#queen NEVER MISSES A LOOK FR EVEN IF ITS A DREAM

[inkblot-mirror]

Yum Vil got drip 💧

No to the hair though.

[punkandsnacks]

Between Wolves & Doves, Chapter 17; Highlands Part I

Author: @punk-in-docs​ & @adamsnackdriver​

Also on AO3-  

Masterlist-

Trigger Warnings: No warnings in this chap- slightly naughty bits

Synopsis: Vampire!Kylo x OC love story. Inspired by BBC’s Dracula. Also inspired by Austen’s Pride & Prejudice.

He’s been stalking this earth long since civilizations can possibly fathom. Before records even began. He sneers at the fact that this pitiful young world has only just begun to see his reign of it.

He’s dined with moguls, emperors, princes. He’s consorted with bloodthirsty ruthless Queens in their courts, and whispered into the ears of powerful King’s, whose names still echo through millennia.

In his myriad of centuries gifted to his immortal self he’s been many many things. He’s been a lowly pauper. A crusading knight. An assassin. A sell sword. A soldier. A wanderer. A simpering suitor and a voracious unyielding lover. Aimlessly lost in time- besieging this earth. Ripping it apart and drinking what’s left.

He was made in the hinterland between snow and dirt and pine trees. Crusted with ash and blood and gouged from battle. Born anew. Sired from the hell-mouth of war. He was made in 789 AD.

He’ll come undone, one bitter winter night, in England, in 1816.

                                                      ~ ~ 🥀  ~ ~

Everything was soft, and warm. Her whole being is snug and safe and lost. Completely lost to sleep and rest.

Mellowness spreading out through each of her limbs like warm embers of an amber fire or a splash of spicy whisky. As if she’s laying in a bath full of silk rose petals and perfectly warm water.

Best sleep she’s ever had in her life. She owes it to the influence of his being near.

Fur pelts and blankets wrapped around her as she’s slumbering on the velvet bench. Curled up in a swathe of them, Kylo smiles, she’s all bundled up, like a little burrowing bug. Her head slumped onto his strong shoulder. Fine wool of his coat scuffing her pale cheek red.

He had his arm around her back and every now and then leaned over and nuzzled his mouth and nose into her hair. Breathing in the plain perfume that he so adored. Kisses her brow. Hints of salty lavender and sage peppermint soap pouring off her. Her skin and her clothes all amalgamated into the encompassing scent of his Iris. The one that he never could resist. The one he knows so dearly by now.

He’s so glad she’s here.

She’s in his arms. It makes him smile he just can’t help it.

He slept a little - in fits and starts mostly. When she’s so warm and sweetly tempting laying her head on his shoulder how could he not? Nestles his nose into her hair and falls asleep too, with a smile on his face, and calm peace taking up his chest. Spreading through him like clouding smoke.

Every muscle in her body coaxed into that sleepy calm lull by a gently rocking motion that sent her engulfed into dreams, like a newborn being swayed in their rocking cradle.

Its the gentle pitch of the coach as it tumbles over rocky highland roads that does it. Crackles and jolts over the stony lanes that cut through the miles and stretching glory of the emerald glens and the heather strewn hills.

He flickers the curtain back from the window his side with his free hand, and milky sunshine spills gold into the scarlet cabin from a clouded heaven.

He peers out the glass, clouded sunshine snatched at his eyes. Quite a stunning vista awaited his attention. He’s used to fish filled lakes, mountain scenery and the lush impossible green of Bavarian landscape under a searing sky. He was made and formed and still sustained, all these years later, by bitter snow and cold rocky climes. Inbetween layers of sinking crushing snow and pine trees was he was formed. Moulded out of such a savage ground as that of his Nordic homeland.

Scotland has a hint of this too: a savagely beautiful terrain. A vast portion of its wilderness remained.

Hulking mountains, the glitter of a loch in the sunshine. Catching like a cascade of sapphires and diamonds in the sun. Dense forest woodlands and rolling hills crested with purple-pink heather. A native plant, as hardy as the landscape and people it sustains.

The sun chips through the clouds and dapples over the valley of the brown-tawny green mountains they’re travelling between. The loch lies spilled and landlocked in the middle. The sky is clear but the wind is howling and icy, and he can feel it’s bitter gale wrapping around the coach.

Scotland is a land he can recall very little of. His previous tours of England over the years kept him mostly in the southern regions. But he remembers some viking settlements on the coasts, in a time when his clans and kin ruled the seas. Pillagers, plunderers and warriors claiming the land for their own like a wandering pack of rabid dogs.

He remembers being at sea, seeing these shores coming into view. Cliffs clearing out of the misty horizon. Stood at the front of the langskip as it rowed him closer to a new land. Some slithers of his memory can still recall.

The woven tunic rasping his cold skin. The taste of sea salt crusted on his lips. Cruel heavy rain pelting into his braids and stinging his head like a thousand needles. The studded leather cuffs and tunic he wore cold from the exposed elements of a ruthless sea. His usual black fur wolf pelt lining his massive shoulders. He can recall how long his hair was back in those days. Braided and knotted and twined with silver ornaments. Kohl smeared on his already dark eyes. He made quite the picture of a savage.

He was on this island a mere two months before he sailed back home. And fate would set its hand on the path towards him being turned by Draegan during that portentous battle.

How different it all is now. Being here, in these very different, yet same, highlands, all these centuries later. With his perfect love of his life, under his arm. On their path towards matrimony.

However dishonourable their actions to get them here. He would’ve slaughtered the whole county if that’s what it took.

He strongly suspected her mother would be in such uproar by now, she’d send for the police or the local magistrate. He can see it now: some six-horse phaeton being governed at impressive speed, by a stony faced police duty constable, haring it down the hair pin roads after them. Mrs Ashton will have painted him the perfect black hearted villain of the peace. Seducing away her eldest daughter to ruin.

Kylo’s smirking at the thought. How correct it is. Except he will not be such a Byronic blackguard as to seduce her and then abandon her like a stray.

He will bed her with such fierce passion make her his Lady. And by god- this wedding can’t come soon enough for his liking.

He admires the scenery a moment or two longer. Before turning back to her.

He nuzzles his mouth to her forehead. Her warm creamy skin against his mouth and he takes a gentle kiss of it. “Dove?” He calls to her through her sleep. His voice a rumbling hush. Chipping through her engulfing pretty dreams.

Her eyelids flutter and she gently comes too - his mouth a loving press on her temple. His lips are a silky wisp on her skin and it makes a beautiful thrum of conscious delight run through her. He feels it pluck along every nerve in her spine. Like a knife carving and picking through stitched thread. His nearness undoes her so brutally.

Her eyes peel open and he watches the sunshine catch in them. Oakmoss and honey. “We are in the highlands?” She asks.

Voice eclipsed under a husky tone that sleep still clings to. He smiles at her. Tucks a straying curl of hair back behind her ear. Her cheek so pink and warm from her slumber.

“Take a look…” He gestured to the window with a casual nod. Smile glowing with love of her, in such an adorably mussed state.

She rubs the bleariness of sleep away and leans across him to admire the prospect.

The breath is quite snatched from her lungs.

She never knew the scenery of these British isles could differ. For years she’d been the landlocked country miss. So used to the frosted green-brown fields and flat valleys of the genteel farming countryside of the south. The unexciting stretch of her home county.

She never knew a landscape could be this vast. Such huge mountains with golden and green grass and purple heather crawling up them. So high they stabbed into the searing grey of the sky and snow dusts their tips where the icy wind blazes. She’s never seen such colour and brutality in such a vista before. It’s quite a refreshing sight to her innocent eyes.

She cranes her head to catch a glimpse of the loch sandwiched between the mountains. The severity of the grey sky fills the waters. But it still looks like a great stretch of Prussian blue ink. She feels like she’s seeing the world for the first time with wide open and educated eyes.

“Goodness…” She gasps in amazement. Kylo smiles looking at her sweet creamy profile bathed in sunlight. The clouds are roiling in temper in front of the sun, Grey and churning, interrupting the light pouring down from the heavens. Kylo suspects there will be rain soon.

She sits back and unfolds some of her cocooning blankets from her legs. She was quite warm enough when she’s holding his hand. Fingers sloped and tangled together in her lap.

“Whereabouts are we?” She enquires.

“Near Kinlochleven. That peak there…” he gestures out the window with a pointed finger. “Is called Ben Nevis. The highest peak in all of Western Scotland.”

“Without meaning to take a liberty; I thought we were intended for Gretna green?” She asks.

He chuckles and leans over to pluck a sweet kiss on the corner of her mouth. He pulls back and rests his forehead to hers. Nose nuzzled against her cheek.

“Take all the liberties you should like, my love. You won’t offend me so easily.” He tells her.

“I must confess I had considered that if your mother is hateful enough to send someone to stop our union, Gretna Green would be the first place she’d look.” He smiles cunningly.

“I thought we had better err on the side of caution.” He insists. “Not that slobbering hounds from the very bowels of hell could stop me marrying you-“ He drawls lovingly.

“But I thought it best to avoid a nasty encounter if there is one to be had.” He tells. “You don’t mind? Do you?” He seeks with a frown.

“Mind?” She repeats. She leans close and kisses his cheek.

“You could tell me our wedding is being hosted in a ditch and I’d still be delirious with joy.” She tells him.

He chuckles kindly at her sentiments. Smile crinkles up his eyes and cheeks. She wants to follow those sweet dimples with her fingertips. Like trailing well-work paths and lines and dips in a map. Skimming over roads travelled.

“I had planned for a little better than a ditch. I sought out an Inn that looked most comfortable. Rather rustic. I’m afraid it’s not going to be a grand manor house overrun with servants.” He tells her. Preferring honesty over catching her in a lie.

She’s still smiling. “I’m not a grand kind of woman. Cosy sounds wonderful.” She insists. She had no qualms about his doing or acting upon anything that could make her uncomfortable.

“I’d take a cosy wedding with you - over anything cold and grand and proper. Like my supposed wedding to Sergeant Hux would’ve been.”

She could see it all so clearly; a stifling preconception of wedded life.

A big society affair - Maratella and Mama would invite every old matron and stuffy Lord of their acquaintance within a fifty mile radius. Anything to show off the grandeur of the match. They’d be wedded under no less than a hundred pairs of eyes, and the odious, foul-breathed, Reverend Potter, watching them.

With a tepid kiss on the lips and duty done, the party would retire to a wedding breakfast hosted at Cavenham - Maratella would insist. They’d spend the wedding night there before setting off on honeymoon the next day. If there was to be one. Probably some boarding house in Brighton or something that wouldn’t remove them too far away.

Iris shudders at the merest intimation of bedding Hux.

He wasn’t repulsive but if his conjugal manner was as alike in every other cold attitude that he treated her. She was in for an uncomfortable procedure in consummating their marriage. It would be very polite, and sharp and quick. A fumble and an insulting rut and she’d be done with him.

He wouldn’t kiss her. Or lay into her with glimmering affection and wildly consuming love in his eyes. He’d do his duty and then she’s damn certain he’d have retired to his own bedchamber. Leaving her there, sore, bleeding and sticky-warm between her thighs. It completely crushed her heart to think that may have been her existence. Loveless encounters until she was beget with child.

He would never hold her. Never kiss her for pleasure. Never walk into a room she’s in, and not dream about taking her in his arms and kissing her like he won’t possibly survive if he doesn’t. He won’t take her hand and hold it the way Kylo is this very moment.

She doesn’t regret her choice. She’ll never regret her choice.

“I shall defer the grandeur until we get to Ranlor. And you will be cherished and spoiled and treated as a Lady should. As well you deserve to live.” He pledges.

Thoughts and the prospect of her new home fill her with giddy desirous joy. She blushes a little at the warm tone of his words.

“What’s Ranlor like?” She beams.

Oh, they’ve had many a courteous back-and-forth in ballrooms with every matron in the world breathing down their neck. Here there is no pretence or cautiousness;

She needn’t be worried she’ll be remarked upon for gazing at him too long. For smiling too much when he talks to her. He need not show less than what he feels for her. Here, like this, their love is unconfined.

It’s no one but the two of them and he’s absolutely full up of delight to remark upon it.

“It’s the one place I’ve had that’s ever felt like a true home to me. The downfall of an existence like mine. I’ve drifted through so many fine houses and châteaus and dwellings. Such a rootless way of spending life.” He begins.

“You would not want me should you have seen where I grew up. I was raised in a dim timber hut no bigger than ten metres square.” He chuckles lightheartedly.

“I can safely assure you. That wouldn’t deter me.” She tells to the handsome man who owns her entire heart.

She tentatively reaches up to skim her palm down his cheek. Can’t quite fathom that she can touch him like this- adore him. Admire him. All those things she never seemed able to do. Now they are all within her grasp.

He takes that dear sweet hand of hers and holds it to his lips for a second. Kisses her knuckles and a shiver of delight crosses her whole being. Rubs his fingertips along the smooth pink oval stones of her neat fingernails.

“Better finding a home at last than years of living in a place that never quite agrees with you.” She tempers softly. Her whole happy childhood spited and soured by her mothers greed for a good marriage.

He feels that comment deeply from her. “She was very wrong to take that feeling from you. Of your native land. Your centre of being.” He explains. “I should hope she is paying sorely for her mistake of you, and no less.” He observed spitefully. And he means it.

Iris doesn’t blame him for it - rather she empathises greatly. She smiles in her agreement.

“I hope Ranlor Castle will serve well. And in time that you may think of it as your home. Because I would want nothing less than your being satisfied and happy with it.” He hopes.

“The way you speak of it- I don’t see how I could not adore it already.” She tells.

“How long have you been in residence?” Fully expecting his answer to be of a shockingly long timeline.

“Since the late 1500’s.” He casually offers.

“Ranlor was an impulsive purchase of land. I admit. But I was sick of war. Of moving with army encampment from country to country. Sick of living in dirt and wet muck and fighting. I bought it because I wanted to wake up each morning and be the master of the land where I lay my head. To know the view I wake up too, is the same one I shall be greeted with at sunset.” He tells her very poetically.

“I’ve lived in attic garrets, huts made of straw and mud, and postage stamp sized rooms. But by that same token, I’ve stayed as a guest of honour at Versailles. Lived with princes and kings and queens and been a companion warrior to many number of emperors in my time.” He offers. “But in Ranlor I found I appreciated having a place to return to where everything surrounding me is entirely my own.”

Iris is blown away by the stories he must have to tell. “When we sup tonight, I absolutely insist you tell me about some of the places and the people you’ve seen. I am my fathers daughter after all. I am an unabashed glutton for history.” She chuckles.

He takes her chin and brings her face closer to his. Melts their lips into a slow bruising kiss. Passion sparks at her skin and it feels like it bruises her.

“How can I possibly deny such a request?” He drawls against her lips. Breath rasping against her scorched cheeks. Her blood simmering hot under her skin and the smell of it is beautiful-

“I want to know every intimate thing.” She begins. He bites back a groan. Good god, how she’ll have it…

“Keep kissing me like this Iris and I’ll give you anything you want…” He sighs in desiring agony into her lips and wraps his big fingers around the back of her head. Completely dwarfs her skull in his grip.

She clutched at his shoulder - otherwise she’s sure she’d simply float off up to the moon in bliss.

“Kissing you is more than enough. I am wholly satisfied by that alone.” She says when they break away. Not able to deny how alluring he is in this way-

Impassioned to the point of fever. His eyes as dark as storm clouds above them. Calls to mind things like granite, and crows feathers and black leather. Dark but light touches so deep. His lips are a raw sweet-cherry pink and he looks like the starving wolf about to gobble up a baby deer.

“We’ll be near to our Inn soon.” He comments. “We are but ten miles from it I believe.”

She smiles and lays her head on his shoulder. Happy to watch the scenery roll them by. Joining her hand with his again in their lap. He takes up a vast proportion of the velvet bench but she cuddles nicely into his side. He kisses her hair again and then turns and watch their coach rumble along the roads.

She could happily drift away again. The scent of him calmly infused into his clothes. His cologne and the soap and sandalwood oil he uses. Pine from the forest, thorny tumbling brambles full of rich, tart fruit, and an undercurrent of eucalyptus and mint. Rich delicious and earthy. And he is a man sprung from the salt of the earth. She adores how his roots are humble, and he’s come so far as to rise into a Lords title. It’s a quality she admires.

Not before long, houses to start to crop up out of this beautiful Scottish countryside. Low little stone houses and then suddenly a fine granite clad town is before them. A promenade of wooden shops socketed into grey brick buildings above. Full of wares and goods for sale.

It’s quite a bustling little town and the outcrop of the splendid mountains is it’s backdrop. The loch nearby for fishing. The land for hunting game and meat. This was a rich land in so many ways. Bursting with scenery and culture. So different from her sheltered upbringing.

The coach takes them along the centre of the road. Up the slope of a hill a little way. Past some more shops and dwellings and there it pulls onto a lane that leads them to a small brown stone building. Set back from the road with a swinging sign on a post announcing its name. A silvery depiction of an animal hangs on that signpost. The White Stag.

She smiles as the coach follows the curved road. Leading to a modest wooden porch. The place was tavern like in appearance. A small and long, squat stone building. Burrowing into the earth after many years of standing. There’s a pretty wilderness of garden surrounding it. Crumbling stone walls sprouting heather. Every window peers out across the wide plain of the glen before them. It’s an open terrain. Bare to the expanse of the elements. But when a place is so happily situated, Iris can’t think it could look anymore handsome.

The coach lumbers to a creaky stop. They gather themselves and step out. She puts on her bonnet, pulls her coat up her arms as he steps out. He turns back to offer her a hand down.

Their driver - a very obliging young lad from Hellford, Sampson was his name - was kind enough to see to their luggage. Even her meagre carpet bag.

He was a nice boy. Kylo had said he was eager to drive a coach, even in the driving snow and frost. Kylo wouldn’t want such an uncomfortable job but he seemed keen. He had a way with the horses. Had the touch with them. And Erland even likes him so that’s as high a praise as can be bestowed.

He was a beanpole lad with muddy hair and jug handle ears. Poky shoulders and a towering stature. Two reed thin legs shoved into his tall boots. Coat swathing his lanky body.

When they broke their journey to take luncheon at a roadside inn near Lancaster, and to feed and water the horses.Kylo insisted that they all seek some sustenance to keep them going.

The pair of them sit in the sunny window in the small, dim pub and share a platter of succulent honey roast leg of ham, cut into thick wonky sliced chunks of juicy meat, with golden roast potatoes and buttered leeks. Served with mugs of sweet crisp apple cider on the side.

The food was splendid and they smile and talk intimately - she found great joy in the fact that no one around them censured or took interest in them like back at home. With every pair of eyes watching permanently it seemed. They sit opposite each other, in the window alcove, around a wobbly pub table and she couldn’t be happier. Nor could he. The smiles on their faces reflect this fact.

Before they ate, Kylo excused himself and quickly went to the bar and said something to the kind serving maid. Slipped a coin into her hand. And came to sit back down next to her. She raised a brow. She knows what he’s just fixed.

Sampson seemed most grateful that they sent him a plate of meat stew, roast ham and a flagon of cider out to the mews for him. The dear boy stumbled and blushed and wrung his hat on his hands and told them it was most kind when they returned to the coach to continue their journey. He told Kylo his last employer wasn’t nearly so generous.

Iris overheard all this as she stood feeding oats to the horses - even though Kylo told her not to spoil them.

Erland was shifting with excitement that she’s fussing him. The silly old thing. Kana was still a reluctant girl. But she seemed fond of Iris all the same.

Kylo smiled at the young boy. Told him he was looking forward to what the young lad would make of the stables at Ranlor. For he was pledged to make the crossing with them.

He wouldn’t be staying in the inn with them. Kylo booked the boy comfortable rooms closer to town. Told him to have a rest whilst he and Iris get on with proceedings of marriage. But he’ll be there at the weeks end to take them to the port to make the ship.

He gathers their luggage. Manages easily even though he looked about as tensile in strength as a lanky wet rag. Kylo takes her arm and leads her into the Inn. She’s getting rather used to the dim glow of these places of late.

He holds the door for her and she ducks in first. He has to swoop low to avoid stubbing his head on the doorframe. Her boots and his clack on the clean flagstone floors. Recently swept she guesses. Every table was wiped and adorned with little vases of wildflowers. Framed pictures and etchings hang straight on the lumpy stone walls. A fire crackles gently in the open fireplace. Horse brasses pinned to the bar glimmer as if polished. Thick plum and grey tartan curtains float poker straight on the brass curtain piles above each window.

The place is clean and tidy and not full of rowdy drunks with straw and ale spewed across the floor. She simply adores that it’s a tavern that takes pride in its neat as a pin appearance.

A few men sit around some tables enjoying a drink in the cloudy milky sunshine of the window. There’s some chatter and laughter in the din of the room. It’s beautifully warm and the air smells like ginger and oats. Something delicious being baked in the kitchens no doubt.

A matronly woman, very pretty with a tumbling shock of frizzy greying red hair greets them from behind the bar. A beige wool dress and apron tied around her middle. She was very beautiful in her late age. A warm face with ruddy cheeks and a complexion that had seen just enough sun. Eyes were a healthy moss green. Her weight lay entirely in her wobbly plump hips. She carries herself proudly.

She’s wiping down the pristine oak bar surface before her. But she stops and smiles when she catches sight of them. Kylo in all his sheer dark mass was impossible to resist or ignore, after all.

“Good Morning, Sir. Miss.” She beams and nods at the both of them. Handsome scottish brogue in her voice sounds kind. Iris likes such gallantry. Most people didn’t bother greeting young ladies when men were present.

Kylo smiles at the woman. Doubtless she was the landlady. “I’m looking for Mrs McCormack, I’ve written to secure lodgings upstairs.” He asks her.

“Aye.” She smiles fondly. “You’d be Lord Ren and Miss Ashton, I presume?” She asks. Looks to the both of them.

“The very same.” He confirms. Stroking Iris’s hand where it lay resting on the crook of his arm.

“How wonderful it is to see you both. I must welcome you the highlands.” She smiles. Laying aside her cloth.

“You have a beautiful Inn, Mrs McCormack. I’ve never seen the like.” Iris smiles at her.

“You’re very kind miss. I thank ye. I take great care to keep my threshold clean and presentable as possible. Everyone here calls me Mrs M. So don’t you be afraid too. If you’d come this way I’ll show you to your rooms.” She nods. Moving behind the bar and out to the stairs set into the alcove of the wall near them.

Kylo lets Iris walk up first. Of course. Watches her smile as she eyes the frames on the wall and asks the kind Mrs M about the White Stag’s history and it’s stories as they all alight the creaky wooden stairs.

He listens to them talk as they walk along a creaky landing with cream wallpaper studded with scarlet roses smeared all over the thick walls. Candles and heavy curtains in every window. Shutters ready to block out the harshest of Scottish winter nights.

Mrs M leads them to a door with a worn gold handle and opens it for them, guiding them inside. Iris instantly sees what he meant about the rooms being cosy rathe than grand. It is cosy and she’s take this handsome room over any gilded grand manor bedchamber.

The walls are tumbling exposed gold bricks. The floors are ancient groaning oak. Worn and bleached an old grey from years of heavy treading boots. The double bed is the centre of the room. A huge soft mattress and downy pillows, foot of it laden with blue and green tartan blankets and a sheep’s skin draped across the end. The mahogany headboard cresting in waves at the foot and the head of the bed is carved and ancient and so very elegant.

There’s a ginormous fireplace at the end of the bed, across the room. Already lit. Popping sparks and blazing heat out into the sunny room. There’s an alcove of a window seat stuffed with cushions and another wool tartan rug. Juniper green cloth armchairs reside by the far wall surrounding a small end table. The room is undeniably snug and home-like. Emphasised in earthy tones of blue and grey and green. Very much like the dazzling highland hills in which it sits.

Iris is so quietly giddy with contentment. She also spies a door to a yet unseen anteroom.

“There’s a private dining room for your particular use through here. Though you’re very welcome to come down and fast in the tavern if you wish. We serve three hot meals a day if you should like. Our cook can make anything you fancy.” She promises.

Her keen eye then spots a crease in the bed linens which she frowns and steps across to smooth out. Iris can see she had a very discerning eye. Kylo lingers in the doorway behind them. Hands folded as he watches her take it in.

He observes as she walks across the room and peers through into the dining room Mrs M spoke of. It’s charming too. Red covered chairs, a long mahogany table. Candlestick of brass shines in the sun. Fire blazing by the dining table.

“Your washroom is just here too. For your convenience.” She moves towards a door opposite the head of the bed and opens onto a small chamber. Installed with a copper bath and a side table with a jug and basin and a screen. “Bessie is the chamber maid and she’ll attend ye’ with any water you’ll be needing.” She tells.

Iris loves it.

“It’s an exquisite room. Mrs M. We are very happy with it. Aren’t we, Kylo?” Iris smiles. Unlacing her bonnet.

He smiles at his intended. “We most certainly are.”

Mrs M seems fascinated with his first name. “Aye now that’s an interesting name. Your lordship.” She puts a hand on her aproned hip and surveys him with friendly curiosity. “I’d wager there’s some Scottish somewhere in your family tree wi’ a name like that.” She nods.

Kylo smiles. Iris’ slate and honey eyes glimmer warmly at him across the room in the cloudy light. Slight beams of it coming though the window are twirling lazily with dust. “There is some Norse I believe. Lingers far back with my ancient ancestors.” He tells their landlady.

“I would’na be surprised mi’lord.” She wagers with a fond grin.

“Oh. I’ll forget me own head next.” She explains. Rummaging into her apron pocket. Drawing out a heavy iron key. “Your room also has its own entrance. Though of course you may always come up through the tavern if you wish. Thats the key to door at the end of the landing there.” She points out the door. Hands the key over to Iris.

She then nods politely to them both. “It is nearly noon. Can I fetch you both a tray of tea? Cook just baked some shortbread I believe.” She smiles.

“That would be heavenly. Thank you.” Iris concludes. Setting her bonnet down on the bed.

“Might I also request you send your maid up to have the bath filled? My fiancée has had a long and tiring journey.” Kylo asks.

“I’ll send her up right away. Your lordship.” Mrs M insists. Moving to the door and shutting the latch softly after herself.

Kylo turns back to her after she leaves them. Iris has her back to him, slipping off her shabby blue coat.

He’ll have to get her another. She’ll be his Lady soon. She’ll need a finer coat than this beaten old thing. It gets stuck on her elbows. He walks across and aids her. Grips the back of her collar and helps guide it down.

She blushes when he leans down and holds her shoulders delicately as he kisses the join where he neck meets spine. A tendril of lose hair curls at his nose. He smiles against the back of her neck. Arms slipping down to draw her into an embrace. Big palms crossing at her stomach.

She places her hands over his. Savours the silence and the feeling of his solid comforting weight at her back. Enclosing her in love.

“You truly like the room?” He seeks. She conceals a blush - rather poorly - when she reflects that the bed she’s now looking at that they will be sharing. On their wedding night. He will bed her in this room and that thought makes her knees weak.

She twists in his arms. His palms rasp over her wool dress. Slides to her hips. She smiles sincerely up at him. “Truly. And I adore its surroundings. And especially its occupant at present.”

He smiles and leans down to claim her mouth in a sweet kiss. She’s so sweet. Sweeter than brown sugar and cream and tart fruit. He drinks of her lips like the greedy pillaging viking he absolutely is. He sucks and nibbles her bottom lip and holds her close when her knees wobble with it. Smiles and breaks the kiss remarking how weak his kisses make her.

“Have a nice long soak, and that cup of tea, my love. You’ll be stiff sore from sleeping in that coach on my shoulder.” He insists. “I may ride Erland into town to fetch a few things…” He tells her.

He had to take care of her, after all. He will not fail in that duty as others had. He was far too gallant. And in love-

She can’t deny how heavenly a soak will feel on her aching bones. And she did have a stiff neck- And although his coach was most comfortable, she is clad not to be in that jolting rumbling box for another night.

“To approach the subject not very delicately-” She starts. Wringing her hands for distraction. “When is the wedding ceremony?” She asks.

That makes him grin. “Four o’clock today. My love.” He smiles.

He wishes there was an artist here with a palette of oils and a bare canvas to hand; for her face is a picture.

“I had the banns read three weeks ago. Paid out a considerable sum to secure the church. All we need do is turn up to the chapel in our best, and the Reverend will wed us. Then and there.” He smirks.

Iris laughs. Smiling in disbelief. She places a hand to hold her middle. She feels almost faint with happiness.

“I think then, that I had better take to that bath.” She chuckles and blushes. He crosses back and kisses her cheek. Cups her neck and gives her a kiss that leaves her shivering long after he pulls his mouth from her.

“I won’t be long. Dove.” He promises. With one last kiss to her hand, he strides for the door and ducks out. “Drink your tea. Wallow in your bath. Make ready to marry me.” He smirks and winks.

Leaving her reeling with the force and memory of his insolently handsome smile.

The room feels doubly empty and so lifeless without him in it. There’s more oxygen without him. And she means that in a sincerely loving way.

When he’s here she’s aware of every smile, every move. Every touch he gives her is magnetic. She’s a bundle of blushes and nerves when he’s near. A giddy silly girl who trembles at the touch of his hand. Who hears the pounding of her heart hammer furiously in her chest when he’s near.

She does as he instructs. Mrs M sends the kind Bessie, the chamber maid, up with a tray of tea and then a big steel jug of hot water for her tiny copper bath.

She drinks the tea and nibbles a biscuit as she unpacks her meagre clutch of things from her luggage that Sampson brought up. As crimson appeared to be Kylo’s preferred colour; she chose accordingly. Hoping her gown wasn’t too crushed from it’s journey in the trunk.

She brought one good gown and a handful of plain cotton and wool ones. The one she would marry him in was a plain ruby-wine red. French Burgundy was the colour name.

It had a ruffle of demure lace stitched all around the scooping neckline and the brocade silk is gathered and stitched intricately at the back. Forming a beautiful slight train and cutting a severe figure. Her mother would have made a comment about it being a red dress. She couldn’t fathom the energy to care.

It makes her in such a passion she wants to pen a letter to her mother right then and there; tell her she’s marrying Lord Ren in a red dress. Like a harlot. See what she makes of that. She wants to watch her face crumble and her rage come snarling forth when Iris signs the letter as Lady Ren. See what her termagant of a mother makes of that…

She hangs it up to ready it for later. Smiles at the sight of it hung on the wardrobe door. Ready. As she should be- she hastens toward her bath.

The kind chambermaid was even so good as to leave a little organza pouch of dried heather and lavender on the side for her. With a little white pebble of honey and oat soap.

Iris catches sight of it as she unlaced her gown and rugged away her stays. She thinks it’s most kind of her to spare the expense of a little trinket. The steam of the piping hot water is muggy and sluggish in the air. Clouding up the mirror behind the jug and basin.

She sinks into the water. Lavender that she sprinkled into the tub spices up the air with its plain floral hint. She smiles gratefully as she submerged fully in the milky cloud of delicious heat. Rubbing the cake of soap along her arms and legs and sudsing up every inch. She does the same with her hair. Wets it and combs through a little oil. Scrapes her scalp with her nails and rubs the soap in and then rinses it.

She scrubs and scrubs until her skin is pink and every inch of her has been kissed and rubbed with soap. She climbs out and dries. Combs her hair out and rubs it. Repeating the process sitting by the small bath chamber fire until it feels significantly more dry. Ready for her to manage pinning into a coiffure. She could manage one on her own; Meg had taught her a few tricks over the years.

She pulls on a new chemise. A sleeveless one that would fit under the dress she’d chosen. She’s rubbing her hair with a flannel towel and takes her silver hair brush with her to go sit by the fire in their chamber. She brushes and brushes until her muddy locks look less and less like a wet soggy puddle.

She hears his treads on the cracking creaking stairs as he comes back.

The afternoon shifting later as the sun slides along behind the clouds. The door latch lifts from the other side and her handsome fiancé comes back in. Nudging the door open with his foot. For his arms are laden with boxes. His hair flounced by the wind and his cheeks pink from it too. His eyes were deviously bright with the exercise- it’s also because he’s caught her sat there in her shift with damply drying hair like some tempting forest nymph.

In all his dark coated glory, he completely fills the doorway to their chamber. His white shirt peers through the gap in his unbuttoned coat. A black cravat is knotted up his neck. Moulding into the stretch of his coat and his big polished boots peeling out where it ends at his calves.

Bessie comes after him. Carrying more boxes. Kylo gives her a coin and a smile of thanks. She bobs and scarpers quick and silent from the room.

Kylo looks across to his intended with a frown of confusion. Had he scared her? Or maybe she found their engaged state sharing a room to be shocking - some people were very strict on such matters.

“I think she is perhaps a little shy. And-“ she leaves her explanation there.

She merely gestures to how tall and big, and handsome, he is. He made Iris tremble in her skin with his smile, and she was years older than the serving maid. To an impassioned young girl prone to crushes and passing fancies, Iris imagines he’s an Achilles heel of blushes and furtive glances. She thinks of her sisters’ reaction to him. All lashes and rosy smiles. Like gardenias coming into bloom for the sun.

He makes a noise of agreement. And that’s when he brings around his arm that had previously tucked behind his back. He brings around a bouquet of flowers. Tied with a grey ribbon that reminded him of her eyes.

“I cannot allow my beautiful bride to be flower-less on her wedding day.” He explains. Setting them before her in her lap as he crouched in front of her.

She is touched beyond words. She grips the flowers and lifts the blooms up to her nose to drink in their scent. Purple thistles, pink and mauve heather, bluebells and wild violets. Harebell and myrtle and a Scottish primrose. A beautiful clutch of green, white, purple and blues.

“They’re beautiful.” She comments. Stroking her fingers along the frail petals. Their nectar and greenery spicing up the air.

“Thankyou.” She sighs onto his lips as he leans in for a slow kiss. He stays on his knees for her - the only way she could reach his lips.

“I fetched some other things for you…” he explains. Taking her hand and pulling her up. He leads her to the bed and her heart thumps a tad faster - thinking they’ll be doing this later on tonight, in a handful of hours, for entirely different reasons.

He shows her the collection of items he’d purchased.

Save for two gold wedding rings - it’s all for her. She is speechless.

There’s three new exquisite silk and lace gowns. An entirely new Scottish-wool coat. Parchment, ink and quills for any letters she wishes to write. Some ribbons and hair pins and pretty silver baubles and combs to decorate her hair coiffures. Five pairs of embroidered stockings, and some round little cakes of oat soap.

Her mouth gapes as she looks to him. He shrugs and offers an explanation - Looking deuced too smug. “You deserve trinkets aplenty to remember your wedding day by.” He explains handsomely. She holds his hand. Quite stunned and not knowing what to say.

No ones ever told her she deserves to be spoiled before. It’s quite a new sensation for her to fathom.

“It’s not a day I’ll be forgetting in any hurry. Believe me.” She tells him.

She sees his eyes dart across the room to where her wedding dress is awaiting being worn. Hung on the door. He smiles fondly at her choice. Looks back to her.

“I can help you with your gown fastenings if you’d like?” He asks. Voice uncharacteristically husky.

She rises to meet his challenge. “If you’re offering.” She smiles. Bravely looking him in the eye.

She turns away and breaks the spell his eyes cast. Walks across and fetches her dress. Steps over to him and he encloses it around her after she steps into it. The fastenings already loose.

He slides it to skim over her hips. Up past her waist. Rests it at her waist and pulls the two sides together over her shoulders.

The way she tugs her hair aside makes his mouth water. Throat bobs where he swallows.

Lovers have done that for him before- countless times and countless lovers- But her doing this, nearly undoes him.

He focuses on his task. Tugs on the hidden laces at the back of her dress. Laces her into it, closing the ties at her shoulders. Eyeing the curve of it that cut around her lovely shoulders. Ruby red against her creamy skin. It’s too tempting to even indulge that certain route of his thinking-

He works efficiently. Fingers brushing the brocade silk and her back. The scent of lavender and spicy oat soap tantalising him as he laboured in this favour for her. He gets to the last tie and he mourns being able to be this close. Parts by stroking his hands down her back, the span of his fingers meet her waist easily. He kisses into her tumble of still drying hair. Inhales her. Cherished the moment of him being pressed against her back.

He called for the bath to be refilled when he came back- and honestly the chambermaid was too damn efficient. Her knock rattled the door and kylo blinks and nods her to come in. Their lusting spell is broken again.

Iris flushed and steps away to round the side of the bed to fetch a pair of stockings. Holding her skirts aloft.

The sight of the curve of her ankle sends his mind reeling into the squalid plains of Male frustration. He swallows and lets the maid fill the bath for him. He was in need of a scrub too. Not exactly covered in the grime and dust of the road but he’d relish the chance to run some soap over his skin before his wedding ceremony.

When he looks back to his beautiful intended, she is sat in the window alcove that’s stuffed with cushions and a tartan rug. Framed by sunlight. Hair turned into spun bronze and gold. Eyes sparkling like polished moonstone. She’s looking down in her lap, with two ivory embroidered stockings in her hands. Running a thumb over the garter ribbon. It was a soft blue. He likes blue on her.

He tries not to envisage that particular part of her anatomy that the stockings will rise up to, too much. He waits for his bath to be drawn and counts down the frustrated and rife minutes as they pass, like the truly impatient Lord he is.

[thebluemartini]

Far From the Shallow - Chapter 13 [Nessian Fic]

TITLE: Far From the Shallow SYNOPSIS: Post-ACOFAS. As part of a deal with Feyre, Nesta has agreed to live with Cassian in the Illyrian Mountains. However, shortly after her arrival, she receives the startling news that she’s pregnant from one of her one-night stands. While she tries to quickly get a grip on her life, Cassian’s determined to make her see that she’s not facing this alone.

FIC LENGTH: Multi-chapter (Total Chapter Estimate: 14)

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS: Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12

TAGGING: @bohemiandreams27 @queenofillea1 @trash-for-nessian @nestaarcheronwillkillme @my-fan-side @strangeenemy @maastrash @cageddovepoetry @bybooksanddreams @lilbat90 @ritamordio19 @mastercommandercaptain @feysand-dot-acotar @archeron-queen @welcometothespeaknowworldtour @empress-ofbloodshed @there-is-warmth-in-winter @mybbyfeyre @saltydreamcollector @justlikethecheshirecat @mis-lil-red @supebowlere @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @sezkins79 @everything-that-i-love @hashtolanashoba @lord-douglas-the-third @rhysandsdarlingfeyre @hikari274 @acotar-and-tog-for-life @ellenoftroy @ink-nibs @highlordofthenightcourttrash @sesquipedalian-aficionado @tintinnabulary

*This chapter is also posted on AO3 and FF.

A/N: My deepest apologies - it took 3 weeks to post a new chapter instead of the usual 2! Sighhh. Unfortunately, that's what happens when you lose a weekend of writing time when you go out of town! So thank goodness you weren't left on a cliffhanger?

This chapter is either the longest or the second longest one, so I hope that makes up for the wait! Also, just want to say this fic is keeping its T rating :)

________________________________________________________________

CHAPTER 13: June/July

June

For the remaining weeks of May, Cassian managed to return to Velaris every night with the help of Rhys and Feyre. It was in June, however, that Cassian was unable to keep to that routine, with Rhys’ and Feyre’s lack of availability some nights, and Cassian’s schedule to meet and train with all the Illyrian camps growing more rigorous.

It was early one morning at the beginning of June when Nesta was bidding him goodbye that she told him it wasn’t necessary for him to come back each night, saying that the training with the camps had clearly been taking its toll on him and he’d needed to get sufficient rest each night instead of being awoken by Dahlia’s cries throughout. She also expressed that while she enjoyed sleeping beside him, her and Dahlia didn’t even get to really see him or spend time with him.

Reluctantly, Cassian listened to her but not being able to sleep beside Nesta plus constantly fearing he would miss significant milestones in Dahlia’s life didn’t exactly improve his sleeping habits.

But he never let a week pass without him visiting them for one full day. And on those days, he’d relish in being with Nesta as they cuddled with Dahlia, bathed her, fed her, burped her, read to her, and played with her. He of course would also flap his own wings around to amuse her.

And as he did so, Nesta would give him a look that told him there was no way he could take her flying with him.

(At least not yet.)

It was the anticipation of those special days each week that got him through his time in the mountains. On those days, he’d feel like he needed to pinch himself to ensure it wasn’t just a dream. 

But it was all real. He finally had a family to come home to and a place where he belonged.

________________________________________________________________

Nesta missed the feeling of Cassian’s hands wrapped around her each night. She’d grown so used to it when he slept beside her each night of May.

But she had noticed the weariness in his eyes. Toward the end of the month, he had started arriving at Rhys and Feyre’s estate later and later, mostly after she had put Dahlia in her crib and she herself had gone to bed. It would be an hour or so later that she would sense the mattress sink in beside her and feel the press of his lips against her temple and an arm snake around her waist.

And then before dawn, he’d be awake, ready for Rhys to winnow him away. But it was a rule between them, that no matter how “peaceful” she may have looked, he would always wake her up to say goodbye.

Before he left Velaris to return to Illyria for the first time after the birth, Cassian was always the first to get up during the night whenever Dahlia cried. But during his visits after his return to Illyria, he would often be so exhausted that sometimes he didn’t even stir at the sound of her cries.

Nesta certainly wasn’t upset about it. She knew how badly he wanted to be there for both of them. One night, when he discovered Nesta was awake to soothe Dahlia, he apologized profusely for not hearing Dahlia awake and insisted he take over in cuddling with her so Nesta could go back to sleep, but Nesta wouldn’t have it.

She felt worried about him. His talk of what was going on at the camps was very limited, but she knew he was likely overworking himself in an effort to make Illyria a safe place for them to live as a family.

So, as gently as she could, she told him it wasn’t necessary for him to visit each night, especially since they didn’t really get to spend time with each other. Plus, she didn’t mind waking in the middle of the night to calm Dahlia since her sisters helped so much with Dahlia during the day, giving Nesta plenty of time to nap and remain fairly well-rested.

It took Cassian a little while before he very reluctantly agreed to follow her wishes. But a day never went by without them sending at least one message to each other. And every week, he would come to the estate and spend a full day with them… Those days were the ones she treasured the most.

But right now, she really wished Cassian was with them for the night.

Because Dahlia, for some reason, refused to stop crying.

Her wails were especially loud, and holding and rocking her did nothing to soothe her at all. Nesta tried sitting in the rocking chair with her, reading to her, bouncing her up and down, feeding her, and walking around the room as she held her, but absolutely nothing was working.

This had never happened before. Sure, there were some nights where Dahlia cried quite a bit, but eventually she would calm down. This was the longest she’d ever cried.

And Nesta couldn’t help but feel that Cassian would know what to do. He could probably flap his wings and that would be enough for Dahlia. She always seemed to become quiet sooner whenever it was Cassian who tended to her.

But she couldn’t bother him with this. He was probably deep in sleep anyway.

Suddenly, there was a knock on her bedroom door before it swung open to reveal the sleepy faces of Elain and Feyre.

“Is everything all right?” Elain asked before yawning.

“I can’t get her to stop,” Nesta expressed helplessly as she rocked Dahlia in her arms.

“Here, let me try holding her,” Feyre said with outstretched hands.

Nesta stepped away from Feyre, as if to hold the baby away from her. It was instinctual for her to not want to lose control of a situation.

But she quickly realized what she’d done and moved back near her sister, carefully handing Dahlia to her.

Feyre cradled Dahlia in her arms and attempted to gently hush her as she glided around the room. Her and Elain watched them, and upon noticing no change in Dahlia’s cries, Elain turned to face Nesta.

“Maybe we should get Cassian?” she suggested. “She always seems to cry less when he’s around.”

It was true. When Cassian was around, not only did Nesta feel happier, but even Dahlia seemed to be more content as well.

“It’s the middle of the night,” Nesta protested. “He doesn’t need to be bothered by this.”

“But Nesta, I think he would want to be bothered by this,” Elain replied.

But he already had so much on his plate… What more could be done anyway that hadn’t already been tried?

“I don’t think - ”

“I’ll get him,” Feyre cut in as she stopped in front of Elain and handed Dahlia to her.

Before Nesta could even object, Feyre vanished, having winnowed away.

Nesta sighed. What could possibly be causing Dahlia to cry this much?

Within a matter of minutes, Feyre appeared with Cassian in tow. His eyes found Nesta’s immediately, as they always did whenever he was winnowed to the estate whenever she wasn’t sleeping. He strode toward her and grasped her hand to squeeze it in greeting. He knew she wasn’t fond of public displays of affection. To her, their relationship was something special between only them. While her sisters, Rhys, Azriel, and Amren were well-aware of their relationship, she relished in the privacy of their love.

So his kisses for her were saved for when they were alone or in front of only Dahlia.

“What’s wrong, my baby girl?” Cassian asked as he turned toward Elain and took Dahlia from her arms. First, he lifted her up with his hands beneath her underarms. Bouncing her a bit, Cassian flapped his wings as he did so. But the wing flapping did not have their usual effect. Dahlia’s cries did not stop.

Cassian stared at her in concern before bringing her to his chest, letting her head rest against his shoulder. He looked over at Nesta. 

“How long has she been crying?”

“For over an hour,” Nesta answered, and Cassian’s eyes widened.

He swayed his body back and forth as he started rubbing Dahlia’s back. But as he did so, his hand suddenly paused its motion and he looked curiously down at Dahlia. He moved over to the crib to lay her down and started pulling off her clothing.

“What are you doing?” Nesta calmly inquired out of curiosity.

Once Dahlia’s clothing was removed, he picked her up again and laid her head against his shoulder. As he looked down at her back, Nesta looked as well and gasped along with her sisters.

On her back were two long black strips of raised skin.

“I think she’s growing wings,” Cassian explained.

Nesta felt frozen in shock. “But I thought you said she wouldn’t have wings?”

“All Illyrians I know have had wings since the day they were born,” he said. “I’ve never seen this before.”

Nesta’s mind was racing. She didn’t plan for this. How was she supposed to handle this?

“So the wings are hurting her? That’s why she’s crying?”

Cassian nodded. “I think so. We need to send for Madja. She’ll have the proper oil to rub along her back to soothe her.”

“I’m on it,” Feyre piped in before vanishing.

“Poor thing,” Elain remarked.

Nesta just stared at Dahlia, feeling awful for her, knowing her baby was in pain. She wished she could take it away from her. She stepped closer to Cassian and grabbed Dahlia’s hand. “I’m sorry, my angel,” she whispered in the midst of the wailing.

It was at least ten minutes before Feyre and a very sleepy Madja appeared. The healer took Dahlia from Cassian’s arms and inspected the marks before holding her against her body and pulling out a vial from her pouch.

She started rubbing the oil from the vial on Dahlia’s back. “She is growing wings,” she confirmed, speaking loudly over Dahlia’s wailing.

“But the marks of the wings should have appeared right when she was born. Not when she’s one month old,” Cassian stated.

“I suspect they were delayed because of your fall,” Madja said with a pointed look to Nesta. “Her body must’ve been injured, and now her wings will be slower to develop.”

Worry flooded through Nesta. So there had been negative effects of her fall after all…who knew what other ways Dahlia could be affected?

Madja must’ve noticed the alarmed look on her face. “When I checked her last week, everything was fine. She is still perfectly healthy. No need to be concerned.”

Gradually, Dahlia’s cries softened. Once Madja had stopped rubbing oil onto her back, Nesta gathered her in her arms, and Cassian wrapped his arms around Nesta.

“Rub this on her back every twelve hours and she’ll be fine,” Madja instructed as she put her vial down on the nearby nightstand. “She’s just in pain from her wings growing.”

“Thank you,” Nesta whispered, trying not to hug Dahlia to tightly to her body for fear of hurting her back even more. Luckily, it seemed like she was falling asleep.

“I’ll come back in a few days to check on her,” Madja added before looking over at Feyre.

“I’ll take you back,” she said before grabbing Madja’s hand and winnowing out of the room.

Elain came up to Nesta and placed a soft kiss on Dahlia’s head, then looked up at Cassian. “Thank goodness you came,” she said before giving Nesta a pointed glance. “Goodnight,” she said before walking out of the room.

With Dahlia now sleeping soundly in her arms, Cassian removed his arms from Nesta’s body so he could easily lean down and plant a kiss on Dahlia’s head.

Nesta walked over to the crib, then lifted Dahlia up and gave her a kiss before gently laying her down to continue sleeping. “Goodnight, my angel,” she said quietly.

As soon as she turned away from the crib, Cassian captured her lips in a brief kiss. Whenever he came to visit, he always took the first opportunity when no one was around to kiss her...and it never failed to leave her breathless.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he whispered as he leaned his forehead down against hers.

“Hello,” she breathed. “Do you need to go back to Illyria tonight?” She wondered how long she would have with him.

“No, I’m cancelling everything scheduled for tomorrow to stay here with you and Dahlia,” he replied as he pulled away and grabbed her hand to lead her over to her bed.

“You didn’t need to do that,” she remarked as she followed him.

“Yes, I did. I’m in severe need of time with my favorite girls,” he said as she laid down on the bed. Cassian followed suit, laying with his chest up against her back and his arm around her waist.

“We just saw you three days ago,” Nesta pointed out.

“It’s never enough,” Cassian stated.

Nesta grabbed his hand that was wrapped around her and brought it up to her chest, hugging it and placing a kiss upon it. “I agree,” she whispered. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Feyre said you didn’t want to admit you needed me here. That it was Elain’s idea I should come.”

Nesta fought back the urge to sigh. Why did her sisters have to get involved with this?

“I figured you were sleeping. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“But being here for you and Dahlia is more important than that,” he noted seriously.

“You’ve already done so much for me,” she said. “I don’t expect you to do anything more for me.”

“But...I always want to be there for you. I would do everything for you if I could.”

“I know…but you have important duties to attend to. I don’t want to be a distraction.”

“Sweetheart, you are a welcome distraction,” he emphasized, and the whisper tickled her ear. “And if you ever need me for the slightest thing, I want you to tell me.”

Nesta released his hand and turned her body to face him. “But you need to focus on -”

“I need to focus on taking care of you and Dahlia,” he interrupted fervently.

She gazed into his hazel eyes as she placed a hand on his cheek. “You love me too much.”

“And you deserve every bit of it.”

She stroked his cheek with her thumb. The intense look he was giving her was always too much for her, making her come undone. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you,” she mumbled with a tinge of amusement.

“I know what you should do,” Cassian said. “You should contact me whenever you need help.”

Nesta sighed again. “Well, thank the gods you did come tonight, or else I may have never known what was bothering Dahlia,” she remarked, and then her voice took on a very serious tone as she thought about what it would mean now that they knew Dahlia was growing wings. “Are you jealous?”

“Jealous?”

“That...she’s Illyrian and not...of your Illyrian blood,” she explained awkwardly as she brought her hand down to his chest. “I...used to sleep with Illyrians whenever you made me mad, just to spite you,” she admitted quietly.

He pushed the stray strands of hair out of her face and behind her ears. “Well, you successfully made me jealous back then when I found out about it. But that’s all in the past now. As for Dahlia’s wings, while I’ll always wish she were truly mine, I’m excited that I’ll get to teach her how to fly.”

Nesta smiled at the visual of him teaching their little girl how to fly one day. “I’m glad she’ll at least...kinda look like you by having Illyrian wings.”

Cassian stared off dreamily to her bedroom window as he caressed her side. “It will be nice to share that with her and teach her to fly. I’ve...been afraid because I’m away so much that she won’t really need me when she has you and your sisters.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes and placed her hand on his cheek again to force him to look directly at her. “What? That is ridiculous. Of course we need you. We both need you! You’ll teach her how to defend herself, how to be a leader, to be loyal and courageous, how to love others a completely ridiculous amount!”

“Well, I just wish you’d let me know whenever you need help with her, so I can truly feel like I’m a part of her life.”

“I will!” Nesta said in a panic, not realizing that Cassian had been feeling this way. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to feel that way at all.”

“I know,” he said gently. “I just...don’t want to be like my father.”

Nesta shook her head as she began stroking his cheek. “You are nothing like your father. You know this.”

Cassian sighed. “It just hurts to be away from both of you.”

“Which is proof that you aren’t like your father,” she stated. “You haven’t discarded us. You make it a priority to see us.”

Cassian shifted his gaze back to the window, seemingly deep in thought. Nesta used her forefinger to start tracing along his jawline, causing him to close his eyes. She figured he was just relishing in her touch, but she took it as her opportunity to lighten the mood.

“Are you going to sleep without giving me my goodnight kiss?” she whispered, unamused.

At this comment, Cassian’s eyes instantly opened to look at her. They held a glint of amusement - a sign she had accomplished her goal.

“My apologies, my love. Please forgive me,” he said quietly before bringing his head down to plant a slow kiss on her lips.

“I’m sorry I didn’t contact you the minute I needed you,” she said when they pulled away from each other. “Because I knew I needed you tonight. I always feel like I need you.”

“Likewise,” he said quietly as he ran his fingers through her hair and slid the ribbon out of it that had been holding it all together. “I just wish there was a better solution for this.”

Nesta probably wondered about this everyday, but Cassian needed to be in Illyria...and Dahlia couldn’t be in Illyria. Not yet at least. “We’ll make it work,” she replied. “In time, it will be better. But for now...just hold me.”

“Gladly,” he said as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer to him before they drifted off to sleep. 

________________________________________________________________

July

From her place among the grass in the garden of Rhys and Feyre’s estate, Nesta stared at Dahlia, who sat just out of arm’s reach of her. Behind Dahlia was a row of bright red dahlias, and there was one single dahlia in her hand. 

“You’re sitting right in front of the flowers I planted for you! They haven’t bloomed yet, but they’ll be a fiery red...bold like you.” Elain had told her, back in March on the day Nesta found out Cassian was her mate.

Nesta had no idea at the time that the flowers were dahlias. Even though Elain claimed she never saw the vision of the baby until that day in April, Nesta was convinced she must have seen something else that led her to plant the dahlias.

Nesta smiled at the craziness of it all. The fact that Elain felt the flower was bold like her, that Dahlia was the name of Cassian’s mother, and now her daughter shared the name. She chuckled at the sight of Dahlia currently tugging at the petals of the flower in her hands, attempting to pull them off.

Nesta looked to the side and saw Feyre behind an easel, swiping her paintbrush across the canvas and glancing every few seconds up at Dahlia as she painted. Her sister may have been an excellent painter, but Nesta wasn’t sure she’d be able to adequately capture the pure curiosity on Dahlia’s face.

She wished Cassian was here to see it.

At that moment, a piece of parchment appeared in the grass beside Nesta. Eagerly, she picked it up and read it.

My love, tell me your day isn’t as miserable as mine. (But then again, if I am not there with you, is it even possible for your day to be anything but miserable?)

Nesta rolled her eyes at Cassian’s cocky message but smiled as she wrote back her reply.

You’re ridiculous.

It only took a minute for his response to appear.

Ridiculously in love with you? You bet.

Nesta couldn’t help but roll her eyes again at his words. But, even though he tells her he loves her nearly everyday, part of her still felt her heart race upon reading his message. It still bewildered her that he could love her so greatly. 

 Why is your day so miserable?

 You and Dahlia aren’t here and the Illyrians are frustrating the hell out of me. I needed to write you to help me calm down and not think about it. So, if you’re not busy feeling like you can’t live without me, then what are you up to? 

 Watching Dahlia play with a flower outside as Feyre paints her portrait. 

 Feyre is painting her? 

 Yes, as she plays with a red dahlia.

 Is Feyre going to paint you as well? 

 No.

 Well she should paint a picture of you and Dahlia together so I can hang it here in the cabin. Maybe it could help me not miss you both so much…

Nesta looked glumly at the message. It certainly was difficult being apart most of the time. She was about to write back when Elain strolled across the garden toward her and sat beside her.

“Are you talking to Cassian?” she asked.

Nesta nodded in response.

“You two have never had time together - just the two of you - have you?” Elain inquired curiously.

Ever since she admitted she’d loved him, all their time together was spent with Dahlia. But she wondered what exactly Elain was getting at.

Nesta shook her head.

“You two deserve time alone together,” she remarked. “I’d be happy to watch Dahlia if you two ever want to spend time alone together.”

“Me too,” Feyre piped in without lifting her eyes from her work.

Every waking hour, Nesta was with Dahlia. She had a hard time envisioning even leaving her for a few hours. Would she be able to survive such separation?

Plus, leaving her in her sisters’ care...while things between them were certainly better, she still had her worries that they would take control of her and her daughter’s life.

She knew it would take a while for that fear to go away... if it ever completely would.

But the thought of spending some time alone with Cassian did sound pleasant. They never truly had gone out together.

“Thank you,” Nesta stated to her sisters. “I’ll let him know.” 

 Well, I think she should do a painting of our family -  all three of us - instead. And you’d have the pleasure of holding us for hours as Feyre paints us. 

 A brilliant idea, my love. 

 Another idea was just brought up by Feyre and Elain - they have offered to watch Dahlia if you and I want to spend time alone together. 

Another brilliant idea. 

 I’m only worried about leaving Dahlia. 

 That’s understandable, but she’ll be safe with your sisters. 

 But I’ve never been apart from her. 

 Which is why you are due for a short break. We can miss her together. 

 I do want to spend time with you...since we’re usually playing with Dahlia when you do visit, we hardly get to talk.

 Among other things…

 She blushed at what she knew was a playful innuendo. 

 Indeed. 

 Then how about we spend Saturday together? I’ll come to Illyria so I can see Dahlia and then we can go do something together. 

 Nesta pressed the tip of her pen to her chin as she thought about where she would like to go. 

 Could we go to your mother’s memorial?

 Well, I had more romantic ideas in mind, but of course we can, sweetheart. 

 Nesta smiled to herself.

 We could visit the memorial first, then do whatever you had in mind. 

 Hearing this idea has completely turned around my miserable day, my love. 

________________________________________________________________

When Nesta woke up on her own Saturday morning, she was shocked.

Since Dahlia was born, she never woke up on her own. Dahlia would always wake her up, crying to either be fed or wanting to be held. She woke her up a few times throughout the night, but this morning...there was nothing.

Alarmed, she sat up and got out of the bed and headed to the crib, where she found no sign of Dahlia, but a note lying in the bed prevented her from being sent into a panic.

We’re downstairs. -C&D

The message was in Cassian’s handwriting, which surprised her since it meant he was already here. She hadn’t expected him to arrive until later, but she immediately left her room and made her way down the staircase.

It was in the living room area where she found Dahlia, lying soundly in Elain’s arms as they sat on the couch. However, Cassian wasn’t around. 

When Elain saw her, she quickly stood up and handed Dahlia over to her. “I think she’s hungry,” Elain said with a smile. “Cassian is talking with Azriel and Rhys in the study.”

Nesta nodded as she wrapped her arms tightly around Dahlia and let her lay her head on her shoulder. “I didn’t even hear Cassian come in,” she remarked softly.

“I think he wanted to let you sleep for a bit,” Elain replied. “He said Dahlia was awake when he walked in, so he brought her down to sit with her for a little while.”

“You’re sure you don’t mind watching her today?” Nesta asked.

Elain shook her head. “I don’t mind at all. I’m excited to! I love her,” she stated as rubbed Dahlia’s back in between the spots where wings had started to grow. Wings hadn’t fully formed yet, but the dark raised skin had protruded even more in the last month.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Elain said. “Here, come sit down. I’ll get you some pillows.”

Since the birth, Elain had been a huge help to her and always doted on her. She had started to learn what Nesta needed before she even asked for it, such as now, with pillows set behind her as she sat on the couch and prepared for breastfeeding.

Once she fed Dahlia, Cassian still hadn’t appeared so Nesta left Dahlia in Elain’s care as she went back upstairs to change her clothes, style her hair, and freshen up.

When she was finished, she went back down the stairs. The closer she got to the living room, she could hear multiple voices speaking and recognized Cassian’s boisterous laughter.

When she walked in the room, she found Cassian sitting on the couch with Dahlia cradled in his arms.

Every time she saw Cassian with Dahlia, it made her swoon with joy.

Cassian’s eyes found hers instantly and he smiled more brightly. She wasn’t sure if it was simply because she hadn’t seen him in a week, but his gaze felt more intense than ever. Nesta grinned back at him as she went over to him and sat beside him.

It was then that she realized that Azriel, Rhys, Feyre, and Elain were all in the room, chatting away.

Cassian was big enough that he easily was able to cradle Dahlia in one arm. His free hand found Nesta’s and squeezed it tightly in greeting. “Good morning, my love.”

“Good morning,” she whispered back as she returned the squeeze. “You didn’t wake me up when you came in,” she gently reprimanded him.

“Good. That was the intention.”

Nesta stared at him, waiting for his explanation.

“I had just gone into your room to check on you two since I knew Rhys wanted to talk this morning,” he continued. “I wanted to let you both sleep...but then I saw Dahlia was awake and there was a bad smell coming from her. So I cleaned her up and just sat with her for a little bit. I wanted you to have time to rest.”

Nesta had wished he’d awoken her when he arrived, but ultimately, he was just looking out for her as always. She gave him a soft smile.

“What did Rhys have to say?” she inquired.

“It was just an update on the Night Court, Mor’s mission, Illyria, the Court of Nightmares...nothing crazy,” Cassian answered.

Mor…

With Mor being gone for a while, Nesta had nearly forgotten about her. She hadn’t been mentioned by anyone lately, yet she was someone who was close to Cassian and disliked her.

Did Cassian even let her know that they were together? Months ago, he had told Mor he of course wasn’t the father of her child, claiming Mor was sensitive to anything possibly coming in the way of their friendship. Would Mor always be trying to convince him to leave her? Or if he hadn’t told her yet, what would that mean?

Cassian’s thumb started rubbing hers, pulling her from her thoughts. “Are you ready to go now?” he eagerly wondered. “Although...it’s going to be hard to let go of her,” he added as he looked over at Dahlia.

“I know,” Nesta said sadly, looking over at Dahlia as well.

“Well, I think it’s time for you two to get going,” Feyre piped in as she approached them and reached for Dahlia.

After a short sigh, Cassian bent down to kiss Dahlia’s head and Nesta leaned over to kiss her too. Then Cassian finally relinquished her and handed her over to Feyre.

Feyre cradled Dahlia in her arms.

“You’re sure you’re fine with taking care of her today?” Nesta asked.

“Of course,” Feyre said and started to walk away from them.

Nesta must’ve had a concerned expression on her face as she thought about leaving Dahlia in her sisters’ care from the way Cassian was now looking at her. “You don’t need to worry,” he advised quietly while rubbing the back of her hand.

She took comfort in his reassuring gesture. She really shouldn’t be worrying...she wouldn’t be right at Dahlia’s side forever...

“Oh, do you need me to winnow you to wherever you’re going?” Feyre asked as she turned her head back at them from across the room.

Cassian kept his eyes on Nesta. “Should we winnow or fly?” he whispered.

She would much rather be carried and flown by him. The last time he had done so, she was going into labor and couldn’t enjoy it. Before then, they weren’t even together when she had flown with him. But she had to toy with him as always. “That depends...are you going to pretend to fall through the sky again?”

“As long as you keep your arms around me, sweetheart, we’ll be fine,” he answered quietly with a cheeky grin. “No, we’re going to fly, Feyre,” he called out to his High Lady.

Feyre nodded, then proceeded to bobble Dahlia up and down in her arms.

“Let’s go before we change our minds about leaving Dahlia,” Cassian said as he stood up and tugged Nesta’s arm to follow him. “Goodbye, everyone,” he called out without even looking at them. They shouted it back to them as Nesta allowed Cassian to lead her out of the estate.

As soon as they walked outside and Nesta shut the door behind her, Cassian’s lips crashed against hers. The force of his kiss was so strong that Nesta’s back was pushed against the door. Cassian brought his hands to the sides of her face as he kissed her deeper.

When he pulled away from her, Nesta had a hard time finding her balance again. Probably noticing her struggle, Cassian reached out to pick her up, with one arm behind her back and one behind her knees.

“I think that was one of the longest times I’ve ever had to wait to be alone with you to kiss you,” he remarked. “It was nearly unbearable.”

Despite relishing in his kiss and despite being the one who preferred the privacy of their relationship, her mind couldn’t help but drift back to Mor, wondering if she was even aware of this. Did Cassian keep it private from her? He’d never mentioned if he’d ever told her.

“Well, maybe if you woke me up when you arrived this morning, you could’ve kissed me immediately,” she pointed out with an irritable bite to her tone.

Cassian frowned. “Sweetheart, listen, I’m sorry about this morning. I didn’t know it would be such a big deal to you,” he stated apologetically.  “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

She hated herself for getting so worked up about this. “Have you told Mor about us?” she asked quietly.

“Yes,” he answered without any hesitation. “I wrote to her and told her.”

“And how did she react?” Nesta asked, staring him in the eyes to see if they would tell her anything.

“Well, I first sent her a message about it when you weren’t speaking to me, telling her I was in love with you and that there was absolutely nothing she could say or do to change that. Then my other message said we were together, that I was the proud father of a beautiful daughter,  that I had finally found the home I was always looking for with my new family, and that I’m the happiest I’ve ever been,” he explained.

Nesta felt stupid, so incredibly stupid for letting her doubts nearly get to her. She finally brought her hands around his neck, tears surfacing in her eyes. “Do you mean that?”

“Yes, my love,” he replied with a smile. “I even told Rhys and Az the same thing this morning. So, while I don’t know if Mor’s happy about it, I do know she’s accepted it. You have nothing to worry about. I love you.”

“I know.”

“Well, I’m going to keep telling you until I know you believe it without a doubt,” he stated, squeezing her more tightly. “And even after that too so you’ll keep on believing it.”

“I love you, too,” she said. “I’m sorry for getting mad at you.”

“Well you could make it up to me…” he trailed off as he shifted his gaze to her lips.

Nesta gladly answered his request with a deep kiss.

When she pulled away, Cassian beamed and took them to the skies.  ________________________________________________________________

When they arrived on the mountain where Cassian was born hours later, the sky was cloudy.

It seemed to accurately reflect the mood in the air, however, since they remained silent after their landing. 

Once Cassian had gently put Nesta down, she strolled away from him to stand alone in front of the giant rock that served as a memorial to his mother and to her father.

Cassian hung back but still faced the stone, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes as he thought about his mother.

So much had occurred since the last time he and Nesta had visited this spot. The snap of the mating bond. Nesta kissing him for the first time. Going through the Blood Rite again. Almost losing Nesta and the baby. Proving to Nesta he loved her. The birth of the baby. Having a family…

Mother, when I was taken away from you, I thought I’d be alone my entire life. When Rhys’ mother took me in, I at least had someone to help take care of me. While I did consider them family, I still felt like I was missing something. I can’t describe it. But I assumed I would never find it because I was taken from you. We didn’t have enough time together.

When I got to know Nesta, I could see how resilient and fearless she was, and it couldn’t help but remind me of you. Her bold actions against the king of Hybern reminded me of the way you’d spat upon the boots of the Illyrian leaders. Then Nesta nearly died with me in the war and she was the only other person I had ever felt like I didn’t have enough time with.

But we were given another chance...and I almost wasted it. But you brought me back to her, mother. When she seemed so lost and alone in her pregnancy, all I saw was you in her and how you must’ve felt.

I love her, and I love her daughter just as much - your granddaughter who has been named after you.

I finally have the family that I had always been searching for, and I’ve never felt this happy.

I love you, mother. Thank you for leading me to her.

________________________________________________________________

Nesta took a deep breath as she faced the stone that had come to memorialize her father.

She could’ve asked Cassian to take her to her father’s actual memorial. The one that Feyre and Elain had established in Velaris. But that spot didn’t hold any significance for her.

This one did.

Since it was a spot made by the one who showed her it was safe to love fiercely and powerfully again.

Nesta closed her eyes.

Dahlia...thank you for your son. He may have been young when he was taken away from you, but I know you were the one who showed him how to love as he does. I hope you don’t mind that I named our daughter after you since she’s not of your bloodline, but Cassian considers her his daughter, and I feel like that would be enough for you.

Thank you.

She took another deep breath and crossed her arms across her chest.

Father…

Because of you, I never thought I’d be able to love again. Loving you had left me so hurt, so dejected, and so closed off from others. I felt I couldn’t trust anyone ever again. I felt like I was unworthy of love.

And when I saw you die, I completely fell apart. And do you know why? Because you had come to help us. After years of wishing you would do something, you finally did. In that brief moment, you gave me hope. I finally felt like I was truly seeing my father again for the first time in years.

But then you died, and I shattered. I wished you had never given me that hope. Because I was left with wondering why you decided to help then. If you loved me again. If you finally were yourself again. If we could have truly made amends.

If only we had more time.

Time with you became yet another thing this fae life robbed me of.

But I kept hating you. For all the pain you put me through. For how you must’ve treated Vassa to be a better father figure than her own father. For allowing me to have hope at the end of your life. For the fact that I was so hopeful upon seeing you after all the years you hurt me.

And for the fact that I turned out to be like you.

I shut Feyre out when you shut me out. Then after you died, I shut everyone out and lost myself...just like you did.

And then I was pregnant.

And all I could think was that I could not let myself be like you anymore. My child needed someone who would care for her always. No matter what. I did not want my child to experience what you put me through.

So in a way, I suppose I have you to thank for spurring me to pull out of my darkness…

Thank the gods Cassian was there to help.

It was because of you though that it took so long for me to accept his care and his love and to reciprocate it.

But now...now all finally feels right and the way it should be. I finally love freely again, the way I loved you when I was a little girl. And Cassian, who has seen me at my lowest point and suffered from my poor treatment of him then, is able to love me.

If he can still love me after seeing me lose myself, then...I can do it too.

Father, I will always wonder what could’ve been if you had survived the war. Since you showed up to save your daughters, I choose to hope we would have made amends.

I have been where you have been. I managed to survive in part because of you, and I feel I can finally forgive you now. I may never forget what you did, but I forgive you for it.

I love you, father.

She brushed a few stray tears off of her face. She was determined to no longer cry over him. The past was in the past. She needed to move on.

With a heavy breath, she turned around and found Cassian standing a few feet behind her, facing her. His expression seemed cautious. He tilted his head up to look at her, as if he was trying to gauge how she was feeling.

Nesta strode forward and enveloped her arms around him. As she buried her head into his chest, he tightly wound his arms around her. After placing a gentle kiss upon her temple, he rested his head on top of hers.

For the next few moments, they stood just like that, resting in the serenity of the silence and the comfort of each other’s arms.

Upon feeling drops of water fall onto their skin, Cassian looked up at the gloomy sky that was now covering them. “It looks like my plans for the day have been ruined,” he remarked.

Nesta pulled her head away from his chest. “What were you planning?”

“We were first going to head back to the cabin so I could make our dinner, then go to one of the other mountains for a romantic picnic and a romantic walk.”

The rain started falling faster now. “Don’t worry about it. Your cabin will be fine,” she said gently.

“It’s our cabin,” he corrected.

“Our cabin,” she agreed with a small smile.

Picking her up in his arms, he grinned at her. “Let’s go.”

________________________________________________________________

During the journey back to the cabin, the weather grew worse, with rolling thunder and lightning cracking across the sky as rain pelted down.

By the time Cassian landed on the platform outside their cabin, the two of them were completely drenched.

Still holding Nesta in his arms, Cassian fumbled for the door knob and turned it open. “I’m glad I don’t have to let go of you now,” he commented as the door creaked open and he stomped inside.

“Who gave you permission to act so brutish?” Nesta questioned him incredulously all while tightening her grip around his neck as he kicked the door shut behind him.

“Well I don’t hear you demanding me to put you down, sweetheart.”

Nesta couldn’t help but smile back at him as he stood in the entryway, holding her and staring at her as the water dripped off their skin and onto the floor.

There was that infamous look again. The one that left her breathless and mesmerized and pierced right through her, leaving her wondering how she could ever be on the receiving end of such a look. Yet this gaze seem to be more intense than ever before, as she could feel his overpowering love and his admiration. It was almost too much to take.

“Why do you look at me like that?” she wondered softly.

“Because I’m completely enamored and amazed by you. You thought you didn’t deserve me...but I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you,” he whispered.

She could feel the blush creep over her face, while her heart did somersaults. “I still don’t think I deserve you,” she stated honestly.

“Well, I think that is something we’ll have to forever agree to disagree on,” he remarked before leaning in to give her one more kiss. “Do you want to get changed while I make dinner?”

Nesta was quiet, deep in thought over how to make her next move.

Reaching her hands up the back of his head to tangle her fingers in his wet hair, she brought her face up to his to plant a passionate, lingering kiss upon his lips. Eagerly, he returned the kiss, which evolved into multiple kisses.

She tugged on his bottom lip with her teeth when she pulled away and moved her mouth to be up against his ear. “I’d rather you undress me,” she stated huskily.

Cassian’s breath stilled, and his mouth dropped open to speak, but Nesta quickly continued. “Cassian, if we…,” she trailed off, but she sensed he knew what she was referring to. “Does that mean I’ll have accepted the bond?”

His grip on her tightened even more. “No. You have to offer me food in order for the bond to be established,” he explained gently.

Nesta swallowed before speaking again. “I’m not...I’m not ready to accept it, but it has nothing to do with you. I - ”

“Nesta, I don’t want you to feel pressured to accept it,” he insisted. “After all you’ve been forced to go through, I don’t care if you never accept it. I only want to be loved by you.”

She reached up to caress his cheek. “And I want to be loved by you...in all ways,” she expressed as she stretched out her hand to run it ever so slowly across the edge of his wing.

“Nesta,” he moaned as he closed his eyes. Once she pulled her hand away, he opened his eyes again to find her deviously smiling. “Are you well enough to…”

“Madja told me it was fine,” she interrupted before she pressed a hungry kiss on his jaw and returned to tracing his wing with her finger.

Cassian hissed but was quick to respond to her actions. While locking his lips with hers, he managed to carry her down the hall into the bedroom that had been hers when she lived there, leaving behind a trail of water in their path.

Her crown braid is what he chose to remove first. When he planted her feet on the ground, he stood before her and shower her with open-mouthed kisses, swiping his tongue across hers as he tangled his fingers in her wet hair to leisurely untwist the braid.

Once that was finished, Nesta moved in the way she was familiar with - aggressive, fast, and forceful - as she yanked his tunic off of him and moved her hands to the waistband of his pants. This was how it went with all the other males she had slept with. She always held the control and was always desperate for the escape. So focused on the task at hand, she had subconsciously stopped returning Cassian’s kisses.

Before she could pull down his pants, Cassian abruptly halted his kisses and placed his hands on her upper arms. “Wait, sweetheart…” he murmured with his eyes closed as he leaned his forehead against hers. Nesta paused, lifting her eyes to look up at him and feeling confused as to why he was stopping her.

“Do you not want to…?” she began to hesitantly ask.

“No, no,” Cassian insisted as he opened his eyes and took heavy, deep breaths. “No, sweetheart, of course I want to. But...will you let me love you?”

“I thought that’s what we were doing,” she whispered.

He let out a slight chuckle before gazing at her tenderly. “I mean...will you let me take control?” he inquired as he rubbed his hands up and down her arms and gave her a quick peck on the lips. “And let me love you the way you deserve?”

Maybe it was because of the way his breath tickled her or maybe it was the words he just uttered, but Nesta felt her body tremble. “Yes,” she breathed.

Cassian kissed her slowly and deeply for a long moment, and then in a swift motion, twirled her body around so he was facing her back. Sweeping her hair over her shoulder, he pressed his lips to the nape of her neck as he unhurriedly set himself to the task of undoing the buttons of her dress. With every button he unbound, he bent down to put a kiss to her back, forming a trail of kisses along her spine that gave her chills.

Once all the buttons were loosed, he peeled off her dress that had been sticking to her skin due to the rain and let it fall to the ground. Now only in her undergarments, Nesta slipped off her shoes as she waited to see how much longer Cassian would prolong this.

Turning her to face him again, his lips captured hers as he picked her up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist while she placed her palms against the sides of his face.

He laid her down on her back on the bed and appeared to briefly lose his tremendous patience as he tore off her undergarments so she now lay naked before him. 

Standing at the end of the bed, he kept his eyes locked on hers as he kicked off his boots and took off his pants. Then he kneeled down on the bed in between her legs and hovered over her, with his palms flat against the mattress at her sides.

As he looked into her eyes -  which she was sure reflected the burning passion she saw in his - she couldn’t help but shiver again from her anxiousness over what was about to happen...what was already happening. From his movements, from the way he kissed her and touched her, she knew this would be distinctly different from all the sex she’d had before.

He peppered her with kisses, starting at her navel, going up her chest and between her breasts until he reached her face. “I love you,” he whispered against her lips.

From then on, every touch from his rough, calloused hands struck her deeply and sent her heart thundering, matching the storm raging outside. Every whisper of sweet nothings was a delicate caress against her skin. Every kiss against her body burned her with its fervor, serving as an imprint of his adoration for her.

He made love to her slowly, wanting her to feel every ounce of his love so she could absolutely have no doubt about it. She couldn’t help but lose herself in him.

When they joined together, she could feel something within her desperately begging to be united with him completely. She was certain it was the surging power of the mating bond that resided inside her.

One day, she thought in response to the power’s pleas.

She would worry about that later. But for now, she just wanted to relish in this - this feeling that someone could love her passionately, completely, and irrevocably. 

________________________________________________________________

Afterwards, Nesta laid in bed beneath the sheets, cuddled up next to Cassian. His hulking and muscular figure surrounded her, and his arm rested across her waist. His eyes were closed but she knew he was still awake based on the fact that one of his fingers on his other hand was busy twirling a ringlet of her hair.

She took the opportunity to stare at him in an attempt to memorize him - every scar and every scratch etched by battle, every swirl of his Illyrian tattoos, every indent of his chest, and even every mark she gave him that night.

Her eyes wandered back up to his face. He seemed so peaceful and so content, which reflected her own feelings.

That evening he had loved her like no other. Just as she predicted, it was unlike anything she had experienced before. He cherished her, doing absolutely everything he could to please her.

She still had trouble believing it - the fact that this bold and loyal male who had been living for centuries could tremendously love a mere human-turned-fae who had tried so hard to shut people out and not feel a thing.

But now she felt everything.

She couldn’t stop the tears of bliss from forming in her eyes, and she couldn’t resist laying her palm flat against Cassian’s bare chest where his heart was beating for the assurance that this was all real.

His eyes blinked open at her touch. At the sight of her tears, he looked alarmed. “Nesta, did I hurt you?” he asked.

She vigorously shook her head back and forth. “No. Not at all.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she replied with a slight laugh. “It’s just that...you love me.”

Cassian beamed. He moved his hand that had been at her waist up to her face to wipe away her tears. “You’ve said you already knew this.”

He then covered her hand on his chest with his own, rubbing it with his thumb.

“I thought I did, but I didn’t completely believe it until now.”

“I’m just that good in bed, huh?” he asked in jest.

Annoyed, Nesta reached for the pillow behind her and whacked Cassian with it. It wasn’t the fact that he was a good lover. It was more than that. “However, my love for you is now in question!”

Cassian couldn’t help but laugh, but when Nesta proceeded to wrap herself in the bedsheet and get up out of the bed, he groaned. “Nesta, my love, I’m sorry. It was just a joke. Come back here,” he requested.

Picking up her clothes and undergarments that had been abandoned on the floor earlier, she wandered over to the closet. Her dress was still wet from the rain, so it wouldn’t be ideal to put back on. But she recalled that when she’d left Illyria months ago after the attack, the clothes she had here had been left behind and she doubted Cassian threw them away.

“I’m hungry. You need to make us dinner,” she demanded as she opened the closet door.

“Well, I may be feeling too exhausted after tonight’s activity,” Cassian replied. She wasn’t looking at him but she knew he was smirking.

Peering into the closet, Nesta found the dresses she expected to find...but was shocked to discover that multiple tunics hung there too, as well as armor and even a few pairs of boots on the floor.

Stepping back out of the closet to look over at him lounging on the bed, she gave him a curious look. “Have you been using this room instead of your own?”

“Yes,” he answered. “It got to be too hard going up and down the stairs where that Illyrian hurt you,” he said through clenched teeth, reigning in his rage. But his tone quickly transitioned into a softer one. “Plus, here I can always be reminded of you. And now after tonight, it’ll give me even more memories of you,” he added slyly.

Nesta sighed at his comment but still, the way he desired to be reminded of her gave her butterflies. Stepping back into the closet, she slid on her undergarment and grabbed one of his tunics and put it over herself, dropping the bedsheet. The shirt was quite large and went down to her knees, but it smelled like him and brought her comfort.

Exiting the closet, she made to leave the bedroom and Cassian groaned out of irritation again.

“Come on, I told you I was hungry,” she instructed, pausing at the doorway to turn back to him.

Cassian reluctantly got up out of the bed, not even bothering to bring a bed sheet to cover himself. “Don’t you know what the sight of you in my shirt does to me?” he growled when he reached her.

Now it was her turn to look smug. “If only you didn’t tick me off a minute ago, then perhaps I would’ve indulged you.”

“My love,” he declared, gently gripping her chin to tilt her head up toward him. “I’m sorry. My joke was stupid. I am overjoyed that you finally know how much I love you.”

“Make it up to me by cooking me dinner,” she requested.

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” he replied, then gave her a quick peck. Releasing her chin, he turned to leave the room.

“Cassian,” she hissed, stopping him in his tracks. “Put on some pants!” she demanded.

A wicked grin spread across his face. “Why? Am I too distracting for you because you find me too hard to resist like this?”

Nesta narrowed her eyes, deliberately keeping her eyes focused on his. “Am I not a proper lady who deserves a gentleman with proper manners?”

“And here I thought based on all those romance novels you read, you were more fond of brutish scoundrels,” he replied as he stood before her again and ran his finger down the side of her face to push back a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Cassian!” she said in annoyance.

With a chuckle, Cassian finally went over to the dresser where he opened a drawer to grab a pair of pants. Nesta strode out of the room and down the hall to the kitchen.

Within a few minutes, Cassian joined her and started moving about the kitchen, collecting multiple ingredients, a bowl and a pan from various cupboards and chests and setting them out on the counter.

Nesta took a seat at the table and watched him. “What are you making?” she asked. 

“Pancakes.”

“That’s your idea of a romantic dinner?” she wondered aloud with a hint of incredulity. As she leaned back in her seat, she thought back to when she was pregnant and Cassian made her pancakes whenever she craved them. But was he simply making them because it was something easy?

“Well, to me, it is. The first time I made you pancakes when you were pregnant was when I first felt things were starting to shift between us,” he explained as he mixed the ingredients in a bowl. “You seemed to finally think I was at least tolerable.” 

Nesta tried to think back to that day. “Hmm. I suppose that’s true since I started to eat with you then.”

They were silent for a moment. From her spot at the table, Nesta stared outside the kitchen window into the darkness, while listening to the sizzle of Cassian pouring the batter onto a pan over the stove and the pelting of the rain against the roof of the cabin.

Then, more thunder rumbled.

“I’m guessing we won’t be able to fly back to Velaris tonight?” she asked.

“Probably not. If you want to write a note to Feyre to winnow you back, there’s parchment in Dahlia’s...well, what would have been Dahlia’s room,” he offered.

His comment saddened her. It was another reminder of what could’ve been...what should’ve been...if things didn’t all go to hell when she was last here.

She had assumed he would’ve turned the room back into his study, but if he was calling it Dahlia’s room...Curiosity sparked her to get up from the table and leave the kitchen to go to the room.

When she reached the room, she was startled to find the room was devoid of furniture and instead, there were various parchment, pens, books, and other miscellaneous items scattered about on the floor in a corner of the room. Walking further into the room and looking at the mess on the ground, she found there were maps of the Illyrians camps and notes about each camp scrawled on parchment. Beside all this sat a stuffed animal of a horse.

The entire room was a peculiar sight that Nesta knew she would have to ask Cassian about.

Finally locating a piece of magical parchment she could use to write to Feyre, she sat on the ground and grabbed a pen.

She missed Dahlia and felt bad for being away from her for so long, but...she probably was already sleeping anyway. Did she really need to rush home, or could she wait until morning, after the storm passed, to fly home with Cassian?

She then proceeded to write notes back and forth with Feyre to find out how Dahlia was doing. Once Feyre confirmed that all was well and Dahlia was asleep, Feyre was the one who first stated that if Nesta wanted to spend the night in Illryia, she wouldn’t mind.

Nesta decided to take her up on her offer, having a feeling that Cassian may have needed more than Dahlia at that moment.

Once that was settled, she went back to the kitchen where she found Cassian sitting at the table, pouring syrup on the stack of pancakes sitting before him. She could sense his mood seemed...off to her. 

“Cassian, why isn’t your desk in your study?” she inquired.

He put down the cup of syrup. “Because it’s Dahlia’s room,” he replied. “I just like to work in there so I can remind myself of why I’m dealing with the ridiculous Illyrians. That one day I can make the dream of you and her living here with me come to pass and make this area a safer place for not just both my girls, but for all females and children.”

Nesta gave him a sad smile as she approached him from behind. He drooped his wings back as she rested her hands on his shoulders.

“That day we went to the fair and went on the sleigh ride,” he continued. “I told you about making that Dahlia’s room, and I also told you I would take care of the Illyrian issues in their treatment of females and children.”

The sleigh ride...

“Hence the stuffed horse?”

Cassian nodded. “It’s my present for Dahlia when she’s finally able to live in Illyria.”

Nesta looped her arms around his neck while standing behind him. Resting her head on his shoulder, she turned her head to plant a kiss on his cheek. “I know it’s hard, my darling. But your devotion to us and these causes is one of the reasons I love you.”

A slight smile came across his face. “I’m not sure I’ve ever heard you call me something other than ‘you fool’ before,” he commented. “‘My darling’ has a nice ring to it.”

She released him before walking around his chair to take a seat on his lap and wrap her arms around his neck again.

“My darling,” she whispered before placing a slow kiss on his lips.

Cassian groaned with pleasure as he wrapped his arms around her. “When is Feyre coming to winnow you back?”

“She’s not,” she replied. “Dahlia’s already been put to bed and Feyre offered to watch her for the night. I’d much rather spend the night here, and then you can fly me back in the morning if you are willing?”

His demeanor shifted. Suddenly he seemed much happier than he had a little while ago. “Of course, my love.”

“And then tomorrow, you can stay a little while in Velaris to play with Dahlia?”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” he insisted. “Are you ready to eat dinner?”

“Mmm, I think that can wait a little while longer. I have the appetite for something else,” she stated as she kissed him again, her tongue breaking past the seam of his lips. Cassian eagerly took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, causing her to moan.

“Cassian, my darling...father of my child…” she managed to say as soon as her lips pulled away.

“Mmm, I love that new nickname even more,” he said as he nudged his nose with hers.

“Will you let me love you now?” she requested. “It’s my turn to love you the way you deserve.”

There was a look of devilish amusement in his eyes.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.”

________________________________________________________________

A/N: Well, this chapter was a doozy to write! There were some aspects that I felt deserved a bit of a bookend, like Mor, their parents, etc. I felt it was also important for a Nessian sex scene to happen since Nesta previously used sex only as a means to escape. (Also, I realized that out of all my Nessian fics, I've never given them a sex scene. Only intense makeouts...sooo I had to give them one this time!)

Hope you enjoyed this one! Thanks for your support! Next chapter will be the last - an epilogue set in the future! I don't expect it to take 2 weeks to write and post, but sometimes Nesta and Cassian have minds of their own and cause me to write more than I intend to. ;)

---> EPILOGUE

[silver-lily-louise]

Shoot The Moon (And Miss) – a Shadowhunters fanfic

Summary: ‘The angels. They’re – they’re wiping the slate clean.’ The Shadow World is disappearing, piece by piece. Six people, refusing to let danger pull them apart, make a last-ditch attempt to save it. (Set after the last episode’s time skip, and after Clary rejoins the Shadow World.)  Word count: ~2.7k Warnings: Major character deaths, plural. This is not a happy story. It’s an ‘everybody dies’ angsty fic about finding comfort in love at the end of everything. 

~oOo~

An angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. (Luke 2:9)

***

They’re together, of course, the six of them half-collapsed on the damp, slimy ground. It could never be any other way. The island they’re on is really more of a tiny, rocky hill, surrounded by choppy waters and far, far away from civilisation. In the distance, an unnatural glow is beginning to light up the storm clouds.

Alec supposes he should be afraid, but he’s just numb. We failed. He feels hollow, and the thought echoes around his head like the words are bouncing off the walls of a cavern. It’s over.

***

Raziel created the Shadowhunters to protect the Mundanes, or so the story goes, and in doing so had forever linked the world with its Shadow. The Nephilim were proof of the bond forged between the mortal and the divine, as Downworlders were proof of the irrevocable, ancient bond between the Mundane and the infernal. So when Clave authorities first started getting reports of the disappearances – entire parts of the Shadow World gone, lifted and erased from remote corners of the planet like a fading dream – they’d been baffled by why the Mundane world in those places seemed totally unaffected. Clary’s connection to the angels provided the answer, when she woke from a nightmare screaming. ‘It’s them,’ she sobbed, shaking as Jace held her in his arms. ‘The angels. They’re – they’re wiping the slate clean.’ 

It seemed impossible, but when the two of them stood in Alec’s office in Alicante, Clary recounting what she saw, there was no doubt among any of them that it was true. The angels had apparently decided that the Shadow World had become too unruly, growing larger and less controlled than they ever intended, and they were going to cleanse the world of it like fire cleanses a forest. They would sunder any connection between the mortal and the divine, between the Mundane and the infernal – and thus eliminate any who straddled those lines.

Panic washed like a flood throughout the Shadow World, and only through the joint leadership of the Clave and the Downworld was it channelled into action instead of chaos. Defences were put in place, countless ideas of how to avoid or redirect or destroy the onslaught of divine destruction. But as Institute after Institute fell, talks turned from victory to survival, from battle strategy to hiding places; and after countless devastating losses, one solution finally presented itself. The Seelie realm is not a mere border between the infernal and the divine, for those worlds could never meet so simply. Instead, they infuse each other, heightening the call of both magics in the very air, pulling and shifting the veil between all worlds until something entirely separate is born. If anywhere could be safe from the cold Armageddon of the angels, it would be there.

No-one with any experience would call the fair folk kind – but above all else, they value life, and so the Queen agreed to the Shadow World’s plea for help. Alicante was fast becoming their last bastion, the final keep in this siege, and portals from there to the Seelie realm operated almost non-stop to complete the evacuation of as many Nephilim and Downworlders as possible.

But even as the entire Shadow World braced for the worst, in the libraries of Alicante, the search for a miracle continued. It came as no surprise to Alec that Magnus was the one to find it.

‘Here,’ he said, thumping the open book down on Alec’s desk. ‘These records are ancient – even older than I am – and they talk of a diamond altar in the middle of the ocean. Mundanes call it the Bermuda Triangle, and nowadays they blame the odd occurrences there on natural gases, but their previous theories were actually more accurate. It’s where we’ll find the thinnest part of the veil between Earth and the angels, and therefore the only place we have any chance of successfully using this.’ He opened another book – this time, a hand-stitched grimoire – to an intricately illuminated page. ‘I can perform this ritual there, sending a shockwave through the veil. If we’re lucky, it’ll distance us from the angels before they can finish their… clean-up of the Shadow World. It won’t tear us completely away from them, like they’re planning, but it might stop them being able to get through with all their fire and brimstone.’

Alec looked over the books quickly, turning Magnus’ words over in his head. ‘And if we’re unlucky?’ Magnus grimaced. ‘Well, put it this way – it’s not like things can get much worse, right?’ Alec wasn’t so sure about that, but he put it aside. This could be their only option. ‘Alright. At this point, pretty much anything’s worth a shot. What do you need for the ritual?’ ‘I have the herbs and almost all of the magical components – it’s old, old magic, so there’s surprisingly few of each needed. But the preparation of the altar requires a gift from two of the world’s veils – angelic and demonic blood, each mixed with mundane but separate from the other.’ ‘So, warlock and Shadowhunter blood?’ Alec stood, rounding the desk to join his husband. ‘Guess that means I’m joining you.’ ‘That won’t be necessary,’ Magnus said, waving a hand in dismissal. ‘I’ll take a vial of your blood with me, complete the ritual by myself. You can stay here and oversee the evacuation.’ Magnus’ tone was breezy, confident, and Alec reckoned that anyone else would have been fooled. But he wasn’t just anyone. ‘Helen and Aline are handling that,’ he said slowly, not bothering to hide his suspicion. ‘Which you already know. Which means that there’s a reason you don’t want me there, and I’m probably not gonna like it.’

Magnus’ face quirked as he obviously considered maintaining the charade, but apparently he thought better of it, because he dropped the false casual tone and sighed. ‘The altar is a strong source of angelic power,’ he explained, ‘and that can attract a slightly-higher-than-average demonic presence. But I can handle it,’ he said hurriedly, probably in an effort to forestall any objection. ‘You don’t have to be there. I’ll be fine.’

Alec just stared at him for a moment, exasperated. How he loved this man. This beautiful, brave, unfathomably powerful idiot. ‘I’m coming with you, Magnus.’ ‘Alexander-‘ ‘No.’ He took both of Magnus’ hands in his own, stooping down when Magnus tried to avoid his gaze. ‘You’ll have enough to do completing the ritual without fighting off a swarm of demons. You’re my husband, and I love you, and I’m coming with you to watch your back.’

Magnus pulled his hands away, and for a moment Alec thought he was going to argue. But instead, he smiled softly, reaching up to clasp his hands around Alec’s neck. ‘Alright,’ he murmured. ‘Do we bring anyone else?’ Alec hesitated. ‘No,’ he said, trying to sound decisive instead of as unsure as he felt. ‘We’ve lost enough people, and even with your magic expertise, we’re shooting the moon here. It should just be the two of us.’ Magnus opened his mouth to reply, the look on his face suggesting that he rather liked the sound of just the two of us, but he didn’t get a chance to speak before another voice came through the door. ‘Oh, like hell.’

The door opened and Jace strode in, Clary and Izzy at his heels, Simon lurking in the doorway. ‘No way are you two going in alone,’ Jace continued. ‘I’m coming with you.’ ‘So am I,’ Izzy chimed in. Alec frowned, annoyed that he’d forgotten to ask Magnus for a silencing charm before starting this conversation. He drew himself up tall - he’d learned early on to use his height to his advantage when in command – and folded his arms. ‘No,’ he said flatly. ‘You two are to head to the Seelie realm with the other refugees.’ ‘Correction,’ Clary said, meeting Alec’s stare in clear rebellion. ‘Us three are coming with you.’ ‘Four,’ Simon added. ‘I mean, I’m coming too.’

‘Absolutely not,’ Alec said, irritation beginning to show – and the conversation quickly devolved after that, all of them talking over each other. Jace was adamant that he wouldn’t leave his parabatai (besides, I have more angel blood in me, you should use mine for the ritual), Clary wouldn’t leave Jace, Izzy was determined to stand with her brothers (what happened to ‘three go in, three come out?’), and Simon declared that if Clary and Izzy were going, there was no way he was being left behind-

‘Enough.’ Magnus’ voice rang with power, filling the room with an unnatural echo and stunning them all into silence. (Well, almost all of them. Simon turned to Clary and whispered ‘Woah, he’s like Gandalf.’) When he spoke again, his voice had dropped back to normal levels. ‘We don’t have time for this. Clearly we’re all too stubborn for our own good, so I don’t see that we have much of a choice. No-one stays behind. We’ll do this together.’

***

In hindsight, it was a godsend that they hadn’t come alone. ‘Slightly-above-average, my ass,’ Alec muttered, decapitating the nearest threat before returning to his bow.

They’d arrived on the small island to find it absolutely teeming with demons – shax, ravener, every kind Alec had fought before and some he was pretty sure he’d never seen, not even in his textbooks growing up. Thankfully, they all died the same, and Alec launched arrow after arrow while the others fought close-range, trying to keep the space around the gleaming altar clear enough for Magnus to work. He and Jace had fought their way through first, and Jace was already back in the fray, paying no mind to the still-bleeding cut along his forearm. With the blood offering made, Magnus had moved on to the main part of the ritual, closing his eyes and chanting in a deep, guttural language as he threw the spell components into the pool of his and Jace’s blood, weaving the magic from his fingertips. Alec belatedly realised that he should have asked Magnus how long the spell would take, because the tide of demons seemed never-ending, and they were beginning to close in. He wasn’t sure how much longer they could hold them back.

He changed tactics, stowing his bow and drawing his blades again. He leapt forward to stand between Jace and Izzy, weapons arcing in a graceful rhythm, cutting down as many demons in his path as he could. The three of them co-ordinated their attacks effortlessly, a lifetime of training together making itself known. But still, it wasn’t enough, and they were forced backwards, ever closer to the altar. Alec slashed and thrust until his blades were covered in ichor, but he was flagging, and they were pushed back farther, and farther-

‘Down!’ Magnus’ voice rang out in command again, and Alec automatically dropped to his hands and knees – just in time to stop himself being knocked over by a pulse of gold magic that evaporated every demon in front of him. He jumped to his feet, whirling around to face his husband, stomach dropping when he saw him sway on his feet and brace against the altar. ‘Magnus!’ ‘It’s okay,’ Magnus said, gritting his teeth, but he leaned into Alec as soon as he was near enough. ‘Keep an eye out for any others. I should have just enough magic left to finish the ritual.’ He reached into his bag for another component, resuming his chant.

The sky exploded above them.

And suddenly Alec felt himself falling, a tiny patch of ground rushing up towards him, dread running heavy through his veins because even with the runes he had active he knew there was no way he’d survive that fall -

His stomach turned as he felt himself slow down. Looking around in confusion he saw Magnus, arms outstretched and blue-white magic flowing from him to the rest of them. They touched down slowly, the magic flickered out, and Magnus collapsed. ‘Magnus!’ Alec ran to his side, lifting him up and leaning him against his chest. ‘Magnus?’ His husband’s eyes fluttered open, and then Alec’s attention was ripped away to another explosion in the distance. A lightning bolt, bright and furious, slamming into something that glittered like glass as it shattered. Alec knew that power, could recognise it even that far away, his runes singing under his skin at the show of divine strength. ‘No,’ Magnus whispered, and the penny dropped. The altar. The ritual.

We failed. It’s over.

***

‘We have to get out of here,’ Jace says. It’s the first thing to break the silence since their last chance at victory was destroyed right in front of their eyes. ‘Magnus, if we all lend you strength at the same time, can you make us a portal back to Alicante?’ In answer, Magnus just sits up straighter, still in contact with Alec but no longer leaning his entire weight against him. The others converge on them, each laying a hand against Magnus’ shoulder, his back, his arm. He moves his hands slowly in front of him, magic sparking at his fingertips as he tries to conjure a portal. Alec feels himself grow woozy, his strength being sapped for the spell.

He’s on the verge of blacking out when he feels the last shred of his stamina snap back to him. Magnus slumps against his chest again. ‘I can’t,’ he says dully. ‘I can’t do it.’

And that’s it, that’s their escape plan dead in the water. Because Clary can’t portal anymore, the angels took that ability from her when she rejoined the Shadow World. Magnus was their only way home.

There’s silence again for a moment, until Simon lets out a shaky breath. ‘Oh g-god,’ he says. ‘Oh god, oh god…’ Alec feels Izzy turn away, settling with her back against his as she reaches out to Simon, hushing him, starting up the same comforting ramble she developed when Max was a baby.

Max. Alec’s mind flicks to his family, his friends. Mom, Dad and Max, Catarina and Madzie, Helen and Aline – they’re as safe as they can be, taking shelter in the Seelie realm. He spares them a thought, almost prays for their safety before he catches himself. It’s not like the angels are on their side right now.

He looks over at Jace, and his parabatai meets his eyes in understanding. In acceptance. His right hand is in Clary’s left, both of their knuckles white with how tight they’re holding on, and all three of them look back out at the light in the distance – still now, but steadily growing.

Sparks in his peripheral vision draw Alec’s attention back to Magnus, who’s waving his hands with increasing violence, trying again to conjure the portal. But he was already low on magic from taking out those demons, and probably used his last reserves saving them from that fall. Alec reaches out his free hand to still his husband’s, because he doesn’t want Magnus’ last moments to be passing out in frustration and fear from magic depletion. ‘Hey,’ he says gently, and when Magnus looks up at him his eyes are wild like those of a frightened animal, the glamour long gone. Alec finds himself smiling gently, lifts Magnus’ hand and kisses it. ‘Aku cinta kamu,’ he murmurs.

A strangled cry tears itself from Magnus’ throat, and then he’s grabbing Alec’s collar with both hands and pulling him down into a hard, desperate kiss. Alec tastes salt and doesn’t know whether it’s from Magnus’ tears or his own. When they pull apart, it’s just so they can tug each other closer, Magnus’ face buried in the crook of Alec’s neck. ‘Alexander,’ he says, his voice breaking even on a whisper, and Alec holds him even tighter because he knows, he knows what Magnus is saying. I’m afraid. Don’t let go. I love you too.

The light is closer now, and growing brighter, too bright to see, bright even when Alec screws his eyes shut. The last things he feels are Izzy’s back pressed against his, Jace’s heart pounding in time with his own, and Magnus wrapped safely in his arms. 

~oOo~

[inkyardpress]

Excerpt: CROWN OF CORAL AND PEARL by Mara Rutherford

Chapter One

Sometimes I wonder if it was our names that determined our fates, or the other way around. Nor and Zadie: coral and pearl. Both precious to our people, both beautiful enough to adorn the necks of queens. But whereas a pearl is prized for its luster, its shape, its lack of imperfections, coral is different. It grows twisted. In its natural form, it can hardly be considered beautiful at all.

Still, Zadie and I were born as equals in beauty, grace, and wit. We were, the elders declared, the loveliest babies ever born in Varenia. Mother proudly rowed us around in our family’s wooden boat, where Zadie and I would spend much of our childhood. She shaded our olive skin with wide-brimmed hats to prevent sunburn; she forced Father to sand down the sharp edges on our furniture; not a single dark hair on our heads was sacrificed to a pair of scissors. She inspected us every night for scratches or scrapes, then applied oils and salves while she scolded us to be more cautious.

After all, though Varenian women were blessed with hair as varied as the fish in our waters—from straight to ringlets, flaxen to ebony—and our skin was smooth and healthy in every shade from gold to burnished copper, beauty in our village was held to a higher standard. A girl’s features must be symmetrical and well proportioned, her complexion clear, her gaze bright and curious, though never too direct. Her presentation should always be impeccable, no matter the time or place. To truly stand out, a girl could be nothing short of perfect.

Because in Varenia, being a beautiful girl wasn’t just lucky. Once every generation, it determined which one of us would become a princess.

*

“Nor!” Zadie cried, pulling me back from the edge of the boat where I balanced on one foot. “What are you thinking? You can’t risk an injury now.”

I scratched at my scalp, tender from where Mother had plaited my hair extra tight as punishment for forgetting my hat yesterday. She was forever fretting that the sun would turn our silken hair brittle or—gods forbid—summon forth a freckle, but these days, the angry grumblings from my empty belly were loud enough to drown out Mother’s shrill voice in my head. We’d been looking for oysters for hours, to no avail.

Zadie, ever the dutiful daughter, batted my hand away. “Please, for Mother’s sake, behave. You know how nervous she is about the ceremony.” The ceremony. When hadn’t Mother been nervous about it? Every cloudless day spent in the shade of our stilt-legged wooden house, every missed pearl-diving opportunity because the sea was too rough… I owed them all to the ceremony and to our mother’s obsession with it.

“Ours is a kingdom without borders,” Father liked to say as he stood on the narrow balcony outside our house, shading his eyes with one hand as he scanned the horizon. Maybe that was true for him, but our life was a constant reminder that one day, the Crown Prince of Ilara would come of marrying age. And as it had been for hundreds of years, so would it be in three days—the elders would finally choose the most beautiful girl in Varenia to be his bride. The last girl had left us twenty years ago, when the present king was still a prince and the shoals hadn’t yet been plucked bare, but Mother assured us that she wasn’t half as beautiful as Zadie and me. Before the incident, she teased the elders that they would have to send both of us to marry the prince and let him decide for himself, because we were as indistinguishable as two silver featherfish.

Now, of course, it was clear who would be sent. The small pink scar on my right cheekbone was all that stood between the crown and me. Anywhere else on my body, an imperfection smaller than a Varenian pearl might have been overlooked, but compared to Zadie’s flawless skin, the jagged mark was impossible to ignore. Fortunately, I’d had the seven years since the incident to prepare for this, and seven years of relative freedom from our mother’s constant fussing—at least compared to Zadie.

I flopped back onto the cushions in the bottom of our boat and turned my face up to the cloud-dappled sky. “Are you ready for it?” I asked.

“For what?” Zadie feigned ignorance while she pulled her skirts over her exposed ankles.

“To leave Varenia. To leave Mother and Samiel.” To leave me.

“You don’t know they’re going to choose me. You’re just as beautiful as I am, and you never get sick. And I’ve heard rumors that Alys is being considered as well.”

I arched a skeptical brow. “Mother says that even with my scar, I’m prettier than Alys will ever be. How did she put it? ‘Alys has only to smile, and that snaggletooth will send the prince running for his nursemaid.’”

Zadie frowned. “Mother shouldn’t say such things. Alys can’t help it.”

“Neither can Mother,” I said with a wry look.

Zadie pulled on one of the lines hanging over the side of the boat, frowning at the tiny fish dangling from the end. Our waters had been overfished for years, though no one seemed to want to admit it. Zadie carefully laid the shimmering creature in the palm of her hand, removed the hook, and dropped it back into the sea. The fish was too small to eat, though we might have used it for bait, had there been anything larger to catch.

“I know Mother can be difficult, but she only wants what’s best for us,” Zadie said after a moment. “What she herself couldn’t have.”

Half a dozen snide comments popped into my head, but I held my tongue. 

“Perhaps you’re right.”

Though I’d never told her, I knew for a fact Zadie would be the chosen one; the only one of us who would ever set foot on land—something I’d wished for since childhood. Because scar or no scar, Zadie was beautiful in a way I would never be. In Varenia, we were constantly searching for imperfections, whether in pearls or people, but Zadie only ever saw the good. Just last week, while I lamented the damage to our house from a passing storm, Zadie watched the sky, searching for rainbows. 

So even when our mother was at her worst, Zadie could find something kind to say in return.

I would never be that good, that pure of heart. And that was a harder sort of pain to bear.

“I’m going swimming,” I said, wishing I could shed my thoughts as easily as my skirts.

Zadie glanced around anxiously. As young women of marrying age, we should never be seen barelegged in public, but diving in a skirt wasn’t just difficult—it was dangerous. Before, when oysters were plentiful, young men did most of the diving. But these days, girls and women helped out whenever possible. And in our family, with Father fishing every day and no brothers to share the burden, there was no other choice. Even Mother couldn’t complain too much—she knew how badly we needed the extra money.

“Are you coming?” I asked.

“The salt will dry out our skin. Mother will know.”

I placed my hands on my hips and grinned. “Last one to find an oyster has to make dinner tonight.” The truth was, we couldn’t afford to go home empty-handed. Not if we wanted to eat next week. But it was easier to pretend this was all a game, one in which the stakes weren’t life or death. “Ready?” She shook her head, but her fingers were already busy untying her skirt and tugging down her tunic to cover her thighs. “You’re wicked,” she said, then launched herself out of the boat into the clear water.

I dived in after her, letting the pressure build in my ears as I surged past Zadie toward the bottom, drowning out the little voice in my head that said, I know.

*

Several hours later, I was stirring a pot of watery fish stew over the fire when Samiel entered our house, his body still glistening with seawater from his swim over. Sami was our best friend, and the only boy in the village who had dared play with us as children. Not only was our mother strict beyond reason, our father was also the governor’s best friend. Sami was exempt from Mother’s scolding, however, seeing as his father was the governor.

“Don’t tell me Zadie found an oyster before you did,” he teased. Sami was as competitive as I was, but Zadie had gotten lucky today. The oyster lay on a small driftwood table nearby, already shucked and sadly lacking a pearl.

Our primary currency, the rare pink pearls that were only found in our waters, had also become scarce of late, as the Ilarean appetite for them continued to increase. The pearls were used to make jewelry for the nobility, but they could also be ground up and added to skin creams and cosmetics. Most Varenian families had a small jar of healing ointment made from the pearls, but that was to be saved for emergencies, since many of us were naturally healthy from spending so much time in the waters that were said to make the pearls special in the first place. After the incident, Mother had used the ointment daily on my scar in hopes of minimizing its appearance, but stopped once she realized it would never heal completely. 

Sami dropped a tarnished brass button onto the table next to the empty oyster shell. “Look what I got for Zadie.”

I tsked in disapproval. By law, Ilara was our sole trade partner for all the things the sea couldn’t provide: clothing, fruits and vegetables, tools, books, barrels of fresh water. Even our firewood came from Ilara. But Sami was the exception to the rule. He often traded secretly—and illegally—with our cousins, the Galethians. Over a hundred years ago, a small population of Varenians had risked their lives to set foot on land, then quickly fled north on a herd of stolen Ilarean horses. Those horses became the foundation of the Galethian culture, just as the waves had formed ours.

“Wave children,” the Ilareans called us. And that was exactly how they treated us: like children.

Masters of both land and sea, the Ilareans had access to resources we could only dream of—not just fresh water and food, but also sophisticated weapons and thousands of men. Occasionally a desperate Varenian would attempt to land on Ilarean soil, in search of an easier life away from the whims of the sea, but they were usually dealt with swiftly and decidedly by the soldiers who patrolled the shoreline. It was possible a few got away with it, but any violation of Ilarean law wouldn’t just end in death for the defector in question—Ilara could eradicate our people swiftly and with little effort. They’d made that clear in all their dealings with us.

I poked at the button with feigned indifference, though in truth, anything from land fascinated me. “And what will Zadie do with a button? Use it to fasten the trousers she doesn’t wear?” “I’m making her a cloak to take with her when she leaves. She’ll be cold in Ilara.”

Sami knew as well as I did that Zadie was going to be chosen at the ceremony. It was as hard for him as it was for me, in some ways, because he loved her, too. He always had. I suspected that Zadie returned his love, but they both knew she would leave to marry the prince some day, so their relationship could never be more than friendship.

“That’s so thoughtful,” I said. “But you shouldn’t be trading with the Galethians. If you’re caught, they’ll hang you.”

“Then I guess I can’t get caught.” He smiled, revealing teeth as white as shells against his tanned skin. Boys didn’t carry the same burden as Varenian girls, at least not when it came to scars and sunburns. They had to provide for their families, however, and that was becoming harder and harder. Last year, two pearls had been enough to feed a family for a month. Now it took twice that many, yet somehow the quality of the goods they fetched was poorer. I had learned a long time ago not to ask questions about our trade relationship with Ilara—it was the elders’ place to worry about such things, not mine. And according to Mother, I had far more important things to worry about, like the sheen of my hair or the length of my eyelashes.

But that had never stopped me from wondering about the world beyond Varenia.

“Any news from Galeth?” I asked.

“There’s talk of an uprising in Southern Ilara.”

“That’s nothing new.”

He shook his head. “It’s getting worse. King Xyrus refuses to grant safe passage to the refugees heading north, even though the Galethians would welcome them with open arms.”

“Anything to bolster their army.”

“It’s more than that. The Galethians were refugees once, too.”

I turned the button over in my hand. It was engraved with a small, many-petaled flower. I’d heard of roses, though I’d never seen one before. I tried to imagine a world in which something as small as a button was deemed worthy of this level of craftsmanship.

“It’s beautiful,” I said, before dropping the button into the empty oyster shell. 

“Just like Zadie.”

Sami’s hand closed around my shoulder, and I leaned my cheek against it. “What will we do without her?” I whispered.

There was a pause, then a cough. “I suppose we’ll just have to marry each other.”

I rapped his knuckles with the wooden spoon I held, and he pulled his hand away. “I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last boy in Varenia.”

He placed his hand on his chest, feigning offense. “And why not?”

“Because you’re my best friend. And worse, you’re the future governor.”

“You’re right. You’d make a terrible governor’s wife, anyway.” He snatched a dried date off the table and darted out of my reach.

“Do that again, and I swear I won’t marry you. You’ll be stuck with Alys.” He grimaced. “Imagine our little shark-toothed children. My mother would weep.”

Zadie poked her head around the door and frowned. “You’re both wicked, do you know that? Alys is kind and loyal. You’d be lucky to marry her.” 

“You’re right,” I said, chastened. I knew better than most what it was like to be judged by one’s appearance.

Zadie twisted her wet hair at the side of her head, letting the fresh water from her bath drip into the bucket we used to rinse our dishes. Zadie never slept with seawater in her hair at Mother’s behest, though fresh water from Ilara was expensive and meant to be saved for drinking and cooking.

“Would a wicked man bring you this?” Sami asked, proffering the brass button in its mother-of-pearl serving tray.

She gasped, then folded her arms across her chest. “I suppose he would, since an honest man could never have come by this.”

He glanced at me over his shoulder, then moved closer to Zadie. “You like it, don’t you? Please say you do. I wanted to make you a cloak, to take with you to Ilara. It will be cold in the mountains.”

“You don’t know I’m going yet,” she said, though her posture softened. 

“Besides, where would you get cloth for a cloak?”

“An honest man would never betray his source.”

“An honest man wouldn’t have a source to begin with.”

I pretended to stir the stew—even watered down, it was barely enough for the four of us—while I watched them from beneath my lashes. I was grateful Zadie hadn’t chided him for wasting money that could have gone toward food, but they should be distancing themselves from each other, if they knew what was good for them. If not for my scar, perhaps I would be the one going to Ilara. Then Sami and Zadie could marry as they pleased, and I would get to see more than an engraving of a rose on a silly brass button for another girl. 

Maybe in another life, I thought bitterly. But not in this one.

“What’s that wonderful smell?” Father asked as he entered the house behind Zadie, sending Sami stumbling away from her. Father had just come back from fishing in deeper waters, judging by the sea salt crust on his brow and his wind-chapped cheeks.

“The same thing we eat every night,” I said. “Unless you caught something today?”

He gave a small, sad shake of his head, and my stomach grumbled in response. 

I tapped the spoon on the side of the pot to cover the sound. “That’s all right, Father. The last time Zadie cooked fish, the house stunk for a week.” Sami laughed, and Zadie pretended to be offended, gently pushing Sami aside. Even my father allowed himself a small smile at my attempt to lighten the mood. My parents had noticed the way Sami and Zadie acted around each other—it was impossible not to—but Father was a little more tolerant than Mother, who wanted nothing to distract Zadie from fulfilling her ultimate purpose in life: becoming queen, since Mother herself had not. Twenty years ago, that honor had gone to another young woman, and Mother wasn’t about to let history repeat itself. I was her safeguard, though in the past year or so, when it became more and more clear Zadie would make it to the ceremony unscathed, she’d focused the bulk of her attention on my poor sister.

Father cleared his throat and turned to Sami, who quickly hid the button behind his back. “I believe your father is looking for you. Something about you being missing earlier today, when you were supposed to be delivering firewood to your aunts?” He arched an eyebrow, but I could hear the amusement in his voice.

“Yes, sir. I was just leaving.” Sami turned to give Zadie a kiss on the cheek, then me. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Not tomorrow,” Father reminded him. “The girls will be preparing for the ceremony, remember?”

He wasn’t a particularly imposing man, at least not to me, but Sami flushed. “Of course. At the ceremony, then.” I wished Father would leave and give Sami a chance to say a proper goodbye. The next time he saw Zadie, she would be as good as betrothed to the Prince of Ilara.

“Goodbye,” Zadie and I said in unison as Sami ducked out onto the balcony, where a rope ladder led down to the water. Our house, like all the houses in Varenia, was made from the wood of a sunken ship, but every few years we painted it an orangey-pink, a shade Mother favored that was also easy to see on the horizon, guiding us home during the daytime when a lantern would be of little use.

Father settled down onto a low stool carved from driftwood. “I see Nor is cooking tonight. Does that mean Zadie found the oyster?” He gestured to the shiny gray glob of flesh I’d laid in one of our cracked porcelain bowls. Some of our possessions were traded for, but others had been pulled up from shipwrecks. Mother never asked how I came by such items, particularly if I found her something that appealed to her vanity, like a hand mirror or a tortoiseshell comb.

Zadie and I shared a glance. To admit Zadie found the oyster meant admitting that she had been swimming today, against Mother’s orders. She was counting on the impressive bride price the prince would send to the chosen girl’s family once they married, but we had to eat in the meantime. And who knew how many oysters there would be tomorrow, or next week? Sami had overheard his father speaking to the elders at night in hushed whispers, so we knew things were worse than our parents let on.

“I found it,” I said. “But I bet her there would be a pearl in it, and there wasn’t.” “That’s a shame. Well, as long as I get to eat the oyster, I suppose it doesn’t matter who found it.” Father winked at Zadie as she handed him the bowl. “You’re good girls, both of you.”

As he tipped back the bowl and let the oyster slide into his mouth, Zadie and I came to stand on either side of him. “I’ll miss whichever one of you is taken from me,” he said. “But I always knew this day would come. That’s what I get for marrying the most beautiful girl in Varenia.”

Mother stepped into the house from the balcony, twisting her own freshly washed hair into a braid. She had never dived deep enough to burst her eardrums—something many of the older villagers did to help with the pressure—and her hearing was some of the sharpest in the village. Only a few fine lines pulled at the corners of her eyes and lips, a testament to the benefits of wearing a sun hat (and of rarely smiling).

“Our beauty is a reflection of the favor Thalos has bestowed upon this family,” she said, gazing out the window at the darkening waves, as if the ocean god himself were watching. A sudden burst of sea spray shot up through the cracks in our wooden floorboards, and Mother’s eyes blazed with satisfaction. “We will honor him with our sacrifice,” Father added.

I squeezed Zadie’s hand behind his back and wished the sun would never set. The ocean never gave gifts without expecting something in return, it was said, and Thalos was a hungry god.

Click here to continue reading Crown of Coral and Pearl or to learn more about the book!

[sidhewrites]

Coriander Chapter 4a

Previous Installment found here. Approx 2500 words. Feel free to send Asks or Messages about what’s written or anything you’re curious about.

It took the better part of an hour minutes to finish collecting flowers, mostly because Jasper insisted on inspecting each one for any flaws before plucking it and placing it ever so gently in the basket. So much for not wanting to wait another minute. Coriander half wished he would let her simply get on with her life, and he could go off adventuring to his heart’s content.

She also wished he would choose to stay in Knittlenau, if only because she was perhaps the most interesting and least intimidating person she’d ever met. Who needed to go to see the elves in Gaelgallah anyway? Anyone could spy them travelling on main roads just a few hours outside of town, certain days of the year. Coriander had the maps of the area memorized; she’d have no problem pointing Jasper to where he needed to go to see them pass by, and then he’d come back before midnight.

Something told her, however, he wasn’t the sort of person who’d be content to live in a little town like this, no matter how many wildflowers there were to pick.

“Do you know when the next new moon is?” Jasper asked. He plucked an ear of corn off the stalk as they passed by. Coriander stayed neatly on the dirt road herself, but Jasper took to the fence. He balanced effortlessly, only wobbling now and then when something distracted him.

“Ten days, I think.” Coriander fought the need to insist he come down right this minute, or else he’d be risking life and limb – or at least a very painful couple of bruises. That same something from before insisted he wouldn’t listen to her anyway. She was wrong, of course, but she had no way of knowing.

“Ah, damn.” Jasper shucked the corn in two movements and took a bite out of it, leaving Coriander to wonder why he was disappointed until he was done chewing. “I was hoping I’d have more time. You wouldn’t believe how beautiful Sterea is during their festivals.”

But a journey to Sterea would take weeks … and the new moons happen every month, didn’t they? What was the trouble? “You’ve been there?” She had never dreamed of seeing Gaelgallah, much less its capital city.

“No, but I’ve heard songs about it. Shall I sing one for you?”

She couldn’t hide her excitement. “If— “

She didn’t have the time to finish the first word before Jasper began to sing a traditional Sterean song about their festivals. Coriander had seen the sheets for Elfin music. The notes and harmonies, and how they twisted around each other like a braid. She’d even heard people try to recreate it, to painfully beautiful effect. But perhaps it was the magic in his blood that allowed Jasper’s single, gentle voice to capture the lilting melody in a way she’d never heard it before. It surrounded her, filled her like champagne in a glass. She watched him with wide eyes and slack jaw, drinking in the music like a camel at the sea – like she had never realized just how deep her thirst went until she could be sated like this.

She remained enthralled even after he stopped, misty eyed, with a few tears having slid down her cheeks. It was only when Jasper laughed, and held out a handkerchief that she realized he was done.

“I suppose I ought to apologize, Miss Tippit. I didn’t realize I’d put so much into the spell.”

The spell? She looked at him over the handkerchief, pressed to her nose and now-burning cheeks, as she understood, and couldn’t quite decide if that was cheating or genius to have magicked his own breath for the song. She had a feeling he’d laugh either way.

“Well?” he asked expectantly. “Was I good? It’s been a few weeks since I’ve performed for anyone but myself.”

Coriander didn’t quite have the courage to remove the handkerchief from her face just yet, and she didn’t feel it polite to speak with it covering her mouth, so she nodded. Embarrassment or no, she had to admit his voice was incredible.

“Thank goodness,” Jasper said, and she had a feeling his relief was being overdramatized. “The last thing I want is to offend the ears of my most honored guide.”

Was he still going on about that? Hadn’t he found his way to her easily enough? In a moment of fear, she wondered if he had put some sort of tracking spell on her -- though that couldn’t be right, could it? He worked with air, not tracking. Insofar as she knew, anyway. How powerful of a wright could he be, if he was this far away from any cities of note?

“Well?” Jasper asked, pulling Coriander from her thoughts again. She flushed, ashamed and ready to apologize, but he spoke before she managed to. “I was thinking there ought to be more songs about girls named after flowers anyway. There’s at least one adventurer with a name like a stone, so that means I won’t come first, but I can’t remember even one Lady Rose or Princess Daisy -- and Her Royal Majesty doesn’t count, since Lillian is different from Lily.”

Coriander could name three songs off the top of her head. The Maiden and the Knight, whose heroine was named Poppy. Lavender the Shoemaker. And Lady Hollyoak’s Crown of Leaves wasn’t exactly a flower, but she was going to count it anyway.

“I suppose so,” she said, and she didn’t miss his concern at her answer. Whatever he meant by it, though, wasn’t immediately clear, and she chose to keep silent for now.

Jasper frowned for a moment, thinking. Then, he clapped his hands, grinning again. “Shall we write songs of our own?” He looked at her with that expectant smile she was beginning to dread, and cleared his throat.

He sang the whole way back to her house, making up a tune about their potential adventures to come, only sometimes ruining the rhymes, if she were being generous. The song went on about defeating great beasts of lore -- defeating firedrakes and inspiring elfish poems and drinking tea with Queen Lillian.

She had to admit, one of those things might have been possible -- if he counted paying for a cup of tea with a coin stamped with the queen’s face. Only about half the coins in Knittelnau were, the rest still sporting her late father’s profile instead.

Coriander hesitated at the trail leading from the main road off to the hill on which her house sat. She could see the garden from here, the windows overlooking the street. Jasper waited at her side, silent for a moment as he considered the view.

“Don’t tell me you live there, Miss Tippit?”

She said nothing. Was he approving of it? Or did he think it was too small. Surely a traveller had seen many grander homes than his, and suddenly her little country cottage felt shabby and bare.

“Well, I certainly hope you do, you know. I’ve never seen something with a more well-tended garden, nor half as picturesque.” He sounded so genuine, she didn’t know how to respond. But he took her faint blush as a yes. “When you’re ready, Miss Tippit, do please lead the way.”

Coriander rushed to do as she was told. They walked together along the path to her front door, only hesitating once at the front door. With a steadying breath, Coriander pulled the latch and let herself im.

“Ma!” she called out, setting the flowers she’d picked down on the table. “Ma, I’m home…” She hesitated, unsure of how to best inform her mother they had an unexpected guest. The social had to have just barely ended, with tea cups and plates and a bit of shortbread still sitting on the table, chairs pushed out here and there. And the tea itself hadn’t even been put away.

Before Coriander could think of something, however, Bestina came out of her bedroom bodice loose, hair half undone and hanging over her shoulder. The social must have just barely ended. The warm smile she wore disappeared the second she saw Jasper, mud all over his boots, dirt on his face. Coriander hardly had clean hands herself after working in the fields all day, but she at least could be trusted to wipe it off. Worst -- however, Jasper was a man, and there was no chaperone to look after them as they stood about in the kitchen.

“Dear sweet,” she began, with a careful, forced smile, “who’s this standing in my front hall?”

Coriander wished she could sink into the floorboards. She needed to disappear. “His name is Jasper, Ma. He’s a traveller and he’s...ehm…” He was her guest. Wasn’t he? She’d invited him, after all, but she was wondering if it might have been a mistake.

“I’m inviting myself to dinner, Missus Tippit. Your daughter has been a most wonderful guide to Knittelnau thus far, and I couldn’t bear parting ways for so long.”

Coriander flushed, unsure if she ought to have been thankful or guilty he was lying for her. More than that, he had joked multiple times now about marrying her -- and Bestina had never wanted to see her married. No doubt this would end in trouble soon enough. But if nothing else, her mother would be civil in front of guests. Bestina swept forward, taking up Jasper’s hands with a stiff, warm smile, all too visibly aware of her state of dress.

“How kind of you,” she crooned in that too-sweet voice. “How long have you known each other?”

“Oh, hardly a day and a half. I met her in the market just yesterday afternoon, but she’s been so kind, you know. Showing me to the bakery, teaching me the names of all these beautiful flowers. Look!” He gestured to the basket in Coriander’s hands. “She picked some for you just today. Aren’t they lovely?”

Coriander stammered, and held out the basket of blooms with a nervous half-smile. Jasper glanced between the two of them, studying miniscule changes in expression, searching for something. Coriander couldn’t for the life of her figure out what, though her mother’s plastered on smile seemed to sour a fraction of a degree.

“Oh, aren’t they just darling?” Bestina asked, but she didn’t move closer.

“Yes, very pretty,” Jasper agreed, and threw Bestina an expectant look. It was bad manners to keep a guest waiting too long without an offer of hospitality, unexpected or otherwise.

Finally, she clapped her hands together. “Well, any friend of my daughter is always welcome here. Come, sit here. Would you like tea? Cake?”

Coriander’s face burned. Friend? Is that what Jasper was to her? And how could she tell if the queasiness in her stomach was coming from excitement or dread at the idea of having a friend at all?

Jasper smiled. “That would be lovely, thank you. Miss Tippit, would you join me?”

It took a moment for Coriander to understand she was being addressed, and she started seeing Jasper’s earnest smile directed her way. “Er, I, uh...That is, I usually get the tea for guests.”

“Nonsense -- there’s some on the table already, isn’t there?” He gestured.

Bestina flushed. “It’s gone cold, I’m afraid, and it’s horribly sweet. Hardly the sort of thing a traveler would like.”

“I love sweet things. And I can heat it up myself just fine, can’t I?” He winked one of his bright wright’s eyes, and Bestina’s smile flickered.

“Oh, no, that’s terribly kind, Mister…”

“It’s just Jasper, ma’am. I’ve no family name.”

Coriander flushed at the memory of their first meeting, when he’d asked to borrow hers. He seemed to have no qualms about it when it was just the two of them, though he had yet to say anything quite as bold as he did when they were alone.

“No family name?”

“That’s what I said.” He was almost painfully patient as she tried to figure out how to best needle him.

“But surely there’s at least a friend out there for you in all your travels who would give you theirs.”

His smile did not falter. “I’m sorry, ma’am?”

“Well, er…” She worked out how to best phrase it. “Do you have anyone waiting at home for you? A paramour? A spouse?”

“Oh no.” Jasper shook his head with mock sorrow. “No-one waits for me. But if I do find a man to love, he won’t have to wait anyway. We’ll travel together instead.”

“How sweet.” The smile didn’t quite meet her eyes, and she looked between them once more. "At any rate, there’s no magic in this house, Mister Jasper. We heat our tea over the hearth like good, hard-working folk.”

“Are you absolutely sure, ma’am? It seems a waste of firewood.”

Coriander couldn’t remember the last time someone had challenged Bestina in front of her. It wasn’t that she had a commanding presence, but she was a sweet woman, frail and sickly even if she didn’t look it, and no-one had the heart. She wanted to chide Jasper for it … but he had a point. It was late spring, and too warm to have the hearth running all day, and it must have been put out just after her mother’s friends left. It felt like a waste to use up more kindling and get the hearth rolling again just to heat up some old tea.

Bestina seemed to fight with herself internally, but shook her head. “No magic in the house. Not even if it saves time. Coriander, dear sweet, would you go to the kitchen and light up the hearth?”

Coriander nodded, and made to turn before Jasper spoke up: “Don’t mind it, Miss Tippit, I insist. I’d hate to be a waste as well as an imposition. I’ll have the tea cold, if you don’t mind.”

She stood there, looking between her mother and Jasper, who seemed as sure of himself as ever.

Bestina relented first with a sigh. “Oh, very well. Cold, sweet tea it is. Do find yourself a seat. Coriander, would you please go get a plate or two for the shortbread?”

“Yes, Ma.” She fled as soon as she could, before Jasper could say anything else. It wouldn’t do to stall too long, and there wasn’t an excuse to do so. It was a small kitchen, with an unlit hearth and a table in the middle for work. She could see out to the spice garden through the window, and the chicken coop and goatpen beyond. The goats dozed in the sun while the chickens picked through the grass for seeds and worms. The plants were growing. The parsnips would be ready soon, and with summer on the horizon, she would have to tend to the rest of the spring herbs to make room.

The main room was quiet behind her. Coriander dreaded coming out, but she swallowed, did her best not to grip the plates too tightly, and returned to see her mother sitting at the table and Jasper in the exact spot he’d been in before, both silent and smiling big, false smiles.

[artificialqueens]

In My Mind 02 (Katlaska) - Miss Sugar Pink

A/N: Thank you very much for your kind words! They really motivated me to write more! I hope you don’t mind a bit of a slow burn. And shoutout to my sister who made this lovely picture for my fic! Thank you!

“The extreme always seems to make an impression.” - Heathers

This will definitely be an interesting story to tell his mother as soon as she calls him tomorrow morning. Oh hey, ma. I’m still in the middle of unpacking my stuff but so far so good. I have a neighbor who watches The Golden Girls all day in full volume like an asshole and my best friend is apparently friends with drag queens who are batshit crazy. But oh, that’s not the best part. I finally met my soulmate. Yeah, he said the exact trashy words that my soulmark has. And he’s absolutely lovely. He was completely hammered and I had to hold his hair while he threw up in the public toilet. It is by far the most romantic first encounter a guy could ever dream of. And did you know people pay him just to watch him get a blowjob onstage?

Okay, now that isn’t fair. Brian knows he isn’t exactly a flawless person himself but really though, is this the kind of first encounter Lady Fate has in store for them?

Fr: Trixie Message: just got home. sent sharon a message about you taking alaska with you but he hasnt replied yet. hows the drama queen?

Brian redirects his stare away from his phone and to the slumbering figure on his bed. He purses his lips at the unwanted turn of events, but what kind of person would he be to leave Alaska by herself in the club when she was being a hysterical sobbing mess? Right after he had assisted her in the comfort room, they went ahead to look for Sharon Needles but she was nowhere to be seen. Even Bri didn’t run into her which didn’t help Alaska’s current state at all; pun intended.

The two Brian’s had no choice but to take her out of the club before she could make a scene.

Alaska had insisted that she didn’t want to go home— that she just wasn’t ready to face Sharon yet. And since Bri kept quiet, obviously having no intention of offering his home, Brian had offered his apartment instead. Alaska was so downright inebriated that she had slept through the entire ride to his building.

The blond man lets out a tired sigh as he leans his shoulder onto the door frame and keys in his reply on his phone.

“Sleeping. Didn’t even take his makeup off. Had to pull his boots off for him.”

“geez, sorry about this. this wasnt supposed to happen.”

“Don’t worry. Nobody asked for it. Any clues on where Sharon might be?”

“not really. i did send him ur address just in case.”

“Do they always fight like this?”

“not usually in public but itll blow over. couples fight all the time.”

Brian’s thumbs hover over the keypad of his screen, the word “couples” stealing his attention longer than he prefers. How much of a dumbfuck is he? How did he not assume that Alaska is dating Sharon even after their lewd performance and that blubbering fit she pulled? There’s a high chance that his very own soulmate possibly doesn’t believe in soulmates and he can’t tell whether he should be worried or relieved.

Alaska looks quite a handful. Very high maintenance. If she doesn’t believe in soulmates, then maybe Brian could easily dodge a bullet here and move on with his life. Maybe even date someone who never had a soulmark at all.

But then again, he’s only met her. And at the wrong time as well. It’s too early for him to make any judgment. He glances up at Alaska again, their ridiculous first encounter resounding over and over in his head. Did she feel anything when she met him? They say people are supposed to feel something once they finally meet their soulmate but upon retracing the incident that took place in the club earlier, it’s really hard to tell whether or not Alaska felt anything at all. She was so engrossed in her argument with Sharon that she didn’t even notice how she nearly crashed into him.

This could be his only chance of finding someone who’s very much compatible with him. But what is he supposed to do? He can’t just break someone else’s relationship just for the sake of his own happiness.

Brian shakes his head and reaches to close the door and give the blonde queen some privacy. He ambles away towards one of the boxes he still has yet to unload and fishes out a toothbrush, still sealed in its pack. He should might as well make Alaska feel at home when she wakes up tomorrow morning. He has no doubt that she will still be a handful during her impending hangover. After neatly placing the toothbrush on the shelf in his bathroom, Brian walks straight for his couch and flings himself onto it with a defeated sigh.

LA has him fucked.

–

Waking up in full makeup is never fun.

Justin groans and moves to his side, refusing to open his eyes despite being fully conscious now. He could feel the thick foundation still clinging to his skin and refusing to let his face breathe. His mouth feels dry and sticky from probably sleeping with his mouth open. The familiar sensation of a hangover hits him right away and he lets out another groan, feeling as though his entire brain is bloating and aching under his skull.

He stretches his arm to wake Aaron up. He could really use some soup right now and nobody does it better than Aaron.

But when his hand reaches nothing but an empty space, he raises his eyelids that feel far too fucking heavy only to be welcomed by the sight of a very unfamiliar room. Alarmed, Justin sits straight up and a wave of nausea doubles the pain in his head. He bites back a groan and holds his head, his eyes taking a sluggish gander of his surroundings.

The blue curtains have been thankfully slid closed to keep any of the bright sunlight away from streaming into the room. Boxes are scattered everywhere, some have been opened while some are still sealed shut.

What happened last night?

Shit, did he cheat on Aaron?

Justin immediately looks down at himself and is relieved to see that he’s still fully dressed. His outfit leaves little to the imagination though so maybe he did have someone fuck him last night without having to de-drag. Panic rises within him. Frantically, he looks around and finds his bag settled neatly on the bedside table. He wastes no more time in grabbing it and taking his phone out.

No new messages.

Not a single one from Aaron.

That can’t be a good sign.

Whoever he’s slept with must have gone out for now. That’s good. He needs some time to think.

“Ah, shit…!” He hisses from the cracking headache splitting his brain, the lingering taste of vomit and vodka in his mouth making him feel even more nauseous than he was mere seconds ago. He needs the bathroom. Carefully, Justin lifts himself up from the mattress (which lacks any bedcovers much to his discomfort) and heads for one of the boxes that has the word “Clothes #3” labeled on it, grabbing the biggest shirt he could find along with a pair of sweatpants before making his way out of the room. He takes a fleeting inspection of the place and finds the only door that obviously doesn’t lead to the outside. With as much haste as his dispirited body could give him, he hurries to the bathroom and shuts the door behind him.

The light that furnishes the room once he turned it on comes off too radiant and blinding for the drag queen and he squeezes his eyes shut. Slowly, he blinks them back open and rubs his face, not really giving a damn anymore if he’s smeared his makeup or not.

The shower lacks a curtain but the place looks clean. Thank god.

Justin strides to the sink and grimaces at the sight of his own reflection in the mirror. Every single cosmetic he had oh-so-carefully painted on his face last night has been smeared and smudged sloppily. His now flimsy blonde wig is hanging for its dear life far back over his head, the bobby pins keeping it attached. His skin looks stiff and greasy and his body feels jaded with burden and exhaustion despite just waking up from his slumber. His bloodshot eyes glaze over monotonously and for a moment, he forgets where he is or what he’s supposed to be doing.

But then he shakes himself back to reality.

“Wake the fuck up.” He pats his cheeks several times. He stares at himself in the mirror once again before reaching up to yank his wig off and toss it carelessly to the empty bathtub. He pulls open the medicine cabinet and conveniently finds an untouched toothbrush still secured in its package and a small container of petroleum jelly.

Not exactly the most advisable thing to use for removing makeup but it will have to do.

–

Brian wakes up by the abrupt sound of the bathroom door being shut closed a bit louder than it should. He blinks the drowsiness away and sits up, trying to remember where he is. His could feel his back aching from the couch’s lumpy material but that’s the least of his worries. Remembering why he’s even sleeping in the living room in the first place, his attention shoots straight to the bathroom where he could assume Alaska has gone to.

Right, the impending hangover.

He drags his hand over his face in an attempt to wake himself up more. Regardless of offering his apartment to the tall drag queen, he didn’t really exchange much words with her last night so just picturing the uncomfortable tension that will be hovering above them later brings an alarming feeling of dread within him.

While he’s not someone who constantly dreams of meeting his soulmate, he would still very much prefer the clichéd ‘we bumped into each other in this really exciting cereal convention because we both share an everlasting respect and devotion for Cinnamon Toast Crunch only to realize that it’s a convention for serial killers and now we have to work together to survive and live happily ever after, forever traumatized’.

But Lady Fate has a twisted sense of humor so he will just have to put up with this direction.

The sound of the faucet being used in the bathroom brings him back to the matter at hand and he stands up, stretching his arms and sighing upon feeling and hearing the right cracks of his muscles. He walks to the kitchen sink to wash his face, hoping that would be enough to fully wake himself up. After washing and drying up, he looks around and scratches his head.

What does one usually do to ease their hangover?

Brian never liked alcohol and he’s only had a hangover once. But even then, he just slept through the entire day so he couldn’t even recall how it felt.

At helpless times like this, there’s only one person he could rely on who would never let him down.

‘Hangover remedies yahoo answers’ Brian taps into the Google search bar of his phone. But just as he’s about to check the very first result, he hears the bathroom door swinging open and he instinctively stands straighter in anticipation.

But the person stepping out of the bathroom isn’t Alaska.

And for a second, Brian is taken aback and just stares at the tall dark-haired boy walking out of his bathroom with a sluggish flow. All traces of the dramatic intoxicated blonde queen from last night has been erased and replaced by a pale skinny stranger with endearing droopy lids and his short dark brown hair disheveled in an attractive mess. Brian realizes he isn’t as tall as he thought he was but still undoubtedly maintains a few good inches over him. He’s wearing Brian’s clothes but has his own stuff in his grip.

Brian didn’t think he’d be this cute out of drag.

Fuck.

“O-Oh…” Is all he could say, his mind frantically searching for something better to say but coming out blank.

As though only noticing his presence, the guy looks at him and nearly jumps in surprise. “Oh my god, you scared me…!”

Brian offers an awkward smile, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “Sorry. I just, uh, forgot that there’s an actual man underneath the whole Alaska glamor. Some of the most beautiful women in the world have gigantic penises after all, am I right?” He drives for a joke but the brunet just stares at him, further plunging them deeper into this suffocating whirlwind of tension— or maybe it’s the joke. It looks like his humor just doesn’t tickle the fancy anymore.

“That’s… a good one.” Surprisingly enough, the tone of his guest’s voice isn’t laced with sarcasm. If anything, he looks contemplative of what he said. “I’m Justin, by the way.”

“Brian.” Brian introduces himself a little bit too quickly than he would have preferred but it’s too late now. “Erm… how are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been fucked gently with a chainsaw.” Justin plods down over to the counter to settle his things there as though he’s at his own home.

Brian stands stiffly from the other side of the counter but a small smile of realization stretches his lips. “Heathers reference?”

It looks like it’s taking a lot of effort for Justin to smile back. “You have good taste.”

It makes no sense how a simple statement could make Brian this fucking giddy like he’s back in high school. He’s a grown man for Barbara’s sake. He feels ridiculous. “I was just kinda looking up the remedies for a hangover.” He waves his phone for emphasis. “I don’t really drink so I’m not entirely sure what to do to help you with—”

“Do you have any cans of PBR?” Justin asks as he tinkers with the strands of his wig, seemingly distracted. He doesn’t seem to be listening at all.

Brian blinks. “PBR?”

“Pabst Blue Ribbon. Beer. Or any alcohol really. It helps numb the hangover away.”

Brian couldn’t help but frown at the supposed quick fix Justin has in mind. That doesn’t sound right. Isn’t alcohol the main cause of a hangover? So why drink more?

“I have coffee.” He suggests a bit hopefully. “Water. Pain-killers.”

“So… no beer?”

Brian shakes his head. “Nope.”

Justin grows quiet and Brian bites the inside of his cheek. Maybe he should start keeping beer in his fridge just in case his guests are into that. Coming off as a killjoy or a stick in the mud is the last thing he wants. He’s in Los Angeles now. It’s time for him to try and blend in if he wants to survive. Anxiously, he taps his fingers on the counter as he tries to think of something else to say. Justin still looks very distracted and doesn’t seem to have any intentions of breaking the silence.

Brian decides to take the step. “So do you want—”

“Did we–”

They both quickly pause their words.

Great, as if it couldn’t get any more awkward than this.

“You go first.” Brian nods to him but Justin shakes his head.

“No, you go first.”

“Don’t worry, my question wasn’t important.”

“I already forgot what I was about to say anyway.”

“Really?”

“I think so.”

“Are you sure?”

“Maybe.”

Brian is pretty much screaming in his head at this point. When he thought Justin was going to be a handful in the morning, he was clearly underestimating him. To a degree, he could now see where Sharon’s frustration is coming from. He flinches at the vibration of his phone and he looks down to find a new text message from Bri.

Saved by the devil.

“Let me just get this.” He excuses himself as he turns his back to the brunet.

‘aaron just replied. said he’ll come pick marie antoinette up in an hour.’

His phone vibrates again.

‘and by aaron, i meant sharon in case you havent figured that out yet, sherlock. ;p’

“What happened last night?” Justin’s voice yanks his attention away from his phone and Brian whips around to face him, his brows raised in genuine surprise. Justin stares back at him, looking like he’s trying his very best to stay awake. “Sorry, my head just hurts so much so trying to remember everything last night is a struggle right now.”

“Umm…” Brian looks around for now before opening one of the cabinets and grabbing a glass. He fills it up with water and hands it to Justin. “Here, drink this first. It’ll make you feel better.”

Justin doesn’t look convinced but does so anyway.

“As for your question…” Brian taps his fingers on the counter again. “…you kinda got into a fight with Sharon Needles.”

“Yeah, I got that.” Justin says patiently after setting his glass down. “And after that?”

Brian shrugs. “Sharon stormed off and you… err, started crying.”

Justin shows no reaction. “And?”

“You dragged me into the comfort room because you felt sick. You threw up and I helped you. After that, we couldn’t find Sharon anywhere and you didn’t want to go home. So… here we are.”

Justin goes quiet again and honestly, it isn’t helping the anxiety that’s rising up Brian’s throat at all. It’s hard to distinguish the gears shifting behind those dark droopy eyes. “Brian…” The taller male begins with a pensive pursing of his lips. “You’re not… Trixie’s friend, are you?”

Trixie’s mentioned him? “Yeah, that’s me.” Brian quickly nods.

“No way. Oh my god…” Justin lets out a long groan as he rests his elbows on the counter and buries his face in his hands. “I am so fucking humiliated now. You shouldn’t have seen that. I’m so sorry. We were such a goddamn mess last night. I should have known better than to rile Sharon up but I did it anyway and–”

“Hey, hey, it’s fine.” Brian tries to give him a reassuring smile. He’s all too familiar with the way Justin is blabbering right now. It’s the exact same thing he does whenever he’s thoroughly ashamed or freaked out over something he wishes he has never done in the first place. He would apologize profusely that it would tend to annoy most people but he couldn’t help it. It’s how he is. “We’ve all had bad nights. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

“Brian must hate me now.” Justin’s voice is muffled against his hands. “And I mean, the other Brian.”

Well, Brian can’t speak on behalf of Bri. His friend has been calling Justin a ‘drama queen’ since last night. Marie Antoinette isn’t any better either. But then again, he had spoken highly of Alaska before all this shit happened so maybe he’s just pissed at how things have stacked up.

“He’s not the type to hold grudges so you’ll be fine.” Brian reassures his guest. “Besides, he just sent me a message and said that Aaron will be here to pick you up in an hour.”

“Oh… okay.”

Brian is surprised by the lack of relief in Justin’s tone, but he could only safely assume that perhaps Justin still isn’t ready to face his boyfriend yet.

“Do you…” He begins uncertainly. “…want me to like… tell him to pick you up later?”

Justin looks at him, seemingly confused. “Why would you do that?”

“I-I don’t know.” Brian shifts his eyes away and runs his fingers through his short blond hair. “I just– I don’t– ugh, fuck. I just really don’t know what to do or say right now. This is the first time I’ve had a stranger in my place. Honestly speaking, I’m not really keen on talking to strangers at all unless I’m getting paid for it. I guess you could say I’m not much of a people-person.”

Now a look of incredulity graces Justin’s features which— Brian has only come to realize— are softer than his. “Unless you’re getting paid for it?” The taller man repeats, his brows knitted in a frown.

Brian just stares back at him.

Until he realizes he just laid out a fucking private detail about his life to a total stranger. And not just any stranger, his goddamn soulmate.

“You’re an escort?” Justin pries.

Brian could feel a trickle of sweat running down his back. It’s too early for him to be perspiring but being put on the spot is never a convenient position for him to be in. And he sweats easily so that’s a wretched bonus. First impressions last after all and based on where this conversation is going, all he could estimate is that he’s coming off as a stuttering killjoy who sells his body because he couldn’t get a decent job. The latter isn’t exactly close to the accuracy of his lifestyle though. Being an escort is more of a choice, not an essential to his financial status.

“Y-Yes…?” He tries with a slight cringe. “But you know, drag is like my actual job. Being an escort is just… you know, whatever.” He ends it with a shrug that should have gone off as a casual one but it ends up being a bit stiff and twitchy.

Justin nods thoughtfully but doesn’t say anything else about the matter much to Brian’s appreciation. He’s awfully quiet and reserved compared to the whimsical and lewd Alaska he had portrayed last night. It pretty much broke the illusion to Brian but he couldn’t find it in himself to like him any less.

“Well anyway,” Justin sighs after taking another desperate-sounding sip from his glass. “thank you for taking care of me. And I really am sorry about all this. To make it up to you, why don’t you and other Brian come over to our place this Saturday night? Aaron and I will make you something nice for dinner. Or maybe we’ll just order takeout. It depends.”

“Oh, I don’t want to be a bother—”

“Bitch you can’t be any more of a bother than I have been to you.” This time, a light good-natured smile tugs the corners of Justin’s lips. “We’ve never invited Brian to our place before so it’ll be fun. Like a cozy double date.”

A double date?

Brian flushes at the implication. “Bri and I aren’t dating if that’s what you think.”

Justin laughs and the sound does embarrassing tingles and flickers in Brian’s chest. “You think I didn’t know about you asking him for nudes?”

Oh! That’s fantastic! Brian makes a mental note to add Bri to his list of future murder victims.

“Well excuse me for living free. I thought I was in America.” He jokes in his infamous British accent and Justin laughs some more. Okay, maybe his humiliation is somewhat worth it at the moment. At least Justin isn’t keeping to himself anymore. “But fine, I’ll admit that I did have a crush on Bri once. I never really kept that as a secret from him. He doesn’t see me that way though and that was centuries ago soooo, I’ve moved on.”

“That’s what they all say.” Justin says with a lethargic grin. “I’m willing to play Cupid, you know. I love setting people up.”

The irony of this situation must be so entertaining to Lady Fate.

“I don’t think there’s anything you can do that would make Bri see me as anything more than a friend.” Brian chuckles in disbelief at the thought of Bri being actually attracted to him. First of all, Bri doesn’t want to date anyone who smokes and Brian doesn’t plan on stopping his smoking habits anytime soon. And another thing, Bri wouldn’t shut up about their 8-year age gap and constantly brags about how nice it is to be young as if Brian never went through his age.

“So yeah, you don’t have to.” He tries but Justin shakes his head.

“There’s no need to be so humble about it. I’ll see what I can do.” He then takes his things back to his arms. “It’ll be a stress-free night so relax.” He stops for a second before asking. “Do you do coke?”

Brian blinks. “I’m more of a Red Bull kind of guy.”

Justin offers him a look of what it seems to be a combination of bewilderment and disbelief for a second or two before it melts into another laugh. Brian doesn’t really know what it is that he finds funny but he smiles back anyway. He could just watch him laugh and smile all day for all he cares. Justin shakes his head and lets out a pleased sigh.

“You’re cute, Brian.”

Whatever his words were after that just went flying over Brian’s head because the first ones are what froze him on his spot.

Justin thinks he’s cute.

He finds him cute.

‘Cute’ isn’t the exactly the first impression he’s going for but fuck, he’ll take it.

Now he really is a schoolboy bitch.

A knock on the door yanks him back to reality and Brian realizes that Justin has gone back to his bedroom; probably to get his things. Another knock ensues and he doesn’t waste any more time standing around. He hurries over to the door and pulls it open without checking who it is.

Standing just from the other side is some bespectacled blond dude Brian has never seen before. There are faded traces of smudged eyeliner over both of his lower lash lines and his brows have been shaved off. He looks restless and strangely surprised by Brian which doesn’t make sense since he’s been knocking on the door. What else did he think is going to happen?

“Can I help you?” Brian asks politely anyway.

The stranger eyes him up and down, the look of discomfort now edging away as a smile graces his lips. “Are you Brian?”

“Yeah…?”

“It’s me, Sharon Needles. Or Aaron if you want to be casual.”

Oh. Damn. Could have fooled him.

He sort of pictured Sharon Needles to be the gothy kind of person outside of his drag. The person standing before him now is far from what he had imagined. Aside from the smudged eyeliner which he had evidently failed to completely wipe off, Aaron looks so clean and… bookish with those thick frames, a white sleeveless The Simpsons shirt, a pair of old jeans, and sneakers. There’s a welcoming softness in his eyes and he’s not ghostly white either. His skin has a pinkish glow, making him more human than the queen he portrays.

“Is Justin there?” Aaron asks, trying to peek over Brian’s shoulder.

“Oh yeah, yeah, totally.” Brian steps aside and pulls the door further open. “He’s just getting his things. I thought you were gonna be here in like half an hour.”

“Yeah, funny thing about that.” Aaron smiles at him, scratching his cheek as he takes a step into the apartment. “We actually only live next door.” He juts his thumb over to the wall beside him and Brian’s eyes follow the direction.

His jaw goes slack for a second.

“Seriously?”

“I’m serious!” Aaron lets out a light laugh. “What are the odds of that, am I right?”

Brian just stares at the wall, dumbfounded.

Are you there, Lady Fate? It’s me, Brian.

Fuck you.

–

Brian seems like a pretty fidgety guy, Justin thinks. He clearly isn’t comfortable with any kind of silence at all. Justin wouldn’t have minded just lounging in his living room without the unnecessary small talk until he finds the courage to call Aaron but Brian looks so perpetually anxious that he couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for the guy. At least he now knows he didn’t sleep with him. None of this would have happened if he had listened to Aaron last night and accepted the fact that he was just being paranoid.

Remembering Aaron, Justin draws in a sharp breath and lets it out before bending down to pick up his boots that have been neatly placed beside the bed. It’s already a given that he’s the one who’s supposed to apologize first no matter how much he would prefer not to. The only way anybody could make Aaron apologize first is by holding their cat, Cerrone, hostage.

Justin hugs his things close to his chest and slides his eyes closed, his head still aching.

He hates fighting with Aaron.

He hates how determined they both are just to prove their point.

He hates how he’s always the first one to raise his voice.

He hates how Aaron would walk out in the middle of an argument.

He just hates what’s happening to them and so far, he hasn’t been doing anything to make things better. He just… lets it happen. He’s watching their relationship crumble right before his eyes. Everything was just so simple back then. He misses waking up in the morning to Aaron planting kisses all over his face. He misses tugging him to bed in the dead of the night whenever the blond would find himself too fixated on his designs. He misses the way Aaron kisses his cheek at the most unexpected times, especially when he’s in a very cheerful mood.

But now, all they do is yell at each other and when they’re not doing that, they would be walking on eggshells just to avoid a fight that will most likely burst out of nowhere.

Justin knows he’s at fault here. He’s too emotional. He lets things affect him too easily. While his boyfriend is attractively sure of himself, Justin is still in his little corner of self-doubt and paranoia. And he’s just dragging Aaron down with him.

So why is Aaron still putting up with him?

Because he loves me, Justin mentally assures himself. And I love him.

And just like that, the familiar light feeling of home swells in his chest and he opens his eyes.

He needs to makes things right again. He loves Aaron. God, he loves him so much that the thought of losing him is completely unimaginable. There’s no one else out there for him but that gorgeous and insane genius.

Suddenly hearing voices from the outside of the bedroom, Justin briskly grabs his bag and shoves his clothes and his wig inside before peeking out just in time to find Brian closing the front door. Aaron is standing nearby, his eyes wandering around the apartment until they settle on him. The moment their gazes lock, Justin is immediately engaged in a trance. Just seeing him again after their fight last night makes him want to run to his arms, give his own ego a big ‘fuck you’ and apologize for everything— promise him that he won’t be a hysterical brat anymore.

Then Aaron smiles at him.

And Justin is more certain than before that he’s fallen so fucking hard.

“I’m so sorry about last night.” He finally says in that usual embarrassed tone he adopts whenever he apologizes.

Aaron laughs and walks up to him, his hand coming up to tug him out of the bedroom. Much to Justin’s surprise, the blond gives him a soft kiss on the lips. “I should be sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone there. That was really shitty of me.”

“But I ruined the night.”

“You weren’t feeling well, baby. Many people might refuse to believe it, but you’re only human.”

Justin fights back the impulse to cry at how understanding Aaron is being right now. Their fights don’t normally end like this. It had always been fight, fight, fight, apologize, fuck, then fight some more. Maybe Aaron realized how often they’ve been yelling at each other recently and is determined to makes things right as well. If that’s the case, then perhaps they can do this together and everything will be back to normal.

“I love you so much.” Justin couldn’t stop himself from saying as he drops his things on the floor and pulls his boyfriend closer for another kiss. He feels Aaron’s lips curving to a smile against his and his hands resting over both sides of his waist. He really misses this— the kisses that actually mean something and not brought out just because they’re getting frisky in the bedroom. His heart flickers and his skin tingles, utterly intoxicated by their kiss.

Until the spell was broken by a single voice.

“Get a room, you two.” Brian’s voice tears them both away from their much needed contact and Justin looks up to find Brian still standing near the front door. “No seriously, your room is like literally next door.” He adds with a light-humored smile creeping up his lips as he juts his thumb to the right.

Aaron grins. “Whoops, sorry. Almost gave you a free show there. That wouldn’t be fair to those who actually pay to watch us.” He then bends down to pick Justin’s things up.

Justin, on the other hand, is somewhat flustered at how Brian just witnessed a moment of theirs. “Sorry, Brian.” But after digesting his new friend’s words more, he furrows his brows in confusion and looks at Aaron. “What did he mean by our room being literally next door?”

“We live next door.” Aaron points out.

Justin’s eyes widen in genuine surprise. “Really?” He exclaims in a pitch higher than his usual voice, accidentally letting out some of his Alaska persona in his reaction. He directs his gaze at Brian who nods at him in confirmation. Now Justin feels like an idiot. He shifts his eyes to the wall with a troubled pout. “The walls are so thin though… “

Brian is quick to pick up on his insinuation and chuckles awkwardly. “Oh my god…” 

Aaron laughs as he takes Justin’s wrist and tugs him to the front door before pausing near Brian. “Don’t worry, darling. Our noises are actually very sexy so feel free to jack off to our sounds whenever you want.”

Humiliated heat rushes up Justin’s cheeks as he quickly slaps Aaron’s arm. “You’re so damn lewd.”

“Oh I’ll definitely rub my nipples until I get these bad boys to lactate.” Brian snickers and Aaron hoots at that.

“You two are a mess.” Justin shakes his head, but he could feel an amused smile stretching his lips. He reaches for the doorknob and pulls the door open before hurriedly nudging his boyfriend out, not wanting to be any more of a bother to Brian.

“Ow, so handsy.” He hears Aaron mutter but Justin pays him no mind as he turns to face Brian.

“I’m so sorry again for the inconvenience. Let me know if you’re still up for Saturday night.”

Brian stands by the door and smiles at him. He really has a nice smile, Justin finds.

“Yeah, I’ll think about it. Take care.”

“You too.”