#best carved wooden signs

[beansprean]

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oh my god they're engaged to be engaged...

(also this is entirely separate from the izzyguana series fyi, but my god I have drawn their little island so many times by now)

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. Wide shot of Stede and Ed's ramshackle house on a hill of long grass, a forested mountain sliding into the sea behind them as the sun peeks above the waves, painting them orange and yellow. Some work has been put into the house since they found it: the holes in the roof have been boarded over or covered with tarp, a rickety porch railing and staircase off the left side have been built on from scraps, oil lamps have been hung on each corner, and an addition on the right side is in progress, rocks stacked on the wood-slat roof and tarps hanging from unfinished walls. Planks of wood, tools, and fishing poles are leaned up against the porch, the path to the house has been cleared out and defined by stones and shells, and a wooden sign out front has the words "Best Little Inn By The Sea! +fishing equipment" carved into it. Stede and Ed, wearing a teal blouse with brown leather trousers and purple tee with black leather trousers respectively, are standing on the porch and looking out over the land, arms around each others waist. Stede raises his arm in a wave and shouts, "Great to see you two! Come again any time!" In the foreground, Pete and Lucius are walking down the path away from the house, looking tired. Pete has one arm around Lucius's shoulders and his eyes are closed, head listing to the side. Lucius covers his mouth as he yawns, lifting the other to throw a halfhearted wave over his shoulder. 1b. Waist-up in profile of Stede and Ed on the porch, sunrise behind them. Closest to the viewer, Stede stares out after their guests, hand lowering, smile fading to something a little bittersweet. Ed leans into Stede, free hand in his pants pocket, and rests his head in the crook of his neck as he follows Stede's gaze with a thoughtful smile. Ed asks, "You ever think about that for us?" 1c. Repeat. Stede's hand drops further, wrist dangling, as he turns his face toward Ed with a bewildered smile. "What?" Ed straightens from his cuddle, embarrassed, but keeps his right hand on Stede's waist. His left gestures randomly as he scrunches up his face, avoiding Stede's gaze. He explains, "Y'know...the matie-monie thing, whatever."

2a. Zoom out slightly; Stede takes a step back toward the house to face Ed as he pivots with his back toward the yard. They are still connected waist-to-hand. Stede plants his free hand on his hip with a smug little smirk and says, "Well I certainly hope that's not your proposal." Ed waves his free hand in a 'stop' motion, flustered as he meets his partner's eyes, and splutters "Wha- no! No, mate, I just... 'M having a dialogue." 2b. Repeat, zoom in. Ed dips his chin to look up at Stede through his lashes, red-faced and accepting defeat as he mumbles, "...How would you want it to go, though? Hypothetically." Stede giggles helplessly, free hand leaving his hip to rest fingertips on Ed's chest. 2c. Repeat, the background cutting out in favor of the sunrise occurring between them. They are almost forehead-to forehead, both of Stede's hands now pressed to Ed's chest and idly playing with the tips of his hair. Ed stares at his face with hooded eyes. Stede smiles, gaze lowered to focus on his hands, and says "Oh, I don't know. A bit of romance, you know. Dazzle." 2d. Repeat, zoom in to bust, background now mottled oranges and yellows. Ed raises his head to look past Stede with a frown, brow furrowed in confusion as he repeats blankly, "Dazzle." Stede hums idly to himself, concentrating on petting Ed's chest. 2e. Repeat. Stede lifts his head with a little smile, putting them nose-to-nose and adds, "I wouldn't say no to some fireworks." Ed flusters at the pointed reminder of their first time, cheeks turning red and a wobbly smile creeping across his face.

3a. Repeat. Stede asks, "What about you?" Ed leans back from their embrace, smile turning incredulous as he repeats, "Me?!" 3b. Waist up of Ed as he turns, sunrise at his back, to lean his left arm against the porch railing. He glances over the yard with a resigned little frown, fiddling with a piece of his hair with his right hand. He replies, "I dunno. Never really thought about it." 3c. Chest up of Stede as he mirrors Ed's pose with a fond if slightly amused smile, stairs and forest behind him. Offscreen, Ed continues, "Bet you had a whole scrapbook of ideas, eh?" 3d. Repeat. Stede straightens with a "Well!" and turns his body to face the house. 3e. Knees-up from the house POV as both men lean against the porch railing, the yard, ocean, and brightening sky beginning to streak itself with orange beyond. Stede is facing the viewer, back to the yard, leaning with his elbows braced on the railing. He aims his gaze to the side with a bit of a pained smile and says, "When Mary and I were engaged, a scrapbook wouldn't have been much use." Ed is turned toward Stede, left elbow propped on the railing. He scowls and sticks out his tongue at mention of Mary. 3f. Repeat. Stede turns his head toward Ed, who quickly tucks his petty tongue back in his mouth and schools his expression into one of interest. Stede continues, "Everything had been decided for us already. Never really got to the proposal part."

4a. Repeat. Ed turns his body more fully toward Stede, folding his arms on the railing and leaning his head over them with a warm smile. Stede raises his eyebrows in surprise and goes slightly pink as Ed says, "I'll have to make it really good, then." 4b. Stede turns his body toward Ed, left arm sliding against the railing behind him and right hand cupping Ed's chin as he leans closer, nose to nose. Ed's eyes hood, looking at Stede's mouth as is curls into a loving smile. Stede responds, "Can't wait." 4c. Repeat. Ed suddenly goes pale and blurts out, "You'll say yes, though, right?" Stede freezes in surprise, lips puckered in preparation of a kiss. 4d. Repeat. Stede throws his head back in a loud bark of laughter, straightening up and turning fully toward Ed to cup his cheek in his right hand and his shoulder with the other. Ed aims an embarrassed, besotted smile at him as Stede replies, "Ed, of course! Who could say no to you?"

5a. Repeat, both now in profile. The orange and yellow light of the sunrise is slowly spreading across the sky from the left. Ed straightens up from his lean to bring their foreheads together, still a bit red-cheeked and with a nervous edge to his smile as he lowers his gaze. He says, "You can say no if you want, though." Stede smiles at him with every ounce of tenderness he has, hands firm on his cheek and shoulder. He replies, "There's nothing I want more than to say yes to you, Ed. Permanent ink, remember?" 5b. Repeat. Stede moves his right hand from Ed's cheek to hook around his back, tugging him closer as he leans himself back. Ed stumbles forward with a helpless grin, cheeks even redder, bracing himself with his right hand on Stede's chest. When their eyes meet, Stede's smile turns teasing and faux-sinister, continuing, "You're stuck with me regardless. Foreverrr~" 5c. Repeat, larger and brighter, as Stede and Ed finally come together in an affirming kiss, the land behind them retreating to allow the sea and sky to fill the background. The sun finally breaches the horizon, sending glitter sparkling across the waves and gilding the pair in warm golden light. Ed's right hand is cupping the side of Stede's neck, thumb tracing through his sideburns, and Stede's right is hooked fully around his shoulders, cushioned in his soft hair. They are both smiling into the kiss, unhurried and in harmony.

6a. Repeat as they pull back from the kiss just far enough to meet each other's gaze, arms still around each other, Ed's right hand brushing Stede's cheek and Stede's buried in the back of Ed's hair. Ed smirks flirtatiously, eyes hooded, and says, "You know... I hear there's a traditional engagement sex sabbatical, too." Stede matches his expression, left hand sliding down Ed's shoulder to press against his lower back. Stede replies playfully, "Oh, is there? I suppose I can plan that part, then." 6b. Repeat. Ed brings his left hand up to mirror his right, cupping both of Stede's cheeks, and arches up on his toes to lean over Stede with a teasing grin. His movement forces Stede to arch his back in the first motions of a dip, hands briefly flying free of their grip on his future fiance to try to catch his balance. Their lips a centimeter apart, Ed hums, "Mmm, gimme a rehearsal, first." Stede tosses his head back with a giggle in response, eyes closed, cheeks pink. Hearts float above their heads. 6c. Shot at the bottom of the hill Stede and Ed are stationed on, the packed-dirt path to the house curving upward in the background, the stones and shells now more conservatively scattered. Amidst the tall grass and tropical plants lining the way are handmade wooden signs shaped like arrows pointing the way to the inn. Words carved into them say "this way!" and "best inn!" Pete and Lucius are in the foreground, walking down the hill towards the viewer, Pete's right arm still looped around his husband's shoulders. They still look very tired with dark circles beneath their eyes - Pete still hasn't opened his. Lucius has, barely, and is scowling his way forward with a furrowed brow, declaring, "We are leaving them the worst review." Pete nods solemnly. Text nearby points to them and says 'kept up all night by noises'. Pink hearts and exclamation points spill out behind them from the bend in the path, echoing the lovey-dovey noises from above that must have made their stay so insufferable. /end ID

[deandoesthingstome]

Gothic Fantasy

Pairing: Vampire!August x Reader

Summary: Are you in over your head, little girl?

Word Count: 6.1K

Warnings: 18+, NO MINORS, exhibitionism, oral sex (m and f receiving), spanking, p in v (doggy style), anal toy/anal sex, dom!August, Sir and princess, monster fucking (which involves at least one bite, right?).

Fantasy Hotel Masterlist

You took your time with a little extra research, but the ancient myth vibe of the story you created out of your experience with Sy was a hit and your werewolf!boyfriend tale had been picking up steam thanks to the upcoming holiday. Subscriptions were rolling in which left you both excited and anxious. 

sendmeanangel: i have enough to cover at least two more stays even if nothing more comes in at this point MNstrluvr: how could nothing more come in?  sendmeanangel: look, i’m having a great time, but at some point in my life i should probably stop paying for monster sex and get a boyfriend, right? darkgothnightengale: that time doesn’t have to be right now. Besides, how will you ever go back to some regular guy? sendmeanangel: very funny. This can’t be a sustainable way to go through life. I just worry people will start feeling like they are owed new monster fucking tales every week because they subscribed to read the ones already out there. I don’t want to let people down or make them think they got played somehow MNstrluvr: what if when you get to the point where you think you're through, you make that clear to any new subscribers? And just because you aren’t fucking a new monster at the hotel every week doesn’t mean you can’t keep writing amazing stories that your followers will love darkgothnightengale: you can write whatever you want when you want. There’s nothing on the site that promises content on any kind of consistent basis and people can always stop subscribing if they feel cheated, which is stupid because they are still getting quality content. you have a voice that people like to read. It doesn’t have to be about shapeshifters or vampires sendmeanangel: speaking of which MNstrluvr: YES!!! I’m so glad you decided to try him next. I cannot wait. He looks so fucking hot sendmeanangel: yeah, well walter continues to be completely booked. besides, they all look fucking hot lol MNstrluvr: there’s just something even more dangerous in his eyes. He looks totally unhinged. In a good way. darkgothnightengale: the best way sendmeanangel: you guys are crazy

“It's lovely to see you again. Thank you for signing the T&C online this time. I hope you had a chance to look through the extra restrictions on this room. It's very important that they are adhered to.”

Were you being called out? Did the hotel somehow know your two previous hosts had broken rules for you? Hopefully no one was getting into trouble.

“We simply don't want any mishaps,” as if in answer to the questions swirling in your mind. Though it still didn't tell you if they knew.

The desk clerk handed you another heavy iron key. Where the mechanism to open the forest room last month had been fairly plain and rustic, this one was filled with intricate lacy patterns. You wanted to snap a picture of the antique gothic skeleton key and send it to your online friends but decided it might be too much like bragging. After all, this would be the third fantasy visit they'd talked you into. Not that you needed much prodding anymore. That they couldn't partake in reality was making you feel bad, no matter how happy for you your friends said they were.

You made your way down the hall after exiting the elevator and stopped before the heavy wooden arched door full of intricately carved details that matched the key in your hand. The room was dark when you stepped in, but before you could reach for a light switch, a deep voice spoke from across the room, sending a cold shiver down your spine.

"You're late."

"I only just checked in."

"And no apology, I see. It's five after. We were to start on the hour. I assumed that was clear, but maybe I'll need to remind you of the importance of punctuality during our time together."

A finger snap sounded from the place in the dark where you heard the voice and flames lit up a fireplace nearby. Your eyes were drawn there, hoping the glow of the flame would illuminate your host, but no one appeared. All you saw was the carved stone of the mantle and wrought iron candelabras filled with fat pillars that were lighting one by one as if by magic as well.

As the warm light began to bathe the room, you felt a rush of air behind you and heard the door to the room slam shut. You turned to see nothing again, though you heard the click of a lock.

"Did you at least come prepared?" the voice sounded near your ear, though again, no one was to be seen as you spun once more to face into the room.

"I did," you answered into the space in front of you, even as you peered left and right. Where the fuck was he?

“Right here,” he spoke from behind you again, and this time you could see as well as feel the hands that gripped your upper arms and held you tight against the solid form behind you. You glanced at the fingers curled around your biceps and licked your lips, thinking of where you’d rather have them. Caressing your face. Around your throat. Thrust deep inside…”Before we get there, I believe you owe me an apology.”

And now you had a choice. How would that apology go? Remain standing like an insolent brat or kneel to the man you wanted to dominate you this evening? Not that he wouldn’t dominate the brat as well, but maybe you didn’t need it to be so demanding this first time. His fingers loosened as you began to turn toward him but you sunk to your knees before you saw his face, so it wasn’t until you lifted your chin to plead forgiveness that you had the opportunity to drink him in.

He was dressed in sharp black pants with a crisp crease down the front of each leg. A neatly pressed black button up shirt with french cuffs and mother of pearl links sat behind a black silk brocade vest with mother of pearl buttons. In the light, you couldn’t tell for sure, but the pattern in the vest seemed to match the key as well. A blood-red silk tie paired with a handkerchief peeking from the front of his jet black jacket that set off his broad shoulders nicely and was buttoned at the right height to taper his waist.

But his face. You inhaled to keep yourself steady before you spoke the words requesting his forgiveness. The calming breath helped you take in more of his visage without fainting on the spot. 

His jawline was strong. And unlike the fuller beards of Walter or Sy, this man’s facial hair consisted of a five o’clock shadow and a neatly trimmed mustache. His dark hair was swept back to the side, though you could tell if he hadn’t styled it perfectly, the curl would take over. You’d love to see it sometime. Maybe even tonight.

What caught your breath in your throat was his piercing blue eyes and it took you a few moments to realize he was laughing at you. You had to fight to gain control from his mesmerizing gaze, but before you could ask him to repeat himself, he already was.

“I said," Apology accepted” and you can stand now, princess. Show me what you came with.” He helped you to stand, then drew his hand down your arm as he took a step back. He dropped your hand and motioned toward you before he crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head as if to say “go ahead now.”

You took a deep breath, suddenly unsure if you’d made the right ensemble choice. Though it matched his outfit perfectly somehow, you were hesitant to bare so much to him so soon. But there was no turning back now. Well, of course there was, but you didn’t want to. At best, you could imagine excusing yourself to use the restroom and changing into a different outfit.

You undid the belt on your long, black trench coat, then popped the buttons one by one until you could open the flaps and shrug the coat off your shoulders and down your arms. You were about to let it drop to the floor, but something made you stop and hold the fabric in your hands at your sides.

“May I take your coat?” he asked like the gentleman he was portraying, holding out a hand and you reached it over to him, before smoothing your hands down the body of your black strapless gown, worrying away the non-existent wrinkles. A few blood-red rose embellishments nestled strategically into the delicate embroidery woven along the sheer black lace bodice of the dress, your bare skin visible only in the spots where no design was found. You released the clasps attaching the hem of the dress to the waist and allowed the full length of the black silk skirt to flow to the ground. It sported a trail of matching but larger floral adornments cascading in spiral from one hip across the front and down the other side. With the matching red silk pumps, you were a vision. You felt a rush of air and as you lifted your gaze from your dress back to him, your coat seemed to have disappeared, because it was no longer in his hands. And the look on his face told you you’d made the right choice.

“You look ravishing.” At his words of praise you forgot all about where your coat might have gotten off to.

“Is this okay?”

“If this is the attire you wished to begin in, then it’s perfect. We’ve already lost so much precious time with your late arrival.”

You stood silent, unsure if he was asking for another apology. It seemed like a bad idea to let him actually ask before you offered another, but your voice was stuck in your throat, so taken were you by his demeanor. It turned out you were wrong to wait.

“I don’t like to ask for apologies, but trust that I will whenever they are warranted. Hopefully, you’ll begin to know when you’ve crossed a line. I suppose technically, you have already apologized, so I won’t ask for another. This time.” At the admonishment, you dropped your gaze to the floor with embarrassment. “I also ask your forgiveness for my rudeness. So many lessons you’re learning already and you don’t even know my name yet. Allow me to correct that. My name is August Walker and it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance finally.”

What did he mean by finally? Here, now, in this room when he finally shared his name and lifted your arm to kiss the back of your hand? Or had he heard stories about you too? 

“May I add something to your ensemble?” You could practically hear the subtle tilt of his head in question.

“Of course,” you replied, willing your nerves to allow you to look up at him again.

“It's only, well, you look so delicious. I'm afraid I'll need a reminder, or rather, a deterrent.” His hands raised, something appearing between his fingers as if from nowhere. You noticed a wide band of heavy black embroidered ribbon with metal clasps at each end. Your chin tilted almost involuntarily to allow him room to place the choker around your neck.

“You don’t want to…?” Was he not going to bite you? Did you make a mistake by not actually reading the T&C when you signed, scrolling quickly to the end of the form and checking the box as fast as you could to make sure the room wasn’t swiped from under you before you’d had a chance to complete the online booking.

“I never said that,” he replied, stepping in closer as he traced a finger around one side of your neck, down over your collarbone, and stopping just at the valley between your breasts.

“Is there a rule you’re afraid of breaking with me?” you asked, craning to bring your lips closer to his.

“I don't break the rules darling, I make them.” August returned his hand to your neck, stilling your advancement with the smallest effort.

“Well then, are you unable to actually bite me?” you asked, not sure whether you wanted him to consider this a question that crossed the line.

“Oh, I'm free to bite when and where you want. Many foolishly ask for the neck. In those moments, I usually oblige.”

“But…” you began.

“But there is a sweeter spot, more delicate, most delicious. This,” he let his finger run along the material around your throat, ”will help me make the better choice for both of us.”

You drew in a quick breath through your nose, causing a shudder in your shoulders as you realized you’d been holding your breath while he hinted at where he’d prefer to bite you. You’d chosen the dress specifically because it bared so much of your body near your neck that you’d hoped he couldn’t help but want to taste you. You foolishly never considered how much more bare you’d need to be before he was able to see the spot he wanted.

His dark chuckle unnerved you, but he quelled your apprehension with an invitation to join him at the dinner table. You’d completely forgotten that this experience had promised an evening meal, but honestly you assumed that was just some clever play on words. That you were to be the meal. He escorted you to a corner of the room near the fireplace, where a sumptuous feast had been set, and deposited you on one side of the table before taking a seat across from you.

“Would you care for some wine this evening?”

“Wine sounds lovely,” you answered, suddenly curious if he’d be drinking and eating with you. You watched as he lifted a decanted red and filled your glass, only to replace the crystal container onto the table before pouring a glass of his own from a dark brown glass bottle. He lifted his glass to toast your evening.

You watched carefully as he brought the goblet to his lips and drank, noticing that no obvious fangs appeared as he opened his mouth, though his canines did seem a little longer than you were used to. At least until recently that was. The men at this hotel all seemed to have been genetically gifted with glorious canine teeth and you weren’t complaining in the least.

“Now, what can I offer you to eat?” Cut fruit sat in open bowls alongside a tray of sliced meats and cheeses. He began to lift the covers off several porcelain serving dishes, revealing chicken and beef dishes, as well as vegetables and roasted potatoes. At your hesitancy, he smiled, as if extremely pleased, and continued. “Or would you prefer I choose for you?”

“I’d like it very much if you would recommend something. It all looks so wonderful.”

“Would you pass me your plate?” You obliged and he ladled servings of a few of the dishes. You noted with curiosity that he was choosing everything you would have chosen for yourself and none of the items you’d already determined you didn’t want to try, though you hadn’t said a word.

You thanked him as he handed your plate back and he invited you to begin, which you did. Because he’d asked you to. As you took your first bite, you moaned at the taste in your mouth and you thought you saw him lick his lips. What you didn’t see him do was serve himself.

“Is it to your liking then?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s delicious, thank you August…may I call you August?”

“For now. Now, what shall we talk about at this very civilized dinner we’re having together?” he asked, as he leaned back in his chair, goblet in one hand, as the fingers of the other drew lazy circles on the tablecloth. 

“Can we talk about how it doesn’t appear you're actually going to be eating with me?” You knew it was a bold question, but you still wanted to needle him a little, see where the line was.

“You see, it’s the insolence I mind. Not the question. There is a way to go about asking what you want to know without making it seem like you are trying to anger me. Or are you? Hmm?”

“I’m sorry, August,” you spoke as you placed your fork down. You had a sudden, unfortunate thought. What if you weren’t the only one who could call the whole thing off? What if your hosts had just as much right to pull out a safeword and end the liaison? You supposed, even though you were paying for the pleasure, they had to have a say in things as well. Otherwise, they were just…the thought made you shudder and not in a good way. “I am truly sorry. That was rude of me. Are you able to eat with me?”

“I am not. But I’m more than happy to enjoy your company and a more pleasant conversation while you dine. If you agree, of course.”

“Of course. Please, can we start over?”

“Pick up your fork and take a bite,” he commanded. “Continue your meal. And consider what you would like to talk about.” He took another drink and watched you with deeply penetrating eyes.

The meal was delicious and you finally figured out a topic of conversation that was neither too personal nor banal. When you made him laugh, you felt a small weight lift off your shoulders, as if his heavy and dark demeanor had made you nervous that this choice of hotel hosts was a mistake.

You had always been a bit enthralled with vampires. Loved reading Dracula both as published and in chronological order, as you’d heard about on Tumblr. Enjoyed the myriad of cinematic adaptations of the tale, especially the ones that played up the sensuality of the character. You really never imagined them to be real, but then again, you didn’t think werewolves or minotaurs were real either. For a brief moment, you thought back to your previous visits, letting your fork trail down with a slow descent.

“Finished?” he asked when your utensil hit the plate, eyebrow raised in question as he leaned forward preparing to scoot his chair back from the table. Before you’d even finished your nod, he was at your chair, easing it away from the table and offering you a hand to help you up.

“I think it’s quite time to get started on the rest of your lessons. Would you step to the window please?”

You turned and noticed the thick, black velvet curtains and assumed they must cover a window. You were commanded to open them, and you did, peering out into practical darkness only to see your reflection in place of any scenery. You glanced to the side of your image when you felt the fingertips at the top of your zipper, but though you knew they were attached to arms, attached to a body that was pressed right against you, adding more drag to his knuckles against your skin as he pulled the zipper down, you saw nothing in the mirrored window that would tell you another being was in the room with you.

You gasped, but he mistook it for shyness.

“I like to show off my conquests to whomever may be passing by below. We’re far enough up that no one could make out a face, but the body they’ll see,” he finished unzipping your dress and pushed it down your sides, letting it drop to a puddle of fabric at your feet. “The hint of red from these barely there panties, the silhouette of these curves.” You could feel but still not see his hands running up and down the sides of your body, his hands gripping your thighs before traveling up to cup your breasts. You watched as they bounced lightly in the reflection and smirked back at where you assumed his face would be before licking your matte red lips.

Your concentration was broken for a brief moment at the far off sound of a melancholy howl, but August didn’t let you linger on the thought. He spun you around to him and pressed you back toward the window, where you hissed when your ass came into contact with the chilly pane. How he missed the clink against the window, you’ll never know.

Then he caught your attention and you lost all concern for how exposed or cold your body might be at the moment. The change was practically imperceptible. One moment, he held your gaze with his dark and stormy eyes. In the next blink, his eyes burned red and held you rapt as he began to grin. Slowly, as his lips drew back, the fangs descended and you could swear you heard a faint click.

You probably let out a whimper when you saw him run his tongue along the sharp points and you definitely tilted your head on impulse, forgetting for a moment that he had already refused to take you there.

“I’d like you on your knees, please,” he asked, a little nicer than you imagined he had reason to be. Once you had obliged, he returned to commands. “Take me out.”

You did so gladly and without delay. Every assumption you made turned out to be right. He was just as well endowed as your other hosts, at least in human form. Which was nothing to sneeze at and you certainly weren’t kicking it out of bed.

You feasted on him as if you hadn’t just already eaten and you were happy to hear the sounds from him that told you he was enjoying it. And then he spoke to you.

“You like sucking on this cock, where everyone can see you, don’t you?” 

Truth be told, it had never occurred to you before. But there was an exhibitionism option on the registration form and you clicked it in a moment of audacity. He was simply giving you what you had asked for, right? It would feel this way for any guest he had in this room, right? That feeling of being out of control while technically being in the most control? You wanted him to take it.

“Yes,” you gasped as you pulled your head back for air before diving forward to take him down your throat again.

“I knew that you would. You like being naughty, don’t you?”

You bobbed your head up and down as you looked up at him, praying he didn’t make you take him out of your mouth just so he could hear you answer verbally. Your prayers were not answered.

“I asked you a question. Would you care to answer? Now? You know how I feel about punctuality, I trust.”

“Yes. Yes August, I’m sorry. I do. I really do like being naughty with you.” 

Another howl sounded, closer this time and you thought you detected the slightest of eye rolls before August got stern again, reaching down to take hold of your upper arm and lifting you to your feet with ease.

“You’re going to call me Sir from here on out and you’re going to be naughty another way now. First, close the curtains.” He spun you around so you could grab hold of the panels and draw them towards one another. You thought you glimpsed a pair of eyes, a deep glowing amber flame in the night before you shut out the world for good for the moment.

August pulled you close and whispered in your ear, “I’ll open them again if you want, if you didn’t get enough of a taste of that. I’ll take that as far as you want to go. But you should know,... he’ll see.”

It both excited you and made you afraid. Afraid of the feelings you knew had been stirring for weeks now. And yet, you were here. In this room. With this man. As much as you thought about what might be, you also knew you wanted to experience what you could. So you’d never have to doubt or question, because you knew you’d be getting the best in the end. Could it really ever be that way? Could he ever feel the same?

“I’m good. Thank you. That’s really kind of you,” you blinked, bringing yourself back to this moment. To August. “Sir.”

“That might be the last time tonight I will be. Are you ready for that?”

“Yes, Sir” you answered, with no more doubt.

August took you in his arms and kissed you deep and hard, one time, before he turned you by your shoulders and gave you a firm slap on the ass. “Into the bedroom.” The ‘now” at your hesitation was punctuated with another sharp crack and you were wet, there was no doubt about it. 

The hotel suite was bathed in sheer red curtains, over the window, over the ornate gothic canopy bed, draped down the black walls. Tall black metal candelabras held glowing candles to light the room. Hooks and straps and rings attached to the walls in various spots held your attention for a brief moment. You hadn’t checked that box, and now you wondered why not. 

You could only see yourself trying a few new things at once.

These things tonight would be a vampire. And you’d already exposed yourself. Only one more to go, and the bondage wasn’t going to be it.

August turned you back towards him when you reached the foot of the bed, then proceeded to undress. You watched enthralled as he unbuttoned his jacket, the vest, his shirtsleeves, his shirt. You watched as it all came off, one piece at a time, designed to torture you, you were sure of it. He was fucking with you. Keeping you from seeing everything all at once.

You bit your lip, but all you wanted to say was ‘i’ve seen your dick already it’s been in my mouth please give it back.’

He finally did, ordering you to the bed on your hands and knees as he stepped his fully naked body toward you, halting at the foot of the bed to grab your head and stuff his cock right down your throat. Like he’d heard what you thought.

You moaned around him, squeezing your thighs together for friction as you gyrated your hips and bobbed your head back and forth along his length. It would take barely nothing, just the slightest touch, if he would just, yeah, just…

“Oh, you did come prepared, didn’t you?”

You moaned again when you felt his fingers slide over your ass and pause to rub against the handle of the largest teardrop plug you owned. It came in a set of three, black silicone with a shiny red crystal in each handle. Up until this week, you'd only ever used the smallest while alone, but decided you needed to be ready and so had worked your way up to the largest just last night. 

“Yes, Sir,” you pulled off and answered quickly, eager to get back to sucking his large member.

“What are you prepared for?” He wiggled the handle a little when he asked.

“For you to fuck my ass, Sir.”

“Good girl,” he slapped a cheek again, then smoothed his hand over the sting and down in the dip to find your aching pussy and just like you knew it would, his touch lit you on fire. He had the wherewithal to slide your thong to the side and angle two fingers so you could press back into them on your withdrawal from his dick and pull away from them, though he’d chase, on your approach. You fucked back into his hand like you were possessed and you came once more because you definitely were.

This man owned you. For tonight anyway. He could do whatever he wanted to you and you wouldn’t say no. No way in hell.

He pulled away and turned you to face the other direction, ass waving in the space directly in front of him as you imagined and wished and hoped he’d just fuck you, please very much. He chuckled and you blinked, imagining you’d seen him now standing at the nightstand, now right behind you again. You felt him pull your underwear all the way off. And you heard the crinkle of the wrapper and you felt him slide two fingers back inside you, felt him rub the pads of his fingers along your inner walls and you felt him find the right spot, the one that released more lubrication which he gladly gathered on his finger and smeared all over his sheathed cock before he pressed himself into you.

He fucked you for a bit before he spoke again.

“I’m going to give you what you want me to give you, and then you’re going to give me what you want to give me.” With a slap on your ass, he pulled out, grabbed your hips and flipped you to your back. You watched him discard the condom before he climbed on to the bed and stepped his knees between your legs, nudging you further up the bed so that he could lay his body on the mattress, his head on your thigh, peering at your puffy pussy.

“Yeah, she’s gorgeous,” he murmured, dipping his head down to take a taste. His tongue trailed through your folds and as his lips closed you felt a hint of the scrape of his teeth against your delicate skin. He sucked at your clit for a moment before he drew back and looked up at you.

“You still want to feel this?” he asked, and you paused for one moment to consider, that yes, yes you absolutely still wanted to know what his bite would feel like. There was really no doubt in your mind. It’s what you came here for. And you knew you needed to answer him directly or it would all be over.

“Yes, Sir. Yes. Please. I want to feel it. I want to feel your bite.”

It was all he needed. In a flash he was at the crease in your thigh, just outside your cunt. You felt his mouth open, felt him drag his teeth back and forth before he finally settled on a spot to sink them. Your pussy pulsed around nothing but the brief rhythmic flow of your blood drawn into his mouth. 

You felt a rush of euphoria, a warmth like never before. A million stars lit up in your eyes and you could feel every molecule in your body and every one of them was in a state of bliss. You felt him take one more pull, a wave rushing across the shore of your imagination. When he stopped, it was almost as torturous as before he had begun. At least now you knew what that bliss could feel like.

It scared you a little. It felt like a drug you didn't want to mess around with. As good as it felt, you could imagine never wanting to let the feeling go. Begging for more. Offering up your body and soul to get one more taste, one more drifting orgasm.

Suddenly you were aware of the softest lick. The smallest peck of the lips. When you looked up at you, a stain of blood still remained on his lips and he saw you moan, saw you begin to writhe and strain up, even against the voice in your head that told you it was wrong, and it was all he could do to turn away. 

“Please August,” you begged, forgetting what role you were in.

“Princess, not for a million dollars. Not for ten million. There is literally nothing you could offer me that would make me break that rule.”

“What rule, August? What can’t you do for me?” you pleaded for an answer, pressing yourself up to your knees, unaware that the rush you were experiencing had nothing to do with the way you thought you felt about August in the moment, and everything to do with the essence he used to ease the pain of the skin break, numb the feeling of loss, and reseal the wound in the aftermath.

“I get the feeling you really didn’t read the T&C, darling. If you had you would know, in this room, this suite,” he emphasized, as if he’d had to make that clarification before, “I cannot feed you. Even if what you’ve scented is your own blood. It’s too dangerous for you to taste it. Full of my saliva. Mixed together, it’s too potent for you.”

You were distraught and he was … was he amused?

“But I’ve given you what you asked for. Are you still ready to give me what you want?” He waited a few moments, allowing you to come to grips with the reality of the situation. You had slipped over a line, though it didn’t sound like this was something he hadn’t experienced before. A naive young thing, determined to play out a school girl fantasy, relive the stories she made up about being ravished and taken by the Count, made to be his bride. 

With a small shake of your head, something cleared its way to the forefront of your mind. Of course he couldn’t feed you and of course you didn’t really want him to. It was a fantasy. That’s it. That’s all. You could only take this so far.

Once he saw you understood where the line was, August's chuckle was sinister. “You can still have something new. I’m more than happy to accommodate that request. As a matter of fact, I think that’s really the only reason you came here tonight, isn’t that right?”

Oh, he was good. That’s for sure. The way he was subtly shifting the priority of the night. Technically speaking, the only thing you’d really wanted was the bite. And he’d already given that to you. So if you were up for one more game…

“That’s right.”

He grabbed your chin and stared directly into your eyes. “That’s right, what?”

“That’s right, SIr.”

“Good girl. Lay back down. I’ll be right back.”

You wanted to kiss him goodbye as he let go of your face and appeared to float away from you. When he returned from the bathroom, his face was fresh and free of any temptation.

“Alright, princess. Hands and knees again, darling. Bring that ass right on over here,” he directed you back to the edge of the bed, ass once again in the air while you rested on your forearms. 

August took his time. Warmed you up with a few more light taps that grew to harsh stings that you couldn’t stop squirming for. And you squirmed again when he tugged and twisted and pulled on the handle, teasing the plug almost all the way out before pushing it back in and then repeating the exquisite torture. You couldn’t hold still until he’d finally pulled it all the way out and pressed two lubed fingers into your puckered hole, and it was only because you needed a moment. Needed to let the sensation settle. Needed to relax to let him in deeper. Let another finger in. It wasn’t long before you were fucking yourself back on his hand again. ‘Same but different’ was all your mind could cobble together.

“Please, Sir,” you managed to gasp out in a moment of clarity. If you never asked, would he have just kept you dangling like this all night? “Please fuck my ass.”

“There you go, princess. You’ve found your manners finally.” He pulled his fingers out and you heard the familiar tear of another wrapper. Felt more lube. And finally, finally had the tip of what you knew was his extremely large cock pressed against your entrance. 

It was easy to relax. He’d been prepping you for this for what felt like hours. It took nothing more than for you to release the deep breath you’d taken and he was past the now-less-tight ring and moving further inside you, slowly and with purpose. That purpose was to get you comfortable with the feeling, loosen you up further, and get you begging for more of him. Faster. Harder. Please, Sir. Please! More!

He obliged and it was not much longer before you felt the familiar coil tightening in a brand new way. It was like nothing you’d ever experienced before. You were breaking protocol and screaming his name instead of Sir, but as he came himself, he didn’t seem to mind at all.

Bonus Edit: Absolutely GORGEOUS headers made for me by my wonderful friend in fic @geralts-yenn:

Everything HC Taglist: (as always, let me know if you want on or off)

@sillyrabbit81 @mayloma @geralts-yenn @raccoon-eyed-rebel @fvckinghenrycavill @kebabgirl67 @beck07990 @itsrubberbisquit @sweetdreamsofgelato @liveoncoffeeandflowersss @alexakeyloveloki @marantha @aireraume @angelmather1 @lizzystuffsthings @enchantedbytomandhenry @omgkatinka @littlefreya @avengersfan25 @just-chirpin @thesaucynomad @valacirca @henryownsme @summersong69 @foxyjwls007 @peyton-warren @irishavengersassemble

Special tag: @kittenofdoomage (cause sometimes you love my stuff and this one's another monster fucker lol!)

Tags from Werewolf!walter (if you commented):

@ellethespaceunicorn @juliaorpll78 @martha-oi @cardierreh15 @cinnamoroll-things @caramariehurst @zombicupcake3 @openup-yourmind @shellyshellshell @nickfowlerrr @greensleeves888 @misshinson @thelastsock @princessaxoo @augustsprincess @justjulie1105 @minimin1993 if you asked and aren't here, Tumblr won’t let me tag you. Sorry!

[c-e-d-dreamer]

You're the Kind of Reckless that Should Send Me Running

A/N: you know, sometimes, self-care is... (checks notes) making a sex bargain with a fae to get out of a marriage contract. It just be like that! But happy Day Three of @nestaarcheronweek lovelies! Hope everyone enjoys some smutty Nessian. As a warning, this is toe-ing the line with dubious consent since it is a fae bargain, so please read with care!

Read on AO3

A bottle of your finest alcohol and your most prized possession.

That's what the woman in the market had told Nesta to bring in offering. Whispered words shared between the brick building of the butcher and the wooden stalls bedecked in green leaves and pastel colored petals, the first sign of spring. The woman's own stall had been tucked closer to the alleyway between buildings, half cast in shadow. What little light did break through bounced off the gemstones of amulets, carved into the grooves of runes in animal bone.

Only desperate people spoke with the woman who always kept the hood of her cloak up to shroud her face.

And desperate Nesta was.

She listened to everything the woman said, carefully tucked away the instructions, the tips the woman offered for the best results. And when the woman had finished speaking, Nesta placed a single silver piece into her palm and slipped back into the crowds of the bustling market without looking back. She kept her head down, tried her best to look inconspicuous lest word get back where she didn’t want it to.

But Nesta caught Clare’s eye across the market square, her friend offering the barest hint of a nod. It was Clare that told Nesta about this woman, about the information she offered, about the outcomes that information promised. According to Clare, it was how Morrigan had done it just last week.

So, that day in the market, Nesta seeked out the woman, and now, here she walks.

She steps over roots and brambles, her soft steps doing nothing to quiet the crunch beneath her feet. With each step, she winces at the way the sound echoes in the wood around her. She glances around, between the barks of the trees that stretch out and above her, but there’s no sign of anyone else but her. It doesn’t stop the hairs on the back of her neck from standing on edge.

A twig snaps somewhere behind her, and Nesta freezes, nearly dropping the bottle of whiskey she’d stolen from her father’s reserves. She clutches it a little tighter to her chest, afraid to even breathe while she waits for another sound, waits for someone to appear. But the only sound that answers Nesta is the rustle of the wind through the branches and leaves, the distant sound of an owl hooting.

Breathing out slowly, Nesta continues trekking forward. She dares to look back over her shoulder, but there’s nothing but more trees and the streaks of silver from the moon breaking through the canopy above. She shakes her head, reminding herself of exactly why she’s here, why she’s doing this.

She just has to find the clearing. That’s what the woman in the market said, that deep into the woods to the north of the village, the trees would part into a clearing. A ring where the trees dare not grow, where the roots stretch to form an altar. Where a fae waits for humans brave enough to make a bargain.

If only she could find it.

Nesta doesn’t know how far she’s walked, but she feels as though she’s been walking half the night. She can’t help but wonder if it was all a lie, a trick. If there is no clearing and no fae who can help her. It would be just her luck.

With a huff, she decides to call it, decides she’ll make the painstaking trek back to her family’s manor house. She spins on her heel only to find herself standing in the center of a clearing that wasn’t there previously.

Fae magic.

“And what do we have here?”

The voice is deep, rough, practically a low rumble where it skates across Nesta’s skin. She swallows hard, raising her chin, before she turns to face that voice. The man is leaning casually against the trunk of one of the trees lining the clearing, arms crossed over his chest and head tilted as he watches her.

A male, really. A fae male unmistakably from his appearance.

He’s large, bigger than even the butcher back in the village, standing a header taller than Nesta with wide shoulders and a wide chest. Wings stretch behind his back and loom over his shoulders like haunting shadows. Dark curls tumble down to his shoulders, framing a pair of eyes that look almost cat-like, that seem to glint green and gold even beneath the silver of the moonlight. The sleeves of his tunic are pushed up to his elbows, showing off swirls of ink along his skin that Nesta swears shift as though a mimic of the magic she’s sure runs through the fae’s veins.

There’s a rough sort of beauty to his face, to the cut of his cheeks and his jaw. As though they’re carved by the very wind she’s sure he must ride with those large wings of his. His nose doesn’t sit quite straight, a slash slicing through his right eyebrow, but it only seems to add to his features. He’s handsome in a way that Nesta knows she’ll never find in her village, in a way that can only be fae. In a way that Nesta has to swallow hard before finding her voice again.

“Are you the fae that helps women escape their marriage contracts?” Nesta asks, refusing to allow her voice to waver, for her nerves to show.

The fae pushes off the tree, stalking closer to her. “So what if I am?”

Nesta thrusts her arms forward before the fae can get too close. “I brought these in offering.”

The fae tilts his head again, his gaze raking over Nesta from head to toe. Those cat-like eyes rover over her frame slowly, goosebumps erupting across Nesta’s skin as if it’s fingers trailing a blazing path. When his attention returns to her face, there’s something different in his expression. A fire burning amongst the greens and golds of his hazel eyes, the left side of his lips tilting up in a smirk. He reaches forward, the large span of his hands on full display as his fingers curl around the neck of the whiskey bottle.

“You have good taste,” the fae comments, examining the whiskey.

“I stole it from my father.”

“And the dress? Did you steal that from him too?”

Nesta snorts at the implication. “No. It was a gift from my mother, right before she passed.”

The fae hums, but he doesn’t say anything more. He begins to circle her, like a predator sizing up its prey, but Nesta refuses to be cowed. She stands perfectly still, straightening her spine against his scrutiny, raising her chin that little bit higher in defiance.

“Is it sufficient? To your liking?”

“Why the dress? Why not your hair?” the fae asks, twirling a strand of Nesta’s hair around his finger. He tugs it toward his face, inhaling deeply. “It’s oh so beautiful. Like burnished gold. Even beneath the moonlight.”

“If that is what it will take, then you can have it.”

The fae chuckles, the sound low and seeming to resonate from deep within his chest. “You must really dislike your betrothed.”

“You would too if you met him,” Nesta grumbles, not even bothering to swallow down her eye roll.

Tomas Mandray.

That was who her father saw fit to marry her off to. Nesta’s hated her father ever since he selfishly sat idly by when her mother fell ill, deciding that the life saving medicine she would need was not worth the steep cost. His recklessness since her death has only gotten worse, shady business deals and gambling habits digging the Archerons into a deeper hole.

Despite the confidence her father exudes around the other high society members of their village, Nesta knows it’s nothing more than a facade. She knows their family is one wrong deal away from losing everything. Knows there’s a desperation thrumming just beneath her father’s skin. It’s what led to him agreeing to the first man who came forward for her hand, without a thought for the type of man he is.

“Is that so?” the fae asks, finishing his circle and stopping in front of her again.

“It’s the worst kept secret in the village,” Nesta explains, unsure what compels her to tell this fae the truth. Perhaps there’s something in his face, in his presence, that has her wanting to trust him. “Everyone knows that Lord Mandray raises his hand to his wife, that his sons just stand by while it happens.”

“You think he’d lay a hand on you?”

“Undoubtedly.”

Real anger flashes across the fae’s face, hazel eyes practically blazing and his lips curling back in a snarl. His fists clench at his sides, muscles in his arms flexing with the motion. The rage isn’t directed at her, but that doesn’t stop Nesta’s heart from thundering between her ribs. She knows the stories of the fae, knows of their strength. This male could tear her apart with ease if he wanted to.

It’s a ferity and display of power that should terrify her, that should have her spinning on her heel and running straight back to the village, but instead she continues to meet this fae’s gaze.

The fae’s expression softens, almost curious, as his gaze sweeps over her anew. It’s unnerving, as though he can see beneath her skin and down to her very bone. As though she’s splayed open for his examination all the way to her soul. Whatever he sees, whatever he finds, it has him stepping closer still. Close enough that Nesta has to tilt her head back to hold eye contact. Close enough she can feel the heat that seems to radiate off him. Close enough that every inhale has her chest a hair's breadth away from his.

“You never told me your name,” the fae says, warm breath skating across Nesta’s cheeks.

“I don’t know yours,” Nesta fires back, raising her chin even higher in challenge.

That cocksure smirk tugs its way across the fae’s face again. “It’s Cassian.”

“Nesta. Nesta Archeron.”

“Nesta,” Cassian repeats, as though tasting her name, testing the weight of it on his tongue. A shiver threatens to skitter up Nesta’s spine, but she’s quick to swallow it down. “Should we make a bargain, Nesta?”

“You’ll do it, then? You’ll end my marriage contract?”

“Happily.”

“For my hair?”

“I’ll accept the dress, but that’s just an offering, sweetheart,” Cassian explains, holding up the dress and whiskey bottle in emphasis before tossing both away. “We still need to make a proper bargain.”

“Alright…” Nesta begins slowly, wading through her memory, through the lessons from her mother. She knows wording is important, knows that she needs to be careful about the phrasing of this bargain. “You ensure that my marriage contract to Tomas Mandray is void, that I’ll never marry Tomas Mandray, that I’ll never marry anyone in the Mandray household nor anyone that I do not choose for myself. And in exchange…”

“And in exchange, you’ll become my wife.”

“What.”

Cassian grins fully down at her, one of his hands reaching up between them to curl that strand of her hair around his fingers again. “You can’t marry anyone else if you’re already married to me.”

Nesta blinks a few times, trying to wrap her mind around it all, but Cassian's hand shifts, the backs of his fingers dragging down her temple, her cheek. The touch is distracting. She supposes it makes sense. How can she marry someone else if she is already wed. Clare never specified exactly what Morrigan had to do to break her own marriage contract to the eldest Vanserra. Perhaps, this is how it works.

But alarm bells still ring in the back of Nesta’s mind, whispering of caution. It’s too vague, gray area so expansive that it feels too risky to simply agree.

“And what does that entail? Being your wife?”

Cassian chuckles again, Nesta practically able to feel it where their chests are nearly pressed together. “You were about to be wed, and you don’t know about wifely duties?”

Nesta’s temper flares red hot, and she glares up at him. “I know what’s expected of a wife.”

“Then what’s the issue?”

“What does being a wife mean for a fae? What does a fae expect of me?”

“You can do whatever you want as my wife, Nes,” Cassian offers, palm fully cradling her jaw.

“Don’t call me that. And stop that,” Nesta snaps, knocking his hand away. “You’re trying to trick me.”

“Trick you? I’m hurt, sweetheart. I thought you wanted this bargain?”

“I do.”

Panic swells in Nesta’s chest, churning her stomach. What if he changes his mind? Goes back on the bargain? Anything she wants as his wife. It’s not specific, definitely not even close to what Nesta was taught when it comes to fae bargains, but it only hurts him really. Anything she wants. And what she wants is to live the rest of her life far away from the Mandrays and any of the other aggravating villagers who either look down their noses or leer at her.

“Alright,” Nesta finally breathes, sending a silent prayer to the Mother that she doesn’t live to regret this.

“Alright?” Cassian repeats back, bringing both his hands to Nesta’s jaw this time, tilting her head up. “So it’s a bargain then?”

Nesta swallows hard, her heart skipping a beat when Cassian’s thumb drags across her bottom lip. “It’s a bargain.”

Cassian’s mouth crashes against hers at the same moment a burning sensation cascades along her spine and between her shoulder blades. It has Nesta gasping against Cassian’s lips, but he merely uses the reaction to deepen the kiss, to press his tongue into her mouth. His arm drops to curl around her waist, hauling her closer still until she’s pressed flush against his body. She can feel every line of hard muscle beneath his shirt, feel the strength in his grip around her.

He tears his mouth away, but he doesn’t go far, latching his lips against her neck. His mouth is hot against her skin, her entire body roaring to life and reacting to his touch. She tilts her head, a quiet groan tumbling past her lips, when Cassian’s teeth find her pulse point, tongue soothing over the brief sting.

When Cassian pulls away, Nesta’s whole body sways forward, practically chasing his mouth and his kiss. Slowly, her eyes flutter open, finding Cassian’s own gaze already firmly on her face. There’s a fire in his hazel eyes, lips kiss bitten and pink. His grip on her hip holds her steady, fingers of his other hand burying themselves in the strands of her hair.

“What do you say, wife?” Cassian asks, voice low and deep. He drags his nose along her jaw until he can press his lips to her ear. “Should we consummate our bargain?”

Just his voice has heat pooling low in Nesta’s gut. Has her thighs clenching and her toes beginning to curl in her shoes. And when he presses a kiss to that spot behind her ear, a shudder ricochets down her spine. She clutches at Cassian’s shirt to hold herself steady, daring to arc against him.

“Yes.”

Nesta’s world tilts, and then her back is cushioned by grass and moss. She barely has time to register the change before Cassian’s lips are back on hers. He settles atop her, hips cradled within the bracket of her thighs. Nesta finally buries her fingers in the dark curls of his hair, threading the strands between her fingers and tugging hard until Cassian is groaning into her mouth, his hips pressing down against her. She can feel exactly what she’s doing to him, the hardline of his arousal digging into her hip.

She slides one of her hands down his chest, feeling the heat of him even through the fabric between them, feeling his heartbeat just beneath the surface. She traces down and down, but before her fingertips can even brush the waistband of Cassian’s pants, her hand is yanked away. Cassian’s fae instincts are too quick, grip curling around Nesta’s wrists and pinning her hand above her head and into the dirt.

“Don’t you know, sweetheart, that a good husband always ensures his wife is taken care of first?”

Cassian pulls back enough that he’s able to settle comfortably on his haunches. Nesta feels overly exposed, splayed out in the grass beneath him. His gaze roves over her form with a hunger that has her heart rate spiking, has heat flooding through her veins until it settles in her core. Her chest heaves with each deep inhale as painstakingly slow, Cassian unties the laces down the front of her dress.

Her nerve endings are already on high alert, and the slow drag of fabric over her breasts as her dress is pulled open has a moan bubbling up and out of her throat. Her nipples are already pebbled when the cool air hits them, and the heat of Cassian’s hand as he palms them is a welcome reprieve.

Cassian leans back down, his mouth closing over one of her breasts. His tongue laves over her nipple, teeth nipping and tugging at the bud. He pulls back with a quiet pop, switching to her other breath, and Nesta bucks up against him, desperate for friction. Desperate for more.

“Cass… Cassian,” Nesta begs quietly, moaning when he drags the flat of his tongue over her breast again.

Nesta doesn’t even hear Cassian’s laugh this time, merely feels the vibrations against her skin, but he gets the message. He kisses a blazing path down her sternum, down her stomach. His hands find the hem of her skirts, pushing them up her thighs and her hips until her whole dress is nothing more than a bunch of fabric around her waist.

He keeps sliding down until he’s settled on his stomach in the grass, wings spread wide and tall above them both. For a moment, Nesta is transfixed on the way the moonlight ripples through the membrane, the patterns of the veins and scars, but her focus is brought solely back to the fae between her legs when Cassian’s fingers hook in the waistband of her undergarments, sliding them slowly down her legs.

Her breath hitches in her throat as he settles her thighs over his shoulders, at the feral look on his face. Those cat-like eyes of his are almost completely swallowed by his blown out pupils, and his grin shows off the sharp tips of his canines. With his dark hair falling along his temples and cheeks, he truly looks like a wild man, like a beast ready to pounce and feast on its prey. Nesta tosses her head back with a whimper as he lowers his face down, already anticipating his warm breath across her cunt, his tongue, but it never comes. Instead, Cassian’s lips find home along her inner thigh, a teasing display of what’s to come.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” Cassian’s low voice rasps, lips never straying from her skin. “I want to see the look on your face when you fall apart on my tongue.”

Nesta tips her chin back down, meeting Cassian’s gaze fully again. His teeth sink into her inner thigh, sucking a bruise onto the skin. Whether it’s a reward or a punishment for her behavior, Nesta isn’t sure. A glint sparks through his hazel eyes, and it’s Nesta’s only warning before he buries himself completely between her thighs.

The first slide of his tongue over her cunt has Nesta’s thighs squeezing out of instinct, but Cassian’s fingers curl against the flesh, holding her open and exactly how he wants her. The flat of his tongue drags over her until he reaches her clit, tracing tantalizing circles over the bud that have Nesta bucking against his hold. It’s clearly the reaction he was hoping for, and the vibrations of his answering groan only add to the sensations threatening to send Nesta spiraling, send her unraveling, almost embarrassingly quickly.

And all the while, Cassian keeps his eyes on her face, pinning her in place, while he works his magic. Whether it’s his fae magic or just the magic of this male, Nesta doesn’t know. Nor does she particularly care as long as he doesnt stop. Her hands scrabble desperately for something to grasp onto, dirt digging under her nails and moans tumbling past her lips unbidden as Cassian presses his tongue into her. It curls and flicks at her walls like he’s determined to collect every last drop of her arousal, like a male parched and starved.

When Cassian finally pulls back, the sight is obscene. His hair is disheveled, lips and chin glistening beneath the light of the moon. He doesn’t even bother wiping his mouth, merely licking his lips with another low groan.

“I knew you’d make the prettiest sounds,” Cassian tells her, suddenly sinking two fingers into her cunt. “Now, come on, wife. Scream my name for the whole wood to hear.”

The pace Cassian sets is punishing, his fingers fucking into her hard and deep, thick in a way her own fingers have never been. Nesta feels like she’s on fire, her entire focus pinpointed on the fingers driving into her, the stretch of them, the way they drag along the walls of her cunt. She rocks her hips up against his hand, chasing the flames, the friction, the familiar feeling coiling tighter and tighter.

“Gods, look at you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful sight. Flushed such a pretty pink and taking my fingers so well.”

Nesta keens at the words, her hand snapping down to curl around Cassian’s wrist. Not to stop him, but to keep him there. He squeezes in a third finger beside the first two, curling them until Nesta is practically arching up off the ground. Her throat already feels hoarse from her moans, from the shouts of Cassian’s name.

“That’s my good girl. I can feel the way you’re squeezing my fingers. I can’t wait to feel you squeezing my cock.”

“Cass. Cassian. Please. Gods, please.”

Cassian groans, dropping his face to her neck, teeth dragging along the skin, across her collarbones, his fingers never stopping. “Fuck. You beg so pretty too.”

Cassian’s thumb finds her clit, working it in tandem with the three fingers still thrusting into her. Nesta’s toes curl, her thighs practically shaking. She can feel herself standing on that edge, on that precipice. Cassian shifts his face down, lips closing around her breast again, and Nesta goes tumbling head first. She clenches down hard around Cassian’s fingers, half aware of the shout torn from her throat as her release barrels through her.

Cassian continues to move his fingers, dragging out her orgasm. But soon, the aftershocks subside, the stimulation teetering toward painful. Her whole body shudders with a whimper, but Cassian slips his fingers free. He makes a big show of pushing them between his lips, groaning around the taste of her. It has Nesta reaching for his wrist again, this time, bringing his hand to her own mouth. She sucks on his fingers, curling her tongue between the digits.

“Mother, save me,” Cassian mutters, watching her with hooded eyes.

He pulls his fingers free, but he’s quick to replace them with his own mouth, kissing Nesta deeply. Nesta moans into the kiss, burying her hands back in Cassian’s hair and tugging hard. His tongue curls around her own, his hips aligning and rocking down against hers. It’s a reminder of what’s still hers for the taking, the brush of fabric against her sending sparks ricocheting anew.

She reaches for the hem of his shirt, pushing the fabric up and up, determined to take it off. But his wings. Her fingers falter as she realizes she’s not sure how to get it off around the wings. She pulls back from the kiss to try and get a better look, but Cassian is having none of that, drawing her right back in. She huffs against his lips, tugging at his shirt in emphasis, and when Cassian is the one to finally pull back again, his hazel eyes are alight with amusement.

He reaches behind his back, the snap of buttons almost as loud as their heaving breaths in the quiet wood. Fisting the fabric, Cassian tugs the shirt away with ease, leaving Nesta with the perfect view of the wide expanse of golden skin, of the muscles carved into it, of the dark hair dusted across his chest and down his stomach like an alluring path leading down and down.

Nesta traces the lines of tattoos painted across his skin with the tip of her fingers, traces them all the way down his chest and further still, daring to dig her nails in against his stomach. Cassian hisses at the sting, but the look in his eyes tells her that he really likes it. It makes her feel bolder, braver. She dares to reach down, palming the hard line still trapped in his pants.

With a groan, Cassian drops his head against her collarbones. She continues her ministrations, curling her fingers as best she can and moving her hand up and down. Even through the fabric of his pants, Nesta can feel the way he twitches, can feel the weight of him. The size. She supposes she shouldn’t be surprised, what with Cassian being fae and not an ordinary man, but it still has heat sparking along her spine, has her mouth running dry just as surely as her thighs clench together.

She pushes at the waistband of his pants until they slide off his hips, down his thighs. Cassian finishes the job, kicking off the fabric. His cock bobs free between his strong thighs, the head already glistening with his own arousal. Nesta goes to wrap her hand around it, but her fingertips barely graze before Cassian is pinning her wrists again. He’s able to hold both her wrists in the grip of just one of his hands, using his free hand to find home beneath her chin and raise her face to his.

For a moment, Cassian merely stares at her, eyes roving over her face as though he’s trying to memorize it. Warmth flares through his hazel eyes, and Nesta swears she can feel an answering spark between her ribs, can feel it grow and tether like a golden thread there. He leans down and connects their lips, the kiss surprisingly soft. Nesta tries to deepen it, tries to free her hands so she can pull him close again, but Cassian keeps the kiss a gentle slide of lips.

“Cassian,” Nesta huffs frustratedly, hooking her legs around his waist and digging her heels into the small of his back, trying to encourage him where she wants.

“So needy, my wife,” Cassian teases, gripping his cock and dragging the head along her cunt, through the wetness that’s pooled there. “Do you want my cock, Nes? Want me to fill you up and fuck you good?”

“Isn’t that what a good husband does?”

Cassian’s whole body shudders with a groan, his wings flaring wide. “Perhaps a good wife should beg for it.”

“Please,” Nesta whispers, capturing Cassian’s bottom lip between her teeth and bucking her hips up against him. “Please fuck me.”

“Good girl.”

Cassian grasps at her hips, tugging her close and tilting them up. He presses his own hips forward until the tip slides inside her, thrusting shallowly. Just the first few inches stretches Nesta in a way she’s never felt before, in a way she fears she could become addicted to. He pulls his hips back just to sink back in further, the drag along Nesta’s walls leaving her moaning.

When their hips are finally pressed flushed together, Cassian still, nosing along her neck and her jaw. Nesta feels so incredibly full, her every nerve ending on fire in the most delicious way. She clenches down around him, her cunt seeming to draw him that much deeper, and Cassian’s groan echoes her own.

“Gods, you’re so tight,” Cassian murmurs into her neck, lips dragging against her skin. “But you take me so well.”

“Cassian, please,” Nesta begs again, trying to shift her hips against his hold.

Whether the begging does the trick or Cassian merely takes pity on her, Nesta doesn’t care. All she can focus on is the way Cassian pulls his hips back only to snap them back forward. Again and again he drives his hips forward, each hard thrust sending lightning licking through Nesta’s veins. With her hands now free, she curls them around Cassian’s back, practically clawing at his skin as she rocks her hips up to meet him thrust for thrust, as she chases the unparalleled feeling of him filling her over and over.

She dares to trace her fingers toward his shoulder blades. Dares to trace the spindly bone of a wing. Cassian lets out a near animalistic growl, hips digging against her own as his movements stutter.

“If you keep that up, this will be over much too soon,” Cassian warns through clenched teeth. He sits back on his haunches, splaying Nesta’s legs across his thighs.

“Sensitive?” Nesta asks. “What does it feel like?”

Cassian’s thumb presses down on Nesta’s clit, Nesta keening at the sensation and pressure. “Like that.”

Cassian works his hips back up to a brutal pace, moving his thumb in tandem with every hard thrust. It doesn’t take long before Nesta finds herself on the edge of that precipice again, before she goes tumbling over with little to no warning. Her back arches up off the ground, cunt clenching hard around Cassian’s cock. Cassian continues to snap his hips, working her through her orgasm, until he shudders and stills above her, warmth flooding Nesta’s core as surely as the fire blazing through her veins.

Cassian shifts back, pulling his softening cock free and drawing a quiet whimper from Nesta’s lips. She still feels like she’s burning, still feels desperate to dive back into the flames and the feeling sparked by this fae male. And though there’s still the lingering fullness from Cassian’s own release, her cunt still spasms with the aftershocks of her orgasm, still clenches around nothing.

She pushes herself up into a seated position, moving before Cassian can get too far. She all but clambers into his lap, steadying herself on his shoulders until she can settle comfortably. Cassian’s hands find her waist, an almost awestruck expression on his face as he peers up at her. But there’s embers in that hazel gaze too, still flickering as one of those hands glides up her spine, as his fingers curl into the long strands of Nesta’s hair that have fallen free from her updo.

“You know,” Nesta begins, reaching down until she can fist his cock, stroking it teasingly. “There’s this rumor. That fae males can recover more quickly than a man.”

“Is that so?” Cassian teases, but Nesta can already feel the way he’s started to harden again from her ministrations.

Nesta tightens her grip, quickens her pace, until Cassian is groaning and bucking his hips up against her, until his cock is standing at full attention again. She shifts forward on her knees, lining Cassian’s cock up with her cunt and sinking down on it. She moans at the fullness taking over her again, the rightness of being pressed together like this. She feels key-up, the overstimulation too much and yet everything that she needs.

She starts to rock her hips, gasping at the drag and friction, chasing the heat already climbing dangerously high. With one hand still buried in her hair, Cassian draws her mouth back to his, groaning against her lips as he kisses her. He plants his feet on the ground, snapping his hips up to meet hers.

“Gods, you’re fucking gorgeous,” Cassian murmurs against her, hands sliding down to palm at her ass and guide her movements. “Riding my cock like a good fucking girl.”

Nesta shudders at his words, clenching down hard. She picks up the pace of her hips, chasing another release. She starts to feel the burn in her thighs, can feel the stickiness of their own arousal, of both their releases dripping and smeared across the skin there. She’s half aware of her hoarse moans ringing in her ears, of the wet sounds of sex and slapping skin echoing in the woods around them. But all that matters is the slide of Cassian’s cock, the pressure building between her thighs.

She reaches a hand down, fingers slipping through the wetness there and against her clit, but Cassian is too quick. His own fingers curl around her wrist and pull her hand away. Nesta whines high in the back of her throat, tugging against his grip, but it’s no use.

“I don’t appreciate anyone touching what’s mine,” Cassian warns, squeezing her wrist that little bit tighter.

“And am I yours?” Nesta asks, sinking down fully and swiveling her hips to get the friction she was looking for.

“Always. And I’m yours.”

“Good.”

With her free hand not captured in Cassian’s hold, Nesta reaches over his shoulder. She slides her fingertips across his leathery wings, trying to mimic the way her hips move with the shapes she traces. She dares to scrape her nails against his wings, remembering how he’d responded before. With a roar, Cassian all but crushes her to him, his cock twitching deep within her. It’s enough to send Nesta crashing through an orgasm right there with him, spots dancing in her vision as she shakes with the force of it.

Nesta’s entire body feels wrung out and sated, embers banked but still keeping her deliciously warm. It takes her a moment too long to realize she’s slumped forward against Cassian, their chests pressed together and her head dropped to his shoulder. She knows that she needs to move. She knows that, now that their bargain is complete, she needs to return to the village. But trying to will her muscles to work feels like an impossible feat.

She decides to give it under her still heaving breaths even out, until her still thundering heart quiets to a soft beat. Cassian’s touch is surprisingly gentle where his fingertips trace shapes and lines up and down her spine, but soon his hands are gripping her properly. He shifts until they’re both sprawled across the soft, mossy floor of the wood, wings curling almost protectively around her. Warmth seeps into Nesta’s skin every place they’re pressed together, relaxing her all the way down to the bone.

There’s a safety wrapped up in his embrace, and Nesta allows her eyes to flutter shut, allows it to lull her under. She thinks back to Cassian’s words, his declaration that she’s his and he’s hers. And for a moment, just this moment longer, she almost allows herself to believe it.

~ * * * ~

Nesta quietly thanks the seller, carefully placing the folded fabric in the basket hanging from the crook of her arm. She slides her fingers against the pretty pink of it, the color reminding her of Elain. She’s sure that her younger sister will create something beautiful with it.

As she steps out of the small shop in the village square, Nesta can already feel eyes on her. They’re practically scorching holes through her shoulder blades, but she refuses to turn and look. The staring has been the trend the past two days, ever since that night, especially with the men in the village. Perhaps she should have found a way to work keeping the village’s disdain at bay into her bargain.

Sighing softly to herself, Nesta keeps her head held high, her shoulders back, as she follows the winding road back toward her family’s home. She keeps her grip on her basket tight, wills her breathing to come steady and slow, even as her every nerve ending feels on high alert, her heart beginning to skip between her ribs.

A hand grips hard around Nesta’s bicep, yanking her into the gap between two buildings. She barely has time to let out a shout of surprise before another hand is closing over her mouth. Her back slams against wood, nails biting into the skin of her arm, her cheek. The basket slips from her fingers, items skittering across the ground, as she comes face to face with a pair of brown eyes, ruddy cheeks, and lips pulled back in a sneer.

“Did you think you could get away with embarrassing me?” Tomas spits, leaning in until he’s right in Nesta’s face.

Nesta uses her free hand to pry Tomas’s fingers off her face. “Leave me alone. There’s no longer a contract between us or our families.”

“You think I don’t know how you did that? That the whole village doesn’t know? A lowly whore just like Morrigan.”

“Fuck you.”

“It seems you’ve dirtied your mouth as much as your body. Don’t worry. I’m more than happy to use both to remind you of your place.”

Panic flares through Nesta’s chest as Tomas uses his body weight to pin her in place, his hand reaching for her skirts. A low growl echoes in the space around them, Tomas’s entire body going rigid at the sound. They both look toward the other end of the alleyway, a large figure looming there. Even with the shadows, the silhouette of wings is unmistakable.

“A fae?” Tomas whispers, true fear leaving his voice trembling. “In the village? During the day?”

“Get your hands off her,” Cassian warns, voice low and threatening.

“This isn’t any of your business,” Tomas calls out, all fake bravado Nesta is sure.

Cassian prowls forward, each step slow but measured. “I won’t ask again.”

Tomas’s eyes dart between Cassian and Nesta, and Nesta watches the way his throat bobs with a hard swallow. Of all the things Tomas may be, one of them is clearly not stupid. He releases his hold on Nesta, stumbling back a few steps. His eyes never leave Cassian, a true prey caught in a predator’s trap, as he backs away.

Cassian’s smile is all ferity and teeth. In the blink of an eye, he closes the distance, hand snapping out and curling around Tomas’s throat, holding him in place. “Did you think I was just going to let you go?”

“This isn’t any of your business,” Tomas repeats, but even he sounds unsure at his own words.

“I don’t appreciate anyone touching what’s mine.”

Cassian doesn’t give Tomas the time to say anything else. His hand tightens around Tomas’s throat, lifting him up off his feet and slamming him against the wall opposite of Nesta. Tomas sputters and chokes around Cassian’s hold, his feet kicking out helplessly as he claws at Cassian’s forearm.

“What do you say, Nes? Should we break his fingers for committing such an offense?”

Nesta swallows to find her voice again. “Why stop at his fingers?”

Nesta can’t see Cassian’s face with the way he’s holding Tomas, but she can imagine the gleam in his hazel eyes. It’s clear from the way Tomas’s face completely blanches. Cassian’s wings flare out wide behind his back, keeping him balanced as he strikes. The crunch of breaking bone is drowned out by Tomas’s blood curdling scream. Cassian works with an almost terrifying ease and efficiency, as though he’s tearing mere parchment and not body parts.

Tomas crumbles to the ground with a soft groan when Cassian finally steps back. The fae crouches down, but Nesta can’t hear what he whispers to Tomas. He reaches his hands out and wipes them against Tomas’s shirt, cleaning the man’s blood off using the fabric. When he’s finished, Cassian straightens and turns back to Nesta, carefully retrieving her dropped basket and items and holding it out toward her. Slowly, she takes it from him, stepping over Tomas’s body and back into the village market and sun.

“You’re a hard woman to find, Nesta,” Cassian starts, stepping out of the alleyway behind her.

“I didn’t realize you were searching,” Nesta comments idly.

She pauses, hesitates, in the now empty town square before squaring her shoulders and continuing the trek back to her family home. She supposes she shouldn’t be surprised when Cassian falls into step beside her, unbothered about the villagers who clearly scattered due to his presence.

“What did you expect? Most wives don’t sneak away from their husbands in the middle of the night.”

“I thought that was how it was done.”

Cassian’s chuckle is just as warm in the light of day. “You humans have very odd traditions then.”

Nesta rolls her eyes at his teasing words. “Not that, you big bat. I meant your bargains. Do you track down every woman you make your wife to end their marriage contract?”

Cassian’s fingers curl around Nesta’s wrist, his touch surprisingly gentle as he tugs her to a stop. With a quiet huff, Nesta turns to face him properly. It seems almost strange to see him under the bright light of the sun, without the rays of the moon casting silver shadows across his face, his wings.

He’s still as ruggedly beautiful as Nesta remembers him.

With the curls of his hair scraped away from his face and secured in a bun, the hard line of his jaw is on full display. His hazel eyes seem to burn as golden as the high noon sun, and with the light stretching through them, Nesta realizes there’s a reddish hue to those powerful wings stretched behind his back.

“I only have one wife, sweetheart.”

Nesta blinks a few times, sure that she misheard, trying to wrap her mind around his words. “What do you mean?”

“What other meaning is there?” Cassian drawls, reaching for a stray strand of her hair and twirling it around his finger, a gesture reminiscent of their night together. “The only wife I have is you.”

“So you tricked me with your bargain.”

“Tricked you? I distinctly remember you agreeing. Remember the way you begged for–”

“Stop.”

Nesta takes a firm step back, Cassian’s hand dropping away from between them and back to his side. He tilts his head as he watches her, but Nesta squeezes her eyes shut. He’s too distracting. His presence, the warmth that radiates off his frame, his eyes and the kaleidoscope of emotions swimming amongst the golds and greens. She needs to think.

“Nesta,” Cassian begins, his voice soft and low.

“I said stop.”

Even his voice is distracting, the timbre and drawl of it skating across Nesta skin, wrapping around her limbs like a warm embrace. It seems to rumble from deep within his chest, and Nesta knows exactly what that chest feels like pressed against her own. She knows exactly how his lips feel dragging across her skin, against her lips, against–

“Why?” Nesta asks, her eyes flashing open again. “Why would you make that your end of the bargain then?”

“Because from the moment I saw you in that wood, I knew there would never be another for me.”

“You can’t possibly know that.”

“I was ready to drop to my knees before you bargain or not,” Cassian continues, stepping back into her space. This time, he wraps his arm around her waist, tugging her flush to him until Nesta has to tilt her chin up to keep eye contact. “Now, I know I said you could do whatever you wished as my wife, and that is still true, but you can’t tell me you wish to stay in this sorry village. Come home, wife.”

Warmth pools through Nesta’s chest, tugging just below her ribs, at her heart, but that voice in the back of her mind still scrambles and screams. “And how do I know I’m not escaping one cruel man just to run into the arms of another?”

The question pulls a growl from Cassian’s throat. “I would never dare to lay a hand on you unless you asked. And anyone who does dare will have my wrath to answer to, just like that sorry excuse of a man in the village square.”

Before she can think twice about it, before that voice can talk her out of it, Nesta presses up onto her toes, crashing her mouth against Cassian’s. He responds instantly, his lips dragging and sliding with her own, his arms and wings wrapping around her. There’s a comfort, a safety, a contentment here in his embrace, and that warmth in Nesta’s chest puts down roots, unfurls and blooms. It settles all the way down to the very marrow of her bones, to her soul.

When she finally pulls back from the kiss, she steps back from Cassian completely before he can drag her back under. She clears her throat and resettles the basket on her arm, turning on her heel and continuing toward her destination. Only when the familiar worn wood of the door comes into view does she finally stop again, turning over her shoulder.

“Stay out here.”

She doesn’t wait for Cassian’s response before she steps inside her family’s home, the scent of fresh bread greeting her. She spies her father asleep in the rickety chair he favors in front of the fire. Typical. With an annoyed huff, Nesta sets down her basket, heading in the direction of the bedrooms.

“Nesta? Is that you? You were in the market longer than I thought. I was starting to get worried.”

Nesta ignores her sister, continuing down the hall and through the bedroom door. She digs a bag out from beneath the bed, laying it open and turning toward the wardrobe. She makes quick work pulling out all her favorite dresses and folding them into some semblance of order.

“Nesta? Is everything–what are you doing?”

Nesta only glances toward Elain now standing in the doorway, Feyre standing just behind her and peering over the middle Archeron’s shoulder. Instead, Nesta returns to the task at hand, grabbing her most beloved books and adding them to the bag as well. Her attention dances briefly toward the old desk in the corner, but she presumes even a fae would have parchment and pen for her to write.

“Don’t ask questions,” Nesta finally says, closing the bag. “But I’m leaving.”

“Leaving?” Feyre echoes, stepping back enough that Nesta can walk back out of the bedroom.

“Yes. Now that there is no longer a marriage contract with the Mandrays, there’s no…” Nesta sighs, pausing in front of their home's front door and turning back toward her sisters, but there’s nothing but understanding on Elain and Feyre’s faces. “I’ll write once I’m settled. I swear it.”

With a final nod, Nesta pulls open the door, stepping back into the sun. As if she already inherently knows where to look, her eyes find Cassian where he’s leaning casually against the trunk of a tree. It’s reminiscent of the first time she saw the fae, only this time, his expression seems to soften as he takes her in. Nesta refuses to admit to the way her heart stutters at the smile on his face.

“Is that–”

“Don’t ask questions,” Nesta cuts Elain off. “Just know that this is what I want, that I’ll be happy. Don’t let father ever try to convince either of you that you don’t deserve that too.” She starts down the path away from their house before another thought occurs to her. “And perhaps stay out of the woods. Especially at night.”

Nesta continues down the path and across the grass until she reaches Cassian, wordlessly holding out her bag. She swears it’s purposeful, the way his fingers skate across her skin as he takes it, and yet goosebumps erupt up her arm either way. She waits for Cassian to begin leading the way back between the trees and deeper into the woods, but instead the fae takes the time to secure her bag over his shoulder until it rests between his wings.

“Oh, we’ll be flying,” Cassian explains, answering her unasked question.

“Flying?”

“Don’t worry. You’ll like it.”

Before Nesta can say anything else, Cassian scoops her up and into his arms, holding her close to his chest. Nesta is quick to wrap her own arms tightly around his neck, squeezing her eyes shut in anticipation of the rush, of the wind, but it never comes. When she opens her eyes again, she finds Cassian watching her. Waiting for her permission.

“Well? Take me home, husband.”

—

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @lady-nestas @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @books-books-books4ever @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck @kale-theteaqueen @tarquindaddy @superflurry @bri-loves-sunflowers @lady-winter-sunrise @witch-and-her-witcher @fieldofdaisiies

[shinayashipper]

Puzzleship role-reversal AU following Egyptian boy Atem who transfered schools to Japan because of his father's job. As a son of a busy, high political figure, Atem constantly changes schools and have very little friends aside from Mahad and Mana who are the children of his father's close colleagues. (The other kids also got scared of him because his father is a powerful figure / only attempting to befriend him to gain benefits).

Atem grew up with strict lessons and pressure. Always have to be the best in everything. He always tried to maintain an aloof, cool-headed, always reliable leader persona, but in truth he's very shy and anxious. His only comfort was playing games, but it's very lonely to play alone (and he's not so fond of online games) (Mahad and Mana play with him but Mahad is older and doesn't have time to play childish games with him and Mana has other interests)

Atem had changed schools a lot, but it's the first time he moved overseas. He didn't know anyone in Japan and only spoke the language a limited amount (even tho his lessons back in Egypt always drilled the language into his brain but with no one to talk to it's pretty hard).

He instantly became The Talk at Domino High as "The cute/cool foreign transfer student from Egypt" and he didn't really like the attention. He became closed-off and only interact with his classmates a minimal amount, even tho he had always wanted to make more friends. (Now people thought he got a Mean Look, because of the frown 😂). Anzu was the first person who greeted him in good-faith because she purely wanted to get to know him and make him feel accepted in class (but he always brushed her off too). Jou and Honda are still part of The Delinquents(TM) and Jou just hated Atem's guts because he thought Atem is "snobby little Rich Kid". Kaiba is still Kaiba and he just Doesn't Care much.

One day, Atem got some free time and decided to visit a nearby game store: Kame Game. It's kind-of old and there's more board games and puzzle games instead of the ever-popular digital ones. But this is how Atem loves his games. (And there's always a weekly little tournament where kids can play Card Games against each other. Very Fun!).

When he came in, the store was empty and dark, but the store still has the "Open" sign at the door so Atem just kept going. There sits an open wooden box with silver carvings on one of the small table where kids play. Atem was intrigued to get closer and he saw some... wooden blocks. Maybe a Puzzle? Atem loves solving puzzles. Because this is just left alone on the play table, it means he can try it right? So he tried Solving it...

And as if the Puzzle itself was calling and urging him to Solve it... he's assembling it very smoothly. He can finally see that it's forming some kind of pendant, just a few more blocks but Grandpa Sugoroku suddenly appears and surprised him 😂 Gramps saw him with the Puzzle/Pendant and you know I really like the idea of him Knowing More than he lets on, he told Atem that this Puzzle was an artifact from The Gods' Time and whoever solved it will get a Wish come true. He urged Atem to take it home and solve it in peace. It might help you in some way, he told him.

So Atem brought The Puzzle home, thinking how that grampa was kind of Weird, but he's also intrigued with the Puzzle- so he's going to solve it. And a wish coming true doesn't sound bad at all...

Atem had solved it Perfectly, and it was a pendant. But nothing happens. Ha! What wish... Atem thought it's probably just Sugoroku's attempt to make him come back to the store and buy something. Atem was kind of Sad tho. But nevermind that, he got a new pendant now, so he wear it immediately and went to sleep. (Having strange Dreams about Storms and a boy with white robes and wearing The Pendant Facing Them... but he's not going to dwell with it- he must be Tired)

[salstray]

Ghostface (Danny Johnson) x Gn! Reader? Oc? First person, but no name or description is given, so interoperate that as you please. Warnings: The General Warnings that come with writing for Any Ghostface - Knives, blood, indication of recent murders, carving names into people's skin (mentioned, talked about, remembered, though not actively done in this piece), memory of past abuse from Danny Words: 2.3k~

Note: I know Valentine's Day was yesterday, but I only had the idea for this when I woke up today, so... here ya go. Hope you enjoy!

---

Be Mine <3

---

        I knew something was wrong before I even stepped off the elevator. 

        The doors opened, creaking as they sluggishly pulled apart, revealing the dimly lit, dreary little hall that led to a row of wooden doors. Mine was at the very end. Tucked in the darkest corner furthest from the stairs.

        And it was open.

        Ever so slightly cracked. Just enough for me to see the odd angle of it as I pushed myself off the back wall of the little metal box with a sigh. Very slowly, I approached, half expecting it to fly the rest of the way open, for a hand to suddenly wrap around my wrist and yank me inside, never to be seen again. But that didn't happen.

        Instead I pressed my palm against the scratched surface, hesitantly pushing it open to reveal more inky black shadows. The distant light of the hall barely managed to filter past the threshold and I held my breath as I inched forward, slipping my shaking fingers along the wall to find the light switch. 

        I flinched when it worked and the light above my head flared to life with a quiet click.

        I figured he would have unscrewed the bulb. He’d done it before… However, the mess that trailed across my floor made it clear that he wanted me to be able to see the path he’d taken.

        Footprints. Boot prints. The indents of heavy, worn treads across my floor, printed perfectly in sticky, browning blood. Framed with half crushed rose petals and bent stems. Like he’d been doing the whole they love me, they love me not thing as he stalked his way through my apartment. The tracks started at the window to my left, the one nestled in the corner of the walls. More blood was smeared across the glass, but it was in the messy shape of hands; hands he’d used to push up the frame and leave it there, letting in the cold, late winter breeze. 

        I sighed again as I set my bag and my keys on the counter to the right, carefully swinging the door shut behind me. The trail he’d left only started. It didn’t end which meant, almost certainly, that he was still here. 

        The blood started at the window, curved around my couch, then kept going straight until it reached the bend of the hall, which led to one room. My bedroom. Slowly, I followed it, doing my best to avoid every piece of evidence he’d left in his wake. When I reached the corner of the hall, I rounded it, then stopped dead at the new sight that had been unveiled to me.

        My bedroom door was closed. Blood was twisted around the handle in the very clear shape of the hand that had opened it. On its surface was more blood. Painted into the shape of a heart that framed the gorey knife that was stabbed into its surface. 

        This wasn’t the first time I’d found it like this. Covered in someone’s blood, piercing some surface in my home. Last time it had been the dining table. Before that it had been the wall next to the front door. 

        I knew he wouldn’t be unarmed, the only time he’d ever be free of some sort of blade was when they were taken off of his corpse, but I knew that if he didn’t have this one then I didn’t have to worry about him using it on me.

        That was his sign. He’d established that very early on: If I don’t have the big knife, you don’t have to worry, sweet-cheeks. This is the only one you gotta care about, okay?

        Words that were seared into my mind. The same way his name was scarred into the flesh of my hip.

        I took a deep breath and tip-toed closer, hesitating for a few long seconds before I resigned myself to my fate and took hold of the brass knob in front of me. The blood was tacky and thick. He’d been waiting for a while, then, and it would only be smart to make sure he didn’t wait any longer before he changed his mind and pulled the blade above my head from the door for more games. 

        The second it swung open, I was met with the sight of him.

Ghostface.

        “Hi, lovey,” He called from his spot on the floor. He was sitting with his back against my bed, one leg straight out in front of him, the other bent up near his chest with his forearm resting on it. He was done up in all his black leathers, but I could tell from here, even without the blood surrounding him on the floor, that it had been recently soaked. 

        With a trembling hand, I reached over to flip the switch, powering on the outlet in the corner next to my bed and causing soft, golden light to pour out from under the shade of the lamp I had standing beside my nightstand. 

        More blood shined in the glow. 

        Another heart was smeared into the floor around him, surrounded by flowers. All roses. Some ruined and crushed, with petals plucked and tossed carelessly away. A few were full and intact, however. Blooming beautifully… if not for the scene they were a part of. 

        He tilted his head, the gaping maw of his mask twisting up towards me. 

        “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said sweetly.

        “How long have you been here?” I whispered, the hand I’d used to open the door hanging tensely at my side, my fingers splayed and palm flat so no more blood would touch me of my own free will. 

        “Hmm… not that long…,” he mused, turning his head away as he thought it over. “Maybe… fourtyish minutes? I dunno. Finished working around 8; came here right after… haven’t checked the time since.” he finished with a shrug, then grunted as he leaned forward, smoothly pushing himself to his feet and sauntering over the mess he’d made without a care. Crushing more of the roses beneath his boots. 

A fitting metaphor, I thought grimly, watching him with wide eyes as he approached. 

        My head bowed as he stepped up in front of me, my eyes now locking on the buckled straps that slid out from under his cowl and vanished under his arm. He didn’t let me stay like that for long. He’d told me before that he loved how I looked when I was oh so scared of him, so it was no surprise whatsoever when his hand raised and he used the second knuckle of his index finger to raise my chin. It was a bit of a surprise that he was so gentle with it… usually he’d take me by the hair and force my head back or wrap his whole hand around my jaw and yank me towards him, laughing when I yelped or started to cry. 

        “Missed you, you know,” he muttered. I almost didn’t hear him through the mask, but he was so close that it was hard to miss, even with the layers that separated his face from mine. “Woke up today and wanted nothing else but to just spend it all with you, but… ya know… duty calls.” I tried not to grimace when he chuckled and kept my eyes level with his when his hand fell away, painfully aware of the wet feeling that he left on the underside of my chin. “Did you think about me today?” he asked softly. 

        Knowing better than to lie, I nodded stiffly. 

        I thought about him everyday. It was kinda hard to let go of the knowledge that you were a serial killer’s plaything, believe it or not. That kind of thing took up a permanent spot right at the forefront of one's mind, usually, and I was no exception. 

        He hummed, his head tilting again as he stared at me. From here, with the bright lights flooding in from the hall behind me, I could just barely see the shine of his eyes through the dark mesh that hid them. I couldn’t see the color. I couldn’t see the whites of them. Just the way the light reflected and the way it flickered as his gaze moved back and forth between my own. 

        “Close your eyes,” he commanded. 

        I did as I was told in an instant, my urge to resist having been all but cut clean out of my body. The sound of rustling fabric vibrated in my ears. The gentle slide of leather against cloth. Then his voice again, clearer than I’d ever heard it before. 

        “Keep them closed, lovey. Or you’ll regret it,” he murmured, the feel of his breath against my cheeks almost making me flinch. 

        “I will,” I whispered. Barely able to get the words out as the air got caught in my chest. “I promise.” 

        “Good.”

        His hands appeared on my cheeks, covered in his gloves, which were in turn covered in more blood. His fingers squelched unpleasantly as they pressed into my flesh and I instinctively started to pull away moments before he pulled me in. 

        I squeaked in surprise when his lips slotted against mine. 

        I expected him to be aggressive when he kissed. Insistent and eager and hungry. Just like he was every single time he pressed me up against the nearest flat surface, tearing at my clothes. Yet, he wasn’t. The hold he had on my face was firm, wet, but firm and gentle. The pads of his gloves pressed into my cheeks, squishing the flesh up against them, but it didn’t hurt like it usually did. 

        In the end, it was soft. Sweet. Shorter than I’d expected and when he pulled away, I had to remind myself to keep my eyes closed, fighting the urge to open my eyes and gape at him.

        “Turn around,” he breathed, his hands falling from my face as I did as he said. “Open your eyes.” Again, I did. “Grab the knife from the door.” Panic shot through me instantly and I tensed, freezing in place, only moving to jerk in surprise when he laughed. “Relax, baby. I won’t be the one using it today.” The panic was replaced with confusion and he sighed quietly as his hands settled on my hips, the one on the left curling up until he had his palm against the place where Ghostface was permanently carved under my clothes. “I already marked you… now it's your turn to mark me.” 

        I blinked rapidly as what he said settled in my mind. 

        A vague memory suddenly surfaced from the haze of my thoughts. The night he’d done that to me in the first place. I remembered being tied tight to my bed, trying my best to thrash and buck as sobs tore at my throat from the otherside of the gag. Distantly, I’d heard his voice as he’d held my legs down with the bulk of his body, the burn of the knife sliding across my skin with a practiced ease. 

Look at that, baby… God, isn’t that fucking gorgeous… fuck, I’ll have to let you do this one day. See what its like, cause God damn… it would be a fucking crime to keep this feeling to myself… 

        I’d had my own twisted thoughts of him and his many crimes at the time. Thoughts that almost made a hysteric laugh burst out of me as he nudged at my spine in the present. 

        “Go on, lovey. I’ll put the mask back on, so don’t worry about turning around once you got it.” 

        When I took my single step forward, I considered running. The absolute last thing I wanted to do was to grab that knife, to do to him what he’d done to me, to carve my name into his skin. To be a part of him for the rest of his life… yet if I ran, he’d be mad at me. I’d tried to run before and it had ended with a very harsh punishment. Cuts, bruises, and more than a few days lost to his torments in the pitch black basement of some warehouse on the outskirts of town. 

        I’d promised him I’d never do it again. Told myself that it wasn’t worth it, whatever it was that would get me there wouldn’t be worth it… but would this?

        His hands appeared on my hips again and I flinched… again.

        “What are you waiting for?” he whispered, the hard form of his mask pressing against the shell of my ear. His voice was mean. Mocking. Unhappy with my hesitation. 

        “I don’t wanna hurt you,” I whispered back. “I don’t… I don’t like hurting people.” 

        “You won’t hurt me, lovey. Not in any way I won’t enjoy. Now… Get. The. Knife.” The next nudge was more of a shove and I stumbled another few steps forward, my hands curling up towards my chest as I started to shake all over. 

        Fittingly, the hand I wrapped around the handle of the knife was the one I’d used to open the door. The one that was decorated with blood. Blood of a stranger. Blood that belonged to someone who’s name I’d learn when I walked into work tomorrow, all the red heart decorations being taken down with teary eyes and fearful whispers following them back into the boxes. 

        It took a few wiggling tugs to pull it free and I kept my eyes on the ground when I turned to face him again, the knife tucked against my chest with my trembling fists. 

        When he moved, my eyes raised and I watched, tears welling up, as he crooked a single finger at me. Beckoning me forward. 

        I took another deep breath, stealing myself for what was going to come next. My fingers tightened around the hilt as I shuffled closer to him and the first tear fell as he took me by the hips once more. After a few seconds of studying me, one of his hands raised and he brushed his thumb across the trail it had taken down my cheek, shaking his head as he did.

        “Save these, baby,” he stated, his voice low and dark. Familiar, at least. “You’ll need them later… now c’mon. We have a lot of celebrating to do.” 

---

[acrystalwitch]

(From research but also from my own workings with him. This isn’t meant to be strictly historical this is more for pagans wanting to work with him. There will be a lot of UPG or SPG)

Anubis/Anpu/Inpu/Inpw (and some other spellings depending on where you look) :

-He is the jackal headed Egyptian god of mummification, funerary rites and a fierce protector of tombs and places where people are buried.

- a lot of stories have him as either the son of Nephthys and Set or the son of Nephthys and Osiris. I personally go by the mythology where he is the son of Osiris, then taken in by Aset and raised as an adopted son after the death of Osiris. He is fiercely loyal to his adopted mother and his father. As well as supportive of his half brother Horus (Heru-sa-Aset)

What working with him is like

-He is a sort of Psychopomp deity for dead souls. Also in my experience can help bring you into meditations with other spirits safety (he’s guided me to a few of the other deities I work with now)

- He is a fierce protector. Big guard dog energy. Doesn’t usually have a huge temper until something threatens him or a follower of his.

-Most of the time he’s a very calm and patient deity. He will give space when you need it, and also be around when you need him too. He tends to put in the effort that you do. But if you can’t put in much effort he’s patient (just quieter maybe if you’ve backed away from him first)

- He is usually the first one to jump in to help when I’m going through something emotionally rough. It could be because he is my patron but I do feel like he is the type of deity to want to be there for, and comfort his followers/devotees.

Offerings for Anubis

(These are the personal ones I use because they work for my own practice and lifestyle- feel free to share any of your own!)

Crystals

- tigers eye

- obsidian

- onyx

- jet

- lapis lazuli

- red/brown goldstone

- labradorite

- Dalmatian jasper

Incense

- frankincense

- Egyptian musk scents

- Sandlewood

- Myrrh

- Tobacco

Food offerings

- Dark chocolate

- dark bread

- red wine

- water

Other physical offerings/associations

- dog statues/imagery

- ankhs

- wooden things/wood carvings

- jewelry with gold on it

- keys

- black candles

- gold candles

- brown candles

- the death tarot card

- the hanged man tarot card

- the emperor tarot card

Devotional offerings

- self care

- taking care of your own dog/a dog

- volunteer at dog shelters

- donate to animal shelters/rescues

- learn about him

- learn about the history of the pyramids and mummification

- draw him

- write poetry for him

- play music/dance/sing for him

How to know if he’s reaching out to you?

Best way to know is to confirm by tarot or your clairsenses if you have any. Or candle flame reading/other forms of divination.

If you’re looking for signs he’s popping up (this is rather morbid but so it goes with the god of mummification and decay) he tends to send roadkill to me. If you see a lot of extra roadkill on a drive to work/a regular route that isn’t usually there. That could be a sign. (I like to ask him to help guide their souls somewhere nice whenever I see roadkill)

I think he’s an excellent deity for beginners and if you feel called to him I’d say go for it! I started with a simple candle dedicated to him and went from there!

[fizzyxcustard]

Bringing Christmas Home.

Fandom: The Hobbit

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None.

Summary: From the imagine, "Imagine that you tell Thorin all about your Christmas traditions. As a surprise, he attempts to re-create them in Erebor."

Comments: Requested by @sydmarchsstuff Thank you! As always, reblogs and comments are appreciated very much. If you would like to be added or removed to my tag list, let me know.

Thorin kept the image of you in his mind as he worked alongside a group of volunteers to re-create your beloved festive holiday of Christmas. As he helped make ornaments for the tree, with Dwalin by his side, he smiled to himself. You were to be his queen, to be treasured and honoured more so than any other woman in his life. You were his One, his life companion. It was Thorin’s duty to make sure you were happy, and this would hopefully be one more way to solidify that happiness in the mountain kingdom of Erebor, as you were not a child of Middle-earth. 

During their first break, Dwalin and Thorin both sat side by side, drinking a mug of tea that had been freshly made. The peppermint scent hit Thorin between the eyes as he tipped the mug forward to take a sip. 

“Everything is coming on so much better than I’d hoped for,” Thorin said. He sighed in relief, knowing that all the jobs were almost complete. “I even have her personal gifts prepared.” 

“Gifts?” Dwalin asked, raising an eyebrow. “Have you not done enough with all of this?” 

Thorin shrugged. “It is in her kind’s tradition and custom to exchange gifts. They decorate their homes, celebrate with food and drink, among other things. I cannot quite remember all of them, but I made sure to remember most.” 

Dwalin put his hand on Thorin’s shoulder. He had never seen his longest friend, his King, so happy and content. There was no longer a gigantic weight on Thorin’s shoulders, a need to prove himself. For once, he could be exactly who he was meant to be. And you helped that shine through in him. 

***

You wrapped the gifts which you had got for Thorin. You knew that Christmas was not a tradition held in this world, but you wanted to give him signs of your love all the same. These gifts were not wrapped in brightly coloured paper, but instead, you wrapped them in gold and silver fabrics. The library had become your little hideaway, and it was here you had brought the items, which consisted of: a new, midnight blue tunic, a new pipe, and a silver ring with both of your initials engraved. Thorin would no doubt be in your chambers signing documents after council, so it was best you remained scarce. 

However, when you returned to your bed chamber, you opened the door to find it dark inside. Candlelight shone through the murk, beckoning you further inside. Were you seeing things? Maybe the darkness was causing you to see shadows. Was that a tree? 

“My love,” Thorin’s voice came, drifting through the dark from your left. The door closed behind you, and then you felt his hand in yours. “Come and sit.” 

At the end of your four poster bed, you could see a table had been laid out with food. Your eyes were now beginning to grow more accustomed to the gloom. A large cooked turkey and roasted vegetables were laid out. 

Your fire was roaring in the corner, creating a comfortable heat. And just to the left of your fire was a tree. It was covered in wooden ornaments, carved into shapes of animals, stars, flowers. Beneath the tree were wrapped gifts, all topped with red bows of silk. 

“You did all this?” you gasped. “Why?” 

“I wanted to bring Christmas home for you. You have told me many times how you love the festivities, and how could I not try and replicate them here for you?” 

“I…I….don’t know what to say,” you whispered. You turned your body toward him, and placed your hands on his chest. “Thank you.” 

Thorin wound his arms around you tight and kissed your head. “Anything for you.” 

After your meal and the two of you sat in front of the open fire, large mugs of cocoa in hand, and opened your gifts. 

“I had no idea you were going to do all of this, but I wanted to get you something anyway,” you said, watching as Thorin opened the fabric to find his new pipe. 

“I thought you wanted me to smoke less?” Thorin chuckled. 

“I only ever said that I didn’t like the taste of it when we kiss. I didn’t ask you stop,” you corrected him, smiling. “Do you like it?” 

Thorin shifted across to you and wound his arm around your waist. “I do. Thank you, my love.” 

A short while later and the two of you were idly tangled together on the rug in front of the fire, having just made love. Thorin had his arm over you, and his fingers rubbed circles at the base of your back. 

You leaned in and kissed him gently. “There’s only one thing that could make this night even better.” 

“And what is that?” 

“Get your boots on, and call for Dwalin. We’re going to have a snowball fight.” 

***

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[acourtofthought]

How It All Comes Together

(contains spoilers for all series)

I have so many posts at this point. So. Many. Posts 😂 And they all touch upon a lot of the same information but I wanted to put every headcannon I've got in one place in the order of events (though the order of events within each book is flexible) that I think could happen.

I have no idea if any or even one will turn out to be accurate but when I combine her interviews, books, and Q&A sessions together, this is how the information seems to best fit together and makes sense to me.

Starting with an Elucien book:

"Let's focus on healing one sister then the other."

Elucien will restore spring together -

My father would think twice before standing against an army of superior strength and size.

"But Tamlin is already hanging by a thread. You and Lucien have made it clear that he's barely improved this past year" "With a new war possible and Briallyn up to her bullshit with Koschei, we need a strong ally. We need the Spring Court's forces"

"No. But we need to summon Lucien," Azriel said, just a shade tightly, as if he didn't like it one bit. "We need to tell him the news, and permanently station him at the Spring Court to contain any damage and to be our eyes and ears."

"I am the first one the others look to - I set the example"

Her sister's delicate scent of jasmine and honey lingered in the red-stoned hall like a promise of spring"

But Elain...The Spring Court had been made for someone like her. / Too bad her sister refused to see her. Nesta would have told Elain to visit this place. And too bad the lord who ruled these lands was a piece of shit.

Her gaze shifted to the carved wooden rose she'd placed upon the mantel, half-hidden in the shadows beside a figurine of a supple-bodied female, her upraised arms clasping a full moon between them. Some sort of primal goddess - perhaps even the Mother herself. Nesta hadn't let herself dwell on why she'd felt the need to set the rose there.

"She pulled the small, carved rose from her pocket and set it upon the gravestone. A permanent marker of the beauty and good he'd tried to bring into the world."

Elain and Lucien will perform in Calanmai aka Fire Night together -

"There's a ritual. But it's...very faerie." / "From their coupling, magic will be released and spread to the earth, where it will regenerate life for the year to come."

It was Spring, and yet it wasn't. / Distant - because on the estate, nothing bloomed at all. / The pink roses that had once climbed the pale stone walls of the sweeping manor house were nothing but tangled webs of thorns. / The Spring Court had felt stagnant. Hollow. Empty ..

"It's his (her) instincts that select her (him)."

"I went in his stead, and I did my duty to the court."

I shook my head, trying not to imagine Elain subject to that....fire.

Elain would faint to hear such thoughts.

Elain will be able to shift into an owl (shifting being a marker of the Spring Court) -

"Your Tamlin has brute strength and shape-shifting"

"And once you were in this body, you couldn't change?"

Elain was again at my side, I hadn't heard her steps.

Elain perched silently on the couch nearby.

Elain cocked her head.

Elain spoke from the doorway, having appeared so silently that they all twisted toward her.

"You came," Elain said behind her and Nesta started, not having heard her sister approach.

Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth - Teller to the hilt through the back of the king's neck. (How did she make it to Nesta in time when she was in the far reaches of their camp?

"Glamour for what?" "To look normal." "Being a High Lord, comes with physical markers too. It's why I couldn't hide what I was becoming from my brohters - from anyone. It's still easier to blend it." / "I think she's got you beat for secret-keeping"

Elain, Lucien, Vassa, and Jurian will find a way to get those on the continent to sign the treaty -

We need the humans in others territories to trust us, if we can ever hope to achieve lasting peace.

"He's spent months helping them sort out the politics of who rules Prythian's slice of the human lands."

"He'd already made many friends across the courts and had always been good at talking to people"

"My sister can convince anyone to do anything with a few smiles."

"She (Mor) was still trying to convince them to sign the new treaty."

"I hope that whatever Morrigan is doing in Vallahan will counteract the damage my father will unleash."

"At worst, we'll have proof to justify any conflict and hopefully win allies to our side, avoiding the bloodshed that would carve up these lands once more.

"Jurian..." "Thank the Cauldron for him. I never thought I'd say that, but it's true. "He's keeping everything running. I think he'd have been crowned king by now if it wasn't for Vassa."

Both trying to lead the humans who occupied the sliver of land at the southernmost end of Prythian. Left ungoverned for so long. Too long.

"And what, exactly, does this Band of Exiles plan to do? Host events? Organize party-planning committees?

"She didn't used to be that way." "She loved balls and parties."

but Elain had taken charge of planning

Elain pushed, “We keep it secret—we send the servants away. With the spring approaching, they’ll be glad to go home. And if Feyre needs to be in and out for meetings, she’ll send word ahead, and we’ll clear them out. Make up excuses to send them on holidays. Father won’t be back until the summer, anyway. No one will know.”. / “I’ll do it,” Elain said, taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders. She didn’t wait for either of us before she strode out, graceful as a doe.

Eris will join Elain and Lucien on the continent, not only to free Vassa and stop Koschei / Beron but to retrieve Mor and for their past to finally be dealt with (their past being a possible mating bond between them which is why he set her free)-

"My father is furious that his ally is dead, but he's not deterred. Koschei remains in play, and Beron might very well be stupid enough to establish an alliance with him, too."

"I wanted to feel out Vassa and Jurian." He didn't mention his brother, oddly enough. "But they clearly know little about this."

But as Eris strode by...I could have sworn there was something like sadness - like regret, as he glanced to Lucien.

But Vassa's freedom would end. Lucien had said as much months ago, and still visited her often enough that I knew nothing in that regard had improved. She would have to return to the lake, to the sorcerer-lord who kept her prisoner, sold to him by the very queens who had again gathered in their joint castle. Formerly Vassa's castle too.

"Tell my Vassa I'm waiting"

"Lucien stared out the window - as if he could see the lake across a sea and a continent. As if he were setting his target."

"But that was all the western edge of it. Beyond that, the continent was vast. And to the south, another continent sprawled. Would she have gone?"

"Mor left for Vallahan this morning and is out of our daemati magic's range."

"She knows the truth but has never revealed it" "Why?" "Because she's afraid of it."

"You're not the person I want to explain myself to." "I doubt Mor will want to listen." (as for a Mor love interest, I think Emerie could be a possibility but I also think the Golden Queen is another option. As her hair and eyes were taken, there's a chance she was made into something new and Elain said "she's not dead, only changed as I was". I don't think she's talking about Vassa. There's also a line where Mor claim she's always be drawn to things that were wild and free)

I think Elain will be the one to break Vassa's curse which I don't think is a curse at all but a Valg infection. If she can heal as Yrene did than we know a healers light can banish the infection from someone's blood. (I have a longer post on this but this is the Cliffs Notes version) -

I'd never seen such spell work. I'd sent my power over her, Helion too, hunting for any possible threats to unbind it. I found none. It was if the curse was woven into her very blood.

"Black fire raced down his blood" (Chaols Valg infection)

"Will many of these soldiers die?"

Amren was holding Elain upright as she vomited in the grass. Not from the Caldron. But pure terror.

Elain rushed to Cassian. / Nesta was watching them when I reached her and Elain at the tree-lined outskirts. Had she done some healing, somehow, in those moments after she'd severed the king's head? / I didn't ask my sister, and she supplied no answer as she took the water bucket dangling from Elain's still bloody hands.

I think Lucien and Eris will finally kill Beron -

"Beron tortured you?"

Beron had tortured his own son for information, rather than thanking the Mother for returning him.

"The same things he does now." "Belittle her, leave bruises where no one but him will see them."

"I was forced to watch as my father butchered the female I loved. My brothers forced me to watch."

The male had been raised with every luxury and privilege - on paper. But who knew what terrors Beron had inflicted upon him? Cassian knew Beron had murdered Lucien's lover. If the High Lord of Autumn had been willing to do that, what wouldn't he do?

And Cassian didn't need to be a courtier to know his next words would slice deep, but it would be a necessary wound. Perhaps it would be enough to push things in the right direction. "I think you might be a decent male, deep down, trapped in a terrible situation." "I think you might even be a good male." "You're just too much of a coward to act like one."

Lucien will finally discover Helion is his father -

But not the gift of Helion. His true father. I still hadn't mentioned it. To anyone other than Rhys.

In the taut silence, Helion nodded to the bright hall beyond the room. "I would like to remove myself from the Mask's odious presence, and perhaps enjoy your palace, Rhysand. It's been a long while since I was in a place of such quiet. If you'll allow it, I'll stay here for an hour or two." "Something bothering you at home?" Rhys inquired, falling into step beside the High Lord.

I think Elain, if she has healing powers (not to mention her affinity for growing things), will be the one to help the Pegasus. This would provide her a purpose in Day and even connects her to the land where the Prison is located) -

Helion's most beloved pair - this black stallion, Meallan, and his mate - hadn't produced offspring in three hundred years, and that last foal hadn't made it out of weaning before he'd succumbed to an illness no healer could remedy.

According to legend, the pegasuses had come from the island the Prison sat upon - had once fed in fair meadows that had long given way to moss and mist. Perhaps that was part of the decline: their homeland had vanished, and whatever had sustained them was no longer.

She found flowers - somewhere.

It's possible that if she does travel to the Prison, she'll also find where Koschei's box is located (possibly the box that possesses his soul) -

"There is an onyx box that he possesses, more vital than anything...save for them. The girls."

"Maybe...." "Part of me wonders if the Prison was either built or stocked with it's inmates to hide the Harp's (onyx box?) presence. There are so many terrible powers here, and the wards on the mountain itself. I wonder if someone hid the Harp (onyx box?) knowing that it'd never be noticed with so much awful magic around it."

"These are like no wards I've felt before." "They feel old. Incredibly old." "They probably predate this place being used as a prison (remember, we learn that the courts were not actually formed until after the Prison was made).

"But Koschei is as old as the sea - older." "I fear what may happen if he ever gets free of the lake. If he sees this world on the cusp of disaster and knows he could strike, and strike hard, and make himself it's master. As he once tried to do, (hint that Koschei is Asteri / possible Valg?) long ago." "Those are legends that predate our courts."

Lucien will help infiltrate the castle where the other Queens had been staying. Not only did the castle once belong to Vassa but if Koschei's soul is not hidden in the prison, maybe it's hidden there -

"I told you; their castle is too heavily warded, and full of magical traps that would trip up even Helion."

I do think it's possible that Koschei will be defeated in an Elucien book and I think it's possible Lucien's fire will fail him in that scene causing him to tap into his Day powers in full -

"I was getting worried you'd never approach. Poor Eris would have met a very sorry end if that had been the case. His fire wouldn't have withstood Koschei's lake, I don't think."

Maybe Lucien will also be the one to help Rhys and Feyre undo the bargain that links their lives to one another -

"Perhaps Amren was working on some way to undo the bargain - if anyone could think of a way, it would be her. Or Helion, he supposed.

I believe Eris will step into power as High Lord of Autumn by the end of an Elucien book. I also wonder if when they think everything has calmed in the rest of Prythian and the continent, they'll visit Feyre and Rhys only to be informed of Bryce having landed in Velaris (and her subsequent return to Midgard). This will set up the either the final spin-off (not sure if SJM still plans on having the third spin-off set in the past which she mentioned as a possibility in interviews) or the next round of ACOTAR books, some from the ones she was contracted for in her latest 4 book deal. -

A Gwynriel book would then follow -

I think Az's story will first tackle his past with Mor. If she is ready to admit to the truths Eris spoke of in SF in an Elucien book then she'll finally be in a place to have the conversation she needs to with Az -

"What of Mor, Az?" Azriel ignored the question.

I think the majority of his arc will deal with his hatred of the Illyrians, and now their issues with the Valkyries, possibly ending with Rhys leaving him charge of overseeing them in a more permanent position -

Perhaps we needed a permanent presence out here, until the Illyrians remembered things like consequences. / But the war had impacted us all, and with the rebuilding, with the human territories crawling out to meet us, with other Fae kingdoms looking toward a wall-less world and wondering what shit they could get away with...We didn't have the resources to station somewhere out here. Not yet. Perhaps next summer, if the climate elsewhere was calm enough.

"The Illyrians are pieces of shit," he said too quietly.

It was healthy, perhaps, for Az to sometimes remember where he'd come from. He still wore the Illyrian leathers. Had not tried to get the tattoos removed. Some part of him was Illyrian still. Always would be. Even if he wished to forget it.

Az might hunt down Bryaxis who I believe is the thing that guarded a portal to Hel that exists in the library. I think we'll see Bryce enter the portal in CC3 or Aidas exit it and they'll realize they need to close it back up -

"Do you want me to hunt it down?" An easy, unruffled question. "Let Bryaxis enjoy the Solstice as well," I said. A rare smile curled Az's mouth. "Generous of you."

"No, but..." Gwyn's swallow was audible. "I can feel something. Like a cat. Small and clever and curious. It's watching.

And then there was this. Not only the true absence of light, but...a womb. The womb from which all life and come and would return, neither good nor evil, only dark, dark, dark. Nesta. Her name drifted to her as if rising from the depths of some black ocean. Nesta. It slid along her bones, her blood. She had to pull back. Pull away. The darkness pulsed, beckoned.

"The House is good." Nesta breathed. "Is it?" Nesta considered. "The darkness in the pit of the library - it's the heart of the House." Amren nodded. "And where is it now?" "It hasn't made an appearance in weeks. But it's still there. I think it's just...being managed. Maybe the House's knowledge that I'm aware of it, and didn't judge it, makes it easier to keep in check."

I think Gwyn may be a cousin of Eris's (maybe Lucien) which will cause conflict between she and Az as he'll struggle to let go of his prejudices toward Eris (and Lucien) while she will want to build a relationship with the only blood family she has left -

"My grandmother was a river-nymph who seduced a High Fae male from the Autumn Court."

Gwyn will have siren powers that she can use to do her bidding against enemies -

Something beckoned in Gwyn's song, in a way the other's hadn't.

Gwyn's voice rose again, holding such a high note it was like a ray of pure light, piercing and summoning.

Like Gwyn was calling only to her.

"I barely outran that one as I led it toward the camp. My timing was just good luck, though."

Gwyn will pull both Narben and the miniature manuscript from the sea. Seeing as how the book is one of the first printed books in existence, I think it will contain information that will be necessary for future threats to their world -

She would have kept it secret. I only heard from a fleeing water-nymph that it had been done."

"When it would not bend to her, she destroyed it." "It was perhaps in our favor. Had the King of Hybern possessed Narben, I fear we would have lost the war."

A miniature illuminated manuscript, crafted by the skilled hands of the smallest of the lesser Fae- one of the first printed books in existence. / He regretted throwing it into the river the moment it had vanished under the ice, but he'd been foolish that night.

I think Gwyn's song may also be able to draw Azriel back, in the chance he has a different form and maybe that's what he meant when he made the comment that he sings. That he too needs to sing in order to pull himself from his "beast" side -

"Az is different. In a lot of ways." His tone didn't invite further questioning.

I think you'll find that Az is even less forgiving than I am." "With that pretty face?" she crooned. "I have a hard time believing it."

"They were shape-shifters who dwelled in the lakes and rivers and lured unwitting people into their arms. And after the drowned them, they feasted." Nesta stared toward the bog's black surface. "And they live in there?" "They vanished hundreds of years before we were born," Cassian said firmly. They're a myth whispered around fires, and a warning for children not to play near the water. But no one knows where they went. Most were hunted, but the survivors..." He conceded with a nod to Azriel. / "Just don't go running after a beautiful white horse or a pretty-faced young man and you'll be fine."

I think Merrill will be the main villain in Gwynriels story. That we'll find she had been in contact with Koschei before his defeat and gone searching for other survivors in other worlds at his command. She'll be the one responsible for helping them enter their world -

"There are others in your court as delusional as you are. They'll get it for me one way or another, with the right incentive. Granted, I'll need your blood to unlock the wards on the Trove."

"But know that Briallyn and the others sold me to him not through their devices, but his. By words he planted in their courts, whispered on the winds."

"I am descended from Labath, Lord of the Western Wind," Merrill seethed. "Unlike Gwyneth Berdara, I am no lackey to be dismissed."

"Midgard is a base. We opened the doors to other worlds to lure their citizens here." "But we also opened the doors so we might conquer those other worlds as well." "Your Starborn ancestors shut the gates to stop us from invading their realm once more and reminding them who their true masters are. And in the process, they shut the gates to all other worlds, including those to Hel, their stalwart allies. And so we have been trapped here. Cut off from the cosmos. All that is left of our people, though our mystics beneath this palace have long sought to find any other survivors, any planets where they might be hiding."

"Merrill's brilliant. Horrible, but brilliant. When she first came here, she was obsessed with theories regarding the existence of different realms - different worlds. Living on top of each other without even knowing it. Whether there is merely one existence, our existence, or if it might be possible for worlds to overlap, occupying the same space but separated by time and a whole bunch of other things I can't even begin to explain to you because I barely understand them myself." "Honestly, I looked at some of her early research and my eyes bled just reading her theorizing and formulas."

so she supposed that two would take them perhaps a bit farther than that, and Velaris … Well, it seemed like it’d take three strings. She didn’t want to know where all twenty-six strings might take her if strummed. Or if someone made a melody..

I think part of a Gwynriel plot will be Az and Gwyn working together to try to understand what Merrill is actually researching -

- and in its center, a massive, working model of their world, the stars and planets around it. and some other fancy thins that had been explained to Cassian once before he deemed them boring and proceeded to ignore them completely. Az, of course, had been fascinated.

Gwyn let out a breathy laugh. “I mean it. I learned about a new Valkyrie technique last night.

“I don’t know,” Gwyn said. “All I know is that I was assigned to work with Merrill and aid in her research,

By the end of a Gwynriel book, I think we'll be set up for a Multi POV / Crossover Series book(s) in the ACOTAR world. Possible plotlines -

Nesta will raise an army of the dead / World Walk -

And one day, when the time was right...They'd take the next steps. They'd walk down whatever road lay ahead of them together.

The Harp sighed, a low purr rolling off it as Nesta’s hand neared. We shall open doors and pathways; we shall move through space and eons together.

He’d think of that another day. Along with the fact that she’d stopped Time with the Harp.

She could feel them around her. The dead. / Thousands and thousands of bodies. But she would not call thousands. Not yet.

I think Lucien will be High King, wielding Gwydion. Yes, I realize it called to Bryce but unless we find out Amren’s recollection of the High Priestess giving it to him was wrong, it seems it first belonged to Fionn and was taken by Theia. Made objects can have others do their bidding, therefore it could have wanted Bryce to be the one to take it home. We know Helion responded to the mask, a made object, therefore Lucien should theoretically be able to wield made objects too -

Rhys as High King: he could think of no other male he'd trust more. No other male who would be a fairer ruler than Rhys. / "But know that the Cauldron's benevolence will be extended to you only for so long before it is offered to another.

"Lucien's goodness"

"He is a good male"

"he'd already made many friends across the courts and had always been good at talking to people."

"Like the Fae male had settled similar arguments between them before."

"But Lucien had learned to keep his cool".

Narben's powers had not been the holy, saviors light of Gwydion" (Side note, SJM tagged Elain under the Blodeuwedd fairytale and the uncle of Lleu (Lleu being the character that seems to match Lucien's part in the tale) was named Gwydion. Gwydion means "born of trees" and in ACOWAR, SJM tells us Lucien looked "crafted from the forest")

SJM once spoke of us seeing more babies in the ACOTAR world and I think this will refer to Elain in any future crossovers (not CC3) -

"But Elain had given it back - had pressed it into Azriel's hands after the battle, just as he had pressed it into hers before. And then walked away without looking back."

I think Elain's war days are over and a pregnancy would provide her a valid reason to sit out of battle. If she does have healing powers then I imagine she'd much rather tend to the wounded.

I also believe that by this time, the food that sustained the Pegasus would be restored and the illness preventing them from having foals would be cured (a possible Elain storyline), making it possible for the Valkyrie to ride into battle on Pegasus.

The End 😂

[jochimochi]

✿⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ ✿

Our final protagonist has been posted! Let's go! :3

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　Intoducing...　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Morning Chaser !

Born to a pair of humble factory workers in Cloudsdale, Morning 'Reganzada' Chaser was raised in a busy household. Despite the lack of siblings unlike her fiancé and best friend, Morning Chaser often found herself amongst the solitude of her own lonesome. Her parents, Starry Sorbet and Fernazo jr, stayed busy bodies as supervisors in their respective branches. More oftentimes than not, her parents stayed amongst the factory walls than with their daughter at home.

This, eventually, lead to the young filly to occupy herself with the soft, crackling melody from her grandmother'd music box. The music box, adorned with intricate details carved into the wooden surface, is a prize possession to Morning Chaser. It sparked her love for music, enabling the joys of expression through song and quiet hums.

However, the melody could only keep her mind busy for so long... Henceforth, she decided to skip the flight school obstacle course and descended down to Ponyville. It was upon finding herself enthralled by the new sights of the small villa did she bump into two wrestling ponies. Accidentally joining the pile of jumbled limbs and breathlessly laughter, did she find herself befriending the two.

Cherishing the connection she made with the two ponies she decidedly took up the habit of skipping flight school, to the dismay of her parents.

Infact, her parents had tried many methods to try and persuade their daughter into taking flight school and her future seriously. To finally signing her up into sing lessons to sternly forbidding her from flying down to Ponyville. Anything — everything seemed fruitless. That was until she had finally relent and promised to follow in their footsteps in the path of a factory worker within the weather facility.

She tried her best to make her parents happy and even found herself becoming distant from music. It was to make her parents proud, of course. Anything to finally appease her hard-working parents.

However, upon a rocky proposal to Thistle Swirl and a lengthy talk; she found herself prospering as small-time singer and music teacher. Her parents disowned her. Their daughter? Choosing something as foolish as music over the legitimacy of factory work? That simply won't do!

Bah, it didn't matter. They were old — stubborn. The mare could make her own decisions.

·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙

AHHH!!! I KNOW IT'S SORTA RUSHED, BUT :3

[xofanfics]

Lost For Words - Part III

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV

Genre: angst, fluff, smut 🥺🤗🥵

Pairing: Reader x Kun // Reader x Taeyong

Word Count: 2.9k

Summary: You have the best boyfriend you could’ve asked for. Things take an interesting turn as you befriend your new coworker, exploring the blurred lines between friendship and something more.

“Introducing "ElysianGlow" – a prestigious international beauty brand poised to revolutionize your entire beauty and skincare ritual. With its European elegance and a mission to cater to every facet of your beauty journey, ElysianGlow stands at the forefront of luxury. As it sets its sights on the vibrant Korean market, this brand promises to bring an unmatched fusion of cultures, innovation, and indulgence to your daily beauty regimen…”

It was the last presentation of the day and you were exhausted. After hearing so many speakers, being exposed to so many new products, and taking in so much information, you felt a little overstimulated. You’d all been taking notes all day as you saw interesting things your competitors were doing. 

Your team dipped out a little early, in the hopes of avoiding the herds of people trying to exit the convention center at the same time. Outside the venue, Valentina said, “Good job, everyone. I saw a lot of you taking notes today. I want to do a larger meeting sometime next week or the week after to discuss our takeaways. I think that there was a lot of useful information we can use in our global marketing plans.” She smiled with a nod. “Anyway, I was thinking that we should go back to the hotel, freshen up, and then head out to get dinner?”

There were nods and murmurs of agreement, so David looked down at his watch. “It’s 5:09 now, so how about we meet in the lobby at 6:15PM. Who wants to be in charge of finding a restaurant?”

Hina waved her hand excitedly. “I can find a place!”

Valentina raised a cautious eyebrow at Hina, recalling the last time that Hina had chosen a restaurant. “Let’s try to keep it under three dollar signs this time, yeah?”

*

You and Hina took advantage of the time you had to freshen up before dinner. You began rummaging through your suitcase, tossing two dresses onto your bed. Hina, on the other hand, sat cross-legged on her own bed scrolling on her phone, ready to give her opinions as needed. 

Your phone buzzed on the dresser, and you picked it up, recognizing your boyfriend's contact name popping up on the screen.

"Hey," you said, balancing the phone between your shoulder and ear as you slipped out of your pants.

"Hey, how was the first day?" he asked. “Are you finished now?”

"It was great!" you replied with enthusiasm. "We all have a bunch of ideas. Valentina said we’ll have a meeting next week about it, so I’m excited to share.”

You could practically hear his smile through the phone. "That's great to hear. I can’t wait to hear all about your ideas when you’re back at home. Do you have dinner plans for tonight?”

“Yeah, Hina is actually in charge of looking for a place,” you said, glancing at her. “Hopefully she picks somewhere good.”

Hina stuck her tongue out at you and laughed, bringing a chuckle out of you as well. 

“Okay, well, have fun at dinner. And if you’re going to be drinking tonight, don’t forget to drink a lot of water.”

"I will," you promised, feeling a rush of warmth for your supportive boyfriend. You tossed the phone on the bed and pulled out a dress from your suitcase. 

*

An hour later, the group gathered in the hotel lobby, ready for a well-deserved dinner outing after a long day. Hina had strategically chosen a Thai restaurant within walking distance.

Upon arrival, the restaurant's ambiance whisked you away to a far-off tropical paradise. Intricate wooden carvings adorned the walls, vibrant textiles draped from the ceiling, and the scent of spices filled the air. The decor was a seamless blend of charm and cultural authenticity, making you feel as though you were on vacation.

With everyone seated, Valentina seized the moment and confidently ordered a round of drinks for the table. While they excitedly waited for their alcoholic beverages to arrive, they decided to order appetizers to try and share. A few moments later, the drinks arrived, following a clink of glasses and the chorus of cheers.

David placed his drink down on the table and clapped his hands together. "Now that we're not at the conference anymore, let’s talk about something other than work for a change…" Laughter rippled through the group as everyone welcomed the idea. 

A few more drinks later, your steaming plate of drunken noodles made its grand entrance to the table. The thick rice noodles glistened with a rich, dark sauce, topped with tender slices of chicken, colorful bell peppers, and vibrant Thai basil leaves.

Kevin, your jovial coworker, leaned toward Taeyong, who was sitting across from you. "Hey, Taeyong," he teased, "I saw you talking to that pretty girl at lunch earlier. Who was that? Did you get her number?"

Taeyong's cheeks tinged with a slight blush at the sudden question. "She was pretty," he admitted, his voice carrying a hint of bashfulness. He glanced in your direction to see if you’d react, but you were reaching across the table for a leftover spring roll instead. "She told me that her name was Ari and she works at one of our competitors. But, uh, I didn't get her number."

"Yeah, Taeyong, maybe you should date the competition so we can find out their secrets," said Valentina with a laugh.

Kevin couldn't resist but add, "Honestly… I'm surprised you don't already have a girlfriend.."

Hina playfully agreed, "Definitely, Taeyong, you've got the looks. Sorry, Kevin, but he's got you beat."

Kevin nodded with a chuckle and said, “That’s fair.”

Taeyong found himself lost in contemplation, wondering if it was time to move on, given your existing relationship. Everyone seemed to enjoy their evening, unaware of the thoughts swirling around in his head like a storm. He went back and forth with his emotions, unsure of where to go from here, as the possibility of a future without you weighed on his mind.

* After dinner, the group ended up splitting up. Some of your colleagues decided to call it a night, retreating to the comfort of their hotel rooms and call it a night. Those who still had some energy left decided to head out for a night on the town, determined to make the most of their time in Incheon. Before the group split in two, Valentina issued a gentle reminder about the early morning conference session, a subtle hint to keep the night's festivities in check.

Among your coworkers in the group, and a relatively new addition to the team, Seolyun stood out as the point person for all things social media. She was the person who always seemed to have a recommendation, whether it was a new restaurant opening up, a trendy pop-up opening, or a cafe hidden in the backstreets. 

In no time at all, she found a trendy bar not too far from the restaurant. The bar had two floors, along with a rooftop. Each floor, according to the reviews, had a different vibe. And the rooftop seemed to have an amazing view, which was perfect for taking pictures. 

You could feel the lively energy on the first floor as you entered. While you waited for your friends to get their IDs checked, you took a look around. Laughter and conversation filled the air, in combination with the beat of electronic music that had quite a few people up and dancing. People were engaged in animated conversations, clinking glasses, and sharing smiles. It seemed like the perfect place to start on a night out. 

As you walked up to the second floor, you noticed a subtle shift in the vibe. Here, the mood was more intimate and relaxed. The decor took on a cozier, lounge-like feel, with plush seating arrangements that were great for deeper conversations. The music, while still upbeat, had a more gentle feeling and allowed for more conversation over dancing. The lighting was dimmed, casting a darker and more romantic aura. It was an ideal spot for those looking to enjoy time away from the loud music and actually have a conversation.

As you all ascended the stairs to the rooftop, the night breeze welcomed you, carrying the pulsating rhythms of music and offering a breathtaking view of the city's twinkling lights. The ambiance was mellow, with cozy seating arrangements and soft lighting, perfect for unwinding. Interestingly enough, the roof wasn’t the most crowded area, and there was more than enough room for everyone to get comfortable at the bar. 

Kevin insisted on shots, saying, “Look how beautiful it is out here. Nothing says a night out like a shot of tequila!” Despite a groan or two, everyone accepted Kevin’s idea of taking shots. 

“Cheers!” you said, a moment later, clinking the small glasses with your colleagues. You gulped down the liquid fire with more ease than you thought. 

As Seolyun finished her shot, she said, “Let’s go dance!”

*

Taeyong, while certainly up for a night out on the town, wasn't quite in the dancing mood tonight. Instead, he chose to linger on the rooftop, where he could savor the serene night view while sipping on a glass of whiskey.

He gazed out into the city, taking in the twinkling sky above. He took a sip of his whiskey even though he had no business mixing light and dark liquor. I’ll be fine, he decided. Even though he and the others were in Incheon for business, he was having more fun than he’d had in quite some months. Living in Seoul without many friends had been a little hard on him, but he felt a little less lonely during the week while he was surrounded with his coworkers. And he felt less lonely when he was with you. He felt at ease when he was with you. Despite your unfortunate relationship status, he enjoyed platonic moments with you. Being friends with you was better than nothing at all, he thought.

In his peripheral vision, he saw someone sit down but he didn’t bother looking up, as he was enveloped in his thoughts. Suddenly, your voice filled his ears and interrupted his thoughts. “The view up here is something else, huh?” He turned and the corners of his lips curled into a small smile as you settled beside him on the couch.

“I’m enjoying it,” he said, taking another sip of his drink. “I thought you wanted to dance?”

"You know, I wasn't really feeling the music down there," you admitted with a soft laugh. "But it looks like the others are having the time of their lives, so I thought I’d come back up here and keep you company.” 

The two of you started talking, just some lighthearted conversation. A few moments later, Taeyong shook his head. "Sorry - where are my manners? Did you want another drink?”

You glanced at his nearly empty glass and then back at him, a thoughtful expression on your face. "I think I'm good for now," you replied, a faint smile touching your lips. "I'd hate for you to see me too drunk."

Taeyong chuckled softly, his gaze lingering on your face. "I wouldn't judge you," he assured. 

As you continued to talk, Taeyong found himself getting lost in your eyes, your presence, and the way you laughed at his jokes. His heart raced as he realized how much he had grown to like you. At this point, he could feel the tension building, an almost magnetic force that he had never experienced before. It was a potent mixture of desire, guilt, and admiration. He knew he was getting close to the danger zone and he found himself unable to deny the connection that seemed to pull him closer to you with each passing moment.

Unable to resist the pull between you two, Taeyong leaned in and kissed you, his lips meeting yours in a tender, sweet embrace. It was a moment of surrender to the intense connection that had been building, a silent acknowledgment of his desires. A few seconds later he pulled away, realizing how crazy all of this was. He’d lost his mind for a moment, he concluded.

Your eyes met, just for a moment. Time seemed to stop as you gazed deeply into his eyes. In that moment, Taeyong’s senses were completely taken over by you. He could only smell the faint scent of your perfume. He could only taste your lips. He could only see you.

But just as Taeyong was about to voice his apologies and regrets, the unexpected happened. Your lips crashed into his once more, igniting a wild, uncontainable fire of longing and desire. In that moment, nothing else mattered – not your boyfriend, not the complications of being coworkers – as you both gave in to the irresistible pull of passion. Lost in the kiss, you and Taeyong allowed yourselves to be swept away, indulging in a connection that defied all logic and reason. 

The intense chemistry between you and Taeyong became an undeniable truth that neither of you could ignore.

***

You woke up in the morning, before your alarm. You recalled the events of the previous night and, of course, that amazing kiss you shared with Taeyong. It was wrong, you knew, but something about it just felt so right. 

Kun [7:31AM] Good morning, beautiful. Hope you had fun last night! Enjoy the rest of the conference today ❤️ 

As you looked at the good morning text from the man that was actually your boyfriend, you couldn’t help but feel incredibly guilty. You had a man who loved and cared about you, yet you’d had the audacity to kiss another man.

What was frustrating you the most was that you hadn’t even ever thought of Taeyong that way. You found him attractive, yes, but everyone found him attractive - even Kevin. He was a physically attractive looking man - simple. But you didn’t have to cross that line with him and you did anyway. Then, to top it all off, you kissed him on your own. After that first kiss, you should’ve stopped. Unfortunately, something came over you and you initiated that second kiss. 

Should you tell Kun? You wondered. No, you thought, he’d never forgive you. Should you break up with him? Was that too much? Was leaving him just running from the problem? 

Should you set a boundary with Taeyong? Should you tell him that it can’t ever happen again? God, but you liked it! You liked it so much and you wanted more of it. That was the problem. 

You’d never felt tension with Taeyong before. You weren’t sure if it was because the two of you had been drinking or if it was because it was an intimate setting. Maybe it was because you hadn’t really had many moments to be alone together like that. You didn’t know. All you knew was that you could almost taste his lips on yours. 

Hina’s alarm started going off, bringing you back into reality. You almost wanted to tell her, but that would just bring up unnecessary questions and drama. So, you decided that you were going to leave it alone all together and do your best to act normal and keep your cool.

After successfully avoiding Taeyong during breakfast and most of the morning programming, he caught you during lunchtime as you were grabbing a water bottle. He lightly grazed your hand and, as you turned to face him, he said, “Can we talk?”

“Uh, yeah,” you said. “Sure.”

Taeyong led you out of the cafeteria and upstairs to the second floor. This floor was quiet, as everyone was downstairs eating. You followed him into a random room where he closed the door behind you. The air seemed to crackle with unspoken tension.

Taeyong took a deep breath, his eyes filled with a mix of vulnerability and longing. "I can't stop thinking about last night,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper, “and what happened between us...” 

Your heart echoed his sentiments, a mixture of desire and inner turmoil. "Taeyong," you began, a sigh leaving your lips, "I can’t stop thinking about it either.”

“What do we do?”

You let out a frustrated sigh. “I-I don’t know. I have a boyfriend and I care about him. Things are just…complicated.”

Taeyong nodded, his understanding gaze never leaving yours. "I don't want to complicate your life," he said, his voice soft but filled with yearning. "But I don’t know if we can just ignore this."

Taeyong came a little closer, pulling you into his arms. In his embrace, you felt safe, as if the world outside ceased to exist.

Unable to resist any longer, your lips brushed against Taeyong's, igniting a longing that had been building up inside you. But you both knew the complications of your situation.

With a whisper, you said, "We should get back..."

Taeyong let go of you, reluctantly and eyes still filled with longing. You needed to leave. If you looked into his eyes any longer, you might just kiss him again. As he watched you leave the room, the connection between you remained, an unspoken promise that the chemistry you shared would continue to pull you closer, even if the path forward remained uncertain.

***

General Taglist: @to-all-the-stories-i-love @sweetnspicy-noona

Lost for Words Taglist: @ridinjuyeon

[cowboygenesis]

one: redanian ale | geralt x reader

part 1 of the "threads of fate" series: masterlist.

pairing: geralt x reader

chapter warnings: blood, animal death, mild gore

word count: 3.9k

series summary: geralt begrudgingly accepts a monster contract issued to him by a strange girl, thinking it to be an opportunity for some quick coin. nothing goes as planned.

notes: i haven't posted a reader insert since middle school, but since ive been getting into the witcher again recently i thought this would be a fun project :) ill try my best to keep everything canon, but please keep in mind that the reader will be given the default name of 'maja'! if you dislike it, i do encourage the usage of a browser extension like 'word replacer II'. the name isn't too relevant to the story, i just find it a lot easier to write this way (as opposed to 'y/n', (name), etc.) anyway, please remember to give feedback and enjoy! x

Geralt stepped down the element-worn cobblestone road with a quiet huff, Roach trailing alongside the man’s figure with a seemingly matched sense of fervor.

The homes of the outskirts lined up in tight rows, alternating between maintained and otherwise decrepit wooden skeletons of a once lively hearth. Every stained-glass window emanated a warm light from within, casting onto the solemn sidewalk that led into the main square. Similar structures surrounded the tiled area, adorned with wooden plaques representing various businesses: a butcher, blacksmith, herbalist; something typical of towns on the continent.

It was a chilly afternoon, and the amber treeline of the backdrop was a colorful testament to the arrival of autumn’s harvest. The edge of the cracked pavement carried a lively array of wildflowers, growing sparsely out of the famously fertile earth of the region. It was strange, seeing such an abundant land give birth to such impoverished people. They swarmed the town in a hurry, cloaked in rags and somber faces, occasionally turning to gaze up at the flaxen-haired man with abhorrence, hatred, and curiosity.

Their sunken features flooded the street in the silent mayhem of impotence, weathered muscles bravely carrying the weight of their harvest into the beating heart of the city.

Coarse linen bags lined the trunks of carts for the lucky few being able to afford such transportation, others tried their strength at stacking the burden on their dominant shoulder. A permanent slouch was often a good way to identify the economically wounded. He furrowed his brow at the thought.

The cool air nipped gently at Geralt’s nose, fingers numb as they tightened around the leather horse reigns. His pace quickened, strides bold and purposeful as he spotted the centerpiece of town above the bobbing crowd ahead.

The cobblestone smoothed below his feet, transitioning into a sleek brick that led into the hexagonal center of town. People swarmed out of the tight street and quickly dispersed along various stalls lining the courtyard, allowing Geralt’s lungs to expand with fresh breath once more.

His eyes scanned along the walls, noting the uniform architecture of homes surrounding the plaza. Up ahead, sticking out like a not-so-sore thumb, stood the main attraction of the town. Its broad structure spanned significantly further than any surrounding shop, walls towering high into the third floor.

The off-white plaster was embellished with masterfully painted embroidery: a composition of roosters, red flowers, and various greenery; a traditional kind of adornment in these parts.

Unlike the other businesses, this particular building adorned a shiny, metallic plaque by the heavy-set doorway. It was written in a foreign language, carved into the slate in mechanically-even letters. Geralt approached this unfamiliar sign, fastening Roach to the wooden fencing to the side and leaving her with a soft pat on the muzzle. She neighed in response, a sound debatably considered sentient and acknowledging.

“Won’t be long, girl,” He reassured with a half-smile, adjusting his harness before stepping through the doorway.

The tavern air was drastically different from the outside world, hitting his complexion with a soothing warmth as the soft scent of baked goods and freshly poured ale filled his nostrils. The sensation scored a subtle smile from the witcher, hand swiftly unclasping the twinned holster of his weaponry.

He hummed lowly, scanning the crowd of people in sight: drinking, singing, dancing; warm bodies moving in rhythm to the upbeat ballad of a female bard taking center stage with her polished flute. A song about a lost love, druids, bloodshed. Geralt had recognized it from one of Jaskier’s performances, noting how polarizing the tune sounded with a change of instrument.

He continued walking alongside the wall, finally deciding to take a booth seat near the tinted windows of the northern wall. He propped his equipment against the table, positioning himself closest to the wall. The stained glass poured a soft light onto the scratched surface of his table, outlining every crevice and mug stain with a brilliant azure.

“Welcome to ‘the Manticore’, may I take your order?” Came a quiet voice, somehow bleeding into the chaos of the bustling tavern despite coming from his immediate right. Geralt turned his gaze towards it, eyes met with a pair of rheumy eyes.

A doe.

So was the witcher’s immediate thought at the sight of the skittish-looking servicewoman taking his order.

Her skin looked pallid, almost greyish in the soft light of the candlelight, cheeks pudgy yet somehow betraying her otherwise ghastly appearance. The subtle spread of freckles on her cheeks was the only memory of livelihood in the sunlight, spreading to her temples and ending in a single mole above the girl’s untamed brows. They were thick, straight, and resembling a man’s with how unkempt they appeared.

She held her fists firmly against the dip of her hips and her spine declined forward, giving the woman a folded, relaxed posture; a strange mix of confidence merging with a subtle sense of doubt reflected her apparent social abstinence.

“Redanian ale,” He spoke back, arm extending to rest on the plush couch, gaze wandering.

He first took note of the woman’s boots, how worn the leather seemed with the dried mud still clinging to the nooks and crannies of the laces. Her worn, moss-green blouse shamelessly revealed a perched bosom, held up artificially by the corset hugging her waist snuggly, perhaps uncomfortably.

Finally, he caught the attention of the silver amulet that lay comfortably against the flushed skin of her chest, embellished with a large, iridescent crystal sat in the middle. An opal, maybe a moonstone. It felt out of the ordinary, gleaming with a bright light that seemed to come from within the stone itself.

“You should be wary with that kind of necklace in your ownership,” Geralt warned under his breath, chin dipping to subtly signal towards the girl’s jewelry.

Her eyebrows furrowed at the comment, though her gaze instinctively followed his own. She brought a hand up to toy with the pendant, letting the metal move between her fingertips as if it were her first time seeing it.

“Oh, this old thing?” She questioned, a hint of apprehension lacing her voice as she held up the amulet, “It’s a fake, just a trinket I keep around,”

Despite her reassurance, the witcher’s comment seemed to have fuelled the baseline suspicion a barmaid would hold towards most customers. Simultaneously, she seemed genuinely inquisitive about the man’s opinion, her brow perched high on her forehead.

Her pinky traced along the side of the silver base, running down an array of intricate engravings carved into the metal by hand.

“Looks expensive. Different kinds of folk hang around these parts, you’d know best,” Geralt continued, tone flat yet assertive.

He never once meant to threaten the girl but rather tried offering a kind piece of advice based on his own experiences with such riches. Her prideful display of such an eye-catching jewel could land her in more trouble than she could have expected. His curiosity threw her demeanor off, eyes trailing to her feet. A moment passed without contact, then another.

“That’ll be it, girl,” he hummed, attempting to brush her presence off with a final word to the conversation. She shook her head left to right, almost like exiting a trance, and nodded at him hurriedly. Her nose tinged rouge. She turned heel, boots squeaking as she made her way through the boisterous crowd and back towards the bar.

The man allowed his gaze to linger on the girl until she disappeared into the sea of other bodies, huffing at the comfortable feeling of solitude once again. He let himself sink into the seat below. His eyes turned to study the crevices of the oak table he resided at, keen eyes suddenly focusing on something in the distance.

A raven-haired man sat hunched down at an adjacent booth, head clad in a pristine cloak that clasped off at his chest. The witcher stared back in an unspoken manner of competition, his watchful gaze scanning each visual intricacy the man had to offer. The pigment in his robes was intense and rich, an exotic indigo staining the thick linen, lined with silver thread that connected at the neck with a metallic amulet. It might have been adorned with small studs and jewels, from his position Geralt could not tell for certain.

His pale hands perched atop a leather-bound book surrounded by scattered cards, at least two decks. The fingers were scrawny, bony, wrapped in intricate rings that reflected the same blue light of the stained glass. His eyes bored into Geralt with a certain might, pools of sapphires flickering with candlelight.

They both lingered that way endlessly, both trying to intimidate the other into looking down, a gentle admit of defeat. The man smiled.

“And… there we go,” Came that one quiet voice again, accompanied by the dull tap of a glass mug placed firmly on the table. “Can I get you anything else?” it continued as Geralt made a last-ditch effort to squint at the cloaked man in the back of the room. He seemed satiated by this exchange, quickly returning to shuffling a fresh deck of cards sitting just beside his ale.

“…Hello?” The doe-eyed girl waved her hand to Geralt with a confused look on her sunken face, thick eyebrows furrowing with a twitch of her upper lip.

He turned his gaze towards her, quickly noticing the sudden emptiness around her chest— the amulet was gone. She must have taken his words to heart, or perhaps, more unfortunately, found them to be a kind of veiled threat towards her well-being. The skin of her chest was reddened, maybe hot to the touch.

“You’re a witcher, aren’t you?” She said matter-of-factly. Geralt raised an eyebrow at the sudden inquiry, otherwise maintaining his demeanor. It wasn’t so unusual.

“That’s right,” he replied tactfully, fingers tracing the handle of his mug before gripping it tightly and taking a hefty swig. The alcohol hit his throat with a delicious burn, trailing down the throat and leaving a tinge of plums and spice in its wake.

With a look as infamous as his, Geralt was undeniably used to being spotted out, even in the smallest of hamlets such as Posada. He didn’t mind the musings of others, as most of his encounters happened to be quite harmless and an inconvenience more than anything. He decided to enjoy his drink in peace and allow the girl to ask any questions she might be curious about. If he got lucky, the conversation could score him a new contract; Gods knew that was the kind of excuse he needed to occupy himself for the upcoming days.

“My, my…” The woman whispered, eyes widening a fraction as her fingers began skimming the edge of her apron in contemplation. There was an air of anticipation surrounding her, as if eager to ask about his dangerous lifestyle but abstaining for the fear of rejection. Same old.

“That makes you a frequent traveler, doesn’t it?” She piped up squeakily, clearing her throat after.

“Somewhat,” Geralt replied dryly, aiding his parched tongue with another swig of the drink. Exactly what he ordered, surprisingly. The girl didn’t bother cheating her way out of extra coin.

“And why do you find yourself in Posada, witcher?” the girl questioned, bright-eyed. Her hips twisted towards him, legs shuffling back and gently resting against the frame of the booth opposite to him. Geralt huffed, placing his ale firmly on the oak below. His face remained in its neutrality.

“Not staying long,” he mumbled with a backhand to his upper lip, cleaning the wetness from it with a smooth swipe. He spotted the barmaid’s coy gaze looking down as she swiftly positioned herself on the seat. When she looked up again, their eyes met.

There was a scar on her temple, kissing the hairline of the frizzed locks growing there. It looked well-healed with time, the weathered strip of skin standing out with the raised edges of its pale, pearlescent grove.

“Just for a rest I assume, then?” she smiled softly, the scar curving with the movement of her muscles. Geralt nodded. Her gaze seemed to falter at that but sharpened a mere second later.

“Just a drink, not much else to get done around here,” he spoke lowly, taking a knowing glance around the tavern; townsfolk swarming the bar in rugged clothing, some barefoot, all baring sunken faces. “Seems like it’s not monsters your town needs helping with,” he scoffed.

The barmaid’s eyes followed Geralt’s gaze, but she seemed to refrain from commenting. Her bony fingers clamped into loose fists before dropping to her lap. She moistened her lower lip with a slow flick of the tongue, shoulders rising and falling with each breath. She stayed silent for a moment, contemplative, then suddenly perked up with a furrowed brow.

“We’ve got monsters, witcher,” the girl mumbled. Geralt’s brow twitched at the comment, but he gave her a nod in recognition. She nodded back. “Something’s been killing off the townsfolk in the night when they go foraging,”

“Foraging? Why at night?” he questioned.

“For Mooncaps. They fluoresce in the dark and so are easier to spot that way; we use them for skin salves, tea, that kind of thing,” the girl explained, “They grow in the woods.”

“Mooncaps…” the man acknowledged, “And the foragers, how certain are you that they haven’t just lost their way back?” Geralt pressed on, fingers tensing around the handle of his mug.

“Rescue teams have been sent out before, but they never come back,” the girl said, “Sylvanus was the only one to make it home in one piece. After the fifth expedition, there were no more volunteers left. We didn’t want to risk any more casualties, you know? I grew up there, too. But I don’t dare go back now, not after I’ve heard the rumors,” she continued.

“Sylvanus?” Geralt interrupted, feeling the name out on his tongue. It sounded foreign to the land, but unfamiliar to him personally. The barmaid nodded.

“He’s this witch-hunter from Temeria. Well, that’s what he says, anyway,” she breathed out, eyes squinting, “He’s not from around here, you’d from the things he wears. Nice things, well-fit and expensive. Arrived one night and asked for the largest room we had, room seven. That must’ve been a whole month ago by now,”

Geralt’s eyebrows furrowed, gaze focusing on the table he had been examining beforehand. Nothing. The cloaked figure was gone, leaving behind a vacant table and that deck of cards.

“We’ve got spare rooms, plenty of them. I could arrange one for you if you’d like, maybe a hot bath to go with it,” the barmaid piqued in with the same smile, soft and genuine as her gaze seemed to bore into the witcher’s own eyes. She pursed her lips, anticipating an answer, perhaps one in favor of her declaration.

Geralt used a gloved finger to tap the wooden surface of the table, the rest of his body remaining perfectly still. “I’ll camp out,” he declared, hand raising his mug as the last drops of ale trickled down his throat. He still felt parched.

“As you wish,” the girl nodded, a glint in her eye as she reciprocated with a polite smile. Her arms stretched across the padding of her seat, relaxing her muscles before she swiftly stood up. Her hand grabbed onto the upper rim of the empty mug, removing it from the table with a huff.

“It’s on the house. Thank you for helping out,” she added quietly, smiling.

“Hold your appreciation, girl. I haven’t done anything to earn it just yet,” Geralt replied, earning a soft chuckle from the woman. It was airy and warm. Her half-lidded gaze met his own.

“You’ve offered your kindness, it’s all I could ask for these days,” she replied quaintly, taking a few steps back while her fingers tampered with the iron handle of the mug. She looked down briefly, then back up. Her smile had disappeared. "I'm Maja."

“Geralt,” he responded half-mindedly, out of habit. He assessed the name she had given him carefully, letting it echo in his mind for a second. Maja, just like the personification of mother-earth. He had read about her in a foreign tome previously, or perhaps heard it in a hymn or song.

“Farewell, then, Geralt,” she giggled once more, sounding somewhat bubbly at the reveal. Her smile stretched wider this time, revealing a pair of dimples adorning each flushed cheek with a shallow grove. She nibbled at her bottom lip, breathing in deeply before turning away, yet she held her gaze with his, somewhat determined to keep the witcher’s attention. She whipped around, her overskirt twirling gracefully around her hips before she leaped away. Geralt caught one last glance of her locks before she disappeared into the crowd again.

He breathed out, eyes closed tightly. His meeting with Ciri would have to wait another day while he took care of the monster plaguing this off-road town. He imagined it to be a Noonwraith, maybe a Werewolf in the worst case. It would be dirty work, but quick, and perhaps the town could spare a decent amount of coin for putting an end to their unfortunate endeavors.

The man stood up with a grunt, eyes scanning the crowds of clientele once again. His mind tried focusing on a certain head of raven-black hair amongst the sea of bodies, but his efforts were fruitless. The witch-hunter was gone, or at the very least in hiding… perhaps somewhere nearby. Geralt recalled the barmaid’s testimony, how she confessed they had rented the man a room just a few nights back.

The witcher’s eyes shifted to the broad staircase at the edge of the room, oddly empty and lit dimly by candlelight adorning the wall. He walked over in a few smooth strides, eyes narrowed and focused. He set his boot on the first stair, hearing it creak pathetically under his boot. He climbed another, another, continuing til the very top.

The gleeful tune of the lute sounded muffled and dull at this level, reverberating through the walls and getting eerily distorted in the process. Geralt lurked down the hallway, passing wooden doors adorned with handmade numbers and watching for light seeping through the gap where the planks met the floor.

He stopped suddenly, faced with number ‘7’. His gloved hand reached to grip the doorknob slowly, but with a firm squeeze, he twisted. To his surprise, it was open.

He stepped in, nose catching the vivid aroma of rosemary and myrrh. It carried in the air heavily, a thin stripe of smoke weaving through the air and connecting at the tip of an incense stick sat on a desk to his left. It was messy, clattered with books and one-off documents stained with slim rings of plum and violet.

“There you are,” came a gravely, monotonous sound. Geralt turned to face it, his eyes met with sapphire ones. They were bulbous, almost too large for the socket, threatening to pop out at any moment. The intensity made the witcher stay put. “Geralt of Rivia!” the man exclaimed theatrically, arms extending wide as he made his way from the bedside mirror. Geralt realized he hadn’t noticed the man when he entered.

“And you are?” the witcher asked firmly.

“You know my name,” the man replied, a smile adorning his lips. There was a thick scar running across them, connecting to his right brow.

“Sylvanus, is it?” Geralt replied, deciding to back into the doorway with his backside. Hearing the hinges squeal as they shut, Sylvanus seemed to relax. His mulberry cloak fluttered as he moved closer, head low. The whites of his eyes were glazed, shimmering like tiles of water. “There’s a monster roaming the woods, I’ve been told you know of it,”

“Certainly, yes,” He replied diplomatically, moving soundlessly to take a seat by the cluttered desk. The incense was shriveled now, copper tray piled with ash. “You’d like to know of this beastie? It was relentless. Ghastly and pale and crimson, drenched in innocent blood. Female in appearance and winged, like succubi,” Sylvanus explained, hands flailing wildly as he recalled the creature’s looks. His tone was low. “It is quite a miracle I made it out with all my limbs still intact,” Sylvanus sighed amongst dramatics.

“It seems we’re dealing with a harpy,” Geralt replied with a nod, hands now placed firmly on his hips as he watched the man before him go dark in the face. His eyebrows furrowed, eyes still bulging as he approached in a swift stride. He pointed a long finger at the witcher’s chest, gaze holding his fervently.

“That is no ordinary harpy, witcher,” the man hissed, offended at the mere suggestion of it. “I’ve seen nothing like it. This is no ordinary occurrence, I’ve come to realize…” Sylvanus carried on, retracting his arm that slivered under his cloak like a snake returning to its lair.

“This town, you’ll learn to know, is cursed. Plagued,” he finished slyly, almost hostile in his manner.

Geralt sighed at the man’s warnings, eyeing his lowly figure as it trailed back to the padded armchair by the desk. His snake-like arm slid out once more, thin and splotchy. It grabbed a match, striking it quickly against the table’s surface to illicit a pale flame that he used to light a fresh incense stick with. The room became smokey within seconds, a thin veil of grey dancing in the light breeze of the window open ajar. When he was done, Sylvanus tossed the match to a pile of similarly decrepit ones.

“If you want to know how I survived, well,” he trailed, “the beastie is weak to light. It fears daytime, sunlight, fire… anything that burns,”

“How did you find out?” Geralt questioned,

“Trial and error,” Sylvanus shrugged with a grin, eyes squinting. He slumped into the chair, tossing and turning until he seemed comfortable. “It only comes out on moonless nights, that’s when it goes out to feed,” he added. Geralt nodded, stopping for a beat to let the man continue on his tirade, but there was nothing else he wanted to say. His focus had now shifted to an opened book on the desk, his fingers skimming through the pages feverishly.

Geralt cleared his throat, eyeing the man once more before turning around to leave. “Thanks for the info,”

“Don’t make yourself allies in Posada, Geralt,” a voice called out behind him, deep and dark. “It might just turn on you,”

Geralt halted. He nodded, head tilting but not enough to catch the man’s figure again. The witcher shuffled away silently, shutting the door behind him with a ‘click’ of the hinges. A soft shuffling came from within, cloth rubbing against cloth and stacks of papers being ripped frantically, in a strange hurry. The flaxen-haired man let the commotion unfold without interruption.

He spotted an ornate window peeking outside, his eyes squinting at the bright lights of the colors flickering around the main square. It was getting late, and he would have to make camp soon. His feet stomped down the flight of stairs, faded music coming back in full effect.

He took note of the blonde-headed bard singing her heart out, and the slowly declining yet continuously vast crowd of townsfolk swarming the vivid scene. His gaze trailed to the bar instinctively, hovering over about a dozen heads that he knew instantly didn’t include the one he sought out.

A soft breath escaped his chapped lips, hands swiftly reaching for the cover of his cape’s hood. As the warmth of the tavern slowly faded from his body, Geralt felt his fingers ache in the cold of the night.

[jsdimensions]

Error Of My Ways: Chapter 2

Words: 2,994

Rated T for multiple instances of swearing and heavily implied death.

Read the first chapter before reading this if you haven't already!!! There's a ton of important context there that you will miss out on if you don't.

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Fic is below the cut.

I felt my heart stop.

Or…soul. Whatever. That didn't matter. Yet.

Turning around slowly, my shoulders raised, and my posture became defensive as I braced myself for the worst-case scenario.

Looking down, however, all I saw was a child with short, brown hair, a yellow shirt with a blue stripe, matching blue overalls, and brown boots. Their eyes were brown, but I could see a hint of red close to their pupils. Rosy cheeks decorated their face.

They looked like a Chara to me. It seemed to me like my portal abilities were a little off. Oh well.

My posture loosened up for the most part, still a little tense and awkward due to my lack of mental preparation when it came to talking to anybody but the voices.

“Oh, uh, hello there…” I smiled anxiously. “What are you doing here?”

“Exploring.”

“Nice,” I responded plainly, trying my best to keep my tone from shifting outside that of casual small talk.

“Hey, you look kind of like somebody I know! His name is Sans.”

“Oh, do I?” I tried my best to feign surprise, but the child I assumed was a Chara variant didn't seem to fall for it.

“Yeah! Here,” the child grabbed one of my sleeves with their smaller hand, “We should go meet him! I bet you'd like him!”

“Well, I don't know, I'm kind of busy–”

They tugged at my sleeve. “C'mon…please? You don't look busy.”

I glanced in a random direction, hoping the voices could help.

“Hey, who knows? It could be fun. Give it a try.”

“don't make the kid sad!!”

“You can leave at any time if something goes wrong.”

I sighed. “Alright, alright…take me away, then.”

I let out a yelp as the child began to run, my sleeve still in their hand. I felt myself almost fall on my face, yet somehow I caught myself. “Hey! Slow down!” The kid didn't seem to hear me. Either that, or they ignored me. As we approached civilization, I quickly used my free hand to pull my hood over my head. Various houses, buildings, and people almost seemed to fly past us as we rushed by.

Finally, we stopped. I quickly saw the building next to us as I regained my composure.

It looked to be about two stories high, with bricks painted a light purple. It wasn't quite the wooden cabin that would usually be found in Snowdin. Despite the place’s seemingly cold atmosphere at first glance, I quickly discovered that it was given a warm sense of life with various decorations scattered about the house, like the colorful Christmas lights that outlined where the edges of the roof were and a sign hung on the door with “Bone Is Where The Heart Is” carved into it.

My posture shifted as I easily became uneasy by the second. The child seemed to notice this, as they quickly spoke up about it.

“What's wrong?”

“I don't know about this…wouldn't they be…well…suspicious of a stranger suddenly being at their house? I don't think the more serious brother would be so welcoming…”

The child looked like they were about to ask a question, but quickly decided against it as a skeleton, about my height, opened the door.

He appeared to be a Swap variant, wearing a large blue cape with constellation patterns littering its deep blue coloration. The rest of his outfit, including a t-shirt, gloves, pants, and boots, were all blue as well, with yellow accents that matched the cape.

“HELLO, HUMAN!” His voice was loud and booming, which caused me to flinch. “DID YOU MAKE A NEW FRIEND?” His eyelights scanned my form, seemingly making sure I meant no harm.

Chara nodded vigorously, a smile spreading across their face. “Yeah! This is…” They looked at me. “What's your name?”

Oh.

I glanced away, a hint to the voices. “Um…”

“go with error for now. you never know if youll decide to change your mind about acting like yourself later.”

“...Error.”

The Swap variant reached out to me, offering a handshake. I accepted tentatively, giving him a nervous smile.

“IT'S NICE TO MEET YOU! I'M SANS. SAY, I'VE NEVER SEEN YOU AROUND.”

I mentally scrambled to think of an excuse.

“Oh, yeah, um, you see, I just…don't go out much. Not really the most social person.”

“I SEE…IN THAT CASE, I COULD BE YOUR SECOND FRIEND!”

“Oh! …Really? I mean, we just met, and–”

“I MEAN IT. YOU SEEM LONELY. I BELIEVE THAT EVERYONE DESERVES A FRIEND OR TWO!”

I let out a short chuckle as I grabbed my scarf again. “Thanks.”

Sans stepped to the side, holding the door open for us. He used his free arm to motion us inside. “COME ON IN! I'M ALMOST DONE WITH SOME TACOS. FORTUNATELY, I MADE EXTRA THIS TIME!”

Chara eagerly entered the skeleton brothers’ home. I tagged along right behind them, scanning the area out of curiosity. As I sat down on a chair in the dining room, I tapped my fingers on the table in front of me.

After a series of noises from plates colliding with each other harshly to what sounded like plastic packaging being torn to shreds, Sans finally strutted into the room, holding two plates with tacos atop them, one in each hand, and carefully set them down in a smooth motion that would make a waiter at a restaurant blush. “BONE-APPETIT!” He punned, eliciting another smile from me.

As Chara began to dig into the taco, I reached towards it but froze.

…The tongues.

I shook my head, grabbing the taco. Why would those be a problem? I doubted they would act on instinct. If anything, I could use them to mess with people…

That final thought made my smile return as I took a small bite out of the taco. It had burger patty meat, cheddar cheese, lettuce, green onions, and sour cream inside its crunchy tortilla shell.

I let out a satisfied noise as the ingredients and flavors melted in my mouth, seemingly dissolving inside it and giving me a refreshing wave of energy that felt similar to the stuff I used for the portal or the bones. Magical energy, I promptly dubbed it. I knew the name wasn't that original, but I didn't really care.

“PAPS!! THE TACOS ARE READY!! GET OUT OF YOUR ROOM!!” Somehow, Sans yelled even louder than usual.

I continued to eat the taco, relishing in its flavor. It was quite similar to the tacos my dad used to make for me a few years ago, minus the green onions and lettuce.

A muffled “coming” could be heard from another part of the house, followed by a collection of soft footsteps. A taller skeleton shuffled into the room, wearing an outfit with the same colors as his brother's. He wore a blue hoodie with yellow sleeves and a fluffy hood, navy-blue shorts, and a pair of matching sneakers.

His relaxed demeanor momentarily faltered as he gave me a brief suspicious glare while I stuffed my face with another bite of taco. I gave him a nervous wave before his gaze shifted to his brother.

“who's this?” He stuffed over to the free seat on the table, which was on the other side of mine.

“A NEW FRIEND! THE HUMAN BROUGHT HIM HERE TO MEET US. HE'S VERY NICE!”

Papyrus scanned me one last time before his expression softened. “if ya say so, bro.” He took a bite out of the taco that sat in front of him. Oddly, Sans hadn't eaten any tacos–did he even make one for himself? I wasn't sure.

I thanked Sans for the food as I (swallowed? dissolved? consumed?) the final bite of the taco. He gave me a thumbs up and a “YOU'RE WELCOME!” in response. Soon after, I got up, pushing the chair I sat on back into the table.

“I'm sorry, but I really need to go. I have some things I need to do.”

Sans nodded understandingly as Papyrus continued to eat his taco.

“Aww, already? There's so much stuff left for us to do, though!” Chara complained, a slight pout on their face.

“Yeah…Again, I'm sorry. If things go well, though, I should be back soon!” I looked at Sans. “Thanks for the hospitality, I appreciate it.” He nodded, his huge smile not shifting in the slightest.

“YOU'RE WELCOME! IT'S THE LEAST I CAN DO FOR A NEW FRIEND.”

I walked over to the door, saying my goodbyes as I turned the doorknob and left. After a few minutes of walking, I found an alleyway where I was able to create a portal back to the Anti-Void from.

I stretched my arms contentedly as I walked through.

“Ahh…that went better than I expected it to.”

“Yeah!”

“Wait A Second…”

“jupiter? theres somebody behind you.”

“What–”

I turned around to see Chara once more. Deja-vu.

“…SH–”

The voices cried out in outrage.

“–HOOT. Shoot! What are you doing here!? It's not safe for you here!” Chara looked around, puzzled.

“It isn't? It doesn't look like anything's here to hurt me.”

“But that's the point! Oh, God, I don't know what'll happen if you stay here for too long…We need to get you back home as soon as possible!”

I frantically opened another portal, immediately noticing that it was an Underfell. Closing that portal, I tried again, only to see an Underground caked in monster dust.

Many attempts after were met with failure. Only once did I see the starry skies of an Outertale, and it was a regular variant, not an Outerswap.

Finally, I sighed loudly, my posture becoming a resigned slouch.

“What were those places? Other planets?”

My anxiety spiked further. My voice wavered and distorted more than usual, shifting in pitch at random. “…Yeah, let's just say that. It's…easier.”

My voice seemed to catch Chara off guard. “Sheesh, are you okay? You…”

“I'm fine. Just voice cracks.” I felt my glitches intensify slightly as I crossed my arms. I turned around, giving Chara a nervous smile and a thumbs up. I could practically see their thought process on their expressive face as they seemed to shrug it off.

“Well, if you say so.” They still remained a little suspicious, but it seemed like they didn't want to pry. Thank God for that…

“Okay, um, hold on–”

“Focus.”

“I'm trying. Shut up.” I waved with one of my hands dismissively, as if the voice was a bug.

“Who are you talking to?”

I felt another spike of glitches, a little more severe than the last, wrack my body before coming up with something on the spot.

“Uh, myself.”

I tried my best to focus once more, attempting to block out the voices until I could finally portal to the right AU. I opened another portal.

However…

“Chocolate?”

Wait, really?

I squinted.

Yup.

“Chocolate!?” Chara ran up to the portal. I stretched out my arm, a motion to stop them from going further.

“LOL???? THEY SOUND LIKE THE CHOCOLATE GUY FROM SPONGEBOB???”

…Oh my God. They did.

Wait, they could hear–

“Hey! We have to go there!”

“Well, I don't know–”

“C'mon! It's chocolate! I know it is! Who doesn't like chocolate!?”

I sigh. For whatever reason, chocolate sounded very good at that moment.

“Well, you got me there. Just make sure to be quiet, and stay hidden. Who knows what could be on the other side?”

They nodded vigorously, running through the portal. This place appeared to be a variant of the woods near Snowdin, made of chocolate. The ‘snow’ was made of tiny white chocolate pieces, the bark of trees was made of dark chocolate, the ground made of…perhaps cookie crumble..? Either way, this place looked delicious. Chara immediately started chowing down on a tree.

“huh never heard of this au before”

“me neither,” I mumbled, making sure I was quiet enough so Chara couldn't hear me as I scooped up a handful of ‘snow’, “but i'm not opposed to it…i explode if i don't have dessert after a meal, anyway.”

“Explode!?”

“r u ok, jupiter???”

“…metaphorically.” I specified before letting out a small, satisfied noise while I shoved some of the false snow into my mouth. “Hmm. This tastes better than I thought it would.”

I wondered if this meant a fragment of Error was still…there. Likely not, I concluded, as it could easily be a change in taste buds. An odd thought, indeed, but one I'd have to get used to along with everything else.

“I know, right!?” Chara yelled whilst chewing on bark. “This place is paradise…” They took another bite of the bark they tore off.

I wasn't sure how much time went by as Chara and I stuffed our faces with candy. The voices murmured to themselves as we did so, but I was too focused on how good everything tasted to listen to them. If I had spit, I was sure my mouth would be watering. The flavor was almost enchanting; a perfect balance of sweetness, bitterness, richness, and salt.

Suddenly, I heard an odd, melodic whistling noise. I could see Chara turn their head to stare at it at the same time I did. The sound of the voices was muffled, but they seemed panicked.

Was it a person making that noise? My vision of the whistling object was almost a strange blur, as if I didn't have my glasses on. I knew I did, however, when I reached up to feel them.

The whistling object looked…appetizing. Was it alive?

“JUPITER.”

I supposed I'd have to find out.

“JUPITER!!! SNAP OUT OF IT!!!”

“You need to leave right now, this place is dangerous.”

“open a portal below you before you two eat a person!”

Shit!

I leaped at Chara before quickly opening a portal below us. I had no time to think of a specific place to go to before we went through, landing in snow.

Real snow this time, thank God.

I had my arms wrapped around the child. Their pupils, which looked a little too dilated moments ago, returned to their regular size. I quickly let go of them, getting up and surveying our surroundings. They simply stayed on the ground, disoriented.

“...What was that.” I didn't know how to process what just happened. The glitches made themselves known once more.

“there was an enchantment of some sort on the candy. i think. idk.”

“Whatever It Was, It Seemed To Do Something Strange To You!”

“i'm glad you got out of there. ty, loud voice!”

“YOU'RE WELCOME!!!!!!”

“Bro you almost ate somebody”

The sound of the so-called ‘loud voice’ made me flinch. Well, it wasn't like the other voices were wrong…

Wait, hold on, I was getting distracted!

“Wait, WHAT!?” Ohhh, shit. Fuck. A person!?

“yea…”

“Shush! Don't attract attention! If even we had no clue what AU that was, then who knows what else could be out there!?”

Oh.

I heard a noise, followed by a groan. Chara was waking up. I didn't even know they were unconscious in the first place?

“Ow…” They held a hand to their forehead as they sat up.

“Let's…not do that again. Where are we, anyway?”

“It looks like a Fell AU”

“yup, red sky in snowdin.”

I turned around, the cold breeze sending a shiver up my spine as I came to a realization.

It's empty.

Abandoned. Particles of dust and snowflakes were almost indistinguishable from one another. Bones impaled various structures around the area.

Footsteps in the distance. I turned around.

A human child, covered in dust with a knife in hand.

I looked back at Chara. They looked frozen in fear, like a deer in headlights. They knew what the dust meant.

The footsteps, suddenly, became faster.

Faster.

I didn't waste any more time.

Once more, I ran to Chara, opening another portal and dragging them through it with me.

I tripped on my own foot. Right before the portal shut, I heard something fly right by where my head just was. It landed on the floor of the Anti-Void with a clatter.

Oh. We're back. Finally. Took me long enough. I rolled over onto my back before sitting up, eye sockets wide.

Chara stared at me in shock. Their expression alone told me everything I needed to know.

“I'm…so, so sorry! I didn't want to…put you in danger like that.” I hoped they would understand what I said, as my voice shook and stuttered at an almost-constant rate. They seemed to get the gist of it, nodding understandingly.

“It's okay! I…think I'm ready to go home. Are all other worlds that scary?”

“No, no…” I opened another portal, “We just got…unlucky, that's all.” The AU on the other side looked like Chara’s original home, but I couldn't know for sure yet. “Stay here, alright? I'll scout ahead and see if this is your world or not.” They nodded wordlessly as I stepped through the portal, finding myself back in the alleyway. A decently-sized group of monsters wandered about, calling Chara's name. Seemed like it was.

I let Chara follow me through the portal. They held out their hand, offering for me to hold it. I accepted their offer, wondering if they did so to comfort the both of us. Maybe, maybe not.

As we got to the end of the alleyway, I stopped.

“Are we still friends?”

They nodded, eliciting a small smile from me. “I know you didn't mean it. You said earlier that you're still learning.”

“Thank you. Go on ahead. I'll see you later. I gotta catch a break at home.”

They let go of my hand, walking away. They looked back at me and waved goodbye. I responded in kind, then went back into the Anti-Void. As soon as the portal closed, I let out a huge sigh.

What a long day, if it even was a full one. Time in the Multiverse was probably very strange.

“where are we headed next?”

[yearningaces]

Good question!

It takes weeks.

Buying the old mansion was worth the sheer amount of time you were spending fixing and cleaning and repairing and arranging- all by yourself!

Sage -your partner- kept to their own, occasionally moving from the room you were working in so they could keep writing in peace. Their book -a romance no less- was important to them, and that was fine.

You could take care of your new home anyways.

In a way it was a sort of prideful thing. After a life of never having anything that was yours, for you, not leftovers to be thrown away, scraps, hand-me-downs, or whatever had been forced into your hands? You were ecstatic with this home.

It showed as you worked as well. Cleaning baseboards, and beautiful dark varnish wooden designs, from the archways to the stairs to the banister.

The realtor said this place was hand made hundreds of years ago, and what a piece of art it was. And you often said so.

When cleaning the cabinets, you found small yet intricate carvings in the wood, resembling vines and flowers in the corners of the cabinet doors, you'd gushed about it for the rest of the day.

When you'd cleaned out the soot covered fireplace, cleaning the old equipment, and placing it all back- you noticed how the metal shines beautifully and how the stonework was so delicately placed to form the spherical shapes, even the wooden mantle was crafted with care.

This house was a labor of love, and it was yours to love now.

So you did- And the house noticed.

The first few days were tentatively silent other than the music you'd turn on while cleaning, or the typing of Sage's keyboard.

After the first week, you realized something, you never had to open a door. If you needed to leave a room it would just be open. If you wanted to be in a room the door was closed before you could turn around. No creaking joints, no slam, no gust of wind. It simply was.

It was unnerving at first, but the best way to not be afraid was to act like you weren't and keep going. So you'd pass through the opened doors with a pat to the solid wooden doorframe. Sometimes saying a quiet 'thanks' whenever going into a room, knowing the door would be closed when you turned.

It never happened around Sage. And if you brought it up you might freak them out, so you kept quiet. No need to disturb the peace you've found and they've tentatively agreed on.

Then it was your chair.

Well- that is to say the chair that was left in the house that you claimed as your own.

In that office you'd found, halfway hidden through the library, there was a velvety chair, plush, dark red, old, and so sturdy it was a chair built to last. After cleaning it, it was a wonderful sitting spot when you were tired.

The issue was, the chair might be haunted?

You didn't know exactly, it wasn't being rude, it was just... There.

In the office, in front of the fireplace when you were tired. You'd set a drink on the side table, maybe open one of the many old books you'd found in the house and read. Maybe even nap.

Except now, it followed you.

Not visibly, of course. But if you showed signs of exaustion, especially when cleaning the lovely house of yours, you'd take a step back, your legs bumping into something behind that throws you off balance and you land in the chair. The large, heavy one that would need two people to move.

The first time, it understandably freaked you out, you jumped out of it, turned, and it was gone again. In the office.

Next time you never took your hand off it as you got up, to turn and see it still there. Until you looked away with your hand off of it, and the chair was gone again.

So you accepted you had a chair that would just appear when you were tired.

Then... More began happening.

Lights would turn on and off for you, in any room, even if you don't say it, as soon as you reach for the switch, it would do it itself.

Dishes would arrange themselves at your table, setting the entire dining room table when it was just you and Sage living there.

The old record player you found would start playing a new record if you were in the room, especially if you were working on anything.

If you were making a meal for yourself, the chair at the head of the table would be pulled out by the time you made it to the table.

It only happened when you were alone.

As if the very house tried to avoid interaction with anyone except for you.

You wonder how long it would stay this way... and what more would happen once the house grew more comfortable.

[kalcifers-blog]

Angst warning, fic below!

Marvin: sun help here

It had been 18 minutes since Marvin message them for help. Of course the day they went out of town something happened.

Marv doesn't ask for help, keeping things close to his chest. Taking what he needs without telling anyone. Sunday couldn't tell if Marvin did that to protect himself or others. They just knew that Marvin wouldn't do the things he does if not to help someone.

But Marv now called for their help, for once, and there was no way they weren't going to respond.

The door was unlocked when they reached there, the closed sign displaying proudly. Perfect for privacy. Horrible if you need aid. They rushed into the place.

"Marvin I'm here! I would have come sooner if- shit"

The place was a mess, books scattered, furniture in the wrong place, spoons and forks from the kitchen everywhere, and Sunday could feel the discharge of electrical energy magic in the air in the dark place. But what was worse was the silence. They approached the stairs with caution that now seemed a lot steeper. Their hands at the ready if they needed to defend themselves.

"I'm coming up" They announced to no one. Which made them realise they hadn't yet heard the chimes of Higgins' bell. They slowly scaled towards the top.

If they thought downstairs was bad, upstairs was horrific. Books were not only everywhere but torned a shred. Soil proceeded from shattered pots as the house plants decayed. Signs of struggle everywhere they looked. They could hear their heart in their ears, which began to pound as they looked to the far left of the room.

Blood.

It was only a spot, but a spot was too much. Was it some sort of intruder? Who's blood was it? Marvin isn't weak. They started searching everywhere on the floor. Should they inform the Magic Circle? This has to be something worse. They were turning over anything that could cover a human person. Why can't they hear that bell. Why can't they hear Marvin. Where is Marvin-

They could hear breathing. From down a corridor. Shallow breaths. Long shallow breaths. Breaths of someone who just remembered they could control their breathing. Who was it? Did they see them? Sunday clutched the Bear carved figure around their neck, preparing to rip out a more intense spell if they needed to. Should they speak up? But if it was the intruder they would just be alerting their position. They stalked towards the breathing, feet dragging along the wooden floor. The breath continues, identifying it as coming from an ajar door. It seemed like a trap, a temptation. But they need to know if it was Marvin, and if not him, who did this to him. They grabbed the side of the door as their heart seemed to scream.

They didn't know if it was relief or terror they felt. A mix of both? Clawing inside of them at once.

Marvin's chest rose in rhythm, painted in his own blood. His eyes weren't focused, but opened. Bruises were across his fists and face. He was leaning against the wall on the floor, his legs outwards across the wood as weird, though fortunately normal, angles. He looked exhausted. He looked like shit. He looked like he wouldn't be able to get up alone. They could still feel that leftover electrical magic in the air. They crouched down.

"Marvin, damn, here, let me get you-"

Marvin's eyes snapped towards their own when they reached to touch him. Now suddenly alert of what was happening before him. He had an unreadable expression as he stared at Sunday. Sunday felt like they were being analysed. They continued to stare at each other. Tension was weighing down on them. Was Marvin disappointed in them? For not coming sooner? Or could he not tell it was them? Should they say they're Sunday? Or would that be confusing right now? They should say something, anything at all.

"At least you're not dead?"

Why did they say that. That's the best they could come up with? That was stupid.

They heard a muffled laugh.

Maybe not that stupid.

"Yeah, I at least have that" Marvin giggled, but the sound was strained, his throat sounding too sore. From chanting spells? From screaming? Regardless it would be straining the wound.

"Glad to see you can respond." Sunday muttered, smiling. It was nice to know that Marvin was conscious enough to make a quip. That it wasn't too bad, that they weren't too late. They went to reach for Marvin again, only for then to be stared down again. With eyes that seem to say don't.

"I'm fine."

"Like hell you're fine." Sunday barked. "You're covered in blood with an open wound."

"I've had worse... Probably."

"That doesn't make this any less bad Marv."

They stayed in their respective positions in silence for a while. Marvin once again looked Sunday over. They knew Marvin probably wouldn't react well if they reached for him again.

"I'm getting the first aid kit." Sunday decided. They could heal the wounds with spes but they needed to make sure there would be no infections. There was no protest from Marvin. Sunday got up to complete their self-appointed task.

"Where's Higgins?" They called across the floor as they grabbed the kit from it's place in the washing room cabinet. Taking out bandages and creams.

"Probably hiding." Marvin dismissed.

"You don't know?"

"They're fine." Marvin seemed to deadpan as Sunday returned. Which was not the only off-putting thing Marvin had done so far. He was trying to get up, and succeeded, despite the evident pain it was causing to his body. They were surprised the agony didn't seem to register in Marvin's face. Not to mention the action was opening the injury even more. The injury that they now had a much needed better view of.

"How the hell are you still talking?" Sunday query, as he stared at the injury that was the source of all of Marvin's blood. A gash. A large gash, across Marvin's neck, crimson pouring out of it. But Marvin had no reaction to it. They couldn't tell how deep the cut went, only that someone shouldn't be speaking with it.

Instead of replying Marvin shrugged. Humming instead.

He should not be standing.

"Did you try to heal yourself?" Sunday asked.

The wound was too deep, the more Sunday looked, the worse the injury seemed. Marvin was staring at them blankly again, analysing them again. He wasn't replying now.

"Marvin...?"

He wasn't replying. Something was very wrong.

"...Marv?"

They didn't see the knives downstairs. They saw the one coming for his throat.

"Shit!" They conjured a spell

They found the intruder.

GOD THIS IS SO GOOD HOLY SHIT???

Anti if that's you and you do a THING to Sunday it's hands on sight

Actually incredible tho I am EATING this up sm

[oohnotvery]

Throwing Good After Bad (Chapter 8)

Mulder

They take Evan’s truck up to the property, packing in like sardines. With his long legs, Mulder finds himself forced into the passenger seat by an insistent Lydia, who has gotten much more talkative since their walk on the beach. He glances over his shoulder to check on Scully in the backseat and sees Joe’s thigh pressed against hers, his hand draped possessively over her knee.

Mulder lifts his gaze to catch Scully’s eye and her eyes flit meaningfully over to Lydia, who has her arms draped around the back of his seat like a lovesick teenager. His fake wife ruffles his hair fondly and Mulder forces a tight smile at the gesture.

The ride up the mountain jolts him to attention and he grimaces as he bounces around the truck’s tight cabin. The drive takes about half an hour, which is much longer than Mulder had anticipated, but the pothole-dented road is curvy, narrow, and steep, and Evan has to take the trek slowly.

The sun is beginning to set over the island when the road finally evens out onto gravel, then onto paved cement. They approach a tall, imposing iron gate hemmed in on two sides by a poorly-constructed brick wall, and a man standing at the entrance opens the gate to usher them in.

Against the darkening horizon, Mulder can’t make out many features of the community as they enter onto the property, but he spies rows and rows of homes constructed along a set of interconnected streets.

They drive past the homes and further up the mountain until they come to a large, wooden lodge. A hand-carved sign out front signals that they’ve reached the Black Sands Community Center. Mulder glances back at Scully and sees her drinking in the details as eagerly as he is. To his annoyance, Joe’s hand still rests on her knee.  

Evan throws the truck into park and they jump out, following him single-file into the building.

And his jaw drops. He’s not sure what he expected to find inside, but this certainly isn’t it. He shoots Scully a look and finds her staring wide-eyed at the scene before them.

People are . . . dancing. Raucously. Wildly. Exuberantly. Inside the lodge’s wide, open lobby, there seems to be a Black Sands dance party going on.

Evan throws them all an excited grin.

“Did I not mention we’re celebrating tonight?” he asks with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“Celebrating what?” Scully asks skeptically.

Evan bumps her arm teasingly. “Our new visitors, of course!”  

Scully’s eyes widen further in anticipation.

“And dinner?” Joe asks, glancing warily at the dancers. It’s a fair question, and for a moment, Mulder doesn't completely hate him. None of them has eaten since their lunchtime PB&J sandwiches.

Evan nods magnanimously. “Dinner first,” he promises, and gestures towards a seating area in the back, where Mulder notices for the first time a series of long wooden tables lined with folding chairs.

Dinner is a buffet of green beans, salad, mashed potatoes, and some sort of meat that Evan claims is chicken but that Scully warns Mulder not to touch.

“The last thing we need here is food poisoning,” she grumbles under her breath. He notices with a hint of smugness that she doesn’t bother warning the other two agents.

Mulder is about to ask whether any of the dancers will be joining them for dinner when an elderly couple approaches their table, their faces bright with big smiles.

“Welcome to the Black Sands,” the man says, extending a hand to Mulder, then to Joe. He nods his head politely at Scully and Lydia but doesn’t shake their hands. Although Scully does her best to act unruffled by the affront, Mulder knows she detests such blatantly obvious sexism.  

Mulder introduces himself and Lydia as Floyd and Lauren, and Joe follows suit with his own introductions.

“I’m Harlan, and this is my wife, Jules,” the man says, his dark brown eyes crinkling at the edges. Jules takes a seat next to Scully and places a wizened hand on her arm.

“Your hair is so beautiful, my dear,” Jules says, and Scully smiles a polite thanks.

If Mulder had been asked to describe what members of the Black Sands Community would look like, he would have projected that their appearance would mirror the Amish—flowing dresses, long, uncut hair, caps covering the head.

But Jules and Harlan couldn’t be further off from that. In fact, they look more like Grandma and Grandpa decided to take a beach vacation and then far overstayed their welcome. They each have sun-darkened skin, excessive wrinkles around the eyes and mouth, and long, silvery hair tied into matching ponytails. Jules wears a colorful sarong, her full, unsupported breasts precariously close to coming out of the top. Harlan sports a white tank top and board shorts, like he’s ready for a surfing session at the drop of a hat. They’re both completely barefoot, as are most of the dancers on the floor.   

Evan slots in beside Mulder. “These are the community leaders,” he explains enthusiastically.

Mulder glances at Scully. Ah, so these are the people who lost their grandchildren, he thinks.

Harlan gives Evan a squeeze on his shoulders and a kiss to the top of the head before slotting in on Scully’s other side, scooting Lydia out of the way. He grins wickedly at both women.

“I rarely get the chance to sit between two beautiful women,” he says, and Mulder can’t decide if it’s sleazy or if the man is just an old, careless grandpa.

With Jules and Harlan flanking Scully, Mulder can barely get a word in edgewise to his partner. The community leaders seem overly curious about her, peppering her with dozens of questions about her career, her life, her husband. At one point, Scully almost calls Joe by his real name and Mulder watches her clumsily recover by shoving a bunch of potatoes in her mouth.

He shoots her an encouraging look and bumps her foot under the table. It’s a good thing they’re not interrogating him; he barely spent five minutes with the briefing, choosing to spend the plane ride sulking rather than studying.

Joe makes a decent effort to interject into the conversation to ask Jules and Harlan about themselves, but the older couple are overbearing to the point of frustration. When Mulder decides Scully’s had enough of the one-sided questioning, he stands and stretches.

Everyone stares up at him in surprise and he shoots a charming smile at the table. “I think it’s time we get in on that dancing action, no?”

Jules seems instantly pleased by the suggestion and Harlan rises, plucking Scully up by the shoulders and steering her towards the dance floor, ignoring her protests. Mulder punches Joe in the arm.

“Go get your wife,” he growls to the other man, and Joe nods dutifully, embarrassment coloring his cheeks.

In the end, Joe makes only a half-hearted effort to recover Scully, who endures one dance with Harlan before excusing herself to the restroom.

As Jules shows Scully where the bathroom is, Lydia tugs on Mulder’s arm. He glances down, wondering when he’ll stop being surprised that she exists and expects things of him.  

“Dance with me?” she asks, her eyes turning dreamy. Does she understand this is an investigation and not a dating club?

He hesitates, glancing towards the bathroom. He wants to check on Scully, but he knows he needs to keep up their façade. With one last look towards the ladies’ room, he agrees and tugs Lydia onto the floor.

**

Lydia is dancing with someone from the community and Mulder is overly thankful for the break. He’s got one hand in his pocket and the other holding onto a glass of water, pretending he’s refreshing himself while really he studies the dance floor.

Joe finally took it upon himself to rescue Scully from Jules and Harlan, and they’ve been dancing together for the past twenty minutes. Scully looks relatively comfortable in Joe’s arms, which is just as well. Something about the way Harlan was pursuing her gave Mulder the creeps.

In fact, something about the way everyone is pursuing Scully is giving him the creeps. As his eyes flit across the dance floor, he takes in the way most of the men—and even some of the women—are staring at her. He knows better than most people just how beautiful his partner is, but he’s a little taken aback by the attention she’s getting. He wonders if it’s bothering her and wishes he could ask her to dance, just to check in on her. Being both this close to her and this far away is making him a little crazy.

As his eyes continue to rove around the room, he pauses over a table in the back corner. Evan, Harlan, and Jules sit around the table, heads bent together. It’s curious, he admits, how close Evan seems to the community leaders. He’s making a mental note to keep a closer eye on Evan when their guide stands, smiles down at Jules and Harlan, and then makes a beeline for Scully and Joe.

Mulder takes a step closer to the dancers, his fist clenching around the water glass in his hand. He watches as Evan interrupts their dance and asks for Scully’s hand. His partner accepts with a slight nod, and for the first time on this goddamn trip, Mulder wishes Joe would just take her in his arms and drag her away for some kind of heavy petting session.

His eyes are glued so tightly to Scully as Evan leads her around the floor that he once again fails to notice that Lydia has stepped up to his side.

“Come on, Floyd,” she says with an eager smile, removing the cup from his hand and dragging him onto the dance floor.

His eyes flit between Lydia and Scully, who is looking increasingly more uncomfortable in Evan’s arms. Lydia runs her hands up his arms and squeezes his shoulders demandingly, momentarily capturing his attention.  

“So, what do you think about this place so far?” she’s asking, but he can hardly concentrate on her words. Evan has drawn Scully closer into his chest, and Mulder can tell she is actively trying to pull away from him.

“Floyd?” Lydia interrupts.

His eyes flash back down to Lydia. “Sorry, what?”

An aggravated furrow appears between her brows. “I said, what do you think about the community? Nefarious or not?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know, Lydia—”

“Lauren,” she hisses, pinching his arm. He winces at the contact and glances back up at Scully, but she and Evan have moved out of sight. Grabbing Lydia around the waist, he shuffles her around the floor until they come back into view.

Scully is now biting her lip and has one hand clenched tightly into a fist. She glances around the room until she spies him and her eyes widen meaningfully.

She needs help.

Quickly, his eyes dart across the room until he finds Joe. He catches the other man’s eyes and signals for him to come over. Disentangling himself from Lydia, Mulder gives her a quick peck on the cheek and then turns her over to Joe.

“I’m going to check on your wife,” he tells Joe with a meaningful look Scully’s direction. “Will you occupy mine for a little bit?”

Confused but compliant, Joe and Lydia fall into each other’s arms and Mulder trots up to Scully. He taps Evan on the shoulder and the man glances up at him expectantly.

“Sorry, Evan, but you’ll forgive me if I interrupt for just one dance,” he says as charmingly as he can. “Besides my Lauren, of course, Danielle here is the best two-stepper on the west coast.”

Scully’s eyebrows fly to her hairline before her face dissolves into a grateful smile that she hides by ducking her head.

Evan shoots him a tight but courteous smile before dragging his hands off Scully’s body. Mulder steps into her immediately and slips an arm across her waist and takes her hand in his. He gives her a quick once-over and her eyes tell him that something is wrong, but I’m okay, so he draws her closer into his chest until they’re dancing cheek-to-cheek.

“Tell me what’s going on,” he murmurs in her ear. Joe and Lydia pass them on the floor and he gives Lydia a wink. She all but scowls at him.

“He was giving me the creeps, Mulder,” Scully whispers, her hand momentarily tightening against his bicep.

“How so?” he asks. He trusts each and every one of Scully’s instincts, but he wants more information.

She pulls away just enough to meet his eyes. He dips his head lower, unable to keep the concern off his features. Scully’s eyebrows crease.

“Everyone is staring at me,” she says nervously.

“I noticed.”

“I think they want something from me.” She hesitates, licking her lips. “Something bad.”

Instinctually, he tightens his hold on her. “Nothing bad will happen to you,” he promises, his voice dropping.

She nods, but her eyes are unfocused.

“What did Evan say to you?” he prompts.

She shakes her head and her hair brushes his chin. “Nothing,” she says, eyes flitting to his. “That’s the thing. He’s been perfectly nice. But I feel—uneasy about him. Like something is off.”

He stops dancing and glances around the room quickly. Whether by instinct or out of habit, they have danced their way into a secluded corner of the lodge where few people stand near them.

Don’t be possessive, he reminds himself as he stares down at his partner. But this feels different than it did with Joe. Maybe he overreacted and overstepped when it came to Scully’s fake husband, but she seems genuinely concerned here. It makes him instantly—and he thinks rightfully—protective.

Tipping her chin up with a finger, he encourages her to look at him. He instantly recognizes the look in her eyes: she’s worried.

“Do you feel unsafe?” he asks quietly.

She swallows and glances around the room. “People are staring, Mulder,” she mutters, turning her cheek so his hand slips off her face.

He clenches his fist into a tight ball. “I hate this, Scully,” he whispers angrily. “I hate that we can’t just have a conversation—”

“I know,” she says, holding up a hand. Her wet, blue eyes pin him to the wall momentarily before her gaze softens. “We can talk more at the cabin.”  

He works his jaw impatiently. “Alright. But stay close, okay? I think you’ve officially out-danced everyone here.”

At that, she sputters out a goofy laugh, just loud enough to reassure him that she’s not mad at him for getting overly protective this time. He reaches out a hand to guide her back towards the dance floor when she glances at him over her shoulder. He cocks his head questioningly.

She swipes her tongue across her lower lip and gives him an indecipherable look. “Just remember, Mulder,” she says somberly, “that all of this is just for looks.”

He pauses, letting her words sink in, then watches her waltz back onto the floor. She approaches Joe, tugs him away from Lydia, and then rises to her toes to press her lips to his cheek. A wide smile cracks across Joe’s face and Mulder looks away.   

Jaw clenching, he scuffs the toe of his shoe against the hardwood floor before making his way over to Lydia.

Apparently still frustrated with his inattentiveness, Lydia holds herself rigidly in his arms as they spin around the floor. It seems he can’t even make his pretend wife happy.

Half an hour later, Evan corrals them all back into the truck. Jules and Harlan wave a hearty goodbye to the gang, pausing to each give Scully a hug, which she returns with visible discomfort. They are all silent on the way down the mountain, the only noise the bump bump bump of tires on rocks.   

A heavy rain kicks up by the time they’ve reached the campsite, and Mulder briefly considers and then rejects the idea of asking Scully if she wants to do more surveillance tonight.

He falls onto the couch dejectedly, wondering how he’s going to make it through several more days of watching Scully pretend to be another man’s lover. He wishes he could just erase this entire trip from his memories.

But as the rain beats against the cabin’s tin roof, his mind wanders to darker, more insidious subjects. Why did Jules and Harlan take to Scully so strongly? And are Scully’s suspicions correct? Is Evan dangerous?

It’s two in the morning when he accepts the fact that he’s not going to sleep well knowing that Scully thinks something evil is afoot. Ignoring the beat of the rain against his brow, he trots across the campsite and over to Scully’s cabin, his gun holstered to his hip. He’ll keep her company tonight, just until sunrise.

He’s about to open the door to her cabin when he spies something in his periphery, towards the beach.

Lights.

[joels6string]

More Than My Father's Son

Joel Miller x f!OC

Chapter 11 - Rebuild What's Broken

Summary: Joel busies himself until the gates of Jackson open in the final week of January.

Rating: E

Word Count: 3.7k

Content: NSFW, high levels of violence normal to the TLOU world, angst, fluff, miscommunication trope (it’s Joel Miller…), slow burn, Joel’s traumatic childhood, getting together, smut, canon divergence after SLC, fix it fic

It wasn’t better this way, being apart, pretending like he didn’t want to cradle you against his chest while you slept and everything else that came with that feeling. He knew that now. But did you?

Chapter 10 || Series Masterlist

When did that clock get so fucking loud?

A halo of orange light circled the leather-bound journal Tommy had gifted Joel for Christmas on the old wooden table Joel called a workbench, pencil scratching against paper as he etched blueprint after blueprint until his hand and eyes ached from the strain. 

Through the winter, he’d turned the spare bedroom upstairs into a workshop, slowly filling in a small set of drawers with whatever bits and pieces of guitar hardware he could find. A music store a few miles away was raided after he and Tommy had cleared it of a few infected, a house up by the chalet was full of nails and screws, and he’d developed a good relationship with a guy up the road, Daryl, who traded him wood prepped for carving and sanding for half the haul of whatever Joel cut down and towed back. On top of patrols, Tommy had also roped him into the Great Jackson Renovation of 2035, which he was currently planning, touring every house and building to assess the repairs needed to keep it in good enough shape to last whatever the elements threw at them. 

“Thirty-six by…hundred and seventy-two…no that can’t be right…” he murmured to himself, the mug of coffee beside his right hand cold as a midnight dusting of snow floated through the air outside his window, “Seventy-two by a hundred-thirty-six.”

When he finally called it a night and slipped beneath the neatly tucked sheets of his bed the clock read 1:26 AM, the monsters of his dreams ready for their nightly feast. It was always the same now; Sarah was always the first to fall, her tiny body he could still remember the weight of in his arms crumpling to the ground, then Ellie who went down swinging, and finally you, with that forgiving smile and touch to his cheek. You always told him it was okay before you faded away, forgiving him in your final breath, and every day he woke with a scream.

“Ellie?” he called the following morning, gently rapping his knuckles on her front door, “Breakfast’s ready.”

“Okay!” she yelled from inside, “Be there in a sec!”

All he knew to do was work. Whether it was cooking new things, fixing the house, carving, building, fighting…anything that could keep his mind busy and unable to wander through the dangerous situations in his head. The restoration project had filled a large section of that void space, Tommy’s plan to keep him occupied working better than he’d like to admit. Maybe it kept some of the guilt he felt at bay. 

The two had been at odds in the days before you left. Joel was furious Tommy had approved it, though Tommy swore he had nothing to do with it. It wasn’t his call. You’d volunteered, and Maria had given the okay despite Tommy’s best attempts at keeping you here. There had never really been a good reason, only selfish ones. 

“Any sign of them yet?” Ellie asked as she sat at the small square table in the kitchen, a plate piled with eggs and toast in front of her.

“Not that I know of,” he replied with a sigh, walking right past the second empty plate set out for him and joining her, “Wanna help me today?”

“I’m on farming.”

“That a no?”

“Can you get me off farming?”

“I’m sure I can put in a good word.”

With Ellie in tow, Joel met up with Tommy at the church, tape measure and ladders out as a remodel was planned. It felt like the old days, Tommy’s ideas too extravagant and Joel’s too practical, the pair meeting in the middle on a design that was feasible, functional, and appealing. Maria had stopped by to see their progress, smiling ear to ear at the rough sketches Tommy had done. 

“What about like, you know space right here. For dancing,” Ellie chimed in, waving her hands around, “And a little stage over there in case anyone wants to play guitar or…or sing something.”

That comment had Joel smiling a little, teaching Ellie how to play had been some of the better moments of the last few weeks. She’d been getting the hang of the strings of the guitar he’d gifted her in the fall, pride swelling in his chest at just the thought. Tommy and Maria agreed with her idea, talking with her about any other thoughts she had while Joel’s mind wandered into a realm of fantasy. Your fingers in his hair, his arm around your waist, he’d never dreamed of dancing before, he’d loathed the very idea of it. But after the sight of your forest eyes gazing up at him as you led him through the movements, the memory plagued him. 

You’d granted him a second chance in a light snowfall when you’d both stepped out for some air as the credits had begun to roll the night before you’d left. Tommy’s Christmas carols of choice were heard even from outside, and though you hadn’t said a word to him since his plea you come back to him, you’d smiled when he’d asked for a hand.

“Still got some of those bad memories to replace…” he’d said, and you hadn’t been able to refuse. 

There had been space between you still, but considerably less than the first time he’d found your hand in his. There were less toes smashed, too—still a few, but not enough that had his face burning in frustration. You’d left after that, patting his chest once with a simple “I’ll see you soon,” a gaping hole ripping open where your hand had been as you faded from view. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to see you off, he knew himself well enough, there was no way he’d have let you go without a fight. 

“Earth to Joel!” Tommy’s voice thundered, “Can we build that?”

“Build what?” Joel replied, the three pairs of eyes locked on him rolling in unison.

Thursday brought the weekly night out at the Bison. Tommy and Maria along with Indy still met like clockwork, Joel begrudgingly agreeing to go just to keep his brother off his ass. He’d only ever gone for you, to get you out and making friends, to acclimate, but after a few months it was for the chance you’d need to slip behind him, your hand grazing over his back, shoulder, or arm. It sent a shiver down his spine every single time, he missed the feeling. A beer gone warm sat in front of him as Tommy lost at darts again, too tipsy to see straight enough, Seth celebrating another easy-won victory against the one man in Jackson who had decent perks to wager. This time, Seth managed to weasel a few extra bottles of scotch for his own personal stash. 

“Miller,” Indy called out, her newly-established girlfriend Sophia on her heels, “What’s it been now? We’re going into week six?”

The two women took the seats in front of him, clearly this corner hadn’t been dark enough to hide him. 

“I don’t know,” he grumbled, gagging down a sip from his glass, “Somethin’ like that.”

“As if you don’t have the days numbered on your calendar.“

It had been seven weeks and three days, four weeks exactly since last contact with Eugene when the group landed in Nevada. The anticipated return home was already a week later than expected. It had been gnawing away at him. Not that he had any expectations for your return, just the thought of you back safely in the gates was enough for him right now. The rest he could grapple with later. 

“I know they’re late,” Indy finally admitted, quieter, more reserved, “And I know you’re as panicked as I am.”

The muscle of his jaw twitched as it tightened, “Yeah.”

“Think they’re okay?”

“How should I know?”

His answer should have been softer, more empathetic, maybe he should have lied, but it fired off with his temper. He didn’t want to talk about this. The moment he let his mind entertain the possibility you were gone would be the end of the waning control he had over himself. Once that broke, the path back to the man sitting at this table wasn’t one he could navigate without a guide. Indy understood, nodding and staying planted in her seat as if she somehow knew he couldn’t be alone, uncaring of the callous words he just spewed at her. He’d have to save the bludgeoning guilt over the fact he didn’t deserve the care he got from the people around him for later. 

As soon as an acceptable departure time hit, he was walking the dark streets alone back home, the old desk lamp on the workshop table flicking on as he opted for sanding the body of his next guitar over doing the sketches and measurements Tommy had asked for. It could wait. He was being too rough, too fast, he knew he’d have to redo all the work he was doing tomorrow, but still, he couldn’t calm his movements, the wood taking the brunt of his frustrations. The table shook beneath his hands, his teeth grit together as the dust began to burn his eyes, the clattering of the frame that rest beside the light causing his hands to drop everything as he moved to right it. 

It was the only photo of you he had, that anyone had. Tommy had taken it from Seth, no doubt for a price. The summer sun had been still filtering in through the bar’s windows, you were seated beside him at one of the small tables near the dart boards, the true focus of the snapshot Tommy and Eugene in a heated game. That wasn’t what he was looking at. It was you listening intently to whatever he was droning on about. He couldn’t even remember what it was he was telling you, it probably wasn’t interesting, but the way you looked at him told otherwise. He wanted to go back, pay more attention to you, he hadn’t caught it at the moment, but instead he was here alone with nothing but the heavy weight of regret on his shoulders.

Despite sleeping alone, he only pulled back the right side of the sheets, as he did every night, grabbing the book on the bedside table to distract him until his eyelids grew too heavy to keep open. Except tonight, he couldn’t even concentrate on the page. Too much of the dam had weakened, at this point he was contemplating sleeping at all. It wouldn’t be worth it. He’d be up in two hours sweating and panting. 

“Joel!!!” He awoke with a jolt. “Joel!! Horses!! At the fucking gates!”

Ellie waited for him at the stoop, his jacket askew on his shoulders and your scarf around his neck as they took off towards the West gate. Tommy was already there, and Maria, Jesse and Seth as well as they awaited the group approaching. Joel’s stomach was tense, butterflies in a whirlwind; would you be happy to see him? Indifferent? He could handle either of those, but not disappointed. The time away likely worked against him, your own demons overtaking what little progress he’d made. It wasn’t better this way, being apart, pretending like he didn’t want to cradle you against his chest while you slept and everything else that came with that feeling. He knew that now. But did you?

In a sea of strange faces, he looked for the familiar. Eugene was there, chapped cheeks and wide eyes, Paulie too, who spotted Joel and quickly turned, and stranger after stranger marveling at the sights before them as he once had. The lights, the nostalgia of normalcy, it was captivating, but he didn’t care about them. 

“Joel,” Tommy called, Eugene pressed behind him, “Joel…”

“Where is she?” Joel asked, everything sinking, the butterflies dropping dead and heavy like shotgun casings, “Where the fuck is she?”

“Come over here.”

A gentle hand on his shoulder was roughly shoved off, ire rising as his face burned in rage.

“Tell me. Right now,” he demanded, “Right here.”

“She’s gone, Joel.”

Gone. 

“Ellie…” he mumbled, “Ellie, go with Maria…”

“What? No!” she argued, but Maria didn’t make him ask twice, wrapping her arm around the girl’s shoulders and pulling her away, “Joel!”

His feet trudged across the pavement, the scraping of the rocks and dirt beneath his boots like nails on a chalkboard as he tried to remember how to breathe. He was underwater, his limbs slow as they dragged against the resistance, his lungs refusing air, the sight of your bow in his brother’s hands like a bullet to the chest.

“Christ…” he gasped, his vision tunneling, a snarl ripping free from his chest as he took off in a feral lunge and gripped the assumed perpetrator by the jacket, “What did you do?! What the hell did you do?!”

Paulie was quivering, his hands grasping Joel’s as he blabbered incoherently, Tommy and Eugene quickly following and failing to pull the irate Joel from his trance. When a fist was raised, Tommy was too slow, Joel’s knuckles connecting with a jaw that buckled beneath the force, the yelp of agony that followed only fuel for another blow. He didn’t even notice the crimson staining his skin when Tommy finally got enough of a lock around him to send him hurtling backward to the ground, his spine and head impacting hard enough to have him groaning as his eyes came back into focus. Eugene and Jesse were helping Paulie, Tommy standing in the middle as if he stood a chance if Joel tried to advance again, his eyes flicking between each of the two men.

“You stay down, Joel!” Tommy was yelling, muffled and far away, the ringing in Joel’s ears making the words only half audible, “Stay the hell down. I mean it.”

“Or what?” Joel threatened, delirious and bloodthirsty, “You were never any match for me, boy.”

“Stay down, Joel. Please. I’m asking.”

Once on his hands and knees, he could see the fear dripping into his little brother’s eyes, his body turning towards Joel as he readied to block the next attack, Eugene still trying to drag Paulie into the nearest building before Joel could recuperate. Your bag was sitting two arm’s lengths away, the bow you’d carried for years discarded on the ground as if his very will to live wasnt tethered to that curved piece of wood. 

Dragging himself to your belongings, Tommy followed with a shuffle, easing only when Joel rose to his knees and clutched your prized weapon to his chest with trembling fingers as he stood. As reality came crashing down, one of his hands covered his mouth as the shock set in, Tommy’s empathetic grip falling to his shoulder without resistance this time. 

“I’m sorry, brother,” Tommy whispered, “I know you—“

“Don’t,” Joel warned; not that fucking word, “I wanna know what happened. All of it.”

“I don’t think that’s—“

“I wasn’t askin’!”

With a reassuring pat to his back, Tommy went to find Eugene, leaving Joel in the darkness he was unsure he could ever wade out of. 

“I can’t do this,” he muttered under his breath, “I can’t do this again. I can’t do it again… Please God, I can’t.”

But he had to. Just like before, he had a reason to keep going. Tommy. Ellie. Maria. Giving up wasn’t an option. He could fight for them. He had to. 

“Joel,” Tommy sounded, “sit down.”

“What?” Joel snapped, finding not only Eugene with Tommy, but Paulie, too, “Why is he here?”

“Sit. Down. Joel. The second you get up, it’s over.”

Now he understood what a caged animal felt like. All this pent up anger, the tensing of every muscle, the empty, hollow feeling in his gut, it was all here. He wanted to pace, relieve some of the pressure, but he did as he was told for Tommy’s sake and no other, his fiery gaze set upon the group towering over him as they surrounded him. 

“She was sick,” Eugene began, “pneumonia. We were five days from destination, I told her to hang on, we were almost to the medicine. I promised I’d get her home. Burning with a fever, coughing, whimpering with aches, it was… One morning I woke up and she was gone, all her things left behind. We checked everywhere. I swear. All day we searched, yelling her name, checking for tracks. They stopped at a river.

“We went back to the house we were in that night, thinking maybe she’d find her way back. By morning, we were…overrun. Horde. We had to leave and we assume that…well, that they got her before we did.”

“Christ…” How was reality worse than the scenarios in his head? “She’s out there.”

“Joel, no,” Tommy reasoned, “Joel…”

“You said all was well! When you checked in on the radio!” His mind couldn’t land on a thought, he was recalling every detail he knew, looking for a reason, a cause, a sign… You had looked pale the last night he’d seen you, your head had been warm, but he’d thought nothing of it. You were sick…

“We didn’t…want you to go out looking…” Eugene admitted, Joel barely able to suppress his anger.

“She’s out there,” he was mumbling to himself again, “She needs…help.”

“Joel.” It was Tommy’s turn to try and talk him down. “Don’t do this. Joel! God damnit!”

He was already halfway out the door by the time he was fully on his feet, he needed a horse, a few weapons, a map… Food he could find, the clothes on his back would do. The stables were thirty feet away, his horse was itching for a long trip, had to be, it had been awhile. 

“Joel! Listen to me. For once in your god damn fuckin’ life. Listen to me!” Tommy was still talking, it was like the buzzing of a gnat. “You know how this ends! That the last way you want to see her!?”

The light would be gone from your eyes, he knew that. If he could find you, and he would. He’d take down everything in his path til he did. He imagined you scared and alone as you waited to turn, too afraid to walk back and get your gun to end it in favor of Eugene and Paulie, and he owed it to you to do what you weren’t able to. It was the one thing you always made him promise, to end it before the turn. And he couldn’t keep it. But he could end it before your face was overtaken, your skin turned into a putrid Petri dish, and your limbs seized and contorted. He could save you before it got worse. 

“You don’t need to do this,” Tommy eased, taking advantage of the pause in Joel’s pursuit as he contemplated the next steps.

“Are you comin’ or no?” Joel finally asked, not turning to face his brother, his voice flat and lifeless. 

“Joel…Don’t do this.”

“Are you comin’ or no?”

“Joel, we got families here—“

“She is your family!”

With those words he whipped around, chest heaving once again, eyes begging for anything to hold on to. Tommy’s hands provided the support he needed to let the levee finally break, his little brother that had been forced to grow up too fast despite Joel’s best attempts at preserving every last bit of innocence providing the net once again that could keep him from falling.

The fur of Tommy’s collar was soft on Joel’s face as his brother pulled him into his arms, Joel accepting the embrace away from prying eyes. It was a reminder that despite his loss, he wasn’t alone. It was a confirmation he desperately needed that terrified him all the same. 

“You have been there for everything,” Joel finally began as he pulled away, letting vulnerability slip through the cracks, “Rebecca. Ma. Sarah.”

And I need you now. 

“Okay, Joel,” Tommy finally conceded, “Alright. I’m with you. Okay? I’m with you. Go home. Pack a bag. Meet me in an hour at the stables.”

Was he cursed? The past year had been nothing but carnage and death. Tess, Sam, Henry, was this his penance for pulling Ellie out of that hospital? Being around him was a death wish. As he passed the cemetary within eye sight of his house, he paused. Should he leave now? Was bringing Tommy along just another risk? He could make it back to the stables in thirty with his machete, shotgun, and revovler in hand. Not that he knew where he was going, and he sighed as he realized Tommy had left him in the dark intentionally. 

Panicked footsteps followed the creaking of the hinges on his front door, Ellie’s body slamming into his hard enough to push the wind out of him. She was crying, her arms locked tight as she buried her face into his shoulder, his arms instinctually wrapping around her.

“It’s okay, baby girl,” he soothed, leaning his chin on her head, “It’s alright.”

“Don’t go,” was all she whimpered in response, his shoulders slumping in defeat, there was no winning this, “I know you’re gonna go. Don’t.”

“I have to.”

“So you can die, too?!” Her small frame yanked free, shoving at his chest as her face twisted in a fresh wave of tears.

“I ain’t gonna die–”

“That’s what she said!! And she’s gone!”

An eerie silence followed, Ellie holding in her gasping breaths as her soaked green eyes pierced through him. The thought of you out there alone and scared was plaguing him, the chance that somehow you’d find a way to survive was low, but it wasn’t zero. It was fool’s hope, but he’d never been the smartest guy in the room anyhow. He needed something to keep his feet moving forward.

“I gotta bring her home, kiddo,” he finally resigned, “I’ll be back. I swear.”

Ellie's Journal - January 26, 2035

Art by @natendo-art