soon as she changed her mind and attacked me again. Nightmare after never ending nightmare.

For now she seemed content to remain in the stone-looking cave on the far side of the terrarium. One bend of her pale, looping tail squeezed out the entrance, so I could even look over and be sure she stayed put. But my tail continued to quiver at her perfect silence. She could come for me at any moment and if I wasn’t looking at her, I wouldn’t know.

I needed to hide. I could feel the instinct pushing up beneath the rest of my thoughts to demand attention. Anger, self-pity, despair…none of them quite held up to the desperate urging to escape back into the shadows. I had been raised to believe—to know—that being seen by the monsters that owned the house was one of the worst things that could happen to me, and I couldn’t just push the feeling aside now that I’d been caught. The glass walls and open air were torturous.I would worry about survival later. I would worry about water and food and self-defense and how to get out of here later. First, I was going to carve a hiding space into the bark lining the cage, tucking in between the glass and some large stone. My crushed ribs burned as I pushed myself beneath the surface.

When that was done, I curled up to cry.

When that was done, I was still trapped.

Hecate

I had pleasant dreams about a patch of sun and another body lying curled up alongside my own.

I played them over in my head for awhile, lazily enjoying the empty schedule ahead of me. Hugh only ever expected me to perform when he had guests, not like the last hands. And he liked me to look like me, not dolled up and polished.

I scratched an itch along the thin scales on my hips and decided I could do with a wash anyway. That wasn’t polish, that was hygiene. I had a rash or something on my side there that never seemed to heal. I couldn’t do as good a job as the hands, but a long soak in even the tepid water on the cool side of the tank would feel refreshing enough.

I slid towards the sound of gently running water. There was a short waterfall on one end of the shallow pool that provided an endless supply of clean water. I’m not sure where exactly it came from, but there were a lot of things I didn’t understand. I only ever got to take short excursions beyond my glass walls and hardly anyone had ever thought I might like an explanation. It wasn’t like I could ask for clarifications. Mostly, I was thankful that this enclosure was at least full of interesting plants and clean bedding and even some clay I could sculpt with.

The water stole away that wonderful heat reserve I’d built up sleeping over the hot floor, but it was worth it. The sharp pinches that dotted the line between scale and skin fell away too, although the burning lower down on my belly lingered. I twisted around to check on what that might be, then tensed as I remembered how I’d hurt myself. Or, not myself, how I’d gotten…bit? Scratched? Hurt, somehow, by the…thing. The little prey-person-thing. The maybe-child.

Were they still here? Or had Hugh come back to collect them?

I whistled as I drew myself out of the water. Their scent was faint, but in a space that usually only housed myself, it was more than enough to trace them. They were wedged between a stone hide and the wall, lying still. As I got closer, they made a muffled squeak, not unlike a rat’s.

I slowed, continuing to sing. It was an old song, a gentle one, one I’ve known since I was just a hatchling. I used to know words to it, something about the sun, but it had been so long and become so meaningless that now all I knew was the tune. The words were in the language I had used with my clutchmates anyway, one without all those tricky human noises. I doubt the prey-person-thing would have understood it.

The substrate lurched as they clawed their way to the surface. I leaned back to keep the spray of bark out of my face. The glass pinged as they backed themself into the wall.

“Hey, hey, shhh,” I whispered.

“No, no, stop! Please! I’ve done nothing to deserve this!” they cried.

“Shh,” I repeated.

There wasn’t much else I could say. I couldn’t speak, not like they did. I had the wrong mouth for it. My tongue was meant for sneaking tastes of the air, not dancing between t and k and th and r and all the rest.

“You-you aren’t attacking me?”

I shook my head. I hoped they could see, even if I couldn’t. It seemed like it. They took a sharp breath like they were reacting to something.

“You understand me? You are intelligent, then? Can you talk?”

“I…mm.”

I pushed off the ground, head cocked. I could hardly answer three questions at once. I motioned with my hands for them to go slower, but it must have looked like something else from where they were standing. They were still sweating fear.

“J-just stay away from me! Please!” they whimpered.

I wanted to hold the poor thing to reassure them, but I wasn't dumb enough to think it would work. I just did my best to show him I meant no harm.

Poe

The python-woman stared for several excruciating seconds.

She sighed and looked as if she might cry, then lowered herself back down against the ground again. I wanted to believe it was some kind of submissive gesture, but I was loathe to get too optimistic with my life on the line.

I wished she would blink.

I didn’t move. I was too afraid it was some sort of trap about to spring. I watched a cat catch a mouse like that once, on a trip out into the garden. It had hunkered down and just stared for nearly a full minute. And that minute must have felt like an eternity for the mouse as it waited for that inevitable pounce. The cat had let it go again and again and again until the poor girl was too bloody and tired to try and run.

Eternity dragged on.

I waited and waited and waited until the creature finally grew bored of waiting. She backed away and silently drifted back to the other side of the cage.

I had to get out of here.

I crept around the perimeter looking for some way out. The only breaks in the glass were along the front, where the human had first thrown me in. The glass fit together so tightly, I couldn’t even wedge my fingers between the two panes, never mind try to pry them further apart. The mechanisms to lock the door in place were too far overhead for me to even examine. I turned to glare at the camera still gawking at me from the other side of the glass.

I could weave something out of the foliage, perhaps, or turn my little dagger into something more useful. Assuming I had the time.

I kept my distance from her as I explored and only partially for that most obvious reason of avoiding her. The far end of the tank where she seemed to prefer to rest was significantly hotter than the other, and the whole place was uncomfortably humid. I assume it all suited her but it was making me sweat on top of everything else.

I thought about taking off the wool I had wrapped around my shoulders, but it was also the closest thing to armor that I had. I was dressed to survive the cold floor of the underused study, not monster attacks. I retreated back towards where I had heard water on the cooler half of the enclosure. My aching ribs demanded a rest anyways.

The water was…not clean, to say the least. A small waterfall churned the pool, likely intended to keep the water from growing too stagnant, but it was clearly not up to the task. I knelt down and grimaced at the pool. It was clear enough, but a layer of dirt and dead bugs littered the bottom. I drank anyway; it wasn’t as if it was the most questionable thing I’d ever ingested. It was refreshing enough.

After a short break I thought about what to do for shelter while I was trapped in here. I probably couldn’t make anything truly safe, but I could at least gather up a decent bed to rest in. Something more comfortable for my sore ribs. As for food…I would have to hope some of these plants might be edible. I didn’t know them. I chose a spot to set up distance from the water, assuming she’d come back here to drink again before long.

A distant creaking caught my attention, and it was not the snake. The housemaster was back. I ducked as deep into the shadows as I could, as much habit as anything.

He moved slowly, spending a few minutes walking around and admiring various displays around the room. It was too far for me to make out the details, but I assume he was looking at other pets. I didn’t want to know anything more.

He turned to this prison before too long. The snake emerged from her cave to whistle and wave at him. He greeted her with a smile and oh-so-easily opened up the doors, nearly removing the entire front wall.

And his attention was fixed on the snake, not me.

I warily crept towards the open doors. I waited until he had his hands full with the snake-woman and I launched towards my freedom.

It was a hopeless endeavor. The movement caught his eye and he released the snake to take a clumsy swipe at me. Of course, a man twenty times my size didn’t need to be too precise to ruin me and these were hardly ideal conditions for me. His massive forearm slammed into me like a wall, knocking my breath away. I went skidding off the edge of the shelf before I could catch my balance.

“Shit!” the master hissed. “Didn’t realize you were still in there.”

I landed in a heap at his feet. At some point, either during the fall or the landing, my head cracked against something hard. My eyes watered as I tried to pull myself back together, back into a coherent train of thought, so I could get up and—

“No, no, you’re not getting out of here. I’m not letting some thieving vermin run wild in my home,” the master said.

A flat weight collapsed on top of me as I tried to crawl away. Shoe, I registered dimly. Very bad place to be. Very messy death. I wondered how much of it I would feel. He pressed down, just hard enough that I might burst if I tried to move, and dragged me towards the rest of him. He leaned down. My head swelled full of pain and panic.

I heard someone scream. I wondered if it might be me, even if screaming wasn’t a behavior borrowers were naturally inclined to perform. I closed my mouth with a groan and the sound kept coming. I pressed my ears back. It hurt. My head hurt so bad and the noise made it worse.

“Hey! Hey, my! My!” the scream shrieked.

Something struck the glass overhead and the weight crushing my chest pulled away. I threw myself forward to escape at the same moment the master bent down over me and all that motion all at once set my head spinning and stomach heaving.

“Mm? You do want it, then, girl? You were just saving it for later?”

I may have taken an entire two steps before collapsing back onto my knees to vomit up the meager contents of my stomach. I was still retching, unable to move, as the housemaster’s hand fell over me and pinched the back of my shirt. Vomit ran down my chin as I was lifted so quickly into the air that the world turned into a blur.

“No, don’t,” I croaked, several seconds after he tossed me back in the bark.

The snake woman reached for me. I kicked at her. She sputtered, but only because the housemaster pulled her away.

“Ah-ah, Hecate. I’ll let you have the little pest, but for now you’re coming out with me. Come along. It won’t go anywhere,” Hugh said.

The glass slid closed. The lock clicked. The towering shadow disappeared down the hallway. I stopped fighting to keep my eyes open.

I might as well finish dying before she came back to finish her game.

#no editing we die like men. i sorta proofread and that's gonna have to be be Enough for now #g/t #g/t whump #whump #whump writing #my writing #tiny whump #p: glass eden #oc: poe #oc: hecate #rtl #giant tiny

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agecfwonder · 1 year ago

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*:·ﾟ✧ is that that aleksei frey , who is originally from valachia , and living in valachia ? it’s nice to see the assassin to the halliard family out and about on such a fine day as this. i’ve heard from the court spies that they notoriously reckless , whilst also managing to be quite charismatic . the thirty-three year old was born human, and hails from the kingdom of transvania.

——— GENERAL

NAME : aleksei rian frey TITLE : assassin to the halliard family AGE : thirty-three SPECIES : human GENDER : cis man PRONOUNS : he/him SEXUAL ORIENTATION : bisexual BIRTHPLACE : valachia RESIDENCE : valachia

——— RELATIONSHIPS

FATHER : damien frey † MOTHER : naena frey SIBLINGS : aleksandr 'sasha' frey † ALLIES : varian halliard ( lover ) ENEMIES : mikhail volkov

——— PERSONALITY

LABEL : the rogue TAROT : the hanged man ALIGNMENT : chaotic neutral POSITIVE (+) : charismatic — mindful — attentive ( to detail ) — discrete — loyal NEGATIVE (-) : reckless — relentless — sarcastic — brusque — reserved

——— HISTORY

looking back at his childhood, it's a wonder he turned out the way he did. the second son to a dedicated guard for the halliard family and a local seamstress, aleksei had been born in love and raised in it. his father was tall and strong, his mother was kind and gentle, and his older brother was the best of both of their parents and just a half step away from god in the younger's eyes. he'd always been half a step behind aleksandr- sasha as he was affectionately called- shorter legs constantly churning to catch up with him.

he'd been small for his age with a mouth that seemed to think he was much bigger. he ended up knocked on his ass more times than he could count until he learned he could outrun other children his age by three strides. there was a streak of almost reckless fearlessness in aleksei during childhood, always the one who was willing to 'go first'- the first to climb, the first to jump. a true wild child.

the wildness never left but it changed as he got older. sasha left to join the army the summer before he turned eighteen, leaving aleksei to go through the growing pains of adolescence alone. he stretched as he grew up- testing every boundary, every limit-- more often than not to the exasperation of his parents. there was expectation now that he was growing, a path set before him by a father who told him ( with love, everything was with love ) that he had to have some sense of purpose otherwise he'd float right away; sasha had been as steady and solid as the earth and aleksei had always been one good gust of wind from flying away and their father wanted to keep his youngest from wandering aimlessly.

when a letter delivered by a guard from the keep brought the news that sasha had been killed by a rogue vampire along the border, the home changes. his father doesn't laugh and his mother stops singing and aleksei grows angry. that anger lashes out against those that love him most- parents that cling all the tighter to the son they have left- all but dragging him to that life path of following in his father's footsteps to serve and protect the noble family. it's a path he finds himself starting- reluctantly- when his father grows sick and the house grows all the more quiet after aleksei buries him. his mother becomes a shell of who she was, sad eyes that stare out the window.

he tries for her, he does-- he cares for her and trains to take his father's place along the wall, day in and day out. aleksei had never been one to easily submit to authority— to fall in line and follow orders blindly— not when his mind could work so much faster and he could think of at least three other options that would work and work better. it lasts for months and the feeling of the walls ever closing in on him becomes too much-- and he leaves. it's something he thinks back on with great shame and even though his mother has forgiven him and told him that 'it's forgotten', he knows he'll never forget that rock of guilt and how it had felt so heavy the day he left. no real destination in mind, aleksei just had to get out of that track.

he makes his way by picking the pockets of those clearly more fortunate than he and by chance happens to stumble into the thieves guild though he's certain lady fate had been keeping a close eye on him. for a few years he makes his way as a petty thief- it's a far cry from an extravagant lifestyle but that time of his life is colored by bacchanalia, a wild freedom he hadn't known before.

but still there's that desire for more. it wasn't enough to make it by on picking pockets, he had to go for bigger targets-- bigger paydays that took him beyond the city of valachia and throughout the kingdom of transvania. fate is a funny thing and the lady certainly has a sense of humor because just as he was starting to make himself a name in a the cat burglary world, he picked the pocket of a man who would change the trajectory of his life. his name was mikhail volkov and aleksei could ( and would ) tell you all sorts of things he theorized mikhail saw in him in that moment but in truth, he couldn't tell you what he saw-- but he promised bigger paydays than aleksei had ever managed to get with thievery.

he was still a boy struggling like hell to make it into manhood when mikhail started to train him. when mikhail found him, he hadn’t grown out of his resistance to authority- something his previous employer had found entertaining and amusing- but he quickly learned that mikhail had no tolerance for impudence and no patience for outright disobedience.

aleksei— for all his faults— was a fast learner, driven by a need to prove he was something more than ordinary. mikhail taught him how to bleed and how to make others do the same, taught him how to take life without remorse. everyone has a bounty on their head, it was just a matter of making sure you got there before someone else— and avoiding letting your own contract come up for grabs. he spent years working under mikhail, working his way up in the ranks, ever fueled by that desperate need to prove himself— and the money wasn’t half bad. his focus turned to poisons- the different plants and concoctions from across the kingdom that could loosen a man’s tongue or take him down with nothing more than a drop.

( TRIGGER WARNING: IMPLIED CHILD DEATH ) it was a job in branu— two warring merchant families, each taking contracts out on the other. he’d gotten greedy, playing the two against each other with that wolfish grin and when the sun rose on the seaside, both families had been slaughtered. there’s something about ending a family’s line completely that changes a man and while in the moment, his eyes had been veiled with the focus of an accomplished killer that saw nothing more than targets- contracts to fulfill— but in the light of day, no amount of scrubbing could wash away the blood from his hands and no amount of prayer to whatever god was listening could remove the mark on his soul from taking purely innocent lives. it became a horror too terrible to bear and instead of returning with the coin he’d collected from the contracts, aleksei fled back to the only place he thought he could escape mikhail's wrath: he went home.

tail tucked between his legs and back in valachia after over a decade of wandering, aleksei appealed to lord halliard for sanctuary and employment. the loyalty that his parents had raised him in was fierce and if there were ever a cause to throw himself to that might absolve him for his past sins, it was to devote himself to the warden family that had cared for his the whole of his life. his skills and training made him useful and he became a blade for the halliard, working in the shadows to protect and defend the noble family from those that would try and harm them in the dark.

coming home had been a fresh start and in that fresh start was varian. he'd always been there of course; they had been boys together, growing from knobby knees to broad shoulders- closer than brothers. they kept in close contact with one another even when their paths led them far from valachia- varian to his service with the military, bringing honor to his family and aleksei to the crooked path of theft and murder that would've shamed his mother to death if he ever told her the extent of it- writing letters over the span of years to each other.

it wasn't something he planned on-- in fact, for a long while, it was something he actively tried to fight against. his oldest friend, the only person who truly knew aleksei- 'warts and all' as his father would say- and still looked at him as if there were something good in him, something worth loving. and aleksei has loved varian a thousand different ways- as a subject loves a good lord, as a friend loves a friend, as a brother loves a brother, as a bard loves a ballad, as a poet loves a muse. it's something that has always felt fragile, something precious to be guarded-- something that's been for just them.

aleksei has been in the employ of the halliard family for nearly four years now and his devotion to the warden family is stronger now than it was when he first arrived, begging for asylum and purpose outside of killing for coin— which, of course, is still part of the deal but there’s the underlying deeper purpose that drives him forward and turns his eyes towards loftier goals. his eye has been on the master assassin position within the king’s small council though he remains rooted in the service of the family that had for all intents and purposes, saved him from himself. and for now, he’s content with that.

——— QUICK FACTS ( TLDR; )

typical second child-- wild as hell, what my coworker would call 'a bad baby'

had an older brother named sasha that he adored/idolized that died when aleksei was a teenager while sasha was serving in the transvanian military

spends a while in the thieves guild before meeting mikhail volkov who takes him under his wing/mentors him into becoming an assassin

he's like. really good at killing people. [ hairflip ]

got really into poison bc while he can get his hands dirty, he can do so much More with poison like the possibilities are endless

took on a job where he took on the role of a butcher and ended two bloodlines and that can fuck a dude up if he dwells on it long enough.

[ steve miller band vc ] ooooooh took the money and ran

ends up appealing to lord halliard for sanctuary ( hiding from mikhail ) and lands a job as the assassin for the noble family

has been kicking it in that job for about four years now and is content but [ angelica schuyler vc ] he's never satisfied and is always looking for the next leg up he can get.

aleksei lowkey was super into the idea of being a bard when he was a kid. he has a worn gusli that he carries with him and sometimes uses as a disguise when he needs to move around in public without being known-- he can play most stringed instruments. dudes got a natural ear for music

has more aliases than i have throwaway email accounts

bc of that natural ear, he's v good at disseminating where people hail from and is incredibly good at imitating dialects and accents

he's a gemini. im sorry.

his favorite flavor is mint. lowkey always has that hint of mint about him bc the fucking maniac chews mint/peppermint leaves. this man would go absolute apeshit on some andes mints

incredibly fast thinker who happens to be incredibly paranoid. his brain is a super fun place to be

he's stupid your honor but i love him

#nights.intro #aleksei temp tag #no editing or proofreading we die like men #if this makes no sense that's alright bc it fits with his vibe

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wordmoth · 1 month ago

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Analyzing a popular Fanfic Tag: no beta we die like men

Meaning: No Beta We Die Like Men is a phrase commonly used to tag in a fic (typically ao3) as a warning/note that a work didn't have a beta reader to proof-read/edit, which was a longer version of saying "please excuse any typos". It's also a bit of a self-depreciating joke, since the nature of the tag shows that a fic writer knows they probably should have used a beta, but instead are choosing to face the consequences of their actions, therefore "dying like men."

The "Die Like Men" part is most likely from a sense of bravado associated with masculinity, and it reminds me of soldiers bravely facing their fate in war. Therefore, this tag also suggests a sense of courage/recklessness in posting a fic work instead of overthinking things.

Origin: It's from a meme on here from around 2016 which had a bumper sticker saying "No airbags, we die like men." A post reading "No proofreading, we die like men" also followed that first post, and the meaning for it stuck.

Variations: Sometimes a fandom subs in dead characters instead of "men" for the tagging, or something else (will to live, author's sanity, etc.) as well. Generally though, the "no beta we die like" part stays the same throughout.

#linguistics #fandom #ao3 #tagging #words words words #analysis #fanfic #archive of our own #fanfiction #ao3 tags #no beta we die like men #no beta read #meta analysis #feel free to add on

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hellishattempt · 11 months ago

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𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐭 - false positive

cr 101strk on twitter, src from pin

🢥 summary : celebrity!au jjk men and rumours swirling around your established relationship, wc 2.4k 🢥 series includes : choso, fushiguro toji, geto suguru, gojo satoru and nanami kento, part two of five 🢥 content : celebrity!au, female reader, mostly angst, some fluff, married, body dysphoria, pregnancy, photoshopping / body editing, miscarriage, sickness, blood, fake newspaper used, paps being an ass, lying, use of pet names, suggestive content if you squint so hard your eyes are almost closed, i hate winter so this is set in like summer, jasper simping for nanami the entire time, the ending is what it is, not proofread we die like robins /ref

. . . BEING MARRIED TO AN AUTHOR has its perks, especially when you're a reader yourself. you always got to read the first drafts, and the second, and the final drafts before anyone else, including your husband's editors. nanami claimed that if it wasn't good enough for his wife, then it wasn't good enough to be published. you always thought that was a bit extreme, but you loved his writings either way. however, sometimes it was hard to find the time to read the latest chapter he sent you, because your job drained you. you were an influencer, and had currently signed a promotional deal with koh gen do, a popular japanese makeup brand. recently, you were barely home, busy with photoshoots and videos for koh gen do, on top of the content you had to make yourself.

neither of you really liked the limelight, nanami especially. you were young and naive when you joined social media, rising quickly to popularity. it was something you enjoyed, and you still do enjoy it, but it felt more like a tiring obligation than an aspiring career. you blame the paparazzi, nanami blames societal expectations, although he's not the paparazzi's biggest fan either. throughout your dating, and going on six year marriage, you and nanami have had your fair share of scandals. this one had to take the cake, however.

you were out, doing one of the last rounds of photoshoots for your endorsement deal. nanami was home, trying to churn out the latest chapter on his to-do list. he wasn't very successful. the mostly blank document had two words on it: CHAPTER THIRTY in the fancy font you had selected to be chapter headers. any attempt to write after that failed. every paragraph had been written, rewritten and deleted. so the buzz of his phone was a welcomed distraction.

it was an article post from red sun times, a relatively newer newspaper company in japan. nanami preferred them because they were quieter, at least compared to japan newsline or tokyoto sistership news. but the article title cause a deep frown to wrinkle nanami's sculpted face.

. . . "IS NANAMI KENTO'S WIFE PREGNANT?" was in big bold print on your phone screen. you didn't see it right away, but your makeup artist did. she got your hairstylist's attention, who read it just before your phone shut off. they both began to pepper you with compliments.

"congratulations, nanami okaa-san!" aki, your makeup artist beamed. your eyes widened at the term. 'okaa-san' literally translated to 'mother' of which, you were not. she should've used 'oka-san', which meant wife literally, and ma'am respectfully. "you look so skinny, i couldn't even tell!"

"yes, congratulations! how did nanami-san respond?" your hairstylist added, smile wide on his face. "better yet, how did your families react? oh, i bet they were overjoyed."

you sat there confused, racking your brain over what the two were referring to. "wh-what? what are you talking about?"

they stared at you with blank faces, their excitement slowly fading into a confused expression that matched yours.

"y-your pregnancy," aki stuttered out, as though it was obvious.

"pregnancy? i'm... i'm not pregnant," you stated, getting out of your chair. "who told you i was pregnant?"

"we just saw the news flash on your phone," your hairstylist defended, gesturing to your phone. "there was an article from red sun times and the title read: is nanami kento's wife pregnant?"

"i'm not pregnant," you repeated, growing in frustration. the fucking nerve. "do i look pregnant?" you snapped, causing the pair to furiously shake their heads and protest the article. you scoffed, grabbing your phone and your bag, storming out of the dressing room. the directory of photography called after you as you exited the studio, but you paid no attention to him.

safe inside your car, you opened the article. you also had a slew of texts and missed calls from your husband, but you didn't have the patience for him right now. the article was crudely written, at best. red sun times had been losing subscribers and readers lately, and this seemed like a last ditch effort to get their subscriptions up again. it didn't make sense to you, however. neither you nor nanami were a-lister names in the celebrity world. nanami didn't even consider himself a celebrity. sure, you both had a hefty fan base, but it was nothing compared to some of the other celebrities of japan, like the model gojo satoru or the mma fighter fushiguro toji.

it didn't matter, anyways. it wasn't the words of the article that hurt. it was the pictures. all them were of you with nanami on your latest outing. your anniversary was coming up, and nanami always got really sweet around that time, taking you out on dates on the days leading up to your anniversary. your anniversary was in three days, and a couple of days ago, nanami had taken you to a strawberry farm where you each filled a bucket's worth of strawberries, that were then all eaten on the picnic following the farm. the picnic spot was the riverside where he had proposed about seven years ago. you had an amazing time, and fell a little bit more in love with your caring husband. his sensible attention to detail, his doting words, his thoughtful actions, all of it made the date, and your relationship, perfect. now this article and its malicious pictures tainted that saccharine memory.

. . . THE IMAGES HAD CLEARLY BEEN EDITED. that's what your logical brain was trying to scream at you, but your emotions weren't listening. a small bump had been added to your stomach in each photo, your hips had been wider, and in a couple, your breasts had even been adjusted, as though they were full with milk. you felt sick. it was so hard to tell the difference between what was edited and what wasn't. did you really look like that? did red sun times even have to adjust these photos? "you look so skinny, i couldn't even tell!" the words of your makeup artist bounced around your pounding head. if you were so skinny, why did she still assume you were pregnant?

you had tried so hard that day to look pretty for your husband, wearing his favorite yellow sundress of yours, with the sweetheart neckline and puffy sleeves. nanami always said he preferred your natural look, but you had still glossed your lips, tinted your cheeks a faint pink and dusted your nose with highlighter. you had tied your hair up with a soft yellow ribbon, curling the loose strands. you had checked your reflection at least fifteen times before deeming yourself fit for the day. you had looked good in the mirror, so why didn't you look like that in these photos?

tears threatened at your eyes, but you swallowed them with the lump in your throat. you were almost home now, and you were sure that nanami had seen the article. he loved the red sun times because they didn't do stupid stuff like this. guess they just lost another reader.

"darling?" nanami's voice rang out as you entered your home. he walked into your vision, looking worried. you hadn't answered your phone at all, hadn't even read any of his texts. "oh, koibito..." his voice softened as you raised your head to meet his gaze.

you look so despondent with your watery eyes, and sullen posture. you hadn't even removed your shoes before he had scooped you into his arms and you were sobbing into his shoulder. you don't know how long you stood there in the foyer of your home, everything silent except for your choked breathing. there was a dark blemish on his wool sweater now, but nanami waved it off when you tried to apologize.

he guided you to the living room, helping you sit on the grey sofa that you had bought together six years ago. nanami worked wordlessly as he removed your shoes and coat; he took your phone and bag, placing them on the stand by the front door. a high pitched whistle echoed from the kitchen, and moments later he returned with a cup of steaming sencha, your favorite kind of tea. you felt so pathetic, sitting there sniffling while your husband tended to you.

when he returned for the final time, nanami had changed into a black t-shirt, and sat on the leather ottoman opposite from you. his elbows rested on his knees as nanami watched you sip the tea he had made you. he didn't speak, but only because he couldn't find the right words.

nanami prided himself on his syntax and vocabulary. he was the type of person who always said the right thing at the right time, it's why being an author was the only career option he cared for. but here, you sat in a stifled silence. he knew he should say something, but what? what were you were supposed to say in a situation like this? you were clearly distressed, and it was nanami's role as your husband to offer you words of encouragement, but his tongue was dry.

if nanami was honest, he almost wanted there to be some truth to the article. you hadn't exactly been trying for kids, but you hadn't not been trying. kids was something you both knew you wanted, but you hadn't discussed it in further detail. reading further into the article and viewing the photos made it clear that it wasn't true, at all. nanami knew almost immediately that when you saw this, you were going to breakdown, and he would be there to pick you up. so he ordered your favorite ramen, made your favorite tea and held you in his arms until you had calmed down.

nanami knew that you would believe the edits, that you would see yourself like that. despite how much he praised your body, you hated it, and he hated that. anytime you made some side comment about your stomach or thighs, it almost started a fight. he loathed the way you saw yourself, and nothing he argued stuck with you.

in the last few months, however, nanami was starting to see some progress. you stared less in the mirror with your meticulous eyes, pinching flaps of your skin between your fingers. you began to buy less healthier foods, and stopped mentioning the stupid diet you had placed yourself on. you wore clothes that you specifically avoided unless you had nothing else to wear, because of the way they displayed your figure. he knew that this article had erased all of that progress.

"i'm sorry, nani" you croaked, curling your knees into your chest.

"shh, no, koibito," nanami disregarded your apology. "you don't ever have to apologize about your emotions, especially not to me." he moved from the ottoman to take the spot next to you, pulling your small frame into his. one hand held yours while the other stroked your hair amorously. "the article was cruel, and any person with a heart would be reacting the same as you. don't worry, i've already called their editor and he said he doesn't know why the piece was published when it wasn't supposed to. it's being removed as we speak."

your heart welled at his words. he was so patient and understanding. moments like these made you love nanami more. and it gave you the confidence to tell him the truth.

"kento," you began, pulling away from him slowly. you used his given name over your nickname, nani, for him. you only used it during fights or confessions. he immediately perked up. "i..." you sighed. words were always nanami's thing, not yours. "i'm not upset about the photos."

"oh?"

"okay, well, i am, but for a different reason than you think."

"and what reason is that, koibito?" his tone was emotionless, as if he hadn't decided how to respond yet.

"i know you think it's because i'm always stressing about my body and the way it looks, and you're worried because i haven't been fretting over how i look as much, right? well, that's because i was pregnant, and i decided i couldn't care about that when i had bigger concerns, like the tiny life in my stomach." it became harder to speak, your sentences broken by tears and sobs.

"...was?" nanami's voice cracked, and his misty eyes matched yours.

you nodded, "was. i... i had a miscarriage."

"w-when?"

"about a week ago. i was about a month and a half along."

"you mean that time you canceled girl's night because you were sick? you told me that it was just your period, and you sent me out to get you stuff from the store." nanami's brows furrowed.

"yeah, that's.. that's right." you took a breath to steady yourself. "there was just blood everywhere, and i was a wreck and i didn't have the courage to tell you. i know how badly you want kids of our own, and i just didn't want to hurt you."

"hurt me? baby, you were the one hurting, and i just played it off like it was normal. i feel terrible."

"you couldn't have known," you reassured him. "but that article, and those photos, it just tore me apart all over again. that's how i should look, that's how i want to look, but i lost that part of me, that part of us."

nanami didn't respond at first, just reached back out for you. you both sat there, quiet sniffles and crying the only sound in your home. he continued to comfort you, even though you felt like you should be offering him comfort. after all, nanami is learning that you were pregnant and now no longer pregnant all at once.

"koibito," he murmured after a while. "i want you to know that i love you no matter what. i don't care how you look or how you don't look. you're my wife, and i didn't marry you because of your body and figure. i married you because i fell in love with your laugh, your smile, your unpredictable personality, and all the other beautiful things about you. i'm always going to support you and love you. and if you want to be pregnant, then i'm happy to oblige."

you laughed despite your sadness, swatting at him playfully, which elicited a "what? i'm serious!" from nanami.

"shut up," you muttered, still chuckling. he smiled, happy to see that you were laughing along with him. nanami pressed a kiss to your temple, humming an "i love you" against your skin.

you snuggled deeper into him, craning your neck to meet his eyes. "i wanna be a mom, nani."

he wrapped both arms around you, meeting your gaze. "then a mom you shall be, my koibito."

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fanlore-wiki · 3 months ago

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Featured Article: No Beta We Die Like Men

You may have seen today's Featured Article tagged on fics, but what does No Beta We Die Like Men mean?

No Beta We Die Like Men is a humorous phase used in the tags or notes of a fic to let the readers know that a fic hasn't been checked by a Beta reader, a person who proofreads a fic in advance it of being published. Thus, letting readers know that the fic may not be polished and might include minor errors like grammar or spelling mistakes.

The phase has its origins on tumblr, and was based off a popular meme that was circulating in 2016. Many fandoms will change the phase to make it fandom specific, like Star Trek fandom's "no beta we die like redshirts" or Naruto's "no beta we die like Ninja".

Not all fans are a fan of the tag, and may avoid works that include it, feeling the author is using it to brag or as an excuse not to put in the work to complete the fic well. Some also dislike the fandom specific variants finding them too meta, or dislike the fact that they reference the deaths of characters.

Curious to learn more? Or do you want to see other fandom variations? Check out the Fanlore page!

------

We value every contribution to our shared fandom history. If you’re new to editing Fanlore or wikis in general, visit our New Visitor Portal to get started or ask us questions here!

#fanlore #no beta we die like men #fandom terminology #fanfic terminology #fanlore featured article

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selfproclaimedunicorn · 28 days ago

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[ twirl ] - for receiver to twirl a strand of sender’s hair around their finger (For Stannis and Helaena)

No proofreading, barely any editing, we die like men

Helaena reached down to where Stannis's cheek was pressed against her middle and idly brushed through his black curls. She sighed softly, watching with drowsy intensity as she wrapped one of them slowly around her finger. She hadn't expected him to be quite so clingy in his sleep, but it was strangely comforting; Stannis's arms and one of his legs wrapped around her like a protective cocoon as he breathed gentle and even in the quiet of his bedchamber. It was peaceful.

He stirred slightly, groaning as he squeezed her just a little more tightly. His waking was slow; a lifting of the arm draped across her to rub the sleep from his eyes, nuzzling his cheek against her as he let his arm flop back down, and then finally tilting his head back to look up at her.

“Good morrow.”

“Good morrow.” Stannis’s voice was deeper from sleep, and the end of his morning greeting morphed into a yawn that was softly huffed back out.

“You look like you slept well.”

“I did,” one of his fingers traced aimless spirals on her hip, “did you?”

Helaena hummed as she nodded. Stannis's brows knitted together slightly as alertness entered his dark purple eyes. He propped himself up on one of his elbows, and his leg that was on top of hers pulled back to be half off her now as his fingers stilled.

“Do I need to move?”

“No,” she replied, smiling down at him, “I'm comfortable.”

“Oh, good.” Stannis returned her smile before kissing just above her navel and putting his leg back, wrapping it around one of hers to rest comfortable and warm between them. Helaena giggled involuntarily, her muscles tightening as she sucked in her stomach at the tickle from the unexpected contact.

“You know I'd never do anything on purpose to make you uncomfortable.” He kissed her again, his lips aiming slightly lower this time.

“I do.” Helaena nestled into the pillows, her hand going back to his soft hair to thread her fingers through his curls again. She tightened the muscles in her calves before relaxing again, an adequate approximation of a stretch before letting her legs splay further apart to accommodate Stannis's shifting. His gaze was questioning when he looked up at her, and Helaena grinned again.

“You can keep going.” She drawled, mind somewhere between the dreaminess of first waking up and excitement from Stannis. He smiled, bright and wide and enthusiastic before kissing her stomach again and dipping fully below the covers.

#nat tag #my writing #helaena deserves lazy morning post wedding head #it is her gods given right as my babygirl #asks #oc: stannis royce #ship: stanlaena #sotf extras

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class-1b-bull · 7 months ago

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Hey! I saw your master list and noticed you make headcanons for individual characters.

Would it be cool if you share your headcanons about Manga? Thanks

Not proofread we die like men

For each of his classmates birthdays he makes fan art of them in their hero costumes.

Anytime anyone hes close too draws something he keeps it. His drawers are more full of drawings from his friends than actual clothes and important stuff lmao

When he becomes a pro hero he encourages his fans to bring him their drawing so he can hang them up. He frames that shit and puts it on his wall.

He has bad memory but if he has a physical item (including pictures) of things that happened he will remember it forever. (Or at least he will suddenly remember it in great detail when he sees the picture or whatever he kept from it)

He has no idea whats going on in the world around him most of the time. No, he does not know about jojo siwas re-brand his social media is full of art and cats edited into car chases.

Him and pony are really the only ones that canonically watch anime yk? So they probably have a lot of inside jokes depending on which shows they watch and such.

He spends more time doodling in class than actually studying. So hes barely passing his classes and id think hes the worst at math

Not a headcanon but his head is 2d right? So how does he eat food and stuff?

Anyways he really likes pasta. Both making and eating its fun for him. Making all the little pasta shapes and stuff not to mention it'll taste good because all pasta <3 <3 <3 <3

Anyways he thinks salt is spicy.

Gif anime - boku no pico

#class 1b #bnha headcannons #bnha headcanons #mha headcanons #manga fukidashi #fukidashi manga #manga x reader #manga #manga headcanons

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braiawrites · 10 months ago

Text

Lost & Found - Chapter 8

Summary: Jude, Cardan, and Pellia head to Hollow Hall, where they encounter a few surprises—including a betrayal that could end everything. || Inspired by this prompt by @newblood-freya

Words: 9168

Rating: T

Warnings: Violence, death.

Links:

Fic Masterlist

CHAPTER SEVEN

Prompt by newblood-freya

Read it on AO3

Writing Masterlist

A/N: I barely edited/proofread this. What's that one meme? "No beta. We die like men." Something like that. Yeah.

Also, about what happens in this chapter...? I'm sorry in advance.

***

By the time Jude made her way back to her room, the pixie had helped herself to her host’s brushes and hair ties and rooted through her drawers looking for creams and cosmetics.

Cardan couldn’t blame her for the frustration she’d shown upon finding absolutely nothing; he had already decided that once he was turned back into himself, whether they were enemies or not—and truly, he wasn’t certain where they would stand—he would have to talk with Jude about her dismal lack of reverence for her poor skin.

Pellia had also taken it upon herself to loot the makeshift armoury beneath the bed and had found a sleek, curved knife—an assassin’s blade, she’d said, pointing out the hidden poison compartment in its hilt—which was now thrust through her belt. She’d also liberated a whetstone and was now sharpening the blade of the stolen guard’s sword, with no small amount of cursing as her shaky hands made the task more difficult.

Cardan didn’t miss the way Pellia flinched and froze momentarily at the creak of the door when Jude entered, balancing a tray of food on one hand and a steaming teapot in the other. He headbutted the door closed as she brought the tray to her vanity.

“Dinner rolls, vegetable and chicken soup, fruit—and tea, to help with the pain,” Jude announced.

“Chicken soup?”

Jude gave a one-shouldered shrug. “My sister likes to bring us human things sometimes. Here.” She nudged the tray toward Pellia. “And stop going through my stuff.”

The pixie smiled sweetly at the last part, fluttering ruby lashes at the mortal girl as if to say, Who, me? But she didn’t comment as she moved from the bed to the vanity. Cardan envied her ability to remain insolent in the face of Jude’s sharp-enough-to-cut-glass glare.

Pellia didn’t even flinch, just lifted the teapot one-handed, swore as she nearly dropped it, adjusted her grip, and poured, sloshing tea over the sides of her cup as she did. She set the pot down with a clunk and a grimace.

“What’s in it?” Pellia’s teacup was only half full, droplets running down the porcelain sides. She watched through the steam as Jude listed off a handful of herbs on her hands. Those ruby brows went up, an expression she seemed to make often.

“Girl, that’s not painkilling; that’s, like, all-sensation-in-my-entire-body killing.”

“If you don't want it—”

“No, I absolutely do. Please,” she added with a wince as Jude gripped the pot’s handle. Cardan wasn’t certain whether that wince had been borne of pain or out of the mere fact that she’d said please so genuinely, without a hint of sarcasm. He got the feeling it was both in equal measures.

As Pellia ate, Cardan joined Jude at her wardrobe to save her from committing egregious fashion sins. He hissed his disapproval to veto the tunic she was reaching for—grey on grey was not the look, especially when the leggings were a cool shade while the tunic carried warm undertones—and nosed the one beside it.

“Jude,” Pellia said quietly from her spot at the vanity. “We need to find Balekin as soon as possible. I read the letter to Madoc, and—hold on. Did you just take fashion advice from a cat? I wish I had that on video.”

Jude’s cheeks warmed slightly and Cardan meowed indignantly. I may be a cat but I still know how to dress! he wanted to shoot back.

At the same time, Jude demanded, “Why were you going through my stuff?”

“What else was I supposed to do?” Her tone was, somehow, both genuinely confused and unbearably haughty, but before Jude could respond, Pellia waved it off and pointed out, “Anyway, you know cats can’t see the same colours we can, right?”

Cardan would have protested, but he had noticed colours were different, especially in the beginning. He was mostly used to it now, though, and he knew some of Jude’s wardrobe from memory anyway. This top in particular was a desaturated dark blue with green undertones, long sleeves, and a deep V-neck that she had first worn about a year ago. He knew that because the image of her in that shirt, the way it hugged her waist just right, had blazed in his mind every time he’d closed his eyes for a solid week afterward. He knew good fashion when he saw it.

“Stop changing the subject,” Jude snapped.

“I wasn’t, I just thought you should be aware that you are taking fashion advice from the equivalent of a half-blind—”

Cardan’s angry growl cut her off.

“Okay, alright, sorry,” she retreated. “Don’t get your tail in a twist, kitty.”

“The letter,” Jude demanded.

“Right, yes. The deal I made with our favourite prince was that he wouldn’t harm my sister so long as I did what he wanted. But if Balekin thinks I’m dead, then there’s no more deal. There’s no one holding him accountable.” Her hands curled into fists on the hem of her borrowed tunic. “I don’t want to think about what he might do to her then.”

“You—”

“Should have thought the deal through more and made him promise to release her once I’d caught Catboy over here?” she snapped. “Yeah, I know. I was a bit panicked, considering my fourteen-year-old human sister was kidnapped by Elfhame’s soggiest piece of toast.”

“I—what?”

“Haven’t you ever, like, spilled water on your toast? And then it gets all gross and mushy? It’s literally the worst.”

Jude shook her head. “I can’t say I have. But regardless, I wasn’t trying to blame you for it. I was just going to say, you don’t look like you’re in the best shape to go tonight. Maybe we should wait a day.”

“No.” Pellia’s tone was sharp, her eyes flinty, her mouth set in a determined line. “I can do what I have to. I don’t care about myself; I just need Amber to get home safe.” More quietly, she added, “Please.”

Jude breathed deeply, then sighed. Slowly, she nodded. “Fine. I can tell I won’t be able to convince you otherwise, so we’ll go tonight. But for now, rest.”

Pellia nodded, one corner of her mouth tweaking upward in an almost-smile. “Thank you,” she said, and the gratitude in the pixie’s red eyes was the nicest emotion Cardan had seen yet. It almost made her seem approachable.

“Try to eat something,” Jude instructed, heading into her small bathing room. “I’ll be back.”

Pellia gave a distracted wave of assent and mumbled something that could have been, “Try to stop me,” through a mouthful of soft bread. She ate quietly for a while, supplementing the meal with sips of tea.

“This stuff’s strong,” she remarked with a nod of approval toward the teapot. “Painkilling, indeed.”

Cardan would have missed the next thing she said, breathed into her teacup as she sipped, had he not been bestowed the lovely gift of heightened cat hearing: “Maybe if I drink enough it’ll kill my emotions, too.”

He twitched his ears, letting out a short mrrow of laughter. The pixie glanced at him and huffed, something between a smirk and a wry smile crossing her lips. “Don’t act like you haven’t thought the same thing. You want some?”

In previous times, Cardan might have said yes. Yes, tea to fix the ache in his heart. Yes, tea to let him drink away the piercing, twisting blade in his gut each time his father overlooked him or his brother tossed an insult his way. Yes, because he was empty and miserable and he loathed it, loathed himself, loathed everything about this world and his place in it.

But now? Now he wasn’t so sure.

Pellia, apparently, hadn’t missed a single one of the thoughts or feelings flickering across his face. She hummed, setting her cup down to take a spoonful of soup.

“Perhaps I did you a favour then, dear prince.”

Cardan flattened his ears at that. Certainly he had been more content in these weeks with Jude than he had been—perhaps ever in his entire life—but he wouldn’t go so far as to say she was deserving of his thanks.

“Or not.” Again, Pellia had read his thoughts on his face.

The hair along his spine puffed up involuntarily. It was unnerving—how she could read him so easily, even in this form, even having never known him.

“Don’t worry, kitty,” she smirked. “I won’t tell her how much you’ve enjoyed being her pet. It can be our little secret.” She punctuated the statement with a wink. In response, Cardan gave her an eyeroll of epic proportions.

It only served to make her laugh, which seemed to cause her pain, judging by her wince and the way she downed the remaining tea in her cup. Despite himself, Cardan felt a small amount of smug satisfaction at that fact.

It didn’t last long. Her eyes fixed on his in a way he just knew was meant to be antagonistic. Then she dipped a corner of her bread in the soup and proceeded to chew with her mouth open. He glared back, ears flattened, and hissed his most menacing hiss. He wished Jude would hurry up with her bath. At least she wasn’t annoying on purpose, unlike Pellia, who seemed to delight in getting the last word.

Rather than sit here with the pixie, Cardan headed for the balcony door, which Jude always left slightly ajar for him. But as he slipped outside, he heard Pellia call, “Don’t you want to stay and supervise me? Make sure I don’t get into trouble or steal her prized possessions or something?”

He turned back with a grumble because, damnit, she was right. If he left, nothing was stopping her from putting her grubby little hands all over everything in Jude’s room. Not that he would be much help if she did decide that was what she wanted to do—he was a cat and she was clearly trained in combat and treachery—but at least he would know she had done something. He could tell Jude, and Jude could end the pixie’s whole career with one punch. He’d seen her training, knew how fast she could move and what strength was hidden in her mortal bones. Jude was beautiful and deadly, and Pellia was roughly five feet tall and had just spilled tea on the desk while trying to pour herself another cup.

So Cardan stayed, and Pellia continued to be dreadful by the mere fact of her existence and without even doing anything at all.

They were quiet for a long while, Pellia staring across the room to the window as she ate small portions at a time, and Cardan shifting awkwardly every now and then. Pellia turned her unnatural gaze toward him, considering. His skin prickled. He wasn’t fond of the way she seemed to be sizing him up, fitting pieces of a puzzle together in her head, manipulating him into some undoubtedly terrifying plan as though he were a pawn at her disposal. He fought the twitching whiskers that were the cat equivalent of a laugh. She noticed regardless, and her own lips quirked up in a tiny, barely-there smile that didn’t match the hollow, aching look in her eyes.

She glanced away, blinking. When she looked back again, Cardan almost couldn’t see that depth hidden behind her bravado. Almost.

“Listen, kitty,” she began. Her mouth opened slightly, and she floundered a moment before she was able to force the next words through her lips on a quivering breath. “No matter how we prepare, this isn’t going to go how we plan it. Guaranteed.”

She set her tea down and wiped her hands on Jude’s borrowed clothes. Her fingers drifted absentmindedly to the dagger in her belt, following its curves, tracing the seam around the top of its hilt. She nodded to herself, as if confirming something, before her eyes flicked up to meet his own again.

“We need to plan for betrayal. From all sides.” Cardan's skin prickled under the intensity of her eyes boring into his. Slowly, he nodded, flicking his ears forward.

I’m listening, the gesture said.

A grim, determined smile played across the pixie’s face. “Okay. So here’s what I’m thinking…”

~ ~ ~

Jude towel-dried and braided her wet hair after her bath. She had taken her time to soak and wash as she sorted through everything that was unfolding. Pellia’s explanation of why she was here in the first place, as well as confirming Balekin as the mastermind behind it all, had helped, but it didn’t solve things completely.

Neither Jude nor the pixie knew why Balekin had bothered with Cardan’s cat-metamorphosis in the first place, instead of just killing him the way Jude suspected he’d had done to Dain. Although, she supposed, considering Dain was widely thought to be the most popular contender for the next High King, it would make sense that Balekin might want him out of the way. And Cardan—pre–cat era, of course—was cruel and a menace, and would have presented less of a threat.

“Still seems like it would have been simpler to just kill him,” Jude mumbled to herself, then immediately felt bad for entertaining the thought.

She dressed quickly before leaving the bathroom, a habit she had gotten into since discovering her feline friend was actually the missing faerie prince.

In her room, she found that Pellia had finished eating and passed out on the bed, curled on top of the sheets. Her dishes were arranged neatly on the vanity.

Cardan chirped softly in greeting from his spot by the window.

“Has she been out long?” Jude whispered.

Cardan flicked his tail and stood for a long, languid stretch.

Jude sighed. “You could at least try to communicate with me.”

The annoyance that flared in response to Cardan’s answering yawn was quickly dampened as he twined between her feet, demanding to be picked up. She obliged.

“By tomorrow, you’ll be yourself again,” she told him, scratching the soft fur on his jaw. He purred at her touch, and she tried to pretend it didn’t make her heart ache. She wasn’t sure when she had grown so fond of him. Maybe, after this was over, she would get a cat. It wouldn’t be the same, though.

A sudden apprehension struck her. “Either that, or we’ll all be dead.”

Cardan’s purring halted abruptly at the words, and he twisted in her arms to meet her gaze, his amber eyes steady and determined. Softly, he rested one fuzzy front paw over Jude’s heart, giving her a slow blink.

There was something in his gaze, an emotion that took Jude a moment to decipher: trust. A small, hesitant smile fought its way onto her lips, and Cardan chirped softly, stretching out to poke her nose with his own.

Then he flopped bonelessly back into her arms, lifting his chin so she could scratch his favourite spot.

Jude rolled her eyes and released her grip on him. “Oops.”

He scrambled as he tumbled from her arms, somehow still managing to land gracefully, and flicked his tail at her as he strutted away, nose in the air.

She didn’t bother trying to hide her smile as she began gathering the supplies they would need to confront Balekin, leaving the cat prince of Elfhame to sulk.

~ ~ ~

The moon was sinking low in the ever-lightening sky as the trio made their way toward Hollow Hall once more. Pellia set the pace, a steady march, while Jude brought up the rear with the lithe black form of Cardan riding fluidly on her shoulder. She had quickly discovered that walking behind her was the only way she could reliably keep track of the pixie’s movements. The red-haired girl moved so quietly, her steps often syncing with Jude’s own. Despite their truce, Jude didn’t entirely trust the other girl at her back.

They walked in silence for the first half of the journey, the only sounds coming from their soft footfalls on the leaf-littered floor and the whisper of wind through the Milkweeds. Then Pellia stopped abruptly, and Jude promptly collided with the other girl’s back. Cardan meowed in alarm, scrambling to keep his place on Jude’s shoulder. His claws dug through her shirt and into her skin.

“Thanks for the warning,” Jude quipped, as equally annoyed at the cat prince as at Pellia.

“Ow,” Pellia accused. “That was rude.”

“You just stopped with no warning.”

“My bad. I didn’t realise I needed your permission to stop walking.”

“You—”

“Look,” Pellia interrupted, pointing at a low bush a few steps into the underbrush. Its dark leaves were glossy and adorned with sharp points. There was some kind of black berry clinging to the stems. The pixie crouched next to the bush and began picking the fruit.

“You’re hungry?” Jude didn’t know Pellia very well, but after the way she’d refused to wait any longer to go after her sister, she was a little taken aback by the pixie’s apparent lack of focus. Then again, stopping for a picnic was certainly unexpected, and nothing about Pellia had been predictable so far.

“No, idiot,” Pellia clarified. “It’s sanguineberry.”

Jude stepped forward to take a closer look. The berries, which she’d thought were black, actually appeared to be a deep red in colour and were the size of cherry tomatoes. They were clustered in twos and threes, but Pellia twisted them off the plant one at a time.

“Never heard of it.”

“I wouldn’t have expected you to.” The redhead shrugged. “Most people think it’s mildly poisonous—stomach cramps, excessive sweating, maybe vomiting a bit of blood for a day or two if you’re really unlucky—so it isn’t really gathered much. But actually—” she unsheathed the assassin’s dagger and pierced the flesh of a particularly large berry—“it’s a powerful analgesic.”

Pellia brought the punctured berry to her lips and sucked the juice out. It deflated like a juiced orange.

“Pellia!” Jude exclaimed, trying to grab the fruit from the pixie’s hand. She was too late. The pixie had already swallowed it, leaving the skin slightly deflated. Jude’s hands curled into fists. “I really don’t think vomiting blood is something you need to add to your condition right now.”

The pixie just laughed. “Do you actually think I’d eat something that I just told you was poisonous?”

“It is a distinct possibility.” From his spot on her shoulder, Cardan made a sound that was suspiciously close to laughter.

“Shut it, catboy,” Pellia rolled her eyes. “It’s only the skin that you can’t eat. Look.” She peeled the skin back to reveal a pulpy red interior. It looked like a warfield. “The juice is safe to ingest—and, like I said, it’s a great painkiller.” She grinned a seemingly-bloody smile, her teeth stained from the sanguineberry juice. “If you eat the skin though, then it’s a pain causer.”

“Ha ha,” Jude deadpanned. She was about done with this conversation. “Time’s ticking. We need to go.”

Pellia nodded, suddenly serious. “I just need to collect some of these first.”

At Jude’s slight frown, the pixie smirked. “Don’t worry about it. It’s all part of the plan.”

~ ~ ~

“Where did you come from?!”

The guard on patrol outside Hollow Hall was easy to sneak up on and easier to dispatch. Pellia had barely finished quipping, “Your mom’s house,” by the time Jude had the guard on the ground, face in the dirt. He was thrashing, demanding to know about his mother and whether she was safe.

“My humour is lost on you,” the pixie sighed.

“That was supposed to be funny?” It seemed more like psychological warfare than humour to Jude, but then, maybe that was what Pellia found humorous.

“At least he gets it,” Pellia shrugged, gesturing to Cardan, whose whiskers were twitching in a cat’s smile.

They left the guard—incapacitated but alive—behind and headed for the door. They halted at the sound of a voice.

“Alas returns the lost prince,” it said.

Cardan growled. Jude’s hand dropped to the hilt of her sword. Pellia let out an impressive string of curses at the sight of the enchanted door and its inhuman face. Her dagger had suddenly appeared in her hand.

“I thought you’d been here before,” Jude said. “This seems like a pretty difficult thing to miss.”

“I didn’t use the front door that time,” Pellia said, scowling at the enchanted face. “I’d heard about this thing but what the hell—who dreamed you up?”

“What would your mother think of that vocabulary?” the door chided. “Or that nursemaid of hers, for that matter? What was her name—Annie? No: Angela! I’m assuming she’s the one who raised you? Spirited you away so you couldn’t follow in your mother’s footsteps?”

“How do you—actually, nevermind. You’re creepy and I don’t need to tell you anything.” Pellia moved to shove the door open, but it spoke again.

“Ah, ah. Tell me where you’ve been hiding all of these years?” it rasped. “It mustn't have been on the Isles, or I would have known.”

Pellia gritted her teeth so hard that Jude could have sworn she heard them creaking. Her grip on the dagger’s hilt was turning her knuckles white. “One more word and I dig the point of this into your eye,” she threatened.

The door swung open.

With a last glare at the enchanted door, Pellia dragged Jude and Cardan inside. She led them out of sight of the entrance and its magical guardian before turning to face Jude.

“From here on, we split up,” she said.

Jude nodded. “Are you sure you don’t want to find your sister while I go after Balekin?”

Pellia gave the other girl a half-smile. “I’m sure,” she said. Jude’s frown deepened as the pixie added, “I need you to promise me something.”

“What…?”

“I need you to promise that, no matter what you see, you won’t interfere. Balekin is my fight. I just need you to find my sister.” Pellia’s eyes were blazing once again with that same determination. It sent a chill down Jude’s spine.

After a moment’s hesitation, she agreed. “Okay. You get Balekin. I’ll find Amber.”

“Thank you. And good luck.”

“You too.”

Pellia turned her ruby gaze on Cardan, and they locked eyes. “Ready, catboy?”

Mrrroow, he responded.

Pellia smiled then slipped away, practically melting into the shadows.

~ ~ ~

“She’s kind of annoying, but I hope she doesn’t get herself killed,” Jude said. She was following Cardan through the crooked stone walls of his one-time home.

Was it still? He wasn’t so sure. Although he could never say so, when he closed his eyes and thought about home, the image he found was starting to look less like Hollow Hall or the Palace and more like whitewashed walls, wooden beams, and smoky windows. It was starting to look like the arms of a mortal girl who had dedicated so much time and effort into returning his sorry self to fey form.

Cardan turned into a small room—a closet, really, and scratched at the carpeted floor. Jude got the hint, running her fingers over the rug until she found the catch in one corner where it didn’t quite fit so snugly against the wall. She drew it back to reveal a trap door and, beneath that, a ladder extending into the darkness.

“Fantastic,” she muttered. “I hope I’m not about to lower myself into a hole in the ground for no good reason.”

Cardan was half-amused and half-insulted by the implication in her words. She’ll be there, he wanted to say, but he could only chirp reassuringly.

Jude scratched under his chin with one finger before inviting him to climb up onto her shoulder.

Happily, he purred.

At the bottom of the ladder, the tunnel ran out to either side. He kept watch to make sure no one was coming, his feline eyes comfortable in the dim light. When they reached the bottom, Cardan gave a soft mrrow and gestured to the rightmost path.

The tunnel was wide but low. Had he been in his own body, Cardan would have had to hunch slightly to avoid scraping his head against the earthen ceiling. As it was, Jude had a couple of inches to spare, even at the lowest points, and Cardan was able to cling to her shoulder as she walked. This suited him just fine—he didn’t find the damp, earthy scent particularly appealing, and he didn’t want it all over his paws, thank you very much.

The tunnel began to slope downward and continued like that for another hundred metres or so. Amber’s makeshift cell was at the bottom of that slope.

The rooms beneath Hollow Hall weren’t meant to house prisoners—not really. They were a safety precaution and a way to sneak around, known only by Balekin, Cardan, and a small handful of Balekin’s inner circle.

Amber was being held in the hastily blocked off back half of an alcove that Cardan distinctly remembered as having been used to store unopened wine casks at some point. On a hook set into the hard-packed earthen wall was a key, dangling alone on a large keyring. The metal bars of the cell looked like they had been repurposed from a fence or a gate somewhere. A bucket in the corner served as a chamberpot, and a few cushions and a blanket was her bed.

All in all, it was better than Cardan had expected, considering his brother’s habitual treatment of humans.

“Amber?” Jude asked, stepping into the alcove. The girl at the back of the cell looked up. She couldn’t have been more than fourteen. Her mousey brown hair was tattered, her brown eyes wide and cautious as they took in the girl and cat before her. A smatter of freckles stood out against sickly skin that hadn’t seen sunlight in weeks.

“You’re a person—a human,” Amber said, studying Jude. “Are you… awake?”

“Um, yes.”

The girl sat up a little straighter. “The others weren’t. The servants. They’re like zombies.”

Cardan could hear Jude swallow. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the way her brow furrowed, her jaw tightening.

“I’m awake,” she promised. “I’m Jude. I’m a friend of your sister’s.”

That got the girl’s attention. Amber’s whole face lit up and she was suddenly on her feet. Cardan couldn’t imagine feeling that much excitement toward any of his siblings, even the not-so-bad ones.

“Pellia’s here?” Hope was blossoming on Amber’s features, brightening her eyes and bringing her back to life.

“She is,” Jude said, grabbing the key to the cell door. “We’re getting you out.”

With a metallic click and an aching groan, the door to the cell swung out, and Amber followed, throwing her arms around Jude. The young girl’s relief was palpable. When her eyes started to water, it sent a pang through Cardan’s heart, so strong he had to look away.

That was why he was the first to see the figure that loomed out of the dark tunnel: Madoc.

“I was hoping it would not come to this,” the Redcap’s voice rumbled off the walls. Jude spun around, shoving the girl behind her.

“Madoc,” she said. Cardan knew her well enough by now to recognise the slight tilt of unease on her mouth, the way her breathing sped up ever-so-slightly when she was surprised, just for a heartbeat, before she steadied it again. He felt the hair along his back stand straighter in response to Jude’s emotions.

Apparently Madoc could read her too. “You think I was unaware all this time that you were sneaking around with that?” He jerked his chin in Cardan’s direction, a disdainful sneer curling his lips.

“A cat?” Jude said, eyes narrowing.

Cardan hissed, half at Madoc and half at Jude for acting like he was some common stray—he knew her angle, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

“You are too intelligent to think I would believe that you have not figured out who that is. You broke into my office, stole my correspondence, and expected that I would not notice? Unlikely.”

Jude shrugged. “Worth a shot.” She was edging away from the open cell and toward the freedom of the alcove, nudging Amber along with her.

“Not really.” Madoc rested a hand on his sword hilt, a subtle threat. “Stop shuffling and put the girl back in the cell.”

Jude’s hand found the hilt of her own sword. “No.”

The identical shiiiing! of two swords being unsheathed simultaneously sang into the damp earthen tunnels. Cardan leaped to grab hold of Amber, trying to drag her out of harm’s way as Jude and her foster father faced off.

There was no escape with Madoc blocking the alcove entrance, so Cardan nudged the mortal girl toward the wall, where she could slip behind the open door. That way, Madoc wouldn’t be able to corral them back into the cell. A quick glance up showed him a wide-eyed, white-faced Amber. He clambered up to her shoulder and leaned in, forcing a purr in an effort to comfort her.

As steel rang against steel, Cardan tried to figure out if the trembling he was feeling was Amber’s or his own. Probably both.

He flattened his ears as Madoc slid his blade down the length of Jude’s, bringing him inside her guard. She tried to shove him back but he disengaged with a quick twist and sent her stumbling back. As she fell, the sachet of protective herbs she kept on a cord around her neck slipped from under her tunic. Madoc lashed out with one green clawed hand, snapping it from her neck.

Cardan could feel the magic tingling in the air as the Redcap opened his mouth to speak.

He couldn’t let Madoc glamour Jude.

That was the only thought on the cat prince’s mind as launched himself, all claws and teeth and feline fury—straight onto Madoc’s face. Hissing and spitting, Cardan clung to the older fey, raking his nails across green skin until blood oozed from various wounds.

Madoc screamed—in pain and anger, deep and earth-rumbling and vicious. His sword fell from his grip, hitting the dirt floor with a dull thud. He clawed at the cat whose nails were so deeply embedded in his skin, howling the whole time. His hands were bruising, grasping Cardan around the chest and neck, and try as he might, the prince couldn’t fight him off.

Thankfully, there was no need: Jude, recovering her feet and her weapon, saw the opportunity as it presented itself. She planted one foot against the wild, reeling Redcap’s hip and shoved.

Her foster father stumbled back, arms cartwheeling as he tried to keep his balance. Cardan sprang away as he fell into the cell. Amber, still behind the door, slammed it shut, and the lock engaged with a loud click!

No one spoke. Jude pocketed the key, and she and Madoc stared at each other for a long time, their panting breaths—one tired, one angry—the only sounds in the subterranean room. Slowly, Jude picked up the sachet of herbs from where it had fallen. She re-knotted the broken cord and strung it over Amber’s neck.

“To keep you safe from glamours,” she explained, but her voice seemed quiet and far away, as though it had been swallowed by the earth.

Blood roared in Cardan’s ears. He tried to take stock of his body—was everything intact? He twitched his tail, his ears, then did a full-body shake. Nothing hurt too badly. His ribs and neck were a little sore from where Madoc had grabbed him, but nothing was broken, no blood drawn.

Not mine, at least, he thought, flexing blood-sticky claws. He shuddered. There was no way he was cleaning that off the cat way.

A hand brushed his shoulder and he looked up into walnut eyes. Jude. He climbed into the proffered arms. She felt warm and solid, and Cardan could almost feel the tension of the past few minutes drain from his body.

“Thank you,” Jude whispered.

She cast one more glance at her foster father, whose hands were wrapped around the metal bars, before taking the Amber’s hand and leading her out of the alcove.

“Let’s go get your sister.”

~ ~ ~

The silver-eyed prince was in his room when she found him.

The heavy wooden door was cracked open, a sliver of wavering torchlight spilling out into the hallway. An invitation, taunting. Apparently, Balekin was expecting her.

So much for the element of surprise. She almost wanted to laugh, to release the nervous energy that was curling in her stomach, rendering her body electric with anticipation.

This is it. She was either going to free Cardan and save her sister… or die trying. Hopefully the first option, but still, her mind spun. Everything felt so similar to the first time—when she’d arrived in Faerie to confront Balekin, furious and fear-filled—and look how badly that had gone, her mind insisted.

She shook her head, as though doing so could dislodge the thoughts from her brain. She’d been stupid that time, rushing in with no plan, wielding weapons and white-hot rage as her tools of revenge. This time, she was ready. This time, she had a plan and allies and she knew what she was facing. This time, she was writing the rules.

Pellia drew her sword, the one she’d stolen from the Palace guard what felt like aeons ago. Raising it to deflect a surprise attack, she pushed the door open with one foot and stepped inside.

The centre of the room was empty except for the large area rug covering the flagstones, the furniture pushed back against the walls. In a large armchair at the far side of the room, his loose white shirt unbuttoned halfway to expose his bare chest, sat Balekin.

“I was starting to think you weren’t coming in,” he sneered. He held a goblet in one hand, swirling its contents idly. A naked sword was propped against the armrest next to him. “Where’s your entourage?”

Pellia said nothing, just moved farther into the room.

“Nothing to say today? No witty remarks?”

She stopped at the edge of the rug and Balekin tsked. “Boring,” he said. “I thought you’d be more interesting now, not less. Maybe your sister’s life on the line is taking its toll, hm?”

“And whose fault is that?” Pellia responded, red eyes meeting silver.

The prince smirked. “She would have been safe if you had upheld your end of the bargain.”

“I did my part!” The words slipped from her mouth without any forethought. Her sword point was aimed at Balekin’s chest, like he wasn’t half a room away. Pellia gritted her teeth, calming her voice. “I did my part,” she repeated. “I was working for you. I was following your orders. I couldn’t have done anything else.”

Balekin hummed noncommittally. “I must say, I thought you would be a little more difficult to catch. You disappointed me, Nerium.”

“You’d know about disappointments,” she said acidly. “And can we talk about the whole ordering-to-kill-me thing, ‘cause that wasn’t part of the deal! They fucking tortured me, and I didn’t talk, but you couldn’t even do a little thing like not order my death?!”

“You were a liability.”

“Fuck off.”

“And so the teeth come out,” he chuckled. “Does that not feel better?”

“Things will be ‘better’ when I have my sister, and you’re six feet under,” Pellia snapped.

Balekin smirked. “Bold words, considering you’re the reason she’s in this situation in the first place.”

“Respectfully,” Pellia said, trying hard to keep a leash on her temper, “if one more dumbfuck sentence like that comes out of your mouth, I am going to violate the Geneva Convention.”

When Balekin’s face flickered with confusion, she said, “War crimes. I’m going to commit war crimes.”

The dark prince smirked. “You plan to fight me? In that state?” He laughed, a full-belly laugh that made Pellia want to throttle him.

She knew it wasn’t the best plan. She knew she was weak, still unhealed from her injuries and recovering from torture and starvation. But she had no other choice. She would fight, and maybe she would even get in a few good cuts before he took her down. She just had to keep him occupied long enough for Jude and Cardan to free her sister.

“Are you scared?” she taunted.

Balekin chuckled again, recognising the bait for what it was. “I am not the one who should be afraid,” he said, draining the contents of his goblet and trading the cup for his sword. He rose to his feet. “Try not to bleed all over my carpet.”

Torchlight flickered off live steel as they circled, each tracking the other’s every move. Their feet shuffled across the rug. The fireplace crackled in the background.

Maybe, if she was lucky, Pellia could get the first hit—incapacitate him early and end the fight before he could take advantage of her injured state.

Fast as a snake, she struck, aiming for the muscle between his neck and shoulder with an overhead slash. Balekin met her attack, deflecting her sword and shoving his own point-first toward her throat.

She swayed out of the way just in time, though his blade did catch the side of her neck. Blood welled from the scratch. Pellia ignored it, stepping into him in an attempt to catch him off guard. Steel screamed against steel as her blade slid down the length of his. They were locked toe-to-toe. She gritted her teeth as the prince pressed down harder. This may not have been her brightest idea, and she knew he recognised it too.

“Bad choice,” he said and hooked her ankle with one foot. Pellia went down. Her back hit the ground hard, driving the air from her lungs. She had just enough sense to roll out of the way before Balekin’s sword plunged down, piercing the rug where she had been a heartbeat before.

Pellia scrambled to her feet, eyes wide, and brought her sword back to the guard position. She was moving on autopilot, her muscles taking over while her dazed mind caught up. Balekin let her rise, smirking.

They circled again, the prince’s movements smooth and predatory while Pellia was still trying to catch her breath. Her fractured rib burned, but she pushed the pain aside, blinking rapidly. She just had to keep him occupied until Cardan found them.

This time, Balekin attacked first. He went low, slashing for her thighs, and Pellia brought her own sword down to meet him. The clash of their weapons rang off the stone walls.

She disengaged, knocking his blade away, and that was when she saw the opening. With all her strength, Pellia lunged forward, her swordpoint thrusting for his heart—

Balekin’s smile was that of a predator, baring its teeth as it moved in for the kill. He swayed out of harm’s way, caught her wrist in one hand, and threw her across the room.

Pellia soared.

During the brief moment she was in the air, she found herself hoping that Cardan wouldn’t be too angry with her for failing. She hoped he and Jude would find Amber and help her get home. She hoped her sister would be okay without her.

Then Pellia slammed into the ground.

~ ~ ~

Jude followed close on Cardan’s heels as he led the way through the stone corridors of Hollow Hall. She held her sword ready in one hand, holding onto Amber’s wrist with the other. She tried not to be frustrated at the slow but steady pace they were setting—it wasn’t fair to expect Amber to keep up after having been locked in a cell for who knows how long.

Still, she worried about Pellia facing Balekin alone when she was already injured. She would need to be one hell of a fighter to have a shot at winning that match up, and while she carried herself like someone who was capable, Jude didn’t get the sense that Pellia knew when to back down.

Which is why, despite her promise not to interfere, Jude wanted to be there to step in if it looked like Balekin had the upper hand. But first, she had to get there.

The sound of clashing steel rang out in the next corridor. Jude slowed as she rounded the corner. Halfway down the hall was an open door that spilled light from within and, about ten feet earlier, a shallow alcove. The trio stopped before it.

“Stay here,” Jude said to Amber, tucking her into the space. “And hang onto this—just in case.” Jude unsheathed the long dagger at her hip, handing it to the girl.

“Is Pellia in—” Amber started, brown eyes wide. She was craning her neck to see past Jude to the open door.

“Yes,” Jude said, pushing the girl back gently and forcing her to meet her eyes. “And I’m going to help her but you need to stay here, got it? I can’t help Pellia and watch out for you.”

Swallowing, Amber nodded, taking the weapon.

It was confirmation enough for Jude. She headed for the open doorway, Cardan racing at her heels—and stopped just inside the threshold, in time to see Pellia crash into the rug-covered floor.

Jude winced, stepping farther into the room, sword raised. Cardan hurtled past her to stand between the downed pixie and the menacing form of his older brother. Balekin regarded the cat calmly, spun his own sword, and glanced sideways at Jude.

“Oh, look: your friends have come to your rescue,” he taunted as Cardan hissed, hair puffed and claws out.

Pellia was on her back, eyes closed and chest heaving as she tried to recover the air that had been forced from her lungs. Cardan put one soft black paw on her shoulder. “Took you long enough,” she coughed.

Balekin looked almost annoyed. “Having others fight your battles for you, Nerium?” he said. “I thought you had more pride than that.”

Still breathless, Pellia struggled to sit up. “I do,” she said, swaying and blinking hard. She looked at the mortal girl, red eyes meeting walnut. “Jude, you promised.”

Jude’s lips thinned, displaying her scepticism. She searched the other girl’s face, trying to find something to indicate the pixie was okay, but Pellia was pale and swaying unsteadily.

Yes, she had promised not to step in. But if she didn’t, the chances of Pellia being alive to take her sister home at the end of this were slim. Jude tightened her grip on her weapon.

“Pellia—” Jude started, but the pixie cut her off.

“No,” she snapped. “This is my fight.”

Balekin laughed. “Stubborn to the end. Will you still feel that way when I run you through?”

Pellia smiled back, cold and ruthless. “Violence isn’t the only way to do battle, Balekin. You’re playing my game now; maybe next time you should read the rules.”

She grabbed Cardan by the scruff of his neck, hauling the cat toward her and climbing to her feet. He scrambled as she lifted him into the air, flailing against her hold until she drew her stolen dagger. She placed its tip against the delicate skin of Cardan’s throat, and he stopped struggling.

She’s going to kill him, Jude thought, stunned. She could feel the blood draining from her face. After everything, she’s going to kill him. And she’s going to use my knife to do it.

Balekin was less stunned. “You won’t kill him,” he chuckled.

“No?” Pellia gritted her teeth, adjusting her grip on the hilt. “And why's that?”

“What would you gain? Killing him won't get you your sister back.” Disdain coloured the prince’s voice, but there was something else, something other—the slightest tinge of uncertainty hiding in the space between his words.

Pellia nodded, considering. “Maybe not. But what do you really know about me?” Her breathing was heavy and pained. Her eyes bore into Balekin's with a fury so hot it could have started a wildfire. “Killing him might not get me my sister back, but it sure as hell will cause you some issues,” she spat.

The fey prince was quiet for a long moment, calculating. Jude’s heart dropped all the way to her stomach. Her eyes flicked back and forth, from Pellia to Balekin, from hot, wild rage to cool, quiet calculation. Then Balekin straightened, an ugly half-smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I do not think you have an accurate read on my relationship with my little brother,” he explained. The words were oily smooth and indifferent. Jude wanted to scratch them off her skin. “I would not cry if he were gone. I do not care for him the way you care for that mortal brat.”

The reference to Amber caused the pixie to flinch. "I didn’t say you cared," she snapped back. “I don’t think for a moment that you'd be sad over his loss—you’d have to have a heart for that.” She held Cardan higher and stepped closer to Balekin. “I just think it would cause you some problems. How can you be his benevolent saviour if he's dead? How can you manipulate someone who owes you nothing?”

Balekin opened his mouth to speak, but Pellia shook the cat, pressing the knife closer. Cardan squawked in alarm, and his brother fell silent.

“Isn't that your plan?” she ranted, voice rising. “Isn’t it?! Massacre your family, but keep him—” she nodded to the cat hanging uncomfortably by his scruff “—safe, so you can play the saviour? So he’ll be indebted when you find the antidote to the spell that made him this way? I’m not done,” she snapped as Balekin drew breath to speak.

Veins were pulsing in the dark fey prince’s forehead, his eyes a rage-filled inferno. His jaw was so tight Jude could almost hear his teeth creaking under the strain. Any moment now, he would erupt.

“You don’t care about Cardan,” Pellia continued, “only his royal lineage. You just need someone to put the crown on your head. Well, news flash, buddy,” she scoffed, “it won’t be him.”

Balekin lunged for Pellia with an inarticulate roar. She must have seen it coming as Jude had, though, and a quick sidestep carried her out of harm’s way. The fey prince’s momentum carried him forward to trip over Pellia’s extended ankle and he skidded across the floor to stop at Jude's feet.

Jude, who jumped backward to avoid a collision. Jude, who looked up and felt the blood drain from her face. Jude, who couldn’t hide her look of complete and utter horror at the sight before her. Her heart felt as though it had stopped, and also as though it were trying to beat out of her chest. Her body was numb. She stared.

Balekin turned, too, his sword falling from his grip as he beheld the scene taking place.

“You bitch—” he snarled.

Across the room, Pellia crouched to lay the still body of Cardan on the floor. Darkness coated his cat's chest, a red stain seeping into the carpet beneath him. Jude’s dagger in her hand ran red from hilt to tip.

When she spoke, the pixie’s voice was quiet. Flat.

“What's your plan now, Balekin?”

Jude could barely tear her gaze away to see the prince’s reaction. His face contorted with fury, a hate so black it nearly seeped the light from the room. Balekin screamed and charged for Pellia—then stopped.

He looked down. The silver point of Jude’s sword protruded from his stomach. The anger fell from his face as she tried to figure out what it meant, what had happened. When Jude yanked her blade from his body with a slight squelch, he swayed, stumbled forward, then fell at Pellia's feet.

Jude barely noticed. She was halfway to Cardan, scrambling, the floor feeling oddly immaterial beneath her feet, when Pellia’s voice rang out, laced thick with glamour:

“Stop,” she commanded, and Jude felt her feet freeze beneath her.

Those stupid herbs. In trying to uphold her end of the deal, in trying to help Amber before all else, she had given up the one thing that had protected her against the glamour. She threw herself against the magic restraining her, but still her feet remained locked to the ground.

Panic began to creep through Jude’s veins and hot tears burned her eyes.

“Let me go!” she screamed, thrashing in Pellia’s magical hold. "Let me see him!"

The pixie looked taken aback for a moment. “I’m sorry for the pain this has caused you, Jude,” she said. She sounded sincere. It meant nothing.

“Fuck you!” Jude’s voice broke over the words. Her heart felt like it was being ripped in half. “How could you?! He did nothing! You were supposed to help him—you're a liar!”

Pellia shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, then, glamour lacing her voice again, she ordered, "Please, be quiet."

The air rushed from Jude's lungs. No matter how much she screamed and sobbed, no sound came out. With silent tears streaming down her face, she collapsed to her knees.

Pellia turned back to Balekin. Panting from the pain of his wound, he had struggled his way onto all fours and drawn a knife. It was a simple matter to knock one hand from under him, sending the prince crashing face-first into the carpeted floor. Pellia lowered herself to a crouch beside him and laid the edge of her dagger under his jaw.

“Ah, ah,” she tutted. “Let's not do that, shall we? You lost. Now tell me: what did you use to bind the cat spell?”

“What does it matter?” Balekin snarled. “You’ve already killed him.”

“Humour me.” Pellia’s voice was sweet and deadly, dripping honey over a razor sharp blade. “I’m ever so curious.”

When he still refused, she applied pressure to the weapon at his throat. A thin line of blood sprang up where the blade met flesh, and the prince flinched.

“The ring,” he spat, voice dripping with contempt. “The match to the one you put on him.”

Pellia smiled, cold and sharp, giving him some space to move. "Remove it for me." Balekin's fingers trembled as he did, though with rage or fear Jude couldn’t be certain. The stone set into the band was the same warm orange as the cat's eyes. Jude’s heart ached at the thought of never seeing those eyes again. As Balekin dropped the ring into Pellia's hand, the air in the room seemed to crackle. Through wet eyes, Jude looked to Cardan; shimmering white light glowed over the cat's changing body.

“Thank you,” Pellia said from her spot with Balekin. Neither she nor the prince seemed to have noticed Cardan’s transformation.

“Would that misfortune follow you, any path you take,” the injured prince spat—an ancient curse.

Pellia raised her eyebrows at him, unphased. “Go stick your dick in a toaster, fucknugget.” She glanced over her shoulder to where the naked-but-very-much-fey body of Cardan now lay.

“It’s over, Catboy. You’re good now.”

Jude didn’t understand what she meant at first. Her confusion was answered a moment later as Cardan sat up, graceful as ever and uninjured. Then it hit her full force as she realised—Cardan had just sat up, graceful as ever and uninjured. The shock of it was enough to stop the tears sliding down her cheeks.

“Jude,” Pellia said, “I release you, as long as you promise not to stab me.”

Still trying to wrap her mind around what was happening, the girl nodded, and the glamour broke. She hurled herself across the room at the newly-returned fey prince and dipped to her knees beside him, hands hovering, unsure whether to hug him or hold his hand or die of embarrassment over the sheer amount of relief she was feeling—or over the fact that he was sitting there, fully nude and still glowing with the effects of the spell, which she was just processing now. Jude felt her cheeks flame at the realisation. Cardan, on the other hand, seemed completely unaffected.

Instead, he gave her a crooked smile. “Hello, Jude,” he said.

She could feel herself turning an even deeper shade of red. “Um—hi,” she stuttered, her tongue feeling awkward in her mouth. “I’m—I’m glad you’re back.” She studied a particularly interesting spot on the stone wall behind him, refusing to meet his eyes.

That didn’t last long. Cardan began to sway as the light around him faded. Instinctively, Jude reached out to steady him. He fell against her.

“Jude,” he said again, insistent as his voice started to slur with sleep. “You need to know….”

Then he passed out.

~ ~ ~

Pellia watched as Jude hurtled across the room to Cardan's side. It had been difficult for her to intentionally allow the girl to believe she had killed Cardan. After all, Pellia knew firsthand what it was like to have someone important stolen from right under your nose—the feelings of helplessness and despair and anger that it provoked. She comforted herself with the knowledge that it had been a quick affair, just long enough to force Balekin to remove the ring that bound the spell.

Pellia wiped sanguineberry juice from the assassin's dagger before sheathing it at her hip. Her body ached, protesting its recent treatment, and she knew it would only get worse as the adrenaline faded. She wished she had thought to save some of those blessed painkilling berries, instead of putting them all into the poison vial hidden in the dagger's hilt.

“Pell?”

The pixie girl spun toward the voice. It came from the main doorway, where a slight figure stood, shrouded in shadow. Pellia swallowed.

“Amber?”

“PELLIA!” Amber exclaimed. She rushed forward, tackling her older sister in a bone-crushing hug, tears streaming down her face.

“Can’t breathe—” Pellia winced at the pain in her ribs but held on just as tight. She pulled back for a moment to fervently check her sister’s face. Amber was pale, her cheeks sunken and eyes haunted, but it was her.

Pellia took a breath that morphed into a sob. She'd done it. Amber was here. She was real and solid and alive, and she was here.

“I’m so glad you’re safe,” Pellia whispered., burying her face in her sister's hair as they sank to the floor.

Amber held on tighter. Her tears turned to sobs as the two girls clung to each other, neither wanting to let go. “I—I thought I was—" she hiccuped and started again. “I thought I was never gonna see you again.”

Pellia's heart cracked. “I’m sorry,” she breathed. “You’re safe now. I’m so sorry.”

The younger girl shook her head, her face still buried in Pellia’s shoulder. “You were right,” she admitted. Her voice cracked, and she clutched at Pellia's clothes, holding on as tightly as she could. “It’s scary here.”

Pellia’s heart broke in her chest. “I know,” she whispered, stroking her sister's hair. “But it’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna take you home.”

***

A/N: That wasn't that bad, right? Happy ending? For everyone except dear Balekin? Also, I know this started mainly with Jude and Cardan. I'm sorry to anyone who is disappointed about the copious amounts of Pellia screentime. I haven't read FotA in like three years and I don't remember enough to write them in-character. So yeah, Pellia took over.

Theoretically, there is one more chapter to be written. Will I actually write it? Who knows. (Probably, but it'll take A Bit.) (I've learned my lesson about posting as I write... So much respect to people who are dedicated and organized enough to do that. You really gotta have the plot figured out first. Anyway. Lesson learned. If I ever write anything else, I will finish the story before posting.)

Thanks for reading, friend. Hope you enjoyed. <3

Tagging: @stardustsroses @nahthanks @jurdanhell @my-one-true-l @thefolkofthefic @greenbriarxrose @bookavert @queen-of-demons-and-hell @theviolettulip @lysandra-ghost-leopard @playlistmusings @black-like-my-soul @mirubyai @eldritchred @hpcdd3 @myunfortunatenightmare @angelpaulene @localgoof @garnet-baby @iamaprincessallgirlsare

#lost & found fic #fota #folk of the air #jurdan #folk of the air fanfic #holly black #elfhame #tfota #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #the cruel prince #how the king of elfhame learned to hate stories #htkoelths #tcp #the wicked king #twk #the queen of nothing #tqon #qon

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