#to it (but also if a fae were to want my full name they’d need it cause people I care about call me it)

[trash-bin-ary]

You can ignore this post it means nothing functionally just need to yell my thoughts out of my brain

Ahhhhh brain blinding grrrr if you’re gonna make figuring out this system stuff hard you could at least have it not affect my gender, cause like that’s gotta be what this is why else would it switch so much on what name it prefers grrrr stick with thinking theyre both great not erm actually that one isn’t the vibe rn, literally another part of me was like yippee and a week or 2 earlier I was sure that was the name I preferred even hmmmm grumble grumble

[descendantsramblings]

Hi! I was just wondering if I could request a fic for hook where he like sees like a crocodile and has like a panic attack and reader comforts him?

Of course baby, I’m going with a gender neutral reader since you didn’t specify, I hope that’s okay

I also did my absolute best not to romanticize panic attacks but if it comes off that way please let me know. I have another request for one and I want to improve on being as respectful as possible with things like this. As a writer and a human person.

Eyes on Me

James Hook x Animal-Talent Fairy! Reader

Pronouns used: they/them/theirs

Summary: The day had started so cozy, how were they to know that he’d react to one of their interests like that?

Warnings: panic attack, mentions of animal attacks, they're in swimsuits (Hook is shirtless, mentions the reader’s skin being exposed on their waist), Reader isn't fully thinking with their head pre-panic attack and that's okay because Hook likes it, use of pet names (it’s me writing so you expect that though)

Word count: 2.4K

        It was extremely rare for the Jolly Roger to be away from its dock without a full crew. Mainly due to the fact that it was dangerous, a ship needed a crew the same way it needed deep waters. Captain Hook was no fool, he would never put his ship or himself in direct danger like that. Which is what made the day so special. It was so rare in fact, that it had never happened before. Not before the Captain became extremely smitten with a Neverland fairy anyway.  And perhaps, the way they looked at him made it seem less like he was putting his ship in danger. After all, he was staying close to home, they’d be back by nightfall, how bad could it get? Standing there watching the fae across the deck sunbathe in a swimsuit leaving little to his imagination as they cut him small, adoring looks, he knew he’d made the right choice. He might, despite his better judgment, make this choice again if it means getting to be in this position. 

    “You enjoying yourself, Love?” He chuckles, feeling the way that his partner’s eyes were drinking him in. With the way they stared, you’d think Hook was the one who should have been more cautious when they met. Like he was in danger, a hunk of meat being eaten by hungry eyes. Of course, that was his intent and purpose when he’d offered up going swimming, knowing a great little island just off the coast of Neverland that would let them be on a beach all alone. He fed off the attention, off of being genuinely wanted. Of course, he knew he was attractive, he gained most things he wanted by using that to his advantage. But for the hungry look to come from a dove instead of a vulture? He hadn’t been quite used to that before, he still wasn’t. It was a welcome feeling though, something safe pooling in the risk of it all. 

    They give him a soft hum, eyes raking over his exposed chest before locking on his amused smirk. Sliding their sunglasses to rest on the top of their head so he would be left with no question as to where they were looking. “Oh yeah, the best time.” He recognizes the tone and his lip finds its way between his teeth as a gentle heat rises to his cheeks. Shaking his head as he tears his eyes from the fairy on his ship to the sea before them. “Are you blushing, Captain?” A scoff, one which comes out much faker than he’d intended, leaves his lips, “It’s just the sun. Getting a touch burned.” Delicate hands dip into a beach bag beside them before (Y/n) idles up beside their lover, a bottle of sunscreen in their grasp. “Well that simply won’t do. Mind if I help you?” James shakes his head with a chuckle, “Go ahead, Love.” 

    (Y/n)’s fingers work in gentle, smooth circles as they put a new coat of sunscreen on James’ face. Moving down to reapply the cream to his shoulders and back. Using soft and ghost like touches, you’d barely know they were even applying something to him. Humming a song he couldn’t quite recognize as they work him over with the lotion. And he was eating it up. Was affection always supposed to feel this good? Was he meant to be loved gentle? He hoped so, if it meant this would never end then he hoped so. “Can you get your own chest, James?” He hums, tossing them a smirk over his shoulder, “I could, surely. But where’s the fun in that?” It catches him a weak and playful smack to the back before he hears the bottle hit the ground. Hands wrapping around him with their body painfully close to his, he could feel as their chest moved with the air that entered their lungs. Rubbing sunscreen on the front of his torso in an innocent way that still had his breath catching in his throat. “Your touch is magic.” 

   It earns him a playful giggle, the sound was almost a soft jingle, more like bells than vocal chords. “Most things about me are magic, Captain.” He lets go of the wheel for a moment, turning around to face them. A smirk plays on his lips as his hands plant themselves on the exposed skin of their waist. “Ah yes, my little fae,” he leans into them, lips brushing the shell of their ear as he whispers in it, “Though you seem to be more entertained by acting as a siren today. Very hard to concentrate when you act like that.”  (Y/n) pulls back, placing a quick kiss to their lover’s lips  with a giggle. “You ought to get better at concentrating then, Captain. Imagine how dangerous it would be for you out here if a real siren came along.” His eyes roll, waving them off as he turns back to his steering wheel. “You need to go somewhere.” “I am, you’re taking me somewhere, remember?” The teasing tone makes not turning back to his partner a fight, the boy’s eyes narrowing as he forces them to stay focused on the sea. “(Y/n), I beg of you, go entertain yourself so I can get us where we’re trying to go. You’re making me understand why pirates never go out without their crews.” 

    It doesn’t take a genius to know that he’s playing with them. James Hook was one of the clingiest men to ever exist- if he wasn’t already the clingiest one to exist. He didn’t genuinely take issue with their watchful eyes and needy touches, he was however, extremely flustered. Something that was written across the face that he was weakly attempting to hold a smug look on. If you asked (Y/n), this was the most attractive the boy had ever looked, with his flushed cheeks and twinkling eyes. Still, out of the kindness of their heart, they decide to give him his touch of space, heading over to the side of the boat so they could examine the water. It wasn’t something they’d taken the time to do since joining him on the ship, and they loved the water; more so the creatures that lived in it. They never got the chance to go out this far to see what it had to offer, not until James had made it possible.

    In all their time in Neverland, (Y/n) had never had the chance to see a saltwater crocodile. It was a personal goal of theirs, and of course they had heard the stories of the noisy one by the docks. Everyone had heard the stories of the noisy animal the island had affectionately nicknamed “Tick Tock”, but it hid when they came around. Much to their dismay, they lived for the rush of seeing more dangerous animals, chased the high of adrenaline that came with it. To see an animal that would purposely prey on humans if hungry was the biggest high the animal-talent could think of. They’d never gotten to deal with an animal that genuinely saw them as prey and the idea of it was exhilarating. Once Hook had joked that’s what his appeal had been to them, something they playfully refused to confirm or deny. Now, with their closeness to the shore of the island he was dragging them to, they shouldn’t have been shocked to see the creature. Still it didn’t stop the excited squeal that escaped their lips as they called for James. Has he ever seen one? It could be an experience for the both of them! This day just kept getting better for the fairy. 

     For Hook though, as his eyes circled in on the scales and sharp calculated eyes he felt like his heart was about to beat out of his chest. How big was that thing? Twenty three feet? They had mentioned that’s how big the animal could get while gushing about it once. Of course, he probably just thought that because the thing was huge. He could only hope that it was as big as it could get. God, what if it was just a baby? His arm suddenly felt numb, pins and needles filling where his hand used to be while his good hand was trembling. Was another bigger one waiting behind this thing? It was all he could see, this thing was going to kill him. Kill them. No way he got out easily this time. He lucked up to only lose a hand the last time it came near him. This was the end. No way this wasn’t the end. His breath was caught in his throat, good hand grasping at his neck as if it could help him draw air in. Hook timidly took a few steps back, his mouth fell open to speak but it closed right back. No words could get through if air barely could. But he wanted his lover away from that thing. He wanted them safe, that thing was in no ways safe. 

    “James?” They look at him with soft, scared eyes, a frown written tightly across their lips. “James, what is it?” He shakes his head so fast it makes him dizzy, (Y/n) rushing forward to help stabilize him and bring him to sit down on the deck of the ship before he could fall to it. Wild, worried eyes work the boy over, falling onto his hook. They trace his arm back up to his eyes, watching the way his eyes jump between the golden metal and the edge of the ship. They suddenly felt like an idiot. Of course James has seen one before, he was attacked by one before. How could they ever forget something that important? Their heart fell into their stomach as they stood up, softly whispering to him that they would be right back before they make it back to the side of the boat. 

   A soft wave of their left hand brings a golden glow to surround their fingers. “You sir, need to leave,” their hand points out to the creature in the water below them. “You are greatly upsetting the Captain,” they turn their hand and the animal goes with it, “Don’t you want to go sunbathe? It’s so warm today.” They watch as the creature slinks off, slow and steady movements dragging it up onto the sand of the beach. Leaving an indented path in the sand it left behind. With him gone, they’re right back to their boyfriend. Falling to their bare knees with a loud knocking sound as they softly grab his face. “Hey, let’s get those eyes on me, yeah? He’s gone, I got rid of him, I promise. You’re safe, Honey. You’re so so safe.” Thumbs rub his cheeks as his wild and terrified eyes jump back and forth between looking into each of his lover’s gentle ones. “It’s gone, Honey. Nothing is going to hurt you. I’ve got you, I won’t let any animal hurt you again. It’s okay. Get those eyes on me.” 

    His hand is still clawing his neck as his eyes settle on theirs and the fairy reaches down to grab it. “That’s enough of that. You’re hurting yourself. You can breathe, I know you can. You wanna try with me?” He gives them a weak, measly nod, eyes finally locking in on the ones he’d learned to call home. “Okay good. Breath in. One, two, three, four.” He follows the command, though the way his chest expands with it is nearly a searing pain, muscles rigid and tight with fear. “Out now. One, two, three, four.” James isn’t positive about how many times they repeat the two commands. (Y/n) talking him through every slow and steady breath he takes until his shoulders relax and he feels like the air is entering his lungs all on its own. Not letting up on him until his breathing is clear and his eyes are less watery. “Hey,” they smile, letting go of his hand to wipe the few tears that made their escape from his eyes. “There you are, there’s my boy.”

     He slumps forward onto their shoulder, nearly exhausted from the ordeal and they hold him. One hand wrapping around his shoulders as the other softly cards through his hair. “Hey,” they coo, pressing a few kisses to his bare shoulder as they tug him ever so slightly closer. “I’m,” he finally finds his voice, letting out a sigh as he nuzzles against them, “I’m sorry you had to see me like that. I know seeing one of those was a big deal to you. I didn’t mean to ruin it.” (Y/n) all but scoffs, pulling him up to look at their face. “James Hook, you have nothing to apologize to me for.” “But I-” “Nothing.” They set to peppering his cheeks with soft kisses, playing with his hair as they do. “I should have kept it to myself. I wasn’t thinking about you when I saw it, I just got excited. I never should have called you over there to look at that thing. I’m sorry.” They shake their head, kissing his nose, “I’m so sorry.” James hums, pulling himself up to his feet before helping them to theirs. “It’s okay. It’s okay, I’m okay.” He hopes it’s convincing, but the way his eyes flicker around deceives him. The boy was clearly terrified, and it made them feel awful. 

    “I sent it to the beach, so maybe we should turn around, head back home.” He frowns, wrapping his arms back around their waist and leaning into the warmth of their shoulder. “But, I promised you we’d go swimming, you were so excited. We just got here, that will ruin the whole day for you.” Gentle and loving arms wrap around him, pulling him as close as they can get him. “If we go swimming I’m not going to be able to fly in my fairy form for days from all the water. I was excited about the idea of swimming, but not for the water.” He pulls away to look at them, brows furrowed. What else could they have been excited for if not the water? What else was there to get excited about when it came to swimming? Eyes ghost back over his exposed torso and it clicks, the boy laughing as he tilts their head to look at him. “You are a siren, I hope you know that.” And they laugh, pecking his lips while their hands rest on his chest, “Maybe, but you love it. Plus you’re going to be all gold skinned from the sun for a week after this and it just makes you look so pretty.” His cheeks flush and this time the boy doesn’t try to hide it. “You need to go home and cool down, don’t you? Wanna come learn to steer?” Their eyes light up as they stare at him, “You mean it?”

[kingandfireheart]

Lucien Vanserra Sass Appreciation Post

For more serious Lucien content see my other posts:

What the fuck is happening in the Autumn Court series Part 1 (Eris) and Part 2 (Lady of the Autumn Court)

What stories are left: Lucien

When Lucien introduces himself:

"Lucien," my captor said quietly, the name echoing with a hint of a snarl. "Behave."

Lucien went rigid, but he hopped off the edge of the table and bowed deeply to me. "My apologies, lady." Another joke at my expense. "I'm Lucien. Courtier and emissary." He gestured to me with a flourish. "Your eyes are like stars, and your hair like burnished gold."

When Lucien is intrigued by Feyre:

"Well," Lucien said, his remaining russet eye fixed on me, "you don't look half as bad now. A relief, I suppose, since you're to live with us. Though the tunic isn't as pretty as a dress."

When Lucien wants to know if Feyre thinks he's hot:

"Thank you for the meal," I said. It was all I could think of. "Won't you stay for wine?" Lucien said with sweet venom from where he lounged in his seat. I braced my hands on my chair to rise. "I'm tired. I'd like to sleep." "It's been a few decades since I last saw one of you," Lucien drawled, "but you humans never change, so I don't think I'm wrong in asking why you find our company to be so unpleasant, when surely the men back home aren't much to look at." At the other end of the table, Tamlin gave his emissary a long, warning look. Lucien ignored it. "You're High Fae," I said tightly. "I'd ask why you'd even bother inviting me here at all-or dining with me." Fool-I really should have been killed ten times over already. Lucien said, "True. But indulge me: you're a human woman, and yet you'd rather eat hot coals than sit here longer than necessary. Ignoring this"-he waved a hand at the metal eye and brutal scar on his face-"surely we're not so miserable to look at."

When Feyre leaves their first dinner together:

He gave a distant nod and motioned for me to leave. Dismissed. Like the lowly human I was. Lucien propped his chin on a fist and gave me a lazy half smile. Enough. I got to my feet and backed toward the door. Putting my back to them would have been like walking away from a wolf, sparing my life or no. They said nothing when I slipped out the door. A moment later, Lucien's barking laugh echoed into the halls, followed by a sharp, vicious growl that shut him up.

When Lucien notices Feyre checking him out:

Lucien paused, and I found him smirking at me, making the scar even more brutal. "Were you admiring my sword, or just contemplating killing me, Feyre?"

When Lucien is a sarcastic motherfucker:

“So is this what you do with your lives? Spare humans from the Treaty and have fine meals?” I gave a pointed glance toward Tamlin’s baldric, the warrior’s clothes, Lucien’s sword. Lucien smirked. “We also dance with the spirits under the full moon and snatch human babes from their cradles to replace them with changelings–”

When Lucien describes Amaratha perfectly:

"What happened to the magic to make it act that way?" Lucien let out a harsh laugh. "Something was sent from the shit-holes of Hell," he said, then glanced around and swore. "I shouldn't have said that. If word got back to her-"

When they run into the Boggee:

"I heard its voice in my head. It told me to look." Lucien rolled his shoulders. "Well, thank the Cauldron that you didn't. Cleaning up that mess would have ruined the rest of my day." He gave me a wan smile. I didn't return it.

When he gives Feyre a title:

"Are you a warrior, though?" Would you be able to kill me if it ever came to that? Lucien huffed a laugh. "Not as good as Tam, but I know how to handle my weapons." He patted the hilt of his sword. "Would you like me to teach you how to wield a blade, or do you already know how, oh mighty mortal huntress?

When Lucien just needs someone to spar with:

“Do you ever stop being so serious and dull?" "Do you ever stop being such a prick?" I snapped back. Dead—really, truly, I should have been dead for that. But Lucien grinned at me. "Much better.

When Lucien and Feyre spend quality time together:

Over the next three days, I found myself joining Lucien on Andras's old patrol while Tamlin hunted the grounds for the Bogge, unseen by us. Despite being an occasional bastard, Lucien didn't seem to mind my company, and he did most of the talking, which was fine; it left me to brood over the consequences of firing a single arrow. An arrow. I never fired a single one during those three days we rode along the border. That very morning I'd spied a red doe in a glen and aimed out of instinct, my arrow poised to fly right into her eye as Lucien sneered that she was not a faerie, at least. But I'd stared at her-fat and healthy and content-and then slackened the bow, replaced the arrow in my quiver, and let the doe wander on.

When Lucien diagnoses Faerie problems perfectly:

A brush of ice slithered across my nape. "He would be that brutal?" Lucien studied the wine in his goblet. "You don't hold on to power by being everyone's friend. And among the faeries, lesser and High Fae alike, a firm hand is needed. We're too powerful, and too bored with immortality, to be checked by anything else."

When Lucien is told to Back Off, so he exacts his revenge:

Lucien's russet eye was bright, though the smile he gave me didn't meet it. The face of Tamlin's emissary-more court-trained and calculating than I'd seen him yet. "I'm unavailable today," he said. He jerked his chin to Tamlin. "He'll go with you." Tamlin shot his friend a look of disdain that he took few pains to hide. His usual baldric was armed with more knives than I'd seen before, and their ornate metal handles glinted as he turned to me, his shoulders tight. "Whenever you want to go, just say so." The claws of his free hand slipped back under his skin. No. I almost said it aloud as I turned pleading eyes to Lucien. Lucien merely patted my shoulder as he passed by. "Perhaps tomorrow, human."

When Lucien hides:

"I had to go sort out some hotheads on the northern border-official emissary business," he said, setting down the hunting knife he'd been cleaning, a long, vicious blade. "I got back in time to hear your little spat with Tam, and decided I was safer up here. I'm glad to hear your human heart has warmed to me, though. At least I'm not on the top of your killing list."

When Lucien and Feyre become friends after he tells her how to trap a Suriel:

Another riddle-and another bit of information. I said, "It's a good thing that while you have superior hearing, I possess superior abilities to keep my mouth shut." He snorted as I took the knife from the table and turned to procure the bow from my room. "I think I'm starting to like you-for a murdering human."

When Lucien is day drinking and living his best life:

“Would you like me to grovel with gratitude for bringing me here, High Lord?" "Ah. The Suriel told you nothing important, did it?" That smile of his sparked something bold in my chest. "He also said that you liked being brushed, and if I'm a clever girl, I might train you with treats." Tamlin tipped his head to the sky and roared with laughter. Despite myself, I let out a quiet laugh. "I might die of surprise," Lucien said behind me. "You made a joke, Feyre." I turned to look at him with a cool smile. "You don't want to know what the Suriel said about you." I flicked my brows up, and Lucien lifted his hands in defeat. "I'd pay good money to hear what the Suriel thinks of Lucien," Tamlin said. A cork popped, followed by the sounds of Lucien chugging the bottle's contents and chuckling with a muttered, "Brushed.”

When Lucien is incredibly casual for a guy going to an orgy:

What?”

Lucien laughed. “Yes—all those female faeries around you were females for Tamlin to pick. It’s an honor to be chosen, but it’s his instincts that select her.”

“But you were there—and other male faeries.” My face burned so hot that I began sweating. That was why those three horrible faeries had been there—and they’d thought that just by my presence, I was happy to comply with their plans.

“Ah.” Lucien chuckled. “Well, Tam’s not the only one who gets to perform the rite tonight. Once he makes his choice, we’re free to mingle. Though it’s not the Great Rite, our own dalliances tonight will help the land, too.

When Lucien is the mom friend:

"You look . . . refreshed," Lucien observed with a glance at Tamlin. I shrugged. "Sleep well?" "Like a babe." I smiled as him and took another bite of food, and felt Lucien's eyes travel inexorably to my neck. "What is that bruise?" Lucien demanded. I pointed my fork to Tamlin. "Ask him, he did it." Lucien looked from Tamlin to me and then back again. "Why does Feyre have a bruise on her neck from you?" he asked with no small amount of amusement.

When Lucien loves drama:

"Accountable?" I sputtered, placing my hands flat on the table. "You cornered me in the hall like a wolf with a rabbit!" Lucien propped an arm on the table and covered his mouth with his hand, his russet eye bright. "While I might not have been myself, Lucien and I both told you to stay in your room," Tamlin said, so calmly that I wanted to rip out my hair. I couldn't help it. Didn't even try to fight the red-hot temper that razed my senses. "Faerie pig!" I yelled, and Lucien howled, almost tipping back in his chair. At the sight of Tamlin's growing smile, I left.

When Lucien bolts:

“I had to keep my hands clenched at my sides to avoid wiping my sweaty palms on the skirts of my gown as I reached the dining room, and immediately contemplated bolting upstairs and changing into a tunic and pants. But I knew they’d already heard me, or smelled me, or used whatever heightened senses they had to detect my presence, and since fleeing would only make it worse, I found it in myself to push open the double doors.

Whatever discussion Tamlin and Lucien had been having stopped, and I tried not to look at their wide eyes as I strode to my usual place at the end of the table.

“Well, I’m late for something incredibly important,” Lucien said, and before I could call him on his outright lie or beg him to stay, the fox-masked faerie vanished.

When Feyre goes to a party:

"Cauldron boil me," Lucien whistled as I came down the stairs. "She looks positively Fae." ...

I squared my shoulders, disinclined to let him see how much his words or voice or sheer well-being impacted me. Not yet. "I'm surprised I'm even allowed to participate tonight." "Unfortunately for you and your neck," Lucien countered, "tonight's just a party." "Do you lie awake at night to come up with all your witty replies for the following day?" Lucien winked at me, and Tamlin laughed and offered me his arm. "He's right,"....

"So there's singing and dancing and excessive drinking," Lucien chimed in, falling into step beside me. "And dallying," he added with a wicked grin.

When Lucien plays a prank:

"I also remember you telling me how witchberries were harmless, and the next thing I knew, I was half-delirious and falling all over myself," I said, recalling the afternoon from a few weeks ago. I'd had hallucinations for hours afterward, and Lucien had laughed himself sick-enough so that Tamlin had chucked him into the reflection pool...."

When Feyre gets drunk of Faerie Wine:

“Tam would gut me if he caught you drinking that.”

“Always looking after your best interests,” I said, and pointedly chugged the contents of the glass. It was like a million fireworks exploding inside me, filling my veins with starlight. I laughed aloud, and Lucien groaned.

“Human fool,” he hissed.

But his glamour had been ripped away. His auburn hair burned like hot metal, and his russet eye smoldered like a bottomless forge. That was what I would capture next.

“I’m going to paint you,” I said, and giggled—actually giggled—as the words popped out.

"Cauldron boil and fry me,” he muttered, and I laughed again.”

When Lucien is hungover and third-wheeling:

Lucien kept rubbing at his temples as he ate, unusually silent, and I hid my smile as I asked him, “And where were you last night?” Lucien’s metal eye narrowed on me. “I’ll have you know that while you two were dancing with the spirits, I was stuck on border patrol.” Tamlin gave a pointed cough, and Lucien added, “With some company.” He gave me a sly grin. “Rumor has it you two didn’t come back until after dawn.” I glanced at Tamlin, biting my lip. I’d practically floated into my bedroom that morning. But Tamlin’s gaze now roved my face as if searching for any tinge of regret, of fear. Ridiculous. “You bit my neck on Fire Night,” I said under my breath. “If I can face you after that, a few kisses are nothing.” He braced his forearms on the table as he leaned closer to me. “Nothing?” His eyes flicked to my lips. Lucien shifted in his seat, muttering to the Cauldron to spare him, but I ignored him. “Nothing,” I repeated a bit distantly, watching Tamlin’s mouth move, so keenly aware of every movement he made, resenting the table between us. I could almost feel the warmth of his breath. “Are you sure?” he murmured, intent and hungry enough that I was glad I was sitting. He could have had me right there, on top of that table. I wanted his broad hands running over my bare skin, wanted his teeth scraping against my neck, wanted his mouth all over me. “I’m trying to eat,” Lucien said.”

When Lucien drops one of the best lines in the book:

"I see," I lied, not quite seeing at all. Lucien chuckled, sensing it, and I glared sidelong at him. "You've been noticeably absent again." He used the dagger to clean his nails. "I've been busy. So have you, I take it." "What's that supposed to mean?" I demanded. "If I offer you the moon on a string, will you give me a kiss, too?"

When Lucien doesn't know what is coming in the future:

Downstairs, Lucien snorted at the sight of me. "Those clothes are enough to convince me I never want to enter the human realm." "I'm not sure the human realm would know what to do with you," I said. Lucien's smile was edged, his shoulders tight as he gave a sharp look behind me to where Tam was waiting in front of a gilded carriage. When he turned back, that metal eye narrowed. "I thought you were smarter than this."

When Lucien admires Feyre's attitude:

“Don’t you understand what Rhys is?” “I do!” I barked, then sighed. “I do,” I repeated, and glared at the eye in my palm. “It’s done with. So you needn’t hold to whatever oath you swore to Tamlin to protect me—or feel like you owe me anything for saving you from Amarantha. I would have done it just to wipe the smirk off your brothers’ faces.” Lucien clicked his tongue, but his remaining russet eye shone. “I’m glad to see you didn’t sell your lively human spirit or stubbornness to Rhys.”

When Lucien is a fashionista:

Lucien had gifted both to me—the dagger during the months before Amarantha, the belt in the weeks after her downfall, when I’d carried the dagger, along with many others, everywhere I went. You might as well look good if you’re going to arm yourself to the teeth, he’d said.

When game recognize game

“Cursebreaker,” some murmured. “Blessed,” others whispered.

I made a show of looking surprised—surprised and yet accepting of the Cauldron’s choice. Tamlin’s face was taut with shock, the Hybern royals’ nothing short of baffled.

But I turned to Lucien, my light radiating so brightly that it bounced off his metal eye. A friend beseeching another for help. I reached a hand toward him.

Beyond us, I could feel Ianthe scrambling to regain control, to find some way to spin it.

Perhaps Lucien could, too. For he took my hand, and then knelt upon one knee in the grass, pressing my fingers to his brow.

When Lucien is scared of Amren:

“I think Amren would probably deny that she feels any affection for us—”

“Amren is a bedtime story they told us as younglings to make us behave. Amren was who would drink my blood and carry me to hell if I acted out of line. And yet there she was, acting more like a cranky old aunt than anything.”

“We don’t—we don’t enforce protocol and rank here.”

“Obviously. Rhys lives in a town house, by the Cauldron.” He waved an arm to encompass the city.

When Lucien is a little murderous:

“You’re working with that prick,” Cassian cut in, whatever catching-up now over, apparently. He moved to Mor’s side, a hand on her back. He shook his head at Azriel and Rhys, disgust curling his lip. “You should have spiked Eris’s fucking head to the front gates.”

Azriel only watched them with that icy indifference. But Lucien crossed his arms, leaning against the back of the couch. “I have to agree with Cassian. Eris is a snake.”

When Lucien volunteers to go on a quest:

“You will be going into the human territory,” Rhys warned. “I can’t spare a force to guard you—”

“I don’t need one. I travel faster on my own.” His chin lifted. “I will find her. And if there’s an army to bring back, or at least some way for her own story to sway the human forces … I’ll find a way to do that, too.”

My friends glanced to each other. Mor said, “It will be—very dangerous.”

A half smile curved Lucien’s mouth. “Good. It’d be boring otherwise.

When Lucien makes a friend

“Not for long—not if Vassa has anything to do with it.”

“You sound like an acolyte.”

Lucien blushed, glancing at Elain. “She’s got a foul temper and a fouler mouth.” He cut me a wry look. “You’ll get along just fine.”

[greensaplinggrace]

What Is There To Celebrate About the Darkling? (Part 4)

1 2 3 4

He’s calculating but impulsive. Gentle yet firm. Stubborn and adaptive. Just a real mess of contradictions that makes him all the more interesting.

He loves nature. He loves the forest.

Fond of luxuries and nice things. After growing up as he did, I think he deserves them.

Very socially awkward. Introvert just trying his best. Anything that isn’t manipulation and therefore something he’s planned in his head is just a social train wreck waiting to happen.

The way he pushes up Alina’s sleeve when they first meet. This man had zero compunctions about acting completely unprofessionally in front of his soldiers and I think that’s very sexy of him.

He’s constantly tired and exasperated with the people around him.

The way he says “quiet” with the softest voice imaginable and a room full of laughter instantly goes silent.

He had no interest in Elizaveta even though she was utterly obsessed with him and I think that’s hilarious.

Elizaveta: I have a plan to resurrect the Darkling Everybody Else: Oh the Darkling is so evil for trying to come back! The Darkling, who just wants a nap and is sick of this mortal bullshit: Why am I even here? This is such a pain in the ass. I should have killed Elizaveta when I had the chance.

How he asks if Alina “will have” his name like a man proposing.

Has his bedroom attached to the war room.

Constantly checking up on Alina just to know how she’s doing. Never pushing her beyond her limits as she’s training.

Very creative with his shadows and the extent of their abilities. So many of the ways he uses his powers are genius.

His ending in RoW is a tragedy and an injustice. He deserves better.

This old man pouting at Alina in episode seven as he says “please, I just want to talk to you 🥺”

There is a black kefta made for Alina after like two days in the Little Palace. He really was already planning their entire immortal futures together as Mr. and Mrs. Starkov wasn’t he?

His bed is covered in maps and notes when he’s plotting how to find Alina. Also before that, the way he’s poring over the notes at his desk and giving orders is 👌🥵

Him acting like a real General at all is simply amazing.

The fact that he trusts Luda with his life. That they have a whole intimidation routine set up around him purposefully getting himself fatally injured knowing she’ll heal him.

He looks like a vampire in the show and a fae in the books.

His favorite ABBA song is probably “Lay All Your Love On Me.”

Looks composed but that’s only a façade. Is actually an unhinged feral terror of pain and misery.

That scene where he tells the king she will remain in the Little Palace to train undisturbed and he puts his foot down. ON THE RED CARPET. the king’s carpet. and uses a commanding voice that’s just on the edge of an order…I’m surprised he didn’t get flogged for that. IMO nothing conveys the fine line he walks with those in power while wielding his own like this scene. Literally he should just be celebrated for this alone.

“‘Why won’t you leave me alone?’ I whispered one night as he hovered behind me while I tried to work at my desk. Long minutes passed. I didn’t think he would answer. I even had time to hope he might have gone, until I felt his hand on my shoulder. “Then I’d be alone, too,” he said, and he stayed the whole night through, till the lamps burned down to nothing.

Trapped a bunch of Saints in the Shadow Fold like a true amoral disaster villain. What an icon.

His barely concealed amusement and half hidden smile when Alina comes to put his kefta on. The way he finds Alina utterly hilarious and tries so hard to act like he doesn’t.

That small amused smile when Alina jokes about finding Volcra hilarious. Please he’s so adorable 😭

“‘I know what you feel when you’re with the tracker,’ he said. ‘I doubt that’ He gave a dismissive wave.” - My Malarklina obsessed self, vibrating at the edge of my seat: but what does it mean?!?

Mal and the Darkling’s entire fight in the Fold: dumbass on dumbass violence.

The way he stands with his back turned to Alina when she enters his tent the first time they meet and then does the slowest Godfather turn in history. 1999/10 - points removed for a criminal lack of cat petting.

“I may lead the second army, but the king is still the king.” - the delivery of that line. the implications, the history behind it and also the foreshadowing for his plans.

That slow turn face reveal in episode one though. Like okay we get it you’re pretty alkjsdflkj

Confused Old Man Face™ whenever Mal or Alina do anything remotely defiant in his presence.

How he tells Alina to come closer and she only takes the tiniest step and he doesn’t even react.

His little head cock whenever someone says or does something that just doesn’t vibe with him.

Darklina tumblr has now convinced me that the Darkling is a cat in human form.

“You’re an amplifier,” she said. He glanced at where Sylvi was pouncing on another helpless tree, oblivious, and gave a single, frightened nod. How could he have been so stupid? He would have to tell his mother now, and she would insist that they leave right away. If word got out, they’d both be in danger. Amplifiers were rare, hard to find, harder to hunt. Their lives would be forfeit. Even if they got away, word would spread. He could already hear his mother’s voice: Foolish, careless, callous. If you don’t value your own life, show some concern for mine. Annika touched his sleeve. “It’s okay,” she said. “I won’t tell.” Panic crowded in. He shook his head. She slid her hand into his. It was hard not to pull away. He should. He was breaking his mother’s fundamental rule for keeping them both alive. Never let them touch you, she’d warned him. - 😥 I just want to give him a hug all the time.

His strangled shout when Mal tackles him off of the skiff.

His smile when he’s summoning the sun. The expression on his face when he does so. Like I know I’ve mentioned this before but damn. If you ever needed a reason to celebrate him, this would be it.

“Shame, I’ll have to give that speech again now.”

The way he flips Mal over his shoulder in the Fold after Mal attempts to strangle him.

His little lecture on the Small Science to Alina when they’re going to meet the King. Info dump.

“You make it sound so easy.” “A bird makes flight look easy. But it was born to do so.”

When Alina looks at him for guidance on whether or not to remove her veil and he gives her a small nod.

The handhold in the throne room after Alina’s demonstration is absolutely precious, but it’s in a room full of people he should be keeping up a façade for and it’s so unwarranted and yet he does it anyway, I’m-

The way he says “welcome home, Ms. Starkov,” in the most tender voice I’ve ever heard and then goes “ok that’s enough emotions for one day” and then just straight up leaves without even a goodbye.

He has his symbol?? Sewn into Alina’s kefta??? bRo???!?!

Disaster Simp never gets tired of introducing Alina to other people or talking about how she’s the best thing that ever walked this earth.

The Darkling lying: honestly

“I have devoted my life to undoing the great sin of my forebearer, but I am never seen as the solution. Only as a reminder of the problem.” Sasha you were literally the problem. What a manipulative little shit. We love to see it.

The way he closes his eyes and kisses the coin before he makes a wish at the wishing well.

“I think the Grand Palace is the ugliest building I’ve ever seen.” - I love him your honor.

This man has the most intense lines for Alina. Like straight up I would have booked it when he said “you and I are going to change the world”. But then the head grab?! “I’ve been waiting a long time for you.” He’s so intense like sir can you tone it down a bit please I am begging you.

“I shall be right by your side.” / “We can do anything. Together.” / “For us.” / “You cannot do this on your own. And neither can I” / “I want you to know my name. The name I was given, not the title I took for myself. Will you have it, Alina?” - WEDDING VOWS

That scene in the war room when Alina comes to find him and he instantly drops his guard and lowers his arms and welcomes her with a soft voice.

“Am I bothering you?” “Not at all.” - girl you could be stabbing him in the chest and you still wouldn’t be bothering him.

This whipped disaster sounds like the proudest man on the planet when he talks about how much more his enemies fear Alina over him.

His shadows react to his emotions.

“YoUr’E nOt IvAn.” asjlkdfjs god he’s so embarrassing.

Local Dark Lord Sasha offering Alina the throne after she literally tries to kill him.

He gets so jealous of Mal.

Has a great relationship with his soldiers and his men. His men trust him implicitly and believe him to be an amazing general.

When he turns around after Alina puts the kefta on him and looks flustered/has to take a breath because she’s a lot closer than he expected. The way he’s breathless and literally can’t string a sentence together because he’s so distracted by her closeness.

His jokes are absolutely terrible.

GF: *jokes about throwing herself down the stairs to get out of an event* Sasha “no thoughts head empty only Alina” Morozova: haha I’d just have my healers heal you right back up again.

How genuinely touched he is by Alina admitting to wanting to help Grisha and Ravkans.

That scene in Demon in the Woods when he notices the intricate details of the politics in the Grisha camp after one meeting with the Elders. He has the Ulle pegged almost instantly.

Born to be a leader. Born to take care of others. Born to protect. Even in Demon in the Woods he’s protecting people. Even in Demon in the Woods he’s leading them and caring for them.

The way he cups his hands around Alina’s face when they’re kissing.

This man gets so starstruck by Alina walking into the Fete that he doesn’t even excuse himself from the King’s side to go to her.

Long haired Aleksander rights!

Ok I know the wig was kind of ugly but he looks pretty with long hair and I think it would look very good on him naturally.

The way he slams his hands together in the Winter Fete scene and instantly turns the room pitch black.

Literally any times he summons shadows is a blessing and we should all celebrate him for it. They are so beautiful. On god if I ever saw his shadows in real life I would be awestruck.

He asks Mal if he’s okay when they first meet.

The pure, barely contained fury directed at the Conductor for daring to harm Alina and kidnap his Grisha.

He always has to make a grand entrance.

This man is like a bloodhound when it comes to Nina. He is very invested in finding her and I feel like that’s never really talked about.

“I know exactly how she felt. The King’s soldiers treated me the same way. Because they knew- they knew that I was more important than any of them.” - the way he says it, like it’s something he has to remind himself of in his head constantly. a justification for the way he’s been treated, the fear he evokes in others. a way to protect himself from the hurt of being ostracized and reviled. arrogance and conceit as a defense against emotional harm.

Also the way his face instantly changes after that, like he’s said too much. vulnerability. lowering his eyes. shifting his eyes. literally just everything about this scene makes me love him all the more.

Dark carriage rides up to the Crows’ hiding place. Grisha circle the area as Aleksander steps from the carriage slowly, dressed all in black, floofy cloak high on his shoulders. Villain Entrance™

Him slowly pulling a knife out of his chest like it shouldn’t have killed him is hot as fuck and also totally badass. Big dick energy.

“I’ve had enough of your lies.” “And what lies are those?” - Alina, pulling out a fifty mile long scroll of grievances: Well, for starters-

This man is literally just an Alina Starkov compliments machine.

He cares so much about the Grisha and their protection. He loves Ravka and his people so much.

He had an entire cult dedicated to him.

“They would approach him. They always did. But he felt more anxious than usual. He’d stopped trying to make friends in the places he and his mother visited—there was no point when they moved on so quickly. Now he wasn’t quite sure how to go about it.”

Save a Villain. Murder the King.

Openly admits to staging a coup like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

He speaks so slowly. He moves so slowly. Everything he does has to have Purpose and Gravitas.

Theater Nerd™

He knew Nikolai for years and yet couldn’t recognize him as Sturmhond. We do stan an oblivious icon 💕

The Darkling after he gets his ass whooped in Siege and Storm: Mom can you please come pick me up? I’m scared!

He’s here to manipulate sun summoners and murder cities. And unfortunately he’s all out of sun summoners.

Would absolutely get drunk on real alcohol. This man thinks kvas is strong liquor.

Has his wrists exposed exactly one time in the most skin he’s shown all season and it’s when Alina visits him at night in the war room. WHORE!

Was too emotionally slutty and fell for Alina. RIP.

He’s passionate and cold and beautiful and hurt and twisted up in ways nobody could ever hope to understand and he’s stunning.

I would literally kill for this man 🖤✨

[chxrrysangel]

Stark Tea Time

Summary || Morgan Stark drags Bucky to one of her legendary tea parties, Sam leaving him to drown in pink fluff and glitter.

Warnings || Bucky actually smiles

You do not have permission to post my work anywhere else

“Lay up Cyborg, live a little. It’s not like I’m gonna di—”

“Look! Sam, I drew something for you!”

The two men’s attention is diverted from their conversation as little Morgan Stark comes barreling down the hallway, paper flapping in one hand and an assortment of crayons in the other. Her hair is covered in little butterfly clips, strands adorned with a wide array of colors from the chalk dye strewn across her cherry wood floors. She’s wearing a massive tutu, dressing to the 9s in a blue ballerina costume.

Sam smiles at the little girl, always excited to see what she has to offer. Ever since Tony passed, all of the Avengers men have taken on a father-like role towards the child, always making sure she feels loved and cared for. It’s the least they can do.

He bends down to her eye level, giving her his full attention. The smile on Sam’s face is in complete contrast to the grimace adorning Bucky’s features.

“What’s up sweetheart? Whatcha got?”

The little Stark giggles in excitement, overjoyed to see her two favorite Avengers come to see her again. They’re always quite busy, saving the world and everything. So each visit is quite meaningful to her. They’ll never replace Tony, but they ensure that his memory and love for Morgan is something she’ll never lack. They’d all die before that happens, and she knows that.

She takes the drawing from behind her back and lays it out for both of them to see. It resembles some sort of bird-like figure, Sam thinks to himself. Next to it is a robot-type figure, not failing to notice the frown etched into his features with a Crayola marker. Shaking with excitement, the little Stark looks at the two men expectantly.

“What is it?”

Morgan sighs loudly, annoyed by their stupidity and lack of “artistic vision”. The two men have yet to figure out where she learned such a concept.

“It’s you guys! Duh!” Their mouthes form into an ‘o’ shape in understanding.

“Well it’s stunning. It’s absolutely beautiful Morg. You know, I might have frame this one actually. When you become a famous painter, this is gonna be worth so much money!” Morgan squeals, jumping around excitedly as Sam praises her.

“I think it’s kind of ugl—” Sam cuts him off by sending a small electrical current to Bucky’s arm, causing him to hunch over in pain as he’s being electrocuted.

“What he was trying to say is that it’s very avant-garde, meaning unique in the art world. Don’t worry little Stark, it’s a good thing.” Sam smiles at her encouragingly, hoping Terminator’s harsh words back there wash over her. She nods in understanding, James’s words already long forgotten.

The two men attempt to continue their conversation from before, discussing details about their next mission. There’s a hostage situation in the Palace of Westminster, the perpetrators threatening to blow the whole thing up with everyone in it. But before they can really strategize how to scope out the place, Sam feels a tap on his leg.

“Yes princess?”

“Can you guys come to my tea party?”

“Actually Morgan, we have to go so—” Bucky starts to say before being rudely cut off my bird-man to his left. Sam shoot daggers in his partner’s direction and the words die in his throat.

“Actually, I have to go take care of something really quickly. But Bucky can join you.” At those words, Bucky’s head jolts in his direction, giving Sam one of the meanest looks he’s probably ever seen. But the big man is all bark and no bite, so Sam just laughs in his face. Bucky’s fists tighten at his sides, thinking of all the ways he plans to torture and murder Sam when they leave the Stark house.

Morgan, on the other hand, is practically bursting at the seams. Bucky doesn’t know this, but he’s her favorite of all the Avengers, especially because his titanium arm reminds her of her dad’s suit. She feels closer to him when she’s with Bucky. Plus, they’re both kinda stoic, but it’s only an act in her eyes. She knows that deep down, he has a heart of gold.

Morgan takes Bucky by the hand, dragging him down the hallway back to her room. Meanwhile, Bucky looks back at Sam, pleading for some kind of mercy or aid. Sam, of course, provides no such thing and only cackles at his best friend’s misfortune. He says goodbye to Pepper, promising to be back once he finishes talking to Torres.

Meanwhile in a certain Stark’s bedroom…

Morgan bounced from corner to corner of her large bedroom, capturing all of the items she needs for this special occasion. It’s not often she has a guest for her weekly tea parties, let along James Buchanan Barnes of all people. She has to make a good impression if he’s ever going to come back.

Standing like a dark looming giant,surrounded by tiny chairs and more pink and purple than he’s ever seen, Bucky is clearly out of his element. At 6’0 tall, he stands taller than anything in this room, standing neck and neck with the canopy bed in the middle. Morgan doesn’t take notice of his discomfort however, she’s just happy to have him. She whips around him, gathering her stuffed animals at the table and setting up the placemats for each guest.

Almost as if having an epiphany, the mini Stark girl gasps and runs out the bedroom, yelling that she’ll be right back. Bucky wanders around the room, taking notice of all the little trinkets and toys that he, along with the rest of the team, gifted to her over time. His lips contort into a ghost of a smile, reminiscing all the times Morgan screamed for joy every time they came bearing gifts. The gifts didn’t really matter to her, though. It was just their presence that set her heart into cardiac arrest and her cheeks aflame. They were her family.

Not soon after, Morgan returns dragging a more normal sized chair into her room. Bucky is surprised at this action, as the small girl is barely breaking a sweat. That is, until he noticed the two small gadgets attached the back of the chair, marked with Tony’s insignia. So little Stark is smart, just like her dad.

Morgan sets the chair down next to her own pink, fluffy and bedazzled throne at the head of the table. She sits down, motioning Bucky to take a seat and calls the tea party into session. Bucky’s eyes wander over the pristinely white tabletop, taking in the wide assortment of snacks. From shortbread, frosted oatmeal cookies, to cheeseburgers and mini sandwiches, you name it and she’s got it. The baked goods are Pepper’s doing of course, courtesy of her daily afternoon attempts to become the next Martha Stewart. Morgan doesn’t mind at all, eager to indulge in a daily sugar high as the designated guinea pig.

“Tea?,” the child offers, “it’s raspberry, your favorite.” James can’t help but blush as her consideration of his tastes. For a kid, she’s a pretty decent host. He quickly covers up his blush by coughing and nods firmly.

After filling up the China tea cups lined up around the table, Morgan moves towards introductions. “Bucky, these are my friends. There’s Mr.Whiskers, Genevieve, Fae, Natasha, Tony, and James. They’re very happy to have you here with us. They think you look quite nice today.”

James? As in… Bucky can’t help but blush again, honored that Morgan named one of her beloved stuffed animals after him. He smiles shyly, staring at the lavender Elephant across the table. The girl doesn’t fail to notice his smile, happy that he’s happy.

“So James, how do you feel about glitter?”

~~~

The doorbell rings sometime around 7:00, just after sunset. Pepper opens the door to a smiling Sam, carrying a mysterious box by his side. He just left Torres house, the two men agreeing to scope out the place just before dawn when everyone is still sleeping. That way, they can get a good picture of what it looks like on the inside without having to use night vision technology.

“What’s in the box?”

“Lemon Merengue. For Morgan.” Lemon Merengue is Morgan’s favorite dessert. So by bringing her some, Sam hopes that she’ll forgive him for taking a rain check on one of her illustrious tea parties.

“They’re still down the hall.” Pepper points in the direction of mini Stark’s room, before returning to her baking. Tonight, she’s trying devil’s food cake.

Even from down the hall, Sam can hear the chatting of two distinct voices, a deep scratchy one and a much higher, daintier tone. He shakes his head at Morgan’s complete lack of an inside voice when she’s excited. They must be having a blast in there.

To Sam’s surprise, Bucky actually seems to be enjoying himself. He stands in the doorframe, watching the two chat back and forth while a Disney movie soundtrack plays in the background. From the distinct piano, Sam recognizes Beauty & the Beast (also one of Morgan’s favorites).

Sitting down obediently, Bucky gives Morgan his full attention as she places puffy stickers on his titanium arm and adds little doodles to his real one. He smiles as he watches her drawing a picture of the two of them with princess tiaras and feather boas, just like they are now. She babbles away, telling him the details of the movie she wants them to watch together. It’s called Tangled, he learns.

Sam decides to leave the two alone, going back to help Pepper bake in the kitchen. Although, not before snapping a picture of the two together, reminding himself to print it and put it on the fridge. He knows that Pepper isn’t exactly the kindest person to be in the kitchen with, as she is very bossy and demanding. But he’d take that over ruining this special moment in the princess-themed room down the hall.

He can still hear the faint giggles and screams of Morgan, this time begging Bucky to stop tickling her. She pleads for mercy but he refuses to budge, only making her laugh harder and her giggles to bounce off the walls like they’re in an echo chamber. And to think, he was gonna say no earlier.

[rufousnmacska]

Only You

A Manorian arranged marriage fic requested by an anon.

Huge thanks to @itach-i for her help and advice with plot and beta reading! ❤️

Previously, in Part One

Previously, in Part Two

*

PART THREE

*

Manon jumped at the knock on her door. She’d sat up all night watching the fire slowly die, unable to sleep. Stiff from sitting in a chair in a cold room for so many hours, she moved slowly to the door. Expecting Glennis, she was surprised to find Yrene waiting to come in. The healer’s smile disappeared when she got a good look at Manon.

“I’m sure I look how I feel,” Manon said by way of greeting. She turned and went back to her chair.

Shivering, Yrene tried to get the fire going again, adding some kindling and blowing on the few stubborn embers that remained in the fireplace. The flames caught, but it would be a while before any heat radiated from it. She sat opposite Manon, watching her carefully.

“Just say it,” Manon said.

“Say what?”

“Whatever you’re thinking.”

She’d come to consider Yrene a good friend over the last two years. The woman was kind and an exceptionally talented healer, helping Manon overcome some of the darkest moments of her grief. Yrene also helped her navigate her way through the complexities of her relationship with Dorian, giving her advice and translating some of the human customs she didn’t understand. Like exchanging gifts. Manon had never given or received a birthday gift before. Yrene not only helped her find one for Dorian, she listened without judgment as Manon explained how foreign the concept was to her. The idea for the memory book had come to her after imagining what Yrene might get if Dorian and Manon were marrying.

Yrene sighed, resting her head back and staring up at the ceiling. “I’ve never seen this room before,” she said, absentmindedly. “It’s quite lovely.”

Manon glanced up. The ceiling was painted like the sky at twilight. A deep, rich blue turning black with stars scattered across it. It was beautiful, and it reminded her of those frozen nights she and Dorian and the Thirteen spent camped in the Fangs in search of the Crochans. She recognized a constellation or two and realized it was likely the same night sky. She didn’t think there was enough time for him to have commissioned the mural between her accepting the invitation and now. But she’d learned long ago that it was foolish to underestimate Dorian’s love of grand romantic gestures. Whether it had been completed for this visit or not, the intention was the same. She leaned back to examine the stars, smiling slightly as memories came rushing back – Asterin teasing Dorian about his pretty blue eyes, Vesta’s shameless flirting that often came dangerously close to provoking Manon’s jealousy, Sorrel gifting Dorian an Ironteeth blade that he still carried, Ghislaine getting caught up in talking about books with him. They’d only traveled together for a couple of short months. And yet despite the hardships, there was so much good to remember. It made her think of the memory book, and how much she wished to be sharing it with him as his wife.

“Josie asked for you the other day,” Yrene said, drawing Manon’s attention back down from the ceiling.

“She said my name?” Yrene and Chaol’s daughter had just begun forming complex words the last time Manon had seen her.

“Well,” she said with a shrug, “it was close enough that we knew who she meant. She mixed up the words a wee bit, so it came out Ma Nauntie instead of Auntie Manon. She’d seen one of Adarlan’s wyverns flying over the castle and thought it was Abraxos.” Yrene was grinning at the memory. “I’m afraid she butchered his name. But we’ve got her trying Brax for short.”

Manon was returning Yrene’s smile, but she didn’t know what to say. For as fond as she’d grown of Yrene, she’d come to care for Josie just as much. Would she ever see them again after today?

As if reading her mind, Yrene said, “I know it might be hard for you. To come here again. So I was thinking, maybe someday we can visit you?” Tears spilled from Yrene’s eyes and she pulled out a handkerchief.

“Of course! You can come back with me tonight if you wish,” Manon said, stretching out a hand. Sometimes it still felt strange for her to offer comfort to others. But it was something Yrene knew about her, something she never called attention to. And now, the healer leaned forward to take Manon’s hand in hers.

Yrene tried to smile but it just made her cry harder. She stood and walked away, taking a moment to blow her nose and dry her eyes. When she returned, she said, “Please don’t marry that fae prick. He’s not good enough for you. And I don’t trust him.”

Manon laughed, part of her shocked at the possibility, the other shocked at hearing Yrene swear. “No need to worry about that,” she said, further amused by Yrene’s exaggerated relief. “I no longer have plans to marry anyone. A consort isn’t required either. So, when the time is right, I shall only be in need of a … What was that word you so eloquently used just now? I will only need a prick.”

Yrene’s cheeks reddened as she laughed. “Is it not the best word for him?”

Manon grew serious, thinking about her evening with Fennick. He’d been too flirtatious and self-absorbed, and a bit rude towards the others at the table with them. But based on her experiences with fae males, Fennick’s behavior was typical, with Rowan being the exception. Yes, he was arrogant, but he’d also expressed sympathy for the Thirteen, and shared his past heartbreak with her. She knew what Dorian thought of the prince and wasn’t surprised that Yrene would also dislike him.

“Why don’t you trust him?” Manon asked.

Yrene sighed and bit her lip as she searched for an answer. “It’s mostly a gut feeling. He barely addressed Dorian. And him telling us about coming here to find a mate didn’t endear him to anyone. Even Eveline thought he was an ass.” At Manon’s expression, she offered an apology for mentioning the young woman.

“No, don’t worry about that. I’m more interested in what you said about Fennick. He came here looking for a mate?”

“That’s what he said. Some tale or superstition of his grandmother’s claiming fae would find their mate at a wedding. It sounded made up. And when Eveline told him there were no other fae invited, he said he could have a bond with a human or witch.” Yrene shot her a wicked grin. “Dorian wanted to hit him, I could tell.”

Her own lips twitched upward at the thought. But her mind shifted quickly back to Fennick. She’d known of his intentions from the letter. But why antagonize Dorian? Yes, the male was conceited, but he hadn’t struck her as stupid. Yrene was watching her expectantly, but Manon just said, “Well, regardless, you don’t have to worry about him. I don’t intend to see him after today.”

“Thank the gods,” Yrene said, apparently letting the subject go.

Manon knew Yrene had an extra sense about people. Whether it was her healing magic or just her ability to read others, Manon didn’t know. But she trusted Yrene’s opinion and knew it wasn’t clouded by jealousy like Dorian’s. Yrene’s relief set off warning bells. Manon needed to think, and she welcomed the distraction it offered as she waited for the ceremony later today.

“Where is Josie now?” she asked.

“With Chaol. Actually, I should be getting back.”

“Do we have time for an early lunch before the ceremony? You could bring her up here.”

Yrene beamed at the offer, promising to return with her child in a few hours.

After the healer left, Manon bathed and dressed. She sent her guards off on separate errands, giving them the names of castle staff who might know the gossip that was most difficult to come by. Then she set out on her own search for information, something she should have done sooner.

***

Dorian heard shouting from the main stable and poked his head through the door. The head groom was sending stable hands off in every direction, calling out reminders about the diets of certain horses. She saw Dorian and walked over to greet him.

“Apologies, Your Majesty. One of my lead grooms didn’t show up for work this morning and we’re scrambling to get the horses fed.” The woman grabbed hold of a young boy and turned him around. “Other way, lad. And be careful. That horse bites.”

Dorian smiled. “Don’t mind me. I’m just headed for the wyvern paddock. Have they been fed yet?”

Only half listening, she nodded, then turned back to the chaos surrounding her. “Last time I give so much responsibility to one person,” she muttered.

Continuing around the main stable and towards the far end of the yard, he saw a figure standing by the building that housed the wyverns and stopped. But it was only Glennis. The white hair had fooled him for a split second. She was feeding a small, bluish gray wyvern.

“I thought you’d never give up your broom,” he said, holding out his hand towards Abraxos. The little wyvern snuffled against his palm and Dorian rubbed his snout.

Glennis waved a hand, feigning irritation at her new mode of transport. “Neither did I until this little trouble-maker hatched out of an egg.” She tossed a chunk of meat to her wyvern, then moved on to the next one. Apparently Abraxos had already received his breakfast. “I’ll let you in on a secret,” Glennis said, “the wyverns are more comfortable to ride. Especially for old witches like me.”

Dorian laughed, giving her his best smile. “Who are you kidding? You’re still young.” She snorted and waved him off again. As she fed the other wyverns, he turned back to Abraxos.

Fearing this would be his last chance to see the wyvern and hoping no one else would be here, he’d gotten up early to visit. Not that he’d actually slept. He couldn’t remember the last time he got a full night’s sleep. “Hey, Brax,” he cooed, stepping through the gate into the stall. The wyvern curled his long, barbed tail around Dorian’s feet as he continued petting his snout. Dorian pulled a small bouquet of flowers from his cloak and laughed as a low, contented sound rumbled from Abraxos’s chest.

“He’s not like that with just anyone.” Glennis was standing behind them. “Flowers or no flowers.”

“I know,” Dorian said.

“She’d be mad to see you spoiling him so much.”

He huffed a laugh. “I know.” But he didn’t stop.

Glennis knew why he was here and went back to spoil her own wyvern, giving him privacy.

After a while, Dorian inhaled, long and ragged, his breath pooling in the morning chill when he released it. Abraxos watched him, seeming to know this was a goodbye. The wyvern let out a sad whine and Dorian tipped his head forward to rest against Abraxos. “You take good care of her for me, Brax. All right?”

Abraxos huffed in agreement, enshrouding Dorian in a cloud of hot air. The pungent smell gave Dorian the perfect excuse for the tears that had gathered in his eyes as he said goodbye to the little scarred wyvern.

Glennis was not so easily fooled. She knew the reason for the shimmer in his eyes, but said nothing as they started back to the castle together. The main stable appeared to be under control and Dorian waved to the head groom as they passed.

“You were married to a Crochan prince,” Dorian said, breaking their silence as they climbed a hill. “Was it arranged, or did you choose each other?”

For all her talk of old age, Glennis didn’t struggle with the incline. “A bit of both. We’d known each other forever, and our parents had thought it was a good match. There was never any formal agreement but they encouraged us. It was a bond forged of love.”

“So, you were mates then?”

“Yes,” she said, pulling her cloak up around her neck as they reached the top and were exposed to the wind. “But witches don’t have mating bonds like the fae.” She stopped walking to think. “It’s not a tether, not a physical thing like it is to the fae. There’s no silent communication, no feral territoriality. It’s just a stronger connection than a normal relationship. Why are you asking?”

Dorian tried to shrug it off. “Just curious.” They started walking again and he moved so he might block the worst of the wind from reaching her. “Then it has nothing to do with witches having fae blood? I mean, Manon must have more than the average witch since she comes from a lineage without much human involvement.”

Glennis frowned. “Hmmm, maybe. I’d never really thought of it like that. Our fae blood is so diluted, I’m not sure that it really makes a difference.” She stopped, and by her sad eyes, he knew he’d failed to fool her again. “You think Manon is your mate.”

He wanted to say yes. How else to explain the depth of his feelings for her? That constant tug in his chest. Light as it may be, it still connected him to her. Perhaps it was the fae blood in her, making a mating bond between them stronger than with other witches. But then, wouldn’t that also make it more possible for her to be Fennick’s mate? No, he wouldn’t allow himself to go down that path. Not after a long night of fighting the worst his imagination could come up with.

Maybe what he had with Manon was just love. A strong love of two people who completed each other, filled in the pieces that were missing and held the other up when darkness set in. That would be enough, Dorian knew. He didn’t need a mating bond to love her.

Glennis was still waiting for his reply. “I don’t know,” he said truthfully. “I don’t think it matters.” He’d meant the words differently than she took them. But when sorrow crept across her face, so deep it made his chest ache, he knew what she was thinking.

“No,” she said. “After today, I don’t think it will either.”

*****

Manon sat rigid, her eyes facing forward, ignoring all the stares and words whispered in her direction. She and Glennis had blessedly been ushered to a spot with only two available seats, ensuring Fennick could not sit next to her. Giselle and Lara were positioned nearby, but out of the way of other guests. Hearing Fennick’s voice as he took his seat a couple of rows behind them, Manon exchanged a look with Glennis.

After her lunch with Yrene and while they readied themselves for the ceremony, Manon and her guards had discussed what little they could find out about the prince. The two witches gathered minimal gossip from the castle workers. The prince had brought no attendants or valets of his own, and he’d made a show of turning down the head steward’s offer to provide him one. It wasn’t unusual for a noble to eschew servants, even for a long and important trip such as this. But it felt off given his formality and haughty nature. Of course, it kept him out of the streams of gossip among the staff.

Manon had gone herself to the royal library, hoping to find some information on Fennick’s lineage. The Whitethorn clan was old and spread out in the fae lands across the sea. And with his age, she thought perhaps he’d been mentioned in a genealogy or even history book. But the librarian had been unable to find anything substantial. The only occurrence of his name was in a recent book about the fae that included trees of the older families. Fennick was indeed a second cousin to Rowan and Sellene, stemming from a side of the family that Maeve had passed over when it came to titles and lands. How he’d risen to prince so quickly, she didn’t know. Sellene, ever practical and shrewd, had not seemed the type to toss out prestigious titles to just anyone. Nor was she the type, Manon realized, who would send an extravagant gift in an attempt to brag about her kingdom’s wealth.

They’d found nothing, and what little she did know made no sense. And yet, it left her unsettled. Glennis too. But, like the others, her grandmother had hated him from the start. In her mind, Manon had already dismissed him as a possible consort or provider of an heir. Yet she was still more ambivalent about Fennick’s flaws than Glennis and Yrene. His story about the human woman he’d almost given up his immortality for had touched a very raw nerve and stuck with her. Whether it was the faint similarities to her own situation, or just that she pitied him, she was unsure. Perhaps Yrene was wrong. And Glennis.

That was what unsettled her the most. It seemed impossible that both of them would misjudge the male. If only she weren’t here for Dorian’s wedding. Everything from her wits to her instincts were off kilter because of it, and she didn’t trust herself. Then again, if not for this wedding, she’d never have met Fennick and wouldn’t need to concern herself with him. The one good thing to come of it was the distraction it had provided her today.

There was movement at the front of the large chapel and Manon used every ounce of control to keep her face calm as Dorian and Chaol walked out towards the podium behind which the priest stood. Dressed in an azure jacket that brought out the brilliance of his eyes, he looked even more handsome than he had last night at dinner. Damaris hung from his side, and with his crown, he looked like a warrior king of old. This was it then, she thought, praying uselessly for more distractions or delays. Anything to keep her from having to watch Dorian pledge himself to another.

When he and Chaol took their places, the strings began to play a soft, beautiful melody. She couldn’t help herself and looked right at Dorian. He was, of course, staring at her. And for that moment, she pretended that she was walking to meet him. That she would be taking him as her king, becoming his queen, instead of Eveline. The hint of a smile caught his lips and she suspected, hoped, that he was imagining the same thing.

It wasn’t until Chaol lightly touched Dorian’s arm, drawing a frown in response, that she noticed the music had started over. She turned to Glennis and saw confusion, which was mirrored on the others in the crowd. Her grandmother stretched around to look back at the front entrance where the bride should have been standing.

“Maybe she has cold feet,” someone muttered.

In the first row, Lord Frey was turning red with rage. And right before he could jump up to go find his daughter and likely drag her down the aisle, Yrene came running in with a note in her hand.

***

Dorian hadn’t noticed anything. He’d been too busy looking at Manon. She was seated, so he couldn’t see the entire thing, but this dress rivaled the one she’d worn last night. A silvery gray color that matched the shimmering wings of her wyvern, the dress had a neckline that stretched across her collar bones, from shoulder to shoulder. Hanging down over her chest was a single red ruby, large enough to fit within the eye in the pommel of his sword. Her hair was braided into a crown atop her head. Despite their fight, despite everything, he smiled at her, unable to tear his gaze away. Unable to keep from wishing it was her walking towards him today.

Until Chaol tapped his arm and brought him back to reality. Where the musicians were fumbling to begin the processional again. Where Lord Frey was staring daggers at him for admiring Manon. Where Yrene was walking up the aisle instead of Eveline. He hadn’t even noticed Yrene wasn’t seated before them.

Trying to keep her voice low, she handed Dorian the letter she carried and said, “She’s gone. This was all she left.”

With so many eager ears and the heightened acoustics of the building, everyone heard her. Immediately, the chapel was in an uproar. Some guests were shocked, upset to see their king abandoned at the altar. Others were watching the scene unfold with glee, anxious for the tales they could tell afterwards. The priest stood with his mouth agape. Lord Frey was reaching for the letter, sputtering curses and pushing back the lords who’d allied with him. They were gathered around him, clamoring for an explanation. Manon and Glennis both stared wide-eyed at him, unsure how to react.

Dorian spun away from Lord Frey’s grasp and began to read.

Your Majesty,

Please forgive me for the lateness of this wedding gift. I had hoped to have it weeks ago, but my father is a paranoid man with many hideaways, and my efforts were delayed.

My father is not what he seems. He lost most of his gold during the war and has been pretending to be wealthy ever since. He fears nothing more than losing his title and being relegated to a life of poverty. His complaints to his neighbors about your rule were nothing more than talk. Is wasn’t until he was approached from afar that the talk turned into real threats of rebellion.

I was aware that someone was pushing my father down this path, offering to pay a rich reward for his work, but I didn’t know who until just an hour ago. A friend was finally able to procure some messages sent from the foreign party to my father as proof of their plan. They have been placed in your valet’s safe keeping. Ruben was always kind to me, and I believe him to be a trustworthy attendant to you.

I am sure you are curious about who is funding my father’s play at rebellion. I must confess I was shocked and confused to learn that Prince Fennick is behind the plot.

According to the messages, the prince had heard of my father’s money woes and came to him with a plan. My father was to stir up trouble among your nobles then offer up my hand in marriage as the only way to appease him and prevent a war.

I cannot be sure of the prince’s motives, but I suspect he has had his eye on your beloved witch queen for some time. I trust you will be able to get the details out of him.

I must also ask your forgiveness for my dreadful conduct in leaving you like this. The truth is, I am in love with a man named Costis, a groom in your stables. We had planned to run away, but my father pulled me unwillingly into his scheme before we could manage it. Costis was able to acquire the letters just this morning. As I have been freed from my father, we are now off to live our own lives.

I said above that this is my wedding gift to you. Of course, as we are no longer getting married, I do not give it to you as a wife to her husband. Instead, I offer this to my King, who is also now free to be with the witch he loves.

With hope for a long and happy life with your queen,

Eveline

 Dorian wasn’t sure if he was breathing. He rubbed at his eyes, skimmed over the message again and again, making sure it was real and not some figment of his overwrought imagination. Passing it to Chaol, he ordered him to arrest Frey. And then he found Manon in the crowd and ran to her.

Her face held a million questions, but there was no time. They’d waited long enough. Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her. After a second’s hesitation, she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him back. He thought he heard someone yelling but it faded away, just like everything else around them.

The world, his world, was here in his arms. That’s all that mattered.

When they broke apart, the chapel had quieted down. Manon opened her eyes slowly, as if coming out of a trance. “Marry me, witchling,” Dorian said, letting his wild grin take over his face. “Not today. I want our friends with us. But please, will you marry me? Be my queen? The only one I’ve ever wanted.”

Manon began to laugh, and the sound of her joy was like a balm to his heart, repairing all the cracks and pieces that had broken off in the past months.

“Please,” he repeated. “If you want me to beg, I will.”

She laughed again before cupping his face in her hands and nodding. “Yes. I will marry you, princeling.”

Some of the guests began cheering, others were still reeling by the turn of events. Chaol and Yrene were next to them, hugging Glennis.

Dorian turned to see Lord Frey in shackles, being hauled off by the royal guard. A glance to Chaol told him they still had one other person to deal with. Signaling to his remaining guard and Manon’s sentinels, he walked to where Fennick still stood, an expression of deepest insult on the prince’s face.

“Fennick Whitethorn, you are under arrest for plotting to overthrow Adarlan,” Dorian said. Manon looked between him and Fennick, speechless with shock.

The male was stricken with outrage. “What? What the hell are you talking about? When I return to Doranelle, this will not be forgotten! Sellene will not stand for this!”

“I suspect Queen Sellene is not aware of what you’ve been up to,” Dorian countered, noticing Ruben enter the chapel. His valet waved a stack of papers for Dorian to see. Dorian nodded and motioned for Chaol to fetch them. To Manon, he explained, “Eveline found proof that our good friend Fennick was paying Lord Frey to carry out this sham. He wanted me out of the way to pursue you.”

Manon’s eyes narrowed and he saw the anger and embarrassment rise in her like a flood. It was a level of rage he’d never seen on her before. And hoped to never see again.

She turned and glared up at Fennick. He immediately began accusing Eveline and Lord Frey of lying, accusing Dorian of making it up to escape the wedding. But she said nothing, just watched him grow more pathetic as he spouted increasingly ridiculous excuses. When he had nothing left to say, Manon cocked her arm and punched him in the face, sending him shuffling back and twirling around before he thudded to the floor, unconscious. Her witches picked him up and dragged him out, following the royal guard to the dungeon.

*****

After an abbreviated un-wedding dinner, Manon walked with Dorian to the top of the king’s tower, past her guest rooms to the suite she would now be sharing with him. There was much to be discussed and worked out. While their marriage would be a good alliance for both kingdoms, compromises would have to be made. Including, Manon informed him, splitting their time between the two capitols.

Dorian had agreed before she even got all the words out. “I don’t care where we are, as long as we’re together.”

“We can’t be together all the time,” she said, trying to be sensible as she stood before him, staring in wonder at his proximity, listening to his heartbeat. He was taking his time pulling the pins from her hair, one by one. Manon wasn’t sure if sensible was possible right now. The heartache of the last six months, the explosive revelations of hours ago, she exhaled and let it all go, as if the winds could carry it away across the sea. Right here, right now, it was just them. Sensible talk about kingdoms and politics could wait.

“I beg to differ,” he said, reaching around her head for a pin. The movement brought him blessedly closer.

“There you go again,” she purred. “Begging.”

Her hair was free of pins and he began to undo the braid, letting it fall through his fingers. “Only for you, witchling.”

She continued to watch him, getting lost in the perfect smile that hadn’t left his face in hours. When Manon reached up and ran her fingers over his dimpled cheek, he made a little gasp and turned his attention from her hair. “You said last night that I don’t belong to you, but you belong to me,” she said.

“I did.” His smile faded, his voice a deep whisper.

“You were wrong. I am yours and yours only. There is no one else I would give myself to.”

Dorian took her face in both hands and kissed her, and she felt his smile return. “Only you.”

Clutching her hand, he led her to the bed where they took their time undressing each other. She lay back on the bed, losing herself to the charged heat of his touch, the soft fullness of his lips.

“Only you,” she murmured, feeling his mouth curl up against the inside of her thigh.

Dorian took his time, for they had that now. Time to tease and caress every inch of her, time to nip at her ears, time to shift her hips to sink deeper inside her, leaving her breathless and needy for more. And after an eternity where he sent her spinning over the edge again and again, he joined her, calling out her name as if it were his home.

When their euphoria faded, Dorian fell onto the bed next to her, pulling her close as they fought to catch their breath. “And you say I’m the one who always begs,” he teased.

They slept in the next morning, not getting out of bed until almost noon when Ruben knocked and demanded they eat something. There were other things to see to, guests to say goodbye to, and then finally, that night after dinner, Manon and Dorian went to the dungeons.

The second Lord Frey saw them, he dropped to his knees. “Please, Your Majesty. I only wanted the money to rebuild my estate. I never intended to bring about war. Please, please …”

Manon was surprised by the sudden turn. Just yesterday at the ceremony, he’d been trying to urge his allies to stand in support of him, ultimately resorting to screamed threats that had the opposite effect. And now, he was on his knees, pleading for his life.

“You’re accused of treason, Frey,” Dorian said. The man flinched at the loss of his title. “If you really want to continue confessing, be my guest. But you may want to wait for a judge.”

The man shook his head, befuddled. “You … you’re not going to hang me?”

This man had almost destroyed their lives, bringing Adarlan to the brink of civil war. Dorian had every right to punish him harshly. They’d discussed how to handle these interrogations over dinner, though they had not expected it would be this easy. It seemed that Frey was a coward at heart and had been a poor choice of conspirators for Fennick.

Dorian said, “I won’t hang you. If you tell me why.”

Frey heaved a sigh of relief, though he had the sense to still look nervous. “Before the war, Duke Perrington forced me to help fund some of his work at Morath.” At Dorian’s dubious look, he added, “I swear I did not know who he truly was then. I was acting in the best interest of my kingdom and my holdings. But … he bled me dry, offering promises of future reward that never came. And then he was revealed to be Erawan, leaving Adarlan devastated. I had enough in my vault to maintain appearances, but nothing more. Prince Fennick approached me earlier this year with an offer that would allow me to regain my former wealth. I was to stir up dislike for you and get support from other nobles, enough to pose a credible threat to your throne. When talk of rebellion grew to a boiling point, I would demand you marry my daughter. Her hand in exchange for appeasing your enemies.”

“And what was your payment?” Manon asked.

“Gold,” Frey said simply. She arched an eyebrow in a silent demand for more, and he sank miserably onto the floor. “And the promise that when an heir was born, the king would be eliminated, leaving me as regent.”

The gold was expected. But the threat of assassination came as a shock. Dorian was speechless, trying to process how close they’d come to ruin. Frey eyed him, fearful that the earlier proposal to spare him from hanging would be dismissed.

“What did he stand to gain?” Manon continued. Frey seemed oblivious to the fact that he would be installed as a puppet. Or, more likely, set up as Dorian’s killer and disposed of himself.  

“Prince Fennick would be able to marry you. He told me all about how the two of you met during the war.” At Manon’s surprise, the man hesitated. “He said that he had fallen in love with you, that you were his mate. But you were attached to King Dorian. He believed the only chance he stood was to have the king removed from the mix.”

Manon and Dorian said nothing as they stared at each other. Frey returned to begging for his life, mistaking their silence for anger at the dark depths of the scheme. He was still calling out to them for mercy as they left him with a guard.

When they reached Fennick’s cell further down the dank passageway, they found the fae stretched out lazily on a cot. His eyes were closed, and something about the scene made Manon’s temper boil to the surface. Dorian cleared his throat, and the fae could no longer pretend they weren’t there. He stood and looked between her and Dorian.

She’d thought perhaps Fennick might still be projecting the indignant fury of the night before, or something worse. But he wore the same confident expression he’d had when she first met him.

“I wasn’t lying about that woman I loved. Mortals are fickle. And they die so easily.”

It was directed at Manon, but Dorian asked, “Was that a threat?” She knew he was keeping his magic on a tight leash, but the air still crackled with it.

Fennick huffed a laugh, ignoring the question and Dorian. “Immortals such as you and I should not debase ourselves by associating with humans. Maeve and I rarely saw eye to eye, but the restrictions she placed on who could settle in Doranelle were something on which we could agree.”

“It seems to me your human was the smart one,” Manon said, somehow controlling the urge to maul him. “Escaping your clutches was the best thing that could have happened to her.”

He grinned at her, his sharp canines flashing, a glint of malice in his eyes. “Who said she escaped me?”

Here was the male she’d been worried they might find, the one kept hidden under the fancy clothes and courtly manners. The one who thought he could take their kingdoms as his own.

“So, you hate humans?” Dorian asked, lightly. “That’s what this is all about?”

Fennick finally turned to acknowledge him. “I don’t particularly care for them. But no, Your Majesty, that’s not what this is about.” Dorian’s title came out of his mouth as a sneer. “I had just as much right to Maeve’s throne as any Whitethorn. To simply hand it to Sellene, as if it were some cheap trinket to be tossed at whoever stood nearest was a disgrace.”

“We had nothing to do with that,” Manon said.

“True,” Fennick agreed. “But there were no other kingdoms as vulnerable as yours. Or as valuable, what with all that gold you have hidden in the Wastes. The Witch Kingdom was the perfect place to start.”

Manon growled at the insult, but Dorian asked, “Start what?”

“My rule,” he said simply. To Manon, he added, “Having you at my side was to an extra reward. I understand the valg king wanted you for his queen. I must confess, that piqued my interest.”

She shuddered at the mention of Erawan. It brought back memories of the way his eyes would crawl over her, possessive and hungry. The valg king had planned to keep her as his own. Much like this fae.

Dorian’s restraint was reaching its limit and the air felt suddenly cooler. His voice was just as icy as he asked, “Rule what?”

“Everything.” The word was slick, as if coated in venom.

Something had changed in Fennick’s manner with the confession. Gone were the handsome features and polite way of speaking. Locked in a cell, his hair disheveled and clothing dirty, he looked like a different creature. She’d known fae could be feral, animalistic. She’d experienced it, barely survived it. But watching him speak these words, Manon wondered if she’d truly ever seen the transformation before.

“You searched for a desperate Adarlan noble,” she said, “one with a marriageable daughter, one who could be paid off to extort the king. All to force Dorian into an arranged marriage, seduce me to steal my kingdom, then kill him for his. Do I have it right?”

Fennick’s eyes narrowed on Dorian and he grinned. “The seduction part is right, at least.”

Manon flew at him, her iron nails extended and desperate for blood. Bars or not, she wanted to scratch the bastard’s eyes from their sockets. But Dorian grabbed her by the waist and held her back. She struggled against him briefly before calming down. When he let go of her, she still shook with the desire to hurt the male. This fae prince had truly thought he could conquer Erilea? She wanted to scream in his face that he was a fool. But she kept her mouth shut, not wanting to bring more attention to how close he’d come to setting his plan in motion. And to her own foolishness. She’d let this monster touch her, dance with her. She’d pitied him when he deserved nothing but revulsion.

Dorian stepped up to the cell door, eyeing Fennick with a sly smile. “It’s funny that you think you could try to play us against each other.”

The male shrugged, unconcerned. “It was worth a shot. You are only human.”

“I may only be human,” Dorian said, “but I have something you don’t.”

Instantly, Fennick was slammed backwards by invisible hands, thrown up against the grimy stone wall and held there. He tried to speak but couldn’t. Somehow, Dorian had cut off his voice. The male’s eyes bulged in rage.

Manon watched Fennick struggle against Dorian’s magic, her enjoyment of the spectacle growing with each vein that popped out on the male’s neck. Speaking to Dorian, she mused, “Do you think he’s even a prince?”

“From his branch of the family? The one even Maeve ignored?” Dorian taunted. “No, I doubt it. And Sellene certainly played no part in this. He’s here on his own, likely without a coin to his name.”

“That reminds me,” Manon said, turning back to Fennick. “Your intricate plan had at least two big flaws,” she said. “Your reliance on using the Witch Kingdom’s gold was misguided, I’m afraid. The gold we have is mostly still in the ground, unrefined, and worth next to nothing. And your pathetic attempts to seduce me and make me think we might be mates …” She trailed off, swallowing the bile that had risen in her throat at the words. “My mate stands beside me now,” she said, feeling Dorian’s gaze settle on her. Whatever connection they shared, whether it was love or something more, they were mates in each other’s eyes.

Fennick had gone still, a silent, malevolent rage simmering off him. She glanced at Dorian, who loosened his magical hold and let the fae drop to the floor in a heap.

Jumping up, Fennick sprang towards the bars holding him in, teeth bared, his hands reaching out to strike her. Dorian had them shielded. And when his fists were repelled by nothing but air, Fennick screamed. “You bitch! You don’t know-” The fae was thrown back against the wall, his voice cut off again.

“I’ve heard enough,” Dorian said, his face twisted as he struggled to control his magic so as not to kill the male.

Before they left, Manon said, “A messenger has been sent to Sellene, outlining all you’ve done and what you will be charged with. If she asks for you back to throw in her own cells, we may oblige.” When he didn’t seem to care, she added, “And a messenger was sent north to Terrasen. I’m sure Rowan will be interested in hearing about what you’ve done using the family name.” For the first time, real fear flashed across Fennick’s face. Manon smiled, wicked and slow. “You’re right to fear him,” she said. “But I fought with Sellene in the war. She is just as fearsome as Rowan. Why do you think they made her queen?”

By the time they walked back past Frey’s cell, it had been emptied of its prisoner. In exchange for his promise of testimony, he’d been moved to a cleaner section of the dungeons. And when they started up the twisting stairs, Dorian released his magic. They heard a thud and a string of loud curses.

Manon was silent as they came out into a room just off the main entrance hall. Even though she never fell for Fennick’s advances, had never come close to letting things progress in that direction, she’d excused his behavior. The fact that he’d marked her as a fool, marked her kingdom as vulnerable, marked Dorian for death, left her dizzy with guilt and fear. While Glennis and Yrene were happy to be proven right about him, Manon felt adrift, as if her instincts had abandoned her.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” Dorian said, motioning the steward over to them. She didn’t hear what he requested.

“I know. But it feels as though it is.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I was duped as much as you were. Thank the gods for Eveline and Costis.”

“Yes,” Manon agreed. “I wonder where they will end up?”

A boy returned bearing two heavy cloaks. Dorian took them and smiled. “I don’t know. But we should find them and send them a wedding gift.”

He draped a cloak over her shoulders and put the other one across his own. Clasping her hand, he led her out of the castle and in the direction of the stables. Abraxos stretched his long neck and arched his back at the first sight of them, excited for their late visit. Manon hugged Dorian tight, thanking him for knowing exactly what she needed at the exact right time. They climbed into the saddle and with a whoop from his rider, Abraxos took off into the star filled night.

***

The following summer in Rifthold, after a week of festivities that brought the Terrasen Queen and her entire court, the Queen of the Western Wastes, the future Emperor and Empress of the Southern Continent, the newly crowned King of Wendlyn, the Queen of Doranelle, and other royalty from across Erilea, Dorian and Manon were finally married.

That night, after the ceremony, as they lay in bed pointing out familiar constellations that had been painted on the ceiling of the royal suite, Dorian pulled a package from the bedside table. Silently, he presented it to his queen. Manon took it, bemused and unable to tell what was under the wrapping. When she tore it off and opened the box, she found a beautiful, leather-bound book.

Stamped in gold lettering on the cover were their names, Manon and Dorian.

“Is this the same …?” She trailed off, knowing the answer before finishing the question.

Dorian shook his head. “No, but Glennis told me about the one you got. I thought we should have our own. Open it.”

She flipped through and found some of the pages in the beginning already filled in. There was a family tree for each of them. Dorian’s included Chaol, Yrene, and Josie. And Manon traced her fingers over the names of the parents she’d never met, and the sisters she had lost.

Then a page titled How We Met. It was mostly blank, except for where Dorian had written

She saved me.

Manon stared at it for a long moment. Then suddenly, she jumped out of bed and went to his desk. After a moment of searching, she found a pen and bottle of ink. Underneath his words, she wrote

He saved me too.

Over the years, the book was carried back and forth between Adarlan and the Witch Kingdom, never leaving the possession of the King and Queen. Its pages were filled with memories, happy and sad. Memories of theirs and of others. Births, deaths.

And when the book was passed on to their daughter, she read her parents love for her and each other in every word. For they were lucky. Rhiannon’s parents were a love match, and she’d promised them she wouldn’t settle for anything less.

The end.

***

Thank you so much for reading! I hope this ending made up for the pain and angst everyone suffered through! ☺️

You can find my writing master list here or on AO3.

@itach-i  @bookishwitchling  @manontrashbeak  @awesomelena555  @jimetg98  @over300books

[yan-twst]

Hello ! Can I have a scenario with Lilia. The reader is a Fae warrior who fought alongside Lilia a long time ago. There's always been something between them but nothing happened because a relationship between warrior was forbidden. After several years they meet again at NRC when the reader brings something to Malleus. It's been in my mind for a while, so I'm trying! Thanks !

Centuries

pairing: lilia x gn!reader

word count:  2910

warnings: mentions of war, like one mention of blood

------

There really wasn’t time for love during war. There wasn’t even a chance to get comfortable, really- the fae warriors were supposed to be quick, efficient, ruthless: things like romance between warriors weren’t allowed, it was too risky, it could turn them reckless. Lilia, of course, knew this; he’d been well-warned a long time ago, and he’d seen the horrors of war upclose. It always hurt to lose a friend, but it’d hurt more if it was a lover. He didn’t care, really, he was there to fight in the name of the Witch of Thorns and not to build relationships.

Or at least that’s what he’d say when his fellow warriors would ask him if he had his eye on anyone. He was one of the more seasoned fighters, with lifetimes of experience under his belt and strength that betrayed his appearance, along with his powerful magic. It wasn’t unusual for the younger fighters to gather around him for chats or to hear stories, it was one of the few ways to lift the spirits in the barracks in the sparse times of quietness. Dating, or romance in general, was forbidden, sure, but it didn’t stop the younger soldiers from prodding and asking if he wasn’t getting a bit too close to a certain someone.

“You are all certainly nosy, aren’t you?” laughed Lilia as he put down his canteen. His squad had arrived at a small base in the Valley of Thorns’ border a few days ago as prevention, having received intel that some of the enemy army would probably try to get in while the greater part of the Witch of Thorn’s army was fighting off in the main battleground. Of course, the more elite warriors had been sent to safeguard said point in the border; amongst them two of the army’s best, those being Lilia and...

“Aw, c’mon, you can’t say you don’t like them at least a little! You’re always sticking by their side, sir!” one of the youngest fae spoke up, crossing his arms.

Them. Lilia and [name], two of the most skilled warriors in the Witch of Thorn’s army, and also the source of countless rumors. Lilia let out a sigh- it was always the young kids trying to tease him. Did they really think he’d just go and admit he was breaking rules and romancing a fellow warrior just because some rumors said so? Not only was it not allowed, they shouldn’t be concentrating on silly relationship rumors. There was a war going on.

“Now, now, you know very well that’s not allowed, young man.” Lilia gently tapped the boy’s helmet, shaking his head. “If you keep worrying over every rumour you hear in the barracks, you’re not going to be able to keep your head on your body out in the field.”

“But yesterday I saw you two talking, and you almost put your hand on their hip-”

“You’re polishing everyone’s armour today.” Lilia quickly cut off the young warrior, assigning him a task as a punishment. The young fae groaned, knowing full well that if he kept pushing he’d get assigned even more work, as the rest of the fae laughed. The door to the room opened, making Lilia look up; speak of the devil, there they were. Out of armor, they still looked fearsome, their sharp eyes scanning the room.

“You all, what are you doing here?” they asked, tilting their head. “You were supposed to go check our weapons and make sure nothing is damaged from transportation. None of you have done that, have you?”

The warriors quickly scrambled out of the room, not wanting to get assigned any punishment. Lilia chuckled; he liked this squad, sure, but he’d never quite seen so many airheaded fighters. Oh, they had proved themselves on the battlefield before, surely- but in regular tasks, they certainly weren’t the best. His fellow warrior chuckled from the door, then looked straight at Lilia.

“You weren’t distracting the young ones, were you?” they said. There were many things that made Lilia be particularly more friendly to them than to others; shared interests, experience, but perhaps something more was the fact they were one of the few fae warriors nearly as old as him. They shared the wisdom and experience that came with years and years and years of living, something not many could say they shared with Lilia. “I think the enemy will be here in about three days.”

“Three days? Oh my, that’s quicker than expected.” said Lilia, humming. He wasn’t worried- really, if it was just him and them, he knew it’d be enough to hold back the enemy’s whole platoon if necessary.

“Mhm, our informants sent the intel just now.” they replied, taking a seat next to Lilia. “The way things are going, this war might be over soon.”

“Wouldn’t that just be lovely?” said Lilia. ‘Soon’ probably meant a couple of years, of course; and the consequences of the war itself would permeate for longer, but a handful of years really wasn’t much to him or them. He didn’t love wartime, sure, but there was some melancholy in thinking of it ending: after all, the warriors would be once again spread through the kingdom once they weren’t needed in battle. He’d be stationed somewhere, with new people, and... Well, he shouldn’t dwell over it. It’d be good for everyone.

“Well, it’s not like that means much.” the other warrior stretched, and Lilia couldn’t help but stare. They weren’t in armor, not when just hanging out at the base, but they still had an air of strength to them. The glow of the fireplace in the room cast an amber glow on their skin and hair, their sharp fae ears sticking out of their slightly messy hair. If he weren’t also so ancient, he’d have a hard time believing they’d lived for so long: in moments like these, they felt so young, so beautiful. “After this war ends, who knows how much time we’ll have until the next one? Peace just never seems to stick around.”

“Tragically, you’re right.” sighed Lilia. “It seems like conflict just increases every passing decade, doesn’t it? I still remember when these wars were small enough they’d only send one of us to deal with trouble.” said Lilia with a sigh. “Now every kingdom has an army and a motive to attack, it seems.”

“I know it’s impossible, but... Can you imagine if peace really did stick around?” they didn’t say anything else, but Lilia understood what they meant as their hand softly rested upon his. Extended peace- time for them. Away from the army, away from their duties as fae warriors, away from rules that forbade romance. Neither of them ever discussed the topic, always skirting around it, but it was clear they were both waiting. “Hm, as if. There’s always going to be conflict, isn’t there?”

“It sure seems so.” replied Lilia, softly gazing at their face. “It’d be a miracle if the world could ever truly be at peace for just once.”

-------

But then there was peace.

The war ended messily, with more losses to each side than either kingdom had expected. Nothing was truly won, other than some territory and the usual honour of winning battles- the usual spoils of war, mostly worthless to the warriors themselves. Of course, Lilia couldn’t be upset: he knew exactly what being a warrior entailed, and he’d sworn to serve the Witch of Thorns with his life. Perhaps that was why he was appointed to take care of Her grandchild, once he was born- it was a shock, to be suddenly playing the role of a caretaker when he’d spent so long as a fighter, but he was proud to say he’d adapted to it quickly. He heard [name] had been sent to continue working as a warrior under the Queen’s name, guarding the newly captured territory, but he was in no place to inquire. He had a new job, after all- and he knew very well fae warriors weren’t allowed romance.

Memories of the war quickly became something he kept merely in the back of his mind, vague images that would sometimes show up in dreams but never quite bother him. After all, taking care of Malleus was simply much more important. It wasn’t just out of a sense of duty, at least not anymore; he’d grown to genuinely care for the child. He’d never have imagined himself as a father, and yet, as time went on, he played perfectly into the role- going as far as to raise a human child as his own, once Malleus was grown. And then there he was: attending school once again, as if he was a teenager, along with Malleus and Silver- from a warrior, to a father, to a student.

“Lilia, the messenger from home will be arriving today. They should bring the herb with them.” Malleus distracted Lilia from his videogame, causing his character to fall and the game to display the ‘you have died’ screen. The elder fae didn’t seem fazed, instead just nodding.

“Great, that’s wonderful! I’ll be sure to make the paste as soon as they hand the herb over.” said Lilia, putting down his console and walking up to Malleus. The shorter fae patted the prince’s head, making the prince turn his head to the side to hide his embarrassment. “Now, now, there’s no need to get embarrassed, I used to do this all the time when you were a wee little baby!”

Neither Lilia or Malleus were quite sure why, but lately, Malleus’ horns had started to ache. It wasn’t an illness or a curse, but rather something Malleus was familiar with: it was the same dull ache he’d felt in his childhood as his horns grew. They’d long since stopped their growth, but from time to time, the ache would return for seemingly no reason, and the only way to get it to stop was a paste made from an herb native to the Valley of Thorns. Lilia had written to the palace a while ago requesting some of the herbs to be sent over, and it seemed they’d sent a messenger today.

When he was notified to go meet the messenger in the hall of mirrors, Lilia insisted Malleus tag along. It wasn’t often he could get Malleus to interact with others in a casual setting, with most people being so scared of him, but surely, staff from the palace would at least properly greet and hold a conversation with the prince, right? Perhaps it was still his fatherly instincts telling him to help his child grow out of his shell, but Lilia ended up dragging Malleus along to the hall of mirrors.

“Good evening, we’re here for the package-” Lilia froze once he saw who stood by the mirror.

The last time he’d seen them, they’d been in full armor, holding their weapon, covered in the enemy’s blood. That’d been the last battle in the war- so long ago, yet he could remember it perfectly- the last time he’d seen them. He’d been sure that would be the last time he saw them, or that it’d take for another war to brew for him to be reunited with them under the strict rules of the army. And yet there they were, dressed in traditional Valley of Thorns clothes, holding a parcel under their arm, looking as young and beautiful as ever.

“... Lilia?!” they seemed surprised to see him there. Sure, they had probably heard the prince was attending NRC and accompanied by some guards and a caretaker, but they’d probably expected some old soot from the palace, not Lilia, not an ex-warrior. They almost dropped the package, quickly regaining their balance.

“This is-” even Lilia was at a loss for words. Time truly hadn’t done much to damper his feelings; even after centuries of not seeing them, he could feel his heart speed up, much like it had back then when he sat next to them, basking in their presence. They looked at him, then at Malleus, then back at him, and it seemed they quickly realized they were in presence of the prince, because they suddenly kneeled.

“My lord, here is the package of herbs you requested.” they said, addressing Malleus. Despite not being very social, Malleus had enough experience dealing with formalities to not be flustered over this- however, he looked quite confused at Lilia’s reaction. He took the package, then turned to his caretaker. After a few seconds, he set his eyes on the messenger.

“Thank you.” he said, quickly adding, “Are you familiar with Lilia?”

“We fought in the war together.” they replied quickly, but it looked as if though they were picking their words carefully. It made sense- it was weird to explain their relationship with Lilia. It had absolutely been more than just fellow soldiers, something past a regular friendship, and yet it hadn’t quite been a romance, neither daring break the rules and take the first step. There wasn’t a comfortable way to explain such a thing, no way to say we were in love but neither of us dared do anything about it because we weren’t allowed to.

“Oh, seeing you brings back memories I thought I’d forgotten.” Lilia chuckled, although he seemed to be acting off. Nervous, almost? Luckily, the subtle changes in his attitude went right over Malleus’ head, and he just nodded. “Malleus, would you mind returning to the dorm with the herbs? The fresher they are when we begin the better- ask Silver to boil some water so I can start preparing them soon.”

“Are you staying behind, then?” replied Malleus, and Lilia chuckled, then nodded.

“Oh, you must understand it’s not often I get to chat with an old friend like this.” said Lilia. Malleus didn’t seem like he quite understood, but nodded nonetheless, and bid goodbye to the two ancient fae before disappearing, leaving only small wisps of green fire that slowly faded away in the air.

“... The prince is as powerful as they say, isn’t he?” they said, staring at the fading green lights. 

“He certainly is. Oh, but he’s also a sweetheart, don’t believe those who say he’s coldhearted or meanspirited.” said Lilia with a smile. “He’s a little cold right now, but that’s just how teenagers are, you know.”

“... You’ve certainly been busy since last time I saw you. I knew they’d appointed someone to take care of the Queen’s grandson, but I never would have imagined it’d be you.” they said, looking off to the side. “I’ve been working around the palace- you know, I really can’t believe I was wrong, but it seems peace is here to stay for a long time. Not much use for a warrior nowadays.”

There were a few moments of silence as both fae stared at each other. It’d been so long- by now, anyone else would have moved on, gotten to someone else, built new relationships. And yet neither of them had to say it for the other one to know; neither had truly moved on. They weren’t warriors anymore: right now, they were just two adults, two people in love, despite never having said it. And before he could really think about it, Lilia’s arms were around them, his mouth pressed into theirs.

Oh, intimacy. How long had it been since he’d been this close to someone? He’d had his share of throwaway flings in the years after the war, but his full attention had been on raising Malleus. Besides, nothing could quite compare to this: he’d been imagining how it’d feel to hold them close, to have his lips on them, to kiss them deeply, ever since the war. How had he gone so long without this? Truly, he couldn’t understand how he’d had enough self-restraint to never act upon his feelings back then, how both him and them had been obedient enough to not act on their love just because the rules said so. 

“... I missed you.” they murmured once they separated their lips from his. They were staring right into his eyes, their face slightly red and eyes full of love. “Back then, in the war- every time I was alone with you, I... I thought about how badly I wanted to be with you. I thought about how much I loved you, and god, it hurt, it really hurt to have to keep it all locked inside.”

“You’re taking my words right out of my mouth, my love.” said Lilia, pressing his forehead against theirs. His arms wrapped around them, he could feel their heartbeat in their chest- their heart was going fast, but once again, so was his. “I can’t believe I waited so long to do this.”

Wordlessly, they kissed him again. Lilia vaguely thought it’d be rather embarrassing if Crowley were to walk in to lock the hall of mirrors now, but he couldn’t be bothered; he’d been waiting centuries for this moment. It wasn’t often Lilia felt young (truly, he was ancient), but right in that moment, he felt like he was being kissed for the first time. Two fae ancient enough to be recorded in history textbooks holding each other, letting the emotions they’d held onto for hundreds of years finally blossom- it was an odd image, but a charming one.

“I love you.” he murmured, burying his head into their neck. “You don’t know how happy I am I finally get to tell you that.”

[shadowturtlesstuff]

Can we have one where Cressworth adopt a child? 🥺❤

okay so, little late but I am very slow at things and I also forgot that I wrote this. It's them deciding to adopt instead of them adopting and its loosely based off paper rings by Taylor Swift.

I pierced through the skin of the body below me, the coldness seeping into me and I fought the chill that threatened to escape. We were in Thomas’s private laboratory and I ignored the urge to clean it. I have been here before, cut open a body here before and it still shocked me at how different it felt. Thomas was normally a well put together person and this laboratory did not reflect that sentiment. Yet it also seemed to fit perfectly. Thomas let out a low whistle as I carved the body. We needed to find the cause of death, as well as take out the kidney. The familiarity of this settles in me and we work together to take out the organ and write our notes for uncle to look through later.

Once we finish and clean all our equipment and place the sheet back over the body I follow Thomas upstairs. We sit in the kitchen, and I watch as Thomas makes us coco. My favorite thing about his flat in London is that there are no servants, it is just us. In this small flat in perfect bliss. We can sit in our bloodied aprons, or talk about bodies without having to stop so we don't upset our staff. Thomas can wrap his arms around me and kiss me all night right in the kitchen if he wished. We were not in our aprons, we left them in the laboratory, but I did feel like having Thomas's arms around me. Perhaps I will tell him to forgo the coco and for us to just go straight to bed. Before I could even say anything he placed a mug in front of me and a kiss atop of my head.

“Tired my love?” he asks as he takes a seat next to me. His hand finds my knee and he rubs small circles over my scar whilst he takes a sip of his drink. I hum a response as I drink my own drink, the warmth of it sweeping through me and replacing the horrible coldness that still lingered. We sit for a few minutes in silence, perfectly content. We have done this many times since being married and being able to live together. My own hand finds his, the one rested my knee and I take it and trace my own circles. It had been a very long day of dealing with people. Specifically obnoxious imbeciles of the Scotland yard. We had another murder on our hands, middle class man who was poisoned. Yet the Scotland yard wanted nothing to do with it despite it being their job to deal with murders. I hated how those men reacted to things, to me. Thomas could walk in there and tell them the murderer with zero evidence and they believe him but I give one theory and they mock me. We did not need the Scotland yard but uncle says we must keep a somewhat healthy relationship with them if we want to investigate for ourselves. Thomas sets his now empty mug down and gives me a warm smile and it relieves some of the tension I have been holding onto. I finish my own drink and place it down, giving him my own tired smile. Thomas takes both mugs and moves them to be washed later on and then returns to me by wrapping his arms around my waist and enveloping me in his warmth.

I lean into his touch and he rests his head on my shoulder. He kisses my temple and murmurs “I'm proud of you.” then he moves further down kissing my cheek. “Today lasted forever, I just wished we remained in bed if I knew that was going to be the case.'' I roll my eyes at his dramatics but don't dispute him. Especially as his lips find mine when I twist to look at him. He presses a light kiss but I deepen it, curling my hands in his hair. He pulls back before I am ready to let go and I let him know that with a whine.

“We will get through to them, it may take time but we will.” I sigh against his lips. I hope he is right.

I bury my head in his shoulder and he tightens his grip so he is hugging me. I fit perfectly in his arms and it takes away any other thought I had. All the fears leave me as I gain strength from the love his hug gives me.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news,my love.” Thomas says as he lets go of me to sit back on his seat. Concern floods me and I take Thomas's hand to steady me. Steady us it seems, as he lets out a long breath. “You needn't worry to much, it isn't necessarily that bad but well-”

“Thomas what is wrong?”

“I went to the doctors some time last week, and a day prior to today, and truly it is nothing at all to be concerned about but it appears I may not, we may not be able to have children.” The words hit me and I tried to search for a reaction. We haven't discussed children but I think we both wanted them. I would've loved to see Thomas holding our child in his arms, and would've loved to do the same. But if it was not possible-

“That means I get you all to myself then?” A half joke, half question and full realization. He lets out a small laugh, this has been eating him up for a while now so I squeeze his hands and he has to look away from me because tears are forming. I can feel my own throat tightening. “My love, look at me.” I move so I'm standing at his side and I wait till he drags his eyes to me. I take his face in mine as he quietly apologizes to me.

“Wadsworth,” my family name, the one he used to use to tease and flirt with me, i haven't heard him say it in so long, “i know that it would have meant the world; i wanted-” he stops himself as he cries trying to compose himself. The sight makes me burst.

“Thomas, it will be okay,” I repeated his words earlier with a kiss to his temple. “We needn't have children to be happy. I have you already and sir Issac and I am sure we will find ways around it.” He is still shaking his head and I have begun crying with him. We moved until I sat on his lap, his head buried into my shoulder, fingers digging into my back. I do the same. We hold each other for a while, Thomas's hand moving so it brushes against my scar on my leg, memories of the Eurita surly flooding his mind adding to his guilt.

“I am so sorry about everything Wadsworth.”

“It is Cresswell. Do not apologize to your wife when there is seldom a reason. I do not ever hold you responsible for my mistakes on the Eurita and I will never hold you responsible for this either. It is out of your control, my love, please do not harbor any guilt.”

“I know, I know,” his voice is hoarse and rough as his eyes meet mine, his brown eyes filled with pain, “you would have been the perfect mother.”

I smile brightly. He would've been the perfect father. I have had dreams of him playing with our children, with sir Isaac as I watched the love shine in his eyes. They'd adore him. I pictured them sitting by the fire as he taught them how to read; then we'd put them to bed and he'd hold me tightly in bed, telling me about his day with the children even though I was there.

“You would have been amazing too, if you spoil them half as much as you do the cat or me then they'd absolutely adore you.” silent tears stream down his face at the thought of what we could have. I wipe them away, caressing his cheek lightly as I place a kiss to his forehead, cheek and then his lips. We linger, mere inches away from each other and I smile at my husband. A man full of love when the world seems to want to take it from him. He takes my hand and smiles back.

“I love you. Thank you for understanding” he breathes and I feel it wash over me and attach to my bones.

“I love you too, Cresswell. I will stand by you no matter the complications, even if you commit some crime and we must perform a daring escape.” that earns a light laugh from him.

“You are truly the best thing in my life. I- Audrey Rose, I may never truly understand why you put up with me, but I will be forever grateful.”

“Does it help if I tell you that you treat me like your equal, like you promised at our wedding, and that you have shown me everyday how good it feels to be loved and to love, and that you are the best thing in my life too.” he searches my face for his usual tells in people, in whether they are being honest with him, but he find none. He presses a kiss to my lips, one that tells me all his worries and tells me how much he loves me. I kiss him back just as hard as he deepens the kiss and wraps his arms around me.

I pull back from his, determined to cheer him up before we retire to bed. “This means we should get sir Isaac a friend. Thomas there is also adoption we could consider. Not right away, but one day, perhaps when we aren't befriending killers every other week, we could adopt a child.” I had only just remembered adoption. It may be our only way to raise a child but I would still happily do it. We could still experience the joys of raising a child even if it is not our own. We would make it a part of this family. As we had made each other family.

“I'd like that, one day, i still have that crime to commit and we still need to perform that daring act.” We laugh, the tension in us both relaxed as I begin to stand up and stretch my leg slightly. Thomas offers me my cane that was by him and I take it, tracing over the engravings at the top. Over the years Thomas has brought me many canes but I seem to always use the first one he gave me, the one with his family crest. The one he put his heart into knowing I very may well run off with the Eurtia. I smile at the memory of him giving this to me.

“My love, I know we live a life of luxury and I spoil you often, and that our official wedding was fancy but not of that matters, I’d marry you with paper rings, I would happily live without all this so long as I had you.”

“As would I, my love.”

@fangirling-again @kittycat2187 @goatahoan @city-of-fae @the-hoofflepooff @ink-insomnia @purplecreatorhorsewagon @boredbookwormgirl @goddess-of-writing-wars @lovecakeandmore @yikesitsmaddie @loveyatopluto @bookscressworth @androgynousdeputylawyershoe @fandomtakeover @throneoftsc

[roselightfairy]

If you're still doing fic recs, do you have any favorite AUs?

Oh, do I!! This is an EXCELLENT prompt, and I’ve had a lot of fun compiling this list tonight. I’ve ended up grouping it into two different sections: modern AU (because there are a lot of those!) and “other,” which are…non-modern AU, haha. For the most part I’ve left out UA (universe alteration, in which the universe is the same but something about the story changes), because I can’t think of any of those right now – but I know there are some really good ones of that as well!

So:

Modern:

like, comment, subscribe by DeHeerKonijn

Summary: A collection of fics that take place in my modern ‘verse, wherein Minas Tirith is a bustling city, Gimli is a professor at the university, and Legolas is a model-slash-influencer-slash-layabout.

…

Come on, you all knew this was going to be first on the list. The amount of worldbuilding @deheerkonijn has put into this series is absolutely breathtaking, and what you see on Tumblr is probably only the half of it. (Go stalk her Twitter, even if you don’t have a profile – I do it all the time!) This series is all she’s written for it so far, plus the fic that we cowrote about the OC roommates. But aside from that, the series has a whole assortment of always sexy, always funny, always sweet stories about Legolas and Gimli; go read them all!

No Place Like HoME by Flamebyrd

Summary: In which our heroes play a MMORPG called Heroes of Middle-Earth.

…

THIS IS SO GOOD. I love this premise so much, haha – Legolas and Gimli are just regular humans (with regular names, even!) and a rivalry they don’t even know about – but it turns out they’ve been playing each other in a game for quite awhile! It’s cute, fun, and creative, and I wish there were more.

life’s just a game (and it’s just your turn) by plinys

Summary: Legolas and Gimli try to have phone sex (or well, headset sex) with some unforeseen consequences.

…

I ADORE that these two as gamers is a fic idea that exists more than once, and this one is so fluffy with just a hint of spice (and a hefty dose of embarrassment, haha, but they deserved it!). Read it and grin!

Hold My Number by katajainen

Summary: It's a Saturday night at the A&E, and Gimli only wants to get to the triage nurse and be done with this whole stupid business.

That is, until he meets a tall, dark stranger (a ridiculously pretty one).

…

I LOVE THIS FIC SO MUCH. The crowning glory of meet-cutes (though it’s more of a meet-ugly, really), in which Legolas and Gimli meet at the emergency room for very embarrassing reasons . . . and hit it off right away, in a way that is adorable, delightful, and funny to watch. Read for their embarrassing stories, their adorable dorkiness (they’re gamers again!), and their undeniable chemistry.

Perfect Fit by mssileas

Summary: "Both of them were painfully aware that their physical differences were shockingly obvious – much more so than their also very different personalities. And that they usually led people to assumptions they weren't shy of declaring."

Or, Legolas single-handedly disproves all prejudice, and Gimli loves it.

…

This is a lovely (and smutty, so be warned) modern AU oneshot that challenges the stereotypes of these two based on how they look – and how they would probably be treated, if they were a couple in our world. If you’re interested in the modern AU premise but not the smut, there’s another oneshot set in this ‘verse, Christmas Body, that is mostly just fluff!

Other (non-modern):

The Earth Moves Under Our Feet (It’s A Loco Motion) by notanightlight

Summary: The West is still Wild. Gimli is working on the railway, Legolas is a gunslinger, and someone needs to turn this train around.

…

WILD WEST AU WILD WEST AU!! This story is one of my favorite things ever because it’s a WILD WEST AU and Gimli is an Irish immigrant and Legolas is an outlaw and they meet in a near-death situation and bond! It has wonderful worldbuilding, excellent banter, and little moments of flirting that almost hide below the surface of the aforementioned near-death situation, but not quite. ;) Please go read it, or listen to the amazing accompanying podfic by Morvidra, which is an astounding performance.

Nothing Doth Fade (But Suffers a Sea-Change) by notanightlight

Summary: Gimli has always heard stories about the seals that lived near the cliffs of Castle Durin. “They aren’t what they seem,” they’d tell him. Gimli never knew what to think of those stories, until the night he met a stranger on the shore, with the sea in his eyes and moonlight on his skin.

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@notanightlight has too many amazing AUs to list them all here, but I have to give a shout-out to this one because SELKIES but also ANGST and SORROW and BETRAYAL but FORGIVENESS and HOPE and – I don’t know. It plays with a common and really sad trope, but gives our characters a way through that is hard and painful, but worth it, in the end – a story in which everything is not all okay, but in which that doesn’t have to be the end, if everyone is willing to work. Plus, Thranduil makes an appearance and he is magnificent.

Wild Hunt by consumptive_sphinx

Summary: There’s a knock on the door.

It isn’t quite dusk; it isn’t too dangerous yet. But still, it’s late to be out on Midwinter’s Night. What if he was held up somewhere?

Legolas takes a nail with him when he opens the door. “Gimli. It’s late.”

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Fae AU!! consumptive_sphinx has many wonderful AUs and you should check out their whole profile, but I had to give this one a shout-out. It’s mysterious and tender and packs a whole lot of story between the lines of its 917 words and made me yearn for more!

The Monstrous Fellowship by IchijouKenichiro

Summary: Astrin's cousins Fíli and Kíli left to fight the forces of Mordor over two years ago, but there's been no word from them for the last six months. Being a woman of action and the one who always is there to get them out of trouble, Astrin disguises herself as the male warrior Gimli and joins the army to fight for them. But the regiment she joins is anything but typical. With troublesome hobbits, a religious fanatic, the undead, a golem, and even an elf, are the greatest dangers to come from her fellow man? And what secrets are they all holding onto?

A parody of Terry Prachett's "A Monstrous Regiment"

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THIS IS NOT A DRILL. This is ACTUALLY a Monstrous Regiment rewrite of LOTR, with the Fellowship in the place of the Regiment, and the characters are – actually matched up really, really well. Full disclosure: I read this before I read Monstrous Regiment and went in fully prepared to ship Polly and Maladict… but it turns out they were extremely shippable anyway, so that turned out all right. ;) Seriously – this is an excellent fic, such a fun story, and such a good homage!

Aulë’s Gift by daisynorbury

Summary: "Our friendship endures these strange periods of inequality. You can't remember, and I can't forget."

A new chapter in Adina's classic Back to the Beginning cycle, wherein Aulë granted Gimli perpetual reincarnation. Two thousand years into the Fourth Age, Legolas meets the ninth version of his dearest friend. Told mostly from Gimli's amnesiac POV.

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I don’t know if this story fully counts as an AU, but I’ve been longing to rec it for several lists and just – couldn’t ever quite find a category it fit into. AU is close enough, since even though the world is meant to be Middle-earth far in the future, it’s different enough to feel like another world. This is a reincarnation story of Legolas and Gimli set in the series referenced above (and recommended in a different list), and it deals with the extreme complication of the situation with so much sensitivity and grace that it rivets me. Even if I didn’t know @daisyfornost, it would be so obvious to me that an absolutely unbelievable amount of thought and care went into the worldbuilding, the writing, the creation of this story. It is such a labor of love, and that love is evident throughout the whole thing. Please go read it, but I warn you that you will have lots of feelings.

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Thank you again for this amazing prompt, anon! Reminder to all that this is in no way a comprehensive list – I’m sure I’ve left out so many other wonderful stories. Please feel free to add your own, if you reblog this! And my usual reminder to please leave the author a comment if you read any of these and enjoy it. <3

[shera-dnd]

And we're back again with some high quality knight's and magic shit. I put my...girl?...boy? Let's go with girl for now, anyways I put Weiss through a lot, but I let her cut a fireball in half so I think we're even.

The sky was beautiful that night, not that it did much to improve Weiss’s situation, but laying on the ground like she was, watching the night sky was the only thing she could really do. Of course she had rid herself of the roots and vines already, but she simply lacked a reason to rise from the ground anymore.

Perhaps in the morning Lady Blake would return and find her still laying there, unmoving, then the knight would ask her what had happened, and Weiss would have to explain everything to her. Weiss...did not look forward to that. Maybe she should have let the roots drag her down.

No, if she did that then people would start searching for her, and if they found out what happened to her then they’d hunt down Lady Ilia.

Oh, Weiss, you fool.

Even after everything you still want to protect her.

Of course she does. Of course she wants to protect Ilia, she meant the world to Weiss, and she had picked this night to tell her so. But once again things did not go the way she planned. The worst part was that Ilia loved her back, she truly did, but that only made her resent and hate Weiss, as if she had somehow manipulated Ilia into loving her.

Weiss wanted to be angry, wanted to hate Ilia back, but she couldn’t. For all the years that her father spent trying to teach her to be as hateful as he was, all it took was a few days among people who truly cared for her, for her to learn how to love instead. Now she wished she didn’t, because no one told her that love could ruin her.

No, this was unlike her, she shouldn’t be letting something like this drive her to inaction. She picked up the broken pieces of herself and put them together long enough for her to at least have dinner and then collapse in her tent.

It took some effort to achieve this, a great part of it used simply to keep herself from thinking about how this meal was made for two, but eventually she managed to put enough food in her body that she would not starve, and began the long drag towards her tent. She did not expect to sleep much tonight, but it wouldn’t do to stay outside and become sick from the exposure.

“Weiss.”

She didn’t know when her eyes had closed or when sleep had taken her. She knew only that it was still dark outside and that someone had called her name. Or perhaps not, perhaps that had been just part of some half forgotten dream. It had felt real enough to wake her up, but now that she was awake she questioned that it even happened.

“Weiss.”

That got her to stand. She stepped out of the tent and began looking around. It still felt strange, as if she had imagined it, but it was still louder and more real than before. Was this also a dream? It was infuriating that she couldn’t quite put a finger on what was happening.

“Weiss!”

Now that was real. A terrified wail, a helpless cry. Someone needed her help. No, not someone, it was Ilia. That was her voice, calling her from within the forest. Weiss didn’t question it, she didn’t stop to think, she had to help her now. She grabbed her sword and quickly dashed for the woods without a second thought.

“Weiss! Weiss!”

Her voice continued to cry, the wind carrying it an impossible distance as Weiss followed its call. It was Ilia’s magic, she thought, she was calling the winds to carry her cries for help.

She didn’t know of the other fae in these woods.

She didn’t know they had played this trick before.

Even then would she really stop to question it? Would she really risk it when the woman she loved called for her help? No, she wouldn’t. So she ran through hidden trails, and down non-existent paths. She leaped from shadow to shadow, through roots and branches, until she reached a place humanity had never touched.

And then the sound stopped.

All sound stopped. It was as if the forest had been put under a spell, or perhaps as if Weiss had left the forest altogether, and this clearing was its own world, displaced from her own. She, unfortunately, wasn’t afforded time to question those things any further.

“Lady Weiss Schnee,” a voice greeted her from among the trees.

“It is so nice of you to grace us with your presence,” another followed.

Her hand reached for the hilt of her sword instinctively, though she did not draw it yet. Cautiously she studied the woods around her, trying to find the origin of their voices.

“You wouldn’t draw iron upon your hosts, now would you?” The first voice taunted.

“And our little sister spoke so highly of you,” added the second.

“Ilia!?” She exclaimed without thinking, “where is she? What have you done to her?”

The voices cackled, their laughs melding into each other, into a single discordant sound that echoed through the once silent woods.

“Ilia?” The first voice mocked, “I don’t recognize that name, brother.”

“Do you know who that is, sister Amitola?” The other asked.

“That’s me,” came a weak response from behind her.

Weiss quickly turned around, finding that where once was a tree, now sat the bound form of Ilia’s true self. Her arms and legs were tied, her wings had been charred and burned, and her skin glowed a depressive blue.

“Ilia!” She called, rushing to her side and releasing her as fast as she could.

“Weiss,” she replied, her white eyes now full of hurt, “please go away.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Weiss insisted.

“This is a trap, you idiot!”

As soon as her arms were freed she grabbed a hold of her savior and pulled her down, both of them rolling out of the way of a jet of flames. When Weiss managed to regain her composure she was greeted by the sight of the most terrifying creature she ever laid eyes on.

It towered over the both of them, a mass of orange and white fur, with a maw that still let out smoke. Its four eyes scanned the clearing, each pair of them moving separately from the other, before they all focused on Weiss and Ilia on the ground.

It opened its mouth and the first voice spoke, “I thought you wished to help us, sister Amitola.”

Ilia flinched at that name.

“All you had to do,” the second voice spoke through that same mouth, “was lay down and let you both die.”

Flames spilled out of the fae’s mouth and Weiss barely had time to draw her blade. Iron struck against fire, and the magic that sustained it was ripped apart, killing the flames before they could do them any harm.

“I will not let you hurt Lady Ilia any further,” Weiss declared, sword pointed at that fire breathing monstrosity.

“Look at you, so eager to die for her,” laughed the second voice.

Weiss took the offensive, jumping forward with a stab of her blade. The fae dodged aside and swiped at her, but she had already retreated to Ilia’s side. They had range on her, but she had speed and iron on her side.

“She tricked you,” taunted the first voice as they sidestepped another attack.

Stab.

“Lied to you.”

Slash.

“Betrayed you.”

She split another fireball in half, anger rising in her with every word of her assailants.

“Why risk death in her name? A name that isn’t even her own,” the voices taunted together.

“Because I love her!” She shouted, slicing forward. It was as if her own words had spurred fate to her aid as her sword finally connected, burning an arc across the fae’s arm. “And I will defend her with my life if I have to!”

She heard a gasp coming from behind her, but she could not turn to see what Ilia’s reaction had been, she could only hope it wasn’t more hurt. Meanwhile the gestalt being scurried back and growled in anger. The sound was horrifying, two voices joined together, only growing more unsettling as it morphed into laughter.

“You love her?” The voices laughed and mocked, “and you think love will save you? You think this is some sweet story of knights and princesses? You think yourself some galant hero?”

Though they cackled, Weiss stayed resolute, sword firm in her hand and gaze locked on her foe. This was, perhaps, her biggest mistake, as it left her blinded to the spell the fae had weaved around her.

“We know what you are, Weiss Schnee,” they spoke, that name sounding like poison in their tongue, “you’re no hero. You’re just a pathetic little princess, playing pretend.”

Now that made her snap. She launched forward with wild abandon, swinging and stabbing without a hint of caution. The fae, for their part, only cackled louder and louder as they evaded every blow, their amusement only feeding into Weiss’s anger. Her reckless assault only came to a stop as she felt something snag under her and tripped her.

She cursed as her body hit the ground with force, her sword escaping her grip. She turned back to see what had caught her, and for a moment she worried she might have hit her head too hard. Her boots had been turned into heels, her pants and shirt had disappeared, replaced instead with an elaborate blue and white dress, and her vest had given way to a light shawl bearing her family’s crest.

Unnerving couldn’t begin to describe the feeling of seeing herself like this.

After being allowed to live her dream for weeks, to have herself forcefully dragged back to that gilded cage, it unsettled something deep within her. She felt panic rise as her breathing grew more uneven. She had to calm herself, she had to control herself or her and Ilia would be dead.

It was unfortunate then, that her foe planned to grant her no such reprieve.

“What is wrong, princess?” The voices mocked, a massive paw landing between her and her sword.

No no no, this wasn’t happening. She--She was a knight, she had trained her whole life for this, she was meant to fight people like them. She wasn’t weak, she wasn’t helpless, she wasn’t a princess!

Fire spewed from the creature’s maw, bathing the ground in it. Weiss barely had the time or awareness to roll away, her mind still caught in a spiral of ever growing panic. And those accursed fae could only laugh as they watched her suffer.

A large claw swiped at her, though it barely scraped against Weiss’s skin as she jumped away, the wound it left still bled and the force still sent her face first against a nearby tree. A second strike soon came to finish what the first started, but it was stopped short by a cloud of glowing butterflies.

Dozens of the magical insects swarmed over them, forcing them back as the fae swiped uselessly at them. Before they could even begin to deal with the swarm, a smaller fae had tackled them to the ground with all her might. Ilia had freed herself and had come to Weiss’s rescue.

She slammed her hands to the combined entity’s chest and urged the earth to take them back, calling upon the roots to bring them down with them. For a moment it had worked, but then the twins opened their mouth and fire engulfed both insect and root alike. Ilia had been lucky to escape this uncinged.

“After everything you still choose this human?” The voices growled as they stood back up, “the Schnee girl who saw you as nothing more than a tool for her redemption? Is this who you choose to die for, Amitola?”

“Yes!” She shouted back, “now be quiet!”

She had nowhere near their physical strength or destructive power, but this fae still had claws, and she wasn’t gonna let them hurt Weiss any longer. She jumped at them, climbing onto their back and clawing at them with a rabbid fury.

The twins growled as they were sent stumbling back. Though she caused them both severe pain, Ilia was still much smaller, her claws weren’t made for taking down something that size. A hand that was easily bigger than her whole head, grabbed at what remained of her mangled wings and slammed her forcefully to the ground.

Their mouth opened again, ready to reduce the smaller fae to ash, but were brought to a stop by a large branch striking the side of their face with enough force to crack it in half. They howled as they backed away, rage was clear in their eyes, but the gaze they made was unflinchingly resolute.

Weiss stood tall, even in that stupid dress, her shawl had been ripped appart and wrapped around her hands, and she held what remained of that branch as if it was the noblest of blades. Even in the guise of a princess, she stood like a knight.

“You may insult me, humiliate me, you may even question my honor,” she declared, gaze unwavering as she approached the hulking creature, “but you’re a fool if you think you can harm Lady Ilia in my presence.”

The fae cackled, insults ready to spew out like their flames, but Weiss was quicker and she had no more patience for their trickery. The branch sliced at their eyes before the first word could escape their mouth.

“My lady was right,” she added, “you two should stay quiet.”

Were there any bards to witness this battle then they would have certainly sung of Weiss’s bravery, of her resolve, and of her devotion to both her love and her cause. They would sing of how she bested the fae with unmatched skill and unparalleled wits. Though the first part is certainly accurate, in truth Weiss’s skills hardly applied to this situation, and there was only so much anyone could do to something that big when armed with nothing more than a particularly sharp stick.

Still Weiss was set on besting Ilia’s assailants or dying to buy her time to escape, and that seemed more than enough to keep her fighting on.

She plunged the branch into one of the fae’s four eyes, causing it to howl in terrible pain. Though a victorious thrill ran through the knight’s body, she was promptly reminded of her foe’s sheer might and size as a large claw slammed against the side of her body, launching her against a nearby tree with terrifying force.

Once again fire began to spew, ready to engulf Weiss whole, and once again it was Ilia who saved her.

“Catch!” She shouted as she tossed Weiss her sword, and the magical inferno was unmade under the touch of iron.

Her blade sang and her feet drove her forward, iron met flesh with a deadly puncture, but the fae still stirred. They grabbed hold of her side, claws digging into skin as they tried to force her back. But Weiss was undeterred, she took one last step forward, driving Myrtenaster into their heart, like a nail into a coffin.

And so they slumped to the ground, black smoke escaping their wounds.

Weiss fell to her knees not long after.

“Weiss!” Ilia cried, as she rushed to her side, holding her before she could hit the ground.

“Ilia,” she muttered, weakness taking over her body as the adrenaline left her, “are you hurt?”

“Am I hurt?” Ilia asked with a nervous laughter, “Weiss, you’re bleeding.”

“But are you well?” She insisted.

“Yes, you absolute fool,” she answered, worry and exasperation in her voice, “I’m well.”

“Good.”

Ilia was safe, that was all that mattered. Not her wounds, not her blurring vision, and certainly not her blood loss. What mattered was that her love was safe, and nothing else.

She closed her eyes and, with a smile on her face, was taken away to the land of dreams.

[lycanthrop-ee]

Ghosting - Empty House

A/N: !!!!! It’s here! I’m so, so pumped for this- welcome to the Empty House AU! This is the first piece of content I’m publishing and it’s a one-shot from a bigger universe, but it’s also absolutely a stand-alone fic. It’s a self-indulgent, analogical-centric human AU that’s has been floating around my hollow skull for months now, so there’s a lot of doodles backed up if any of yall would like to see that ;) There will be an AU taglist, but I also have an individual writing taglist!

Synopsis: Logan has finally moved out of his childhood home into a family-sized house where he plans to finish college online. His simple plans are complicated when a strange, sad-looking boy starts showing up outside...

Word count: 4,306

Ships: Endgame romantic Analogical

CW: (spoilers) Pre-plot major character death, swearing, anxiety attack, very mildly implied previous parental abuse, be safe kiddos and ask to tag!

The first time Logan saw the boy was the day he moved in. 

The empty house had stood hollowly beside its driveway, Logan feeling small without his siblings or parents or any of his rarely acquired friends by his side. He wasn’t a sociable person, but he’d always been surrounded by noise at home, and lots of it… he’d never been in a house as still as the one he stepped into that day. The dark wooden floors were cleanly swept, except for the corners and trimmings which had little fields of grey dust dotting the deep brown. The refrigerator made a hungry humming noise, protesting its suddenly empty shelves- Logan knew a family of four had lived there before, and that they’d given him a pretty hefty discount on the house. That’s all he knew.

The floor in the entrance hall creaked underfoot, and the walls seemed to turn away as they saw him- not who they’d been expecting, not worth their attention. That was fair. 

The house had three bedrooms and two floors- altogether a strange layout. Two of the bedrooms were downstairs, situated in a small hallway off the kitchen, and one was tucked into a little corner upstairs, where the only other rooms consisted of a bathroom and a large, carpeted playroom that was mostly empty now. Logan figured it would have been a favorite of the kids when they were smaller, but now the only furniture was a faux leather couch and a television, as well as a couple of out-of-place armchairs that had never gotten much human use from the look of their fur-covered seats.

With just him taking up the whole house, he hardly saw the point in using the upstairs bedroom. The house felt big already- rationally, it would be better to localize downstairs. All he really needed was his room, the kitchen, and the little living room next to the entrance. That was enough for him- in fact, even that was too silent. He missed the screams of his brothers as affectionately as anyone could- which honestly varied day to day. 

Today, he was disproportionately affectionate. 

It paired well with the fear.

Logan was just about ready to start tearing himself apart over the family members he’d left behind- the only ones that mattered- when the boy caught his eye.

The day had been gray and dreary, the trees heavy with the prospect of rain and the air cool enough to promise it, but it had only started drizzling in the few minutes since Logan had been inside. The sky had seemed to darken remarkably quickly, especially strange without the presence of thunder or even heavy rain, and in the middle of it all was a lanky figure who looked for all the world like a member of the fae.

He stood at the side of the road, looking in the house’s general direction- in Logan’s general direction, although he was sure the other wouldn’t be able to see through his windows. His face would’ve been hidden by the dark hair poking out from under his hood were he not so painfully pale, and his brown irises were visible to Logan only because of the piercing contrast of his skin. 

His jacket was oversized, but his beanpole frame managed to show through regardless. The rainwater gradually weighed it down until the boy looked almost a skeleton, Logan frozen watching him for what could have been minutes- and then the frame heaved in a breath and ambled stiffly away. 

Obviously Logan’s first worries had to do with an unhinged white male teenager breaking into his new house- the one he had full responsibility for and few precious savings to repair. It was irrational, he knew, but his second thought was that the boy hadn’t looked capable of any harm- or really of much at all. He looked weighed down, depressed, and Logan was sure that it wasn’t just the water soaking his sweatshirt. The boy had looked sad. 

And he continued to. Frighteningly often, the teenager appeared outside Logan’s house. Each time he looked quite the same: above average height but considerably shorter than Logan himself, skinny, and almost other-worldly in his strange mish-mash of dark eyes and pearly flesh. While Logan knew that his first sight of the boy had been strange in the sudden change of weather, he could- and completely intended to- count it as a coincidence of Florida’s strange climate.  

He settled into a sort of pattern, although the boy didn’t seem to follow one. Each time he saw the figure outside his house, he would take a break from his endless work. He’d make himself some tea, sit in the window, and wait for the boy to leave. This way, he told himself, if he tried anything, Logan would be there to intercept him. He chose not to think about the possibility of it happening at night or while he was away, and he kept far away from the crime shows he’d occasionally enjoyed in the past. This way, too, he could get a good look at his visitor each time. It was almost as though he was keeping tabs on him, and at the tail end of his fear came a strange protectiveness. 

It was after about a month of this- Logan looking for job applications and living off of his savings, edgewise- that Logan pulled into his driveway at one of the key moments of his life. The boy stood unsteadily at the side of the road, sweatshirt ever-present even in the heat. Logan got out of his car carefully, his heart in his throat- though, really, did any part of him think the boy capable of much at this point? 

He’d have expected the kid to run as soon as he’d pulled in, but when Logan looked him over he saw the boy studying him, bouncing on the balls of his feet. It struck Logan anew in their close proximity how thin he was.

Almost thoughtlessly, he started across the lawn towards the boy. He had to remind himself to uphold formalities- no matter how many times they’d stared at each other across the way, they’d never once spoken. He didn’t know this kid, not really- and now it occurred to him that the boy was more than a kid. He couldn’t be much younger than himself. Logan halted a few respectful steps from the boy, who eyed him strangely.

Close up… he looked, somehow, the same as he did from across the lawn. His features were simple, small mouth and nose easy to overlook for his huge, shadowed eyes. He really did remind one of a fairytale, or even- perhaps more accurately- a Tim Burton. 

Logan opened his mouth to speak, but paused for a moment. They watched each other.

“Would you like to come in for tea?” He finally inquired, the words escaping him overly familiar. The boy raised his eyebrows almost undetectably, seeming confused, and Logan caught himself almost leaning forward in anticipation of the other’s first words to him.

“You’re not Patton,” the boy said, voice just above a murmur and hoarse. Logan hesitated, confused, and studied the expression that would’ve been bored were it not for the slight tremble in his lips and a hint of surprise- Logan supposed neither of them had planned what had escaped their mouths. He reached up with a thin arm and brushed the back of his hand gently across his eyes. A spark of something strange flickered in Logan’s chest- this man was possibly not all there. He wracked his brain for labels- depression? Mild psychosis? Dissociation?

Either way, this was not someone he should invite into his house without more information- but as that regretfully occurred to him, the first drops of afternoon rain hit the tip of his noise. He wondered if the boy would stand out here after Logan went outside, and if so, for how long. 

“No, I’m not,” he found himself saying. “My name is Logan. It is raining- would you like to come in?”

He was exceedingly aware of the boy’s breathing as they stepped out of the rain, something that would normally drive him insane- somehow he didn’t mind this time. His presence was almost calming after weeks of bringing a break from Logan’s ceaseless work. It assured him that the ghostly pale man was real, which was never a problem he thought he’d be debating... but here was this skeleton-thin, strange-mannered man entering his house as though he’d been there a million times before.

He carefully slid his shoes off, paying close attention to the floor- and no attention to Logan. 

“I’ll make tea,” the latter found himself mumbling. “Do you want to come into the kitchen?”

“I’m gonna go upstairs,” the boy said. Logan blinked.

“I- you… this is my house?” He stuttered, trying to be assertive- surely that crossed a line? He’d never seen this kid before a month ago- but there he went, lugging himself up the stairs like he belonged there. O-kay. 

Logan backed into the drafty kitchen to put the kettle on.

Time to listen to his voice of reason, he decided. Clearly this boy had been in the house before- hopefully before Logan had moved in- and knew his way around. And clearly his mental state had some connection to the house- whether positive or negative, Logan couldn’t yet tell. So, he concluded, it’s possible that he had lived here before. The married couple that had sold him the house had mentioned a son, but they’d been moving out of town- how would the boy have made his way back almost daily? There was a bus line in the area... but who was Patton, and why had his absence been unexpected?

There was clearly missing information here, and thus the situation was theoretically dangerous. The logical thing to do would be to contact the authorities for more information- maybe the boy was a local that they were familiar with. If that were the case, they would know how to handle him. 

On the other hand… it was, put simply, a puzzle. Wasn’t it? Logan was smart; he was in online college and he was passing quite well. He had an A in psych so far. He just needed a few more minutes with the boy and he’d figure it out. He could help him... why else would he show up outside his house? 

He needed Logan.

There goes rational thought, Logan sighed as the kettle started to whistle, turning off the stovetop and moving the pot to the side. Something made him turn around- the boy was watching him from the doorway, looking almost more upset than usual. His wide eyes were watery, and as Logan hesitated he wiped an arm across his face again, expression turning to frustration. He avoided Logan’s gaze. “You said you were making tea?” He said, carefully controlled voice just above a whisper. Logan was startled out of his stupor by the boy’s coherence.

“I, um- yes! Yes, would you- what kind?”

“Earl grey? No sugar, just a bit of milk...” he carefully pulled a chair from the small table, slumping into it and reaching to fidget with the salt shaker. “Please.”

The boy’s words stirred Logan into movement and he grabbed two mugs out of the mostly barren cabinet before pulling a pre-packaged tea bag from the tea box on the counter. He unwrapped the tea and dropped one bag in each mug, pouring steaming water from the kettle into them with a satisfying noise. The warm humidity and pleasant smell caressed Logan’s face, and he took a moment to bask in it before returning to the present moment- if begrudgingly. As he set the empty kettle aside, the room quieted, the only sound the rain drizzling over the side of the roof. Logan crossed the space self-consciously to close the window. The boy’s eyes were pointedly focused on the table in front of him- Logan thought he felt more awkward this way than if the boy had been staring at him flat-out. Either way, he could feel his awareness of Logan like a thick fog. He snuck another look at the boy as he hovered beside a chair, unsure whether to sit opposite him. 

“My name is Logan,” he prompted, thoughts stumbling over each other to curse him for the repetition. 

“Thank you for the tea, Logan.”

...Well, at least that was something. His name sounded strange in the other boy’s hoarse, delicate voice- less mundane, somehow. He stood at the head of a table for one more moment that seemed to stretch out an eternity- the boy carefully spun the salt shaker around in his nimble fingers, swearing softly as some of the seasoning fell onto the table. Logan’s startled eyes studied the other’s flushed face.

And then his head caught up to him, and he shuttered into motion, rushing to the mostly empty fridge for milk and fetching the small bag of sugar he’d mercifully bought a few days before. 

“I... I’ve seen you around,” Logan’s mouth betrayed him again. That was creepy- although, looking at it objectively, it was much less creepy than being ‘around’ the way the boy had. The table behind was quiet for too long as he poured the milk. 

“...When’d you move in?” The voice was quiet and held a fragility that Logan hadn’t yet heard from the other. He was relieved to finally have an easy answer to one of the many questions he faced. And, indeed, his mouth finally obeyed him, even and direct.

“About a month ago.” He turned to face the table, the boy’s tea held stiffly between his hands. 

“Sorry,” he whispered as Logan set down the tea. “I knew someone’d moved in, but I guess… it was you.” The boy let out a hollow laugh, and Logan was swept with protectiveness once more.

“Don’t worry, I won’t alert the authorities.” Because that was the most comforting thing he could think of- he’d never been very tactful with delicate emotional situations. Predictably, the boy tensed. Logan decided it’d be advisable for him to move on. “What is your name, pray tell?”

Pray tell. Pray fucking tell? What was wrong with him? The boy cut him off before he could overthink the foot he’d just shoved in his mouth with the eloquence of an 1800s era schoolboy. 

“Patton.” A moment passed before a look of horror came over his face. “Or- no, I- it’s- Virgil! Virgil.”

Now- once again, logically- forgetting one's name was not a good sign. Of general coherence nor moral innocence. Logan knew this. 

Still, the boy looked uniquely upset by the mistake. 

Logan fetched his tea and sat down opposite him.

The other boy fidgeted incessantly, and Logan felt it fell on him to make Virgil more comfortable. He threw tact to the wind- it was tiresome anyway- in favor of distracting the other and himself from the strange fumble.

“Are you a local?”

He got a nod in response, Virgil holding the tea tightly between his hands. Logan couldn’t help but feel he’d made yet another mistake- obviously the boy wasn’t comfortable talking about himself, but was it worth Logan filling the silence with unprompted facts about himself? Would that bore Virgil? Was that rude? He let the gap in conversation rest for a moment before deciding he didn’t much care what was rude.

“This is my second year enrolled in online college- I skipped my senior year.”

The stupid non-sequitor sat in the middle of the table, sinking like a rock. Virgil managed to give him an incredulous look, even in the depths of... whatever it was that was affecting him. Logan panicked. 

Here are a few things about Logan Croft that were usually a given:

                  1. He often said things without regard to the effect they would have on others. 

                  2. He did not say things he didn’t believe to be true.

                  3. He did not readily employ personal information.

All of these rules had apparently been thrown out the window the second Virgil walked in his door. As soon as he realized this, he worked to reclaim them. “Virgil.”

The wind immediately blew out of his sails, and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Speaking abrasively had never been difficult for him, and this was not the time to adopt a new weakness. “I need to know who you are. You have shown up outside of my house for the past month, and while the reasoning behind this is presumably personal and not necessarily critical for me to know, I will at least need you to tell me your full name. Against my better judgement, I will not contact the authorities about your incessant invasion of my privacy, because I don’t altogether mind it- but if you are to have regular access to my house, we can’t continue this one-sided conversation.” Regular access to his house? When had Logan considered that option? As soon as he asked himself the question, he knew the answer- the feeling of someone appearing in the doorway, seeking Logan’s company… it was something that he’d missed sorely. It was something he needed.

The boy looked startled and altogether terrified by the long stream of words. Logan, still working hard to recover his sense and new to the inclination of softening his words on the behalf of strangers, disregarded this as best he could as he waited for an answer. 

It didn’t look like he was going to get one.

Virgil opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water, putting the salt shaker down on it’s side like he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. Logan felt a tug in his stomach to right it, afraid he’d get more salt on his table, but now didn’t seem like the time. 

As the moment stretched forward, his attention was grabbed away anyways, trying to decipher Virgil’s expression. It didn’t look good. 

In fact, it made his heart drop.

The boy looked withdrawn, fearful- like a bird with an injured wing or a snared fox. Damn it, damn it, damn it- Logan’s split-second adopted mantra was less than helpful, but it showed no signs of tapering off to make room for useful thoughts. Virgil’s eyes squeezed shut, and the instincts left over from Logan’s career as an older brother took over. 

He rushed to Virgil’s side on blind autopilot, laying a warm hand over his bony back. The boy jumped at the unexpected touch- and then leaned into it, a choked sob tearing itself from his throat. Oh no. Oh god. Damn it. 

Logan didn’t consider himself good with emotions. He did his best to comfort his younger brothers- god knows they needed it- but strangers were a whole new situation and honestly he didn’t feel much better about this than he expected the boy did.

Nevertheless. 

“Hey, I-” he took a knee to lower himself to Virgil’s level, steadying himself against the table awkwardly. “Um-”

He choked on what to say, but his mind latched to the one thing he knew. Virgil had responded positively to touch- and with little further thought, Logan bundled the shivering boy into his arms.

Logan would’ve immediately taken back the show of affection by any means necessary if Virgil hadn’t melted into the touch so readily- Logan was reminded of an oversized cat. 

That being said, Logan was holding a sobbing stranger in his arms in his new house, alone. Damn it, damn it, damn it.

Logan had always been the kid at family gatherings who did everything in his power to ward off physical contact from his overbearing relatives. Although this situation was completely different and altogether impossible to plan for and avoid, he found himself reacting in somewhat of the same way- each place that Virgil’s thin, trembling body touched his screamed at him to recoil.

He did not.

He brought to mind his brothers- not that they’d ever been particularly physically affectionate with him. They’d always turned to each other, and he’d been left to himself. Understandably. But he imagined if they had seeked his reassurance, if they’d ever been as upset as this stranger was now. If they’d let him in. 

But now someone was leaning on him for comfort, and he was determined to provide for them. Imagine if Remus had come to him for help, he kept thinking. Imagine if it were Roman. 

And all of a sudden he had to hold back tears himself. He tensed, carefully leaning Virgill back onto his chair- Logan’s chair. Sensing the other’s discomfort, the boy came back to himself like a fire blazing across dry wood. 

“Fuck- fuck, I-I’m-” the boy was off at a rushed stutter, scrambling to right himself and wiping his eyes angrily. Logan shook his head, patting Virgil’s shoulder awkwardly. 

“Drink your tea,” Logan said stiffly. “It’s okay. I don’t- do you need something?” Good job, he thought sarcastically. Just pretend it never happened. Show him that, apologies, you seem to have made him think you’re an emotional resource. He was wrong, you’re actually a sociopath. Once again, sorry for any inconvenience. 

Logan’s thoughts stuttered and shouted as he tried to fix whatever he’d done. Virgil was quite obviously shaking, almost unable to hold his tea to his lips although he did make an effort, and Logan resorted back to psych class- maybe not a panic attack, but certainly an emotional breakdown and possibly an anxiety attack. “Do you have a history of generalized anxiety disorder?” Logan asked automatically, the place where he should have held a capacity for compassion currently void for whatever stupid reason. “Or even a suspected case?” The thunderstorm in his mind froze entirely as Virgil’s watery brown eyes focused on him. 

“...I guess,” he rasped quietly, eyes flickering back to his hands as they picked at each other violently. “I dunno.”

Logan let out a long breath, sliding furtively into the chair opposite Virgil. 

“If you’re having an anxiety attack, it could be caused by a persistent disorder or a recent traumatic event- although recent is a problematically inspecific measurement-” 

“Uh, then I- I dunno. Still. I guess…” He shrugged, looking away. “How recent is recently?”

Logan tried to hold back a sigh of relief at the comparatively simple question.

“Generally, anxiety attacks are caused by a buildup of unfinished tasks or other irritants, although there’s often an overarching problem or incident. A traumatic event can cause emotional turmoil for years after it occurs- or for the remainder of one’s life, depending on it’s nature- but in most to all cases, the effects lessen as time goes on.” Virgil nodded slowly. 

“And- and what are the symptoms? Of an anxiety attack?” He pulled his legs up to his chest, presumably placating the urge to make himself smaller. Logan rattled off the characteristics quickly.

“Shaking, a feeling of unease, impulsive thoughts, nausea, panic, the sensation of being trapped or cornered, restlessness, hyperventilation, trouble concentrating, dyspnea- shortness of breath, that is- am I making sense?” He wrapped his hands around the cooling cup of tea in front of him, feeling the need to steady himself. Virgil nodded again- it was apparent he was a man of few words. That worked out wonderfully, Logan thought, as he himself seemed so bent on talking as much as humanly possible. 

“Yeah,” Virgil muttered- then stood up abruptly. “Um- I should probably go. Sorry for… yeah.” Logan, decidedly more alarmed at the idea than he should’ve been, got to his feet as well.

“No- I mean, you don’t… have to. If you’d rather- but if you feel the need to go- I mean, I don’t want you to…” Logan paused, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to get his damn mouth under the control of his brain. Had he said something wrong? Well, obviously he’d said many things wrong in the past minutes, but… he thought over the conversation. He’d only been saying the facts- just what he knew. Was there something he should have kept to himself? Was any of it too personal? It was just facts, statistics, symptoms- he cursed himself mentally, although he couldn’t tell precisely what for.

While he’d been deliberating- not panicking, never panicking- Virgil had frozen in place. Right. The whole blazing trainwreck of words he’d let out for no apparent reason. Where the hell had that even come from? He’d known this kid for a month- five minutes face-to-face- and he was already being weird and nonsensical. It took considerable effort to bring the circumstances of their meeting to mind and even the playing field in his subconscious. If they were both creepy, did it even out? “I-I meant... you’re welcome here.” 

Logan could see the gears turning in Virgil’s head as he fell back into his chair. A weight slid off of his shoulders as the air between them settled- they were even. Or something. 

As much as he expected to regret his words, he was surprised at the lack of protest from his thoughts. It was, for once, blessedly quiet both inside his head and out. Logan sat back down warily. “You obviously have some- some connection to this house.” Like some sort of undead apparition, he thought- but he had the sense to keep that, at least, inside. “I can’t tell if it has a positive or negative effect on your mental state as I seem to be an uncalled for variable in your visit. I’m no psychological authority... I know you’ll come back either way, and I don’t like imagining you back out in the rain.” A shiver went through the boy like a roll of thunder, and he nodded. 

“When can I come here again?”

[maaaddiexo]

Wounds, Confessions, and Sunrises | Rycroft Philostrate

Mainlist | Serieslist

“Come on, just a little further,” Tourmaline grunted, her arm around Philo’s waist. They’d been walking for some time now. What would have been a ten-minute walk to the outskirts of the Burgue had now doubled.

“How much further?” Philo grunted. The arm that wasn’t around Tourmaline’s shoulder was pressed against the wound in his side, trying to stop the bleeding.

“Just up ahead and into the alley. She knows we’re coming.”

“Who? Where are you taking me?”

“She’s a Fae doctor. Since you refuse to go to the hospital, Y/N is the next best thing. She’s seen it all and treats both Fae and Burgue without question. Like you, she respects both our kinds.”

Philo grunted again. “So, she’s a half-blood like me?”

“No. At least, she’s never said so.”

They turned down the alleyway and stopped at the bottom of a rickety wooden staircase, leading to the top floor of a building. “She does have a front door,” Tourmaline informed Philo as they slowly began to climb the stairs. “But I figured you would appreciate the discrepancy.”

Philo, who’s sympathy towards the Fae was currently being inspected under a microscope, nodded in appreciation. Not to mention, he was supposed to be dead. Tourmaline knocked on the door in code and stepped back. Philo leant against the railing. “Now, remember. She’s seen it all. Maybe not something like you, but you can trust her. She doesn’t snitch and she certainly doesn’t judge.”

“Why? What’s her story?”

The door opened with a creak, stopping Tourmaline from answering. The girl poked her head past the doorframe, the moon illuminating it with light. She had her hair pulled back behind her eyes and no makeup on her face. Unless you counted a smear of blood.

She smiled at Tourmaline. “Always bringing me customers, T. You’re the reason I stay in business.”

The Pix shrugged. “Most of the time, I just spread the word. But this one can barely walk on his own. Careful with him. He’s a delicate one.”

The two girls chuckled over the hidden meaning in Tourmaline’s words and Y/N turned to Philo. Instead of going to shake his hand or introduce himself. She took the same position Tourmaline had.

“Thanks, T. I’ll let you know when he’s good to go.”

The Pix nodded and smiled at Philo before spreading her wings and taking off under the cover of darkness. Inside, Philo could see that this floor was where Y/N lived. A loved couch and chair by the front window. An old coffee table. A bookshelf so full that many of the books had been stacked in front of it. There was a small kitchenette in the corner to his left and a mattress on the floor to the right. On the right wall was a bathroom. That was where Y/N led Philo, leaving him to slump against the sink as she rummaged around in the cupboard.

“This is a large bathroom,” Philo said in attempts of making conversation. There was a large cupboard full of towels and medical supplies, a full-sized tub that not even Philo had, and the toilet had its own corner in the room.

“This used to be the bedroom and bathroom, but when I started getting…private patients, I had this area converted to a bathroom and patient room.” She reached for the wall and pulled on a string Philo had missed, revealing a cushioned bench. She moved him to the bench. “You can sleep on my bed after I clean you up, but this makes it much easier to work on people.”

“How did you pay for all this?” Y/N didn’t necessarily live and work in the best of neighbourhoods.

“I used to live quite close to the city center,” Y/N said, turning on the taps. The faucet sputtered for a moment before spewing out clear hot water. “When my parents died, I was left a large inheritance. Everybody knew I wanted to become a doctor, but never expected me to move out here and treat the Fae folk.”

“Why did you then?”

Y/N moved to kneel in front of Philo, undoing the buttons on his shirt. “I saw how helpless the Fae were when I lived in the city. The way they were treated. Turned away. I felt bad for them. They may not be from here, but they’re still living beings at the end of the day. So, I started my own practice. I had a few Fae friends who helped spread the word of my business, one of them being T. I only treat Fae and your kind who can’t afford to see a Burgue doctor because of their prices. If they can afford it, I turn them away. Of course,” Y/N smiled at Philo. “I make some exceptions.”

Philo chuckled. “Well, thank you.”

Y/N removed Philo’s shirt, tossing it into the corner. It was soiled. She moved closer to the wound on his side. “Well, this isn’t as bad as it seems. “It’s not deep, just long. Let’s get you in the bath and then I’ll stitch you up.”

Philo awkwardly looked down at his trousers. He wasn’t necessarily bashful, but he also wasn’t going to just drop them. He also didn’t want her to see his back. Y/N laughed. “Nothing I haven’t seen before, but alright. You’re not the first. Come on. I’ll help you to the tub and once you’re in, call me.”

Philo had trouble standing and removing his pants, which were stuck to his legs from all the sweat and water he’d rolled around in during his fight. He had even more trouble standing back up and getting into the tub. He was sure Y/N had heard him grunting and sloshing around, but she didn’t say a word and didn’t come back in until he called her name.

Y/N barely glanced at Philo, placing the rest of his clothes with his shirt in the corner and then moving to the cupboard. “How’s the water?”

“Perfect actually. Doesn’t even hurt my wounds.”

Y/N smiled. “That’s the matrea in the water. Takes out the sting we feel when water touches an open wound. Makes it softer, you could say.” She grabbed more herbs and began to grind them in the mortar before sprinkling them in the water. She held something up to his mouth. “For the pain.”

Philo took it after a moment of hesitation, gagging on the flavour. He managed to swallow it but eagerly took the glass of water from an amused Y/N. “What was that?”

“You probably don’t want to know.” Y/N reached for a sponge. “Lean forward,” she said.

Philo didn’t move.

Y/N looked at him with realization. “The reason you’re here and not seeing a Burgue doctor. It has to do with your back.”

Philo looked away. “Will you tell?”

Y/N touched his hand gingerly, careful to avoid his split knuckles. “Not a word.”

Nervously, Philo leaned forward and wrapped his arms around his legs, resting his chin on his knees. Y/N moved to stand behind him. Immediately, she touched the scars on his back. He flinched but then relaxed.

“This is excellent work,” Y/N said. “Perfect removal.”

“I don’t remember it,” Philo admitted. “It happened when I was a baby.”

Y/N ran the sponge over his back. “I see why you chose to identify with the people of Burgue. Living here…they are more accepting of their own kind.”

“It was weak of me to ignore my heritage,” Philo admitted.

“Not necessarily,” Y/N said, watching the dirt run down his back into the water. “Look at you now. I know who you are. You are an Inspector – and a good one at that. You have a good reputation amongst the Fae folk. You see them. You keep your promises to them. You treat them with respect. Walking the line between both worlds has put you in a prime position for your job. Especially with whatever is killing the Fae.”

Philo spoke softly. “I’d never really thought of it like that.”

“Don’t feel guilty over something you had no choice in. Your wings were taken from you, but the Fae in your blood was not. You care about all creatures. And that is admirable.”

“I could say the same to you.” Y/N moved in front of his face. She began to sponge at his shoulders and chest where most of the blood and dirt was. “You’re doing something most people are afraid to do.”

“I was afraid to do it at first,” Y/N admitted, glancing at Philo. “But I saw how people walked past Fae who were dying in the street. I realized that no one was going to help them. And those who wanted to…couldn’t. Well, I wanted to and I could. So, I did. It hasn’t been easy, though. My parents’ friends act like they don’t know me when they see me, and others call me names like sympathizer.”

Philo grimaced. He knew the weight that word carried. Y/N seemed unbothered by it though.

“But I do not let their words get to me. I see how grateful people are when they leave my building in better condition when they came and that is enough for me. I am making a difference. How many people can say that?”

Philo smiled as Y/N stepped back and grabbed a towel. “Not many.”

This time, Philo gratefully took the help when Y/N offered. She helped him stand, casually keeping her eyes far above his naval as she helped him from the tub and tied the towel around his waist.

On the bench, Y/N had Philo lean back and quickly began stitching his side up. She did an excellent job. Philo suspected the scar would barely show despite the size of the wound. He voiced so and Y/N smiled proudly.

“I went to medical school before I opened my own practice. Of course, nobody knew of my true ambitions at that time. I wasn’t even sure if I could follow through with it.”

“Why did you? What pushed you over that edge?”

Y/N hands stilled and pulled away. “I saw a man cut a Puck’s horns off. For no reason. She couldn’t have been older than five years old. Her screams still haunt me.”

“Do you do that stuff? Modifications for the Fae?”

Y/N shook her head adamantly. “Absolutely not. No matter how hated you are for it, your horns, your wings – whatever it is, they’re still a part of you. I would never let these people fall victim to the harsh words of the Burguish people. Once they learn to love those parts of them, words can’t touch them.”

“Not even on a baby if it meant giving them a better chance at life?” Philo asked sadly. Y/N wrapped the bandage around his torso and tied it before answering. She touched the back of his hand softly.

“Never.”

Philo smirked. “The Burgue needs more people like you, Miss Y/N.”

“You as well. Not many gentlemen left in these parts.”

“I’m not sure I am one,” Philo frowned. “I broke a girl’s heart. And I’m pretty sure I loved her.”

“Then why not apologize and tell her?”

“I did. But it won’t ever be enough.” Philo sighed. “It’s over between us. For good.”

Y/N smiled sadly, having no words to give to the half-blood in front of her. She stood up with a sigh, holding her hand out for Philo to take. “Let’s get you to bed.”

~

Philo wasn’t in the mood to sleep but let Y/N give him some extra clothes she kept around for cases like his and helped him into bed, going as far as to tuck the blankets in under his sides. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep but found himself listening to Y/N moving around her small apartment. A few times she went downstairs to check on her other patients but always returned. He heard the floorboards creak as she approached him, waited for a moment, and then retreated.

When the sun was just beginning to appear above the horizon, Philo’s eyes fluttered open tiredly, and his side immediately began to ache. He hadn’t even realized he’d fallen asleep.

“Good morning.” Y/N was sitting on her chair by the front window, her feet tucked under her with a steaming cup of tea in her hands. Her eyes didn’t stray from the rising sun. The entire sky was orange and pink.

Philo rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?”

“Half past five. Sunrise,” she said in content. Philo forced himself to stand and wandered over to the empty couch on the other side of the coffee table. He glanced at Y/N who hadn’t moved. He noticed an old, worn quilt over her lap.

“Did you sleep at all?”

“No. I only put you to bed a few hours ago. And then with the patients downstairs…well, I don’t get a lot of sleep.”

“Why not sleep now?”

“Because it’s sunrise,” she said simply, like it explained everything. She spared at glance at Philo. “My mother and I used to watch the sun rise every morning after bidding my father off to work. I’ve done it every day since she passed even though she’s not here to enjoy it with me.”

Philo stared at Y/N a moment longer before turning to face the sky. The warmth reached his bare toes and he reclined on the couch, placing a hand behind his head. He’d never watched the sunrise before; he’d always had something to do. Somewhere to be. He watched the sun rise with Y/N, silently wondering why the sunrise had never been so beautiful to him. He looked over at Y/N.

Perhaps it wasn’t beautiful to him before because he’d never watched it with someone before.

[sn0wbat]

did anyone want an OC AU with some glowans and fantrolls?? like, putting them in the same universe as the vampires i’m currently fixating so hard on???

well here, have some art anyway, you’re welcome

Clearly, you clicked the readmore because you wanted to know more. 

Anyway, so far:

Siini (Simo O. Nortunen) is a vampire. He’s also finnish, and the son of the local mayor, who’s a total narcissist and also insists that he’ll always be “her little girl” and spoiled him with all the latest tech he asked for (while literally having indoor windows into his room so she could spy on him). Somehow she still found a way to misgender him in a language that doesn’t have gendered pronouns.

Anyway, he’s trans. Aurin saved him when he was like 16. He actually loves being a vampire and wouldn’t have it any other way, it’s a great way to escape his mom and also society in general, and he also got a free transition while he was at it?? Perfect. He doesn’t mind the bloodlust, it’s still better than living with his mom. 

Also, Bat tried drinking blood from his household once. He’s kinda been all over the place.

Tayda (Taija Riita Sismonen) is a werewolf here. I still haven’t drawn her human form, sorry. She currently does live in an apartment like her glowan counterpart, but she also has this huge werewolf family. When she grew up, they drove over to their cabin in the woods every full moon to go wolf. The neighbors didn’t suspect anything. Simo didn’t know about this either, until he was a vampire himself.

Aurin (Aurinko Sismonen), she’s the weird distant relative of Taija’s family. Actually a vampire, a daywalking one! People may not know her glowan self very well, but basically she’s a nocturnal glowan who kept staying up to see the sun, so this fits her very well. She’s the one who turned Simo. She also always claims to be 222 years old. She’s done that for a few decades now.

My landdweller fantrolls are what is basically my take on mythical Norwegian trolls. (I’ve literally grown up in Norway, this is fine)

These are juvenile trolls, not yet started to grow much into those horrible huge adult trolls we often see in Norwegian troll art. They’re very earth-toned and blend in well with the forest. They also tend to hibernate a lot, which is when moss and trees grows on them. 

They also don’t like the sun. While it only hardens the skin of juveniles, it is straight up fatal to adult trolls (it goes straight through them, turning them into stone) 

My seadweller fantrolls get to be kinda nøkken-based instead. Normally they’d be covered in a ton of lakeweeds for camouflage reasons, but for convenience I drew them without this stuff, so you can see them. They also have the ability to shapeshift and lure people into the small forest lakes that way. 

Basically, the existence of trolls in Norwegian folklore were warning stories for children to not wander into the woods or mountains too far, or else the trolls will getcha and eat u alive 

Anyway, trolls do exist for real in this world, and so does the fae folk. There’s also a secret fae realm that any mythical creatures can access and go hide in if they can find the secret entrance, which keeps changing location. anyway yeah

Talin (Tølir Ísshjarta Arnþóruson) still belongs to @crimson-catalyst​, but rather than being the evil half-zarein king of a whole planet, he’s the evil half-fae viking king over a good chunk of land and some households. The stakes are obviously lower in this AU, but hey. He’s also still a rich, immortal asshole, and the immortality is due to his fae heritage this time.

Avn’ra (Arnþóra in Auða Arviðardóttir) is still Talin’s mother (he clearly takes more after his fae side). Much like her glowan counterpart, she managed to claw herself all the way to the top and the people fear her for it. She’s a powerful woman. Anyway, she also fell in love with a fae boy from Scotland once (that’s D’Sora) and then he surprisingly returned to her many years later, and that’s how Tølir happened. 

Anyway, I’m sorry Towertrapped is put on hold, I still do care about the characters, but my vampires are really the ones living in my mind right now. 

Why do I still feel the need to apologize for that?

[stones-x-bones]

One For All || Dani and Bex (ft. Kyle)

TIMING: Concurrent with this PARTIES: @surmamort @inbextween and @darkh0wl SUMMARY: While Dani and Bex hang around campus waiting for Kyle, they realize that someone else is waiting for them. CONTENT: Gun use, Suicidal ideation, Death

Bex groaned as she rifled through her bag. It wasn’t here. The one book she needed. She’d left it back in the classroom, hadn’t she? She looked sideways at Dani, who was sitting idly on the bench across from her, before back towards the building. A few moments away from her wasn’t going to hurt, right? There was no way Frank would come after her inside the school during the day, right? The common area outside was only bustling with a few other summer class kids, enjoying the sun that had been gracing the sky the last couple of days. It was unusual for this much sun this time of the year, there was usually so much more rain. Bex remembered how much rain there had been just a week ago, and how that rain had saved Mina’s life. Had saved her own life. She squinted up at it before sighing and standing up. “I’ll be right back,” she said to Dani, then added on, “I just forgot one of my books in the classroom. Promise I’ll be real quick. You can stay here and keep our spots so no one steals our prime real estate.” It was the only table that was perfectly positioned under one of the trees to lend itself full shade no matter what time of the day. She didn’t wait for much of an answer before slipping away, heading towards the school, making sure to take the most populated route possible.

What Bex didn’t know was that she wasn’t the target this time.

The two hunters had been watching them all day. They’d been told the shorter girl would be alone. Dani was her name. Frank hadn’t given them all the details, but he had told them she wasn’t human. One had a pistol with silver bullets drawn, but shook their head.  Not beast. The other had an iron dagger, who also could not feel a thing. So, undead, they supposed. This would make things more difficult. Still, the two drew to the shadows as they rounded on the girl, now alone at the bench. The beast hunter, a sturdy, dark-skinned girl, aimed her gun. The first shot was a warning. The second went straight for its mark. 

Dani felt as though things were falling into place. It had taken a while to feel that way, especially in regards to her moms. Their reluctance to provide more information left Dani mostly frustrated, and though she knew the gist; her father had been killed in the sake of not wanting to torture fae, she knew there was more behind those documents that the professor had sealed up. But she’d been practically barred from digging further into exactly what kind of research he’d been a part of. Though neither Jeanette or Lauren said it, she felt sure that the professor had been warned. It was a feeling rather than full of certainty, but it was there. It was getting easier to pull herself out of her thoughts of betrayal, and though the anger simmered, there were distractions. Like Bex. When her friend spoke, Dani looked over for a brief moment before dog-earing the manga she held. “Are you sure?” The hunter worried her lower lip as Bex insisted that she’d be alright. She felt the hair on the back of her neck stand as her friend disappeared into the building. The brunette set her book face down and stuck one leg over the opposite side of the bench, eyes trained on the doorway for Bex to come back through. 

A few moments had passed and Dani nearly missed the sound of urgent footsteps arriving from just behind her. She looked over her shoulder just in time to hear the gunshot ring. The second came fast, but Dani managed to dive to the side, the feeling of rocks scraping her palms. She got to her feet immediately, flicking her wrist to unsheathe the dagger in her hand. “What the fuck? What the fuck--” She managed to two step to the side as another shot rang. “What do you think you’re doing?!” Dani yelled as she spared a quick glance over her shoulder towards the doors. Where the hell was Bex? 

It was strange, the beast hunter thought. Why would an undead need to dodge bullets? It didn’t matter, they fell in line behind their warden friend, who took out three small daggers and launched them, one after the other, at the girl. He wanted to see how nimble she might be. Dodging bullets was easy and smooth when you had super hearing or super strength. Judging by her standing in daylight, she was either a zombie, or those special types of vampires his friend had tried telling him about once. He’d had no interest in them, though, and had long since forgotten their names. He didn’t wait too much longer before charging directly at the girl. They didn’t need to say anything, they weren’t here to answer her questions. They were here to cut off her head.

Bex was taking the steps by two-- a bad idea, considering the pain in her side and her leg-- when she heard the shots echo. She’d never heard real gunshots before, but they had such a distinct sound, she knew right away. “Dani?” she said, pausing, stumbling. Gripped the railing, before whirling herself around when a second-- a third-- shot sounded. Dani was shouting, yelling at someone. Bex leapt down the stairs-- oh, bad idea-- knees buckling as she struggled to stay standing and fling herself down the hallway and back outside again. “Dani!?” she called out, watching as two shadows advanced on her. One had a gun. One had a gun. “DANI WATCH OUT!” Magic reaching beyond the distance between them, fear and anger mixing like blood and oil, volatile. It touched the sidewalk, and the bench they’d been on, and the trees as Bex ran towards the three hunters. She hadn’t expected the one with the gun to turn and fire at her. She yelped as it grazed her arm and sent her careening to the ground, hands covering her head. 

The knives shot out, too, and Dani felt one slice into her forearm. She suppressed the scream that bubbled in her throat, leaving it in. She couldn’t be sure if it had hit an artery, not when she had to avoid two others. She managed to avoid being sliced by the remaining, but had little time to collect her thoughts. The hunter heard Bex before she saw her. “Go back inside!” Dani screamed back at her friend. When the hunters pushed forward, she felt fear grip her heart. What if they went after Bex? Was this why they were here? Were they witch hunters? She could tell they were hunters from the weapons they carried, but why were they coming after her? One look over her shoulder, and Dani saw Bex on the ground, blood pooling at the small injury in her arm. 

It was red, the anger that the hunter felt. It prickled and vibrated in her sternum. It was hard to ignore, the way that it gripped her. Dani hated that Bex continuously got hurt, and for what? Why should her friend continue to suffer?! “Back the fuck up!” Dani shouted again, moving towards Bex who laid on the ground, arms over her head. “Did you fucking hear me?!” She shouted again as the figures continued towards her. She stood in front of Bex, guarding her with her own body. If they wanted to get to Bex, they’d have to kill her first. 

The warden kept his eyes trained on the target, watching her falter when a blade sliced her arm. But, soon, she was racing to put her body between them and the girl crumpled on the ground. He hissed at his companion, “We’re not supposed to hurt anyone else!” To which the beast hunter replied-- “We don’t know what any of these people are! She could be with her, for all we know!” She holstered the gun, however, because guns did naught against the undead and she pulled out her engraved, silver dagger. It wouldn’t hurt the undead, but it was refined enough to cut a head clean off. “Let’s just get this over with before someone else shows up!” she growled, and lunged, swinging the blade in front of her. The warden followed suit, ducking in behind her, honing in on the girl on the ground. Frank hadn’t told them about Bex would be here, they didn’t know any better.

When she was sure there were no more gunshots coming her way, Bex rolled to her side and slapped her hand over the wound on her shoulder. Blood pooled over her fingers. She was so goddamn tired of bleeding everywhere, all the time. Of people thinking her life meant so little that they could just hurt her and keep hurting her and not stop. The anger that built inside of her was as red as her blood. Her teeth clenched so hard together she felt her jaw crack. A wind began to whip up in the area surrounding them. Someone was coming at her, but the ground beneath them buckled. Bex was an expert at disturbing the ground, now, whether it was intentional or not. It caved in and swallowed the boy’s foot, and he smacked into the side of the crater hard, his knife skidding a few feet away from his hand. Bex looked at him with so much hate in her eyes, he shuddered. “Leave me ALONE!” she shouted, and it reverberated in everyone around her, inside their heads. “LEAVE US ALONE!”

We’re not supposed to hurt anyone else! Dani’s brows creased. What the hell did that mean? They weren’t after Bex? Dani saw the way that the two hunters looked at her. Their gaze was not unknown. It was familiar, and she knew it like the back of her hand. They were here to do a job, and she was said job. She wasn’t sure what kind of misunderstanding could have led to them believing that she was anything that deserved hunting, but there was no time to reason with them, not when they were pushing in. One hunter was hard enough, but two? Especially one with a gun? She and her dagger were unmatched. The purpose, she knew, was not to kill them, but to keep them down long enough for them to be dealt with. She knew that, so why did she feel so much anger? Why did it course through her, spinning and spooling in the pit of her stomach, forming like electricity across her skin? 

Before she could react fully to the pair of hunters, the ground beneath her began to quake. She felt it tremble, and then earth jutted up, creating a hold on one of the hunter’s feet. Dani blinked away the surprise. There wasn’t enough time to ask questions. “Bex,” Dani said, not turning around to look at her friend, “are you okay? It didn’t go through, right?” She continued to stand in front of the witch, her own dagger still drawn. The blade that had been stuck into her arm was covered in blood now. Every move she made stung. She could feel it burrowed into her flesh, but it wasn’t something she could focus on, not right now. “Why the fuck are you attacking us?” She figured they were past reasoning, but she needed to know, especially when the shock of the earth swallowing one of the hunter’s feet was so fresh, leaving a moment to wonder.          

The warden struggled against the ground breaking underneath him and trying to swallow him. The other girl was a spellcaster, and that was dangerous. They needed to cut their losses or make this quick. If they could subdue the spellcaster, then they could easily take out the undead girl. His eyes flicked to his companion. “I’ll take the spellcaster, you just concentrate on the target, okay?” The beast hunter nodded and turned her gaze to the girl who had put her body between them and the spellcaster. Her eyes narrowed. She didn’t understand what was going on, but she didn’t need to. As a hunter, she’d learned to not ask questions. That wasn’t the way of things. If there was a monster, they killed it. The girl on the ground was screaming at them, and the undead girl was slinging questions at them. They didn’t have time for this, even as she felt her head begin to ring, blood rushing to her ears. “Why the fuck do you think, monster?” she hissed back, before jumping straight at the girl again. If she could go for the legs, cut off her ability to move, then taking her head would be easier.

It was happening again. Bex was watching again as someone she cared about was being hurt. Everyone around her always got hurt. Because of her. Because of her family, her magic, her stupid decisions. They were attacking Dani because of her. Bex scrambled to stand up. Anger was coursing through her but she couldn’t do anything. She couldn’t. If she used magic, her mother would know and things would get worse. She reached for Dani, watching as the girl with the knife lunged at her. “Let’s just go!” she called out, tugging on Dani’s arm. “Please, let’s just--” but they were both lunging now. Bex let go of Dani and tried to duck, but the boy caught her off guard and tackled her to the ground, her back hitting hard. Stars blotted her vision as air left her lungs. She kicked and struggled, but he was pressing down on her neck, cutting off her air supply. She didn’t want to use magic. She couldn't, she couldn’t. She reached for Dani. Her anger reached, too. She didn’t want it anymore. She didn’t want this life anymore.

Dani balked as the girl called her a monster. What the fuck was happening? Before she could continue to ask her questions, the two hunters were bounding towards them again. The space was closing in and Dani felt her heart in her throat. Her own dagger dropped to the ground as she instinctively reached up. “NO!” Dani screamed as the boy lunged towards Bex. Dani ignored the second hunter and immediately recoiled from the blade that came her way. She punched out with her good arm, palm curved enough to catch the nose of the girl, enough to make blood begin to gush as it connected with the cartilage. Dani had to get to Bex. She turned just in time to see the boy on top of her, his hands at her throat. “BEX!” Dani screamed as she dove towards them. As soon as she connected with Bex’s touch, anger flooded her unlike before. It was red and sickly.

It made her head spin. It filled her head and she saw stars. It ran in tendrils down through to her fingertips. She itched to close her hands around his throat, to squeeze until life left him. She wanted to do to him what Frank had done to Bex, what her mothers had done to her, what this horrible fucking world had done to every single person she’d ever cared about. “NO!” Dani bellowed again, immediately ripping the blade that the girl had flung into her shoulder. Blood spurted, but not enough to make Dani worry-- not enough to make her care. But God, it hurt. It was a searing pain and it was numb, but she moved forward. She did what she did best; she ignored her pain. She swallowed it whole. All she saw was red. The blood on her hands, the red in Bex’s face. Dani reached forward without realizing what she was doing. She tackled the boy off of Bex and wrestled him to the ground. Her own blood pooled onto the two of them, swelling and dotting his white t-shirt rouge. Dani didn’t have the time to recognize the familiarity in her movements, or the way it felt wrong, or the way that the fear had reached his eyes as he realized that these would be his last moments. Dani plunged the knife down into his heart, just as she would any vampiric kill. Only he didn’t turn to dust.

Bex? Wasn’t that the name of the girl Frank had told them he was helping? Why was she here? The beast hunter faltered. Blood gushed from her nose. It was a move that cost too much. She reached for her friend. “Lucas, wait--” but it was too late. The undead girl was pouncing on him, wrenching him from the girl on the ground-- from Bex-- and her fists pummeled him and then there was a knife. “NO!” she screamed, lunging for them. But it was too late, again. The knife plunged into his chest so deep and so loud she heard bones crack and muscle tear as the blade penetrated his heart. In her fury, she tackled the other girl off him, rolling with her as fists came down. “YOU KILLED HIM!” she shouted, fighting to remove the knife from her hand. “You monster, you killed him!” 

The warden gurgled blood on the ground, grasping at air, at something that wasn’t there. Bex wheezed and huffed and tried to blink away the black, tried to catch her breath, too. She heard him choking on his own blood. She rolled onto her stomach and crawled over to him, hands pressing against the wound on his chest. Whatever these two had done, however angry they had made her, she hadn’t wanted them to die. She hadn’t meant to be so angry. She hadn’t wanted Dani to kill for her. She didn’t want anyone to kill for her. “I-it’s okay,” she stuttered, but she knew it wasn’t going to be. So did he. She saw it in his face, and suddenly she didn’t see him and it saw Frank instead. He reached up to her, pushing her away. “I h-hope i-it was w-worth it,” he stuttered through blood pouring from his mouth. “W-was she, w-worth it?” Bex didn’t know what he was talking about, she couldn’t get the image of Frank out of her head. Why couldn’t she make it go away? “Tell Frank…he was wrong…” Bex shivered. “Frank? What about him? What are you--” but she knew. She knew. She was seeing Frank because he was seeing Frank. The realization set inside of Bex’s stomach like stone. Her gaze turned up to Dani, still struggling with the other hunter.

“S-stop,” she stuttered, “Stop!” she stood up from the warden, her hands covered in blood. He was dead, now. He’d died because of her. Because of Frank. Because of his delusions. She had to get to Frank before he got to Mina again. “STOP!” she shouted and her magic reached out and touched the two alive hunters’ minds and told them to stop. 

The rage burned. It had made her feel as though her chest were going to concave, as if her bones would turn to ash, replaced by nothing but the red. The red on Dani’s hands, what spilled down the front of the boy’s shirt. She saw it everywhere. Even though it was still an evening blue, the sky seemingly had blistered into something sickly, too. Her hands were still around the blade that’d been thrust into the hunter’s chest, but she made no move to get off of himt. Not even when she heard the female hunter bellowing behind her. She stared down, shock and horror creeping as if a shadow down her throat, blooming and growing until it was pressed against every part of her. The fury stayed, it stayed hot and loud and Dani could barely listen to the pain in her arm, or the back of her head as she fell to the ground from the launch of the second hunter. 

Dani acted as if made of mechanics, her bones and skin and blood-- it all floated before her. There was somebody on top of her and they were trying to wrestle the blade away. They were calling her a monster. What had she done? They had called her a monster before, when-- Dani blinked away the tears as she struggled against the hunter’s hold. They were stronger than her in this moment, because truthfully, Dani wasn’t sure what was left of her now. She still felt like she was floating. Until she was sinking. Until it felt like every root from every tree held her down, gripped her throat and squeezed. Until her chest felt heavy and the blisters of anger burrowed so deep that she wasn’t sure they’d ever be removed. She couldn’t turn her head, or look at Bex. She stared up at the second hunter who hovered above her, seemingly in the same hold. She tried to look at Bex, and she tried to make a noise, but all that came out was an animalistic cry as she caught sight of the boy who was dead on the ground. She could see his shirt, it was covered in blood. Bex’s hands were, too. She thought about her and Morgan’s conversation. Dani wanted to scream, to reach out, to wipe away the blood, to pool it into her hands, to make it go away. Only she couldn’t. She was frozen, forced to face what she’d done. 

First, Kyle’s shower had run long. He was listening to a good playlist and he didn’t get out until the water started to run cold. And then he took forever to get dressed. He wanted to look at least a little presentable for his friends. Just a little. It wasn’t like Bex and Dani knew him to be on time, so Kyle wasn’t exactly worried when he hadn’t heard from them. They knew he’d be there. And he was! Except, when Kyle came strolling across the campus, he heard sounds of a fight or a struggle or something. He felt a pang of anxious worry flare up in his chest, but he squashed it down. It was a college campus, it was bound to happen that there was some yelling somewhere. But when he heard a shout that sounded suspiciously like Bex, that anxious feeling gripped him tight and wouldn’t let go. Kyle quickened his pace at first, trying to remain calm until he knew what was happening, but broke into a sprint as the screams continued. Like, an actual we’re fighting to the death kind of racket. He couldn’t mistake it for playful banter. 

Kyle was still running at top speed when he came up on the scene; Dani was pinned beneath someone and they were both covered in blood, Bex was similarly covered in blood and it made sense it would be her own, there was a third blood soaked party, unmoving on the ground. Kyle didn’t have time to process, he didn’t have time to think more than to just breathe. He tried to run through the calming mantra he’d heard Bex whisper to herself before, but the coppery scent of blood--his friends’ blood--filled his nostrils. Before he could consider all courses of action, he was throwing himself at the person on top of Dani. He bowled into them, gripped them around the middle and sent them both rolling, end over end, sideways and off of Dani.

Bex stumbled backwards when Kyle was suddenly racing by her and tackling the other girl off of Dani. All she could think about were the images the other hunter had in his mind. Frank had sent them here, had told them to kill Dani. He had lied to them. They thought Dani was a supernatural. He was coming for her. He wanted to kill her. He wanted to kill Mina. He was going after her, first, and then he was coming for Bex. But her mind stuck on Mina. He’d already tried once, and Mina was now weaker for it. She was still recovering. But if he wasn’t here yet, that meant there was still time. She could make it to Mina in time. Bex felt her anger, her fear, her panic return to her in droves and they told her to move, to go. She didn’t say a word as she stumbled past the dead warden on the ground, she didn’t say a word as Kyle tussled with the other hunter. She didn’t say a word as Dani sat frozen on the ground. She just ran. She just had to get to Mina. Mina was the only thing that mattered now.

The beast hunter tumbled. She’d been too distracted by the image of her dead friend-- laying but five feet away from her, beating down on the monster who’d killed him-- to notice the second monster coming her way. She felt him first, glancing up just in time to watch him ram into her. They tumbled head over heels for a moment before she got her legs placed on his chest and kicked him away. He was some sort of beast, it made the hairs on her arms stand on edge. She went to pull her silver blade out, but realized she was way outnumbered, out matched. She eyed the beast, pressed low to the ground. Would he follow her or would he go to his friend? She had to hope he’d be too distracted with her. She took off away from him and towards her friend-- her dead friend. Scooped his body into her arms and looked back over her shoulder at the other two. “You’re a monster,” was all she said before she took off. She needed to get her friend back to his family. They’d want to bury the body. They’d want to know how their son died. 

Every move Dani made reverberated throughout her entire body. The pain in her shoulder was more noticeable now, and even as she shifted, her arm fell limp at her side. The adrenaline, fear, and rage that coursed through her veins was still loud. It ate at her. She continued to stare ahead of her, before she was shifting her attention back to the hunter who had been knocked off of her by somebody. It had happened so fast that Dani didn’t have the time to rationalize what was happening, or figure out that Kyle was the one wrestling the second hunter to the ground. Finally, Dani managed to sit up. Everything moved slowly, and even though she knew everything was loud-- the screams that circled them from a few onlookers that managed to spill out of the school, it was all quiet. Blurred. As if she were under water. The body next to her laid eerily still. Dark eyes stared up at the sky unmoving. Dani shook her head and tried to crawl towards it, but fell short as her arm gave out from beneath her. She slumped down to the ground, her good shoulder digging into the dirt. “No, no, no, no,” Dani slurred, her voice hoarse. She hadn’t done that. That wasn’t her. 

She heard a noise behind her and then somebody was stepping over her to get to the body, to the boy she had killed. The female hunter bent down and picked the boy up with ease, but not before shooting a quip her way, not before confirming what Dani had feared, that she’d been the one to do it. She hadn’t remembered the feeling of the blade in her hand, or the way it felt when she had ripped it out of her arm. Everything hurt now, it was hard to ignore. She shook her head. She was covered in blood. Her own, as well as his. “No,” Dani panicked as she tried to clamber after the hunter. “No, he’s--” She choked on her words as she attempted to get to her feet, to follow after them. She fell again, the pain shooting through her as she stumbled into her bad shoulder. Stars splintered across her vision and vibrations found their way into the soles of her feet, the palms of her hand, the back of her mouth. She felt it all, all of the red, all of the grief, the anger. 

Kyle had the wind knocked out of him as he fell back from the hunter’s kick. He reeled for a moment as he tried to breathe. He looked up at her from beneath his eyelashes as she stood, his pulse pounding in his ears. He balled his hands up and clenched fistfuls of bloodsoaked earth as he willed himself to calm down. Every inch of him, every instinct, willed him to shift and not let her escape. She had done something to his friends. She had hurt Dani and Bex. The thought of his friends pulled him out of the tunnel vision he was sinking into. As the hunter retreated, he whipped his head around, eyes searching for Bex. He spotted her as she fled. As worried as he was, all he could think was how stupid it was for her to be alone now. He pulled a fist from the ground and slammed it back down. He struck the earth with all of the force of the frustration he felt. He could feel his knuckles split; hear his bones crunch on impact. He didn’t care. He needed to make sure his friends were okay, that they were alive, that Dani--Dani. 

Kyle shoved himself to his feet, stumbling a moment as he forced his lungs to work properly again. Breathe, just breathe, he told himself. He rushed to Dani’s side, trying to assess what was her blood and what wasn’t, but there was so much of it. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” he whispered, though if that were directed to her or to himself, he couldn’t be sure. “Come here.” Kyle placed a hand behind Dani’s knees, and one against her upper back. “Okay, Dani, I need you to stay with me.” He’d definitely heard people say that in movies, right? That’s what you said here, right? He tried to swallow down the anxiety that held firm in the pit of his stomach. That couldn’t happen right now. He couldn’t think about losing her. “I’m gonna pick you up, okay? We have to get you--,” where? Where could he take her that made sense, that would be able to take care of her, that would keep her alive? “--out of here. Can you--are you--Dani, are you human? Do you want to go to a hospital?” Fuck, what if she wasn’t human? Didn’t matter, he’d figure it out. He didn’t pause long enough for a response. He didn’t want one. “I’m gonna pick you up,” he said again, voice shakier than it was before. “One, two--”

Dani barely registered when Kyle knelt down beside her. She could still hear the screams. There’s so much blood! Somebody call an ambulance! Everything felt far away. Even as Kyle was speaking to her, she heard it through something else, as if her ears were blocked. Where was Bex? Dani tried to twist, to get away from Kyle as he picked her up, but she couldn’t move. She slumped against him as she felt herself being lifted into the air. She could see the ground moving beneath her, but she couldn’t tell why. “Bex,” Dani murmured, her voice small and broken and twisted, coming out nearly unrecognizable. “Where is she?” The hunter kept her eyes open out of fear that she’d see the dead boy. His dark eyes were burned into her vision. She felt Kyle’s arms around her. They felt wrong. She didn’t deserve comfort or care. She deserved to burn, to bleed. But she was too tired, too tired to fight it. She felt sluggish as she turned her head, forehead pressing against Kyle’s chest. How much blood had she lost? It was impossible to figure out what was hers and what was the hunter’s. She could feel the rise and fall of her chest, ever so slowly. She felt herself being shifted and suddenly she was no longer in Kyle’s arms. She was in a vehicle. She could feel the hum of the engine throughout her entire body. She stared at the door handle as she slumped against the window. She wondered if she should pull on it, let herself spill out onto the road. Instead, Dani closed her eyes. 

[aelin-queen-of-terrasen]

You used to bully/mess with me in elementary school and it turned out it was because you had a major crush on me AU for jurdan? I hope its not too "basic" for them

note: In spirit of being cooped up inside my house, I present to you a lockdown fic. 😂 this is totally not what you asked for but hope you'll like it anyway!

Full Masterlist

Quarantine Times

These days, there was little Cardan hated more than online classes.

It was hard enough to focus on the professor's words when there was no one to keep him in line without the added temptation of staring at Jude's screen while she paid attention, her brows drawn together in concentration as her lips pressed in a thin line. He had the face memorised now from how often he stared at her during class or in the cafeteria while she talked to her friends or in the library where she'd read for hours, lost in her own world.

Even at the ass crack of dawn, she looked beautiful. Her face had that concentrated look when she focused on something. Her auburn hair were braided neatly to the side of her head, her dark, half asleep eyes staring at the screen with an intensity as though she was willing the whole screen to explode into pieces. She bit her lip, tucking a strand of her hair back—

"Zoom classes are for studying, not so you can stare at your crush," Dain said, looking up from his phone.

Cardan gave him a hard look but it did nothing to wipe the shit-eating grin from his elder brother's face. He said through gritted teeth and barely restrained temper, "Jude isn't my crush."

His brother looked amused. "Do I look like a fool to you, brother?"

He did. He very much did look like a fool with that smarmy grin and the knowing look Dain sent him. Cardan told him as much but it only made Dain grin wider than before. He patted his little brother on the shoulder. "It's okay to admit you like her, brother. She's smart and pretty, even you can admit that, rivals and all."

But they weren't rivals anymore. They had been once—all through middle school—but there was no fight or bitter feelings on his side, at least. Not since Cardan went and gods-damned crushed on his enemy somewhere between all the unresolved arguements and hurled insults and attempted sabotages and the many, many pranks. She snuck up on his heart that way. He didn't notice she had coiled herself around his head so deep until she was all he thought about. As far as he was concerned, the rivalry between them was resolved.

"But you aren't," Cardan said, pouting at the idea of his brother liking Jude. "Leave me alone, Dain."

Dain grinned again, cooing at him. "Aw, look at you being jealous, brother. Don't—" his words were cut off by the pillow Cardan threw at his brother's face. The other got him in the stomach but he was still laughing, zoom meeting forgotten as he ran around the room, trying to dodge and weave around the pillows and cushions Cardan aimed at him, making a mess of the room in the process.

"I'm leaving, I'm leaving," Dain surrendered, running out of the room.

Cardan once again focused on the screen, watching her write whatever it was. His own video was turned off right now and as if his thoughts had directed their teacher's attention towards the fact, the man said, "Cardan Greenbriar, open your video. And keep it open." Cardan watched Jude look up at the screen when she heard his name. Her brown eyes looked prettier when they stared through him (even though she wasn't looking at him but at her screen, it sure did feel like it) and the tense shoulders were drooped now, Jude looking more relaxed than ever.

He didn't realize what she was frowning at until he noticed he had turned screen sharing on instead of video.

Which meant everyone could see the wallpaper in his phone, a photo of Jude at a recent bonfire party where he'd apologized for years worth of pranks and she refused to believe him, convinced that it was some trick. Colour rose to her cheeks and his own ears pounded with warmth as he fumbled with the features on his phone, turning screen sharing off. The damage was done, Jude was looking at her screen with colour rising on her cheeks before she left the meeting.

Nicasia was hiding her smile behind her hand, Locke looked pissed off and Taryn had a surprised, lost look on her face.

Cheeks burning with embarassment, he ignored the looks his friends gave him as he stared straight ahead. Most looked positively scandalised, as if they'd just seen the earth turn upside down or something. He didn't know how he endured through the class but he buried his face in the pillows, groaning loudly in shame.

His phone buzzed, an unknown number flashing across his screen. "Hello?"

"You have me as your wallpaper," Jude said, her voice amused. There would be no mincing words then.

Trying to save face one last time, Cardan reasoned, "Yeah, uh, it was more for the sake of the scenery in the background." He realized his mistake when he saw that the scenery he was talking about was a brick wall that Jude leaned against, laughing as she held a can of beer in her hand while the other rested on her thigh.

Jude said in a teasing tone, "Ah, yes, the background. Beautiful."

He had never known Jude to act like this—this bold and confident and teasing. She always shied away from the simplest of flirting. Perhaps she was more comfortable over the phone? He couldn't fathom another reason why she'd be so willing to talk to him now. He was mortified still.

"I can change it though, I'm about to—I mean, if that makes you uncomfortable. Not that I care what you think," then cursed himself for falling into old habits of insults when he got flustered. "I mean I do care what you think—because you're my friend, of course. Like, we're not friends yet, I know, I know. But I'd like to be. I don't want to make assumptions on who we are. I mean, we hated each other but I don't hate you now. I like you. Like, gods, I don't like you but—"

"Cardan, breathe," her calm voice instructed from the other side. Jude said, "Is that the only reason I'm your wallpaper, Cardan? The background?"

There was no way she believed his lame ass excuse about his background. Jude was too smart for all that, and she had an ability of spotting all his tells from childhood. He instead changed topics in favour of outright lying, "Darling Jude, I've never known you for being bold."

She huffed. "You callin' me a wuss?"

Now that his mortification had somewhat subsided, he heard the slur in her voice. "Jude, are you drunk? At nine in the morning?"

"I saw the wallpaper and panicked. Vivi said I needed alcohol, we broke into Madoc's wine cellar." Laughter escaped her lips.

"Jude, darling," Cardan said, deciding to shoot his shot now, hoping Jude was not the kind of drunk who would forget everything when she was sober again. "Fine. I have you on my wallpaper because I like looking at you. You—You're cute and I, kind of, sort of like you. Like, for a while." If she remembered this later, he'd finally have confessed. If she didn't, then it was his own bad luck. He just had to say it once.

There was a long pause on the other side, followed by a shushing sound. "Don't tell Cardan but I kind of, sort of like him too."

Cardan couldn't stop his answering smile if he tried. "I won't, promise."

──────✧❅✦❅✧──────

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[omgkalyppso]

for fae and the rest of the poly - 💕💖💍

(ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ Thank you for the ask! May your favorite kind of weather surround you soon!

💕 Describe an ideal date form them!

Claude is quick on his feet and can adapt, but he doesn't like doing anything he hasn't planned five exits to and at least two alternatives for. Hilda doesn't enjoy exerting herself, but she's still extroverted enough to want to be admired Doing Something (if only by her partners) and can easily be goaded if she's comfortable. Lorenz likes the arts, or to bear witness to any skill performed well. Fae likes trying new skills and group activities. An ideal date is one that's planned and includes some measure of exterior activity performed together: like watching theater or seeing an art exhibit or learning to surf or trying wall-climbing.

💖 What are some little subtle ways they show that they love each other?

Modern:

Claude changes his (and consequently everyone's) diet to suit Hilda's dietary restrictions. Fae makes ice; they've never thought about making ice, but they've seen the others drinking beverages with ice, so they start making ice to have ready. Realizing that her "turn" for most major cleaning duties never really seems to come up, Hilda tentatively starts light cleaning and organizing, fearful of the mockery of her childhood home, until she's able to ask for help with bigger tasks. Lorenz picks up texting patterns and music preferences based on influences of his partners.

Post canon / any setting:

Lorenz leave notes everywhere, little poems and soft words — but what is really important is when he is willing to write in the company of his partners, unafraid of people hovering over his shoulder because he trusts them not to. Claude being able / willing to "needlessly" share a bed for the purpose of sleep with his partners. Hilda sees three of the most touch-starved people / ex (?) fighters she's ever met in her life and decides she'll learn something about massages. Abuses Divine Pulse less and less, or abuses Divine Pulse the least, when with their partners, feeling very rarely that they've flubbed something unforgivable and that whatever they've said or done or experienced is fine as it is (in settings other than post canon just translate this to: feels less anxious after interactions that include their partners than otherwise. lol. I've like never written Fae outside of the company of their partners except some of Expanded Epilogue but even then they were only interacting with like Seteth and Alois who are also Family so.).

💍 Which one of them would propose? How would it happen? (or write if you feel like it!)

I love different versions of this. Unfortunately for everyone I am sharing a lot of my thoughts.

In my post-canon I don't have them all marry. I could change it, but I think they're fine as they are, dedicated and happy and more subtle. I count Claude's Goddess Tower proposal, and am excited to Eventually write Lorenz proposing to Hilda in my Hilorenz fic. It will happen.

In Fae-as-a-student au, I've been undecided about whether Fae or Hilda or BOTH leave with Claude to Almyra for a time post-canon, leaving Lorenz behind in Gloucester, BUT I absolutely imagine the four of them together, discussing the departure, and giving Lorenz the proposal, initially a soft, blurted, "Marry me." So that the others ask him if the proposal is reserved for Claude (whom he's looking at because at least Claude is absolutely leaving), and he can clarify that he doesn't just mean Claude and that they don't have to make a public ceremony or announcement until their / his return, but that he would like to make a promise, with those who would have him, before they leave, to keep them from forgetting him when they're far and away.

In A Comedy of Errors modern au, it's less a proposal than a conversation for Lorenz and Hilda to marry. Wait. I have a (bad) text conversation that I thought I might write a fic around once:

Hilda: we should get married

Claude: this is hands down, the worst proposal

Hilda: i'm not proposing!

Hilda: i just want to talk about it

Fae: is that about your insurance?

Hilda: no! .... not entirely

Hilda: what if Claude died in Almyra

Claude: thanks

Hilda: at least one of us would be able to find out about it from the authorities directly

Lorenz: now i want someone to divorce me. please take half my assets

Claude: i'll divorce you baby

Fae: grounds for divorce, right there in one pet name

Hilda: i'm not feeling heard here

Fae: i'm sorry hilda

Lorenz: sorry hilda

Claude: i would marry any of you, or all of you. is there a way you'd be picturing this?

Hilda: well, i figure it would be easier on Lorenz if he married me

Lorenz: marginally true

Claude: /:

Lorenz: you know i love you Claude but ......... my father's still alive and if we're relying on "at least he'll be dead soon" then i don't need to be written out of a will

Lorenz: and i might literally explode if i had to sit through him misgendering Fae for his last few years

Fae: <3

Lorenz: :kiss emoji:

Claude: was this your very roundabout way about asking if it was okay to marry Lorenz?

Hilda: no. i'm willing to hear other suggestions

Fae: i just don't want to sleep alone anymore

Lorenz: </3

Claude: awww

Hilda: ):

Lorenz: are you home now? i could visit for ... 45 minutes maybe?

Claude: just enough time (;

Fae: i am home

Lorenz: Give me ... half an hour

Lorenz: but first. we can do legal weddings whenever we want. i think we should get married.

Claude returns from Almyra a week or so before the wedding, by which time Fae has moved in with Lorenz and Hilda. Claude is earlier than he was expected, as his surprise to them, and they cherish the time. Four days or so after the wedding the four of them go on a date to an observatory where Fae proposes to Claude under the stars. (:

In my soulmate au, there is a proposal incoming by the end of the fic. Claude is going to ask Fae if they'd be comfortable with him proposing to Lorenz, or else offer to put it off, saying he's more confident with how Hilda will react because of their history. I'm still undecided if Claude should prepare something that amounts to a favorite meal for Lorenz in their apartment with the four of them or take them out to a park or beach or mountain or something, where he and Lorenz could have a moment alone. I'm also undecided how many hits Claude should drop in advance (his ... canon self is Not Subtle) but I hadn't planned on dropping them prior to the new year chapter which has finally happened. I think it would be another year or three before Fae and Hilda considered marrying and haven't given it too much thought aside from that. Fae would propose.

Hm, I can have more.

In Just Go With It modern au, Claude remembers the date of their first 'date,' and calls it an anniversary and only he is prepared for the first one, which he expects and is very smug about. It's not a milestone number, but for their fourth anniversary Hilda spends time (like a full year) talking herself into and out of and back again — the act of making rings for her partners, and whether or not they'll be a proposal or just a gift.

In my mermaid au they never have a formal proposal or ceremony.

In my fantasy au, Fae was 70 years a vampire when they met Claude, and they were together for 40 years before Claude proposed, and then they had their children and played at being family and "mundane" for some hundreds of years. They do something like this again when they marry Hilda and Lorenz a year or two after meeting them, again at Claude's proposal.

In my coffeeshop au, Hilda realizes she's pregnant with (Halvard) Lorenz's child and she "proposes" to Claude to start the legal tangle of custody so that they can each have some attachment to their son.