#my mind was convinced his last name was Ash

[pensulliwen]

Is this going to be a daily series? This might be a daily series, I’m having fun.

[moody-alcoholic]

Shopping

Next part is a monster of a chapter, so enjoy the fluff while it lasts ;)

Also 100% had this image in my head when I was writing the wedding part.

Summary: Ghoap x Reader, throuple. Slow burn (sorry but not sorry). 2.3k words. Reader is female (she/her), army nurse, non descript physical features, names used: Ashe.

CW: Implied bad family dynamic/ relationship (not reader).

Previous parts - masterlist - next part

Enjoy <3

The next morning over breakfast Simon insists Johnny go with you while you run errands. You don’t complain it’s nice to spend some time with him, you invite Simon along but he said he has some work to catch up with. You take a taxi back to your place and Johnny hangs out in the living room as you take a shower and change. 

“What errands do you need to do?” Johnny calls as you throw some clothes and pyjamas  into a backpack. You need to remember to take this to their place. 

“I need to get keys cut, and I need to go to Lush.” You pause trying to think of the other things, maybe you should have written it down. 

“Oh I need new bedding.” You walk out throwing the bag by the door.

“You okay with us having keys to your place?” He asks.

“Yeah I don’t mind, besides if I’m being honest your place is way nicer then mine.” You say. “But hey if you ever get stuck on the other side of London you’ve got a place to crash.” Johnny chuckles as you leave the flat to get a taxi. You find a key cutters first expecting it to take a few hours but it was done in a few minutes. 

“There you go.” You say passing one of the copies to Johnny.

“Thanks.” He says attaching to his keys.

“Oh I usually rent my place out while I’m working, it’s good for the extra income.” You explain.

“The army really paying you that little?” He asks, you chuckle.

“Not like that, I put all the money in savings, for a mortgage one day or a nice big holiday.” You explain.

“Where would you go?” Johnny asks as you make your way across the shopping centre. 

“I don’t know, I’d love to go to Asia, Japan, Korea, China. Or travel round Europe. I’d love to go to Iceland.” You stop yourself before you mention every country on the planet. You look up at him he’s smiling you grab his hand lacing your fingers with his. 

“Where would you go?” You ask him. 

“Simon’s always talked about taking one of those super luxurious resorts in the Caribbean.” Johnny said. 

“Oh the ones with the crystal blue waters and white sand beaches?” You say. 

“Those are the ones.” He says chuckling. Somehow you couldn't imagine Simon laid out on a sun lounger relaxing, you expected him to be somewhere cold where he could wrap up and be inside all day. You walk into Lush letting go of Johnny so you get the list up on your phone. When you look back up he’s gone. You look around, you took your eyes off him for two seconds, you walk round the display and see him talking to one of the employs, who’s showing him a bottle of something.  

“Look for your muscles.” He says holding up a pot. You smile at him walking over. The woman explains more about it as Johnny listens, he seems invested so you leave him to go grab the few things you need meeting him at the till. 

“What’s that?” He asks picking up a bottle after the lady had scanned it. 

“Moisturiser.” you say looking at it, you hear the car reader beep. 

“Would you like a receipt?” The lady asks. 

“Johnny.” You protest turning to look at him chuckling, he wraps his arm round your shoulder. You nod at the woman taking the receipt. You’ll have to pay him back later.

“Sorry, I’m under strict orders.” He says leading you out the store. God damn it Simon. You head to get some lunch which you insist on paying for since he pulled that stunt, you don’t even let him near the counter. You bring the food over sitting down.

“When did you and Simon get married?” You ask, Johnny smiles. 

“I’d been trying to convince Simon for months, he kept pushing it, there was always a mission always something going on.” Johnny stops for a second pouring a sugar packet in his coffee. “I got shot, woke up in hospital 3 days later the first thing Simon asked was when could we get married. I’m pretty sure if I had left it up to him he would have wheeled me to the hospital chapel to get married right there and then.” You chuckle opening the wrapping round the sandwich.

“Anyway I insisted we get married in Scotland, there’s this beautiful little church my grandparents got married in. Simon planned the whole thing, flowers, suits even rented a house in the highlands for the honeymoon. He may not seem like it on the surface but he’s really a hopeless romantic.” You smile at him. 

“That’s really sweet. Sorry about you getting shot though.” You say. 

“Don’t worry about it I’m still here that’s all that matters.” He says biting into his sandwich. You try to picture it in your mind Johnny and Simon getting married, you would have to remind yourself to ask to see a picture, if they had any. You’re about to ask Johnny about the honeymoon when you hear someone call your name. You turn to look. It’s Chloe walking over to you with a baby in a stroller. 

“Oh thank God it is you.” She says stopping the stroller next to you, you look down wide eyed at the baby sucking on its dummy. 

“Congratulations?” You say shaking your head at her. 

“My sisters visiting, she’s wondered off somewhere and I need to pee so bad can you just watch her for a second?” Chloe asks dropping bags by the stroller. 

“Babies hate me.” You reply. 

“Two seconds I’ll be back,” Chloe says running off. You look over at Johnny then back down to the baby who’s just blinking at you. 

“She’s cute.” Johnny says. 

“Chloe or the baby?” You ask looking at him. 

“The baby.” Johnny chuckles. You reach out with your finger letting her grip it with her hand, she is cute. You’re cooing at her when Chloe comes back moving the stroller to sit in the empty chair next to you. 

“Christ, you have no idea how stressed out I am. She didn’t even warn us she was coming just showed up yesterday. Now my mum is insisting on throwing this massive party for her and Jack and the other boys. You have to come by the way please I cannot be around that many American generals and stay sane. At least if you’re there my mum will go easy on me you know she likes you.” Chloe is talking at a million miles an hour as she reaches over picking up your tea taking a sip. 

“Your mum only likes me cos I joined the army. And Jacks not a general he’s a lieutenant at best.” You remind her. “Anyway, Chloe this is Johnny.” You say introducing him. Chloe looks up at him smiling and putting her hand out so he can shake it. 

“Holy shit you are hot. Are you army too?” She says. Johnny goes to open his mouth but Chloe cuts him off.

“Anyway he’s been promoted so he’s a big-shot now mum want’s to celebrate had dad dig out all his old contacts, now it’s a whole thing, she’s already hired the waitstaff and the musicians. And Jack inviting all these really important marine guys so now it's all a big promotion gala.” She says shaking her head. 

“You don’t go from lieutenant to general he’s probably just a captain.” You say.

“See you know this stuff so much better then me please come I’m begging you.” She says gripping your hands, you go to reply when her phone starts ringing, she picks it up. 

“Yeah, where did you go?” She asks as you look at Johnny. You mouth ‘sorry’ at him he just chuckles and goes back to his sandwich. 

“Look I’ll meet you outside Primark.” Chloe says standing up and hanging up the phone.      

“Sorry got to go it was nice to meet you Johnny, I’ll send you an invite you can bring Johnny too.” She says winking at him as she picks up her bags and leaves. 

“I am so sorry she’s a handful I know.” Your cheeks turning red from embarrassment.

“It’s okay, is she the one who filmed that lovely video?” Johnny asked chuckling. Oh God. You nod your cheeks burning. 

“Well I commend her photography skills.” He says.

“Thanks, I’ll let her know.” You say sipping on the tea trying to quell your nerves. You tell Johnny about how you met in med school and worked together until you left to join the military. Her sister married this American marine and they rarely visit so it’s always a big thing. Chloe is the only one in the family who has never shown any interest in the military and her mum resents her for that. 

“Maybe we should go to the party?” Johnny says. You scoff.

“Trust me you do not want to go, her parents are so posh, like own a mansion in Hampstead and Mayfair posh, like spend the summers in the Riviera and the winters in Switzerland.” You explain. Johnny just laughs. 

“I think it would be fun.” He says. You shake your head. 

“Her mum only likes me cos I’m in the military, it’s like a right of passage in that house, she’d have a field day with you and Simon.” You think back to the time’s you’ve been to their other party's it almost felt like you were attending a work do. 

“We’re not going.” You say wrapping the rest of your sandwich to take home. You’d lost your appetite.

You finish up the rest of your tea deciding to get the bedding another time. You get a taxi back to your flat to grab your bag and drop stuff off. When you walk in there is an invite on the floor. Johnny picks it up before you get a chance. 

“I thought you were holding the taxi?” You say trying to grab it out his hand, he’s too quick pulling it away from your grip. 

“Dear sergeant, very posh.” He teases. 

“Johnny.” You protest trying to grab it again as he opens it. 

“You are cordially invited to attend a soirée on the 14th of June.” Johnny is doing his best posh British accent as he keeps the card just out your reach. 

“Look at this part, Black tie, officer formals. Ooo auction in aid of the Royal British Legion.” He says, you sigh folding your arms as he closes the invite. 

“We’re not going.” You say. Johnny laughs picking your bag up. 

“I think we’re going.” He says walking out the door. You follow after him.   

 —————————— 

When you get back to their flat you see Simon still sat at the table with a stack of paperwork by his side. 

“Christ Si did Price send more over?” Johnny says.

“Nope, this is all last months.” He says closing whatever he was working on. 

“Guess what happened to us today?” Johnny says all excited as he puts the invite down for Simon to see. 

“We’re not going.” You say coming over to try and grab it. This time it’s Simon that’s too quick for you. Simon looks over it then passes it to you and rubs his forehead.

“We’re going.” He says.

“Simon!” You say annoyed, Johnny starts laughing. 

“We’re going because Price has been invited which mean I’ve been invited, which means Johnny gets to suffer along with us.” Simon says, he sounds even less enthusiastic about it.

“What about Gaz?” Johnny asks. 

“Training, gets a free pass.” 

“Well you boys have fun, I can’t wait to hear all about it when you get back.” You say putting the invite down and going over to the sofa. 

“Hey, you’re invited too.” Johnny says. 

“Oh yes but I will politely decline on this occasion, maybe next time.” You turn to look over at them. 

“What you’re not even going to go for Chloe?” Johnny asks. Oof, there’s that pang of guilt. Like a hot rod straight through the chest. You sigh.

“Fine! But I’m going for Chloe.” You say frustrated.  

“Who’s Chloe?” Simon asks. 

“The one who sent us the lovely video and pictures.” Johnny says. You lie back on the sofa trying to ignore the fact Johnny bought it up again.

“She’s the daughter of the host.” You say. Johnny comes over to the sofa sitting next to you. You cross your arms pulling your legs away from him. 

“What?” He says chuckling. 

“I have to buy a new dress now.” You say huffing. 

“Oh yeah, need help picking one out?” Johnny winks. 

“Simon can help.” You say back. Johnny pouts at you. 

“I bet I could find a pretty blue dress to go with my pretty blue suit.” Johnny says leaning closer to you. 

“Maybe I want to wear a red dress.” You say smiling at him. 

“Even better.” Johnny says his hands working their way up your legs. Before you can reply he’s scooped you up on his lap. 

“Johnny!” You protest, but you don’t fight him instead wrapping your hands round his neck looking down at his face. Why does he always have such a cheeky grin. You lean down and kiss him, his hand finding it’s way up your top. 

“If you two are going to have sex can you go in the bedroom, I have to get all this finished by 5.” Simon says, you pull way from Johnny, smiling. 

“Too bad, later.” You promise. Johnny pouts again, you get off his knee leaning up against him as he reaches for the TV remote.

“Do you really have a blue suit?” You ask. 

“Yeah, a red one too.” He says, winking.

“You should wear a kilt, Chloe would get a kick out of that.” 

“Maybe I will.” He says as he kisses the top of your head.

I could not for the life of me find a good ending for this.

Next part

[dreamerinthemoonlight]

Fire and Dreams in Meropide

Summary: You have a nightmare. Wriothesley is there to pick up the pieces.

Word Count: 1174

CW/TW: fairly graphic descriptions of natural disasters, mentioned (not real) character deaths, hurt/comfort, Wriothesley calls reader duchess, nightmares, panic attacks

Wriothesley x fem!reader

A/N: For the italicized part the theme music is Erlkönig by Franz Schubert and the rest is fragile fantasy/Once-colored Memories from the Vortex of Legends Genshin Soundtrack

You run. Fire falls from a sky clogged with roiling black clouds, the miasma belching from a flickering, glowing fissure.

All around you, your neighbors and coworkers run with you, screaming, shouting.

Of course, next to you, is a beacon of calm in the chaos.

Wriothesley holds your hand, pulling you along. Both of your faces are covered, wet rags struggling to protect the delicate respiratory organs from the ash that falls like snowflakes to the burning ground. Despite that, you can see your lover’s eyes, intense and alert, but unpanicked.

The two of you hurry through the streets, ignoring the flame-licked houses you pass.

Ignoring the houses, that is until, a child’s cries come from one of the burning buildings.

Wriothesley stops in his tracks, scanning your surroundings for the voice.

When he sees the child, he tenses, glancing between you and the trapped child.

“Y--”

A tear slips down your face unbidden. “Do as you must. Just… try to come back to me.”

  Wriothesley pulls his rag down around his neck and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. No matter how you try to convince yourself otherwise, it feels like goodbye. “I’ll do my best. Wait for me at the evacuation point?”

You nod, cupping his face. “Be careful.”

You turn and continue running, feeling the chill of a cryo vision flaring to life. Several yards from your parting point you can’t help but stop and turn, only to see the love of your life disappearing into structure just moments before it collapses into burning rubble.

“Wrio. Wrio. Wriothesley!”

The sound of his name whimpered mere inches from his ear, startles Wriothesley out of a sound sleep. Without thinking he reaches for his vision and gloves, only to realize that you’re still deep asleep, eyes twitching violently behind your eyelids while tears seep from behind your eyelashes.

Wriothesley reaches for your shoulder, intending to shake you gently awake, when you scream his name and bolt upright. 

“Y/n, y/n. Y/n, please look at me.”

The warden shifts, trying to place himself in your line of sight. You curl in on yourself. “No. No. Wrio is gone. Wrio is gone. Can’t be real.”

Wriothesley groans, running a rough hand through his hair while the other sets his vision just behind him. He lets cryo energy coat his hand--not enough to be freezing, but enough to shock you into the moment--and touches your shaking fingers.

The moment Wriothesley lays his fingers on yours, his touch gentle but too cold to be anything but real, your eyes snap to his face. Your breath snags in your throat as the events of your dream speedrun through your mind, culminating in the last image of your lover’s disappearing frame. You gasp, again and again, trying but unable to force air into your lungs. 

Despite the warm bronzes of your shared room in Meropide and the metallic humidity that never seems to abate, the sensation is identical to the ash that clogged your dream-self’s throat.

“Wrio…” You rasp, pleading at him with your eyes.

“Y/n, duchess. Hold on.”

Wriothesley slides out of bed, tosses on his vision and coat, before lifting you in his arms, carrying you down the stairs to his office and setting you on a well-worn couch brought from the overworld. 

You continue to hyperventilate.

He hurries around the room, setting on the music you listened to prior to bed and starting a pot of tea. When everything is settled, he kneels in front of you.

“Y/n. Look at me.” Wriothelsey’s voice, while gentle, takes on a tone of command that you can’t ignore.

Your eyes meet his gray blue ones. Gone is the wary intensity from the dream, replaced by soft, wavering concern.

“Breathe, duchess. In, one two three. Hold it. Out, one, two, three.”

He runs you through the exercise recommended by Sigewinne many years before when his own nightmares ran him ragged, using the cool touch of his vision to center you in the moment.

Ever so slowly your breathing calms.

“Are you with me, Y/n?”

“Wrio….”

“Can you tell me what you hear, love?”

You think for a minute. “Music. We… listened to this last night.”

“Good girl. What do you feel?”

“Your hands are cold.”

“Good.”

Just then the pot starts to whistle. 

“Can I finish making tea?”

You are slow to nod, but when you do, Wrio leaves your side to finish the task. He brings back a mug of tea--fancy cups are useless in a situation like this, if you ask him--making sure your hands are steady before handing it to you and pouring one of his own.

As you take slow, careful sips, tears slip down your face and you start sobbing.

Wrio sets both cups to the side. “Can I hold you? Or do you need space.”

“Please, please. I thought you died. You did die. You left me, you left me.”

The Duke pulls you into a tight embrace, hating every shudder and desperately wishing he thought he were warm enough to give you the comfort you deserve.  “I’m here, duchess. I wouldn’t leave you.”

“But you would. If it were a child, you wouldn’t hesitate.”

“Can you start at the beginning? I can’t tell you the truth if I don’t know what I left you for.”

You stumble through the details of the dream, often pausing so Wrio can soothe re-surging panic. When you’re done, he lays his head on yours. “I would think, my lovely duchess, that I would have a plan for such an eventuality. And that you would--either bravely or foolishly--follow me in.”

“I--maybe. I don’t know. It hurt so bad. Watching the building---”

“Sshhh.”

Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Wriothesley shushes you and shifts your head so your ear lays over his heart.

“Do you hear that, duchess? My heart beats and so does yours. I know it’s scary, but it was just a nightmare.”

“I know. I was still so scared.”

“And that’s ok. I’d probably be terrified if you did the same thing.”

You look up. “You would?”

“You’re my duchess, duchess. You think I’d just see you off like that?”

“You’d follow me.” The words are a statement, not a question.

“In a heartbeat.”

The two of you stay there for several long moments, the sound of his heartbeat easing the last of your tension.

It isn’t long before you yawn.

“Tired again, duchess?”

“No one sleeps well running from volcanoes,” you grumble, shifting so that you’re comfortably curled in the Duke’s lap.

“I wouldn’t think so. Do you want to go to bed?”

“Mmmm. No. Not right now.”

“If you say so.”

Despite your words, it’s not long before both of you are carried off to dreamland.

And if Sigewinne walks in and sees you curled up together and decides that the Duke and Duchess need a day off, then that’s her prerogative. You can always argue when you wake up. Until then, she wishes you sweet dreams and shuts the door tight.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 34 (Surrogate Motherhood & An Offering of Peace)

Heather gave birth a healthy baby boy for Everett and Spencer named Jett, and the besotted parents took him home to Oasis Springs just days after he was born.

In a way it felt strange to spend nine months with Jett only to hand him away, but Heather’s heart swelled seeing her friends’ joy when they held their new son. She felt pride that she could help them. And she had Ash, the most important man in her life.

She returned to work only a week after delivery, getting back to the day-to-day wrangling of her vet techs while tending to animals in need. She wasn’t sure what would happen after the visit from the handsome detective, and as the weeks ticked by, she started to get more and more nervous.

Then one evening, Malcolm knocked on her door. "I'm here to make peace," he vowed, but she hesitated to trust him even as she let him speak. "My mother wanted to send you to prison, but someone stepped in to let cooler heads prevail. It wasn't me, but it probably should have been."

"Are you finally admitting you stole my code?"

He raised his hands in surrender and shot her a cold smile. "You write great code, Buttercup."

"Don't call me that."

"Look, Landgraab Corp. won't press charges for the hack if you accept the deal." He sat right down at her new computer without turning it on, which she took as an insult, but she forced herself to hear him out. "I'll wire 40,000 simoleons to help raise our son...but he's a Landgraab. I know I've been distant, but I want him in my life and I want him to have my last name. The deal has to include a custody agreement."

"Is this your mother's idea?"

"Not all her ideas are bad, Heather."

"Will you please get out of my chair? I didn't invite you here and I don't need your money to raise our son. The clinic does just fine."

"We know how well the clinic does," he reminded her as he stood. "You run the business so well, you'll need a hell of a lot more than you bought it for if you want to buy us out."

Her stomach flipped. "You'd sell?"

"For 175,000 simoleons we will, even though my mother thinks you'd be robbing us blind. I convinced her to offer you a friends and family discount, and Petcare will go along with whatever she wants."

Heather was conflicted, but she was also tired, spending all day on her feet at the clinic so soon after giving birth to baby Jett. Malcolm stayed to care for Ash while she tried to take a nap, but she tossed and turned thinking about the offer.

Accepting felt like she was trading her son for her business. And the silly old legend of the Landgraab curse played tricks with her mind.

More than anything, Heather needed to talk to her family. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

[bloodstained-porcelain-doll]

The Kneeling Queen, ch 6 - Aemond Targaryen x OC

Read on AO3

Summary: Aemond Targaryen and Maelessa Velaryon were childhood lovers. They were each other’s only comfort in a world full of darkness. When they grew up, their love blossomed until they were the only thing the other cared about. Their lives get increasingly complicated due to the fact that they’re supposed to be on opposite sides of the war. Will their love survive or will it burn to ash as the war ensues?

Chapter warnings: Angsty angst, aftermath of Aemond killing Luke

Chapter 6 - Mishaps And Misplacements

A few days passed before Aemond returned to King's Landing. Maelessa had grown thoroughly bored of being locked up in her chamber, she had started trying to negotiate with the guards who brought her food, trying to convince them to bring her out for a walk at least. She had almost succeeded with one of them using her flirtatious ways, but when her robe slipped down and exposed the bloody name on her chest, he had remembered himself and turned her town. 

A terrible storm raged the night Aemond returned. Storms seldom reached the capital, but this one brought rain and thunder with it. Maelessa loved thunderstorms, her favourite thing was to sit and read a book while listening to the rain and thunder. This night she laid in her bed with a new book she had bribed a guard to bring her, almost dozing off as she flipped through the pages. Sometime in the night she fell asleep with the book still on her chest.

There was a loud bang on her door that woke her up with a gasp. She grabbed the dagger she kept on her nightstand and was ready to attack. But the sight that greeted her when the doors flew open was no stranger coming to harm her, but her own silver haired prince, standing soaking wet in her doorway, breathing heavily.

“Aemond!” she burst out, tossing the dagger aside to run and greet him. But as she rose, she saw his face. He was crying, his eye was red, and he looked devastated, completely and utterly torn up. “Aemond, what’s wrong?” she asked and when she ran to him, he fell to his knees, throwing his arms around her hips and hiding his face in her stomach.

“Forgive me, Maelessa, please forgive me,” he sobbed, clutching her robe and pulling her impossibly close to him, inhaling her scent.

“What happened, my love? Talk to me,” she urged, running her hands over his wet hair.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen, I’m so sorry, it was an accident,” he cried, holding onto her as if he feared it would be his last time. Grief overwhelmed her, seeing her prince like this, and all she wanted was to help him, to take him in her arms and comfort him.

“Mean for what to happen? Aemond, tell me!” She shook his shoulders, impatient to hear what had him so torn up.

“Luke was there, he was leaving a message from your mother. There was an altercation, I didn’t mean for it to escalate the way it did.” He sniffed and sobbed, running his hands down her silky robe and looking up at her for the first time. Anxiety ripped at her chest when she heard her brother’s name. “We both got on our dragons to leave… The storm raged. I chased him. I never intended for it to happen this way… his dragon tried to burn Vhagar, I tried to tell her no, I told her to stop… Maelessa, I lost control of Vhagar… She acted on her own accord… In one bite they were gone,” he cried, hiding his face in her robe again and sobbing loudly. 

Maelessa’s blood grew cold when she realised what he was saying. Her little brother was dead, and his dragon, too. By Aemond’s hands.

“You killed them,” she whispered with tears falling from her eyes. His sobs grew louder and she felt him nod. War would follow, there was no doubt. All that she had ever known was about to be torn to shreds. Lucerys. Her heart felt heavy, her head dizzy. Her little brother. At the hands of the love of her life. Luke. Little Luke. Dead. And Arrax, too. In her mind she saw them falling from the sky, torn to shreds by Vhagar’s massive jaws.

“Please forgive me,” Aemond sobbed. “It was an accident, I lost control,” he said again, clutching her desperately. Tears fell from her eyes and she wasn’t sure what to do with herself. Her hands still rested in his wet hair, and she dropped to her knees to look at him. A pang of rage washed over her before she looked into his eye. His face was pained, salty tears streaming down his cheeks as well as droplets of rain water from his hair. Regret was etched into his features, he looked mournful and ashamed. The rage turned to pain, the pain to grief, the grief to empathy. It hurt her to see him like this. In fact it hurt more than the realisation that her little brother was dead.

“I forgive you,” she sobbed and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into her embrace. His robs wracked his body and his hands clawed at her back in relief as he whispered ‘thank you’, over and over again.

Part of her wanted to hate him for what he had done. He had destroyed her family in one impulsive fit of anger. But there wasn’t a cell in her body that could bring herself to hate him, so instead she pulled him up to stand and walked them back towards the bed. She peeled off all his soaked leathers and stripped him of all his clothes and his eyepatch as well. She dried him off with a rag and combed through his hair with her fingers. His tears didn’t stop falling even when she brought him into her bed and wrapped the warm furs around the two of them. She pulled him into her arms and kissed his forehead, singing him a Valyrian lullaby. Both of them fell asleep with salty tears stinging their cheeks, and Aemond’s hand resting on his carved artwork on her body.

On Dragonstone, Rhaenyra was driven mad with grief and rage. Daemon had brought the news of her son’s death. Aemond Targaryen had slain him in cold blood and now he kept her daughter as a hostage.

“Get her. Get Maelessa out of his claws,” she ordered through gritted teeth and tears.

“And what of Aemond?” Daemon asked. If the Rogue Prince grieved, he didn’t show it. All he showed was rage.

“I want him dead,” the black queen spoke. Daemon nodded.

“Your daughter will return home safely. Your son will be avenged.” Then he left, taking with him no one but Erryk Cargyll.

They rode Caraxes over the sea but left him outside the city in order not to be seen and thus attacked by Vhagar. Daemon laid out their plans and then they separated, splitting up in two different directions. Daemon went first to a few men of the city watch known to hate king Aegon. He entrusted them with the mission to seek revenge on Aemond, avenging prince Lucerys. A son for a son. Then he made his way towards the dragon pit.

Erryk managed to sneak all the way up to the royal chambers, locating the one he knew belonged to Maelessa Velaryon. He had the advantage of looking just like his brother, so no one was suspicious of him as he walked through the halls. He expected the princess’ chamber to be locked and barred, but the door was unlocked, even left ajar. Very strange. He entered quietly, and much to his surprise he found not only Maelessa asleep in her bed, but Aemond Targaryen curled up in her arms. His was the task to bring Maelessa home safely, not to seek revenge on the Targaryen boy, but now he had the opportunity to take out two birds with one stone. 

His armour rustled when he took a step forward, and at once Maelessa stirred, opening her eyes. They widened when she looked at him, and in a heartbeat her hand shot out to grab a dagger from her bedside table. Erryk lifted his finger, quietly shushing her. His own sword was pointed at the sleeping Targaryen prince.

“Which one are you?” Maelessa asked, disentangling herself from the prince and sitting up.

“Erryk. I’ve come to save you, princess, to bring you home safely to your mother.”

“I don’t need saving,” the girl snapped, pointing her dagger at him. She didn’t appear to be imprisoned at all, nor did it seem like Aemond was keeping her here against her will. But he was intent on keeping his word to his queen, bringing her daughter home.

“Your mother has ordered your return home to Dragonstone,” he said, inching closer to the pair on the bed.

“I already told her, my home is here.” She rose from the bed, her dagger still raised toward him. “I’m not leaving Aemond and I’m not leaving my dragon.”

“Your dragon is seen to, she will be coming home with you. Prince Aemond will not.” He took another step forward. The prince looked oddly harmless and peaceful where he lay sleeping in her bed. If not for the scar and the sapphire eye glaring open, he would look like any other boy.

“One more step and I’ll scream, waking him up. He’ll take your head for trespassing.”

“Not if I put my sword through his throat first,” Erryk threatened, growing sick of this impasse. Something in Maelessa’s eyes changed and she quickly moved the dagger to her own throat.

“If you harm him I’ll slit my own throat and my mother will have you executed, responsible for my death,” she threatened, her eyes gleaming madly at him. Daemon made this plan seem easier than it proved to be.

Erryk sighed. He racked his brain trying to come up with a new plan. The girl was insolent but clever, thwarting his plan. He couldn’t make her come willingly, so he had to act quickly. He put his sword back in its sheath and raised his hands, signalling a peaceful surrender. He glanced between Maelessa and Aemond, assuring himself that the boy was still sleeping. The second Maelessa began to lower her dagger, Erryk lunged, clapping his hand over her mouth to stifle her screams. He grabbed her around the waist and ran as fast as he could before the prince woke up. He knew the castle well and used it to his advantage as he ran, the girl desperately trying to scream and kick and hit him. Thankfully she had dropped her dagger when he grabbed her and could cause him no harm.

Aemond woke at the sound of metal clanking against the floor, and he quickly shot up in the bed, reaching his arm out to protect Maelessa. Only, she wasn’t there. He was all alone in her chamber, and the doors were wide open. He shot up from the bed, looking around in the large room. There were no signs of forced entry, the only hint that anyone had moved was the dagger he had left behind for Maelessa. The dagger was what had fallen on the floor, waking him.

Quickly he dressed and grabbed his sword, setting out to find his girl. He screamed her name until it echoed through the halls, but there was no response. At first he thought she might have gone on a walk, seeing as she had been cooped up in the room for a week, and he had forgotten to lock the door last night in his anguish. But she was nowhere to be found, and no matter how much he screamed there was no response. His heart rate quickened as the fears began to settle inside him. He hadn’t thought she resented him for locking her up, but perhaps he had been wrong. Perhaps she took the first opportunity to flee. No, she wouldn’t do that to him. She loved him. Right?

Just a few days ago she had allowed him to carve his name into her skin, and now she had abandoned him. She said she forgave him, last night. She wept for her brother, but she forgave him and took him into her bed, comforting him and caring for him. No, she couldn’t have left him willingly. His proof would be in the dragon pit, he reckoned.

Had she been taken, her dragon would still be there. Had she gone willingly, her dragon was the only escape she had. His footsteps echoed through the empty halls as he hurried down to the pit. He grabbed a torch and searched through the pit for the small dragon that was black as coal. This year was the first year Catlys was big enough to ride, but no one had made a saddle for her yet, so it would be an uncomfortable ride for Maelessa, had she taken the dragon and fled.

His biggest fear was confirmed when he didn’t find the bat anywhere in the pit. Tears of rage and betrayal burned his eye and fell down his cheek. He cried out her name one last time and then he let out a scream, as loud and as long as his lungs could take, and the dragons in the pit roared with him in his pain.

Maelessa was unceremoniously dumped onto cold wet ground, looking up to find her mother’s husband Daemon staring down at her.

“It was you! I wondered how Erryk managed to get here so quickly,” she muttered, getting up and glaring at him. He looked pleased with himself as usual.

“We’re going home. You can either get on Caraxes’ back yourself or I can bind and gag you. The choice is yours.” She scowled at him, and her own dragon came towards her to nudge her in the chest fondly. She gave Catlys a stroke on her cheek, then she shoved past Daemon angrily, resisting the urge to make a comment about how Aemond was the only one allowed to bind and gag her. When Erryk and Daemon were seated, Caraxes and Catlys took wing, beginning the flight back to Dragonstone. Angry tears pricked her eyes the entire flight, and in the moment she truly hated Daemon Targaryen.

In the far distance she heard the dragons in the pit roar and cry. An echo far more grim followed moments later. Vhagar. The gut wrenching screech of the ancient dragon could only mean one thing. Aemond knew she was gone, and it wrecked him.

Tag list: @magnificentsapphiresoul @ner-dee @sadgirlxangel

[sanrioluver222]

Last goodbye:

cole cassidy x gn reader, angst, inspired by last goodbye by jeff buckley :3

You and Cassidy sat face to face. Your face wet with tears. Cole had just broken the news.

“I’m sorry darling, this is our last goodbye.”

He wiped the tears off your face. He hated seeing you in this state. He never wanted you to cry but he knew it was right.

Just a couple months ago you and Cole started dating. Soft and sweet and he never wanted you to find out about his past. He was over it, apart of overwatch now.

After a couple months of dating he felt guilty. He never wanted to hurt you nor did he want you to get hurt. But his past came back to haunt him.

On the train on day out, you say on a train. Face to face, just talking. You had convinced Cole to take a train to a different city. Just for the day. Cole had been wanted in the town near where you were going but brushed it off.

Nothing would happen…right?

There you were talking. He held your hand and slightly caressed them. As you chatted he admired you, your face, your voice, your cute outfit. He just adored you.

Cole looked up, just for a second. He saw someone he recognized. Deadlock members. Fuck.

He knew it was a matter for seconds before they realized he was there. And he knew they were angry.

And just as he knew it. His world crashed.

Ashe finally noticed Cole. Her eyes meeting your figure. Her eyes furrowed, she knew that Cassidy would never admit to his past and she knew she had a feeling of anger towards Cassidy.

She stood up, the rest followed in pursuit. She walked up to you guys. Your eyes meet hers. A confused looked appeared on your face.

“Cole Cassidy.” she says with her country tongue.

You looked at him, your eyes confused. His mouth was slightly parted. He was very worried.

“Ashe..” His voice was small.

Her eyes furrowed. The annoyance in her face was evident. Cole knew what she was up to.

As the Clock striked the hour. It was time.

Ashe smirked as she sat next to you.

“Hey there pudding, names Ashe. I’ve known Cassidy here for awhile.” she nods.

You were nervous, sure. Cassidy could tell it on your face. And of course so could Ashe.

Ashe smirked. She knew she had Cassidy in a corner.

“Yeah me and Cole we’ve been tight. Well used to be until he left Deadlock. But don’t worry, i’m not mad.” she gave a small smile.

You looked at Cole confused. He couldn’t look you in your eyes.

After the train ride you got off at your destination. Silently you took a taxi towards your hotel. After Ashe left he promised to tell you everything.

In your mind you were stuck, scared, and nervous of the outcome.

Cassidy knew that after this he couldn’t risk being with you when he was still being hunted down. He felt it was stupid to even think that this could work.

I mean he barely had time for you. You were amazing but he felt he didn’t truly deserve your sweet stature and amazing soul.

As you arrived in your room, it was incredibly tense. Your stomach felt like it had a pit and you were confused and hurt.

You both sat on the bed facing each other.

He sighed. “Before overwatch, I was in a gang.”

He started. You stayed silent taking in the information.

“When in this gang i was a criminal to say the least. I would steal and i have many crimes to my name.”

You were shocked. This wasn’t the Cole Cassidy you thought you were dating.

“And because of these crimes i was supposed to go to jail serve my time but thanks to overwatch I got out of it.”

He paused for a second.

“Sweetheart I love you so much but I can’t risk this anymore. With my past and everything. You’re precious cargo.”

The tears poured down your face. God why did this hurt so bad. It had only been a couple months. How did it end up this way?

Cassidy pulled you into his arms. He rubbed your back. He knew this wouldn’t help in the long run but he wanted to hold you. For the last time.

He laid his head on top of yours. He whispered comforting things in your ears. He truly felt awful.

The tears pooled in his eyes.

You looked up at him.

“Kiss me, please kiss me.”

You pleaded. You needed to feel him just one more time. He hesitated before leaning in placing a soft kiss on your lips.

It was passionate. He had never felt this way about anyone else.

He pulled away slowly.

“I can’t, i’ll only make you cry. This is our last goodbye.”

You shook your head. You laid your head against his chest. He sighed again resting his hands around your waist. He knew you wouldn’t accept it. Not now anyway.

In the morning he would be gone, given you the money in his wallet and would eventually ship your things back.

Early morning the sun peered through the window. You were crying most of the night. Cole just rubbing your back till you fell back asleep. It was really harding leaving you but he knew he had to. If not to keep you safe but to prevent himself from getting too attached.

You were his number one priority.

When you woke up your noticed breakfast on the table. You sat with Cassidy silently eating. Your soft eyes tear stained.

He knew it was soon that he had to go. You would take the train back home. Return home to an empty house without Cole there. The bed, couch, hell even you still lingering his scent.

As you ate, you avoided eye contact. You tried not to sob right there.

As you finished up. You both grabbed your stuff. Nothing taken out or messed up. Cassidy grabbed his wallet and handed you most of the money in his wallet. You shook your head denying it but he insisted of course.

You took it by force. You looked up at him.

“Well, This is our last embrace.” you said shakily.

He pulled you in for one last hug. He held you for minutes on end, both of you not wanting to let go.

“It’s over, just hear this and then i’ll go.” he said, his voice breaking.

“You gave more to live for, more than you’ll ever know.”

——————————————-

a/n: first real fic hope it was alright. i love you jeff buckley listen to this song please it’s amazing.

[soulessjourney]

Ashes of Panem

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Paring: (young) Coriolanus x Reader

Word count: 2.1k

Summary: Coriolanus Snow and Y/N Ashcroft had trained together since their entry into the academy. However, when their names were drawn, they found themselves pitted against each other and twenty other children in these games. As Y/N became a symbol of rebellion akin to her great grandmother, who vanished shortly after Panem's liberation, the looming threats of war and the approaching games forced Coriolanus and Y/N to forge an alliance. Amidst these challenges, they had to learn to trust and support one another in order to break free from Coin's oppressive regime.

Warnings: None

The room came to life with the cacophony of singing and instruments. People congregated in clusters, swaying to the rhythm of the music, occasionally jostling against you. Across the room, a smile stretched across your face as you spotted Coriolanus, leaning against the wall, engrossed in conversation with Sejanus, his gaze fixed on the performer. Turning your head, you noticed Lucy Gray, a classmate more inclined toward performance than combat. Relief washed over you knowing she wasn't among the top twenty-two students bound to fight in the imminent days. Her voice held an ethereal quality, deserving a stage rather than a fighting ring. Coriolanus' fixation on her was understandable; her voice possessed a hypnotic charm. However, there lingered an element of longing in his gaze that didn't escape your notice.

You bit down on your lip, attempting to quell the jealousy clawing its way in. The memory from last week, that shared moment between the two of you after the gala, remained etched in your mind. Something had shifted within you, leaving you yearning for more from him. At the academy, you never missed the glances he cast your way or the tender touches, yet foolishly, you had brushed him off, leading to his eventual distance.

As you approached, Sejanus spotted you, a wide grin illuminating his face. "Y/N, didn't expect to see you. You look stunning, by the way. Normal clothes, that isn't our school uniform, suit you perfectly," he exclaimed, eyeing your outfit. Adorning a long brown skirt that fell just below your knees, complemented by a neatly buttoned-off-white plaid blouse with a ribbon tied delicately beneath the collar, you exuded a graceful charm. Your hair, halfway styled, featured a ribbon securing it in place.

"Thank you, Sejanus. You don't look too shabby yourself. But I'm here because someone," you glanced playfully at Sejanus, "convinced me to sing. It'd be impolite to decline after receiving such praise for my singing skills in front of everyone, wouldn't it?" Your lips curved into a cherry-red smile. You wondered if the lipstick was a bit much given the ensemble, but judging by Sejanus's admiration for every aspect of your outfit, it seemed the perfect choice.

Beside you, Coriolanus cleared his throat, his focus trained on you. "You're singing?" His tone carried a hint of offense, as if you had kept this from him intentionally. But why would you inform him when he had ceased speaking to you a few days back, and it was Sejanus who had proposed the idea earlier today?

"Yes, I am. Any issues with that, Snow?" Arms crossed, you raised a brow, while Sejanus emitted a nervous laugh, attempting to diffuse the tension between you both. "I wrote a song, and Sejanus suggested I perform it, given it might be our last chance to hear music. How could I refuse our mentor?"

"No issues," he began, his gaze drifting back to Lucy Gray. "I just didn't know you had this talent, and it seems tonight you've got competition from our Songbird here." His words ignited a spark of anger within you, and you struggled not to snap at him in front of everyone. With a scoff, you nodded at Sejanus before striding off into the crowd, oblivious to the longing gaze Coriolanus directed at your retreating figure, as you walked away from him once more.

---

As Lucy Gray concludes her performance, her gaze lands on you. Her wide grin signals excitement brimming in her eyes. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a very special performance tonight. It took some persuasion from a few friends, and I hope you'll give her the same respect you give to me. She's a woman with a golden voice and a charming presence. She might not be who you expect, but please welcome Y/N to the stage," Lucy Gray announces, and all eyes turn toward you.

Clearing your throat, you stride forward toward the stage. Each step echoes on the wooden platform, the silence of the room unnerving. You try to steady your shaking hand behind you, hoping to conceal your nerves. Lucy Gray wishes you luck before swiftly leaving the stage, taking her place next to Coriolanus, who smiles down at her. "Uh, hello everyone," you begin, flinching at the slight ring of the microphone and shifting nervously. Glancing at Coriolanus, engrossed in a quiet conversation with Lucy Gray, you fight back a frown attempting to surface on your face.

Sejanus starts clapping loudly, drawing a laugh from you and alleviating the tension in the room slightly. You make a mental note to thank your newfound friend later for the gesture. "I know you all see me as someone who fought to be at the top of our class, but after some convincing, and maybe a bit of bribery," you jest, eliciting momentary laughter from the audience. "I'm not much of a songwriter or a singer, but Sejanus has talked up my skills, so I have no choice but to prove him right." More laughter fills the room. "This piece is called 'Twist of Fate.'" You glance back at the group behind you, receiving nods as the melody of the song fills the air.

"In the corner of fate's design,

A tale began, quite unforeseen,

Where hearts collide in the strangest way..."

Your eyes wander the room as couples and friends listen in amazement. Soon, they start dancing in harmony with your words. As you glance back toward the rear of the room, your gaze locks onto a pair of intense blue eyes fixed on you, hanging onto every word as you sing.

"In the shadows of the mundane,

Where life's surprises often reign,

I stumbled upon a soul so true..."

You longed for him to absorb every word of the song, almost as if it were crafted for him. Perhaps it was? You couldn't be certain why you had wrote it. Since that day after the gala, emotions had flowed, and you transcribed exactly how you felt. You poured your heart onto the page, concealing the foreign feelings that tormented you. You had no right to feel jealous now; you had no right to desire tearing Lucy Gray away from Coriolanus because he wasn't yours to claim. He was his own person, free to act as he pleased. So why did you wish for this song, these lyrics, to bind him to you indefinitely? Clutching the microphone tighter, you shut your eyes, attempting to shield yourself from his intense gaze.

"Oh, the unexpected twist of fate,

Led me to love, albeit late,

In the one I least expected to find,

A heart so pure, so wildly kind."

Your eyes snapped open as you heard Lucy Gray pleading with Coriolanus to dance. He rarely danced, so it surprised you when he accepted, joining the crowd and moving to the song's rhythm with her. Whenever his gaze met yours, you felt exposed, yet it wasn't a gaze of observation. No, it was one trying to convey something, striving to draw you in and communicate unspoken words. You noticed how your voice reverberated off the walls, and in that moment, you recognized this song as your confession to Coriolanus Snow, a confession you'd soon regret.

"In hearts and souls, it truly lies,

In the one unexpected, love's perfected art,

A love story etched within my heart."

As the song concluded, your peers erupted into a boisterous cheer, chanting your name while clapping. Acknowledging them with a slight bow, you left the stage only to be intercepted by Sejanus. "Listen, I knew you could sing, but I had no idea you could sing like that. We all thought Lucy Gray had quite a voice, but everyone was captivated by yours," he remarked as both of you navigated through the crowd. You seized the chance to express gratitude for your classmates' compliments. "Coriolanus was hanging onto every word," he added, catching you off guard.

"What?" Knowing you had Coriolanus's attention was one thing, but hearing someone else acknowledge it brought an entirely new sensation. Part of you had questioned whether he knew you were singing for him or if he was merely watching because you were his partner and he wanted to prevent any missteps.

"When Lucy Gray spoke to him, he wasn't really focused on her. His gaze was fixed on you, which seemed to bother her, prompting her to ask him to dance." Lucy Gray's infatuation with Coriolanus wasn't a secret, yet Sejanus's confirmation both dampened your spirits and assuaged the tumultuous thoughts in your mind. Coriolanus was watching you, and only you. The notion itself caused your heart to skip a beat. However, if he genuinely cared, you pondered whether he would have stayed to congratulate you or tease you with a joke, knowing it would irk you because that's what he enjoyed doing.

"Well, that's thoughtful of him, but please excuse me, Sejanus. I need some fresh air. I'm not accustomed to public performances," you murmured softly, maneuvering through the crowd and ascending the stairs. Stepping outside, the cold air eased the burning sensation on your skin. Taking a seat on a nearby crate, you gazed up at the night sky, marveling at the brilliance of the stars.

"You sounded amazing tonight," a voice emerged beside you. Turning, you looked at the speaker. Coriolanus motioned and gently nudged your foot, signaling for you to make room. Shifting over, you cleared your throat as he settled down beside you. "I know my words earlier were rude, and I apologize. You're not in competition with Lucy Gray because I don’t think she could ever sing with as much emotion as you did," he expressed. His words warmed your heart, and you fought back a smile.

"I felt like I was going to pass out up there. I don't usually perform my songs for others. Sejanus mentioned you were hanging onto every word, and honestly, I didn't want to believe him," you confessed, releasing a deep sigh. Looking at Coriolanus, his gaze softened and the faint crease on his forehead seemed to silently ask the 'why' behind your words. "I didn't want to believe him because I didn't want to confront the reality of what the song meant. I know you understood the song's significance, and I didn't want it to become real if I acknowledged it," you explained.

Coriolanus chuckled, nudging your shoulder gently. "Then let's not confront reality just yet. I'll pretend I was captivated by the beauty of your voice and blame being enchanted by the melody alone, not the depth of those lyrics you sang," he whispered, leaning in slightly. "I won't confess that I felt like tearing my heart out and offering it to you. I won't admit that I didn't care whether you tossed it away or held it close and cherished it. I won't admit that those words weren't your way of expressing how you truly feel," he murmured.

With each word, his face drew nearer to yours. As he finished speaking, his nose gently brushed against yours. His lips hovered tantalizingly close to yours, making you want to either cry or grab him by the shirt and kiss him as if your life depended on it. You might have, if reality hadn't set in, reminding you of your impending doom and the interview questioning your willingness to fight to protect Coriolanus. There was no room for a relationship that would burn out the moment you stepped off those platforms. Maybe in another existence, void of cruelty, you both could share the passionate kiss you yearned for, and happiness could be your reality.

Cool hands on your cheeks brought you back, his thumb smoothing over the surface as he leaned in, brushing his lips against yours. The touch was gentle but enough to snap you back to reality. Pushing him away, you stood quickly, scanning the surroundings to ensure no one had seen the moment. Once you confirmed you were in the clear, you looked down at a shaken Coriolanus. "I'm sorry, I think I should go. We have our interviews tomorrow," you said, turning to walk away from him. As you journeyed home, snow began to fall once again, carrying away a piece of your heart.

Tags:@notyourwildestdream @runningfrom2am

[justslowdown]

My dad's side of the family is from Slovakia, and a very mystical, sensory sort of Catholicism is part of my heritage. That's always felt strange

I was raised by pagan and Daoist influenced agnostics--my first drawing of god was a tree. Then, I was an asshole Dawkins-Influenced Rational Atheist from middle school til early college, bullied both by other students and by teachers in a heavily Christian area.

I hated Christianity and by extension Catholicism, even though I'd never bothered to learn about where it's rooted in my grandparents' experiences. Now I have strong feelings about Christianity for other reasons--a weapon of colonization isn't neutral. I feel that even as I honor and understand how integral it is to many peoples' senses of safety, comfort, and hope, and how it is a lens through which many people experience true divinity.

Now that my grandma is gone, I have so many regrets. She was the spiritual heart of the family even as she was also a rigorously scientifically minded woman. She was a lab tech before she got married, and everyone who knew her agrees she'd have been happier as a scientist than as a mother

She was a force of nature, powerful and strong willed. I don't know how she felt about herself but I see her as a witch from a heritage of equally spiritual, powerful, intense, in-charge women. She fought for immigrant rights, and worked in hospice and in prisons as a spiritual counselor. She didn't feel motherly or comforting--she simply felt like a strong woman with absolute core respect for every human being's dignity.

When I was growing up I couldn't reconcile all of who she was with her burning devout Catholicism. It seemed fantastical and morbid to me. The imagery and the heavy heavy layers of ritual. Now that I'm older and have talked to a lot of my family about her, i know she FELT Mary and Jesus, she didn't simply follow what she was told.

What I'd give to talk to her again. To hear what the rituals and prayer felt like to her. How she melded her curious and evidence-based nature and love of science with her practices. My feelings on Catholicism are still complicated, but after she passed, I have such deep regret for never talking to her about her experiences. They must have been so unique and personal.

I remember her writing a letter for her church bulletin and making my grandpa sign his name to it, because of his inherent social power as a man--about supporting gay marriage. This was 2008. I remember as a hospice worker, how she asserted a right to perform last rites as a woman. How she chose to go on birth control. That she loved my feral genderless self who couldn't stand her church, without ever saying a single word to try and convince me of her faith. So many small stories and moments.

I was so small minded and immature, growing up. Catholicism was just a funny outdated delusion to me.

My dad, a spiritual agnostic, told me that the heavy ceremony and ritual of her Catholic funeral, the smoke, carrying her casket, were deeply meaningful to him. They helped his mourning process along in a way the nondenominational scattering of ashes after couldn't.

I really feel like in this push for "progress" and "rationality" most Americans have lost ritual and trancelike, embodied spirituality.

Lost our experience of metaphor as reality on some level, and our sheer awe for the divine. It hurts my heart that Christianity is the lens through which so many of us translate all of this, but I've matured past a childish hatred for the people who feel it and don't/can't put in the work to pull it apart from the literal framework built into their brains

And I just wish I'd found that sooner.

[dramioneasks]

Christmas Fics 2023 (Part 9):

Anything by MissiAmphetamine (Kaleidoscope) - T, one-shot - Just a fluffy little one-shot written while recovering from Christmas lunch, based on an accidental prompt by Pidanka, 'Anything'. Draco Malfoy, Auror, is assigned an unwanted partner; Hermione Granger, formerly working in the Artefacts and Evidence Department.

mercy in the snow by hauntedopal - M, one-shot - A work trip on Christmas Eve goes awry. “This is all your fault,” Hermione hissed. “You’re quite right, Granger,” drawled Malfoy. “It is my fault we found this pathetic excuse of a cabin to shelter in during this snowstorm. How horrible of me.”

A Christmas Confession by vellichorwrites - E, one-shot - “Gran—Hermione.” Her name sounds like a vow on his tongue. Sweet and earnest and desperate. Christmassy Dramione.

(And at Christmas you tell the truth) by Sienna_Black - E, one-shot -Muggle AU where Draco and Hermione meet as teens, fall in secret love at first sight, but are both convinced they have been ‘Friendzoned’ by the other. It all comes to a head when a handsome sports star enters their lives four days before Christmas.

EVERGREEN by fleurdejasmine - T, WIP - Instead of going to Azkaban, Draco Malfoy is sentenced to manual labor. Banned from using magic, he takes odd jobs to meet the requirements of his punishment. Like a muggle. The last place he expects to work is at Hagrid’s Christmas tree farm. He’s humiliated, exhausted, and bitter at the world. Hermione Granger’s frequent visits aren’t helping, either.

Cheap Wine by Lia_Redrose - M, one-shot - Draco and Hermione Malfoy have been married for some time now. They have to attend a gala for Christmas. Surprises await :)

Ashes & Soot (The Santa Clause au) by undercoverdrxco - T, one-shot - “I’m Draco Malfoy. Not Santa Clause.” He insisted while shaking his head, looking back up to her face. She didn't falter at all, her consistent smile began to irk Draco entirely. “Obviously.” “Old Santa is gone and someone must step up. You were obviously chosen, Draco Malfoy.” Trixie told him with a sparkle of magic in her eye. Draco swallowed a laugh that would have been loud and in her face as she continued, “Please, put on the suit.” - Or the one where Draco Malfoy becomes Santa Clause

Mind The Gap by SunflowersXx - G, one-shot - How on earth did Hermione Granger end up in the same tube as Draco bloody Malfoy, two weeks before Christmas? In which Hermione runs into Draco on the tube and they spend the next two weeks crossing paths on their morning commute and it all feels just a little like their knitted strings were meant to tie into a neat little Christmas bow.

Life Changing Mistletoe by MidnightPhilosopher - T, one-shot - Draco stumbles upon Hermione out in the garden during the Yule Ball. They get caught under an enchanted mistletoe. Draco tried to convince her that a kiss would be the fastest way out of the situation. It also puts them in a whole different sort of situation. Last fluffy day of Tumblr 12 Days of Christmas

A Perfectly Normal Christmas by Kayka - T, one-shot - Hermione should have realized Christmas was doomed when the mistletoe spontaneously caught fire. This was all somehow Draco Malfoy's fault, and now she can't seem to stop running into him everywhere.

The Malfoy Clause by d_read64 (76ducky64) - E, 7 chapters - Draco knew that, upon his father’s death, he would have to take over the Malfoy Estate. What he did not know, however, is that included in his newfound responsibilities is becoming the pinnacle of a muggle holiday once a year. Or: Draco discovers he must become Santa Claus to save the Malfoy Magic all while navigating his enormous crush on his holiday-loving friend, Hermione Granger. Inspired by The Santa Clause!

Darry Christmas by Starlight934 - G, one-shot - Draco Malfoy spends his first Christmas at the Burrow. He is nervous but he has Harry at his side and nothing could make him happier. Come with them and the Weasley family to enjoy a Darry Christmas

[sallowsdiary]

If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s losing—especially to Gryffindors. But today, fate had the audacity to make me suffer the ultimate humiliation: I lost a bet to Garreth Weasley. Yes, that Garreth Weasley. The one who thinks exploding potions are a perfectly acceptable pastime.

It all started innocently enough. I was lounging in the common room, minding my own business (and by that, I mean plotting how to “accidentally” release a batch of Hiccough Sweets into the Gryffindor table at dinner), when Garreth swaggered over with that ridiculous grin of his. He bet me that he could create a self-stirring cauldron that would brew a perfect potion without any assistance. I, naturally, scoffed at the idea. I mean, this is the same boy who once turned a simple cleaning charm into a miniature hurricane in Potions class.

But no, I had to open my big mouth and say, “If you can manage that without setting yourself on fire, I’ll wear a Gryffindor scarf for an entire day.”

Well, guess what? He did it. Somehow, against all odds (and possibly by sheer accident), Garreth managed to create this infernal cauldron that not only brewed a flawless Elixir to Induce Euphoria but also played a jaunty little tune while it did so. I’m still convinced it was some form of accidental magic, but the fact remains that I lost the bet.

So today, I had to walk around Hogwarts draped in Gryffindor colors. Do you have any idea how many times I had to explain to people that, no, I hadn’t suddenly developed a passion for lions and courage? The looks I got! Even the Bloody Baron gave me a once-over like I’d suddenly grown a second head.

Ominis tried to cheer me up by suggesting that maybe red wasn’t so bad on me, but I think he was just trying to avoid another of my dramatic rants. Meanwhile, every Gryffindor I passed gave me that smug, infuriating grin that made me want to hex the lot of them. Even Professor Weasley couldn’t help but smirk when she saw me in her House’s scarf. I’m telling you, if looks could kill, the entire Gryffindor House would be nothing but a pile of ashes by now.

The worst part, though? Peeves got wind of the whole thing and decided to follow me around, singing an off-key version of the Gryffindor anthem. He even changed the lyrics to include my name and something about “Sebastian the Traitor.” By lunchtime, I was ready to strangle him with that cursed scarf.

But don’t think for a second that I’m going to let this slide. Oh no, I’m already plotting my revenge. I’ve got a few ideas up my sleeve that will make Garreth regret the day he ever thought it was a good idea to challenge me. Let’s just say that the next time he brews a potion, he might find a little surprise bubbling up in his cauldron—something that’ll make his hair turn a nice shade of Slytherin green.

Until then, I’m going to burn this scarf, scrub every last bit of red and gold from my memory, and reclaim my rightful place as the superior person that I am.

—Sebastian

[maarriiii]

Simp (Part 10) | Wilbur Soot

A/N: I really wanted to do a double update so that’s why i’ve been putting this off since I haven’t written the date part but i really don’t want to put this off any longer, so here you go lovely people!!

Summary: Countdown to you and Wilbur meeting and everything that happened in between

Pairing(s): CC!Wilbur Soot x gender neutral!reader, CC!Wilbur Soot x actor!reader

Warning(s): It’s pretty long guys. So, get comfortable

italics: tweets

my masterlist :))

~~

4 months before the show. This was it. The end. After two weeks of traveling multiple cities and countries for press tour, this premiere would be your last before heading back home to Los Angeles, free from any obligations. You smiled and waved to the blaring lights of cameras and shouts of your name, facing here and there as they asked. To your left and right were your costars and people that worked on the movie, director and producers. Some of them were accompanied by their partners or family members. Some were with their publicist and team, including you.

You caught the eyes of one of the family members—a mother to a particularly young actor—she was holding their hand, smiling but you could tell she was overwhelmed. You smiled and mouthed 'you're doing great'. At that her shoulders relaxed and she mouthed back 'thank you'. You gave her a wink before flashing your award winning smile back at the camera—seconds after the three of you posed together and clips of you comforting the mother went viral the next day.

By the time the walking and the posing was done, you were finally inside the theater where seats were filled with the cast, crew, critics, fans, and other people you might don't know. Companion of The West was met with pretty good reviews so far from all the early screenings, praising the writing, directing, the ensemble of cast, and your acting in the new genre. You rarely look up reviews but when it's good things you've been hearing, how can one resist—the movie might even get nominated in major categories in the upcoming awards season.

~~

"Thank you, Nottingham. You've been fucking amazing!"

The crowd cheered as Lovejoy walked backstage, adrenaline still coursing through their bodies and sweat pouring down on it. Wilbur dabbed a white towel on his face and neck, smiling and cheering with his bandmates for yet another good show on the tour. Although, he played shows before it still felt like the first time. He was on cloud nine and no anchor heavy enough could pull him down. He loves every second of every moment he get to play with his friends and hearing the crowds shout back the very lyrics he wrote.

Wilbur muttered a 'thanks' when his friends congratulate him for a great show, still wiping down the sweat trailing down his body like a flood. He took a few bottle of beers in his hand, gave it to Ash, Joe, and Mark, before gulping down his. The cold liquid managed to quench his thirst and after singing the last few songs.

Wilbur and the rest of the band and crew started packing up their instruments and gear after hydrating themselves and taking a few polaroid pictures backstage. They carried all the bags, cases, and whatnot to the van they've rented before driving back to the hotel they stayed in and going out for a few drinks before leaving Nottingham.

~~

2 months before the show. You did something incredibly embarrassing earlier that made you want to dig up a hole, crawl into it, and bury yourself for eternity in an attempt to conceal yourself from the internet. It was an accident. You tweeted something with the intention of putting it in your second and private account, where only your closest friends follows you, after seeing a picture of Wilbur on stage. The tweet itself might be classified as to what the internet calls a 'thirst tweet' and although you've denied it multiple times—when Sam called you out and tease you for it—the longer the notion swam inside your mind, the more convinced you were that they were right. And that just made it worse.

You were in the kitchen getting some snacks when the thought suddenly appeared in your head. Anxiety builds up inside you, fear and assurance trying to beat the other and take control. You fast walked to the living room where the TV was paused on a show and your phone lay on the couch. You hurriedly typed in the password, cursing when you got it wrong a couple of times. You mumbled words of encouragement to yourself, saying that you couldn't possibly do such a thing and that you were always careful. Spoiler alert, you were wrong.

Dread washes over you when you saw the tweet with already 500 likes and retweets. You knew it won't have any effect since your fans would definitely screenshot it and immortalize it for people to see and make articles about, but you still wanted to save yourself.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Oh god, you're lagging, really?" You pressed the screen with a little too much force trying to delete the tweet.

~~

It seemed to be an occurrence now that Wilbur always chokes—be it on water or even just air—at the sudden mention of your name. He was amused, honored, and embarrassed at his current predicament. How can he not? Ash was the first one who came across your tweet and decided to show it to everyone first then him. They were hollering, cheering, whistling, and Wilbur couldn't run and hide, so he just opted to curse everyone off but it prove useless since he had a smile on his lips.

when he's british and in a band 🤤🥰

If Wilbur was being honest seeing that kinda boosted his ego just a tad. He tried to find it later, when he was no longer in the bus and wasn't practically surrounded by everyone but all he could find was screenshot of it from both of your fans which led him to think that you probably didn't mean to post for your millions of followers. He kinda felt bad for you—lord knows he'd been embarrassed before—and there was a part of him that wanted to reach out to you but he thought of another way to try and comfort you or maybe even tease you.

He typed something in his phone and after a few words of encouragement before finally saying 'fuck it', Wilbur pressed the blue tweet button.

when you're british and in a band 😏

He'd definitely be hearing about this in the upcoming days. 

~~

2 weeks before the show Months went by quickly and before you know it, the Lovejoy show in Los Angeles was getting closer and closer. You and Wilbur were constantly communicating; phone calls, texts, video calls. You name it, both of you probably did it. He always told you how the shows went, where he and the rest of the band went to unwind and explore after the show. He would send you a picture of a film poster that had your face in it. He would tell you facts about the states he was in and you would find it endearing, adorable, and impressive how he knows all of that. You did the same to him. You told him about your days. You told him about future roles that you might want to audition for. You recommended places to visit if you've ever been where he was. It was beginning to be a part of your routine, listening and talking to Wilbur, and you love every minute of it.

This time it was no different. You were out and about, headphones plugged in your ear, Wilbur's voice drowning out all the other noises, while your sunglasses covered eyes scoured the storefronts decorated in mannequins.

"Oh, I'm just wandering around. Nothing exciting, really. I just--"

You saw two young women approached you, phone in their hand, a book and pen in the other. The nervous smiles and whispers shared amongst them was something you became accustomed to by now whenever people recognize you.

"y/n? Are you still there?" Wilbur asked, a slight worry in his voice at your sudden pause.

"Yeah, sorry, Wil. I'm fine. Could you just give me a second?"

"Yeah, of course."

You put your sunglasses over your head and flashed a friendly smile, trying to make them comfortable.

"Hey guys, how are you?"

"Hi, y/n. It's nice to meet you. We love your new movie."

"Aww. Thank you so much. I'm glad you like it. Do you want me to sign that?" You asked, pointing at the book.

"Yeah, and could we get a picture too if that's not too much?"

You nodded. "Yeah, of course. Not at all."

~~

On the other side of the line, Wilbur just sat and listened to your voice. You didn't mute the call and he was glad you didn't--not because he wanted to eavesdrop or anything like that. He just enjoyed hearing the sound of your voice. Everyday he just looks forward to it, hearing you say hello and his name coming out your lips. He dreads whenever you had to say goodbye or 'I have to go' and it took every will power inside of him to not just beg for you to stay for another second. He was absolutely and utterly smitten with you. 

"Are you going to the lovejoy show soon, y/n?" A distant voice asked.

At the mention of his band, Wilbur perked up.

"Yeah, I am." His heart fluttered at how excited you were. Damn you. "Are you guys too?"

"Yeah,  we came here to see them actually."

"Oh, that's awesome."

The two of you exchanged a few more words until a different voice spoke.

"I think you and Wilbur are really cute together."

You laughed, but it was quite awkward. He knew you didn't expect hearing that and neither did he.

"Are you guys dating?"

Wilbur cringed at the question and by now he knew you well enough that you probably did too. It's an awkward and quite frankly intrusive questions to ask someone but for some reason the questions lingered inside his mind. Are you dating? The two of you flirted at each other, more so him than you. You spent an ungodly amount of time talking to each other. Both of you knew about the other's feeling but, you never really said it out loud. It was just there, in the air--if he had to put it dramatically. He cursed at himself mentally before devising a plan, a mission. He was going to tell you, straight up. When he see you in two weeks, he would muster up all the courage in his 6'6 body and ask you out on a date.

"Tell them no and that you fucking hate my guts." Wilbur said to the phone.

He could tell you were smiling from how you sounded and during the entire encounter Wilbur's voice filled your ears, talking about things that made you want to laugh.

~~

The day of the show. A sudden gush of wind flew by and you shivered, tugging the jacket you wore closer. Sam stood beside you with a matching jacket--something that you didn't coordinate at all--with hand in his pocket and the other holding his phone. In front and behind you, people were waiting in line outside the venue Lovejoy will be playing at. A few people recognized the two of you, excited whispers shared amongst friends who no doubt were convinced that there's definitely something going on with you and Wilbur while others just didn't care at all which you were thankful for.

"Do you think I would make it here back in time if I went and grab us some food from that place we like?" Sam asked, a bored look on his face.

You gave him a look. "Did you not eat before?"

He shook his head nonchalantly.

"Dude, this is a--what, two hours show? Why didn't you eat before?"

"Cause I wasn't hungry before."

"Then, why didn't you get something on the way here?"

"Because-" Sam wrapped an arm around you and pulled you closer, lowering his voice. "-I want to make sure you get to meet your prince charming right on time."

You shrugged off his arm. "Shut up. Also, I don't mind if we're late just a little bit, you know."

"I know."

Suddenly, the line started to move and the crowd cheered, including you. With the supervision of a security guard at the door, everyone walked in an orderly fashion, and with every step you took, the anticipation grew inside you. Out of habit, you held onto Sam's arm. He knew you well enough to know what the action meant so, he just tapped your hand twice, a silent gesture to tell you that he was there.

~~

He couldn't believe his eyes. He couldn't believe his fucking eyes. There you were like you said you would. In the middle of crowd, bright and wide eyes, like something out of a movie. It was a cliche happening in real life, his life, and it was unexplainable what he felt. Your eyes was magnet, pulling his line of sight to you only. He could feel his cheeks stretched, smiling at the sight of your gorgeous face in the dim light. The guy next to you, who he thinks must be Sam, smirked at him and it made Wilbur hide his smile behind the microphone in front of him. He thought to himself if he noticed, did other people notice too? And to answer his own question, he looked to his left where Ash were and there was that smile, the smile that tease him on the van when he found your tweet. He looked to his right, at Joe, and he found him laughing.

Wilbur found the situation amusing and slightly embarrasing. God, he's so incredibly taken by you that he was making a fool himself. The show hasn't even started yet. They've yet to play the first song. How was he to get through the entire night? He would probably be a certified clown or joker by that point. He looked to you again, the smile that he saw never left your lips.

"Hello, Los Angeles! Thank you all for coming."

The crowd cheered including you. He swore he could you amongst the other voices.

"Thanks for having us here and hope you all enjoy the show."

Mark started them off and without a second to waste they played the first song of the night with Wilbur in a newfound spirit at the presence of you. 

~~

The night didn't end at the show for you. Not long after Lovejoy left the stage, your phone buzzed inside your pocket. A notification from Wilbur, telling you to stay and that someone will come and get you and Sam. After a long wait, since you had to wait until everyone left the venue, someone you least expected came. It was Wilbur himself. Your eyes grew wide at the sight of him. When he said someone will come and get you, you didn't realized it was going to be him. You knew he was tall but seeing him in real life, face to face, just made you realize how tall he actually was. You both stared at each other, smiling sheepishly. The moment both of you had been waiting for was there yet you could only stare into each other's eyes.

Wilbur spoke first. "Hey, y/n."

"Hi, Wil."

There was this awkward moment where one of you went for a handshake and the other for a hug before finally going for the latter. You had to stand on your tiptoes to wrapped your arms around his neck. When you felt his arms around your waist, butterflies burst inside you. You didn't understand how a single touch could make you feel this way, traveling all over your body. You gave the hug, Wilbur really, a squeeze despite the fact he had probably been sweating. If him just putting your arms around your waist made you feel things then him squeezing you back made your heart combust.

When Sam cleared his throat, the two of you pulled away like a pair of teenagers getting caught doing something. Your hands was on Wilbur's chest, albeit clenched, and Wilbur's had his still on your waist.

"Hey there, I'm Sam." He smiled, reaching out his hand.

Wilbur stumbled over his words, his hands left your waist when he realized it was still there. He shook Sam's hand. "Hi, sorry, I'm Wilbur, uh, Wil-" Wilbur shook his head. "-Anything works, really."

Sam nodded. "Congrats on the show."

"Thanks, man. I'm glad you enjoy it."

The two men let go of their hands and you hoped Sam doesn't do any passive-aggressive threatening on Wilbur like he did with people that have shown interest in you.

~~

"So, hi. Finally."

You giggled at Wilbur. You couldn't remember if you giggled this much when talking to someone that you like, when you were still with Alex. There's just something about Wilbur that made your cheeks hurt by smiling too wide and laughing to hard. The two of you were in a bar, along with Sam and the rest of the band, a place that you and Sam recommended. It was your hidden gem, a place to unwind without attracting any attention. The guys were in the booth, Sam fitting in well with the brits, discussing music or something else. You and Wilbur sat on the stools, intentionally distancing yourself away from your friends for a time alone.

"Hi, finally." You smiled. You realized you haven't stop smiling this whole night.

Wilbur ducked his head, smiling. "I'm sorry if I'm being weird. I just—I can't believe I'm here, with you. Seems unreal."

"I get what you mean. I keep imagining how seeing you would be like and now that I am, it still feels weird almost."

"Oh." He quirked up his brow, a teasing smile. "So, you've been imagining me?"

You felt the heat rose to your cheeks. Shit. "N–not like that."

"Like what then?"

"Stop it. You're messing with me."

Wilbur laughed and god you want to hear that for the rest of your life. "I'm sorry. You look very adorable when flustered."

You only laughed, looking at your hands since his eyes on you starting to become overwhelming. It wasn’t bad or uncomfortable by any means. It’s just that you don’t think someone has ever looked at you like that, with so much affection. “God, I think I’m gonna die of embarassement at this point.

He smiled, then the words left his lips. “Do you want to go on a date with me?”

Your body straightened, eyes wide. “What?”

“Go on a date with me. Tomorrow. Before I head back on tour.”

It felt like your brain was lagging. It took awhile for his proposition to sink into your head but when it did it you wanted nothing more than grab Sam by the shoulder, shook him, and scream ‘he’s asking me out on a date’. You didn’t any of that, of course—you were an adult—so, instead, you had the biggest smile on your face, eyes sparkling like a kid in a candy store.

“I would love to go on a date with you.”

Joe nudged Ash on his side, nodding towards the two of you smiling like idiots. Sam and Mark noticed as well and the group of men shared knowing looks amongst themselves. They talked about the two of you among other things, discussing on when Wilbur will finally ask you out. They didn’t have super hearing but just by the looks of him, they knew he did it and you said yes. Without any warning, Sam started clapping and cheering, surprising everyone.

“Finally. I thought the two of you are just gonna sit there and stare into each other’s eyes the entire night. You did ask them out, right, Wil?”

Wilbur nodded, smiling. “Yes, I did.”

“Sam!” You scolded him.

“What?” He shrugged.  “It’s true. They can vouch for me.”

The three of them nodded, followed by murmurs of yeah’s and definitely’.

You shook your head, before turning back around to Wilbur, face flushed.  

“At least I know that he approves of me.”

You spend the rest of the night smiling, laughing and drinking, exchanging stories with your new friends and Wilbur. When the night had to end and all of you had to leave, you wrapped your arms around Wilbur’s neck. He leaned down a little to make it easier for you and wrapped his arms around your torso. You whispered how much you enjoy the night and the show, he whispered the same. When you pulled away from his warm embrace, a task proven difficult to do, you planted a kiss on his cheek. He was surprised to say the least. The action, albeit small, left him speechless. The feeling of your lips on his skin almost send him into an overdrive. He was sure the pounding he heard in his eardrums was the sound of his heartbeat beating rapidly. When you said goodbye all he could muster up was a weak wave and a lovestruck smile. All he could think about was how he couldn’t wait to see you again tomorrow.  

~~

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[darkpoisonouslove]

Fallen Love Chapter 3

Chapter summary: Griffin wakes up alone. She sets out to bring Valtor back. A new chapter? Already? I'm as surprised as you! Today on the menu we have: panic attacks, disappearing acts, a scavenger hunt and a game of chicken, the occasional pet name and shooting to kill (...a man)*. Complete with LOTS of dialogue - to compensate for last chapter (and the first half of this one). Oh, and Griffin gets to blow something up - as a treat. Valtor will get treats when he learns to shut up. :) *metaphorically speaking Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 Read on AO3 | FFN

The lightness behind her eyelids only seemed to replicate that in her entire body. She was floating, weightless, the sheets and mattress barely palpable against her skin.

She rolled over in search of Valtor. To bring their chests together so that his breathing would move her, too. To bridge the space between them and find herself in his reach, the weight of his arm on top of her centering her into her body again. She didn't mind the reminder that she wasn't omnipresent but instead confined to her physical form that his presence against her would be.

The cold lying in bed with her instantly seared her nerves.

---

Familiar warmth enveloped her like gentle morning sunlight caressing her eyelids.

Sleep had been elusive, her mind always alert, mistrustful of her surroundings, of the pulse of heat in every surface she touched. It drove tears from her eyes like hands around her neck choking her until she failed to recognize its telltale wrongness.

She must have finally succumbed to exhaustion after countless nights of staring at the ceiling. The grief beating in her chest was still a fresh, bleeding wound. The ooze from it stuck to her fingers whenever she reached for her magic or hair.

Words lodged painfully in her throat when she pushed to swallow them back down for the sake of another peaceful moment she could spend basking in the joy bursting in her chest. Her fingers greedily soaked up the warm touch interlaced with them.

Never one to be sated, she opened her eyes in search of glacial blue ones.

The intensity of Faragonda's storm-like gaze was cutting.

The garbled noise that slipped from her lips kept ringing in her ears; it was impossible to convince herself that it didn't resemble a legitimate word when, between her teeth, it tasted just like the name burning on her lips.

"I didn't mean to startle you," Faragonda's voice was a rope plunging to the depths of the panic drowning her.

All she had to do was reach for it and the fairy would pull her out.

Griffin had to stifle the hysterical laughter carving through her chest. It was already petrifying, bloodcurdling, just as it was, echoing on the inside.

The smile on Faragonda's face was only marginally more bearable – as if she were welcoming the sun after a century-long winter when Griffin's touch could set her life aflame.

"How do you feel?" Faragonda settled for rubbing the back of Griffin's hand with her own rather than pressing a palm to her forehead, placated by Griffin's complacency. "Did you get some rest? Would you like a touch of magic to help revitalize you?"

Griffin cringed at the thought that Faragonda might have noticed her avoidance of using her own magic, or that she might have misinterpreted it.

She hurried to cover it up, "I was just thinking about looking all fresh and rested in my little solitary cell. Or even better – to be paraded out in front of your allies"–the venom she imbued in the word didn't faze Faragonda in the slightest–"for yet another very public and humiliating execution of whatever dignity I have left."

That finally landed a punch.

Faragonda had the decency to let go of her hand and look uncomfortable. "This is a tense situation for everyone but with time they'll get used to it."

They could get in line for feeling out of place. At least they were in their own home. Both of Griffin's were a smoking pile of ashes – by her own hand.

"I wouldn't care what they think of me if that didn't dictate how they treat me. They can think me a vile monster or a senseless whore."

Faragonda flinched.

Griffin pretended not to see, pretended it hadn't been her aim to jolt the fairy. "It makes no difference to me so long as they listen to what I have to say."

She was wasted on countless arguments with Marion and Oritel that only ever went one way. She was losing her mind pacing the same trail through the palace only to be met with their disregard again. She was their greatest asset. They had to put her on the battlefield, at the very least give her access to it on paper and listen to all her intimate knowledge of the enemy they had no hope of defeating. It was unthinkable that anyone could forget how closely she knew Valtor, that they could doubt it still after they had seen her perfectly match his movements in battle without even looking in his direction.

"I've asked them to-"

"You shouldn't have to!" Griffin's teeth clattered together when she redirected in the last moment to avoid biting off Faragonda's head. "You'd think their perception of me would only lend credibility to my inside information but they're ready to tear my throat out because they don't like what they hear."

Faragonda's fingers fidgeted in the sheets, "You're not exactly... encouraging a change in their attitude."

Griffin shot up.

"This wasn't a social call, Faragonda! I'm not here to make friends." The mere word tasted vile on her tongue, like poison.

She wanted them afraid of her, wanted them to see only the woman that she had been – powerful and cunning enough to be Valtor's partner. Not the wreck, who could barely get out of bed unless she was feeding on spite, on her own refusal to die, rather than on the hearty meals magically delivered to her room. She'd lived too long like that to go back to it.

She couldn't go back.

Faragonda's eyes glimmered with unshed tears, her voice just as wet with them, "This was the only safe place for you."

"We both know that's not true." The words were tight in her throat, in her chest. "Your mother would have been happy to take me in, would have secured my protection, readily used all my information."

And she could have contacted her if she'd wanted both Valtor and the Company destroyed. It was Faragonda's own fault if she couldn't reason that far.

"You dragged me here to keep an eye on me."

"I didn't-"

Griffin slapped away the hand reaching for her. "You were thinking about what you wanted. Look at you! You're sitting here like a kicked puppy that the owner abandoned at the curb."

Faragonda looked away at that, vacated the chair at Griffin's bedside but only walked further into the room, trapping herself in there, trapping them.

"I'm not the same person from your past!" If she'd learned anything from Valtor, it was how to pick the sharpest words, twist the knife in to spill the most blood and cut deep into the marrow. "How could I be after what you did? Or more accurately, what you didn't do."

Faragonda stiffened. Even with her back turned, her aura was like a concrete wall.

Griffin's skin crawled. Her tongue itched with prayers that her mother would forgive her for weaponizing her death against Faragonda of all people – as if she weren't grieving just as much, as if she hadn't lost someone just as integral to her life.

It was the only way.

It was for Faragonda's own good.

"You're right," her friend's small voice made her doubt herself, who she'd become.

If Faragonda was still the girl for whose sake she'd burn the world, how could she do anything other than let her magic spark and start the fire? How could she look through the flames for someone else's face? How could she feel anything but relief at not finding him anywhere when his very proximity would turn her own fire on her, on Faragonda, and make her the culprit of her own loss again?

"We're both different," Faragonda turned to look at her, tried to meet her halfway as always. "I just don't know how to get used to it."

"I'm sure Hagen won't mind helping you figure that out," Griffin scoffed.

She bit her tongue as soon as the words left her mouth. The bitterness would only be like honey to Faragonda, would draw her in with the implication that she was jealous, that she'd missed her.

Instead, something raw flickered over Faragonda's face. The nature of her restraint shifted–like it wasn't for Griffin's sake anymore–to make the chasm between them painful. As if Griffin had already rolled down to the bottom, scraping and cutting herself on every sharp edge and breaking her bones on the hard stone.

"Of course," Faragonda's voice was quiet to make her lean in just to hear – a trick she'd learned from her mother for delivering a fatal blow. "Anyone but you."

She paused.

Waited for a beat.

Then another one.

When the silence remained unbroken, Faragonda's magic swallowed her to leave Griffin sticking out like a sore thumb amidst the room.

She'd love to blame the way the air grew much colder against her skin on the two majesties torturing her but they wouldn't have that much backbone.

She was starting to think that wasn't such a bad thing.

---

Griffin bolted up.

The sheets fell away from her body, revealing it to the stifling morning air. Sun rays magnified by layers upon layers of glass, every speck of dust sticking to her, even the touch of her own fingers to her body, to each other – they were all like needles in her skin. The plush white carpet tickling her soles was a live wire hooked directly to her nerves.

A sharp pang of hunger sliced through all of that, a weakness in her knees, as if she'd collapse on the floor. With her bones in a heap, knees poking through her ribcage and spine – through her skull, maybe the rising nausea would subside, wouldn't have to splash acid all over her insides just to chase away the emptiness nestled there.

Her magic fired through her body like an instant poison breaking down her cells to hurl them through space in every direction. Upon collision Valtor's presence would pull them back together. The shock wave would pulverize their surroundings as if her need had taken physical form in a bid to match the heat of his being, in a bid to leave nothing that could steal his gaze away from her.

The self-satisfaction that'd waft off him with her clutching his arm like a lifeline was already cloaking her, choking her. He could very well be waiting for her behind the first corner, just far enough for her desperation to slam her into him.

She motioned her magic to map out her surroundings instead and ground her amidst them.

Valtor had deflected her question about their location more out of vanity, to revel in the mindlessness to which he'd driven her. He'd brought her here for a purpose. He wanted her to know – sooner or later. Sooner, apparently, or he would have stayed to continue unraveling her grip on reality.

The room around her was a stunning mosaic of black and green granite – a forest canopy filling the dark void of space, breathing life into the vacuum. Only the windows and cornices, shaped like strings of icicles, were made of dyamond. The reinforced with magic and harder than diamond glass made up the rest of the building almost exclusively but the last floor relied on enchanted stone both for privacy and protection.

The windows were also layered with spells capturing every ray of sunlight and keeping all the warmth inside even when they were open. From her vantage point Griffin could see light dancing over the thin crust of ice covering the famed Diaphanous Lake outside, making it impossible to see anything under the surface. The ridges of the surrounding mountains were streaked with white already to explain all the furs and wool blankets draped over the walls and floor, the chairs and armrests furnished with thick covers. Dyamond was the only planet that had a forewarning of the early winter advancing through the whole solar system, the curses unleashed too powerful to be stopped by mere light-years of space.

Flames started in the fireplace as if by her thought, confirming the nagging realization in the pit of her stomach.

Valtor was toying with her, had been all along – with all of them. He was probably watching her right now, never one to miss reaping the fruits of his labor.

Griffin didn't bother opening the closet doors inlaid with stained glass in intricate patterns. He'd never been in the habit of leaving her clothes to replace the ones he tore off her form until they were nothing more than useless scraps of fabric. Sometimes not even that much survived of her outfits.

Her magic spilled over her body conjuring a fabric that was so dark it could easily be mistaken for black. The blue only revealed itself when light hit the brocade woven in it as if it'd been dipped in stardust. The laces of her cleavage were looped around the buttons she'd stripped off Valtor's shirt the previous night. The lacing in the back was almost too rigid to allow motion – giving her no choice but to remain upright. String-like, the ends of the silver hem of her gloves threaded through slits in her sleeves like starlight spilling from the insides of her wrists.

She liked to remove every tangle from her hair herself, spending up to an hour in a nearly meditative state as the brush would quietly move through her tresses. That was when her hands weren't clammy and shaking, lacking any semblance of dexterity. Now magic was her only viable option for securing her hair into her typical braid to keep it out of her way.

She'd bet on practicality for years but combat boots simply didn't make sense without the threat of war hanging over her head. They would only take her back to the battlefield. Returning to heels was the only natural course of action. In a few days they would no longer make her head spin from just the couple inches they added to her height.

A quick spell confirmed the absence of movements or sounds outside the door.

She slipped into the empty hallway, her steps and breaths absorbed by the thick carpeting and ostentatious tapestries and curtains by the windows. She didn't have the time or inclination to spare them more than a glance as she made her way down the stairs.

She wasn't economical with her magic, using more than strictly necessary to create diversions for the few guards she sensed in her way. The air around her rippled wildly with every burst of power from her, charged as if with electricity, prickling against her skin and heating up as if it'd catch fire. Every spell she cast was a beacon giving away her position. It would be no trouble at all for Valtor to find her.

He'd located her the previous day when the atmosphere around them had been thick and loaded with deadly curses. If he'd not intercepted her yet, then he was either making a fool of her in front of the queen again or he was off-planet, using the chaos that was partially his fault to reshape the dimension to his liking.

It was no matter. He'd run along soon enough.

Griffin made a turn to find herself staring at a vaguely familiar portrait of Dyamond's previous queen hanging on the glass wall. There weren't any guards in sight to differ from last time when a pair had been posted at every three steps ensuring no one strayed from the procession. The transparent doors of the ballroom had closed behind her like a trap springing.

Being able to see everything occurring in the hallways outside, looking at a column or wall and having someone stare at her from the other side of it had been more unnerving than the threat of Lysslis poking around in her head. Dozens if not hundreds of wolves had sunk their teeth into her every word, every part of her to see if anything would tear, ready to call her a liar just because she bled the same as them. And that had been only the beginning of the evening program.

Griffin closed her eyes and forced an exhale from her lungs to kick the past out of there before it could take over her body, start breathing with the life force it was sucking out of her. All she had to do was feel for a magical essence.

In this palace not every surface was imbued with the ancient power that had created the whole universe. It made locating a magical device infinitely easier.

A potent pull compelled her towards massive glass doors overlooking hundreds–thousands–of books appearing to be floating on their dyamond shelves. With Valtor's help the queen's restoration program had been more than successful. Under the guise of retrieving Dyamond's cultural and magical heritage, she'd easily expanded her collection of tomes further than any of her predecessors could have dreamed.

Griffin pressed her palm against the door, the call of the knowledge that was at her fingertips too great to resist. Any self-respecting thief would be tempted by the unlimited arsenal of spells and incantations, potion recipes and coded secrets until they forgot themselves and any other objective they might have had.

She swore she'd be back first chance she got and hurried away.

A different magical current swirled around her once she put some distance between her and the library.

More in the style of the royal apartments, massive doors of white and purple granite guarded the ceremonial chamber. Recently renovated for the naming ceremony of Crown Princess Icy, the masonry depicted a dark purple sky raining sapphires that bloomed into a sea of flowers as soon as they touched the snow-swaddled ground. In the middle of it, two white swans, one on every gate, faced each other, bearing crowns of aquamarine drops. Silver streaked their plumage and their wings ended in sharpened white zircon.

All the gemstones decorating the doors focused the constant energy stream from the supposed centerpiece of the room. Purposely kept a nebulous concept in the eyes of the dimension, the Ice Spring remained shrouded in power and mystery, and thus the object of all manner of wild rumors and speculation.

For Griffin there was nothing of interest behind those doors. If the spring were a weapon or a defense measure, the royal family wouldn't have flaunted its existence for generations.

It was more bait. Just like the library and the vault shuddering with ancient and forbidden power.

Still, Griffin had to concede to the strategy's effectiveness. Standing in front of the vault gates made even her heart pound in her ears with awe and excitement. She, who had seen the native magic of every world, had used the rarest spells that had ever been created by the most knowledgeable and powerful beings, couldn't help herself at the buzz echoing through her bones and moving her limbs.

These gates were forged from a sturdy metal alloy, all of its components tailored to the protective spells guarding the entrance. Even that would have failed if the doors hadn't been inlaid with pieces of bone–human and animal alike from the looks of it–to contain the most destructive of the magic's effects.

Griffin had to remind herself the kind of prize she was after before she could give into curiosity and explore. The artifacts in that vault would have to impress even her if their presence was loud and palpable behind all the enchantments keeping them safe.

Flexing her fingers, she tried to draw the thrill of adrenaline deeper into her body, to her core where she could save it and come back to it when she needed the boost.

She headed into the opposite direction, listening for a whisper of magic that was out of tune with the booming cacophony she'd left behind.

The hallway she'd chosen ended abruptly in front of another dyamond door. Here, like in the other corners of the palace that weren't meant for prying eyes, the walls were composed differently. The glass was thicker and refracted the light hitting it as if it were the precious stone it was named after. It was impossible to see what was behind it but no ordinary lock was a match for her abilities.

Used as a storage room, the space was bursting with old paintings and furniture that was out of style but was too high-grade to throw out. Easily amounting to a fortune or two, none of the objects in here could be the source of the trail she'd followed. She was missing something.

Upon closer inspection, the room's proportions didn't make sense. The paintings in the back end were squished together as if the wall was pushing against them and the ceiling above had a slight curvature to it, the wooden frames braced against open air while the ones against the other walls went all the way up to the ceiling line. The pressure of a spell that was bursting at the seams threatened to pop the room like a cheap balloon.

Griffin conjured a knife. The incantation to animate it was tediously lengthy but allowed her to keep a safe distance while cutting through the glamor. Avoiding the spots where the spell was already distorting was crucial to keep from triggering an explosion.

She had to admit the security measures surpassed her expectations. Suspecting this alliance between Valtor and the queen wasn't a fragile, newly-established one of convenience didn't make it any easier to swallow the confirmation. He had laid out a trap for her and the worst thing wasn't that she'd fallen in it but rather that she hadn't been alone in her failure, that along with herself she'd dragged down-

The paintings crashed back into the wall despite the residue of the spell that whipped her in the face like a particularly violent gust of wind. Frames cracked, pieces of wood breaking off and raining on the floor, canvases folding over or straight up tearing – all to reveal another door.

The air sizzled, all the vulnerable wood and fabrics around slowly blackening and starting to shrivel as if licked by flames. Sweat beaded Griffin's forehead, ran down her back like a shiver. Her own skin turned uncomfortable, clammy and parched at the same time, burning and stretched taut but still wriggling with every tiny gasp as if it were an entity of its own. Her lips cracked despite the sleeve pressed against them and her nose. She had to turn away just to protect her watering eyes.

The growl that escaped her didn't sound like her own voice. Frustration burst through her body, unfocused and white-hot, overwhelming even the grievous heat from outside.

She marched out of the room, the two closest dyamond doors tearing off their hinges with her momentum. She turned them sideways and barricaded the hallway. They wouldn't hold but she only needed them to buy her a second to throw up her own shield.

It took her longer than she would've liked to build a sufficient charge in her palm. The battle with her mother's murderers had taken its toll on her just as much as the emotional roller coaster that had preceded it.

Her jaw clenched painfully at the thought. Her outrage simmered harder than the heat that had already begun devouring the hallway as well. She poured all of it in her own spell before launching it directly at the enchanted door.

She dropped to the floor and curled in a ball. The smaller her shield was, the stronger she could make it without wasting power. Mistakes were not an option against Valtor's spellwork.

Everything quaked. Crystal chandeliers rattled in shrill disharmony like knives in her brain. Her ears were ringing from the shock wave. The racket of furniture hitting the floor was like fists pounding at her skull.

Her heart loosened in her chest, drumming painfully against her ribcage. Her senses sharpened as the ground shook underneath her like it were about to break up into pieces and open the gateway to a pit of volcanic lava. Everything came into focus as if time was stretching around her to accommodate her, to welcome her as she sifted through every detail coming her way, dived eagerly into that flood.

She could see the cinders swirling in the air, carried by a cold breeze, could hear glass shards hitting the floor. A curtain rod crashed down. The purple drapery withered in the heat along with the carpet. Only the patch covered by her shield didn't burn.

Dyamond chunks and the occasional metal shim or mangled spring bombarded her mercilessly. Her barrier hissed every time they drummed against it and flung them back, sometimes repeatedly when some of them ricocheted off the walls.

She forced herself to wait a full minute once things appeared to settle before letting up on her shield. A quick look at her handiwork sated the bloodthirstiness churning in her belly, for now.

Digging her nails into the satisfaction rushing through her veins, Griffin took to the air. Laughter bubbled in her at the sight of the rubble lying harmlessly beneath her on the soot-covered floor.

Amidst raining ashes and smoke the grotesque crater she'd blown in the back wall of the storage room was another flux of strength through her body. A wave of her hand cleared the black, toxic plumes to let her see her prize.

The blast had pulverized the hidden alcove, only jagged edges protruding from the floor left of the dyamond. Behind that the outer wall of the palace was also damaged, hollowed out nearly all the way, daylight streaming in through the gaps and cracks in the stone. Yet, in the midst of the destruction, on an untouched pedestal lay-

Griffin lurched back as if she'd cut herself on the crystals.

Swerving abruptly mid-air, she stirred up a small vortex of ashes. Her velocity swept more of them in the air, spraying them to her sides as she rushed back into the hallway.

She forced herself to land, conserve her magic.

She'd underestimated Valtor's involvement with the security system, and his pettiness if no one had shown up to stop her yet.

Then again, she hadn't accomplished anything necessitating an urgent response. The smoking hole in the palace wall could be fixed at any time and her strategy of following the magical trails of the building had proven futile.

She needed a fresh perspective.

In the centuries since The Point of Salvation had been devised, various conjectures had been made about its location but not one based on any tangible even if flimsy evidence. If her discoveries were anything to go by, Griffin could rule out the last floor of the palace. It was closest to the royal apartments but also the first place any invaders would look for an escaped monarch and their failsafe. No, it would be at the last possible place one could expect, just like the crystal amplifier.

To think that had been a few hallways away from the ballroom the whole time. She would grind her teeth to fine dust if she didn't watch herself.

She had assumed it'd be kept near the war room on the second floor or the armory – for easy defense. While it wasn't The Point of Salvation, its creation had been not just a key moment in Dyamond's history, but also the start of another era of magic. Treating it like a shameful failure to be buried in the back of your closet–or storage room in this case–had certainly deceived others too, not just her.

To have any use for The Point of Salvation, Raina and her children would need to secure themselves safe passage to it first. Relying on the regular hallways that would be swarming with enemies during a vicious raid on the palace wasn't just stupid but suicidal. A secret emergency route was the logical conclusion.

Testing the walls for hidden passageways was useless. She'd have to start all the way back at the royal apartments and follow the whole system of corridors to her target. It'd be a waste, especially since the passageways were most probably cloaked and impossible to detect either via magic or technology. With the crystal amplifier bombarding her with the charge it was sapping away from the wake of the explosion, she wouldn't be able to sense the Dragon Fire itself if Valtor stood right beside her anyway.

If her theory was correct, then the royals could move around the palace freely, get to any part of it undisturbed. The last place anyone would expect them to try to escape to would be the most remote point of the building – the basement. It was perfect for their last line of defense.

Griffin headed to the stairway she'd passed on her way here.

Judging by the pitch-black darkness that accosted her as soon as she rounded the first corner down, the basement was empty. She had to conjure her phone from her pocket dimension to light her way.

The first trace of magic in the air raised her skin into goosebumps like the cold draft carrying from every stone hadn't managed. A device that generations of royalty had fretted over to such extremes was bound to emit a constant charge even when not in use but this was too obvious.

The magic curling around her was invasive. The air hummed with it and it burrowed into her skin as if to reach its clawed fingers underneath and hollow her out. It tugged on her own energy to pry it lose and start siphoning it away. No one could ignore such a threat to their own integrity even if they wanted to.

She turned right at the bottom of the stairs, towards the source.

Struck as if by a lightning bolt, she stopped dead in her tracks.

She couldn't take another step. Her arm shook violently, making the flashlight rove the walls, cast shadows that writhed over them like demons welcoming her. They reached for her to drag her into one of the cells where the enchantments would suffocate the rest of her powers.

Griffin stumbled back, dropped her phone. The returning darkness choked her to strangle the remaining air out of her as memories kicked her in the ribs.

Her magic hadn't been locked away, instead flooding in her hands, rushing in harrowing waves. When she'd refused to release it, it'd gathered in her fingertips, stinging hot and electrifying. Pushing on the underside of her nails, it'd twinged, burned, like someone trying to pluck them off.

Tears had streamed down her face but she hadn't reached to wipe them away. Any movement could have been catastrophic, the agonizing tickle in her nerves already unbearable.

Stopping her leg from bouncing had required inhuman strength. Her teeth had been frantically picking apart the tender inside of her cheek that'd already been a pulpy, chewed mess. Her mouth had reeked of copper; the trickle of blood over her tongue and down her throat had choked her, forced her to hold in coughing fits that'd wracked her whole body.

The guards outside her dyamond prison had stared at her without blinking as if they could have burned holes into her with their eyes alone.

She'd stared back at them. At them and not the automated laser gun pointed at her, poised to strike at the first wisp of magic she summoned.

Raina–of all people–would have executed her and faced no repercussio...

Yes, she would have.

Griffin dug her teeth and nails in the thought, clung to it like it was driftwood holding her head above water.

In hindsight, the trap had been obvious. Catching wind of one of the Coven's operations wasn't unheard of in and of itself but the alleged target should have given her pause. Valtor and the Ancestral Witches would have never had use for the crystal amplifier, their power already exceeding most everyone else's. The descendants had only ever been pawns to be used and discarded as it served their masters. And if that hadn't made the bait obvious, the personal invitation from Raina to her younger daughter's birthday celebration should have given her pause.

The lack of activity from the Coven in the preceding weeks had kept her on her toes, a gnawing dread in the pit of her stomach. The calm before the storm had been loaded with tension so palpable and heavy that it'd slowed down her magic, her mind, made them sluggish and unreliable. Standing against Valtor and looking him in the eyes would have been a trigger pulled, all uncertainty draining from her stiff limbs and leaving only the comforting familiarity between them.

He hadn't granted her that much. Instead of claiming his victory, he'd left her in her transparent cell, singled out for others to gawk at her more if they hadn't had their fill already. With her magic going haywire, every look cast her way like daggers cutting into her, she'd lost sight of the truth.

She'd been untouchable.

Valtor would have decimated the whole palace in the fraction of a second it would have taken that laser gun to fire. He would have only preserved Raina's life and her daughters' just so that he could kill them–the girls first–for the crime of daring to wish harm upon her, let alone making her fear for her life.

If she feared someone, it had to be him. Only him.

The paralysis released its hold on her. Her chest expanded; her shoulders sagged with relief.

Perhaps she was foolish for it but she'd never feared him.

She called the phone back into her hand. Turning away from the dungeon, she left all the loathsome memories it'd unearthed to rot in there.

Her hand wobbled without her permission upon casting light on the rest of the corridor.

Her confidence quickly seeped away as an even dozen of doors greeted her. And those were just the ones she could see. It was a given that there were several times as many down the six additional hallways that branched out from the one she was in. She could easily be standing in a maze of rooms that would take far too long to check one by one.

She would have avoided all this trouble if she'd just threatened the queen from the beginning. It would have forced Valtor to return from whatever little excursion he could have gone on. The guard would hardly be able to contain her without any assistance from him and she assumed he'd want to keep his access to the Dyamond palace if nothing else.

Raina herself was useless to him, even in her quality of being queen. She didn't add anything to his arsenal – neither political prowess and connections, nor particular intellect. Following her uncle's abdication in favor of her mother, her startling, unprecedented lack of magical ability had been a cultural shock to her people, threatening to upend the belief upon which their entire monarchy was founded – that they could make a proper ruler out of anyone. All eyes were on the young crown princess now, waiting hungrily for any sign that she wouldn't turn out just like her mother.

Another reason why Griffin had overlooked the trap that'd been set for her – she'd deemed it wasteful even for Valtor to enter such an unfavorable alliance just to spite her. The easiest way to gain all the influence and access to magic he'd want would have been to put his own heir on any throne he wished, inserted himself in any court across the dimension.

She didn't need to raise the topic to know the deep aversion with which he'd meet it. Such a permanent, personal connection to any royal bloodline would be nothing but a liability, leverage to be used against him whether by enemies or even the child's own relatives and court. It was too messy for him and his preference to keep his options open even if he rarely had cause to turn on his allies, his sharp mind letting him spin any situation to his benefit.

If it were someone else's weakness, however, he wouldn't hesitate to exploit it.

Sapphire's father and his wife had been standing next to Raina for the entirety of the celebration, proudly holding the baby. The leaders of certain planets had found the circumstances of the princess' birth scandalous but the people of Dyamond had been overjoyed – just as much as the couple of nobles. Being part of Raina's own court, they wouldn't be any use to Valtor – if he'd noticed them at all.

Things could look very differently where Icy's father was concerned. Raina had refused to divulge his identity even to her own advisors per his wish to remain anonymous. It was possible that she weren't the point of the alliance at all. It didn't make her disposable, however, if she were a means to an end.

Were she wrong and Valtor was still in the palace, tracking down Raina would likely end up leading her directly to him. The last thing she needed was for him to overpower her in front of the queen. She hated to admit it but it would be embarrassingly easy for him to do it after she'd thrown most of her magic on a wild goose chase.

No, she had to make him come to her this time.

Griffin's eyes widened; the breath got stuck in her throat. She spun around on her heel to look at the dungeon again.

She had assumed Raina had held her imprisoned in a see-through cage to let others witness her humiliation. She hadn't had the presence of mind to stop and ask herself why she wasn't the only one that had been caught in the act but had never seen the inside of the cells in the dungeon.

Every time an intruder was captured roaming through the palace, they were hauled away with the excuse that it was safer that way. The truth to it had kept her from asking another logical question – why did the palace have a functioning dungeon if it was never in use? The space could be converted into a more secure vault or at least be used for storage purposes but instead, the Dyamond monarchs had kept wasting the building's energy on enchantments canceling out magic.

Griffin marched down the path between the cells. Her own powers grew fainter, dissipating like mist on her skin but a steady stream was still running in her core like an underground river. Concentrating enough energy in a powerful charge would still allow her to cast spells. It was the confirmation she was looking for.

Running her hand over the bars of several cells proved they were all calibrated to stunt magic but not sever it completely. That served just as well for masking the active power source of the device as it did as a back door in case the royals ever ended up thrown in their own dungeon. There was no way to tell which cell their captors would choose for them so all had to be connected to the secret passageways.

Griffin flung the closest door open, another rush of energy making her dizzy. Or maybe that was just the speed at which she was moving.

The side walls would lead to the neighboring cells so Griffin made her way straight to the one across from her. Any hidden passageway would be locked behind it.

The door didn't slam shut after her as soon as she was through. If Raina wasn't alarmed yet, she had to take another look at the crater in her palace walls. It was unlikely she would have disclosed any information about her failsafe to Valtor either, at least not of her own volition. She was confident in her own security measures and Griffin couldn't wait to make her regret it.

Blood magic was her best guess. A lock defended with it couldn't be forced open with stolen blood or via a coerced hostage. It had to be done out of one's own volition or through a complex, time- and energy-consuming system of spells that corroded the integrity of any magic they came in contact with.

While she wasn't closely familiar with The Point of Salvation, she could deduce it would require maintenance, or at least a periodic check to confirm it was operational. With how paranoid the queen had been about another attempt on her kingdom's sovereign status, she had certainly inspected her insurance policy for her and her daughters' survival before inviting the enemy to her celebration. Probably even more recently before the massive destruction that was about to occur on her neighboring planet.

A person well-versed in magic would know how to remove their blood traces from a once opened lock but Raina was not a magic user. Indeed, when Griffin brought her hand next to the wall, careful to keep a distance between them, and scanned it, Raina's essence was still in there like a fingerprint left on a doorknob. All she had to do was use it like a glove to hide her own essence and deceive the spell.

Quiet fizzling filled the cell as the stones in front of her vanished to leave her staring at a dark niche hidden behind it. Stepping inside triggered another mechanism that restored the wall to its previous state before the niche opened into a claustrophobic antechamber.

Another lock requiring blood didn't slow her down much.

The vanishing granite revealed a relatively larger circular chamber. The soft glow that lit the room had no visible source. It appeared to stream through the stone itself and finally allowed her to return her phone back to her pocket dimension.

The device located in the middle of the otherwise empty chamber was nothing like she'd expected it to be. It would be comical if not for how baffling the design was.

It appeared as nothing more than a dyamond tube with a... She had to stifle a hysterical laughter at the sight of the sliding door. Having been hosted by nobility and royalty all across the dimension, she'd seen infinitely more elaborate shower stalls.

The magical current that the whole charade with the dungeon was supposed to mask was undeniably stronger in here. Palpitations moved the floor under her feet like she was standing on the back of a living, breathing beast. It was probably the source of the light as well.

A more thorough look at the composition of the device revealed the reason for its simplicity. Its power source was dug into the ground along with all the rest of its vital components. A last, desperate and rather useless effort at protecting its integrity. If any enemy made it this far, The Point of Salvation's destruction was ensured.

Still, Griffin carefully examined it for any more security measures only to come up empty-handed. It was possible the thought of a panicked, hasty child reaching their ticket to freedom and being hindered by the very system set in place to protect them had overpowered even the paranoia of the earliest generations of Dyamond royalty.

The inside of the tube was just as simplistic as the outside. Apart from the amethyst crystals lining the parts of it that didn't move, there were no controls. It powered up as soon as Griffin stepped inside and was meant for completely intuitive use, designed for the worst case scenario – having to be operable by the youngest of children.

It would be absurd then to think that Griffin wouldn't figure out how to use it.

If Valtor hadn't shown up yet, there was no point stalling. It had become tiresomely typical of him not to take her seriously and force her hand into something they'd both rather avoid.

She closed the door behind her, the airtight space instantly setting off her nerves. She could try to force a rhythm to her breathing, focus her mind on her goal, but it'd be no use. Another million years wouldn't make this next part easier.

Anticipation coiled inside and around her, familiar and dreaded. It'd been her companion for years, a constant presence in the back of her mind that squeezed around her at the very possibility of Valtor's face appearing to her. She'd been waiting for the moment when she'd fail and crawl back to him just to avoid the feeling anymore, to replace it with the wild rush of having him so near she could always reach her hand out and touch him. Then the fear that everyone else that'd grown dear to her would look at her with hatred wouldn't have mattered.

She'd been such a fool. There was nothing she wouldn't give to see them hate her, nothing she wouldn't give to see them alive.

She closed her eyes and let the image of Sylvia form in her mind. She couldn't be sure where to look for her. Her mansion would be the most logical place but she had no guarantee someone as active on the political scene as Valtor was would be home. She had to focus on the woman herself and let the amethyst crystals boost the psychic waves that were supposed to guide the rest of the process.

The walls disappeared around her, the air moving freely, spinning around her body and yet still stale on her skin. There was nothing solid under her feet; she was floating in the air despite the power surges of the device still rippling under her soles.

Her nails tried to dig into her palms through her gloves. The grayish void she found was surrounding her when she opened her eyes didn't help.

Something had gone wrong.

Her palm slapped against the sliding door of the tube despite all the empty space surrounding her. The glass slid open and the gray in front of her eyes was replaced with the familiar inside of the device and the stone chamber around it.

In all of Raina's paranoia, she couldn't have missed to make sure her last line of defense worked properly. She would have tested it, maintained it, done everything necessary to keep it operational at all times. The mistake must have been hers.

Griffin closed the door again and visualized Sylvia's face carefully behind her eyelids, imagined her voice – never loud but perfectly authoritative. She hated to admit it but Sylvia had intimidated her well into her teenage years. She'd been the epitome of everything Griffin had wanted to be – powerful, respected, feared even, and perfectly unmoved by the greatest powers of the dimension; she was one of them and more often the one that everyone else had to accommodate. Yet, she'd still hated her – not because of Sylvia's treatment of her, but because of her treatment of-

The light behind her eyelids shifted dramatically. Sunbeams hit her in the face, making her raise a hand to protect her eyes.

Her heart leaped in her throat when she opened them to find Sylvia leaning against an ornate, polished desk in a spacious room she didn't recognize. She looked disturbingly smaller than usual, her curly hair loose down her back and unbrushed. It was when she turned around that Griffin jumped back and hit the wall behind her.

Sylvia's hard, sculpted features appeared frozen in place as always. Griffin couldn't identify a single wrinkle that had appeared since she'd known the woman but her eyes were now so wet and red-rimmed. Rather than the arctic blue she was used to seeing, they looked completely ashen and gray, devoid of color. Her lower lip quivered with something unspoken but it was her hunched shoulders that would poke Griffin's eyes out. They made her look like she was trying to curl herself around a piece of her that was no longer there.

Griffin opened her mouth but instantly closed it. It only made her breathing more frantic; the irregular gasps barely kept her conscious as her vision swam, to her relief. It made it impossible to look Sylvia in the eye.

"Griffin," her voice was nothing like she remembered, soft and fragile, a distant echo of the woman she knew. "You're alive. What happened on Domino?"

She didn't sound surprised. If anyone would have reasoned Griffin had gone with Valtor, it was her. Still, Griffin couldn't decide if that was the reason for her disgust or the mention of her other enemy, the one that'd fallen, the one that should have meant nothing to her anymore.

Griffin grappled for her own voice; she wasn't sure what would be worse – for Sylvia to speak again or for her to do it.

"We... I couldn't... I-I... She's dead." She was repeating Valtor's words, had to focus on the memory of his voice, the cold, steel certainty of it carving into her chest, just to be able to utter them.

"The Ancestral Witches?"

She had to bite herself to keep from laughing. She had to bite herself to keep from screaming.

"They're gone too, but Fara-"

She swallowed, then again. If anything came out of her throat, her sanity would escape with it; she wouldn't be able to keep it down.

She couldn't sit still.

If she made one step, she'd leave the device and risk being stuck with Sylvia. She couldn't take the chance of losing her way back to Dyamond and being left only with her own magic that had crawled in the darkest, dirtiest corner of her mind and curled into a small, useless ball.

Her hands found her braid, fingers picking at her hair, pushing to force their way between the tightly held strands and pull them loose. That pain was welcome, grounded her in her body, the sting of it far more tangible than the words she forced herself to fire out while she was distracted.

"You have to find her, bury her. She deserves- Not this. So much better than this... We're certainly not the ones that will give it to her."

How had it come to this? The two of them being the ones left to remember Faragonda – the ones that had failed over and over again to see her for who she truly was, to accept her, to be there for her. This had to be a cruel joke.

"Where exactly should I look for her?"

The question echoed in Griffin's mind like a slap against tiled walls. "I-"

She'd never asked. Had never asked whether there was anything left to be buried at all. No, she would have crawled inside Valtor's ribcage if possible where the only thing that mattered was his heart – beating – for her.

He never found someone to take her place. It roused a grim satisfaction inside her to know she haunted his thoughts, too, that he could not look at another and see anything but her. He'd never taken another partner, another confidante, and any lover after her would have been subjected to brutal, merciless comparison, all of them bound to disappoint. No one would have moaned like her, uttering his name through trembling lips and clutching him closer, her magic spilling for him to kiss over it. She had ruined everyone else for him, had ruined the taste of life unless he was drinking up from her lips.

It was only fair.

"How did my daughter die, Griffin?" Sylvia's voice pierced through her skull like an icicle. "Watching you fuck her– your–mortal enemy? I'm surprised you took a break to call me and arrange her burial. How do you intend to come to her funeral? Hand in hand with her murderer?"

Griffin's fingers clawed at her throat – to open it for more oxygen or to let the blood spill out, it was impossible to tell. Maybe it was to let her soul escape, away from the razor-sharp teeth in it, tearing it apart for sick entertainment. That gleam in Sylvia's eyes...

It wasn't natural.

It wasn't her.

She was talking to an impostor.

Her spell-charged fist hit the dyamond tube around her. All it accomplished was a painful reminder of where she was.

She threw the door open and jumped out, the image of the impostor in front of her popping out of existence like it was nothing more than an ephemeral soap bubble.

She couldn't wrap her mind around any of it.

Sylvia would never be so crude about it. The subtlety of her words always made them that much more brutal. She would have circled around her, Valtor's name hanging heavy in the air like a guillotine that only nicked her flesh, each cut skin-deep. It would have been the itch that would have made Griffin herself reach to tear them open, swallowing her own tears and begging for mercy.

Sylvia would have known that sticking her fingers in Griffin's wounds would only make her retreat to lick them closed – directly into Valtor's arms. He was the only one she could bear to hold her, the only one she hadn't betrayed, at least not worse than he'd betrayed her.

There was only one person who'd know how to hijack the signal of The Point of Salvation, to manipulate it.

She'd been talking to none other than the queen of Dyamond herself, had once again fallen into the trap Raina had set out for her. She could have easily made her way to the device after the explosion that had shaken the whole palace while Griffin had been wracking her brain trying to find it.

It wasn't right. She had no magic...

Valtor did. Had an excess of it to give away.

A volatile charge made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, as if the air had filled with static electricity.

She whipped around and nearly slammed into his chest, their faces mere inches apart. His quick spell steadied her just in time.

It was a miracle his proximity didn't singe the hair right off her body. Only his intent rendered the sizzling aura around him harmless to her.

She refused to move. He'd been the one to decide the current distance between them didn't work. He'd have to bridge or broaden it.

This close to him, she could only take in separate, little fragments of his appearance – the ruffles of his shirt, completely identical to the one she'd destroyed, his unmoving throat clearly implying he found nothing to correct in their current position, his blond locks falling about his face as if he'd just stepped off the set of a hair product commercial.

His power had settled into his skin again to leave the stage all to his flawless composure. His posture was always that of someone who owned the whole world as if his height alone weren't imposing. Now it was too stiff, his shoulders pinned back to mask the restlessness that shadowed his every movement, looking for an opening to possess his muscles and ruin his carefully crafted image. It was why his gaze was trained on one single spot, perfectly poised to meet hers once she looked him in the eyes.

He had been on the hunt. The only thing that had his blood boiling beyond his control was an unfinished business, especially when he was chasing someone. Someone that wasn't her.

An ugly thing rose in her chest, hissed like a snake that'd been crushed under someone's boot, maimed but still surviving. She had to restrain herself from attacking him, latching to his mouth until he was too busy mapping out her body with his hands and kisses to remember anyone else existed.

Because she was staring so intently at his lips, she saw the sigh leaving them in a grand performance.

"I was hoping this all could be avoided. Yet, I come back to find that you've already provoked our hostess," he pressed his fingers into his temple, the image of a tortured diplomat. "I reasoned that you'd at least behave yourself long enough for me to return, if you noticed my absence at all."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Griffin seethed despite her best efforts.

"I suppose not. After all, you exhausted all this magic for absolutely no reason at all. But you can take comfort in the assurance that all my efforts were invested in a posthaste return to you, starlight," he abandoned his theatrics to take her hand, his fingers twisting the silver strings of her glove around them to tie her to him.

Oh, he was enjoying this.

Whatever power her scowl might have had was demolished by the tremble of her lips at the sound of the endearment. Heat was rising in her sides–apparently so if she were to judge by his smirk–as if he were a sun nestled inside her chest. His response to her ironic "sunshine" never failed to disarm her. Of course, he wouldn't hesitate to use it now.

She could play his game.

"Why, I find the discovery I made to be more than worth it, wouldn't you agree?" Griffin looked over her shoulder at The Point of Salvation. "You can reach any part of the dimension, find anyone you're looking for."

It was better that she didn't draw his attention back to whom specifically she'd been trying to contact but she could always remind him there were still people out there that she could go to and leave him to stew in the implications as he liked to do to her so often.

Valtor's lips tickled the shell of her ear insistently, demanding that she spare no thought to anything but him, "Were you going to hunt me down, dearest? Come join me in my affairs?"

The moment she raised her hand to slap him, he'd snatch her wrist and pull her glove off, bring her fingers to his lips. All her rage, her indignation and her resolve would slip right between them and she'd fall into his bed again, without a single thought spared on how she'd be setting herself up for a repeat of events.

"I must admit that your devotion to bringing me back here is immensely flattering," he cupped her cheek and turned her face towards him again.

Griffin had to bite back a grin at how quickly his patience unraveled the moment his ego took over. It would cut that much deeper when he realized he'd set himself up for the crushing blow.

"Oh," her eyes widened to accompany the exaggerated way her lips shaped the sound, "I rather thought that since you were out there taking care of your affairs, I should do the same. You see, when I found you gone-"

His lips curled around a vicious snarl, baring his teeth – involuntarily. It settled as soon as she faltered, giving the impression of capitulation.

She could already taste his magic souring, prickling into her mouth with every breath. It'd turn to knives in her flesh if she relayed to him her conversation with Raina but she'd have wrested it from his control, would have turned it on him as much as on herself.

He'd had to fight for her undivided attention for years and settle for failure when she walked away again, hand in hand with the fairy she'd returned to, the fairy that'd had everything he wanted. Just hearing her name would set him off like a bomb that would take out the entire palace, blow a crater straight through to the core of Dyamond.

Her heart shuddered in dark, delighted vindictiveness but her jaw trembled before Faragonda's name could start forming in her mouth. Her vision flickered, losing him for a moment only to find nothing else in the gray emptiness he left behind.

"We all have to make sacrifices in our line of work, regrettably," the yearning in his voice was so potent it guided her like a lighthouse in the dark.

His warmth against her skin grounded her; his face came into focus again. The back of his fingers stroked her cheek and there it was – the ice of his gaze melted for her.

"That blue looks stunning on you," his arm slid around her waist and pulled her closer, too close for him to be able to see anything other than her face.

The light around them burned brighter than it had before, making her dress shine against her skin rather than let her be lost, engulfed, in the dark fabric and the matching insides of her mind.

Valtor's lips sealed hers like fire scorching the ground, cleansing it for new sprouts to take root – a whole garden in the making.

She leaned into him, burying her hands under his coat, under his vest to clutch at his shirt. It was bathed in the heat that had long evaporated from the sheets when she'd stirred awake, sent little thrills shooting through her as if she were holding real flames in her hands and they only licked at her skin without burning her.

It wasn't enough.

She'd have to wrap herself in it to chase away the bitter taste of smoke and lies on her tongue, to be able to stomach his words again. He should have awakened her himself, lips and hands on her skin and a hunger in him that could only be sated when matched with her own. He should have trembled with sheer offense at the very possibility of her mind straying from him for a single moment, of her body–her whole being– not trembling for him.

A single kiss was just a cruel reminder that he'd failed to prioritize her.

Valtor was quick to dive in for another one as soon as she'd drawn the one gasping breath he was willing to allow her.

Her palm against his chest only earned her a second to deter him from distracting her again. "Are you sure you won't accuse me again of provoking our hostess?"

Valtor let go of her and stepped back, allowing cold to consume her when he was the warmest thing in the room, the warmest thing in existence. His gaze abandoned her as well, moved over her shoulder to The Point of Salvation behind her.

Her heart twisted. She had to clench her fists to subdue her magic, bite her lip to tame the hexes on it that would explode the dyamond tube behind her into silica dust raining over them like snow.

"As long as I remove you from her precious device, she'd be content. Though," the corner of his mouth twitched up, "I'm sure her appreciation will grow exponentially if I deign to employ a silencing spell this time."

He looked at her, an eyebrow arched delicately as if seeking her input when the moment he decided he'd had enough of this silliness, his name would be the only word left on her lips – for the whole world to hear.

Griffin suffocated the desire to get ahead of him, "Too bad for her."

"Indeed," Valtor purred, satisfied with her acquiescence. "You can see how dangerous you are to her, Griffin. You could ruin her."

He circled her casually, knowing she'd turn after him as if magnetized, his words just as much a pull on her as his presence.

"All you have to do," he motioned for the dyamond tube in front of him, "is contact the Council, warn them of her alliance with me."

Valtor turned towards her again as if he couldn't bear to leave her out of his sight, every moment his eyes weren't on her excruciating.

Delight flared in her chest rather than the appropriate fury. The craving for violence that possessed her was only directed at his clothes and the space between them.

With his hands clasped behind his back and a solemn, subservient expression on his face, he seemed to place himself at her feet. If not for the gleam in his eyes, even she could believe he was doing that rather than taunting her.

She was only useful to the Council dead. They'd always considered her Valtor's spy; a single trace of her survival would instantly renew the interplanetary hunt for her head. No information was worth more than dispensing justice and crippling any plan of his that relied on her involvement. In their eyes she was only a tool in his arsenal, the only type of weapon he wielded on the regular and with pleasure.

"They are desperate beyond reason, scrambling to find a scapegoat to take the fall for their own incompetence." Valtor moved closer, his gait that of a predator cornering his wounded dinner. "Dyamond is just the perfect candidate that they've overlooked... until someone sheds light on my patronage of the queen."

Griffin couldn't fight off the shiver quaking her. If he could do this to her with just words, he wouldn't even need his mark to ensure Raina's compliance with his every whim. It took two to keep a secret, yet she alone would suffer the consequences if hers was revealed.

She'd made her antagonism towards Domino public every day of her reign, the fallout between her and Marion an obscene spectacle for the whole dimension to witness. Pinning the blame on her would pacify the other monarchs and all concerns they'd have for the safety of their own kingdoms. A personal grudge only succeeding with the help of a now-extinct faction was much less troubling than a conquest of a universal scope that was not entirely fruitless.

"Fear drives people to excessive, extreme measures," Valtor's voice startled her like the cracking of a whip. "I gave her the means to protect herself, provided her with security to minimize the potential for rash decisions but, apparently, she still finds you intimidating. Can you really blame her?"

Griffin pursed her lips. He couldn't expect her to fall for such a sloppy attempt to get a rise out of her, could he? She weren't Raina. She deserved more effort.

"You have always been formidable, especially to someone who has only just discovered the possibilities of magic. She's but a child playing with her new toy while you with your impeccable mastery of your craft and your reputation alone, not to mention my respect for you were bound to be imposing and draw her caution. She's not foolish enough to think herself a match for you just because I looked at her twice."

When she didn't immediately crumble at his feet or lift herself on tiptoes to bestow the kiss she'd denied him before, he added, "You did also aid those who'd colonized her planet once already in a plot against her kingdom."

The effect was instant.

The words ripped through her throat like a dagger slicing it open, "The plot was against you!"

Her ragged, heavy breathing filled the room, stuffed her chest with a clawing panic.

There wasn't space inside her for the onslaught of memories, of voices screeching in her head, fighting to take over.

They will have multiple times the firepower that they do now.

No one can know what we're doing there.

What was the nature of your relationship with Valtor?

There are intruders in the palace.

Members of your court were caught in the act, or do you deny it?

I'm sorry, Griffin.

I'm sorry. I'msorryimsorryimsorry

She was choking. Her mind was unraveling not thread by thread but all at once. Her body followed, shaking-

Valtor's hand seizing her wrist pulled her to safety, into his soothing presence. His breath was a warm breeze over her face that chased away the water from her eyes. She could focus on his.

They bored into her like she was a butterfly pinned in his gaze, paralyzed and exposed, wings fluttering helplessly. "She doesn't like being collateral damage anymore than she does like being betrayed."

The one drawback of him seeing her betrayal in everything was that it was the one thing he saw when he looked at her too.

She couldn't take it back.

She'd known that when she'd left.

She'd never been prepared for it. Especially not now that she was by his side again, in his arms and the triumphant relief of their reunion was so fragile under their feet, wailing at every step and threatening to send them crashing into the rage bubbling underneath like an active volcano.

"I'm sure she'd warm up to you if you put a little effort into showing remorse," Valtor tucked an invisible lock of hair behind her ear, the gesture more a warning than an olive branch.

Something burst inside her. Not so much a dam as it was a fuse, overloaded from years and years' worth of his veiled threats and her own regrets, anticipation and the horrible, crippling anxiety of having him so near only to lose him for good.

" Fuck her!"

Valtor's eyes flashed ominously. His jaw worked – to grind to dust the words erupting from him and replace them with other, measured ones.

"Now how would that make you feel, dearest? I'd never be so careless with your feelings." He had to love the taste of her blood to always twist the knife as viciously as possible. "We wouldn't want you to blow up the rest of the palace, now would we?"

It had to bother her more. But as long as she was in his mouth, he would never learn to live without her.

It helped her keep the petulance out of her voice, "Raina was quick to run to you with all of her problems."

"Thanks to your handiwork," Valtor gave her fingers a squeeze, "a thick smoke curtain has claimed the first floor. All the ash you've trailed down the stairs hardly compares with that but was rather useful. How do you think I found you?"

Of course. She hadn't been using any of her own magic.

Judging from his words, Raina hadn't told him where to find her, had hoped he would drag her away from her hidden failsafe with his mere return. And he would have if she hadn't left him such a convenient trail to follow. So much for Raina's secret.

"I trust you can refrain from causing further destruction to our new home," Valtor continued as if she hadn't just provided him with a–grossly unneeded–advantage.

"Where are you going?" the words tumbled out before she could catch herself, her fingers flexing, forcing him to release her.

To his credit, Valtor had the decency to look annoyed rather than smirk at her. "You have created work for me, dearest. Someone has to fix all the property damage you've left in your wake."

Instead of her jaws clenching together, her mouth fell open. The hiss on its way to leave her morphed into a rush of air that sounded suspiciously like a sigh of relief when Valtor pressed his lips to her forehead in an unexpectedly tender kiss.

"The library is yours to explore at your discretion and so is the rest of the palace," his thumb stroked her cheek to completely offset her balance alongside the wistful look her gave her.

She had to grasp at his wrist with both hands to remain upright. She didn't miss the wave of smugness rolling off him, his eyes already dissecting every twitch of her fingers in his sleeve and the fluttering of her lashes.

She had to take him down a peg.

The look she gave him was made all the more cocky by her poorly feigned demure act, her fingers toying with the hem of his sleeve, "You're leaving me to gallivant around unsupervised?"

"You are a guest here, after all. The guest of honor," Valtor fired out in contrast with how stiff his fingers had grown on her cheek. "Do try a more amicable approach when it comes to weathering the queen's moods, won't you?"

Griffin made a show of intertwining their fingers and turning to kiss his palm despite his glove.

Then, in the most level, innocent voice she could manage, she asked, "That would mean, of course, that I could roam further than the palace grounds?"

Valtor frowned, nearly pouted at the mere mention.

"Within reason." Always one to recover quickly, he leaned in like his next words were only for her ears – a love confession to tug on her heartstrings and bind her in his orbit. "Your face is not as anonymous as it used to be. You'd be putting yourself and the queen in danger if you're noticed in the heart of her home."

Griffin pulled back to meet his eyes, "There's a simple solution to eliminate the risk to Her Majesty."

The moment she dropped his hand, his magic spiked as if she'd thrown a stone in a lake and awoken the creatures in the deep. Turning her back on him was the equivalent of pouring oil in the fire.

It burst in the room, dropped the pressure and made the air crackle with static as if they were in the middle of a storm. It clawed at her form, compelling, demanding that she turn around to look at him or it would slither inside her and make her.

It shivered in delight when small charges trickled in her fingertips. Wisps of his power gathered around her hands to urge more of hers out, coaxing, cajoling her to join him, give him everything she had.

She forced herself to ignore them and focused on picking a destination. The Point of Salvation wouldn't take her anywhere but she weren't Raina. She could do it herself.

She could swear the tiniest gasp of alarm broke through the chaos in her thoughts only for him to cover it up just as quickly.

"Where are you headed to, starlight?"

His voice was an arrow through her chest. It pierced in and out to pin her heart to the wall across from her. An excessive, underhanded attempt to keep her from leaving.

She turned to look at him, to return the favor.

"Oh, I don't know. Probably Solaria. I could use the sunshine if we are to have a... shortage of it in the next few months." She feigned contemplation, "On the other hand, no one would expect me on Magix and I haven't been on a decent book hunt in ages. I can easily think of fifteen bookshops I could tour just off the top of my head."

Valtor's expression slowly changed – from furrowed eyebrows and a storming gaze to a fond, saccharine smile, "If you do end up shopping, I trust you to surprise me with an appropriate gift, for all my assistance in your relations with the queen."

A moment of silence settled between them before her heart threatened to detonate in her chest. He could certainly hear its pounding against her ribs, trigger it with a simple gesture, a single look even. Her magic dripped too slowly into her palms to provide a real outlet. He must have taken her depleted reserves to mean hesitation.

Fine. Her absence would strike him that much harder when she disappeared – this time right in front of his eyes.

Denying him her company was her last bargaining chip. She wasn't really denying him, more like delaying him, spiting him. The power she had was so little, practically nothing, but she couldn't let go of it. He'd already robbed her of so much, even now that she was defeated, completely at his mercy.

Valtor didn't budge despite her building spell.

He could find her on the other end of the universe.

She had to count on it.

Her magic ran the length of her body like little shock waves, resounding echoes of a disaster that had already happened. She hardly heard Valtor's voice over it.

"Stay out of trouble."

His gaze easily cut through the haze taking over her, drove the air out of her lungs.

She was stuck on the cold of it – frozen in place.

The shiver running through her kicked her spell into motion.

Valtor disappeared.

Her body crumbled into the depths of her magic. The pieces of her launched through space and her mind followed in a smooth jump with none of the impact of rattling around in her physical form.

White-hot agony tore through her to split her in half – one continuing to hurtle forward and the other flung back and spat out in the stone chamber again.

She was yanked backwards, each of her atoms crushing the rest, melding them into one again. The force of it rang through her bones like she'd hit a wall.

Valtor's grip on her wrist was brutal, searing through both their gloves. There was no magic to it, only his devastating fury.

Her own power was silenced; everything around them had fallen still. The air between them was charged with unbearable tension. One hair moved by her inhale was all the friction needed for a spark, for an explosion that would char them to ash.

She didn't dare breathe. Her lungs strained, burned, but she only looked at him, waited.

He could lean in and kiss her, or he'd finally go for it and choke her.

Valtor grabbed her chin instead of her neck – as if she weren't fully gripped by him already.

The quiver of her lips drained the blood thirst from his gaze and touch, made the pressure around them crumble in shards. Her shoulders sagged along with it but her eyes never left his.

"You've never been wasteful with magic," Valtor's voice unfurled through her body, from her head to the pit of her stomach, dropping heavy in there like a sinking stone. "Don't start now."

Griffin had to catch herself when his grip disappeared. It couldn't have taken her more than a second to steady herself on her feet but he was already halfway across the chamber, standing next to the exit.

He turned to her and offered his hand, "Where would you even go?"

Anywhere.

It wouldn't make a difference. Without him by her side or at least pursuing her savagely it wouldn't matter one bit if she were walking the lush forests of Linphea teeming with plant life extinct elsewhere or infiltrating the vaults bursting with all the secrets of the black arts underneath the ruins of Spheria. It would only ever feel one way – deafening, oppressive stillness that with time only mellowed out to a dull emptiness when she was alone with her thoughts.

"I didn't want to leave. I never would have if..."

The first months after had been excruciating. The smallest of charges in her fingertips had echoed back at her tenfold, tearing at her own flesh when there'd been no answer. Uttering the simplest of spells had been a death wish, a suicide. Instead of a cautious step inching forward, it had been a fall off a half-standing bridge. Yet, you couldn't see where the stone ended until you'd dropped off.

Only when she'd met him in battle, she had started recovering with the slowness of rehabilitating a broken spine, and just because Faragonda hadn't let her do it alone.

"If what?" Valtor's voice whipped against the stone walls as if he'd seen the name written all over her in the way Faragonda had nursed her back to functionality.

He bridged the distance between them again when she didn't answer, attempted to pull it out of her with his mere presence, with the mirage of it.

Like a hound to blood, Griffin latched onto that one weakness she had forced on him.

He stalked over to her before she could take her second step back. He took her chin in his hand. The firmness of his touch echoed in her body when the hard wall met her back.

He'd teleported them just to have her cornered. A clear message to pick her words carefully but not make him wait any longer, lest he decided to take them straight from her head.

It was the perfect payback – his own strategy turned on him in retribution for his silence about her friends' demise. He had to be dying to brag about his cunning and skill in outsmarting them, taking their lives in his hands and crushing them into nothingness. But he wanted her to ask, wanted her to be complicit in the pain he got to cause her. Now she had the power to make him wonder in turn, ache for the truth, for a reason she could give him to put his mind at ease, stop it from tearing apart every little memory of her for hints and clues just to have something definitive, something tangible to explain the worst part of his life.

It didn't feel like a victory, or even like an advantage of any kind. Just another fall deeper into the pit of misery they were burying themselves in. It was a miracle they were both still breathing.

Griffin raised her hand to cup his face, her glove melting away, but Valtor swatted it away like her caress was an annoying pest.

His eyes were throwing sparks, the words shredding through his teeth, "I found no trace of you where you were supposed to greet me. I found you on enemy territory – not as a captive, but worse – as a traitor, an informant, their ally."

She couldn't help but shrink away, his vulnerability always the sharpest weapon he could aim at her throat, but his fingers under her chin held her in place for the onslaught.

"How many times have I watched you choose to walk away from me and whimper after them like a stray animal half out of its mind with starvation? Was that my fault? Did I cast you aside, shove you into their arms? Was I the one to push you away?"

The cold amidst which she'd woken flared inside her chest, spread through her body to make her frigid like a stone. If she tried to beat him over the head with his own mistakes, he'd spin it around, put the blame on her again.

The realization that she didn't care settled in her bones like a chill she couldn't shake off. As long as she could spit venom in his face in turn, it was worth getting burned by him.

Valtor forced her jaws closed, trapping her tongue between her teeth. "You were wanting for nothing. You had my respect and my trust to execute plans as you deemed fit. I offered support to any agenda you had, ensured your access to magic no other witch had been allowed to witness, let alone use for herself. Did I ever meet you with judgment for your heart's desires or any act you've committed in my name or your own? I have only ever granted you the freedom to be yourself, to speak your mind without having to bow down to people who hate your guts."

Not just her mind but her heart, her feelings for him that had been denounced as more abominable than the corpses she had created with her own ha-

Griffin bit her tongue until she tasted blood, the sharp tang of it severing her thought.

His palms were feather-light on her skin when he cupped her cheeks – as if she would set him ablaze with the mere contact between them.

His voice came out guttural, growling, like he was digging deep into his core just to get it out, "I have proven time and time again that I would give you everything, that I would stop at nothing for you, even after what you did."

His shoulders shuddered just barely, his eyes stabbing through her. His breaths were too fast and shallow, like he couldn't draw in a deeper one without flinching... like he was in pain.

Griffin swallowed her blood, the taste of it soaking her insides like there was a monster there thirsting for it, making her feral – to match him.

Calculation had played no part in his disappearing act, only self-preservation. Keeping her an arm's length away had been the only solution he'd come up with to the gnawing hunger that had ravaged them both for years. Yet his fingers pressed into her skin, hard, to erase the possibility of her existing on her own, without being marked by him. His control was slipping through the fissures running across his mask from the gut-punch that was her proximity.

A sharp inhale rattled her whole body when Valtor leaned in, lips just shy of covering hers.

"I told you, Griffin," the way he rasped her name made her weak in the knees. "I am not careless with your feelings."

She blinked and he was gone, a respectable distance away from her and perfectly composed once more, smirking at her obvious need to brace herself against the wall now that the support of his body had disappeared. She'd lost count of how many times he'd subjected her to that kind of bait-and-switch just today.

"No, I could never call you careless," she crossed her arms, leaning fully against the wall, determined not to be the first one to budge. "You invested two years in this charade of an alliance just to... irritate me."

The words were small on her tongue, tasteless.

She wouldn't give him more.

The glint in his eyes was... troubling. She'd seen it enough times not to begrudge herself for the buckling of her knees, for her nails digging into her arms in a desperate bid to hold her together.

"Oh, Griffin," Valtor crooned like he meant to soothe a scared prey animal. He was leading her like a lamb to the slaughter. "You of all people should be aware I never play on a single front. Raina has been much more useful to me than you could imagine."

The dagger landed perfectly, a sharp point straight through her chest. A confirmation that he was lying would only force it deeper, would make it hollow out her sternum as well, not just slice her flesh open.

It would be much preferable to hearing about all the alleged uses he'd had for Raina of all people.

All the time they'd spent fighting each other he'd claimed his anger had been on her behalf – partly at least. Yet, instead of gunning for the heads of those he'd insisted were beneath her, he'd sunk even lower – for the sake of rubbing her face in it.

"I am well aware," the words shook off her lips and shattered at her feet but he couldn't ignore them if he wanted to close in on her. "No one in this entire universe knows you better than I do so don't even try to play your games with me."

Valtor's lips parted like he was eating up her performance, like he only delighted in her adorable attitude.

"You wouldn't have looked at her twice if you couldn't use her to spite me," Griffin spat out to keep the words from sanding her tongue down to a pulpy mess. "If she knew even half of what I did for you, she would have fled into another fucking dimension!"

The mirth drained from his expression, replaced by a grim seriousness that would frighten away a thunderstorm. "If I wanted you jealous, I would have given you thousands to be jealous of."

Valtor slipped to the other end of the room upon the sight of her bared teeth. His pace was unhurried as he circled from afar, leaving the device between them, to separate them and hide him from her gaze, only his disembodied words flocking to her side to haunt her.

"Everyone you ever met you would hate. In your mind I would have replaced you with every – one – of them."

The force in her clenched fists would be enough to pluck every ounce of magic straight out of Raina with her bare hands. Let's see how useful she'd be when stripped down only to her own strength and abilities.

"Not every one."

Three steps and she was facing the outline of her own body in the diamond tube. Another fraction of a second was all it took for a devastating spell to pool into her fist, make her fingers shake with the power of it.

Valtor snatched her wrist before it could connect with the dyamond surface, her strength failing to eat away at his... just according to plan.

She grabbed the ruffles of his shirt to pull his face down to hers. Now he was the one that had nowhere to go.

"You like to think you do everything with class, including spiting me. You wouldn't consider most people worth it even as the face of your retribution."

Valtor tilted his head like she was finally making sense, like she was finally worth listening to.

Twisting her arm only had his grip tighten like a vise around it. Her heart unclenched and she could dismiss her spell at last.

She had to bite back her grin. "You know what I think?"

Valtor raised an eyebrow at the shift in her tone, the up-and-down stroke of her palm against his chest.

"If you'd replaced me with anyone else, you would have bragged, would have listed all the reasons why they grabbed your attention – how masterful they are with their magic, how sharp a tongue theirs is, how you had to have them because everything you want, you get."

Griffin yanked her arm again – to prove her point.

His reaction was instant; he tugged her closer, threw her off balance.

Their chests collided, her breath tickling his earlobe. Her smirk had to graze his skin a certain way to cause the shiver he couldn't disguise.

She sighed theatrically, her free hand playing with the buttons on his shirt, "And if nothing else, you would have held back for the sake of appearances."

His initial anger had shifted, melded into something different by their third-fourth meeting on the battlefield. His threats had remained just as abhorrent but he'd no longer been the catalyst bringing them into fruition. He'd burdened her with that role, had never missed a chance to remind her and her friends that she would be the Company's undoing, and her own, that one day she would wake up as if from a dream and would want to take back the problem between the two of them that she'd imagined into existence. Then she'd sacrifice anything and anyone on the alter of their love.

He wouldn't have turned around and destroyed all his work just to make her eat her heart out when he touched someone else, pretended he had forgotten the taste of her name.

"You didn't replace me with anyone," Griffin stepped back, eyes on his face but she still sensed the twitch of his free hand to snake around her and cage her to him. "You just wanted to use my imagination against me."

"And here you are!" Valtor fired out, his voice swallowing hers.

Her lungs stuttered when he let go of her instead and clasped his hands behind his back, the image of restraint. A mockery, once again.

"You've blown up a part of Raina's palace and you're in her dungeons, desperately doing everything you can to lure me back here. Jealous," he spat out as if the mere idea was poison twisting up his insides, "of a woman that you yourself said I only ever allied with to get to you."

The fury in his eyes was overflowing, so much so that they looked wet with tears.

His shoulders tensed; he was clearly fighting the impulse to grab at her, shake her, clutch her to his chest and never let go. "What could she possibly have that you don't, that I haven't given you already or shown my willingness to provide for you?"

Yes! Yes, she was getting to him. Let's see him leave her behind now.

Her satisfaction had to have shown for Valtor homed in on it with laser precision. His palm cupped the side of her neck where her telltale pulse gave him an unfair advantage.

"Any magic I have given her pales in comparison with the impressive abilities you had already developed when I first met you. I have spent years," the weight he put in that one word was a sharp contrast with the centuries he'd shouldered with but a shrug, " fighting to return you to your rightful place at my side. I had you weak with bliss in my bed and disturbing her whole palace with your screams."

"And you were gone before I woke up," Griffin fired out to stop him from kissing her, " gone to scheme with her again."

She had her finger on his trigger. All she had to do was keep pushing until he let something slip, anything that would give her a clue of his plans, of who he was after. If not that, at least spur him to continue declaring his devotion for her.

Valtor's thumb pressed into her windpipe.

The real alarm was the look in his eyes – a bottomless coldness that had her teeth chatter, froze the breath right into her lungs. It was unnatural on him, completely antithetical to his being.

"A momentary taste of your own medicine is too much, isn't it?"

Griffin shoved him back, his presence crowding her, calling back to the beginning of this farce. She was so tired, a bone-deep exhaustion draining all her willpower and any bite there might have been to her point.

"After you preferred to sit back and watch as she poked and prodded me for most intimate details about us? I have to admit that it's becoming a lot, yes," she turned away.

She was sick of talking about Raina. The mere mention of her tasted like rot in her mouth, like she was eating the corpse of him – the old Valtor she'd left behind. The man that had taken his place was more alert, more driven, eager to cross any line just to rid himself of the very memory of pain now that he'd come to know loss. He hadn't stepped in when Raina had demanded that she spill her soul in front of her entire court, had allowed it just to watch her flay herself alive and drown in her own blood.

"You were the one who chose to proceed with it, to attend the celebration at all," Valtor's comeback was quick. Too quick, too clipped.

Instead of smothering her arguments before they could form in her mind, it let her imagine he had regrets about that night as well.

A cruel irony. An ouroboros eating its tail, then failing to retch with the rest of its own body still in its mouth, they were.

"Yes, and you allowed it, planned for it even!" her voice burned in her throat, every sound inflamed and agonizing, forcing her to force it out. "You gave precedence to Raina's agenda over me, over us."

He could kill every person that'd been in that ballroom and it wouldn't even begin to make up for what he'd subjected her to.

She didn't react to his steps but his hands on her shoulders jolted her. The only magic in the touch was the one his whole being was made of and still, she couldn't shut her breath in, behind her teeth. It was drawn to him like the rest of her body leaning backwards, seeking to bridge the distance between them, to soak up the flux of power flowing from him into her.

"No, Griffin," his lips moved in her hair, tingles running from her scalp to the tips of her fingers, to her toes. "If you're jealous of the queen," he squeezed her upper arms, cutting her outburst out at the root, "then it is your own doing."

One of his palms slipped to the nape of her neck, the other tracing over her collarbones as he circled her. The hard line his mouth was set in, the penetrating look in his eyes demanded her attention the same way a complex incantation did – one misstep would be fatal.

"I have killed for you," his fingers settled in the hollow of her throat, the pressure of them delicate, subtle but making her aware of every breath, every beat of her heart. "Do I have to kill her? Is that what you want?" Valtor purred, eyes already half-lidded in lazy enjoyment.

There was no way for her to hide or mask the wild spikes in her pulse, the teeth worrying her lip to carve out some space, a moment of quiet for her to figure out his offer.

He weren't above sacrificing her dignity for the sake of his plans but he was also painfully familiar with her tendency to double down in an argument, had over three and a half years of proof. He had to know that aside from the occasional quip, making her second-guess herself wasn't a viable strategy for him, would only run the risk of exacerbating the situation.

It would have cost him nothing to sacrifice the whole world to her. Raina didn't matter more than any of his underlings had, had been just as much a means to an end, just as much bait as the notion that he would put weeks of planning towards aiding anyone but himself. Eliminating anyone–whether ally or enemy–that could steal her time and attention away from him was a foolproof way to have her all to himself. In his hands those who'd dared lay a finger on her mother wouldn't have died for their sins, but for the sake of his possessiveness. He wouldn't have hesitated if he'd found them before she had.

If she asked of him to kill a pawn he couldn't be bothered to care about, she'd prove she was just the same as him, worse even. He'd be justified in having murdered the people with whom she'd shared a roof, the people with whom she'd shared her life when she herself wanted one of countless footnotes to his schemes to be removed, erased. He could twist it all to make the gruesome fate of her friends his tribute to her, an expression of his devotion.

Griffin pulled his hand away lest it hooked a gasp from her he could interpret as a confirmation, "Maybe."

A shadow passed over his face, the barest twitch moving the corner of his mouth but he banished any disappointment away, instead giving her a knowing look and a squeeze to her fingers. "Tell me when you've decided. She's just an ally – nothing more, nothing less."

He leaned in just a tiny bit and... Oh, that was rich!

Valtor, Heir of the Ancient Coven, cast his eyes downwards and played at being a shy, insecure lover.

"Valtor..." Incredulity got the best of her and the rest of her thoughts remained stuck in her throat, tied in a knot she couldn't pick with her hand still in his.

"No one has claimed the honor of being my partner."

Her heart skipped a beat.

She licked her lips.

A scream was building in her mouth but she managed to wrestle it into coherent words, "Is that... a proposal?"

She held her breath, half expected him to laugh at her.

He wasn't quite as generous.

"Do you have the stomach for it?" His grin bared pearly-white teeth but that wasn't right. They had just been in her flesh, again and again, tearing chunks out and swallowing them just to have her crawling back to him to put her together again.

All the force she would have put in strangling him barely managed to move her lips to shape something akin to a smile.

It had been a plot, after all. Maybe not from the start. Not when he'd woken next to her and stumbled out of bed, his heart pounding in his chest not with a panic but with acute need for her that had only grown along with the distance he'd put between them.

But once he'd been out of the palace, the razor-sharp awareness that her body in his bed was a chain pulling him back, digging in his tender belly, in his throat, he had figured he could keep it at bay if he had control of it. If he chose when to yank her closer and when to strand her away, when to drag her to him on her knees, begging for the respite only his company could provide.

She couldn't win that tug of war but she could make his victory bitter, incomplete. He'd grown used to ignoring her absence but in the process, he'd forgotten how her closeness even felt – the touch of her hand, the ghost of her lips on his skin, her voice calling his name. The moment he included her in his plans, he would fail to shut her out of his mind. She would always be there even when he wasn't with her. He would not be able to escape her or vice versa – she would be his.

Griffin swallowed. "I do."

Triumph set his eyes ablaze, drew his features into something manic, something unhinged.

He had forgotten – he'd returned to hunt her down, had pulled her back as if she would have taken his heart from his chest along with her, had proclaimed his undying devotion to her – all on her cue. She had made him give in.

Why should she stop now?

"I've simply outgrown the position," she pulled her hand out of his. Chin raised, she only answered his warning glare with a challenge of her own.

The tendons in his neck bulged under the collar of his shirt from how hard he was clenching his jaw, his eyes boring holes into her face, the only sound coming out of him his heavy breathing.

For the first time since she'd known him, Valtor couldn't come into a single word.

[helloitisiafellowgay]

another part of my Steve gets Vecna’d AU, where i provide very little context lmaoo sorry

i’ve been working on this for OVER A YEAR and still have a few scenes to finish 😭 my draft rn is almost 19k so I’ll hopefully get it out before like November at this rate :)

vague context: this is the night before The Big Fight TM and people like JUST found out that steves possessed and eddie is cleaning steve’s demobat wounds

other post

——————

“Do you—“ the drug dealer looks conflicted, debating whether to poke at a neglected bruise. “Why didn’t anyone notice?”

There’s a knot in his throat, a tightening of his larynx. “What do you mean?”

”That you were hallucinating? Having nightmares?” Before, Eddie wouldn’t meet his gaze. Now, he won’t let Steve look away, slowly regaining his certainty, his intensity. “Why was I the only one to even consider anything was wrong? You’re not that great of an actor— you aren’t, don’t look at me like that— and they’ve known you so much longer than I have.”

And isn’t that the question he’d been shoving out of his own mind since the beginning of this whole mess? That small seed of doubt, pushing forward and flourishing now that someone else had stopped to water it.

He knows, he knows— they don’t care about him as much as he cares about them. Sees it in the way the kids dismiss him as soon as they arrive at their destination, only call on him when they want something; the way he gives it every single time regardless.

Each girl in his bed, driving him like a crash-test car; the excuse to leave, the cold sheets in the morning. A freezing bathroom at a party, the echo of bullshit refracting off the cold tile.

The crack of ceramic against his skull, the fist in his sternum, the stifling ash in his lungs in a buried tunnel. Interrogation tactics, missing fingernails, drugged out of his mind; flesh monster, the loss of the one male adult he could actually depend on.

And before it all, the steel door, the silhouette, the—

No.

No, Steve knows that he is, at his core, what he has always been: unloveable.

After the reactivity, the intentional cruelty of his youth, he expects nothing other than a warning label.

Danger: do not interact. Prone to violence.

Steve is his father’s son, after all. They share the same ruthless ferocity, the same scarred knuckles.

He has spent so long convincing the world that anything can be turned into a weapon, and he started with his hands; if he squints long enough, blood pools itself into the crevices of his palms, fingernails curving into sharp edges and the remnants of whiskey bottles.

A product of his environment, no doubt; the weight of his family name, absent parents, superficial friends.

King Steve with a hollow crown, sat in his pristine castle with everything a teen could ask for except anyone to make him feel worth following. Like something other than a cheap toy, a pretty face, a chore to be put off until a more convenient time.

It’s fact of his life, something he felt no reason to doubt when people keep proving it to him, over and over and over.

He’s useful— for rides to the arcade, for a place to hangout when everywhere else has been vetoed, to wield a baseball bat studded with nails, the last line of defense, the one who can be counted on to take the hit— but not their friend. Not wanted, not valuable, and certainly not lovable.

So how can he possibly justify this unwavering loyalty, his propensity to follow them around like a stray dog waiting on table scraps? Why he keeps coming back, offering every part of himself when none of them would do the same for him?

Steve shrugs. “They all have their own shit going on, they can’t help it. I didn’t want to make things complicated.”

The drug dealer frowns, already shaking his head in disagreement. “That’s not— not good enough. They’re not too busy, they just don’t…”

Care.

They just don’t care.

Steve catches the moment that the other boy sees the bundle of scars peeking just over the hem of his boxers. Tears his own focus away from those small, circular burns; old enough to be suspicious, obvious enough that even a ten-year-old could come to the correct conclusion about their origin without much effort.

A kid with cigarette burns— not common, but definitely not rare.

A rich kid with cigarette burns? That just doesn’t happen.

“Doesn’t Vecna go after people with trauma? It’s not like Steve—”

His stomach roils, a distant nausea working its way up his esophagus. The younger teen holds his breath and waits, but Eddie doesn’t ask, just furrows his brow and grazes over the puckered skin with a single, calloused thumb.

Steve shivers, bites his lip, fights the urge to dislodge the soft touch and flee the room. He doesn’t.

Eddie goes back to taping the raw edges of his wounds closed.

A sick, twisted heat takes root in his stomach; invasive and insatiable, it chokes out his heart until it has nowhere left to go except up into his throat, and flourishes in the abandoned cavity left behind.

“Do you think when he chose me… do you think he knew?” Steve’s a conglomeration of dull apathy and the underlying static of panic; he feels like he’s back under the water, suspended in time and trying desperately not to drown. “That I wouldn’t say anything? Wouldn’t want to tell them, you, about… That… that they don’t…?”

The musician pulls out a roll of gauze, presses one end to his rib cage with more care than anyone has shown him in a long time.

“I think that you hide so much from everyone, more than anyone thinks that you do. And I think that, to someone like him, it’s easy to mistake that for shame.”

Oh.

“And what if I am?” Steve clenches his jaw, flattens his lips to disguise their infernal trembling. “Ashamed… of being known? Afraid that people will hate what they find, if I were to let people in— share those parts of myself?”

The last of the sunset dissipates from the sky, leaves the world outside of the window cast in a deep indigo.

A murmur, almost subconsciously, from his healer: “Isn’t everyone?”

He is some sort of wretched thing— must be, to warrant this raw, gnawing ache in his core. The withering, the erosion at the fringes of his being, exposing the live-wire at the heart of him.

Pressure, as the dressing is applied to his wounds. The light brush of skin against skin.

“You aren’t an inconvenience, you know.” Eddie wraps the last of the bandage around his abdomen, secures it in place. “You are allowed to ask for help. And other people want to help, if you let them.”

The babysitter hums, a non-answer, omitted confirmation. Can do little else, lest he wilt under the force of this personification of a star.

“I might not know why none of the kids said anything, but...“ Off to the side, the discarded towel is depositing water on the floor. When Eddie reaches for it, there’s a damp patch on his jeans that the babysitter stares at while his hands are taken, dabbed at with damp cotton. “Robin, Nancy, and I literally followed you into hell. You’re not taking anything from us that we wouldn’t freely give.”

The older boy’s gaze is wild, reverent. From where he is crouched in front of Steve, it must look like he’s kneeling before a monarch, a King.

What a resolute act of devotion: tending to the wounds of a martyr, washing the blood from each finger as if every millimeter of exposed skin is something worth defending.

Steve doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve such absolution; this exoneration from all of the sin coating his fingers and dripping from his teeth. He is nothing more than a child devouring overripe berries in another family’s garden, filling his vacant stomach with sweet crimson nectar that he will never be able to justify aching for.

He is no deity, no patron saint or messiah. He’s barely a king. ”I’m not worth—“

He has never been religious— or, at least definitely not after the monsters came into the picture. But he knew then, knows now— there is no heavenly father, no almighty God, that could give him back that purity, that holy golden ichor.

Whenever Steve had plead to this creator, prayed for help while pinned to the ground under the malicious intent of another— there was no response. Just the echo of his faith, his questions, being tossed back at him, neglected and unanswered.

”You’re worth everything, Steve Harrington.” Eddie’s intensity, his conviction, makes Steve’s heart lurch somewhere in his chest. “There is nothing you could ask from us that you haven’t deserved a hundred times over.”

The cloth, damp and abrasive against his palms, collects strawberry residue within its woven fibers.

His crown must be less hollow than he thought.

There is no god that can restore his virtue, slip the innocence back into his pockets, baptize him in the light of unconditional love— but Eddie… Eddie is just a man.

Just a man, who wiped each of his fingers clean; dressed his wounds with such gentle hands. Just a man, who kissed each bruise, each old scar, without the intent to hurt.

Just a man who held him, who pulled him back when his whole body was on the edge of a precipice.

Who answered his questions without judgement— without stripping him of his divinity, casting him down from the heavenly throne and into the sulphuric pits of eternal damnation.

Just this boy, who looks at him like he is worth more here, in this moment, than he ever would be nailed to a cross.

What god has ever done that for him?

[1indigoisles]

TWP Crackpot Theory Time!!!

So, we finally got the TWP titles! Woohoo!

Except the third one's called The Last Shadowhunter. And we are all dying a little inside because of it.

But, it may not be what we all, in at least some part of our brains, believe.

Now, before I begin with my probably crazy theory, I've been thinking about one thing ever since the titles came out, namely The Last Shadowhunter. So, Lucifer is our main villain, right? And villains, as we all know, are hugely fond of giving our heroes nicknames. So, what I'm thinking, is that Lucifer calls Kit Last Shadowhunter. I promise, it fits in my theory.

Now, we all read the Shadowhunters wiki about The Wicked Powers, yes? And it says over there that all the different generations of Shadowhunters that we have read of so far will have to band together to save the world, and Angel knows how many other different realms, from ultimate doom.

That would require them all to come from the past, right?

So we have magic the messes with both dimensions (I'm talking Thule over here) and time, which in this case means the past.

But what if it also means the future?

Now, what I'm thinking is that our TWP gang, namely Kit, Ty and Dru, somehow, through the craziness of the first two books, manage to land themselves into a possibility of the future. Mind the word possibility.

See where this is going? Dru, Ty and Kit then find themselves in a world where the nine princes won, Downworlders run rampant, warlocks are forced to join the princes, faerie are the only uniform government left, werewolves and vampires are scattered, and worst of all, Shadowhunters are all gone.

Except for one.

Kit Herondale from the future swoops in and rescues the time-travellers from an oncoming demon attack. And yes, he can fly because he has gold wings (read my other theories and convince me otherwise). Kit having gold wings and faerie magic is my Roman empire, okay?

He stares at the three of them, Ty and Dru in particular because they're dead. There's a huge confusion at first, but then future Kit explains what happened.

So the Nine Princes of Hell won. Shadowhunters, even part-Downworlder and Ascended, are all truly dust and shadows. Because Lucifer, knowing the saying We are dust and shadows really well, he gains supreme power and turns all Shadowhunters into dust and leaves their shadows behind (this is my other Roman empire, okay? Kill me later).

And just when every Shadowhunter around him was disintegrating, and Kit saw everybody he loved die too and was glad he himself was about to die, he didn't.

Nothing and no one could explain it.

All that aside, Kit had lost his parents, his sister, his friends, Dru, Ty. And lots of other people lost too. Magnus and Max lost Alec and Rafe, Maia and Lily lost their good friends, Kieran lost Mark and Cristina (and I like to think that Kieran swore to exact vengeance for the deaths of the people he loved), and Gwyn lost Diana, and the list of people who lost doesn't end. Tessa, however, is dead too, because she is also part-Shadowhunter, but Ash is still alive because he's half-faerie, quarter-Shadowhunter and quarter-demon.

Now, Kit, Ty and Dru finally understood why Lucifer called Kit Last Shadowhunter. It was because Lucifer had foreseen a future exactly like this, a future where he'd won.

And it is in this future that Kit, Ty and Dru finally find a way to stop the Princes of Hell.

Now, I have a question for you all.

[pandoraimperatrix]

When the war is over

NejiHina Week 2023

Day 5 - Choice

READ ON AO3

NejiHina Week 2023  

Day 5 – Choice  

Will you choose me when the war is over?  

And knowing how well you can read my eyes; I know you can hear the question I’m too much of a coward to voice, your kisses giving me no true answer but the ecstasy of our meetings help me to forget.  

I face hordes of men, slashing and brutalizing their bodies without flinching. Nor death not the dead can stop me while you heart still beats, while air still fills your lungs.   

Living soldiers and supernatural threats alike will never frighten me, only the truth. However, against the silence of your non-answer, I am powerless.  

The meaninglessness of killing, the violence are nothing against the doom befalling over me every time your eyes stray, searching for blue skies. 

From the heavens incompressible horrors fall, with you by my side, in battle, in bed, I fight men and gods alike undaunted.  

But how can I fight truth? How can I win over history? How can I kill the part of me that will not be satisfied, that will always yearn for more and more and more of you. 

I don’t mind the blood anymore, for when you join me at the Nakano River at night, I barely notice the red flowers dissolving, lead away by the currents as you wash me, warm fingertips in my hair, feverish sex engulfing mine in rapture, nor ice-cold water nor our feverish flesh can’t make me forget, but I still pretend.  

I pretend that this is forever, I pretend you will choose me when the war is over.  

Nobody thought the war would last so long.  

But sometimes, I have trouble remembering a time before it.   

There was once truly a time in which I was content by living a life in which I walked always two steps behind you?  

In which the idea of having you moaning my name as I take you against a three as the world ends around us was ridiculous?

Unimaginable?   

There was once truly a time when I slept easily on an empty bed?  

There was once, truly, a sorry past existence in which I didn’t find home in the curve of your soft waist? In which I didn’t know the paths of your body as my own homeland and didn’t know the taste of your mouth?   

Where I was free from the prison of death, the decay of a wartime, where I was accepting of my fate as a creature cursed by the ability of desire what he could never have, of picturing a reality that would never cross the boundaries of his own mind. A pitiful man convinced by himself that his heart’s deepest yearning was impossible and should be buried in shame. 

There was really, such time?  

I’ve lost the count of the men, undead, gods and aliens I have murdered, and yet, I can remember the first night you searched for comfort in my arms, and every night since then. I hear men talking all the time how they can’t sleep, that the dead come to haunt and stela the little rest they can manage to get, but by your side, in our bed, the oblivion of sleep takes me over easily than when I was an innocent man.  

Hinata-sama... No, don’t answer me, please, just take me inside of you again, please make me forget that the war will one day end, and you will remember that you don’t want me. That you gave up on me eons ago, that I’ve lost the right of even wishing you would look at me.  

You will go back to seeing me as nothing but a placeholder. A choice made in haste and despair, something you regret even now as I eat your moans, and bury myself deep inside of you as if I belonged there. After, it will be as always, the forlorn look in your eyes, your silences, even if you can’t let go, because war drives people to hedonism, it’s hard to deny oneself comfort when the world around dies in smoke and ashes.  

Even remaining in my bed, head pillowed on my chest, you’re already gone. 

Averting your eyes as if I won’t notice that you still cry sometimes, when you realize it’s me you see just before climax takes your mind away and all I have left to hold on tight is your quivering body and the torturing feeling that even though I’m the only one that has you, you will never crown me king of your heart. 

[amethystunarmed]

Okay I absolutely MUST know what 'Behold!' is.

Ooh! I was hoping someone would ask about that!

So 'Behold!' is a yet-to-be-named epic fantasy novel series that I am working on with @little-engineer-who-cant. The two of us wrote a novel together in like 8th grade and we recently reread to laugh about how... inexperienced we were, to say the least.

But we started talking and realized... we could fix it. Oh my god we could fix it, and it became a story about fae courts, the specialest boy to ever live being a tired 27-year-old barista, the most toxic polycule in all recorded history, and a changeling who was stolen in the nineties wanting to know all about what the Backstreet Boys are up too!

Have a snippet of my lovely characters from the Summer Court!

The moment Nightshade slits the Summer Queen's throat, he can feel the power flowing through him. It feels like the pounding of his feet as he runs through the desert dunes, constant, scalding, and unstable. He can feel it licking inside the confines of his rib cage, burning black stripes about the bone. It burns at him, at his magic, destroying what existed to create room for something new. He grits his teeth, clenching around the miniature sun that had begun to roost in his lungs.

“Wonderful work, now release the power to me!” Aziz says. Nightshade can barely hear them over the roaring swell of power in his ears. 

It is all encompassing, the power. Nightshade is struck by the thought that he could remake the world in his image, that he could sculpt mountains and burn through enemies and glass the very sands surrounding him.

It is terrible and he wants it out.

“Now!” Aziz shouts. Nightshade is certain it is supposed to be an order, but they are too desperate to be convincing. The roiling sandstorm in his head nearly blocks out all his vision, but he manages to focus on Aziz’s face. They look terrified.

Nightshade barely manages to stay upright as he reaches for Aziz. They catch him, holding him up beneath his armpits. “Nightshade?” They ask, sounding less scared. That is good, Nightshade thinks, though he can’t remember why. He presses his hands to Aziz’s cheeks. Their skin, once so brilliantly warm, feels like ice in his grasp.

“Take it!” he gasps, pulling together the ramshackle remains of his telepathy from the ashes. He links with Aziz, desperate and sloppy. Aziz hisses in pain as Nightshade barrels his way into their mind. He can see all of it, the way Nightshade had lit up with golden power, hair, skin, eyes all radiating light, heat, power. He can see Aziz’s despair when Nightshade didn’t respond, the utter certainty Nightshade was going to betray them and take the Court for himself. And, most powerful of all, he feels the deep, overwhelming desire, like nothing Nightshade has ever felt. He doesn’t know if he has ever felt an emotion as strongly as Aziz has, if he has ever wanted anything as badly as Aziz wants the power currently scorching its way through his veins.

The magic feels it too, the raw ambition that stands as a pillar in Aziz’s psyche. It is drawn to it, bubbling and bounding around it like an excited puppy. Nightshade gives it a choice, and the magic chooses its next host, running from his body, down his arms and into Aziz. His arms scream against the funneling magic, it’s too much, too much power in a confined space, he fears they will explode from his body, he needs more, more contact, more anything, he is burning, oh stars-

As you wish, he hears Aziz’s voice in his mind. And Aziz is kissing him, mouth and nose and chest pressing against him. They wrap their arms around his neck and run fingers through Nightshade’s hairand his body sings with relief. Magic lights up every point of contact as it soaks into Aziz’s skin and Nightshade can feel them growing warmer and warmer in his grip. The last trickles of the magic pour into Aziz and Nightshade���s own magic swirls back into his now empty vessel. He nearly sobs in relief as the cool shadows roll through him, and he easily feels the absolute triumph exuding from Aziz’s every pore, before he is shoved out of Aziz’s mind entirely. Nightshade opens his eyes and is awed by the sight before him.

Aziz is brilliant, radiating heat and light with the power of a thousand stars. It suits them, glittering through the scales on their cheeks. Their braids whip around from a self-made gale and Nightshade watches in horror as the gold beads melt from them, trickling into puddles on the floor. The curtains set alight, the food set out on the table chars to embers, but Nightshade feels nothing more than the comfortable warmth of lying in a sunbeam on a summer afternoon. 

Aziz opens their mouth and lets out a loud shaky sound. At first, Nightshade thinks they are sobbing. But a brilliant smile splits their face and Nightshade realizes they are laughing. They reach up, and press another gentler kiss to Nightshade’s lips. He unconsciously returns it, sinking into the comforting heat like a warm beverage on a cold night.

“You brilliant, beautiful creature,” Aziz breathes against his mouth, “I am going to give you everything you want.”

Nightshade can’t wait.