#walking through the landscape of faerie

[godzilla-reads]

☀️ Walking Through the Landscape of Faerie by Charles Vess

Rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️/5

Renowned artist Charles Vess has put together a collection of his artwork alongside stories and poetry and writing to highlight each other. You have classic tales such as “Thomas the Rhymer” next to quotes by John Lennon and all wrapped up in a beautiful art book.

Charles Vess is an amazing artist that creates worlds and stories full of magic and hope, collaborating with his audience to create something fantastical. He chose very well with the stories and poems he included in this collection, my favorite being “One of Those Days” by Theodora Goss.

[littlest-w01f]

Chapter Four

Series Masterlist

Cw: None

The day he had started to dread was upon him, the day he and his family would visit the Court of Nightmares, he had no idea what he was to expect in Hewn City, the home to the horrible folks who loved being there.

Nyx sat up in his bed, removing his covers and looking out to the darkness of the Night Court, his room in the Riverhouse was gigantic, beautiful and every inch of it held a homey warmth. It was a massive expanse filled with rich hues of purple and blue, glittery shimmer on the room's roof, mimicking the night sky outside, painted by her mother when he was just a babe, preserved in his ceiling forever.

He slipped off from his bed, a large window overlooks the city below, casting a soft glow of moonlight onto the plush carpet beneath his feet, he groaned as he stretched his wings behind his back, letting them flex, he curled his wings around himself to shield the expansion of his chest from the cold air in his room.

His bedroom had its walls adorned with paintings depicting different landscapes and mythical creatures from various cultures. There was also a grand canopy bed draped in luxurious silk sheets that matched perfectly with the room, royal blues and purples with silver accents. On one side stood a full-length mirror framed elegantly in gold leaf while opposite to this stood another door leading further into the house.

In front of the window was a sitting area furnished comfortably with couches covered in velvet fabric and scattered throw pillows embroidered intricately in black threadwork patterns reminiscent of stars against night skies. Atop an ornate mahogany table sat several books about astronomy and mythology and sketches depicting various celestial bodies and creatures from folklore.

Nyx gazed out at the shadowed expanse of the Night Court beyond his window as he walked into the balcony, faerie lights lighting up The Rainbow and the streets leading to it, the Sidra rippling gently under the moonlight filtering through the beautiful city. He felt a shiver run down his spine as he contemplated the unsettling encounter that awaited him and his family later that morning. He had heard nothing but the worst of Kier and the people like him who resided there.

As Nyx stepped out onto the balcony, the cool night air enveloped him, carrying with it the faint scent of blooming jasmine and the distant aroma of the Sidra river. The faerie lights lining the streets cast an ethereal glow over the city, making it seem almost magical despite the ominous tales surrounding the Night Court. The gentle lapping of the water against the riverbank created a soothing melody that contrasted sharply with the unease churning in Nyx's stomach.

His skin glowed with a natural luminescence, highlighting the intricate tattoos that snaked across his shoulders and arms, telling tales quite similar to what his father and uncles had experienced. Each line and curve of the markings added depth to his already imposing physique.

His wings, folded neatly against his back, shimmered subtly under the faerie lights illuminating the balcony. They were large and powerful, the leathery texture of them not hard to see with how polished they were.

As he pondered the unknown terrors of Hewn City, Nyx's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his mother's soft voice calling up from downstairs, making him lean over the balcony to see her. "Nyx, dear! We have a big day ahead of us, come have something to eat."

"Coming, Ma!" With a heavy sigh, Nyx reluctantly pulled himself away from watching the sun rise in the Night Court over the Illyrian mountains and threw on a shirt.

Diving from the balcony, wings spread completely to land headfirst in the dining room. "Mornin'."

"Cauldron, Nyx!" Mor yelped as Nyx appeared in front of his aunt, his uncle Azriel's shadows hiding him well, the male in question was watching in amusement, taking a finger-full from a bowl of melted chocolate she would be adding to some pastries. "Get back here you horrible child!"

"But I'm such an innocent babe," Nyx pouted and made a run for it around the room as he licked his fingers clean, his mother and father laughing at Mor throwing her apron at his face then glaring at the couple, while Cassian carried Nesta bridal style to another of the little chaoses Nyx had been causing since before he was born.

After breakfast, the sun had risen up, and Nyx stood outside his giant wardrobe, thinking about what to wear, he certainly didn't want to be too comfortable.

Nyx opened the massive wardrobe doors, revealing rows upon rows of clothing tailored specifically for his physique. Leathers of armour designed to accommodate his wings, tunics suited for nothing less than the Heir of Night, and trousers reinforced with magic to withstand the flexibility he needed to move and fight.

He scanned the options, and finally, after much deliberation, he settled on a set of dark grey leather breeches that hugged his muscular legs tightly. Over this, he donned a snug vest of Illyrian leathers that did little to hide the toned muscles of his chest and abdomen through the fabric.

A belt adorned with an intricate pattern encircled his waist, holding up both his trousers and a pair of knee-high boots crafted from supple black leather, on the leathers of the back of his hands sat two twin black Siphons. They were symbols of his lineage and his heritage, the power of distruction.

He heard a knock on his door and made his way to open it, seeing his father outside, "Da?"

"No." Rhysand said instantly seeing Nyx's attire, the Illyrian leathers, the Siphon, "You're not wearing that."

Nyx crossed his arms over his chest defensively. "It’s appropriate for the place, is it not?"

"I know that look," Rhysand muttered under his breath, stepping past his son and into the room. His gaze swept over Nyx's outfit critically before landing on the siphons etched into the leather at the back of his hand. Rhysand sighed heavily, running a hand through his onxy hair. "But you're my heir, not my warrior."

"You’re going to be meeting some very important people today, Nyx. You need to make a good impression," He explained patiently.

Rhysand went through Nyx's clothes and pulled out a fitted black tunic with intricate silver embroidery at the collar and hem. The ensemble struck a balance between practicality and elegance, suitable for the formal yet unpredictable nature of the occasion ahead.

Nyx watched his father's actions silently, though inwardly he was bristling at being treated like a child. Still, he knew better than to argue further, especially when it came to matters of etiquette and presentation. He let out a sigh of resignation as he allowed his father to give him a change to a more appropriate attire.

He selected a pair of knee-high black leather boots with silver buckles and fastened them securely to his legs. He then donned a wide belt adorned with a silver buckle in the shape of a crescent moon.

The fitted black tunic felt strange against his skin at first, the silver embroidery at the collar and hem added an elegant touch without detracting from the overall simplicity of the outfit. His wings melting into himself, not suited for the tunic he wore before slipping his feet into the knee-high boots with silver buckles.

Rhysand watched his son, dressed in clothes appropriate for an Heir, and gave him a smile, "Now you look like the Heir, remember, the people in the Court of Nightmares will be expecting you, you can not show them any weakness."

Nyx nodded, with a deep breath, his features sharpened, his eyes void of emotion as Rhysand motioned to his door, just as cold, "Come now, your mother is waiting."

The moment Nyx stepped foot into the Court of Nightmares, he was immediately struck by the biting cold that seeped into his bones. It was as if the very essence of the realm itself was designed to chill one to the marrow. The air was heavy with an eerie silence, broken only by the occasional creak of ancient stone beneath their feet as they navigated the twisting corridors.

Glowing orbs of an unearthly blue hue, suspended mid-air by magic, provided the only illumination, casting an otherworldly pallor across the scene. The walls, constructed from a labyrinthine network of obsidian and jet-black marble, seemed to absorb what little light managed to penetrate, leaving everything shrouded in an impenetrable darkness that pressed in from all sides.

As Nyx followed his family deeper into the Court of Nightmares, they approached the imposing gates that marked the entrance to the castle. Carved from a single block of black stone, the massive doors depicted a scene of primordial chaos, great, scaled beasts coiled together in a nest of claws and fangs, locked in a perpetual cycle of combat. The creatures appeared to be devouring each other even as they slept, their forms blurring together in a macabre dance of death.

Yet, amidst this tableau of darkness and destruction, there was an unexpected beauty. Vines of jasmine and moonflowers wound their way through the coils of the beasts, their delicate petals glowing softly in the dim light.

His aunt Morrigan entered first, the throne room falling silent, his uncles and aunt Nesta, all of them had a coldness that he could feel in his bones, he'd be with his parents, with a deep breath he walked by his father's side, both of his parents had a crown made of starts on their heads, his father's features were distant, like he was a different person, like his mother was too.

Nyx's heart pounded in his chest as he followed his parents into the grand throne room. His gaze darted around, taking in every detail of the courtiers gathered there. Despite the palpable tension hanging in the air, he noticed a certain kind of reverence in their demeanour towards his parents, a respect born out of fear.

Morrigan, clad in a gown of deepest red, strode in first, her presence commanding the immediate attention of everyone present. Her eyes met Nyx's briefly, and he felt a chill run down his spine. All of them had a regal bearing about them, exuding an aura of authority that was almost tangible.

Nyx zoned out as his parents sat on their throne and he stood beside them, the people of the Hewn City kneeling to them, his eyes landed on a young female among the crown, porcelain skin that seemed almost translucent in its paleness, too pale to be healthy, with black hair down her back, the dress she wore was the same raven black as her hair, the dress was nothing fancy, at least not compared to the silver he wore, but he couldn't help keep his eyes off her.

As the kneeling courtiers rose, there was something hauntingly captivating about her, something that drew Nyx in despite himself. Her eyes met his, and he felt a jolt of recognition. It was as if he knew her somehow, despite never having laid eyes on her before. A curious sensation stirred within him, a feeling he couldn't quite place. But amid the sea of faces, hers was the only one that held his interest.

As his father ordered them to relax and mingle, he turned to his parents, mostly his mother, "May I go too?" He asked, his uncaring look not wavering.

His mother gave him a soft smile, "Of course you may, Nyx," she nodded, people were drinking, dancing, talking, and his uncle Azriel had disappeared into the room, Cassian and Nesta dancing to themselves, Mor talking with Kier with a look of boredom clear on her face as they walked to his parents with another male beside them.

He knocked into someone far smaller than him while he was distracted by the males around his parents and aunt, his hands shot out instinctively, "Oh, apologies, I didn't know where I was..." His gaze met the dark blackhole-like eyes of the female he had been looking at, her hand gripping onto his, slightly tilted from tripping half way. "Hello." He smiled.

"Hi..." The female watched his face, probably gauging his reaction Nyx thought.

"I'm Nyx," He offered a smile hoping it would make him come off as friendly.

"I know who you are, my lord," The female put some distance between them, giving him a little courtesy.

Nyx's eyes went as she saw her bow for him, "Oh, none of that please," He couldn't hide his cringe and looked away. "You don't need to do... That."

"It's just a smile courtesy," She laughed and he was sure he had heard it before somewhere, "I'm no fool to not show respect to the Heir of Night."

"Well, then, would you like a dance?" Nyx asked, turning to face her. "Just to one song." He offered her his hand and gave her a cheeky grin, "To respect me, of course."

The female paused to think for a moment, and then her eyeliner went by him, probably to the diaz where a conversation Nyx couldn't find in himself to care about was going.

"Of course," She rested her hand on his, the corner of her lip tilted up just slightly and Nyx counted that as a smile.

{General - @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria @paleidiot}

{Meeting in Grey - @sleepylunarwolf @achaotichuman @sarawritestories @bakananya @sheblogs @anuttellaa}

[blueraineshadows]

Sebastian Sallow 🔺️F!MC 🔺️Leander Prewett

Chapter 13 - 14.2k words

Tags: NSFW / Dark Magic / Angst / Injury / PTSD

Chapter Master List and Ao3 link

Chapter Thirteen: Of Faerie Rings and Offerings

Sebastian

Another wild, Highland trail to follow, and more hours of tension, as they walked through the cold, morning fog. As hardy as he was, living outdoors and growing up through the unpredictable patterns of Scottish weather, Sebastian had wrapped a warm, wool cloak about himself before setting out with MC in search of their next location. He walked on ahead, MC lagging behind him, her breaths laboured and her mood quiet. She wasn’t up to full fitness yet despite the potions she took each morning, but insisted she was fine every time he paused to check on her.

Turning once again on the path, his gaze taking her in, a small crease appeared on his brow at the paleness of her face contrasting with the dark smudges under her eyes. The last two nights had been rough, sleeping out in the wild landscapes in their tent, the tension thick after the confrontation with Anne. His twin’s words had intended to cut, and they certainly felt heavy over his head, slicing open his fears that MC would leave him. 

Waiting for MC to catch him up, he pulled his cloak closer against the damp chill, moisture heavy in the air from a lingering fog. MC slowed to a stop beside him, strands of damp hair stuck to her forehead and cheek. She gave him an enquiring look, glancing around at the endless sentinels of trees that surrounded them. 

“Why have we stopped? Are we close to the fairy ring?” 

“It shouldn’t be too much further,” he said, managing a reassuring smile. “How are you holding up? That last hill was quite the climb.” 

“I’m fine,” she assured him, her chin tilting up in that stubborn way of hers. “I told you to stop fussing over me like I am some kind of china doll that’s about to break.” 

He grinned and brushed gloved fingers against her temple, smoothing back the loose strands of hair there. “I know. That doesn’t mean I listened, though. I am merely adopting the manly role and looking out for the fair maiden in my charge.” 

Her look of disbelief was swiftly followed by a ‘pfft’ of laughter. “Oh, but of course!” She scoffed, planting her hands onto her hips. “Never mind the fact that my magic far outweighs yours in power, and if anything should befall us, then it is more likely going to be the fair maiden who saves the day. What, pray tell, will your manly role involve then?”

A spark of delight filled him at the sight of her mouth curving into a smile. Her laughter may have been an attempt to mock him, but he would take it. Her mood had dropped so low over the last few days due to the lack of ancient magic deposits, and the emotional weight she seemed to carry had put up tense walls between them. He wondered if she would rise to even riskier bait, his fingers shifting to capture her chin, tilting her face up towards him just so. Her eyes flashed, her mouth a tempting pout of pretty pink as he gave her his most wicked smirk. 

“I can think of a few manly roles I could adopt to offer my thanks to the fair maiden for saving my backside,” he murmured, daring to lean close enough until he could feel her breath on his cheek. “Especially for a maiden as fair as you.” 

“Smooth, Sallow,” she said, arching a brow, but not before she had visibly swallowed at their closeness. He had caught that dark spark in her eyes before she had quickly smothered it. Her hand caught hold of his wrist and tugged his hand from her chin. “But, you’re going to have to try harder than that.” 

“I’ll take that as a challenge,” he grinned, tipping her a cheeky wink. 

MC rolled her eyes and set off along the forest trail again. “Come on, let’s keep at it. You said the fairy ring was close. You can tell me more about your manly deeds with the Ashwinders as we walk. Impress me with your villainous skills.” 

She threw a smirk over her shoulder and he felt his spirits rise a little as he stepped out to join her, matching her step so they could walk side by side, careful to avoid tripping on rogue rocks or tree roots. 

“What do you want to know? I have some rather miserable tales about debt collecting on Rookwood’s behalf, or there is always the noble act of robbing from shipping crates arriving from far flung places.” 

Her side eye game was strong as she shook her head. “I think you might need to check on the definition of what a noble act entails. What are in these shipping crates anyway? Do you know? I hope it's not beasts.” 

He met her narrow eyed suspicion with a firm denial. “I stay well clear of any poaching,” he assured her. “That side of the gang is definitely not my area of interest.”  

“No, you are far happier with the torture and thievery,” she said sourly. She frowned thoughtfully. “Does it get any easier the more you do it?” 

The dark shadows of memories hovered greedily at the corners of his mind, and he adjusted his cloak, his face grim. “No,” he said regretfully. He sighed, his gaze scanning their surroundings, always on watch. “Thievery is probably the easiest job to do. Most of the crates that we stash have rare items such as spell books, or ancient artefacts from other countries. Those are the ones that intrigue me the most. I was working the docks for a while, particularly at Dover. Rookwood has a hidden lock up in the tunnels that are carved inside the white cliffs. Those tunnels date back centuries, carved out by Saxons or Vikings I suspect. Hidden by enchantments, Rookwood has quite a decent stash there.” 

MC remained quiet, appearing to think this over as she chewed her lower lip. She gave him a curious glance. “Have you ever been tempted to sneak an item for yourself?”

He gave a sly smile, shrugging his shoulders. “I may have pilfered the odd book, you know me. But, not too often. I couldn’t risk being caught. I’m with the Ashwinders for a reason, and I can’t afford to lose sight of that over a few items. The time will come when I get my hands on his collection.” 

Her expression soured and she dipped her gaze. Anne was a sore subject, but his determination to fix his sister remained the same. He couldn’t just let it go, not when they could be so close. After what MC had told him from her talk with Rookwood, killing him would lift Anne’s curse. It might even be worth the time in Azkaban to just end him and suffer the consequences. Anne would be well, Rookwood would get what was coming to him, but he would be parted from those he loved once again.

Lost in thought, he was surprised when MC came to a stop, his eyes immediately scanning the path ahead for any trouble. The path had widened slightly, the trees here mostly ash and old oaks, the ground a crispy carpet of browns and golds from the Autumn fall. Ahead was a clearing, a first glimpse of ancient stones set into a circle. 

“This is it,” MC whispered, a look of intense concentration on her face. 

Ancient stone circles were littered all over the Scottish wilderness, some called them fairy rings, others pagan ritual sites. Whatever they were called, there was always a healthy amount of respect and awe for these places. Untouched for centuries, they held a magical aura of their own, but it was the glow of ancient magic that they needed from this one. After nearly a week, they had found nothing.  

“Do we need to move closer?” He asked, watching her carefully. He couldn’t see the traces, but sometimes he could sense a strange energy in the air, although this could merely be coincidence. After all, he had magical blood of his own, and magic could be sensed if one concentrated hard enough. 

They moved towards the clearing slowly, the stones standing as solid and true as the day they were placed, any greenery that had dared to encroach seemed to do so with its own level of respect. MC moved towards the centre of the ring, turning in a circle as she studied the stones. Markings had been carved into them, symbols that were intriguing but very few looked familiar to Sebastian. 

MC sighed, her shoulders slumping. She shook her head and gave him a defeated look. No ancient magic here, either. All that walking for nothing. What were they doing wrong? 

MC

The leather of Noctua Gaunt’s journal was supple and smooth, the book a pleasant weight in her hands. MC let her fingers slide over the cover, deep in thought as she sat with her back resting against a tree under a canopy of tall ash. She had never known her mother, and to read about her within the pages of a book was strange, disconnected. It made her appear as a character in a story rather than a living and breathing person, and yet, she was out there in the world somewhere if records proved true. The fear that lingered in MC’s heart that Elizabeth had met a similar fate to Noctua kept taunting her. Perhaps she was foolish to get her hopes up, and any daydreams about a reunion were neither helpful nor wise.

Elizabeth Gaunt had fallen for a Muggle. A forbidden love for a daughter who came from a line of pure magical blood, her family staunch believers in keeping magic within the bloodlines. The emotions may be written by a second hand, but MC still felt an affinity to a young girl who felt confused about her own feelings. The circumstances may have been different, but MC was confounded by the way her heart seemed to find itself torn between two very different men. However she tried to imagine a life with either of them, it always came to the fear that she would end up destroying them both, as Elizabeth appeared to have ended up destroying her own true love for daring to take what she wanted.

Leander had a pure soul, and she could not bear the thought of dragging him under the shadow of her darkness. She had warned him of such, and yet he remained. Sebastian carried his own darkness, their paths entwined so deeply that surely they were like kindred spirits. His twin thought otherwise. Anne’s bitter prediction that MC would destroy Sebastian in the end still echoed through her thoughts. Could it be so? As much as she resented Anne, her words had struck a nerve, nudging up against the old fears that she had carried throughout her whole life. That she was not worthy of love. Abandoned as a child, never adopted, always on the outside looking in, followed by a darkness that owned her. Always alone, even when she had bound herself to another. 

To take the love that Leander offered so willingly would be a selfish thing to do. It terrified her when she saw that softness in his eyes, how fragile and untouchable it appeared, and if she broke it, which surely she would eventually, then it would be lost forever. The irony of it brought tears to her eyes. In not accepting what he had to offer, she proved only that she returned his affections. If she did not care, she would drain him of all he had to give. It would seem she did care, a lot.

Allowing a tear to escape and roll down her cheek, she thought of Leander, allowing herself to relax the solid walls of protection she had built around herself the last few days. Sebastian had excused himself, wandering off a way under the cover of lingering fog through the trees. The few moments of his absence provided precious time for her to vent the pent up emotion stuffed tightly in her chest. Closing her eyes, all she could see was Leander standing in the kitchen of Shell Cottage, his face a mask of bravery whilst his eyes glittered with his pain. Leaving him like that had been so very difficult, but in the end, it had to be for the best.

Taking a deep breath, MC took out the secret parchment and opened it out on top of the journal, tapping it with her wand and turning up nothing. No messages from Leander.  Swallowing foolish disappointment, she reminded herself that she had a job to do, and she wouldn’t let him down. Wiping the tear from her cheek, she sat up straighter, writing quickly before Sebastian returned. The little tidbit of information that Sebastian had shared about the tunnels in the cliffs at Dover would be valuable information, and she explained quickly. Resisting the urge to add anything personal, she tapped her wand and sent the words on their way to her Auror. 

When Sebastian wandered back through the trees, the low lying mist swirling around his boots, she gave him a wary look. Caught off guard for those brief seconds, she met his gaze and her heart thundered behind her ribs. His look was drenched in curiosity, he knew she was suppressing something, and she feared the questions he would likely ask. She wasn’t ready to answer them. She could feel his need rolling off him in waves, curling with the mists and snaking around her, his eyes almost begging for her to open up to him as he rolled his lower lip thoughtfully. 

Dragging her eyes from him, she stuffed the journal back into her bag and got to her feet, brushing dirt and leaves from her trousers. Barriers firmly back in place, she slung her bag over her shoulder and glanced towards the trail. “We should get moving,” she said stiffly. “We have one more possible location to scout out before nightfall.”

Sebastian paused beside her, picking up his own bag and taking out the map. She could feel the strength of his gaze on her, but kept her own eyes averted, looking down at the markers he had drawn on the map. He pointed at the next location with a grubby finger, small scars that looked like burns from spells embedded on his skin. Hands capable of such destruction, and yet she found she liked looking at them, unable to help herself as she took in the veins on the back of them filled with his life blood. Hands that had held her, touched her in ways that left her breathless. Hands that could kill. 

“There is a village nearby where we could stop for provisions,” he said, showing her on the map. “I’m almost out of snacks, and I’m pretty hungry.”

Risking a look at him, his expression was one of simple enquiry, the earlier raw need gone. Her lips almost curved into a smile. “You had a massive breakfast, Sebastian. How are you so hungry already?”

“It’s all this fresh air and exercise, love,” he smirked, patting his stomach. “It gives one an appetite.”

She dared to poke a finger into the softness of his tummy. He was by no means overweight, but neither was he lean and hard. He had that solid build, with just an edge of softness, a body that was both strong and capable of the most satisfying hugs. She felt warmth flame her cheeks as she recalled curling into him and falling asleep the other night. Clearing her throat, she lifted her eyebrows, flashing him a teasing glance. “Aww, cute and squishy like a teddy bear. Must be all the snacks.”

He scowled and rubbed his stomach again, looking down at it. “Are you suggesting I’m getting chubby?” He asked, pinching at his flesh through his shirt.

She stepped out along the path with a chuckle, glancing back to him, allowing her gaze to sweep slowly over him. There was nothing boyish about him anymore, except for maybe the twinkle in his eyes sometimes, and he definitely wasn’t chubby. Her eyes lingered on the cut of his jaw, darkened with a few days worth of stubble, the strength in his neck and shoulders. She knew all too well how easily he could lift her up. Her fingers clutched at her bag strap as she let her gaze wander down over his torso, lingering on thick, powerful thighs. Solid, strong, but fast, those legs could side step and fall into powerful stances during duels. He could run, too.

Biting her lower lip, her gaze lifted to meet him once more, and she could see the way those chocolate eyes had darkened. Staring each other down under the canopy of the forest, she felt the primal pulse of blatant desire flare in her blood, calling to him. His throat worked as he swallowed, his lips parting slightly as though about to speak.

“Don’t worry, I was merely jesting,” she said quickly, flashing him a quick smile. “I'm sure there are plenty of adoring fans at the duelling pit when you start flexing your prowess.”

Turning quickly so she could get a grip on her flushed state, she began to stride along the path, blood pumping. It wouldn’t do to get all carried away with intrusive thoughts. His mouth had always been distracting, and she had enough to figure out without adding ideas of what that mouth could do.

“I should hope so,” he cracked, following her, his boots thudding against the dirt. “It takes a lot of care and attention to look this good, darling. I wouldn’t like to disappoint.”

She huffed a laugh, throwing her eyes up towards the gently swaying branches above their heads, golden leaves fluttering down to carpet the forest floor in a blanket of fiery colours. “Always so bloody sure of himself,” she muttered.

Hands gripped her waist and she jumped with a sharp intake of breath, her feet stilling as he bent close to her ear, his breath hot on her neck. “I heard that,” he murmured, his fingers flexing in a tempting grip. “If you don’t believe me, you are most welcome to conduct a more thorough investigation. You would find me a very willing participant.”

Gulping in an attempt to steady her breathing, MC desperately tried to get a grip on the roaring of her pulse, every nerve ending seeming to bend and scrape to his will. “Oh, I have no doubt about your willingness,” she quipped, aiming for bored and unimpressed, but sounding dangerously close to breathy and needy. “It likely equals your level of audacity and randiness. Quite the scoundrel, in fact.”

His nose brushed up the column of her neck, his throaty chuckle sending shivers down her spine as her head tipped foolishly back a touch. All this wonderful fresh air, and yet she couldn’t breathe sufficiently. “I would wager that you secretly enjoy the scoundrel in me,” he teased, soft lips grazing against her skin, the scratch of stubble added just enough roughness to make her sigh. “You are quite the vixen yourself, MC. Do you even know what you do to a man when you look at him with that dark fire in your eyes? When you sway these delectable hips…”

His hands slid down to cup her hips, drawing her back against him so that her back was flush against that solid strength she had been appraising. No, she absolutely wasn’t leaning into him, her eyes closing as his hot mouth claimed a taste of her neck, over and over again, until she felt the tantalising tug of his teeth on her earlobe.

“Seb…” It was the ghost of a whisper through her lips, her back arching as the flat of his palm slid down to the top of her thigh.

“Yes, sweetheart,” he breathed into her hair, his fingers digging deliciously into the flesh of her thigh before he dragged them slowly upwards.

A soft sound left her throat as her knees trembled. Scoundrel, indeed. He knew what he was doing, and she let him, her skin inflamed with every heated touch of that wicked mouth. With one hand splayed at her midriff, and the other seeking out the curve of her hip and backside, her body was melting into his touch. How easy would it be to give in and let him have her? Like falling back into a feather pillow, surrounded by his scent, his arms, his kisses driving the wildfire in her blood to dizzying heights. So effortless.

“Seb,” she said again, firmer this time, her brows drawing together. 

He spun her round to face him, his hand claiming her jaw as he pressed his hot mouth to hers in a dominant kiss. While her fingers clutched at his jacket, and her mouth opened to welcome the slide of his tongue, she felt the first flutters of insecurity and panic begin to dance in her chest. 

This isn’t love, it’s obsession. She will destroy you. 

Her hands were in his unruly mop of hair, his low groan into her mouth making her thighs clench as his hands moulded her curves. Their kisses had become desperate, ravenous, their hot gasps for breath loud in the surrounding quietness. But, the doubts filtered through the haze.

If you were to allow it, I would love you until the very end of existence. 

Breaking the kiss with a whimper, MC squeezed her eyes closed against the voices in her head. Anne and her bitterness, Leander and his soft brown eyes full of love she could never accept, Luella Rookwood’s possessive hand on Sebastian’s arm. Her chest tightened but she couldn’t seem to let go of Sebastian, her hands curled into his black jacket as though her life depended on it. His eyes were aflame with hunger, dark and wild, his freckled cheeks flushed with passion when she dared to look at him. They shouldn’t be doing this. Every cell in her body was screaming for him, but that little cold slice of her that held all her fear and doubt began to cut through the fire in her blood. It had not been that long since they had held others in their arms, and tasted kisses from another’s lips. 

He shook his head, his eyes turning pained. “No, don’t do that,” he begged, holding her tighter against him. “Don’t you dare start shutting down on me, not now. Please. Don’t push me away, MC.”

“It’s too soon,” she rasped, shaking her head. She stepped back, her arms straightening where she still clutched his jacket, holding him at bay. “I can’t.”

“Surely, you must feel this…this connection between us,” he said, grasping her arms in a tight grip. The desperation on his face, that flicker of fear in his gaze, it made her heart twist painfully. “Please, MC. I love you so much. You drive me crazy being this close, but so out of reach. What do you want me to do? I can’t stop how I feel about you, not ever.”

“You said you could wait,” she winced, his declaration joining Leander’s in the jumbled mess of emotions bubbling inside of her. 

A pained look crossed his face and he let her arms go, his hands dropping to his sides and he looked away through the trees. “What am I waiting for, MC? Tell me that. Am I waiting for you? Or, are you going to tell me that you love him more, and then go off to live your life without me? Is that how you will break me, MC? Are you planning to leave in the end?” 

A tear slid from her eye and she flinched, blinking rapidly against the swell and burn of more filling her eyes. Her lips parted but no words came. Would she leave him? Slowly letting go of his jacket, she turned her left palm up to look at the red scar there. She was bound to him until death, and therefore, he would always be a part of her. She could never fully turn her back on him, and neither could he do the same to her. But, was it enough?

Sebastian wrapped a hand around hers, squeezing it gently. “Don’t look at that, look at me,” he said softly. “When you look at me, I feel like you see me for who I truly am. You have seen the worst of me, and yet you stuck around. You are more than just a scar on my palm. You’re everything.” 

“I…I’m scared,” she admitted, withdrawing away from him, her arms curling around herself as she stepped back. So long in the dark, alone and afraid. Now, she was surrounded by what she had craved for years, but she was too scared to reach out and take it. “What if it’s not real? What if it’s just the foolish, teenage dream you’re in love with rather than me? I’m not that girl any more. Azkaban changed me. I’m harder, colder, the darkness is always there waiting for me. What if I destroy you? What if I can’t give you what you want?”

He looked crestfallen. Those big, brown eyes of his made her think of an abandoned puppy, lost and in need of reassurance. “What are you saying?”

The truth had spilled from her lips and she cringed from it, slapping her hand to her mouth and turning from him. “I can’t…I can’t do this right now.”

He called out to her, but her feet kept moving, one in front of the other until she was running. Speaking the darkest, painful truth had split the fear into shards and now they were digging their jagged edges into her chest. It left a raw feeling there, replacing the heated desire that had bloomed so ferociously before. Feeling exposed and vulnerable, she ran. The path winding through the trees splitting off into tangents that she paid no heed to as her feet hit the dirt. Running from herself, running from the dark, and behind her, the inevitable steady beat of footsteps running after her. 

Sebastian

When MC had run from him on the peaks above Hogwarts Valley, he had let her go. Her magic had blasted from the depths of the forest in her rage and pain, but he had not gone after her. This time, he gave chase. Instead of Apparating, she had run, and it would be no great effort to catch up to her. He had wanted her to open up to him so desperately, but when that thick shield she clung to had cracked, the vulnerability that had haunted her eyes had staggered him. She had said the darkness lingered there waiting for her, and that was something he knew all about. 

The weak sunlight dappled through the forest canopy, flickering in shades and glimmers on her black hair, strands of it slipping loose from the braid that hung down her back. She was nimble on her feet like a sprite, but she was tiring quickly, her strides lagging as she ran aimlessly through the trees. He could hear her laboured breaths, his mind racing with all that had transpired between them in the last few days. 

Anne had rattled her with poisonous words, planting seeds of doubt in a mind already guarded against him. He loved his twin, but damn, he could throttle her sometimes. Whatever had gone down between MC and Leander haunted her thoughts, her gaze faraway and distracted, her quietness laying thick and heavy ever since she had returned from that meeting. That scared him more than anything Anne could say. Anne he could deal with. MC’s feelings for Prewett were a whole other matter entirely. 

Despite the nagging fear that MC was in love with another man, he could not get that kiss out of his mind. He couldn’t be mistaken. The fire in her gaze, the way she had responded to his touch, it was tangible and explosive. He couldn’t be the only one who felt it, she had to feel that burn between them as he did. Certain that she did, the fear she had admitted to just now had her in a vice grip, and she was holding back from him. There was still hope. There had to be.

The path appeared to be widening out, a strange sound drifting through the trees, like sticks clacking together. MC slowed, her step faltering as a clearing opened up before them. The sound of a babbling spring joined the clacking sticks, MC coming to a standstill before a huge hawthorn tree decorated with ribbons and strips of cloth. Coming to a stop beside her, both of them catching their breaths, Sebastian felt his skin prickle with the sensation that came from being in a sacred place. He recognised the significance of the clearing immediately, his eyes taking in the offerings tied to the tree.

The clacking sticks were makeshift wind charms strung up on nearby ash trees, the breeze catching them and making them sound their strange music as the scraps of fabric fluttered and danced along with them. MC took a step back, her gaze full of curious wonder as she looked around the clearing, seemingly forgetting why she had run from him.

“What is this place?” She shivered, rubbing her arms, a look of intense concentration darkening her face.

“It’s a Clootie tree,” he said, his voice hushed.

“A what?” She turned to look at him, her brow creased.

“A Clootie tree,” he repeated, pointing up to the branches of the hawthorn. “Clootie means cloth. You find them near sacred wells or springs. People come to make an offering, dipping their Clootie into the water and tying it to the tree in the hopes of curing their loved one from some ailment. It’s sometimes done as a gift to the goddess, or spirit, that guards the sacred well, but mostly it is a prayer for good health.” 

MC took a tentative step towards the tree, studying the offerings. Some of them were very faded, the fabric threadbare from age, others looked more recent, one a particularly lovely silk ribbon tied in a bow. “So, these are all likely to represent someone who is hurt, or sick?” 

Sebastian nodded, solemnly. She turned to look at him again, a shadow of sadness in her eyes. “Does it work?” 

“I’m not sure,” he shrugged, looking at a rather faded scrap of tartan. “It’s said that as the fabric wears thin, the ailment fades with it. It could just be a comfort, but as you and I both know, magic is capable of wonderful things. It may surprise you to hear that most of these were likely placed here by Muggles, though. It’s a Celtic tradition going back centuries. You will find these all over Scotland and Ireland, no doubt in Northern Europe, too.” 

The soft look she gave him stirred at the hope he clung to. “Do you know them from personal experience, or through your reading?”

“Both,” he said, his smile sad. “I’ve read about them, of course, but when I was a small child, I remember visiting one with Anne and my mother. We gave an offering to the tree for my grandmother.”

“What happened?”

Sebastian looked at the offerings and swallowed thickly. It had been the first loss he’d experienced in his young life, but definitely not the last. “She died,” he whispered.

“I’m so sorry,” MC said, moving a little closer towards him.

“I remember standing there watching my mother tie the piece of cloth to the tree, and I didn’t believe it would make a difference. I think I even complained about how cold it was that day, the whole idea seeming silly and annoying when I had a new toy train to play with at home.” He bowed his head, worrying at his lower lip as old grief rose up to mingle with new. Always, those he loved had to leave. “Then when grandma died, I lay awake worrying that it was because I didn’t believe in the Clootie tree. It was my fault that the wish didn’t work, and if mother ever found out, she would blame me, too.”

He felt her hand on his forearm, gentle, reassuring. “It’s not your fault, Seb. People die, it’s the way of life. One young boy cannot hold back what nature intends. I doubt your mother would have blamed you, either. Terrible things happen to good people, and we must find a way to carry that loss. There is nothing you could have done.”

“But, what if there was?” He said, his voice hoarse with the emotion bubbling up his throat. “Everyone I love leaves in some form or another. It must all come back to me somehow, and no matter how many books I read, or how many shadows I battle, people still end up leaving. I have to find a way to fix whatever dark curse hangs over me, this rotten luck that steals all that is good and leaves me with nothing.”

She stared at him, wide eyed, lips parted, as he ranted. It seemed she was not the only one cracking open and spilling dark truths. Feeling ashamed of his failures, he put a hand to his face, his eyes squeezing tightly closed as the well of darkness inside of him threatened to spill over. His stomach churned. Shame and guilt, fear and self-loathing, all twisting together to form a lead ball that lay heavy within.

“Perhaps you are right to be wary of me, MC,” he said, voice cracking. “It could well be that I end up destroying you rather than you destroying me. Look what has happened to you already because of me.”

“Do you think Anne has a point?” She asked quietly after a moment. That flicker of worry appeared in her eyes again. “Is this a toxic obsession? What do you see when you look at me? You said I see you despite your darkness, but what of me? I’m just as dark, and definitely more dangerous with the power that I have access to.”

Risking her running from him again, he cupped her face, making sure that he looked directly into her eyes as he spoke. “Yes, you are powerful, and I won’t deny the excitement I feel when I see you unleash it. It truly fascinates me, but that’s my thirst for wanting to know about all things magical. That’s the Ravenclaw part of me that is all my mother. But, the more time that I spent with you, the more I realised that the girl behind all of that was worth knowing, too. I felt this affinity to you, like I could have known you on another plane of existence, or something.”

“A kindred spirit,” she murmured, a slight smile curving her lips. “You said that to me once.”

His own mouth curved in remembrance, his thumb stroking her cheek. “You know me better than anyone, aside from Anne. As I said before, you have seen my darkness, and you stayed. I am not afraid of your darkness, MC. It could be a mirror of my own, and if Anne thinks we will only destroy each other, then I am still willing to risk it. All the time you are willing to hold my hand as we face whatever it is we have to face, then I’m here. If you go down, then I’m coming with you, because if there is one thing I learned while you were gone, it’s that I am fucking miserable without you beside me.”

Her head tilted slightly, her eyes narrowing as she studied him. “You’re a big softie underneath all that dark magic and fierce duelling, aren’t you?”

He gave her his most devilish smirk, leaning in closer towards her. “Don’t tell anyone,” he murmured, dropping her a wink.

“It’s a good thing I am a master of keeping your secrets,” she said, dipping her hand into the collar of her shirt and pulling out the silver chain that held the amulet. The blood stone glittered eerily in the dappled light of the clearing. “I swore on our blood that I would, but even without it, I would keep your secrets, Sebastian. Just as you have kept mine.”

Was it enough, though? He studied the amulet, mulling over the pact they had made. He remembered how strongly he had believed in his love for her. When she had asked if it was nothing more than a teenage dream, it had felt like a blow to his stomach. Looking at her now, her hair tumbling free from her braid, her face pink and blotchy from her tears, he couldn’t imagine feeling this way about anyone else. 

“I should have married you instead of making this blood pact,” he said, taking hold of her left hand. He brushed a thumb over her ring finger. “We could have done it despite our age. We broke so many other rules, why not that one? We could have done it the old fashioned way and performed a Handfast ceremony, they are as good as law here in Scotland. You would have been mine forever.”

She gaped at him. “Marriage? Bloody hell, Sebastian! We were kids! Do you think it would have made any difference? Wouldn’t we still be standing here without a clue what we are doing?” 

“Would you have gone to Prewett’s bed if we were wed?” The question fired from his lips, bringing his fear of her feelings for the Auror into the open.

MC reeled backwards, her cheeks flushing scarlet, and her mouth forming a tight line. “I could ask the same question of you with regards to Miss Rookwood,” she snapped.

“Ask it,” he said firmly. “Ask me, and I will tell you. I would not. She means nothing to me, nothing at all. But, Prewett is a whole other kettle of grindylows, isn’t he? I didn’t move on, MC, but I think you did. You moved on, and you’re too scared to admit it.”

Her eyes widened, and she stepped back, her hands darting up to fiddle with loose strands of her hair. “Admit what, exactly?”

“I know you have feelings for him,” he pressed, his chest heavy as though filled with rock. “As much as it kills me, I saw it in your eyes. You love him, and that’s why you have been so cold and distant with me. You are pushing me back, and I think it’s because of him. I’m right, aren’t I?” 

Her lips parted with a harsh sigh, a small cry of distress leaving her lips. “It’s not the same,” she said, her voice breathless and high. 

“You either love him, or you don’t, MC,” he said, shaking his head. “Am I a fool for thinking that the kiss we just shared meant something? Am I really waiting for you to break my heart?”

She put her hands to her head and paced, her chest rising and falling with tortured breaths. Each agonising second that passed without an answer seemed to make the weight on his chest grow heavier. She wasn’t denying it, his worst fears were manifesting right in front of him, and he felt sick. She was going to leave him for another. 

“You are not a fool, Sebastian,” she said, coming to a stop before him. He almost held his breath as he waited. “But, you are right, I do need to be honest with you. I’m not going to deny that I have feelings for Leander. I cannot help how I feel, and I won’t do him an injustice by pretending that he doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“Fucking hell,” Seb groaned, pushing his hands into his hair and looking up at the swaying branches of the trees. 

“You wanted to hear this, Sebastian, and so you can damn well listen!” She said firmly. When he glanced back at her, she had her hands on her hips, her face determined. “He loves me. I know it, and I know he would do anything for me, but I can’t…”

She winced and looked down, taking a deep breath.

“Can’t what?” 

“I can’t give him what he wants,” she said, tears forming in her eyes. She sniffed and put the back of her hand beneath her nose. “He offered me the chance to start a new life, and I turned him down. How could I accept such a thing when I cannot give him all of myself in return? I broke his heart because…because all that he wanted from me, that part of me, in here…” She patted her hand to her chest, tears rolling freely down her cheeks now as she looked at him. “I’m pretty sure that part already belongs to you.”

Her words washed over him, pulling him back from the edge, a stuttered gasp ripping from his chest. The relief that she felt that way had him staggering towards her and dropping to his knees. In that moment, there was no swagger, no smirking, just raw emotion as he buried his face into her stomach, his hands holding her as though she was made of precious glass. He felt her hand in his hair, the touch soothing, and sending shivers down his spine. 

“I haven’t given up on us, Seb,” she said, her voice thick with tears. “There is still a lot to figure out, and that might take some time, but I haven’t given up.”

Sebastian nuzzled into her warmth, breathing her in and drawing comfort from knowing that she was his, but that niggling fear still lingered. She admitted having feelings for Leander. “And, Prewett?” 

He bit his lip, expecting her to push him off, but he felt her shudder. He kept his face buried into the fabric of her clothing, afraid of what he would see on her face if he looked up. 

“I don’t want to hurt him,” she whispered. “He is a good person, and he deserves so much more than what I could give him. My darkness would swallow him whole. I have to let him go.”

For the first time since he had met Prewett in their first year at Hogwarts, he felt a pang of sympathy for him. There was pain and regret in MC’s voice, and while Sebastian hated the thought of them being close with each other, he could understand the pain of wanting someone and then losing them. That could have been him, he could have been the one to be let go of, and perhaps he still could. 

“I will do whatever it takes, MC,” he vowed. “You know I am yours.” 

Her hand swept through his hair, her fingers caressing the back of his neck as he remained there on his knees, holding her. The crude wind chimes clacked together in the trees above, the babbling spring gushed as it had done for centuries, and Sebastian allowed himself a moment of peace beneath the Clootie offerings. This time, he was going to believe in the sentiment that good things could happen. 

“I don’t wish to break up the moment, but there is something you should know,” MC said quietly. Sebastian tensed, waiting. “I know you can’t see it, but there is ancient magic here. It’s glimmering around the trunk of the tree, little wisps of it trailing up and around the branches. The offerings are all touched by the magic, too. It’s actually rather beautiful.” 

Sebastian lifted his head to look up at the tree, but of course, he could not see what she could. He could feel the power of the space, ancient and steeped with years of human emotion. People came here because they were sad, hurting, desperate. They came to make their offering to save their loved ones. That kind of emotional magic was bound to leave a mark. 

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, getting to his feet. A strange tingling sensation swept through him as the realisation dawned, and he grabbed MC by the hand. “We have been looking at the deposits all wrong. We are assuming that ancient magic would reside in ancient places, but what if that’s not the true source. It’s old, of course, but age shouldn’t dictate where it would gather.” 

“What are you thinking, Seb?” She asked, her grip tightening on his hand as he gazed up at the tree. 

“These offerings,” he said, gesturing up towards them as he looked at her. “They are emotional. What if that is what draws the ancient magic here? What if it's the emotion that manifests it?” 

Her gaze lifted to the tree, her mouth parting as he saw the way her thoughts must be racing. A quiver of excitement trembled through him, as it always did when he stumbled across a brilliant idea. 

“That would make sense,” she nodded, her gaze dipping shyly before she spoke again. “There have been instances where ancient magic has burst out of me without the use of a wand, and those moments have always been highly emotionally charged. I…I saved Leander from Dementors inside Azkaban without a wand. It just happened. So, the idea of ancient magic being attached to emotions is actually a good one. Let’s not forget that Isadora created the repository using painful human emotions, too.” 

“I should have seen it sooner,” he said, his jaw clenching at how obvious it seemed now. “We could have been spending our time seeking out locations where emotional magic has been cast. Perhaps we would have been more successful.” 

“Well, we know now, at least we think we do,” she said, her eyes brightening. “We need to test this theory. We need a location where something emotional would have happened. How are we going to find places like that?” 

A thought began to turn in his mind, and he was reluctant to suggest it, but it would make perfect sense. The issue was whether he would be able to handle it. Looking at MC, their hands clasped, and the knowledge that she hadn’t given up on him seemed to lend him added strength. “Emotionally charged magic like the murder of a relative in extreme circumstances? How about that for a location to test the theory?” 

Her blue eyes stared at him, and he could see the echo of his own shadows flickering there. They would never forget that day down in those catacombs, it would live inside them for the rest of their lives. 

“Are you sure?” She asked, her worry creasing her brow. 

No, he wasn’t sure, his guilt and fear seemed to stretch and crawl under his flesh. “I guess there is only one way to find out, sweetheart,” he said, and held her closer as he let the image of the Feldcroft catacomb entrance fill his mind. 

MC

The fresh, briney scent of the ocean greeted them as they landed on the cliff top near Feldcroft, the stiff breeze tugging at their hair and cloaks as they gathered their bearings. Tall pines creaked and swayed in the wind, the happy chatter of songbirds a peculiar juxtaposition to the ominous looking entrance of the catacombs. Carved ancient stones leaned amongst the twisted, gnarled tree roots that reached like claws towards the dirt beaten path. A tomb of the dead, ancient and long forgotten, clinging to magic crafted centuries before. The atmosphere spoke of age and dust, but she knew what lingered down there in the dark. 

MC shivered and looked to Sebastian, taking in the paleness beneath his freckles, his eyes fixed on the darkened entrance with a hesitant look. 

“We don’t have to do this,” she said quietly.

His hand massaged anxiously at her waist as he gave a jerky nod. “I’ll be alright. We need to see if we’re right about this.” 

Taking his hand in hers, they walked into the entrance, leaving behind the soft autumn skies for the damp chill of stone and sand. Descending down the cracked stone steps, aged candles flickered into life casting an eerie pale glow to light their way. 

“Do you think anyone has been down here since that day?” Sebastian asked, his voice low and tight. 

MC scanned the path ahead, water dripping down the walls and the patter of a startled rat echoing down the tunnel carved into the rock. “It’s hard to say,” she said. “I’m sure anything worth any value was looted long ago. What would bring anyone here?” 

“I don’t know, explorers, history lovers, desperate boys with grand plans of saving the world.” 

MC paused to look at Sebastian, the brittle sadness behind his words making her question the wiseness of taking him down into these catacombs. She squeezed his hand, her own apprehension twisting in her chest, but she tried to suppress it. “I can go on alone, you know. I’m not afraid,” she suggested. “You can wait for me outside if this is going to be too much.”

His jaw tightened and he took a breath. “Come on,” he said, tugging her forward. “You are not going down here alone.” 

It could almost make her smile how he still insisted on being her protector, despite the ancient power that lived in her veins. There was nothing in these tunnels that she couldn’t fight off, she was more than capable, but he still had the need to be her saviour. 

They walked on, taking the twists and turns with their wands in hand, their other hands still tightly clasped. The candles lit up as they went, casting eerie shadows on stone walls and reflecting off the huge puddles that flooded the chambers. Their boots echoed off the stone flooring sections, the rest of the tombs appearing empty and quiet aside from the odd scampering rat. 

“I had forgotten how much of a warren this place was,” MC murmured as they came out on a large curved balcony, the huge circular chamber supported by solid stone columns. Candles illuminated the space, revealing the shattered coffins and dusty urns on their shelves. Down in the centre of the chamber was a stone altar, abandoned, but left as it was last used. As they wandered down the slope, trying to remember which archway to take next, countless old skulls stared back at them with dark, empty eye sockets. “Can you remember which way to go?” 

Sebastian paused near the altar, frowning slightly as he eyed the options. “There were so many ancient puzzles to solve to get through here, but it seems the doorways are all still open.” 

MC stared at one archway in particular, goosebumps erupting along her arms as she felt a familiar hum beneath her feet. Her heart picked up the pace and she aimed her wand towards the entrance, a stale stench wafting from the dark maw. She could feel it. There was magic here. “This way,” she said. 

They continued on, their hands still tightly wrapped around each other despite the sticky sheen of sweat that had gathered on their palms. Sebastian was quiet, his face drawn and eyes dark. MC could feel the tension on the back of her neck as memories of that awful day returned and replayed in her head, these walls echoing with the shouts, flickering with the spells of their fight with his uncle. 

It was hard not to wonder what Solomon’s motives were, a question that had plagued her during long hours in the dark serving time for his murder. It was all together more strange and frustrating now that she had discovered he had known her as a very small child. It made her feel cold, numb, a sense of dread that this had all been a cruel trick of fate for them all. 

All the while, she felt the pulse of magic begin to strengthen beneath her feet, the static in the air prickled on her skin, and she tried to remain calm. Sebastian couldn’t feel any of those things, but he could probably sense her tension as they entered a chamber with a staircase conjured from ancient bones. They both stood before it, a sense of dread looming over them, the entrance above the staircase flickering with a familiar blue and white light. The power throbbed and pulsed with renewed strength, and she felt the answering call in her blood.

“You were right,” she said softly, turning to look at Sebastian. “There is ancient magic here.” 

A muscle ticked in his jaw as his gaze remained locked on the doorway, a sheen of sweat glistened on his brow, and he was breathing faster. He shook his head, pulling her back a step. “I can’t…” 

She grabbed his arm, steadying him as he trembled, his eyes still fixed on the doorway with a wide, haunted stare. “You’re alright,” she soothed. “You don’t have to go in there.” 

Tearing from her grip with a tortured groan, he clamped both his hands to his own head, deathly pale as he sucked in panicked breaths. The ghosts of the past were lurking in his eyes, remembering the darkness that had made him flee these tunnels years ago in grief and despair. Their lives had changed down here, his more than hers, at least for a time. 

“I know this is tough,” she said carefully, holding her hand towards him. “But, I’m right here with you, okay? I can run in, absorb the deposit, and then we can get out of this place. We have what we came for, proof of your theory.”  

He looked at her, his eyes dark and glazed with tears. “That magic can’t be good, MC. How can it be? I killed my own flesh and blood. So much hate…” 

His voice trailed off, his eyes drawn back to the catacomb beyond. 

“The hate is gone now, Sebastian,” she said, stepping towards him. Carefully, she placed a hand to his cheek, soothing him with soft touches. “The hate died with him. He’s gone. All that is left are memories, and a spark of magic that I can put to good use.” 

“He’s still in here, though,” he said through gritted teeth, jabbing a finger against his head. “Even in my dreams I hear him. There is no end to it, but I know that it is all my fault. It is the burden I must carry from the choice that I made.” 

Her heart squeezed and she wrapped her arms around him, holding him close. He was stiff and trembling, but returned the embrace. Her earlier observations about him no longer being a boy seemed to melt away as she stroked his back. Deep down, his inner child was still broken, hiding from the pain and guilt of his actions, drowning under the weight of his uncle’s cold cruelty. In these damp and creepy catacombs, he was still the boy slumped against the wall, watching what was left of his family vanish in the wake of his fury. 

“We will be in, and out,” she promised, her hand soothing the back of his neck. “I only need a minute or two at the most to absorb the deposit, and then we can Apparate away from this place. We will never need to return here again, we can leave it in the past where it belongs.” 

He buried his face into her hair and squeezed her to him. “I love you,” he murmured, his voice muffled. 

She kissed his head, her own demons stalking through the dark of her mind, but she remained steady on her feet. Determination steeled her spine. “And I love you,” she declared. 

Leander 

Today’s briefing had an air of expectancy as Harrington shared information to those Auror’s gathered in preparation for tonight’s raid. Leander sat tense and alert, his fingers twisting around the smooth wood of his wand as he looked at the blackboard behind Harrington. A map of Dover had been pinned to it, markers along the coast suggesting tunnels that had been quickly researched by the archive team this afternoon. The Auror crew that manned the docks at Dover had been informed of the state of affairs by owl, and were on alert. 

When MC’s secret message had come to him, his heart had jumped, his nerves still raw from their last meeting. If he was honest with himself, he had been running on automatic, like a steam engine powering through on sturdy rails. He was coasting, his head stuck in a loop of those moments in the kitchen with her. The scoop she had passed on to him about the Rookwood hideout in the tunnels had switched the pace, firing his head into action, and now he was firing on hot coals. Eager to get into the fray, his eyes were keenly alert as the instructions were given out. 

“We are of the understanding that this hideout is not much more than a storage facility,” Harrington said, shifting his gaze around his team gathered. “Our inside information is newly received, and therefore not completely researched. In order to discover more, we need to investigate these tunnels. There will likely be enchantments, and Ashwinder guards, too. I want you in pairs so that you can watch each other’s backs.”

Leander shifted his attention to the blonde witch seated beside him to see her fully focused, quill poised above her little notebook. Montgomery had that eager to please aura that came from the newly qualified, and he remembered his first proper field work when he joined the Auror Office, that hunger to achieve and impress. 

She felt his gaze on her and glanced his way, her eyes brightening with excitement. “I’m guessing it’s me and you, partner,” she smiled. “You’re not going to leave me behind this time, are you?”

He shook his head, smirking at her upbeat expression. “Indeed it will be you and I teaming up. Potentially, your first proper taste of facing down some Ashwinders. Are you ready for possible combat?” 

A fire blazed in the depths of her eyes. “Absolutely,” she said firmly. 

Back at his desk, Leander brushed his thumb over his Auror badge before slipping it back into his pocket, his attention drawn to the framed photographs of his family. The life of an Auror was one lived on a constant edge. Tonight’s raid was another gamble at becoming injured, or perhaps an opportunity to face Death himself. He knew the risks, as did his family. It was the chance you took when you signed up for this life. He wasn’t sure if it was something that you ever got used to, but you faced it all the same. He supposed that was where the bravery came in, and it was telling when you considered that a high percentage of the Auror Office had come from Gryffindor house. 

Adjusting his tie, and donning his Auror robe, Leander tucked his chair neatly under his desk and straightened the quill placed in its holder before walking across to Montgomery’s desk. Already in her robe, she smiled up at him. “Is it time to go?”

“If you’re ready,” he nodded. “We are to take the Floo to the docks, and make our way up the cliff side from there. The border Auror team will direct us.”

“I’ve never been to Dover,” Montgomery said, tucking her wand away. “I hear the white cliffs are rather impressive, and topped by a magnificent castle. I never really paid much attention to history, but Dover is one of those places that really stands out.”

“It’s been a strategic border defence for centuries,” he replied, standing aside to allow her to pass through the office doors first as they walked. “It’s Britain’s closest dock for Europe, and so there has always been a strong border force for trade and military purposes. I have been there a few times. It’s very busy, but well organised by both a Muggle and wizarding world presence, and has been for hundreds of years.”

She gave him a warm smile as they approached the Atrium. “It sounds like you paid attention in history class.”

He felt a blush warm his cheeks, his fingers lifting to touch at his tie. “I suppose you could say that, and I do like to read. It’s a relaxing way to wind down out of the office.” 

As they neared the rows of green flames flickering in the Floo fireplaces, they slowed their step, pausing before one of the portals. 

“I do hope MC has given you correct information,” Montgomery said thoughtfully, offering him her arm. Leander slipped a polite hand around the crook of her elbow. “You don’t think she would send us into a trap, do you?” 

Leander stared into the green flames, a tightness growing in his chest. “No, I don’t think she would do that. Her information is sound to the best of her knowledge.” 

“You place a lot of trust in her considering she is an ex-prisoner,” she said, gazing curiously at him. “A prisoner who was convicted and sent down for the murder of an Auror, no less.” 

Leander’s face hardened with determination. “Things aren’t always what they seem, Miss Montgomery. There is more to MC than what happened with that Auror, and I know that she despises Rookwood as much as we do. What she is doing for us is no easy feat. Deep in the Ashwinder camp, she risks her own life to pass on this information. I doubt she would do it needlessly, or recklessly.” 

“I hope she deserves such stout loyalty, Mr Prewett,” she said, the green glow of the flames reflected in her shrewd eyes. “We are about to enter the aforementioned Ashwinder territory on her word alone. I merely seek a little reassurance as to our chances out there.” 

“As an Auror, our chances are always hanging on the roll of the dice,” he said, but gave her arm a reassuring pat anyway. “Fear not, we are a good team, and I shall watch your back. That’s a promise. Shall we?” 

Her smile had a twinge of nervousness, but she nodded her consent to leave. Leander stepped towards the flames, his hand linked to her arm, and stated the Port of Dover as their destination. 

….*….

Echoes of the sea winds filled the dark, damp tunnel with eerie whines. They were old passageways, narrow and carved by hand through the chalk. Wands raised, and his senses on high alert, Leander stalked carefully through the dark with Montgomery. The Aurors stationed at the port had briefed them well, with some coming along to assist in the raid. He was confident that everything should fall in their favour. 

The tunnel wound upwards, the occasional vent allowing fresh air to circulate, weak beams of light offering slight relief from the claustrophobic atmosphere. They came to a fork in the path and he looked to Montgomery, using hand gestures to signal which path to take rather than speak and risk the echo of their voices giving them away. She nodded and moved to take the path, but the sound of screams and explosions began to come from the opposite tunnel. 

The fight was on. 

There was no time to think, only act. Taking off at a run, with Montgomery at his heels, they hurried towards the sound of spell casting, the flicker and flash of magic soon beginning to light up the tunnel ahead. When they came to the end of the tunnel, the space opened up into a cavern with a low ceiling, crates and sacks of goods stored against the chalk carved walls. 

Two Aurors were duelling with a group of Ashwinders, a few of them already down. Leander blocked a hex that shot past him, falling easily into fighting mode as he dived for cover behind some crates, firing a retaliation towards the rear of the cave. Using the storage as cover, he fought alongside his colleagues, ducking and maintaining a well trained combat strategy. 

A crate to his left exploded, splinters and dust flying out in all directions. He felt something catch his cheek with a sharp sting, but ignored it, rolling behind some more boxes as Montgomery hurried to join him. 

“Prewett! Are you alright?” She exclaimed, putting a hand to his shoulder to try and get a look at his face. 

“I’m fine,” he insisted, immediately spotting a familiar blonde haired witch stepping out from behind crates. Her gaze fixed firmly on him with interest, her wand arm aimed and ready.

”Prewett?” She purred, a slow smirk lifting her mouth. She was prettier than her wanted poster, but there was no mistaking who she was. Luella Rookwood. “I do believe I have heard of you.” 

A spell burst from the end of her wand, and Leander didn’t even think twice before he grabbed Montgomery and pulled her to the ground beside him as spells flew over their heads from all directions. If he hadn’t, the cast would have hit her right in the back, and his new partner was not going to get hurt on his watch. Montgomery grunted as she landed face first into the dusty floor, the brightness of the spell almost blinding him before he felt it slam into his chest. 

He could hear a muffled scream, but his chest was on fire with a searing pain, his eyes seeing white spots from the lingering glare of the spell. He was thrown back against the crates, the back of his head making contact with a sickening crack that made the world seem to spin before it went out of focus. 

It was pain, colours fading into darkness, an unbearable weight on his chest, and a female voice screaming his name. Then all was black. 

Sebastian

The book lay atop his bed bunk. There was not a speck of dust on it, the cover exactly as it had been when he had first laid eyes upon it. As much as it was hard to comprehend how it could possibly be sitting there now right in front of him, a thrill of excitement at the sheer brilliance of it was enough to accept it. 

“What should we do with it?” MC asked. She stood beside him, her eyes also fixed on the ancient tome. 

“Hide it,” he replied immediately, picking up the satisfying weight and resisting the urge to hold it against his chest as though to protect it. “Under no circumstances can Rookwood get his hands on this.” 

MC eyed the book and shivered, folding her arms tightly in front of her chest. She hadn’t touched it, but her eyes had been curious once the initial shock of its discovery had faded. 

Upon entering the catacomb where the deposit had been found, she had moved towards the centre of the room, her gaze fixed upon something that he couldn’t see. His stomach had churned standing in the doorway, dark memories threatening to swallow him whole as he stared at the ground where Solomon’s body had fallen. Seeing his uncle dead on the ground had been jarring, of course, but the pain of loss had been greater when Anne had turned her cold eyes on him and then disappeared. 

There could be no words capable of describing that sense of abandonment and loneliness. 

As MC had paced slowly in a circle, her wand aimed at nothing, Sebastian’s gaze had been drawn towards the stone altar to the left of the room. Every candle and torch had been illuminated upon their entry, lighting up the space to reveal the scattered bones and debris, glinting off the macabre baubles of spider silk wrapped prey above their heads. To add to the visibility, a shaft of sunlight came from a hole in the ceiling, the beams highlighted by the dust motes they had disturbed, lending the chamber an ethereal look. 

A sense of the impossible had washed over him, and he paused for a moment, seriously considering the idea that he had perhaps entered a dream. He’d blinked a few times, taking an uncertain step forward, his boot crunching on an old bone fragment underfoot. There, on the altar, had stood a book. It was propped up and open as though the reader would be back in just a moment, the pages bright from the nearby candle. Forgetting that MC was preparing to absorb the deposit behind him, he had approached the altar and a strangled sound of disbelief had escaped his throat. 

Slytherin’s grimoire stood as solid and legible as the day it was made, right there on the altar, which couldn’t be possible. Anne had blasted the tome to pieces in her rage that day, destroying the chance of Sebastian ever experimenting with the aged magic again. At least, that is what they had believed. Until now.

Of course, he had brought it with them, unable to leave such a precious artefact of significance there in those wasted caverns. MC had been wary of it, and still was, her apprehension compounded by her recent discovery of her Slytherin bloodline. The look she gave him now back in the tent, a glint of suspicion there with her wariness, made him bring the book closer to his chest after all. 

“The last time you used that book, terrible things happened,” she said carefully. “Perhaps you ought to hide it somewhere far out of reach lest you be tempted to use it again. I can’t believe it reincarnated itself. How does that even happen?” 

“You sound like Ominis,” he moaned, rolling his eyes. “Don’t worry, I’m not about to begin mastering the dark arts. It’s merely educational. Isn’t it just brilliant, though? Slytherin truly was a master of magic. Of course he would enchant his books against destruction. It’s genius!” 

MC sighed and shook her head. “I feel like I should enchant you against destruction,” she muttered, removing her cloak and dropping it onto the bed. 

His smirk at her words faded as he watched her open her bag and take out a hair brush, loosening her braid so that she could smooth out her hair. She was making herself comfortable in his space, and that was a promising sign. Perhaps she would stay in here with him rather than return to her own tent within the camp. He certainly had no objections to that. 

“How do you feel after absorbing the deposit?” He asked, admiring the way her hair shone like silk in the glow of the lamp. 

Her hands stilled and she bit her lip, her eyes sheepish as they swung towards him. “I have a confession to make,” she said, twisting the brush in her hands. “I didn’t actually absorb the magic deposit.” 

His eyes widened. “Why in Merlin’s name not? Was that not the plan?” 

Her mouth tightened. “It’s Rookwood’s plan. I found that once I was there, I didn’t want to take that magic into myself. Like you said, it couldn’t be filled with much good considering the circumstances of how it came to be. Much like Isadora’s huge repository under Hogwarts, it seemed to seethe with darkness. I don’t want that inside of me, Seb, even more so when it was so personally connected to us both. I figured we have enough darkness between the two of us already.”

“So, it’s still down there?” He frowned at the thought. What if another like MC came along and discovered it? 

“Not exactly,” she said, dropping the hair brush onto the bed. “I moved it.” 

He watched as she slipped a shiny phial from her pocket and held it up. “It’s in here,” she said, giving it a wiggle. “This is a flask made of goblin silver. It was a gift from Professor Fig. It belonged to his wife. Through my conversations with Lodgok, I learned a great deal about how ancient magic and goblin silver can work together. So, rather than absorb the magic into myself, I will store it inside this until I have decided what to do with it. Of course, much like Slytherin’s book, nobody else can know about this.” 

“You have my word,” he said, stepping closer to admire the silver flask. 

“I mean it,” she said, her face firm. “This is strictly between us. I don’t even want the Ministry to know about this. Our little secret.” 

He met her gaze, his fingertips reaching to touch against the silver chain at her neck. It felt like bonds were strengthening between them, she was gradually becoming closer, and it warmed him. “Our little secret,” he whispered. “I cannot help but wonder, though, sweetheart. Why not just absorb it into yourself? Surely that would be much safer than risking this flask falling into the wrong hands.” 

“Even if someone did get their hands on this, they wouldn’t know what was inside unless they were a vessel of ancient magic,” she said, smoothing her thumb over the pretty silver. “I’m the only one who can see it, so to anyone else, it’s just a lovely trinket. As for not absorbing it myself, I’m not sure I want it, Sebastian. It’s already such a burden to carry, and it is becoming all that anyone sees when they look at me. The girl with all the power. Do I really need any more of it?”

Her eyes were dark and fathomless, pools you could get lost in. They truly were a pair of lost souls in the dark, but she was beginning to trust him again. He stroked back her hair, his fingers sliding through the silky softness. As he pressed a kiss to her forehead, she closed her eyes. “That's not all I see,” he murmured. “We will keep the magic safe until all this is over. After that, we will have the rest of our lives to figure out the rest.” 

As she was about to lean into him, a commotion sounded from outside the tent, raised voices and the thudding of feet. They exchanged a quick glance of curiosity before he swiftly conjured the book into a hidden pocket. MC did the same with her goblin flask and they withdrew their wands. 

“Is the camp under attack?” She asked as they hurried for the exit. 

“It could well be,” he replied, adrenaline already beginning to spike as he paused to lift the door flap. He gave her a look. “If it’s Aurors, then let’s hope this doesn’t blow your cover. That article in the Daily Prophet about you was rather damning.” 

“They wouldn’t risk it,” she said, shaking her head. “The only one in contact with me is Leander, and he wouldn’t do anything like this without telling me first.” 

Sebastian arched one eyebrow. “Such faith you have in him,” he muttered sourly. 

“Let’s just see what’s going on out there, shall we?” She snipped, jabbing her wand towards the entrance. 

The sun was descending behind the peaks of the mountains as they emerged from the tent. A few Ashwinders were gathered at the campfire, heads bent in discussion. The rest of the camp appeared quiet, no sign of the camp leader, and Sebastian turned his attention towards Rookwood’s tent. The lamps outside were lit, and Ashwinders were entering. He whistled to catch the attention of the nearby camp members. “What’s happening?” 

The taller of the two turned, his gaze lingering on MC. “A raid down at Dover, apparently. Lulu turned up all battle worn, spitting fury. She’s in with the boss man as we speak,” he said, aiming his thumb towards Rookwood’s tent. 

“Dover?” Sebastian frowned. “What kind of raid?” 

“They found the tunnel stores. Whole place was crawling with the bastards. The fight was bad, think we lost a few,” he grunted. Then his eyes gleamed as a wicked grin curved his mouth. “Got ourselves a couple of captives, though. Should make for a bit of sport.” 

MC visibly stiffened beside him, and Sebastian felt a chilling realisation trickle down his spine. Keeping his gaze on the Ashwinder, he nodded. “Sounds like there are stories to be shared,” he said smoothly. “I will check in with Rookwood in a moment.” 

The Ashwinder merely shrugged and turned back to his companion. Before another word could be uttered, he clamped his hand around MC’s wrist and Apparated them both a short distance away into the trees. As they landed onto a thick carpet of leaves, she gasped, stumbling slightly. 

“I wish you would bloody warn me before you do that,” she snapped, brushing the loose curtain of hair back from her face. 

He didn’t want to believe that this warmth she had been showing him was an act of trickery, but the nagging suspicion clung like ice claws to the back of his neck, the dark shadows of his insecurities crowded his head and obliterated all else. The shadows were lengthening, dusk already claiming the darkness under the trees as though in sympathy with him. He watched her carefully, his body tense. 

“Tell me it wasn’t you,” he asked slowly. 

She frowned. “What do you mean?” 

He huffed and began to pace, pushing his hand through his hair. “I’m not sure how you would do it, though, that’s the problem. I mean, you have been with me the whole time.” He turned his gaze back onto her. “It’s just funny how we have a little conversation about the tunnels down at Dover, and now the place is crawling with Aurors. Is it a coincidence, MC? Or was that your word they acted on?” 

She went very still, her face closing off into that cold way she had when she felt threatened. “Even if it was by my word, aren’t we on the same side here? You make it sound like the raid was a personal attack on you.” 

“I don’t care about the damned raid,” he said, stepping towards her. “I’m more interested in the idea of you using me to gain information on the sly. How would you even get that message to Prewett so fast? You have no owl to hand, and you haven’t left my side. Is he nearby? Is he following us?” 

“It sounds like you don’t trust me, Sebastian,” she said, her jaw tightening. 

“I want to,” he said, his voice pained. Those cold fingers of fear tickled at his neck. “If you want information, you only have to ask. I am on your side. If you were going to pass anything on to the Aurors, why can’t you tell me?” 

Her eyes dipped away, her head bowing slightly, and that curdling jealousy twisted thickly in his gut. “It’s because it's him, isn’t it? Whatever secret thing you have going on with Prewett, you don’t want me involved.” 

“You already know I am his informant, Sebastian,” she sighed. “Why is it such a surprise that I would tell him things? We all want the same outcome here. Isn’t that the priority?” 

He began to pace again, thinking fast. Pushing back the encroaching darkness that waited in the wings of his head, he tried to focus on the raid, and the implications of it. Above all else, their self preservation came first. If the Aurors were tortured, or worse, cast upon with Imperio, then their cover would be blown.

“Do you think Prewett would have gone to the tunnels?” He huffed a bitter laugh and shook his head. “Wait, of course he would go. He can’t help himself.” 

“Wait, what are you suggesting?” Her face paled and she turned her gaze back towards the glow of the camp fires through the trees. She shook her head, fear in her eyes. “No, no…” 

“I hate to say it, but I doubt Prewett is one of the captives,” he said begrudgingly. If there was one thing he could credit to the man, it was his ability to hold his own in a duel. He would never tell the proud Gryffindor, but he had been one his toughest opponents growing up. All the more reason to bait him all the time. “Whoever it is, they are a risk to you, and what we are doing here.”

“Where would they take captives? That holding tent where Rookwood had that lad beaten?” 

Sebastian sighed and nodded. “Most likely.” 

He blinked, and she was gone, the crack of her Disapparating a sharp echo under the trees. He stared at the spot where she had been standing mere seconds ago, his gut twisting sharply. “Fuck,” he swore, gritting his teeth. 

MC

Her pulse seemed to throb in her ears as panic restricted her throat, but she kept her steps calm and deliberate as she stalked down the side of the tent where she had witnessed the punishment of that Ashwinder lad. Peering around the corner, she saw two guards at the entrance, and assessed her options. She merely wanted to look. She just wanted to know if it really was Leander inside the tent. If so, her actions had put him there. 

Thinking of the violence with which the Executioner had treated one of their own in punishment, it made her shudder to imagine what they would do to two Aurors. Even if it turned out not to be Leander, could she allow such a thing to take place? In order to maintain her cover, she might have to, and she didn’t think she would be able to stomach it. 

Perhaps walking boldly up to the guards and asking for admittance would be enough. She was very powerful after all, Rookwood’s little pet. Or perhaps a swift Petrificus Totalus would be in order. Either way, she had to know who was in the tent. 

As she was about to step out, a hand clamped over her mouth and she was yanked backwards. Her muffled squeal was silenced as Sebastian fixed his pointed glare up close to her face, his brows drawn down in temper. 

“What do you think you are doing?” He hissed. “Are you trying to get us in the shit, or what?” 

She struggled against his grip, but he held her firm. She glared at him, hoping her eyes would singe his stupid face. Just when she thought things between them could reach an even keel, he had managed to piss her off yet again, throwing around his over protective jealousy. In her efforts to wriggle free, his hand slipped a little and she managed to open her mouth enough to give him a sharp nip with her teeth. 

“Ah, you little bitch,” he hissed, shaking his hand. “You bit me!” 

“You want to treat me like an animal, then expect to get bitten when you corner me,” she said, her words a harsh whisper. “Don’t grab me like that again!” 

“If you go in there and do anything to help those captives, the game is up, MC,” he insisted, taking hold of her shoulders, his face firm. 

He was right, but she kept her head up, determination making her rigid under his hands. “I’m not stupid, Sebastian. I know there are risks, but…” She wavered, swallowing past the tightness in her throat. “I need to know if he is in there. I can’t just stand by and do nothing and let them hurt him.” 

Sebastian dipped his head, frustration coming from him in waves. “Fine,” he hissed, and began to drag her away towards the rear of the tent. “Then we check it out first, but out of sight. This way.” 

He dragged her around to the rear of the tent and dropped to the ground, loosening a tent peg just enough to pull the fabric up. He nodded to the flattened grass before him. “I’ll hold it up, you get down and have a peek.” 

She dropped to her knees and pressed her cheek to the cool grass, a faint glow from a torch appearing under the flap of fabric. She squinted against the light after the dimness outside, her eyes adjusting. Her gaze swept the tent, and then she tensed when she spotted the two figures sitting on the dirt flooring, tied back to back against a post with rope. One of them was a petite, blonde girl, no more than twenty, her head hanging low against her chest. The other was a very familiar, tall red head, covered in blood, his body limp and apparently unconscious. Tears burned her eyes as she pushed herself upright, a hollow opening up in her chest. 

“It’s him,” she said, the words not much more than a whimper. “Gods, it’s him.” 

She met Sebastian’s eyes, not even bothering to swipe away the tear that rolled down her cheek. The hardness she saw in Sebastian’s eyes filled her with a sense of foreboding, but then he sighed, his shoulders dropping. A look of determination came into his gaze, a spark of hope flaring in her chest. 

“Alright,” he said, spinning his wand artfully in his fingers. He met her gaze. “I guess this is where I prove that I will do literally anything for you, MC. We need a plan.” 

To be continued...

Ivy Montgomery is an OC belonging to @eternalremorse and used with her kind permission.

Taglist: @slytherin-paramour @writing-intheundercroft @marketfreshfics @evaslytherpuff @sevprince-91 @loving-him-was-red13 @lucy-withthediamonds-inthesky

[justbelievinginmagic]

ariadne's thread ⎯ pt. 2: never go that way.

pairing(s): hyunjin x fem!reader, soobin x yeonjun, jisung & fem!reader, soobin & fem!reader. series summary: when tempted by an intoxicating offer by hyunjin the goblin king of the underground, you fight against him to find your own sense of self once more while in his labyrinth. glimpse: abandoned in the desert sea, you take your first steps into your quest where you meet challenges that put your patience to the test and meet a collection of unusual folk - from a frustrating man with quokka-cheeks to a sweet tall blonde and his mysterious seal-fur caped partner. warnings/tags: inspired by the 1986' movie Labyrinth, follows majority of the movie's plot points with lore divergence, 3rd person POV, use of Y/N, some violence, pixies get squished, some mild injuries, anxiety, world building!!, strong language, faerie lore!!, amnesia, best boy han jisung being a fae menace!!! (we will learn his name later promise but thats Him!) soobin/yeonjun from txt cameo, selkie!yeonjun, changeling!soobin, goblin!jisung. let me know if there is anything else i should tag! word count: 7.3k first chapter <- -> next chapter series masterlist

The desert sea felt endless. She wasn’t sure how long she’d trudged through the dunes; all she knew was that her shoes (which had thankfully appeared on her feet when she’d been transported) were full of itchy sand. Grains in-between her toes, they scratched at her heels and her soles. It was annoying, but what was more annoying was that every step towards the walled maze didn’t seem to make it appear any closer. In fact, it seemed like it was still so, so far away. It was like an optical illusion; the little walls growing further and further despite her continuous walking. Was this some sort of torture? A brain game? She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she was growing more and more frustrated.

The area around her was dark; the sunspot she and the King had been transported to was only so large, and the rest of the Underground was dark. Cool and dark. There was a haunting ruddiness in the distance that reminded her of the orange-red glow of fire. As if there was an ever-glowing inferno just out of reach. It was mostly from the floating candles and large roaring fires in the tall look-out posts high above the Labyrinth, she was sure of it. But it didn’t make it less strange.

This whole place was strange. Glancing around with a sigh and a wipe of her brow, she noted the dead twisted plants that spotted the landscape in brown, dry patches. Cacti with withering pink flowers that looked like they would crumble away with a single harsh wind and the odd-shattered stone obelisks jutting out of the sand dunes every so many feet. She paused in her walking, harsh sand squelching in her shoes as she stood and stared around her.

The rockwork she had seen so far were crumbling things, mostly piles of rounded rubble as if they had been destroyed millennia ago. But the further she got through the dunes, the more they began to become sturdy and full things. The one beside her even had an engraving in it – in a language she couldn’t decipher. The letters were curling forms, intricate by design as they crawled down the rock. It didn’t look like any language she had ever seen before.

Everything felt like a dream. Eerie and off-putting with illusions too grand to be real, but standing staring at this tall rock formation… it felt real. It felt like it was historic. Was it a tombstone? Was it a boundary marker? Was it a monument for an old ruler or god? She didn’t know. She just knew it was here, chipping away under desert sand.

Glancing away in the direction she came, she had to admit she had made progress. The sunspot she had left was far in the distance and the once far away walls of the Labyrinth were finally not despairingly far. This was when she noticed another thing: everything crawled towards the Labyrinth.

Dead vines, piling rocks shimmering with magic, withered tree branches, and even the stray night flowers curled and twisted, pointing towards the maze awaiting her. She wondered why. Was it magic? The wind? It was strange there was even wind down here. She shivered as a rush of cold air caressed her skin. Her white long sleeve tunic wasn’t made for the chill of the Underground – it was just enough for the warmth of her heated house. Wrapping her arms around herself, she continued her trek towards the walls. 

Once she got there, she had to find an entrance. Surely, that had to be easier than it seemed. But even approaching the thing felt like a mindfuck. As she got closer, she noticed how tall the exterior wall towered above her. It was made of thick slabs of grey rock that didn’t seem magical. But it did seem ancient. The rock was cracked everywhere, aged by the harsh sand and winds it blocked out. The higher the walls grew, the less she could see of the interior maze. She could only hope she could figure a way once inside what seemed like a never-ending twisted path.

There were also watch points every so many feet yet she couldn’t see any guards patrolling. Maybe the King sent them away? Not one of these look-out points looked to be special. They all were of equal height with a roaring flame within the columned center of the watchpoint. Nothing to hint that she should go towards it rather than another.

Just get to the wall, Y/N.

The closer she got to the Labyrinth, the more she saw evidence of civilization. Rather than loose sand, it was packed down by foot traffic and even remnants of what looked like carriages or carts. A post stood beside some sparkling, shimmering rocks – with too many signs to count crawling up the wooden thing, pointing this way and that. Chaotic. Some of the signs had been hand-painted and eroded away until the words were unreadable. Others were carved pieces of wood that were written in that strange language from the obelisk. There was one that read, in red paint, ‘TURN BACK’ pointing towards the Labyrinth.

Great. Very reassuring.

And then, there was a well with sparkling, cracking stonework with once-intricate tiles making up its molding. The thing was full of water, teetering at the edge of the stones, but it didn’t look appetizing. It was murky dark with green algae and clover-like lily-pad structures jutting out of the surface. Small glowing blue creatures that looked like some sort of moth with transparent wings danced about the water, making ripples. 

She swallowed – her mouth felt dry. She had to have been walking for an hour?

Squatting down, she looked over the well. It was the first thing she had stumbled upon that wasn’t fully dead. The tiles were aging, but still sparkling with the magic stardust that seemed to radiate magic. Their sparkle gleamed even in the dark cave-light of the Underground. Reaching out, she wiped the dust away from a tile, the grime falling into the water and startling the glowing blue creatures away. There was a hissing sound coming from them like they were cats.

Ignoring them, she looked down at the first tile, realizing it wasn’t just a pretty tile, but a painting. Each one of the stones were a painting she noticed, telling some sort of story. The art style was loose and dreamlike with cool blue and purple tones making up the color scheme. It looked like from the only full tile that it was about a girl and a boy from different worlds. One from the blue, one from the purple.  When she blinked, it almost looked like the loosely painted figures were moving.

Scooting over, she tried to figure out the story, but each tile was too cracked and shattered. Each crack revealed a shimmering jewel like substance, almost like diamonds. It was beautiful, but definitely destroyed. She couldn’t tell if it was from the harshness of the desert sea or if it was intentional.

Pushing herself up by her knees, she stood once more and looked over towards the wall only for the thing that was once still a good 15-minute walk away to be right there, only a few feet away! Her eyes widened in surprise, stumbling back into dead foliage that crunched like dead bones beneath her feet.

She wiped her hands off on her pants as she looked back where she came and back at the Labyrinth that now towered over her. Flickering flames painted the area in a warm golden light, almost a mimicry to sunlight. But it never lost its fire-smoke hue, the world painted in an orange-red sunset haze like a filter on a movie.

But it was less dark now and she was glad for it. Walking closer to the wall, she saw no entrance. The thing was cold to the touch with no discernible entrance. Just cracking rockwork with some rotting plants crawling up.

(It made her wonder if this place ever was once flourishing. How could there be so many plants if there wasn’t once water? What had happened she wondered?)

She began to follow the wall, trailing a hand across the cool rock. Dodging white night-flowers and harsh sharpened vines, she continued onwards, hoping to find something, some clue, that would lead to an entrance to the Labyrinth.

The Runner walked on and on, her eyes not leaving the wall as her hand trailed over it. Feeling for something that would feel like a door or a secret. There was nothing, just a cool rock wall with creeping plants. She didn’t know how long she had walked onwards. Her toes felt rubbed raw from the sand but she had to keep going.

It wasn’t until she heard a noise – like someone noisily eating - that she finally looked back over at the desert sea.

There, beside a water well with red stonework rather than purple-blue sparkling tiles, sat a man. A satchel was beside him, with some sort of bread loaf resting on the fabric like it was a make-shift plate.

Someone else! Maybe they knew where to go. He looked humanesque, not a tiny bug like the blue creatures from before. There were no rules with getting help from others.

“Excuse me!” she called, rushing over to them. Optimism flashed through her.

The man turned his head, and she could see only full cheeks. Big food-filled cheeks like a chipmunk. Crumbs of honeyed-bread rested on his pouted lips. And his wide eyes blinked owlishly. Like he had been caught red handed.

“Oh,” he smacked his lips as he chewed and swallowed. “It’s just you,” he said before grabbing his food and shoving the entirety of it in his mouth before standing from his crouched position.

“You know me?” she queried, her voice stuttering.

He began to walk away, loudly chomping. She trailed behind him, brows pursed. He wasn’t super tall, but he definitely held himself with an air of someone who was tall.

He snorted, crumbs tumbling from his pout and falling to the sandy floor.

“Yeah, little human. I could smell you the moment you fell to the Underground.”

Smell? Her hand rose to her nose so she could smell her own skin. It didn’t smell like anything to her, maybe hints of her perfume or soap?

“You can smell me?”

He rolled his eyes as if she was dreadfully dumb.

“Yes, we all can.”

His foot steps quickened as he continued trekking past the wall. Her eyes flickered from him to the wall beside them. God, he was quick.

“Wait!” she called.

He wasn’t extremely tall, but he somehow took wildly long strides. Stumbling over stray rocks, she tried to catch up to him.

“What, Runner?” he sighed as he continued walking. 

“My name isn’t Runner – What does that even mean?”

“Do you need everything to be explained to you? Your scent, your title, your-“

Suddenly, small creatures, their size no bigger than a butterfly, flew out of their hiding spots (behind old dry ferns and the lily pads of another tiled-well.) Transparent milky-white wings and glowing trails of what looked like dandelion fluff trailed after them as they swooped down upon the fae-man. Tugging at his long hair, his clothes, scratching at his cheeks.

“Ugh,” the man spluttered out, hands going to swipe at the things. “Damn pixies!”

They crawled and flew over his form, five of them. A soft chittering giggling sound bubbled from the things. He flailed and whacked at the things until with they fell off him with violent ‘ugh’s.

“Fucking pests,” he cursed as he crushed one with the heel of his leathered boot.

“Hey!” she exclaimed, horrified as he smeared the magic-remnant on the dirt floor with a squish. His eyes flashed to meet hers with a raised brow. He looks oddly young with his brow pursed in such a way. Innocent, like a misbehaving kid being scolded before a scowl replaced his soft-eyed expression.

“What?” he grounded out, whacking aside another stray pixie that had tugged at his ear.

“They were just playing!” she defended, a hand going to shield one of the fallen pixies. Her gaze flickered from the smeared sparkling lavender-azure remnants of the squished pixie to the one that she shielded.

It didn’t look as human as she imagined a pixie to look. It had whisp-y white hair that faded off into blue translucent tube-like strands, the appearance resembling glowing fiberoptics. Its wings were paper-thin and an off-white shade that had small bones making up its structure. Instead of humanoid features, its face was flatter with no prominent nose bridge. Their eyes were a glassy fluorescent blue, wide and bug-like. A spider-esque mouth with black tipped pincer-like fangs bared themselves at her before biting the hand that shielded it, right at the juncture of her thumb and forefinger.

“Ouch,” Y/N yelped, jumping away from the creature that hissed out a gargle of a giggle. More monstrous than humanistic. The fae-man silenced the biting pixie with a well-place kicked, making it fly off into the distance.

“Just playing,” the fae-man repeated with a low scolding chuckle. “Are you okay?”

Her non-injured hand held the bitten hand close to her chest. It stung with the same ferociousness as a mosquito bite. Droplets of red blood pearled to the surface but it wasn’t a bad bite. His hand reached out to grasp her wrist, his skin was warm like a furnace. Not hot enough to burn but, certainly enough that if he was human, he’d be running a high fever. He looked over her hand closely and, if she had been focusing on his face, she’d noticed the fascination blurring in his eyes at her red blood. But she wasn’t she was hissing a bit at the wound’s sting.

“I’m fine… I thought they’d be sweet like a fairy?” she admitted. “Pixies are usually playful in stories, mischievous, but I didn’t think they’d bite.”

His eyes rolled before he wiped at her hand with his thumb. She noticed his nails were a painted lacquer; a black shimmering color that had long been chipped away at the edges. There was a beat before he simply looked at the bite’s holes inquiringly before dropping her wrist easily, his cool gold rings grazing her skin.

He laughed. “Sweetness? From pixies? They’re nasty creatures. Mean vermin.”

A noise of acknowledgment hummed in her throat before he turned away once more.

“Wait.” She called, grasping his wrist desperately.

He paused this time, head tilting back as he brought his free-hand dragged through his hair.

“Yes, Runner.” He answered before gently tugging his hand away.

“My name isn’t Runner; it’s Y/N,” she retorted with a furrowed brow.

“I thought so,” he grimaced as he continued to walk along the perimeter of the Labyrinth walls. Another pixie jutted out in front of him, and all he did was grab it and crush it before tossing it aside. As if it was nothing but a bug.

It was startling and a bit frightening. Everything here was like that – if she was being honest. The way he was able to do something so violent when he looked well… so sweet.

The man had a round face with softened cheeks. His doll-like eyes were the strangest shade of blue – in the flame-light, it turned a purplish shade, glistening like a jewel in sunlight. His lips were a pouty thing – with a strong ‘V’ of a cupid’s bow and puckered lower lip that was a soft pink shade. His cheeks even had a prominent glaze of the magic remnant that everything seemed to be made of. Constellations of pink, yellow, green, purple, and blue glittered through his skin, sparkling when it caught the light.

His hair was dark, long and, unlike the Goblin King, it was long in a more un-styled way. Like he simply hadn’t had the time to cut it. It laid in loose waves down his neck, covering his forehead in soft curls. Some curls were damp with sweat and plastered to his golden skinned forehead.

Hidden beneath his blue-black curls, she could see small teardrop earrings sparkling with golden chain and red rubies. But, his clothes lacked such wealth. They were simple – he wore an orange-tan vest that had been patched haphazardly in red, purple, yellow threads over the years, a white flowy tunic that was open chested and pushed up to his elbows to reveal his toned forearms that were shimmering innately with that magical dust as if someone had painted him in body glitter. Rings decorated each finger in a golden halo, sparkling in the firelight.

His pants were a paler sandy color with clear wear-and-tear on the knees and edges. A belt of some sort of leather clung to his slim waist, cinching his form in. It acted as a purse of sorts, holding what looked like a dagger with a rubied hilt in between its leathered folds, a black-woven purse he had been using as a plate moments ago, and, most prominently, a collection of vibrant jewels. Rubies, emeralds, diamonds, moonstones, and amethysts. Some of the jewels were hung by worn rope; others strong-linked chains of gold. But each one of the jewels were pretty, sparkling in the overhead firelight.

How did he come to attain them she wondered? He didn’t have the appearance of a king or a prince or any sort of royalty – despite his handsome face. He just didn’t have that magnetic lure that the King had. Power that was unspoken. Walking tall wasn’t the same as a powerful walk.

He felt. . . reckless. Like how a wolf in the wild was nothing compared to a dog kept as a pet. He prowled forward, scavenging onwards and swatting at the remaining milky-white pixies that hovered about him. One reached out to tug on his jewels, making a low growl escape his chest like he was some sort of alligator.

She reached out to swat the pixie away, not squishing or squashing it like he did but just shoving it away. His jewel-toned eyes flashed to meet hers from under his dark oil-slick blue-black curls.

He didn’t thank her, just looked at her with simmering eyes.

“I don’t mean to bother you,” she started.

“Well, you are.” He retorted quick. “You Runners are always so slow to the game.”

“Runner – you said it was my title, there have been other Runners? Are they the ones who make deals?” she queried.

“You’re catching up,” he acknowledged.

“I’m a quick learner,” she retorted back. “Just—do you know where the door to the Labyrinth is? That’s all I need to know. I need to get inside.”

“Hm,” he hummed absent-mindedly. “Oh no, do I know.”

Under his breath, he huffed and shook his head.

“You know?” she repeated.

“Know,” he agreed with a shake of his head again.

It all sounded the same ‘know’ and ‘no’, his head was shaking ‘no’, but did he actually say know? And now, Y/N was even confused.

“Gosh, it’s hopeless asking you things!” she huffed as she turned away and looked up at the sky – the reality she was in another world striking her as she saw the dark cavern stalagmites high above them.

Cracks of sunlight beamed through – shining over the Labyrinth. She realized she could faintly see… flowers. Yes, there were flowers blooming high above them. Those flowers had vines that creeped outwards through the sunlight veins of the Underground’s ceiling, crawling in and out of the stalagmites.  Hope in the middle of the darkness.

Her gaze settled back on the rock wall in front of her. In its own thousand-year-old cracks, she could see budding blooms of what looked like magnolias, peach blossoms, and desert poppies. Hope in the middle of darkness.

She needed some hope right now.

“Ask the right things maybe,” the man suggested as he sighed and leaned against the rock nearest to him. A hand rose to wipe at sweat on his brow – how could he be sweating in such coldness?

“How do I get into the Labyrinth?” she mused.

The man paused, a flicker of a grin coming onto his round face. “Now, that I can answer,” he smirked, glancing over at her before pointing with a finger.

“There,” he said simply.

Her eyes followed his pointing finger to find there was a grand gate beside two empty watch towers. The gate’s exterior was decorated with intricately carved vines, twisting, and twirling over the heavy wooden doors.

“See, not a door, a gate,” the fae man chortled.

“That’s so stupid. How was I supposed to know?” she whined.

He laughed again, the thing sounding playfully song-like. “You’ll have to ask the right questions. Think closer next time.”

Y/N fought the urge to roll her eyes. It was like walking on egg-shells in this place. Taking a deep breath, she walked closer to the gates.

“Is there a key?” she murmured.

“Yes,” the man retorted, casually as he leaned against one of the watch towers. He looked awfully amused now, rather than itching to get away like before.

Glancing away from him, she looked over the gate to see an itsy-bity key hole.

“Do I need the gate’s key?” she asked again.

“What do you think?” he queried, looking at her blankly. But the corner of his lips twitched, he was about to grin.

Creeping closer, Y/N pressed a palm against the wooden gate door – and pushed.

With a puff of smoke and the twinkle of sparkling magic-remnant on the gates, the carved vines bloomed their pure-white blossoms before the doors heaved themselves inwards open to reveal the Labyrinth.

Cobwebs tore away with the motion as the plume of smoke tumbled over her and the stranger’s feet. His eyes widened with mock surprise at her before turning to crush a pixie under his foot with a stamp. There was a smear of chromatic glitter when he removed his heel.

The Runner took a soft breath in as she peered curiously into the labyrinth, not yet fully stepping onto the cobblestone path of its interior.

“You’re really going in there?” the stranger prompted, crossing his arms. A brow raised into his curled bangs.

“I have to,” she replied, licking her lips. Glancing towards him, she offered a smile. “It’s the only way to gain myself back.”

Now, that seemed to strike something in the handsome man. His eyes widened genuinely, and he swallowed, poutful lips pursing. His cheeks looked chubby, and for a moment she could understand how fae could be described as cherubic.

“You’re brave or stupid,” he muttered, ruining the moment.

She sighed out. Head falling back in exasperation. He really was pushing her buttons. Regardless, she took a step in, half-ignoring the fae-man for the time being.

Looking left and right, she couldn’t help but feel the creeping tell-tales of anxiety. Sweaty palms, heart rushing, shakiness. It looked endless. Abandoned forever-passageways that seemed to never curve or turn. Their interiors were shadowed occasionally by the flickering of the grand fire-pits high above in the watch towers and the sea of floating candles high above the Labyrinth. The light made sparkling cobblestone walls and floor glimmer and glisten.

“Left or right?” the fae man’s voice piped up again, chuckling as he leaned in and glanced one way and then the other.

“Which way would you go?” Y/N prompted him.

He was of this place – maybe he’d know.

“Neither for me.” The long-haired man snorted. “I don’t know – no point in it anyways,” his fingers reached out to pick up a sparkling rock resting on the uneven floor. Glittery and shiny, he wiped at it with his linen vest.

“You can just leave if you’re going to be like this.” Y/N snapped.

Why was he being like this? Purposely spiteful and misleading one moment, helpful the other minute. She huffed a bit as she tried to find clues to which way to go. Footsteps, signs of life, something.

“Listen,” the dark-haired creature said, taking a step into the Labyrinth after her. “I’m just trying to level with you. Even if you made it there, you’ll never escape. No one escapes the Labyrinth - or the King’s rule for that matter.”

“So, there has been others?” she queried, brows crinkling as she turned her gaze to settle on the man.

He shrugged not even looking at the Runner, his gaze locked onto the rock he found. It was certainly not a jewel or gem of beauty. It did gleam a bit and had something akin to fairy dust trapped within its glassy texture.

“Maybe. Maybe not.” He seesawed.

“Have you tried to leave?” she countered, her gaze not leaving him.

It was odd, he was the only person outside of the grand labyrinth she had seen up close. And he was locked out? Far, far away from the castle. Yet he didn’t know which was to go. Was he stuck here too? Had he done something? Was he once in her shoes?

He froze at her words. The fine muscles in his throat tensed.

“No.” he answered solidly. Topic shut. “I’m not a Runner. Listen, all the others failed – I’d give up now; he’s kinder to those who admit weakness.”

The King wanted to be the all-powerful King, she saw that now as the man continued to gather this and that from the walls.

“Well, thanks for nothing.” She trailed off. “I never even got your name.”

He almost looked at her pityingly. He sighed. “You don’t need to learn names down here with your fate.”

It made gooseflesh rise on her arms and neck, and she resisted a shudder going down her spine. If anything, that only proved how she had felt in her bedroom with the King. That her wish was a mistake.

She had to win.

“You’re not very helpful.” She commented again. “Just discouraging.

“I’m being realistic, little human,” he retorted with a roll of his eyes. “I’ve seen many yous before. They all end up with the short-end of the stick.”

She frowned at him purposely. Staring with cruelly hurt eyes.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” The fae-man said, hands raising in defense as he backed out of the Labyrinth.

Y/N looked back at him for a moment. He hadn’t stopped looking at her and she couldn’t help but notice the glimmer in his eye. A furrow of his brow. Not in disdain or anger but something contemplative. Before sighing a soft huff and walking off, his jewels clanking with every step.

Her own lips stretched into a gentle grimace. What a strange man. But she couldn’t worry about that now, no. She had to keep going onwards. Looking left and right again, she chose to go right. As soon as she took a few more steps inside the Labyrinth, the gates heaved shut with a groan.  

The cobblestone was raised and uneven in places like it had been laid centuries ago and never repaved since. Broken stones rested here and there in stacked piles. The same dried, dead greenery outside of the Labyrinth poked through the cracks here as well, withered roots of dead crawling up the rockwork.

Mushrooms of varying sizes burst forth from the cobblestone walls, finding their homes in the dark corners. They looked unlike any mushroom she had seen – seeming to breath with shuddered breaths of sparkling pollen.

She kept walking.

There were no entrances to other parts of the Labyrinth. There were no doors or corners or parts in the walls from what she could see. It was just a straight path. Forever. She began to run after some time as if that would help make it go faster. Her feet ached from the scratchy sand that still occupied her shoes. It was quiet here; there was only the sound of the soles of her feet hitting rock.

She ran for a while. So long that it almost felt like she was in the optical illusion this time rather than viewing the castle grow further and further. Everything felt like it was repeating. The same crippled plants. The same mushrooms in the same dark corners. The same aching feet. The same pitter-patter of footsteps.

Until she finally came across something different.

In the distance, Y/N could see it. Something in the path. Something on the ground curled over. Panting, sweat dripped down her temple as she paused a few feet away. Her stomach churned.

Lying against the wall of the Labyrinth was a skeleton. A human one she assumed. Curled in on itself as if frozen in time. If she blinked, she could see the muscles, tendons, skin, forming a shell around the stuck skeleton. It looked like her, young and female. They were hiding or sleeping or afraid.

And they were dead.

Cobwebs clung to the skull and she could see caterpillar-like creatures making the eye cavity a home. It made her shiver and run faster.

She couldn’t end up like that.

No, no, no, she had to find a way out.

Running onwards she didn’t see a skeleton again – the only reassuring thing so far. It meant maybe this wasn’t a looping path. As she continued on more and more cobwebs decorated the walls. Huge spiderwebs with intricate patterns were ahead. Sparkling shimmering quilted spiderlace that whistled in the wind. If she wasn’t feeling so frustrated and frightened, Y/N may had stopped to appreciate them or ducked under them. She just swiped at them and continued onwards.

Another spiderweb appeared a few hundred feet away.

She kept wiping at them, avoiding the spidersilk from getting into her mouth as she did so as she ran onwards.

Her arms felt sticky with webs; her feet hurt; her head ached from the repeating cobblestone. She let out a yell as she finally stopped. Panting, with a reddened face, she covered her face with her hands and screeched.

“This place is hopeless,” she scowled as she stopped. It’d been minutes of running straight and straight and straight!

Kicking the brick wall petulantly, she yelped before stumbling to her knees. Her hands went to cup her foot, rubbing it a bit as it throbbed in pain. Tearing her shoe off, sand from the desert sea tumbled out in a cup-full. Her big toe throbbed as she held it close, massaging it with her thumb. Toeing off the other shoe like an over-stimulated child, she kicked it away, making it hit the opposing wall with a thunk. Sand from it tumbled out as well into a small pile.

Wiping strands of hair away from her sweaty face, she leaned back against the wall behind her and looked to the side, heaving and panting as she felt a tell-tale pressure building behind her eyes and nose.

No, no, she won’t cry. She felt like a child. It was humiliating.

It was then she saw a plant staring at her! A plant with a million tiny eyes instead of petals and blooms. She yelped scooting away, her hands scrapping against the rough cobblestone beneath her. All the eyeful plant did was blink, all at once, eerily but not dangerous.

Tugging her hands up from the stone floor, she saw the faint scrapes and inkling of blood rushing to the surface. Another injury. Her eyes burned in frustration before she buried her head into her knees.

First, she walked ages in the desert alone, filling her shoes with sand. Then, she met a rude fae man where she watched him hurt pixies. After that, she got bit by a pixie. Now, she’s stuck walking on and on in one direction nowhere close to getting a real stab at the Labyrinth. And she’s hurt her hands after getting scared by a creepy eye plant.

It was frustrating. She didn’t know what to do and it all felt so so pointless. The scales were stacked against her. How did anyone win?

“Annyeong!”

A cheerful voice chimed and, in that moment, she looked up to see a figure, shading her from the dull light of the Labyrinth.

He was tall, far taller than the Goblin King and certainly taller than the fae she had met outside the Labyrinth walls. He had almost frightened her with how his blonde hair reminded her of the king, but the tone of his voice and the smile on his face was far different from the King’s. In fact, the man looked happy. Gentle. Dimples lit up his face as he outstretched his hand for her to shake. Or to take to stand?

“Huh?” she mumbled.

His smile didn’t cease, and he glanced at his hand with his brown eyes.

She took it to shake tentatively before he yanked her up with a strength that didn’t seem possible in his lanky form. A ‘ugh’ pushed its way out of her.

“Annyeonghaseyo,” he breathed. His smile was sweet she noted as she took him in more now that she was standing. His eyes were a deep chocolate color, and they didn’t seem to be cruel or sparkling or ethereal like the others she had met so far. They were brown, gleaming a bit in the faint golden light of the Labyrinth, but otherwise normal.

“Annie-yeo,” she tried to begin to repeat before he let out a bubbling laugh.

“No, no, annyeonghaseyo – or hi, which is close enough,” he corrected.

A gentle breath left her in relief, glad there would not be a language barrier between the two of them.

“Hi,” she repeated.

“Hi,” he breathed again. “We’ve said hi a lot now. Maybe we should continue to something else,” he teased. He buzzed with an energy, almost childlike in nature. “I haven’t met anyone in so long.”

His admittance didn’t ring alarm bells – like she thought it should. Instead, she felt… sad. His entire form seemed to be desperate in some ways. Desperate to talk to her.

“That’s alright.” She reassured. “I’m Y/N.” Her hand reached out properly to shake again.

“Y/N,” he repeated with a smile as he took her hand and shook it. “You can call me Soobie; my friends do.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“It’s really nice to meet you, too.”

His smile was charming and gentle. The dimples made him look younger and, in some ways, she wanted to protect him. Why…? Her eyes danced over his face. He didn’t seem… well, ethereal. Not like the king nor even like the dark-haired fae outside the labyrinth. Sure, he was handsome and coated in the sparkling dust that seemed to be engrained in everything here. But there was something utterly human about him. His eyes weren’t some fantastical thing; the way he held himself didn’t feel off-putting and otherworldly. And if she looked closer, she noticed that sparkle wasn’t engrained in him like it was for the King or the Fae-From-Outside-The-Labyrinth. It almost looked like make-up?

“I’m trying to make my way through the Labyrinth; do you know the way?” she asked after a moment, glancing down the path she had been heading.

“The way through the Labyrinth… I used to know,” he muttered, gaze following hers down the path she was headed before looking back at the way she came. There was a moment as he thought. And she saw how distant his eyes became. Like, he wasn’t all here with her. In fact, his eyes looked sad, distant. As if lost in a maze. His face fell into a pout, curved lips softly parting as his breath shuddered.

His blinking slowed and she swore for a moment his breathing stopped before he blink, blink, blinked at her. His smile slowly reappeared and his eyes warmed from the deep sadness and confusion that consumed them moments before.

“Soobie?” she asked inquiringly.

“What was your name again?” he queried. As if she hadn’t given it only moments before.

The Runner smiled softly – though a bit tentative. Something was going on.

“Y/N,” she replied. “You don’t know how to get out of this Labyrinth either?”

“Y/N, pretty name,” he hummed pleasantly. Cheery, happy, content.

“The Labyrinth is my home.”

It was said solidly, truthfully.

“Your home?” she queried once more. “Has it always been your home? You spoke in Korean, right? It sounded Korean. Are you from there?”

What if it hadn’t always been his home? The Fae-From-Outside-The-Labyrinth said every Runner failed. She had seen bones, and countless dust, and what if Binnie was another remnant of a Runner.

“Korea. . . “, he breathed. She watched as his eyes faded into the distance. His long eyelashes fluttered. “I-I was from Daebu Island. I lived near the water.” His hands shook as he went to grab the necklace around his neck. It was a beaded necklace around his throat, the thing made of wrapped twine and iridescent shells, seven teardrop-esque gems, and dark-silver pearls. It complimented what looked like a hand-made white sweater. He was dressed all in white she noticed, all soft clean fabric. Like he never was walking in the dirt and grime she was now covered in. How was that possible?

His lips trembled as he continued to fiddle with the necklace. Twisting it around and soothing himself by rubbing the smooth shells and pearlescent gems between his fingertips. Anxiously, his eyes fluttered once more as he moved a hand away to wipe at his face. Glitter shifted on his skin in a streak of golden silver dust. It wasn’t underneath his skin like she had thought.

He was from her world. She knew that now. Was he human? She couldn’t tell completely.

“How could I forget? But-but Junie is here–“ He was talking to himself, rubbing his cheek back and forth. His eyes shifted to look at her again. Wide and gentle and confused. “The Labyrinth, it’s been home for a long time – come inside,” he gestured to a brick wall, that now with a closer look did resemble a door. There was even a latch and door handle made of ivy. His smile was shaky but genuine. He smiled brightly as he thought of something that seemed to distract him from his previous anxieties. “We can have tea together! Junie and I! I make a great cup of tea. It’s from night-flowers!”

“Oh,” she felt genuinely sorry. He seemed kind. There was a manipulative tone or even condescension. He was just desperate. Eager to talk to someone else. Naïve maybe. His thoughts were befuddled for some reason.

“I can’t; I’m sorry.” She apologized.

His eyes grew even sadder like a kicked puppy’s.

“I’d love to but I must find a way out of here. I don’t have a lot of time.”

“A way out,” he repeated. “But—”

“Soobin,” a voice called from within the doorway and out popped a dark-haired fae. He had something about him that felt magical – like the Goblin King. The world lit up as soon as she saw him. His gaze felt magnetic. She couldn’t help but turn towards him, focus on him.

“You’ve made a friend,” he hummed. His words felt like honey on her ears and she couldn’t help but stare. Hypnotized.

His hair was a midnight black, short, and trim in the back but swooping over his face daintily. His face was almost as beautiful as the Goblin King’s. His eyes weren’t a winter-esque blue or jeweled purple, but instead a water-soaked green as though his eyes were salt-frosted sea-glass. His lips were kiss-swollen, a softened red pout.

While Soobin wore a soft, hand-knit sweater of cream, this man wore a heavy fur-like cloak over his shoulders, hiding his shirtless form she noted as it shifted with his movements. He had remnants of magic in his skin but, unlike the crushed starlight of the King, his looked glossy wet like it was liquid honey and sunshine mixed together. If she reached out, she swore it’d stick to her.

He captivated her.

“Yeonjun-hyung,” the blonde-haired man lit up at the sight of him as well. A hand reached out for the forgetful man, and Soobin took it easily.

He hugged the fae man, and the motion sent the smell of salt-water her way. The ethereal man smiled fondly at the other before looking at the Runner again. There was that sharpness, almost an animalistic look. Like a predator hunting a prey. His fingers wound themselves through Soobin’s protectively.

“I’m looking for the way to the castle,” she repeated to the new fae, her head tilted towards the blonde. “Soobin was helping me.”

There was a flash of something dark in Yeonjun’s sea-glass eyes. Something she couldn’t quite place as he licked his plump lips slowly.

“He is helpful,” he said steadily. “Did he mention things aren’t always as they seem? The walls may seem one way but they may lead another.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, one that Yeonjun tracked with carefulness.

“He hadn’t.”

“She was going straight,” Soobin teased under his breath.

It made her roll her eyes a bit, huffing. Yeonjun smiled as he exhaled. His shoulders loosened a bit as he glanced both ways. Down the right and left of infinity.

“Things aren’t what they seem here,” Yeonjun stated simply. “So, you can’t take it for granted,” he looked back at Soobin who had leaned more and more into the older man. His chin rested on the tip of the older’s shoulder as he stared directly at the wall behind her. He smiled raising his brows before gesturing with his chin towards the wall behind her.

The Runner glanced back at the wall opposite of their ‘house’, her brow raising.

“Walk through it!” Soobin encouraged.

She turned and fully stared at the wall in front of her. It looked like a wall. No gaps, no nothing.

“But it’s… a wall,” she breathed.” She took a step forward, trying to trust these strangers. Her hand reached out slowly to find… nothing. It just looked like the wall continued for forever. Stepping through the hole, she could see clearly now. It was an opening! There was another path beyond its bricks, and surely another one somewhere else. These walls were all illusions.

She just had to look closer.

“Thank you! That was incredibly helpful!” the Runner beamed at the others as she turned to face them once more.

Yeonjun’s smile was careful, and Soobin’s equaled her beaming grin. She quickly went to grab her shoes and slide them back on, grimacing at the loose sand grains still in them, but even that couldn’t dampen her mood that was gradually lightening. This was a start - finally!

“Thank you!” she repeated gratefully as she turned to right to begin to walk onwards through the maze.

“Miss,” Yeonjun called out, the tune something so enticing she couldn’t help but pause in her step. “Don’t go that way – never go that way.”

The warning was paired with a shake of his head that Soobin copied.

“Oh…. Thanks,” the Runner grinned at them before heading in the opposite direction, finally feeling like she had something of a start.

Soobin’s sad eyes watched her leave. “I was excited to see someone,” he commented lowly, dejected, and droopy almost like an ill-watered flower.

Yeonjun sighed, his hands going to pass through Soobin’s hair sweetly. “I know, sugar, but we have to keep you safe.” He glanced back at the castle and the shadow it cast over the land. “If she had gone the other way, she would have gone straight to the castle – and the King would be at our doorstep.”

The mention of the Goblin King made Soobin’s eyes focus just a tad.

“Can’t have that.” He murmured, and Yeonjun smiled proud.

“Exactly, coileán,” Yeonjun praised as he moved one hand to release his seal-skin fur cape’s clasp.

The silky soft thing fell off his shoulders, leaving his upper body bare. It revealed what appeared to be spotted grey and white dots over his toned stomach. He pressed a kiss to Soobin’s nose, lovingly, before he draped the cape over Soobin’s shoulders protectively.

“Let’s go inside and make tea, hm?”

[voidsentprinces]

I think something I also enjoyed about Shadowbringers and something I felt about Endwalker was that...for some reason, the Source feels like it strifled the teams creativity. Shadowbringers was a new shard, new possibilities. Shove a faerie kingdom in the middle of Ishgardian Mountains, giant fuck off forest with ancient empire ruins, desert with a massive crystal wave, sea side with a massive cliffside, delve into the bottom of the ocean and walk along the floor with giant sea cucumber ledges and coral formations, where a faux city of the ancient lies. Shadowbringers was just an anything goes expansion. An off shore Palace of Versaille where the ancient kingdom of elves use to live now kept by a hermit Nou Mou. A hidden part of dwarven mountains where Yoko Taro continues to commit story based assassination against any set of Twins present. A blank canvas for two girls to make LGBT HQ complete with a rainbow aetheryte and a story of born again lesbian loves from ancient past moving on from each other in their own ways and respectfully while also making it everyones problem.

Soon as we got back to the Source it felt stiff. Like, oh great dealing with Lunar Primals. Oh good, another fetch quest for Matoya. Great lets watch G'raha fumble and get caught up in pirate politics. Go on down to the Navel for the third time in the narrative.

Except Paglth'an that shit fucking rocks. But like...the Moon is amazing, Elpis was amazing but we'd already been through doom and gloom snow landscapes. Thavnair feels under utilized but Radz-at-Han is pretty great. And Sharlayan is like...Sharlayan. But that might just be me. Not a lot things that weren't Venat centric really sparked joy in my soul for Endwalker. Up until the Zodiark fight is really does feel like we're treading old ground for a while.

[aalinaaaaaa]

Day 12 — Descent into Darkness

Unfortunately, I've missed a few days of posting my progress on this writing challenge (though I have managed to write something every day). What I'm thinking of doing is a big summary post every Friday, seeing as I typically post a full length piece of writing that day anyway. (Though I may post some of the smaller pieces if they're particularly juicy or otherwise substantial.)

Total word count: 346

Synopsis: An excerpt from the first chapter of Soulswapped, setting the scene from the end of the Solstice week celebrations.

—

The eighth sunrise. A fact marked only after the fact, when small slivers of its rays peek through the gaps in the mountain bowl, projecting onto the landscape behind.

Faeries continue dancing, the bonfires long descended to ashes. Their footsteps slow in tandem with the musicians’ tune, notes slowing to a crawl under fingers strained by time and rhythm.

Solstice ended not with the eighth sunrise, but under dissolution. The fervour of delirium could last so long, wilting to pain and stupor. Drink enough wine, as Anira did, and watch life become a blur.

Some High Councillors lost their glamours, bones cracking and extending upward akin to rhubarb in the dark reaching out for light. Anira grimaced at the sound, reminded of her humble place in this game of gossip and pleasantries.

Behind these celebrations, underneath the music, the food and ceremonies of mirth and renewal, walked seven individuals who she could only describe as gods. Seven beautiful, towering individuals who could hold the life of any mere fae or human in their hands, and choose to make or break them at a moment’s notice.

In a court so perfect as theirs, Anira struggled not to drown. Grandeur and blood wine made a hell of a combination, forming an aberration in time and space between the party’s end and the arrival to the corridor that led back to Arobyre.

Air rushed out beneath her, the world spinning and floating beneath her for a while. She closed her eyes and curled up, yawning.

For a few moments, her world consisted of darkness and warmth, a peaceful void between two worlds.

“Is that everyone?” A loud, muffled voice flooded her eardrums.

She opened her eyes. “You’re toying with me.”

Light flooded her sight, the soft surface she laid on tilting her onto the platform leading to the corridor. Up ahead, her fellow ministers made their way back towards the portal room.

“You’ll get your chance.” The High Councillor who brought her here — Lavinia — smiled, giving a curtsy in farewell.

Anira returned the gesture, before stumbling down the corridor.

—

General + Soulswapped taglists (ask/message/comment if you'd like to be added to it): @honeybewrites @mr-orion @the-ellia-west @guessillcallitart @thelaughingstag @thereadingfoz @glassstardust22124 @original-writing @bigboicol-theflamingcol

[madnessinmethods]

@ferinehuntress

Not many would expect a drow to be seen in the sunlight and indeed Barrae did not enjoy it in the slightest. Yet so was her mission, head to Baulder's Gate and try to establish connections with the drow that may be in the city and convince them back to the faith.

Unique in her own right, Barrae willingly traveled during the day as to catch others off guard for many would believe her appearance in the daylight would make her weaker. Little did they know she had a trick up her sleeve, protection from her Goddess and a blessing in it's own right to shield her from the sunlight. Still, it was annoying to have to traverse through the hot and sticky overlands of the Faeries. Scowling and grunting as she made her way through the forest and over every rock.

What did catch her eye though was a structure, recently destroyed and crashed into the woods and her curiosity would get the better of her. Heading that direction, seeing as it wasn't too off course from her original mission, Barrae would head to see what it was about. Surviving in the wilderness was simple for the hardened warrior having spent many of her first years alone surviving within the harsh underdark landscape and by comparison this was a simple walk in a park.

Though she did not expect herself to stumble upon a campsite. Barrae would say nothing, taking the time to analyze who she was speaking to. A large tiefling woman catching her eye, holding a large battle axe. Clearly a fighter, and clearly a woman after her own decrepit heart.

" You are from this destruction? " Came her inquiry to the group. " Tell me, do any of my faith still survive? " Clear and to the point, the mark of Lolth upon her belt and shield would show indications as to what faith she spoke of. Everything about Barrae screamed of what many believe to be stereotypical drow. Hardened expression, gruff voice, body littered in battle scars, and as inhospitable and impolite as many believe. Yet she did not attack, nor hold a stance that would suggest she is ready for a fight.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Sweet dreams are made of this

Dear @cilil & @edensrose, as you have encouraged me, I have - as promised - a tiny surprise for you.

Here is a small ficlet about dear Irmo with art by @the-red-butterfly. (-> Link to the OG post)

Please support our local artists!

Words: 2.2 k

Warnings: Mention of grief, slight innuendo

Characters: Irmo & OC

With a groan, Lilla rotated her lumpy pillow once more.

It had been 4 days of bad sleep since the terrible loss she did not dare think about during her waking hours and she was at the end of her rope; grumpy and skittish, she could no longer focus on her work or talk to the people she liked without being haunted by the gnawing fatigue that invariably turned her tongue to lead and her head to stone.

Her days were an endless, torturous drudgery and all she could think about was the safe harbour of her dark, cool bedroom. As soon as she laid her aching body down to rest though, the precious restorative slumber eluded her stubbornly, chased away like fragile mists fleeing from the icy winds of unprocessed grief.

By the fifth day, she had gone through most of her friends' helpful tips and resigned herself to trying one of those overpriced applications that promised to put even the most insomniac of lunatics to sleep in under 30 minutes.

“You are walking down an ever-shifting path,” the droning voice of a man resounded from the tinny speakers of her phone, “and the world around you is scintillating with faerie lights.”

Lilla rolled her eyes; the narrator of her “relaxing bedtime story for adults” sounded as if he was suffering from a debilitating toothache. His diction was unbearably vague and dull and – far from being soothing – it made her skin crawl with impatience.

“Visualise your peaceful descent down a soft slope dotted with iridescent flames,” he went on as she shifted uncomfortably under her uneven duvet. “In the distance, you can just make out the soft gurgling of water.”

Of course, Lilla thought with irritated dismay, there would be a river or a lake in that fantasy landscape; she yearned for a story where something happened rather than to be taken on an imaginary walk through an honestly ludicrous panorama.

Nonetheless, she kept her lids shut and tried to imagine the sights described to her in so unappealing a fashion until the picture came alive in her drowsy, feverish mind.

There was no sensation of abrupt falling but rather a barely noticeable shift from reality into the scenario painted onto the crumbling, cracked walls of her fragile mind.

A red butterfly materialised in her thoughts and – as its iridescent, delicate wings moved slowly – she found herself traversing the mirror of the mirage.

Her body felt lighter and nimbler as her bare feet touched the impossibly soft, velvety earth that cut through endless expanses of gently swaying grass and lush vegetation.

Lilla recognised dispassionately that she was no longer safely ensconced in her bed as if having her consciousness transported through space and time was a common occurrence that warranted neither further investigation nor frantic alarm.

Fearless, she advanced slowly as if knowing exactly where she was headed, her toes curling into the yielding, malleable ground.

Soon, a bend in the path led her past a group of trees speckled with dancing dots of pure starlight, and she smiled at the pacifying tableau of playful magic; her guiding butterfly tarried for a moment – weaving in and out of the flickering luminosity – before moving on down the path languidly.

Without having to turn her head, Lilla was intimately aware of the small pond at the end of her dream route; affectionately nodding her adieu to the blurring flecks, she let her feet carry her onwards to follow her winged escort.

Instantly, her surroundings changed, and she now found herself looking down on the expected small body of water, surrounded by lavish greenery that swayed in a fragrant evening breeze.

Despite the ruins dappling the periphery of that wholesome scene unfolding in front of her unfocused eyes, there was no desolation to be felt in the mellow mood of this wondrous place which almost struck Lilla as having been painted by the hand of some old master with bold strokes of vibrant colours bleeding into the tranquil background of softer, dreamier tones and shades.

As her momentarily clouded vision cleared once more, Lilla froze in astonishment for – even though the scene before her was exactly as the still blabbering voice in the back of her mind described it – there was an element which was distinctly out of place: there was a creature standing in the tiny lake.

Seemingly tending to one of the plants it was encircled by, the being – ephemeral and enchanting – turned its calm, dreamy attention to the approaching intruder without malice or enmity.

Its almost colourless hair seemed to float around a strangely captivating face - lit from within by some unearthly refulgence - as if it was drifting in an invisible, intangible, and yet undeniably potent ocean of peace of its own making.

“Welcome,” the unlooked-for presence greeted in a sighing, wispy voice. “I am Irmo, Master of these lands.”

His enticingly lithe shape was only veiled from her dumbfounded eyes by swathes of translucent fabric that clung suggestively to the strangely luminous skin of his shockingly amoral nudity.

“Where am I?” she whispered automatically as she drew nearer, attracted by the glorious willow tree behind him that seemed to weave spells of solace and soothing into the soft night air.

Her eyes caught a flash of carmine and ruby as her little friend settled peacefully on a nearby blossom to enjoy some well-deserved rest after chaperoning her so diligently and reliably through a foreign and confusing world.

“You are in the gardens of Lórien,” the creature calling himself Irmo informed her with a subdued smile. “They are whatever you want and need them to be and – I must admit - this is a particularly charming setting you've come up with.”

“It’s not mine,” she admitted sheepishly, “I am listening to one of those terrible stories that… Ah, never mind!” Her mouth snapped shut with a muted sound as embarrassment flooded her in the face of his evident but benevolent incomprehension.

“I have been worried about you,” he then said, wading leisurely through a colourful carpet of pristine water lilies towards the gentle upslope of the bank. “You have not visited us for a long time. I have started to miss you!”

Lilla blinked as he seemed to vacillate like a badly transmitted image for a moment; tall and slender, Irmo – Master of the Dreamlands – had the beatific face of an angel and the affectionate smile of a pure soul.

He was beautiful in a way she instinctively knew to be virtually impossible for any mortal to achieve; there was an understated perfection and an air of transcendence in his mien and demeanour that made her body tingle with curiosity and excitement.

Could he really know every sleeper in the world and keep his eye on them continually?

“It is good to see you again,” he went on and bent down to breathe a kiss onto the crown of her bowed head as he reached her. “Restful sleep is of the utmost importance as you well know.”

Mildly surprised, Lilla realised that the sheer fabric of his loose robes did no longer bear any traces of the dark water she had seen him standing in only a few moments prior; indeed, with every elegant movement he made, they billowed superbly in the zephyr that was redolent with the scent of healing herbs and delicate flowers.

The wondrous individual all but hugging her now exuded himself a faintly sweet, powdery smell that made her lean towards his utterly beguiling presence with all the shameless eagerness of a sleepwalker.

“Was I in your story then?” he then asked whimsically and sniggered innocently.

“No, no, I don’t think so,” Lilla replied, no longer certain where she thought he had sprung from; surely, it could not have been her who had conjured up an entity of whose existence she had not had any inkling, could it?

“I am Polilla,” she then introduced herself and automatically mirrored his pleased, bright smile as it broke like a midnight sunrise across his gentle, pleasing visage.

“Oh, that’s a wonderful name,” he exclaimed happily, humming a small tune that seemed to attract the butterflies and other small, winged creatures that had hitherto been flitting aimlessly across the polished silver surface of the deserted pond. “You were destined to be mine! Sit, please.”

The grass beneath her palms as she settled on the perfectly kept and yet charmingly wild lawn was indeed as silky and cool as she had imagined it to be, and a strangled sigh of contentment escaped her as she watched, enraptured, how the animals called forth by his song swathed him in a living cloak of colour and movement.

“You are beautiful,” she whispered in a fitful gasp of shameless honesty, “like a pleasant dream.”

“Oh,” Irmo cheered and lifted his long-fingered, elegant hands to his sculpted cheeks in a gesture so bashful and sweet that it made her giggle. “That is such a nice thing to say. I’ll have to tell my brother!”

“You have a brother?” she yawned, lulled into a state of blissful serenity by the chiming quality of his fluid voice.

His unnaturally handsome face softened even further, and he gestured for her to lay her weary head into his lap; as soon as she complied, he started running his fingers through her hair rhythmically, infusing every fibre of her being with a peculiar sense of deep yearning and nascent satisfaction.

“Your story is finished,” he remarked as the underlying droning voice of the far-away narrator died down, “but – if it would please you – I can tell you another one while you rest.”

Lilla’s tongue was comfortably numb by now and she didn’t dare move her head for fear that it would disrupt his tender ministrations; hoping that he would interpret her silence as the acquiescence she tried to convey by thought alone, she kept still and let her eyes drift shut.

“So, I am the youngest,” Irmo started in a mellow, melodious voice. “My oldest sibling is my brother Námo – he’s a bit of a stern curmudgeon on the surface but a real dear once you get to know him – and my sister is Nienna, the Lady of Mercy. She’s thought of you often lately too.”

Lilla sighed as an echo of the sorrow he was describing swallowed her like a wave.

“Námo keeps and tends the souls that have departed,” Irmo continued cautiously, “and he undoubtedly is conscientious and steadfast in his relentless and often ungrateful task. The sleepless grief of the living though falls into my domain and the one of my dear sister. Allow us to soothe your pain.”

The enchanting anthropomorphic form he had donned to meet her seemed to melt and when Lilla pried one eye open, he appeared to be made of warm light and pure solace.

“There is healing in slumber.” The words seemed to materialise within her foggy thoughts now without passing through any of her senses and yet, Lilla was not in the least alarmed by this intrusion. “And you are in dire need of recuperation and succour.”

Ripples of purple light – warm and soft as physical caresses – passed through the ocean of her unspoken agony at his words as his care enveloped her like a blanket.

Every remnant of anxious distrust abated as his essence pervaded all her senses and dulled her aches into a sensation profound comfort.

The sleep that had evaded her for too long finally settled on her exhausted soul and she uttered a deep, shivering sigh of relief as her mind went blessedly blank in his compassionate embrace.

“You can always come here,” he promised, “and rest in these gardens. From one moth to another, I vow that I shall ever only be a thought away. Rest now, little Lilla, and when you wake, you shall feel refreshed and restored.”

It was early afternoon when Lilla opened her eyes to a blindingly sunny day.

Stretching and yawning, she realised with a start that she felt more like herself than she had in many long days.

She was loath to admit it, but it seemed as if the stupid app and its terrible narrator had actually achieved what they had promised by lulling her into deep, recuperative sleep.

As her hand patted the mattress beside her pillow though, she noticed with a start that her phone was no longer where she had left it the night before. It now sat neatly on the bedside table and – in its stead – lay a single branch of a willow tree, covered in iridescent drops of dew that glistened in the golden light filtering through her badly drawn curtains.

“A trip to the library,” she muttered and lifted a hand to her head in confusion as she noticed the lingering scent of waterlilies swaying in a fresh breeze rippling across cool water.

As her fingers moved unsteadily, she found another inexplicable surprise: her hair – usually ruffled and knotted after a good night’s sleep – was now sleek and clean as if it had been brushed by some ghostly hands during the night.

Lilla, who had stopped believing in anything supernatural long years ago, mouthed the name of her gorgeous benefactor like a rudimentary prayer and got up – filled with an energy and a zeal she had not felt in ages, it seemed – to find out more about him.

So, here is my little surprise and my contribution to the effort to make Irmo be universally loved.

It was - as ever - a blast to collaborate with my darling friend @the-red-butterfly who's just a fantastic artist and a lovely person!

Lots of love from me!

[12pt-times-new-roman]

s3e46

No DDB sponsor tonight :)

"Her monstrous form, both faces and all" terrifying. horrific. absolutely nightmarish. I adore her.

Oh, so FCG knows that bats aren't birds but not that Exandria is round.

When Morri responds to Imogen's mind messages, she sounds like seven or eight different voices as she responds.

Ashton's head reacts like a plasma globe to Morri's touch, and Ashton starts to get flashes of memories.

The Harrowcall Fens is the name of the region where Ligament Manor resides.

Morri's cocktail gave everyone darkvision!

Morri made the scatterscope lens for the Nightmare King because she already owed him a favor.

"I can't change fate, that is the Matron's domain... I, when no one's looking, can add a tangle or two to the skein if I so choose, and I just like to see who's getting tangled." She watches the web of fate, but can't really affect it majorly, and it is so incredibly tangled right now because of all the people doing things in preparation for the solstice.

The Feywild malleus key, kept in the Shiver Keep, is apparently what's been keeping Ruidus in the sky of the Feywild. "It seems to carry a chunk of [Ruidus'] essence here, at the very least." Like splitting a river.

"For some, hundreds of years go by in the blink of an eye." I'm out here talking about consecution, but Ludinus could've just hidden out in the Feywild to escape the fall of Aeor and fast-travelled to Molaesmyr.

"That glint in your eye, that passion -- that's one of the things I collect." um

To Morri's recollection, Fearne wasn't a favor or a payment, she was a gift "for safekeeping." Morri had also looked over Birdie for a while in her youth, hence why she was comfortable putting Fearne in her care.

From Fearne's window, they can see a series of thin, needle-like mountain peaks, and hovering above them is a glowing red sphere. Except the sphere is in front of some of the mountains.

Morri's collection room has walls completely covered in shelves, with a spiral staircase up the middle. There are hundreds and hundreds of orbs, jars, figurines, fleshy faces stretched across petrified fruit, long-dead and dried faeries on cork board, eyes and dried herbs, flayed bodies that have been tanned, strips of organic material with faces on the end that smile as the Hells walk in. "It's a room where everything has a story, and you're not sure you want to know any of them."

She's most proud of "the heart of the lion guard," a massive, purple and black, wet, disembodied heart that's still beating. It belonged to the champion of the guard, long-famed legendary protectors of the midlands between courts. The champion is still around, and as long as Morri keeps the heart safe and intact, they will continue to live. (sound familiar?)

Morri touches Ashton's head again, and a purple nebula cloud emanates from the glass. "Oh, no no no. I'm not touching that... what is it, what is it? I don't know that sensation... Whatever magic resides in that crystal feels very new, yet very old."

Ashton's "hyper rage" for the time build increases their movement speed to 90 feet, allowing them to move up to 180 feet in one round (or increases it to 60 feet if Ashton can somehow use their bonus action to move with a barbarian feature I don't know about).

The insight check Fearne beat Ludinus at revealed that he is not Ruidusborn, and is in fact very jealous of Imogen and Otohan because they are.

"Are the gods really... all that great?" "We don't know. Have we ever met a god?" (Orym, who has indeed met a god: *silence*)

"Who are they-- who are we to decide who lives and who dies, god or mortal or otherwise?"

Laudna and FCG appear in Imogen's dream as glowing orbs that radiate a familiar energy.

The nearer she gets to the red glow she sees, the more it looks like a gateway, like a little window.

Imogen goes through the opening and arrives in an endless, rolling landscape of mountains pushing through brambles and undergrowth. Turning around, Imogen sees Ruidus where the doorway was, like she had "just stepped out of it." It seems small, though, not distant; like the one they saw from Fearne's window. It's like an optical illusion -- from some angles it looks like a solid object, and from others, like a concave gateway.

Going back through the gateway, Imogen is on the familiar surface of Ruidus, after thinking of her mother as she went through.

As she concentrates on memories of her mother, she feels an instinctual yearning in a particular direction, which all three of them follow. Eventually, they come to the precipice of a wide, deep crater. There are sections of scaffolding, elements of platforms and cranes and structures on the outskirts. As Imogen drifts over it, there is a draw downward, like the course of a river, the flow of a driving energy that sweeps them into it. They see shadows, shades, like the imprint of people burned into space but not made of material.

Deep in the pit, they find old, old structures. It's not large enough to be a city -- it's a ruin of something. Towers being excavated, clusters of shades, signs of massive constructions moving through and carrying things. In the center, there are curved, pointed structures that are intentionally built towards a central point. One mighty tower drives upward like a three-pronged fork; here, along the base of it, there is a familiar structure: a telescope-looking device. Dozens of shades wandering in and out, some brighter than others -- most dark, some with a faint red glow. One, Imogen sees very clearly: a woman with deep lavender hair, braided down the back, a long coat. Liliana. She walks through, inspecting things.

Imogen reaches out to touch her, and she turns. "You shouldn't be here. You have to go." She raises her hand, and suddenly, Imogen is dragged out of the dream and into darkness. (A banishment spell, maybe.) FCG feels the same thing, but Laudna remains.

It's harrowing for her, but Laudna does manage to pull herself out of the dream, and they all wake up at the same time.

I love that Sam took the chef feat for FCG, it's a great character choice, but holy shit it is a terrible fucking feat mechanically.

Morri gives the group 3 Harrowcall Veils, which will make the group invisible (or significantly more stealthy) while they aren't moving.

She also gives Fearne a very well-made gloomscale breastplate, presumably made from the scales of a gloomstalker.

"The Unseelie are cruel, unrelenting, and have memories as long as time. [The Calloways] knew that they would go after the thing they prized most, so they left you in my safekeeping. They know better than to come to my manor -- a few have tried, and now they adorn my garden."

Lastly, Morri gives them a glass jar with a dark green-yellow paste in it. Putting it on their foreheads will make sure that the time dilation is minimal when they go through the gateway back to Exandria.

"For one round, you want them to... don't."

Ashton rage build update: when Ashton's possibility rage build is active, they gain an additional reaction ability called "dreadful misfortune." When something misses them with an attack, they can use their reaction to force it to roll again against their own AC, potentially causing them to hit themselves. If they hit, the damage they take is halved.

[glimmersea]

OCs as obscure references

@olesmokes tagged me in this (thank you, this was a lot of fun!)

Here is Merryn as obscure references

ANIMAL: Nightingale for the symbolism between nightingales and poets. From wikipedia:

But also I kind of identify Merryn with like... some animal that is large and elegant but also distant and untouchable. Some kind of deer? Or a moose? I guess it's less about the animal itself and more about seeing it pass through your backyard, stepping gently and gracefully, you hold your breath as you see it cross into your domain and then it's gone again.

COLOR: a vibrant green or blue.

MONTH: December, he just seems like an end-of-the-year person

SONGS: these are the three most important ones

man-sized and made to measure night-stalker, razor, pleasure faux fallen angel empire

you're my deadly, deadly nightshade oh atropa belladona they say you are death incarnate and i should stay far away

make your own kind of music, even if nobody else sings along

(so glad the barbie movie brought this song back to popularity tbh)

NUMBER: 3

PLANTS: Willow

SMELLS: Brackish water, the sea, freshly turned earth.

GEMSTONE: Labradorite

SEASON - Winter

TIME OF DAY - the deepest part of night when you can see the stars clearest

PLACES - a dock on the sea, the stage of an inn, under a tree in the town square.

FOOD - You know that tweet that's like "my boss passed my desk where I had cheese and summer sausage, dried figs with honey, and olives spread out for lunch and asked me why I eat like a roman emperor"? That's Merryn.

DRINKS - sweet and bitter in equal measure

ELEMENT - Water

ASTROLOGICAL SIGN - idk, I don't really understand astrology well enough to guess

SEASONINGS - is poison a seasoning? Rosemary, strongly umami flavored mushrooms.

SKY - deep dark, full of stars

WEATHER - just before a thunderstorm

MAGICAL POWER - Faerie Fire

WEAPONS - that singing sword you find in the underdark

SOCIAL MEDIA - if Merryn lived in a world where he had access to social media I feel like he still wouldn't understand or use it (this is one of those things where you can't give a character knowledge you yourself do not possess; tumblr is my only social media)

MAKEUP PRODUCT - none

CANDY - I feel like Merryn would love licorice

METHOD OF LONG DISTANCE TRAVEL - walking. Merryn has had plenty of time to learn to ride a horse but he's never bothered. He likes traveling and he likes being outside.

ART STYLE - idk, I'm not much of an artist myself. I think Merryn would like landscape painting because it would allow him to recreate the natural beauty of the underdark

FEAR - Merryn has intimacy issues, his biggest fear is I think revealing too much of himself to someone and being rejected.

MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE - phoenix

PIECE OF STATIONARY - sealing wax and stamps

THREE EMOJIS - ♠️🕺🫧

CELESTIAL BODIES - the moon

I'm tagging anyone who wants to do it!

[thorburned]

the mirror realm that blake and rose are in for most of pact is actually really interesting, because it's kind of like the opposite of a pocket realm. most pocket realms we've heard about, like theodora’s collection, demesnes, and knotted places, are relatively small but have a lot going on in them; the mirror realm on the other hand is almost completely dark and empty, but seems to connect to every reflective surface in the world. it seems unlikely that this realm was carved out specifically for blake and rose, given how big it is, and the fact that several others are able to enter it, including faerie and demons, with some like bloody mary seeming specifically adapted to the space. you could argue it's not even a realm so much as a very limited filter through which to view and interact with the world, but some major realms, like the spirit world and ruins, also function kind of like filters, mapping pretty directly to the mundane, physical world, with different features emphasized, and populated by specific types of others. i'd term realms like the mirror realm something like 'thin realms' or 'bare realms'.

mirrors, and mirror worlds, are a concept that have a fair amount of meaning in human thought, so it makes sense that a realm specifically highlighting them could exist. thinking of other features that could define an otherwise bare realm, that could form something coherent if everything else in the world were filtered out, that specific types of others could find a niche in, the first thing that comes to mind is something like the 'nowhere space' from hilda. it's made up of the combined unused space in a given human dwelling: the gap between furniture and floor or wall, the space inside a shelf when its drawers are pulled out, the back of a closet behind what's stored. outdoors, the realm becomes a massive, unnavigable void, as so much space is unused for human purposes, with no thresholds to subdivide it. in hilda, the indoor sections are mainly inhabited by nisse, house spirits, but in the otherverse i could see it also being home to the predatory monster under the bed and monster in the closet. this one almost exists as a counterpart to the ruins, where the denizens are mostly echoes and incarnations of human emotions and concepts, and areas of the landscape unvisited or uncared for by humans drop into nothingness.

other potential realms: the light, the world extending only as far as the light touches, changing with the passage of the sun and the flicks of switches, and its inverse, the dark, the shadow realm, inhabited by others to whom light is anathema. there could also be realms defined by life or lack of life, or realms inhabited by elementals that can only exist in bodies of water or near sources of heat. in fact, i think the digital aether is the most similar example in a known realm. originally, it might have existed as a bare realm of electrical impulses, with only the occasional flicker of lightning and animal nervous systems, but as the transfer of power and data along clear lines became so integral to human technology and culture, others began to fill the available niche, and the digital aether ascended into mainstream relevance among practitioners, or at least technomancers. 

sight also strikes me as relevant. the default for sight seems to be a view into the spirit world, layering that realm over the physical world as a filter that can be interacted with or adjusted to focus on whatever the practitioner chooses. the line between a thin realm being another level of reality or simply a way of perceiving the world might be academic; for a fish that can never breathe air or walk on land, what it can sense in the water might as well be all that exists in the world.

[godzilla-reads]

📚December Reading Wrapup 📚

In December I finished 13 books, bringing my yearly final total to 177 books finished! Here is the list, plus my Top 3 books have been starred:

❄️ The Ice Dragon by George R.R. Martin

🔥 Fire Punch Vol. 1 by Tatsuki Fujimoto

🧚 Walking Through the Landscape of Faerie by Charles Vess

🍄 The Hidden World of Gnomes by Lauren Soloy

🌈 Born This Gay by Babet Van De Schot

⭐️ The Queen of Nothing by Holly Black

🧚‍♀️ The Good Neighbors by Holly Black and Ted Naifeh

⭐️ The Dragon Ark: Join the Quest to Save the Rarest Dragon on Earth by Emma Roberts and Tomislav Tomić

💤 The Night Fairy by Laura Amy Schlitz and Angela Barrett

🐸 How the King of Elfhame Learned to Hate Stories by Holly Black and Rovina Cai

⭐️ Heartstopper Vol. 5 by Alice Oseman

🐰 The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams

🐲 Dragons by Wellern Polturnees and Elizabeth Ratisseau

[ambiguouspuzuma]

Destination

We walked the paths within the paths - me, Caerin, Ensal, and the rest of the younger boys. I led them clambering over wheel-rut trenches, peppered with the slightly less colossal marks of foxes and deer, and those in turn frosted with the silvery trails of glistening slugs and iridescent snails - paths within paths within paths, and our own footprints now added to their storied local history.

"I wish that we could fly," Caerin remarked.

"When we get there, perhaps one of the ladies will give you a spin," I told him, with a ruffle of his mossy hair. "But we do have to get there first."

That was no easy task. Tonight, on this final stretch of our journey, those paths had led us through an old giants' carriage-way; paved with hoofprints and fallen leaves, verged with snowdrop and forget-me-not - and our migration had us weave our own trail through its vast and changing landscape.

It was always a perilous voyage. For travellers of our size, a fallen acorn was an obstacle to skirt around, a rove beetle a mighty foe to face or flee. Such was the lot of a faerie: born into world of towering elms and majestic stags, but also of wildflower forests and rainwater seas - our lives spent gathering seeds the size of fists, and stalked by monstrous stoats a thousand hands in height.

Well, it was the lot of the menfolk, in any case. The female of the species could actually fly, borne skyward on glimmering damselfly wings, and nested in family groups up in the canopy - not for them this trudge through the composting undergrowth; the drudgery of leaf-litter and rotting wood; the last dredges of the season's fruits, found dead and half-buried for our desperate evening meals.

I imagined they could pluck those berries from the branches where they grew, fresh and ripe and full of life. I only imagined that they looked the same way. None of us had seen a woman since we were mere larvae, left to form a band and fend for ourselves, but the older men we'd met had told us stories of their beauty, their grace, their radiance.

Most of all, we knew how to find them. Now that we had come of age, more or less, we could make the pilgrimage to the glade of romance, just as our fathers and grandfathers had done before us. There would be a night of feasting and dancing, of berry-wine and merry song, and we would have the chance to make a courtship of our own. A tale that we might one day pass on to our own sons, so that they could be prepared to make the journey for themselves.

Of course, the glade roved from year to year, chosen anew by each generation. We would need to find our own path, seeking them out, but with the help of breadcrumbs sprinkled on the way; not all trails were left upon the earth, and we also followed the perfumes on the breeze, the trace of pheromones on every flower to host one of our kin, and the distant glow of faerie-lights that framed the evening gloom.

"It would be neat if we could phosphoresce, too," Ensal joined in. "How is it that they got all the gifts?"

"So that we can appreciate them all the more," I told him. "To make it worth this trek to find them. If what I've heard is true, just wait until it comes your turn to dance - you won't have time for envy, then. Just something more like worship."

The forest floor deepened in shadow, and our way ahead grew clearer. The lights hovered just above our horizon, which was usually only as far as the next mound of fallen leaves; coaxing us on, promising us life behind their drifts, a beauty that was worth any ascent. They glistened on the slug trails that seemed to grow larger as we approached, covering much of the undergrowth with their silver threads, as if trying to ruin our arrival. It would be a job attracting a mate with slimy toes.

"I can see the lights in the distance." Caerin, true to his desire to fly, had hauled himself to the top of a toadstool for a better view. "They're all clustered together."

"We must be getting close," I said, and reached over to help him down.

The snail trails were wider here, glistening around the toadstood's base. I had to plant my feet in the gaps between the swathes of slime, now less of a trail than a surrounding for the paths that formed amongst them. Silver lines criss-crossed the ground ahead of us, like so many constellations come to life, and we would need to pick out careful steps to find the leaf mulch underneath.

Caerin was not so lucky. As soon as I had brought him down - taking care to place him somewhere dry, the first of many stepping stones I was already mapping out - he rushed onwards through the chaos. I called to him, but not in time, so keen was he to see those twinkling lights up close. Barely able to contain my own excitement, I couldn't blame him if he was hypnotised - but we had not made careful progress all this way just to abandon caution at the end.

"Give me your hand," I called, and this time he heeded my words. For the second time in moments, I reached out and locked onto his arm - but he would not move. Both of our efforts combined, heaving one way or stepping over the trail to try the other, were of no effect. The slime was even more viscous than I'd though: it was as if I was pulling on the whole thread at once, the entire way ahead vibrating with our efforts.

"Ensal, take my other arm," I said, aware of a hovering behind me. If we all pulled together, surely the world itself would budge.

He did not reply, but I felt his arms around my ribcage, stronger than I could imagine, lifted bodily as I fought to keep hold of Caerin. But the trapped boy was fighting to let go, and I could not mistake the shadow of fear in his eyes. I was turned away - the last thing that I saw, raised higher still, was our destination. The faerie lights ahead, all clustered together, wrapped in the funnel of a web.

[virgils-screams]

The Fae And The Puck | Moxiety

A/N: this was an experiment fic to see if I could write a piece without using their names

Requested by a close friend :)

Prompt: Virgil is a Faerie that wilts anything he touches....except for Patton for some reason?

If you're familiar with the welsh lore on Faeries then to help you imagine what they look like Virgil is charcoal and amethyst colored and would be from the unseelie court, (but he doesnt act all evil) , Patton is a mushroom faerie.

Patton is blind.

Patton and Virgil are genderbent, and Virgil is referred to as Fae or Faerie, whilst Patton is referred to as tiny Faerie, sprite and Puck.

_______________________________________________

It was in a flash that the tiny Faerie was seen, nimbly sifting through the landscape, picking at herbs and the like. It never looked at what they were picking, an unfocused gaze accompanied the sprite looking creature.

It never looked at her, and to be fair the cursed fay didn't mind. It was expected.

The birds sung and flew about the sprite girl, and her shoulders visibly relaxed. A smile graced her features as she looked upwards with no certain destination in mind. She reveled in the sunlight that broke through to meet her.

It was then, that the taller of the two decided to leave, better that than to stir up trouble. As she turned to walk away, the other called out to her.

"Where are you going?" A breathy voice called.

The fay stood still, turning to look at them again, to see who she was talking to. She found the other looking in the general direction of where she stood, smiling softly. Their frost covered eyes staring uncertainly at them.

Truth be told, the wretched fay was hesitant to speak. They didn't want to risk defiling sprite in anyway possible, as silly as it may seem. The sprite wasn't deterred by the response, or rather, lack thereof, and began walking towards her.

The taller of the two backed away, and the shorter one stopped walking, head cocked to where her ear was pointed at the latter.

The sprite frowned, but continued forward, hand outstretched as if showing her the way. The sprite stopped feet from the fay, and bent to pick something up.

Before she could process what the puck was doing, goats-beard was shoved into her hand, causing her to back away, dropping the gift. The fay stood there, mouth agape whilst the flower wilted away.

She looked up and chose to stare at cap of the girls mushroom, if the sprite could see her, she'd see uncertainty swimming across her features. The fay could however, see the sprites face out of the corner of her eye, and the unbridled sadness that she bore at the death of a flower.

"You shouldn't have done that." She knew her voice sounded somewhat intimidating, but she didn't rightly care. The sprite didn't seem to notice she was in danger, and her demeanor faltered none.

The former stepped forward. "It's alright," she reach out to touch the other, and as soon as their skin met, the Fay hissed and jolted backward.

"Do you have a death wish?!" She sneered. Voice sounding barely above a breathless whisper.

The sprite did yank her hand back, and upon the feel if her palm she showed the cursed fay the unmarred skin left behind.

The fay was awestruck, lips parted slightly. The sprite took another step, but the latter had turned and hurried away, leaving a tiny trail of wilted plants in her wake.

Barely a fortnight had passed, the charred fay had noticed the fortnightly visits the little puck had been growing accustomed to. Some nights the sprite would hum a soft melody, fireflies danced around her at times. It was an exquisite experience.

This night, however, was the faerie with the cursed touch, who had been humming. She watched nature buzz around her and she found it mesmerizing how the world didnt need her, the evil she represented, or anything else she brought. Sure, it made her, but as she could see it also prospered without her.

She sat with her right leg folded beneath the other, and she sighed at the length of wilted grass beneath her left outstretched leg. She found it incredible that the sea of greens before her made a bleak, inky, amethyst mess. Made for destruction rather than the gift of creation.

While the thoughts spread in her mind like wildfire, she failed to notice the puck walk up to her.

Only when the sprite hummed along with the fay, did she even notice.

She stopped humming and stared at the puck, something that was similar to abhorred horror written on her face. Unbeknownst to the sprite, of course.

"What are you doing?" It came out lighter than she wanted, borderline gentle.

The other pause, turning to stare at nothing. "Im humming?" She smiled.

Still tense, she chose her words carefully. "Why are you here?" The fay watched with meticulous care at the others response.

"Is.." The puck adjusted her untrained gaze to match the sound of the others voice. "Is it strange.... To say I find you interesting?" Each syllable that left the sprites lips sounded like a windchime, a beautiful collection of sounds.

"Everything I touch wilts away." She responded bitterly.

"Yes," the sprite nodded, "and yet, from the feel of it, the fields are still green, and the rabbits bound free." She inched closer, sitting down. "Not to mention, when you touched me I was fine." She let out a breathy chuckle.

Dumbfounded, she remained silent for a while. Before finding her voice again. "Won't you be in trouble for even speaking to a thing like me?" It was rhetorical, even a blind woman (pun intended) could see the answer.

"Well, then, make it worth my while." The puck slide herself into her side, head resting on the faeries leg, hugging it.

The fay could feel the smile that the sprite had, and to her credit, the puck was interesting too. No one had ever behaved this way around her, which made her curious. With a bit of hesitation, the fay let her hand rest on the pucks side.

She drew a breath and looked back out across the field. "I'm not gonna change what I was doing, you know." The faerie was stubborn, that much was clear if the tone in her voice was anything to go by.

"I never asked you to."

_______________________________________________

Hope you enjoyed💜

Words: 974

A/N: How the fic played out is actually inspired by a scene in Outlander season 6, where the siege is taking place and Claire finds comfort by laying her head down on Jaime and he soothes her by rubbing circles into her back, I am absolutely in love with that scene- :)

Tag list {you can ask to be added or removed}:

@reiney-weather @helloidkwhatimdoing-0 @hedgiehoggles @autumnpleaves @from-the-gall0ws @skylar-pansexualnerd19 @emo-sunshine42 @xoaningout

[ohjoyce]

2022 in books

It’s been a good year in books. More waves of covid = more time spent inside reading, away from crowds of people so silver linings and all that.

Happily, I’ve also been lucky enough to have lived with and befriended fellow keen bean readers and we’ve swapped our lil paperback collections back and forth. One of my top 5 favourite feelings has got to be watching someone you know read a book you love. Up there too is chatting with a friend about a book they’ve lent you as you read it for the first time. Chef’s kiss experiences.

This year, I elected to read almost entirely for pleasure. I switched jobs two times and worked on getting into a consistent fitness routine of going to the gym 3 times a week so was not looking for anything else challenging or intellectually stimulating to do in my free time. Unfortunately, Canberra does not have very good libraries so I didn't have access to a huge variety of options. But, the library of friends came through with the goods.

Without further ado, a list of my 2022 in books in chronological order that I read them.

The Vanishing Half by Brit Bennet

Quite an interesting and thought-provoking exploration of race and the extent to we are able to choose who we become. Two mixed-race twins growing up in 1950s America experience very different parallel realities as one chooses to capitalise on her lighter skin colour to pass as white. Raised questions of material comfort versus cultural integrity have no clear answers but makes for compelling food for thought.

How We Love by Clementine Ford

This book is slight departure from Clementine Ford's usual stuff-- more tender and vulnerable. Each chapter is about one of the loves in her life and it's as much a letter to a past and future selves as it is an ode to non-romantic love. I also went to her ‘Secular Love Sermon’ aka How We Love book tour show in November of this year which was maybe the best event I went to this year. Here’s to love as bearing witness to life and telling stories always.

The Dry by Jane Harper

Before this year, I hadn't read any of Jane Harper's books. This year I read them all. Goes to show how addictive and effective they are as crime thrillers. The story unfolds and weaves together to reach such a satisfying conclusion. I can't really say too much without spoiling it but Jane Harper has a wonderful way of characterising the Australian bush landscape as a focal point in her novels.

Harry Potter and the Cursed Child by JK Rowling, John Tiffany, and Jack Thorne

Incredibly unmemorable. It was pleasant but I can't remember a single thing on reflection.

The Survivors by Jane Harper

Not one of my favourite Jane Harper novels, but as always a great page-turning read.

After I Do by Taylor Jenkin Reid

An interesting exploration of love after marriage and the reality of the highs and lows that starts after most romance stories end. As can be clearly seen from the other books by the same author I kept picking up after this one, I really relished this unconventional premise.

Malibu Rising by Taylor Jenkin Reid

I picked this up because the cover was kind of pretty and I was on a lunch-break walk to Civic Library and this was the best pleasant surprise. Something about this novel reminded me of getting deliciously absorbed into a book during school holidays — falling asleep reading and then reading again first thing in the morning. I have a big soft spot for self-made underdog stories and eldest/only daughter protagonists.

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkin Reid

Absolutely devoured this story of old-school glamour, love, and disappointment. Nice and neat tie-in with the narrator/journalist’s own modern day sub-plot.

Entire ACOTAR series by Sarah J Maas.

Faerie smut that fits in just about every trope of men written by a woman for the female gaze in a good way. Very fun.

Love Stories by Trent Dalton

Touchingly earnest, Trent Dalton shows us that in hard times, sometimes the best thing to go is to choose to go soft. To choose to show and share the hurt and highs of loving and being loved that are the only things that'll matter in the end. This got me through a chaotic and draining month I worked in family law. I cried a lot.

Force of Nature by Jane Harper

Again, a lesser favourite but good fun nonetheless.

The Lost Man by Jane Harper

This one is up there, so good I reread it a week ago. The perfectly placed red herrings, the family tension, and small-town grudges and secrets. 10/10 times. I particularly enjoyed how men's mental health, loneliness, and isolation were prevalent themes. Jane Harper also sprinkles easter eggs throughout her Faulk novels which subtly intertwine the characters from her books which is fun to spot.

Milk Fed by Melissa Broder

There was a lot of online hype about this book, and the author is behind a twitter account I used to follow called 'SoSadToday' (yeah, I know bahaha). But the rather triggering portrayal of disordered eating and punitive calorie counting made this one a pretty stressful read. There was also zero sense of closure at the end, only confusion.

Book Lovers by Emily Henry

A very sweet and delightful rom-com read for those of us who are sometimes sick of the overly predictable cookie-cutter romance novel. The protagonist is very relatable and is all in all a refreshing palate cleanser to the saccharine netflix christmas holiday movie tropes.

Everything I Know About Love by Dolly Alderton

Absent of any particularly astute life advice at least in any productive sense but deeply comforting that the era of being in your twenties is as chaotic as it is character-building and all of it is normal.

The No Show by Beth O'Leary

Slightly over-complicated plot-twist but props for originality and side-plot which I may or may not have become more invested in than the main plot by the end.

Second First Impressions by Sally Thorne

A fun, quirky, alternative rom-com read with colourful characters and the evergreen message that it's more than ok to be a cosy offbeat weirdo as long as enjoy it.

No Matter Our Wreckage by Gemma Carey

Written by a now-Canberran dwelling lady academic researcher, this book reflexively documents   her own childhood sexual assault and abuse. Which is to say things get very real and very dark at points. But, Gemma Carey refuses to let her story go untold and that courage glues together what is an otherwise tragic and deeply personal patchwork of recollections and tribulations.

Conversations with Friends by Sally Rooney

Honestly, I can't say I'm a big Sally Rooney fan but sometimes you are having a mid time and simply want to escape into someone else's even mid-er time this hits. I can't explain it any other way.

The Switch by Beth O'Leary

I tried to listen to the audiobook of this story and didn't make it very far but when I found a copy of the paperback, I got through it quite readily. Cosy as all Beth O'Leary novels are, if the obstacle-boyfriend can be a bit characterised as a bit obviously shit.

November 9th Colleen Hoover

If you miss the days of scoffing down random wattpad stories as a tween, this is perfect.

Love and Virtue by Diana Reid

I spent on year studying at the University of Sydney in 2017 and used to always wonder what went on behind the hedges of the overpriced colleges where presumably people with very rich parents lived. This book is almost definitely a very accurate window into the answer. Having studied law and arts at Usyd herself, the

Verity by Colleen Hoover

Wtf!? Truly I was relentlessly gazumped and then bamboozled. No sense can be made of this one, it's beyond sense.

Love on the Brain by Ali Hazelwood

I've just finished this book, it might be my last read of 2022. A very sweet and escapist read (mostly for me, as a mathematically and scientifically challenged legal professional lmao). Though I will say I enjoyed Ali Hazelwood's other novel The Love Hypothesis a smidge more.

Whew, that was quite a test for my memory. Any outstandingly great or shitty reads for you in 2022? KEEN TO DISCUSS as always.

[cinearia]

snippet

"Beddor is a familiar name"

Dina turned to face her. She was used to hearing her family's last name often, but sounded strange when it came from a faerie. Despite being familiar with Dara, she is also a nymph. 

"Of course it is. But here it doesn't matter" she inquired, looking away at the landscape. "I mean, maybe if I bump into one of the Archeron sisters they'll recognize it" 

Must be acceptable for her to be nervous. It's in her family's veins. Being a Beddor reminded her of that, and House Beddor just didn't turn to political advancement with all the resources they had for one simple and traumatic reason; protect the edge lands of the mortal from creatures coming from the other side.

Dina was on the other side now. Way beyond what she thought was faerie territory. Her advantage was her friends, her training, and a crazy plan formed by crazy people (herself included). 

Looking at the faces of Dara, Oscar and even Guizo, everyone there knew that stealing from a High Lord would be like shouting from the rooftops to put a target on their foreheads. Dina couldn't see this as not being personal, since she knew there were specific names behind Clare's disappearance and that includes the High Lord of that land and Elain and Nesta sister. 

Being the humans of the group, Dina and Guizo depended on Dara and Oscar's knowledge of this land. But even they didn't seem to understand much beyond what Jurian had informed them. 

"I get the feeling we shouldn't even be here in the first place" Oscar, the only human other than her, didn't move from the rock he was sitting on. Half fae and half human, but a changeling, adopted into a noble mortal family. 

Guizo kicked a stone, surprisingly his hands were in the pockets. "Honestly, I take back everything bad that has ever been said about Spring Court. Why couldn't this High Lord hide his stuff in a flat place?"

"It could be worse. It could be Velaris"

"Is it a flat place?" Oscar hugged himself in the overcoat, his hand covering the pendant around his neck involuntarily.

"It's much harder to get into and relentlessly beautiful, or so they say" Dara explained, though maybe Oscar didn't care at all "Velaris has gone from being a hidden place to an impossible place. In Hewn City is not enough for us to enter, but to get out quietly" 

Oscar snorted. "Problem is how to keep two humans, a nymph and a half Urisk alive and well"

��That's the spirit, I'm so glad you understood, my good friend Oscar” Guizo clapped amiably on his arm, to which Oscar didn't react beyond a nobleman's eye roll.

"I've never been this high before either" Dara muttered. Her body shuddered as another gust of wind swirled through the mountains. Not the cold of the water or the cold of the storm, but a hard wind pounding against her body as if she's supposed to fall over a mountain. She wondered if there were nymphs in the Night Court in general. 

"I think that's awesome" Guizo jumped up "So, as long as we can get in, steal the parchment, and not get paid, it's going to be sooo awesome."

He walked to the edge, where he could see the entrance to the city.

“Does anyone else want to do something, or can Dara…”

"Don't say my last name"

Dina's voice managed to cut through the wind. 

“I know it's not customary for you to have one” Dina looked down at the Beddor crest with her sword. Every Beddor has at least one thing with the crest highlighted . The machete looked less lethal than Dina had always considered her to be, even if it takes more than that to kill a faerie.

But she could hurt -, a lot. 

“But don't mention my last name. Just in case"

Silent agreement prevailed between them, even Guizo seemed to calm down for a moment before continuing.

“Okay, since that’s all” he pointed down in the middle of the mountains “Let’s steal from a High Lord”