#glazed sentry

[fr-familiar-bracket]

[thecrochetcrowd]

Crochet Hug Poncho Pattern

Crochet Hug Poncho Pattern

Crochet Snug as a Hug Poncho Crochet Snug As A Hug Poncho This Crochet Snug As a Hug Poncho is sized starting at 4 years to 2 XL in women. These are two rectangular panels that are attached together to form the poncho. I’m guessing, but it appears to be the side saddle stitch used in this design. It’s so well done. This is using Glaze by Sugar Bush Yarns. Free Hug Poncho Pattern More Pattern…

[glacierruler]

Making the Future

Ao3

Masterpost

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CWs: Theft, Fantasy Racism, Accidental Misgendering, War Mentions

If you'd like to see the Content Warnings of the whole story, please go to that section in the masterpost!

Taglist: @cutebisexualmess @duck-in-a-spaceship @oatmeal-stans-the-trash-rat (tell me if you'd like to be added/removed)

Chapter 1

Fig was constantly checking their watch, knowing their mother would expect them home soon for dinner. Still, they weren’t quite ready to leave the scrapyard, as there were still so many marvelous finds to be had. Plus there weren’t that many risks, as the sentry that usually guarded this yard had switched over to the other one he was in charge of for the day. Still it was best to be cautious, because if they were caught it would be at least five years in jail. It was stupid, but that was the case with most laws.

Pulling something out of the rubble, Fig realized that they had discovered a whole robot. Their eyes started to widen a bit, they quickly stuffed it in their bag o’ junk as they called it, and started making their way to their hideout.

Fig had been walking for five minutes before the pin like pain in their legs became sharper. Pulling out their bag, they rummaged through it a bit, before pulling something that looked like a weird 3D cube out. Pressing a button a wonky, uneven, walker appeared, made out of mostly metal and each side was a bit uneven. However, the seat was made out of sanded down wood, as they didn't have leather to make it more comfortable yet. While it was still a work in progress, they used it when they could because it did make their life easier. Regretfully though, they couldn't use it often, as not even their family knew it existed, and Fig knew it would be an awkward conversation to have. So they had gotten used to using it on the tough forest terrain, still working on making it better to go over roots and other various obstacles.

Naking it to their hideout, Fig quickly looked over the robot; using the little magic they knew to look at any spots they couldn’t easily get to. They were looking for any alarms or trackers even though the sentries would’t notice nor think to track a discarded robot, because if Fig set off the alarm they would have to move their hideout again. Which was not ideal, especially with all the stuff this place held, and how long it had taken them to build it here.

Getting rid of the devices was easy enough, they would just go back to the junkyard and destroy them on their way home. The sentries would think that the rest of the scraps had destroyed the thing.

Sighing, Fig glazed longingly at their hideout, before they pressed a button and their walker became a cube again. They started heading back the way they came, putting on their gas mask, just in case the sentries spotted them on the way back. While they were part changeling and could therefore change some of their facial features, because they weren't a full changeling, they couldn't do much with it.

After disposing of the trackers, Fig went a bit away, taking off their gas mask and hid behind a tree to take a five minute walking break.

*************************

Fig ate silently as they listened to the chaos, that was their family, surround them. Getting back home had been a journey and a half without their walker, but it was important that they put it away for things, in order to stay safe. After all if the sentries found out about it, they would most certainly be screwed. Looking outside through a window, they realized it was sunset, and they couldn’t help but be amazed at how pretty it was, even though it came by every night. It was stunning, always changing, and yet its beauty never seemed to fade, and Fig was certain that they had the best sunsets in the kingdom. Jarolend, their friend that they talked to when they could, agreed.

Still, Fig wanted to explore, they wanted to see the world. But it wasn’t safe to, not since they’re a changeling. Changelings have been viewed as one of the worse races, since before the infamous war, however that war had just made things worse.

The official narrative was that, changelings, orcs, drow, goblins, and dragons rose up in opposition to the other races. That their greed and lust for money and power drove them to their demise, that they committed unspeakable crimes, that they were evil. And everyone was just supposed to accept that, even the races that this rhetoric effected.

However, Fig had been doing research of their own, looking through their ancestors’ journals to see what it was really like back then. They were grateful that their mother kept the journals, although they were slightly less grateful that these journals were on the top shelf of her bedroom. That made it harder for Fig to look through them, and they knew their mom didn't want them looking through the journals. But Fig had always been rather curious, and they just couldn't accept the narrative that they were bad. That they were here to take someone else's place and steal their livelihood, that they were evil like the textbooks said. It helped that the town was inhabited by other unprivliged races, it helped that the elders assured them when they were kids that it was the world that was wrong. But it sucked, the culture that was stripped from all of them, in fear that they would rise up, that they would revolt against unfair laws. So almost no one in town was allowed to practice magic. That didn’t stop Fig, though they practiced in secret. Still, they wished they were able to do more, and be more free. But they couldn’t, so in public they conformed to the rules set out for them. Have a set look, and don’t change it; hair stays the same, eyes stay the same, nails stay the same. Nothing changes. And they couldn’t help but feel that’s how society was anyways, stagnant, hopeless and resistant to change. And they hated it. But that’s what their tinkering was for, it was fun to do and a fuck you to the government. It wasn’t something that did something technically, but it felt good, especially when Fig felt helpless to do anything to change the world.

“-ig! Fig!” Their head snapped up to greet their mother’s voice.

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay honey? You’ve just been poking at your food all night.”

“Yeah mom, I'm alright, just wish I could visit Jarolend more often."

Fig hated lying, it always meant that it was just one more thing they couldn't share with their family. But if anyone knew that they were stealing from the scraps, well it wouldn't be pleasant if someone found out.

"I know. Maybe when you have your own money..."

"I've been trying to find someplace to work! But you know how hard it is!"

"I know, I know. Still, if you do manage to get the funds to visit your friend tell her I said hi!"

"I'll tell em."

Their mother might still be getting used to their friend’s new pronouns, as ey had come out close to when ey had left, but it still sucked that Fig had to be the one to correct her. That it felt like for all their mom’s trying, she never really got it. Despite being a changeling, and the concept of gender being fluid, that she thought the only options were girl and boy. Sometimes, it felt like while you could be either, you couldn’t be both at the same time or neither. Which isolated Fig even more as they were trying to figure themselves out. But they knew their mother didn’t mean to, and that she’s trying, so they tried not to hold it against her.

Still, they’d rather not have to correct their mother altogether, but it was how things went. So they started to eat a little bit, ignoring the looks from the rest of their family, and then went upstairs to their room, trying not to feel desperately hopeless at the state of everything. At least they’d have time to tinker and experiment with the robot tomorrow.

[annikin-annotates]

Family Ties Part 3

Hello my darlings, long time no see! Sorry for the delayed release of this chapter, University took up all of my time from the start till the very end of term (as it does). But I'm finally on break, which means for the next few weeks I can start putting out some oneshots and more chapters for both My Baldurs Gate III fics as well as my HotD fics. So keep an eye out! Love you all, I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Also! Let me know if you would like to be added to any taglists!

Word Count: 4,347

Content Warning: Blood, Minor character death. 

Juniper’s Pov

The air of Baldur’s Gate was acrid compared to the air of the grove where she grew up. While yes, it was not the most delightful smell - it was an animal smell, fresh grass and the earthiness of mud underfoot, but it smelled like home. Unlike the combination of sour ale, the contents of someone's stomach heaved up on the sidewalk and strong perfume. Juniper scrunched her nose and pressed onward, following the crumpled map of the city she managed to snatch from an unsuspecting tourist - she hoped they hadn’t gotten too lost without it. 

She followed the map to the best of her abilities through the winding streets, hitting a few dead ends before finally reaching the Upper City. High stone walls and menacing wrought iron gates separated the Upper and Lower parts of the city; Juniper rolled her eyes, how original. There were guards positioned at either side of the gate checking everyone who went through the gate, turning away those who didn’t belong. 

She took a slow, steadying breath before pressing forward once more, surely it wouldn’t be too hard to slip in with a crowd, to take advantage of the chaos that seemed to be daily life here. She had managed to slip through the gates with a crowd of tieflings, the sigh of relief that came out of her mouth was immediately sucked into her mouth again when a gruff voice called out to her “Hey! You there, girl!”.

She cringed, her tail dipping between her legs, she turned to face the guard behind her with a smile. “Yes?” she answered, batting her eyelashes. Despite her tail hiding between her legs like the traitor it was, she kept a relaxed posture; she lifted her chin to meet the guards eyes, not that she could see much through the ridiculous helmet he wore.  

He held out his hand expectantly. “I need to see your travel pass to be in the Upper City,” he huffed, her stomach dropped - she didn’t have a travel pass. No matter, she had a foolproof plan that always worked on sentries, just by combining two things they fear most: a woman’s hysteria and a sick family member. 

Tears immediately began to prick at the corners of her eyes, glazing over like a babbling brook over a mossy stone. “I’m so sorry! M-My mother is very sick a-a-and none of the apothecaries in the Lower City carry the herb I need to make her a drought to ease her cough and I thought that -” she rambled.

He held a hand up, seemingly very uncomfortable about the crying tiefling that stood in front of him. “Alright - fine, just get what you need and get out of here,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, shooing her off with a wave of his large hand. 

“Oh thank you sir, you are too kind,” she said as she frantically wiped the crocodile tears from her face before turning on her heels to head further into the city. She smirked to herself, looking at her surroundings, tears worked every time. Now her only mission was to get herself safely to her uncle Wyll’s estate - he wasn’t really her uncle, just as Halsin wasn’t really her father. But they had been the only consistent familial presence she had ever known, Halsin had taken her in after Wyll brought her to him. 

Her mother had given her up, for the greater good they had told her, she thought that it was horseshit but who was she to question the ideals of a mother who didn’t want her. They had not kept her ancestry a secret from her either, though she was sure she would have figured it out sooner or later, you know - with the ever present gnawing hunger for blood and all. But she made a promise to herself that she would never drink the blood of anything, animal or otherwise. 

She shook the bitter thought from her head; it was a glorious day, she was in a city with lots of places to explore and only a few hours to do it all in. She shifted her worn leather satchel towards the front of her, there were bound to be other sticky fingered outlanders in the city and she was not about to fall for any tricks. 

Juniper’s first call was to find an Inn to spend the night, a good night’s rest and a chance to bathe would do her good, the last thing she wanted was to darken Wyll’s doorstep looking like a gutter rat. It hadn’t taken her long to find an inn, between following the map and catching the eyes of a few fellow Tieflings who had told her she looked rather lost. They pointed her in the direction of an inn called The Countess, a stunning building with a mahogany facade and plants that hung from large pots, with ferns draping over the edges. 

The inside was bursting with chatter, laughter bubbling through the room like frothing ale over the side of a pint glass. It was the opposite of the grove, which was almost always reverent in its silence, only ever broken by the baying of animals. She cringed as a man who had clearly over indulged gave an offkey rendition of the Bitch Queen’s shanties, at least oxen could hold a tune. 

She managed to cross through the crowd with a never ending stream of excuse me’s and coming through’s. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw a small gap at the bar, squeezing herself between two drunken patrons flagging the tired looking barmaid down with a polite smile. She gave her a nod motioning to stay where she was as she finished pouring a tankard of ale that was almost overflowing. 

“A druid in these parts? What can I do you for?” she asked, a slender brow quirked, wiping her hands on the rag tucked into her worn leather belt. She was young, no older than she was, her wild hair was a deep shade of mahogany, dark except for when it caught the light, casting a warm mulberry tinted halo around her face. Grey eyes stared at her, thick lashes made her eyes look sultry, plump lips quirked into a kind smile. Her shoulders were broad but she was full of curves and softness, both strong and inviting in equal parts.  

Juniper smiled back at her. “Is it that obvious?” she sighed as she leaned her arm on the counter, tail flicking behind her. “I was wondering if you had any rooms available?” she continued, eyes flicking to the barmaids lips for the briefest of moments before refocusing on her stormy eyes, the heat from her cheeks creeping up the tips of her ears. 

Her laugh was melodical, like bird song in early spring. “I’ll tell you what, a room just opened up. I’ll let you have it for half the price - only because you looked like a lost puppy walking in here,” she replied, reaching under the counter for a key and pushing it across the counter towards her.  

A grin spread across Juniper’s face, dimples on her cheeks standing proud, “Thank you, I really do appreciate it. Is there anything I can do to help cover the rest of the cost?” 

The woman looked taken aback for a moment, as if she wasn’t used to being offered help so freely. She thought for a moment, a hand on her hip, before raising her pointer finger into the air  “Actually! There's a rather vicious bluejay that keeps swooping patrons on the back terrace. Do you think you could give it a stern talking to?” she asked, her eyebrows raised, a light hearted challenge.

“I can certainly try!” Juniper nodded, her smile crinkling the corners of her eyes, the sharpness of her fangs digging into the plumpness of the inside of her lip. She followed the woman, first to her room to set down her pack and then to the back terrace to meet the disgruntled bird. 

—

It was no surprise to her that she found herself out wandering the streets, her head turned towards the sky; the amount of stars were halved thanks to the light pollution of all the street lamps. She could see clouds rolling in from the sea, lightning crackling through the sky illuminating the menacing shade of green the clouds had turned.

She thought that some air would clear her head and slake the ravenous beast that made home beneath her skin. It had taken three hearty portions of stew to take the edge off, only for it to come back with such force it had her doubling over in agony. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, and her head swam with overlapping thoughts - none of which she could make out; it was like looking at a reflection in an angry tide. 

It felt as though bramble had taken root in her stomach, poking and prodding with each step she took. Her skin shimmered with a thin sheen of sweat, each breath she took was pure torture. Even now, out in the open, she could smell the life blood humming in every creature she passed, each pulsing vein made her mouth salivate. At least out in the wilds she could get away, she was used to peacefully wandering off for a stroll. There was no escape here, everywhere she turned there were more people - and more blood ripe for the taking. 

It was agony.

She was no stranger to the bouts of bloodlust, she was not stupid enough to not have coping mechanisms but she couldn’t think, couldn’t focus - gods, she could barely breathe. Her hands shook with every step she took, it was overwhelming in its intensity. Perhaps she could try it, just once. Nobody would ever know. The thought alone was enough to open the flood gates to the darkest part of herself, sending her into a torrent of guilt.  

She had sworn off blood and vowed that she would never become a bloodthirsty beast like her parents. And now of all times for her mind to be consumed with that insatiable hunger when she needed to not draw attention was infuriating. To go back on the oath she made to herself  would surely mean the end of things - Halsin and Wyll’s good graces among them. 

But then again, she had been so good all these years, she deserved this - she deserved a taste of what life could give. Juniper shook her head, no, absolutely not. She could handle this, she would be fine. Her vow was not up for discussion nor was it up for debate; especially not with the ugliest part of her. She turned back towards the Inn; hopefully a cold soak and rest would stave off the worst of it, all will be well in the morning, as it usually was. 

It was close to the wee hours of the morning when she returned to the Inn, the light significantly dimmer than when she left. The young woman from earlier - Elona- was placing the last of the wooden chairs atop perfectly polished table tops. Their eyes caught each other before Juniper had a chance to sneak up stairs to her room, Juniper fought the urge to cower like a pet that had been caught in the act. 

Elona waved her over, plopping down into one of the booths that lined the mahogany walls, “I would ask if you would like something to eat, but you polished off the last of the stew before you left.” Her voice made Juniper’s heart flutter and her stomach twist in a way she had never felt before; she was no stranger to crushes, but this was more than that - far more. 

Juniper smiled as she made her way behind the bar, pinching a bottle of wine that she hoped wouldn’t taste like vinegar alongside two glasses. She set the bottle and two glasses down on the table before sitting across from her, creating a barrier between them. The wine was sweet and the conversation flowed easily between them; they spoke about all things, where they grew up, their families and what they aspired to be when they were younger. 

It was when Elona shimmied into Juniper’s side of the booth that the conversation changed, Elona was mere inches away from her now. Juniper swallowed thickly, she was quite literally backed against a wall, it wasn’t as if she didn’t think Elona was pretty, she was stunning - the very image of a goddess, destined to bring her to ruin, she was dangerous to be around. 

Something stirred in the very depths of her stomach, like a beast reawakening from its slumber; stretching its claws and yawing, displaying its jagged maw. Juniper found herself not in control of her own body as she took both of Elona’s hands in her own, motioning for her to slide out of the booth. From there Juniper took the lead, guiding her up the stairs to her room and closing the door behind them. 

They descended upon each other the moment they were alone; Juniper placed delicate kisses along the column of Elona’s throat, feeling her pulse point flutter rapidly against her lips. A purr rumbled deep within Juniper’s chest at the gasp she elicited from Elona, as she backed her towards the bed, pulling away from her when she reached the edge. “Do you want this?” Juniper asked, her heart beating in her throat.

“More than anything,” Elona replied, her stormy grey eyes looking up at Juniper through thick lashes. If Elona was a tempest that sent ships and crew sailing into their demise, she was a willing captain, if it meant that she would place her hands upon her to drag her under. Juniper placed Elona onto the covers gently, straddling her hips. She began to place open mouthed kisses along her jawline and down the column of her throat, a searing trail left in her wake. 

The way Elona’s breath hitched in her throat as her hands twisted into the front of Juniper’s shirt only served to spurn her on, grazing the flats of her teeth over Elona’s pulse point. She squealed in delight, Juniper couldn’t disguise the airy laughter that bubbled from her as she placed another kiss to her pulse point before pausing.

Juniper sat back on her haunches, fingertips ghosting along the scooped neckline of Elona’s shirt, her thumb stilling over the thrumming artery. “Are you alright, Juniper?” Elona asked, her brows furrowed with worry “If you don’t want -” 

Juniper cut her off, swallowing thickly. “Of course I do, do you trust me?” Juniper asked her, the back of her hand tracing her jawline as Elona nodded. She brushed Elonas dark hair over her shoulder, fanning out in a dark halo behind her. Juniper’s fingertips grazed her soft skin, leaving sparks in their wake. Juniper placed an open mouthed kiss at the junction of Elona’s neck and shoulder, she tilted her head to the side to allow Juniper better access, her eyes fluttering closed at the proximity of her. 

Juniper’s jade eyes were blown wide with lust as she took in the scent of her; ginger, chamomile and smoke. Gods she wanted her, needed her like one needs air, without her she would suffocate - crushed under the weight of her own want. She needed to feel every part of her, to touch her, gods to taste her. 

Without warning, Juniper ran the flat of her tongue across the pulse point of Elona’s neck, a muffled cry tore through Elona as the sharpness of Juniper’s fangs sank into her flesh. She withdrew her fangs and ran her tongue across the wounds repeatedly, keeping the flow of blood constant. What flooded her mouth was more akin to ambrosia; liquid life, searing in its heat and near endless in its flow. 

Elona started to struggle against her, her pulse starting to slow and Juniper realised that she couldn’t pull herself away. In fact, she was actively ignoring Elona’s futile attempts to stop her. She pulled her weak form closer to her chest, her clawed hand entwined in her hair to cradle her head. 

All she could hear was that beast inside of her crying out for more as it lapped at the ichor sliding down her throat. It was when she realised that Elona had stopped struggling against her entirely that she found the strength to pull herself away - to ground herself back in reality.

And what a harsh reality she came back to. 

She gasped, tumbling from the bed. Elona laid before her, deathly pale, her eyes dulled; there was no rise and fall of her chest, no shine to her hair; nothing. Elona was dead. And Juniper had killed her, there would forever be innocent blood on her hands, “I’m sorry, oh gods - Elona I’m so sorry, what have I done?” she weeped. 

Guilt wracked her body, its talons piercing into the very sinews of her heart. This was all her fault, she had led this poor, poor woman to her death; she extinguished a light that this world needed - all for the sake of her own selfishness. She regretted ever setting foot in this gods-damned hellspit, she would pack her belongings and return to the grove; hopefully in a decade she would forget that this mess ever happened. 

She looked back to Elona’s body, lifeless and bloodstained, she couldn’t leave her like that; legs half hanging off the bed frame. Juniper pulled herself up off the floor “I know that you can’t hear me, but I’m going to make you more comfortable,” she whispered, voice wavering as she lifted her legs onto the bed. She continued on like that, telling Elona what she was doing as she repositioned her and cleaned her wounds, apologies tumbled from her lips like prayers. 

Juniper replaced her sullied shirt with a fresh one from her pack, tossing the dirty one; alongside the bloody cloths into the hearth on the main floor of the tap room, watching them burn. Only after a few minutes of solemn silence did she decide to press forward, opening the mahogany door to the quiet streets of the city. 

She shifted her pack to sit more comfortably on her shoulder, eyes trained on the puddles on the street, maybe one might be deep enough to swallow me whole and save me from my suffering. She had been too preoccupied with the metaphorical blood that stained her hands to notice movement behind her, only the pain that bloomed from her temple as the world faded from focus. 

The world came into focus again, she was staring at marble floors; she tried to crane her neck to look at anything else in the room but her head began to swim. Cool hands gripped her knees tightly, a bony shoulder digging into her stomach. Her fingers came into contact with what she assumed was blood as she touched her temple, throbbing pain reverberating through her skull, the world grew dark once more.

The only time she drank blood is when she murders an innocent woman and is subsequently murdered in retaliation, swift justice she’d say. 

Her heart was a buoy that leapt into her throat and sank into the depths of her stomach with each wave of consciousness she crested. Her attacker unceremoniously dumped her from the bony confines of his shoulder, allowing her to collide with the marble tiles hard enough that she was sure would leave a bruise. Juniper let out a groan as she began to push herself onto her hand and knees; only to have a foot make contact with the base of her spine, sending her splaying out onto the floor once more. So much for Baldurian hospitality.  

Juniper could hear the shuffling of footsteps switching to clacking as they met the marble tile that she had found herself well acquainted with. The air became thick as if she was trying to separate the oxygen from within water; it put her whole body on edge as she froze, willing herself to meld into the tile.  

“And what might this be?” A male voice asked, the phrasing of the question was light, but his tone had an edge that sent shivers down her spine. Though she did her best to internalise her panic, to keep her heartbeat steady and not allow the fear that was trying its best to claw its way through her insides. She could get out of this, she just needed to think. 

She could feel how her abductor's leg tensed as he spoke, like an animal preparing to be struck; it made her stomach churn; she was not safe here. “An unattended Spawn from another vampire lord, your Highness. I found it wandering the streets not too far from the Countess,” he responded, his voice wavering in fear. It? Your Highness? Wherever she was, she was a particularly unwelcome interloper.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Let me look at it,” ‘his Highness’ urged, his tone exasperated and clearly not interested. Juniper was rather tired of being referred to as an ‘it’, she had opened her mouth to issue the lot of them a signature witty reply. But she was pulled to her feet abruptly, letting out a disgruntled yelp as her captors' nails dug painfully into her scalp. 

Her eyes were met with the sight of two people, a slender male elf with eyes reminiscent of rubies; or the deep crimson of spilt blood. And a Tiefling woman that stood a few paces behind him, she had dark hair that fell in curls to her waist and the most decadent dress she had ever seen. There was something that she couldn’t place with her, an emotion in her eyes that clouded them like fog in a valley. 

The silver haired elf scrunched his nose at Juniper, as if her very presence was an assault on his senses; she fought the urge to roll her eyes. Bile began clawing its way up her throat, the longer she looked at him the more she began to lose control of her senses; her tail curling to hide between her legs. She had begun to compile what she would say to them, that her father was a powerful vampire lord that would lay waste to the lot of them if a single hair on her head was harmed. 

His mouth opened to speak, only to be cut short by glass smashing on marble, remnants of crystal twinkling across the floor like stardust. His head snapped to the woman behind him, poised to reprimand her, when he stopped himself; his features softening. He turned back to Juniper - more specifically the servant that had her in an ironclad grip, expression shifting into an incandescent rage by the likes she had never seen before. 

“Release her this instant,” Astarion hissed to the man behind her, who released her so quickly it sent her fumbling forward towards the tiles, only for her to be caught at the last moment by Astarion. “I sincerely apologise my dear -” He was about halfway through his sentence before she was pulled into a hug so tight it forced the air from her lungs, it was over before she even had a chance to process it.

Astarion looked to the Tiefling, who was now nervously smoothing her hands down the fine brocade of her dress, and then back to her, a well practised smile on his lips. “Forgive my wife, you remind her of someone we lost a long time ago,” he said softly, his eyes were also leagues away; whoever they lost must have been dear to the both of them. 

He motioned for two servants as they emerged from the very shadows of the room. A woman guided his wife who was now sobbing out of the large room they were in, while the other stopped a few paces from Juniper, his hands neatly folded behind his back. 

Silence hung between them for a moment, before he began to speak again. “How about you stay here for the night, it's rather unsafe for a young woman to be out alone so late, even for a blood thirsty one such as yourself,” his eyes flickered with something akin to delight. Her stomach twisted painfully; something was very very wrong here, and she had no intentions on finding out what it was.

“It’s fine, truly. I have lodgings at The Countess, my friend will surely be looking for me by now,” she lied, well, not a lie exactly - a half truth she supposed; she did have lodgings at The Countess and people would be looking for her come morning. 

He shook his head. “Then your friend would be truly thankful that you found lodgings here for the night,” he argued, the beginnings of a smirk toying at the corner of his lips, he had won and he knew it. The other servant inched toward her; she realised that the statement was less of an offer and more an order, and she was severely out ranked, she had no choice but to concede.  

She gave him a tight lipped smile and a curt nod. “Of course, my lord,” she replied, acquiescing to the servant who now led her back through the foyer and up the grand staircase. His grip on her arm was vice-like, as if he was a cat and she was the fat, tasty mouse he had caught for dinner.

Her room was grand, a bed large enough for at least three people to comfortably lay in, a small ensuite with a stunning claw foot tub in the centre of the room. One thing that did stick out as rather strange to her was that there were no windows in the room, the only entry point was the door to the room itself. Juniper walked back over to the door knob and turned it a little, only to be met with the stiff jiggle of a locked door. 

Fuck.

Thank you for reading! Please take a moment to comment or reblog my work, it brightens my day and makes sure other people see it!

[troutfur]

Brightheart and Jayfeather having a conversation about his brief time as her apprentice after he gets his medicine cat name.

You were one of the first people to submit but also one of the ones I consciously decided to ignore for the longest time because even though Jay is an absolute blorbo and I'll always take every opportunity to write him, I wanted to deliver more variety and challenge myself a little. Plus I did get randomly into the mood for doing pfurr stuff. But now that I'm clearing the inbox I may as well indulge.

I briefly deliberated going an AU route with this one because I do like AUs in which Jayf either swaps later in life or otherwise has more agency in becoming a meddie. But I felt canon was more in spirit of the prompt and has a certain emotionality that can't be gotten anywhere else.

(Wanna submit a prompt of your own? Check out my guidelines and send it in! Inbox cleanse coming soon so I'm gonna definitely need a good number of these to last me the 2nd half of the month.)

Brightheart waved goodbye to Birchfall as Berrynose approached with a heavy step to relieve him on the first shift of sentry duty that day. His ruffled fur and glazed eyes clearly betrayed why he hadn’t been ready at sunrise sharp and had instead delayed until the sunlight began to filter down from the canopy in weak beams. When she greeted him with a motion of her head he responded in kind and began with his morning grooming routine.

For a senior warrior such as her to be doing two consecutive shifts of sentry duty, no less at the border between night and day... It had been an odd request, much less having first been presented over a half-moon ago. But her persistence had made Brambleclaw ultimately accept. Rumors had been exchanged, reaching even the ears of their brothers who had offered her to serve the shifts alongside her on the assumption it had to do with remembrance of their sister. She ended up declining. It had to do with oracle business but it wasn’t about their sister this time.

As the day brightened and the forest and camp wakened with activity, Brightheart kept her vision forward and focused. Her ears stood tall, her position was perfectly squared. At least from the outside she was the model of a sentry. But her focus was really only placed on a very particular thing.

Once her good eye registered the approach of two familiar tabby pelts, one brown one silver-gray, she gently touched Berrynose’s side to bring him to alert and stop his daydreaming.

“Mrruh?” he mewed, turning to face his senior.

“Keep on guarding camp,” she instructed. “I’m going to be back shortly. If you need me for anything I’ll be heading in that direction,” she signaled with her muzzle towards her right side.

“Fine, fine, fine,” he mumbled as he shook his head to free himself from the stupor he’d been in.

Brightheart strode up to Leafpool and Jaypaw --Jaysomething rather-- in long steps. From where she saw her approaching Leafpool beamed her a smile and gave her apprentice a nudge. He barely had time to get to taste the air before the senior warrior was right in front of him.

“Greetings star-touched,” she began with a bow as was protocolary when the oracles were returning from their official functions. “Leafpool, Jayp--”

“Jayfeather,” he promptly interrupted. “It’s Jayfeather now.” Leafpool gently bunted against his shoulder with her own. “...And greetings to you too, Brightheart.”

“I think she’s got something to say to you,” Leafpool told her apprentice. “I’ll go to the den and get ahead in catching up with cases we might have missed while out last night.”

“Better they be something worth the time and not a matter of vanity like with Berrynose last time,” the newly-made full medicine cat huffed as his mentor strutted off.

“Come walk with me,” Brightheart prompted, hanging her tail over his shoulders as she positioned herself for the direction they were going to go in.

As he turned he shouldered off her tail and made a quick inspection with his whiskers and nose before setting ahead.

“So, I guessed right,” Brightheart said, heaving herself towards the front. “How is the new name suiting you, you think?”

“Not what I thought I’d get,” he said rather non-chalant. But from what she could see out of her flank she knew his stride was bold and his tail fully upright. “But I never did think Leafpool would give me something good. So all in all I’m happy.”

“You ever thought Firestar would give you something good?” she asked.

She could see him startle and then his tail droop even though he kept up the tone and the stride. “Really doesn’t matter now does it?”

“You seem really proud to be Leafpool’s apprentice,” she said.

“It’s good work,” he replied. “Most of the time at least...”

“Does it make you happy as well?”

“My Clanmates are well taken care of,” he replied. “I get to know the forest in a way no ordinary warrior ever really can. I get to have more freedoms than them across the borders. I am privy to StarClan’s secrets. I--” The more he spoke the more unconvinced he himself sounded.

“And do you ever miss the brief time we spent together?” she asked.

He sighed. “Frankly, no. Leafpool may have fretted about me but she did let me be out of camp. At least with her I can be out of her sight.”

A silence hung between them for a moment, letting the awkwardness grow. “I... see...”

“I know why you did,” he replied. “And I’ve tended to the aftermath of enough battles to see what were your worst fears. But between being stuck in stuffy dens all day and only most of the day... I think it’s easy to see why I think like I do.”

“You’re right,” Brightheart admitted with a bow of her head. “And do you think that with what you know now you’d rather have had a youth like your other peers?”

“Hard to know for sure,” he said. “I’d probably get frustrated more. That battle with ShadowClan...”

“It would be my job to make sure it didn’t get to you,” Brightheart said. “It’s something every apprentice experiences on some measure. We hardly had time to work on it, but if you had let me...”

“The herbs clicked for me in a way nothing else had,” Jayfeather said. “So much so that when Leafpool tried to pull our lessons towards the other parts of our duties I was very strong resisting. She chastised me often, ‘we are supposed to heal not mend, StarClan’s light is a must.’ If I had find something about being a warrior like that I can only imagine it going down similar.”

“That would have been a challenge,” she conceded. “But if I could have found that talent in you, we could have worked a lot more on it than what I imagine Leafpool would allow you to work in the mending part of your duties.”

“That would’ve been nice,” Jayfeather mused.

“I’m sorry for how I failed you,” Brightheart said, coming to a halt. “You made your choice and I’m happy for you in it. But if you ever feel like you could use some more skills, I’ll see what I can do for you.”

“I feel like I’ll end up doing all the outdoors chores,” Jayfeather said, beginning to turn and retrace his steps. “So I’ve got a hunch I’m gonna end up needing them.”

[ajgrey9647]

Offering them up as the entertainment to party guests to do with as they please: Sentries Skull & Adam~

The Real Lady Drakkon

She cast discrete glances through her long lashes, lifting the crystal wine glass with its pool of deeply scarlet liquid to her lips. The flickering light from the chandeliers played across Lord Drakkon’s angular features, which were more pronounced than the Tommy Oliver of Scorpina’s world. He was older than the boy she’d once fought alongside during the height of Rita’s Green Ranger days, twenty years older by the tyrant’s estimate. A fine weaving of black veins ghosted the flesh of his neck, reaching as high as his hollowed cheek bones as if the man bore an infectious disease.

‘An overload of Grid energy,’ the woman noted. ‘Mere humans were not meant to use the power of two coins at the same time. Their pitiful bodies can’t handle the side effects.’

To her discerning eye, however, Lord Drakkon appeared to be tolerating the combined energy quite well. Strapped with thick muscle unlike the lanky, leaner Green Ranger, he boasted an impressive physique under the elaborate formal attire that stretched snugly over his biceps and chest. Definitely not hard on the eyes if Scorpina could ignore the memories of the freckle-faced, childish Tommy Oliver, who somehow turned into quite the wet blanket once freed from Rita’s obedience spell.

She hadn’t foreseen becoming trapped in an alternate universe in her future, certainly not one as dystopian and… ‘Gothic’ was the term she needed, yet the alien bounty hunter wasn’t familiar with such human terminology. Here in the Coinless realm, Rita Repulsa had won, destroying the Rangers and taking over the Earth.

But such feats had cost the witch her life, dying at the hands of those snot-nosed little brats before they’d scattered like a nest of cockroaches. Scorpina found herself under the protective gauntlet of this ‘Lord Drakkon’, a more aggressive and lethal version of Tommy, who’d taken the reigns and ruled over this bizarre Wonderland.

Tonight, he’d thrown a grand ball to celebrate her arrival and make the proper introductions to the aristocracy. The cavernous room seemed to sparkle as the array of candlelight reflected off the cut crystal vases, wine decanters, and goblets, twinkling upon the handles of sterling silver and ivory utensils, and highlighting the intricate engraving of the fine China plates and bowls.

Fragrant blooms tumbled over the lips of vases situated in the middle of linen-covered tables and the music of stringed instruments floated delicately through the air, playing music of a by-gone era. Several of the aristocracy, bedecked in jewels, silks, furs, and sweeping ballgowns twirled across the dance floor in something Drakkon informed her was called a ‘waltz’, before taking his place at the head of the table.

As he sat staring down at the grandeur of his wealth and power, the man’s expression was impassive, almost bored. Idly, he swirled the wine in his chalice, taking the smallest of sips as an afterthought. The plate before him boasted an aromatic cut of lamb with mint sauce, new potatoes swimming in rich butter, and bourbon-glazed carrots, all untouched. It smelled delicious to Scorpina and she was confused as to why the evil Ranger allowed it to grow cold as the band continued to play and the dancers gracefully executed the elaborate steps in a harmonious rhythm.

Lord Drakkon must have felt her eyes trailing over him and, when he slowly turned his head in her direction, she quickly averted her face, cheeks flaming. Quickly, the petite woman pretended to be engrossed in the activity taking place just across the room from where all the gaiety was taking place. For those uninterested in dancing or feasting, the tyrant had thoughtfully catered to a different sort of appetite, one that jarred with the fancy, ethereal ball going on about them.

A select number of Sentry guards, boasting all colors and ranks, were contorted in various positions in all stages of undress as they serviced Drakkon’s sycophants, each man’s face etched in sheer passion and enthusiasm though they truly felt anything but…

There was a steep price to pay if one didn’t play ball, so to speak… If they were to sour the illusion and the fun being had…

One of them, a dark-haired Red Sentry Captain, artfully managed to sit astride one partner while also being mounted from behind before a third cock found its way into the inviting mouth. The sweaty drunks grunted and groaned, sounding like pigs in mud as they used this guard like an old gym sock.

Scorpina had to admit that the Sentry had talent, moving in tandem with the motions of the bloated bodies crushing against his own.

“Enjoying yourself, my dear?” Drakkon’s rich, elegant voice cut into her thoughts.

The evil Ranger’s deadly fingers uncurled from the stem of his wine glass, the action strangely mesmerizing, as he settled it on the tabletop before he hooked one to summon one of his servants.

“Refresh the lady’s beverage,” he ordered icily.

His mouth smoothly shifted into a flirtatious smile when he again met Scorpina’s eyes.

The warrior curled her moist ruby lips, slowly licking the lingering drops of red wine from the lower.

“Yes, your lordship. I appreciate all the generosity you’ve bestowed upon me,” she purred.

Lord Drakkon favored her with a grin of his own, the sight more one of horror than friendly endearment.

“You are most welcome, Scorpina. A friend of my former empress is a friend of mine,” he responded, the sentiment sounding as if read from a script. “Rita was a remarkable woman. It was an honor to serve her.”

The loud moaning of several men reaching climax erupted from the ‘dark side’ of the ballroom, though the tyrant remained as nonchalant about the interruption as he would a bird swooping through the sky.

“I’m sure that you long as much as I do to avenge our empress’s demise at the hands of those troublesome Coinless filth.”

Tears pricked Scorpina’s eyes, and they glistened in the candlelight.

“I can’t believe they killed her… I thought Rangers had some type of hero’s code or something,” she growled.

This Coinless universe was very different from the one she knew, a place ‘out-of-time’, relegated back to the days of old. The social hierarchy was something the woman warrior intended to commit to heart, knowing that the best odds for survival came with aligning with the one most powerful.

Drakkon grunted dismissively, his eyes staring out into the bustle of the ballroom.

“As I did as well. However, teenagers can be…fickle. Impulsive. Temperamental.”

Pushing his chair back from the table, he hauled his large form from the upholstered seat, garnering the attention of the others in attendance. Gracefully, Drakkon strode to Scorpina’s side, pausing to hold out a gloved hand, his glossy, gray-streaked mane brushing his waist when he bowed.

“Care for a waltz? I’m an excellent teacher,” he cooed.

A chilly aura radiated from his proffered arm, whether due to the combined, bastardized coin or his own person, she was uncertain. But clearly, this was the one she needed to beguile; she would just have to ignore the fact that this was essentially the more deadly twin of the boneheaded Tommy Oliver.

Batting her lashes playfully, she pretended to dry her eyes and accepted the invitation.

“I’d love to, Lord Drakkon,” she whispered breathily as she daintily placed her fingers over the glove’s alarmingly cold silk.

He assisted the woman to her feet, then the pair skirted the length of the expansive, linen-draped table; the villain guiding her gallantly as if they were in some old-fashioned romance novel. All eyes were on them when they reached the dance floor and Scorpina pressed her svelte form seductively against the tyrant’s body.

Lord Drakkon seemed to loom over her, his hulking build dwarfing her own, much like a grizzly bear balanced on its hind legs. The thought of those rippling muscles sent a tingle directly to her groin and she wandered if the man could feel her nipples, not constrained by any bra or bodice, through the silk of their garments. If he did, his expression didn’t give it away as he began to grandly twirl her about the ballroom.

From the head table, Drakkon’s two ‘head guards’ kept watching, their attention sweeping the grand room for any signs of dangerous foe.

The Ranger Slayer, an older, more hostile version of that annoying Kimberly Hart, was dressed in a daring black and pink ball gown, the skirt split up the thigh to accommodate a tussle if one was called for. Her brown hair shorn and ears sporting multiple piercings, along with a battle-hardened brittleness to her pretty features, almost made her unrecognizable as the former Pink Ranger.

Watching with detachment as her master moved about the room with Scorpina on his arm, the Slayer’s expression never altered much as if she were incapable of expressing any emotion.

Not so with the lithe, gray-haired man that had been eating at Drakkon’s right hand, his lowly position accentuated by his place on the floor instead of at the table proper. However, his formal attire was a black, form-fitting suit accentuated with flashes of silver. His hands were covered by fancy black gloves that appeared to somehow sparkle when he moved his arms.

Even as he dutifully assessed the assembled party, he glared down at Scorpina with glittery eyes, though his mouth was fixed in a facsimile of a wide grin, showing all his beautiful white teeth beneath a dark beard. Whoever he’d once been, or whatever version of some Prime universe human, Scorpina didn’t know.  But it was evident that the pet didn’t like her touching Drakkon as the woman looked up at him, feeling the weight of his fury on her.

“You are quite the dancer,” she complimented her partner, daringly tracing a red lacquered nail along the villain’s jaw, an obviously flirtatious move designed to aggravate the human-canine. “There must be some way I can repay you for you protection and hospitality.”

Watching the impertinent tart throwing herself at his master, Red’s grin shifted into a jealous snarl, his gloved fingers hooking as if they claws were they rested on his powerful thighs. He nearly growled aloud when a firm hand settled over his thick, shaggy hair. Ranger Slayer had quietly moved down to sit beside him, and she imperceptibly shook her head.

“Down, boy,” she ordered robotically.

Lord Drakkon continued to sway and dip the errant Prime visitor as if he didn’t notice the overt way she was trying to seduce him. Whether he was truly oblivious or just fucking around wasn’t yet certain.

Now, Scorpina’s fingertips brushed the tyrant’s jaw, teasing at his lower lip as she lifted herself on tip-toe under her mouth was very close to his.

“Surely, there’s SOMETHING I can offer in return,” she breathed, letting the implication linger as she upped the ante.

Ranger Slayer could see the woman was pushing it with Red, who’s mouth now gaped open in a version of a canine lifting its hackles, promising swift bloody death. Kim’s hand had glided to the back of the pet’s neck, scruffing him, while the sharp point of her bow, obscured by the tabletop, poked his chest, dissuading him from bounding over the elaborate feast and tearing into the woman.

“Stay!” she hissed. “Behave yourself, bad dog!”

“I’m going to tear that little bitch to shreds,” he rasped vehemently, daringly pressing into the sharp blade of the bow as if he didn’t even register the growing cut, beads of blood appearing on the cold steel.

The Slayer cursed, the word sounding bizarre with no emotion behind it as she gripped Red’s neck more tightly and lifted the pointed heel of her stiletto to hover it over his groin.

“No, knock it off! Heel this minute!”

The notes of the dance slowly faded away then and the dictator briskly stepped back from Scorpina’s cloying embrace.

“Allow me to consider what would best please me,” he simpered, lifting a delicate hand to his lips. “In the meantime, I wish to present you with a special gift… A token of my appreciation for the promise of your future assistance in dealing with my quarrelsome Coinless resistors.”

He gave a piercing whistle.

An almost angelic looking Black Sentry appeared at his side within moments.

“He will escort you to your room, my lovely. You may use him for your pleasure however you see fit,” he smirked. “I would prefer to keep him in service as he’s also an excellent seamstress, so I’d appreciate whatever activity you undertake not end in his death. But…”

He shrugged.

“Things happen. I can understand that better than anyone.”

Drakkon clapped his hands twice and emitted another sharp whistle to get the other guests’ attention.

“Party’s over… Now get the fuck out of my palace!”

As if anyone needed told twice…

Scorpina had looked confused even as she took the Black Sentry’s elbow and allowed him to guide her from the ballroom. Drakkon played up wide-eyed obliviousness until the petite woman was out of sight. It took much to reign in the mischievous laughter that threatened to bubble over at the whole sordid situation.

He strutted comically back towards where Red and Ranger Slayer sat, grandly scooping up his chalice for another sip of wine, a job well done.

“Such a gullible one, isn’t she? A little disappointing from the Scorpina that battled the Rangers at my side,” he idly commented. “Still, she warrants keeping a careful eye on, my darlings. There’s information she possesses that could be most helpful to my cause…”

“I don’t like her!” Red suddenly snapped, speaking out of tune in a way he knew would earn him the strap. “She’s a little bitch!”

He’d leapt to his feet, almost toppling Kim onto her ass, and he looked like he was about to stomp his foot in a childish tantrum.

Even the usually emotionless Ranger Slayer looked taken aback by the spiteful outburst. She knew that Red knew better than to speak without express permission, to curse in Drakkon’s presence, or give his opinion without it being asked for. The mutt was asking for it at this point.

But the tyrant chuckled tenderly, reaching out to grab a handful of the front of the pet’s fancy attire. He tugged Red over the table until they were face to face.

“Aww…. Got a touch of the green-eyed monster, darling,” he teased, before slowly lapping his tongue over the other man’s lips.

“Don’t fret… I only have eyes for you, my beautiful Red.”

The anxious pet was still not soothed, his dark eye large and wet, as if he might burst into nervous, insecure tears.

Drakkon sighed, rolling his eyes at the mutt’s dramatics.

“Why don’t you show me just how much I mean to you in our chambers tonight? I might even spare you getting the strapping you so rightfully deserve for bumping your gums like you just did…If you do a good job expressing your devotion, of course.”

Strolling arm in arm with the waif-like Black Sentry, a man who’d quietly stated his name was Adam as if she gave a fuck, Scorpina puzzled on where exactly she’d went wrong this evening. The woman knew she was attractive with a toned, trim figure, perky breasts, and a tight ass. Normally, human men drooled over her appearance.

Her eyes cut over to this ‘Adam’, who’d wisely remained silent, an obviously submissive little worm. The Sentry wasn’t bad looking either, his features still maintaining a patina of innocence despite his day job. She could do a lot with that and as horny as she was, that was a good thing for them both.

But something nagged at her.

“Let me ask you a question,” she demanded, visibly startling the dark-haired man.

“Yes, milady,” he politely responded. “How may I be of service?”

She paused as she considered how to phrase her musing.

“So, Lord Drakkon…” Scorpina began. “He’s a very handsome man… Powerful…rich…”

Adam nodded slowly, his expression hesitant as if he didn’t want to talk about his lord. Or maybe he was too afraid to.

“Yes, ma’am, he is,” he carefully answered.

Was this insect daft? How did he not get what she angling to find out?

“Well…” the warrior prodded impatiently. “Surely, there’s a…I don’t know… a ‘Lady Drakkon’ in residence?”

The Black Sentry came to a sudden halt, nearly causing her to fall backwards.

“I’m sorry… What? A Lady Drakkon?”

Adam looked genuinely lost.

“I think the lady’s asking if our dapper dictator has a lover. Am I right?” another voice echoed up the corridor, sounding somewhat amused, though exhausted.

Looking over his shoulder, the Black Sentry caught sight of Skull limping his way towards them, his hair pulled in sweat-dried tufts, lips swollen, and stinking of body odor and sex.

Scorpina curled her lip in disgust.

“That’s exactly what I’m asking, you breathing sex doll. Is there a lady who has his heart?”

Suddenly the men erupted in a roar of laughter, the Red Sentry Captain even slapping his thighs as he bent at the waist, grimacing through the giggles.

“A woman who has his heart…” Skull crowed. “A fucking HEART!”

Adam at least tried to reel it in in order to spare her feelings.

“Oh, there IS a Lady Drakkon, I guess… I mean, technically…”

He looked to the other man, unsure how to explain the wildness in his own words.

“That isn’t the title I’d use exactly,” Skull snorted. “Well… sometimes it works…”

Scorpina pushed the soft-spoken Sentry off her person, planting her hands on her hips.

“What are you two going on about? How is there a ‘sort of’ Lady Drakkon? Is she like a high-priced whore or mistress or something?”

This only caused the men to laugh harder.

“Something you should know around here,” the Red Sentry Captain explained between guffaws, “you won’t get anywhere with Lord Drakkon. But word to the wise… You’re better off just not discussing it or asking questions when it comes to his personal affairs.”

Scorpina rolled her eyes dramatically.

“Let me guess who the lucky gal is,” she snarked. “It’s the same in my universe! Little Miss Kimberly Hart!”

Adam tried to hide the look of distaste behind a gloved hand.

“Lord, your universe is messed up!” he remarked. “That’s sort of nasty. Ranger Slayer? And Drakkon?”

The woman couldn’t see what the big deal was.

“Why are you acting so grossed out? Tommy’s got a thing for the Pink Ranger in my world too. Big whoop!”

She was starting to get pissed now at being the butt of their laughter.

“Lady,” Skull drawled. “This isn’t the Prime universe… Pigs fly here but no way in hell has Drakkon ever diddled Ranger Slayer…”

“You talk too much,” she decreed hotly, looking at the Red Sentry with contempt. “Get lost.”

Then she stared imperviously at Adam.

“And you… take me to my chambers. I’ve got an itch to scratch, and I’m bored playing these mind games!”

To her delight, this ‘Adam’ showed much promise when it came to pleasing her. If he was feigning being aroused by her bossy, bitchy demands, he was one amazing actor. Scorpina had been willing to sacrifice being in control in the bedroom if that’s what Lord Drakkon required, though it truly wasn’t her forte to be the submissive one in the dynamic.

Perching on the edge of the vanity’s plush stool, she spread her legs beneath the flowing skirt of her ballgown and pointed to the carpet immediately before her.

“You… power down or whatever it is you guys do here…”

She smiled dangerously.

“I’ve got something for you to taste…”

Scorpina spent a fair amount of time busting Adam’s balls, wearing the soft-spoken into a writhing, sweat-drenched shell before she decided the pitiful human could take no more. She orgasmed at least five times and, while it took the edge off, she wanted…

More.

Surely, a man of Drakkon’s immense power, bolstered with the Ranger strength and endurance of two coins, could finish her off…

Her panties were still soaking wet, clinging to every curve and crevice as she crept up the winding staircase to the tyrant’s private chambers. She hoped the aroma of her arousal would inspire the clueless Ranger as to where her desires truly lay tonight. With all that he’d accomplished, Drakkon couldn’t be as ridiculously boneheaded as his Prime counterpart.

Deciding between leather and lace for the rest of her ‘gift-wrapping’ had been difficult, but she ultimately decided that the tyrant must prefer leather. Scorpina could just…tell. She’d heard the wild stories of his theatrical fuckery and leather just fit.

Of course, she thought must of those tales had to be greatly exaggerated.

Lord Drakkon was a little…’off’ but he hadn’t behaved as nutty as she’d been led to believe.

Adam and Skull were clearly full of shit. She’d been utterly confused as to how they couldn’t answer a simple question.

Was there a Lady Drakkon?

She’d gotten something of an answer when her manicured fingers wrapped around the Black Sentry’s balls and gave a ‘friendly’ but authoritative squeeze.

He’d cried and wept and screamed something about a…trinket. And something about that loony territorial mutt. Then Adam had passed out in a puddle of sweat, piss, and cum to her growing frustration.

Quietly, she moved up the stone risers, her ears straining for any noise coming from above. The notes of a song echoed faintly to her ears, the delicate, yet yearning notes of ‘Swan Lake’. Reaching the shadowy entrance to the outer chamber, Scorpina’s bare feet made the barest of whispers on the emerald green rugs as she moved closer to the sitting area.

Reclining on a jacquard chaise lounge, Lord Drakkon was completely nude, the dancing flames from the fireplace highlighting his broad chest and toned abdomen. Powerful thighs were spread languidly, a thick, prominent erection dripping a clear fluid of anticipation.

He was watching something like a feline would watch a beautiful songbird hopping along the ground, waiting to pounce, to bite…

As she watched, Scorpina realized there was someone else in the room, their graceful body poised near the fireplace, back to her. Shiny black ribbon circled their ankles, feet standing en pointe in satin ballet shoes. Sheer dancer’s stockings covered the woman’s legs, a flowing black tulle spilling down from her waist. Diamonds dripped down the open back of the leotard, glittering like stars in the night sky as she moved.

A thick head of ebony ringlets brushed the ballerina’s shoulders, like an old pin-up movie star.

Drakkon was riveted by the woman’s graceful poses as she moved to the music, teasingly coming closer and closer as she leapt and twirled, the muscles of her legs and back bunching under…scarred skin??

Scorpina frowned.

“You excite me beyond reason, Trinket,” the tyrant groaned, a hand starting to reach for his shaft then resisting the urge. “How could you believe my head could be turned by another?”

Was this ‘Trinket’ Lady Drakkon?

Why didn’t Adam and Skull just SAY that? And what did that nutty mutt Red have to do with her?

Speaking of that spooky bastard, where was he? He clung to Drakkon like a second skin whenever he was in the same room.

The ballerina glided on pointed toe to where the evil Ranger lay. He reached for her with his large hands pulling her astride his waist to grind his cock between her silky thighs. Trinket rained kisses over his stubbly cheeks leaving behind bright red lipstick.

Scorpina observed that the dancer was rather tall and muscled but given the rigors of her chosen dance she would have to be strong.

It was when Trinket arched her back, allowing her lover to rove his lips down her neck and chest, that she caught sight of the gold collar and the facial hair.

Trinket was Red…

Drakkon was fucking Red…

Red was in essence ‘Lady Drakkon’…

Well, Scorpina wasn’t one to kink shame; she could play nasty with the best of them. This ‘Trinket’ roleplay wasn’t about to throw her off her game. It only meant that she needed to not only win over Lord Drakkon, but also that crazy canine.

‘He might believe he’s a dog, but a man’s a man…’ she erroneously told herself…still not getting the big picture. ‘I can play games too.’

And when the tyrant flipped his beautiful ballerina to his back, shoving the tulle aside and tearing the silky bodysuit to mount his lover, Scorpina made her move. Both Drakkon and Red were so blissed out…and inebriated on some exotic line of coke…that they didn’t initially register her appearance.

Until she lowered her wet, swollen cunt over ‘Trinket’s’ mouth, her own pressing harshly against Lord Drakkon’s did the pair realize they weren’t alone. Red was too stunned at first to even think about swatting at the intruder or biting her or…anything. Finally, he managed to emit several muffled shrieks of outrage and garbled threats as the bitch continued to ride his fucking face!

He’d never even entertained the idea of pleasuring a woman, though the subject certainly came up in his ‘research’.

Drakkon must have been stunned as well because he also didn’t speak or move for several moments, pausing mid-thrust in a way that aggravated ‘Trinket’ greatly.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he finally demanded, Red’s incensed squalling continuing to float up from between her legs.

“You two looked like you were having fun,” she pouted, jutting out her lower lip but still rocking her hips over the ballerina’s mouth, so close to cumming again that she physically couldn’t stop.

Red seemed to sense it as well, feeling the rush of heat and the quivering of her muscles.

“Don’t you DARE!” he gasped angrily.

But it was too late.

The only reason she didn’t immediately lose her head was because Drakkon needed the information she possessed. It took all his self-control not to make an example out of her…

Hell, she’d just defiled his darling’s luscious mouth!

“Well, my dear…this is a PRIVATE party!”

[your-divine-ribs]

Forbidden Part 24

Words: 3.2k

Prof Bond tries to resist Y/N… we know he doesn’t stand a chance 🤭

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Small, light touches, drawing tiny patterns on the flesh of your upper thighs, trailing higher as you go until you catch the hem of your dress and inch it upwards. You keep your eyes ahead on the winding road, too nervous to glance over to see if you've got Johnny's attention. There's no reaction from him so you ease your legs open slightly, hitching the dress higher still. Surely he'll be able to see a hint of the black lace of your panties if he looks across at you now?

The silence in the car is deafening and your nerves increase but so does your excitement, the heat building quickly. You press a fingertip lightly over your covered clit, letting out a small sigh, tipping your head back against the head-rest. If he didn't know what you were up to before then there's no mistaking it now.

"What the hell d'ya think ya doing?"

His voice is quiet, cautious-sounding, and when you turn your head to look at him you can see tension in his face and his arms, every part of him braced. He's still looking ahead at the road but his eyes are flicking down to your legs every few seconds.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" You reply boldly, your confidence increasing as you see his cheeks taking on a rosy hue. You're pretty sure if you were looking directly at him now you'd see the telltale glaze of lust in his eyes. "If you must know you're turning me on talking about that day in your office... I can't help myself."

"But I can't do this with you anymore... I told you..."

"But you're not actually doing anything." You cut him off, increasing the pressure and letting out another sigh. "Damn... that feels good... wish it was you touching me instead though. Your fingers feel so much better."

"Y/N..." His voice is stern but you detect the waver in it, you can practically hear the lewd thoughts firing around in his brain. He's imagining pulling over right now, finding a remote little country lane away from prying eyes, undoing his fly and pushing your head down into his lap... or maybe both of you tumbling on to the back seat, tearing at clothing as you go. "Didn't you listen to anything I said?"

"Of course I did... you said how much you loved me sucking your cock."

His tongue darts out to swipe across his lower lip and you see his Adam's apple bob as he swallows thickly. "I did like it, of course I did, but it's wrong... it's so wrong."

"Felt good though huh?" You tease, fingers sliding firmer against the damp lace, your breathing hitching with how good it feels.

"Look... I know what you're trying to do and it's not gonna work... not this time."

His warning falls on deaf ears. If he was so adamant that things were over between the two of you he'd be heading back into town right now, not driving further into the heart of the countryside. Tall trees line each side of the narrow road like sentry, their branches obscuring the bright azure of the spring sky. It's the perfect setting for a clandestine hook-up. You could get up to absolutely anything out here and no one would ever have to know anything about it. Not even Van.

"I'm not trying to do anything apart from get myself off," you say, injecting a coy innocence into your voice which couldn't be more misplaced. "A girl can't help it if she's turned on can she? And it's not like there's anyone around to see what I'm up to... mmm that feels so nice..."

You spread your legs wider still, your free hand gliding down over your breasts, catching your nipples which have pebbled under the thin fabric. You pinch at them in turn, moaning in appreciation. You're feeling wicked. There's something so erotic about seducing a man like this, letting him watch whilst you put on a show for him.

"Christ's sake... I'll crash the bloody car if you carry on like that," he mutters, shifting in his seat, one hand dropping down to pull at the crotch of his jeans, uncomfortable as his arousal grows in the confines of the denim.

You just smile to yourself, fingers dipping under the waistband of your panties. You gasp as you come into contact with your slick, sensitive flesh, sliding a fingertip through your folds before moving upwards to rub your clit.

"Fucking hell Sir, I'm so wet right now," you murmur breathily. "Can't stop thinking about how I got down on my knees for you, the taste of your cock... it was so good. Mmm..." You pause to let out a moan, letting your words reach him, your voice low and sultry when you continue, saturated with need. "The way you filled my mouth... god... I can't stop thinking about it. How big you are... how thick... how good you'd feel inside me."

"Y/N... please," he groans, his voice strained and tight, tortured. His self-control's stretched so thin it's in danger of shattering at any moment. His eyes are darting between you and the road and then frantically scanning the area, and you wonder whether he's looking for somewhere to pull over. All you need to do now is give him a little nudge, tip him over the edge and past the point of no return.

"Do you really want me to stop?" You ask, fingers nimble in the pursuit of your pleasure, one circling the stiffened peak of a nipple, the other flicking over your sweet spot with increasing slipperiness. "I'm so close..."

"No!" He says quickly. "Don't stop. Tell me... tell me what you've been thinking of. Keep talking. And take off your panties. I'm gonna find somewhere to stop. Fuck... I can't believe I'm doing this."

But you can, it was inevitable really. He never really stood a chance.

You don't stop and you don't slow down, even when Johnny pulls off the main road on to a narrow dirt track that leads further into woodland, the car jolting as it traverses the rough ground.

"Really want you to fuck me Sir... I've been dreaming about it... imagining you pinning me down on your desk and teasing me until I'm begging for your cock..."

In one deft movement you've pushed your hips up and tugged your panties down your legs like you can't shed them fast enough, kicking them off into the footwell. You're just about to resume your actions when the car lurches to a stop and Johnny's unbuckling both of your seatbelts before leaning over and reaching for you. His large hands curl around your thighs, sliding you off your seat and straight into his lap. Your ass hits the steering wheel, the car horn blaring loudly, causing you both to laugh.

"Ahh shit!" He chuckles, pushing his seat back to give you more room, then he's fixing you with that desire-filled, dark-eyed gaze that makes your heart race. "You know you don't have to beg love... you never have to beg for me."

"But you said..." you begin, falling quiet when one of his fingers presses gently against your lips.

"I know what I said, but I think we both know that I can't help myself. I'm weak around you... and you know exactly what buttons to push." His eyes dart between yours and your lips, his yearning clear. "And right now I just want you... I don't care about anything else."

With your dress bunched up around your hips you can feel his hardness pressing against your core and you begin to grind on him. "I want you too," you murmur, pressing your lips hard against his and kissing him deeply. "So much... I've wanted you since that very first day."

Your hand dives straight between his legs, caressing his cock firmly through the denim and the throaty groan of need he lets out is almost enough to make you come on the spot. You fumble with the buttons at his fly, desperate now, tearing them open in haste. Johnny takes over, pushing them down his hips, his thick cock springing free. You need him so badly.

"Want you to ride me," he growls, pulling your dress down roughly to expose your breasts, thumbing your stiffened nipples. "Want you to ride the fuck out of me."

You can't help but throb at his words.

There's no time for tender kisses and gentle caresses, you're both too far gone for that. He needs you as much as you need him. You want to feel his thickness stretching you out as you impale yourself on his cock, the hot, wet slide of your bodies colliding as you thrust and buck on his lap.

"Just look at you... you're amazing," he marvels, one hand wrapped around his dick and the other on your hips as you hover over him, aligning yourself with him.

You close your eyes as you feel the head of his cock slide against your wet centre, your mouth falling open as he pulls you down firmly and slides tight and slick into your heat which clenches around him hungrily.

"Christ... feels so good... you're so fucking tight," he groans, hips bucking up into your wetness, forcing a choked whimper from your lips. His hands drop down to your ass, grabbing and kneading at the flesh as you sink down on to him. You hiss out a ragged breath at the welcome burn of the stretch.

You still for a moment to adjust to the overwhelming feeling of sudden fullness, hands like claws on his shoulders, fingernails digging crescents through the material of his shirt. You know this won't last long, you know it's going to be one of those clothes half on, hard and fast fucks that leaves you panting and gasping and breathless but so alive.

When you start moving there's no stopping you. Johnny's hands are tight on your hips as he helps you to rock against him, pulling you down time and time again as he meets you thrust for thrust. It's hot and it's dirty and you can't help moaning in desperation into his mouth.

"Need you... need more... ahhh..." you gasp, your body spasming as one of his hands slips between your two bodies, a fingertip rolling over your swollen clit in slick circles to match the rhythm of your bodies crashing together.

Johnny lets out a choked groan, his hips lifting to sink even deeper inside you. He feels so big like this, the drag of his cock against your walls making you gasp and keen for him.

"Feels so good... oh god..." you utter shakily, grinding down on him harder, the muscles in your thighs burning from the exertion.

Everything is perfect, the angle of your bodies, the slippery friction, the harsh sounds of skin slapping on skin as you pound against him, repeatedly lifting yourself up to slam back down on his cock. The air in the car is thick and heady with the scent of sex and filled with your eager whimpers and sighs, charged beyond belief with the urgency you both feel, the desperate desire to reach your highs overtaking every fibre of your beings.

"That's it," he grunts, pulling back to hungrily watch the point where your bodies connect, captivated by the sight of you taking him so well, your tits bouncing with every thrust. "Keep going... please... fuck I'm so close. You gotta tell me right now if you don't want me to come inside you."

You feel his body tense beneath you, your own movements sloppy now as he increases the pressure on your clit, writhing as he flicks it in concentrated strokes, trying with all his might to hold on.

"I want you to come inside me," you confirm without hesitation. Everything feels tight and warm and so divine you can't bear the thought of him slipping out of you. "Wanna feel you filling me up."

"Oh Y/N," he breathes, his head dropping forward as he buries his face in your neck, pressing rough, bruising kisses to your flesh before his head lulls back so he can watch you again.

His cap's long slipped off, his dark curls stuck to his forehead with perspiration, his mouth agape as he pants and curses under his breath. It's so satisfying seeing him like this, completely under your spell, every ounce of determination he had at doing the right thing obliterated as he succumbs to your temptations. It makes you feel powerful and desired and even though you feel your eyes rolling back in your head as your climax swells inside you can't look away, fascinated by watching him fall apart, the way his face scrunches in ecstasy, the guttural groans that tear from his throat as he hurtles towards his climax, out of control. It's the catalyst that tips you over the crest of your peak, swells of pleasure radiating through you as your body starts to shudder wildly, obscene moans bursting from you as you clench uncontrollably around him, triggering his own release.

You cling to each other as you ride out your highs, panting breathlessly, bodies spent and slick with sweat. You slump forward to bury your head in the crook of his neck, breathing him in, the euphoric high of your orgasm gradually receding to leave a blissed out thrum in your aching muscles.

"You're going to be the end of me... I just know it," you hear him murmur, but it's not said with disdain or regret. It's huffed out with a gentle chuckle, a happy kind of resignation that he gave into temptation, the reward you were offering too good to resist. His hands slide around your waist, flexing against your bare skin, smoothing tender touches.

"I'm sorry," you say, fixing the sweetest of smiles as you raise up your head to meet his beatific expression, his own smile warm and a little lopsided, relaxed and intimate. It's a far cry from the anxious determination he was displaying when you first got into his car. "I swear I'm not trying to get you into trouble you know. I didn't plan this..."

"Don't apologise, it's certainly not all you. I'm just as much to blame. You're just too bloody hard to resist." He glances down as you shift in his lap, your bodies sticking together as you tense your thighs and begin to rise up slowly. "Crap... this is gonna be messy if we're not careful."

You brace yourself on your knees and this proves to be true, his cum immediately dripping out of you and trickling down to stain his jeans as you inelegantly try to manoeuvre yourself back over to the passenger seat. You blurt out another apology which he quickly rebuffs. It's one of those messy and often inevitable by-products of sex that's usually embarrassing with a new partner, but Johnny's good-natured teasing and muttered joking comments put you at ease.

"Ahh shit... look at the bloody state of me," he groans. "Got tutorials this afternoon, turning up covered in cum's probably not such a good idea!"

You giggle as he tucks his rapidly softening cock away and pulls up his jeans, then he's leaning over you to open the glove compartment and reaching inside to grab a handful of paper napkins.

"Here ya go love, sorry but it's the best I can do. Wasn't exactly counting on this happening today." He tosses a few to you before dabbing at the stain on his jeans, then he clears his throat, obviously awkward as he looks away, reaching for the door handle. "Here... I'll... err... give you a little bit of privacy like... if you wanna... errr... clean yourself up."

You smile to yourself, mumbling a thank you as he exits the car to straighten his clothes. You're actually touched that he's considerate enough to give you some space to conduct a quick and cursory clean-up, imagining Van in the same situation. He'd be more likely to berate and degrade you, leaving you sitting there with a sticky mess between your legs, a reminder of your slutty endeavours. It gets you to thinking how he'd react if he knew what you'd just been up to with Johnny and that familiar dark thrill ripples through you as you imagine him finding out. You're positive he'd take it on himself to discipline you for your behaviour and he'd certainly make sure the punishment fit the crime.

You know it's wicked to even be thinking about Van whilst you've still got Johnny's cum leaking out of you but you just can't help yourself. No matter how much pleasure you derive elsewhere you still crave him. He's an addiction you can't kick and you don't even want to try.

"Think we should... errr... keep this just between you and me, eh?" Johnny says as he slides back into the driver's seat. "I mean that goes without saying obviously, but I mean Van as well. He doesn't need to know."

This is interesting. His comment takes you by surprise and you decide to probe him. "But I thought you two did everything together? I didn't think you had secrets? He seemed pretty up for sharing the other day."

Johnny grins at you like it should be so obvious. "Oh he doesn't mind sharing... as long as it's on his terms." He reaches down into the footwell for his discarded cap which he brushes off before placing back on his head. "And it won't be me he's pissed off with."

"His terms?" You echo, feeling bold and hugely intrigued and ready for a challenge. "Oh, that's rich. He's fucking around with me behind his fiancée's back and he wants to call the shots? I don't think so! I can do whatever I like and see whoever I like. I'm the single one."

Johnny sighs on a shrug, a definite 'don't say I didn't warn you' gesture. "Well... it's up to you love, I just know how he gets sometimes. He's just a little... uhhh... possessive I guess you could say... don't tell him I told you that though."

What?

You fold your arms across your chest, huffing like you're outraged when in reality you're anything but. Conversely you're actually insanely turned on by Johnny's revelation. You're already thinking of ways you can use this knowledge to your advantage, rile Van up until he snaps and makes you his in the most primal way.

"Possessive? Over me?" You exclaim. "As if he has the right to be!"

"I know it sounds crazy but you don't know him like I do. I'm just trying to make life a little easier for you... ya know... to keep the peace." Johnny glances over with a knowing expression which warms your cheeks. He knows you too well. "But if I know you... Little Miss Trouble... it's not peace that you're looking for..."

"I don't know what you're trying to say... I'm perfectly innocent in all this you know..."

You allow a devilish smile to paint your lips, hear Johnny chuckle in amusement.

"Oh aye," he smirks back at you, tipping you a cheeky wink as he fires up the ignition. "Purer than the driven snow I suppose..."

[the-savage-garden]

Nitpicking ACOWAR Ch 8

I'm going to have to start posting individual chapter notes for a little while because I got real nitpicky the next chapter. Might still do it after too. Hopefully I'll be able to eventually post more chapters in one post because it's getting ridiculous for me doing it this way.

Chapter 8

-Tamlin gets mad at Lucien and Feyre for retaliating against the weird twins for some reason.

-Tamlin wanted to deal with the twins his way. Tamlin expected better from Lucien but he wasn’t surprised by Feyre’s actions.

-[“That’s the sort of thinking,” I snapped, clutching the armrests, “that has allowed for a wall to be the only solution between our two peoples; for the Fae to look at these sorts of murders and not care.”] Did… Feyre just imply that Tamlin doesn’t care about humans?

-I know Tamlin has a temper but why does it matter to him if Lucien and Feyre sent the Bogge after the twins? In the first book he hated Hybern! This book mentions the 1st one and references scenes but then changes and adds things that weren’t there before! UGH.

-Lucien tries to reason with Tamlin but since Feyre has made sure their friendship is falling apart now Tamlin doesn’t trust Lucien anymore.

-Feyre targets all of Tamlin’s triggers to get him to lash out at her and she doesn’t shield herself. She’s become a manipulator now because of Rhys, I miss her old character from the 1st book.

-[“What have you done,” Lucien breathed, and Tamlin’s face was the picture of devastation as Lucien shoved him aside. He let Lucien shove him aside and help me stand.] This reminds me of something, like a scene from a movie.

-”The sentries—Bron and Hart, two of Tamlin’s favorite lord-warriors among them—were gaping, attention torn between the wrecked study and my face.” Keeping a note of these minor characters' names.

-Feyre and her stupid naming of her paintings. Ugh.

-Useless bathtub scene and Rhys asking how Feyre is doing.

-”Perhaps I’d been too good at keeping those healing powers at bay. “ Haha, you sure are good with your powers, que eye roll.

-Have I said how much I hate possessive male characters yet? Because I really hate possessive male characters! Ick. Tamlin I had been meh about but Rhys? I have no interest in him. He’s a creep.

-Feyre goes on a ride with Bron and Hart.

-Tamlin begged Feyre for forgiveness which she accepted (because she’s a manipulator) but Lucien avoids Tamlin.

-The naga attack after midnight.

-Tamlin will be dealing with the guard that lost the keys.

-”We all gathered outside the barracks the next morning, Lucien’s face pallid and drawn, purple smudges beneath his glazed eyes. He hadn’t returned to his room last night.” I don’t know what this has to do with anything?

-When did Tamlin become someone that punishes people? Is it because of Hybern being there? I’m still so confused by the world-building in this book.

-”...the ropes restraining him groaning as he strained against them.” What is up with this grammar? Is it just me that finds this odd?

-The sentry had apparently fallen asleep, probably because of Feyre.

-“Twenty lashes. And one more, for the Cauldron’s forgiveness.” This sounds more like human punishment than Fae but what do I know? SJM makes the rules around here.

-”I made my move. Slid my power into the bound sentry’s mind and freed the memory I’d coiled up tightly in his head—freed his tongue, too.” Making note of this.

-Sentry says that Ianthe took the keys.

-Wait, did Ianthe cause the naga attack? I thought it was Feyre that did that? Is the book gaslighting me?

-”It wasn’t fear of pain that propelled him, I realized. No, the lashings would have been deserved and earned and borne well. It was the fear of honor lost.” Huh?

-”I kept my focus on him, even as I counted my breaths, even as I prayed that Ianthe would take the bait—” I need to keep this in mind.

-Tamlin is suspicious of Ianthe.

-Brannagh calls them pathetic. For some reason this makes Spring look weak to Hybern.

-When has Tamlin cared about laws and traditions? I guess since the 2nd book.

-”In this … in this, my revenge edged toward something oily, something foreign and queasy. He would heal from the pain, but the blow to his honor … It’d take a little piece out of mine as well.” It’s almost like you’re doing a bad thing, Feyre.

-Tamlin being backed into a corner.

-”And like I’d gambled, Tamlin’s need for control, for strength, won out.” What are you even talking about? Tamlin literally doesn’t have a choice in this!

-”Ianthe was too important an ally to risk isolating. The word of a low sentry … no, it did not matter as much as hers.” Keeping note of this.

-”They had no idea—none—that I’d goaded her into it, pushed and pushed her to reveal just what a snake she was. How little anyone without a title meant to her.” I’m pretty sure this is still on Feyre, it doesn’t matter what Ianthe has done, Feyre manipulated everyone to get the right results to cause all this. She’s putting all the blame on Ianthe so that she doesn’t look like the bad guy.

-”How Tamlin listened to her without question—to a fault.” I don’t even know why Tamlin listens to Ianthe at all.

-”The sentries were sizing up Ianthe, the royals. Tamlin had always been one of them—fought for them. Until now. Until Hybern. Until he put these foreign monsters before them.” It’s almost like Tamlin did it to save someone he loved.

[flightpolling]

Flight Rising Mimic Melee! Round 1

The Top 2 winners from this poll will go on to the next round!

[fountainpenguin]

"Someone once lied to us... Now we're not so blind!"

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New 130 Reasons Why I’m Fairy Trash update today!

Fairly OddParents || One-Shot - “Sentry”

Read on FFN || Read on AO3

Find more Lavender Train story arc HERE

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For once, Foop's tendency for violence isn't the reason he and Poof are in the Spellementary School office at the same time. Poof's the one who tackled a pixie kid for saying he's adopted. Foop? … He's willing to let this play out.

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

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39. Sentry (4 months after Chapter 24, "Step Back")

Tuesday April 12th, 2005

Year of Sky, Spring of the Silent Owls

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You know, there was something just plain weird about standing in the RA's office when - for once in his Spellementary School life - Foop wasn't the one being punished. In fact, the pixie kid in the chair beside him wasn't even the one being punished. Said pixie kid was Finley, who sat there breaking a sandwich into tiny pieces and spreading them all across his lap a line. Foop knew his roommate well enough that it seemed obvious what his endgame was, even in this early stage… Since his DS didn't have a charge, he'd park his behind and play Pac-Man IRL until the Head Pixie showed up to this meeting. Or until it came time for curfew and bed at the dorms… whichever came first.

Technically, Foop had no real reason to be here. He wasn't even getting out of class for it this late in the day, but he'd played the "Poof and I are linked and I have a boo-boo too" card anyhow, and it seemed to be working out for him. He really wanted to hear the end of this conversation. Should be a scream.

He lingered by the window, cupping his chin in his hand. The window overlooked the playground. It was sickeningly lively out there… Children rushed about and tumbled and climbed on the monkey bars like they'd just been unleashed from a zoo. And there were no curtains or blinds to duck behind, which meant it was only a matter of time before someone out there spotted him and ratted him out as some kind of creep for watching his peers.

Shame… There's a cryptic sense of beauty in lurking behind dark curtains on a gloomy day like this one. It would have been fun. But the RA soaked up sunlight like liquid money and had probably never touched a curtain in his life. No matter. Not having blinds gave Foop enough room to flap his wings, gently floating with his legs kicked up behind him.

Not five minutes ago I was out there, climbing the chains that hold the swings… He'd modified the teeter-totter just last week. He'd brought some scraps from home that he was no longer using and set up a little system that altered the weights of the two different sides. It made it more fun for larger kids to play with smaller ones without any awkward stacking going on, and Foop knew perfectly well how to rig it so he could launch someone into space if they particularly got on his nerves.

"There," said a voice behind him. Foop glanced back just in time to see Gary clicking the lid into place on his first aid tin. He smiled and brushed a drooping spike of ginger hair from his eyes. "How's that, Poof? Feeling better now?"

Poof had gone nonverbal, as he often did… spread-eagle on his back and staring at the ceiling with glazed-over eyes. His bleeding knee had been dabbed clean and carefully bandaged. Foop had told Gary not to worry about his own. Usually, he couldn't stand the stupid core-sync between him and the purple puffball… Not that he looked like much of a puffball anymore these days. Since moving into the Spellementary dorms, he and Poof had both shed their old exoskeletons for their juvenile bodies. Poof's once-bald head sprouted hundreds of pastel purple curls. Foop hadn't yet decided if he was jealous of that messy hair, because while it looked like it might attract a delightful rat's nest worth of tangles, he was also stubbornly independent enough to crave a physical appearance entirely of his own. Foop's own hair had simply split in two massive black curls he kept neat and perfect on his head. And he brushed it by hand, thank you… He didn't cheat with wand waves like Poof did when he nearly overslept.

Along with the new hair, all four of Poof's wings had grown longer. They were nearly the length of his arm now. His feet could almost touch the floor, if he'd just sit in his chair like a respectable individual instead of flopping over like that. You know, he still looked good in the clothes Foop had designed for him back when they first shed… A bit like a sloppy commoner, perhaps, but certainly more presentable than he would have been if he really had gone for yellow sleeve cuffs.

Foop grimaced, pressing his fangs against his lower lip, and rubbed his bruised knee again. They felt the core-sync much stronger than most counterparts did.

Normally, you ended up with pairs that favored either the Fairy or the Anti-Fairy with a larger portion of their shared magic pool. But his and Poof's soul had split quite evenly down the middle, granting each of them identical shares of magic. Right down to the teaspoon, even. Their bodies were synced up in much the same way. Even a slap across Poof's face would flare pain in Foop's own cheek, and that's something he preferred to ignore. And apparently, the link would grow even stronger after they came into their adult wings. Wouldn't that be a lark? How stupid that the sync only worked in one direction… Stupid… fairy… host…

Gary tried again, stretching on his toes to put the first-aid kit back on its shelf. "Poof? I know you're not feeling well right now, but can you at least wave your hand a bit to let me know you're all right?"

Poof managed to lift his hand as requested. "I'm good too," Foop said, pointing down at his knee. The cut had sealed over and he didn't even need a stupid pink bandage to help with it. "I have working skin. Which is mine."

"Great job," Gary complimented him, and Foop relished in the praise… however undeserved it may be. Finley, who'd now broken every piece of his sandwich into shreds, looked up and raised his hand.

"Can I have some apple slices to go with this?"

See, Gary had been chopping apples when all three of them were ushered in. He took two slices from the cutting board and gave them to Finley. Finley started wrestling with them, trying to break them into slivers with his fingernails. Foop watched, trying to find the same sense of entertainment in the activity that the pixie did. He did not. He heard Gary start talking to Poof about how he was about to "open the door and step into the hallway; is that okay?" but the question received no response.

"He's all right with it," Foop said. Poof never minded when he answered for them both. After all, he'd been doing that for most of their lives thus far.

[Cnt'd on FFN / AO3 - Links at top]

[rinwellisathing]

It's A Thankless Job: Part 6

Sex scenes in this one!

Sentry arched his back, head tossed lazily skyward, his pale silvery hair falling away from the side of his face. His eyes were closed and his soft lips parted in a moan of pleasure as his hips rolled eagerly with each upward thrust Gortash made as his hands gripped Sentry's slim waist, gently rubbing over his pale, freckled hips. Gortash could feel his lower body soaked with the tiefling's warm, slick juices as the young man expertly rode him. The exquisite tightness of that infernal cunt enveloped him and practically emptied his mind with sheer bliss. The ridges and textures along the inner walls teased his cock like nothing he'd ever fucked before, and the way those sharp black painted nails dug into his skin hard enough to draw blood kept him firmly here in the moment, enjoying every sensation. That long tail flicked side to side, raised up like an eager animal in heat. The silver rings pierced through the sharp tip jingling with each motion. The tail curled in pleasure with each deep plunge as the Tyrant's pierced cock invaded Sentry's tight hole, prodding against his cervix. The piercing added an extra level of sensation, Sentry had to admit he enjoyed that, most of his clients were fairly milquetoast, not the type to have a ring through the tip of their cock. The tiefling leaned forward just a little, hands pressing to Gortash's sweat slicked stomach and slowly moving up his chest, eagerly tangling in the thick, dark hair before finally moving up over his collar bones and to his neck. Their eyes met and a look of excitement crossed Enver's face as one hand moved away from the younger man's hips and gently rested on one of his wrists. Sentry grinned that wicked little smile of his and his fingers began to tighten around Enver's throat. “Let's....let's see if you pass out first or cum first....it's a really fun game I like...” Sentry panted as his hips began to buck smoothly atop Gortash's cock once again, motions quickening as his grip tightened. He was vaguely aware a phone was ringing in the background, probably Gortash's, as it lacked Sentry's distinctive custom ring tone, but either the guy was too caught up in pleasure to hear it, or he was enjoying this to the point he was actively ignoring it. Either way, a point of pride for Sentry. He noticed Gortash's eyes beginning to glaze over a bit, his face beginning to turn color, but no safe word, no safety gesture, and no attempt to push Sentry off of him. He could take it, he wanted to be choked within an inch of his life and he was practically urging Sentry to keep it up. He could keep up with him. The thought spurred Sentry on, moaning and crying out as he rode his late brother's lover eagerly, grinding his body against him as he squirted, juices soaking the sheets and his partner's skin below him. He could feel the thick, hot gush of cum flowing into him as well, painting his inner walls and finally he let go, leaning down to check whether or not Enver was still conscious. He didn't lean in far before a strong hand grabbed his silvery hair roughly, fingers entwining in it as he was pulled into a deep, greedy kiss. Mouths open, tongues dancing across eachother's lips, faces flushed brightly, leaving him gasping as they separated.

“OH fuck....Is it selfish of me that I don't even feel a little guilty about this?” Sentry panted, rolling over and laying beside Enver. “Why should you? You can tell yourself you're comforting a grieving man, or that you're just fulfilling another duty your brother left behind.” Enver chuckled, turning to drink in Sentry's naked, sweatsoaked form. The tiefling glared coldly. “Don't say it like that. I'm not 'fulfilling his duties'. I'm a completely separate person, not a replacement.”

Gortash frowned, looking into Sentry's eyes. His hands gently pressing to the younger man's face. “Of course, I didn't mean it like that. I apologize, dear Sentry.” Sentry was surprised to realize the apology was genuine, and from a politician no less. He smiled gratefully and leaned in, kissing Enver softly on the lips. “Thank you. And look, I get you're still dealing with his death, me too...So like...I understand things are gonna slip out...Just...just a little decorum, yeah?” Enver nodded, reaching down to take Sentry's hand, gently raising it to his mouth and kissing his fingertips. “I appreciate your tolerance for these little slip ups...I do think that we can be good for each other, you know. This isn't just because you're his brother, I want that to be quite clear.”

The tiefling tried to tamp down the way his heart fluttered in his chest like some dope in rom com. He was too smart for that, no where near naive enough to conflate love and sex. He continued to tell himself this was just about his body, it always was, don't get attached. Besides, how long until Enver was a target? Was he already? Is that why Gary....

----

That thought plagued Sentry all through the next day. He sat at the bar, listening to cries of pain and pleasure mixed through the air as industrial music pumped in the background. He took a sip of his drink, watching the leather and metal clad employees...well, disciples, really, moving around instructing and guiding the clientele. “So, fucking your dead brother's boyfriend....that is certainly a thing...” Nocturne whistled, shaking her head as she took a long sip from her glass. Sentry had to admit, she really pulled off the black leather look well. “I don't even want to talk about it.” Sentry downed half his drink in one gulp. “Is he at least good in bed?” Shadowheart asked, swirling her wine in the elegant silver glass she held. Her curves filled out her uniform beautifully, it was no wonder she was the club's most popular 'provider of penance' currently. Her long bleached white hair was worn in an impressive braid laced with studded chains and metalwork orchids. Nocturne prided herself on her partner's hairstyle, which she lovingly created every day before work began.

“....Yes...” Sentry buried his face in his arms on the bar, his voice muffled. “He's everything I like in a partner, which is weird for a rich guy and a Banite to boot.” “I dunno, man, rich guys are weird, it doesn't surprise me at all to hear he's kinky as fuck.” Nocturne chuckled. “The kinda guy you read about hooking up in rest stop bathrooms, you know?” Sentry peeked up at her briefly. “Hey, don't knock it, in my line of work that's a useful strategy.” It was true, people disappeared on business trips all the time, so a simple pick up in the bathroom with the promise of a quick, torrid fuck was a tried and true way for any Bhaalist worth their salt. Gary himself had taught Sentry that little ploy.

“Right, okay edgelord. Stalked any parked cars in a lover's lane lately?” Nocturne snorted. When it was just her and Sentry, away from Rolan who was still in the dark about Sentry's true line of work, the ribbing was always so much more intense. “Nah, wrong kind of hooker, Nocturne.” Sentry grinned and knocked back the rest of his drink, always so satisfied with himself after such a truly awful pun. Nocturne and Shadowheart both grimaced at the absolutely abysmal joke, much to Sentry's pleasure. “Awww, come on, you're both serving the 'Mistress of Pain' now, don't my jokes hurt so good?” The tiefling chuckled, nodding to the bartender that he'd like another drink.

The three talked a little longer, a few more playful barbs exchanged, sordid details shared, until finally, the two women turned to see their employer gesturing them over, time to return to work. Sentry settled up his tab, leaving an impressive tip, and hopped down from his seat before making his way to the door. Fel should be finished cleaning up his latest work by now, but he would need time before another. He'd left Enver's place as the other man was about to start work and as tempting as it was to saunter into his office and tease him, Sentry got the feeling that wasn't a good idea, at least not right now. He made his way down the street, letting his feet guide him, aimlessly wandering as he popped in his earbuds and opened his phone, picking a playlist and enjoying a rare moment of simply existing in the world without purpose. He found himself in the fresh air and greenery of the park again, a familiar figure sitting on a nearby bench scattering birdseed. “Ah, I see you DO in fact, share my penchant for pigeons, Dr. Silverbough.” Sentry gave an appreciative grin as his slid onto the bench beside the hulking elf. “I'll do you one better, too! Did you know if you feed crows too they'll bring you stuff?” Halsin gave a patient smile that just barely hid the roll of his eyes. “Yes, I did know that. Why am I unsurprised to learn you like crows as well? Hello again, Sentry.”

“Well, you know me, I crumble to dust if I don't embody a goth kid stereotype at least once a day. Can I help?” He asked, swinging his feet absently as he looked up at Halsin. “Of course, I doubt our feathered friends would complain about getting their fill more quickly.” He nodded towards the bag, welcoming Sentry to toss a handful.

The tiefling gave an almost childishly gleeful smile as he reached into the bag and began to spread a handful of birdseed for the pigeons, his eyes lighting up as they crowded around him, eager for food. “You know, when I was little I got in so much trouble doing this.” He mused. “You weren't allowed to feed pigeons?” Halsin asked, quirking a brow and looking at Sentry with amusement. “Well...” The young man began sheepishly. “Okay, so I was living with my adoptive mum back then, before she died...She was with the Church of Ilmater and so I kind of lived there, you know, the clerics and paladins live nearby the church and all. She and her friend Father Lorgan had a home together since he was unmarried and her husband had died and her kids were all grown except me. They were nice people, though, good parents to me. I mean, they weren't like the religious folk you read about, they never...” He cleared his throat and trailed off. “Anyway, the other boys who were training in the priesthood or as paladins used to hang around the playground near the church, quite a lot smaller than this park, but still there was a little walking trail and benches and I used to like the birds that landed there, I think I've been pretty clear about relating to the city's myriad of 'pest' animals and all,” He rambled, lost in thought. “Anyway, some of the boys were class A assholes and liked to kick at the birds or chase them off, so one day, I told their leader Darryn that if he hurt the birds, I'd hurt him worse. He didn't listen, so I snapped his arm clean in half, bone out and all....got grounded for that one.” He admitted. Halsin nodded, if he had an opinion on the story, it didn't show in his expression as he simply absorbed Sentry's words. “Then you weren't actually in trouble for feeding the birds as much as breaking another child's arm.” Again, the tone was free of judgement and as Sentry searched Halsin's features, regarding him curiously, he got the idea he wasn't exactly opposed to Sentry's actions. The tiefling smiled a bit at the idea. “Yeah, well, the pigeons didn't do anything wrong, they're not shitbags who make other people's lives miserable. I think a good like ninety or so percent of people, this world would be better off without. Animals not so much.” Sentry shrugged, watching the pigeons eagerly eat up his offerings. “Far be it for me to deny the city is a trying place and one I wouldn't be sad to see reclaimed by nature, but I don't really believe the problem is people per se....Not entirely at least.” Halsin mused, leaning down and folding his hands as he watched the groups of people around the park. “I think many of these people, maybe even most, are good at heart but forced to survive by a system that goes against their very nature.” Sentry raised a brow incredulously and scoffed, shaking his head. “Well, it's nice to be an optimist, I guess.” He smirked, following Halsin's gaze. A young Githyanki woman with long brown hair tied back out of her face led a class of children in some kind of martial arts class. On a picnic blanket on the opposite end of the field, three young tieflings laid on their backs cloud-watching, their horns gently touching together as their pets, a dog and an owlbear, played nearby. On the trail a human with greying brown hair walked hand in hand with a blonde Githyanki woman, the two deep in conversation, barely noticing anyone else around them. A group of Tiefling kids had claimed one of the climbers as their fortress, two little girls up top giving orders to the rest. Sentry guessed at least here in this place things seemed pretty idyllic, but this wasn't the real city, it wasn't the rancid, rotting heart of it.

“Are you doing anything with the rest of your evening?” Halsin asked, breaking Sentry's concentration on the scene in front of him. “Huh?” He thought a moment. Fel likely wouldn't mind a break from cleanups for at least another few hours, Enver was probably still busy and even if he wasn't, Sentry hardly wanted to seem clingy...then of course Rolan and Nocturne were working and tonight he knew was Wysp's composition evening where he chose to take some time alone to work on his music. So he shook his head. “Nope, I'm free. Why, you're trying to take me on a date?” The young man teased with a slightly crooked grin. “Yes. I was hoping you'd be interested in spending some time together.” Halsin replied with a nod. “No strings attached of course, just some time in eachother's company.” “Sounds good to me.” Sentry agreed. “What did you have in mind?” ---- The two packed up the bird seed and began to walk together along the trail, Halsin pointing out animals or birds along the way much to Sentry's delight. The tiefling would respond either with an odd fact or two he knew about them or a question. 'Possums don't get rabies you know. Also they eat ticks. Anyone who hates possums is just really stupid if you ask me' 'Okay, what came first, calling the bird a tit or, y'know, tits? Calling someone a stupid tit?' When they'd finished the circle back to the Lower City entrance, they stopped at a small outdoor cafe, soon after ordering, they each sat with a large glass, each laden with fruit and decorated with a small umbrella. “You know, I'm so fucking glad you're the kind of guy who orders what he likes. So many men I've dated or 'dated' are weirdos about fruity drinks.” Sentry remarked as he took a long, satisfying sip of the cold orange liquid. “Like, the alcohol content alone makes this better than some bitch ass beer.” “Well, I've a bit of a sweet tooth and besides, I don't believe in denying myself pleasure simply because someone might judge me for it.” Halsin replied, taking a sip of his own drink. “If I stopped taking honey in my tea because some smug patriar might look down on me, I would be fairly disappointed in myself.” “Hey, live your truth, man. That's what I do.” Sentry shrugged, nibbling at the alcohol soaked orange slice. “Sooo...on the subject of pleasure....” The elf grinned a bit. “Well, I see you aren't one to deny yourself either, Mr. Ojeda. Then be honest with me, where do you want tonight to end?”

“I wouldn't mind it ending in your bedroom if I'm honest...or, if you're feeling daring, maybe pinned against a nice big tree.” Sentry teased, running his finger along the rim of his glass, his tail flicking with interest. Halsin was relieved to see the motion of Sentry's tail, tieflings operated similarly to many of the animals he worked with when it came to body language, the younger man was showing undeniable interest, he was relaxed. This wasn't a job to him. --- The small private garden behind the veterinary clinic hosted a great many exotic trees, grown with care and precision only a druid could manage. Sentry felt the smooth, sweet smelling wood of an unfamiliar tree pressing against the ridges of his back as Halsin gripped his hips, easily holding him up as Sentry's legs rested on his shoulders, knees crossed behind his neck. In more ways than just as a healer, the druid was a very giving man, Sentry found. He knew where to run his tongue or press his lips better than most the tiefling had been with, but he was especially surprised to feel the gentle, teasing touches at the base of his tail that caused his hips to tremble and his pussy to drip. Halsin moaned softly between Sentry's powerful thighs. His scent was intoxicating, and his juices were warm and sweet, a hint of something beyond a normal tiefling to them. His tongue danced over his thighs, the ridges and spines along them so common to tieflings that many people didn't even realize were sensitive, his fingers brushed against the smooth base of his tail, giving it a gentle tug to see if he enjoyed it, and, like most other tieflings Halsin had been with, the young man reacted with excitement. Every little gasp and moan from Sentry was musical to the elf. He could have pleasured the young man all night if he hadn't felt those calloused hands reach down to gently push his head back. “Is something wrong, love?” He asked. Sentry shook his head. “No, it's just....Don't I get a tasty treat too?” He pouted playfully. Halsin chuckled. “Well, when you put it that way, how can I deny you?” The elf gently placed Sentry on the ground feet first, the two looking eachother over. Sentry gazed appreciatively at the thick body hair so uncommon of most elves as well as the thick stomach, legs, and arms. The elf was strong, truly so. The muscle wasn't toned and visible, however, there was a comforting softness, a roundness about him that made his body pleasant to press against and cuddle close to. Even in his elven form, Sentry could easily see him as a bear.

“I am glad you're enjoying the view.” Halsin teased, gently taking Sentry's hand and pulling him close, kissing him softly, allowing the tiefling to taste his own juices on his tongue before guiding him down to the ground, laying on his back. Sentry mounted his partner's face, thighs on either side of his head as he leaned forward, reaching down to slowly take his cock into his hand and begin to rub it softly and gently at first, licking the tip eagerly before slowly running his tongue along Halsin's long, thick shaft. He gave a little whimper of pleasure as he felt those thick, gentle fingers spreading his tight cunt and then that large tongue sliding inside. He silenced himself by taking Halsin's cock into his mouth and beginning to suck gently at it, his moans and whimpers muffled now as he did. He was careful to fold his lips back protectively over his sharp teeth to avoid any accidental bites or scratches and soon his head was bobbing rhythmically up and down as his tongue continued to roll along the underside of the shaft. Halsin's grunts and groans of pleasure reminded Sentry very much of the sounds of a bear and he couldn't help but smile a bit, even with his mouth full, at the idea of his partner as a bear licking at honey, but the thoughts were very swiftly interrupted by the mind blanking feeling of that tongue rapidly flicking across his sensitive clit. His eyes rolled back and he lowered his head further, lodging the tip of the elf's cock deep in his throat just as he felt his hips begin to tremble and his inner walls begin to clench as he squirted that warm, slick honey across Halsin's face, although the elf hardly seemed to mind as he gently began to lick Sentry's crotch and thighs clean, nearing his own release as far as the tiefling could tell from how rapidly he was licking now and the twitching of the cock buried in his throat. 'Oh fuck' Was all Sentry had time to think as the torrent of thick, potent cum poured down his throat, warming his stomach as he swallowed it down. He could feel it dribbling out of his mouth and down the side of his chin, hells, there was so much of it. Was this a druid thing? He wasn't sure but the taste was strangely pleasant and as he raised his head slowly, tongue dragging along the shaft to lap up the excess, he smiled with satisfaction, slowly and shakily rising to his feet as his tongue flicked out to lick the little bit left on his face. “That....that was....that was really good.” Sentry panted, extending a hand down to help Halsin to his feet. The druid smiled and gently ran his thumb over Sentry's lip, wiping away the last remainder of his seed. “I enjoyed it as well.”

Sentry nodded his head and blushed a bit with a small smile as he began to retrieve his clothing from the ground. “Well, I should probably get home...” Halsin approached him slowly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Wait...I would be a poor host and a worse partner if I didn't invite you to stay the night.” He offered, did he sound somewhat hopeful? Sentry paused a moment, weighing the option in his head. Sarevok was always so pissed when he stayed out all night, especially when he couldn't justify it with a few extra kills under his belt. He didn't want to deal with the consequences, truly he didn't. But Halsin seemed to want him here so badly. No. No way was he letting someone like this end up on the family's radar. “I really have to go...” He insisted. The expression on Halsin's face was heartbreaking. Fuck. Who knew a guy who fixed up puppy dogs would be so good at that eye thing they did? “But I definitely do want to see you again, this was great...” Halsin nodded softly, his expression one of understanding, but also disappointment as he gently handed Sentry the discarded black hoodie. “Be safe, Sentry.” “Oh, you know me....Besides, I could say the same to you, right? No more bear escapades out in the woods at night.” Sentry chastised him with a roguish smile as he pulled on his hoodie, pausing a moment before turning back towards Halsin and giving him one more kiss before turning to leave.

[shadowqueenjude]

Tamlin angst part 7

@achaotichuman @fell-in-luvs TWs: Suicide, abuse, torture, etc. Amarantha licked her lips then swallowed, and Tamlin could detect the flicker of fear in her eyes. And Tamlin stared at her necklace, and holy shit...Jurian's eye hung from the end like a pendant. And the material used to craft the chain was fine, some metal mixed with... Tamlin resisted the urge to throw up. Mixed with his ripped off antlers. Amarantha had kept them as trophies. This female was absolutely out of her mind. "Hybern is willing to broker peace with Prythian, if we find Prythian willing to form a...marriage alliance." Tamlin's eyes narrowed. "Marriage alliance?" "My king does not wish to marry himself but if one of the High Lords were to offer their hand to me...he would accept it." Amarantha stared at him hopefully. Oh hell no. Tamlin scoffed. "Do you really think after everything you've done, I'd ever sully myself to the likes of you?" "You're my mate, Tamlin," she said softly. Rage flowed through Tamlin, overriding his ability to think straight. "I don't give a fuck if you're my mate. After what you did to Lucien, did you really think I'd ever give you the time of day?" "But I apologized! And I never forgot you, you see, I kept your antl-" "You're sick. You're fucking sick. You think I WANT that? You're insane if you actually thought that. I already vowed to never give in to you, to sooner take a human lover than you." Rage simmered in Amarantha's eyes. "Have it your way then." There was a loud BOOM! and suddenly Tamlin felt weaker, so weak, as weak as he'd been before his father... "What did you do?" Tamlin snarled. Amarantha smiled wickedly, triumph glazing her face. "I didn't think it would work, but that witch who granted me this magic clearly knew what she was talking about. Of course, this kind of magic has a loophole: there must be a way to break the curse. So I'll be generous, Tamlin. Since you'd rather fuck a human, here's the deal: I'll give you seven times seven years to come and join me under the mountain, or you find a human who kills one of your sentries with nothing but hate in her heart and make her fall in love with you. Hell, I'll even grant you a second provision: in the fiftieth year, if this human comes for you Under the Mountain and passes my tests, she can break your curse that way too. But until then, Prythian is mine." To the horror of Tamlin, several lesser faeries such as the Attor crawled towards Amarantha and swore fealty to her. The rest of the guests could do nothing, frozen in shock. "Your powers are all bound to me now. If you try to hurt me, I will obliterate you. Do you understand?" They nodded. Tamlin had never escaped his past; he'd never escaped the little boy he once was. He was once again nothing but a rag doll, a slave to the whims of people who despised him yet wanted to keep and use him in the same breath. Worst of all, he was not alone in his suffering; no, he'd subjected Lucien to this suffering too. Lucien had been right, as usual: Amarantha had been plotting something. All of Prythian would suffer if Tamlin couldn't do the impossible: make a hateful human fall in love with him.

[gladeveintanuki]

HELLOOOOOOO EVERYONE! HAPPY NotN VERY SOON!

For the third year running, I'm buying and trading for every Battered Vase and Glazed Sentry familiar I can! You know those two jar familiars with the horrible teeth? Yeah, I want as many as my grubby little pizza hands can get! My goal is to get one thousand this year, doubling my stock!

The base buy rate is 1 jar for 3g/5kt and I have many things open to trade (especially baldwin mats important for brewing strange chests!), if you want to bookmark this for later make sure to post something in the thread!

[medaknight4]

Frozen Assets

Chapter 1: License and Registration

Matua paced to one of the larger holding cells, blank tablet and chisel clipped to his hip. The scars of recent battle made his frozen home (and his joints) creak but such things wouldn't dissuade the sentry from doing his job. Instead of mulling in the anger and massive headache, the warrior pondered – something he was very good at. Odd that there isn't anything on the Wall about these people. Thousands of years of proven history and not a single mention of this ragtag team. I have to be the one to add them to it! Who they are, who they've been; what can they tell me about this world? I just wish it were under better circumstances. The Toa of Plantlife approached the door and was about to enter when he realized that he was still pretty much livid at said circumstances. Oh Matua – your mask may be calm but you still feel it. Can't question them with blurred vision. Breathe in… breathe out…

He closed his eyes and let the cold stone and air surrounding him temper the fire in his heart. It was embers now, more manageable, more useful. Matua swung open the door with practiced panache and eased himself down into the chair opposite the prisoners. Good, they haven't destroyed anything. I'm thankful that they surrendered their weapons but I have the feeling they don't need them to do some serious damage. Some of those things never stood a chance. Without missing a beat, he initiated the interrogation: “Name, base of operations; license and registration.”

The trio looked to each other, masks plastered with confusion. “We can give you our names if you wish but, respectfully, what are you even talking about? Toa don't need to announce themselves like that.”

So Silver is the face. Might be the leader but I've known the type to let their deputy do the talking. He might just also like hearing the sound of his own voice. We'll see. “Please don't feign ignorance in a Toa Fortress of all places, Sweet and Low. The Code states that we do things by the word. Our word. So I'll ask again: license and registration.”

“We have no such identification on us, Brother. Also, Sweet and Low?”

“The three of us agreed to this meeting and have observed your strange customs because cooperation is paramount.” Lime paused. “Lesovikk, Nikila, Vinik.” He pointed to himself and his comrades in turn.

Matua couldn't keep his eyes from widening but he wrangled them back into place in short order. So that explains it! The standard line of questioning doesn't apply to the Toa Cordak in the slightest but I'll keep on track, see how much they'll reveal on their own. The Brotherhood is not gonna like this…

“Base of operations? Having some corroboration with your assignment would be greatly appreciated.” Matua let slip a little menace on his last word, his favored poison. Not enough to kill, of course, but hopefully some agitation will get him somewhere.

“We don't have a base. We sort of, um, wander around…” The one known as Vinik said sheepishly, rubbing a hand on his patched up arm. “We're looking for something. Something important to us.” The Toa's eyes glazed over in a pained look.

It's not the arm doing that. No amount of healing I could do would fix losing one's Matoran. I just hope the stories are true and I can feel bad about using that inflection on them.

“So no references of any kind?” Matua sighed and shook his head. “Ghosts on the breeze. Might as well ship you off Nynrah with a pat on the back.” His eyes darted to the final unknown in this equation to gauge her response.

Navy – or Nikila, rather – has yet to speak. Her eyes are hanging on every word; she's extracting information, just like me. Gotta be careful about this one–

“Look, uh…”

“Matua.”

“We didn't ask to get involved with this,” Vinik pleaded, practically throwing his hands in the air. “I can understand you're on edge but I was hoping for some common decency. We were tailing a couple of ne'er-do-wells; we didn't sign up for a Frostelus invasion!”

“Nor the cave in that followed.”

Matua raised a brow. Ah, she speaks. With her own venom no less! On the offense to counter my own, laser-guided. I have a feeling this lightning lass is going to prove useful for the Wall; might even fill some gaps if we're lucky. The Toa of the Green let his facade melt as he put one hand on the table, the other massaging his aching head. “I want to trust you all, it's the least I can do after saving who you could save, but–”

“You were knocked out.” Nikila leaned back in her seat, satisfied with herself. “Can't be a character witness if you didn't see anything.”

Matua almost smiled. Almost. “Have you interrogated before?”

“Not at all,” Nikila replied, shaking her head. “It's simply what makes sense.”

Vinik beamed with pride. “And that's why she's the strategist.” Lesovikk nodded with the assessment but Matua had the correct assumption that the he was smiling just as hard as his teammate on the inside.

The Toa of Air eventually piped up. “We couldn't save the others but we were able to protect this.” His masked glowed a spectral green as he pulled out a spherical stone from his back. “What is it?”

Matua's face darkened as Nikila's lit up. “Look at you, deft-hands! You've been favoring the Brakas lately, huh Les?”

He nodded as the Faxon dimmed, his concentration subsiding. “Nightmares aside, they're a fun bunch of Rahi. Useful for playing tricks–” Lesovikk turned to face the frowning Toa in front of him. “–or to do some reconnaissance without interference.”

Oh, so they're all clever. Fan-freaking-tastic. Flail and Mace need to pay more attention during the tools check. Matua sat there, silently seething. He was tempted to simply swipe the stone from the more senior Toa but that would've sent the wrong message, namely that it is, in fact, important. An easy lie of omission. Maybe now is the time I play my hand.

“Excellent job stealing a fortress key, Toa Cordak. Since you've been the only ones in the dungeon as of late, it's pretty much useless. But, inventory is inventory.” Matua held out his hand as he gauged the masks in front of him. There's hurt in those eyes. But I expected… more. Poison stings less with repeated exposure; perhaps they're inoculated to the revelation.

Lesovikk returned the Makoki stone without a word. “How long have you known?”

“He's known the entire time. Ever since we gave our names.” Nikila eyed her interrogator, both impressed and miffed.

“It was the eyes, wasn't it?” Matua replied. “The real interesting thing is that we have absolutely no record of you all, just hearsay from our fellow Toa. Now I can't judge you for what you've done, or what you've been through, but what I can grill you for not knowing the Code. Seriously, have none of you heard it?”

Vinik chuckled despite himself. “I think we predate both the Code and this Fortress by a couple thousand years.”

“Or at the very least,” Lesovikk offered, “in its current state. The last time we heard of the Code, it was a single edict: Heroes don't kill. Has it changed at all since then?”

Matua stroked his chin as he quickly formulated his response. “It certainly has expanded beyond that one parameter, that's for sure. A series of social norms grew out of that idea, gaining leaves every few hundred years, being codified every half millennia or so. I suppose when you've been steeped in it, these things don't seem to change that quick.” Imagine how it must be, then, to be dropped into this brand new world with not but a lifetime of sorrow in your shoulders. He sighed. “We can help each other. Information is hard to come by in this leg of the woods, and from what I've heard, you've been in several thickets of your own-"

"Maybe we can prune these plant metaphors if we agree to help? It might be worth it for that alone." Nikila rolled her eyes but she was clearly enjoying herself.

Matua shrugged in kind, a faint smile finally gracing his mask. "You got me there." The Toa of Plantlife gently laid a couple of fingers on Vinik's arm as he continued, his Kanohi Kaosa beginning to brighten the dark chamber. "I'll show you three to our temporary quarters and get you up to speed. But you are coming with me afterwards." His attention shifted from Nikila back to his new patient. "How's the arm?"

Vinik flexed apprehensively, and then once more with glee. "I'll be. You've got my mask's counterpart!"

"The only thing it doesn't heal are broken hearts and myself, and Brother, I've dealt with both plenty." Matua extended his fist, offering a Toa's greeting. "Welcome to Toa Fortress Outpost 42. Apologies for the new decor; the Frostelus are lousy renovators."

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[cyronite-fr]

Night of the Nocturne 2022 Haul 🖤

So I had a goal to get at least 500 Strange Chests to open for Notn this year, without buying any, and I did it! I wasn’t as active as I would have liked to be this year but I am still happy with my haul!! Any chests I got after the 500 I sold (I didn’t keep track of my earnings from selling chests though lol). 

Here is my haul from opening the Strange chests 🥰

Total Nocturne Eggs: 52

Total Treasure: 15024

Specialty

Breed Change: Nocturne x1

Primary Gene: Fern x7

Secondary Gene: Paisley x5

Scene: Enchanted Dungeon x4

Scene: Strange Chests x6

Scene: Witch’s Kitchen x18

Tertiary Gene: Smirch x2

Vista: Conjurer's Hat x2

Vista: Gossamer Flame x4

Vista: Jester x1

Vista: Plasmpool Armor x3

Vista: Snarling Mimic x1

Vista: Spectral Shroud x4

Vista: Spidered Seat x2

Apparel

Basic Book Collection x4

Black Candle Cascade x8

Candles Cascade x13

Conjurer's Cobwebs x2

Conjurer’s Cloak x5

Conjurer’s Hat x2

Conjurer’s Herb Pouch x2

Conjurer’s Staff x1

Enchanted Cat Necklace x12

Enchanted Orca Necklace x7

Enchanted Owl Necklace x7

Enchanted Raven Necklace x4

Enchanted Stag Necklace x9

Enchanted Wolf Necklace x7

Ghost Flame Candles x1

Ghost Flame Cloak x3

Ghost Flame Collar x1

Ghost Flame Headpiece x1

Ghost Flame Tail Jewel x1

Ghost Flame Tail Ribbon x2

Ghost Flame Wing Ribbon x4

Golden Starswirl x7

Haunting Amber Clawrings x1

Haunting Amber Ghastcrown x3

Haunting Amber Grasp x1

Haunting Amber Forejewels x3

Haunting Amber Nightshroud x3

Haunting Amber Pendants x2

Haunting Amber Taildecor x2

Jolly Jester’s Cap x1

Jolly Jester’s Cape x1

Jolly Jester’s Gloves x2

Jolly Jester’s Stockings x1

Jolly Jester’s Tail Bell x4

Jolly Jester’s Wing Cover x2

Plasmpool Armet x2

Plasmpool Flightshroud x1

Plasmpool Forecallouses x6

Plasmpool Hindcallouses x3

Plamspool Spikescarf x1

Plamspool Tailspine x2

Plamspool Tasset x1

Sky Crystal x1

Woeful Gambeson x1

Woeful Gloves x3

Woeful Presence x3

Woeful Vial x2

Familiars

Afternoon Tea x12

Animated Armor x6

Animated Statue x1

Antique Chair x3

Apparition Lance x2

Articulated Fidget Toy x7

Axe Mimic x5

Banshee Brooch x1

Battered Vase x1

Bewildered Broom x2

Blooming Hedgehide x3

Bogsneak Puppet x1

Book Hoard x8

Book Swarm x9

Brass Knocker x7

Calculating Candelabra x1

Catty Cannon x3

Crypto Cameo x1

Crystal Carrier x3

Curious Kettle x2

Curious Parasol x6

Dancing Chalice x1

Danger Decor x1

Deadly Reflection x3

Decision Maker x6

Dirge Fiddlefiend x2

Ectoplasmime x2

Enchanted Armaments x1

Encouraging Quill x5

Ensorcelled Volume x1

Formal Tea Set x11

Four-Eyed Phylactery x2

Furious Faun x3

Glazed Sentry x4

Guest Greeter x5

Inquisitive Shroud x6

Jawlocker x6

Killer Keyboard x1

Kyorinrin x1

Leisure Loaf x4

Living Luminance x2

Living Sculpture x3

Magic Carpet x2

Magic Mirror x1

Manticore’s Might x2

Masked Phantom x1

Nutcracker x4

Opposing Forces x2

Orbiting Spirit x1

Overwatered Seedling x2

Pinpush Mirror Doll x3

Poltergeist Piano x3

Poltergeist Pile x1

Raucous Runner x3

Ravenous Cauldron x6

Rock Paper Scissors x3

Salt and Pepper x11

Scroll Stealer x2

Serpentine Lamp x4

Serthis Support x4

Seething Stove x2

Silverstring Harp x2

Smoldering Sconce x1

Snapper Nutcracker x10

Snarling Mimic x1

Sorcerous Arms x1

Spellbound Tome x5

Splendiferous Sunshade x1

Spirit Armor x2

Spritely Portrait x1

Steadfast Sweeper x2

Sugar and Spice x11

Swinging Chandelier x4

Tick-Tock x1

Time Devourer x4

Tinder Toy x2

Transmuted Treasure x3

Tricky Telescope x1

Undertide Fidget Toy x10

Unlikely Alliance x2

Veiled Vision x1

Veilspun Verse x2

Vulpine Lamp x2

Wooden Marionette x2

Writer’s Aid x2

[soopsiesdaisies]

i mean, technically, (y)our marriage is saved

Fic summary:

Rhys is a little drunk when he graciously saves Feyre from her wedding to idiot and all-round tool Tamlin. Well, ‘gracious’ from his perspective, obviously.

Read on AO3 + Tumblr Chapters overview.

General warnings: use of alcohol, this is 8k, author's first (published) feysand fic, Tamlin and Rhys

~*~

I was going to fall apart, right there, right then–and they’d see precisely how ruined I was. 

Help me, help me, help me, I begged someone, anyone. Begged Lucien, standing in the front row, his metal eye fixed on me. Begged Ianthe, face serene and patient and lovely within that hood. Save me– please, save me. Get me out. End this. 

Tamlin took a step towards me—concern shading those eyes. 

I retreated a step. No. 

Tamlin’s mouth tightened. The crowd murmured. Silk streamers laden with globes of gold faelight twinkled into life above and around us. 

Ianthe said smoothly, “Come, Bride, and be joined with your true love. Come, Bride, and let good triumph at last.”

Good. I was not good. I was nothing, and my soul, my eternal soul, was damned–

I tried to get my traitorous lungs to draw air so I could voice the word. No– no. 

But I didn’t have to say it. 

Thunder cracked behind me, as if two boulders had been hurled against each other. People screamed, falling back, a few vanishing outright as darkness erupted. 

~*~

I whirled around. 

Curling wisps of night dissipated, blown away by the slight spring breeze—and there Rhysand stood, the High Lord of the Night Court, smoothing out the lapels of his jacket. He was the picture of suave confidence, didn’t seem to notice the tenseness of fearful sentries, swords half-drawn; or perhaps he did, and he simply did not care. Even Tamlin he did not pay any mind, despite the low, warning rumble of Tamlin’s growl having started up behind me.

No, his eyes were only on me.

Typical. Typical of him to arrive now of all times, after having spent three months keeping us in nervous anticipation. It shouldn’t have surprised me: he obviously had a flair for the dramatics, and even under— even then he was more than happy to piss Tamlin off.

I couldn’t help recalling the glint in his eyes as he touched me when Tamlin couldn’t. Couldn’t help blame the goosebumps that erupted all over me at the blurry memory of his thumb stroking my hip on disgust.

Rhys grinned at me, boyishly handsome, and took a step closer. There was a sway to his step, as if he was on the verge of losing his balance.

My feet refused to increase the distance between us. 

“Hi, Feyre darling,” he purred, words slurring together until I had difficulty deciphering where my name ended and ‘darling’ began. He stepped even closer, close enough to touch me if he so wished, and nearly tripped on what seemed nothing.

Now that he had gotten so close, the smell of him – citrus and sea salt and a hint of an alcoholic spice – washed over me like a breath of fresh air. Darkness leaked from his every pore, leaching into the daylight around him like ink in water: he was angry, there was no doubt about it, and wasn’t wholly successful at masking it.

It felt as though my heart had ceased to beat.

With an almost bored expression his violet gaze drifted over the near-abandoned venue, taking in the terrified guests, scrambling over each other to get away, and then they fixed upon Tamlin. Tamlin who, by all accounts, looked ready to morph into his beast, to tear Rhysand to pieces—

I saw Ianthe back away slowly, her face drained of colour.

The grin on Rhys’s face grew razor-sharp.

“What a pretty little wedding,” he drawled, stuffing his hands into his pockets with less grace than he usually possessed. His eyes turned to me, and for a split second, they unfocused, glazing over; but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, and he clicked his tongue. “You look like a cupcake, love.”

His breath reeked of alcohol, of a spiced liquor I couldn’t name, but the words felt mind-numbingly honest. My blood went cold, then excruciatingly hot, and to my horror I could feel myself flushing. 

Rhys smirked at me, like he knew that I knew he was right. 

And then, finally, finally, Tamlin moved, steps large and angry. His eyes were already blazing; claws ripped from his knuckles, glinting in the sunlight.

“Get the hell out.”

Rhys frowned and pouted. He was so obviously taking the piss I couldn’t help but hope Tamlin could at least get one punch in.

“But I just got here,” Rhys said. His pout melted away for another dazzlingly sharp grin and he inclined his head to the side, ink-black hair shifting with the movement. “Can’t I at least get a drink? There’s enough.”

He motioned at the abandoned flutes with sparkling wine at the refreshments table with a limp hand, swaying slightly as he went. I had a feeling he’d had enough to drink already.

“Leave,” Tamlin growled, voice having raised in volume. “Do not make me ask you again.”

“You’re not even asking,” Rhys replied, rolling his eyes. “And besides—I can’t leave now. Not when I need to call in my bargain with Feyre darling.”

My stomach hollowed out.

“You can’t break a bargain, Tam-Tam,” he continued. “You know what will happen if you even try.”

Tamlin had grown red with anger.

Rhys then looked at me again, raking his eyes over my form and my frozen face, and his bored expression shattered. 

“I gave you three months of freedom,” he slurred. For a brief moment, he looked wholly devastated. Like I’d just ripped his heart out. “You could at least look happy to see me.”

I stared at him, vaguely aware that my hands were shaking, but said nothing. I wasn’t scared of him – Rhys was terrifying, yes, terrifyingly powerful, but even back there he hadn’t tried to break me like she had, like he could have done – but it was his Court that I was frightened of, where I did not want to go. I couldn’t—I would be a prisoner again, stuck, held against my will, and I couldn’t—

The devastation in his eyes did not fade, and he scowled. “I’ll be taking her now,” he told Tamlin, not looking away from me. There was a dismissal to his tone, as if Tamlin was far below him, nothing more than a servant.

“Don’t you dare,” Tamlin snarled. Behind him, the dais was empty; Ianthe had left, or run away, as had the remainder of the guests. Only Lucien and the sentries remained.

Rhys flicked his gaze from me back to Tamlin. The expression on his face changed quicker than I could properly detect: the sharp, mocking smile returned, and judging by Tamlin’s trembling fists, it had quite the effect.

“Oh,” Rhys crooned. “Was I interrupting? I though it was over. At least,” he said, looking back at me again, smile dripping with venom, “Feyre seemed to think so.”

He knew. He knew that—that I’d been about to say no, through that Cauldron-damned bond, through whatever magic was linking us together. He’d known and I wondered what else he knew, what else he’d seen, if he’d been able to hear—

Tamlin roared, a terrifying sound of pure rage.

I couldn’t help it. I flinched back, arms already in front of my face.

Before I could blink, Rhys‘s hip was pressing against mine, one hand on my shoulder and the other around my elbow, pulling me into his side. I blinked down at the hand curled around my arm, vaguely noted how tan he’d gotten, like he’d spent ages in the sun after having been freed; the difference between the black fabric of his sleeve and the back of his hand was less shocking now. 

Then my empty stomach rolled as it registered that he was touching me to take me away, and my breathing became shorter. Panicked. His hand was warm through the fabric of my gloves; it felt like his touch was burning me from the inside out, and I wanted to rip away from him, wanted to be free—

Rhys tutted, then barked out a bitter laugh. “I forgot how utterly incapable you are of controlling yourself,” he sneered, leaning forward to get into Tamlin’s face. He nearly toppled over in the process. “Perhaps she wouldn’t have called for my help if you’d waited until you’d both healed—but obviously you had to snatch her up as soon as possible to satiate the monster that controls you. Too bad for you, it’s not happening now.”

Tamlin’s face had started to change, canines lengthening. “You know nothing—”

“I know enough.” Rhys pulled me even closer and my throat was closing up, body frozen as my thoughts warred over what decision to make. “Even your High Priestess appears to think it is over.”

Tamlin whirled around, snarling when he saw the altar void of Ianthe. When he faced us again he was shaking all over, though his claws had begun to slowly retreat back into his hands. “You—”

“I’m in no mood to bargain,” Rhys slurred, a sneer on his face, “even though I could easily work it to my advantage, I’m sure.” He took a step to the side, pulling me with him. “Let’s go.”

I didn’t move. Couldn’t move.

“I—” I started, looking at Tamlin, urging him to do something, anything. “I—”

Tamlin’s fists clenched and unclenched. His arm twitched in my direction, as if he wished to grab me but thought better of it.

An ice-cold feeling spread through my chest. 

“Name your price,” Tamlin then said, voice quivering and hoarse.

Rhys looked wholly unimpressed. “Don’t bother,” he crooned, pulling more insistently at my frozen figure now. “Feyre, darling, come on—”

I still refused to move. 

I was waiting. For Tamlin to tear me out of Rhysand’s grasp, for a sentry or for Lucien to pull Rhys away from me, for anything that showed that they’d at least attempt to save me from Rhysand’s Court. They couldn’t let me go through that again—they knew I still had nightmares, that I awoke before dawn bathing in sweat and hurling my guts out from terror. 

But nobody was moving except for Rhysand, who continued his gentle tugs at my shoulders and elbow. Tamlin just stood there, looking at Rhys like he didn’t know what to do, like he was out of options, like his only option had been intimidating Rhysand into giving up the bargain.

In another life, perhaps I would have scoffed at Tamlin’s idiocy—Tamlin was powerful, but not as powerful as Rhys, and a couple of snarls couldn’t possibly intimidate the High Lord of the Night Court. I could’ve found it ridiculous that Tamlin’d had three months to come up with a strategy and his strategy was no more than acting like an angry toddler, snarling something about not taking what was his. 

Now, however, I was devastated. 

“Tamlin,” I whispered, voice shaking. My eyes burnt, but I refused to cry. This was a last resort, a final plea to please, please don’t let him take me— 

Rhys ducked his head towards my ear. The tip of his nose bumped against my cheekbone as he swayed in place, hands tightening around me.

“Does it look like he’s going to help you?” he hissed, disgusted. His mouth brushed the shell of my ear; goosebumps erupted yet again, and I nearly shivered. “He can’t, you see, because he knows there’s nothing he can do.” 

He’s a brute, Rhys’s voice continued in my head, seething, who sees you as his possession, as a toy. But he’s not the strongest youngling in the sandbox, Feyre, and someone stronger and bigger than him wanted to play with you instead. He knows that he can throw a tantrum, that he can rage and cry and hit all he wants, but there’s no going against a magical bargain. 

I closed my eyes to keep the tears of frustration from falling. 

Rhys raised his head, his plump bottom lip skimming the very tip of my ear as he straightened to look Tamlin in the eye. 

“I’ll return her in a week, safe and sound. No harm will come to her.” And when I opened my eyes I saw Tamlin simply staring, face sallow, as Rhys purred from behind me, “I promise.” 

Tamlin didn’t move. Didn’t do anything to rip me from Rhys’s grasp, didn’t even look at me—merely stared at Rhysand with an expression that told me he’d resigned himself — and me — to this, that he was allowing Rhys to take me. The sentries behind him were quiet, faces slack with shock, and Lucien looked pale, panicked, like he couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. 

Tamlin wasn’t going to do anything. He really wasn’t going to do anything, hadn’t thought of anything else to help me, and was going to stand aside as Rhysand whisked me off to the Court of Nightmares. 

Anger and betrayal ripped through me like a tidal wave. It felt foreign after having spent so many months frozen in fear and apathy; as red and orange bled into my vision and my hands grew hot, it felt as if I was looking through someone else’s eyes. 

I’d done everything for Tamlin. I’d bled for him, endured torture for him, died for him… and for what? For him to stand aside, allowing the High Lord of the Night Court to have his turn with me? 

Was I really no more than his favourite toy? 

Rhys released me and stepped behind me, only to slip his arms around my waist, pulling me flush against his front. “This has been delightful,” he said cheerily, thumb rubbing against the bodice of my dress. “Truly. Shame I couldn’t even get a drink.” Then he leaned down again, tip of his nose against my temple and bottom lip brushing the tip of my ear, and whispered, “Hold on.”

And suddenly we were falling through pure, utter darkness. The wind tore at me and my heart was in my throat and I could feel Rhys pressed against me, only him, as I clung to his arms with all my might and hated him with all my heart—

My feet found solid ground, and as my senses returned to me, I smelled jasmine.

It wafted around me, heady yet light, and when I blinked all I saw were stars; a sea of them, pinpricks of diamonds thrown across dark velvet, twinkling behind pillars of moonstone and rows and rows of snow-capped mountains.

“Welcome,” Rhys sighed, tightening his arms around me, “to the Night Court.”

I stared, looked, breathed.

The hall we were standing in was entirely open to the elements. No windows to be found, just towering pillars and gossamer curtains swaying in that jasmine-scented breeze. I inhaled, eased Rhys’s hands off me, took a couple of hesitant steps forwards.

The building appeared to have been built on top of a mountain—if I squinted, stepped a little closer to the pillars, I could see glistening snow pooled in the corners of the veranda, and a significant drop after that. Despite it, the air did not feel thin, nor excruciatingly cold; though I couldn’t feel it, I knew the building must thrum with magic. How else could the air have been kept warm in the dead of winter, and at this altitude?

I turned, swept my gaze over the interior. The hall was open plan, dotted with tiny seating, dining, and work areas, each sectioned off with the curtains or large, lush plants. Thick rugs were laid out strategically along the moonstone floor and everywhere balls of faelight bobbed on the breeze, whilst beautiful lanterns hung from the arches of the ceiling.

And it was quiet.

No screaming. No shouting. No pleas from desperate innocents, praying to be saved.

“This is my private residence,” Rhys said. He walked closer to me, hands in his pockets, gait unstable. Once he deemed he was close enough – which was, excruciatingly enough, close enough that I could feel his body heat – he grinned at me like he’d grinned at me before, unrestrained and boyish. “We’re all alone.”

I stared at him. His skin had indeed gotten a lot darker since—since her, since he’d made the bargain with me all those months ago. It made him, infuriatingly, even more handsome, even as he swayed in place and reeked of liquor, even as he’d stolen me away from my wedding. And his wings—

I let my gaze lower to his shoulders, to his arms, but they weren’t there. Without them, without his power leaking from him as some stupid intimidation tactic, he looked almost normal—like any high fae male, his perfection aside.

It was infuriating.

In a fit of anger, or confidence, or whatever it was, I bared my teeth and pushed at his chest. He stumbled backwards, fell on his arse, and then gaped at me stupidly.

“How dare you,” I snarled, resisting the urge to stomp my foot like a spoiled child. “How dare you take me away like that! You could’ve chosen any possible moment in the previous three months and you chose my wedding! I can’t believe you—Rhysand!”

He blinked and his eyes, that had gotten glazed as he stared at me, refocused. “Yeah?”

“Are you even listening to me?”

Rhys blinked again, frowning a little. “You—you’re angry with me.” 

I crossed my arms. “And why?” 

“You’re always angry with me,” he answered, voice a bit quiet. “I’m the type of person lots of people get angry with.”

I didn’t know what to reply to that. He seemed very, very small for a brief moment, far from the imposing and dangerous figure he usually made. It was unsettling.

“Well, you… you did something shitty,” I said finally. “So I’m angry.”

He nodded, stood up carefully, and immediately lost his balance again, nearly tumbling to the floor before he grabbed onto the nearest pillar.

“‘S not that simple,” he slurred, frowning as he pushed himself away. “’S not—I’m a prick, but not that much of a prick.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rhys sighed, lolling his head back like it was too heavy to hold up. “It means, you’re welcome,” he muttered, stalking off to a nearby seating area. 

“For what?” I hissed, following him.

The fabric of my dress rustled as I walked, grating against my ears, and I set my jaw. It was bad enough that he’d taken me with him against my will, but it felt like it would be significantly worse if I admitted I hated the dress. That it’d been chosen without my judgement, that I’d been hauled into it like a doll.

He started rummaging through a cupboard, emerging with a round glass and a dark bottle. The cork popped as it was pulled out, and the liquid’s spiced, alcoholic scent flooded my nostrils; he threw the cork away from him, poured the liquor into the glass, and threw all of it back.

“Rhysand,” I hissed, as he poured another. “What am I supposed to be thankful for?”

He turned, glass in hand, and grinned tightly at me. The liquor was vaguely dark, like stained wood.

“For saving you when you asked,” he replied, taking a long, lingering sip of his drink. Then he stared at the glass for a couple of seconds, as if contemplating something, and downed the remainder as well.

I’d gone stiff. “I didn’t ask for anything.”

 “Didn’t you?” he asked, eyes flicking from my face to my left hand. “C’mon, Feyre, you might as well have shouted it in my ear. We’re m—I heard you.”

“That’s impossible,” I snapped. 

The air grew cold around us as tendrils of darkness started swirling out from behind him, mouth contorted in something akin to rage—or desperation. Rhys snarled, put the glass down, and reached for my arm; he yanked the glove off, threw it on the floor, and pointed at the tattoo, at the eye. He swayed towards me on unstable feet.

“I heard you,” he said, and despite the harsh way he spat the words out, he was still slurring. “You—you said no, and you asked for help and you screamed it down the bond and I heard you, so I came. Because you were so upset I felt it and I couldn’t ignore it, not that, so I came for you—”

I looked down at my arm, at his hand around my wrist and at his finger jabbing at my palm, at the pupil of the tattoo. Then I looked at him, at the snarl on his face and his darkened eyes, and I narrowed my own. “You shouldn’t have stolen me away. Take me back.”

Rhys’s face flitted through a series of expressions, all too swift for me to catch, before it settled on something dark and ugly. “You have no idea,” he hissed, “how loud you are. How clear your feelings are. You didn’t want to get married that uncontrolled, violent tool of a male—maybe later you would,” he spat, scowling, “but not now. Is he even aware why you hurl your guts up every night, or why you can’t go into certain rooms or see certain colours?”

I froze, chest heaving. Tamlin—Tamlin needs time, needs to heal as well. It wouldn’t be fair to put that on him. “Get the hell out of my head.”

“Do you not wish to burden him,” Rhys continued, sneering, “or did he never even care to ask? You shout every big emotion of yours down the bond, Feyre. Every intense feeling, whether it’s fear or nausea. I’ve never felt you be comforted by anyone, let alone someone you’re supposed to marry.”

I felt a grimace pulling at my mouth, eyes burning. This was too much—too much to think about, too much to hear after a day like this.

“Bastard,” I hissed.

Rhys’s fiery gaze shuttered. “Not a new insult, darling,” he said, cold grin all teeth. “Try again.”

“I want to get rid of the bargain,” I said. “Now. I don’t care whatever I need to give you in return. I want to go home, and I want the bargain gone. I’m done with you hanging out in my head.”

Rhys scoffed. “First of all, I cannot simply remove the bargain; the magic is older than that of all the High Lords in Prythian. And second,” he leaned closer to me, violet gaze locked onto mine, “it’s not the fucking bargain that’s keeping me in your head and you in mine, Feyre darling.”

I swallowed drily, hating how his eyes held galaxies and I couldn’t even force myself to look away. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” he murmured, liquor-laced breath fanning over my face, “that for me, the mating bond has snapped into place already. And unless you learn how to block any daemati from entering that pretty little head of yours, I will have a front row seat to your thoughts regardless of whether I want it or not.”

I wouldn’t limit the feeling that spread through me, the feeling that took hold of my limbs and seized my chest and twisted my stomach, to just shock. 

Whatever the mating bond was, whatever it meant, I knew it was sacred—something the fae wished to wait for, for millennia if necessary. I knew it was type of bond that paled all others, the type that could dissolve unions; the type that that connected two immortal beings for the rest of their eternal lives.

And here Rhys stood, sneering in my face, with liquor on his breath and galaxies in his eyes, claiming that the link between us did not come from the bargain, and instead from that very mating bond. 

Tamlin was of the belief I was his mate. That the bond would snap into place eventually, even if we were married already. Inevitable, because I had saved him and the High Lords from Amarantha. We’re fated, he’d said before.

“Impossible,” I breathed. 

Rhys reared back, stumbling until he hit the cupboard, and he held onto it so tightly his knuckles grew pale, as if he wouldn’t be able to stand without its help. His face twisted up into hurt and devastation and longing as if I’d just rejected him and by the Mother, no, no— 

“When?” I asked, choking on nothing. “When did you—When did you realise?” 

He swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing up and down, and he looked away. Indignation and hurt swelled up inside of me and I didn’t know where it came from, what caused it, as if him not meeting my gaze was enough for me to shatter. 

“I—I felt it at Calanmai,” he murmured, jaw ticking. “But I wasn’t sure until that morning on the balcony, when I was about to say goodbye.”

He’d reared back then, too, as if I’d hit him in the face, and then he’d vanished into thin air, taking all traces of night with him. And he hadn’t called in the bargain earlier, not until I was about to be wed and the rose petals sent me into a panic, and he was drunk and whisked me away— 

Oh. 

“Oh,” I said, mouth going slack. “Oh.”

“It doesn’t need to mean anything,” he said, gaze still trained on the floor. “It’s… a suggestion, of sorts. The two mated individuals are evenly matched. Not all mating bonds end with eternal love, and there are couples who thrive for millennia without a bond to urge them along. You love him,” he spat, squeezing his eyes shut, “and you’re allowed to without… without giving me a second thought.”

“Then why did you take me away?” I asked, voice scarcely a whisper. 

Rhys looked up. The expression in his face was still pained, tinged with something else. He looked younger, suddenly, a bit naïve, and it was making my fingers itch with the urge to touch him, to run them through his hair and simply soothe.

I curled my hands into fists. 

“You asked for help,” he replied quietly. “If you hadn’t panicked, I never would’ve appeared. I never would’ve told you and I would’ve left you alone to be happy.” He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “But I’m—I’m a selfish person, and I’m not exactly the picture of self-control at the moment.”

His mouth quirked into a self-deprecating little smile as he gestured at himself, and I had no idea what to say. 

I was angry, of course, at his audacity: whisking me away from my own wedding like some harbinger of death was one thing, but keeping the mating bond a secret, no matter his reasoning, felt infinitely worse. It was like my chance to have a choice had been squandered — yet again, I thought sardonically; it appeared that all I was for the fae was a doll to dress up and play with — by him planning on keeping it a secret, and having kept it a secret until now. 

I was tired of others making my choices for me. 

“And I must stay here for a week,” I said, “because of the bargain.” 

Rhys nodded. 

If Rhys was right — which was likely, considering Tamlin had backed down at the mention of the old magic — then I did not have a choice here either. I’d agreed in a moment of desperation and it was time to face the consequences. 

I inhaled deeply. 

“Am I to be locked up?” 

Rhys’s eyes widened slightly and he blurted, “No,” as he swiftly pushed himself away from the cupboard and stumbled forward. “You’re not my prisoner. You are free to roam where you wish, as long as it’s within my territory.” 

“I do not wish to roam through the Court Amarantha based hers upon.” 

Rhys flinched at the mention of her name. “The Court of Nightmares is… only one part of my territory,” he said. “They are separate from most of the Night Court and wish to remain so. I can assure you that you can explore for a century without ever having to set foot in there.” 

Free to roam his territory, without ever setting foot in the Court of Nightmares. Not a prisoner. I could go my own way, explore what I wanted, and return to Spring when the week was over. It was more than I expected to receive, and yet, it did not feel like enough.

“If I were to ask for a house here,” I said quietly, “would that be too much to ask?” 

Rhys offered me a small, if sardonic, smile. “No, even if I’d rather you stay here. Just say the word and I’ll give you anything you want.”

I stared at him. “I want to go home.” 

“Ask me anything else.” Rhys straightened, attempting to put his hands in his pockets. It took quite a while for an action as simple as that, and I resisted the urge to wiggle myself into the space under his arm as he swayed in place. “Jewels, clothes, a house, liquid starlight… I’ll give you that, and more to boot, but that is the one thing I cannot give you.”

Not now, rung his voice in my head, and I bit down on my lip. 

He was looking at me with wide, open eyes, as if willing me to believe him; still, his eyes had gone slightly hazy, glazed over like his focus had faded.

“Where is my cell?” I then asked. I cast another glance around the hall, finding it hard to believe that a place like this would even have cells; but Rhys was the High Lord of the Court of Nightmares, and anything could be true.

Rhysand’s expression soured. “It is not a cell. I told you that you aren’t being locked up.” 

Deep inside me, wherever my stomach began, anger flared again. “And yet, you refuse to bring me home.” 

“I cannot bring you back,” he bit out. “I can’t go against the magic. You won’t stay in a cell, you’ll stay in a room. You’re not a prisoner of mine—if anything, we’re both prisoners of the bargain. If you wish to retire, your room is on the level below. Take the staircase on the right; you’ll find your room behind the first door.”

I turned immediately, walking towards the stairs, trembling. I was inclined to believe him, inasmuch I could believe someone who was revered with the same kind of fear one revered death, but it still didn’t sit right with me. The bargain, him whisking me away, telling me that Tamlin saw me as a toy but insinuating he did too… I didn’t like it, not one bit. 

“And take that hideous dress off,” he called from behind me, sneering. “I wasn’t lying when I said you look like a cupcake. It makes you appear every bit of that fearful, trembling maiden your beloved Tamlin and that simpering priestess wish for you to be.” 

Before I knew what I was doing I whirled around, inched off my slipper, and lunged it at him. 

He hadn’t been prepared. The shoe hit him in the face, right next to his nose, and he looked so shocked and appalled that satisfaction ran through my veins like a victory. 

But then his slack mouth morphed into a wide, excited grin, and his eyes sparkled like stars, and he crossed the distance between us with large strides. 

“There you are,” he crooned as I fumbled for the other slipper, holding it up like a threat. “There’s the fire—is it just me, or are your eyes blazing?” 

I narrowed them, tightening my hold on the shoe. 

“Autumn Court, I bet,” he mused, eyes wide in awe and amazement. His hand drifted closer to my face, as if he wished to caress my cheek, before it halted. Something in me felt disappointed. 

“Beron would be right peeved if he heard,” Rhys continued, stuffing his hand back into his pocket with difficulty. His grin grew wider, more genuine, more sappy, and he leaned towards me. “I wonder what else you’ve received.”

He was being ridiculous. He was lying. All the High Lords had done was give me life—and nothing else. I knew, Tamlin knew it, Lucien and Ianthe knew it. Even Rhys had to be aware that I’d received no magic; he had to know that I was little else but a basic fae female.

“There’s no magic in me,” I replied, cursing the way my voice trembled. “There can’t be.”

“Your ridiculous satin slipper is smoking.” 

I dropped said slipper. Stared at it as it laid on the floor, my handprint a smouldering, burnt black, and felt my entire body go cold.

“Mates are equally matched,” Rhys said, “and I’m the most powerful High Lord in Prythian’s history.” He stepped even closer, close enough that if I shifted an inch, my face would be pressed against his throat. “Cauldron, Feyre,” he murmured, “what power could you wield?” 

I slapped him. 

The sound of my palm hitting his cheek echoed through the hall, Rhys’s face snapping to the side. His perfect mouth was open in shock and he was blinking as if he’d gotten a lash in his eye; I’d managed to surprise him yet again, and thoroughly at that.

I was breathing heavily, shaking with ire, panic, and my shock at my own actions. My palm stung, skin tingling with vague numbness. For a moment that lasted far too long, I felt like I was seconds away from bursting into hysterical sobs.

Rhys rolled his jaw as he slowly turned his head to face me. “Well,” he said, sounding resigned, “I suppose I deserved that.”

He didn’t. I hadn’t slapped him for his actions today. Tears – frustrated, near-uncontrollable tears – prickled my eyes.

“I think,” he continued, oblivious, “it might be a good idea if we both retired for the night. I’m—I think I’m a bit too intoxicated to continue having riveting conversations with you, and I’m sure you’re… tired and overwhelmed.”

My bottom lip trembled.

He noticed that. Of course he did. And suddenly, before I could pull back, Rhys took my face between his hands with a distraught expression.

His hands were rough; I could feel the callouses on his palms scraping the sensitive skin of my cheeks. And yet, no matter the mild discomfort, I could feel something settle in what appeared to be my very soul, as if I’d sunk into a hot bath after a long day. The whole notion was distressing enough for tears to properly well up, and to my horror, one breached the containment of my lashes.

Rhys wiped it away with his thumb, expression nothing if not pure anguish. It was such a jarring difference from the last time he’d soothed me—when he’d licked the tears away.

“I barely felt it,” he said quietly. “My whole face is quite numb, actually. I wasn’t lying when I said I’m not sober.”

“It’s very noticeable you’re not,” I said, though it came out more like a sob. “And I’m not crying about slapping you.”

His eyebrows shot up, and understanding bled into his violet irises. Then he tensed his jaw and looked away. “You miss the Spring Court.”

I did. I also didn’t. It was too confusing to think about, and homesickness had never been something I cried about.

“It’s not the Spring Court,” I said.

“Tamlin, then,” he offered, mouth twisting into a scowl. “It’s just a week. You’ll be reunited with your beloved before you know it.”

“I’m not crying about missing him,” I admitted, before I could swallow it down. Rhys’s eyes met mine again, hesitant, and I looked right back, resisting the urge to fold my bare hand around his. “It’s a week. I can deal. It’s just… I’m tired,” I said, blinking when tears threatened to fall again. “I’m so tired, and we’re mates, and I burned my slipper—”

Rhys’s face went pale with horror and then his eyes shuttered. He stepped back, wobbly on his feet, hands back in his pockets. I instantly felt cold.

“I didn’t realise the notion of us being mates is so upsetting to you.”

“Rhys,” I whispered, pained for no reason whatsoever.

“I shouldn’t have told you,” he sneered, though it felt more aimed at himself than at me. “It’s so fucking—I should’ve kept it to myself. I would’ve been fine just assuming and not knowing—”

“Rhys, I—”  

“—but I should’ve known you’d be appalled, because why wouldn’t you be? I haven’t exactly been on my best behaviour—”

“Rhys.”

“—and have simply been setting myself up for destruction, and now you know and I’ll never… there’s no ignoring it and hoping it goes away and you’ll never think I’m genuine, now, and I—"

“Rhysand.”

“What?” he snapped, darkness leaking from slitted pupils, canines elongated. I didn’t dare flinch, not even when he got close enough to tear my face off, and met his gaze instead. The flecks of silver in his eyes where so much brighter from up close.

“I’m upset,” I said, trembling all over, “because I’m tired, and my entire world view has just been upended. Not because you’re my mate. Get over yourself.”

Rhys’s entire body froze, and it was as if I saw his brain whirring, calculating, processing. I watched his pupils morph back into circles, saw the canines retreat, witnessed the scaly slivers of his leaking power melt away like snow under sunlight. Small smears of a vague, blotchy red appeared high on his cheekbones; it seemed he shrunk a little bit, body language changing from furious self-loathing to a kind that was tiny, more demure.

He swallowed, eyes darting from my own to somewhere around my shoulder, and then he said quietly: “Oh.”

I wanted to roll my eyes. I wanted to push at his chest. I wanted to wrap my hands around his shoulders and shake him, because apparently this infuriating male was so self-centred even his loathing was mainly aimed at himself.

“I want to go to bed,” I continued, watching for every little change in Rhysand’s expression. He still looked as though he despised himself. “And I want you to bring me to my cell.”

A muscle in Rhys’s jaw ticked. “It’s not a cell,” he gritted out, but he inclined his head in the direction of the stairs anyway. “Ladies first.”

I walked. The marble should’ve been cold against my feet, but it wasn’t somehow; again, likely the result of the magic. Rhys stayed a surprisingly appropriate distance behind me, close enough to still guide me with a hand on the small of my back if he so wished, but far enough that his presence wasn’t obstructive.

It was, though. Disregarding the liquor, he smelled like citrus, salt, and petrichor, strong enough to make my head feel hazy. His footsteps – loud on the marble, and distinctly uneven – were almost all I could hear, and when we arrived at the door of the room Rhysand had told me was mine, he leaned over me.

Up close, his scent got even stronger. My eyes swept over his face, inadvertently committing every detail to memory; his stubble was coming back in, a peppering of black along his strong jaw, and a muscle pulled visibly near his temple. His eyebrows were lowered, pulled together, creasing the smooth space between them in a frown, and his lashes cast shadows over the thin, bruised skin beneath his eyes.

I breathed in through my mouth, as quietly as I could, and mortification spread through my entire body when I had to hold myself back from pressing my forehead against his neck. He didn’t seem to notice, violet eyes stubbornly trained on the wood grain, before he pushed the door open.

He nodded, leaned back to allow me entry, and then slumped against the doorframe.

I spared him another glance. He still looked miserable, quiet and embarrassed, and I pushed my sympathy for him down and down and away; he did this to himself, and he could deal with it on his own.

But the room was gorgeous.

Much like the hall we arrived in, there were no windows—simply that comforting thrum of magic, pushing warmed air and a soft breeze inside; sheer amethyst curtains hung from the ceiling, fluttering, encasing the view of the mountain range. The bed was large and inviting, made up with creamy, ivory sheets and decorated with blankets and pillows and throws. Twin golden lamps stood beside it, a casual, thoughtless display of riches. An armoire and dressing table each occupied a wall.

Across the room, a chamber with porcelain sink and toilet lay behind an arched wooden door, but the bath…

Occupying the other half of the bedroom, the bathtub was much less of a tub and much more of a pool, hanging right off the mountain itself; its far edge appeared to stretch on into infinity, the water flowing silently off the side and into the night beyond. A narrow ledge on the adjacent wall was lined with fat, guttering candles, glow gilding the dark, glassy surface and illuminating tendrils of steam.

It took everything in me to stay still, to not heave a breath and sink to the floor and fall apart with relief, into a pathetic puddle of tulle, silk, and beading. The room was everything I could wish for, comfort and open air, space. A painfully stark difference from my bedroom back home, where I had so much difficulty breathing.

This room was fit for an empress. The marble floors, the silks and velvets, the elegant, subtle details… only a royal could have afforded it. I tried not to think what Rhys’s chamber was like, if this is how he treated his guests.

Yes. Guest, not prisoner. Unless Rhys was a creative kind of torturer, this was far, far removed from a prison cell.

I crossed my arms in front of my chest, and slowly turned. Rhys’s eyes were still trained on the floor.

“It’s nice,” I said, walking a bit closer to him.

His gaze shot up to meet mine and he swallowed, lips quirking up in a smirk that did not look convincing. He probably knew it, too, because half a second later it dropped.

“I’m glad you think so,” he replied, a bit hoarsely. He cleared his throat, gaze dancing away from mine yet again. “If there’s anything missing, anything at all, you can ask and I’ll provide.”

I probably wouldn’t. It looked like this room had everything I could possibly wish for and more. But I still nodded at him.

“Goodnight, Rhys,” I said, in lieu of thanking him.

Rhys nodded at me once more and carefully pushed himself away from the doorframe, stepping out into the hallway. Then he paused, conflicted. “Feyre, I—”

“Yes?”

He seemed to war with himself for a moment, grimacing, before he closed his eyes and inhaled sharply. “I’m sorry,” he said, “for getting you at such an inopportune time. I didn’t want to call in the bargain at all, but—”

He cut himself off, falling silent.

I bit my lip, gazing up at him, and I despised and liked him all at once.

“Maybe you should’ve called it in sooner,” I said, not changing my expression when he stared at me with wide eyes. “Goodnight, Rhys.”

I closed the door, shuffled closer to one of the arched openings to the outside, and simply stared at the view. The bodice of my dress made it difficult to breathe the way I wanted, and I closed my eyes, willing the unwelcome tears back.

Perhaps, if he had called the bargain in sooner, this wouldn’t have happened.

I took a stuttering breath and stumbled towards the dressing table, lifting my hands to my hair and pulling the pins and baubles from the updo. I allowed them to drop onto the dressing table, carelessly, and when I yanked the last of the pins out, the curls all tumbling free, and threw the pin onto the little pile with such force that over half of them fell onto the floor, scattering over the marble like knives.

My scalp ached as I raked my fingers through my hair, nails scratching along the particularly sensitive areas of skin where the curls and pins had tugged too much. When my hair was being done this afternoon, all I’d imagined was Tamlin carefully removing them later that day, mouth pressing against every sore spot, but now…

I inhaled again, ignoring the burn in my eyes, and sunk my teeth into my lower lip to keep it from trembling.

Tamlin had seen me hesitate. Everyone had seen me hesitate. It had been obvious enough for Rhys to come running to my aid like some loyal hellhound, whisking me away like I was a damsel in need of rescue. But had they known, like Rhys, that I’d been about to say no? That I wanted to wait for things in me to settle, for me to feel happy again, before we could try another wedding?

Perhaps I could explain. Perhaps Tamlin would understand, with the nightmares that haunted him, too, with his warring emotions and fear that caused his near feral need to protect me, to keep me alive…

But so many people had seen me hesitate. And the mating bond, the one that Tamlin believed in so fervently, didn’t even exist between us; and it was exponentially worse that Rhys and I were bonded instead. I was quite certain that if Tamlin knew, if I told him, he’d tear the manor apart and get himself killed trying to storm the Night Court.

With shaking hands, I began to unbutton my gown, tugging it off my shoulders.

It fell to the ground, a massive, embarrassing explosion of too much fabric and shiny beads, an absurd puddle of embellished custard. Even my undergarments were ridiculous; frilly, shiny lace, wholly for Tamlin to look at and then unwrap me like a birthday present.

Heat and ire welled up inside of me, and through a haze of angry tears I yanked the underwear off and threw it on top of the gown. Then I snatched it all from the marble, a voluptuous pile of white silk and lace in my arms, pooling over the black lines of my tattoo.

It looked so obvious, so out there, that I shook with it.

I gracelessly piled the dress and undergarments inside the armoire, at the bottom. Beads burst from their delicate encasing of thread and pinged onto the floor.

I didn’t realise tears had started to roll down my cheeks until I’d shoved myself in the first bit of fabric within the armoire that I could find. It was a short-sleeved, turquoise nightgown, the material soft and buttery and suddenly a bit damp.

Choking on a hysterical sob, I whirled around, looked at my reflection in the mirror above the dressing table. The fabric of the nightgown was darker around the neckline, a mixture of my tears and my makeup. I looked half-crazed, with the kohl running down my cheeks and my stiffened, curled hair wild and poofy.

It took me a couple of long, agonising seconds, but I finally willed myself to stop sobbing, even if my eyes continued to leak, and quietly took a seat on the massive bed. The mattress wasn’t too soft, more on the firmer side, and I stroked my hand over the velvety sheets.

The pillows would be too much, I thought. They’d swallow me up. Even if the mattress would keep me afloat.

It was the remnant of hysteria that made me gather the fluffy duvet and some blankets in my arms, dragging them away from the bed and towards the large, open, glass-less windows. It was the leftover grief and loneliness that made me wrap the duvet around me entirely, tucking my feet in but keeping my face exposed.

I sat, breathed in the unnaturally warm night air of the mountains, looked up at the stars, and wished.

For what, I did not know.