#repeat after me: you will not turn this into another multi chapter fic

[sailorshadzter]

roses from the bastard born king in the north

@snowstoneweek

She doesn’t dare believe that she’s here. 

It’s only been in her dreams that she returns to Winterfell, to her home, and yet… Here she was in the courtyard, sliding down from her gray mare, swallowing against the rising tide of emotions within her. Everything was as she remembers it to be and it fills her with such warmth, such comfort, that she thinks for a moment she might fall to her knees in relief. Prayers she once believed could never be answered, have been, and she finds herself longing to see the godswood, to perhaps say a prayer of thanks to the gods for finally listening to her pleas. 

“Daughter…” The voice prompts her back into the present and she turns to face the man that now stands at her elbow, reminding her that even if she was home, she must pretend it never belonged to her at all. “Are you ready?” Lord Baelish asks with that sick, sinister smile of his and she lets out a long, deep breath with a single nod. “Come then…” He offers her his arm, which she takes, and allows him to steer her away from their horses and up the steps that would lead them inside and out of the cold.

“Welcome to Winterfell, my lord, my lady,” a man she doesn’t know greets at the door, his accent one she cannot place, but with a warmth to his face that brings her some comfort. “The King has been awaiting your arrival,” he continues on, gesturing back towards the double doors that would lead into the great hall, where night after night she had dined with her family as a child. Those days felt like a lifetime ago, in truth, days so far away it was almost as if they had never even happened. “I am Davos Seaworth, Hand to the King.” The older man continues on and now she knows who he is, for Lord Baelish has explained him to her in the days leading up to their journey North. “Come…” He turns and they follow after him, down the short distance to the doors and through them into the hall.

Her heart skips a beat at the sight before her- there, sitting behind the head table, is her family. Well, two of them, at least. Little Rickon sits at Jon’s elbow, his once unruly curls now secured in a fashion similar to the brother he sits before. She’s plunged into a memory then, of little hands tugging on her skirts, of a baby brother she had loved unlike all of the others. A baby brother she loved as if he were her very own. The memory fades and she is careful to keep her face impassive as she and Baelish approach the table, sweeping this King in the North a curtsy she hopes he does not recall from childhood. 

From where he sits, Jon watches as the pair enters and approaches him there at the table. Lord Baelish is an ugly man, he notes, with dark, wild eyes that gives him the impression that he is up to something more than he lets on. But the young woman at his side…? Jon is awestruck by her beauty, with dark hair so long it sweeps across her lower back as she moves, her blue eyes looking up at him from beneath her lashes as she sinks into a curtsy far better than even the most noble of women he’s met. “Your grace,” Lord Baelish speaks, drawing Jon’s attention back to him, though he could easily stare at the young woman for far longer. “Thank you for receiving us, we are grateful for your hospitality.” He continues on with a smile that speaks the same as his gaze; Jon will remember well not to trust this man. It was strange enough, he supposes, that of all people Lord Baelish would wish to meet him- he had pegged him as a Lannister man, after all. “To have a Stark back in Winterfell is a welcome sight indeed.” His eyes glance at the little boy seated to his side, noticing that the child is staring not at him, but at the girl beside him. Baelish had counted on the boy being too young to remember his sister, but perhaps he had been foolish to think so. “This is my daughter, Alayne,” he pushes onward, gesturing towards her, urging her forward another step or so. “We are eager to pledge ourselves to you, my king.” There is that sickly smile once more, sending chills down his spine. 

Jon’s gaze shifts back to the young woman, wondering why now he’s struck by the notion he knows her from somewhere. It’s like a long lost memory, something he’s forgotten, coming back in pieces to him. The way her lips curve when she offers a smile… The soft sound of her voice when she finally speaks… Your grace… It has never sounded sweeter. “It is a pleasure to meet you both,” Jon says, turning back to Baelish. “I was surprised to receive your letter as I thought you were in King’s Landing,” he speaks plainly, without hesitation. “But, if you are here to support the North, then I welcome you to Winterfell.” 

“I was in King’s Landing for a time, but considering the circumstances there…” They both know what he speaks of- the death of Joffrey and the crowning of his kid brother, a boy who would be little more than a puppet king for the Lannisters. “I decided it best for me to return home to my daughter and the Vale. My ward, Robin Arryn you know is but a boy himself, I must see to his bringing up.” 

“Aye, I recall hearing of his mother’s sudden death,” Jon points out and Baelish looks down, as if overcome with grief at the mention of Lysa Arryn. “She was my siblings' aunt, so we mourned her well here in Winterfell.” Beside her father, Alayne stirs, as if struck by what he’s just said, but quickly as it comes her face becomes solemn once more and Jon must wonder if he’s only just imagined it. “You must be tired from your journey North, let me have you shown to your chambers.” Jon goes on, to which Baelish gives a nod and another bow, ever the courtier. 

When they have gone, Jon turns to his little brother at his side, a boy of just eleven now, with eyes that remind him of Sansa and hair that reminds him of Robb. “What is it, Rickon?” Jon asks, noting his brother’s silence and frowning lips. He thinks that perhaps even this child has seen through Lord Baelish’s charms and has an unsettling feeling in him that he doesn’t quite understand. 

“It’s just…” Rickon begins, but trails off with a shake of his head. Only when Jon encourages him further does the boy speak. “I thought I might know her, Lady Alayne I mean.” Jon blinks, startled by these words, for had he not thought the very same thing? “I cannot place her, but she is familiar to me, like a long lost dream I once had.” The boy turns those blue eyes upon him and Jon pats his head, offering him no solution, for those thoughts were one and the same with his own. 

But, Jon knows one thing was for certain- he wanted to speak with her alone. 

[ x x x ]

As the sun rises above the horizon, casting daylight across the snowy landscape, she’s already in the godswood. 

It is surreal to be beneath the canopy of weirwood trees once more and she feels the sting of tears in her eyes as she sinks down beneath the heart tree. How often had she found her father in this very place, his dark eyes closed, his lips pursed in thought? She and her siblings had played among these trees, had run and laughed and spun with excitement as only children could do. After all her time in King’s Landing, she had quite forgotten what it felt like to feel at home and the rush of this emotion has her wiping tears from her cheeks before long. 

If only the rest of her family could be here… If only the family that was there could know who she really was. That thought alone was enough to diminish the warm feeling in her chest and she sighs, wishing with all of her heart that things could be different. To embrace Rickon… Jon… It would give meaning back into her life. Even if it were just once… It would be enough to get her through the rest of her life without them. 

Across the way, Jon watches her, having come down for his usual moment of silence before the day begins. Like her, he thinks of Ned Stark when he’s here, he thinks of a past he misses dearly, of family he’s lost to death and time. His breath escapes in a cloud of white- it was exceptionally cold this morning, but she seems to be right at home there in the snow, her wool skirts gathered around her where she sits, nothing but a simple cloak draped over her shoulders. He decides he cannot stand there staring any longer, so he approaches, the snow crunching beneath his boots signaling to her his arrival. She looks up and for a moment, he thinks she means to jump up, but he shakes his head. “Stay as you are,” he says with a grin, gesturing towards the open place beside her. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but if I may…” She blushes crimson but gives a single nod, scooting over just a bit, giving them an appropriate space between them as he sits down beside her. “How are you enjoying your time in Winterfell so far, my lady?” Jon asks, shifting so he can face her, only to find she’s already looking his way. “You seem unbothered by the cold.” 

A laugh escapes her before she can stop it and when she speaks, she’s still smiling. “It is true, I don’t mind the cold at all,” she replies, folding her hands in her lap as she tilts her head, dark hair tumbling over her shoulder. “It does snow in the Vale, though it isn’t nearly as cold.” She knows she shouldn’t be here, talking with Jon like this, but now that he was there before her, she couldn’t walk away. “It is beautiful here, your grace,” she goes on, thinking of what Alayne would truly say in this moment. “I am eager to see more, my father told me of the famed blue roses your gardens grow. I would like to see them.” 

Jon chuckles, knowing well of the roses of which she speaks, winter roses that only grew in the coldest freezes. In truth, the gardens were full of them even now, at the very start of the cold season. “See them you shall do then, my lady,” he says and she’s smiling again, a smile that reminds him of the glow of the moon. 

“You know, you needn’t call me lady, your grace,” the word is like a knife to her heart, thinking of her beloved wolf, dead all these years now. “I am but bastard born.” 

“Aye and so am I,” he replies with a shrug, as if it means little to him. “Yet you and all the others still call me king.” Her blue eyes widen with surprise and then her features soften, her lips parting as if she means to say something more. But from somewhere in the distance, they both hear the morning call finally ring out. 

“I should go,” she says, suddenly jumping to her feet, as if she’s been spooked by the sound.

 Jon follows after, catching her by the hand before she can turn to go. “Alayne,” he calls her by just her given name, surprising her once more, as he draws her hand to his lips for the softest of kisses, as if she were the queen and he the subject. As her hand slips away, the warmth of his lips remains, even long after they’ve parted ways.

[ x x x ]

When supper comes and she steps into the great hall with Baelish at her side, she’s greeted by the dozens of lords and ladies that have come to dine with their King in the North. She’s once more reminded of childhood, of days when her parents would host dinners for the lords, for even the King himself; nights of laughter and warmth, of ale and good food, of music and perhaps even dancing. 

At the head table Jon sits once more, wearing black as he always had done, curls slicked back with a coronet of black resting on his brow. Beside him, Rickon is handsome in blue wool, his hair style once again matching his elder brother’s. She smiles at the sight of it, wondering if Robb was still alive, would Rickon wear his curls loose as he had once done? “Your grace,” Baelish greets the king and his brother as they come to stand before the table. “It is as if Ned Stark sits before me once again.” Most Northerners did not trust this man, Jon has come to find out, and certainly his father would have been among them. 

However, Jon smiles for the compliment, but merely nods in response. “Before you take your seats,” Jon holds up a hand and the man in Stark colors that stands at the back door, one which she knows leads to another corridor, pushes it open so someone can come through. “For you, my lady,” he says as a maid comes forward, holding in her hand a wreath of beautiful blue roses. He rises up to his feet, taking the roses into his own hands, leaning over the table so he can crown her head with them himself. She’s blushing crimson as her hands come up to gingerly touch the silky soft petals, the weight of the crown she now wears somehow comforting. Jon offers her a smile and she remembers herself, sweeping him a curtsy before she allows Baelish to lead her towards the table where they would sit. 

And that night, even when she returned to her rooms, she would still have that crown of blue roses perched upon her head.

#jonsa #actuallyjonsa #jonsaweek2023 #jonsa week #snowstoneweek #my writing #i wrote this #repeat after me: you will not turn this into another multi chapter fic

[sarahisslytherin]

𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐔𝐌 || 𝐁.𝐁.

summary: you’ve been receiving love letters from a secret admirer and you’re desperate to reveal his identity. contains: benedict being fucking adorable, fluff n’ angst! a/n: first part of this multi-chapter fic.

It was a day like any other. You woke to the humming of the maid, the hum-drum of life about the house. You rubbed sleep from your eyes as you reluctantly got out of bed. You selected your gown for the day after scouring through your wardrobe of various shades of pastel. You bid good morning to the servants as you made your way downstairs and joined your family for breakfast. There your mother urgently reminded you (as if you had forgotten from one day to the next) the importance that you find yourself a suitor, someone of good rank.

But you barely had any mind to pay her; for it was elsewhere, with another. You cut your breakfast short, unable to bear any more talk of suitors and marriage and a life without love. You were buttoning your coat when an angel descended the staircase. Well, it wasn’t truly an angel; only your lady’s maid, but the letter she held in her hand couldn’t have been any more sacred to you. She passed it to you and your eyes met hers, the looks you exchanged almost like those of two best friends trading gossip, or in this case, your own little secret.

You slipped the sealed envelope into your coat pocket before finally stepping out the door and down the front steps. Outside, London was alive and full of the colors of spring. Though you could’ve walked the streets for hours on end, you opted to head straight to the park and sat down on the nearest bench. You sifted through your pocket, pulling the envelope out. You couldn’t help noting that it smelled of lavender and cinnamon as you gently broke the seal. There, the words you had been waiting anxiously to read.

Dearest,

I dreamt of you last night. I dreamt of those eyes so deep I was tempted to swim in them. Of that laugh so melodious I was tempted to turn it into a symphony. Of the lips so sweet I was tempted to kiss them. Alas, I know not if I shall ever reveal myself to you. I know you must be dying to figure me out. But you must understand I couldn’t bear to be rejected by you. You drive me mad! When I am awake, you occupy my every thought, and when I sleep you visit me in dreams! I am a tormented man, but oh, how smitten I am with my torment! I clutch it to my chest and carry it with me wherever I go. How could I not? When it was you who gave it to me. Such a state of delirium is the one you have driven me to, simply by existing. Anyway, all this to say that I love you and always will. Write to me, my love. I’ll be waiting.

You pressed the piece of paper to your heart, beating faster than ever. You folded the letter back and let it fall into your pocket once more before starting for the Bridgerton house. It took every fiber in you to go on with this written affair for months on end without uttering a word to your good friend Daphne. But you felt it was something too precious, too fragile to speak of; like a creature as easily spooked as it is beautiful. 

This was what you repeated to yourself in your mind when you arrived at the Bridgertons’, and Daphne swore you had a glow about you only people in love wear. 

“Come now, who is it?” she teased as she delicately sipped her tea. “You must tell me!” 

You shook your head with a playful roll of your eyes. “There truly is nothing to tell, Daph. You must believe me.”

“Nonsense!” she poked on. “I wish to know the lucky gentleman who has you so obviously smitten.” It was then that the others entered the parlor. Anthony, with Kate on his arm, and Colin and Benedict following suit. “Fill us in on today’s gossip, sister.” jested Benedict as he lounged on the nearest chaise with his usual happy-go-lucky air. How handsome he looked today, his jet black hair shiny as ever, his grey eyes twinkling with mischief. 

“There’s nothing to share, you busybody.” Daphne scolded him lightly. “Mind your own affairs.” At this, Benedict shot you a cheeky look, one you couldn’t help but return. You wondered if your secret admirer was as handsome as he was, as sweet and boyish.

“Oh!” Daphne exclaimed suddenly. “I forgot to tell you! We are holding a ball this weekend! Isn’t that exciting?” You felt yourself light up at the news. Exciting indeed. Many things can happen at a ball, dances shared and souls intertwined, and perhaps a certain identity revealed.

tagging: @velvetcloxds @oweninadaydream @holdthegirrrl

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton oneshot

[melis-writes]

Eyes like Stars [Bobby Axel x Reader Multi-chapter, 18+ Smut] Chapter 18 - The Secrets We Keep.

Read on AO3 / Read Chapter 17 [AO3] / [Tumblr] / Chapter Masterlist. / Fic Playlist.

18+ explicit smut, multi-chapter read.

“You sure as hell weren’t looking out for me when you called the police to investigate and interrogate me!” / “Your girlfriend’s carrying.”

Your cycle of addiction relies on nothing but the change neither you nor Bobby can commit to. From worries of another panic to the danger Bobby carries as Santo's best supplier, your words of worry and warning have turned to hypocrisy. Sykes is onto you and to avoid blackmail and potentially losing your job, you find yourself dealing to him against your own wishes. Creating a rift of distrust from lies between Bobby and you, Bobby is now under the impression you're cheating on him.

[WARNINGS]: Mentions & depictions of drug addiction and use / Rough smut / Sex while high / Drug dealing.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: Back to Emily and Bobby's story! 🥺 At this point I can say we're more than halfway into the fic's storyline but focused on where Bobby and Emily's relationships will go from the choices and lies they make. The calm before the storm is finally over. 😔💔

Bobby’s release from prison marks the end of his and Helen’s relationship and you find yourself spending more time with Bobby and taking care of him after everything he’s been through. Working and living in Manhattan as a college drop-out, you distance yourself from Helen who Bobby and you take solace with one another in hopes to get out of the toxic lifestyle of drug use—promising each other to start a new life with one another and get clean. Falling in love with Bobby, you experience a mutual, passionate and loving relationship with its own highs and lows that promises to bloom into something more serious but also can threaten to collapse. As Bobby’s new girlfriend, your relationship hangs on a thread with old skeletons coming back into Bobby’s life, relapses, and a new panic on the horizon that threatens to undo it all.

‘I will never change.’ You tell yourself, slouching on the couch next to Bobby and trailing your fingertips over the bruising needle marks upon your wrist.

‘And neither will Bobby.’ Completely slumped on the couch from a heavy and lingering high, Bobby keeps his head low and eyes half open—riding the sensation of drowsy numbness the heroin provides him.

Once again you find yourself in the middle of a repeating cycle you cannot change. Bobby and you always come upon the conversation of changing, but nothing works—remaining the same way out of desperation.

‘Nothing happens every single time.’ It might as well be wasted potential from the beginning—just like what many consider Bobby to be. You still can’t wrap your head around how you got to this point—how Bobby got to this point.

Whatever happened to Bobby being clean from here on out after his release from prison? Bobby promised not only you but himself that he would neither use nor deal but now both of you are embroiled in both so what does that say about your actions and words?

If Bobby continues to destroy his health and body from the inside out, the doctor’s visit you took him to would even be considered a waste. When has Bobby ever cared though?

Then again, you didn’t stop Bobby. You didn’t stop him from using or dealing again you’re used to succumbing to peer pressure in a relationship with the worst influence of all time.

There’s no excuse for what you do and choose to do because you can’t blame Bobby for everything. 

All you and Bobby can claim now are that you both don’t care anymore. All that talk about moving out of Needle Park may just be a sober person’s fantasy or junkie’s joke. 

All you know is your addiction to substances and for Bobby and the only thing that’s true to you is how much you love him.

Perhaps you and Bobby simply have nothing to lose except one another, both in a sense of love and life.

The truth is that you and Bobby are both addicted to heroin and using cocaine or marijuana to handle it is just another form of denial.

Amidst your drug use, Bobby is the one and only person you look forward to seeing when you get home when you awaken, and who you go to bed with. You have nothing but Bobby and it’s the same for Bobby—all he has is you.

Other than dealing and supplying the “goods” to his friend group and around the street to every desperate junkie who can afford it, Bobby has nothing else to look forward to except getting home to you and getting high. 

All Bobby’s doing to keep himself happy is making a quick buck on the streets for himself and for Santo, because outside of the harrowing world he’s stepped into, you’re all Bobby knows it.

Here you both are two days later, having shared a needle together and shot up more junk through your veins.

Neither of you is consciously aware of whether you’re taking the “real dynamite” shit to get high and stay high, or if it's solely to avoid the drowsy, nauseating feeling of coming down.

Where Santo’s keeping his stock of heroin, he’s doing the same for cocaine and marijuana which you and Bobby help yourselves to plenty—lacing it together whenever you can.

You both have had your sex drives skyrocket whereas many other addicts and some in your friend group have little to a non-existent libido, even suffering from erectile dysfunction.

Practically fucking like rabbits against the kitchen counter, cowgirl over the diner table, Bobby pinning you up against the bathroom wall, and fucking your ass all rough, sloppy, and needy has become an addiction of its own kind too.

You both don’t stop until physical exhaustion racks over you both, cumming and going at it again and again.

The orgasms are heavenly and euphoric, intensified and feel as good as the first, sometimes motivating the two of you to get high just to feel it that way.

If you aren’t using or at work, then you’re fucking and doing nothing else. It may even be considered disruptive to your life, forgetting about everything and anything so long as Bobby’s inside you.

“Fuck, fuck,” Bobby hissed between gritted teeth, gripping your hips and pounding your pussy from behind in doggy style over the coffee table. 

“B-Bobby, Bobby! Uh!” Your voice trembled with every word as you clutched onto the end of the coffee table with all your strength.

“The fuck?” Bobby grunted, hearing the doorbell ring in the middle of fucking you good.

“The d-delivery guy—” You whimpered against the coffee table, almost having completely forgotten you two ordered pizza.

“Got it—I got it,” out of breath, Bobby pulled out of you suddenly and caused you to squeal; your pussy oozing out his last load of cum.

Ass naked with no time to grab anything on, Bobby grabbed the wad of cash over the kitchen counter you both set out for the pizza before he got to the front door; his cock still covered in his and your cum.

Only having opened the door enough to take the pizza box, Bobby throws the cash at the delivery guy and snatches the pizza out of his hands before Bobby slammed the door in his face.

You giggled at the sight and watched as Bobby scrambled to set the pizza down on the kitchen counter without spreading it, only to turn his head and see you spread open your pussy with your fingers as an invitation—showing Bobby your stretched little hole.

Back to fucking you ruthlessly and wasting no further time, you let out a screaming moan that the pizza delivery guy heard as he was making his way out of the apartment; signaling Bobby back inside of you for another round you lost count of.

If it isn’t fucking you or shooting up with you, Bobby continuously thinks of how lucky he has to have a girl like you keeping a roof over his head and loving him unconditionally.

Bobby bounces from your apartment to Santo’s hideout if he isn’t dealing but waiting for the next stash and keeping an eye on those who work for Santo and watching the stash he’ll soon deal out be made before his eyes.

Old business cards, playing cards, and anything with a sleek edge that’s all the same around are used to file the powder down to a perfect amount like an artisan mastering his craft.

Everyone’s hands move quickly like clockwork as if they’re doing any other daily routine, working fast.

Santo’s never replaced those working for him in his inner group—distrustful of outsiders and prefers to keep what most may call ‘normal people’ working under him instead.

Those who prepare, create and package the packs of heroin have no addictions themselves or anyone that they know of. They’re regular, ordinary people who raise no suspicion and go along with it; doing what they need to do to earn their pay.

Santo pays far too much with a promise for anyone to want to leave and that’s certainly the reality of Bobby and the money he makes from Santo now too. 

When you lose a steady resource like that, you’re back to being a desperate junkie on the streets willing to beg at a supplier’s feet or something—anything—just to shoot up again. 

You either find some means to support yourself or you lose it all, going to jail or in rehab. Either way, you get clean and you’re still unemployed but then the cycle begins anew.

Untouchable because of his trustworthy contacts, if Hotch came to arresting Santo or exposing him, a panic twice as bad as the last one would hit and remove a massive supply off the streets within a week. 

It would be ruin for Bobby and you know that means it would be ruin for you too.

But for as long as Bobby’s Santo’s main supplier in the streets of Upper West Side Manhattan, Bobby and you would never run out for yourselves and be the first to know of potential panic.

Now finding success in being a hotshot drug dealer, Bobby has no need or reason to think of having a future outside of what he’s done—letting drugs eat away at all of it.

Breaking the law, dealing and smuggling is like second nature now to Bobby and he’s not even aware of it.

Deep down but unfelt, there’s guilt inside Bobby’s heart for getting you involved in this mess and having to deal with him too, but as long as Bobby isn’t actively thinking about it, he doesn’t let the guilt get to him or influence him.

After all, it’s the same guilt Bobby felt when he looked to his side and noticed that he ended up getting Helen just as addicted as himself too. 

The sight of a syringe filled up with junk should remind Bobby of his upbringing and how it’s destroyed his life two times over, Bobby remembers money instead.

Bobby’s mind is only on the here and now; what he’s going to do, where he’s going to deal with and who he’s going to deal with, and nothing else. 

Crime and drugs were already all that Bobby knew in his upbringing as a child, growing up on these streets. Nothing has changed.

Bobby still can’t bring himself to hate Needle Park despite everything it's done to him and everyone else in it too, but it’s Bobby’s home and all he knows, and he has to love his home in a way.

Subconsciously thinking it, this life is the only life for Bobby and it’ll maybe it’ll just have to be the only life for you too.

The only life you knew before Bobby was work and home—nothing else. You’re tipping and harboring over addiction only because you’re not in the position to constantly get high or quite literally be a full-time addict. 

You can call it chipping all you want, but even you feel how your body begins to demand more substance to hold onto addiction while narrowly escaping it.

You’d rather snort a few lines of cocaine off a table and light up a joint every now and then to calm your nerves but nothing feels the same—nothing works the same. You can’t get out of the buzzing mindset gnawing and eating away at you and your body can’t cope without your fix of poison.

You no longer have a choice.

~

Your shift at work today is accompanied by gazes and stares Sykes doesn’t even intend on making discreet whether you’re shifting in your seat at your desk, standing up to go to the bathroom or even looking up from your dress—you always find Sykes’ eyes over yours.

Without explicitly having the conversation with you, Sykes would like you to know he didn’t say a word to Hotch nor did anyone come around to follow up. 

You’ve come to notice Sykes isn’t loud mouthing or walking around the office like he owns the place, as usual, today, assuming he’s still relatively stunned by the nature of Hotch’s visit. 

Nobody else in the office knows or suspects anything.

Wanting to forget about the whole ordeal and never bring it up again, you’re constantly reminded of it every time your eyes meet with Sykes’ and only continue to feel uneasy because you’re still being watched by him as you work.

You’ve already figured the less you look up from your desk and specifically near Sykes’ direction, the more Sykes will hopefully get the point that you’re actually working and tired of this staring game.

Working as you normally would and finishing your tasks for the day, you refuse to check the time as often as you would even though you’re dying to get out of work simply for the sake of not rousing Sykes’ suspicion. 

Just a few minutes before it’s time to clock out, you get up from your desk once more and head towards the women’s washroom in no rush.

You use the bathroom as slowly as you can, dragging all of your movements out as if you have all the time in the world or you’re in the comfort of your own home.

You’re more than certain Sykes has seen you enter but if you step out of the bathroom any second now and bump into him, you have all the right to accuse Sykes of stalking you which is exactly what you’re hoping for.

Washing and drying your hands slowly, you take your time by even splashing some cold water over your face, fixing your hair, and smoothening out your outfit.

Sykes still remains in his office, but his eyes are fixated on the door of the women’s bathroom and he refuses to move a muscle, knowing your presence in his office is going to be inevitable when you do come out since you have to clock out there.

From the moment you step out of the bathroom and come to notice neither Sykes nor any other one of your coworkers are around the washroom, you sigh quietly to yourself in relief.

Sykes remains preoccupied with signing paperwork at his desk when you begin to walk out, and you can’t help but feel a little less on edge when you know his attention is no longer on you.

Keeping quiet and to yourself, you make your way to Sykes’ office to clock out for the day and expect him to look up, move or even say something but he continues to ignore you despite being aware of your presence.

‘Okay, whatever.’ You punch out your time card before returning back to your desk to grab your coat and purse. 

Ignoring Sykes and finally ending your work day, you sling your purse over your shoulder and begin to head out to the hallway to get to the elevator.

You’re completely unaware that Sykes has been watching your every movement since you turned your back from him and quietly began to follow you from behind.

Only at the very last minute before you’re about to reach your hand out to press the elevator button do you hear footsteps coming directly behind you, followed by Sykes’ grabbing your arm.

You gasp out in surprise, attempting to jerk away but Sykes’ grip harshens as he pulls you to him by force. “Say something.”

“What?” You stammer, attempting to pull your arm back again, “what are you—let go of me! Were you following me?!”

“Lower your fucking voice,” Sykes hisses, releasing your arm—somewhat embarrassed to be called out so loudly. “I was looking out for you.”

“Looking out for me?” You scoff, scowling. “You sure as hell weren’t looking out for me when you called the police to investigate and interrogate me!”

“You think I did that?” Sykes grabs at your wrist, this time pulling you over into a private corner of the hallway. “Keep your goddamn voice down! What—do you want the whole office to know?”

“Seriously?” You lower your tone of voice, shaking his grip off your wrist. “You honestly expect me to think you had nothing to do with that police visit?”

“Did I look like a smug son of a bitch back there with all those cops swarming around my desk?” Sykes points to his chest, speaking through gritted teeth. “They’re not your normal patrol cops either—they’re narcos, Emily, and because of that lowlife you’re dating and whatever other scum out there you’re connected to, the narcos think you’re shooting, snorting, selling—whatever. They questioned me too.”

“Probably because you’re my boss,” you glare back at Sykes at the mention of Bobby being a ‘lowlife’. “That sounds pretty normal to me—questioning the employee’s boss.”

“Not like you think,” Sykes rolls his eyes. “They didn’t question anyone else. You’d think the cops and a man like Hotchner would be interested to see if anyone else is snorting or shooting up before or at work.”

“So they know then,” you cross your arms.

“No, not yet and they won’t,” Sykes stares at you with concern growing in his eyes, “that’s the point I’m trying to get across. The cops found nothing here and left bored and unhappy. They won’t be back.”

“None of us know that for sure,” you mumble, “they’re narcos after all like you said.”

“I do, trust me,” Sykes shakes his head, “just don’t bring that boyfriend of yours over here and we won’t have any further problems. Start looking like you use less and take care of yourself more too. I know you have the stuff, Emily,” Sykes raises his brows at you, “you and your boyfriend both do.”

“What? What stuff?” You sneer at him, “you’re accusing me of something even the police didn’t find?”

“Oh fuck the police,” Hotch glowers, “and fuck the narcos—you listen to me very carefully right now. I know you’re gonna sit here and tell me all day you don’t have a fleck of powder on your nose nor have you ever used and all that kind of bullshit, but I can easily prove otherwise to Hotch. You know how many times I’ve watched you just nod off at work?”

“You’re blackmailing me,” your eyes begin to sting with tears, “and for what? Huh? What the fuck have I ever done to you?”

“Nothing!” Hotch raises his voice before immediately lowering it again, “you’re not as innocent as they think you are and you know that. I’m not that much of a saint either, so if you don’t want me to use that shit against you, then don’t use anything against me!”

“What do you want, Sykes?” You spit out, speaking plainly.

“I want something,” he answers, almost whispering. “Sell me the best shit you have—you or your boyfriend, I don’t care but have it on you here and we’ll make the transaction face to face.”

“Ha! No fucking way,” you laugh, stepping away from Sykes. “So you can call Hotch here when I come carrying something? Nice idea, but it’s not gonna work.”

“Everyone in this office is carrying something, Emily,” Sykes mutters under his breath, looking at you with all seriousness. “At least one gram of cocaine at all fucking times in each cubicle. Now you see why I was shitting myself when the narcos got here? They search you, they search me, they search all of us. We’re fucked, then this office goes to shit and we all lose our jobs. You may be inclined to think I’ll jeopardize your job, but the same can happen to me and everyone else.”

“So you want smack,” you point out, looking unimpressed by his “everyone’s corrupt” speech. “That’s why you bothered me? You talk shit about my boyfriend and now you want him to sell you something? God, you sure have sunk real low.”

“Shut up,” Sykes scowls at you, “before I change my mind. Are you gonna get the shit or not?”

“Yeah, I will,” you glare at him, “I’ll get it for you tonight and we’ll meet here at eight PM sharp or I’m calling it off. Best believe I’m ratting on everyone in this office if you bring Hotch or any other fucking narco here.”

“Alright, cut the shit—what else?” Sykes huffs.

“Whatever I’m selling you, it’s gonna be twice as expensive,” you add, “I don’t care. There’s a risk coming here let alone carrying on the street when Hotch is out there itching to arrest someone.”

“Fine, whatever,” Sykes rubs his temples gingerly, sighing deeply. “Name your price then, but I want the shit to last me a good two weeks.”

“Yeah, I can get it for you,” you assure him, glancing around the hallway to make sure nobody’s listening or standing nearby, “now let me leave before people suspect something. Don’t act suspicious or do any stupid shit when I get here—be here at eight PM sharp or you won’t see a gram.”

“Fine, I will,” Sykes backs away from you, “just honor your end of the bargain. I’ll be here.”

~

Coming home from work today, you’re surprised to see Bobby straight for once without being under the influence of anything but you can’t say the same for your unexpected guest—Hank—clearly nodding off on something strong.

Now that Helen’s in jail, you can expect to see Hank around a lot more often and particularly in your apartment too.

Smoking a cigarette and distracted by an action film playing on the television, Bobby has his back slouching against the couch next to Hank who keeps his head low and barely moves a muscle—mumbling incoherently to himself from the heavy high.

You sit by the window length just across from the two, smoking as well to clear your mind and noting Hank’s state is unusually heavy coming from the guy who's the only person you actually know that can “chip” without using. You’ve never seen Hank this slumped before.

Then again, Hank’s using the same smack you and Bobby are using and dealing—Santo’s new stash isn’t nicknamed “dynamite” for no good reason; keeping people in longer, deeper, and intense highs with an increased overdose risk but also the benefit of being straight longer too.

The punch of a high the “dynamite” smack delivers also causes a junkie to feel less sick all the time while craving it more than they would any regular dope. 

But by now the three of you have done nothing but lay around watching a nonsensical film while Hank can barely keep his eyes open, let alone sleep.

Bobby’s been in no mood for conversation and fixated on the film, popping open a can of coke and he’s come to notice how many times you’ve checked your watch—simply thinking you’re bored or waiting for the film to end.

At seven forty-five PM, you check your watch once more but catch Bobby’s eyes over yours, making it apparent he’s noticing.  

You sigh to yourself, attempting to act inconspicuously and play it off as nothing but simple boredom. 

You’ve already taken a bit of Bobby’s stash when you got up to use the bathroom earlier and have no intention of telling him you’re going to sell it to someone—let alone your own boss.

‘It won’t matter anyway,’ you think to yourself, so as long as Bobby doesn’t find out, of course.

Bobby’s stash has more than both of you could possibly want, crave and need, easily pushing onto overdose territory should both of you wish to keep it to yourselves instead of also selling from it.

After all, any money you make today from Sykes goes to both of you, so you have no intention of cheating Bobby with your earnings.

“I’m gonna go,” you smoothen out your shirt, hopping off the windowsill.

“Go?” Bobby glances up at you.

“Yeah,” your eyes wander over to Hank, still in no changed shape. “I’m bored. We’ve been sitting here doing nothing with Hank barely still alive over here. I’m gonna head out to the store and grab a few things.”

“Not gonna wait for me?” Bobby puts his cigarette back in his mouth.

“I’m just going to the store, Bobby,” you shrug your shoulders, “stay with Hank before he has a seizure or something.”

“You’d think a grown-ass man this used to it would know how to use a proper dose by now,” Bobby shakes his head, looking at Hank. 

“He is your brother after all,” you pick up your purse and sling it over your shoulder. “He’s gonna definitely owe you one after tonight.”

“I’ll hold it against him,” Bobby blows out smoke around him, watching you exit the suite.

You purposefully didn’t stay a minute longer back in the suite so as not to raise Bobby’s curiosity or suspicion any further than you may already have—but Bobby’s been wary of you since he caught you repeatedly checking your watch.

You and Sykes have essentially promised one another that this deal is gonna stay between the two of you and you’re not going to get Bobby involved until you have to.

If you can set a good impression on Sykes for this deal and ensure you won’t get arrested or walk into a trap of some kind, you know Sykes will be the exact kind of customer coming for more again and again with cash in his pocket.

Even if you do get caught or ratted out in some way, you’d give yourself in without opening your mouth and so much as mentioning Bobby’s name or anyone else despite doing this deal behind Bobby’s back. 

You get out on the street and begin to walk down the same streetway you always do as if you’re on your way to work only once you begin to approach your work building, you take a left turn around the side of the building and head inside from the entrance there.

The side entrance leads up to the same hallway to get to your office and the security guard on duty makes his rounds outside, smoking a cigarette.

You sigh to yourself in relief once you’re inside, pulling back stray strands of your hair behind your ear but being unable to help thinking if Bobby’s actually questioning your absence.

You’re exactly one minute early by the time you reach the same spot in the hallway you were in with Sykes earlier, only he’s already there with his arms crossed and back leaning against the wall—having arrived ten minutes early in advance.

Sykes’ eyes light up when he sees you approaching. “See? A deal’s a deal.”

“The bare minimum is showing up,” you cautiously eye the hallway before approaching Sykes. “And you’re sure nobody followed you or knows that you’re here?”

“Yeah, believe me, I got here earlier to make sure. The faster you give me this shit, the faster we can both get the fuck out of here and raise less suspicion,” Sykes pulls his leather wallet out from his trousers’ back pocket.

“Relax, otherwise you’ll get caught just by looking as nervous as you are. You don’t know how these things work,” you roll your eyes, opening up your purse. “I got what you wanted and the amount you needed. You said you needed it to last two weeks, right? If you use more than that in less than two weeks, I’m not attending your funeral.”

“You know, even outside of work you still have to respect me,” Sykes frowns, opening his wallet. 

“Whatever. Now, you got the money? I told you this shit is gonna cost double,” you clutch onto the small bag of powder in your palm.

“How much?” Sykes takes a wad of cash out of his wallet.

“Eighty dollars,” you offer, keeping true to the street value but adding more on edge for extra profit. “Take it or leave it.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Sykes mutters under his breath, “here”. He hands you the cash in twenty-dollar bills. 

You quickly take the cash with one hand and exchange it with the bag of powder from your purse.

Sykes is quick to immediately shove the powder inside the inner pocket of his suit, smoothening out his jacket.

“If you’re gonna make it a habit, you know where to find me,” you carefully tuck the cash into your purse.

“At least now we both know what we can offer one another,” Sykes scoffs, “but you have merit.”

~

Five minutes after you left the suite, Bobby followed right behind you—leaving Hank to himself back inside.

Bobby may have been inclined to believe you were actually walking to the convenience store around the corner like you said since you took no shortcuts and simply walked straight down the street but had you actually been going to the convenience store, you would have bumped into Bobby right outside the apartment lobby.

Bobby figured you were lying from the guilty look in your eyes and odd body language, let alone constantly checking your watch as if you were impatiently waiting for something or late to arrive somewhere.

You made it all the easier for Bobby to follow you because you never bothered to look back nor changed from one sidewalk to another. 

Bobby kept an appropriate distance from you but slipped into an alleyway and crossed the street a few times while following to avoid you potentially seeing or hearing him.

Knowing Upper West Side Manhattan like the back of his hand, tracking you down without getting too close or staying back too far was too simple for Bobby.

Bobby would have made it the entire way had he not gotten packed into an oncoming crowd of pedestrians crossing the street—beginning to lose sight of you.

As Bobby attempted to push through the crowd and maintain a close, yet safe distance from you at the same time, he lost track of you nonetheless.

When the crowd began to fully disperse around Bobby, giving him the opportunity to pick up his pace and make it across the street, he felt a rough hand grab him and pull him back over to the sidewalk.

“You again,” Bobby rolled his eyes, playing it off cool. “Can’t get enough of me anywhere, can you? What are ya gonna do? Arrest me for crossing the street today?”

“Not doing anything,” Hotch replies casually, chewing bubblegum. “Just wanna have a little chat, maybe ask why you’re stalking your own girlfriend.”

“Stalking my girlfriend?” Bobby grins, noticing Hotch’s car parked to the side of the street; making it all the more apparent that he’s been there the entire time—watching and waiting. “Do you hear yourself, man? That’s my girlfriend. I’m just going with her.”

“No, you ain’t,” Hotch stares back at Bobby, unamused. “I’m not stupid, Bobby. I wasn’t born yesterday. You don’t think I know what game both of you are playing right now?”

“The fuck are you talking about, man?” Bobby shifts his weight to the other foot, beginning to grow agitated. “Listen, you can go ahead and ask all your stupid questions but either do it properly and take me down to the police station or get the fuck out of my way.”

“I’ll get out of your way as soon as you stop playing dumb with me,” Hotch asserts, “your girlfriend’s carrying.”

“What?” Bobby glares at Hotch angrily. “She’s carrying? Huh? You can accuse her of that just by seeing her walking?”

“Maybe I can,” Hotch crosses his arms. “But it’s a dead giveaway to me. She’s clutching a specific part of her purse awful tight, looking dead straight ahead and walking. She has someplace to be and she’s carrying something with her.”

“Yeah?” Bobby snorts, holding back his laughter. “You actually believe that? Then what are you telling me for? I call bullshit. You’d go and arrest Emily or harass her as you do to me if you weren’t fuckin’ lying.”

“Unless I see an actual crime committed, I don’t have to do a thing,” Hotch replies. “I know what I can and can’t do Bobby, and so do you.”

“Great, another mommy and daddy lecture,” Bobby sighs loudly, looking around the street. “Can I go back to minding my own business now?”

“You still don’t believe me?” Hotch raises his brows, “that’s fine…” Hotch squints his eyes, looking towards the crowd. “I bet she’s carrying almost a hundred dollars worth of that junk. Looking far too uneasy for it to be cheap and worthless. No, there’s definitely a risk here.”

“Who would she even sell it to?” Bobby narrows his eyes, “you know who she is. She ain’t no dealer, man. Stop bullshitting. She works at Way Enterprises.” 

“Everyone who works at Way Enterprises is an addict, Bobby,” Hotch doesn’t appear impressed whatsoever. “She’s selling to someone at work and you know it’s a matter of time until I catch her and the same goes for you. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time now would it?”

“Fuck you,” Bobby spat by Hotch’s feet and took off back down the street and towards Way Enterprises without another look or word back.

Hotch sighed deeply and remained behind and refusing to stop Bobby nor try to reason with him any further. Hotch has seen this play out a hundred times before in front of his very eyes before already.

By the time Bobby actually reaches Way Enterprises’ building, you’ve already sold Sykes’ piece to him and taken your money.

Unbeknownst to Bobby, he crouched behind a trashcan in the back alleyway connecting to your work building—watching and waiting for you.

When Bobby saw you step out the side entrance and not the front or back exit, he was quick to jump toward the back end to avoid you catching sight of him.

All Bobby could see was how nervous you appeared around Sykes, especially from how the two of you looked at each other; eager to get away and make it look like the two of you were never seen together.

But it was Bobby who also saw Sykes zipping up his fly next to you, telling Bobby everything he needs to know about your little meetup with Sykes behind Bobby’s back, laced with lies.

Bobby’s eyes deadened and drained of all emotion. To him, it looked like nothing more than a sneaky meetup for sex—a hookup of some kind either in exchange for smack, money, or some sort of sick affair you were having with your boss despite your protests and complaints about his nasty behavior and harassment towards you.

You either sucked Sykes off or fucked him; the only reason why you’d lie to Bobby in the first place. 

Bobby trusts you with everything and anything. If you were actually dealing something with Sykes, Bobby would expect you to tell him. After all, both of you stand to gain from it and Bobby would take no issue with it, but you never believed that when it came to dealing with someone like Sykes.

Bobby swallowed hard and began to move out of the alleyway, feeling numbness tingle in his limps from the realization of everything. 

He rakes a frustrated hand through his shaggy hair, letting out a shaky breath as Bobby’s emotions get the better of him—all piling up at once and surging a rush of jealousy and bitterness in his veins.

All Bobby can remember is the last expression on Sykes’ face before the two of you parted ways on the street—a look of nothing but pure satisfaction.

#al pacino #al pacino x reader #melis-writes #bobby axel x reader #bobby axel x oc #bobby axel fanfic #the panic in needle park #the panic in needle park fanfic #the panic in needle park smut #bobby axel x reader smut #bobby axel #eyes like stars fanfic #the panic in needle park x reader

[george-weasleys-girl]

Chapter 23 ‐ The Long, Dark Tea-Time of the Soul

Warnings: none

Summary: Y/N and Sirius' insomnia leads to an unexpected late night chat

Title courtesy of Douglas Adams

*I almost called this one The Cursed Chapter. I just couldn't seem to write it the way I envisioned it in my head. But, after multiple revisions and tumblr failing to save my changes FOUR TIMES, I've decided to call it done. Hope ya'll enjoy it.*

Start Here:

~•~

Y/N had no idea what time it was as she sat in the dimly lit room, smoothing out Buckbeak's feathers. "Sleep and I aren't getting along these days," she confided to the hippogriff, shifting so she could lean against his side, letting herself sink into his downy feathers. He trilled a soft melody and began preening her hair, bringing a brief smile to Y/N's face.

"I wish I could fade in and out of existence at will," she mummered. "Just take brief break from life when things get too much, you know."

Buckbeak moved so he could reach her hair better and continued his preening.

"Or as an alternative, I could just rip out this dead weight in my chest. That way I won't have to feel it anymore."

"Seems a bit of an overkill to me."

Startled by the disembodied voice, Y/N jumped, causing Buckbeak to squak at her with all the righteous indignation he could muster.

"Sorry, didn't mean to frighten you." Sirius stepped into the room and sat down to soothe the disgruntled hippogriff.

"Oh hi, Sirius," Y/N smiled. "Can't sleep either?"

"Sleep? What's that?" He chuckled. "I haven't had a proper nights rest since--well, since before everything happened." His grin faltered and he grew very still and very quiet, his eyes downcast. Y/N turned her full focus back to Buckbeak, knowing there's nothing quite as unnerving as having someone you barely know bore holes into you're head while you're having an emotional moment.

Y/N debated on whether she should stay or go. She and Sirius had never really talked other than exchanging a few pleasantries or a bit of mindless banter. However, she knew no one rambles around in the middle of night, seeking the company of a hippogriff, unless something big is preying on their minds. In the end, she decided to stay and offer a sympathetic ear, if he needed one.

"So, what brings you to my little nighttime sanctuary?" Sirius asked after a few minutes, back to his usual jovial self again.

"Buckbeak's an excellent therapist."

"Oh, that he is," agreed Sirius. "No judgements. No advice. None of that 'things will get better' nonsense. Just a listening ear and err--maybe a little preening." Sirius grinned, noting the spot where Y/N's hair was sticking out in million different directions.

Y/N peeked into the mirror and laughed. "I think this could be a new look for me," she said, before sitting back down and giving the hippogriff some neck scritches. "Buckbeak, hairstylist extraordinaire."

Buckbeak turned to look at her and trilled out another tune.

"I think he likes the new title," Sirius chuckled.

Y/N nodded, grinning at her feathered friend, who continued singing his happy, little song.

Sirius waited until Buckbeak finished his impromptu performance before speaking again. "I've heard about your dilemma," he said. "It's not an easy thing you're facing."

"No," she gave him a rueful smile. "It isn't."

"You know," Sirius replied. "Sometimes I get a little sad because I've never been in love. But, then there are other times, I think I may have dodged a bullet."

"It's not all bad," Y/N replied. "Most of the time it's quite wonderful."

"Except for times like this," Sirius pointed out.

"Except for times like this," Y/N repeated, with a long sigh.

"You seem to be handling it well enough," he observed.

Y/N shrugged. "I try to stay positive and not think about the future too much. My music helps alot." She held up her walkman. "I've had Tori Amos on perpetual repeat the last couple of weeks."

"Ah, yes, music," Sirius said. "What's that muggle saying? Music soothes the savage beast?"

"Yep, that's it." Y/N confirmed. "And yes it does."

"I missed music so much when I was locked away. The only escape I had," Sirius confessed, "came from a crack in the wall."

Y/N's brow furrowed. "A crack in the wall?"

Sirius chuckled. "The Ministry got complacent with the Dementors guarding Az--" He stopped mid-sentence as Buckbeak shifted his position, forcing both humans to rearrange themselves, as well, before the conversation could continue.

"I take it the Ministry let some things slide?" Y/N prompted once everyone was settled again.

"Many things, actually. The only thing they bothered to upkeep regularly was the Unplottability Charm and because of that cracks slowly began to form here and there. Not enough to arouse concern, mind you." Sirius explained. "But enough that a small crevice formed in the outer wall of my little, windowless cell, allowing for tiniest rays of the sun and moon to stream through." He looked down, his eyes trailing the shaft of moonlight illuminating the floorboards. "I know it doesn't seem like much, and truthfully it wasn't, but it was my whole world for a very long time. In moments of utter despair, I could close my eyes and lose myself in the faint roar of the ocean, pretending I was one of those endless waves rolling it's way to the shore."

Y/N nodded, trying and failing to imagine the horrors and loneliness he must've endured. "Sometimes it's the smallest things that get us through to the other side."

"Truer words have never been spoken," Sirius agreed. "A kind word, a song, the smell of the salt sea. They don't seem much at the time, but when you look back, you realize they were everything."

"I think--" Y/N started, but was interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the creaky, wooden floor, followed by George's soft voice calling her name.

"Excuse me," Y/N said, rising at the sound of her boyfriend's voice.

Stepping gingerly around the now dozing hippogriff, she made her way to the door and waved George over.

"Oh, there you are," he smiled, wrapping his arm around her waist. "I woke up and you were gone."

"Couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd come sit with Buckbeak for a while. Sirius had the same idea," she gestured toward the figure basking in the moonlight. "We've just been hanging out, chatting."

"Hey, mate." George said. "Thanks for keeping my girl company."

"It was my pleasure. You've got a good one, there." Sirius stood, removing a stray feather from his shirt.

George smiled down at Y/N, only then noticing one side of her hair sticking out like a deranged porcupine. "What in Merlin's name happened to your hair?"

"Huh? Oh!" She reached up, realizing she'd never smoothed it back down. "Buckbeak gave me a new style. What do you think? It's all the rage in Paris."

George chuckled, shaking his head as he ran his fingers through her tangled locks. "I think he needs a little more practice."

Y/N placed a hand over her chest in mock offense. "Sir! How dare you insult The Master Buckbeak's work!"

The hippogriff perked up at the mention of his name, narrowing his eyes at George.

"Oh, now you've done it." Sirius laughed. "I hope you know in big trouble, Mr. Weasley."

George grinned. "Story of my life."

~•~

Y/N's exhaustion crept up on her as George and Sirius struck up a conversation of their own. She was about to mention it when Sirius asked if they'd like to join him in the kitchen for tea. Something in his voice pulled from her rapid descent into dreamland. She looked up at him, seeing the sad hopefulness in his eyes.

Then, she turned to her boyfriend, the two of them sharing an entire conversation in one, swift gaze. "Yeah, alright." George agreed. "But just one cup, I think Y/N's going to turn into a pumpkin soon."

"Of course, of course!" Sirius bounded past them and down the hall.

George and Y/N followed along behind, hand in hand. "Sure you're up for this?" He asked.

"Doesn't matter," Y/N answered. "We have a friend in need."

~•~

He squeezed her hand. "Indeed we do."

Next Chapter:

@milivanili99 @slytherclaw1978 @quackitysdrugdealer @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @ladylizzieofdarbyshire

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x fem!reader #sirius black #buckbeak

[soshesighs]

6 random lines

Rules: pick any ten six of your fics, scroll to the midpoint, pick a line (or three) and share it. Then tag ten people.

Tagged by @indomitable-love, thank you!

So, look... I don’t have 10 standalone fics yet, I’m sorry! I only have 6 individually posted works on ao3, and only two of those are one-shots. So instead I’m going to post a line from the midpoint of the two standalones, and then find a line from the midpoint of the middle-posted chapter (or closest to it that I can get) of any of the one-shot compilations or multi-chaptered fics, if that works?

Nobody’s here to tell me no, so I’m taking the silence as a yes. Shhh.

 Something Precious Saved (T)

Bea rings him up one dreary December morning to ask Alex if he’ll grab an old picture of her and Henry and Philip with their parents, one she swears is in a photo album Henry took with him when he moved, and email it to her - something she needs for a planned Christmas present for all of them - and as he gingerly cracks open the delicate album, a colorful stack of paper flutters to their study floor.

If he accidentally hangs up on Bea in his excitement, well… he’ll call her back later to apologize and explain.

Call It Hope (T)

“You… forgot,” Ellen repeats, slowly and monotonously, trying to make the word make sense. The glance between the two boys doesn’t pass unnoticed by her, and she looks between the two of them like she might miraculously pull some sort of answer or explanation out of the thin air. “After almost five years of being a public figure, you forgot? You couldn’t even tell your sister you were running off?”

Alex opens and closes his mouth in the start of an explanation multiple times, but nothing manages to come out.

A Love Letter to Love (T) [Chapter 10: Death By A Thousand Cuts]

Philip sighs and gestures weakly to the room. “Can I at least come in and sit down first?”

Henry falls silent, half expecting someone else to chime in with an opinion, but the other three are all quiet, seemingly leaving the decision up to him. The bitter part of him wants to slam the door in his brother’s face, tell him that any effort he thinks he’s going to make here is all too little too late, make some part of him hurt - even if just for a moment - the way Henry himself has for years now.

But.

[From The Vault] (T) [Chapter 2: Thanksgiving, 2022]

“No shame in finding comfort in the company of your person,” Leo chimes in in agreement, giving Ellen’s hand a squeeze. He turns to give her a soft smile, something so intimate that for a moment, Henry feels entirely like he’s intruding. He averts his gaze, taking another bite of the cookie in his hand.

After a moment, when neither of them prompts him further and he’s finished an entire cookie through nervous nibbles, Henry quietly asks, “How did you know you were it for each other?”

I can’t match you for prose (T) [Chapter 11: Week Four: Redo]

Henry sets the pan atop the stove, where six thoroughly ruined cupcakes sit - caved in, unrisen, and nothing like the picture from the recipe he’d printed. He’s trying to understand where they went wrong (did they forget the baking powder in their rush? Or overmix them?) when he hears the tiny sniffle.

He spins around, crouching down to their daughter’s level before she can really start crying.

when I’m away from you (I miss your touch) (T) [Chapter 4: Headache]

He trips over his own feet twice on the way through to the en suite bathroom, as if his body knows that every step taken away from Alex is somehow wrong. Once he finally stumbles into the room, he locks the door behind himself before he can give in to the temptation to immediately turn around and head back to him.

It’s time, he realizes, to face the music.

I never know who to tag in these things, especially when it’s been 10+ days since I was tagged in the first place, so if you’ve already been tagged or already done it, feel free to tell me to shove off, haha. @adinarj @actual-sleeping-beauty 

#my fics #rwrb

[scott-mccall-the-hot-girl]

my ultimate guide to thiam fic !!

( as a new teen wolf stan )

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the classic post war, long ass (multi chapter) fic !!with great development that genuinely made me laugh out loud, they have the best friendship in this & i love it very much. ( like theo teaches liam to drive and i just *happy sobs* ) a fundamental in thiam fanfiction !! all stans have probably already read it but if you haven’t this is in fact a threat ,, go show this vv iconic story some love !!

Airplanes - Captainmintyfresh

Summary: After the Anuk-ite and the hunters are dealt with Liam needs a break. Cue Theo and a road trip that Liam should know better than to think will be peaceful.

Not Rated, No Archive Warnings Apply, Completed, 43/43 Chapters, Words: 236,875 (236k)

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okay okay so this one is also post 6B !! but ,, now we introduce fighting monroe & the hunters again ,, so we get the boys & a new mission !! so if you like an intresting plot 11/10 would recommend !! just to be clear this ISN’T complete ,, if that turns you off i understand but definitely give this one a read !! it litterally have theo doing crossword puzzles & fighting zombies

Vacancy Signs - LovelyLittleGrim

Summary: Theo and Liam are in Manhattan negotiating a pack allyship when the zombie apocalypse breaks out. Now, the two of them have to find their way back to Beacon Hills without getting eaten by zombies or killing one another.

Rated: Explicit, Graphic Description of Violence, Not Completed, 15/17 Chapters, Words: 89,605 (89k)

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Royalty AU !! I REPEAT ROYALTY AU !! a fantastic au where i stan their moms more than i stan them !! genuinely so good at the childhood rivals to lovers trope !! i’m genuinely obsessed with this one. has made me cry more than once ,, hurts in a good way <3 the ending is just *chefs kiss* also one of the tags is genuinely: # theo and liam make bad choices for over 130k straight !! if that doesn’t sound appealing i don’t know what does !!

Artificial Love - songbvrd

Summary: Prince Theo and Prince Liam are forced to spend every Summer together from age five onwards. They hate each other, and usually find ways to make each other miserable as much as possible in their six weeks together. But when they're reunited because of intended unions as adults, things change. They're both supposed to be married to noble women, but neither of them is as interested in anyone else as they are with their childhood rival.

Rated: Mature, No Archive Warnings Apply, Completed, Chapters: 32/32, Words: 172,935 (172k)

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so if you are in the mood for a crack fic that’s not explicitally a crack fic this is for you !! okay so i’m really hit or miss with AU’s ,, sometimes i feel like they don’t quite capture the characters right but this story have the BEST dramatic liam i have ever seen in my life !! basically they all live in the same apartment building & it’s fantastic !! i saw this one floating around a lot but the summary didn’t really unrest me until i have it a shot !! so go read it rn !! also nolan & brett are genuinely fantastic and make me wheeze ,, LIKE ACTUALLY VERBALLY LAUGHING !! all i’m gonna say is that my fav characters are scott & the beetles but that won’t make actual sense until you read it !!

The Neighbors Song - TheodoreR

Summary: “I always hear you singing on your balcony every morning, but suddenly you’ve stopped?”

Or the one where Theo annoys Liam every morning with his awful singing until he doesn’t anymore and Liam is even more annoyed. Liam hates every single thing about his mornings -the fact that they happen in the morning alone is enough. The thing Liam hates the most about his mornings though is the terrible voice of the guy who lives below him. He can’t sing for shit and Liam tried to politely let him understand that by throwing flour and water on his balcony, and also by shouting it to him, you can’t sing for shit!, and then by writing it into a note he proceeded to attach to his door, but this Raeken guy just keeps doing it, every single morning, like a fucking rooster. Liam did nothing to deserve this. He probably didn’t do anything to deserve better either to be fair, he doesn’t expect to open his window and be welcomed by some angelic voice singing him good morning, he’d just be happy with nothing. Silence. That’s something Liam can appreciate in mornings. Just some bark from his dog and the sound of his misery and that’s it. But no, god forbid the new guy lets him have that.

Rated: Explicit, Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Wanrings, Completed, 8/8 Chapters, Words: 42,814 (42k)

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me: i’m not a big fan of AU’s ,, proceeds to talk about ANOTHER au… OKAY BUT THIS ONE !! it’s not complete but the author has been updating regularly ,, vv slow burn !! but in a REALLY intresting way !! i lOVE LIAM IN THIS SO MUCH ,, he is such a diaster of a person and it’s wonderful !! they have a great dynamic & i’m sucker for general puppy pack content ( and erica reyes being a badass ) !! also theo plays lacrosse in this & i really like it ahhhhh ,, also liam is just being an artic monkeys stan the whole time & theo is like *que confused repressed gay noises*

Inglorious Roommates - honeyscape

Summary: A roommate is defined as “a person with whom one shares a room.”

Theo would say a roommate was more along the lines of, “The person who's the bane of his existence. The weirdo that sleeps for days. The spaz that exercises at 3am. The guy with a revolving door of annoying friends. An insufferable human being that Theo has no control over living in his room.”

Example: Theo hates his roommate Liam.

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okay okay i hate myself but i have another WIP for y’all !! this one is jUST FANTASTIC. i’m genuinely so upset it’s most likely not going to updated again *incoherent screaming ensues*. for this story ,, it’s very theo-centric bUT thats bc it ends right before liam becomes a concrete member of the story !! ANYWAY: basic plot = theo & acquiring not one but two children ,, so #dad theo but he is still crusty & homeless and i love him very much. it’s just so GOOD !! just read if you want to experience my fav theo coming out story & him etching high school musical

Look who's talking - Captainmintyfresh

Summary: Theo had been labeled many things in his life. Evil, failure, monster. He'd never thought Father would be one of those things but as he looked across the table to a six year old with blue smears of bubble gum icecream across her face trying to coax the first words out of her sister. Finger jabbing towards Theo's face as she repeated 'Daddy' again and again he couldn't bring himself to dispute the label.

(Theo accidentally adopts two young werewolves)

Not Rated, Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings, Not Completed, Chapters: 16/?, Words: 48740 ( 48k )

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so here me out: post-canon ( poetry like angst ) summer get away !! just the boys doing cute little domestic things together whilst pining !! theo’s guilt in this is just so powerful & aGjffkgkkfkvkdlv !! i think it’s so interesting to see how they interact in this one, it’s just very heart warming !! and it features one of my favorite niche teen wolf tropes of theo being great with like seven year old girls- it’s just so good ,, very much a wonderful little one shot that just makes your heart happy.

(next time i see you you'll show me) a hundred different ways to say the same things - cherrysprite

Summary: “...You deserve good things,” Liam says eventually. He makes sure not to look at Theo even though he can feel his eyes turn on him. Somehow he can already tell that Theo doesn’t believe him.

Liam instantly makes that the goal of this summer - making Theo believe him.

Rating: Teen and Up, No Archive Warnings Apply, Chapters: 1/1, Words: 28875 ( 28k )

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okay so this next section of fic recs is a bit different !!

two of my favorite authors !! and a compilation of fics i’ve read by them both !!

for context: these two have written some genuinely gorgeous fics, like pure poetry, they explore the real gritty & scary side of our boys relationship in such a wonderful way. they’ve both used some of my favorite tropes & i love them very much !!

whenever i need something soothing but so genuinely intresting & enticing these are my go to !! ( also they both write a lot of good nolan angst & some vv good fics with hayden )

go check out:

eneiryu

as well as fallingforboys

here are some of my favorite fics by them ~

darling i want you here in my arms (kiss the pain away, i know you can) - fallingforboys

even before you touched me, i belonged to you (all you had to do was look at me) - fallingforboys

memories linger like tattoo scars (but your touch on my skin is just as permanent) - fallingforboys

skin, bones, a stolen heart, and an ugly creature lurking underneath -fallingforboys

i don't know how to breathe in the place i called home - fallingforboys

whisper your gossamer truths into the shadow, maybe you'll find the answers you're searching for - fallingforboys

between the mountains and the valley we built a monument to our regret - eneiryu

cracked the hinges of the cage and waited for you - eneiryu

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okay and finally: since i am a self centered whore

my own fic: an rendition of the # elevator scene

it’s basically my version of post canon if we did get the kiss in the elevator. we got a classic liam pov in which he is has 12/10 for extreme bi diaster energy even whilst being shot at !! so go him ig…

Fuck Off, Fuck This & Fuck It! - nefelibata_peach

Summary: Liam thought to himself heart rate climbing, they were bound to be dead by morning. So he thought with everything but his brain and he kissed him.

Where Liam Dunbar is very confused, slightly traumatized, and just a bit scared but hey, aren't they all! Bad decisions ensue as two boys fight in a war they never did sign up for.

Rating: Teen and Up, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Chapters: 1/1, Words: 3558 ( 3k )

#this took me so long #please go read these or i’ll cry #fan fiction #fan fic recs #teen wolf fic recs #thiam fanfiction #thiam fic recs #thiam #theo raeken #liam dunbar #theo x liam #teen wolf fandom #teen wolf gay #teen wolf #ao3 #fuck you fuck this & fuck it #thiam fanfic rec #thiam fanfic #thiam is endgame

[raamyun-and-rambles]

Real.

Fandom: Genshin Impact  Pairing: Albedo x Reader

((HC Format)) !!Warnings!!: major character death, grief, obsessive behavior (?)

Third-person POV in the first half but it’ll make sense later on (I hope) !!A bit long and messy so second half will be under the cut!!

((I am so tempted to turn this into a multi-chapter fic but I suck at updating because my motivation to write only comes very randomly but I will be posting drabbles about certain scenarios about this AU.))

———–

Albedo had never been one to believe in things such as love and fairytales. He was a man of science, of practicalities and facts. Yet the very moment his eyes laid on her - with your sun-kissed skin and bright smile - he was sure it was love at first sight

Like in the fairytales he often read to Klee before bedtime, time felt as if it had been brought to a stand-still and nothing else resounded in the air except the sound of her joyous laughter

Imagine his surprise when she was the first to confess. The most adorable shade of red dusting his cheeks despite trying his absolute best to remain calm and nonchalant in front of the prospect of spending his days together with her

Needless to say, he accepted and was quick to tell her that her feelings were reciprocated

And as cliche as it was, life was perfect

Until tragedy struck and Albedo was left to kneel in front of her cold, lifeless corpse buried beneath piles of snow below one of Dragonspine’s many mountain peaks - asking whatever higher being there was to exist why? why did it had to be her? why couldn’t he have been there for her? why? ..Why? ....Why?

Everything after that was a blur

The culprit responsible for her death was apprehended, a funeral was held and she was buried in the graveyard behind the chapel

Albedo was silent the entire time, eyes devoid of any emotion yet his knuckles turned white from the sheer force of the grip he has on the hem of his shirt

He wouldn’t allow it. Things couldn’t end just like this.

So he picked himself up - willed himself away from the mourning crowd as friends and family huddled against each other to comfort them in their grief - and trudged back up to his lab in the unforgiving cold

Nobody saw him for weeks and months on end. Except for the occasional trip to town to restock on supplies but he would always leave before anyone else could speak a friendly word

Everyone wrote it off as him still being riddled with grief, they knew how important she was to him after all and it made sense if the alchemist was still unable to move on from her death

What they didn't know was that Albedo had something entirely different up his sleeve

If his master could make him - breathe life into him and make him alive - then surely he could as well, there was nothing on heaven or earth that said he wouldn't come to the same conclusion, the same formula or recipe that his master had come up with. No matter how long it took he was determined to make it work.

And finally after years of toil and countless of days spent hunched over his desk, scribbling formulas and discarding empty failed husks -

He's finally done it.

A homonculus - a spitting image of his lover, crafted with careful and loving hands - a perfect clone, imperfections and all

He waited with bated breath

and waited and waited

And just when he was convinced it was yet another failure, your eyes fluttered open - irises the same shade of (e/c) that Albedo missed dearly

"Can you...can you hear me?"

Slowly and a bit groggily, you lolled your head towards the direction of his voice and his face lit up in a smile despite the exhaustion finally sinking into his bones

Fresh tears started to stream down turquoise eyes and as perplexed as you were from the sudden show of emotion you could do nothing but idly stare at him as he pulled you into his arms, sobbing into your shoulder as he repeated a name like a mantra between sobs

"..Who?"

Your voice came out scratchy and foreign and Albedo held you tighter against him the moment you spoke

He stays like that a couple of moments more before reluctantly peeling himself away from you and cupping your cheeks with gentle hands

"(Y/n)...that's your name."

"Mine?"

He nods and a faint ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of his lips

"You and I are lovers..." He said, gingerly tucking away a loose strand your hair behind your ear, "and I missed you dearly."

You don't understand his words, at least not yet, but you allow him to welcome you into his embrace and you weakly lift your arms to return the gesture

Soothed by the feeling of his fingertips threading through your hair and lulled into comfort by the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes

His heart soars at your touch

"I'll protect you this time."

"This time I'll do better."

"I won't let you get taken away from me either, I swear it as long as I live."

...

...

Either?

#albedo x reader #albedo kreideprinz #albedo genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #reader #angst #albedo brainrot #genshin impact

[justforthehe11ofit]

‘Until Death Do Us Part, Again.’ Julian Devorak x Reader

(Chapter 1: A Very Warm Welcome)

Now finished!

This is part of a multi-chapter fic, If you would like to read the rest you can read it on my AO3 page which is the same username as on here! Or click the link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32643664

'His words warble as his emotions take hold, tears staining his cheeks while he grasps the apprentice tighter, "I will never let you go again, my love. I promise."' Continuing after the tale 'A Warm Welcome', Julian struggles to fight his doubts on whether a proposal while staying in Nevivon is a good idea, missing the opportunity in the hot springs and of course causing more trouble than he can handle (at least he asks for help this time).

A headcanon that I have inspired by the assumptions of others in which they thought Julian was going to propose during the hot springs scene, where he is given another opportunity eventually... not without creating problems for himself beforehand. That would be un-Julian like.

Word Count: 1,641

As soon as he mumbles the words, Portia incredulously glares down at Julian across the table, barely taller than him as she stands, while he shrinks into his chair. “Excuse me? Could you repeat that because I don’t think I heard you right.”

“I… didn’t do it?...” Leaning across the table with his hands joined and bunching up his shoulders, Julian plasters on an award winning pity grin, which of course Portia does not buy into.

“What do you mean ‘you didn’t do it’?” Nasally mocking his excuse.

“I-I just didn't, okay!” He drops his head into his hands, with an exasperated sigh and brows furrowed, “I wanted to but it was as if my hands didn’t want to cooperate and gave into my own nervousness, so I just didn’t do it.”

After returning from the hot springs, Julian and the apprentice had finished cleaning the remains of dinner, just chatting and enjoying each other’s company, until Portia had strolled in. As she was seeping with anticipation, Julian told Y/N he would join them soon for sleep, and so was left to be bombarded with questions about if he had gone through with what he had told Portia a few days before departing from Vesuvia.

Motioning her arms outward, Portia states “you know you had the perfect opportunity, right?”

“I know.” Mumbling the pitiful words into his hands, slumping further.

“You two had the whole place to yourselves AND on a night as beautiful as this! And you didn’t go for it?”

“I know!” Arms lying flat, exclaiming his sorrows into the dining table.

“I mean, how often does a perfect opportunity like that happen? Are you that thick in the head, Ilyushka!”

He raises his head to address her, “Yes, I know! Thank you Pasha, I get it!” Then presses his cheek to the smooth cloth covering. Taking a moment to calm the air, Julian reaches into his pocket and pulls out the ring he had bought a couple weeks prior to leaving, twirling it in his fingers.

He had spotted the red glint in a jeweller’s shop window on his way home from visiting the Palace, not the most flashy ring he’d ever seen but the tone of the ruby’s colour made him pause. When he had gotten home he couldn’t stop thinking about it for days, the image of it popping into his head from even a blush that would dust the cheeks of his partner. It’s strange to think about how something so small can hold such an overwhelming promise to it.

Passing a faint sigh, Portia pulls out a wooden chair across from Julian and sits, just watching the ring catch the glow of the gentle candle light. His mouth is set in a subtle frown and his silver eyes distant. “I’m sorry, I just supposed that when you had excused yourself it was because you were going to propose to them.” He still seems conflicted. She asks hesitantly, “do you... want to?”

Julian raises his head, “of course I do, I’ve never felt this way for anyone before. I’m over the moon for them!” He stops fiddling with the ring, placing it out in front of him and resting his chin against his palm, leaving the other to lie on the table, not saying more.

“And yet?” This makes him look away, thinking her question over.

“I think,” he pauses, “it may just be too soon to ask them. Considering everything that has happened between myself and Y/N, and even everyone else.” Julian’s gaze holds on the jewellery, and he shrugs, “I feel it may just be too much for them emotionally. We still have so much to process, it’s only been just over a month or two since things finally settled.” He sighs dejectedly, “even with this time of reprieve we’ve had, things have still been crazy with plans to rebuild the city, me running the clinic, Y/N running the shop and then traveling to Nevivon. It just still seems like it’s been so much to handle.” His eyebrows furrow and his frown becomes prominent, and he covers the ring with his hand, “I don’t even know if this is what they would want.”

Portia watches intently, mirroring Julian’s expression. She gently covers his hand with hers and leans over gaining his attention, his eyes widening, “trust me, they would say yes in a heartbeat. You two took down the Devil together for crying out loud! Give or take myself, Asra, Nadia, Maz and Nazali but that’s not my point,” she states as Julian raises a brow at her comment. “What I’m trying to say is that you two have already been to hell and back, so I wouldn’t doubt that if you went to them right now and asked, they wouldn’t hesitate to say yes.” Julian manages a smile at that, his cheeks reddening. The mood growing lighter at last. “I mean if we are being honest, you two have technically known each other for years, right?”

“Well, considering we did work together during the plague, you could say we have.” His smile falls a little, “although those memories are lost to them now.”

“And? Go make new ones with them then,” Portia lifts Julian’s hand, takes the ring and places it back, then she wraps his hand around it and holds it together, “we’re going to be here for a while yet so I’m sure there will be another chance to pop the question to Y/N and not have you sabotage yourself again.” She stands satisfied, leaving Julian to laugh at her jab.

“Hah, well I suppose you’re right.” He secures the ring back in his pocket, standing as well to head to bed.

“Of course I am, but pep-talks with you are draining so you got off lucky. Next time, I’ll kick the back of your knees and put you in a head-lock instead. It’s less effort and more effective.” With that, she heads out the door and to her allocated room, leaving Julian concerned but thankful.

He blows out the candle, allowing the moonlight to guide him to the room the Grandma’s gave to Y/N and himself to stay in while they are visiting Nevivon. Carefully, he turns the handle on the modest door and peeks in to make sure he doesn’t disturb his partner if they’re already asleep. And to his delighted surprise, they’re sitting against the head of the bed reading a book.

“What are you still doing awake, my dear? It’s late.” Despite telling them this, he’s glad he gets to say goodnight to them of course.

“Mmhmm, so I’m not allowed to stay up, but you are then?” A raised brow and a smirk grace their face as if mimicking Julian’s signature expression. Despite only living together for a relatively short amount of time, both have picked up mannerisms from the other. Bonding over little sayings that the apprentice may tell him where he now notices that he repeats in other conversations from time to time, while Y/N has been able to think of more quips to outwit Julian, and he is more than delighted when they can go into a back-and-forth teasing match until one of them ultimately loses. But it’s hardly ever a loss as one of them will usually glow red in the cheeks. Or that it will lead to other activities.

He grins at them.“Yes?”

They stare at him a little longer, until they break with a giggle. “Just come to bed already.”

Julian gingerly closes the door and strolls over to his side of the bed, sitting on the edge and tasks himself with getting his boots off and pyjamas on. “Portia seemed eager before I left.” Y/N states.

This makes Julian halt for a moment. Did they hear him and Portia talking in the kitchen? Were they too loud? Did Julian just ruin his chances at ever giving Y/N the ring while revealing his true feelings and now they want to leave him and never see him again? “Uhm, yeah. I suppose she was.”

“Is she okay?” Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap.

“She’s… fine. Yeah she just wanted to tell me about how there is going to be a special town event next week.” Julian has only managed to get his left boot off. Maybe if he made a run for it now he could steal a boat and travel to another city, take a new identity and start fresh to save himself from the grave he was currently digging for himself.

“Oh really! What’s the occasion?” Y/N now has their sole attention on this mystery event that Julian has sprung onto them and alarm bells are going off in his head wishing he had just said she was okay and called it a night.

He feels sweat running down his neck. “Uh, it’s a surprise.” Portia is going to kill him when he tells her about this. “Yes, a surprise event that they hold every now and then! I guess the town thinks that our arrival here is as good a time as any to hold it.” Finally Julian manages to get his other boot off and slip out of his clothes into his pajamas. Oh there is no going back now.

“That sounds amazing! I can’t wait for it, I’m sure it will be a night to remember.” Y/N snuffs out the candle with a whisper of magic while Julian slips into bed and opens his arms to embrace them as they settle their head on his chest, holding each other close and sharing a kiss goodnight.

Julian finishes by saying, “yes, a night to remember for sure.” He’s not sure if he will be able to rest well tonight.

He is very much in trouble.

#the arcana #the arcana julian #fanfic #yes I did stay up until 4am doing this #julian devorak x reader #the arcana x reader #portia devorak #the apprentice #julian devorak x mc

[kjack89]

For the prompts for 300 fics, some kind of angst and reconciliation fic? I know that’s vague but I’m in the mood for some angst with a happy (or not!) ending, and you’re my go to for that :)

Angst with an optional happy ending? Nonny, you know me too well.

This is part 1 of what will be either multi-chaptered or just longer once I get it on AO3, so at the moment we’re just dealing with some light angst, and who doesn’t love that on a Saturday night. Hopefully the second part will be posted in a few days.

E/R, modern AU. Former relationship.

Enjolras pulled his hood even tighter over his blond curls and glanced over his shoulder before reaching up to feel for the key hidden on top of the door jamb. He was surprised, and more than a little concerned, when his fingers touched nothing but very dusty wood, and he chanced another glance over his shoulder before rapping lightly on the door.

The door opened no more than an inch. “Password,” a gruff voice barked, and Enjolras sighed.

He really should’ve known.

“Grantaire, if you don’t let me in, I will break down the door and use one of the splintered pieces of wood to kill you,” he said, as patiently and politely as he could, just in case someone was listening.

Grantaire opened the door enough to admit him, closing it after him and locking the doorknob lock and deadbolt before sliding the chain into place. “Firstly, I’d like to see you try,” he said with a grin that Enjolras did not return. “Secondly, for future reference, the password we were looking for was ‘my full glass’, with a security question of ‘what do I believe in?’.”

Enjolras tugged off his hoodie and balled it up before tossing it onto the couch, one of the few pieces of furniture in the tiny, cramped apartment. “Would you also have accepted ‘nothing’?” he asked waspishly.

“No, but I would’ve accepted ‘absolutely fucking nothing’,” Grantaire said cheerfully. “Adjectives matter.” His smile faded when he caught sight of the shiner beginning to darken around Enjolras’s left eye. “What happened?”

“Same thing that always happens,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed. “Meaning you have other, less visible injuries that you’re not going to do anything about until it’s too late to keep them from getting worse?” he asked dryly

Enjolras rolled his eyes and dug his phone out of his pocket to send a quick text. “What are you even doing here?” he asked, purposefully ignoring Grantaire’s question.

He didn’t see the look Grantaire gave him, but he could hear it plainly enough in his voice. “It’s a safe house,” he said. “I think that’s somewhat self-explanatory.”

“No, I mean—” Enjolras did glance up then, to examine Grantaire for an impatient second before telling him, “I didn’t even see you at the protest.”

Grantaire shrugged. “I’m pretty sure we can charitably refer to that as a riot,” he said.

Enjolras rolled his eyes and looked back down at his phone, which he powered off before disassembling it to remove the SIM card. “Whatever nomenclature you want to give it aside—”

“Speaking of nomenclatures,” Grantaire interrupted, “can we talk about how we’re referring to this as a safe ‘house’?” He flopped down on the couch. “This is a safe studio apartment. And I’m being generous with the term ‘studio’.”

“It’s illegal,” Enjolras informed him without looking up from his phone.

“Well no shit, this place is just plain criminal.”

Enjolras tucked his SIM card in his wallet before setting his phone down on the coffeetable. “No, I mean it was illegally built. It won’t show up on any building schematics or floorplans.”

Grantaire blinked. “Meaning…?”

“Meaning as long as you and I are in here, we don’t exist.”

Understanding flitted across Grantaire’s face. “I can see how that would have its advantages,” he murmured before glancing up at Enjolras. “Speaking of, how long do you think you and I will be staying in this lovely 250 square foot box?”

Enjolras shrugged, going to pour himself a glass of water from the tap in the corner of the apartment designated as the kitchen. “Hard to say,” he said, carrying the water over to the coffeetable and hesitating for only a moment before dropping his cellphone into it. He looked at Grantaire. “I assume you took care of any of your electronics with a GPS signal?”

“Yeah, but unlike you, seeing as how I don’t have the disposable income to just buy a new iPhone after every riot, I just left mine at home.”

“I don’t buy a new phone after every riot,” Enjolras muttered, feeling his ears burning red, and he sat down on the futon with a huff. “Only ones that ended badly and with potential criminal charges.”

“So...every riot.”

“I certainly hope you find yourself amusing enough to get through the next few days,” Enjolras said sourly. “Because we’re going to be here awhile.”

Grantaire groaned and tipped his head back to rest it against the back of the couch. “What did you do this time?” he asked, sounding resigned. “Molotov cocktail? Improvised incendiary device?” He turned his head to give Enjolras a wink. “Of course, that’s more Courfeyrac’s style than yours…”

“None of the above,” Enjolras told him, suddenly wishing he still had his phone to give him something to do with his hands. “I, uh, may have – shoved a cop.”

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed. “Shoved?” he repeated. “What does shoved mean in this context?” He didn’t wait for Enjolras’s answer. “And keep in mind that I’m not a cop or a prosecutor before you decide to obfuscate or lie.”

Enjolras shrugged again. “Maybe not, but you could also be tried as an accessory if I explain further.”

“As if I wouldn’t immediately execute my fifth amendment right against self-incrimination.”

Enjolras half-smiled. “Cute,” he said. “But you weren’t there.”

Grantaire arched an eyebrow at him. “And it’s on them to prove that,” he said coolly.

“So you’d risk a perjury rap for me?” Enjolras asked skeptically.

Something darkened in Grantaire’s expression. “I’ve risked worse for you,” he muttered, and Enjolras looked away, feeling his face color and hating himself just a little for it.

He bit back his initial response of defensiveness, of turning the tables back on Grantaire and asking him just what, exactly, he had risked over the course of what one could charitably call a relationship and more accurately call a friends with benefits arrangement – but then again, when had they ever been friends? – but something in Grantaire’s expression stopped him.

Or maybe it was just because he was stuck with his ex for the foreseeable future, and even he knew this was a bridge not worth burning right that moment.

“A cop decided to beat up a Black girl,” he said. “She couldn’t have been more than 14, and he didn’t even bother with his baton. She was on the ground and he wouldn’t stop, so I…” He trailed off and shrugged. “I stepped in.”

Grantaire let out a low whistle. “So you’re looking at aggravated battery,” he mused, looking up at the ceiling. “That’s, what, a class X felony? So you’re looking at 6 to 30, unless you can plead it down.”

Enjolras made a face. “Battery’s a stretch,” he said dismissively. “I’ll probably get slapped with aggravated assault.”

“Because the state’s attorney’s office is going to take one look at your record and decide to be generous.”

Enjolras barked a laugh and shook his head. “How do you know all this anyway?”

Grantaire shrugged. “I watch a lot of Law & Order reruns.” He gave Enjolras a critical look. “But potential criminal charges aside, are we just supposed to wait here with no link to the outside world until things blow over or something?”

It was Enjolras’s turn to shrug. “Or something.”

Grantaire sighed. “Great,” he said mournfully. “Well, thankfully, I was planning on quitting my job anyway, or I’d definitely be fired after this next round of no-call, no-shows.” He shoved himself up off the couch and slumped over to the small refrigerator humming ominously in the kitchen, and he opened the tiny freezer portion, pulling out a miniature ice cube tray. “That’s just pathetic,” he said, shaking his head.

Enjolras frowned. “Please don’t tell me you’re already making yourself a drink.”

“Hilarious,” Grantaire said. “But I already checked, and the only booze someone thought to stock this joint with is a couple bottles of bourbon, and I take my bourbon neat.” He cracked the ice cube tray into a ragged dishcloth, which he bundled up before carrying it over to Enjolras, holding it out for him. “This is for you, to try to keep that eye from getting worse,” he said, a little gruffly.

“Thanks,” Enjolras said, hesitating for only a moment before taking the dishcloth-wrapped ice and holding up to his eye, wincing at the cold. 

Grantaire looked at him carefully. “I’m guessing from the way you’re sitting, you’ve also got hit in the ribs – bruised or broken?”

“I’m sure they’re just bruised,” Enjolras assured him, but judging by the look on Grantaire’s face, he didn’t believe him.

Instead, he returned to the kitchen and refilled the ice tray, placing it back in the freezer. “So what are we gonna do now?” he asked off-handedly.

Enjolras shrugged. “Honestly? I have no idea. I’ve never exactly been someone good at relaxing.”

Grantaire snorted. “No shit, Sherlock.”

Enjolras arched an eyebrow, watching with his one good eye as Grantaire flopped down on the couch again. “You know, there was once a time when you would’ve given anything for it to be just you and me, alone, with no outside world for a few days.”

He had intended for it to be a funny, lighthearted memory, but he knew immediately by the way Grantaire sucked in a breath that it had landed as anything but that. They clearly weren’t to the point of joking about what they’d once had yet – if they’d ever get to that point. “Yeah, well,” Grantaire said, carefully avoiding Enjolras’s eyes, “that was a long time ago.”

Enjolras felt himself flush, but before he could offer some kind of apology, or explanation, Grantaire cleared his throat. “I think I’m just going to take a nap,” he said, still avoiding looking at Enjolras. “Riots really take it out of me.”

“Oh, right,” Enjolras said, hurrying to stand. “You can have the futon—”

“Nope, I got dibs on the couch.”

Enjolras frowned. “Take the futon,” he said. “I’m not going to make you sleep on the couch.”

“And I’m not going to make the person with potentially busted ribs sleep on the couch,” Grantaire shot back. “Besides, I checked out the futon before you arrived, and trust me, you’re not doing me any favors by switching.”

He said it with a sort of forced levity that told Enjolras not to push it further, so he didn’t. “If you say so,” he muttered instead, standing up and making his way over to the small pile of books stacked along one wall, hoping he could find something to keep his attention. 

By the time he returned to the futon with a novel that looked like it might do the trick – or at least make him angry enough that he’d have written a very thorough letter to the book’s publisher by the time he got out of there – Grantaire had rolled over onto his side, his back to Enjolras, ostensibly asleep.

But even though it had been a while since they had slept in the same bed, let alone the same room, Enjolras still knew Grantaire well enough to know when he was faking being asleep. And as he cracked open the book he had grabbed, he knew that Grantaire’s too-even breathing definitely indicated that he was not actually sleeping.

Which meant he preferred pretending to sleep to Enjolras’s company.

If that was any indication of how their time stuck together in the safe house was going to go, Enjolras couldn’t help but feel that they would both be very lucky if they made it out of there alive.

>>Read part 2 here>>

#exr #enjolras x grantaire #enjoltaire #enjolras #grantaire #ask #answered #hey nonny #fanfiction #les miserables #modern au #former relationship #reconciliation #well sort of #coming down the pipeline anyway #~tension~ #sorry to break this into 2 (or more) parts #writing has been a s t r u g g l e #and I figured i could use the additional motivation to actually finish this #Anonymous

[braiawrites]

Lost & Found - Chapter 3

Summary: A messenger fills Jude and Madoc in on important news. Jude and the cat pay a visit to the palace. || Inspired by this prompt by @newblood-freya

Words: 3188

Rating: T

Warnings: Brief description of a murder in the first section.

Links:

Fic Masterlist

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER FOUR

Prompt by newblood-freya

Read it on AO3

Writing Masterlist

Send me an ask!

A/N: So I thought writing a multi-chapter would be much easier once I had a solid plot laid out but when I tell you I was dragging words out by my teeth—yeah, I'm not super happy with this chapter but it's here and technically I had it finished in time, just not posted so uh. Good for me? Yeah I'll shut up now, here's chapter 3.

***

Dead. One of the princes was dead.

Jude stood stock still for a long moment, the shock on her face palpable as the words echoed in her mind.

Prince Dain was dead. Did that mean Cardan was, too?

Finally, she swallowed and took a shaky breath. “Prince Dain is dead?"

“Did you not know?” Madoc’s voice was heavy, his eyes sharp.

“No,” Jude gasped. “No, I–no. I thought this was about Cardan. I thought—I don’t know what, exactly, but not this.”

Madoc ran a large hand over his jaw, and then—

“Sit.” He gestured to one of the chairs set along the wall. “You might as well stay to hear the rest.”

She nodded numbly, hesitating before turning to the chair. The cat was standing next to her, black fur fluffed up and small body trembling, his eyes fixed on her foster father. He seemed as horrified as she felt.

“Your guest can stay as well,” Madoc said, tilting his head curiously at the cat. “We will talk about keeping pets later.”

With a nod, she scooped him up as she moved to sit down, tucking the trembling form into herself. She wanted to murmur comforts into his soft black fluff—as much for him as for herself, she suspected—but with Madoc and the messenger looking on, she settled for soothingly stroking the length of his back.

Madoc turned his attention to the messenger boy. “Report,” he instructed, like the boy were one of his soldiers.

He certainly reacted like one, his spine straightening and his chin lifting as he snapped his liquid gaze up to Madoc’s.

Jude didn’t blame him. The old redcap could have that effect.

“Prince Dain never returned to his quarters yesterday,” the imp said. “He was found by a librarian this evening in the royal lineage section, propped against the shelf and—” the imp paused, looking slightly sick, “and with his throat slit.”

“Any other injuries?” Madoc’s voice was cool and steady, as though he were asking about the weather, not the murder of a prince.

“I didn’t—I don’t know, sir. I didn’t see the body.”

At the general’s displeased grunt, the boy rushed to add, “But—at the time of my departure, they were just going to fetch a royal physician. They’ll have the report by now, I’m sure.”

“Hmph,” Madoc responded. “I’ll just have to go and find out for myself. Dismissed.”

As the imp bowed and turned to leave, Jude found herself blurting, “Wait!” the word coming out before she had a chance to think better of it.

The imp halted, glancing first at Madoc, who shrugged, and then at her.

“What about Prince Cardan?” she asked. “Has there been any news of him?”

The cat on her lap stirred slightly, his paws kneading into her legs at the mention of the disfavoured prince’s name.

“Not to my knowledge,” the boy said, shaking his head, and Jude felt her heart drop.

She nodded her thanks as the messenger bowed again and left, not trusting herself to speak through the tightening of her throat or the worry washing through her. For all he’d done to her, for all that he was her worst enemy, she never would have wished him dead.

Madoc’s commanding rumble broke through her fear. “Go and have the stablehands prepare me a mount,” he said. His eyes glared into hers as he repeated, “One mount.”

“I’m not—” Jude started, her fists clenching, but she swallowed her protest. There was no point in saying anything—he’d already made it clear that he wouldn’t allow her to come.

“Fine,” she said instead, and gathered her cat up as she left.

~ ~ ~

Jude did not go to the stables, but instead marched straight to her room, the heels of her boots clicking on the wooden floors. She caught a servant along the way to demand a mount be made ready for Madoc, and then set about preparing for her own trip to the palace.

As she strapped her sword belt to her waist and hid daggers under her sleeves, she kept glancing sidelong at the little cat pacing her floor. His tail lashed viciously with each step, his eyes bright. He must sense her own agitation.

“I’m sorry,” she told him. “I’m just worried. But I’m not staying home until Madoc brings word. For all I know, he’ll leave out all of the most important details to keep me from getting involved.” She scowled. “I’m not a child anymore. And I’m going to find out what happened to Cardan.”

The cat meowed and when she glanced over he met her eyes full on with his own amber bright glare. She could have sworn he’d sounded annoyed as she glared back at him, trying not to let her unnerve show. It wasn’t natural how human he seemed sometimes.

With a deep, steadying breath, she strapped the last sheath to her thigh and double checked the blade before sliding it into place.

She glanced at her cat again. “Are you coming?”

He mewed and clambered up her clothes, his claws pricking her skin.

“I swear you do that on purpose,” she grumbled as she checked out her window.

In the distance, Madoc was galloping astride a dark horse, almost at the edge of the Milkwood. By the time she had a mount saddled, he would be too far ahead to notice her.

With the cat slunk over her shoulders like a warm scarf, she made her way down to the stables and chose a light-footed creature reminiscent of a reindeer with glassy eyes and long fangs on either side of its mouth.

She made good time through the woods, her mount swift and smooth as it dodged trees and leapt fallen logs. The cat perched on the saddle before her, little face upturned in the wind, eyes slitted in pleasure, and Jude would have joined him had there not been a knot in her stomach at the possibility of Cardan being dead.

When the palace of Elfhame came into view, she pulled her mount to a stop and left it to graze out of view. Though it would have been quicker, coming careening up to the castle on the back of a fanged reindeer would be far from inconspicuous.

She continued on foot, the cat riding on her shoulders once again until they neared the base of the hill where the entrance was hidden by humming magic.

Two guards stood watch today, a precaution to keep unwanted visitors out after the news of Prince Dain’s murder. She had planned to enter quietly, but that may be impossible now.

As Jude drew closer, the guards moved in unison, drawing their weapons.

“What business do you have at the palace?" the taller of the two asked.

Jude lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. “I’m here with General Madoc,” she declared, to which the shorter guard snickered.

“Sure you are, mortal.”

The taller one shook her head. “The general specifically stated that he came alone.”

Jude fought the urge to clench her fists as the guards remained unmoving. “I need to see him,” she tried, “it’s important.”

“There’s nothing we can do about that,” the short guard drawled. “No one’s allowed in or out without explicit orders.”

The taller one shrugged apologetically. “Sorry. We can take a message, if you like.”

Jude shook her head, already turning away with a mumbled excuse, when her cat leapt off her shoulder and disappeared into the hill.

“Hey!” she called after him, moving to follow, but the guards stepped in front of her.

“You can’t go in.”

“But my cat—”

“You live in the general’s household?” the taller guard asked.

“Yes.”

“We’ll make sure the cat gets sent back with him if we see it again.”

She ground her teeth but nodded. “Fine. Guess I’m leaving then.”

“Guess you are,” the shorter guard challenged.

She fought the urge to say something smart back, or draw her sword on him, and instead walked around the hill.

“Where are you going now?” one of the guards called.

Nosy, she thought, but yelled back, “Visiting a friend,” and rounded the base of the hill until she was out of their view.

There had to be another way in, and so long as there was one, she would find it. She paced a half circle around the side of the hill opposite the guards, searching for another illusioned entrance or tunnel, a servants’ door—nothing.

Jude was just about to give up when she heard a triumphant, “Mrrrow!” from somewhere above. It was her cat, his little black head poking out an open window halfway up the hill.

“You genius little kitty!” she praised him, jogging up the sloping earth and climbing through the round window. As she eased the wood-bordered glass pane shut again, she whispered, “I didn’t even know these opened.”

The cat purred, looking decidedly smug, and Jude marvelled again at his strangeness.

“You don’t happen to know the way to the dungeons too, do you?” she asked, half jokingly.

He chirped and wound around her leg before trotting out of the room.

~ ~ ~

Jude entered the dungeons on quiet feet, trailing after the little black cat. The moment his paws touched the cold stone he yelped and leapt back onto her shoulders, his claws digging in.

“Spoiled rotten,” she accused him. “You have twice as many legs as me, you know. If anything you should be the one doing the carrying.”

She could have sworn he stuck his tongue out at her in response, or maybe it was just a coincidence, so she blew in his face.

The dungeon was mostly empty, with the few cells that were filled being deeper down. She supposed crimes weren’t oft committed in a land were a forceful promise was binding. Or, Jude thought as her eyes caught on an executioner’s sword mounted on the wall, maybe there was a darker reason.

She tried not to shiver in the damp air as she stalked past rows of cells, her eyes scanning the shadows for a pixie girl in a gown fit for a revel.

When at last she stopped before a small figure in a dirty gown, the cat sprung from her shoulders to stand, hissing and hackles raised, before the bars.

Behind the bars, the pixie sat up from where she was lounging on her straw palette, a laugh spilling from her lips, bitter and grating to Jude’s ears.

“Well, hello again,” the prisoner smirked, ruby red eyes flashing in the low light. “It looks like you came back to find me. You miss me that much?”

Jude tried to hide the confusion swirling inside her as she picked up her yowling cat. “We’ve never met,” she stated, to which the pixie laughed again.

“Not everything’s about you, love.” Her eyes locked on the cat as she jerked her chin at it. “Cat bring you here?”

Jude frowned. “Leave him out of it.”

“Alright, if you insist,” she shrugged. “So what do you want? Because as much as I’d like to think you came just to visit, I find it hard to believe you would appreciate my company so much—especially since we’ve never met.”

Jude shifted. She hadn’t thought about what she was going to actually say once she got here—ask nicely for the return of the prince? Grab the prisoner through the bars and shake her? Instead, Jude steeled herself and dove straight in, barrelling through both tact and diplomacy in one fell swoop.

“I have questions.”

“And what makes you think I have answers?”

“I already know you’re connected to Cardan’s disappearance,” she said, stepping closer, “and you’re going to tell me where he is.”

“Oh?” Red brows lifted over honey gold skin as the prisoner regarded Jude with some interest. “Am I now?”

“Yes, you are.” Jude ground the words out through gritted teeth, resisting the urge to lay her hand on her sword hilt as the pixie seemingly considered her options. Finally, she leaned back on her straw palette like it was the most comfortable bed in the world.

“No.” Her tone was flat, void of emotion, but there was a flicker of something—anger? Regret?—behind her eyes.

“I’m not asking,” Jude said, meeting the pixie’s glare.

“Oh, but I think you are. What else are you going to do? Threaten me? I’m already behind bars, darling, and you snuck in here. As soon as I called for a guard, you’d have to run, or risk being caught.”

Jude thought about bluffing or lying her way out of the trap, but curiosity got the better of her.

“How did you know I snuck in?”

“I didn’t, for sure, until just now,” the pixie responded, and Jude cursed herself for her stupidity. “I’d guessed it, because you have no uniform and no keys, and because no one ever enters from that direction.” She gestured down the hall where Jude had come from minutes prior. “And because the castle already came to see me today.”

At Jude’s frown, the girl elaborated with a roll of her eyes.

“They come down here every single day to ask me if I’m ready to tell them what I did with our dearest Prince Cardan, and every single day I tell them no, I’m not ready, I’m still literally unable to talk about anything I’ve done EVEN IF I WANTED TO, because I’m under a damn OATH!”

She threw her hands up in frustration before covering her face with her arms, huffing a sigh before continuing. “And then they walk away and tell me well then, no food until you’re ready to talk, and I always scream my worst insults at them as they leave, which I have to admit makes me feel just a teeny bit better.”

She sat up and met Jude’s eyes with a shrug. “I mean, it’s not nice of me, but I think I deserve it after all this.” She gestured to the mildew damp walls and bounced a bit on the creaky bed.

A pang of sympathy wormed its way into Jude’s heart, but she shut it out.

“How are you not dead?” she asked. “You have to have said something or you’d have starved by now.”

The girl laughed again. “Oh, but that’s the beauty of it! See, this cell is enchanted specially by High King Eldred himself.” Her eyes flashed and her smile faltered, so momentarily Jude could almost have been convinced it didn’t happen. Almost.

“Once you step inside, you can feel as hungry or as thirsty as you like, but you’ll never die from it. It’s a special kind of torture,” the pixie grimaced.

Jude swallowed the pity rising in her throat and lifted her chin. “Well, you probably deserved it. You’re a murderer afterall.”

“I—” the girl began to protest, but she stopped before she could say anymore. A moment passed before she coughed.

“Like I said, I can’t tell you anything about what I’ve done, but I can tell you that if I had been given a choice, I wouldn’t have gone after Cardan.”

“And Dain?”

“Dain?” the pixie echoed. “What about him?”

“They found him murdered this evening. Did you go after him?”

“What?” If the look of utter shock on the pixie’s face hadn’t convinced Jude, her next words did: “I didn’t kill Dain. You know I can’t lie, so you believe me, right? You know I’m telling the truth.”

Slowly, Jude nodded. “I believe you.”

“Listen: I can’t tell you what I did to Cardan, or why, or who I work for, but I can tell you this,” the pixie said, moving to stand by the bars.

“Desires sometimes take unexpected forms, but chasing them does no good when they’re already within your grasp. Cardan is closer than you think, but there is a power that will always hunger, and if you don’t stop it soon, it’ll devour not only your prince, but the rest of Faerie as well.”

Silence fell over the jail like a blanket, disturbed only by the drip, drip, drip of water.

Finally, the prisoner raised red brows. “So?”

“Thank you so much, that was so helpful and I now know everything,” Jude declared flatly.

The pixie girl sighed and propped her fists on the soiled waist of her gown. “You can be sarcastic all you want, babe, but I swear, that was as much as I can tell you—you know, binding oath and all? I mean, have you not been listening this entire conversation?”

The cat on her shoulder mewed and Jude glared at him sidelong.

“Whose side are you on?” she huffed, to which he meowed again and lashed his tail.

“Alright, fine.” Jude pressed her lips into a thin line as she turned back to face the girl in the cell. “I’ll figure it out myself.”

With the cat on her shoulder, Jude stalked out of the palace the same way she’d come in.

~ ~ ~

Cardan sat on the windowsill of Jude’s room, watching as the sun began to creep above the horizon, painting the sky in the golden light of dawn. Behind him, Jude was deep in slumber, snoring softly into her pillow, but with everything that had happened today, he couldn’t sleep.

Dain was gone and the palace was in shambles—he’d seen as much when he’d slipped inside. Guards had been everywhere, servants carrying cleaning supplies milled about, and curious courtiers had drifted through the halls, trying to catch a glimpse of what had happened.

When he’d passed by the library, Cardan had paused, resisting the urge to enter. When he breathed in, he’d nearly vomited.

Scents were much stronger to his cat nose, and through the must of old books and scrolls, beneath the scent of centuries of dust, he had smelled the cooling blood of his brother as it seeped into the carpets. It had taken all his willpower not to collapse in his sorrow.

The blankets rustled from inside the room and Jude’s groggy voice reached his ears.

“Kitty? What’re you doin’?”

He glanced at her over his shoulder and gave her a soft mrrm of amusement. Her hair was escaping its braid and dried drool had left a trail down her cheek.

“Come here, kitty,” she crooned, patting the blankets, and Cardan complied, slinking across the room to curl up in the curve of her arm.

Jude’s fingers played in the fluff around his neck and he couldn’t help but purr into the silence. He’d always been disgusted by how much he craved her touch, but he’d discovered of late that her fingers scratching his jaw or playing with his fur was one of his favourite things. He blamed Pellia’s cat curse.

They stayed that way for a long while, Jude stroking his fluff and his purrs warming the ever-lightening room.

When he twisted his face up to look at her, she brushed a kiss to his nose before settling into her pillows and pulling him closer. If cats could blush, he would have been bright pink.

“Sleep tight, kitty,” Jude whispered. “You’re safe here.”

And Cardan knew she was right.

***

A/N: Hello, loves! Thanks for reading and I hope you liked it!! I'm sorry this was a bit late, as I said earlier I struggled with this chapter so much. Thank you all so much for your support though, reading your lovely comments was a big motivation to get this chapter written, and I can say with absolute certainty that I would have given up long ago if it weren't for your kind feedback. I'm sending lots of love to all of you!

(PS: Please let me know if you’d like to be added to or removed from my tag list!)

Tagging: @stardustsroses @nahthanks @jurdanhell @my-one-true-l @thefolkofthefic @greenbriarxrose @bookavert @queen-of-demons-and-hell @theviolettulip @lysandra-ghost-leopard @playlistmusings @localgoof @garnet-babe @iamaprincessallgirlsare

#lost & found fic #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #cardans tail #jude x cardan #cardan x jude #jurdan #jurdan fic #the folk of the air #folk of the air #tfota #fota #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #tqon #queen of nothing #qon #twk #tcp #holly black #tfota fanfic #cat!cardan #catboy cardan #jude #cardan #dain greenbriar #madoc the folk of the air #madoc tfota #high king eldred

[irondad-creator-awards]

Nominations So Far (Updated)

I wasn’t going to update the form or list until nominations had closed, but I realized that was unfair to those nominated as their stories would not be in the collection. This is not quite complete, as there were a few more submissions in the night, but this is as fas as I’ve got over the last two days.

NOTE: Some creators have asked to not be inciuded in the awards, so if you nominated someone that’s not made the list, that’s why.

1. THE ONE THAT MADE YOU GASP! — A story which had a plot twist you didn’t see coming. Something that caught you so off guard that you had to stop a minute and take a breath before devouring the rest. What’s the story for you?

A Beautiful Lie by RayRox360

A Peter Parker Problem by Spagbol99

Chaotic Peter Parker by Isnt_It_Pretty_To_Think_So

Cycle Through by Ambivalentangst

Ever In Your Favor by Iron_Spider

Irondad Ficlets by Ironxprince

Like Father, Like Son by An_Odd_Idea

Love Leaves A Memory No-One Can Steal by Ironmum

More Peril In Thine Eye  by Iron_Spider

No Longer In Service by Starryknight09

Proof Of Concept by Flurrbee

Serenity by Jolinarjackson

Spidey Tot by Kevy_Grayce

Stab Me In The Back (I'll Catch You From Behind) by Lansfics7

Stop, Look, Listen by Forthenightisdarkandfullofterror

The Case of The Sinister Spider by ironfamjam

Unforeseen Circumstances by JLMonroe1234

      2. THE MULTI-CHAPTER YOU COULDN’T PUT DOWN — A story which kept you up all night or calling in sick for work so you were free to read. Who’s the culprit?

  A Beautiful Lie by Rayrox360

A Parent Apparent by Happyaspie

A Peter Parker Problem by Spagbol99

A Sailor Went To Sea by by Yellowdistress

Acolyte by Macabre

Air I Breathe by Heartofcathedrals

All The Devils Are Here by Yellowdistress

And You’ll Blow Us All Away by Losingmymindtonight

Astronomy In Reverse by Pansley

Breathe, Then Repeat, by Thesecretuchiha

Come My Darling, Homeward Bound by Iamirondad

Ever In Your Favor by Iron—Spider

Every Beautiful Lie (Always Has An Ugly Truth by Da_Moose

Five Times Tony And Peter Chaotically Cleaned by Ironmum

Free Like A Broken Heart by Notapartytrick

I Will Carry You (Always) by Thestarvingwriter

Identity Crisis by Kitcat992

If They All Knew About You by Mshermia

In Unlikely Places by Looneylizzie

Irondad Ficlets by Ironxprince

More Peril In Thine Eye by Iron—Spider

Mr. Parker Declined To Commentby Apisdn

Pain Will Always Come Back To Haunt You by Kevy_Grayce

Permanence by Theexhaustedalchemist

Petey And The Hermit by Eccentric_Artist_221b

Pieces Of Echoes by Geekymoviemom

Proof Spiderman Loves Clickbait         by Mauvera

Rise From The Ashes; Just To See You Again by Mintstream

Sins Of The Fathers by Geekymoviemom

Spider-Man: Avengers (And Midtown High) React by Gayplums

Stop, Look, Listen by Forthenightisdarkandfullofterror

The Lost And Forgotten by Lizcraz

The Rattle Of Their Hearts by Iron_Spider

Turn Back The Clock (And I'll Try Again In The Morning) by Madasthesea

We Accept The Love We Think We Deserve by Polaroid15

We Will Foresee Obstacles by Blackwatchandromeda (Avenris)

          3. THE ONE-SHOT THAT THAT HAD YOU HOOKED — Some writers can cram more greatness into less words than a 100k monster. What’s the one-shot that did it for you?

  5 Times Peter Sleepwalked And The 1 Time He Pretended He Did by Losingmymindtonight

A Little Gray Area (Where I Can Keep You Safe) by Divineprojectzero

Blessed Be The Boys Time Can’t Capture by Killerqueenwrites

Countless Ways To Say I Love You            by Hopeless_Hope

Familiar Faces by Happyaspie

First Wednesday Of March by The Case Of The Missing Museum Bea-Storer

Fitting In (Tiny Spaces) by Aloneintherain

For Good by Madelinedear

I Can Hold The Weight Of Worlds (If That's What You Need) by Bluesweatshirt

I Did It All For You (So I Can’t Lose You Now) by Another_Introvert

I Just Wanted To Protect You by Sunflowerspideyy

I Promise I'll Do Better by 221broadwayiron

I Promise You Kid, You're Safe Now by Bstarship

I Will Soften Every Edge by Losingmymindtonight

In My Heart There Was A Kind Of Fighting by Iron_Spider

New Dream by Writerllofllworlds

Petey And The Hermit by Eccentric_Artist_221b

Place In Your Heart by Potrix

Quaranteens by Blueh

Someone To Want Me by Fritokays

Something Here Will Eventually Have To Explode by Madasthesea

The Primary Reason Tony Stark Would Throw Down With An Anti-Vaxxer In The Street by Caraminha

To Be Like You by Polaroid15

What You're Feeling Is Probably Normal by Finny3120

    4. THE BEST THINGS COME IN SMALL PACKAGES — A drabble (under 1k) can pack in all the goodness that you need in a coffee break read. What’s that story for you?

  Buttering Me Up by Iron_Spider

Cuddle Bug by Marvelous_Writer

Food At Home by Aimaim94

I Feel A Filth In My Bones (Wash Off My Hands Til It's Gone) by Madasthesea

Insomniacs In The Dark by Littlemissagrifina

Irondad Cuddles by Lilacsoulw

Let The Mind Games Begin by Ironmum

Of Christmas Lights And Car Chases by Marvelous_Writer

Of Masks And Memories by Littlemissagrafina

Quentin Knows Best by Undercover_Royalty

S.O.S. (Somehow Obtained Son) by Madasthesea

  5. THE BIODAD THAT TOUCHED YOUR HEART — Some of the greatest stories flip canon and make Tony Peter’s biological father. Be it baby Peter taking his first steps or Tony dealing with the fact his son is following in his superhero footsteps as Spider-Man, which is the one you loved most of all?

  A Gift Of Blood by Theeclecticsoul

An Abstract Concept by Iron-Spider

Be Careful What You Wish For, You May Just Get It by Savana_Marlark

Built From Scraps by  Peter Stank

Happy Birthday - And Merry Christmas   Thequeenofwhump

Happy Hogan Never Forgets A Face by Jen27ny

Hardest Lessons (Softest Results) by Mainstreamelectricalparade

I Love You Mother Than Anything by Iron_Spider

If They Knew All About You by Mshermia

My Little Bambino by Maicaly

My Little Bambino by Maicaly

Return To Me, The One I Love So Endlessly by Superherotiger

Slow Down, Start Again From The Beginning by Cassiecasyl

So Many Things Left To Say (Series) by Sarcasmismyweapon

Sound Logic by Aytheria

Spiderson by Emily_F6

Stars, Hide Your Fires by Yellowdistress.

The Less Than Secret Life by Yellowdistress

The One Where Peter Is Related To Tony by Marvel_Cinematic_Universe_Fan

The Ties That Bind Us by Winterturtle

They Say Boys Don't Cry (But Your Dad Has Shed A Lot Of Tears) by Tempestaurora

What We Are (Series)  by Yellowdistress

What’s In A Name? by Geekymoviemom

    6. THE ONE WITH THE FIELD TRIP — The field trip trope is one of the most popular in the fandom. What’s the story that you think pulls all the elements together to make it great?

  A Different Take by Cyberwolfwrites

Academic Commitment by Underoosstark

Constant Internal [Spider] Screaming: Semi-Connected Scenes From A Graduating Senior’s Life by Isadancurtisproduction

Everyday Superhero by Stoneage_Woman

Field Trip by Inkinmyheartandonthepage

Field Trip Flip by  Happyaspie

From Your Perspective, The World Is Flat by Blueh

I Don’t Want To Talk About It Anymore by Bees_And_Wasps

It's Above My Clearance Level by Tsk

Living With Superheros? Not Cool by Groot_Is_God

Mr Stark Enough For You? (Another Field Trip Fic Bcs We Dont Have Enough) by Livinei

Neon Liar (Hiding In Plain Sight) by Isadancurtisproduction

No Reason To Go by Pokegeek151

One Fall Weekend by Marvelous_Writer

Tower Of Donuts And Doubts by Platinumdollz

Who Is He? by Velarisstars

          7. THE TIME AFTER TIME ONE — There’s some great time travel stories out there, but which is your favorite?

  Be Careful What You Wish For, You May Just Get It by Savana_Marlark

Breathe, Then Repeat by Thesecretuchiha

Every Beautiful Lie (Always Has An Ugly Truth) by Da_Moose

Hero by Lady_Oneder

I Have Time by Peterparkr

It’s Me, Remember? by Nanixerka

Oh, Take Me Back To The Start by Theregularwriter

Peter And Morgan's 40-Year-Long-Day by Thismarvelouslife

The End Is Just A New Beginning              by Tytach

The Other Mr. Stark by Jelly_Pies

The Time Traveler’s Mentor by Iamirondad

Turn Back The Clock (And I'll Try Again In The Morning) by Madasthesea

We Will Foresee Obstacles  by Blackwatchandromeda (Avenris)

Whatever It Takes by Starryknight09

        8. THE ONE WITH ALL THE OWIES — Another massively popular Irondad trope is hurt/comfort, and there’s some amazing stuff out there. Which is the one that you love most of all?

  A Beautiful Lie by Rayrox360

A Different Take by Cyberwolfwrites

A Peter Parker Problem by Spagbol99

A Scare In The Stark Household by Marvelous_Writer

Air I Breathe by Heartofcathedrals

Atlas by Polaroid15

Be Weak by Fluencca

Broken by My Own Hand (Put Back Together by Yours) by Gwenoakley

Built From Scraps by Peterstank

But What Is Grief? by Odd_1

Cycle Through by Ambivalentangst

Cycle Through by Ambivalentangst

Danger Pizza by Alice_In_Ink

Darkness Will Be Rewritten by Marveal

Dude, Do These Tacos Taste Funny To You? by First_Page

Five Times Peter Said "Sorry" To Tony Stark by Agentnerd

Follow The North Star Home by Fallingforbees

Foolish, Fragile Spine by Plnkblue

Held On As Tightly As You Held On To Me by Itsreallylaterightnow & Killerqueenwrites

Held On As Tightly As You Held On To Me by Itsreallylaterightnow & Killerqueenwrites

Lazarus, Come Forth by by Iron_Spider

More Peril In Thine Eye by Iron—Spider

Of Flying And Falling by Polaroid15

Of Flying And Falling by Polaroid15

Outnumbered by Heartofcathedrals

Peaches by Peterparkr

Peppermint Allergy by Carpediem369

Peter's Ghost And One (1) Obnoxious Orange Stone by Bean_Reads_Fanic

Project Pride by Thesleepingowl

Seeing Without Sound by Astronomical_Alien

Shelter by Unluckyolive

Sometimes It’s Easier To Just Swim Down by Mjscorner

Stab Me In The Back (I'll Catch You From Behind) by Lansfics7

Stab Me In The Back (I'll Catch You From Behind) by Lansfics7

Statistically Speaking by Foolscapper

Stop, Look, Listen by Forthenightisdarkandfullofterror

Stuck by Jelly-Pies

Stuck by Jelly-Pies

The Adventures Of Spidy-Son And Iron-Dad (Series) by Eva7673

The Past Is Knocking On My Door by Maicaly

The Room Where It Happens by Notapartytrick

The Third Option by Uncertainty_Principle

Thirteen Minutes by Solstice

We All Chase After A Few Dying Stars by Losingmymindtonight

What I Have, I Give To You by Aatticsaltt

When My Body Won't Hold Me Anymore (Where Will I Go) by Madasthesea

You’ll Always Get There First by Crowkag

Your Heart Changed (Mine Stayed The Same) by Loisselina

  9. THE ONE THAT HURTS SO GOOD — We all like a bit of angst sometimes, so what’s the story that you wanted to hide from but you had to keep reading to get to the happy ending?

  5 Times Tony Forgot Peter Was Just A Kid by Parkrstark

A Beautiful Lie by Rayrox360

A Peter Parker Problem by Spagbol99

Built From Scraps by Peterstank

Caught In A Lie by Krystalpomme

Cycle Through by Ambivalentangst

Don't Worry About Me by Chvotic

Ever In Your Favor by Iron_Spider

Fifteen Years In The Making by Potts89

Goodbye Mr. Stark, Thanks For Trying by              Jelly-Pies

Held On As Tightly As You Held On To Me by Itsreallylaterightnow And Killerqueenwrites

I Need You To Be Free by Marveal

I Promise I'll Do Better by 221broadwayiron

I Want Go by Chvotic

I Will Carry You (Always) by Thestarvingwriter

If You Can't Catch A Breath (You Can Take The Oxygen Straight Out Of My Own Chest) by Losingmymindtonight

If You Listen You Can Hear The Ibis by Yellowedistress

Jealous? by Chvotic

Let's Get On With Living (While We Can) by Almond_Blossoms

Let's Get On With Living (While We Can)              by Almond_Blossoms

Love Leaves A Memory No-One Can Steal by Ironmum

May Parker's Complete Guide On How To Raise Your Spiderling by Embarrassing_Myself

More Peril In Thine Eye  by Iron_Spider

Of Drizzly Skies And Saltwater Taffy by Eccentric_Artist_221b

Of Flying And Falling by Polaroid15

Peter's Ghost And One (1) Obnoxious Orange Stone by The-Reverse-Mermaid

Reviving Peter Parker by Yellowdistress

Stab Me In The Back (I'll Catch You From Behind) by Lansfics7

Standing On My Own Two Feet by Minigigi

Stop, Look, Listen  by Forthenightisdarkandfullofterror

Stuck by Jelly-Pies

Sunlight by Ardenskyeholmes221

The Missing 92 Days  by Yellowdistress

The Room Where It Happens by Notapartytrick

Thunder And Attrition by Magniloquentchanteuse

Turn Back The Clock (And I’ll Try Again In The Morning) by Madasthesea

When My Body Won't Hold Me Anymore (Where Will I Go) by Madasthesea

When Trauma Comes Knocking by Kevy_Grayce

        10. THE ONE THAT SOOTHES THE PAIN — What’s The Story That You Go To When You Need A Pick-Me-Up After The Angst?

  5 Times A Spider-Baby Got Dad Smooched by Buckets_Of_Stars

5 Times Peter Made Tony Laugh Out Loud by Grilledcheesing

5 Times Tony Calls Peter Baby by Madasthesea

5 Times Tony Forgot Peter Was Just A Kid by by Parkrstark

5 Times Tony Stark Protected Penny Parker by Emily_F6

A Beautiful Lie by Rayrox360

A Peter Parker Problem by Spagbol99

Be Careful What You Wish For, You May Just Get It by Savana_Marlark

Bedside Stories by Wildwaveswhist

Bitch Better Have My Money by Neicy286

Built From Scraps by Peterstank

Career Day: A Short Story by Shewritesall

Caught In A Lie  Krystalpomme

Congratulations, It's A Boy by Capiocapi

Cuddle Bug by  Marvelous_Writer

Cycle Through by Ambivalentangst

Don't Worry About Me by Chvotic

Early Childhood Education by Thedisneyoutsider

Ever In Your Favor by Iron_Spider

Fifteen Years In The Making by Potts89

Five Times Peter And Tony Chaotically Cleaned by Ironmum

Goodbye Mr. Stark, Thanks For Trying by              Jelly-Pies

Hardest Lessons (Softest Results) by Mainstreamelectricalparade

Held On As Tightly As You Held On To Me by Itsreallylaterightnow And Killerqueenwrites

I Can Hold The Weight Of The Worlds (If That's What You Need) by Bluesweatshirt

I Need You To Be Free by Marveal

I Promise I'll Do Better by 221broadwayiron

I Want Go by by Chvotic

I Will Carry You (Always) by  Thestarvingwriter

If You Can't Catch A Breath (You Can Take The Oxygen Straight Out Of My Own Chest) by Losingmymindtonight

If You Listen You Can Hear The Ibis by Yellowedistress

Instant Kill Mode by Isnt_It_Pretty_To_Think_So

It's My Party And I'll Bite If I Want To by Whumphoarder

Jealous? by Chvotic

Kids These Days by Isnt_It_Pretty_To_Think_So

Leave Me Where I Am (I'm Only Sleeping)            by Hopeless_Hope

Let's Get On With Living (While We Can) by Almond_Blossoms

Love Leaves A Memory No-One Can Steal by Ironmum

Macho Macho Man by Iron_Spider

May Parker's Complete Guide On How To Raise Your Spiderling by Embarrassing_Myself

More Peril In Thine Eye by Iron_Spider

My Boy by Thisisnotourlasthunt

No More Lonely by Shewritesall

Of Drizzly Skies And Saltwater Taffy by Eccentric_Artist_221b

Of Flying And Falling by Polaroid15

Peter Revs His Engine by Punkybunny

Peter's Ghost And One (1) Obnoxious Orange Stone by The-Reverse-Mermaid

Petey And The Hermit by Eccentric_Artist_221b

Research And Disaster by Blueh

Reviving Peter Parker by Yellowdistress

Stab Me In The Back (I'll Catch You From Behind) by Lansfics7

Standing On My Own Two Feet by Minigigi

Stop, Look, Listen by Forthenightisdarkandfullofterror

Storm by Parkerxheart

Stuck by Jelly-Pies

Sunlight by Ardenskyeholmes221

That's How You And I Will by Frostysunflowers

The Missing 92 Days by Yellowdistress

The Road So Far by Nicolemoon8

The Room Where It Happens by Notapartytrick

The Sun's Starting To Rise (These Are Beautiful Times) by Jelly-Pies

Thunder And Attrition by Magniloquentchanteuse

Turn Back The Clock (And I’ll Try Again In The Morning) by Madasthesea

What You're Feeling Is Probably Normal by Finny3120

Whatever It Takes by Starryknight90

When My Body Won't Hold Me Anymore (Where Will I Go) by Madasthesea

When Trauma Comes Knocking by Kevy_Grayce

    11. THE ONE WITHOUT A HOME TO GO TO — There’s some wonderful homeless Peter stories out there, so which is the one you were blown away by?

  A Difference In Husbandry by Happy_Cloud

After The Landslide by Freyaatterton

After The Landslide by Freyaatterton

Distracted by A Dime by Happyaspie

I Told You I Had Issues by Bergen

In The End by Annie_Walker

Is It Too Much To Ask For Home That Lasts? Ft. Peter Parker by Wakandaforever2357

Make Way For Tomorrow by Hopeless_Hope

One Step Unto The Lonely Road (Has Scarred Me For Life)  by Hopeless_Hope

Reintroducing Hope by Fernandidilly_Yo

The Art Of Publicity by Xmypandabear

The Little Things (That I Miss) by Da_Moose

The Lost And Forgotten by Litcraz

The Third Option by Uncertainty_Principle

 Thunder And Attrition by Magniloquentchanteuse

Unexpected (Everything I Never Knew I Wanted) by Moonchild2593

Unexpected Finds by Snarkymuch

Unwanted by Agib

  12. THE ONE THAT’S A WHOLE NEW WORLD — There’s lots of imaginative AUs in Irondad fic. Whether it’s Steve and Tony as baseball players or Pepper being Peter’s mom, which one is your number one?

  A Guardian Among Us by Superherotiger

A Long Way Forward by Rxcrcfllptrs

A Soul's Best Friend by Superherotiger

Ain't My Blood; Still My Boys by Parkrstark

 Can’t Erase What I Wrote In Ink (Tell Me How Can I Change The Story) by Littlemissagrafina

Dear Fellow Traveler (Series) by Superherotiger

Ever In Your Favor by Iron_Spider

Have Patience, A Quick Wit, And A Gentle Heart by Ironfamjam

I Battle My Jerk Step-Dad by Andromath

Moulded Mind by Wingswithoutstrings

Nothing Left To Lose by Notapartytrick

Only For A Little While by Eccentric_Artist_221b

Petey And The Hermit by Eccentric_Artist_221b

Return To Me, The One I Love So Endlessly by Superherotiger

Sea Spider by Bean_Reads_Fanfic

Spidey Tot by Kevy_Grayce

The Phoenix Project by Geekymoviemom

The Will Of The Force by Madasthesea

Though Everything Is A Miracle by Overtures

Though Everything Is A Miracle by Overtures

Until It Disappeared From Me by Ashleyparker2815

What We Grow To Be by Killerqueenwrites

When I Am On Your Shoulders by Ladyblackwater

You Mispronounced Spider by Lliblo

      13. THE TWEAKING THE SETTINGS ONE — There’s things we all wish we could change in canon — *cough* Endgame *cough* — so which canon divergence does it for you?

  5 Times Peter Made Tony Laugh Out Loud by Grilledcheesing

Be Careful What You Wish For, You May Just Get It by Savana_Marlark

Beautiful Boy by Emily_Davison

Bittersweet by Kevy_Grayce

Built From Scraps by Peterstank

I Will Restore All That Was Broken by Killerqueenwrites

May Parker's Complete Guide On How To Raise Your Spiderling by Embarrassing_Myself

Moulded Minds by Wingswithstrings

Pieces Of Echoes by Geekymoviemom

The End Of Infinity by Friendlyneighborhoodfangirls

The Returned by Nicolemoon8

What Was Missing Was You by Happyaspie

What Were The Words I Meant To Say Before You Left by Madasthesea

  14. THE ONE YOU GO BACK TO AGAIN AND AGAIN — Some fics deserve a re-read or ten. What’s the story you go find yourself going back to?

  5 Times Peter Fell, And Tony Caught Him. And The 1 Time Tony Didn’t by Eva7673

A Beautiful Day In The Neighborhood by Ambivalentangst

A Guardian Among Us by Superherotiger

A Parent Apparent by Happyaspie

Age Regression Was Impossible... Right? by Chvotic

All The Devils Are Here by Yellowdistress

Am I Just A Shadow You Drew by Ironxprince

Apartment 43B by Ironfamjam

Back To Bed by Eccentric_Artist_221b

Beautiful Boy by Emily_Davison

Built From Scraps by Peterstank

Ever In Your Favor  by Iron—Spider

Family Is More Than Blood (It Is Light) by Moonchild2593

I Just Wanted To Protect You by Sunflowerspideyy

I'm At One by Patrochilles_Trash

Kangaroo Care by Tonystarkissist

Keeping Company by Whumphoarder And Xxx_Cat_Xxx

Lean On Me by Parkerxheart

Moulded Minds by Wingswithoutstrings

My Boy by Thisisnotourlasthunt

Never Gonna Let You Down by Emily_F6

Play by Losingmymindtonight

Reviving A Spiderling by Eccentric_Artist_221b

Rules Are Made To Be Broken by Ironmum

Sins Of The Fathers by Geekymoviemom

Spider-Man: Avengers (And Midtown High) React by Gayplums

The Darkest Hour Is Just Before The Dawn by Starryknight09

The Lost And Forgotten by Litcraz

The One Where Peter Is Bucky’s Weakness by Jinxquickfoot

The Rise And Fall Of A Spider by Spidersoning

The Spider-Man Conspiracy by   Tempestaurora

The Spider-Man Conspiracy by Tempestaurora

The Stars The Moon They Have All Been Blown Out (You Left Me In The Dark) by Madasthesea

Webcams And Webshooters (Series) by Losingmymindtonight

    15. THE SERIES THAT SWEPT YOU AWAY — Some of us love to go on a long ride with a series, so which is the world of multiple stories that you binged or waited anxiously for each update?

  Another June Day by Skeeter_110

Chaotic Peter Parker by Isnt_It_Pretty_To_Think_So

Dear Peter Parker, What To Say To You by Littlemissagrafina

Family Business- Supernatural Au by Killerqueenwrites

Home by Glwilliams97

I Love You More Than Anything (Bio Dad Au) by Iron_Spider

Identity Saga by Kitcat992

Irondad NSAP by Chvotic

Lactose Intolerant Peter by Whumphoarder

Lights To Guide You Home by Jolinarjackson

Mr. Stark & His Kid by Writerstrash

Nice Work, Kid by Madasthesea

Once Upon An Adoption by Kevy_Grayce

Out Of Darkness by Starryknight09

Pieces Of Echoes by Geekymoviemom

Single Parent Peter Parker by Prettymalfoy

Soul Stone Realm by Marvelmusicmystery

The Room Saga by Iamirondad

The Room Saga by Iamirondad

Tony Stark Is A Good Mentor by Happyaspie

Under Influence              Writerstrash

Was That A Star Wars Reference, Dr. Stark? by Jen27ny

We Forgot Peter by Inkinmyheartandonthepage

Webcams And Webshooters by Losingmymindtonight

Whumptober 2019 by Iron_Spider

  16. THE IN-PROGRESS ADVENTURE — What’s the story that has you checking your email each day, hoping for an update?

  A Beautiful Lie by Rayrox360

A Difference In Husbandry by Happy_Cloud

A Perfect Storm by Grilledcheesing

Ain't My Blood; Still My Boys by Parkrstark

All The Stars Align by Ashleyparker2815

Be Careful What You Wish For, You May Just Get It by Savana_Marlark

Come Undone by Capiocapi

Every Beautiful Lie (Always Has An Ugly Truth) by Da_Moose

Fifteen Years In The Making by Potts89

Fire With Fire by Agentianlegend

Found Family by Thedisneyoutsider

How To Repair A Broken Heart by Influentialpineapple

If They Knew All About You by Mshermia

If You're Going Through Hell, Keep On Going by Baloobird

Mr. Stark, Something Is Wrong by @Simping-For-Peggy

Outnumbered by Heartofcathedrals

Permanence by Theexhaustedalchemist

Peter’s New Step-Brother by Bowtiez

Priorities by Jlmonroe1234

Return To Me, The One I Love So Endlessly by Superherotiger

Rewind by Losingmymindtonight

Sleeping Through A Rogue Winter Storm by Pogokitten

Spider-Man: Avengers (And Midtown High) React by Gayplums

Survivors Guilt   by Ember_Darla And Marvel_Cinematic_Universe_Fan

Tech Of Nondestructive Yakking by Wabisabi

The Case Of The Missing Museum Bea-Storer by Ironmum

The Hero Of Our Own Story by Kingdomfaraway

The Many Adventures Of Iron Dad And Spider Son by Lbigreyhound13

This Warm Repair by Peterstank

Wanting To Be Betterby  MZ_Supermanfan

We Can't Have Faith For Everybody by Hale13

Webcams And Webshooters (Series) by Losingmymindtonight

What You Were Then I Am Today by Madasthesea

You Are My Sunshine by Iamconstantine

  17. THE COMPLETE FIC THAT YOU CHERISH — Whether or not you’ve got the patience for an in-progress or not, there’s a wealth of complete stories you can devour at leisure or all in one coffee-fuelled binge. What’s yours?

  5 Wishes Peter Didn't Ask For And The 1 He Did by Alice_In_Ink

A Peter Parker Problem by Spagbol99

A Soul's Best Friend by Superherotiger

Always Silent, Peter Darling by Lliblo

Come, My Darling, Homeward Bound by by Iamirondad

Five Times David Didn't Understand What Was Going On With His Girlfriend's Nephew by Bumblie_Bee

Five Times Peter And Tony Chaotically Cleaned by Ironmum

Good Publicity by Bergen

HYDRA'S NOT A HOME (Series) by TEMPESTAURORA

Intern Spider by Emily_F6

Only For A Little While by Eccentric_Artist_221b

Pupper Parker by Bean_Reads_Fanfic

Stars, Hide Your Fires by Yellowdistress

Stop, Look, Listen by Forthenightisdarkandfullofterror

The Guardian by Emily_F6

The One Who Made It Out by Tiaylasglass

The Root Is Expectation by Yellowdistress

      18. THE ONE THAT GAVE YOU ALL THE LOVE — We all love Irondad, but some stories come with bonus bonds that give us just as much. Do you have a Peter & Bucky, or a Peter & Steve working alongside which delivers all the found family goodness?

  5 Times Happy Hogan Nearly Had A Heart Attack Because Of Peter Parker by Thespydersargon

Be Careful What You Wish For, You May Just Get It by Savana_Marlark

Brighten Up, Sunshine by Iron_Spider

I Have A Nephew! by Zimnokurw

It Must Be Nice (To Have Mrs. Potts On Your Side by Sdottkrames

It Takes A Village (To Make Sure You're Okay) by Baloobird

Kingdom Come Undone by Killerqueenwrites

Project: Get Bucky Barnes A Dog by Ruxian

Road Work Ahead by Toniwilder

Rules Are Made To Be Broken by Ironmum

When In The Dark by Kevy_Grayce

        19. THE PROLIFIC WRITER AWARD — Irondad has some amazingly prolific writers. Which are the ones you’ve subscribed to get at that fic-wonder goodness of 10 works or more?

  Aimaim94

Aimaim94

Bean_Reads_Fanfic

Buckets_Of_Stars

Emily_F6

Grilledcheesing

Happyaspie

Inkinmyheartsandonthepage

Ironmum

Iron-Spider

Jen27ny

Littlemissagrafina

Littlemissagrafina

Losingmymindtonight

Madasthesea

Magicalyss

Marvelous_Writer

Mshermia

o0citrusee0o

Parkrstark

Superherotiger

Thedumbestavenger

Turtle_Bean

  20. THE NEWBIE — New writers are joining the fandom all the time. Who’s the newbie (posting for 12 months or less) that’s delivering the good stuff for you?

          107thinfantry

Fallingforbees

Ironmum

Jinx_Frost

Just_Ppeachy

Kittybellestark

Lilacsoulw

Maicaly

Polaroid15

Spagbol99

Sunflowerspideyy

21. THE OG — Who’s the writer that’s been around for a while (12 months or more) that keeps you captivated?

  Almond_Blossoms

Ashleyparker2815

Blueh

Emily_F6

Geekymoviemom

Gremlinsr

Happyaspie

Iamirondad

Iron_Spider

Isnt_It_Pretty_To_Think_So

Jelly_Pies

Jen27ny

Jolinarjackson

Kevy_Grayce

Losingmymindtonight

Parkrstark

Snarkymuch

Spooderboyandtincan

Tempestaurora

Whumphoarder

  22. THE WILD CARD STORY — The story that does (or doesn’t) fit into the above categories but you believe deserves the prize. Which one is that for you?

  5 Times Peter Sleepwalked And The 1 Time He Pretended He Did by Losingmymindtonight

A Pressing Emergency by Whumphoarder

Aliens Really Are Out To Get You Aren't They? by Some_Sort_Of_Trash

Aliens Really Are Out To Get You Aren't They? by Some_Sort_Of_Trash

An Uncomfortable Issue by Summerartist

Bank Robber by Purplecat7

Born To Cherish by Ironfamjam

Chickpea And Bleach Curry by S0lstice

Everyday Superhero by Stoneage_Woman

Five Time Faculty Members Had To Call Peter's Emergency Contact + 1 Time He Shows Up Anyway by Kingdomfaraway

Five Times Tony And Peter Chaotically Cleaned by Ironmum

Guess I’m Not Good Enough by Freyaatterton

I Can Hold The Weight Of Worlds (If That's What You Need) by Bluesweatshirt

I Can Hold The Weight Of Worlds (If That's What You Need)         by Bluesweatshirt

I Will Soften Every Edge by Losingmymindtonight

I’m Not Telling Him. Period by Scooter3scooter

Inimitable by Ephemeralstark

Irondad Nsap by Chvotic

Kids Suck, But You're Great by Gymlily06

Long Gone | Marvel Au by Strangerlyparker

Play by Losingmymindtonight

Research And Disaster by Blueh

Tall Skies by Black_Briar

Tech Of Non-Destructive Yakking by Wabisabi

The Ghost Of Heroes by Enigmaris & Scarletnightfury

The Long Way Round by Undeerqueen

The Peter Parker Conspiracy by Tempestaurora

The Reinvention Of Tony Stark by Losingmymindtonight

This Ride Is A Wild One  by Just_Ppeachy

What You're Feeling Is Probably Normal by Finny3120

Wrong Number Kid by Blackshadow030930

  ART 1 — DIGITAL MEDIA - Who has those PhotoShop skills, who makes the best mood boards? We have some wonderful artists in the Irondad fandom, and we’re here to celebrate them. Who's your favorite artist?

    @blackchessknight (tumblr)

@broskepol  (tumblr)

@itsybitsyspiderling (tumblr)

@kitcat992(tumblr)

@monireh (tumblr)

@spidey-art (tumblr)

@superherotiger (tumblr)

    ART 2 — SKETCHES  — Who has the skills with the original medium of art in sketches? Whose pencil can create the characters we love best?

  @broskepol (Tumblr)

@dakt37 (Tumblr)

@monireh89 (Tumblr)

Ellarie.png (Instagram)

@dchanberry (Tumblr)

    ART 3 — CARTOONS — Chibis, Manga, Anime, who can create the very best?

  @Maryo274 (Tumblr)

yes-i-am-happyaspie (Tumblr)

@maryo274 (Tumblr)

Maryo274artworks (Instagram)

@akira-akatsuki (Tumblr)

@mjscorner (Tumblr)

  ART 4 — FANVID — Some of the greatest creators are the ones that match the music to the mood, find the perfect scenes to make us laugh and cry. Who does that for you?

  all my life || tony & peter (father/son au) by akapotatogirl (YouTube)

Emsxworld (YouTube)

mblaqminoz (YouTube)

My Dad's a Hero to Me by MsMorganStark (YouTube)

Tony Stark & Peter Parker (Adoption Au) || Home by andrea d (YouTube)

tony stark & peter parker | ashes by mythicalroyalty (YouTube)

You Are The Reason l Tony Stark & Peter Parker by Chocolala (YouTube)

  ART 5 — BEST IRON FAMILY FANART — Who can create those feeling of Ironfam with their art? Who captures the characters we love in that iconic family.

                @broskepol (Tumblr)

@moonestaly (Tumblr)

@superherotiger (Tumblr)

eccentric_artist_221b (AO3)

Ellarie.png (Instagram)

  ART 8 — BEST HURT/COMFORT — Who captures the pain of the moment best for you?

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[duskandstarlight]

Embers & Light (Chapter 24)

Notes: Chapter 24 - can you guys believe it?! I have brought you a lot of angst in the last few chapters, but there is a lil fluffy moment in this chapter which I hope you enjoy. Plus protective Cassian (one of my personal favourites).

As ACOSF draws nearer, I wanted to ask you guys a question. I initially was hoping to finish this fic before it came out, but I just don't think it's going to happen. So if you would still read E&L after ACOSF comes out, could you let me know? It will help me to make a decision on whether I need to start wrapping this all up sharpish, or whether I can continue to move along at my current pace.

Enjoy :) And I hope you all are having a lovely festive period.

p.s I’ve been having issues with tagging blogs lately. Let me know if you get a notification?

Chapter 24 Nesta

Nesta was drowning.

Drowning in the dark; in the unfathomable cold that bit at her ankles and dragged her down by invisible, insistent hands and sharp, pointed claws. Down, down, down Nesta went, into the inky blackness that sung of ancient horror, fighting for a breath that she could not take.  

Inside her head, Nesta was screaming; the sound an echo, as if she were detached from her body and she were listening to someone else. It was a scream of rage and unmeasurable pain as her body was torn apart and rearranged: her bones cracking and reforming into solid steel; her ears stretching into points; her limbs elongating. And with that fire a burning cold that was deeper than the gap between stars. Nesta screamed from the agony of it, but cold water rushed into her lungs and stifled the sound. Pain licked at her skin like the flames of a fire, until her blood was bubbling with rage and a thirst for revenge that ran so deep it became woven into the very fabric of who she was — of who she was being moulded into.  

Nesta should have passed out from the pain but instead she fought to remain conscious; wholly awake and wholly a witness as she tore at the edges of the blasted Cauldron. The sides were made of nothing but canvas, Nesta’s nails ripping through it as the Cauldron bucked and shrieked, like an animal caught beneath her paw.  

Bright light poured through the gaping holes, blinding her new born eyes that had not yet seen.  

She felt the power of it, the piece she carved out for herself in fury and with revenge singing in her blood. She made it hers, let that power sink into her bones, her skin, as they snapped and cracked and reshaped themselves…

The Cauldron continued to thrash and struggle. The water took on a thicker quality like tar, but Nesta did not relent. She ravaged that power until it was a part of her; stolen and consumed. Impossible to take back.  

And then Nesta was no longer drowning but falling.

The pocket of air hit her with such force that Nesta found herself with the irony that she could not breathe, even though it was what she needed more than anything in the world. But then her lungs were spluttering, her stomach lurching, and inky blackness — ancient death — was regurgitated onto crystalline rock. Nesta heaved until her stomach had no more and she was gasping for breath — cold, bracing fresh air that tasted like freedom — before she rolled onto her back, her hair plastered to her face.

She shivered from the cold and the unquenchable fury that would not see her yield.

Above her was midnight black, the stillness of what Nesta wanted to believe was sky but she knew was only an illusion. It brought her comfort even though she wanted to hate it; wanted to sob and scream until she was so exhausted that she couldn’t muster any more strength.  

And she should have been terrified but she also felt deathly calm, even as a voice spoke out of the darkness. It was a voice that was ancient; old and superlunary with a strength that whispered of unimaginable power for better or worse.   “I have been waiting for you, Nesta Archeron.”

Words like ice fire. Of steel and reserve. Of power beyond Nesta’s wildest reckoning.

It hurt to move but Nesta scrambled to her feet, slipping on loose rock and craggy stone. The sound that beat in her ears was an insistent, terrified rhythm, and it took Nesta a moment to piece together that it was her heart, throwing itself with a repetitive boom against strips of bone — a flimsy cage for something so fierce.  

Whirling around, Nesta tried to source the voice but found only that endless stretch of deep velvet, and in the near distance, a towering shadow that rose up, up, up into the darkness until it blended into the canvas, like something disappearing into the clouds.

Nesta made herself take stock. Made herself stand still. To dampen the terror and focus on that spiky, deep-set anger that still consumed her. Her back stiffened, her chin rose, and when she spoke for the first time with her new lungs, Nesta did not let her voice shake.

She clenched her fists until her new nails bit into the meat of her palms.    “Where am I?”

A sensual laugh as smooth as marble echoed around her — perfectly rendered. “Do you hear the wind? It moans your name, Nesta Archeron. Your twin can hear it. They’ve always been able to hear it. Your history written into the night sky where you only need join the dots. So easy to ignore until now.” A pause and Nesta felt that being move. Her head snapped around as the voice mused from behind her, “And your destiny: a sacrifice and a gift in the same moment.”

Nesta tightened her fists in an effort to ground herself and willed herself to lean back into   that odd sense of being rather than the fear that was making her heart race. She felt her nails break through her skin with a pop. She scented blood; metallic and salt. She was so cold she wanted to shake until her teeth chattered, but Nesta would not show weakness. She would not break down.

So Nesta rose up tall and made her voice ice cold; strong rather than brittle. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Another long, sensual laugh. A caress akin to a brush stroking the softest of bristles over her skin. “No, you don’t,” the voice agreed. “Not yet. But you will.”

A moment in time stretched out, the pause pregnant and awesome. Then a soft light in the darkness above, growing in size: a fleck, a star, a luminescent ball of light…

“What do you want, Nesta Archeron?”

“I want revenge,” Nesta replied, her voice full of a sudden vigour as vengeance lashed out on a forked tongue.

Again, more soft laughter that licked over Nesta’s body in a shiver. “You have already got that, have you not? Do you not feel that deathly power in your veins? That hum of primitive power that you have stolen, that has been woven into who you now are.”

“I will end him. I will end everyone who has caused my sister harm.”

“Of that, I have no doubt. But what will that take from you?”

Hysterical laughter wanted to burst forth from Nesta’s lungs, as if she could only feel the sharpest of emotion and everything else were muted.

“Everything has already been taken from me,” Nesta spat, balling her hands into harder fists, her nails digging into her crescent shaped wounds.

Pain flared, fresh and sharp but Nesta paid it no heed. She was no stranger to pain and she would rally. Every. Damn. Time.

The light above Nesta continued to grow until it became distinct; a fiery palm emerging out of the dark. Nesta did not flinch. Did not scream or back away. Did not bow or yield or grovel. She only let pearlescent fingers close around Nesta’s own, the touch like a near-scalding bath that settled only when your blood thrummed beneath raw, pink skin. 

“So much sacrifice,” the voice pondered, turning Nesta’s hand. Nesta’s fingers unfurled from her palm without her willing it, until her palm lay open, the half-crescent moons bloody tears in her otherwise new skin. “But what about a gift?” the voice asked. “A gift for the girl who lives with such anger and guilt. The girl who sees the world in all its terrible glory and feels too much. What do you say to that?”

“I only want revenge,” Nesta repeated, her mind assaulting her with images of Elain as she was pushed under the inky water, as she emerged drowning and wholly new — wrong.  

No laughter this time. Only that hand rising, fingers coming together until they were pointed and pinching something out of the dark.  

A pearl of pure light hovered millimetres from those shining fingers, as if it were attached by an invisible string. It sung with such radiant brilliance that Nesta wanted to look away: it was the pure, unfathomable brightness of a midnight star. A melody that sung of promise and hope.

“What is revenge worth if it does not emerge from the desire to protect?” the voice asked, letting go of that drop of light. It did not fall like water; it floated down slowly, until it nestled in the crook of Nesta’s palm like a pearl that shimmered as it caught the light.  

Nesta remained deathly still, staring at the drop of possibility in her palm.  

“Revenge is choice, Nesta Archeron. It can be a wish for death and pain or to protect and defend.”

“Both,” Nesta said fiercely. “It can be both.”

“Multi-faceted and complex, as all decisions are,” the voice agreed. “And there are so many strands in you, aren’t there? Already you have felt one of them, although I do not think you have truly placed the puzzle pieces together. But here is another choice; something to cherish and use wisely on those who are worthy. Everything is cyclical. Day and night, birth and death, love and sacrifice…”  

The luminescent hand closed Nesta’s palm, but rather than the drop of light bring dampened by shadow, it sank into Nesta’s skin, until it too became a part of her.

“I don’t want a gift.”

But even as Nesta spoke she knew she did not truly mean it.  

She also knew it was too late. She felt her blood spike and thrum as that light channeled into her, twining around that deathly power that she had already stolen and forced into her remaking.  

A low hum vibrated the ground beneath Nesta’s feet. “Don’t want it or do not deserve it?”

And then Nesta was drowning again with such startling speed that she hadn’t the time to take a deep breath. Terror gripped her, and with it power sung in her blood, the sensation like boiling water, as if her very skin were bubbling with it even though that dark water bit with a cold akin to the fiercest frostbite.

As if fear had summoned it, silver fire began to glow at Nesta’s palms. Water rushed into Nesta’s lungs and with it, that power surged.

Up, up, up Nesta went, like an arrow unsheathed from a bow until the inky black was no longer concrete and colour swam on the surface.

Everything tilted as the Cauldron tipped, jerking the water and Nesta out onto the cold flagstones of reality.  

Nesta took a desperate, ragged breath through the gag that was suddenly back around her mouth, and cast a look around the room: to Cassian who was sprawled unconscious on the ground, his arm outstretched and his wings in tatters; to Feyre who was kneeling in her own vomit tucked into Rhysand’s side...

And on her sister’s face, Nesta could see what she was: ravaging, deadly, awesome. A face and figure to stop males and females in their tracks. A face and figure that would make humans and fae alike think twice.

But that was nothing of the forged steel in Nesta’s bones, in her blood, as she scrabbled across the floor to Elain on her long, unnatural limbs and tore the gag from her mouth.  

It was a steel that no-one could see but that they could all sense as Nesta locked eyes with the King of Hybern, that promise of death still swimming in those mercury eyes that moved.

She would have her revenge. Of that, she was sure.

***

Nesta gasped.

Her hands flailed, her body screamed with agony, her lungs were hoarse and raw, her abdomen set with a pain that went so deep she knew something was gravely wrong.

And through her veins… no whisper of her magic. Not a drop.

It was that which made her thrash, her lungs suddenly unable to breathe from the agony that wrangled through her body.

She heard her name. Again and again; the high-pitched desperation of a female. Feyre. But then something much lower. A caress. A rumble that quelled her fear and kicked the breath back into her with a force that had her gasping.

Nesta’s hand found a rough, calloused palm across the mattress. Fingers curled unbelievably gently around hers. She heard the rustle of wings. Smelt pine and musk and the bracing fresh air of the Illyrian skies.

“Nesta. You need to take your medicine. The morphine has worn off.”

Cassian.

Even with her eyes submerged in the dark, Nesta knew that Cassian had turned his head to murmur something in low tones to her sister — her senses heightened in the wake of the fear that was still bitter on her tongue.

Then light retreating footsteps. The click of a closed door.  A large hand on her temple. A wet rag against her lips. Nesta opened her mouth despite the foul tasting tincture which burned her throat and flooded her tastebuds; swallowing it down, begging it to soothe over the pain which she could not describe for its wrongness, even though she had been told that she would heal.

Frawley had come to visit her the last time Nesta had resurfaced. Had explained why she was there and what had happened. That Nesta had the gift of healing. That she had over-healed Mas's traumatic injuries and moved on to older ones. That she had sacrificed her wellness for someone else’s. That she would have died had Cassian not got her to stop.

Another power Nesta needed to train. As if she didn’t have enough to wrangle under control.

Nesta did not remember much after dropping to her knees at the widows camp. She remembered the click of a lock inside of her; the way her power had flipped from silver to startling, brilliant white. That she had known what to do as she lifted her hands over Mas and started to use her magic for something wholly good.

“What did you feel for your power came to the surface?” Frawley had asked before she took leave.

Nesta had bitten back a whimper of agony as she shifted uncomfortably on the mattress. She had been swamped in heavy blankets and consumed in Cassian’s scent.  His bed not hers. But the scent of him… it comforted her. She was too tired to rally against it. Had woken knowing that she was immeasurably safe even though memory tried to persuade her that she was not.

Eventually, when she realised that Frawley’s second eye had come to rest on her along with ice blue, Nesta had supplied, “I felt grief.”

“And what else?” Frawley had urged, her ice blue eye glowing with intensity.

Nesta had been too tired to answer. Her eyelids heavy from the sedative she had been given, despite the energising tea Frawley had administered to attempt to speed up the act of replenishing her magic. To fight the fatigue one felt when they had been drained of power.

And now she was waking again and Frawley was gone.

Braving the light, Nesta cracked open an eye. Her head throbbed, as if her brain were growing in her skull and it was pressing against bone.

Cassian was hovering over her, a crumpled frown twisting his brow as he dripped the medicine past her lips. He caught her eyes opening a fraction too late and she catalogued worry slide into relief before it was pushed back and a light was forced into those dark irises. When he smiled at her, it was too tight and anguished to ring true. She must have been in a bad way — very bad — for him to lose sight of his tendency to arrange his expression into that casual playfulness. For her sister to still be here, hovering by her bedside unsure how to act or how to behave. For her mate to be in the room next door, his star-blessed magic permeating Cassian’s bedroom even through stone and plaster and wood. She could even sense Azriel’s shadows moving like an agitated fog.

No Amren. No Mor.

Something to be thankful for.

“Mas?” she asked. Her throat was dry despite the tincture and the word came out scratchy and raw.

Cassian pressed a glass of water to her lips.

She drank.

“Mas has left to help relocate the widows and orphans,” Cassian told her. “I had her checked over by Madja and Frawley. She is perfectly fine. Roksana too,” he added when Nesta frowned. “Mas hasn’t flown yet,” he continued. “She wanted you to witness it.”

Something tightened around Nesta’s throat. It was not panic but… deep twisting affection for the housekeeper. It must be agony for Mas not to launch straight into the skies. Yet… Nesta was touched beyond imagining that she would wait for Nesta to witness something so precious. A moment in history that was not tainted in blood and death but joy.

Cassian had paused as if he were checking himself. He had moved away from her, to the dark dresser to the left of the bed. There was a clink of glass which Nesta supposed was him stoppering the medicine. “I know you do not like it here and I understand that. You were given no choice and Illyria is…” he trailed off, as if he were searching for the right word. “It’s brutal, in both harsh reality and its beauty. But the widows and orphans… they will not forget what you have done for them — how you fought for them. Mas has been shackled in so many ways throughout her life, but her wings… You have given her freedom, Nesta. She will never forget that ,and neither will those females who witnessed you healing her.”

When Cassian turned back to look at Nesta, his eyes were glowing with such intensity she did not know what to say. He seemed to understand that, breaking their gaze to stare out of the window.

It was snowing again. The scent of it was in the air and on Cassian’s clothes, from where Nesta imagined he’d been in the throng of it all, establishing order where there was chaos. She imagined that was why his family was here.

“Azriel has some information about the kerits,” Cassian said. He remained staring out of the window, his gaze fixed on the snow falling from the thin sheets of grey cloud strung in the sky. “About where we think they came from. We would like you to be a part of the discussion.” A pause. “If you would like to be, that is.”

Nesta held back a snort partly because she knew it would hurt too much. “I don’t think your High Lord wants me to be a part of any discussion.”

“Rhys specifically asked me to fetch you before we began,” Cassian replied, not flinching at her ice-sharp words. Nesta supposed he had become immune. “You are integral to the conversation.”

Noise caught in the back of Nesta’s throat. “I thought I was just a stain you all wished you could rid yourself of.”

No, not immune. Cassian flinched as if he had been burned, his wings spreading instinctively before he could catch them. He retracted them back in with a slow huff of anger. It was not a disparaging or exasperated sigh, more… defeated, as if it were a remark that brought him pain.

Still he did not turn to her. If anything, his focus became more intent on the scenery outside. At the bustle of Illyrians as they fought against the flurry of snow that promised to kiss everything white at the worst possible time.

Cassian’s jaw feathered. “If I remember correctly, it was always you trying to rid yourself of me.”

Nesta blinked at the coarse words that held no lightness, no mockery, no teasing. That were honest and unhappy. Twisted with a rejection which hit her to the bone.

You rejected me first, Nesta wanted to say, as she watched the taut muscles in Cassian’s back. They were vibrating with an energy that usually told Nesta that he needed to fight with his fists until his body was sated.

“We believe the attacks might be orchestrated,” Cassian continued. “Azriel went to scout the perimeter to see if there was any evidence. He has only just arrived back.” Finally, those amber eyes rested back on her. They were burning with a rage that had been purposefully dialled back, but Nesta knew how much Cassian cared about his people. “Will you come?” he asked.

Shock wound through Nesta at the confession. At the brutality of what Cassian was suggesting. Anger spiked through the exhaustion with such ferocity her magic should have been roaring, but it only remained quiet. Yet… a determination solidified in her mind. She did want to be a part of the conversation. Not just to be useful, but because Nesta cared about the widows and orphans. She longed to hold Roksana close and see Mas fly. To lay the dead to rest, to check in on the injured. To see if she could use her healing magic to mend their wounds. To show that she was not an observer but a fighter - a protector. That she would lay her life on the line to protect the females who had nothing and were helpless against every threat, just as she had once been.

She did not say all that. Instead, she just said, “Fine.”

A short nod as if Cassian understood. “We can do it in here or out there.” Cassian jerked his chin to the living room. “Frawley said you are not to move if it can be helped, but something tells me you’d sooner have died than be crowded on your sick bed.”

There. A small lace of lightness that had not been there before. Forced, maybe, but there all the same.

Nesta scowled. “You thought rightly.”

“It will hurt,” Cassian warned her. “For me to lift you.”

“Then do it gently.”

A soft snicker as he moved off the many, many blankets, and then strong, corded arms slid beneath her body.

Cassian’s voice was rough in her ear. “You’re the most stubborn female I’ve ever met.”

Gritting her teeth, Nesta tried to overcome the sharp, deep-set pain that made her want to cry out.

The way Cassian gathered her to him was pain-achingly careful but it was still too much, her wounds too fresh and Nesta gasped a high-pitched cry, digging her fingers so hard into his tunic that she knew they must have bitten into the skin of his shoulders. Cassian did not indicate that she had hurt him, he only cradled her closer to the hard planes of his body, his huge wing curving around her as if he could partition off the pain and keep her safe.

The glow of the membrane was not unlike that of rusty, glowing embers. Beautiful.

Cassian remained stock still, waiting for the pain to ebb and then, slowly, as if he were hesitant to do it, his forehead came to rest on the top of her head; a bowing gesture that was almost like a confession, folding her into a protective cocoon that smelt of pine resin and warmth.

If Nesta could move without crying out, she would have traced a finger down his wing, following the spider webs of his capillaries. She had never had the opportunity to study them this close up. They were as mesmerising as fire flames as they danced their way up into the sky; as captivating as woodsmoke as it were tossed about on a breeze.

“I thought you were going to die.”

Cassian’s voice was a low, deep rumble that she felt in the pit of her stomach. In her bones. In her heart.

“Not yet,” she replied drily, but the hoarse words were muffled by the embrace.

She knew what he was trying to say. Had felt it before. The way in which history had tied the two of them together. Had made them terrified not just of dying, but without the other. An immeasurable panic that clawed at her throat and tore at her lungs.

To end up on death’s door without her lying over him was unimaginable. They had vowed to go together and even now, when they were separate rather than entwined, she would still lay her body over his broken one and refuse to live.

“Don’t say that,” Cassian clipped, his voice suddenly sharp. Broken.

Even though it hurt to move, Nesta rolled her head to press against his chest, shifting his forehead so it was lower, his lips almost brushing her skin. Nesta could not bring it in herself to care. Cassian smelt just as his sheets had — pine, musk and untamed air. Comforting.

Hesitantly, as if she had surprised him, Cassian’s large hand came to cup her head.

For a moment, they stayed like that, until the burning question that had hung in the back of her mind became too much. “Why am I in your room?” she asked.

“I had to put Mas in your bed,” Cassian confessed. She felt him smile small against her — a promise of mischief. “It’s not the way I imagined I’d first have you beneath my sheets, but I guess I should just be thankful you’re alive.”

A quiet snarl from Nesta had Cassian lifting his head to laugh. The sound was a low rasp which did not hold its usual vigour.

He was still worried. She could feel it. The sensation was relentless as a crashing tide.

“Reign in your worry,” Nesta snapped weakly. “I can feel it and it’s making me nauseous.”

Another laugh, stronger this time, and then Cassian’s emotion vanished, as if it had been carried away on a sea-kissed breeze.

“I’m going to move now,” he informed her. “Best brace yourself for the pain, sweetheart.”

It was agony. The pain so awfully deep that Nesta could hardly breathe, even as Cassian moved as smoothly as possible. She wanted to cry out, to whimper, but she would not show weakness in front of her sister’s mate.

By the time she was settled on the couch, Nesta had broken that vow; distressed sounds escaping through gritted teeth as she panted desperately for breath. With a click of Rhys's fingers, the nest of blankets that Nesta had been swaddled in appeared on the couch, just in time for Cassian to lower her onto the cushions.

Nesta did not have it in herself to be angered that Rhys had helped.

At the sound of her sister's stifled shouts, Feyre rushed out of the kitchen. She was holding a steaming mug in her hands, which Cassian plucked from his High Lady and planted straight into Nesta’s palms.

Feyre allowed him to do it without a word of protest, anxiously wringing her hands as she studied what Nesta imagined to be her too pale face, the sweat that had broken out on her forehead…

They had not spoken properly since the attack, but Feyre had been there, hovering on the periphery; anxious and sick with worry that she did not know assaulted Nesta until she too became nauseous with it. Nesta’s icy guard had been down since she had dropped to her knees beside Mas, and she hadn’t the power to stack it back up. Not when she was as exhausted as she was, her power utterly diminished and her body focussing on healing.

Finally casting a glance around the room, Nesta saw that the flames in the log burner were raging mute. She wondered who had magicked them to become silent. She hoped it was Frawley rather than Rhysand.

Rhys was positioned to the right of the fireplace, and when Nesta’s gaze purposefully passed over him as if he were little more than part of the furniture, she felt his violet eyes flick to her, his expression no doubt hard and unyielding. But Nesta was too tired to battle today.

Cassian was watching her too, glaring with such intensity at her hands that Nesta was surprised they hadn’t moved involuntarily to raise the mug to her lips. Wanting him to stop, Nesta took a slow sip of tea even though it hurt to swallow. It didn’t work; those hazel eyes remaining unwaveringly fixated. He was standing right by her head, scrutinising everything she did, his wings spread as if he were contemplating launching into flight.

Nesta wanted to hiss at him, but then Feyre sat close beside her, and that made her want to hiss more.

At his place to the left of the hearth, Azriel’s lips twitched. He had been standing as still as a statue, like marble carved out of the finest stone, his shadows stolid, but now he shifted to face her.

Nesta guessed the shadowsinger could sense her emotions with her guard down completely.

She supposed there had to be a first.

When Nesta took the last sip of her drink, Cassian’s hands were immediately there, taking it from her, his siphons winking in the firelight. Nesta barely noticed. She only felt an overwhelming sense of relief at the first whisper of silver and brilliant white that twisted through her veins like two coiled serpents; intertwined yet separate.

Easing backwards with the intention of settling into the cushions, Nesta tried to ignore the pain that suddenly stabbed through her as her stomach muscles tensed. A sharp gasp escaped her, her breath knocked out of her lungs, but then cool, shadowed hands gripped Nesta’s shoulders. They took the weight off of her abdomen, slowly lowering her backwards until she was resting comfortably.

Behind her, Nesta heard Cassian’s wings snap in and out, clearly agitated at her pain.

When Nesta turned her head to Azriel, he dipped his head to her in acknowledgement. Black tendrils of shadow whispered back to him, curling around his arms and face, waiting patiently to be bent again to their master's will.

Then  the shadowsinger turned to Rhys, as if seeking the order to begin.

“Thank you for joining us, Nesta,” Rhys said tightly. “Especially given the circumstances.”

Nesta did not reply, could not find it in herself to do it, but she finally stared at their High Lord with unflinching determination.

As always, Rhys was irritatingly immaculate, leaning against the hearth as if he owned it. Already Nesta felt like he was tainting her space — her sanctuary — and although she wanted to spit at him to leave and not come back, she only gave a stiff nod.

It would appear both of them were going to be forced today. Circumstances that were greater than their feud were at work, and neither of them was going to be petty enough to undermine that.

“Feyre allowed me to view her memory of the kerits attack,” Rhys said. “Three males flew over the mountain minutes before it happened. They can’t have been a part of the usual patrol as they weren’t doing the scheduled circuit. Instead, they flew straight over the mountain pass. Do you remember that?”

Nesta frowned, reaching back into the far depths of her memory… The three dots that coursed across the sky, the winking flash of silver from steel.

Sharply, Nesta craned her head to look at Cassian, not thinking of her injuries. She gasped. The movement had twisted her abdomen in a way she was not ready for.

Cassian’s large hands fell briefly to her shoulders before he moved to perch on the left of the U-shaped couch, close to the corner where he had lain her down.

“Ragar—” she started.

But Cassian only shook his head, leaning forward so his elbows were resting on his broad thighs. His wings were held in high and tight to his spine. “Accounted for,” he told her. “And his friends. They were in the sparring rings with Devlon and countless other witnesses.”

His smile was grim. “It’s one of the first thing I checked,” he confessed. “But it made us start to wonder if perhaps the attacks have been orchestrated. One attack can be passed off as a freak accident, but three attacks across three different camps is suspicious, especially given that kerits do not venture into populated areas.”

Nesta’s expression sharpened. “You think somebody purposefully led those beasts to the widows camp?”

Rhys’s nodded. “We think it’s a possibility.” He pinned his brother with those violet eyes. “What did you find scouring the perimeter, Az?”

The shadowsinger’s expression did not physically change, but Nesta felt his shadows chill. “Carrion,” he said coldly. “A trail of it leading to the mountain pass. Morsels of it. Not enough to feed a starving pack, but deliberate enough to tempt them out of the depths of the mountains.”

“This winter has been especially punishing,” Cassian interjected. “I bet food supply has been scarce. They struggle to survive as it is. The sounds they made as they hunted probably alerted other packs who joined the hunt.”

Feyre sat forward so she was hovering on the edge of the couch. “That would be why they were so vicious. They knew they were competing with other packs for food.”

Nesta’s stomach turned as she thought of how the widows and orphans had been seen as as a meal. How they had huddled to the Eastern point of the camp with nowhere to go and no means of defending themselves.

“The carrion was well hidden,” Azriel continued with a nod, his voice as smooth as cold marble. “Frawley examined the remains. They weren’t killed with siphon magic and there were no visible wounds to the bodies. We also found boot prints in the mud; different prints ranging in size in two separate locations within a miles range of the camp. They were fresh.”

Everyone’s expression tightened.

Nesta didn’t ask if the carrion was human or animal. She didn’t want to know.

“Frawley has taken samples to analyse them,” Azriel added. “She said she will show her sisters, as well. To see if they can sense an insignia.”

“So that means the attack was orchestrated,” Feyre said. “Someone deliberately led those beasts to the camp?”

Rhys nodded. “The attack was certainly pre-meditated,” he replied, pinning Cassian with a look. “The real question is who would arrange an attack on three separate camps.”

Cassian snorted. “You know what the lords are going to say. What all of the Illyrian’s at Windhaven are going to say.”

“That it’s an attack from another war camp,” Azriel supplied, his voice chilled midnight.

“War lords usually have no issue in taking responsibility if they played a part in an attack,” Rhys countered.

“I know that,” Cassian interjected, impatience lining his voice. “So will the lords when they stop to see sense, but the moment we tell them that we suspect wrong doing, all hell will break loose. We can’t afford to lose any more lives to petty feuds. We’re still reeling from the loss of males since the war and the Rite is already looming over the camp.”

Rhys nodded to show he had heard. Nesta wondered if he mourned the loss of lives like Cassian did. The High Lord looked tired, as if he had been torn away from his mate for too long. Yet nobody looked as ravaged as Cassian did. Nesta did not know if his brothers knew of his recurring nightmares, but she hoped they learnt of them. Sometimes Cassian looked so exhausted that Nesta vibrated with a concern she could not shake. In the past, she had bitten her lip one too many times to prevent herself from ordering him to go to bed.

Nesta knew how awful it was to force someone to do something they desperately wanted but were too fearful to surrender themselves to.

“We will manage the lords,” Rhys assured Cassian. “We can decide how we are going to play that consul, but for now, we need to get to the bottom of how the kerits managed to get past Windhaven’s patrols. You and I both know how meticulous Devlon is when it comes to security around the camp. Those males shouldn't have been able to pass over the camp without being stopped by the warriors on patrol.”

“Whoever they were, they must have known that Cassian wasn't going to be in the camp today,” Azriel offered, the spymaster in him coming to the forefront. “The only good news is that they clearly had no idea that  both Feyre and Nesta would be at the top of the mountain and able to fight. And," he added after a beat of consideration, "they certainly underestimated Nesta’s ability to slay the pack if she had been alone today.”

If Nesta hadn’t been white from pain, she would have had to freeze the blush that dared to grace her cheeks at the shadowsinger’s compliment.

An abrupt snort came from Cassian. When he spoke, his voice was brimming with anger, “Of course they underestimated Nesta. Even though they have witnessed her fire daily and sensed the enormity of her magic, they still can't fathom that a female could be more powerful than them. It has to be Illyrian’s at the root of it. Only they would be chauvinistic enough to fail to see what is right in front of them.”

“Which,” Rhys interjected, “has worked unwittingly in our favour. Rather than fuel hatred towards the Night Court and cement the growing opinion that we do not protect the Illyrian community, we had two High Fae slaughtering the pack well before any warriors arrived on the scene. And then Nesta brought Masak back to life — someone who the Illyrian males in this camp do not see as worthy to live amongst them.”

Through the exhaustion, anger heated Nesta’s blood. She felt her magic whisper. If Nesta looked inward, she could see the two strands. Could now sense the promise of healing magic in her veins amongst her silver fire. As if she had been granted the key in the face of Mas’s death and she had turned it over in the lock, setting that power free.

Yet, even as Nesta grazed that healing power, it was her silver fire that promised to roar.

“I didn’t do it to stop a Civil War. I did it to protect the females who cannot protect themselves,” Nesta snapped weakly. She was too tired to muster enough vigour into her words, but she was annoyed at the false implication behind her actions. That she had not done it out of love for the housekeeper, but because of politics.

“That may be,” Rhys said, his voice forcibly light, “and what you did was honourable, but we cannot ignore how the Illyrian’s might interpret the action.”

“What Rhys is trying to say,” Azriel interjected smoothly as Nesta’s nostrils flared, “is that the females already respect you. The way you defended them today will not strengthen the dissent, only highlight that there are fae outside of the Illyrian communities who have their best interests at heart. You, for example.”

“You know they like you,” Cassian said quietly. He did not look at Nesta. Instead, he remained fixated at the hands that were clasped tightly in front of him, his elbows resting on his broad knees. “You know they have accepted you since you defended them against the males.”

“I protect them because nobody else seems to bother,” Nesta said coldly. “How many innocent females died because of the cruel intentions of males today? How many were injured?”

“Thirteen dead, thirty plus injured,” Cassian told Nesta quietly. “It would have been many more if you and Feyre not been there. You moved so quickly you managed to slay the majority of the packs before they reached the females.”

Nesta’s expression hardened as she thought of the trailing guts that had glistened in the grey light of day; the way Roksana’s hands had slipped in Mas’s wet, sticky blood, and how she had croaked for help. Her first word aloud since Nesta had met her.

“That is still too many,” Nesta insisted, her voice betraying her — shaking with the anger and horror of it all. “Why would they target the widows first? Why not lead the kerits down the other side of the mountain pass where they would could reach the main camp and weaken Windhaven’s forces?”

“Perhaps the kerits were never intended to weaken Windhaven’s ranks at all,” Rhys mused. “Perhaps they were intended to prove a point.”

A shocked, prolonged pause.

“Are you saying,” Nesta said, her voice shaking, “that you think the rebellion could have orchestrated the attacks. That they might have specifically targeted the defenceless females because widows are seen as disposable, but their deaths would be enough to fuel dissent amongst the camps?”

Rhys stared at Nesta for a moment. His head tilted slightly to the side, in the same way that Cassian’s did when he was trying to puzzle her out. But Nesta barely saw it. All she saw was the twisted body of the kind cook who had fed Nesta every morning… Of lovely Durkhanai, with her beautiful curly hair and bright green eyes. A female who had been dealt the harshest of fates. She had not deserved her end. None of the females had. 

Feyre’s hand crept over the blankets to Nesta’s. Her sister’s slim fingers wrapped around her own. “Surely they wouldn’t kill their own race?” Feyre said, her voice shaking. Nesta wondered if she, too, was thinking of the discarded limbs and pools of blood. “There were children in that camp. The females didn’t even have weapons…”

But her sister did not understand just how harsh the camps were. Unlike Nesta, Feyre had not lived amongst the widows for months. She did not know just how willing the Illyrian’s might be to offer the widows camp as a sacrifice for the sake of politics.

“I would not put it past Illyrian’s to see widows as a necessary sacrifice,” Rhys admitted eventually after a long, pregnant pause. His violet eyes had softened with grief. “If this is orchestrated by the rebellion, I suspect that by targeting the widows camps Kallon was hoping to fuel the anger amongst the Illyrian’s that they are not protected. That the Night Court does not care for Illyrian’s and offers them no protection. The widows would have been seen as a necessary sacrifice. They are outcasts in Illyrian society with no families to mourn their deaths.”

A ringing sounded in Nesta’s ears. The noise tuned out the room around her. It took her a while to realise that it was fury. It burned. It was not hot, but cold - enough to give her frostbite - as if her magic was not replenished enough to fly but was trying its best to rally itself. Inside of her chest, something cracked. It sounded like bone. With it, came creeping fingers of light, reaching towards her...

With all her strength, Nesta clamped down... until shadows ate away the approaching light and the room righted itself.

When she came to, Cassian was growling low in warning, his wings stretching as far as they could without hitting her square in the face. At who, Nesta did not know. Did not care for his territorial display when there were bigger matters to discuss.

“And why isn’t there protection?” she asked.

Nesta’s words were as cold as the chill in her veins. Rhys stilled, and with it, his magic trembled. The growl was still rumbling from low in Cassian’s chest — deeper even — and he sat forward, bracing his weight onto his thighs as if he were getting ready to launch himself at… someone. Nesta wasn’t sure who.

Feyre was still gripping Nesta’s hand tight, her grip firm enough to hurt. If Nesta had cast a look to her sister’s face, she would have seen that tell-tale glaze over Feyre’s eyes. It was the kind of far off look which told Nesta that her sister was speaking to her mate mind-to-mind. Or trying to, at least.

“Why was there no protection around each of the Illyrian camps given that there had already been two kerit attacks?” Nesta continued, ignoring the rumbling sound that had her heart wanting to beat that little bit faster. “I have seen the protective shields the fae used in war — around your City of Starlight. Why is that courtesy not extended to the Illyrian communities?”

A long, drawn out silence of star-kissed eternal and a whisper of ancient silver.

“I have offered protection numerous times to each of the war lords,” Rhys replied eventually, his voice too measured to be casual. “Each of them have turned it down. They see it as a criticism on their duty as warriors to protect and defend.”

Nesta’s snort was harsh but the hard quality to her eyes did not change. “They are stubborn Illyrian bats. Get them to change their minds. Or are you not their High Lord?”

A flicker of amusement passed across Azriel’s face, his shadows lightening the sharp, beautiful angles of his face. “Nesta is right,” he said, causing everyone to turn. “The war lords don’t have the luxury of turning down our help when it looks as if there will be more kerit attacks. There shouldn’t have been a gap in today’s patrol. Windhaven has always prided itself on its security — all the camps do. Have we found the soldiers who should have been patrolling the perimeter? I think it wise to consider that they may have been compromised by whoever tempted the kerits to the camps. Recruited, even. They could well be the males that flew over the mountain pass.”

“Nobody can find them,” Cassian growled. “We have males out looking for them as we speak. As soon as they are found we will interrogate them.”

“Cassian and I will interrogate,” Rhys told Azriel as a rare flicker of surprise fell across the shadowsinger's expression. “I need you to visit your most trusted contacts in the camps and tell them that we believe the attacks might not be random. We need all eyes and ears to the ground to find out as much as we can, not least to anticipate where the next attack might be.”

A tense nod, but Azriel folded into shadow and disappeared.

Cassian’s fists curled into fists on the tops of his thighs. “We need evidence. We cannot assume this is the rebellion without it.”

“Of course not,” Rhys admitted smoothly. “Which is why we need you to try and snuff out as much information as you can when you and Nesta go to the Solstice luncheon next week. Accept the offer to stay overnight.”

Nesta hadn’t thought Cassian’s expression could turn any stonier, but it did. “No.”

“The more time you spend at Ironcrest, the longer Nesta has to pick up any untoward emotion, especially surrounding conversation about the camps. It gives Frawley time to look and identify the origin of the sword, and it gives you and Lorrian time to pry out any information. Insist on you and Lorrian overseeing the aerial and ground units that next morning, it will ease away any suspicion. A trip there is long overdue but it is time to act on this rather than gathering information, which we have been doing up until now.”

Cassian blew out a long, steadying breath. Then he conceded,  “With the Rite meeting been moved forward to that afternoon, it shouldn’t be hard to extend our stay."

Rhys nodded. “Good.” Then his violet eyes rested on Nesta. “You are willing to go with Cassian?”

A raised chin. Defiant. Strong. Despite the pain and exhaustion that wanted to pull her down, down, down. “Yes.”

“Then we have a plan,” Rhys said with another nod. “Azriel will continue to train you. If he is not available,  I will travel to the camps and train you myself .”

At the edge of her periphery, Nesta saw Feyre’s eyes widen. In her stomach, Nesta felt Cassian’s surprise, a sensation which grew as Rhys said,  “Welcome to the Court of Dreams, Nesta Archeron.”

*** 

By the time the meeting was over, Nesta was drained; her eyelids unbelievably heavy, her limbs aching. She desperately wanted to sleep, so she took the tincture Feyre brought her without comment and didn’t protest when Cassian carried her back to his bed rather than hers; agony fogged the rational part of her brain.

She was practically asleep as Cassian lay her onto his mattress. She felt his fingers coax hers away from where they were clutching his leathers. Blankets were pulled over her, the weight a comfort. A sedative was dripped into her mouth.

And then she slipped under.

When Nesta next woke, the taste was still bitter in her mouth but the room was dark; the light having receded even from the gap between the curtains.

In the armchair beside her bed was Feyre, her feet curled up beneath her and her freckled nose buried in Love in Velaris. A bobbing faelight hung overhead, willed by her sister’s magic. It illuminated the pages.

From the dent Feyre had made in the book, Nesta guessed she had been asleep for hours. Beyond the room, the bungalow sat still — the way it did when Cassian was not home — as if it too were sleeping, waiting for its owner to come back and breathe life into the rooms with his presence.

A few seconds passed until Feyre noticed that Nesta was awake. It gave Nesta enough time to catalogue the concern etched on her sister’s pale face; the tight expression which made Feyre’s sharp cheekbones even more prominent.

Nesta did not usually see the similarities between them, but now, as Feyre’s serious steel-blue eyes snapped up at the rustle of blankets, Nesta knew why others had said they looked alike.

“You’re awake.” Feyre spoke slowly — unsure — as she unfurled her long, lithe legs. When Nesta winced as she tried to get into a more comfortable position, Feyre jumped up and moved to the dresser. “Here,” she said, pouring some tincture onto a silver spoon.

Nesta hated the way she needed assistance to lift her head, but she allowed Feyre to do it in a rush of pear and lilac. Nesta was not proud enough to deny that she needed the tincture to smooth away the pain. And whilst the pain wasn’t as agonising as hours prior, it was deep-set enough for Nesta to consider whether she could persuade Feyre to allow her to swallow down the whole damn bottle.

After some water to chase down the foul taste, Feyre stepped back. “How are you feeling? Frawley seemed to think she could speed up the healing Madja did, but you were so sick…” Her sister trailed off, setting back to examine Nesta’s face. “You look a little less pale...”

“I’m fine,” Nesta said hoarsely.

Feyre opened her mouth and then closed it again, as if she were contemplating what best to say. The action annoyed Nesta. She wanted to be alone and quiet. To fall back asleep and wake when the pain was gone and she no longer felt helpless.

“Don’t you have duties to attend to?” Nesta asked tiredly, turning her face to bury it into one of the pillows. It was a few seconds reprieve to calm the irritation that had started to hum through her.

Slowly, Nesta breathed in the scent of pine, musk and air that was so fierce Nesta felt as if she were almost a part of it. She had no doubt this was the pillow Cassian rested his head on. The scent soothed her, smoothing over that spiky, dangerous anger of hers to leave bone-lead weariness in its place.

“I wanted to be here,” Feyre told her. There was a subtle stubborn lift to her chin that Nesta knew Feyre had copied from her at a young age so many times that it had now become a part of who she was. “I wanted to look after you. To make sure that you were healing.”

“Well, I don’t need you to take care of me. You heard it yourself, I should be out of bed tomorrow. I just need to sleep.”

Nesta had intended to say it icily, but she was not well enough to muster the strength.

Feyre’s expression tightened, and for a moment, Nesta thought she might snap. But then she just straightened with determination; her tall, lean body rising to a height that called for attention. “Then let me say what I want to say and I will leave you alone.”

A long, stony silence and a blank, impenetrable mask that Nesta hoped with desperation conveyed the message she wanted to snap: Go away.

Instead, Feyre seated herself on the armchair and reached for Nesta’s ice-cold hand. “Nesta,” she started, the word practically a plea. “I know you and I - I know that our relationship has always been rocky. And you are right, there are many things that I hadn’t considered, not least when I sent you here. But… you almost died today and it’s made me realise what is important: I love you. I don’t think I’ve told you that before, but I always have. Even when we were younger and we were both so angry and bitter at our lot in life and we spent our days fighting. And I know you love me, too. Hiring someone to take you to the wall to find me told me that…”

Feyre let out a long, shaky breath and when she next spoke, her voice turned softer, dropping into a confession, “I forgave you and Elain a long time ago for when we were starving, Nesta. I want you to know that. I don’t — we were children. It was father that failed us, not you. I never saw it as your job to care for me and… I’m sorry that you were there when mother asked me to take care of you…. That must have been a horrible thing to overhear and… well, I would have felt resentment towards me, too, if I were you.”

More silence. Nesta would not allow herself to speak for the barbed words she knew would spill forth. About her sister’s mate and how whilst Nesta had tried to make amends, Rhysand’s obvious dislike of her had not disappeared with Feyre’s supposed forgiveness.

“I also want you to know that what you did in the war — you saved hundreds of lives. I know you witnessed unimaginable death and horror, but fae and humans are walking on Prythian because you struck down the male that promised to wreak havoc on our world. You did all of that and I never thought to thank you. And then I was so swept away by my duties as High Lady and recovering from Rhys’s near death that I did not give you the time I should have-”

Such careful tiptoeing around their father’s death. How Nesta had watched the life bleed out of his eyes, until they were nothing but glassy and wholly unconscious.

It was that which made Nesta cut her sister off. Even now, she had no desire to discuss his death. “I am not a burden you need to add to your list of priorities. I didn’t want your help. I explicitly told you to go away and instead you continued to force me to socialise when all I wanted was to be alone.”

Feyre let go of Nesta’s hand. Something akin to loss flashed through Nesta, piercing through the exhaustion and the pain in her abdomen.

“I think communication has always been an issue for us,” Feyre admitted, not backing down from the conversation. “I have spent time thinking over what you have said and you are right, I have not truly listened to you. But I was so scared for your safety I adopted drastic measures—”

“It is not your place to decide what is best for me,” Nesta said coldly. “I am not yours to command. And,” she continued with as much iciness as she could muster, “I do not think that an Illyrian camp is a place of safety.”

A deliberate pause to highlight how she were in bed suffering from major injuries.

“I thought if you were with Cassian that you would be protected,” Feyre said, her expression anguished. “I thought if anyone were to hold their own in an Illyrian camp it would be you. You are so strong, Nesta—”

“You thought a fae male could protect me when the protection I was promised by males has failed over and over again?” Nesta countered. “He is not even here all of the time. Sometimes he is away for days on end and I am left alone. You banished me to this awful place in front of an audience with no care for my feelings.”

But as Nesta spoke, something scrabbled in the back of her mind. Because it wasn’t fair to criticise Cassian for both leaving her and crowding her. Because Cassian had given her space and yet he had also been there, on the periphery if not right in front of her. Taunting her and encouraging her, but with so much space to grow. He had not made her train with him, dragging her spitting and screaming into the sparring ring. He had not thrown her out into the camp each morning and forced her to work or make friends. He had given her choices that she had more often than not denied over and over. And when she had done that, he had bought her more books or figured out the foods she liked to make the days a little less boring.

Cassian had not just protected her but allowed her to grow stronger. Had given her the space to decide for once in her life what she wanted to do and what she wanted to be. True, she might have been stuck in Windhaven, but she had never felt truly trapped. The skies made her feel unencumbered. The mud beneath her feet rendered her a part of nature rather than apart from it. The craggy mountains were a physical depiction of how Nesta was starting to see herself; sharp and angry but resilient and strong.

Outside the bungalow, Nesta heard the unmistakable crunch of boots in the snow. The low murmur of male voices floated through the bedroom window, which had been cracked open to circulate the stale air.

Feyre’s face crumpled in sudden irritation, and Nesta guessed that her mate had tried to speak mind-to-mind with her mid-conversation. From the way Feyre’s expression quickly cleared, Nesta got the impression she had banished Rhys completely or told him to go away.

The click of the magical lock from the front door rang through the bungalow, but Feyre’s attention was only on her. “Adjusting to the role of High Lady has been… a struggle,” her sister admitted. “Cassian, Rhys, Amren and Mor are my friends as well as my trusted advisors. But you are right, I spoke to you as a High Lady not as a sister when I told you to come here. I thought that using my new status would make you listen because my role as a sister had failed. It was a last resort and I knew… I knew that Cassian would look after you.”

Feyre stared up at the ceiling, as if the memory caused her pain. “As soon as you left I knew the way I had summoned you was wrong.” Feyre looked back to Nesta and sincerity swam in her eyes. “I did not consider that I had imprisoned you. I was selfishly only thinking of forcing you to be well.”

More silence.

Feyre got to her feet, her expression pained.

She waved a hand to the window, gesturing to the scenery outside. To the craggy mountains that stretched for miles and the sea beyond it. To the world that existed beyond Illyria. Beyond Prythian. “When you are healed, if you wish to leave Illyria you can. I don’t want you to feel imprisoned any longer.”

There was a finality to the words that rang true. Her sister meant them, even if it was obvious they caused her pain.  Yet… Nesta did not want to leave. Not now, not when she had promised to attend the Solstice luncheon to see what they could discover about the sword and the kerit attacks. Not when the females here were so vulnerable. Now when they needed help rebuilding their community — to mourn for the losses that Nesta had vowed would not go unnoticed.

“I said I’d help, didn’t I?”

Feyre halted at the door.

“And your help is invaluable,” Feyre said slowly, “but you are not obligated to do it. So if you wish to leave, you can. Just… please tell someone before you do and let us know where you are going.”

Feyre looked weary and Nesta wondered if she had even bathed since everything that had happened. Her body was clean like Nesta’s… but her leathers were crumpled and her hair dishevelled. Nesta’s own body felt like it was covered in a film of oil and invisible dirt. Her skin itched at the thought and she longed for a bath, even though she knew she would not be able to manage it without more rest.

When Nesta closed her eyes, Feyre’s blood-streaked face swam into view. She remembered how Feyre had gripped her hand in the midst of battle and told Nesta to lead the way to the Eastern side of the camp, even though they were in the thick of danger. Her sister had not hesitated or balked. She had only been fierce and unwaveringly brave, ready to put her life on the line for those who needed protection.

For all of their problems, when the two of them had been fighting side by side, it was the first time that Nesta felt as if she truly belonged with her sister. For a brief moment in time, their issues and past mistakes had bled away, as if they were inconsequential.

“I’d love for us to start afresh,” Feyre continued quietly from her place at the door. “We have both made errors, but I do not care about yours. I hope that with time you might be able to forgive me, and if you do, I’d like to start over, you and I, with a blank slate.”

Tags:

@arin1030 @superspiritfestival @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @mylittlebigplanet @biggestwingspan-az @bellsqueen @ekaterinakostrova @bookstantrash @prophecyerised @rainbowcheetah512 @awesomelena555 @wannawriteyouabook @iammissstark @hatemecozuaintme @lovelynesta @melphss  @nestalytical @nestable @darkshadowqueensrule @laylaameer01 @a-trifling-matter @grouchycritic7794 @thalia-2-rose @champanheandluxxury @swankii-art-teacher @princessconsuela02 @lavendergoomsltd @little-diyosa @princessofmerchants-reads @sjm-things

#nessian #nessian angst #nessianfic #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #nestafic #cassianfic #cassian #acosf #acofas #acowar #acomaf #acotar #embersandlightfic

[otonymous]

A Bolt From The Blue (MLQC Shaw - NSFW) - Part I: A Matter Of Convenience

Description: An extraordinary man arrives to shake up your ordinary life Warnings: NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language & mature themes — reader discretion is advised.  Potential trigger warnings: robberies and mentions of firearms, physical violence, mild depictions of bodily injury, blood and masturbation, profanity Word Count: 1650 words (~8 mins of action, drama and the start of a slow burn 🔥)  Author’s Notes: This multi-chapter fic is dedicated to the lovely @op-peccatori​​​, one of the winners of my Follower Milestone Celebration!  Thank you so much, Nana, for requesting a mafia AU story starring everyone’s favourite lavender-haired man 😆 This is actually my first time writing an AU fic, and the experience thus far has been incredibly eye-opening and lots of fun!

For this piece, I wanted to localize the AU to better fit the world of MLQC, so instead of using a traditional mafia setting, the events take place in the milieu of the triads and “black societies” that are more likely to be found in corresponding parts of the world.  For those who are interested, Wikipedia has an incredibly comprehensive article on triads and organized crime.

This piece turned out to be much longer than I anticipated and is still ongoing as of the time of this post!  That being said, I hope you’ll join me on this wild ride 😂 As always, wishing you all a very happy read 😊

Jump to Chapter(s): Two | Three | Four

“Put the money in the bag and no one gets hurt.”

A black duffel bag is thrust onto the counter before you, panels wide open like a gaping maw.  You look up at the man in the bomber jacket and the only things you can process are:

One: his nostrils are flaring.

Two: why bother trying to be nondescript by dressing in all black if you’re going to leave your face uncovered during a robbery?

“I ain’t playin’ around, little girl.  Put the goddamn money in the bag right now or else I’ll shoot—”

WHACK!

The man’s eyes widen in the split second before his face crumples, teeth yellowed and uneven protruding in an ugly grimace.  His hand flies to his head, trying to stem the blood already streaking down his face when he collapses onto the counter, taking out a display of collectible miniature keychains next to the register as he does.  They scatter, some rolling across the floor before being stopped by a pair of purple Chuck Taylors tapping out an impatient rhythm on the linoleum.

You look up from those sneakers in a daze, eyes following the silhouette of a pair of jeans so worn in places you doubted the rips and tears were purely for aesthetic purposes.  And if you’d had to guess, you’d say that purple was your saviour’s favourite colour, given the lavender hair that fell over his eyes the moment he pulled back the hood of his sweatshirt, also in a shade of violet.  His other hand — clad in a fingerless leather glove — gripped the skateboard that had just connected with the head of the would-be robber, still groaning before you.

Pop!

You startle at the sound, heart slowing only when you see the pink bubble deflating between the young man’s lips before the gum is pulled back by the tip of his tongue.  And from where you stood — glued to the spot behind the counter — you swear you can detect the hint of cinnamon.  

He crouches, picking up the gun that had slid out of the thief’s hand when he was unceremoniously hit from behind, and when he chuckles — the sound dangerous and cocksure — it ignites something deep within you.

“Tsk, tsk.  Can’t very well go around robbing people with toys guns, now can you?  Especially not on my turf.  Piece of advice: don’t mess with Boss Li’s territory or else I’ll be doing more than just breaking your head the next time around.  Don’t let me catch you here again.”  

Letting out a pathetic whimper, the robber snatches the empty bag from the counter, running for the doors in such haste he almost trips over his own feet.  The electronic refrains of the door chime still ring in your ears when you realize the man has already made his way to the beverage dispenser, one long finger pressing the Pepsi button before switching to Coke, both drinks mixing in the same paper cup.

Smoothly stepping over the mess on the floor, he places the drink on the counter right next to a smear of blood.  Mind still reeling, your customer service instincts take over.

“H-hello.  Just this?”  

He nods, popping a purple straw through the plastic lid before fixing you with his amber eyes as he pays, a hint of a smirk on his face.  And that is when it hits you that he is actually…actually…

…incredibly gorgeous.

An intense wave of heat washes over your face and you can’t help but look down.  By the time you’ve worked up the courage to lift your head again, he is already at the door, merging with the dark night beyond.  He throws up one hand in goodbye, not even bothering to look back when he says, “Relax.  That guy won’t be bothering you again.”

You hear his skateboard hit the pavement, listen to it rolling away.  Only when the sound completely fades do you remember to breathe.

There was a certain tranquility in working late-night shifts at the 24-hour convenience store — aisles empty save for the occasional customer breaking the monotony: high-strung lovers grabbing last-minute condoms and overworked salarymen buying the beer and discounted meals they subsisted on.

And though your coworkers complained bitterly about the graveyard shift, they were more than happy to pass them on to you, making up every excuse as to why they were unable to show up during those times.  It was unnecessary, really.  You didn’t mind it, even preferred the solitary calm it afforded.

Until now.

Your peace has been shattered, replaced by something that made your hands ball into nervous fists — fingers gripping at the hem of your polyester uniform and wondering for the first time ever whether blue stripes made you look ridiculous.

Because for the first time in a very long while, there was something, someone, to look forward to.

Night after night, it’s the same.  Repeated glances at the clock above the magazine rack, your breath growing shallow to see it approach 1:30.  Heart leaping into your throat to hear the automatic doors slide open followed by the scuff of purple sneakers, tracing a path through the store.

Since the night of that foiled robbery attempt a month ago, he has visited like clockwork and you still haven’t figured out how to remain calm.  So you find contentment from behind the safety of the counter, watching the man with lavender hair — soft, even when lit beneath a harsh fluorescent glare as he stands at the drink dispenser, always filling a cup with Pepsi first, then Coke.

Only ever buying the same thing every time.

This strange ritual lasts all of ten minutes, fifteen at most.  And it takes just as long after he leaves for the hairs of your body to cease standing on end, as if electrified by the intensity of his eyes on yours.  

That gaze of molten gold stays with you even when you return home in the early morning hours, pulling blackout curtains across your window before falling into bed to pretend your hands were his: tracing the outline of your lips, caressing the swell of your breasts, dipping between your legs.

And when your breath falters in a quick succession of shudders, you wonder at your own sanity.  Because in spite of your suspicions about the guy with the purple hair, the warning signs that pointed to his obvious involvement with the triads that extorted money from local businesses as ‘protection fees,’ you still couldn’t help but think about the man who visited you every night without fail.

“You’re hurt—”

“I-I’m fine.  Just…just ring this up, will ya?  I’m…in a rush…”

One arm crossed over his abdomen, he places the cup onto the counter as if it took all the concentration in the world — his efforts squandered anyways when his hand spasms at the last minute to send dark liquid sloshing over the lip.  He hadn’t even bothered to put a lid on.

“…Emergency responders have just arrived on scene and are dealing with scores of injuries.  Eyewitnesses describe what appears to have been a violent clash between rival gangs in a longstanding feud over contested territory.  The police are seeking help from the public in locating several key suspects believed to have fled the scene.  Please do not approach them under any circumstances as they are considered armed and dangerous…”

The news anchor’s face on the wall-mounted television is replaced by another: that of a youthful man with lavender hair and multiple piercings on his ears — challenge exuding from amber eyes.  You scramble for the remote on the shelf behind you, mashing the power button until the screen goes black.  And in the eerie silence that descends upon the store, all you can focus on is the laboured breathing of the man slouched before you.

Skin pale, beads of sweat dot a face drained of colour save for the crimson protrusion above his left eye — soon set to transform, ironically, into his favourite shade of purple.  He tries to suppress a cough but it is too late: you’ve already caught sight of the blood spreading out from beneath the palm pressed to his stomach.

“It’s on me tonight.”

The words leave your lips without second thought as you make for the storefront, flipping the light switch even as you reach to turn the lock on the automatic doors.

“No, don’t…don’t get yourself involved…”

Ignoring his protests, you gingerly place his arm over your shoulder, doing your best to support his weight as you make an awkward attempt to hobble together towards the back of the store.

Suddenly, the darkened interior is lit by flashes of red and blue and you are pulled in the direction of the nearest pillar, a strong arm flexed as it tenses around your waist, holding you to him in an intimate embrace.

He is close…so close that your senses are flooded with him: the heartbeat thunderous in your ear, leather and sweat tickling your nostrils; the scent of blood thick enough you can almost taste it on your tongue.  The hand on your hip — grip firm in a way it almost seemed possessive, and you are ashamed to find that you can become aroused even in a situation like this.

When you finally gather the courage to look up at his face — seeking a sign in the tension dissolving from the firm set of his jaw that the police cruiser had passed — you are shocked to see his pale lips stretched into a smirk instead.

“You know...I’ve been coming here every day…for weeks now…and this is the most you’ve ever said to me.”

He is still smiling when he passes out.

Thanks so much for reading!  Hope you all enjoyed it and please stay tuned for part 2!  Check out more of my work here! 📚

(Updated): Jump to Chapter(s): Two | Three | Four

#mlqc #mr love queen's choice #love and producer #mr love dream date #evol x love #mlqc shaw #mlqc ling xiao #mlqc smut #mlqc shaw smut #mlqc fic #follower milestone #op-peccatori #my writing #multi-chapter fic

[jwillowwolf]

Magic and Miracles - Prologue

Tag List: @sandersidesbigbang @thomassanderssidesbigbang2021 @theimprobabledreamersworld

First Chapter > | Masterlist

This is a multi-chapter fic I've been working on for the last couple of months as a part of the 2021 Sanders Sides Big Bang. The original idea came from this post by @remy-please-come-back [thanks again for letting me use the idea 💜].

Summary: Ever present, never seen. Feared and admired by all beings. The life that bursts from the earth, the secrets hidden in stone. It dances in the fire’s flames; it gives the wind its mournful tone. Here it is, this is it. Defined yet unexplained. In the depths of the ocean, and of your own mind. In the veins of all creatures, including humankind. For magic is in everything, yet unknown all the same.

For the longest time, Logan wanted to learn magic. So, when he was offered the chance to study it at a new magic school, he decided to follow his dreams. Along the way, however, he'll learn about so much more.

Warning/s: food mention.

Characters: Logan, Emile, Remy, OCs.

Read on AO3

0 | The Underdog's Debut

Ever present, never seen. Feared and admired by all beings.

The life that bursts from the earth, the secrets hidden in stone.

It dances in the fire’s flames; it gives the wind its mournful tone.

Here it is, this is it. Defined yet unexplained.

In the depths of the ocean, and of your own mind.

In the veins of all creatures, including humankind.

For magic is in everything, yet unknown all the same.

Perhaps this was why people found it so intriguing from such a young age. They wanted answers to what magic was, and while they didn’t find what they sought, they did learn how it could be used to their advantage. Spells were created to do anything that their caster’s heart desired. From creating a small orb of light for reading in the night to manipulating a tidal wave that could crash down on your enemies.

Magic was something not easily understood, which was one reason why the Council of Wizards evaluated all potential magic users. They wanted to gage that these young mages could safely use the power they were wielding. If not, then they needed to be properly dealt with before things got out of hand.

This was a good thing, but also not because to learn magic safely you would need someone else to teach you first-hand.

Now that doesn’t seem like much of an obstacle, except the only established wizards were of the nobility, and therefore only worked with nobility. The system was pretty much rigged to make it hopeless for average people to learn and use magic. Or it was until our protagonist came along.

He rose from poverty to royalty, became a hero among heroes, and faced off against one of the greatest threats to humankind that ever existed! But I’m getting ahead of myself -sorry- let's start from the beginning, shall we?

Oh, but where to begin? Ah! We’ll start from his first test with the Council of Wizards when he was only a young lad of 15. It was the beginning of spring, which is when the COW always held the learner’s test. This test evaluated your magical potential and gave the council a heads up on how many new mages there were. Yes, COW, don’t ask me why they went with that acronym.

The ceremony was being held in the grand hall of the palace, and it was open for anyone from the Srednas Kingdom to come and watch. The test itself was rather simple but the festivities that came with it made things feel like a special holiday. Nobility and common folk alike were gathered to watch and see what new wizards would be taking on learning magic. There was even a small market of sorts set outside the palace to take advantage of the crowds and sell foods, drinks, and commemorative merchandise.

Inside, people were everywhere, talking excitedly to one another and trying to find good places to view the proceedings. At the end of the room, there was a dais with two thrones where King Thomas and his husband, Prince Consort Nico, sat to watch. In front of the dais were nine chairs for the COW members, who talked with the royals and amongst themselves. Even they seemed eager for what was about to happen, and yet no one knew truly how monumental today was going to be.

The event had begun the same as any other year. Noble children from across the land showed off whatever three spells they’d learnt for the test. Most were common tricks like lighting candles or making plants grow. A handful showed off with advanced versions of these spells, such as holding the flames in their hands or making entire trees grow. Still, regardless of how many times these spells were cast, the crowd watched in awe with each new user who passed their test.

And then a young man in a simple navy tunic and black trousers stepped forward. He looked to be in his mid-teens, the same as most of the young mages and walked with an air of subtle confidence. He had a slender form and soft features that pronounced his youthful appearance. His hair was raven black, swept neatly to the side, and his eyes were such a dark brown that they seemed almost black.

“Please state your name and title.” Silvia, the eldest council member, said.

“My name is Logan Picani.”

“Title?”

“I don’t have any.”

Silence fell over the hall. “Pardon?”

“I don’t have any titles.”

“How do you not have any titles?”

“I’m not a noble.”

Some people audibly gasped and began whispering conspiratorially to one another.

“Young man, you do understand what this test is, correct?” Allen, another council member, asked with a thinly veiled look of disgust.

“Yes sir, I do. I also know for a fact that there are no rules against my taking the test because of being a commoner.”

Allen frowned and opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by Silvia. “I suppose not. Well then, let’s see what you can do.”

Logan took a deep breath and then held up his hand, “Ignyght.”

The tip of his little finger began to glow with golden light. The crowd watched on in silence as he carefully moved his hand to draw the necessary rune with the trail of light that flowed from his finger.

Once the rune was complete, he spoke again. “Solhart.”

The rune turned stark white and then disappeared. For a moment nothing happened, then a small white orb appeared where the rune had previously been floating. This earned a few excited claps from the crowd and an approving nod from two council members. But Logan didn’t stop there.

“Groh.” This time the light from his fingers was bright green. He made a different rune then repeated the sealing word, “Solhart.”

The orb multiplied until nearly fifty of them were floating in a cluster before Logan.

“Stahwynd.” A deep blue light flowed from Logan’s finger as he drew the final rune. “Solhart.”

The orbs burst apart from one another like birds flying off a tree in fear. Some people from the crowd shouted in shock as the balls of light zoomed off in all different directions until finally, they stopped. Now they were floating all around the room above the spectators who gasped as they realized what Logan had done. The hall’s ceiling was pitch black, so the lights looked like stars in the night sky. It was a breath-taking sight that inspired many to cheer and clap for the young mage.

“Alright, please settle down,” Silvia called over the noise before looking at Logan with a thoughtful expression. “Where did you learn this?”

“I taught myself.”

Silvia nodded then turned to talk with her fellow council members in hushed tones. Allen and two others seemed upset, while the rest of the council were neutral if not mildly impressed. After a few minutes, she looked back at Logan with a soft smile.

“Mr Picani, you are officially granted your learner’s license. I hope when we see you again in a few months time, you will once more surprise us all.”

The crowd cheered and Logan nodded before walking away with a look of pride. As he made his way through the crowd, he received congratulations from many strangers. And then he was tackled to the ground by an enthusiastic brown-haired girl.

“You did it! You did it! I knew you could do it!”

“Everleigh, my ribs.” Logan wheezed, causing the girl to release him.

“Oops, sorry. My bad. Is your chest okay?”

“It’s fine.” Both youths got up with smiles on their faces. “I did it.”

“Yep. In a couple of months, you’re going to be an official grand wizard.”

“Considering I just got my learners, I don’t think I’ll reach such a title that quickly.”

“You just created a night sky in the palace ballroom! I think you’re underestimating yourself.”

Logan smiled softly, “Come on, we should head back to the bakery to celebrate.”

Everleigh nodded in agreement and linked their arms so they could walk side by side. As they walked, Everleigh excitedly told Logan about how incredible it had looked from the crowd, and what kind of reactions the people around her had had.

Logan was uncharacteristically grinning by the time they’d reached the bakery. Walking inside only made his smile widen as the smell of fresh bread and sweet pastries filled his senses. It was after all the smell of home, so of course, it made him feel warm and welcomed. His father, Emile Picani, was standing by the counter helping an elderly customer when Logan and Everleigh walked in.

“Thank you, dear.”

“Oh, I should be the one thanking you, Mrs Goldstone. The brownie recipe you gave me has become a bestseller.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Have a nice day dear.”

“To you as well, ma’am. Oh, Logan, Everleigh, you’re back. And smiling,” Emile gasped, “did you get it?”

“He’s a wizard!” Everleigh dramatically announced.

“Not yet, I still need to finish the second test in a couple of months. I do have a learners’ license though.”

“Well, I think this calls for some celebratory tarts,” Emile said, ushering both youths into the back of the shop where the Picani’s sitting room/kitchen was located. “I’m proud of you logan. That hard work really paid off.”

“Speaking of hard work, you are going to take a break, right?” Everleigh asked.

Logan looked away from her sheepishly. “Well…”

“Come on, Lo. You’ve been working hard non-stop for months.”

“Yeah, kid, you work with me in the bakery all day, then study well into the night. And don’t think I haven’t seen you pull an all-nighter here and there.” Emile chastised.

It was true that Logan had worked long hard to get to where he was. it wasn’t exactly a simple task when books on magic were hard to find, and what knowledge they had was even harder to grasp. Figuring out pronunciation for the initiation/sealing words and learning to keep his hand steady as he drew the runes.

It had taken him many long nights of studying by candlelight to figure out the spells he’d performed. But with Everleigh’s library apprenticeship and his own persistent nature, he’d managed to learn a good deal about the basics. And now it was paying off. He officially had a learner’s license and would get a chance to become a genuine wizard.

Then he could use magic to help so many of the villagers who couldn’t afford the high-priced assistance of other magicians. Medicinal potions? Enchanted prosthetics? Transition spells? He would be able to give all this and more at prices his peers could afford.

Logan knew that what he was doing seemed near impossible, but he was going to do it or die trying! …okay, so maybe Emile and Everleigh were valid in their concern for his health, but this was his best and only way to study magic.

Before Logan could argue this, however, a stranger walked into the bakery. He was tall and slender, with a bronze tan and confident bearing. He was wearing a black leather jacket over a clean white tunic, black trousers, and dark brown riding boots. His short curly hair was the same dark brown shade as the boots, and his eyes were hidden by black tinted glasses.

“New customer, how do you how do?”

The stranger smiled. “Hey there, gorgeous. Sorry but I’m not a customer today. Is this where Logan Picani lives?”

“Yes, that’s my son.”

“Son? No offence honey but you look too young and handsome to be a dad.”

“Is there something I can help you with, sir?” Logan asked, taking over the conversation for his blushing father.

“Ah, yeah, I’m here to offer you a very special opportunity on behalf of the crown prince.”

Logan and Emile gaped. “The crown prince?”

The stranger nodded. “My name is Remy Animosni, and on behalf of his highness, I’m here to extend an exclusive invitation to the Srednas Magic School.”

Logan frowned. “I wasn’t aware that there was a magic school here in Srednas.”

“Well, that’s because there wasn’t, not until now anyway. It’s something that the prince arranged to start this year with a few students to show how good it could be to the council. You particularly caught his interest today with your starry spellcasting, hence the personal invite. You would learn alongside six other students under me about everything there is to know concerning magic, from the full basics of spells to how you can modify your own enchantments.”

“That sounds incredible,” Emile said.

Remy nodded. “Yep, and not only that but you will be given your own room at the school and anything you may need or want during your stay will be provided by us, free of charge. The location of the school is just an hour out of town, so you could visit home on weekends if you desired. So how about it, kid?”

Logan was gobsmacked. The crown prince had not only seen him but was impressed enough to send an invitation to learn magic at a special new magic school.

“Wait, what do I have to do for the prince in return?”

“Absolutely nothing. The offer is completely free of any fees or deceptive dealings. I promise. The prince even sent this with me to make sure you could have physical proof if so desired.” Remy stated, producing a scroll from inside his jacket.

Emile and Logan both looked over the document and found no problems. It was a straightforward invitation for Logan to study magic at the prince’s new school, with promises to provide anything he could need while he was living at said school, and nothing more. The father and son shared a thoughtful glance. It was definitely an opportunity.

Emile smiled. “Do it.”

“Really? You think I should accept?”

“A chance like this only comes around once, and I can always hire someone if I need the help. Follow your dreams kiddo.” Emile said with an encouraging smile.

Logan bit his lip as he considered things. He really hadn’t thought today could get any better, then this happened. He was worried about leaving his dad, but Emile had told him to take this chance. And he was right about this being a once in a lifetime opportunity. Besides, Remy had said he could still visit the town on the weekends…

“Okay. I accept.”

---

A/N: thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this. I'll be posting two chapters a day until the full fic is up, so if you want to be tagged, you can just ask. [Also, here's a link to chapter 1]

I'd love to hear what you thought about the chapter if you wouldn't mind commenting. Thanks again for reading! Here's hoping you have a magical day 💜

#sanderssides #sander sides #sanders sides fic #logan sanders #ts logan sanders #ts logan #remy sanders #emile picani #fantasy au #Thomas Sanders Sides Big Bang 2021 #food mention tw

[third-generation-female-warrior]

Hidden

So, I decided to maybe do a multi-chapter fic of what Talbott and Alexus were up to during the Second Wizarding War (but it could end up being a one-shot). I don't have too many plans, so I'm hoping I can keep it up. It may get a little more mature than what I've written before, never anything explicit, so far it's a T rating. Lots of romantical language, some dueling, writing the first bit felt a lot like writing quarantine, so take with that what you will.

Chapter 1

Sometimes, on quiet rainy nights, while laying in bed, Talbott Winger would reflect fondly upon the last few years of his life. He was still a young man, only twenty-four-years-old. Some would say the prime of life. He looked down at the woman laying down with him, and kissed her forehead, remembering the last few years, remembering how he was lucky enough to be living with her.

He had graduated from Hogwarts with her in 1991, and he wasted no time moving into a flat in London with his girlfriend of three years: Alexus Johnson. He continued his auror career while she had set up a private investigative office, occasionally working as a hit-witch for his department.

Working young kids, that’s what they were, tripping over themselves in the bliss of freedom, no teachers or dark cabals constantly looming over their heads. Just them, in their space, with their combined book collection.

They continued dating for another couple years until 1995, a year that Talbott reflected upon fondly as he noticed her eyes fluttering from a dream.

That was the year he had proposed to her. In a wheat field, under a large shady tree, when they were on a picnic together, he pulled her favorite book out of the basket and told her to find a story for him to read.

She turned to a marked page, a custom bookmark pressed between the pages of her favorite romantic poem. Embossed in blue lettering was the question he wanted to ask her.

“Will you marry me?”

By the time she processed the bookmark and looked at him for answers, he was already on one knee, an open box with his ring in his hands, held up to her.

They had a small ceremony, a few months later, only their closest friends and her mother and brother were in attendance. They didn’t need or want a big spectacle. All he wanted was to dance with his wife, and he did, for the whole night.

It was 1997 now, and he considered himself the luckiest wizard in the world. He loved her, he didn’t want to lose her.

He loved her, and there was a war right outside their door.

Instead of being stable and safe at their London flat, they were in a safe house.

He loved his wife, but she was rather prone to being targeted by large groups of dark wizards.

Granted, this time, as with his work serving under Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody in the auror department, Talbott himself had been targeted as the Death Eaters took over the Ministry.

Mad-Eye had been killed just over two months ago, during a big confrontation involving Harry Potter and a bunch of Death Eaters, and a few weeks after, there was a wedding for Bill Weasley.

Alexus, still being a good friend with her the eldest Weasley, had attended with Talbott.

They were attacked while there, and that was when they went into hiding, apparating to their flat to grab the bags they had packed in advance before leaving, on a muggle bus, to a train station.

From that station, they made their way to some distant station before apparating again.

Somewhere in Ireland, Talbott didn’t know the exact location. An old villa in the countryside with rolling hills to the right, as far as they could see, and a thick forest to the left of the home, her father’s childhood home, apparently. She and Jacob inherited it when he died.

It was modest, with a lush flower garden in the front, and a greenhouse in the back, a small village within a bike ride’s distance for when they needed groceries.

Most importantly, it had a library, a record player, and a radio.

The days passed slowly, the sun rose over the hills and set behind the trees.

To pass the time, they read, they danced, they cooked, they tended to the garden and greenhouse. Only sparingly did they venture to the village together, for being in sight of other people increased their risk of being sighted.

Today had included a trip to the village. It started off a sunny day, brilliant blue skies as they walked the markets in the center of the place. By the time they were leaving, fresh groceries in their arms, the dark clouds were rolling through the skys.

They had rushed home, just barely avoiding getting caught in the downpour. Alexus found the whole scenario hilarious. Rainy weather always made her feel better, and after dinner, she played music on the muggle device that she called a record player, some relic that belonged to her grandparents.

Talbott hadn’t really heard music like this before, but it was fascinating nonetheless. So, they danced that night, for a long time.

It was enough to leave Alexus properly tired by the time they were heading to bed, so she had fallen asleep in minutes, laying her head on his chest instead of the pillows.

He read his book with one hand, keeping his other arm around her. It was an old one, a collection of an author’s favorites that Alexus had gotten him for his 16th birthday.

The pages were well preserved, some passages underlined, the ink from their own pens fading.

He traced his thumb over a neat line, knowing it was Alexus who had marked it. He sighed and marked his spot before setting the book on his nightstand.

He turned off his light and gently moved, just slow enough so that he didn’t disturb his wife. He laid down and closed his eyes, letting the lullaby of the raindrops tapping on the window sooth him to sleep.

When the sun filtered in from the bedroom window, Talbott threw the blankets over his head.

“You have to get up eventually,” his wife’s chiding voice came from outside the covers.

“No I don’t,” he called back, a smile creeping onto his lips.

“We’re going to the forest, remember? To explore beyond the yard?”

He felt the weight of the bed shift, the springs in the mattress squeaking as she sat down at the foot.

He relented and sat up, pulling the covers off of his face.

She looked at him, with her big round eyes, misleadingly innocent, a soft smile on her lips. She was already dressed, wearing simple blue jeans and a long-sleeved blue shirt, her hair tied back into a bun, two strands of hair framing either side of her face.

“There you are,” she said, a glint of mischief taking its place in her eyes.

“Here I am,” he repeated before lifting his arms into a powerful stretch, extending his entire upper torso, a yawn accenting his movements.

“Get ready, I’ll be downstairs,” she said, leaning over the bed to peck his cheek before sliding off the bed and walking out.

Now, he really had no choice. He couldn’t keep his wife waiting.

He reflected on their predicament as he got ready for the day. They were treating it like a second honeymoon. If any bystander that they met asked, they were on vacation from two demanding jobs.

Vacation, he mentally repeated as he examined his face in the mirror. A small beard was developing, he hadn’t shaved in a few weeks. Everyone I know could be killed by now, and I’m on vacation. He shook his head to rapidly clear those thoughts. He couldn’t let his mind go down that direction. They were just as safe as he and Alexus.

He ran his hands through his hair, letting it fall where it may before he exited the bathroom, fully dressed. He wore khakis and a grey t-shirt, simple enough, but durable for a walk in the woods. Lastly, from his closet, he grabbed a dark jacket and threw it over his shoulder before making his way downstairs.

Alexus was in the kitchen, reaching through one of the cupboards to grab plates.

Talbott took the opportunity to look over what she was preparing. Bacon on one burner, scrambled eggs on another. He looked at the counter, to see bread in the toaster.

He turned the eggs before kissing the back of her head, reaching above her to grab the plates that were just at the brush of her fingertips.

“What would you do without me?” he said, almost teasingly.

“Get a step-ladder.”

He laughed as two pieces of toast popped up. She quickly took them out and added another slice. He started to prep their coffee.

It wasn’t too long before they sat down at the little table in a dining nook.

While they ate, Alexus was looking through a book of botany, one hand balancing the spine on the table and flicking through the pages, the other holding her fork and messing with eggs that she kept forgetting to actually eat.

He watched her read, her brow furrowing in concentration, her emerald eyes blocked only slightly by her reading glasses, lips slightly parted and occasionally mouthing words, eggs hovering an inch off her plate, occasionally dropping off the fork balanced between her two fingers.

“I thought we banned reading at the breakfast table for this reason,” Talbott remarked casually, snapping her out of her trance.

“Sorry,” she muttered, quickly marking her spot and setting it to the side before she started eating.

“Find anything interesting in the book?” he asked, trying to keep a conversation.

“Well, nothing in particular,” she started, stirring her coffee slightly. Talbott waited for her to finish drinking, knowing that she was about to dump a niche patch of information on him.

“But I just think,” she continued, setting her mug down, “It’s interesting, there’s botany, the study of non-magical plants, but there’s also herbology, which is for magical plants, but there’s also a certain overlap in their medicinal and magical uses.”

He nodded slightly, watching her ramble. The topic she was discussing was rather interesting, but he always found her info-dumping made it more compelling.

“Like, dittany,” she said after a breath. “In herbology and potion making, it’s very powerful for healing purposes, but muggles know about dittany, it’s not just a magical plant. For them, it’s medicinal, ornamental, symbolic of love, used for culinary and perfumery purposes.”

“And?” he asked, encouraging her to state her real point, knowing that her tangent was merely a method of building context to set up her point.

“Why doesn’t someone publish a book containing both muggle and magical herbs?” she asked.

He frowned, biting the inside of his cheek as he thought. “That’s an excellent proposal,” he said, “I suppose we could.”

She tilted her head. “We?” she repeated.

“Well, yes. We’re both talented at Herbology, plus with all the books we read on gardening and other botanical research, we’d both be qualified enough.” He shrugged before taking the last bite of his toast.

She nodded before she continued eating. He could see the gears turning in her head.

She remained deep in thought even when they both finished breakfast and were walking out the door, heading left to enter the forest. There was a fog rolling over the hills and the forest floor, Talbott knew, was caused by the hot October sun evaporating the cold, wet air leftover from last night’s rain. It created a certain ambience as they walked along the natural pathway, the light of the sun breaking through the red and orange canopy and catching on the omnipresent mist.

The forest was cold, almost a biting chill, the shade of the trees only adding to that cold.

Talbott reached for her hand, and they walked together, keeping close for warmth.

There was a natural pathway to the forest, nothing paved, no stepping stones. Just a clearing of trees.

“What do you think we’ll find out here?” Talbott asked after a second of walking, the villa no longer visible behind them.

“Other than memories?” Alexus contemplated his answer, “My father, he wrote some poetry about this place. He called it Sunset Forest. I remember he described finding groves of berry bushes, small streams flowing into ponds, rabbits.”

“I didn’t know he was a poet,” Talbott said.

“Only in his spare time. That’s what my mum would tell me. He kept journals and filled them with poetry, ever since he was young. She gave me a box full of them for my 13th birthday.”

She let go of his hand to jump over a large branch that had fallen in the path. Talbott stepped over it and looked up, hearing a persistent little hammering on a tree trunk, knowing it was a woodpecker.

“Do you still have his journals?” he asked, looking back at her.

“Most of them,” she replied, reaching for his hand. “Jacob took some of his more… contemporary and political stuff. Apparently, he went through a phase, from what I could tell.”

Talbott laughed. “How so?”

“Well, in the journals from his early adult years, they were mostly about society and war.”

“Ah,” he nodded in understanding. He knew Alexus had a small dislike for contemporary poetry, especially when they were about war.

She believed that every good story deserved a love, whether it be a tragedy or a happy ending.

“I also brought a few journals with me, to the villa,” she muttered. “I know we were only supposed to pack essential things, but I just wanted-”

“You don’t have to make excuses to please me,” he quickly assured her. “I understand, it’s important to you.”

She stopped in her path, making him stop with her. “Would you like to hear some? I memorized a couple about this forest.”

“I would love to,” he assured her.

She hummed a bit, leaning against his arm as she thought, mentally searching her internal catalog of poetry. For a second, it was quiet, with just her humming and the sound of yellow leaves and twigs being crushed under foot.

“Okay,” she said finally, “This one is called La Bruja de Rosa. He wrote it after my mum told him she was a witch. His response was to propose to her.”

Talbott laughed again as she cleared her throat.

“Smoothed down by the steps Of the many men that have taken this road Before my first breath This forestry path with the stories untold

My story is mine My head is mine My heart is yours La bruja de rosa

Mi bruja de rosa, I walk this path Guided by your spell From my childhood villa To a love meant to last Oh, the story this ground could tell

Magical in the way you take my breath Oh, enchantress of my soul! Meet me at Gaia’s archway, for apart for me, is living death but together, I am whole

You are my other half On the Sunset Forest path, A compliment to me my flying rose, I offer you my prose and the villa To build our own castillo To last for years But only if You’ll say “yes” My dear”

Talbott let out a breath as she finished. “That was nice,” he muttered.

“My mother’s maiden name was Espartero-Rosales. Espartero was her mother’s last name, the one tied with my magical side of the family. But Rosales, it means “rose bush,” so there was a lot of rose symbolism in his poetry after he met her,” she explained.

“Espartero,” he repeated, humming a bit before a thought struck him. This time, he froze in his path, causing her to look back at him.

“Wait,” he looked at her, “Like, the Espartero family in Mexico?”

“Did I not mention that before? I mean, you know my mom was in both the European and Mexican Quidditch Hall of Fa-”

“You told me she played for Spain!”

“Yeah, she played for the Leona Madrid team after playing for the Mexican World Cup team!”

“You never told me you came from the most influential family in developing Herbology research!”

She started laughing as she turned to him. He wasn’t angry, it was more than likely shock manifesting in him.

She placed her hands on his chest and smoothed out his jacket. “Yes, that is my close family, yes, I keep in touch with them, and yes, we can visit them.”

She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Satisfied?”

He gently wrapped his arms around her waist. “Very.”

She cupped his face into her hands and brushed his cheek with her right thumb before standing on her toes to kiss him on the lips, just for a second.

He moved one hand, placing it over hers to hold it in place as he turned his head to kiss her palm.

She smiled, staring up at him. “I love you, and we will get through this. Both of us. I promise,” she assured him.

“I will never let anything happen to us,” he murmured.

She looked into his eyes, that brilliant crimson, the sharpness of his intellect just as alluring as the day she met him, even now, after everything.

They had been married for a good two years, and it all passed like a dream for her. From the moment he got down on one knee, to when they were running home to grab their pre-packed luggage to escape Death Eaters.

He made life a dream for her, still, even in hiding, where they were the only two people in the world. He gave poems and stories she had memorized for years a new life. He gave her motivation when she had none. Hope when she was hopeless. Love when she needed it.

He was a dream for her, still, even after knowing each other for ten years. She loved him as easily as she did when they were younger, it was breathing to her.

But she was being greedy and she knew it. Neither two years nor ten was not enough for her.

She wanted so much more, she wanted what she vowed to: life. After all the danger she ran into headfirst as a youth, she knew life was not promised to her. Not when there was danger still chasing her, when she was awake, and in the dark nights where her dreams left her gasping in a cold sweat, reaching for him, depending on him to be the rock to anchor her back to reality.

Those were terrible nights, when she would sit up, in tears, trying to understand, trying to make sense of why everything she held dear was so fragile. Everyone she loved, they could be gone in a flash, and she didn’t understand it, she couldn’t understand why.

Why did so many things threaten to rip her friends and family from her hands? Why could she never escape the mysteries, the curses? She never wanted any of it, never wanted a reputation for breaking curses, defeating evil. She never wanted the things that threatened to rip Talbott from her hands. She just wanted him. She wanted to be there for him so much, it physically hurt. It was an ache in her chest, a lack of breath in her lungs.

She loved him too much, and she was being greedy because of it.

She loved him and just wanted a life with him. But the war outside the villa was just another thing that threatened to steal him from her.

She was going to spend her whole life with him; she was certain of that fact. What terrified her was how little time that could be. Three minutes, three days, three months. None of it was certain.

Nothing was promised to Alexus, except Talbott.

She stood back up on her toes and kissed him again, he leaned down so she didn’t have to strain so much.

She was so warmed by him, by his hands exploring her, by his lips moving against her own, until a bitter chill swept through a forest, a rustling wind shaking the trees.

Alexus pulled away, shivering, pulling her jean jacket closer around her.

She would have passed it off as a simple October breeze, until everything quieted, the sounds of the forest, the rustling of the leaves, the sounds of animals in the distance, it all went mute. The shadows of the trees grew longer, the sunlight disappearing, the fog taking a much more sinister presence now, heralding a threat, just lurking outside their field of vision. The only thing she heard was Talbott’s own shuddering breath, which puffed out like white smoke from his mouth.

In her stomach, a pit of dread was lodged, making her unsettled.

“T-Talbott,” she whispered through chattering teeth.

He pulled out his wand, she followed suit, and they moved to stand back-to-back.

She watched the fog, until she saw what she was looking for. A hooded figure, looming in the banks, gliding across the forest floor.

“Dementor!” she called before waving her wand, remembering her wedding night, the happiness she felt when Talbott slid the ring on her finger. A patronus of a coyote bounded from the tip and sprang in front of her, rushing at the dementor, sending it away before it could get closer.

“This way too!” Talbott called, another dementor appearing.

She turned on her heel, her and Talbott switching spots as the coyote ran, chasing away the second one.

Immediately, the air cleared, the soft October breeze rustled the canopy, the morning sun returned, even the fog seemed to fade now.

She expelled the patronus and looked at Talbott. “We have to leave, that wasn’t a coincidence,” she whispered, grabbing his hand and pulling him back down the forest path.

They ran to the villa, stumbling over tree trunks and branches, sliding on the golden leaves still wet with morning dew.

Alexus ran into the villa first, but the second she was through the door, a powerful blast sent her flying back, colliding into Talbott, sending him back as well, both of them rolling across the grassy lawn.

“Damn,” Alexus groaned, moving to stand up, clutching her stomach.

“Are you alright?” Talbott asked, sitting up,

“Fine,” she assured him, sliding her wand back into her hand. “But whoever just hit me with a jinx is going to be sorry.”

He pulled out his wand as well and stood up as a wizard, a snatcher, by the looks of his ratty robes, strolled out of the home.

“I wouldn’t try it, Johnson, we’ve got you surrounded,” he drawled casually.

There was a series of snaps as several other snatchers apparated in a circle around Talbott and Alexus.

“Johnson-Winger, I’m a married woman,” Alexus corrected, standing up. “And, I like my odds.”

She did a once-over, glancing over her shoulders, that was all she needed to do, Talbott was aware of that fact. All she needed was one look to gain an accurate account of where everyone was in relation to her own position.

Talbott dove for the ground as she waved her wand in a circle around her head, fire billowing out in a ring around them, pushing the Snatchers away from them.

Standing up, turning on his heel, Talbott fired hex after hex around him, nailing four of the seven snatchers in the chest, sending them down.

“Go inside, I got them!” Alexus called as she sent a particularly nasty hex at the most physically imposing thug.

Talbott ran inside, Alexus standing against two snatchers, both of them holding up their wands.

“Neat trick, Johnson,” the leader said, still standing.

“I’ve had a good amount of practice, didn’t they tell you my background?”

“Why do you think we brought so many?”

With that, they both snapped their wands forward, Alexus stepping to the side, dodging a glaring red jinx, but the second spell had her wand flying out of her hand, landing in the thick grass somewhere behind her.

“Damn,” she whispered before looking back at them.

“No wand, no magic,” the second one said.

Alexus planted one foot behind herself and aimed her hand forward.

She jerked her hand, red sparks shooting from her palm, colliding with the second-in-command, sending him flying back, unconscious.

“Ever heard of wandless magic?” Alexus asked as she turned to the last wizard. “Got any more tricks up your sleeve?”

He lowered his wand.

There was a shift behind Alexus, but before she could react, a pair of thick arms wrapped around her and lifted her up, pinning her arms to her sides.

She responded by slamming her head back as hard as she could into the person’s nose, prompting them to drop her. While they were occupied, she grabbed their wrist and arm, pulling it over her shoulder while hooking her foot behind his ankle, lifting him up enough to flip him over his shoulder.

She kept his arm in her hands, twisting it when he landed on his back, while placing her foot on his chest, keeping him pinned. There was a snapping noise, which was probably his shoulder, and he was yelling.

Alexus, satisfied, jumped back as the initial snatcher tried to hex her.

She quickly retreated, moving behind a snatcher who was slowly climbing to his feet. She grabbed this one by the front of his shirt and hoisted him up to his feet before turning around, using him as a shield, the lead snatcher’s hex hitting his back instead of her, forcing her to drop him as he went dead limp.

She grabbed his wand and ignored its hostile energy as she pointed it forward, right as the lead snatcher was about to hex her. They were at a draw, both ready to take each other out, but the question was, who would go first?

Alexus didn’t find out.

Before she could try, there was a small explosion at the wizard’s feet, sending him jumping back before Talbott sent another hex at him, pushing him back again.

Alexus, satisfied as her husband handled the last one, looked around the grass, running her hands through it before she found her hand.

She went around the other six snatchers and confounded them, casting obliviate on the conscious ones before taking all their wands and throwing them around the yard, some of them ending up in a pond. This would make it harder for them to find Talbott and Alexus again.

“Ready to go?” Talbott asked, holding their bags as she walked back to the house, the tent bundled at his feet.

She grabbed the tent and held it under one arm, placing her hand on his shoulder. “Ready,” she said before kissing his cheek.

With that, they disapparated away from the villa.

#hphm #hphm mc #hphm jacob's sibling #hphm talbott #talbott winger #jacob's sibling #talbott x jacob's sibling #talbott x mc #talbott winger x jacob's sibling #talbott winger x mc #acj writes #hphm talbott winger

[bookstantrash]

A/N: First of all, I’d like to thank everyone who left a comment, reblogged or liked Part One of this fic. It made my day ❤️

I hope this chapter reaches your expectations. I’m still knew at writing multi-chapter fics, so I apologise if it’s too long or too boring. I want to let you guys know Kaelin better and also show Nesta’s (and Cassian’s) journey. But enough blabbering. Please give a warm welcome to Part Two!

In which she makes a friend, Part Two

Nesta remained frozen beside Kaelin’s body for what seemed an eternity. Seconds that felt more like hours went by until her mind finally snapped back to reality.

She could not give herself the luxury of freaking out right now. She needed to be practical. She needed to help Kaelin.

The sky was beginning to get dark and Nesta knew they had to get out of the forest fast. She recalled Cassian’s warning the first day she had arrived.

To never wander in the forest at dark, for the beasts which roamed them at nightfall made Hybern’s monsters at the war seem like child’s play.

“Kaelin. Listen to me. I’m going to help you” Nesta said, and Kaelin only whimpered as another wave of pain came “But we have to leave”

“It hurts” the young girl managed to say, tears streaming down her face “I can’t— can’t move”

Nesta eyed Kaelin’s figure. She was way too skinny for a thirteen year old standards, even if she’d been having regular meals for the past month.

But Nesta didn’t think she’d have the strength to carry her.

She had not eaten a proper meal in months.

Did not exercise.

You’re too heavy.

The memory of herself trying to raise another body from the ground came to mind, and she gritted her teeth to avoid screaming.

Once again, she was powerless.

This time, however, she would not lay on the ground.

She would rise. Even if her miserable bones broke beneath Kaelin’s weight.

“I’ll carry you, but you’ll have to help me” Nesta slowly sit Kaelin up, and looked straight in her eyes “Can you be strong for me now? I need you to move just enough to get on my back”

Kaelin nodded weakly and, panting, did what she was told.

Grabbing the girl’s legs in a firm hold, Nesta bit her cheek and got up, her knees screaming in protest.

“Okay ” she breathed, silently praying her body could hold on long enough to make the ten minute walk back to the cabin “I’m going to move now, so brace yourself”

She took a step forward and had to muster all her strength to not fall down with Kaelin. She remembered giving piggy back rides to Elain when she little — before her mother had deemed it unladylike and punished her. A long time had passed since then. She had been stronger and Elain did not have wings to add to her weight as Kaelin had.

But Nesta focused on the action of putting one foot after the other, her breaths coming in pants, willing her legs to keep moving.

‘Almost there’ she thought as she slowly made her back ‘Just keep moving. It’s not that far’

She repeated that over and over in hopes to distract her body. Her arms were trembling and her tights burned, yet she kept her pace.

After what seemed an eternity, Nesta finally spotted the cabin’s familiar rooftop. She almost sighed in relief.

Awkwardly opening the door and closing it shut with her foot, she went to her room, trying to lay Kaelin down on her bed as smoothly as possible.

She tried to regain her breath. Cauldron, how her back hurt.

Kaelin had curled up again, and was clenching her stomach so hard Nesta wondered if she was actually trying to claw her way into her own body so she could rip her ovaries out.

“I’ll be right back” Nesta said, smoothing some hair from Kaelin’s forehead.

She went to the kitchen, searching for something that would calm the poor girl’s pain. Nesta had not had her period as a fae yet —the huge amounts of alcohol and lack of food in the last year were probably the reason why — but remembered how it was when she used to be a human. She’d get horrible headaches and just lay down all day waiting for the pain to go away. She could only imagine how dreadful the experience must be for the fae.

Getting hold of some ginger, she put water in a kettle to prepare some tea, hoping Kaelin would be able to at least drink it. After that, she went into the shared bathroom between her room and Cassian’s.

And stopped right in front of the bathtub.

She still had trouble taking baths.

Had grown used to her old and deplorable bathtub back in her shabby apartment in Velaris.

And when she had arrived and came face to face with a bathtub big enough to accommodate wings, its dark stone a stark reminder of the Cauldron... she had frozen up. Refused to enter it. Even now, after months living in Cassian’s cabin, she could not stomach the ideia of doing it.

So she waited until Cassian left for his training and took a bucket to wash herself. It was a long process and rather difficult to wash her hair, but at least she could stay clean.

Yet, she could not do the same with Kaelin. The girl was sweaty and dirty with blood. And Nesta knew that a hot bath would do wonders to the cramps, relaxing her.

Raising her chin as if battling an invisible enemy, she got near the bathtub for the first time, turning the faucet and letting it be filled with hot water. Her heartbeat quickened as the water rose and rose, her powers a volcano in her veins, and she had to close her fists tight enough to hurt to not shatter the whole bathroom.

‘It’s not the Cauldron. It’s not the Cauldron’ reaching a tentative hand, she dipped it in the water to check the temperature ‘This water is hot. The Cauldron’s was cold. They are not the same’

Nesta turned the faucet off, and some tension eased off from her shoulders. Looking around the bathroom, she located the camomile oil Cassian kept. She had once heard it helped ease the soreness of the muscles after extensive training.

Putting it in the water, she found herself feeling a bit guilty for using it. It was not hers. Nothing in that house was. But Cassian was not here, and she doubted he’d notice that the little flask was missing some of its content.

She went back to her bedroom, and helped Kaelin take her leathers and tunic off, as she did with the band the girl had wrapped around her breasts, as small as they still were. Only thirteen, the period in which her body was slowly maturing, yet she was going through those body changes alone. The danger of being found out hanging around her neck like a rope.

Nesta tried not to flinch at the sight of the purple bruises along Kaelin’s back and ribs. A girl training the same amount as an Illyrian boy.... she must be very strong to take it all.

Kaelin wobbled towards the bathroom with Nesta’s help, breathing a sight of relief when her body came in contact with the hot water. Letting her soak for a while, Nesta stripped down some clean linens and left them on the bed.

Now the only matter were the clothes.

Nesta had brought few clothes with her, and most of them did not go along with the ruthless Illyrian weather. She eyed the lower drawer of the dresser. The one which she had not dared to touch.

She had been stubborn and refused to accept any more charity from her sister and her mate, sticking with her old dresses and overcoat instead. It was not as if she left the cabin long enough to die of frostbite.

Yet even if Kaelin was used to Illyria’s harsh weather, wearing warm clothes would make her more comfortable. Nesta was not as ruthless as to lend one of her thin run down dresses.

Sighting, she opened the drawer. And almost took a step back in surprise. For there lay clothes not in Night Court’s colours or the typical winter clothes one would find selling in Velaris.

No, they were Illyrian clothes. And not just leathers.

There were cotton sweaters, leggings, tunics and soft pants that Nesta would have never thought of wearing. And the colours.... Gods the colours. There was a range of colours from grey to auburn, burgundy, royal blue and forest green. The kind of colours that Nesta could imagine herself in.

She was so marvelled by them that she almost missed the small note on top of one sweater.

‘These are for you. I took the liberty of buying them, but if you prefere another clothing style feel free to tell me — Cassian’

He had bought her clothes. He, not her sister. And Cassian had kept quiet about it. Had not said a word before his trip about how she had never opened that drawer.

Had given her space. A choice.

Had she perhaps misunderstood his apparent cold behaviour? Was he perhaps giving her time to get used to her current situation? Was he distancing himself so it was her choice when the time to talk came?

Picking some clothes for Kaelin and laying them on the bed, Nesta tucked that information deep inside herself, feeling an annoying warmth in her heart she had not felt in a long time.

~•~

“What did you say?”

“You heard me perfectly clear or have you become deaf with your age?” Nesta replied to the camp lord in front of her, the mask of a bored and mighty queen mastered to perfection.

“I was not informed about this” Devlon said, anger lacing his every word.

“You were not notified because it was not necessary” she spat back, a cold fury settling in her veins “So let it be known that Kaelin will be staying with me for the time being to help in an important and secret matter, none of which are for you to worry about”

“How dare—“

“Have a good day” cutting Devlon off before he nagged at her some more, Nesta left him standing at the training area.

She heard Devlon bark an order for the Illyrians to get back to training, the sound of swords clashing against each soon rising again. She tried not to flinch at the sounds, keeping her mask up until she was safely back at the cabin.

Once inside, Nesta let herself rest against the door, sighing. She was tired. The events of yesterday and today’s morning had taken a tool on her. It had been a while since she had worn the unfeeling ice queen mask. She didn’t recall it to be so tiring.

But rest would have to wait a little bit. She had to check on Kaelin. And demand an explanation.

The night before, after Kaelin had gotten out of the bath and was dressed, Nesta had given the ginger tea and coaxed her into drinking it all. Not long after that, the poor girl fell asleep.

Nesta, on the hand, stayed awake for the better part of the night, dozing off in a chair near the bed, waking up whenever she heard Kaelin move.

When the birds had started to sing in the early morning, Nesta had came up with a plan. Leaving a tray with light food and tea in the bedside for Kaelin, she dressed herself and braided her hair neatly, preparing to go after Devlon. She had to make sure that Kaelin could stay away from training during her cycle and that her secret kept being a secret.

But the Illyrian had some gaps to fill in.

“Nesta?” she heard a soft voice calling from her room, and taking a deep breath, moved from her position.

“Good morning” Nesta said, finding the girl awake and less pale than yesterday “How do you feel?”

“Better” Kaelin was slowing making her way through breakfast “But, training...Devlon....how—”

“It’s been taken care of off” taking her position from the past night, Nesta squared her shoulders and took a business like voice “You have a story to tell”

Kaelin, noticing how the air had become serious, lost no time and, stopping sometimes when the cramps returned with full force, told Nesta everything.

Kaelin’s mother, as she said before, had a fragile health, made worse by the heavy workload imposed on the females. Add that to a difficult pregnancy, you have the recipe for an early labour.

Right in the middle of the heaviest snow storm to have ever befallen on Illyria. Which lasted for four days and four nights.

Making it impossible for a midwife to get there.

Mikael, her father, aided his wife, Selin, all on his own.

A warrior born to kill. To reap lives.

However, for her he would bring life. He would do everything he could.

It was not enough.

He was not able to stop Selin’s internal bleeding. Or her death.

And so, thirteen years ago, on the day Illyria bled white while Selin bled red, a healthy little girl was born.

Yet after the blizzard stopped and Mikael buried his wife, a boy was announced to have been born.

“Protect her” Selin had whispered with her last breath “Let our daughter be free and strong. Let her know no fear. Let her be as wild as Sanuur, the Mother of all forests. As ruthless as the old Illyrian warriors. As wise as our matriarchs.”

Mikael kept his promise. He raised Kaelin as a boy in secret as best as he could. Until he was killed in the Hybern War.

And Kaelin was alone.

An orphan who nothing deserved to have, save for a duffel bag with whatever she could grab before she was kicked out of her childhood home — a one room wood cabin, built by her father after years of hard work — in the mud.

After the rumours that a Witch now lived with the General, Kaelin had a mad plan: she’d give anything, even her soul, to avoid getting what would raise a red flag to her secret.

“I starved and ate herbs that were said to make one avoid getting periods” Kaelin said, looking down at her empty cup “But those things made me far too weak. I was falling behind training. I am at the age boys grow like trees and start to get buffer. I needed a quick solution”

And Nesta had been feeding her.

Oh, she was going to get sick. Had she doomed Kaelin while thinking she was saving a poor orphan?

“From now on,” Nesta announced “I’ll be the one to keep your father’s promise. You will live with me”

It did no good to dwell on what could have been. What had been done was done.

For the first time in five months, the fog inside Nesta’s mind seemed to lift.

“You will live with me. And I will train with you”

Because never again would she be weak. Never again would she be at someone’s mercy.

Nesta Archeron was going to show Illyria just how much she should be feared.

•

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