#hemlock grove ships

[ppoppokari]

Just popping in for a little guide for anyone who stumbles across my blog through the temporary Halloween events.

Selca (selfie), written, overall, poly, mixtape, trick or treat date, hogwarts life, moodboard and aesthetic ships are open for the following fandoms:

-Stranger Things

-Harry Potter (since you can request a hogwarts life ship so it’s only normal to include Harry Potter)

-Supernatural

-American Horror Story

-The 100

-Lord of the Rings

-Alchemy of Souls

-Game of Thrones

-The Umbrella Academy

-Marvel

-DC (this includes Gotham and Peacemaker because I love them so)

-Mao Dao Zu Shi/ The Untamed

-Barbie? (Idk I’ll include it this Halloween)

-Euphoria

-Wednesday

-South Park

-Sex Education

-Shameless

-Brooklyn Nine Nine

-Only Murders In The Building

-What We Do In The Shadows

-Any Well-known Halloween Movies

-And of course I will ship for literally any video game because I have an addiction

-MHA

-Tokyo Revengers

-Saiki K

-Yuri On Ice

-One Piece (anime or series)

-Black Butler/Kuroshitsuji

-Free!

-Avatar The Last Airbender

-Attack On Titan

-Death Note

-Persona 5

- Danganronpa

Also please dm me if I forgot anything these are just some that I really like

#marvel ships #dc ships #Gotham ships #hemlock grove ships #AHS ships #GOT ships #ST ships #Stranger Things Matchups #Sex Education ships #Euphoria Ships #barbie ships #mao dao zu shi ships #the untamed ships #Harry Potter ships #Harry Potter matchups #anime ships #anime matchups #MHA ships #MHA matchups #Tokyo revengers ships #Tokyo revengers matchups #Yuri on ice ships #Yuri on ice matchups #one piece ships #one piece matchups #Atla ships #atla matchups #tua ships #tua matchups #saiki k matchups

[constellation-crackships]

one of the most amazing things that can happen is finding someone who sees everything you are and won’t let you be anything less. they see the potential of you. they see endless possibilities. and through their eyes, you start to see yourself the same way. as someone who matters. as someone who can make a difference in this world.

#bill skarsgard x margaret qualley #margaret qualley x bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard x margaret qualley crackship #bill skarsgard crackship #margaret qualley crackship #bill skarsgard #margaret qualley #hemlock grove #roman godfrey #maid #alex russell #favorite ship #crackship #crackships #forum rpg #originals aren't mine

[inklore]

i know i say this every time i reach a milestone, hell anytime i get a new follower that isn't a blank blog or bot, but i can't believe you guys are still here! still supporting me! still putting up with my chaos! i mean it each time i get all sappy about how grateful i am for each and every one of you and how i lucked out with you beautiful souls occupying this space with me. if i could send you all a little cupcake and a forehead kiss i would <3.

but since i can't do that let's have a little celebration instead!

like the flyer above states this celebration will focus solely on graphics and ya girl putting that photoshop to work and brushing off some of my old graphic and creative skills.

★ THE RULES.

you do not have to be following me to send something in unless something is specifically labeled 'mutuals only' then, unless we are mutuals, you cannot send anything from that section.

you can send in as many requests from whatever section as you want, there is no limit. but please refrain from sending requests for animated projects.

this celebration does not have an end date so unless the above image says 'closed' then send things in whenever you wish!

blank blogs and ageless blogs as well as minors please refrain from sending things in, respectfully.

do not steal or claim any of the graphics i make as your own.

♡ MUTUALS ONLY.

moodboards...i'll make you a personalized moodboard / aesthetic. ➥ a 'your vibe' moodboard aka i'll go off of the vibes and aesthetics you give off to me or a character + trope + scenario moodboard

gif requests...i'll make a gifset of whatever character you ask for. ➥ can be a certain scene, from a certain movie, what have you. but please note the list of characters + movies from the actors down below are more likely to give me the most inspo to make something from. but please feel free to ask me for someone not on the list because chances are i'll do it unless i truly dislike the actor or character.

ship edit...i'll make a little edit of a character i ship you with. ➥ i may include some extra things in the graphic because i can't just be simple with things, so you can give me a small list of your favs, your vibes, your likes, and dislikes, if you so wish.

✩ FREE FOR ALL.

movie recovers...i'll make you a movie poster. ➥ this goes for tv shows + some artists + character posters as well.

book + movie recs...ask me to rec some things. ➥ 'your favorite movies' + 'movies you suggest people who like [insert something here] watch' + 'underrated shows' + 'books with this vibe' + 'songs that remind you of this character' are all requests that are applicable plus so so much more, please be as creative and detailed as you wish.

banners...request a banner for whatever you wish to use it for. ➥ these are not personal which means anyone can use them not just you. can be for navigations, masterlists, etc. gifs are not applicable.

headers...just like the above but for mobile headers. ➥ same rules apply as the above section. shows, movies + characters, vibes + aesthetics all applicable.

dividers...i'll make you a set of fancy dividers. ➥ again these are not personal and for everyone to use and enjoy.

magazine designs...i'll make a little magazine-esk outtake for a movie, show, or character.

personal favorites...ask me my favorite anything and i'll make a cute little something to showcase it.

♥︎ CHARACTERS, SHOWS, MOVIES, ACTORS APPLICABLE. ➥ actors + their characters: adam driver, pedro pascal, oscar isaac, jodie comer, will poulter, aaron taylor johnson, thomas doherty, tgm cast but no tc. ➥ movies: scream franchise, any spooky movie, john wick, twilight. ➥ shows: killing eve, hemlock grove. ➥ etc characters: finnick odair, bruce wayne (except affleck and bale).

this list is only for the gif requests so disregard it for everything else or use it as inspo for your requests if you want. also please note that the gifs will be posted on either three of my gif accounts.

here you can find my graphics board on pinterest of past graphics i have made over the years + some inspo if you need it for requesting.

#if you have any questions about anything just message me #i suck at explaining things and i feel like this is all over the place lmasdkojd #also if i made a spelling mistake anywhere it was on purpose ignore it #15k celebration <3

[eudaimonia83]

OMG OMG OMG IM ACTUALLY UPDATING

This is not a drill!!!

I know no one cares anymore, but I’m SO EXCITED bc I literally pulled this out of my brain about eight words at a time, for ten thousand+ words. It was excruciating.

CHAPTER 7 — LUCIEN

The wind was cold, blessedly cold, against his hot face.

Lucien felt as though the past few days had slid by in interrupted bursts of time, everything occurring too quickly before screeching to a halt where felt like he was stuck in honey, or a fish snagged on a hook. Either too much had happened, or not enough. The taut, tense meeting with Rhysand in the River House the morning after Solstice had started it all.

Well, no. His mind prickled, and he rubbed the back of his neck. He knew what had really sent him into a spin. Not court work or spycraft. Not even worrying about what had happened on the docks, which he had been so careful to try to conceal.

He opened his cloak to check that it was still there. The amber pin with its gold clasp and black lacquer etching, sitting pert against his tunic and protected by his coat, that drew his attention at all times of the day or night, wondering…how had she known?

He’d gotten used to the whole Solstice experience of being invited to the party but existing on its fringes, weathering Azriel’s cold glances and Cassian’s overbearing merriment, evading Amren’s keen stares, playing the dapper gentleman to Feyre because it was easy, how they’d first known each other. But she had taken him aside and given him this.

It was beautiful. He knew it as he trained his Fae eyes upon it, knew from his upbringing around treasures and artisans, knew it to be handmade of fine materials and worked with spells from time out of mind, that the jewelers and metallurgists had learned from the gods themselves, if you believed such things.

But how could she have known that this…that the hyraeths…that they were a part of his heart as much as the blood vessels and the beat and the muscle?

Lucien ascended the stairs to his Velaris apartment slowly, trying to let the rhythm of the climb clear his head. His place was the second floor of a majestic stone house that had long since been divided into multiple residences. It had loud hallways and several families with multiple children, all coming and going at all the times of day; which was why he had chosen it. In a secret city, he wanted as anonymous an existence as he could maintain. No one asking or noticing or seeing if he’d come or gone or stayed.

The door creaked as he leaned into it, opening into the narrow entry hall. He’d managed to get some furnishings before he’d been shipped back to Spring and then the human lands, though the floors were still bare and the kitchen still empty. There was a massive oak wardrobe from Dawn, complete with intricate locking mechanisms to keep papers and valuables secure, all warm with inlaid wood in the design of the rising sun; wide couches and ottomans in buttery soft leather from Summer, dyed the rich teal of the ocean; deep gold wool blankets with patterns of scarlet leaves from Autumn, folded neatly on the arm of the sofa. It was there that Lucien sat, facing the windows, still lost in thought. Remembering.

The bright light of a hyraeth glittering just out of reach. Two hands reaching up to scoop it out of the air, to show him as it lit the cocoon of her hands like the flame of a candle. No, brighter. Like a tiny star flickering with exhaustion between her fingers. Setting it on a thread with its fellows, to rest and to feed until they mated in the massive grove. Staring up over his head at a great tent of them with the hemlock trunk at its center, glittering and undulating in the wind, sparkling bravely against the darkness. And how grief had welled up in his chest as they died, falling in golden drips to the ground as their lives came to an end. Her voice, gentle and warm, thrilling him with every word: I’d protect them all until I died. It’s my mission and my purpose. A flash of copper, bright across his vision, peering between the fuzz of pine needles on branches, lit from behind by two brown eyes dusted with flecks of gold…

He jolted back to the present with a sigh. It would do no good. It had never done any good to let his mind wander back to those days, halcyon and gleaming and studded with the fluttering, rippling light of the hyraeths…before everything had gone so terribly, terribly wrong.

He leaned forward, letting his head hang until his braids touched his knees. Those days were gone, and he was here in this cold court, and he had questions to answer.

Questions.

A new voice, echoing soft in his ears, hollow with despair: I have more questions than when I started, Lucien…

Elain. Anxious and mysterious and torn.

He shook his head and got up, pacing down the hall to the kitchen, where a solitary bottle of Velaris whiskey sat half-finished on the counter. Lucien poured it into a glass and took a sip. It was bitter on his tongue, not smooth and sweet like the Autumn whiskey he’d grown up drinking, but it had that hint of smoke that he craved, and the bite of the alcohol pulled him into focus. She was researching — he knew Gwyn and Clotho had allowed her to go to the library. But would she find what she needed if she couldn’t tell them what she was looking for?

She found what would touch my heart, somehow. Even though I didn’t tell her.

Maybe he could do her that favor. Be her research assistant, even from a distance. Answer some of the questions that tore at her heart.

Two brains are better than one, he could almost hear another sarcastic voice teasing.

Yes. Maybe there. Maybe she could point me to the right scholar, the right library, the right court…

He tossed back the contents of the glass, winced at the burn, and wiped his mouth. It wasn’t too far to winnow. And no one would miss him if he was gone for one night, to see an old friend.

Lucien seized a clean tunic and breeches out of the wardrobe and stuffed them into his shoulder bag before strapping on his knife and pulling his cloak around him.

He left the little hyraeth pin snug against his chest. It wouldn’t do to leave it. It was too valuable to sit rotting in this apartment while he was away.

Happy Solstice, Lucien…

He felt the echo of her fingers on his collarbones as the winnow opened and he spun into nothingness, and out again.

——————

As always, the first thing he noticed was the light. The rosy gold glow spilled across his shoulders at a low angle, stretching his shadow to twice his own height. And the plaster of the houses took that light and turned it into a gentle yellow, so soft it almost looked spreadable.

Dawn.

Dawn was one of Lucien’s favorite courts to visit, for as long as he could remember, if only to see the pink clouds scudding across the sky. It was the loveliest sky in Prythian, even eclipsing the magnificent stars of Night, because the sun was always peeking gently around the horizon, as though you might catch it in mischief. And the city of Eós was stirring awake like a cat, stretching languidly in the early light. Bakeries bustled behind closed doors, brimming with the buttery smells of kouign-amann, and the caramel of burnt sugar. The multiple workshops and tinkerers’ houses were rustling to life. And on the hill at the center of the city, the great Sky Mirror, a huge lake ringed with a massive and ornate glass frame, would catch the rising sun and amplify it as it ascended, sending brilliance bursting into each home.

He was steps away from the house he was heading to. The roads here were yellow slate blocks, pushed vertically into the ground so only a narrow edge showed, and clustered into intricate patterns and geometric mosaics. His bootheels thudded against it. You could never hide your approach in Dawn; even the ground would announce your presence. He noticed a little mechanical owl scuttle up the branches of a small tree. Someone’s alarm system, he had no doubt. In this society filled with tinkerers and engineers, there was always some new gadget out for testing, some new fusion of alchemy with physical science to achieve a new goal. There were fewer libraries here than in Day, but far more workshops and experiments proceeding into the final phases, all with the backing of the High Lord and his councilors.

And as he came around the corner, he ran almost headlong into the woman he’d come to see.

She was tall and slender, angular, even though her shoulders sloped from leaning forward over books, endless mock-ups, and prototypes. Her dark hair escaped in tendrils from the cursory braid she’d thrown it into, and her tunic was covered with an oil-stained apron. She’d been in her workshop then. And on her shoulder, blinking its bright brass eyes, was the little owl. He heard the hiss of a gear as it hopped once and took flight.

She was staring at him, face blank. Her eyes were dark and troubled, her face more lined than when he’d last seen her.

“Nuan.” He stepped closer.

She drew herself up, almost as tall as he was, and brushed stray hair out of her face with a brusqueness indicative of irritation. She was working on something. I interrupted. He gathered himself to apologize, but she cut him off before he even began.

“Lucien,” she said, her voice rich and sorrowful. It was always how she greeted him. Just his name, just an acknowledgement of his presence. It said more than she probably even meant it to. It brought back so many memories, all in a rush: her, tight with anger, fixing a metal tendon on her mechanical arm, growing more and more frustrated as the metal refused to stretch to give her more freedom of movement; her, shrinking away as Tamlin melted back from beast to fae, begging her for help and offering to shield her from Amarantha in return; her, refusing protection, standing straight and gaunt, fully expecting the attor or Rhysand to come steal her away for torture in the darkest spaces Under the Mountain; him, gore crusted on his face, eye searing with pain and bubbling dark blood whenever he talked or moved, croaking out “please…I’ve been so stupid,” when she finally stepped closer and those cold golden fingers reached for his face.

She had forgiven him his foolishness, at once and fully. It was the strangest and most complicated friendship he had in the entire continent. And yet it was also the simplest, in its way. She was the only one who was scarred as he was, the only one for whom she’d agreed to tinker a new body part, despite hundreds writing her asking for her help, despite generals and barons and lords offering her wild sums of money and gifts if she could but rebuild their armies, their warriors, their friends. She had said no to all of it, shut the workshop doors firmly, taken up study in other fields of science and engineering.

Except for once. Except to help him. He had never known how to thank her for that, and she had never given any reason why she’d said yes.

Now, standing before her as the pink rays played on the horizon, he knew he was coming to take advantage of her yet again. And yet he loved her fiercely. It was a truth that welled guilt inside him anytime he thought about it too long — how many people had sacrificed how much to take in his prodigal ass. To care for him. To love him. How would he ever return that favor?

“Hello.” He reached out his hand, hoping she’d take it. “It’s been a…long time.”

“Yes,” she said, sharply. He frowned in confusion, and caught her expression as she looked hard to the side, and gestured to the wall lining the street he’d come down. She pointed silently, and the stones of the wall began to roll in their mortared settings, rumbling apart to reveal a narrow doorway. She pushed him through it with a hand on his head, still saying nothing; they emerged in a little courtyard, where the grass grew a bit too long and the main features were the lopsided shapes of unfinished contraptions, like some sort of half-built sculpture garden. Prototypes, built in wood and brass and leather. Skeletons that would not deteriorate, but would grow into…what exactly? He stared at the wooden outline of a person, arms akimbo. The frame of a wing extended behind it, and thin leather oiled to near-transparency stretched across delicate wooden bones and joints. Tiny brass wires fanned out across the leather from the wooden joints, labeled with little tags that fluttered in the breeze.

He spoke without turning around, knowing she was behind him with her arms crossed, the gleam of her golden wrist bright behind her work gloves. “Are you teaching this little wooden pixie how to fly?”

Her face was closed tight. “Something like that. What are you doing here, Lucien?”

Not going to go the way he had planned, then.

“I came to see you. It’s been too long and I love the Dawn sky.” He smiled disarmingly.

She raised her eyebrow. “Yes, and? You don’t go anywhere without the behest of the High Lord of the Night Court these days, and even then, you never came to see me unless you wanted something.”

He faltered.

She barked a laugh. “Twas ever thus, I suppose. Be honest, lost little prince. What are you looking for? The Faebane antidote wasn’t enough for the King Under the Mountain? Because you can go back and tell him all his jeweled dragon hoard isn’t enough, I won’t be on his payroll.”

“I’m not here because of Rhysand,” he objected. It was a reasonable thing for her to assume, but it still stung, worse here than even in Spring, since it meant that his wretched position in the Night Court’s employ had attached firmly to his reputation. “I really did come to see you.”

“Bullshit.” She squared her shoulders, but her jawline weakened ever so slightly. At least she would listen.

“What is it you’re working on?” he asked, hoping to steer the conversation by asking her about herself. Nuan was private, but she had passions, and her intellect was sharp and expansive enough that with a little prodding, she would overflow with enough detail to spin the heads of anyone but the Scholars’ High Council in the Day Court.

“Don’t con me,” she snapped. “I’m tracing nerves and micro vessels in skin and connective tissues, and trying to mimic their function, if you must know. And does that make any sense to you?”

“No.”

“I wouldn’t think so.” Pride swelled in her voice. “So why did you come? You know that travel safety all over Prythian is worse than it was before Hybern invaded, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he admitted.

“And traipsing around hither and thither is the best way to run into something, or someone, unsavory?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“And you still came here unannounced.”

“It was important.”

“To whom?”

“To me.” It was out of his mouth before he could think better of it. “Not to anyone else. If Rhysand knew I was here he’d think about it for all of two seconds and then move on to his mate.”

She snorted derisively. “He’s a fanatic about that female.”

“He’s become increasingly short-sighted,” Lucien said, anger welling up in him anew, despite all the dozens of times he’d exhausted himself trying to suppress it. “Nothing matters to him besides Velaris and Feyre, and maybe his son, now. Before he was just a blackguard with too much power. But now, whatever we tell him of uncomfortable truths gets lost before it even reaches his thoughts.” He thought of their meeting, in the great office with the mountains in the background, trying to impress upon the High Lord the suffering of the humans; and how when he hadn’t been distracted, he’d been annoyed just to bring up the subject.

“Through love all is possible,” she intoned solemnly. “So. Perhaps the rest of his court can finally flourish while he focuses his black gaze exclusively on Feyre. They’ve certainly been waiting long enough.”

“I doubt it.”

“Is she properly recovered from her birthing yet?”

How she’d heard of that debacle, he had no idea. “Yes. Thanks to her sister.”

“Which sister?”

He frowned. “Nesta. Why?”

“Because Rhysand’s not the only one obsessed with an Archeron.” She gave him a pointed glance, then turned and stalked into the house, calling back over her shoulder. “Come in. If we must talk politics, at least let’s not do it in the cold.”

He crossed beneath the threshold, and the little brass owl chirped and whirred. His eye spun in response, for all the world as though it were saying hello.

The kitchen was cluttered but warm, lined with terracotta tiles and yellow slate in the exact same hue as the street paving stones. The fire caught all the gold and russet and played with it merrily, casting the whole room with golden light. Nuan crossed to the open hearth and filled a giant teakettle, then dropped in a handful of leaves that smelled of ginger and pear. She added cardamom as the steam began to rise, then placed the lid back and turned around.

“Well. Since you’re not here in an official capacity, then, can I ask you how you are?”

“I’m well,” he responded automatically.

“Of course you are,” she agreed. “Angry at Rhysand, who pays your salary…living in exile with humans and pleading their cause to the mighty to no avail…let’s hope that mate of yours has warmed to you, else you’d understandably be tense as a cat amongst the pixies.”

Lucien smiled. Nuan always did this. Despite her sharp tongue, which she wielded with even more accuracy than Nesta Archeron, she had a way of making anyone feel protected — provided they were under her wing. It was the difference between being in a dragon’s nest, among the eggs, or facing it head-on. “I missed you,” he admitted.

She finally grinned at him, her dark eyes crinkling at the edges. “I’m sure you did. So much you couldn’t even send a letter. Paralyzed by nostalgia for my cluttered workshop and my dusty company.”

He laughed helplessly and shrugged, accepted the tea mug she held out, and then collapsed into a chair, leaning back on two of its wooden legs so that it tilted against the wall. A little circular brass brush buzzed officiously under his feet, cleaning up dust and crumbs. “I started writing many times. I just…never finished.” He took a deep draught of the tea, which was hot but not scalding, and tasted refreshingly sharp from the ginger.

She cocked her eyebrow at him and curled her fingers around her own cup. “I know you’re wanted by everyone in all seven courts and at least two foreign kingdoms, but spare a thought for your old friends occasionally.”

“I think about you all the time,” he protested. “Especially when I’m talking to Vassa.”

“The human queen?”

“She has your tenacity.” Lucien always found describing Vassa to the Fae difficult, but Nuan nodded with a slightly faraway look in her eyes. “She wants to know everything; asks incessant questions, doesn’t relinquish conversation until she’s satisfied I’ve told her everything I know. And even then I’m not certain she believes me. I can imagine her holding out through all the mess that the human lands are going through now. Trying to understand things, to find solutions.”

Tendrils of Nuan’s dark hair slipped over her shoulder as a ribbon of steam rose from the cup. “She could do good things for her people. If the curse can be broken…”

“It seems not.”

She gestured in the air, a weary acknowledgement of the difficulty of the task. “Perhaps broken is the wrong word. Perhaps we’re thinking about it in the wrong way. Advancement in science and engineering and innovation is, after all, most often a shift not in knowledge but in perspective. I hope that’s also true for magic.”

He raised his eyebrows and felt his scar pull as the golden eye, excited by the presence of its creator, whizzed beneath the eyelid. “Exactly why I said she reminds me of you.”

“Stubborn.”

“Smart,” he countered. “And of course unwilling to let anyone else win an argument.”

The whites of her eyes flashed as she rolled them, but the laugh that jumped from her was genuine. “At least you didn’t call me resilient,” she shot back, a note of bitterness in her amusement. “The worst word, I think. When no one sees you except for how you’ve been hurt.” She flexed her golden fingers. “Speaking of wounds, how is yours?”

He pointed to the eye. “This? Unsightly as ever, but no worse.”

She squinted over the rim of her cup. “I meant more invisible ones. You came from Night, didn’t you?” Her nostrils flared as she scented. “You smell of Velaris…all river-water and cold air.”

Damn her. He’d been wondering how to elegantly bring up the questions he came here to ask, but as usual, she’d arrived at the heart of the matter with the precision of a scalpel. “I did.”

He’d tried to keep his tone neutral, but something must have changed in his face. She gazed at him sharply for a moment, then reached out a hand, palm up. “Let me see the eye.”

“Why?”

“I’ll give it a tune-up,” she said briskly. “Check the gears, adjust the spells. While you tell me what you went back to that awful city for.”

Lucien hesitated and then, cringing slightly at the sensation, pulled down his lower eyelid and stuck his finger and thumb into the socket, bracketing the golden eye between his fingers. He hated the sucking pull of removing it…it was remarkably close to how it had felt to have the real eye gouged out, which came rushing back with revulsion whenever he touched it, although with less pain. He swallowed hard and tugged. It came loose after a moment’s resistance and whizzed in his fingers, sounding — though he knew this was idiotic — a bit irritated.

Nuan grinned as he handed it to her, and set it down into a soft cloth on the workshop table. “I like how it likes you,” she said, pushing her sleeves up. Her arm gleamed dully as it caught the light. “One of my best creations. Hello, little thing,” she crooned at it, tilting it back and forth, peering acutely at its shimmering surface. There were minuscule etchings on it that fired as she examined it. It rolled over of its own accord and she chuckled. “You’re a proper little rascal. Has Lucien taught you, shown you all manner of things you shouldn’t know? I don’t doubt it.”

Lucien squinted, limited to half his field of vision. “It’s an eye. What shouldn’t it know?”

She gave him a dirty look. “Just trying to acknowledge all the hot spots you’ve gotten into.”

“Most of them weren’t even mine,” he objected. “Except the times I mouthed off.”

“Oh yes, except for those rare instances.” Her sarcasm dripped like nectar, and he rolled his natural eye with a helpless chuff of a laugh.

“I can’t keep quiet. Never have. Likely I never will, at this point.”

But Nuan was no longer listening; she had put on her magnifying spectacles, which cartoonishly enlarged her eyes so she looked remarkably like her little brass owl sentinel, and she was staring at the orb of the eye with a tiny line forming between her brows, shifting into a perplexed expression.

“What is it?” The back of Lucien’s neck prickled.

It took her a moment to answer, holding the eye as though gauging its weight. “It’s odd,” she finally said, tilting her head to the side and elevating the eye so the shop faelight descended from overhead to cover the table in a brilliant cone. “It’s as if — as if it became unbalanced. Like all the charms in it are stuck on one side. Have you noticed any change in the way it functions? The way you see? The things you can see?”

He shook his head, dumbfounded. “It’s been normal, but…”

“But?”

“Well…” He had wanted to talk about this, to ask her opinion, so why did it suddenly feel illicit? Dangerous? “There was an incident. Recently.”

She put the eye down and lifted off her spectacles, watching him with crescent eyebrows.

“I encountered magic I’d never seen before. Never heard of.”

“Where?” A crisp, precise question. The answer was more troublesome.

“It was by the docks in Velaris. A strange place…sort of a squatter’s nest. But made of boats. Anchored to trash and refuse.” He took in a breath to slow his heart, which had begun to race. “I think the people there had odd abilities. Or some of them did. I noticed that my eye was moving oddly, like it was sticky. Or like it was pulled towards this female with the strange powers.”

“What in the name of the Mother and her Cauldron were you doing in a place like that?” Nuan demanded. He bristled; it was the sort of tone his mother might have adopted to berate him for staying out all night.

“I didn’t intend to visit, I just…ended up there. I winnowed in.”

“Blindly?”

He nodded. “I was looking for Elain.”

Surprise bled over her so quickly it altered the entire shape of her face: everything went round, from eyes to mouth.

“Before you ask, I didn’t know why she was there, but…she pulled on the bond. So I went. And she was being chased by this female. A Lesser Fae, I believe, but with deep and strange powers.”

“Of what sort?”

“I don’t know,” Lucien admitted. “She told Elain she was a witch, trained in folk lore and legend.”

“How did you get away?” Nuan demanded. Her fingers were rigid against the work table; if she held it any tighter, it might have permanent imprints of her nails.

He ran a hand over his face — how to tell the rest of that night simply, without sacrificing accuracy? He settled on a half-truth, at least for the moment. “I shot her with a Faebane arrow.”

Nuan brought up the eye again, turning it, and picked up a tiny, narrow screwdriver from the table. She blew on the eye and traced one of its etchings with the tool, painstakingly drawing the pointed edge along the surface. It hummed, then hissed and split open along a near-invisible line. Inside, a multitude of tiny gears whirred and spun — and indeed, all of them were clustered along one side, instead of being evenly spaced in the center. She stared at it, open like an egg cradled in her two hands. “A witch, she said? Elain said she called herself that?”

Lucien shrugged. “I assumed she was being dramatic. For effect.” Everyone knew witches were only creatures of legend. They had vanished from Prythian before even the creation of the Middle, when the Daglan ruled the lands and goblins and strigoi preyed on High and Lesser Fae alike.

When Nuan spoke again, her voice was low and tremulous. “The charms on my tinkering are nearly ironclad, Lucien. On any tinkering, as a condition, a quality control of its manufacture. Only a powerful force — an elemental force, like a current — could affect its material this way. It is built to respond only to you, and your ideas, your brain, your commands. To resist influence by anyone else, so no one can co-opt its use. As its builder, I will always have a small degree of control over it, but it is supposed to function as if it were a part of your own body. To see it like this is —“

“Strange?”

“Concerning.” She picked up the screwdriver and slowly, painstakingly began loosening the gears and moving them in the tiny orb, stationing them back where they were meant to be. “Witches. Hmm.”

“It was nonsense. Just a way to shield herself from telling Elain the truth about her powers, I’m sure. Witches are gone from Prythian,” Lucien said. He was suddenly tired. Half of his vision gone pounded his head into a dull throbbing ache.

“Well,” Nuan said absently, applying a minute drop of amber oil to the gears and nudging them with the point of her stylus, spinning them faster. “That’s very possible. Even after they disappeared their abilities stayed legendary, all over Prythian. To this day. In some tribes it’s almost like invoking a monster to call down the witches. Even to mention them. There’s at least one tribe in the foothills near Under the Mountain who tell a folk tale that Amarantha came to Prythian because someone made the mistake of calling upon the Morgana, the darkest of the witches from their lore.”

“How do you know so much about them?” Lucien asked.

“I don’t,” she said, matter-of-fact as she extracted a tiny gear from the eye and elevated it into the air, where it rotated idly. She lifted another tool that looked like a tiny golden pin, looping it as though writing, and as she did, more tiny golden marks appeared on the surface of the metal. “But no one ever really did. The only thing that was ever clear about their magic was their ability to take it from others — which of course made people fear them deeply. They were strange, wild creatures, preying where gifts were plentiful. But they had a place in the natural order; a way to keep things in check. To keep a truce between the powerful.” She snorted derisively as she inscribed more golden writing on the tiny gear in marks so small they were almost invisible. “It fits that Dawn would be a place their influence and legend would stay alive. We have always been the interim, the balance between the stronger solar courts, ever since Dusk disappeared into memory. The bright, blessed Day, and the dark, looming Night. Each of whom could roll over in their sleep and crush us without a second thought. Equilibrium is in our interest here. But who knows what price we might have to pay to get it?”

She looked up at him and blinked, her eyes huge behind the spectacles, and after a moment of silence, burst out into peals of laughter. “Oh, Cauldron boil me. Close your mouth, Lucien, you look like you’ve been hit in the back of the head. It’s my privilege to wander in thought a bit.” She flung the cloth at him, hitting him in the face; he scrabbled, tilting backward in his chair as the cloth covered his eyes.

She continued, as he tossed the cloth onto the floor in annoyance. “It was often said by the early masters of magic that balance is as important as power. Like calls to like, yes, but without an opposing force it will bring chaos eventually. So perhaps the witches’ essential balancing function could be preserved somehow, in the greater scheme of things. There was a group of Lesser Fae who they thought might have descended from the witches, in theory. Although that can’t really be proved. Perhaps their powers merely grew to match those of the ancient witches. A sort of convergent evolutionary mechanism.”

Lucien felt cold trickling over his skin. “Which Lesser Fae were these?”

She tilted her head, pensive, fitting the tiny gear back into the eye and sliding it along its axle, only a hairsbreadth in diameter. It glowed, surprisingly bright, and began to rotate. She nodded in satisfaction. “They didn’t have a name, or a tribe. They were united only by magical ability. And of course that made them outcasts from the communities most Lesser Fae hold sacred. Transients, migratory; eking out a living at the borders of societies. They took over sections where magic could be siphoned away from settlements without notice being attracted, and could quickly move on before danger could come to them…which sounds exactly like the place you were just describing.” She gave him a pointed look. “I’ve heard them called many things, mostly derisive. Squatters. Schemers. Mostly they’ve been referred to as skimmers — an interesting word for what they can do.”

Take magic that wasn’t theirs…and wield it? Lucien raced to keep his thoughts logical. “Skimming? As in, taking some off the top…like clotted cream off milk, or fat off bone broth?”

Nuan nodded absently, absorbed in reconnecting the two halves of the magical eye, touching it with her tiny stylus and leaving glowing pinpoints behind, bright and bold as if the metal were molten. “Yes. And making a life from that. It’s really remarkable, you know…” she fastened it back together and gave it a gentle squeeze and a pat, and a final murmur to seal the charm. “…how they’ve managed to survive, if they truly are descendants of the witches. All these centuries, across all the courts.”

“And you think these people might have lived in Velaris? In the court that not even Amarantha could penetrate?”

She shrugged. “Don’t discount the magic of the Lesser Fae. They are not weak. They have the greatest wellspring of abilities in all of Prythian, though it’s not concentrated into individuals the way it is for High Fae. And these people can draw magic towards them; drain it out of those who wield their acquired powers. It’s not well documented, so who knows the full extent of what they could do? But it’s possible, especially in groups, that they could cross the borders of the courts. And if she was trying to frighten your mate, perhaps calling herself a witch would’ve done the trick.”

Lucien wanted to object, that Elain had likely no idea about witches beyond fireside folk tales, but something she had said surfaced, a drifting tangle of flotsam, tugging at his heart, silencing him.

Alive…but not in a way that you are, or I am. Like something that normally wouldn’t be able to talk. And it was angry.

Maybe it was part of the witch’s magic.

Old, and strong, and alive.

What had she spoken to, beneath the waters of the Sidra?

Who had she spoken to in the bobbing boats, before her fear had called him and he had come running in panic?

Nuan was talking to him again, breaking through the flailing of his worried mind.

“What?”

She let out a sigh of impatience. “I was asking if you’d talked to her about it at all. To Elain.” She offered him the eye in an outstretched hand, neatly pinched between finger and thumb. “Here you are, you rake. Good as new.”

He shook his head, and took the eye back, holding the socket open and pulling his scarred lower lid down to fit it inside. It resisted for a moment but then popped back into place, spun as though in indignation, and with a whirr resumed its function. His sight through it was cleaner, more balanced. Perhaps it had been blurred or distorted and he just hadn’t noticed.

“You haven’t?” She looked properly scandalized now, as though he’d admitted to sexual relations with a naga or something.

“It’s been a few days, and I haven’t seen her…”

“A few days since what?”

“Solstice. When she gave me this,” he said, pulling back his jacket so she could see the pin on his lapel.

Her eyes widened. “Does she know? About Jes?”

“Not unless she heard it from someone else. Her sister is a mind-reader, after all.” The words tasted bitter to him. It would be too disappointing, too crushing, to know that Feyre had whispered the contents of his mind to his mate. When he couldn’t even tell her the simplest thing: how much her regard bloomed him like one of her flowers under the noon sun.

Nuan tapped her fingers on the desk. “Perhaps she would prefer hearing it from you, even if the High Lady did tell her something.” She swiped her cloth over the surface, cleaning dust away so the wood gleamed under the bright light. “Maybe that’s her way of telling you that.”

He tried to grin, but it died on his face. “How would you know?”

She chuffed in exasperation. “How would you not know?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you’ve bedded how many Fae over the past few centuries, and you still know nothing about women.”

“I know some things.” He waggled his eyebrows at her and she smiled, but shook her head.

“You’re an idiot, Lucien. You won’t maintain contact. You won’t let her into your thoughts. You won’t ask her about her own.”

“I was giving her room…”

“Well, that’s nice, isn’t it. Maybe that was fine before. But now she’s speaking to you and giving you gifts. Making overtures. Can’t you at least write her a thank-you note?”

He thought about it for a moment. His words had failed him with Elain, time and again, when normally they flowed as easily as water with the direction of conversation. He’d never had trouble flirting; except with her. The words had faded into silence or been too weak to express what he truly thought.

Maybe writing would be better.

“Maybe I will, if I can find paper and pen,” he said, half to himself.

Nuan snapped her fingers in his face and pointed to a pen lying on the table top within arms’ reach. “Sometimes I fear you’ve lost your marbles, Lucien.” She opened a stone crock on the long counter by the window and pulled out some bread, slathering it with butter and a slice of honeycomb. With a wiggle of her fingers the massive mug filled with tea again and thumped unsteadily next to him. “Well. I have work to do and you have a mate to woo. It’ll be good practice for writing me letters, too.” She winked at him. “Tell her what you thought. What you felt. How you can’t stop thinking about her enough that you went to Dawn to ask your friend how to talk to her, for fuck’s sake.”

He burst out laughing. “Drown me in the Cauldron. I hope one day I can badger you about writing love letters to someone.”

Her face fell abruptly, settling back into lines he hadn’t noticed before. Her shoulders wilted into a slope. She looked like she had just picked up a massive, unyielding piece of stone.

“Nuan…” he extended a hand to her, getting up from the desk. “Nuan, I’m sorry…”

She shook her head firmly, but her voice, so arch and confident moments before, seemed to have dried up. She picked up the mug and took a long sip of the steaming tea, then held it tightly near her nose, breathing in the fragrant vapor, eyes closed. Lucien stood close, watching her, waiting. Helplessness solidifying in his veins. Tears shimmered in the corners of her eyes.

“Can I help?” he asked, heartbroken to see her suddenly in the grip of obvious pain.

She shook her head swiftly, then opened her eyes. “I’m well.”

“But —“

“I want you to know something, though,” she said, and there was a rigidity to her tone, an iron that he’d never heard before. “I love you and I’ll protect you to the bitter end, Lucien. But I want you to know that there was — is — a cost. You might never see it. I hope you never do. But be aware: there were lots of people who sacrificed for you without even knowing you.”

“Who was it?” He would make it up to her. Somehow.

“No. No, you don’t need to know that.” Her face cracked into a broken, small smile. “Just that they loved me. And because they loved me, they loved you. Even through Autumn vengeance, which never was selective enough to fall only on the target of their ire. Lord Beron casts a wide net. And I will not be silent about my own pain or theirs, not while I have breath. We loved you, and we shielded you, and that hurt us.”

His eyes widened. “My father came after you?”

She didn’t answer, just stared at the table. He didn’t know what to make of this. He had left Autumn, fled their cruel court with their murderous customs, would never go back or try to threaten the crown or the succession. Why would his father continue to pursue him across borders, come for his friends?

Maybe Beron didn’t need a reason. Thinking of the blood spreading under vibrant copper curls, dark eyes filming over with death, he knew that to be true. One more thing for the Vanserras to answer for. A dark bubble in his heart.

“Lucien?”

He reached out and took her hand.

“Just promise me that one day, when it matters, you’ll be better than all of them.”

“I…”

“Not just for yourself, but everyone else too.” Her dark eyes locked with his.

There was a lump in his throat. He squeezed her hand, and light glowed around their grip.

“I promise,” he said, gently, not knowing what she really meant, but feeling that this would help, that his word — which, so help him, he’d keep — would balm the hurt of her unspoken loss.

“Thank you.” She swiped roughly at her eyes. “Fuck…this anemometer isn’t going to build itself.” She bustled away, picking up a weight of bright copper and heading to the giant crucible in the back garden. Moments later he heard the crackle of flame stir to life beneath it.

He sat, pulling the paper towards him. Waited a moment, thinking.

Tell her what you thought. What you felt.

He bent over the paper, quill pen whispering.

—————-

He struggled with the letter all day, writing and tearing it up, balling the pieces into clumps and setting them alight with his fire until Nuan told him if he burned her workshop down, she’d never speak to him again. Finally, he had written something he felt was appropriate, although it came off too stilted. Just like when I speak to her, he thought grimly.

Elain, he had begun, simply. He had wondered if Dear Elain would be better, but the familiarity slickened his palms with sweat. What if she wasn’t ready to hear endearments from him?

He told her of the skimmers, and that they might be more powerful than he or she had suspected. I’m visiting the Dawn Court and came across some information I thought might be of interest…

But that wouldn’t do. What if Rhysand decided to open and read it? Or Nuala, or Cerridwen, or even Feyre, who was nosy enough for a whole squadron of spies?

He decided to bury it further in the text.

Elain — I wanted to pass along my thanks…

Fuck, no, that wasn’t right either. He wasn’t a schoolboy writing to a distant cousin.

“Stop sighing,” Nuan called in irritation from the next room, where her dinner sat forgotten as she worked on calculations for the winged harness in the courtyard. “If you can’t tell her in simple words how you feel, it won’t be worth saying at all.”

The hours spun away. Nuan went to bed finally, and he was alone in the kitchen with the faelight, and the little brass owl, whose eyes half-closed as the darkness fell like a shroud. He took the pen and paper over to the bed Nuan had made up on the wide sofa, sitting down on the clean sheets and trying to relax.

Elain — I feel badly that I left without thanking you properly for your gift on Solstice. You must think me very rude.

He breathed deeply, remembering how his stomach had knotted at the sight of the little hyraeth pin. He touched it absently at his lapel while he thought. It gleamed softly in the faelight, the lacquer shimmering along the amber surface.

I didn’t expect to receive a gift at all, and so I was taken aback, but further, I didn’t expect you to remind me so much of my past. It was so kind of you, it overwhelmed me. I knew a girl once who was a Guardian of the groves where the hyraeths live, you see — and our time together ended in tragedy.

Don’t end on the sad note, he thought desperately. Don’t let her think it grieved me…

But the words were finally flowing. He scrawled them as they came, unbound like the waves of dark that came with twilight.

But you made me think of her with less sadness. And you made me feel welcome in a place that has always challenged my ability to adapt. I don’t know if you meant it this way, but…

Tell her how you feel.

Tell her how you feel.

…you made me feel at home. Thank you, Blossom, from the bottom of this wicked heart.

I’ve been trying to think of a way to repay your kindness. Perhaps, in lieu of flowers or trinkets, a secret will do?

He flipped the page over and told her what he had learned of the skimmers, adding at the end, perhaps this could guide your research going forward, as you investigate your abilities and the promise you made that night. Although may I suggest avoiding consorting with witches? Or at the very least, staying away from the docks in future? I don’t know if MY nerves could handle it, although I’m sure yours could. You’re made of sterner stuff, after all. You have that Archeron iron.

He sat for a moment, eyes growing heavy. The faelight, hovering near his head, dimmed thoughtfully. He struggled to keep his eyes open, to write one more line…

I would like to come see you once I get back…

But sleep was weighing him down, dragging at his limbs…

…and hear what you make of all this…if you’d like to see me…

…Elain…

…Blossom…

But it was no good fighting it any longer.

Lucien was enveloped and swimming in darkness, struggling against the weight of it. It was formless. Depthless. He knew it well; and yet it frightened him. He’d been here before, so many times. Sleeping endlessly after his eye had been torn out, as his face slowly knit back together around the golden orb that replaced his natural eye. The pain of it ebbing and flowing, screaming into him when his face scrunched as he wept, receding to a dull throb as he sank again into despondency. Surfacing to see Tam sitting on the floor by his bed, fast asleep…but always, always pulling back down into darkness. Hearing the echoes of screams…his own…Jesminda’s…his mother’s…they all faded into the cottony silence of nothingness. Perhaps his own heartbeat would fade, eventually. He had hoped for that sometimes.

But now, the darkness wasn’t truly endless. It was forming into something. At first it was just a feeling, like the walls of a room enclosing a discrete space, and then it was actual sensation. The shift of the pile of a rug under his feet. The stiffness, slight creak of his leather boots against his shins and feet. The hum and chatter of voices in an adjacent room, broken by laughter. And then there was light. Golden, pooling light from a lamp, flooding the room with a gentle glow.

The River House.

He recognized the high ceilings, the open beams, the oak paneled walls. The playful spin of faelights from the recesses of the ceiling, giving a low glow to even darkened rooms.

And then a sweet voice. Melodious, if slightly tremulous. Nervous. Reaching as if across a long distance. But instead of just hearing babble, like the voices from the room close by, it formed into actual words.

“It made me think that you might someday find a place for your heart to rest.” A pause. “Unfathomable as that may be now.”

It was her. Dressed in shimmering lilac, with that little plum fur-lined jacket accentuating her waist, her long neck, her slender arms. Winter roses at her breast, where he had tried — and failed, spectacularly — not to look, at the pink edges against the swell of her flushed skin. She looked like an early summer day given a Fae form, here in the tightest grip of winter and dark. And in his hand, a tiny, glowing pin of bright amber, fashioned into wings that caught and refracted the light. His vision blurred with tears.

“How did you know?” he asked, the question that had bruised his heart for days.

She shifted, twisting her hands. “Know what?”

“This…” he gestured with it. “That I missed this. That I needed it.”

Her eyebrows creased into a worried expression. “I didn’t. But I read about the hyraeths, and it…it caught my mind. Reminded me of you.”

“I…” he swallowed. “It reminds me of my past. Good and…and bad things. My last day in Autumn, many years ago.” He thought about what he had written to her in that stumbling letter. What he had seen, that last day. The great hemlocks, blasted by fire. The Guardians, scorched and burned to dry husks. The hyraeths, dead in golden droplets on the ground, their wings stilled and dulled with death. And the darkness of her blood soaking the moss, congealing on the roots of the trees, which embraced her crumpled body like the hands of a mother…

“Yes,” she said, eagerly. “I wondered if perhaps you might want something to remind you of home.”

Yes. I did…but those memories are caught in pain, like blackberries grown with thorns, and you didn’t know that part. But oh, how sweet and tender it was that you tried. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them. “I don’t have a home anymore,” he said, his voice catching on the words.

“Perhaps you will, one day,” she said, and he saw her throat squeeze. “And then you can put down some of the weight you carry.”

He faltered, but continued, hoping to show her how much it meant that she had thought of him this way. “I think you understood me, Blossom. Better than you realized, perhaps. Thank you.”

He could feel the warmth radiating from her, this close. Closer than she’d ever been before…

She reached out and pointed at the pin. “May I?”

He handed it to her immediately. “By all means. Please.”

She fixed it to his lapel and fastened the clasp, then straightened it slightly, like a flower in a buttonhole. Both of her hands rested against his chest, the warmth bleeding through the fabric of his shirt. He knew it would end, the sweet drug of her touch…but she left her hands there, then flattened them so her palms faced down. He could feel the outline of every finger.

Her brown eyes stared into his. He had the sense that there were worlds behind them. For a moment, they were utterly silent.

“This is a dream,” he whispered.

She nodded, her gaze traveling down his neck to where the collar met the lapel of his jacket. The place where his collarbone dipped. He wasn’t sure what she was looking at, but then he heard a gentle hiss of breath, and realized she was scenting him. This former human girl, proper and shy, using her Fae senses to listen to him with not just those soft, pointed ears, but with her body. A dream indeed. So if she was indulging her Faeness, perhaps he could, too? It would be a bold step…if he was reckless enough to take it…

“Then…” — he couldn’t believe he might actually say it, might actually do this mad, presumptuous thing — “then can I…kiss you?”

Her eyes swept up to meet his again, the lashes surrounding them dark and fuzzy — almost as if her face was out of focus, except for her eyes. They were clear, and deep enough to drown in. “Did you want to? Is that why we’re back here? In the parlor, with the party next door?”

“Yes,” he whispered. “…so, so much.”

Her fingers tightened against the lapel of his jacket. Even closer than before. “It is only a dream, isn’t it?” she said, softly, half to herself.

“Yes…”

The tiniest of smiles, the barest twitch of those beautiful lips. “I wish you would.”

And their lips met, so gently, that even as they shared breath he wondered how this could be real, and at the same time how it couldn’t be real. Her lips were so soft and warm beneath his, the whisper of a touch — and the tightness in his chest grew to nigh-unbearable tension as the bond behind his ribs squeezed, trying its hardest to pull them together. He was breathless.

It was Elain who leaned forward, and increased their contact as she tilted her head up, pressing more firmly against him. The kiss broke briefly as they adjusted their stance; she slipped closer, her feet between his, standing on tiptoes, and gripped his lapels in her hands, drawing his face down to hers, where their lips could meet and caress, sliding over one another to fit together. He hesitantly put his hands underneath her jawbone, so delicate, and pulled her into him; she lost her balance a bit and tipped forward, and he caught her around her waist. They stared into each other’s eyes, and something ignited in the depths. He fancied he could see it, like the flare of a match or the flicker of a candle, and he plunged after it, chased it down, down, into another kiss and then another, growing clumsy as he became more ardent. Her mouth opened, her tongue shy against his, one arm winding around his neck as her other hand stroked his cheek and gentled him, bringing their mouths together with a tenderness that ached in his lungs, in every breath he drew.

They broke apart, breaths serrated and hands shaking; but she held on to him tightly, pulling herself into his embrace. He didn’t want to lose any of the warmth between them, or the urgent flare of her scent, the intoxicating sweetness of summer flowers.

“They might see us,” she whispered. He felt a possessiveness flare in his gut; he would strike, stab, fight to keep this moment sacrosanct, just between the two of them.

“Who?” he strained. But as soon as he asked, he knew what she meant, and immediately felt the darkness starting to gather, talons gleaming, like it might contain a million interested eyes and ears.

“Let’s go somewhere else,” she murmured, her nose gliding against his. “Somewhere we can really be alone.”

She stepped back and seized his hand, drawing him on toward the sweeping staircase; but it seemed more open than before, the ceiling receding upwards until it was almost gone into a great vault. The bannister became rougher and more knobby under his hand, like the trunk of a tree, and he felt like if he looked back, nothing of the River House would be there anymore.

She stopped in front of a door, wound about with vines that stirred in an invisible breeze, and ducked inside, pulling him with her.

“Where are we?” he breathed, conscious of the vines, heavy with glossy leaves and flowers — and wicked, long thorns — crowding into the space left by the door.

“My place,” she answered, and walked to the window. “My secret.” She pulled the curtain back, and the room filled with bright light. When his eyes adjusted, he saw the air filled with flowers and birds and butterflies, drifting lazily around pillars of knotted vines and trunks. Fields of billowing grasses, bright-green against the sun. White cliffs, in the distance. Riotous flowering plants everywhere he looked.

“It’s safe here. Sunny. Bright. I made it myself. I wanted a place that no one could see but me. I would come here when everything seemed dark and I thought I would never feel happy again.” She took a breath. “I liked resting here.” She seemed a little fluttery herself, a little shaky, just like the tremulous wings of the butterflies. “If you don’t like it we can go somewhere else…”

“I love it,” he interrupted, heart swelling painfully inside him. “You gave yourself a garden to grow in.”

She smiled, and a ray of sun touched her face, and he stepped forward and kissed those warm lips, hands sliding into her hair; they stood, swaying in the breeze, light with a heady buzz of joy. He wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her up, and turned around, looking for an open spot to set her down, to kiss her and touch her, to find out if her skin was as silken and sweet against his lips as he had imagined so many times. She held him tight, her face snug against his neck. He plunked her down onto a little sward of long grass that bent into a plush mattress, and he swore he heard a distant silvery giggle. Vines swam around them, growing to shield them, forming a loose lattice that the light could peek through. It laced over her flushed face. He slid his hand from her ankle to her knee, pushing her skirt up so he could grip her leg, bringing it up into a cradle that circled him with heat beating out of her skin. She cradled his face, staring at him, and he pressed against her, her legs locking around him to keep him close. He stroked her curls back from her neck, dragged his fingers over her throat as her eyes fluttered closed.

“Do you know what I can’t stop thinking of?” he murmured against her pulse, which raced as he spoke. “Not that you’re beautiful…” Her eyes snapped open, almost indignantly, and he felt a smile lift his lips. “You are, of course. Stunning. But you’re also…delicious.” He inhaled slowly, feeling her scent flood his nose and mouth. “I crave your…sweetness. It’s in my blood, my brain, my body…” he ground against her, relishing the little gasp she let out. “…and I want that taste, of you, in my mouth so badly, I almost go fucking mad.” He pulled the roses from her bodice and cast them aside, the soft swells of her breasts heaving as he slid his fingers under the hem of the little jacket. He was desperate to touch and also to extend, so that it would never end…

But what was that bite of cold that chilled the back of his neck?

Her fingers tightened, nails digging into his skin. “What’s happening?” She sounded so sad. It wrenched his heart, which wrenched at the bond in turn. “It’s never cold in here.”

He could feel cool fabric — sheets — under his hands, and fought the sensation. No, no. He wanted her skin, that warm softness…to stay here until everything else was forgotten, to drown in her and awake with hope renewed…

“I think I’m…waking up,” he gasped.

“No.” It came out as a sob. “No, Lucien. Don’t go.”

“Fuck,” he croaked, but he could sense himself slipping away, a sensation as acute and unstoppable as if he were physically sliding down a steep incline.

“Wait…”

“I’ll come back,” he promised, leaning against her for one more kiss, one more taste of her sweet breath. “I swear it, Blossom, if you’ll let me in, I’ll meet you here. Call me from your dreams, and I’ll come.” He could hear his voice echoing. Was he saying it aloud?

He didn’t hear if she said anything in response; he was awake, sitting upright in sweat-cooled sheets in Nuan’s house, darkness enveloping the entire room.

The tears that came were searing and salty, flooding through him so fast and fully that they could have been the Sidra cresting to catch him under the mad wave that had chased him onto its banks that night that he and Elain had saved each other. They felt like heart’s blood, benediction and loss. Falling into a void like the great encircling river of the creation myth.

He wept enough to fill it with a sea of sorrow.

#elucien #acotar #fanfic #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #elucienweek2023 #pro elucien #pro lucien vanserra #nuan acotar #dawn court

[cchickki]

20 fanfic questions

thank you so much for the tag @soft-girl-musings

How many works do you have on AO3?

15

2. What's your total AO3 words count?

495,132

3. What fandoms do you write for?

band of brothers, hemlock grove, mass effect, overwatch, peaky blinders, spider man, uncharted, unsere mutter unsere vater, crouching tiger hidden dragon, the last of us

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

tomorrow never came surprise! say yes to heaven, say yes to me beyond the deep a woman at war (rewritten)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

yes!! feedback means so much to me, it's what keeps me going and i honestly appreciate all comments more than anyone will ever know.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

there's a few, but my oldest fic the ugly truth i think had the angstiest ending (there's other fics that aren't finished and i don't want to spoil them so i won't add them to this list)

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

probably my fluffy one shots like surprise! and say yes to heaven from the spiderverse

8. Do you get hate on fics?

i have in the past when i attracted more readers on fanfiction.net, mostly misogynists so they're not worth the time of day

9. Do you write smut. If so what kind?

i do, and i don't really know how i'd generalize it. mostly from requests sprinkled in with a few scenes here and there. but in my fics i like to focus on the act being one out of love than lust mostly.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

i've never written a crossover before

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

i've had suspicions before that people have copied parts of my fics in their own in different fandoms, but i don't think it's blatant enough beyond the realm of "inspiration" to actually accuse anyone. i don't think i'm popular enough on here or on a03 anymore for this to continuously happen though.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

maybe? i swear someone said they translated a woman at war back in the day for me.

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

kind of? there's a history beta i have on fanfiction.net that has helped me with a woman at war (rewritten) on writing certain historical parts in the story to make them as accurate as possible.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

shepard x kaidan, i can engross myself in reading about that ship all day everyday

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

my peaky blinders fic joanne, i really enjoyed writing it and i received a lot of positive feedback on it on fanfiction.net. but i really hate the direction the show went and it really killed my inspiration for finishing the fic. i would love to, but who knows.

16. What are your writing strengths?

i've heard that how i'm able to write/articulate emotion and atmosphere is good.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

storyboarding in the sense of planning, i tend to wing it so i think that's why a lot of my fics become unfinished or might fall flat at the end.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

i think it's worth it if you can find a reliable translator instead of google translate.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

the last of us

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

a woman at war - that story is my baby and i cherish it deeply. was a complete emotional roller coaster to write for from a community that i love and value deeply, it also helped me so much grow and evolve as a writer. it will forever hold a special place in my heart.

no pressure tags: @not-those-kids, @swaps55, @feyhunter78, @durrtydawg, @mallaidhsomo

#tag game #fanfiction

[missoneminute]

I haven't done one of these in literal years so thanks for the tag @cloud-based-and-rainpilled that is so sweet of you!

3 ships:

I literally only have one - P+C!

First ever ship:

Again I have only seriously ever had one, P+C, though I have had a few passing ones when watching dumb TV shows, like the two leads in Hemlock Grove (that was the point of that show right?)

Last song: Silver Springs, Fleetwood Mac (sorry Sarah) but along with Can't Stand Me Now there is no harder inter-band breakup burn in a rock song than the final lines of that track.

Last movie: Oh fuck ha... I routinely watch fucking dumb movies on purpose so I hope it's not some god awful rom com... no wait it was Annabelle, so a dumb horror movie, better.

Currently reading: I honestly haven't read a book since 2013 and I am not kidding. Last one I read was The Disaster Artist. Before I sound like a godless moron, I read mountains as a kid but now it just exhausts me after working nine hours a day writing and staring at words.

Currently watching: I don't have a TV show right now. I recently finished Wilderness which was dumb and fun though weirdly YA considering the themes. Oh wait I lie, I have started the new season of American Horror Story which so far is camp and amazing, a return to form, pleasingly.

Currently consuming: Raspberry Coke Zero, which I have to stop because I literally have two litres a day, like enough to be on a TV show about weird eaters with folks who consume plaster or whatever.

Currently craving: Control over my spending and general lifestyle. I can't be in a slump ten months a year then totally pumped and primed for the two around my vacation. I just need to live more.

Tagging: @suchasinistergame @lookthemoonissinging @jesuisgourde @upthebrackets @particularly-poppity @citronellaww @totallyfuckdup @sunflower-sid @novagreenbird @narcissusoffduty @mochiiparadise

So sorry if I forgot anyone!

#personal #fun stuffs

[darkdoverpseeker]

🕊 hello hello! I'm a 30F looking for some more writing partners! I do tend to play more females but am open to F x M and F x F ships. Fandoms I'm looking to write in include The Vampire Diaries, Until Dawn, Resident Evil, Red Dead Redemption, Underworld, Stranger Things and Hemlock Grove but am open to more! Please leave a like so I can reach out to you accordingly!

like if interested!

#m x f #f x f #1x1 rp #the vampire diaries rp #the vampire diaries roleplay #until dawn rp #until dawn roleplay #resident evil rp #resident evil roleplay #fandom rp #dead dove #dead dove do not eat #rp #roleplay

[melodymunson]

Get to know me

My name is Melody. I'm 33. I've been a Stranger Things since early 2017 and an Eddie Munson stan since May 2022. Writing requests for Steddie x reader, Steve x reader, Eddie x reader, Steve x Robin x reader are open! (Platonic Robin and Steve only.)

My former tumblr username was MelodyLangdon

About me: I’m a passionate concert-goer, a horror convention junkie, and a Halloween lover.

My favorite series are SAW, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, American Horror Story, Scream, Nightmare on Elm Street, Paradise City, South Of Nowhere, Rob Zombie’s Firefly family trilogy, and Hemlock Grove. I love thrillers and horror books and my favorite authors are Richard Laymon, Jack Ketchum, Megan Hart, Anne Rice, JRR Tolkien. My top favorite bands of all time are Type O’ Negative, Bullet For My Valentine, Otep, Manson, Rammstein, Motionless In White, Ice Nine Kills, Arch Enemy, Kittie, David Bowie, Motley Crue, Poison, Butcher Babies, Children Of Bodom, Apocalyptica, Raven Black, Straight Line Stitch, Depeche Mode, The Cure, and Ghost. Metal, punk rock, nu metal, thrash metal are my favorite music genres. The Soska Twins, Eli Roth, and Mary Harron are my favorite directors. My top favorite movies are American Mary, American Psycho, American Satan, 10 Things I Hate About You, Girl Next Door, Strangeland, Mistress Of The Dark. The coolest celebs I’ve met are Twiggy Ramirez, Tobin Bell, Manson, Otep, MIW, Butcher Babies, Elvira, Bill Moseley, Sid Haig, and Felissa Rose. My favorite actors are Keanu Reeves, Joseph Quinn, Joe Keery, Heath Ledger, Cody Fern, Bill Skarsgard, River Phoenix, Blake Lively, Megan Fox, Susan Sarandon, Amber Tamblyn, and Margot Robbie. 

I follow back any active Stranger Things blog/fan who interacts with me and is 18+. Ask box/inbox open to questions/asks. Minors, creeps, bots, and anyone who’s intolerant towards women, any racists, any anti- POC/WOC and anyone exclusive of any part of the LGBTQIA+ will be blocked no exceptions. Intolerant of intolerance and my blog is a safe space.

My favorite Stranger Things characters are Eddie Munson (obviously). Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, 001/Henry Creel/Vecna, Joyce Meyers, Dustin Henderson, and Argyle.

Favorite ships and couples of ST: Steddie, Chrissy/Eddie, and  Nancy/Eddie/Steve/Robin (the fruity four).

I write and take requests for Chrissy/Eddie/reader, Chrissy/Eddie, Eddie/reader, Steddie/reader, Steve/reader, Robin/reader/Steve (platonic Steve+Robin ONLY), Chrissy/reader, and Eddie/reader/Corroded Coffin groupie.

Works in progress/completed: My first Eddie/reader fic was rockstar Eddie x reader headcanons. I have also published 2 Steddie/reader holiday fics on ao3, an Eddie/Chrissy/reader oneshot, Stobin/fem!reader, and a cheerleader reader/Eddie 3 part series. My ao3 username is MelodyLangdon. My next fics to be published will be an Eddie/reader/Corroded Coffin groupie. Rockstar Eddie/fem reader fic series in progress.

18+ only and preferably 21+ following me/interacting + reading my fics. No exceptions.

My newest fics: 

Steve/fem!reader/Robin https://archiveofourown.org/works/47570095

Older rockstar Eddie x younger fem!reader https://archiveofourown.org/works/47570314/chapters/119891428

My profiles/socials: https://bento.me/melodymunsonharrington

Masterlist: https://melodylangdonmasterlist.blogspot.com/2020/03/fanfics-masterlist.html

Moodboards: https://melodylangdonmasterlist.blogspot.com/2023/03/moodboards-for-stranger-things-fics.html

More moodboards: https://melodylangdonmasterlist.blogspot.com/2023/03/cody-fern-character-moodboards-for-fics.html

#about me #get to know me #get to know the blogger

[mischief-and-tea-by-the-sea]

My 5 Sentence Drabble Prompts is now an AO3 Series!

Description:

A variety of fandoms (perhaps) and ships and prompts, kept as short as possible, definitely only 5 sentences long, even if I have to get creative about how I actively sentence.

Notes:

5 Sentence Drabble Prompts from Tumblr. Obviously, most of these aren't going to be drabbles in the strictest "100 words only" sense, but they are 5 lines, and that to me was more of an interesting challenge.

None of these are connected, but if they ever are, I'll note that they are.

Check out the 5 Sentence Drabble Prompts and give me a number and pair if you like. You can generally find me in the Marvel fandom, but I'm also happy to try my hand at Hannibal, Versailles, Blindspot, The Following, Hemlock Grove, Blindspot, a variety of romcoms (just ask, if I'm not into it, I'll let you know), and well, just ask, and if I'm not into it, I'll let you know and you can pick another fandom/ship. I reserve the right to make faces if you land on a squick character or ship.

#5 Sentences Drabble Prompts #5 Sentences Prompts #Drabbles in the loosest sense of the term #The 5 sentences are actually more important to me than the word count but I am trying to keep it down

[entangledmuses]

MOBILE MUSES- CANON

By Fandom

9-1-1: Lucy Donato

The ARTFUL DODGER: Belle Fox

BAD BOYS: Kelly Lewis

BITTEN: Elena Michaels BRIDGERTON: Daphne Bridgerton                                                     Kate Sheffield/Sharma Sophie Beckett

BUFFY/ANGEL: Cordelia Chase                                                          

CRAZY RICH ASIANS: Astrid Leong

DCEU Harley Quinn (Selective) Dawn Granger

DIVERGENT Christina

FANTASTIC BEASTS Lally Hicks

FEAR STREET Cindy Berman

GAME OF THRONES: Margaery Tyrell

HANSEL AND GRETEL:WITCH HUNTERS: Gretel (With AU verses)

HARRY POTTER: Astoria Greengrass          Demelza Robbins                     Ginny Weasley Hermione Granger          Padma Patil                                                           Parvati Patil Pansy Parkinson                 Victoire Weasley     Lily Evans/Potter      Rowena Ravenclaw                                       

HEMLOCK GROVE: Letha Godfrey

The HOST: Melanie Stryder

HUNGER GAMES: Madge Undersee

JAMES BOND: Paloma

Jurrasic World: Claire Dearing

KINGSMAN: Roxy Morton

LAST KINGDOM: Eadith of Mercia

LITTLE WOMEN: Amy March

LOCKWOOD AND CO: Lucy Carlyle

MCU: Maria Hill Michelle ‘MJ’ Jones                                               Natasha Romanoff Sharon Carter              Yelena Belova

The MUMMY: Evelyn Carnaham

MUSKETEERS: Anne of Austria Constance Bonacieux

MYTH/LEGEND/LORE: Amphitrite (Greek)                                                 Artemis/Autumn (Greek) Hera/Helena (Greek)               Persephone (Greek)            Athena (Greek) Aphrodite (Greek)      Mina Harker (Dracula) Guinevere (Arthurian)

NARNIA: Susan Pevensie

OUTER BANKS: Kiara Carrera

REACHER: Karla Dixon

REIGN: Mary Stuart Lola Narcisse

ROBIN HOOD (BBC): Marian of Knighton

The ROOKIE: Bailey Nune Grace Sawyer Lucy Chen

SECRET CIRCLE: Diana Meade (Book based)

SHADOWHUNTERS: Sophie Collins (Infernal Devices) Tessa Gray (Infernal Devices)           Izzy Lightwood (Show based)

SHAMELESS: Fiona Gallagher

The SOCIETY Helena Wu Kelly Aldrich

STRANGER THINGS: Chrissy Cunningham Nancy Wheeler

SUPERNATURAL: Bela Talbot                                         Claire Novak Lisa Braeden                                     Jo Harvelle Donna Hanscum        Sarah Blake      

TEEN WOLF: Braeden Lydia Martin             Hayden Romero Cora Hale Laura Hale

THE SUMMER I TURNED PRETTY: Belly Conklin Taylor Jewel

TRUE BLOOD: Jessica Hamby                           Nora Gainesborough Sookie Stackhouse

VAMPIRE ACADEMY: Jill Mastrano - Dragomir Lissa Dragomir Rose Hathaway                       Sydney Sage

VAMPIRE DIARIES: Bonnie Bennett Caroline Forbes Katherine Pierce Rebekah Mikaelson

VIKINGS: Amma Katia Lagertha

WEDNESDAY: Wednesday Addams

The WITCHER: Yennefer of Vengerberg

+++++++

SINGLE SHIPS: Rose Larkin Clarice Fong Emma Brunner Connie Matthews Ariel Megara Alice Chambers Zoey Miller

#Mobile muses list-Canon #jst updating links and shit!

[rp-partnerfinder]

Hi I'm 33 female writer looking for any 18+ writing partners for discord for the Hemlock Grove and Bill Skarsgard fandom. I only double up for roleplay.

I am looking for a Roman Godfrey to rp against my OC. Other ships I will roleplay for you.

Roman Godfrey x Peter Rumancek

Roman x oc

Peter x oc

Pennywise x oc

Mickey (Villains) x oc

Merkel (Atomic Blonde) x oc

Axel Cluney / Zeitgeist (Deadpool) x oc

Keith Toshko (Barbarian) x oc

Marquis Vincent de Gramont x oc

Marquis Vincent de Gramont x John Wick

I'm in the EST time zone. We can talk about reply length and how often to reply upon discussion.

If interested and serious just like this or comment on this post and I'll reach out to you. Don't inquire if you aren't actually looking for the same thing. I don't want any ghosters as I don't want to have my time wasted and because I wouldn't do that to someone else. Being open to having a poly threesome would also be of interest to me.

.

#hemlove grove #hemlock grove rp #hemlock grove roleplay #Roman Godfrey x oc #pennywise x oc #atomic blonde rp #deadpool rp #john wick rp #roleplay #rp #indie rp #roleplay search #rp finder #roleplay finder #18+ rp #1x1 rp #fandom rp

[ppoppokari]

Just a note… I’m opening all my ship requests for other fandoms just for October so any types can be for any fandoms until the 31st that being said I’m busy with a fic and uni so the Halloween ones may be delayed but please request Halloween is free for all!

If this works out I might open up a sideblog for other ships and fandom writings , so let me know if it’s something you’re into

#kpop matchups #kpop ships #marvel ships #dc ships #stranger things ships #st #Harry Potter ships #hp ships #got ships #hemlock grove ships #13rw ships #Wednesday ships #mao dao zu shi ships #the untamed ships #tua ships #the umbrella academy ships #life is strange ships #lis ships #kingdom hearts ships #kingdom hearts matchups #barbie ships #fandom Drabble #marvel oneshot #hp one shots #hp x reader #AHS American horror story #stranger things x reader #stranger things oneshot a #sp x reader #south park ships

[daenystheedreamer]

Your werewolf vampire posting reminds me of hemlock grove. Which is honestly something you'd probably enjoy

quick search of this series confirms i would enjoy it. tbh i love all urban vamp/were media so it doesnt take much to grab me but ao3 says theres a gay ship and the pennywise skarsgard is one of the gays so #slay. also hemlock grove is such a titillating sensuous name i enjoy it very much

#unfortunately eli roth is involved but i can look past that<3 like he hasnt done anything i just dont like his movies #ask #anonymous #its on The List

[slippinmickeys]

Three Part Harmony (8/?)

When they finally pulled up to the cabin — after a long and bumpy trek down a muddy, rutted driveway that wound through a hemlock grove choked with cedar — Mulder was beyond gassed, pushed to the limit of what he could endure. Shock, trauma, joy, distress. The gamut of human emotion, and nothing but highway hypnosis with which to ruminate on them all. Beside him, Scully dozed with her head resting gently against the glass of the passenger door, the white of her bandage just peeking out from between clumps of dark hair.

Between his eyes, in the very spot where — in his partner — a malignant growth had once threatened her life, a throbbing pain began to emanate; an aggregation of emotion, exhaustion, the swirling miasma of stress hormones on a brain forced into sustained fight-or-flight. He sighed and reached forward to switch off the radio, though the silence did nothing to alleviate the ache. Ducking his head to look up through the windshield, he peered at the building before him. SAFE , the waitress had written. He certainly hoped she was right.

The cabin was an A-frame, the hard planes of its roof slanting down almost to the ground, its ridge cap sharp and straight as an inverted knife. It was painted a dark gray with navy trim around the doors and eaves, and the front of the building was a near solid mass of both square and triangular windows crisscrossed with support beams. Reflecting the lights of the car for a moment as Mulder turned, it looked, he thought, like a brigantine tall ship with all of its sails unfurled. The light shone on it and then was past, the house sinking back into the murk of the trees that surrounded it.

He pulled over onto a cramped area of leveled dirt just to the side of the house and killed the engine. He glanced into the backseat at the sleeping baby, the boy’s face slack, a bit of drool wetting his ample lower lip. Mulder had, while on the run — before Scully had joined him — launched himself into the future during moments of downtime, and imagined a life in which the three of them existed; unhunted, unafraid, unruffled by the problems of the present, of the past. He would picture the most mundane of scenarios: the three of them sitting down to breakfast, how the boy's face might screw up while trying to throw a fastball, the way Scully’s voice would sound calling William in for dinner. It never went further than that — simple acts of domesticity — but the act alone kept him level, kept him sane, ground at the edges of his despair so that they were dulled, not sharp enough to prick him. Not sharp enough to draw blood.

“Scully,” he whispered.

She roused with a sharp inhale and blinked several times as she sat up, a look of confusion passing over her face as she fought to reconcile her surroundings with what they had been only the day before. She probably was hoping she’d wake to find it had all been a bad dream.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice still low. She nodded, and after a brief hesitation, brought her hand up to the back of her neck.

A flash of worry arced across his mind before he could turn it away. “Scully?” he said again.

“Anesthetic wore off,” she explained, giving him a small reassuring smile. “It’s just a little sore.”

He reached over and took her hand, giving it a squeeze. She returned the gesture and glanced briefly back at a still sleeping William before turning her gaze up through the windows of the car and to the cabin beyond them.

“This is it?” she asked, looking at the house assessingly.

“Yeah,” Mulder said. He had plucked the map the waitress had given them from Scully’s fingers as soon as she’d succumbed to sleep, flicking on the dome light for a moment every few miles to check their progress. There was nothing else around for miles.

“Sorry I fell asleep on you,” she apologized, her eyes falling to the worn, scrawled-upon sheet that now sat slightly rumpled in Mulder’s lap. “I was supposed to navigate.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “It’s fine.”

She looked back at the cabin. “There’s no one else here?” she asked.

“Doesn’t look like it,” Mulder replied, turning to look at the house, too.

It sat, dark and stolid, beneath the canopy of dripping trees, though now that the car’s headlights were off, Mulder could see the faintest lambency from inside it, a soft penumbra of light glowing from a back room, as though someone had lit a hearthfire. It was a welcoming light, he thought. Honeyed and warm.

“I suppose one of us should go check it out,” Mulder sighed. He was run through with exhaustion and worn raw with nerves, but he leaned over Scully to open the glove compartment where they’d stashed the three guns. He grabbed the Glock, the closest one to hand, when Scully put a hand on his arm.

“Let me,” she said. “I’ve at least gotten a bit of rest today.”

Scully could, quite enviably, drop to sleep without the slightest provocation, and after the day they’d had, he couldn’t blame her in the slightest. Mulder imagined how rough he must look, eyes bloodshot and bleary, and handed over the weapon without a word. He would stay in the car with William.

Scully expertly checked the clip and the action, and finding it up to snuff, opened the door to the car and stepped out into the night. Mulder let his head fall back against the headrest, listening to the engine click and knock as it began to cool. Just as he felt himself drifting off, Scully was back, smelling woodsy, her breath curling up in twisting tendrils of steam.

“Seems okay,” she said, when she opened the door. She tucked the Glock into the back of her pants and ducked into the open passenger door to better talk to him. “There’s a lamp on in a back bedroom. Couldn’t see much beyond that. But there’s no movement.”

Mulder was aware – with that big bank of windows in the front – that the second they turned on the lights in the house, anyone outside of it would easily be able to see in. Not that there was anyone around.

He nodded. “You try the door?”

“It’s unlocked,” she nodded back. “I did a cursory check. I’ll do another when we get in. There’s no one there.” If she was certain, so was he.

Mulder rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Did you happen to see a bed?”

Scully looked at him with a sympathetic look.

“Come on, Mulder,” she said, “I’ll get William.”

Mulder didn’t even fight her, just unfolded himself from the car and reached in to grab a random selection of Walmart bags from the back. Scully unlocked the car seat and awkwardly maneuvered it into the front. She then pulled down the glove compartment and grabbed the other two pistols. Before Mulder could figure out what she was doing, she had walked over to him and tucked the Smith & Wesson into the waistband of his pants, leaning in to speak in a low tone. “Safety’s on,” she said, and then made her way back to the car to grab the car seat. “We’re right behind you.”

Mulder led the way through what there was of a yard, which was mainly gritty dirt overlaid with a damp layer of pine needles and last year’s leaves. They squelched over to the porch and up the waterlogged wood of the steps to the side of the house where he found a stark white storm door and a sodden welcome mat inlaid with flowers and words he couldn’t make out.

“It’s open,” Scully said again from behind him, and he pulled open the flimsy outer door and wiped his feet on the mat without even realizing he’d done so.

The main door stuck ever so slightly when he pushed on it, but he shouldered his way through and was surprised to be met with warm, dry air suffused with the faintest hit of potpourri. He dropped the bags near the wall and took the baby from Scully, who edged past him with her gun at low ready.

“Gonna do a quick walk-through,” she said, and he nodded, setting the snoozing child on the floor so he could shut and lock the door.

The area through which they entered opened into an open concept living room and kitchen, with a big fireplace at the center of the room that was studded with fat fieldstone masonry that went up two floors and disappeared into the ceiling. Past the kitchen, there was a single hallway that led to the back of the cabin, which Scully walked down a moment later.

“Think we’re clear,” she said, dropping the gun down to hang at her side.

“What’s the layout?” Mulder asked.

“Two small bedrooms and a bathroom through here,” she nodded toward the hallway. “I think there may be a loft up there.” At this, she tilted her head to a low wall that ran along the main room’s ceiling and ended at the chimney. She looked around a moment and found the stairs on the far side of the fireplace, reappearing a few moments later. “Another bed and a small bathroom,” she said, finally tucking her pistol into the back of her pants.

“Point me toward a bed and give me a shove,” he said wearily and she obliged, giving him a gentle push in the direction of the hallway. He plodded down it as though walking through molasses, each step feeling like more work than the last. Finally, he stumbled through a doorway, not even noticing which bedroom he’d entered, and fell, face-first, onto the small double bed he found there, which gave a plaintive creak. He considered toeing off his shoes, closed his eyes and knew nothing.

Xx

He awoke with a start, a hand squeezing his arm and a whispered voice in his ear.

“Mulder, there’s someone coming.”

He roused himself to consciousness with difficulty, his head feeling like it was filled with cotton batting. He could feel the hard nose of the pistol still tucked into his waistband, and his feet, still in the steel-toed boots he’d put on that morning, were half asleep. It was dark outside, and the lamp in the neighboring room shone dully down the hallway. When he stood, he could see headlights approaching through distant trees past the large windows at the front of the house.

He rose to his feet and got his bearings, sidestepped William who was still sleeping in his car seat next to Scully’s side of the bed and stalked down the hallway and to the front of the house, Scully right on his heels. The windows, as he approached them, leaked a frosty chill, as the air might sigh from a cellar.

“What do you think?” Scully asked, pressing herself to his side, peering out the glass of the sliding doors along the front of the house and into the night. There were headlights bouncing down the rutted driveway, getting close, and both he and Scully instinctively ducked down as they were briefly illuminated by the lights as they panned across the building. The car turned to back in next to their Grand Prix and parked, sitting for a moment with the engine idling and the lights still on. Scully had her gun out, and she was obviously asking if Mulder thought that the men in black had managed to find them.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Something tells me They don’t drive a Datsun.”

A moment later, the waitress from the diner emerged from the driver's side and crossed over behind the car – a waft of pinkish exhaust shimmering around her, reflecting the red haze of the taillights and making her appear, however briefly, like a saint in a religious painting. She disappeared a second later behind the raised deck lid of the trunk. Mulder glanced at Scully and watched as she moved the gun from one hand and into her other.

Then the trunk closed, and the waitress was awkwardly carrying two brown paper grocery bags, stumbling a little under their weight in the double-cone of light from her car.

As the woman approached the steps, Mulder moved to the entryway of the cabin and pulled open the front door for her, pushing at the outer storm door with more force than necessary, which clacked into the side of the building with a concussive thwack!

The waitress jumped back in surprise, breathing hard, and would have probably clutched a hand to her chest if they hadn’t been full.

“Hi,” Mulder said awkwardly, then stepped forward onto the porch. “Can I help you with those?”

“Hi,” she replied, fumbling a bit with one of the bags which Mulder took from her. “Thank you,” she said, following him into the house.

He closed the door behind her as she moved into the space, dropping the bag she still carried heavily onto the kitchen counter which was made of thick butcher’s block and scarred from use.

“I’m sorry,” he said, setting the other bag gently down beside it. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She heaved a sigh and leaned against the countertop. “Not your fault. I’m,” she swallowed heavily. “I’m jumpier than a virgin on her wedding night.”

Beside him, Scully surreptitiously tucked her weapon into her pants and pulled her shirt down over the handle.

The woman was still dressed in her work uniform, a short sleeved white button-down shirt with a red polyester skirt. She had the shape of an hourglass and wore hose that creased a bit around thick ankles before disappearing into sensible black shoes. She still wore an apron, and a name tag that was a little droopy.

“Rhonda?” Mulder asked, dipping his head toward the woman and holding out a tentative hand to shake.

“Oh! My manners!” the woman said, wiping her hands onto her apron before reaching out to shake Mulder’s hand.

“Steve,” he said, shooting a quick look at Scully.

“I’m Lisa,” his partner said, reaching forward and taking Rhonda’s hand. “And please don’t trouble yourself over etiquette. You’ve invited perfect strangers into your home. We’re incredibly grateful.”

The woman waved a hand dismissively. “It’s not my home,” she said. “This place belonged to my uncle. He used to come out here to fish. It’s mine now. A little rustic, I admit. I use it when I need to get away. You’re welcome here. Don’t you give it another thought.”

Mulder’s eyes were pulled toward the headlights of the car that was still idling in the drive.

“Do you want me to go turn off your car?” he asked.

“Oh, please,” the woman said, and he didn’t wait for another word, just trotted out the door and down the steps so he could covertly check out the woman’s car.

He swung into the driver’s seat and looked around, as if orienting himself. There was an extra apron with five or six pens sticking out of the pocket folded neatly in the passenger seat and an empty coffee cup with a small half moon of lipstick around the lid in the cup holder. The rest of the car was neat as a pin. He turned off the headlights and turned the keys in the ignition, looking at the house once before tilting down her glove box and peeking inside. There was a battered owners manual, a couple of pieces of loose paper; the car’s registration and insurance information, and a small flashlight. The name on the registration was Rhonda Fitzsimmons. He closed everything back up the way he found it and pulled the keys, exiting the car and walking back through the night. The woman seemed to be who she appeared.

When he walked back into the house, Rhonda was just asking Scully a question.

“Where’s the little one?”

Mulder saw Scully stiffen, but she answered politely enough. “He’s asleep.”

As he approached them both, he held out the keys, handing them to Rhonda, which earned him a smile of thanks. Mulder gave his partner an All Clear nod and watched as Scully leaned against the counter opposite Rhonda, mirroring her stance. She looked as tired as Mulder felt.

“I have to ask,” he said. “How did you know we needed help? How did you know about the men in the diner?”

Rhonda sucked on her teeth for a moment, scrutinizing him. Finally, she ran her fingernails along the countertop in a horse-like cadence and said:

“Well,” her soft lilting accent making the word sound like ‘whale.’ “I didn’t like the way they looked and Shandricka didn’t like the way they felt.”

“How do you mean?” Mulder asked.

“That smile,” Rhonda shuddered. “It was off. Too big, you know? Capital gums, lowercase teeth.”

Mulder had to suppress an almost hysterical urge to laugh. “And…How did they feel?”

“Like they’d steal the sugar out of a cake, Ricka said.”

“But you gave us that map before those men even came in,” Scully said, narrowing her eyes. “I never even saw them.”

“Y’all were scared,” the woman narrowed her eyes back at Scully. “Y’all are scared.” She turned her eyes to Mulder. “I know from scared.” She said this last phrase with a lift of her chin. With the look of someone who’d swum through a river of adversity and came out the other side. “And when they came in, well… I’m just glad you’re here. I followed them, you know.”

The tired look on Scully’s face disappeared.

“What do you mean you followed them?”

“Those men. After they left the diner. Ricka took over my shift and I followed them. A ways back, they never saw me, don’t you worry. They went out Route 30. Pulled into old Doc Shepherd's place and gawped around like they’d lost their keys. I’d bet twenty bucks they’re still sittin’ in that parking lot hollering at each other,” she said. Then she added, almost confidentially, “I wouldn’t know cause I kept driving on past.”

“You’re sure no one followed you?” Scully asked.

“I’m certain,” Rhonda said with enough authority that Mulder didn’t hesitate to take her at her word.

“Doc Shepherd,” he said, gleaning an idea. “What kind of doctor is he?”

“Doc Shepherd is a she,” Rhonda said. “A veterinarian.”

Xx

Not long after that, Rhonda had insisted that they get some sleep. She’d be staying in the loft, she said, and would be up late reading. She assured them that she was a light sleeper and could hear anything from up in the loft – that the acoustics of the house funneled sound right to her and she’d know the minute anyone entered the valley, much less the house.

Mulder and Scully, overcome with exhaustion, capitulated.

They shuffled into the bedroom, William on the floor close to where Scully’s head would rest. The room was dark but for the light coming in from the hallway, vaguely illuminating knotty pine walls, amateur paintings of woodland scenes, antique furniture too small to be of much use. They each pulled out their guns, hiding them under the pillows, and Scully hid the third one in the small bedside cabinet. She kicked off her shoes and pants, pulled her shirt over her head, and slid into the small bed in just her undershirt and panties. Mulder closed the bedroom door softly, and, feeling like he needed to be ready to leap into action at a moment's notice, took off only his shirt and toed off his boots, getting into the bed in the tatty jeans he’d been wearing all day. Normally, Scully would have clocked the infraction and complained loudly, but tonight, she held her peace.

The bed was narrow, small, and his feet hung off the end. Nevertheless, it felt cozy and calm with Scully close at hand, the warmth of her seeping into his side. Outside, he could hear the wind pushing through the branches of the trees, and just beyond the hallway he heard Rhonda puttering around, opening and closing cupboards, putting away groceries. Beside him, he swore he could hear the beat of Scully’s heart and the soft, elfin sounds of William’s whistling breath.

Scully reached over and grabbed his hand, squeezing it. After a moment, a thought occurred to him, and he reached deep into his pocket.

“Sit up,” he whispered.

“What?”

“Sit up,” he said again softly, and Scully obeyed, looking at him curiously.

He pulled out the soft gold chain and held it up in between fingers and thumbs, the tiny cross sliding down to sway gently from its middle.

Understanding dawning on her, Scully bowed her head. Without a word, he slipped the chain around her neck and fastened the hook, bending forward to press a long, soft kiss to the skin just below her bandage.

Then they each eased back, the bed softly creaking and rustling under them, and slid into the horse latitudes of the night where everything went quiet and still.

#the x-files #fanfic #my fic #msr #wip #on the run #family fic #without fluff

[redheadbigshoes]

“Bury Your Gays” trope (queer characters die)

*Reminder that all the media included here does not necessarily portray the characters as something positive, this is just about which media has this trope.

*Pls check parental rating if you’re a minor.

MOVIES:

Sapphics: Anon, Atomic Blonde, Beyond the Valley of the Dolls, Blood of the Tribades, Bonnie & Bonnie, Chloe, Eloïse's Lover, Jennifer’s Body, Land of the Dead, Lost and Delirious, Maggie & Annie, One Night in October, Rabid Grannies, Sappho, Trap For Cinderella, Turkey Shoot, With a Kiss I Die, You Might be the Killer.

MLM: Bent, The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, Braveheart, Cruising, The Damned (1969), Deathtrap, Europa Europa, Mary Queen of Scots, The Retreat (2021), A Single Man, Victim (1961), Werewolves Within, Your Highness.

Both sapphic and mlm: Cloud Atlas, V for Vendetta.

LITERATURE:

MLM: After Doomsday, Armada, The Big Sleep, The Book Of All Hours, The Book Of Lost Things, Ghoul, The Last Werewolf, The Picture of Dorian Gray.

Sapphic: The Asylum For Wayward Victorian Girls, The Bell Jar, Left Behind.

Both: The Goblin Emperor, Kushiel’s Legacy, The Stand.

TV:

Sapphic: The 100, All in the Family, Arrow, Black Mirror: San Junipero, Boardwalk Empire, Cursed, Dark Angel, Das Boot, Hemlock Grove, The Last Ship,

MLM: The Assassination of Gianni Versace, As The World Turns, The Magicians (2016), Misfits, Sense8, The Rookie (2018),

Both: Buffy The Vampire Slayer, Doctor Who, Emmerdale, Killing Eve, Supernatural, The Vampire Diaries, Why Women Kill.

#queer rep #queer tropes #lgbt #lgbtqia #sapphic #wlw #mlm #long post

[lemonhoarddragoness]

People you would like to get to know better

I was tagged by @chrisoels , thank you very much!

1. Three ships: Nancy Wheeler/Robin Buckley (Stranger Things), Korra/Asami (Legend of Korra), The Doctor/Seven of Nine (Star Trek Voyager)

2. First ever ship: Janeway/Chakotay (Star Trek Voyager)

3. Last song: Suspicious Minds - Fine Young Cannibals

4. Last movie: Star Wars: Episode IV – A New Hope (trying to start the SW universe with my partner this summer - I was... interesting to say the least).

5. Currently reading: She Who Became the Sun by Shelley Parker-Chan (I'm a hella slow reader but it's genuinely v good and intreguing read through).

6. Currently watching: Hemlock Grove for the giggles

7. Currently consuming: freeze dried strawberries

8. Currently craving: Escapism from the excitement of irl life

Tagging, if you want: I don't really have anyone I can think of to tag rn but anyone is welcome to join in as they'd like!

#thank you for tagging me! #about me