#thought about her pov and as always ended up longer than intended

[beedreamscape]

When you thought you were in a contemporary rivals-to-lovers romance with touches of medical drama, but then they pull away your funds and you cry in each other's arms but you got hopes this might be your underdog moment, your chance to overcome adversities but then the bodies won't rot and the bodies won't rot and the bodies won't rot and J—'s eyes turn honey turn amber turn gold...

And maybe you've done something right but... they still won't rot and maybe he's crazy but maybe you're raiding a graveyard for him and it's the most romantic thing you've done in a while because maybe this isn't cute anymore, this isn't cool anymore, and he makes them move and he makes them walk and maybe this is actually the start of an apocalypse movie and here's where the disease begins.

Yet somehow the problem is still money and youtube comments and goverment lackeys and evil CEOs and bureaucracy and conspiracies and you were supposed to save the fucking planet, and now you're surrounded by meat and now he can kill and kill and kill and now the skeleton army doesn't sound absurd and now blowing everything up doesn't sound so bad—

And now you think you're tired of seeing the world in 2 by 35 and you just wanna go home and do Cappuccino Tuesdays and Popcorn Saturdays and walks on the beach with C— and dim lit nights with A—... but the movie isn't over yet and this is not your story to tell.

[im-immortal]

2023 Writing Wrap-Up

I'm a little late this time around since it's already 2024, but I haven't done a writing wrap-up since 2021 and I thought it would be fun to bring back!

So this year, I was on quite a roll for the first half of the year. And then July rolled around and I started slowing down until it came to a screeching halt. Not sure what happened. Maybe it's my ADHD and constantly shifting hyper-fixations to blame. But I gradually managed to come back around just in time to post something for Christmas, which I'm still working on finishing. However, my hiatus doesn't take away the pride I still have for what I was able to write during the year. And I look forward to writing more in 2024! So here's all I managed to finish/get a good start on and post during 2023.

A Kiss For A Drink: 6,740 words; one-shot I actually started writing this back in 2020 or 2021, intended to be posted on Valentine's Day. And then I got a point where I couldn't finish it and let it sit for about 2 years. I finally came back with some inspiration and motivation and finished it just in time to post for Valentine's Day 2023! I'm really happy with how it came out. It was a fun idea that turned into a fun fic with a few laughs included, even if it is one of my least-viewed fics lol I had fun writing it too, which is all that really matters!

Lunacy Fringe: 62,690 words; 8/8 chapters To say this fic suddenly came out of nowhere would be an understatement. I literally got inspired out of the blue while listening to an episode of the Therapy Gecko podcast and the next thing I knew, I was balls deep in a psychological thriller. I actually managed to write it in just over a month or so!! Which is really incredible for me, especially considering I didn't step away from it at all or lose inspiration before it was finished. I'm really proud of how it turned out, and I haven't really told anyone, but I am working on converting it into an original story and possibly self-publishing. It could end up being my very first original novel :) the feedback I got was far more positive than I'd expected, especially considering how I portrayed Beth. I'm overall so so happy with how it turned out!!

Longer Than A Heartbeat: 157,289 words; 29/29 chapters Now this... this fic is one of my proudest pieces by far. I'll never get over how happy I am with how it turned out, and how I was actually able to finish it. For the last few years, every time I rewatched "28 Days Later," I couldn't stop thinking about how it would make such a good Bethyl fic, and how I wanted to convert it into a Bethyl fic that included Rick and Judith. I finally did it!! Technically, I wrote it in 2022, but I didn't completely finish it and post it until 2023. When I say I write for myself... this fic really proves it, because I go back and read chapters from it all the time just because it's so fun and I love how I wrote it. I was also pleasantly surprised by the reception and how people who hadn't ever watched "28 Days Later" enjoyed it! Not to mention, @boltthrutheheart made some incredible custom manips for me that I can never get over!!

hot girl summer (playing by the rules); 167k+ words, 16/30 chapters Ah yes, here she is... the companion piece to the first 3 fics of "in for a penny, in for a pound" that I've been planning/contemplating ever since I did that first fic from Beth's POV for the series. I always wanted to show Beth's POV for all the major moments in the series, and then once I got started, I figured why not go all in and just do her POV for the entirety of the series thus far? It gives a little more insight into how she's feeling, why she does the things she does and says the things she says, and we also get to see exactly what she was doing all those times that Daryl couldn't help wondering about her (because I already knew in my head, but I thought it might be fun to share with everyone else). I also thought it would make the set-up for the next fic a little better, so we could try and understand Beth's motivations better and where she's at in her head. Of course, I got pretty into it and then hit a speed bump and then suddenly, lost all ability to write. It'll come back soon, though. I can't wait to finish this fic and move on to the next in the series, and eventually conclude Beth and Daryl's tumultuous journey in this fun little AU.

Small Miracles; 39k+ words, 6/10 chapters This is the fic that finally pushed me back into being able to write. I had no plans of writing for BHF 2023, and then I suddenly had this strike of inspiration for a very weird idea and decided to go with it and try and finish it in time to post for Christmas. I did manage to finish about 1/3rd of the fic in time, but I'm still writing it and haven't lost motivation yet, so that's a good sign! It's also just really fun and kind of cathartic to do a new exploration of Beth's journey through the eyes of an older Beth who survived Grady, with that fun little supernatural twist added to it. I can't wait to finish this one, because I've had a lot of fun writing it and really look forward to seeing what people think of her entire journey and the way it will conclude.

To everyone who's read my fics, left feedback, kudos, bookmarks, or even helped me bounce ideas off and come up with plans for fics... thank you so much! I appreciate everyone in this little fandom so, so much. Y'all mean the world to me, and I am so grateful that we have this wonderful community in our own little corner of the internet. Happy New Year to you all, and I hope 2024 brings you nothing but blessings!

[soulofapatrick]

Dance with me - Jesse x reader

Summary: Both Jesse and Y/N decide to dance with each other to make their intended person jealous but find something out about themselves

Words: 2.7k

Warnings: none that I can think of 

Y/N’s POV

“They’re so perfect together, aren’t they?” I say to Jesse with fake disgust in my voice as he joins me, beer in hand and honestly look fine as fuck in a dark grey long sleeved henley and tight jeans. He’s got that swagger of confidence that adds to it all, especially when he leans on one elbow next to me. People always have their eyes on Jesse wherever he goes, being one of the only Asian Americans in Jackson and it always makes me laugh at how every gets surprised at the smooth southern twang in his accent. He takes after his mother more except the darker tone of skin, almost a light caramel in the light of the barn.

“Yeah they are.” His voice is low and full of pain and I notice he’s staring at Dina and Ellie dancing while I was staring at Teddy who is dancing with Emily, both of us seemingly pining for one of them that we can’t have. Dina and Jesse broke up last week and it seems like her and Ellie definitely have a thing for each other while Theo doesn’t even know who I am, “Theo still not paying attention?” 

“Nope,” I pop the ‘p’ and he laughs, his smiles gently and I’m blurting out, “We could dance?” 

“We could.” He nods, neither of us moving as he waits for me to reformulate my thoughts and try again, cognac eyes soft and fond. 

“You want Dina to notice you’re happy so dance with me,” I say and something crosses his face too quickly for me to be able to read before he’s putting his beer down and grabbing my hand. It catches me off guard because Jesse’s always touching me whether it’s shoulder to shoulder or either of our fingers brushing the other’s arm or thigh, it’s never been hand holding. His long fingers curling around my hand before he’s spinning me and catching me by the hips, pulling me close and suddenly we’re dancing. 

It’s freeing, as if this is the first time I’ve been able to relax in such a long time and just let Jesse and the music consume me. The song changing to a slightly slower one has Jesse pulling me closer than before and he begins swaying me instead, hands having a firm but comforting grip on my hips. I snake my arms around his shoulders, taking in the others dancing around us. Most of the friend groups have steps off to leave the couples dancing and I spot Ellie and Dina watching us and talking. They’re smiling and laughing still so turn my attention back to Jesse, raising my eyes to meet his as if he’s been watching me this whole time. 

My face flushes but unable to look away from those hooded eyes, suddenly feeling weak at the knees when I realise we’re so close I can make out the light dusting of freckles across his cheeks and nose that I had never seen before. They blend into his currently tanned complexion so I’ve never noticed them or been close enough to notice them. Strands of his  hair falls in his eyes, curling at the ends and it makes me think he should never get a haircut because this slightly longer than normal look is really fucking hot. I can��t help myself when I reach up and brush it aside slightly, hearing Jesse’s breath hitch as we continue to sway. He’s leaning down, hesitating, until his nose bumps mine but he doesn’t come any closer than that, as if afraid. I’m afraid too, not wanting to ruin our friendship because I’d be lost without Jesse, I really would lose myself if he stopped talking. 

I would lose myself. Oh. 

“Y/N,” My name rolls off of his tongue in a whisper so quiet it sounds like a promise. He’s asking for something, he’s asking for everything. I’m tilting my head to the side and it’s as if we were made for each other the way his lips fit against mine in a hesitant and cautious kiss. It’s nothing like how others have kissed me. No, Jesse’s kiss is all consuming and it’s like nothing else matters more than the gentle movement against my lips or the small smile curved into them. 

“Fuck,” I breathe, as we separate, and I’m watching his face for any signs of regret but there’s only what can be described as being conflicted. We’re bumped into by Ellie and Dina before either of us can say or do anything, the pair beaming at us. I’m suddenly not in Jesse’s arms but Ellie is dragging me away from him so he can talk to Dina, making my heart drop. I guess Jesse gets what he wants: Dina. 

“You two are cute,” Ellie nudges me as we head to the bar to get more drinks pointing a finger in another direction before adding, “You know Tommy is going to be a lot stricter with Jesse now.” 

“What?” I ask, following where she’s pointed to. Dad’s standing with Joel and Maria and he waves at me with that look on his face. He’s going to be up to something, that look only ever means bad news in the form of pranks and teasing. It has me groaning and laying my head on Ellie’s shoulder as she orders our drinks with a light laugh. 

Tommy had me a year before the outbreak with some woman he doesn’t remember. I apparently just appeared on his doorstep with a shitty note but much to everyone who knew Tommy’s surprise he stepped up and raised me. We did lose each other five years after the outbreak when I was ten but Uncle Joel kept me safe and taught me how to survive in this crazy world. He didn’t want to bring me with him and Tess when having to smuggle Ellie but I snuck along and now I’ve very happy I did. If I hadn’t I wouldn’t have found Dad again or found a family in everyone here in Jackson. 

Ellie’s pushing two glasses into my hands and I’m following her to the table Dina and Jesse have migrated to. I sit down between Jesse and Dina, Ellie having pulled her chair between the exes with a wink in my direction, while Dina takes what I’m guessing is her drink from my grasp with a soft smile. A surprisingly smooth hand lands on my thigh, thumb beginning to rub comforting circles there and I take a swig of my drink. Ah, rum and coke. Ellie knows me so well. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath, letting the sounds of everyone around me having fun and letting lose relax the tension in my shoulders before I’m opening my eyes again. There’s an anxious feeling in the back of my mind but I can’t grasp what it’s for or if it’s for anything as Jesse’s acting like we’re still best friends and the three of them aren’t acting any different. 

“I’ve gotta get up early so I should be heading off,” Jesse breaks the story Dina and Ellie were telling us, having not actually heard any of it, “Let me walk you home?”

“S-sure.” I can’t help but blush at the look the girls give me as I chug the rest of my drink and climb to feet, saying our goodbyes to the two before I’m following Jesse out. It’s absolutely fucking freezing outside and my dumbass didn’t bring a jacket so I try to act casual as I wrap my arms around myself trying to conserve as much body heat as possible. Beside me Jesse just chuffs fondly and a warm jacket is being place over my shoulders. He doesn’t say anything when I glance at him but there’s a knowing smile in his plump lips as his hand seeks mine. I don’t know why my heart is racing when Jesse is always touching me but this… it feels different, like there’s been a barely noticeable shift. 

“Y/N.” My name sounds like plea when we stop outside mine and he’s tugging me to face him. He’s wearing the same look as earlier before we… He’s ducking down. Sparks fly when his lips connect with mine. They’re warm and welcoming, parting slightly to test new ground and his tongue ghosts over the seam of my lips. My backs against my door and our bodies pressed together, breathing heavily as if this was the most natural thing in the world. It’s as if I can taste our shared breath, feel the thud of our combined heartbeats as we fumble to open the door, practically falling through it. 

“Jesse,” I step away, body immediately yearning to have his firm one pressed against me again, “We can’t… I-“ 

He’s walking towards me and I’m walking backwards until my hips hit the table and he’s crowding me. There’s space between our bodies as one of his hands comes up to cup my cheek while the other rests on the table by my hip, “For someone so smart you really are dumb.” He chuckles lowly, resting his forehead against mine and letting his eyes slip shut as if he’s internally fighting something, “Dina was never the one for me. She…” He sighs, “She was a distraction from who I truly wanted.” 

“W-who did you want?” My voice comes out shaky and barely above a whisper, flicking my eyes up to meet those bright ones as I want to hear him say it before I can believe it. He doesn’t say it but instead captures my lips into a softer kiss that has me pulling his body flush against mine, “I need you to say it.” 

“You,” His strong hands grip under my thighs before I’m suddenly sat on the table with Jesse fitting perfectly between my legs, “It was always you.” 

“I don’t want to rush this. I’m not-“ 

“We’ll take it as slow as you want. As much or as little as you want.” He promises and I’m wrapping my legs around his waist. He laughs sweetly before kissing me again. I never want to stop kissing him, still surprised by this turn of events, but I don’t… I don’t want more than to make out with him yet. I want this to be slow and not rushed like most people have done since it’s ‘the end of the world’. I want it to be special and I think Jesse gets that because he’s pulling away again, trailing sweet kisses down my neck. 

“Jesse,” I love saying his name, especially the way he reacts to it, “You’ve got patrol.” 

“Yeah,” he runs a hand through his hair, before rubbing the back of his neck and trying to step away but my legs are still tightly wrapped around his waist. I don’t want him to go, not yet anyway, “Should I stay?” 

“Please.” I nod, feeling all shy and nervous as if this isn’t my best friend. Nothing’s going to change between us except the fact we can kiss each other whenever we like but it’s as if our friendship was destined to flow into a relationship it’s just we were too blind too see it. 

Jesse pulls me from the table and to the bedroom, knowing exactly where everything is as he’s been around enough times. Some of his own things are around the house, along with Ellie and Dina’s things. My house is always the one we go to because it’s so cosy and everyone knows my doors always open for them. The three of them have a drawer in our room full of their clothes and they have spare backpack in my wardrobe just in case they crash here. It means I don’t even bat an eyelid when Jesse goes over to his drawer, pulling out a shirt but my breath does hitch a little when he hold it out for me. Such a small and simple act meaning so much to me and he knows it. 

I turn away from him, quickly kicking off my jeans and boots, pulling my shirt over my head and sliding my bra off. His eyes are piercing through my back as he tries to keep his head turned away as I pull his shirt over my head but he obviously struggles with that. His shirt reaches just above my knees with how tall he is and it’s perfect, smelling heavenly and just like Jesse. 

He doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around my waist and pull me flush against his chest as if we haven’t cuddled before. Jesse is always the one I go to if I have a nightmare, I don’t know how he does it but when those well defined arms wrap me up I feel as if nothing in the world could ever touch me. Maybe, I’ve liked Jesse back all this time but it’s been pushed away by my subconscious because he’s my best friend and Ellie was always able to rid me of the nightmares too. I never took the time to tell the difference between my bond with Jesse and with Ellie to tell that there was something more behind Jesse’s actions. 

“I can hear you thinking,” delicate lips brush over the back of my neck, pulling me back to now where Jesse has wrapped his long frame around the back of mine in a spooning cuddle. It makes me wrap Jesse’s other hand that isn’t on my waist around me and I’m covering both his hands with mine knowing I’m safe and I can go to sleep without a worry in the world because Jesse’s there. 

I’m woken by the body stirring behind me, a soft groan leaving his lips as he rolls onto his back and he’s mumbling a sleep filled, “Good morning baby.” 

“GET THE FUCK UP! PATROL STARTS IN TEN!” Ellie’s yelling through the front door, banging her fists against the door to make sure we’re awake and Jesse’s jumping up. He has to talk to Maria before patrol so he knows what to tell his team, being one of the leaders. I just watch as he scrambles about for clothes as he slept in just his boxers. He’s dressed in minutes and I’m climbing out of bed, dressing myself as he runs to the living room and pulls on his boots. His eyes are wide and panicked as he hates to disappoint Maria and I think there’s an added fear now as Tommy and Maria saw us kissing last night which means they probably saw us leave together too. 

“Get going, I’ll bring you pack of things, Maria’s waiting.” I squeeze his arm reassuringly and he nods, heading for the door. He hesitates then comes back, kissing me breathless before he’s swinging the door open and Ellie’s telling him to hurry up. I watch the pair disappear around the corner before going back to finish getting dressed and grabbing one of the spare packs from my wardrobe. It’s already filled with supplies like water and variations of dried foods so all I really have to add is a thermos of hot coffee with extra milk for Jesse and some perishables from my fridge that I know he’ll love. 

The walk from mine to the gates, past the stables is refusing, the cold wind doing a really fucking good job at waking me up fully. Everyones there when I approach, Jesse giving his usual speech, “You all know the drill. Run your routes. Mark your log books. Clear any infected you see. You run into anything you can't handle, you come back. Be smart about it.” He catches my gaze as I make my way over, giving Ellie’s horse - Shimmer - a pat before handing Jesse his pack. He smiles sweetly at me as I take Indiana’s reins from Chase - the stable boy - so Jesse can mount. What I don’t expect is for Jesse to grab my face and press a kiss to my slightly parted lips before he gets on with grace and ease. 

“Come back to me alive.” I squeeze his leg tightly before stepping back as the others gallop off to do their patrol rounds while Jesse lingers a moment longer, sending me a reassuring smile and a hope for more.

“I promise.”

[shinyhappysims]

Onyeka Family Update #2

All the Oneyka kids are finally married, so I think now is a good time for another update.

As a treat, this update will be from Adaeze’s POV, because we love to hear from a fellow snarker. Long post ahead because I probably won’t be doing this for the Onyeka fam again and I want to give a semblance of a conclusion to some of their stories.

My parents Bre (66) and Chukwuma (69) Onyeka are living their golden years in Henford-on-Bagley. I would say they tried their best at raising us but I’m not so sure I believe that. My parents and I don’t talk much, which is more than okay by me. They’ve forgiven me for the whole “secretly applied to college, snuck out and took a bus an hour away and never came back” thing. It’s the fact that literally everything else I’ve done after feels like a personal attack on them and everything they taught me. That’s more their problem than mine, to be honest.

The oldest Nnadi (39) is married to Miguel (39). They have a staggering quiver of 13 arrows: Gideon (21), Ephraim (19), Shoshanna(17), Bartholomew (14), Abigail (12), Obadiah (10), Keturah (8), Solomon (6), Tirzah (5), Maranatha (4), Galilee (3), Naphtali (1), Ebenezer (0). Yes, I definitely knew all the names of my sister’s kids off the top of my head and didn’t stalk her Simstagram and write down the names just a few minutes before this. Nnadi is obnoxious. I’m not mincing my words because she’s never had the grace to do so with me. She’s literally the person people talk about when they say they don’t like Christians. But that’s amazing for her. She can claim persecution for her beliefs. My parents are so proud that they made her a perfect little doormat for Jesus. All of her kids so far seem to be the same way. Glory be, I guess.

Kelechi (38) and Sandrine (41) are the Pastor and 1st lady of Calvary Baptist Church in Brindleton Bay. They have 4 children: Faith (16), Daniel (9), Noah (7), and Grace (5). They are, in my opinion, true Christians. Kelechi always has been supportive of me and my siblings that aren’t the way my parents dreamed. As a pastor, he tries his hardest to give objective answers and uses the bible to support his advice, which has led to his popularity as a mentor. Calvary’s population has nearly doubled in his time as pastor. Kelechi and Sandrine were not intending to have such a large gap between Faith and Daniel. Their marriage was very strained in the first few years and they thought having another child would be the fix. Unfortunately, Sandrine had a battle with cancer. Luckily it was caught in the early stages and she pulled through, but the way Kelechi treated her during that time strengthened their relationship and they had more children because they actually loved each other now. If anyone deserves that happy ending, it’s them.

My twin and favorite sibling Chidi (36) is in an open domestic partnership with the lovely Sade (37). They live in San Myshuno and have no kids, and probably never will. Chidi is an attorney and Sade is an artist. For awhile, Chidi flew under the radar and didn’t make too many waves but that changed about 5 years ago. I think it was a combination of turning 30 and meeting Sade that made him want to stop trying to appease our parents and just live the way he wanted. Chidi is no longer a Christian. He wanted to stay one at first but the more he deconstructed, the more he realized it wasn’t a fit for him.

It’s me, Adaeze (36)! The Onyeka family failure—not at all. My parents just wish I was. When my husband Raj (38) isn’t being an absolute dreamboat he’s an art restoration specialist at the Simsonian Museum here in Newcrest. We have the coolest little girl named Kali (6) and I haven’t told anyone yet, but we have a second baby on the way! My parents have never met Kali and I don’t plan on letting them. Growing up is hard enough when you don’t have your own grandparents trying to drag you into a cult.

My sister Isioma (34) and her husband Anwar (36) are living their best lives in Del Sol Valley. They have 5 kids and are expecting number 6 anyday now: Imani (11), Aaliyah (9), Malik (8), and twins Layla and Rahim (4). Isioma has somehow mastered the balance between impressing Mom and Dad and doing whatever she wants. As much as I love her, there are just some things that I can’t talk to Isioma about. She’s nowhere near as bad as Nnadi, but I don’t think she realizes just how close minded she still is. She’s slowly getting better though.

(hi it’s kwanjai please ignore that Layla’s hair glitched black and the twin’s diapers aren’t changed it’s been a long day and I refuse to take this pic again lmao)

Jachike (32) lives in Windenburg with his wife Maisie (29). They have 7 children: Renata (9), Beaumont (7), Irving (6), Gwendolyn (5), Cordelia (2), Anneliese (1) and Hans (0). I’m fully convinced that they only got married because they were horny for each other and now they don’t know what to do except keep fucking and having more kids. They don’t really seem well matched in my opinion either. Growing up, Jachike was a down to earth, guy next door type, and Maisie just seems extremely out of touch. I mean… she named a child Hans. Maisie also mentioned she only wanted 8 kids, but she’s got a lot of child bearing years left, so I have no clue what her plan is.

Nnadi Jr. Ifeanyi (29) is married to Nolan (40) and is the proud mother of 6 children: Jordan (8), Lorelai (6), Connor (5), Thomas (4), Alanna (2), and Natasha (0). The only difference between Ifeanyi and Nnadi is that Ifeanyi follows the bible’s command for women to be quiet. All that hate just simmers on the inside. The average person would be rightfully weirded out by her and her husband’s age gap, but Ifeanyi wears it with pride. She thinks it’s a testament to her maturity and meekness. No, bestie… you were groomed. Anyways, my money is on her to have the most kids out of all of us.

Ifeanyi’s much cooler twin sister Onyinye (29) is married to Joseph (29) and they have 1 daughter, Nwanneka (1). Growing up I became really close to Onyinye. When I moved out I felt like I was leaving behind my child. Onyinye is like me in a lot of ways: science career, having kids on our own terms, only ones with hot husbands. The only difference is she’s still a Christian. I’m proud she was still able to find the loving aspects of that religion, even though I wasn’t. I also love that she doubled down on her emo phase. I remember our mom used to force her and Ifeanyi to dress alike in sickeningly pink bows and huge, frilly dresses.

Lotanna (27) lives in a sad beige house in Henford-on-Bagley with his sad beige wife Tori (27) and their sad beige children Brixten (2) and Trigg (0). Lotanna is the sibling I’m most wary of. He seems normal on the surface, especially now that he’s married to picture perfect Tori, but then he opens his mouth and the foulest statement you’ve ever heard pops out. He’s never evolved passed edgy Simeddit thread humor, except now it’s not humor, he legitimately thinks that way. I seriously feel bad for his future daughters.

Sochima (26) has been married to Ciaran (28) for just under a year. I’ve never met Ciaran in person. He seems like the average guy we grew up with, which would be horrifying for me, but a dream for Sochima. Surprised that we haven’t gotten a pregnancy announcement from them yet. I would’ve put her up there with Nnadi and Ifeanyi in terms of the number of babies she would pop out. Wonder what’s going on there.

[iamstartraveller776]

Not 500, but see below :P

"Oh, but Loki wasn’t ready for playtime to be over yet. He hurried to the door ahead of Jane, opening it hardly more than a crack to imply that his companion had to make herself presentable.

“Looking for your friend?” he asked the dark-haired girl in the hallway.

“Whoa! You’re actually kind of hot,” she said, sizing him up with the same kind of annoying interest the others had shown him earlier.

He gave her a wry smile. “Shocking, I know. But you’ve come for Jane.” He nudged the door all the way open and said conspiratorially, “She’s been keeping me company.”

Jane’s friend gasped as her gaze flicked between the two of them, very obviously drawing the conclusion he’d intended.

He let out a sigh. “It’s a pity we were interrupted when things were getting really fun.” To Jane, he gave a forlorn expression. “I suppose you have to leave now.”

She was gearing up to deny everything by the wild glint in her eyes, and on impulse, he took her face in both hands and drew her up to him for a kiss. He’d only meant to shut her up and perhaps lend weight to the misconceptions he’d been seeding, but damn. When she forgot herself and relaxed into him, tilting her head just the right way, he was tempted to slam the door shut on her friend and have a good snog. Who knew the teacher’s pet had it in her?

But despite his every instinct to deepen the kiss, he broke apart from her. Because—yes, that. The glazed-over look she gave him, rosy lips parted in an absolute stupor. That was worth cruelly ending their interlude too early.

“I’ll see you on Monday, then,” he said with another wistful sigh as he stepped back from her.

She nodded numbly, staggering as her friend dragged her out of the room. It wasn’t until they were halfway down the hall that he realized she still had something of his. A wondrously horrible idea came to him as he leaned out of the doorway.

“Oh, and Jane!” he called after her loudly, making sure to get the attention of everyone milling about nearby. “You can borrow my books any time you want.” He winked at her horrified expression before shutting the door and succumbing to another fit of laughter.

Finally something new. And he was only getting started."

Ah, yes! A New Kind of Fun. I had to switch over to my laptop to answer. (Because I hate typing longer things on my phone, lol.)

When I started Rumor Has it, what, 8 or so years ago, it was initially just an answer to a writing challenge—where I had to include four words given to me. It was only ever meant to be a little ficlet that went nowhere, and I don't recall how it grew to be a much longer story. But one thing has always remained true: even though it's written entirely in Jane's POV, I know why Loki does everything he does in it. In the back of my mind, there's always a version of events from his POV.

So, when I got your prompt ("Trouble" by Natalia Kills), it fit the vibe of Loki's choices in that first chapter. From Jane's POV, it appears that this whole exchange was purely a happenstance, that he was flying by the seat of his pants the entire time. We aren't sure if he felt anything with that kiss, even. Was he drunk? Had he intended it to be a silly little one-off then thought better of it over the weekend?

So yeah, here we have his POV. And while it was a happy accident for him to find Jane in his room, we learn that she has been on his radar already at least a little bit. We learn that it's here that he decides that he's not done with her after his shenanigans. And yep, he liked that kiss. But overall, the game is, at this point, what matters most to him. He can snog any number of girls. Messing with Jane Foster, though? That's far more interesting to him. In a way, she's been a challenge for him (academically), and now he's found a way to return the favor.

It was a lot of fun to write this from his POV. It's been my goal in RHI to keep some of his motivations a mystery to both Jane and the reader, and dole them out little by little. And it's only because of the seven chapters I've already posted that I felt comfortable sharing this version of the inciting incident without spoiling the overall story. We already know that he wasn't keen on his family's move to the States and he didn't have a high opinion of American girls thanks to his conversation with Thor in Hal's diner. We already know that he has a complicated relationship with his brother. We already know he is super aware that being wealthy doesn't equate to happiness thanks to his conversation with Jane at the butte. Perhaps here I revealed more clearly how much he puts on a front. But we've kinda already seen that with his private moments with Jane, when he lets the mask slip a little.

Anyway, I'm rambling, lol. Thank you again for playing!

Send me a 500 word or less snippet of one of my stories, and I'll give you a dvd commentary on it!

[phoeebsbuffay]

Imagine: Obi-Wan’s secretive lover manages to escape Order 66, but he cannot reach out for her. In fact, for the safety of their unborn child, he’s not even aware she’s pregnant. And he doesn’t know that she died in labor. You end up being found by Clone Order 99 and fall in the graces of the Bad Batch. It’s all very good until one day he senses Force in Tatooine, which leads right into…you.

Warnings: drama as usual and fluffy, of course. References to “Clone Wars” and “Bad Batch”, maybe something about “Obi-Wan”, but no spoilers.

***

Intro

Ashyra was the last jedi trained by Master Yoda a few years after Dooku was corrupted to the dark side. The woman of pink irises was once told by Yoda about it.

“Too old for this I am”, said he. “After Dooku’s fall, start question myself as a master Jedi I did. Somehow hope in you there is.”

Force flew naturally through her. She possessed no signs of ego, no remarkable flaw; a general favorite, was there ever somebody as calm as Ash?

It was how the lady of pink eyes and hair yellow as gold captured the eyes of Obi-Wan Kenobi. It started as merely acquaintances discovering mutual ways of thinking in missions which soon developed to trust and friendship. But there was one day in space this friendship would start to show it’s true colors.

“I think the only way to get ourselves warm is to get rid of these clothes”, she suggested him.

It came out naively, but soon Ash and Kenobi started making out and in the discovery of something new, completely unbeknownst to both, desire sparked.

Because they both had enjoyed that night, they did again. Each time they met. At every opportunity. Until this became more than merely friends with benefits. There were feelings involved.

And all of this right bloomed right towards the end of the Clone Wars. Ash found herself pregnant, but she didn’t want to risk telling Obi-Wan about it when he was under great stress. It didn’t help either that, right after he left, she had to escape somewhere the Order 66 wouldn’t affect her.

However, due to the amount of stress, right somewhere in Corcusant far from the fall of Jedis and distant from the rise of Empire, Ash gave birth to her daughter, her only child. There were two friends she could entrust the care of this girl, whom she named Y/N. But she was also strangely weak as a result of a long and complicated labor. Puerperal fever knocked at her door.

She thus came to die. And for some miracle you survived.

***

Your POV.

You detest that planet. You tell yourself you are not going to last longer there. It’s been two months since Aunt Joyce disappeared under mysterious circumstances and never made it back. You are alone in this world and it’s scary as hell.

Living in the underworld of Corcusant provided you safety and somewhat comfort for some time. Now that you lost your aunt, however, who was meant to look after you?

You are just a girl of reddish locks and pink eyes. Sometimes you thought whoever your parents were to give you such a look—your aunt never made to tell you about who they were, only that they died because of the war.

The topic was sensitive to her so you never brought the matter to the table. Why should you think about it, though? You are now working as a mechanic when this big, huge clone man shows up.

And you know it’s a clone, even though you’ve never been up there to meet one, because you remember your aunt telling you stories about clones who used to be good guys. Until all of a sudden… one snap and they turned bad.

Your eyes are wide open when seeing this large, tall, muscled clone before you.

“Please don’t hurt me, sir”, you say it, your voice coming out in a higher tone than intended.

The clone looks at you, puzzled.

“What is a little girl such as yourself doing here?” But seeing you fears, he kneels to match your height. “Please, calm yourself. I am not going to do you any harm.”

You sense he’s speaking the truth. It’s strange how you can always tell people’s intentions, with you very rarely wrong on it. Nonetheless, you think you offer him resistance by crossing your arms.

“I am calm. But it’s a strange business you are doing here…”

A second voice interrupts the thread.

“Wrecker, what’s taking you so long?”

“Hey I have to deal to with a pretty strong head girl. What can I do?”

The one clone with a red banger over his forehead gives you a look and then back to the stronger one whose face is marked by scars.

“Really, Wrecker?” But when seeing the fear in your eyes, he kneels too. “It’s all right. We are not going to hurt you. We came to discuss business with a woman named Joyce. Do you know her?”

“Uh. Who are you?”

“Hunter. And this is my partner, Wrecker. We are not like the clones you might have heard about. We…are different.”

Wrecker is the one who inquires your name. In a funny contrast of his strength and his sensibility, you cannot help but sympathize with him.

“So, Y/N…” Hunter catches your attention again. “Where’s Mrs Joyce?”

The second you hesitate, he already knows.

“I don’t know. I… It’s been months since she said she was going to the market and never came back. I’m luck I wasn’t bothered so far by potential weirdos”, you tell them.

Hunter doesn’t like the idea of you being alone. Neither does Wrecker, who’s almost brought to tears by an eight year girl alone, looking after abandoned pieces of trash without someone to feed and care for.

“Isn’t it dangerous to stay here? Has no one come out to look for you?” Hunter knows it’s an uncomfortable question to ask, but it must be done. “Where are your parents, child?”

His heart is moved by your answer:

“I don’t know about them. I know my mother died when giving me birth, but my father must’ve died during the clone wars. It’s all I’ve been told.”

“We can’t leave a girl like her alone in a place like this”, Wrecker protests.

And Hunter is forced to agree. As much as he knows little to nothing in regards to children, the world out there is too dangerous for a girl like you to live.

However, to take you with them? A perspective like this is hardly helpful when it comes to preserve your childish innocence. Nonetheless, is there other option for you?

You seem to know the reason why Hunter hesitates. So you endorse Wrecker’s protests with your pledges—as if Hunter needs it.

“Can I come with you, Sir? I have little to hold me here.”

“But, lass, it’s very dangerous for you up there…”

“Not less dangerous than here.” You argue him calmly.

Hunter sighs, he knows it’s true. It’s better for you to be surrounded by a group who can protect you than leave you at yourself.

“Fine. How should I call you, kid?”

You smiled excitedly. Finally, you are going to leave that planet!

“Y/N, Hunter.”

You soon follow them and are introduced to other members of the Bad Batch, also known as Force Clone Order 99. Those are: grumpy Crosshair, the very intelligent Tech, the most recent member Echo and finally Omega.

“You were meant to find a new piece for the ship and you come with a child?!” Crosshair exclaims, displeased.

“She’s an orphan. She can’t be left alone in a place like this”, Hunter explains. “Besides, Mrs Joyce disappeared. A bad sign it is, if you ask me.”

“We should try find about her whereabouts”, suggests Wrecker. “Isn’t what we always do? Not to mention, we might just explode things that stand in our way.”

You chuckle at his way of speaking. Hunter, however, hesitates. It’s out of their league to go out in space in missions where they might not get paid enough credits for that. All the while Tech exposes his view about it, you sneak into the ship, exploring it. You’ve never ever been into one before so your eyes go wide.

“Hey, kid!” You turn your head and it’s the grumpy Crosshair who address you word. “Don’t mess with anything!”

“I was just looking”, you defend yourself.

“Let her be, Crosshair”, Omega intervenes.

Hunter comes right where you are and says:

“You know something, kid? We are going to look for your aunt.”

And that is about to be your first mission on the space.

***

You’ve never seen space before as it is. As you contemplate the vast planets, the different shades of stars and how bright and deep is the universe, you are all impressed.

The vision of innocence captures the heart of the men. Hunter comes to you and he smiles as you, sitting in the co-cap seat, are all mesmerized by the infinite universe that comes before your eyes.

“I guess you never saw it, uh, Y/N?”

“No. It’s my very first time here. It’s amazing!” Then you turn at him. “Where are we going?”

“We are heading to the Planet Y/C, where we have to give this piece of trash we purchased here and after that we are expected in Tatooine.” Hunter tells you. “But don’t go in trouble, all right? It’s dangerous out there.”

You nod eagerly. You promise him that you will be quiet. You just don’t say nothing more because you are too entertained with the enormity of the galaxy. Sparkling lights in different colors give another shade of the universe, whose planets seem so unreal to you.

“What can you tell me about these planets?”

It’s when Tech comes to you, more than happy to put his knowledge to use. You are actually listening to every planet he lists, giving you the characteristics of each that’s recorded in the system.

All the while Wrecker and Omega stare at the both of you, baffled.

“She’s actually listening”, says Wrecker, amazed.

“She likes the thing”, Hunter shrugs his shoulders. “Shouldn’t be surprising.”

Crosshair stares at you. Something about you makes him feel strange and his hand slips to the blaster that rests in his side. Something about you makes him remember the order 66.

Could you actually be a Jedi? Crosshair does not know. The uncertainty is what stops him for turning a good day into a disastrous one.

***

Obi-Wan’s POV.

How weird it is to be inflicted by this strange pain that continuously to hurt him in these eight years. He used to credit it to all the hell he’d been into since he lost Anakin, but when landing like the ghost he is now in Coruscant, his instincts tell him otherwise.

As he decides to look for her, Obi-Wan wonders why it’d take years for Ash to reach out for him. Thinking this is the reason why he’s brought there, to the ruins of what once was, his numb heart is about to bleed when, amidst the ruins, he finds out that the love of his life died.

There’s a monument dedicated to such a sweet woman, the Jedi whose heart had never been corrupted by greed, arrogance, pride or vanity. Obi-Wan falls onto his knees when seeing her tomb in dust.

Time may erase your existence, but not from my heart, my beloved.

A sob breaks the astounding silence that surrounds him. He’s lost so much. Obi-Wan’s spirit is bent by pain, broken by the losses of friends and family. She was his family as well as Anakin.

Another sob comes when realizing that. Must duty be the death of love? Obi-Wan has never been so fragile as he is now. He looks up at the monument one more time. It hardly makes justice to her beauty, to the joy that once habited in her eyes.

But what’s the point of grieving? He stands, his face wet in salty tears. He’s alone.

No. The Force is with me and I am with the Force.

It gives him some consolation. He promises silently to make justice for her. As he stands, however, Obi-Wan is surprised by a voice that tells him the following:

“The Jedis have not been relinquished to the past. Search in your heart and you will know.”

A shiver takes over him. Obi-Wan furrows his eyebrows.

“What does that mean?”

Another voice speaks:

“Search in Tatooine and the truth you shall find.”

At first, Obi-Wan thinks it’s about Padmé and Anakin’s children: the twins have been separated for their security and he knows that Luke is there in Tatooine.

But barely he knows how wrong he is to think that the boy is the reason why the Force is leading him there…

***

Your POV.

It’s in Tatooine where your problems begin. You have been with the Bad Batch for a while now, going into adventures in that planet before heading to that sand planet which you are not very fond of. But it’s there that the Force finally flows with you.

The proof of it is when your friends are in trouble and your desperation is the reason why you manage to destroy the droid that had been giving your group a great headache.

Where others are in bewilderment for your new powers, Crosshair is not.

“How did you do that, little one?” He asks you, seriously.

“I don’t know.” You tell him as if it’s no big deal. “What I know is that I’m happy you are saved.”

“No.” Crosshair says in a dangerous tone. “That’s not it.”

“Come on Crosshair, quit with this shit. She was maybe lucky”, Wrecker interferes because he’s not enjoying how much he’s been treating you. “She’s just a kid. Why are you using this tone with her?”

“Because I think she’s a Jedi.” It’s when he takes his weapon. “And the Jedis should have been destroyed.”

Oh.

“Crosshair, what are you saying? I am not a Jedi!” You shake under the words that reach you. “I was never told I am Jedi. I’m just an orphan!”

Hunter interferes too.

“She’s just a kid, Crosshair. Come on, leave it be.”

Tech and the others try to stop him, but next thing everyone sees is that you are almost shot by Crosshair’s blaster. You are so horrified by this, how could a friend do this to you? There’s little option than running. You don’t think, you just do it.

“Y/N! Don’t do that!”

You can’t tell which of the Bad Batch tells you, but you can sense the blaster so all you do is run. You try not to weep. You try not to think you are by yourself.

All you do is run. And run. And run. And run as fast as you can, climbing here and there, falling on the sand. You stand, despaired. Your brain begins to process the betrayal of those you thought to be your friends.

You want your mother, but she’s dead. You want your aunt, but she might be just as dead. It’s when you come to realize you are alone and about to be killed when you…

…bump into someone.

“AH!” You yell. “Please don’t kill me! Please don’t kill me!”

You try to stand, your heart beating fast. The adult male to whom you bumped into is ginger and with a face marked by sadness. Dressed in strange robes, he looks at you rather puzzled. You don’t care about this as long as he doesn’t kill you.

Fears paralyzes you and you weep uncontrollably.

“Hey, now. I am not going to hurt you.” He goes on one knee to match your height. “Come now, little one. Everything will be fine. You don’t need to fear me.”

You sob, your little frame is still shaking. You cover your face with your hands and little by little you give that man a look.

“How can I trust in you?”

You ask that despite knowing you can. But you have to be sure.

“I suppose that’s a good question.” His small smile is so full of sadness that you cannot help but pity him. “Who are you running from? I think I may help you.”

It’s when you burst into tears again.

“I am alone! I thought they were my friends! But he wanted to shoot me dead because…” it is difficult to speak all the while you sob. “Because he claims I am a…”

You cannot speak the word. The ginger male looks at you with sudden interest.

“What’s your name, little one?”

“Y/N.” You say amidst sobs.

The man takes a seat next to you. He makes sure the two of you are not seen. His eyes linger at your frame with curiosity.

“Can you tell me more about yourself?”

You give him a glance so full of hurt that his heart seems to break.

“Why would you care about that?”

“Now now, anger is not the…” he interrupts himself. “Anger is never the best way to deal with things, little one. I understand you’ve been hurt but, believe me, if angry fixed our problems, we wouldn’t be here, would we?”

He has something familiar to you as you to him, but neither are very sure. Nonetheless, you take a seat next to him and begin to calm yourself.

“I just… I don’t know. I thought we were a family.” You sob again. “I’ve never had a family.”

The man furrows his eyebrows. His gaze never leaves you. It seems as if he’s getting piece by piece.

“What do you mean by that, Y/N? Do you have no parents? Don’t they know you are here? You don’t strike me as one born in Tatooine.”

You look at him. He has to fight the urge to clean your face and wipe the tears of his eyes. But why should he do that? And then you shrug.

“I don’t know. You didn’t tell me your name, though.”

“Wise kid”, the ginger smiles, one for the first time with no sadness in it. “You may call me… Ben.”

You tilt your head.

“Ben.” You repeat. “Well, Ben, I don’t know anything about my parents. My aunt told me they died in the clone wars.”

Ben furrows his eyebrows, looking thoughtful. He is about to say something on the matter when you hear the sound of the voice of Crosshair.

“I have to go.” You don’t wait for him to do something about it. “They are close and I can’t be caught. Be careful, Ben.”

And so you run as fast as you could, leaving that friendly man behind as you do.

***

Obi-Wan’s POV.

He’s shocked. Perplexed to say the least. Obi-Wan cannot ignore what’s in his heart. The moment the two of you bumped… The color of your eyes that reminds him of her, and the color of your hair that is the same shade of his.

But can he be sure about this? Perhaps he’s been too lonely. He’s been caught up in the old days where he and Ash had one day dreamed about having a family together after the war comes to an end.

Which it never did.

The tears in your eyes, the suffering in your heart. He was so astonished to see you and the pain that brought a heavily disillusionment upon you that he could not think straight away.

No child deserves to have a heart broken in such a tender age.

Specially one who, by all accounts, had no family. The moment, however, he sees panic in your eyes is the very one where Obi-Wan feels an urge to protect you. He wants to earn your trust, but you slip from his fingertips and his heart aches because the truth comes too late.

You are his daughter, after all.

Obi-Wan has little time to dwell on the matter. He needs to rescue you. He sees strange troops marching after you—is that the Bad Batch?!—-arguing with each other. As far as he understands, there’s not a common agreement about one of their members coming after you.

Obi-Wan doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like this at all. He cannot waste his time trying to figure out why the Bad Batch is disagreeing itself or how come they seem disassociated from Order 66. Not when he can clearly comprehend that one of their members is after you because you are a Jedi. It’s what you tried to tell him, but your emotions naturally prevented you from doing so because you were scared.

Oh, little one.

Obi-Wan feels his heart weight down his chest, astonished when truth is perceptive crystal clear. Right before his eyes.

However, to amend his mistake he needs to check his emotions. Eyes are closed and Obi-Wan needs to concentrate.

Where are you, my child? Where are you hiding?

He sees through the Force you running as fast as you could, tumbling and somehow using the sand to hid you, a trick that surprises Obi-Wan. He could tell the Force is really strong in you. Uh-oh. He’s seen this movie before.

However, you are his daughter. You’ve grown without a mother and without him—not willingly so because Obi-Wan never knew Ash was carrying his child. Of course, he cannot blame her because of the war—forcing them to follow different paths.

It’s not the time to dwell in atonement, however. Neither to let the conscience torment himself. Once Obi-Wan knows where you are, he follows right after you. He’d not let the Order 66 take you away from him.

***

Your POV.

Eventually you manage to find a place to hide yourself. It’s when, to your surprise, it starts to rain. For now the cave is enough. You sit down and place the hood of your old cape to hide your face. You shake.

You are tired of crying. You hug your knees and stay silent. The rain surely would keep your chaser occupied or at least delay. You begin to fall asleep when you hear steps.

You stand. To your horror, you are found out. Crosshair is right before you.

“Order 66: execute all Jedis. Good soldiers follow orders.”

“Why? Crosshair, please don’t!”

He points the blaster to you and you embrace yourself. You close your eyes, scared. Any moment now you’ll cease to exist. You barely have time to count: the sound of the arm is heard but to your surprise it doesn’t hit you.

That old man you came across that day, Ben, is the one who shot Crosshair. How you wish things wouldn’t end up that way, even though you are mostly thankful for being saved.

“Y/N!” Ben runs to you as you run to him in tears. “Y/N! Are you okay? How are you feeling? I’m so sorry for letting this happen to you…”

He weeps too. There are many things in your mind right now, so many questions, but all you do is hug him tight for a strange reason. He is more than a savior, it’s all you know.

Finally, he reluctantly lets go of you. His eyes are searching for yours and there’s a smile on his face.

“You remind me so much of her…” You watch him confused as he wipes a tear away from his eyes. “We need to talk, my dear child. I… I… I don’t know where to begin.”

But for you it all starts to make sense now. Your face brightens up all of a sudden.

“Are you my father, Ben?”

You don’t want to get yourself disappointed, but the innocence in you comes so naturally that you can’t help yourself.

“Yes, my dear girl. I am your father”, Obi-Wan tells you and once more he involves you in a tender embrace. His voice is marked by tears when he says:

“I’ve never meant to stay away from you all these years. Or from your mother. I wasn’t even aware she was carrying such a precious child in her belly. I know my words might not mean anything to you, but, Maker, I can’t afford to lose you right now.”

You are somewhat surprised by his overwhealming speech. But also sensibly moved by it, you find yourself blinded by tears. It feels like the rain outside reflects them. Yet, because you wanted a family so much to call your own, you don’t feel any need to feed hard feelings. In the innocence that’s so spontaneous in you, part of who you are, you become the light in Ben’s world.

Besides, you could tell he’s been under great misery as much as you. So hesitantly as your gesture might come to be, you press a soft kiss on top of his forehead.

“I forgive you, daddy.” The word is strange to you, but sounds so warming in your ears that makes you smile. As Obi-Wan raises his eyes to look at you, his smile mirrors yours. “Just never leave me again, okay?”

“I swear, I’ll always tend you, my precious child.” He plants tons of kisses around your chubby face which makes you giggle.

Later that day, as both of you wait for the storm to come, he tells you the stories about your mother. Obi-Wan might embellish some particularities of how he and your mother fell in love, but you don’t mind.

Eventually, you fall asleep in his arms and he watches over you. He does not wish to miss any opportunity of looking over you. In fact, when seeing you dream about him and your mother, Obi-Wan feels a tear roll down his cheek.

***

Epilogue.

“What? The legendary Master Kenobi is your father?!” Wrecker exclaims, which makes you laugh.

“Very legendary”, you answer proudly, notwithstanding the fact your father shakes his head, denying every bit of that adjective. “Yes, I’m his daughter. I’m sorry, my friend, but I can’t keep up with you on this journey.”

“Of course not, my daughter. You’re not even ten! By the maker, how would you follow these men around space?” Obi-Wan then turns at Hunter, who’s clearly struggling not to laugh. “I pray that you haven’t given her a blaster.”

“No, sir. What kind of soldier do you take me for?” He pretends to be offended. “We were looking after her, though. I do sincerely apologize for Crosshair. I’ve never thought he’d come this way…”

Obi-Wan presses a hand over his shoulder and gives the man a small smile.

“Difficult times lies ahead of us. It’s a miracle that you and your troop haven’t been corrupted by that order at all.” His eyes go back to his daughter, how charming you are when talking to the men who compose the Bad Batch. Such an amusing scene to watch.

“Thank you for looking after Y/N. I appreciate it. I sense that our paths might cross anytime soon.”

Hunter nods.

“She’s a good kid, sir. You are very lucky to be her father.”

“Indeed.” Obi-Wan smiles. “Indeed so.”

Once you and your father part ways with the Bad Batch, Obi-Wan is told about your small adventures with the good clones. He smiles as you are chatty, and more than ever the former Jedi is pleased for such trait because he does like to listen to what have you been doing all these years.

“So where are we going?” You ask him. “Are you going to train me as a Jedi too?”

Obi-Wan sighs. The question he fears the most is finally posed. As he looks down on you, he is reluctant. But to deny the Force on you would be an unwise move.

“Not yet”, he tells you. “Instead we are going to meet an old friend of your papa.”

He then lifts you because Obi-Wan wants to spoil you. As you take a seat over his shoulders, you beam all the way. It’s a new adventure for you, one that gives you joy.

Your presence irradiates light anywhere you go, which brightens the heavy heart that’s turned into an undesirable burden for Obi-Wan. Until he makes it to their destination, he takes every opportunity to get to know you better so that way you two bond.

It’s when you get to the house where a man named Owen greets the two of you. In the meantime he speaks with your father, you manage to encounter a boy named Luke Skywalker.

As Obi-Wan is about to introduce you as his daughter to Owen, he’s surprised to see you and Luke talking.

“Oh.” He says. “I have a bad feeling about this…”

[amplifyme]

Finished Bright Spirit Descending~.

(This is going to be quick and unedited as I've got to keep going irl.)

Nan is brilliant, as always.

I'd love to hear all about bts content-- did Nan write this after her fics? When and why did she get contacted to write? Are there any interviews I can read up on? Any and all information will be greedily swallowed whole.

Loved how this filled-in the episodes-- tv or movie novelizations are a beloved niche of mine.

Nan definitely understood Cathy better than I did (and do); and I think her point (through Vincent's POV) is too true-- that Cathy is drawn to and feels alive in the danger without realizing, like she had been drawn to her abusive ex without first sorting her fearfully contradictory emotions. It's unhealthy, it's a feedback loop for Vincent, and both of their situations are probably going to get worse before it gets better. And, like you say, Cathy is naive and doesn't intend to harm; but there's also that willfully naive or obstinately "I can do this" quality to her that does not bend to circumstance. There is only one route to be done, always. Now that I think about it, she's very like Father: neither like to change their views on matters, both have "set in their ways" habits, and both collapse rather quickly when their viewpoint of the world is shattered or challenged. Or, if they rise to the challenge, it is because they have another viewpoint as a backup (i.e. Cathy's "you always told me to face my fears!" on the tail end of a failure.) I don't have a moment where I heavily dislike or am irritated by her other than the moments where the emotions that she prizes so strongly get in the way of common sense or logic. She's come a long way, and will go longer I'm sure. (S1 finale made me really respect her and look forward to those possibilities. However, I always remind myself that all roads lead to Rome.)

Jacob and John, Paracelsus and Father. Seamless, gorgeous, beautifully constructed. Anna and Grace and Devin and little Vincent... all of their characters were exceptional. The community's construction, expanding borders, rules, governances, operations, interpersonal dynamics: all exquisite. John's descent and Anna's end and Vincent's torture and Devin's love and speech (I had a kid in my life give a Devin speech once-- excellently written, Nan) and Father saving and learning to love his new son and the community closing ranks around Vincent for more complex and complicated reasons and why John stayed and why he finally left....

I'm almost speechless at the quality of this book. I could not put it down and read it all the way through (good thing I trusted Nan's excellence and planned for that to happen going in.)

It did clarify my confusion in Nan's other fic: Vincent thinks the same "I must separate from" thoughts; but, aside from the Pilot and the finale episode, I can't recall if that is an established pattern of behavior in S1. He's had many conversations of how much Catherine struggles (and himself); but never about permanently severing their tie or communication. I don't think, anyway. (Correct me if I'm wrong!) I do agree it is Vincent's nature. My only wonder is if it is to this degree. And if I am wrong, then that tells me I either missed something HUGE in S1 or there's a monster of character writing to face in S2 and S3; and I can't wait to turn the corner and find it.

Also: Nan filtering Vincent's mind through Paracelsus's drug and Catherine's woozy daydreams of Dris and Eurydice and all of the mythologies put together was so brilliantly done that I'm of two minds: that that was the original intention to be drawn, or that it was a slight intention that Nan magnified. Either way, what excellent, excellent writing.

I am so satisfied and pleased and content and abuzz with this story and this show these characters that I might fill in some S1 gaps (if you think I've missed any, point them out!), go over some passages of Nan's work, and watch it all jenga higher and higher as it builds towards S3 and "S4".

Thank you again and again for putting pieces up of Nan's writing and of this series (and so much more~.)

Book discussion below...

I'd love to hear all about bts content-- did Nan write this after her fics? When and why did she get contacted to write? Are there any interviews I can read up on? Any and all information will be greedily swallowed whole.

A little background: Nan wrote and published the AWTN series between 1991-1992 and it was, I believe, the first BATB fanfic she'd written. Then at some point in 1991 she was commissioned by Cinemaker Press, who had the license to publish BATB fiction, with the approval of Republic Pictures (which owned the rights to the show), to write a novelization of the S2 ending trilogy, which she titled Beyond Words, Beyond Silence. A year after that was published, she was approached to write a second novelization and chose to tackle The Alchemist and To Reign in Hell and create the backstory of the tunnel community.

I never asked Nan specifically why she was approached, but I have to assume that someone at Cinemaker read at least some of AWTN. And Nan was already a fairly well known sci-fi/fantasy writer with several professionally published works under her belt. So who better to commission, right?

Sadly, Cinemaker Press lost their publishing license and folded while in the midst of prepping Bright Spirit Descending for publication. So Nan eventually published it herself as a fanzine. There are still copies of Beyond Words, Beyond Silence floating around (I have one myself) but any for sale are stupidly expensive. Last I looked, the price was $159. Oops, just looked on Amazon and now it's closer to $180. Luckily for fans of Nan, she continued to make both novels available for download and at no cost up until her death, and still to this day.

As far as interviews, there's little to nothing on the web. Nan had very little desire for self-promotion. She was much more interested in mentoring and promoting other writers and artists in the fandom and doing her part to keep the dream alive after the show was canceled. Her website for the two authorized novels is still accessible here: http://nan_dibble.tripod.com/

You can also access more information about her on Fanlore. If you do a deep dive on the links to her BATB fanfic there, you'll discover that her AWTN series was considered one of the most controversial zines in the fandom and not very well received by Classic fans (those who deny anything that happened after the S2 finale and insist Cathy didn't die). I'm afraid that by introducing you to Nan's work and the show with AWTN, I've brought you into a very small subset of the fandom that loved all three seasons and the idea of Diana as the perfect romantic partner for Vincent post S3. It's really quite amazing, if you venture into reading other 4th Season writers, that we seemed to have acquired a hive mind when it came to how we saw Diana and what would likely be Vincent's fascination with her.

On to other things...

Cathy is drawn to and feels alive in the danger without realizing, like she had been drawn to her abusive ex without first sorting her fearfully contradictory emotions. It's unhealthy, it's a feedback loop for Vincent, and both of their situations are probably going to get worse before it gets better.

Your last line here is an understatement. S2 is a rollercoaster ride, S3 even more so. But before I scare you, both seasons are filled with lovely stories and individual moments as well.

Now that I think about it, she's very like Father: neither like to change their views on matters, both have "set in their ways" habits, and both collapse rather quickly when their viewpoint of the world is shattered or challenged.

Yes! You can't see it, but I'm standing up and applauding. I love how easily you're picking up all these little nuances that even some longtime fans have never noticed or given much thought to. I love that. ☺️

It did clarify my confusion in Nan's other fic: Vincent thinks the same "I must separate from" thoughts; but, aside from the Pilot and the finale episode, I can't recall if that is an established pattern of behavior in S1.

It's there, but not obvious. I think any fan who gets to know Vincent (through repeated watches) in all his aspects and personality quirks, gets to the point where they just know that his thinking is when it came to Cathy, specifically, and the tunnel community at large. He is always aware of his otherness, his aloneness, and the danger he poses to the people he loves because of that. There are more hints and confirmations of this mindset in S2.

Wasn't the backstory of the tunnel community wonderful? It was my favorite part of the book, and Nan handled it masterfully. ❤️

[ramblingsekai]

Oh god, I bought Rogue Legacy 2 and Slay the Spire and I’ve been so distracted playing them that the Stray Bad Dogs event snuck up on me. I’ve barely been checking tumblr and twitter and just happened to notice bc the L/n event ended last night. Anyways, I decided to do some scrolling thru tumblr and decided to make some random HCs that I couldn’t figure out how to make into longer posts. Just gonna be something fun and kinda scrambled thoughts I’m dumping into one post. I think I did something similar one time but it ended up being only 25ji HCs, but this time I’ll try to do more than them. Let’s gooo.

MMJ HC

Assuming that MMJ is using something like YT or Twitch to stream their stuff, I like to think that MMJ’s friends end up getting mod status or something similar. Eventually MMJ get full-time mods that aren’t their friends, but I think it’d be cute if the other characters pop in to watch the streams when they can and end up helping out if they’re there.

Kohane and An would type messages to cheer on MMJ as well as reminding ppl to be respectful.

Shiho, Ena, and An also end up being the ones to block spammers and delete more hateful messages. Bc there’s always going to be trolls, but hopefully other fans also help out too.

I’d like if Nene helps out with modding in general too, but I’m not sure how close Nene is with MMJ. I think she might be friends with Minori after Scramble Fest, but it’s hard to say.

If it’s Twitch, maybe Mizuki ends up helping out by making highlight vids every once in awhile (I think Mizuki is a fan anyways so not out of bounds).

All their friends usually end up reblogging/retweeting posts about special events for MMJ.

Like obviously the other characters aren’t full time and are just helping out when they can, but I always wonder how well MMJ is handling the more streaming live/online videos aspect of their careers at this point. I know that the latest Haruka event in JP talked about a new producer for the group, a not Tik Tok app, and MMJ getting flamed bc of a new song sounding similar to another one as well as showing Haruka dealing with her previous feelings about her temporary retirement. This is all based on what I saw on Twitter and some machine translations, but I’d rather not form assumptions based on machine translations and unfortunately there aren’t any fan translations for the event online so I guess I’ll just wait for now.  

VBS

So something I’ve never been able to clearly remember, did Akito ever properly apologize to Kohane about the whole stage lights thing in the main story? I feel like Kohane and An just sorta forgave him after learning the truth, but Akito himself never actually said ‘I’m sorry’. So I kinda want Akito to at some point to properly say that he is sorry to Kohane. Bc even if he wasn’t the one to close the lights, he still intended to try to scare off Kohane bc he didn’t think she was serious about performing music. Now I get it, Akito is super serious about music and thinks that if you’re saying you want to surpass Rad Weekend, you need to be serious. However, Kohane was still a rookie at the time. Just bc she was still new, it didn’t mean she wasn’t serious about it. Akito was new at some point too and had to learn about Vivid Street and music too before realizing his dream more. So I guess it just sorta rubs me the wrong way that Akito tried so hard to scare off Kohane, bc Akito himself was a rookie too at the start and he didn’t give Kohane a chance to pursue the dream. I also wonder if Akito has high-ish standards for An since she’s Ken’s daughter and is serious (in his POV) about surpassing RW, so in a way he felt like An wasn’t living up to his standards. I should probably have reread the main story before typing this, but Akito’s actions and attitude in the main story always seemed pretty hypocritical and petty to me, so I kinda just want him to sit down with Kohane and give a proper apology.

I know it seems like I dislike Akito from this, but I honestly like the guy. Out of all the guys in Proseka, he’s actually my favorite alongside Toya. A thing to keep in mind, Akito is a teenager, and teenagers do dumb and petty shit often bc they’re teenagers. I don’t excuse his actions, but I get it. And he did seem to learn from the whole thing and ended up becoming good friends with An and Kohane still. Plus, I think he’s actually pretty perceptive towards others feelings ( i.e An’s events, Ena and their dad, Toya, etc.). 

So my HC with Akito is that maybe he was so harsh with Kohane bc he saw a partial reflection. Kohane has a lot of parallels alongside Toya (not seeing RW but still trying to surpass it, quieter/calmer personalities, etc), but I think Kohane also has some parallels with Akito. Both don’t come from a musical background, so they had to start from the ground up, their respective partners are more experienced in music than they are, etc. But maybe when first seeing Kohane, he’s reminded of his younger self and soccer. Akito was really crushed about soccer during that summer festival event and ended up being lost until he found a new passion in street music. But the road was probably hard since he had to go it alone, plus this was probably going on at the same time as his home situation with Ena and their dad having their first fight. It got easier over time, especially after meeting Toya. So I wonder if when he first saw Kohane, he saw a version of his younger self and was trying to somehow spare her from the displaced feeling he felt after being crushed in soccer. Again, not to excuse his actions bc it’s still kinda shitty, but showing another POV of what he did.

Obviously, Akito and Kohane are good friends now, but I also hope that Akito and Kohane’s friendship as well as An and Toya’s friendship grow more in the future. I saw around Twitter ppl complaining about how VBS feels more like 2 groups who happen to sing songs together rather than one cohesive unit like w/ the other groups, and I get it. But I also disagree, since I think VBS is learning from each other and the whole 2 pairs thing is sort of a rivalry thing. The pairs push each other to be better as well as helping each other out. Akito helps An out with her feelings/actions towards Kohane as her partner, An reminds Akito that he’s not alone and has a group of friends he can rely on, Kohane is an unpolished diamond that is slowly revealing her shine which is pushing the others to keep moving forward/improving, Kohane is also a sort of opposite of Toya in that she’s a more natural type of musical genius who understands the feeling behind music (we see this with her lessons from Taiga and how open with her emotions she is) while Toya is the more classically trained genius who has put hundreds of hours into music. So Kohane and the others help Toya out with his feelings and music while Toya/An/Akito also helps teach Kohane the ropes. Their combined rigorous training and Kohane’s hard work outside of their practice ends up causing Kohane to level up faster (VBS Miku points that out too at some point in an event later lol).

So yeah that’s all I’m going to put for now. I said I’d do multiple groups, but I ended up doing like 2 groups and they were pretty large rambles too lol. Still, I haven’t done a long ramble in awhile so this was kinda fun for me. I noticed I’ve been slowing down with the longer posts bc I’ve kinda caught up on all the fan translation stuff so now I have to reread stuff or just wait for it to come out on global.

I realize I sorta ended up posting more incorrect quotes stuff than rambles/theories stuff lately. I wonder if I should cut back on that or not? (let me know if that type of stuff is annoying).

But still, let me know your thoughts on what I said. Agree, disagree? Did I miss something? Feel free to let me know. Thanks for reading!

[acourtofthought]

How do you feel about Feyre saying, “why not make them mates” “why Lucien?”

I feel like it’s used as a way to say that Sarah intends to end with E/riel.

To me I’ve always seen Feyre as an unreliable narrator, and I find Sarah uses that tactic consciously and purposefully.

Her assumptions are often wrong, they’re almost immediately contrasted by what happens on page. I think if anything, when you go into a first person POV, you should assume their biases make them an unreliable narrator.

Examples that are argued about a lot:

In ACOTAR, in her state, she believed that Nesta and Elain both paraded as if the people in town were a second grade social circle, but then immediately Nesta and Elain speak of Tomas Mandray with excitement and endearment, or that Clare Beddor was actually a close friend to Nesta. It seems they do try to be social and don’t hold themselves at any higher of a rate than them.

Feyre saying that her sisters were no help (they weren’t in a lot of ways), but by the end we see that Nesta did chop the wood, she did try to get Feyre back, she did actually ask her family for handouts when they fell poor, it seems she was comparing their strengths unfairly. Even Feyre admits she’s wrong when she sees that Nesta dropped Tomas solely because she knew he wouldn’t help her get Feyre back, that was a line in the sand. “But she had cared, and perhaps loved more fiercely than I could comprehend, more deeply and loyally”.

In ACOSF, when people don’t understand why the inner circle seems, “out of character”, I don’t agree with that. Feyre’s POV of the IC, is going to be biased, in turn our own as well. Both she and Rhysand made poor choices, and we all didn’t feel the wrongness of it, because their actions always worked out for them, benefitted them. When we switch to Nesta’s POV, we see that their actions aren’t always good for others as it is for them. Which is fine, I quite like seeing flaws in otherwise loveable characters.

It’s safe to assume, at least in my opinion, that Feyre chose to question Elain and Az’s partnership, because she assumes thats what would be best. It’s easy to connect that not only does Feyre underestimate Elain, but also coddles her, she’s constantly thinking of things that would ease Elain’s life, make it uncomplicated.

It’s all perspective bias, what I’m interested in, and what I’m excited to see, is what Elain’s POV is on this. It’s the only one that matters when it comes to what she wants/ needs. It’s easy for Feyre, and then Nesta, to make assumptions without having all the information, it doesn’t make any of their thoughts gospel.

I definitely agree that Feyre, as well as all the other characters can be unreliable narrators when it comes to how they themselves perceive someone else. Especially when their opinion of that character is somehow tied into a feeling they have within themselves. For example......Nesta often thought the absolute worst of Feyre at the start of SF. That Feyre was trying to control her and she was only putting an end to her drinking and gambling because she was embarrassed. By the end of SF, however, Nesta (no longer blinded by her own self hatred), was able to realize that Feyre loved her all along and had never stopped looking out for her. It's no different than Feyre's perception of Elain. She's somehow always surprised by Elain's one liners or hearing her laugh at a joke, seeing her do something brave, etc. Because Feyre has always struggled to see her clearly (and as a result a lot of anti's have now drawn the conclusion that Elain enjoys being coddled and is dimwitted) so it comes as a surprise to her when Elain is just being the Elain she's always been. Elain isn't suddenly a comedian. She's not suddenly wise. Feyre just has not fully seen beneath the quiet exterior Elain tends to have up around her two sisters. Not that I'm completely blaming Feyre for that, all the sisters are different people around their friends than they are family. I just mean to say that Feyre doesn't speak for Elain, she doesn't really understand what Elain needs or wants and only Elain can tell us that. Feyre, at that time, was also extremely new to the world of the Fae, Mates, etc.  She understands her own mating bond but doesn’t really understand all the ins and outs of Mating Bonds in general.  So she’s curious, she’s asking questions, and that’s good.  But her thinking out loud and voicing a question doesn’t mean she’s any sort of authority to say what would be best for anyone.  All she sees, this sister who likes to fix everything for everyone right away, is that Elain isn’t running into Lucien’s arms and she and Az are cool just chilling with one another.  Uncomplicated, like you said.  Because that’s what she wants for everyone, easy and settled.  Especially when she’s struggling with severe guilt for everything that went down with the Cauldron.  Wouldn’t it be nice if she found a quick and happy solution for everyone involved so she can feel a little less terrible about everything?   As far as her discussion with Rhys, “Why not make them mates?”  I think that’s way too obvious to end up happening.  It’s just my opinion but that would be like SJM having Feyre telling us about the Night Sky on her dresser drawer and dreaming that maybe her future husband will someday like the stars too.   The foreshadowing that has been in the book (discounting Elain’s visions which are more literal) has always been something that only made sense after the fact.  When you first read it, you were unable to understand what it meant at the time because it seemed unimportant or you thought it was referring to someone else (i.e. Stay with the High Lord).

  The information may have been included for other reasons.  Maybe it will relate to Mor and Eris and we’ll see a rejected bond through them.  Maybe it was put out there so we would have some understanding of what might have happened between Helion and the LOA.  But I definitely don’t think Feyre developed prophetic abilities and predicted an E/riel endgame.  It’s also worth noting that since that discussion, she’s never mentioned Az and Elain coupled off again.  A random comment Feyre made when we know she doesn’t really understand who Elain is and who she will eventually become is not enough for me to believe in.  Like you said, the only opinion that matters in who Elain will end up with is Elain’s.               

[camelliacats]

written in your blood (part 4/6)

One last visit to Rowle's—and Flora's—saga with the Carrow siblings, written as my entry for the Death Eater 2022 Fest. Set primarily after this oneshot and this story.

Ch4: "Now: Flora, accomplice" [FFN] [AO3] | ←   → | start from the beginning

Pairings/Characters: Thorfinn Rowle & Flora Carrow (mentions of Thorfinn/Alecto & Flora/Amycus), with Borgin

Rating: strong T

Words: ~5,970

Additional info: gen fic, angst, hurt/comfort, violence, Dark magic, Harry's era, 3rd person POV

Summary: Thorfinn's made the same promise twice over already…and he'll make it again, if it means new ally Flora will be instrumental in getting his love and his best mate back. Ch4: There are no more oaths to be sworn, as Flora hatches a plan with Thorfinn's assistance.

      Thorfinn and Flora don't speak for the rest of the night after they swear their blood oath. She finds a small copse of trees with soft bushes for cover, and she makes camp there for the morning and afternoon. Thorfinn dozes, as well, since he's tossed his lot in with hers, and he doesn't want to think of the remaining options he doesn't have waiting for him out in the world beyond here…

      When they break camp, Flora leads the way once more, following some route she has yet to disclose to Thorfinn.

      He's about to pick her brain when she comes to an abrupt stop and crashes into his left side. "Oi! Watch it," he grouses.

      "It wasn't me," Flora snaps.

      "Sure seems as though you tripped over those fancy-heeled boots of yours."

      "I didn't," she states. She takes another step—and again she bowls into him. Flora would've stumbled to the ground if not for Thorfinn reacting on instinct to catch her. "What the hell?!"

      "That's my line." He sets her on her feet…but a slow, knowing smirk draws his lips up. "…Flora, where have you had in mind, us going?"

      Flora glares at him. "Sunderland." She swallows a lump in her throat when he raises his eyebrows, waiting for more. "I've a great-aunt on my mother's side. I thought it'd be a start."

      "Hmm. And that's…?"

      "Southeast from here."

      Thorfinn can't stifle his wolfish grin any longer. "Try taking another step towards Great-Auntie in Sunderland."

      Her glare deepens, but she does so—and this time she doesn't only stumble but turns heel.

      "HA!" He smacks his thigh, delighted to see the blood oath in action for once. With Amycus, their road to Alecto had been a relatively easy one. With Alecto, keeping Amycus safe and alive had been all right given that their trio had kept together for years after the Dark Lord vanished.

      With Flora, the magic is making her keep their promise as intended.

      "Never thought I'd see the day," Thorfinn admits aloud.

      "Explain," Flora demands.

      "It's the blood oath, witch," he points out. "With how we worded it, it wants to keep us on the right path towards our end goal. That means no going to Sunderland."

      Flora scrunches up her nose. "Dammit." She stoops then, brushing her fingers through the dirt until she loosens two large pebbles smooth as can be and stacks them, flattening a blade of grass between them. Flora waves her wand, and the blade wobbles behind them as the Compass Charm points northward. She takes a step, and the blood oath pulls her… "Southwest," she observes.

      "What's southwest?"

      She sighs. "My father's clubhouse, in Carlisle. A vacation home my mother splits with an old school friend, in Liverpool."

      Thorfinn kicks the stacked stones aside and starts marching in the correct direction now. "And anything further than that?"

      Flora pales—she looks sickly like a young Amycus back in their second, third year. "No," she replies. "Nothing."

      (Of course, "nothing" always means "something," especially when dealing with a Carrow.)

      They fly when there's cloud cover—Flora keeps a sturdy Bluebottle in an inner pocket and begrudgingly lets Thorfinn ride behind her since he doesn't have a broom of his own (what's the use when one mostly Apparates?)—and Apparate when short on time and weary of the skies. But the further south they travel, the more westward the oath pulls Flora, until, in the early morning beyond Liverpool, they're nearly yanked from the sky at the border between England and Wales.

      And here Thorfinn thought a blood oath never would kill him.

      Flora shrieks but steers her Bluebottle up out of the nosedive the blood oath would've guided them to had she no presence of mind. The magic pulls them ever downward, so Flora propels them towards the safety of the ground, and the magic's intensity lessens the slightest once they dismount. "For fuck's sake!" she gasps. She stows her broom and gapes at Thorfinn in horror. "Is it supposed to do that?!"

      But he shrugs. "Wouldn't know. I've never defied one of my oaths before."

      Her gape doesn't fade. "Oaths, plural? How many such things have you made, Rowle?!"

      But the Dark wizard shakes his head, dismissing the thought. "Where to next?"

      Flora blinks but takes a step. "If I haven't lost my bearings from that flight…southeast now."

      He nods. "I've never been to Wales, so—after you."

      Flora purses her lips, but they resume their trek. Clouds arrive again, and Flora takes some cajoling before they both get on her broom once more, at a lower altitude now. But the further south they go, the slower they fly.

      "You know what will happen if you fight the blood oath, Flora," Thorfinn reminds her, not covering a huff at the end.

      "I think I know where it's taking us, taking me, though—and I can't go there."

      "That's not how the oath works. Following it is best."

      Once more, Flora lowers them to the ground. But, after they dismount, Flora's shoulders sag, and her hair seems to hang limp with the rest of her. They walk but at a meandering pace. "…I can't do this, Rowle."

      He suppresses a sigh. "Why?"

      "You wouldn't understand."

      Good Merlin, is there some Carrow handbook given at birth? Are they each born with this sense of isolation? But Thorfinn's an old hand at wearing down this type, and he slides his gaze her way. Blue eyes meet charcoal gray for half a beat. "Try me."

      Flora's frown ages her; she nearly fits right in with him and the Carrow siblings in their mid-thirties, with that sad air clinging to her. "I think…the blood oath is drawing me to my childhood home."

      He doesn't presume to know her story, but her words are open to all sorts of interpretations. Thorfinn keeps his eyes aimed straight ahead at the city in the far distance. "Is being a Carrow a cursed thing?" he asks.

      She exhales a low, slow breath. "My parents would have you think so." Another brief glance Thorfinn's way. "Picus, my father—happy financier and proud half-blood. Rhea, my mother—formerly of the Burkes, also a half-blood, and too enamored with the new ways of the world." She hesitates before adding, "My twin sister, Hestia, alike only in looks. Truly nothing but a frightened mouse who would give up her inheritance for another surname." A shadow falls over her features, hardening them. "None of them cares for the old ways, like me. None of them can see the merits of blood supremacy, of casting aside the lesser." Flora grimaces. "Their politics are backwards."

      "…huh."

      "What?"

      Thorfinn chuckles to himself. "Just haven't heard the rhetoric in a while. You would've fit right in, ideologically, with Bellatrix and the rest."

      That doesn't impress Flora much, though her grimace improves to her former frown.

      "Still, though—Carrow?" he presses, one eyebrow quirked.

      Flora rolls her eyes. "I had to explain to Amycus last fall, too. Not from his and Alecto's side, no. There was a split in the bloodline, generations ago. So…it's a distant relation."

      Thorfinn shrugs, leaving it at that. In some way or form, all the old families are related somehow, so Flora and Amycus are well in keeping with tradition.

      At this time of year (or perhaps Wales is just exceptionally lush and not marked by the English summer rain), they are surrounded by all varieties of green, many lively, some speaking of seasons past. A part of Thorfinn almost admires the inadvertent nod to their Hogwarts House, but Flora's nerves ruin the moment.

      "What if I don't go home, just near?" she asks him.

      "Worth a shot."

      Flora nods. She touches his arm, and they Disapparate from the viridian backdrop to just outside the city limits. "Wrexham," she mumbles. "Home sweet home."

      Thorfinn doesn't remark, but he throws up another façade before she enters the mainly Muggle-inhabited municipality. They dodge vehicles and idiots on cycles who think the world is their road, and Flora's footfall turns heavy as they pass a small sign that reads "WELCOME TO ACTON."

      Her route becomes odd and angled, taking this turn and that—it must be the blood oath at work, guaranteeing Flora is where she is meant to be—until she finally slows beyond the street with the church. Her gaze tracks to a brownstone near the end of the lane…

      …but then she turns back to the church, observing some parishioners outside prepping for an event.

      "…of course."

      Thorfinn scoffs at her actions. "'Of course'? What? What, 'of course'? You've stopped even though I'd reckon that's your bloody home right down—"

      But Flora holds up a hand to shush him…and she's able to walk away from the neighborhood. She retraces her steps, a dark smile on her lips and Thorfinn dogging her heels as they exit just as fast as they came. "I was right. I needn't return home, after all."

      He gawks at her.

      She waits to explain until they're out of earshot of any passersby. Then she wheels on him, a manic delight in her eye. "Did you notice the Muggles at the parish? What they were handling?"

      "Fuck no. Why should I have?"

      "They're setting up for some charity event. Mrs. Drummond the postman's wife was holding the cashbox."

      Still, Thorfinn gawks.

      Once again, Flora rolls her eyes, and they leave Acton, Wrexham, Wales behind. "The oath is giving me clues, Rowle. Home to me means bonds I cannot shake, ties I cannot sever—not yet. And the church…" She produces her Bluebottle and mounts the broom, impatient as Thorfinn clambers on behind her. "It's time to head to Gringotts and clear out my vault."

      They fly partway and make use of an old Death Eater safe house in Birmingham (abandoned by Mulciber in the first war but left alone and unknown by the Ministry) to rest before heading to London. Thorfinn reminds her half a dozen times that, given what's just transpired, he can't be anywhere near Diagon Alley or Knockturn Alley.

      Flora huffs at him with each reminder. "Seems as though this blood oath is only working to your favor," she notes the following afternoon before she leaves to face the goblins.

      Thorfinn nods. "I don't disagree. But, so far, I haven't felt a pull."

      She huffs again at his statement but drops the subject. She leaves for London without another word.

      Honestly, the time alone gives Thorfinn a chance to think. Did he fuck it up, the oath, when he made those two little changes? And, worse, will it jeopardize his chances of seeing both Alecto and Amycus again? He doesn't really believe so, but the mere notion gives him an anxious itch along his neck that Thorfinn begins to scratch absentmindedly.

      The afternoon bleeds away, and Thorfinn dons a fresh façade to venture out and find a quick bite. The hours tick by, and he entertains himself by imagining what Mulciber, Rosier, and Avery might've gotten up to in an old haunt like this back in the day. …night falls, and he seeks supper, and that anxious itch atop his old Azkaban number (one of many indelible marks that will forever be a part of him) increases, worsened by the fact that Flora has yet to return.

      He's willing to chance a prison break with her. But he can't do this on his own.

      Thorfinn debates going out to search for her when the lone door to the two-room house opens, and he descends on her. "And?" is all he can manage at the moment.

      Flora shrinks back from his large presence, but she has color in her cheeks. "I have my gold, no questions asked. My parents never revoked access. And—"

      There's more than gold? He backs down.

      Flora puffs up her chest a little, proud. "Three of my father's connections were visiting the bank today. I waited to make sure I got to 'bump' into each of them."

      Thorfinn scoffs and turns away. "I'm heading to bed."

      "Rowle!" Flora tromps after him. "I worked some charm on them…the non-magical sort. Hearing I'm Picus Carrow's daughter, looking to take after her father's business, they've each offered to gift me a donation to assist in my 'fledgling enterprise.'"

      He sheds his traveling cloak, bundles it up into a makeshift pillow, and drops it onto the ancient mattress left behind in the spare room. "How nice for your enterprise." Then he drops like a log onto the mattress, too.

      But Flora shoves his arm. "You thick bastard—it's part of the plan to free Amycus."

      "And Alecto," he reminds her.

      She hesitates. "…yes, of course. Look, just—give them a few days, and we'll have more money."

      Thorfinn turns his back to her. "Azkaban guards can't be bought off, Flora."

      "No, they can't…but everyone who's a step leading towards Azkaban can."

      On that tantalizing thread, she leaves him hanging, and Thorfinn smirks in his sleep.

      Alecto is a planner, and Amycus chose for himself quite the strategist himself. Alecto ought to be flattered, Thorfinn thinks.

      "I'll see Gannin later today, but Soji and Sameer won't be back in town until tomorrow at the earliest," Flora informs Thorfinn the next morning over their breakfast of pasties and butterbeer nicked from the Leaky Cauldron when Tom the barman was Imperiused.

      Thorfinn finishes his portion of the flaky food and reaches for the rest of hers, ignoring the foul look she shoots him. "Don't care. Been a while since I got to have some fun," he says with the rest of Flora's breakfast in his mouth.

      Flora pulls a face and gets to her feet to get away from him. "Yes, well, catching the barman unawares was best, but making him hit himself can be done another time, Rowle."

      He shrugs. But he finishes eating and licks his lips. "Don't tell me we're going to waste more of yet another day waiting."

      "No. Because Gringotts gave me another idea." She pauses for Thorfinn to stand, and they exit the safe house. After Thorfinn puts up protective enchantments behind them, ensuring the home remains a haven to them, she murmurs, "We need to discern the current status of Azkaban."

      They begin a slow stroll down the street (Thorfinn wearing yet another façade, of course), and Thorfinn mulls her announcement over. "Breakouts happened last time because we had people on the inside, as well as the power of the Dark Lord," he mumbles.

      "I surmised as much."

      "You can't fly there, Flora. No broomsticks, no wands, no Apparition." He shudders as he recalls the few years he spent there. Granted, his four years seem like a brief stint compared to the time Bellatrix or the Lestranges or Dolohov did, but the place is one that's hard to forget.

      (Alecto and Amycus have been captured once before but avoided Azkaban, narrowly. More than a week in that hell is long enough, as far as Thorfinn cares.)

      Just in case Flora needs a dose of reality, he halts her by the shoulder and turns her to face him. Thorfinn tugs on the high collar of his robes, where his façade doesn't cover, and an identifying, numerical tattoo that no spell can hide peeks out.

      Flora tries to maintain her flat expression. But the slight roll of her neck muscles gives her away as she swallows a chunk of anxiety and fear. "…I understand," she says.

      He nods. He believes her. Thorfinn Rowle will happily sacrifice himself and claim sole blame for crimes committed alongside others so Alecto and Amycus can be free. But he can't attempt a prison break halfheartedly or with someone who doesn't care whether his sacrifices are in vain.

      They return to London. Thorfinn won't enter the Ministry with her—they can't risk it, because if any place does have reinforced security measures in place, it's the Ministry of Magic—but he can keep watch by the Tube entrance for Ministry workers. Flora claims she's seen her father use it a few times, for meetings, but Thorfinn doesn't care much for such details.

      Least of all when he spies wanted posters plastering the tunnel walls.

      He walks by them half a dozen times so as not to be too conspicuous, but Thorfinn stops to scan them when the crowds thin. He breathes a sigh of relief when he doesn't find his, considering these appear to be current or updated, in some capacity. On some, in lieu of "WANTED," the word spins and transforms into "CAPTURED."

      RABASTAN LESTRANGE—WANTED.

      RODOLPHUS LESTRANGE—CAPTURED.

      ADRALIAN NOTT—CAPTURED.

      PYRRHUS JUGSON—CAPTURED.

      AUGUSTUS ROOKWOOD—CAPTURED.

      WALDEN MACNAIR—WANTED.

      AMYCUS CARROW—CAPTURED.

      ALECTO CARROW—CAPTURED.

      Thorfinn doesn't even ponder that an absence of a poster implies the Ministry knows or assumes death. His eyes are too busy tracing the letters of the last one he reads, and his chest aches.

      He never wanted Alecto to know Azkaban, but he also never wanted her to be caged once more. Perhaps she would've broken free of Petronelle entirely on her own, eventually…but she'd only done it, in the end, with his and Amycus' help.

      Now, will Thorfinn and Flora be enough?

      A shadow moves, skitters behind him, and Thorfinn's muscles seize. Without thinking, he whirls and casts the Killing Curse—

      Thankfully, England's Underground is merely one rat less.

      Thorfinn eyes his surroundings. With a quick Anti-Muggle Charm and Haze Hex cast, he works off some of his tension, hunting down more rats. Only, this time, he isn't so merciful and quick to give them death.

      He sees Flora coming down the staircase just as the scent of singed fur gets to him. Thorfinn finishes his fun and dispels the magic concealing him from witnesses, and he's momentarily impressed when Flora flicks her eyes to the carcasses on the concrete floor and nods her head in approval. "All set?" he prompts.

      "Yes, but I'll inform you on the way." And she doesn't wait for him to fall into step as they head outside for fresh air and to lose themselves in a larger crowd.

      They're in Muggle London proper and heading for the dodgy end when Thorfinn leans in close. "And?" he hisses in undertones.

      "They're working to replace the Dementors," she confides.

      He pauses, eyes wide. "All of them?"

      Flora clenches her jaw. "With Aurors," she spits. "But they don't have the numbers to do a complete replacement—yet. That's why we've got to strike as soon as we can."

      "I told you, no broomsticks, no wands, no Apparition—"

      "Then how do you think anyone ever gets there?" she snaps at him.

      He opens his mouth, but no answer comes. In all honesty, he…can't recall. Is that Azkaban's toll on him, or is that one of the prison's safety measures?

      Buildings crowd in on each other and streets turn dark where sunlight can't reach them as Flora picks her way through alleys as though she follows a mental map she seems too young and sheltered to know. But, by late afternoon, she and Thorfinn arrive at a narrow, cozy, two-story home with a shabby face and items strewn on the side lawns. Flora marches up the walkway and knocks on the front door.

      Someone inside curses and jiggers the handle before it opens. A familiar greasy face with wild but now fully white hair reveals itself as Borgin grins at them, though two teeth he's replaced with gold, Thorfinn notes. "…why, hullo."

      "Mr. Borgin—"

      Borgin holds up a hand. "Miss, I don't know who you are, and clearly you know me and where I reside. But I imagine you haven't heard. My shop, same as all of Knockturn Alley, is closed."

      Flora squares her shoulders. "Borgin and Burkes might be closed, but your business isn't."

      For a frigid few seconds, Borgin and Flora face off. His smile doesn't fade, but a vein in his jaw twitches, and his eyes shift to Thorfinn looming behind her. Finally, Borgin caves and waves them inside. "Perhaps we have things to discuss."

      The pair enters but can't go very far. Borgin's home is a messier echo of the old shop, as though he had junk in here that never made it to store shelves and then emptied the shop on top of it afterwards. There's a mild, metallic scent in the air, with hints of mildew the likes of which one expects with antiques. A chandelier that Thorfinn recognizes from the store swings gently, dangerously above them in the foyer.

      Borgin drops his smile after he closes the door behind him. "We very much have things to discuss," he decides with another look to Thorfinn.

      Flora follows his gaze and gasps.

      Thorfinn turns and catches sight of his own true reflection in a grimy mirror over Borgin's shoulder. "Borgin—"

      "Relax, Mr. Rowle," Borgin assures him in a businessman's casual drawl. "I need to have my own spells in place. Too many valuables lying around, you see. But have I ever turned away your compatriots before? Mr. Malfoy was one of my favorite clients, you know."

      Thorfinn grits his teeth. He's never cared much for Lucius Malfoy, but Borgin has a point.

      Borgin turns to Flora once more. "And you, my dear? Your fair face hasn't changed. You know so much of me, but I know so little of you."

      "My mother was a Burke, Mr. Borgin."

      He sniffs, unimpressed. "And?"

      "And I know of the troubles my ancestor, Caractacus Burke, went through in order to keep the shop open through its early highs and lows. How he paid…an arm and a leg to keep it going. And the part the original Borgin, your father, had in that."

      Whatever implications her words hold, Borgin understands them. His face falls, his eyes widen, and he flinches when he glances to Thorfinn, suddenly aware that it is two against one. "I am an innocent man," he declares.

      His guests say nothing.

      "The Ministry has never been able to prove my assistance to those who called themselves Death Eaters. They won't, even now. I can avoid Azkaban so long as the store stays closed."

      Flora's smirk is soft, almost patronizing. "Is that really going to stop you from dealing in hard-to-come-by goods, Borgin?"

      The frail man falters. But he turns from them and heads for his tiny kitchen, where they follow him as Borgin makes himself a pot of tea. "And what, Miss Burke, do you need from me?"

      Flora doesn't correct him on her name. She draws her fingers through the dust on the untouched chair at his small table. "Azkaban uniforms, for the human guards. I need you to procure two for me."

      He snorts as Thorfinn begins to catch on to Flora's plan. "That's a ridiculous request. Those things are highly guarded, just as the prisoners. Plus, Dementors have run the place for so long—anything for human guards would be terribly out-of-date, my dear."

      "It doesn't matter. I still need a pair."

      Borgin frowns. "What makes you think I can get them?"

      Flora shrugs. "Our kinds of people make connections that are hard to forget."

      In the ensuing silence, the kettle bubbles and whistles. Borgin indulges himself and loads up a cup with sugar over which he pours his tea. When he faces Flora and Thorfinn, any trace of interest or amusement is gone from his features. "One thousand Galleons."

      "That's absurd." Flora's cheeks flush with color.

      "That's my price. I told you, the shop's closed. Keep talking, and it'll be a thousand apiece."

      She blanches. "That'll—That'll wipe me out, Mr. Borgin."

      "That's not my concern."

      Flora thinks for one, two, three, four heartbeats. Then she glumly nods. "Have them by tomorrow, and it's a deal."

      "Tomorrow?!" Tea spills from Borgin's lips. "That's—"

      "Doable, for you. Have them by tomorrow, or else." She settles him with a cold stare and half turns towards Thorfinn, a reminder that if Borgin doubts her skills, she's got a hardened criminal by her side.

      They leave without Borgin seeing them to the door. Thorfinn pauses to redo his façade out on Borgin's stoop, and then he and Flora part, her to meet with Gannin and collect a now very necessary monetary donation, him back to the safe house. He turns in early after picking through scavenged food leftover from the day before, and Thorfinn wills himself not to dwell on the worry Flora has over running out of funds, just as he doesn't stew on the fact that he can't piece together the whole picture of her jailbreak scheme, not yet…

      Late midday, later than they would prefer because Soji met with Flora on time on this second Thursday after the war's conclusion (the second Thursday Alecto and Amycus have spent behind bars) but Sameer ran late and then tried to coax a drink out of Flora in the same breath, Thorfinn and Flora Apparate within a stone's throw of Borgin's home.

      "I still think this Sameer prick you mentioned would've done with a nice Boils Jinx," Thorfinn mentions as they round Borgin's block.

      "And mayhap I would've indulged the idea if he'd laid a hand on me, but he didn't, I have his money, and we're pushing our luck, Rowle." Still, it's the second time she's rubbed a nervous hand along her upper right arm since coming from the goblin bank.

      Thorfinn drops the subject. They do have priorities, but he wonders if Amycus might've intervened if he'd been present, least of all since Flora's involving herself with all these others for Amycus' sake.

      Borgin's at his door before Flora even knocks. "I see you're still interested."

      "If you hoped to renege on our deal, then I'll be the bearer of bad news," Flora informs him once the door is shut behind them. She opens the left side of her cloak, and withdraws a heavy sack for its size. "One thousand Galleons, as agreed upon," she states with a frown.

      Borgin all but snatches it from her hands. He disappears into a sitting room behind him; the tinkling clatter indicates he counts his haul. Several minutes later, Borgin returns to the foyer with a small stack of folded blue–gray cloth, which he passes to Flora. "Uniforms, as agreed upon."

      Flora passes them to Thorfinn and unfolds the top one to inspect—and glowers at the shopkeeper. "These aren't uniforms! They're nothing but capes!"

      "They are old uniform cloaks, Miss Burke. I told you, anything I could procure would be out-of-date, and I never swore I could obtain a whole uniform."

      Thorfinn shoves the second cloak into Flora's arms and brandishes his wand. "You might've helped before, but this is low even for you, Borgin—"

      Borgin holds up his hands in defense. "Please!" His eyes flicker to Flora. "Miss Burke, these will still be fine. What you seek is stitched into the collars, after all."

      Thorfinn creeps near the old man and presses his wand's tip into the sagging flesh of his throat, but he waits while Flora checks the items again.

      "Rowle, wait." She sighs and locks eyes with Borgin. "And these are active?"

      "Two-way," Borgin replies. "When you're not on the island, the cloak transports you to Azkaban directly. When there, it takes you to the Ministry, so I'd be careful of touching it a second time."

      She nods. "Our deal is done."

      Borgin only exhales once Thorfinn backs off. "I'd say it was a pleasure, but—Miss Burke—I'd rather not see you again. You understand, of course, given current events."

      Flora and Thorfinn delay their exit. "One more thing, Mr. Borgin."

      "Hmm?"

      "Ferro—is he still in the breeding business?"

      Yet another mystery part of the plan that Thorfinn doesn't comprehend, but Borgin does, because his eyes light up and his greasy smile returns. "Yes, Miss Burke, indeed he is."

      Flora nods. Just before Thorfinn pulls the door closed after them, with Borgin's guard down, she flicks her wand, and a dreamy expression comes over the old wizard's features. "Can't have him remembering every last thing from our meetings," she tells Thorfinn.

      He swallows a lump, hit with the memory of his and Dolohov's failure and subsequent Obliviation at the hands of Potter's Mudblood friend last year at Tottenham Court Road. "Who's Ferro?" he asks as Flora stows their goods in her magicked purse.

      "Our next target," she answers, and she holds out her hand.

      Thorfinn frowns and offers his elbow instead. They Disapparate a second later.

      The salty, putrid smell hits them first, and Thorfinn gags on it. He pulls away from Flora until she snatches his elbow again and drags him behind an oversized shed.

      "Flora, what the fuck."

      "It's the Fens—what do you expect from marshes?"

      Thorfinn scowls at her and gestures to the shed. "Then why?"

      "Because no one comes looking for dragons in a humid climate."

      The color drains from his face. "I'm not riding a dragon," he states. Unforgivables? Blood oaths? Any hour of any day. Dragons that would roast and eat him alive at their whim? He'd rather walk into his jail cell now.

      Flora huffs and brushes a lock of dark hair out of her face. "We won't be, Rowle. Ferro's an old family friend—"

      "Sweet Salazar, just what sort of connections does your family have?"

      "—and he keeps pet dragons. My parents never thought my sister and I overheard them discussing whether my father should keep the friendship, so I know Ferro used to breed them and sometimes deal in them. Word has it," she adds with a knowing look Thorfinn's way, "that Ferro even knew a certain groundskeeper once upon a time."

      Thorfinn snorts at the mention of the half-giant imbecile. "Really now?"

      "Rumors. Funny little things. Sometimes there's an ounce of truth in them."

      He mulls that over. Rumors about Alecto and Amycus have run the gamut over the course of their lives, but rarely has the truth ever really reared its head in them. Thorfinn sets aside the thought, however. "And the guards' cloaks—do I finally get to know or am I going to have to guess this, too?"

      Flora frowns at him. "Amycus was right: Sometimes you're as thick as you look."

      He ignores the jibe. "Flora."

      "I told you before to think about how anyone would get to a prison in the middle of the North Sea before, if all the usual means are unavailable."

      Thorfinn furrows his brow.

      Finally, she caves. "Portkeys, Rowle. Portkeys." She points to her collar. "There's an item sewn into the collar of the cloaks that takes them to and from work. Granted, the cloaks are so old since the Ministry ramped up use of Dementors the last several years, but that's likely why these fell to the wayside."

      "Then why does your plan involve a dragon-loving gent?"

      "Because our zapping into Azkaban alone would be too risky. We need a distraction and to keep our wands, as well." Flora stands. "That's what all the money is for. People succumb to that more easily than to magic, you know. If I can convince Ferro to attempt such a feat, to take his pets out for a bit to stretch their wings to the east…"

      Thorfinn's confusion doesn't fade.

      She sighs. "Azkaban's magic leaves it Unplottable. It can't be seen by Muggles. But its bevy of enchantments is meant to mess with Wizardkind, too. That magic and the Dementors left behind and everything that island has seen—dragons are highly sensitive to magic. I'm counting on them to react and react badly to it, if they near it."

      He supposes the plan's not bad, except… Thorfinn squints and follows Flora with his eyes at first when she heads for the cottage beside the Glamoured barn that shimmers slightly as it begins to drizzle.

      Half an hour later, Flora returns with a triumphant glint in her eyes. "Settled. Ferro hopefully will fly out tomorrow—Rowle, what?!"

      "There's 'counting' on things and then there's truly taking action," he instructs her, marching up to this bloke's door with Flora at his heels.

      There are dastardly things Flora does, and he's been impressed so far. But Thorfinn Rowle does not have his Dark Mark for nothing.

      He pounds his fist on the door, and Ferro—a man who fits in well here, could be camouflaged with skin and hair so close to the marsh's hues—cowers when he opens the door. Thorfinn slices his wand through the space between them and holds it in front of Ferro's face. Ferro's dull eyes glaze over under control of the Imperius Curse.

      "When it matters," Thorfinn says to Flora, "never leave anything to chance." (Ah, Alecto would like that one.)

      (But Flora doesn't, and she gives him the silent treatment for the rest of the evening while they wait for their new puppet to get his dragons in order.)

      Sometime when Thursday blends into Friday and still they wait for Ferro to get a move on, Thorfinn contemplates his silent partner. They've spent the whole night in Ferro's oversized toolshed to keep out of the rain, and Flora's not said a word to Thorfinn, nor shared a bite of food. His stomach grumbles, but he's got other matters at the forefront of his mind.

      "Did it actually bother you that I put him under my control?"

      In the pale, early morning light, he can make out the way Flora picks at a thread on her robes at the knee. "…some."

      "Didn't know you were soft," he grouses.

      "What if the spell wears off, the closer Ferro gets to Azkaban? He could redirect the dragons at the last second."

      Thorfinn sighs. "It's a risk we'll have to take."

      Flora quiets again.

      With one question answered, Thorfinn chances the other one, the larger one concerning the topic that's not sat right with him since the start of forming this uneasy alliance with Flora Carrow. "You know I want to rescue both of them. But you seem…hesitant, to rescue Alecto." The question is implied.

      The shed's silence feels like an unwelcome third occupant. Eventually, Flora's tiny exhales shoo it away. "It's not that I don't want to."

      Thorfinn stares at her. "Could've fooled me." He's lost count of all the times she's turned cold at the mention of Amycus' dear sister—perhaps it's a competitive thing?

      Flora pushes her hand through her hair. "I want to get the chance to know Alecto, precisely because she's important to Amycus. I'm fond of her, vicariously. Honest!" she insists when she catches Thorfinn's quirked eyebrow. "But…it's too lofty a goal, Rowle. Rescuing both at once." Her hands cover her face, and she pushes the heels of her palms into her eyes. Her voice cracks wetly as she continues, "I can't bear the thought of failing Amycus if I couldn't…"

      …he gets it now. The fear of biting off more than she can chew. Flora's coldness stems from a lack of confidence.

      They might be distantly related, but Flora's got another Carrow family trait Alecto and Amycus possess.

      "Alecto and Amycus are alike in that they hate those who don't try," Thorfinn softly states. He doesn't point out how they're too hard on themselves when it comes to demanding the best, but he suspects Flora has a clue if she at least knows Amycus well enough. "Besides," he reminds her, "it's not just your blood but mine the oath will keep in line, Flora. You won't be alone in this endeavor."

      Reluctantly, she meets his eyes. Also reluctantly, she nods. And then she spends the rest of their time waiting by adding some extra charms to the guard cloaks, just in case.

Here, we see the blood oath in action…is it done yet? You'll just have to read on to find out. ;) My Compass Charm first appeared in my drabble, "S.O.S.O.S." Borgin's appearance was fun, as was expanding on Flora's heritage since that ended up coming in handy when meeting with Borgin, tho other names mentioned are OCs. (Srsly, the plot bunnies have mated exponentially with this story, *lol*.) What else… Well, even tho it wasn't graphic, still glad a scene where animals are hurt purposefully makes me :S bc yeah. Makes sense for Rowle to do, in-character, but it doesn't mean it's comfy for me to write as an author/reader. I also gave some first names to Nott and Jugson, altho I laugh at Nott's bc technically I've used that elsewhere in my canon (Maydayverse) fics, but I just rly like the name "Adralian." XD Perhaps it was once a popular name amongst the pureblood families or Wizarding families in general at one point?? Idk.

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this! (Time to see Thorfinn and Flora's plans in action…!)

~mew

And if you want to support written in your blood, please swing by its FFN and AO3 versions to review/comment/fav/leave kudos and like and reblog these posts on my HariPo fic tumblr!

[duskandstarlight]

Embers & Light (Chapter 39, NSFW Nessian)

Notes: Well, over a year you've had to wait for these two to seal the deal... BUT NO LONGER. And because I'm thankful to you all for sticking with this story, I've granted you with over 16k of sinful naughtiness. I think it's safe to say this is NSFW but you guys have read my smut before, you know the drill.

Embers & Light has always very much been the alternative story to Habits, but I couldn’t help but write in some crossover moments here to highlight the differences in events--timeline is a fascinating thing! Lemme know if you spot the moments :)

Please let me know what you think :) Comment and kudos will make my day!

I won't be able to write much of August (wedding & mini-moon) but I'll be doing my best to get you guys something as soon as possible. Hopefully by the end of the month, anyways <3

Oh! And I got a bookstagram. Find me at bookships.and.fandoms (and bear with me, I cba to take pretty pics atm)

Chapter 39 Cassian POV

Cassian stared at the doorway and the staircase beyond it, his gaze fixed and unwavering. Nesta had slipped out of the living room to follow Feyre up the stairs over ten minutes ago and he was already consumed with the biting sort of worry that gnawed at your insides.

He wasn’t concerned about what Nesta might be discussing with Feyre—that was her business—but because he couldn’t help but fret when it came to Nesta’s wellbeing.

It was a myriad of concerns that trampled through his mind like a herd of cattle. Had she slept enough? Had she recovered from being caught in the crowds the day before? Was her conversation with Feyre going to have her take three steps back rather than one forward? Cassian had spied the book of fairytales she’d slipped into her bag. Had guessed what she’d intended to do with it.

And then there was the fact that Nesta had left the bed before he’d woken again. Cassian couldn’t help but feel disappointed that she’d not been there when he’d opened his eyes, especially after the night before.

But that was how it was with he and Nesta. When the sun dipped below the horizon, Cassian often felt as if they were on the right path; as if once the world shut its eyes, the pressure was off and their play could continue. But as soon as light bled back into the sky, things weren’t the same. They weren’t cold… but Cassian felt suspended in a limbo of flirtatious banter and respectful distance. Which was hard, when all Cassian wanted to do was be as close to her as possible: to hold her hand and wind a hand through her hair. To kiss her brow and mouth and sink his teeth into her neck—

Cassian’s jaw tightened. He wanted to do wicked things. He wanted to make her moan and shatter. Wanted to know how she felt wrapped around him. Wanted to see if she’d gasp awake as he pushed inside of her.

Their trip home was going to be a turning point. Or at the very least it would be a milestone—a hammered notch as they progressed towards something. Yet, Cassian wasn’t naive: he wasn’t expecting Nesta to fall into his arms and never leave. But he hoped that it might make Nesta see their connection—not the tie between them, but the chemistry that Cassian knew would forever exist even if the mating bond was severed.

From the very first moment his gaze had settled on the haughty, vicious sister Cassian had known. Had nearly been brought to his knees—the heart-stopping moment so powerful, it suspended time as he felt something turn inside of him, as if something that had lain dormant had finally snapped open an eye.

And because of that Cassian would willingly allow Nesta to forge the reigns when it came to whatever it was between them. He could go slow. He would take the chance that Nesta might grow to accept him, even as he was seized by the terror that she might grow bored and draw a line under things before he had the chance to prove that he was worthy.

Cassian took a deep, steadying breath that made his ribcage heave. Thought of the lullaby that sat in his room at the House. Used that to ground himself and banish the painful thoughts.

Nesta had cared enough to gift him a piece of his past that nobody else had ever gone to the effort to find for him. And that was… everything. It was everything to him.

“I can hear the worry grinding gears in your brain.”

Rhys was standing where Mor had been a few moments earlier, his hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers, his eyebrows raised. Cassian hadn’t noticed Mor slip away. Couldn’t even recall what she'd been saying to him. Had he ignored her? He didn’t know. Didn’t really care. They all knew he was head over heels when it came to Nesta anyway.

Cassian blinked. It took him a moment to process Rhys’s words, but his body finally caught up. An instinctive grin tugged at the corners of his mouth and he commanded his eyes to sparkle, even though it was all fake. “I was under the impression you didn’t think I had one.”

Rhys didn’t chuckle or retort with something dry. Sometimes his brother allowed him to indulge in his self-deprecating behaviour, but it didn’t seem like today was one of those days. Instead, he cut to the chase. “They’re fine.”

Cassian bristled. Didn’t bother to pretend his mind wasn't solely on what was happening upstairs. “Feyre’s speaking with you now?”

Nesta would hate that. Would know if her sister was communicating to her mate whilst they were talking.

His brother’s laugh was as smooth as velvet. “No, she locked me out. It’s a habit she’s started recently and it’s usually coupled with the mental finger.”

This time, Cassian’s smile was genuine, as was the chuckle that chased it. “Feisty.”

“You have no idea,” Rhys responded with a wink.

Mor, who had breezed back to Cassian’s side with a new cup of coffee, rolled her eyes. “We do actually, you two are like rabbits.”

“We’re mated,” Rhys replied with a wave of his hand. “It’s to be expected.”

Mor lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “Cauldron, I need to bed someone rather than hearing about my cousin’s exploits with my best friend.”

“Head to Rita’s and find yourself a pretty fae,” Cassian drawled, tugging Mor into a one armed hug.

“Mmm,” Mor hummed, but she chewed on her lip again. Glanced nervously at Azriel, who was in deep conversation with Elain. His shadows were tucked in neatly to his frame rather than trailing, ever-moving and loose around his body, but Cassian knew he could hear them.

Cassian dropped a friendly kiss to Mor’s head before he let her go. Tussled her hair, grinning mischievously when she squawked in disapproval.

As if sensing that his cousin wanted a change of subject, Rhys looked square at Cassian. “Azriel will come over later to update you on the latest movements.”

Cassian sobered as if someone had poured icy water down his back. “Not later,” Cassian corrected firmly.

Tomorrow. No the day after that. Cassian couldn’t guarantee that he’d be able to stop once he’d had his first proper taste of Nesta.

But of course they couldn’t do that—wouldn’t. The situation in Illyria was too dire for them to be so selfish as to lock themselves away for days.

It didn’t mean Cassian didn’t want to, though.

“You’ve got plans?” Rhys asked lightly and Mor froze.

You’ve got no idea, Cassian thought. But then realised his brother knew. Of course he did. Surely everyone in this room knew how desperate he was to get back to Illyria. To have Nesta in his bed again, writhing and moaning, their bodies slick with sweat as they moved in unison.

Clenching his jaw, Cassian grounded that desire between his teeth, until it was nothing but broken, delicious shards that scraped down his throat. His blood coiled. “Yes. Maybe.”

If she doesn’t change her mind.

“It has to be tomorrow, Cass.”

Biting back a sigh, Cassian nodded. “I know. Come at noon. I suppose I’ll be camped out in Illyria for the foreseeable future.” He cast a stern look at Mor. “Send me letters.”

“You have a housemate,” Rhys reminded him. “You’re not going to be entirely alone.”

Mor grinned slyly. “A very beautiful housemate.”

Cassian was more than aware of that.

He grunted and unable to stop himself, he voiced the fear that always niggled away at the back of his mind. “For now.”

But Rhys just loosed another manicured shrug, that was at odds with the ground-breaking revelation that followed it. “For a long while. Nesta has expressed her desire to remain in Illyria long-term despite the discontent. Assuming you don’t mind sharing your bungalow.”

It felt as if an iron band of hope was clamped around Cassian’s chest. He stared at his brother. Tried not to blink. Crossed his arms firmly over his chest, protecting his heart. “And you know this how?”

“Nesta spoke with me. We have arrived at a truce, of sorts.”

That must have been what they’d spoken about yesterday on the balcony. He wanted to know more—everything—but Cassian would not press Rhys. If Nesta wanted to tell him, she would. He had to respect that.

So, he bit back his curiosity and grumbled, “About time.”

Rhys clapped his hand on Cassian’s back, but there was something wary in his expression, as if there was something he wanted to say but wouldn’t. Finally, he said, “Patience is a virtue, brother.”

“I’m not the patient sort.”

“You are when it counts,” Rhys countered, and Cassian didn’t say anything because they both knew what he was referring to. Rhys had been the first to know. Had witnessed Cassian in a tangled web of despair and longing and unwanted visions. His brother had immediately put two and two together. Because he’d been there, too. Knew what it was to want someone you thought you couldn’t have. To hope that someone might finally grow to see you in colour rather than in black and white.

Cassian cast another look towards the empty doorway and the quiet hallway beyond it.

A shiver of anticipation ran through him. It was time for them to go home.

***

In the end, Cassian folded to his worry and had Elain fetch Nesta from upstairs. It was time to go, he’d insisted, even though there was no true reason as to why they needed to leave quite so quickly.

“No guesses required to identify why you want to head back to Illyria,” Mor muttered out the side of her mouth, as the creak of the stairs a few flights above heralded the sisters return. Cassian jabbed his elbow into his friend’s ribs and Mor yelped through her grin, even as she had to sidestep, the nudge throwing her off balance. “What? It’s all over your face. You think I can’t read you after five hundred years?”

“Don’t announce it to the room,” Cassian muttered darkly under his breath, “and you won’t find yourself torn to pieces.”

Mor briefly bumped against his arm, the jostle affectionate. Unfazed by his threat, she glanced sideways at him with rich chocolate eyes. “I won’t. We just want you to be happy, you know.”

Cassian’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “Now isn’t the time for a lecture about finding a more suitable mate.”

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He hadn’t meant for it to happen, hadn’t meant to voice what he’d kept inside for so long.

Mor’s eyes widened, but she wound her arms around his waist. Cassian allowed her to tuck herself under his arm. His friend scented of citrus and cinnamon. When she craned her neck to look up at him, her expression was glowing with sincerity and Cassian realised that she hadn’t been insinuating that Nesta wasn’t right for him at all. “We’re all cheering you on from the sidelines, Cass, I promise.”

The muscle in Cassian’s jaw flexed. He looked away from her, towards the doorway again, unable to help himself. “Don’t say anything.”

She tightened her grip on his waist. “I won’t. I promise.”

“She doesn’t want it.”

Mor untangled herself from him. Shook her head in disagreement. “She does. She just isn’t ready to admit it yet.”

They both fell quiet as Nesta walked through the door with Elain and Feyre. The first thing Cassian noticed was that she scented of water and salt—tears.

Heart pattering with concern, Cassian quickly scanned Nesta’s expression and body language, searching for clues. But Nesta remained close to her sisters rather than apart, her fingers snagged in Feyre’s, her expression not in tatters but smooth and calm, like still waters.

“Ready to go?” Mor chirped from beside him. “I can winnow you back when Sala arrives.”

Nesta’s grey-blue eyes slid to Mor. “I called her on my way down.”

“Then you have time to see the snowdrops you gave me before you leave,” Elain responded eagerly, tugging at Nesta’s arm. “The cuttings took well to the soil. I planted them beneath the shade of the birch trees near the river.”

Cassian watched Nesta disappear into the garden. Surveyed the way a strand of golden brown hair that had escaped her loose braid floated on the breeze, as if it was part of the element rather than separate, as Elain bent to show her the snowdrops.

Yet despite the clear ease to Nesta’s movements, Cassian couldn’t help but ask Feyre whether everything was okay when she came over to hug him goodbye.

“We’re fine,” Feyre assured him, as together they watched Mor tentatively sit beside Azriel on the couch. For once the Shadowsinger’s shadows didn’t lighten, but Azriel still turned to her, drawn by some magnetism as she began to speak with him.

Slim fingers closed around his. Squeezed. “Thank you for fetching the book of fairytales for Nesta.”

The strand of ebony hair that had wrangled free of Cassian’s hair tie tickled the side of his forehead as he inclined his head. That had been a long time ago, when Nesta was a viper that he dared to poke with a stick, just so he could get a reaction. “Of course.”

“You travelled all that way on barely healed wings just to fetch a book.”

It wasn’t just a book, but Cassian knew Feyre understood that, so he only grunted, “Az took me most of the way. He waited to winnow me back.”

But Feyre’s eyes were burnished, as she asked, “Is there anything you won’t do for my sister?”

“It depends,” Cassian replied honestly. Because although he’d rather die than see Nesta hurt, Cassian wouldn’t hesitate to stand up to her when her fire was ill-wrought. And that’s what he liked about the both of them: if he was an ass Nesta told him straight, and he did the same for her. A grin slashed across his face. “Your sister has claws and teeth when she’s angry.”

It wasn’t long before Sala landed on her four large paws in the garden, prompting goodbyes. Mor winnowed Nesta and Sala, whilst Az’s scarred hand closed around Cassian’s arm.

Together, Cassian and his brother passed through realms of shadows and light and raging wings. Then Illyria was taking shape before Cassian bit by bit: there was the sting of winter on his cheeks, the crunch of snow beneath his feet, the scent of pine and untamed air. It felt like that wonderful first heave of your lungs after being starved from air. It alerted Cassian senses—woke him up.

Not bothering to say goodbye for the second time, Azriel bled straight back into shadow, but Mor raised a hand in a parting wave from where she stood beside Nesta and Sala. Her long golden hair caught on the breeze. It tussled behind her like its own puff of wind, before she vanished into nothing.

When Cassian’s eyes snapped to Nesta, he found her standing with her eyes closed, breathing in the wilderness of their surroundings. After a few beats, Sala jumped onto her hind legs, climbing up Nesta’s body with her snow-crusted paws to knock her head impatiently against Nesta’s.

A breath of laughter clouded in front of her as Nesta ruffled Sala’s ears. She murmured something Cassian couldn't identify in the manticore’s ear, before Sala dropped onto all fours and padded through the snow in the direction of the main camp.

Cassian watched the manticore go. He suspected Sala was going to seek out the widows camp and check everything was in order. It was the kind of thing Nesta would fret about—that whilst she was warm and fed, others might not be extended the same courtesy.

Or, the dark part of his mind whispered, she wants Sala out of the house.

You can fuck me wherever you like in the bungalow, Cassian.

The many needles of thrill pierced through him just as Nesta met his stare from across the snow. Suddenly, Cassian didn’t know what to say. His tongue felt swollen and thick in his mouth, words suddenly as viscous as tar. The atmosphere had altered—the aura surrounding them despite the distance suddenly heavy with promise: a change that pointed to something new.

The siphons on the back of Cassian’s hands glowed in anticipation. Nesta merely raised an eyebrow at him. Turned. Walked towards the house just as he caught the thick scent of jasmine and vanilla on the wind.

Cassian’s nostrils flared as it wound around him; invisible ropes of arousal. And then he was moving, following Nesta’s footprints.

His friends had winnowed them to the back of the house, halfway between the small stone outhouse and the backdoor. They weren’t far from the bungalow, but it felt like miles as Cassian stomped noisily after Nesta, his boots compacting the snow as if they were grinding shards of glass into powder.

When Cassian drew up behind Nesta, she already had a hand half-raised towards the door. Even though he wasn’t touching her, she was a whirlpool of warmth. It sucked him in, begging him to line his torso against her back, so when she cursed, realising she hadn’t taken her gloves off, Cassian didn’t hesitate to reach over her shoulder and rest his palm against the wood, encasing her.

The touch of his bare skin—or Nesta’s—was the key to the magical lock. A thunk sounded as the bolt released but Cassian didn’t push open the door—was too preoccupied with the female before him—who had twisted to stare up at him.

As soon as their gazes snagged, history began to knit together in a rush of thread, until it was a tangible, living thing. Because this moment had been written in the stars as soon as Cassian had seen Nesta in her amethyst dress in the human realm; her hair wielded into a mighty crown, her expression haughty and defiant, yet burning with the potential of a life not yet lived. They’d denied that history, even as it waited patiently in the wings. It had watched as they danced around each other, fumbling and snarling their way to this very moment—

They moved in unison. Cassian’s head bowing just as Nesta reached upwards; her body bowing to his, her palms sliding across his jaw until they were around his neck. Their lips met with a force that rattled Cassian’s bones. This wasn't a brush of a kiss. This was immediate and awakening: Nesta tasted like life and breath, like destiny. And yet again, Cassian knew with startling clarity that they were meant for this, he and Nesta. They were meant for each other and nobody could tell him otherwise, including her.

A soft breath whooshed out of Nesta as her back hit the door, but then Cassian was pushing it open, guiding her inside in a whirlwind of noise and wreckage.

The scrape of wood on the flagstone tiles sounded as Nesta’s back knocked against the table before Cassian turned them, his wings grazing against cupboards and the cool walls. Items clattered and shattered, but Cassian used his wings to keep a check on his surroundings, the touch guiding him to the left-hand wall where he could press her against the wall and devour.

Because Cassian could not tear his mouth from Nesta’s. Couldn’t stop tasting her. Couldn’t stop craving the roll of her tongue and the sound of her guttural moans. It fuelled a fireball inside of him; it roared into life in the centre of his heart, before spreading throughout his limbs, rushing through his body until it settled deep in his groin, aching and burning—screaming for relief.

When they finally hit the wall, the thud of their bodies shook the cabinets and the porcelain within it. Without thinking, Cassian took the brunt of it, his hand flying to cup Nesta's lower back and head to purposefully shield her from the hurt.

Because he was coarse and rippling, galloping towards a primal sort of wilderness that Cassian wasn’t sure he could control.

If Nesta was ignorant to the fact or wholly aware Cassian didn’t know. All he knew was that her hands were scrabbling at his leather like dancing flames, tugging him closer.

When he pressed his body over hers, aligning every inch of her to every inch of him, she whined.

Cassian swallowed it. Slanted his mouth across hers. Tucked his wings in tight as every muscle in him tensed in anticipation.

Nesta tasted of chai and vanilla and embers with a destiny to roar.

Another strangled noise came from her throat as Cassian sank his hands deep into the hair at her scalp, coaxing strands free from her braid as his fingers threading through her hair, just as he had done the night prior when he’d coaxed her to sleep. But this wasn’t a soothing touch. This was a touch to startle every nerve ending to life.

Time began to bleed around them, but Cassian only registered the fluidity of the frantic dance they had not learnt. The way Nesta arched into him as his palm slid back to span her waist. The pant of her breath against his skin. His heaving chest. The way his wings began to spread again of their own volition, like a fan unfolding to reveal a secret pattern—as if they were controlled by nothing but the ache of his cock as it strained against the leather of his pants.

As if in acknowledgement that his body was no longer ruled by him, his hips slanted upwards of their own accord. It was a desperate bid to relieve the ache, and his throat vibrated with a thunderous growl as Nesta dug her nails deeper into the leather of his jacket, using it for leverage as she arched into him.

Something turned further inside of Cassian, like a lock beginning to grind as a key turned. And then it felt as if he were plunging beneath water; ducking into the depths and travelling beneath an invisible barrier before emerging on the other side buoyant and surging with power.

Ruby crashed through his veins, like the walls of a dam broken free and… singing light. Magic roared so loudly in Cassian’s ears that he no longer heard the galloping beat of his heart or the sawing of their breath.

Reeling, he tore his mouth from Nesta’s. Her eyes were just as wide, puddles of startled moonlight—endless mercury—and Cassian didn’t need to look down to know that her hands were wreathed in silver.

For a moment they stared at one another. Time slowed until it was sluggish around them and then the feeling receded, as if Cassian was being carried by a wave as it was dragged unwillingly from the shore on thundering feet.

Sound bled back into Cassian’s ears, like raindrops slowly blotting paper. A moan whispered on a wind carried through him, the words fleeting—her name three times, like always—before they dispersed into nothing and ragged breathing filled the hole.

Fuck, they needed to be careful. He needed to be careful if just kissing her led to some transcendental experience. Cassian knew Nesta became open during sex—had seen tumbled images of tangled limbs and heard her moans—and he couldn’t afford to lose her when she had finally let him in. Couldn’t let her down, even though he wanted nothing more than to finally be found worthy by someone.

That twisted rope between them couldn’t widen and strengthen. Couldn’t finally open and click into place with a consensual snap.

Because Cassian had heard stories of mates who had gone to bed. Who had fleetingly accepted what they wanted in their hearts but not in their minds. And after they had both finished and life had been breathed into that bond, only death could sever their Cauldron-blessed connection.

Cassian would not have a mate with regrets, but he didn’t have the will-power to deny himself of her any longer. Not when he could scent how much Nests wanted him. When he could feel it like an unquenchable ache in his bones—an ache which made him tremble and shake. His rocky warrior exterior ground to nothing but sand.

As if Nesta could read his thoughts she tipped her head back, baring the column of her neck.

A resounding guttural sound dragged from his throat. The noise was animalistic and unchained. A booming crack ricocheted around the walls, the muscles in Cassian’s back burning as his wings snapped outward.

Something toppled from somewhere and crashed to the floor, but Cassian didn’t bother to raise his head to look at what it was.

And then time seemed to both slow and drive into a frenzy. Cassian launched at Nesta’s neck at the same time he tugged at her hair, urging her head to fall back even farther.

His lips were against the column of her throat in the blink of an eye; his teeth scraping, his mouth sucking until her blood pounded in his ears. Nesta’s knees buckled but Cassian quickly pinned her body to the wall, holding her up, his knee sliding firmly between her legs…

And… nothing. There was no panic or sensation of being trapped—no sudden fire launching him back thirty feet—but Cassian still tore his mouth from Nesta’s neck. Had to know she wasn’t panicking. “Ok?” he rasped.

A frown burrowed Nesta’s brows. Her swollen lips parted in confusion. Somehow it made her look more beautiful.

Cassian raised a shaking hand to trace it away. “Nesta. Are you ok?”

Understanding dawned like millions of unfurling petals.

When Nesta spoke she was short of breath, the words an exhale. “Don’t hold back.”

Cassian practically arched into her at the words but he made himself remain still, even as his body vibrated with tension. His bones creaked but he held fast.

That stubborn, beautiful chin lifted and Nesta’s eyes glinted wicked yet pure. Always an oxymoron, his Nesta.

“Don’t hold back,” she repeated, her voice stronger this time. She pushed her hips against his thigh and the friction had her lips parting, a shaky breath tumbling from her lungs. “I can take it.”

The words were like slashing knives of pleasure, severing the leash on any control Cassian thought he had.

The subsequent rush of air Cassian loosed was akin to a snorting horse.

Then he was moving and their mouths were fused together again, their tongues a delicious push and pull of control and pleasure before he yanked away.

“Thank fuck,” he gasped. His hands flew to her hips, guiding her to ride his thigh. “Thank fuck, Nesta.”

The friction had Nesta moaning, her fingernails digging so hard into the leather of his jacket Cassian was sure she had dented the material. But he didn’t care. Didn’t care about anything but the living fervour that clawed at them.

His hands were everywhere at once. Tangled in her hair. Sliding over her cheek. Cupping her ass. Attacking the buttons at the back of her dress, until they popped and scattered. Until he could pull the material down her arms, exposing tantalising creamy skin.

At the first sight of her breasts, Cassian growled. He bowed his head to capture a nipple sharply between his teeth before he laved over it with his tongue, smoothing over the wound. He relished the way Nesta cried out. Arched into him. She began to tear at his jacket. It snagged on his wings but Cassian shrugged it off until it hit the floor with a thud.

The first slide of Nesta’s palms beneath his tunic was like oil sizzling in a pan. Cassian hissed as the callouses of her palms scraped deliciously over his skin and scars and ink. Snarled as she made quick work of the stays and fastenings. Tried to focus on her other breast as she inched her hand beneath the tight leather fabric and eased him free.

Fingers wrapped sinfully around him, causing Cassian to snarl around a peaked nipple—to buck sharply—pressing them more firmly against the wall.

“Don’t bother,” Nesta moaned as Cassian wrenched desperately at the fabric of her dress, trying to coax it further down her body. She ground down onto his thigh as it to emphasise her point—her need—and the heat of her burned.

It was all Cassian needed to hear. He fumbled desperately with her skirts until a hand was under the material and sliding up her thigh. Until fabric ripped and her underwear fell away in what Cassian imagined to be a ripple of lace.

In one swift movement, Cassian lifted Nesta’s body upwards, until her legs were gripped tightly around his hips and her back was flush against the wall. Her hands flew to find purchase, grappling at the back of his neck, and when she was steady she raked her hand purposefully through the hair which had come loose from his tie. Tugged at the leather until his hair fell over his face. Whined. Tangled her fingers through the ebony strands as if they were her reigns.

Cassian splayed the hand that wasn’t supporting her body against the cold wall. Tried to catch his breath, but the position evened out the height between them. Just a slight movement would allow him to capture her lips with his, and Cassian couldn’t deny that demanding tug that drove him to devour. Nesta seemed to feel the same way. Moaned in relief as Cassian tasted her as if he couldn’t get enough, gave back as good as she got. Over and over they moved, until they were nothing but an undulating wave of tongue and teeth and groans. The pleasure was a surging, roiling entity. It was all consuming. It overtook Cassian’s body, demanding that his hand drag from her ass straight to her core.

When his fingers slid through wetness, Cassian’s groan sounded like thunderous defeat. He dropped his head to Nesta’s collarbone. Gently pressed his lips to her clavicle. To her shoulder. Tried to ground himself as he slid straight to the spot that made her keen—as pleasure ignited down the bond like a crashing wave. Brushed over it again and again and again. Relishing in the noises he coaxed from her. At the curling fists of desire that clenched agonisingly inside of him.

Cassian had to see Nesta fall. Had to look into her eyes as she broke.

But he wanted to be inside of her when it happened.

Cassian was reaching for his cock at the same time that Nesta let out a broken moan. “Do it,” she breathed. There was no bite of authority in her voice, as if all of the energy she had directed in the pursuit of pleasure had smoothed over the serrated edge of her personality he loved so much, leaving a softer version in its wake. “Please. Just—”

A satisfied snarl ripped from Cassian as he felt her want. And in that moment, Cassian knew there would be nothing gentle about how this was going to play out. It was going to be rough and frantic, riding a wave of pleasure that had been building for too long. Knew afterwards that they would sink to the cold floor in a mass of tangled limbs and mingled breath.

And Cassian wanted that. Had never wanted release so badly in his life.

Something clambered in the back of his mind. Something he needed to remember, but his limbs were moving of their own volition. He didn’t even bother to pump his cock or squeeze it to relieve the tension. Only cared about finally being inside of her.

The heat and slickness of her was sinful and divine when he lined himself up at her entrance. The hand he had braced against the wall came to span her cheek. It relied on Nesta clamping on tightly to his waist with her legs and the press of his torso against hers, but they managed it.

Shaking, Cassian raked back the hair that had fallen free from her braid back from Nesta’s face, just as she tugged him in for a bruising kiss.

There was a moment when everything paused and trembled. As Nesta pulled away and stared at him, her eyes swimming silver—glowing with it—her pupils obscured.

His magic surged at the sight of it. Crashed against his skin as if it was trying to escape. His siphons burned bloody.

“Cassian,” Nesta panted. Despite the keen desperation, there was cushion to his name. Gently, Nesta bowed her head until her forehead rested against his. The gesture was surprisingly tender. It tugged at his heartstrings, triggered his hips into movement as they finally pushed forward.

The tight heat that wrapped around him like velvet was so immediate that Cassian swore. Sweat trickled down his back and seeped into the tunic Nesta hadn’t gotten round to discarding. He trembled as Nesta’s breath stuttered and he felt the burning pain mixed with pleasure as he sunk in an inch. Felt the stretch of Nesta’s body as it strained to fit around him.

Claws dug into his back—Nesta’s nails—biting into his skin, until the metallic tang of blood infused the air.

Cassian’s body stilled before he even had a second to register that he needed to stop. That instinct buried deep to make sure she never hurt.

And then a knock rapped at the front door.

“No,” Nesta moaned. She shifted her hips and Cassian sank a little deeper. That pain flared again through the pleasure and Cassian grip on her turned vice like.

Sense stumbled into his desire addled brain, like a fawn on gangly legs.

But then it righted itself.

Another sharp rap at the door cleared his head completely.

He bowed to bury his face in the crook of her neck but Nesta whined. Tilted her hips again, urging him deeper. “Nesta, stop.”

“No.” Her whimper was doused in frustration, but all Cassian could feel was that sharp needle of pain.

He tried to pull back, but Nesta clamped down around him with that incredible strength of hers. The strength that only seemed to appear at times of desperation or anger.

Cassian’s jaw flexed, his features hardening. “I’m hurting you.”

“You’re not,” Nesta countered, defiance colouring her expression.

“I am,” Cassian retorted, not allowing for a passing beat of their hearts to pass before he replied. “I’m hurting you. Don’t pretend that I’m not.”

I can feel it, Cassian wanted to explain, but didn’t. Knew somehow that if he did they might not end up joining at all.

Desire fogged Nesta’s mind and it fuelled the punch to her next words. “I don’t care.”

Ire punched through Cassian’s desire enough for him to see red. “Well, I do,” he snapped.

Nesta’s nostrils flared at his tone and her eyes burned silver. Cassian wondered how everything had gone southward so quickly—they were on a sinking ship and he needed to patch it up. Knew she felt rejected. So, he kissed her and pushed back that unquenchable ache he felt for her. Knew it hit home because she gasped softly into his mouth, her surprise tart on his tongue.

He pulled out. As soon as his cock fell free that pain throbbed and ebbed. But Nesta moaned all the same.

Moaned again as he drew his head back to stare at her.

She surprised him when her eyes remained open rather than closed off. There was no hard shield. Nothing but want and a vulnerability that made his heart squeeze.

It gave him the courage to do the right thing.

He kissed her again. Trailed a thumb across her swollen lips, ignoring the desire that roared as Nesta sucked it into her mouth, her tongue darting across the top before the bit down lightly.

“This is how things are going to go,” Cassian murmured lowly, pulling his thumb out of her mouth and across her jawline, trailing the wetness all the way to the sensitive spot behind her ear. Nesta shuddered.

“I’m going to get the door and send whoever it is away,” Cassian continued. He paused to let the words sink in. Lowered his head to trace a path with his nose, up the slope of her shoulder, all the way up her neck until his lips were grazing the shell of her ear. “You will go to your bedroom. When they’re gone, I’ll find you.”

Another shiver coursed through Nesta’s body. Her fingers tightened around his neck.

When Nesta next spoke, Cassian knew he’d piqued her interest. “What then?” she demanded.

“Then I’m going to make you come until you see stars.”

Nesta’s entire body froze. For a long moment, she didn’t so much as breathe, but Cassian felt the throb of her blood and magic as it pounded against her skin.

Then, Nesta’s hands worked between them, until her small palms were splayed across his chest. She pushed firmly, indicating that she wanted to get her down. Her body slithered to the floor, her lean legs falling away from his body.

The sudden distance between them felt like miles.

Nesta lifted her chin. “Hurry or I’ll start without you.”

A breath heaved at Cassian’s lungs and he felt his pupils contract, pushing out his irises until they were swallowed by black. The image of Nesta sprawled on the bed wearing nothing but skin, her legs open, a hand moving between her legs had that coil within him tightening to the point of pain.

A growl spiked through the air as another knock sounded at the door.

Nesta must have known she’d wrangled back control, because she arched a cool eyebrow at him.  “I thought you were going to answer the door?”

A dark chuckle forced its way out of his chest, but it was mechanical rather than true. Because there was nothing funny about resisting Nesta right now and his body seemed to know that.

Cassian reached for her before he knew what was happening. Rested his forehead against hers. Breathed once. Twice. “I need to calm down,” he confessed.

Nesta snickered, but the sound fell flat as her breath hitched upwards at the end. It betrayed the effect he had on her, even as she said silkily, “Did the image of me pleasuring myself get you hard?”

“I was already hard,” he growled. He pressed a lingering kiss to her mouth. “As you well know.”

A hand reached between them. Stroked over him—the touch feather light but tantalising enough that Cassian bucked into her touch.

And then cunning words, “Maybe I’ll let you watch.”

A string of swear words left Cassian’s mouth. He yanked back from Nesta, as if someone had tugged firmly on a leash. Tugged up his pants and jerked ruthlessly at the ties until they fastened, trapping his cock back into the leather.

With a growl, Cassian waved a hand towards the living room—to Nesta’s room to the right of it. “Leave before I fuck you against the wall, Nesta,” he barked.

Nesta’s sly laugh skittered over his skin, and without pulling her dress back up to cover herself, Nesta sashayed through the nearest arch and disappeared.

*** It had been Mas and Roksana at the door, laden with bags full of groceries and supplies from the market. With full access to the house, there was no reason why they shouldn’t have just come right in. Which meant Mas had suspected somehow, enough so that she had left the bags on the front step and remained standing with Roksana a few feet back.

“I am sorry Sinta, but the meat might spoil,” the housekeeper had apologised as soon as he’d opened the door, his hair a tangled mess from where Nesta had yanked it free of its tie. He hadn’t had the sense to recover it from the floor, but he had righted his tunic and fastened his pants.

And thank the Cauldron for that, because Roksana peeked up at Cassian with wide eyes from her position of safety behind Mas’s legs. He didn’t know when Lorrian had brought the youngling back to the camp, but Cassian guessed it hadn’t been easy on the two of them to take a little girl out of the warmth and back into the snow.

Cassian tried to soften the eyes that he knew were a little wild. He raked his hands through his hair and sent them his most disarming smile, but there was fuck all he could do about his scent. So he thanked her, trying to keep his voice light and conversational. Ordered her to take the rest of the day off.

To the housekeeper’s credit, she did not linger. Had merely nodded and rushed Roksana back into the snow, towards the main vein of the camp.

Yet, whilst the housekeeper’s interruption had been unwanted, it did grant Cassian some breathing space as he rammed perishables into the cool box. Because even though Cassian would allow Nesta to decide how this all played out, he needed to lay down a rule of his own: he could give her the space to decide what she wanted—for him to prove that he could be what she needed—but there was one thing he could not suffer through.

And if they had stormed ahead in a hurricane of lust; with Nesta’s back against the wall as Cassian pounded into her… Well, it would be too late for Cassian to lay down his one condition once they were sweaty and sated. Nesta was more likely to get up and walk away. To not look back.

Cassian found Nesta sitting at the dresser in her room re-braiding back her hair.

Leaning against the doorjamb, Cassian opened his mouth to explain who had been at the door, but an iron band closed fast around his chest, robbing him of breath.

“What are you wearing?” The words came out of him eventually, entirely uneven to the point of being choked.

Because Nesta was wearing his shirt. It was the same steel blue shirt she’d worn that first day in Illyria. The shirt that was an identical match to her eyes, purchased before Cassian had realising what his subconscious had done. A shirt he’d had to hide away in the spare room because Cassian hadn’t been able to bare seeing it in his closet—of being reminded that his mate was a ghost who had banished him away.

Go home, Cassian.

Nesta met Cassian's eyes in the mirror. Announced with cool simplicity, “You ripped my dress.”

“And this is your way of torturing me?”

An indifferent shrug. “Why wear my own clothing when I know what fate it will suffer?”

Cassian knew his nostrils billowed, but he remained propped up against the doorframe. Pretended he was stuck to it like glue because his body was trembling for him to launch across the distance and claim her mouth. Her neck. Her.

The silence seemed to unnerve Nesta. Cassian knew that from months of living with her. From months of studying her slight tells when her masks slipped.

Right on cue, Nesta reset her posture—a gesture that most people read as defiant. But Cassian knew it was also a sign of nerves. She shrugged with feigned indifference, even as her throat tightened and that damned pulse fluttered temptingly against her throat. “You liked it the last time I wore it.”

Cassian huffed a breath. He had liked it the last time she wore it, even if she’d been so gaunt that he’d worried she might wither away. But the shirt… it had put images in his mind that Cassian had long tried to store away, imprisoned in rock and flame: her in his clothing, not fucking other males but him, her lithe legs wrapping around his waist as he sank deep—

Which brought Cassian neatly to the point he needed to discuss with her…

Nesta’s eyes tracked Cassian in the mirror as he peeled himself out of the doorway and came to stand behind her. When their eyes locked into place, it felt as if someone had punched him in the chest. There was something deep in Nesta’s gaze that made it feel as if he was tumbling down a rabbit hole, that magnetism between them drawing him in like gravity.

When Cassian’s fingers brushed Nesta’s neck—ran down the braid she had draped over her shoulder—Nesta shivered. “You had your hair down then,” he rasped. Didn’t wait for her to protest, as he slowly coaxed the tie free from the end of her hair.

Nesta turned preternaturally still, watched him gently part her hair in the mirror until it fell free from her plait, his calloused fingers brushing over her skin as he coaxed her hair to fall down her back.

The pulse hammering at her throat and the warmth radiating from her skin were the only indications that Nesta was alive rather than stone.

Only when Cassian had finished and lifted his hands from her neck, did Nesta come back to life.

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. But she cocked her head slightly to dissect him. “It’s a nuisance like this. It gets in the way.”

“It’s beautiful,” Cassian corrected, his voice rasping, like sand scraping against skin. He ran a hand through her hair as if to emphasise his point, his fingers running down, down, down until her waist.

When Nesta stood and turned into the warmth of him, Cassian scented what she wanted. But there was something else simmering in her expression—surprise. As if she’d caught the truth in his words and hadn’t expected someone to truly think her beautiful.

She stepped closer, until the lines of her torso ghosted his. Until Cassian’s heart pounded so hard he could hear the frantic tempo of it in his ears. Nesta tilted her head back so she could stare up at him and Cassian’s hand weaved through the mane of her hair before he could stop himself.

He was desperate to touch her again. Desperate.

But Cassian waited. Waited for Nesta to reach up on tiptoes and press her mouth to his.

The kiss was not like their bruised, desperate kisses from earlier. It was coaxing and unsure; the tentative beginning of something that was not merely fuelled by ardour. But it soon blossomed into something more, like a snowball rolling down a mountain blanketed white, gaining speed as it grew and grew—

Dragging his mouth away from hers, Cassian fought for breath. Battled to remember what he needed to do and say. But then Nesta was tugging his head back down again, her fingers tangled in his hair, the gesture indicative of an insistent need that Cassian knew would not go away.

As always, Nesta tasted divine. Addictive. He could taste the curl of her power on his tongue—silver and white, life and death—and he wondered if she could taste his. Knew his siphons were glowing scarlet—

“Nesta,” he murmured hoarsely, her name a caress against her lips. He couldn’t invoke a distance between them, couldn’t stop touching her. His nose brushed hers as her drew back an infinitesimal amount. Closed his eyes. Inhaled deeply, summoning courage. “You can dictate how this goes between us. But if we do this, I can’t—there’s no-one else. Just you and me.”

The subsequent pause was one of the worst of Cassian’s life. It was barely a breath. The blink of an eye. But it felt as if it was malleable and elastic, drawn out by the hands of fate as everything suspended in time.

He didn’t want to open his eyes, but in the end he managed it. Caught Nesta’s eyelashes flutter downwards, casting shadows on her skin. Her fists tightened in the fabric of his tunic, anchoring him to the moment.

She swallowed. Shook her head. Agreed with a conviction he had not been expecting, “No-one else.”

The relief that swooped through Cassian was so fierce it was painful. But he still didn’t dare to believe it.

He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger so Nesta could not look away. So he could look into the deep waters of her irises and know she was telling him the truth.

But her gaze was steady and unwavering, as he demanded, “Say it again.”

His voice cracked but Nesta didn’t appear to notice. Her grip on him tightened. “No-one else,” she repeated on an outward breath.

A low, ravaged moan sounded from Cassian’s throat. “Diyosa,” he murmured, slipping into Illyrian. Goddess.

“Bruha,” Nesta corrected. She fumbled over the pronunciation but Cassian felt as if he had been an ember that had burst into flame. Witch.

He let out a rough bark of laughter. Then he swore in a long, drawn out moan. “No Illyrian,” he ordered roughly. Pressed his mouth firmly against hers, the kiss searing. “Otherwise this will be over far too quickly.” Another kiss. “And I want to take my time.”

The smile Nesta painted against Cassian’s lips was feline. “You’ve made a lot of promises, General. I hope you don’t disappoint.”

Cassian snarled. Spun her body until her back was cradled against his chest. “I have, haven’t I?” he mused lightly, even though the hammering of his heart must have beat a betraying rhythm against her shoulder blade.

In the mirror, Nesta’s expression grew less poised and controlled. Delight mixed with anticipation clung to her features at this game they played; this tussle for control. She did not try to wrangle free from his hold or shift uncomfortably in his arms at having her back enclosed against his.

It thrilled him—that trust. Enough so that when he met her eyes in the mirror, Cassian found that his irises had been swallowed by his pupils until they were only a ring of chocolate gold.

Slowly, Cassian brushed Nesta’s hair over to one shoulder with his left hand. Traced his fingers down the arc of her neck to her collarbone. Continued a path down the centre of her chest, to the pyrite which glittered between her breasts.

When his fingers met the first button of his shirt, Cassian toyed with it. Purposefully grazed his nose against the shell of her ear. “Shall I start here?” he murmured. “Undress you in front of the mirror whilst you watch?”

Nesta suppressed a shudder, but Cassian caught it. Could swear he felt her blood boiling beneath her skin as he slipped the button free of its hole. Then another. And another. Until there were no more buttons and the material hung free.

Leaning back into his body, Nesta rested her head against his chest. Curved her back slightly so her chest thrust upwards, silently instructing him where she wanted his hands.

And Cassian couldn’t deny her. He turned his palm so it was face up and curled into a loose fist. Brushed his knuckles down her sternum all the way to her bared naval, before bringing it back up. His fingers ran up the side of the material free of buttons, until he was at her collarbone—her shoulder—leaving a litter of goosebumps in his wake.

This time, Cassian snickered when she shivered. Dropped a slow and deliberate kiss to her bare shoulder as he slowly, slowly inched the material down, down, down over her arm. Repeated the motion on the other, until the shirt pooled onto the floor, exposing her bare body to the mirror: endless creamy skin, divine curves, the luscious full weight of her bare breasts, and… lower.

Nesta’s eyes, which had been tracking the fabric as it fell away, snapped to his as a feral growl ripped from him. And she moaned at the expression on his face. Grabbed at his hands, pulling them to her body.

“Touch me,” Nesta hissed, but it came out strangled. Almost pleading. Another crack in her armour as it broke and fell away.

The sight was enough to threaten Cassian to his knees. He guided her body backwards, his hands splaying firmly across her stomach despite her whine, until his legs hit the edge of the mattress

Neither of them broke eye contact in the mirror. Not when Cassian coaxed Nesta down to sit on the bed with him. Not when he pulled her between his legs, her back firmly against his chest. Not when he bowed his head to kiss the slope between her neck and shoulder.

When Cassian finally brushed a thumb over her nipple, Nesta back bowed so fiercely Cassian was thankful he had an arm strapped across her stomach.

The small noise she loosed fuelled his fire and Cassian held on to her. Stroked over that peaked nipple again as Nesta careened into his touch. Followed it with a firmer roll with his thumb and forefinger. Used the fingertips of his other hand to draw slow, tantalising circles across the silken skin of her lower stomach, before he moved southwards…

The air around them hushed when Cassian’s fingers stilled. Anticipation built and only when it vibrated with tension did Cassian slide his hands to cradle Nesta’s hips.

A snarl of frustration, but Cassian paid the sound no heed. Only grazed his thumbs over Nesta’s hipbones. Watched her expression in the mirror—the way her face contorted as she squirmed into his touch as if she was a puppet on strings. Ground back onto him, pressing into that building ache that was bordering on painful.

Fuck, Nesta.

Cassian wasn’t sure if he had spoken out loud or in his head, all he knew was the blessed, fleeting relief he felt as he bucked into the small of Nesta’s back on instinct. He was rock hard and thirsting to be touched, but the thickening scent of Nesta’s arousal pulled his focus.

A groan rumbled from Cassian’s throat as Nesta’s hand darted between her legs. He caught her wrist just in the nick of time. Kissed the heart of her palm. Rumbled into her ear, “Not yet, sweetheart.”

His voice was coarse enough that Nesta shivered, the goosebumps travelling down her skin like a cresting wave. She didn’t struggle against him, nor did she move to disobey him as he dropped her wrist. Instead, she waited, trembling and shaking at every pass of his thumbs over her skin.

Cassian buried his nose behind the shell of her ear. Breathed Nesta in, steadying the drum of his pulse.

Not once did he take his eyes off of hers in the mirror, especially as he murmured, “Shall we find out if you’re wet for me?”

Nesta squeezed her eyes tightly shut, as if the movement would steady her. Swallowed hard. It was so unlike her to take stock, to show any signs that she was rattled, that Cassian softened. He nuzzled at her neck, trailed a line of kisses instilled with promises. A hand flew up to tangle in Cassian’s hair, keeping him there.

“Yes.”

The word stuttered out of Nesta on several staccatos, but she forced her eyes open and met his gaze in the mirror. Watched as he pulled her tighter against him and hooked her legs over his thighs so she was spread wide. Slipped his hand across and down…

The first ghost of a touch had Nesta panting through her nose. The second had her gritting her teeth. The third had her moaning, her back bowing so sharply as he skimmed straight over the place she wanted him the most.

Her head hit the centre of his chest with a resounding thud that had his bones creaking, but she did not look away from him. Seemed to know the game they were playing without him having to express it.

When Cassian brought his fingers lower and discovered just how wet Nesta was, he had to force his wings in tight to his back to hide his surprise. Growled, “You’re soaked.”

Pleasure and embarrassment twisted in Cassian’s stomach, and Cassian wanted to tell her that it was not something to be ashamed of, that he wanted her just as much as she clearly wanted his fingers between her legs.

Her eyes glinted steel, her stare commanding. “Make me come—“ she ordered, but Cassian chose that moment to roll his finger over that spot at the apex of her thighs.

The command bottomed out of Nesta as she inhaled sharply. Satisfaction bloomed inside of Cassian; because he may have done this countless times before but barely enough with her. And nothing seemed to matter apart from him seeking out her satisfaction. Of learning about what made her body freeze with pleasure and what made her come undone. “There?” he murmured into her ear, repeating the movement, before he passed his fingers down further. Until they were at her entrance, playing gently before he drew upwards and circled.

This time, Nesta groaned. Her hips jerked sharply beneath him, tilting, guiding him to just the right place.

Picking up on the cue, Cassian increased the tempo and friction until Nesta’s hips were rolling in a punishing rhythm against the hard length of him.

And Cassian snarled in satisfaction, his fingers tightening around her hip in a plea for her to keep moving—to not stop pushing back on him—because it was blissfully good. The rapid tightening in his groin was almost painful, the cord so tight that Cassian thought it might snap. But he couldn’t stop Nesta, not when she looked so bewitching, the arousal so stark on her face as he stroked and circled and pressed.

Burning pleasure clambered to its peak and Nesta’s eyes grew so heavy they fluttered closed. Something unintelligible left her lips, her head tipping back into the heart of his chest.

When Nesta’s arms wound around his neck, her knuckles accidentally grazing the leather of his wings, Cassian part-snarled, part-roared. Swore. Held her even tighter as his wings snapped out high and mighty behind him. They wrapped around Nesta’s body before Cassian’s pleasure-fogged mind could stop them curling towards her, starved for her touch.

Fuck, he was unhinged. So desperate for relief—in the scent and feel of his mate—that his control was barely there. Enough so that he didn’t react when Nesta reached out her hand—

Sense knocked Cassian for six only when Nesta’s fingers were millimetres from touching the membrane. He drew back his wings so fast  the air around them stormed, but he swooped in before surprise could register on Nesta’s face. Dipped his chin and coaxed her head even further back so he could claim her mouth.

The taste of her lips was as vital as breathing, the scrape of her nails on his scalp grounding. He moaned into her mouth at the same time as she whimpered. His hand was still moving between her legs, interchanging the same three patterns over and over again, mixing things up as soon as Nesta’s moans grew too untamed: he wanted to draw out her pleasure, not sate it with a few choice strokes.

Pulling away, Cassian pressed a kiss to her forehead. Coaxed her to dip her chin until she was looking back at their reflection in the mirror: ebony and golden brown, tan and cream.

Nesta’s irises were wisps of silver, but when he traversed past that bundle of nerves so he could slip two fingers inside of her, they flickered into living flame.

That was indication enough that she liked what he was doing. Cassian had quickly learnt that Nesta became completely readable between the sheets, that mask slowly crumbling away until she broke completely.

Curving his fingers as much as he could, Cassian pressed upwards hard—again and again— revelling in the strangled sounds Nesta made. The way she writhed but tried her best to hold his gaze.

Cassian dropped a lingering kiss to the crown of Nesta’s head. Murmured into her hair, “Is that good, sweetheart?”

The only response Cassian received was a long moan which extended into a whine as he withdrew his fingers. Then a sharp cry as he swept them upwards, swirling them in a well-practiced motion that had Nesta’s lower half seizing in pleasure.

Cassian circled again. Again. Firmer. Faster. Nesta’s cries grew louder, her breathing became more laboured. A silver wreathed hand flew to his forearm—not to stop him, but to keep him there.

Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.

The bond between them creaked and cracked as it expanded.

Nesta panted his name.

“Are you going to come for me, sweetheart?” Cassian scratched out.

In vain, Nesta attempted to burrow her head into his shoulder, but Cassian’s voice dropped out of soft and into the role of general within the fraction of a heartbeat. “Eyes on the mirror, Nesta, or I’ll stop.”

It seemed to take all of Nesta’s energy to fight her leaded eyelids and meet his dark eyes in their reflection. When she did, Cassian’s magic roared and pounded beneath his skin, as if it was trying to break free and join Nesta’s. There was a pressure and power fuelling the sensation that was separate to him. It was like the magnetic force which rules the relentless ebb and flow of the tide—that desperate crash followed by a scrabbling, thundering retreat.

That twisted rope between them grew corporeal, tugging at their ribcages as if it was clambering to remind them both of its existence. Of the cost of this exchange.

Something deepened in both of their gazes, but if Nesta had felt what Cassian had, she gave no indication. She only arched her hips back into his, grinding backwards.

Cassian loosed a rough groan that skittered across the shell of her ear. Her gaze was purposeful but hooded, as if she was in a continual battle with the pleasure weighting her eyelids.

“Good girl,” he praised as Nesta’s eyelashes fluttered from the strain of maintaining eye contact. And then his fingers were everywhere at once and Nesta’s moans fell away to short gasps that rose in volume.

Nesta tightened her fingers around his neck, scrabbling for purchase, for some sort of tether as her pleasure launched high into the air. The hand that had been at her hip, steadying her, encouraging her to roll back on him moved to her breast; cupping and pinching and rolling as she stuttered pants and words that Cassian couldn’t make out.

When Cassian slid two fingers inside of her again and pressed down firmly on her clit with his palm, Nesta’s cry was wild.

“Look at me,” Cassian ordered as Nesta’s eyes flew shut. His voice was resonant—startling—even to him. It punched through the bubble that had encased them—their entwined scent—and Nesta’s eyes snapped open.

For a beat, time seemed to stand still around them. Their gaze fastened back into place and for a moment, Cassian could see a conflict of thoughts swirl in the magic of Nesta’s irises.

He froze just as anguish crashed down that bond, right into the heart of his chest.

It knocked the breath from him. Confusion rattled inside of his head but he came up empty of answers. Had he gone too far? Had he hurt her somehow?

“Sweetheart—“ he started, but stopped. Unsure of what to say because he could still smell how much she wanted this. Could feel how soaked she was. But perhaps that was what the mating bond did. Fooled reason with an overwhelming drive to pleasure and claim.

Cassian went to draw his hand away but Nesta’s hand whipped out, her fingers curling around his wrist. Desperation flooded her next words—the plea in them stark. “Don’t stop.”

As if to punctuate her point, she rolled her hips. His fingers slid over her of her own accord and she stumbled a moan. Light barrelled down the bond and Cassian’s blood spiked, thrilled as he felt the truth of her words, as she ground back into him again.

“Fuck that feels good,” Cassian grunted into her ear. His hips pushed into the small of her back, accentuating his point. It chased the delicious reprieve from the ache in his cock, even as he knew this moment wasn’t about him. As he pulled her back into the solid muscle of his chest, steadying her movements so he could pick up where he left off: so he could watch the pleasure whip away her conflicted expression until her eyes were once again blazing with the promise of flame.

Silver mist climbed from Nesta’s fingertips into the air. It crawled over the glowing ruby siphons across the backs of his hands, past the corded muscle of his forearm and the rolled up sleeves of his tunic, to his chest, his neck…

A sheen of metal shone in Cassian’s eyes, flickering across his irises so they appeared to turn a metallic gold. The lick of Nesta’s magic didn’t burn. It was a rush of heat—the tender caress of a lover’s kiss instilled into his skin over and over again, ascending Cassian to another realm of pleasure, as if he’d climbed a staircase to an entirely new place.

It felt like an extended method of foreplay Cassian had never been privy to before, lighting up every nerve ending until he was so hard he could cut stone.

Gritting his teeth through the pain-cloaked pleasure, Cassian focussed instead on Nesta’s bare skin.

The tempting fullness of her breasts. The way desire had completely rewritten her countenance. The way she whimpered and then cried out.

Cassian sped up his movements. Until his fingers were no longer teasing, but dancing over her with sure, quick movements designed to thrust her towards a crescendo.

Nesta’s magic swirled into flame, the heat of it a licking promise down Cassian’s limbs. He groaned, swore at the exquisite pain on her face as she hung at the precipice, ready to plummet into rapture.

Her climax became a tangible, living thing and Cassian wanted to see it play out for as long as he possible could. Wanted to see her break for him again and again and again.

So, he waited until she reached the summit and when she was there he slowed down his movements. Ordered through her whimpering, “Look at me Nesta.”

Metallic irises met his, and then Nesta was trembling and shaking in fits and bursts as her release ripped out of her like a taut cord cut loose. Cassian drew her orgasm out as best he could, suspending that pleasure until finally Nesta slumped against him, spineless.

She turned her head to bury it in his shoulder and Cassian let her. Stroked her hair. Pressed a kiss to her sweaty head. Murmured, “Good?”

Slowly, Nesta nodded, but for a long while, that was the only communication he received. But Cassian let her recover. Watched the way her ribcage moved as she heaved for breath. Relished the way her body was splayed out over him, her legs held wide open from where they were hooked over his thighs.

Unable to help himself, Cassian brushed over her sex. Delighted in the way Nesta shuddered rather than batted him away. Fresh desire reignited across her expression and Cassian played gently for a few minutes, revelling in the wetness that had gathered from her release.

Finally, Nesta lifted her head to meet his gaze again. “Did I burn you?”

“No,” Cassian replied hoarsely, his heart squeezing at the genuine fear in her words. He let out a rough laugh, passed his fingers lightly over the knot at the apex of her legs for the last time before he withdrew them.

Nesta moaned softly, even as her brow twisted into a small frown.

“It felt good,” Cassian elaborated. He kissed her shoulder at the same time that he pushed his hips into hers as if to demonstrate just how much he’d liked her magic. “I’m being strangled to death in these pants,” he confessed.

When Nesta cocked her head, her hair moved in a golden tangle. Then she smirked. Unravelled her limbs from him and turned.

Nesta slung her legs over his waist so she was straddling him just as Cassian’s hands caught in her hair. A booming sounded as his wings snapped out and fanned behind him, settling like falling fabric.

“We can’t have that,” Nesta remarked, her breath a whisper against his skin.

“No,” Cassian agreed roughly. “It’s your favourite part.”

Nesta snorted a laugh, but it was not derisive. “Egotistical bat,” she muttered.

A slow, smug smile was Cassian’s only reply. Because he was more focussed on her mouth. With the feel of her silken skin beneath his palms as he ran them up her legs and over her rounded ass. His touch was a promise as he tugged her into his body and ground up into her core, the seam of his trousers doing nothing to relieve the damning ache in his cock.

Together they gasped, and then, as always, they moved at the same time, their mouths slanting one another within a fraction of a second.

The heat of Nesta was liquid, the touch of her smoke—feverish and everywhere all at once. It was the same heat that had roared into existence when Cassian had pinned her against the wall earlier, yet… better somehow. Passionate and awake rather than fogged with lust. Life-giving.

A shuddered groan was pulled from Cassian’s chest as Nesta’s hands slid beneath his tunic and met his burning skin. And then the tunic was on the floor—the rest of his clothing was torn from him soon after. It all happened at such speed Cassian could barely keep up, but when Nesta reached for his bare, burning skin—the tattoos on his arms and the faint scar on his stomach—her fingers were gentle.

“Battle scar,” Cassian panted in explanation, as Nesta’s fingers lingered on the silvery tissue that wound over his lower abdomen: a permanent reminder of what had happened to him during the final battle with Hybern. “The trauma was too great for Madja to heal completely.”

“I remember,” Nesta replied shortly and she looked so fierce that Cassian reached for her. Cupped her cheek with his palm.

“Still breathing, Nes.”

Nesta nodded, but when she kissed him this time there was something fierce and desperate about it, her fingers burying deeper into the mane of his hair.

And then a hand was trailing down his skin and closing around his cock. The touch was sinful and a glimpse of the heavens. When he hissed into her mouth, Nesta gripped tighter—until pain laced the pleasure—just how he liked it.

His groan was that of rumbling thunder as she began to move her hand. It was everything Cassian needed, but it was too much, too good. He scrambled to hold on to some sense of control, because he’d never been this close to losing it from just a few touches.

Then Nesta stopped. Glanced downwards—

The realisation thumped through Cassian so loudly his heartbeat punched like a fist against his ribcage.

“Don’t you dare,” Cassian choked out.

Nesta’s eyes shot to his, but rather than looking startled she arched a challenging eyebrow.

“If you so much as try to put my cock in your mouth I’ll explode,” Cassian rasped.

Before she could protest, he was gathering her to him and had slipped a hand down between her legs.

Just the touch of his fingers had Cassian seizing back control. Nesta stilled at the sudden pleasure, as if she was trying to coax time into suspending the sensation.

“Still so wet,” Cassian purred against the tip of her ear.

Gliding his fingers over the centre of her, Cassian paused briefly at the apex of her legs, toying with her clit, before he ran them back down. When he drew his fingers back, rubbing them together and raising them to the faelight, they glittered.

Nesta’s nostrils flared as if she was an animal in heat. And Cassian knew before he spoke that his voice? would be what pushed them over the edge. But he said it anyway, his voice dropping impossibly low,  “Is this all for me?”

Nesta launched at him until their mouths collided, until they were nothing but a clash of teeth and tongues, their skin so flush they may as well have been fused together.

Burying her fingers deeper into the tangled mane of his hair, Nesta tugged sharply. Met his gaze head on. Demanded, “Fuck me.”

All it took was those two words. Cassian moved, flipping them so Nesta’s back was flush against the mattress. He covered her body with his and Nesta whined at the contact, her body bending and arching towards him as if she were a plant and he was sunlight.

Cassian ran a hand up her bare thigh to her ass, coaxing her leg to bend, but Nesta was too impatient. She broke free from the weight of his body, repositioning herself until legs were wrapped tightly around his hips.

An uneven laugh choked out of him. “So stubborn,” Cassian chided darkly, but he allowed his hips to fall into the cradle of hers. Hissed as he loosed his control and thrust so his cock could glide through her centre. “Fuck,” he grunted. “Nesta, fuck.”

Nesta’s breathy whine fuelled the sparks of pleasure that crackled through him like static energy. He kissed her hard. “There’s a high probability I won’t survive this.”

The snort Nesta loosed tried to sound unaffected, but her voice shook as she accused him, “Liar.”

But he wasn’t lying. And Nesta knew it. She had to know it because his walls were now shattered around them in splintered shards.

Yet, Cassian found himself assuring her. “Not lying," he grunted as he passed over her again. Pressed a lingering kiss to her mouth—a parting goodbye as he moved to kiss the underside of her jaw, down the column of her throat. Down further, to flick his tongue and scrape his teeth over both nipples.

He moaned when she moaned; their sounds a chorus of want until he couldn’t take it anymore. Cassian’s claws clipped around the metal of the bed frame at the same time that he pushed off of the palms that were framing her face, until he was on his knees before her.

Despite the desire coursing through him, Cassian’s head was nothing but clear as he slid his hands under Nesta’s ass and lifted her effortlessly, positioning her so that the undersides of her thighs were flush against his knees.

Nesta’s hair was tousled over the pillow, her lips swollen and parted as she surveyed him. When she tried to wrap her legs back around his hips, Cassian held firm. And despite the fact that Nesta listened to nobody, she allowed him to bend her knees and press his calloused palms to the insides of her thighs in silent instruction.

They fell open and a growl rumbled in Cassian’s throat. His hand was fisting his cock, lining it up to her entrance before he knew what was happening. But then he remembered the pain from before. And even though Nesta was more than ready for him, the thought of hurting her made him feel physically sick.

When he moved away, Nesta let out a strangled noise. A hand shot out, closing around his wrist. “You said you’d fuck me.”

Cassian wanted to explain, but that meant alluding to that tie between them, that instinct that couldn’t allow him to see her hurt. Cassian knew Nesta wasn’t ready for that. Knew that if he so much as breathed a word about it that this precious moment would fall away.

And Cassian was selfish. He had to see how this played out. Had to know if Nesta could grow to accept the bond between them—deem him worthy enough to accept something that was Cauldron blessed.

So, he only drawled, “Patience is a virtue, sweetheart.”

One swift movement had Cassian gathering Nesta into his arms. This time, he allowed Nesta’s legs to wind around him. She gripped him like a vice and Cassian knew it wasn’t from fear of him dropping her. When he sat back against the headboard and guided her onto his lap, Cassian expected her to bite out a comment about doing all of the work, but Nesta only let out a pleased sound. Weaved a hand back into his ebony hair. Wrapped a tight fist around his length, twisting once at the tip, before she guided him to her entrance.

Cassian hissed a curse as she closed around the head. Murmured her name into her mouth. Gripped tightly at her hips when she didn’t stop sinking down on him, as he felt that pain mixed with the sweetest pleasure.

“Nesta.” The way he said her name was firm and commanding, but he still had to dig his fingers hard enough into her skin that he was sure it would leave temporary bruises. The thought made him falter, but then that sharp pain flared again as she resisted against him, and he knew that the bruises were a necessary evil. “Nesta,” he barked, “Go slowly.”

Something creaked and cracked between them. A stretching, growing pain reached its fingers down that bond, the sensation strong rather than constricted as it fought to make its way down their usually thin tie.

Nails dug into Cassian’s neck. A whimper sounded in his ears as Nesta fell forwards, burying her face into his neck. “Please,” she whined in frustration. “Cassian—”

She broke off as she clamped down around him and Cassian felt an ebb of pleasure cut through the pain—that promise of something more.

“Don’t make me hurt you, sweetheart,” Cassian pleaded and the rawness in his voice stopped her resisting against him. He eased a hand between them, touched her right where she wanted him. Allowed her to tug his face upwards so she could kiss him. It was infused with desperation and Cassian eased his hold on her hip. Allowed her to lower herself downwards until she had slid another inch deeper. Continued to stroke her until Nesta began to shake.

“I’m going to—,” Nesta gasped against his mouth. Her body trembled and Cassian’s blood roared at bringing her to the edge again so soon, despite the pain. “Cassian—”

Abruptly, Cassian moved his hand away.

Nesta’s snarl whipped around the room, but Cassian smoothed the sound away by fusing his mouth on hers. She stopped shaking but the sharp bite of Nesta’s glare pierced its teeth through his flesh in a flash of silver.

“It will be better if you wait,” Cassian gritted out in explanation when they parted. Nesta’s breath gusted against his skin. “And I don’t think I can hold on if you come so soon. You feel so good, Nesta. So tight.”

As if on cue, Nesta contracted around him and Cassian ground his teeth together so hard that the muscle in his jaw worked. But he let Nesta slide down on him another inch. Then another. And another. Until their hips were finally flush with one another and that pain had bled away until it was nothing.

The moaned words that fell from Nesta were indistinguishable, but he felt her tremor. Felt that surge inside of him as Nesta repeated herself with a whine that indicated she was toppling over the ledge of control, like a glass teetering before it fell.

And then she was moving and Cassian let her. He was unable to think or breathe. Could only focus on the feel of her.

“Fuck,” Cassian groaned. His head thunked back hard against the headboard as she ground her hips into his, testing the feel of him. “This is better than I’d dreamed.”

No soft snicker, only an untamed whine. Then teeth scraping a sinful path down his neck to his pulse.

Cassian’s hips kicked up hard as her teeth nipped.

“Sorry,” he gasped, because even though Nesta had told him not to hold back, he was still concerned about hurting her. But Nesta’s fingernails bit into his skin and her body moulded to him—a delicious second skin—as she inhaled sharply. “Again,” she demanded with a fierceness that did not allow disobedience. “Do that again—”

It didn’t take a second command for Cassian to thrust up hard. And true to her word, Nesta took him all. Did not change her mind and ask him to hold back. Instead, Cassian knew that this was exactly what she wanted—no, needed. She needed this punishing rhythm just as much as he did.

And it felt… incredible. Beyond anything Cassian had ever felt before. The blood roaring in his ears intermingled with Nesta’s cries and the slap of his hips meeting hers, was the only thing he could hear, his senses narrowed down to the sensation of her wrapped around him, so tight …

It was too good. It threatened to break him, to take everything that he was and reform it entirely, as if he was going to shatter and be pieced back together as someone else entirely. The air around them became taut with pressure, tanning leather stretched too tight over a rack, as if their joining controlled one of the essential elements.

“Cassian.” That one word threatened to break him. Not bat or it or you, only his name falling from her lips as if it was their secret. “More.”

Exhaling a curse, Cassian planted his feet firmly on the mattress and thrust up with as much vigour as he could muster. The movement had them slipping from their upright position and Cassian’s claws absent-mindedly closed around the metal bed frame, strapping them in for the ride as his body coiled and tensed as he slammed into her over and over.

Nesta cried out. Grabbed fistfuls of his hair as they moved together as if they had been made for this moment, their wild gasps melded together until they were one.

Only when release teetered too close to the edge did Cassian drop the rhythm. Cupped the breasts he had dreamed of more times than he could count. The breasts he’d had the privilege of seeing bare and glorious only twice before.

Capturing a nipple between his teeth, Cassian scraped his teeth hard enough that Nesta stopped rocking and angled her hips until he was pressing impossibly deep inside her. She whimpered. Clenched and unclenched. Throbbed in a way that told him she was as close as he was—that if he wasn’t so close himself, he could drive her over the edge with a few well-timed thrusts.

The understanding had him letting out a jagged groan. “Are you close, sweetheart?”

A whine in response, but Cassian didn’t let it go. He raked back the hair from her sweaty forehead. Pressed his lips to her swollen ones in a lingering kiss. Watched the frown that knitted her brow as she was overtaken by the feel of them.

“What do you need, Nesta. Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

Nesta wound her hands around his head, buried her face into his neck. Began swaying and circling her hips in a rhythm that was dictated purely by the chase of pleasure. “Just… this,” she panted. “I just need this.”

Then it was only the licking fire of her breath against his skin. The magic that curled around them like a heated blanket and the building anticipation of both of their releases, which pulled at him like a strange sort of magnetism, begging him to fall with her in unison.

“Cassian—” Nesta began in warning, but he had already felt her begin to quake, as if the ground was moving beneath their feet—the mountains trembling.

That pull became a driving force—a cresting wave of pleasure so profound that Cassian felt that twist inside of him—that signal that he was about to join her.

He groaned, jerking his head back so it collided with wood, the pain grounding him enough that he could say, “That’s it, sweetheart. Come for me.”

As soon as the words left his lips, Nesta broke, as if she’d been waiting for him to ask it of her. Her cry was muffled and Cassian wanted to tear her mouth from his neck—to hear her break for him—but then she was sinking her teeth into his skin right over his pulse.

Roaring, Cassian kicked his hips up hard on instinct as she marked him, but the shock distracted him. Clouded the desperate clamber of his release so he could hold himself back.

Cassian held tightly onto Nesta as she slumped against him. When she lifted her teeth from him, Nesta whined like an animal. Dragged her tongue over the dent she’d made in his neck—once, twice, three times.

He shuddered. Couldn’t help it. Turned his face into her hair. Breathed her in. The gesture was tender, like an animal tending to the wound of a significant other—its mate.

And wrapped in this moment, Cassian could almost believe that this was something more than sex for Nesta as her forehead came to rest on his collarbone. As she kissed the hollow of his throat. Then the knot. His lips.  

“Good?” Cassian asked softly. He lifted a hand to her face, ran a calloused thumb over her cheekbone.

Nesta made a rare, content sound that vibrated through him like a balm. She leant into his hand, her eyelashes swooping down.

When she finally pulled back to survey him, her eyes were still dark. She shifted her hips. Moaned quietly. Rasped, “You’re still hard.”

It was a miracle Cassian hadn’t followed. If it hadn’t been for her teeth in his neck, Cassian would have been wrestling with the embarrassment of finishing too soon.

“I was too preoccupied with your teeth in my neck.”

A flush crept its way up Nesta’s face, like vines reaching their wicked encroaching fingers up a wall. But she raised her chin. “You wanted me to do it.”

It was true, he had wanted her to. And he wanted to do the same to her—to mark her as his so everyone would know that she was off limits for the brief hours before her body healed.

“And what about you?”

The patter of Nesta’s heart broke into a sprint. It was the only thing that betrayed her feelings, her expression devoid of any reaction. “What do you mean?”

Cassian leant forward until their noses brushed. Lifted his eyebrows. “Do you want me to bite you, Nesta?”

Nesta’s nostrils flared. If she had wings, they’d have flung wide by now. Would have collided with furniture and cut through air.

That was answer enough.

In one movement, Cassian lifted himself up and over, until Nesta was on her back and he was pressing her body into the mattress. Breath gushed out of her lungs but it was not from fear, not as Nesta turned herself out bare and tilted her chin for him—for once not in defiance but as an act of vulnerability—of complete and utter trust.

Every instinct in Cassian clambered to the surface, but he closed a fist around it until its life fluttered against the cage of his palms and fingers: his to control, rather than the other way around.

Slowly, Cassian lowered his nose to the exposed skin and breathed her in: her scent and the life that pummelled beneath her skin, the roaring of her blood as it crashed through her veins. It took everything in him not to move inside of her, to thrust up hard and feel the way her breasts would move against his chest.

“I could do it right here,” Cassian murmured, his mouth ghosting over the pale column of her neck until he came across that pulse. He brushed a tongue across it.

The movement was a mirror of what he’d done before in the human realm and Nesta knew it. But this time she did not jerk back from him demanding what he’d done. Instead, her body drew up beneath him, exposing more of her neck, begging for more.

Cassian groaned, raking his teeth over that swell at the same time that he pushed in deep. Nesta’s groan was guttural and everything. His blood turned molten, so hot that he expected his skin to melt away until he was nothing but bones.

“Please,” Nesta panted, her fingers tightening around his back.

Another flick of his tongue over her pulse. “Do you want me to bite you or fuck you?”

“Both.”

That was enough to loosen the fist on Cassian’s control. He sat back on his knees, prying her hands from his neck, coaxing her fingers until they were above her head and clasped around the railings of the headboard. Nesta’s breasts rose with the movement, her peaked nipples so tempting he bent to take one into his mouth. Then the other. Suckled until she mewled and her nipples were no longer rosy but red from his attention.

Cassian lifted his head and surveyed Nesta. Warned her, “Hold on tight.”

And then there was no thinking, no worrying or desperation to hold back. It all came as easy as breathing, their tempo,the snap of his hips and the shift of the mattress as her body shouldered the impact. At some point, Cassian’s body fell over hers, needing to feel every inch of her against him. His wild, punishing rhythm dropped into a rough rocking that was intimate at the same time it was claiming.

Nesta didn’t seem to mind—let out a pleased moan of consent, her legs clamping tighter around his hips until they were flush with hers. When he next moved she whined, and Cassian felt that change inside of her—somehow—that twisting fist of pleasure that glimmered down the bond, pushing against the walls of that thread, pushing it wider and wider, like a heart expanding.

Silver-wreathed fingers tugged his head down until Nesta could claim his mouth, fusing them together so they were complete. Cassian shuddered as her fire cascaded from her fingertips and down his body. His magic, attracted to hers, began to suck out of his pores, but it didn’t leech him of power. Instead, it was like his magic was searching for its mate, desperate to be reunited.

Then that sensation again, as if Cassian had ducked beneath something and had come up for air somewhere else.

Ruby greeted silver like a long-lost lover, blending until their magic was a metallic sheen of scarlet—a fog that misted their bodies, rubbing tantalisingly against their skin as they rocked and moaned their way to release.

“Don’t stop,” Nesta begged desperately through stuttered breaths, and Cassian wondered how many times she’d reached this pinnacle with other males only for it to be taken from her.

Cassian’s hand found its way to her face, his thumb stroking over her cheek as that coiled release twisted across her devastatingly beautiful face. “Can’t,” he panted honestly, his other hand searching for hers across the mattress until he was clasping it—holding on for dear life. “I’m so close, sweetheart. You have no idea how good you feel.”

“Come with me then,” Nesta pleaded. Her eyelashes had fluttered downwards as she took in a sharp breath of pleasure, but now they opened. Stared deep into his soul. “Come with me—”

Then her body turned both loose and taut, clamping yet completely molten as her release ripped out of her.

“Fuck,” Cassian swore. Invisible hands clasped around his ass, tugging him deeper—deeper. Everything in him tightened as Nesta crashed around him, and that siren called to him, singing her name, over and over as pleasure clawed at him, desperate to whip out of him.

Nesta, Nesta, Nesta.

Cassian launched at her neck, his teeth sinking deep enough to claim as Nesta cried out, her body trembling as he continued to thrust into her, wringing out her release at the same time he desperately clambered towards his own.

He managed to pull out just in time, his teeth still deep in her neck, his release spilling hot onto her stomach in bursts of pleasure.

And even though Cassian had vowed to bite her and Nesta had already marked him, he found himself apologising at the red, angry dents in her skin. How was it that he couldn’t bare to hurt her but biting her neck was a completely different story?

“Sorry,” Cassian rasped. His mouth was as dry as a desert as he gingerly touched his fingers to the marks, but Nesta’s fingers clasped around his, halting him. Then she raised her other hand and brushed her knuckles over the identical marking on his. Reminding him that she’d done the same—had been the first to do it.

“I liked it,” Nesta admitted brazenly, but she didn’t stop him from dragging his tongue over the marks. Shivered instead. Held his head to her.

“That was intense,” Cassian rasped eventually against her ear, after the quiet had settled over them like a blanket. He nuzzled at her neck again, unable to help it—just one more precious moment like this until he had to pull away.

When Cassian pulled back to meet Nesta’s eyes, he found that the blue bled back into her irises. “It was always going to be intense,” she replied frankly.

Then Nesta looked down at her body, as if she’d only just remembered how he’d marked her in a different way. “You didn’t have to do that—pull out. I can take a tonic.”

Cassian hadn’t wanted to pull out at all—and neither had that tie which bound them together—but that wasn’t the point. “I’d rather be cautious,” he explained—a little too shortly, because Nesta bristled.

“Neither of us have had a tonic in a while,” Cassian elaborated when Nesta’s expression hardened.

He tried not to think about how his body had been desperate to spill inside of her. For him to press as deep as he possibly could until he was spent.

Climbing off of the bed, Cassian disappeared down the hallway and into the bathroom. When he returned, he was holding a wet towel.

“A while?” Nesta queried, picking up their conversation, as he began to clean her up.

Cassian cocked an eyebrow, but he didn’t dare meet her eyes lest she read him. His shoulders turned rigid at the thought. “Have you been sneaking people in and out of the bungalow that I’m not aware of?” he asked.

They both knew that Cassian would tear any male she brought back to the bungalow to pieces, but neither of them voiced it.

“You go back to Velaris,” Nesta accused. “You visit the other camps.”

For a moment, Cassian stared at her. Did she believe that he’d been fucking other fae? She had taunted him in Velaris the other day, but Cassian had thought that it was just their extended, agonising tussle of foreplay.

Perhaps you should go in search of some female company tonight.

Cassian managed to huff a breath, but it wasn’t one of amusement. He knew that his expression was steely as he said, “I told you that I don’t sleep with Illyrians. And I haven’t been fucking around in Velaris.”

From the way Nesta’s expression darkened, Cassian wasn't sure she believed him.

She opened her mouth to throw back a retort, but Cassian wanted the discussion to end. If she knew he’d barely touched another female since he’d met her, she’d run the other way. It was too intense a confession for someone who didn’t know what they wanted.

“It was self-inflicted,” Cassian supplied, his tone flinty enough to warn her that he wasn’t willing to discuss the subject any further.

Climbing off of the bed to further his point, Cassian extended a hand towards her. Banished any of the rigidity to his posture. “Come stand in the tub with me.”

There was a sinful promise behind the order. Already Cassian could envisage how he’d press Nesta against the tiles, his lips trailing open mouthed kisses as he kneeled before her—

Nesta must have thought similarly, because the pleasure that sparked in his stomach was not his own. But still she studied him, her head cocked as if she was trying to figure him out. Her hair was a muss of golden brown, her skin glistening with sweat that Cassian wanted to lick off.

Nesta parted her lips, taking stock, but Cassian didn’t allow her to speak. “I’ll make it worth your while,” he vowed. Meant it. Because already he was turning hard again, that desire to have her roaring.

He’d known this would happen. Knew that finally being inside of her wouldn’t sate him but stoke the embers into flames. But Cassian didn’t hide it—utterly unashamed of this need for her. From the way Nesta’s nostrils billowed, he knew she'd marked the change in his scent.

Nesta’s eyes flicked to his cock and the she-devil smirked, her lips curving in a way that had Cassian thinking about how they might wrap around him—how her tongue might feel, how warm she’d be…

In one supple movement, Nesta stood. Took his hand, her slim fingers threading around his large ones. Raised her chin and levelled him with a smoky blue gaze that promised wicked, wonderful things. “Then lead the way, general.”

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[court-of-forever-undone]

I Knew You’d Come Back to Me

Chapter Two: Slept next to her, but I dreamt of you (Cardan’s POV)

Summary:  While homesick and heartbroken in the mortal world, Jude finds a pile of letters on her doorstep that include an official pardon and a love confession from Cardan. What is supposed to be a happy reunion quickly falls apart when Jude is told Cardan has returned to Nicasia in her absence. 

Cardan is determined to make it up to Jude. 

**This fic is inspired by the love story between Taylor Swift’s characters Betty, James, and August.**

Should you wish to listen: Cardigan | Betty | August

Tags: Multiple POVs, angst and a happy ending, Jurdan, post-wicked king, canon divergence

Masterlist

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Four Months Post Exile

If she has decided that she wishes to stay away and forget about Elfhame, me, then I will forget about her as well. Except that I can’t because for the eternity she has been gone there has been nothing to rid my thoughts of her.

I grab the nearest pitcher of wine, not that they are ever far from my reach as of late, and swallow as much of the tart liquid as I can. At least if I pass out there is a chance I may dream of her, or dream of losing her. But it is a chance I am willing to take.

There is a revel happening, for a reason I cannot remember. Probably honoring some guest that I cannot be bothered to care about at this point. I tend to the kingdom as best as I can for the day, but by the time the dawn is rising I do everything I can to forget the subtle human features that haunt me. The curve of her ear, the flush in her cheeks, the softness of her form.

Since she has been gone there has been an unbearable ache in my chest that only seems to worsen at her memory. I’ve taken back up with a variety of powders that I grew accustomed to at Balekin’s parties. The numbing sensation is highly preferable to the agonizing dread that awaits me in sobriety. At least when time passes differently, I can imagine that she is home again, or at the very least, I can pass more days until she returns.

Her return seems more and more uncertain because despite my letters, she has not come home, nor even responded to them. She has made no inclination that she intends to return, which is ridiculous because she is the queen. When she returns I will have to remember to remind her of all the accusations she threw my way at neglecting responsibilities, meanwhile she has spent months in the mortal world as if waiting for me to come bring her home myself.

I grin at the idea. A trip to the mortal world could quickly end this ridiculous torture. At least I would have the chance to see her in the flesh.

She could get her anger out and then return home with me. At this point, a curse from her lips would sound like music and her fingers curled around my neck would be ecstasy.

In time, that anger might turn to forgiveness and we can all move on from this nonsense.

Present Day

What a dreadful day today has been. I should have returned to my chambers the moment I was given news of a wine shortage because poisoned wine had been found in the castle’s cellars, because that meant I had to suffer through the small council’s bickering mostly sober, followed by hours of grievance hearings from folk. For a kingdom full of people who find me utterly incompetent, they sure do make plenty of pleas to the crown.

Only one hour remains until I can leave the presence of my court and scout for my own wine to drink, poisoned or otherwise.

“Cardan…?” Nicasia said with the air of a question.

I respond with a non-committal sound before glancing in her direction to my left. Again, she had found a seat nearest mine, despite my repeated reminder that she was no longer entitled to that spot. We were nothing beyond friends with a bit of history, even if my entire council, mother, and Nicasia herself thought it was ridiculous to prolong a “land-sea” alliance any longer.

I turn back to the conversation I had been ignoring and make an appropriate response, before quickly tuning them out again. Courtiers have nothing better to do than waste my time.

Admittedly, I could see my advisors’ point and I haven’t exactly fought to deny Nicasia’s advances anymore. Not when the one I want has rejected me entirely, favoring a mortal over me and forsaking our kingdom to my inadequate rule.

If I were a kinder soul, I might have been content to see her happy and adjusted to the mortal world, but I am not. I hate myself for sending her away and I hate her just as much for not wanting to return. Every time someone suggests I marry, I want to scream the truth for the entire kingdom to hear.

I married the mortal Jude Duarte. I did it so she would release her hold over me, but I also did it because I wanted to. I wanted to make her my queen and share this dreaded life with her; the powerful, defiant, occasionally murderous, human woman with all her soft features and perfectly odd ears.

Pride be damned. If she returned, I’d allow her anything. She would never need a geas to command me. She was already a ruler, she deserved the credit. The court would eventually adjust to the idea of a human ruler once they recognized her rule. I would lead the most devoted of her court and in our bedroom, I would further prove to her just how devoted I was by spreading --

Nicasia’s hand sliding over my knee snaps me from my thoughts. The touch of her hand felt sickly wrong considering my thoughts of Jude. I brush her hand aside and purposefully ignore the hurt look on her face. I may allow her into my room on nights where even the wine and the powders cannot bring me peace, but she knows I am far too sober and there are too many people around for that.

At the edge of my peripheral I see a dark shadow approaching. The Roach; always a welcomed distraction usually armed with wonderfully bad news.

“Come to tell me of another attempt on my life?” I murmur as he bows down to whisper in my ear.

“You are needed at once, your majesty” the goblin reports.

At that, I laugh but make no effort to move. “There is a first for everything. What is it?” I am happy to use whatever matter it is as an excuse to leave, but I am curious what requires my attention that the spies could not handle themselves.

“Jude has returned. She is waiting to see you.”

His words hit like the hilt of a sword to the chest. I stand, jumping the courtier closest to me.

“I have matters to attend to. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” I say to no one in particular, trying to ignore the loud pounding in my ears as my heart threatens to beat out of my chest.

I begin to follow the Roach out of the room when I feel a hand on my arm.

“What is going on?” Nicasia asks, her eyes wide. I shake out of her grasp.

“It is a matter of great importance that does not concern you.” Instead of moving away, like my body demands to, I move in closer to her so only she can hear me. “I meant my words in the gardens. Do not show up this evening or any evening again.”

Her mouth fell slightly open as water rimmed her eyes. I didn't stay for her response, instead I turned back and followed the Roach into the tunnel, knowing every step was bringing me closer to Jude. As we stalk through the hallways, I cannot slow the questions bombarding my mind.

Did she decide against her life in the mortal world? Did she miss me as I have missed her? What should I say to her? Will she allow me to embrace her? Should I announce her return tonight?

I have envisioned dozens of scenarios of what I would say or do when she returned, but now that she is only a few steps away I have no plan past seeing her, holding her if I can, to make sure she is real and not my imagination come to life.

We take the final turn that I know leads to the headquarters for the Court of Shadows when Livier blocks the doorway.

“Where is she?”

I watch as her face contorts. She opens her mouth to respond before closing it again, clearly unsure how to answer. I don’t have patience for this. I have to see her now.

“Move Livier,” I demand.

How many months has it been since we had fallen asleep together after our vows? How long has it been that I’ve felt her pressed against me?

“Cardan, wait!” She exclaims as I try to move past her. “She doesn’t want to see you.”

I stop dead at her words.

Before I can speak, the Roach asks for me, “What do you mean? She sent us to get him.”

The pixie nods. “Yes. She went to the royal chambers, but she returned soon after and has stated she does not wish to speak.”

I cannot help the bite to my words. “To speak to anyone, or just me?”

Her silence gives me my answer. “Why?” I spit out.

She is on the other side of the wall. It has been months, what about my room could have made her decide against seeing me? A darker thought crosses my mind; what if she has decided to return to the mortal world again? The idea threatens to break me then and there in the dark tunnels beneath the castle.

Livier looks at her companion with unease.

“Why?” I demand again.

The Bomb swallows before explaining, “When she returned, she asked how long you and the Princess of the Undersea had been back together.”

My desperation melted into cruel pitiful laughter. She was jealous of Nicasia, while she had herself a human plaything. The hypocrisy was grand. I wonder how her face would look when I asked about the man and how she could possibly blame me when she broke our vows first. My laughter quickly fizzled into a frozen anger.

I needed to leave before the weight of the situation could bear down on me. In all my imaginations, I never predicted this. I had hoped she’d run to my arms or more realistically, slap me followed up with a kiss. But never returning and refusing to see me.

I want to beg to see her. Beg for her forgiveness. Beg her to stay even if she hates me.

As a king, I have every right to go wherever I please. But as a queen, she has the right to deny entry to anyone. So I turn in the tight hallway and take the turn that leads to my rooms.

She is home. She wouldn’t see me, but she is home, which meant I could fix this. She might not see me tonight, but I would win her forgiveness and maybe her love too.

****

After almost two weeks of announcements and planning, Jude’s coronation ball will begin soon. I have still yet to see her in person, but through messengers and letters she agreed to rule with me and begrudgingly accepted my proposal for a party to celebrate her return and status.

The actual coronation will not take place for another few weeks due to the time needed to gather all the court’s representatives, but this evening would be a full celebration nonetheless. She is home and that enough is cause to celebrate.

The party will also finally force Jude out of the shadows. I suspect she has moved around the castle quite a bit as I heard she met with her sisters and the Living Council, but she has made a careful effort to avoid me.

There have been several times where I have made it all the way to her door before deciding to leave and giving her the space she demands. For months now, I have had dreams of the moment we saw each other again; I have imagined her vulgar words and sweet touches. Tonight is the last night I can imagine because in a matter of hours I will see her again. For the evening, she will have no choice but to stand in the same room as me. I already announced her as my wife and Elfhame’s High Queen. After this evening, she can avoid me outside of official business, if she wishes. It would be devastating, but no more devastating than how it felt when she was gone.

I pace back and forth in my chambers thinking through all the details of the evening since I have nothing better to do. I dressed long ago in a suit twin to the dress I had sent for Jude. If I thought the last dress I designed for her was stunning, I am not sure I’ll be able to survive seeing her in tonight's creation. I gave the tailor a sketch of a silver gown with a fitted bodice and twin streams of fabric that flow from the shoulders. The hope was to create an illusion of the armor she seemed to favor. I doubt the tailor will disappoint and frankly, Jude could wear an old sack and still be devastatingly beautiful.

Before long I receive the signal to head to the ballroom. As I enter the room, I admire for the first time the servant’s efforts to fulfill my image for the evening. The decoration for a typical revel was nothing compared to the fanfare visible this evening. Long strings of lights and streamers hung from the ceiling and sweet and savory treats of all varieties are piled high on trays. The musicians and other entertainment for the evening are already in full swing keeping the guests happy and amused.

As is customary, the party has been going on for some time now, before the king and now queen enter. The center of the space is filled with revelers dancing and singing. At any other party, I would have gladly joined, but I cannot help the pooling sense of unease as I glance through the crowding looking for a particular face.

I do find the face I am looking for, but not the right person. Taryn is standing on the side of the dance floor chatting with some courtier. Locke is nowhere to be seen, which is for the best. If I notice him even causing Jude to frown this evening, I will have him locked in the dungeons for the night.

I occupy myself with some wine while I wait and use the opportunity to boast of Jude’s brilliance to anyone who decides they wish to speak with me. After about a dozen of these conversations, I finally catch a glimpse of her walking into the room with Vivianne at her side.

My Jude.

I admire her with total abandon. She is absolutely stunning. The movement of her steps causes the fabric to shimmer as it flows obscenely over her body. While I will imagine her in this dress for many nights to come, it is the crown that sits atop her head that captures my attention.

The crowd cheers at her arrival and many bow to her. While she keeps her emotions well concealed, I can see the smallest of smiles appear on her face. She enjoys the recognition. Seeing her now, if I could have given her this from the start I would have.

My heart-stopping queen.

I stay to the side where I am and watch her enjoyment from afar. She dances with her sisters from time to time and speaks to members of the gentry with ease. I know she has noted my presence, even if she has yet to look in my direction. When it is time to address the crowd, it is my turn to avoid her direction. I keep my speech to the folk short, enough to praise her and remind anyone who may be considering treason exactly who Jude Duarte is. At the final toast, I steel myself before addressing her directly.

“Welcome home, Jude.”

Our eyes meet for the briefest of moments, burning with a million unspoken words before she breaks away and turns to address the now-growing crowd around her.

It was the first time she acknowledged me since the morning I sent her away and suddenly the emotion behind that realization hits me all at once. I let my eyes linger on her turned back a moment longer, before downing my drink and disappearing into the gardens to wallow in my own self pity.

I told myself I would be happy if she just returned home, but now I realize how badly each moment I spend away from her aches. In school, I hated the way I longed for her. I had chalked it up to being a disgraceful obsession; one I would have been glad to be rid of whatever that meant for Jude. Now, I am equally obsessed with my mortal queen, but rather than having just my thoughts occupied with her, I feel a feral desperation to be near her, to set things right with her.

It is not uncommon for me to be followed, but when I hear soft steps behind me, the last person I expect to turn and see is Jude. Her brown eyes widened in surprise, as if she was not the one following me. We both stare at each other for a half a second too long, before Jude mumbles something and turns to leave. I take her by the arm before she can take a single step away. I won’t let her get away a second time.

“Ask me how hideous you look tonight,” the words tumble from my mouth before I can stop them.

She turns back to face me. I loosen my hold on her arm, but let my hand linger until she decides to brush it away.

“This again?” She asks, sounding more tired than annoyed. I didn’t realize how much I missed her voice.

Desperate to hear her again, I reply, “I can’t. You look like a knight from a story tonight.” A filthy story, perhaps.

Jude’s cheeks pinken as she shifts away from me. If I wasn’t afraid to lose her, I might have found her unease at my closeness cute.

“I’m glad to see the kingdom is still in one piece.” Jude acknowledges, changing the subject away from her. The distance between us feels infinitely greater than the foot of space physically separating us. I’d give anything to embrace her now.

“I had help,” I state simply. It is the truth. The Court of Shadows kept tabs on everyone, friends and enemies, and the Living Council for all the headaches they cause me, they did their job as well.

“Nicasia?” Jude didn’t try or simply failed to hide the accusation in the question.

I sigh heavily and take a seat on one of the garden’s benches. “Ahh that. Yes, it is about time we talked.” I motion for her to join me, to which she refuses.

“I don’t want to hear anything about the two of you. I understand we married out of political strategy, I won’t hold you to human standards of monogamy.” Jude echos my sigh, “After your letters, I thought… Well, I misunderstood the situation.”

My core twists at the way her voice trembled on the words. When did her pain stop being cruel amusement and instead became a twin knife that hurts us both?

“I meant every word in those letters” I murmured softly. How many times had I imagined this conversation before?

Anger burns across her face, “So, what? You got bored of waiting for me to return from the exile YOU-” she jams her pointer finger into my chest hard enough to bruise, “ordered! Maybe next time make sure your letters are actually delivered or perhaps don’t send me away in the first place.”

I stand, challenging her anger with my own. “You think I wouldn’t have waited? I went to bring you home. I saw you dancing with the mortal. Don’t pretend I was the first to stray.”

I expected more anger, denial perhaps, but not... confusion?

“What the hell are you talking about? I haven’t been with anyone else,” Jude yells exasperated.

“The blond male. I came to see you and…” I trail off when Jude laughs suddenly. “What could possibly be funny?”

She covers her face with her hands, shaking her head side to side, “Cardan, you saw me with a friend. Nothing ever happened between us, ever.”

Shame washes over me like a tidal wave. I had returned from that trip thinking Jude had made her decision to forget me and stay behind. I had walked straight into a revel and drank every drop of wine in sight. Nicasia found me a few hours later laying in the grass outside the castle and when she came near I did the one thing I thought would make me feel better.

Nicasia had been the first to notice me, my first real friend then lover. After Jude, I thought she could be the thing I needed again, but I was wrong. It didn’t take long for me to realize it would never be as it was before because my heart still belonged to Jude. If I had only spoken to Jude that night in the mortal world, none of this would have happened.

“I believed the reason for your continued absence was because you were still mad. I thought I could go to the mortal world and convince you to come home, but I saw you with the mortal man. I did not handle the thought of you with another well. Nicasia was there when I got back and… I let her into my bed, but it was you that I thought of every moment you were gone.”

Several emotions ripple across her face before she quickly schooled her face into the impenetrable mask she wears around others. She wears around me too. I continue before the fear of her rejection can stop me.

“There are no tricks within my words, so please hear me when I promise you, Jude, mortal High Queen of Elfhame, it is you I love. My heart is yours and forever will be. There will be no other’s, and if you choose to have me again, it will only be you.”

I raise my hand to cup her face and watch as her eyes flutter close. My name falls off her lips like a plea and I think it might be the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. I lower myself to meet her soft lips. Her hands soon find the front of my jacket and I don't fight when she tugs me closer to her.

Without breaking the kiss, I use my free hand to grip her lower back and pull her back into the garden seat with me. On my lap, Jude opens herself up to me and I greedily take in more of her, missing the taste of her. I can’t help but continue to caress her body with my fingertips, long after we break to catch our breath. I place a series of kisses along her neck, each more drawn out than the last before I speak the cruel fact still on my mind, “of all my terribleness, the worst thing I ever did was what I did to you.”

It hurts knowing I can speak those words aloud. I reach up to wipe a stray tear that has fallen from her eyes.

“Will you have me again, Jude?” My heart pounds in the wake of the question. I watch as she considers it. Truthfully, I wouldn't blame her if she refused me, but it would be torturous to have her so near and not mine.

Slowly, she gives a subtle nod and I don’t hide my sigh of relief. She stares at me for a second longer, before smiling, “I love you, Cardan."

I capture her lips again, finding her more addictive than the sweetest wine.

“My sweet nemesis, how glad I am you have returned.”

Tag List: @wafflesandschemingfaces​ 

If anyone else would like to join the list, let me know! 

[genshin-impacted]

lost & found // Diluc x Reader (3/3)

Word Count: ~6.5k

Notes: Seelie!Reader, GN!Reader, Diluc/Reader, Mondstadt people interaction + Mondstadt Archon Quest, mild violence/fighting description and mentions of blood, Diluc POV briefly, mainly reader!POV

Summary: Oftentimes you find yourself wondering about your life before becoming a seelie, but with Diluc by your side, you don’t let yourself dwell on the long-gone past-- not when Diluc offers you affection and a tenderness that no one else is privy to. 

But on moonless nights, you let yourself wish upon a star.

(And sometimes, in this world ruled by the Gods and their stars, wishes are granted.)

Alternatively: Diluc has never asked you or needed you to change for him to love you.

[Part 2]

-

(thanks for the love for this fic! here is the final addition)

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.

Diluc breathes out and sees the fog it makes in the frigid air of Dragonspine. The world continues to remind him that he’s lucky to have his Pyro vision, and again he’s inclined to agree that it’s a useful tool indeed. He cannot melt the snow that falls on the peaks of these mountains, but even he must admit that his flames have served him well in this icy winterland-- until it doesn’t. 

His phoenix burns through ruin guards and hunters alike, along with the icy foothold beneath him, and he falls into this cavern with no way up. He thinks it’s ironic that he’s the one that led himself into this predicament and attests it to your influence as his trouble-finding seelie.

Diluc huffs as he dusts off the snow from his shoulders and continues further into the hole he fell into, leaving tracks wherever he can so that you can find him. He knows better than anyone what you can do, and he knows that you cannot find him if he doesn’t leave clues. 

It is neither a surprising nor disappointing revelation to him. Diluc has always known that there is nothing special that binds the two of you together-- and perhaps that is why he cherishes what the two of you have. There is no contract, no string of fate, no hand of god that has put the two of you together or convinced the other to stay. You have chosen to stay with Diluc, and Diluc has chosen to let your presence change his life bit by bit.

Ever since coming back to Mondstadt, he has slowly grown more accustomed to working with other people, though with your appearance, his change has been accelerated. For with every adventure you drag him into, he meets new people, forming different teams. He’s helped Razor handle his broadsword better, and now he visits him ever so often to let him spar to his content. He let his stars be read by Mona, despite his initial hesitance (apparently, you are very into astrology), and can now see the constellations form above him much more clearly. And while he has never seen the need to be closer to his god, Venti sees the both of you more often outside of the tavern, and he sees a glimpse of Barbatos within the wind-weaving bard. 

You are a comforting presence: straightforward, easy to read, and compassionate. And he does not resist, much like everyone else, when you twirl your way into his heart. It is no longer surprising for him to understand that he does not need to be alone on the dark side of dawn when you have chosen to accompany him.

Speaking of choice, Diluc thinks irritably, wringing out the water from his hair. How did he agree to wander around Dragonspine of all places? He must have been caught up in the logistics of the experiment itself as well as your easy agreement. Diluc is admittedly the only person that understands your every nuance (or, well, most of it; some twirls are lost in translation), but even he cannot quite decipher what you want to take from this experiment of Albedo’s. 

When you find him-- which you will, he will ask you, and he thinks you will tell him as best as you can. For someone that cannot speak, you are the most honest individual in his life, which is something he has repeatedly found endearing and refreshing.  

Diluc climbs up the side of a cliff near the camp, only to see Albedo and Sucrose discussing at the edge of it. He briefly wonders if the experiment has ended, but when he does not see your light between the two of them, his breath hitches in the momentary panic he finds all too familiar to when he lost you the first time. 

Albedo spots him before he can speak. “Master Diluc, I’m relieved to find that you’re safe," he says briefly, and Diluc can at least respect how quickly the alchemist gets to the point, because he continues quickly. “Your seelie left to go find you before we could assess the situation.” He sighs as Sucrose frantically hands Diluc a towel to dry himself and a seat. “You gave them quite the scare, disappearing on us like that.” 

“You mean they’re out there on their own right now?” Diluc presses, feeling his hackles raise.

“Yes. We’re going to go out to recount your steps-- undoubtedly, your seelie will be trying to find you--”

Diluc doesn’t need to hear anything else. He holds the towel to Sucrose who nervously puts her hands up, unsure on what to do. “I’ll go find them,” he says. “The experiment is finished now, right?” 

“Do not go." Albedo sighs, and however Diluc thought of him before, it’s evident now that he is, above all else, frustrated with how things have turned out. “It’s my experiment and a miscalculation on my part. You should stay--”

“I’ll be fine--”

“Your vision does not make you impervious to the climates,” Albedo says calmly. He thinks he sees a gleam of cunning in Albedo’s eyes when he glares at the alchemist. “Besides, would your seelie be happy if you got yourself sick going to find them?” And Diluc cannot respond to that. 

“That being said,” Albedo continues, pulling at his gloves. “I predict you will refuse to stay here permanently. As it’s my fault, I’ll provide you with at least a potent heating potion before you go. Please wait; it won’t take long.”

“...Thank you,” Diluc says, taking back his towel much to Sucrose’s relief. When he sees Albedo head off onto his alchemy table, he sighs and settles into his seat. Where could you have gone, he thinks, drying his hair. After leaving the waterfall, he had… climbed the clifftop. Perhaps you lost him there without any way to notice which way he went afterward, which was a mistake on his part. Perhaps he should--

Diluc pauses his train of thought and instinctively turns his head to the left where he sees you floating. And the relief, oh, the relief he feels when he sees you fly toward him makes smiling easy. “There you are. I was about to go look for you since you weren't with Albedo." He swallows, beginning to breathe easy again. "I was worried," he admits, "I--" He stops abruptly when he looks up at you.

You are crying, and he almost does not know what to do. 

He didn’t realize you could cry. Diluc isn’t sure if he can even call them tears-- these globby droplets that disappear when they fall off your body that, when Diluc brushes them away, does not make his gloves wet. 

But he sweeps them away when they come anyways. “Hey,” he says tenderly, as you raise your voice from distress. “It’s okay. I’m fine; I’m here.” He cups your small orb-like body and listens to you as best as he can, sweeping his hand over your head and ears soothingly until your hiccup-like speech slows down to a halt. 

“You found me,” he tells you firmly. “You found me.” He repeats himself until you are warm in his hands and his hair is dry, the towel left forgotten on the ground.

Even when you have long calmed down, he continues to look over his shoulder to watch as you converse with Sucrose. “Did you get what you were looking for?” Diluc asks the alchemist, who hands him the warming potions for any emergencies. 

“Yes. Simply put, your mini seelie does not choose what it finds.” Albedo explains, “However, based on previous observations, they can hone in on things that are… otherworldly. You may be glad to confirm that you are, in fact, not otherworldly. And though this was not my intended result, I also would like to inform you that their attachment to you is out of their own volition…” Albedo watches in barely concealed amusement as Diluc glances over at you again. “Though, I’m sure you already knew this.” He clears his throat. “I would like to offer them future experimentation if they are willing.”

Diluc does his best not to look confused, but his pause gets the better of him. “Why are you asking me?”

Albedo only arches his brow and asks as a matter-of-fact, “Are you not each other’s keeper?” He continues without pause to quickly go over any logistics he has remaining, the details of Dragonspine (lest he fall into a pit again), before going over to talk to you briefly. Diluc wonders what the alchemist talked to you about but he decides to let the questions be asked later.

For now, you twirl up to him, beaming at him more brightly than usual, and he does not have it in him to say anything other than, “Let’s go home.”

.

.By the time the two of you arrive at the winery, it is dark. You do not hesitate to corral him into getting ready for sleep, and he indulges you by not protesting.

“What did you want to get out of the experiment today?” Diluc asks you, untying his hair and placing it onto his nightstand. Before he can finish his question, you bury yourself into his hair, and he thinks that your tweets and trills sound very much like laughter. He chuckles. “Avoiding the question, are you? How very unlike you,” he teases, and he knows you hear him when he looks into the mirror and sees you peek out from underneath the red and squeak indignantly.

“I’m kidding.” Diluc lifts his hair so you can climb out and face him. “You’re the most straightforward person I know,” he says fondly, and he briefly wonders when he has gotten so honest with himself, letting you know how he feels with the amount of emotion he puts into his words to you.  

Sated, you flip around once before settling into his cupped hands, deep in thought. Diluc doesn’t quite understand how your mannerisms make your emotions so recognizable, but he imagines that if you had hands, they would be under your chin in a thinking pose. 

He patiently waits for an answer, walking around his room and blowing out the lights. When he turns off the last one, you can only look up at him and let out a quiet coo-- an apology. His hands are already comforting you the moment after you answer him. 

“It’s alright,” Diluc says. “I suppose it’s not exactly easy to explain that.” He adds on immediately, “And don’t apologize again. It’s fine.” 

“I think I can understand why without you telling me,” he says, and if his voice is a little raw, he hopes it goes by unnoticed. “It’s hard, isn’t it-- not knowing what you’re supposed to be doing."

Quietly, you float up, and Diluc feels his heart tremble when you press a kiss to his forehead in a mix of an apology, a comforting notion, and an act of love. He lays down in silence with you, and if you make a nest out of his hair, and if he wakes up with you nestled at the crook of his neck, he does not say a word.

There is no need.

.

.

“Isn’t it enough?” Lisa asks him as she leans over the library railing. Diluc looks over to her as he puts away the last of the books he has asked to borrow, and he knows what she is asking before she finishes. Still, she tilts her head, her hat staying steady on her head, and repeats, “Isn’t it enough that they’re here with you?”

“Yes,” Diluc says without hesitation. “It is.” 

“Can I ask why you’re still researching about seelies then?” Lisa pauses, putting her hand over her shoulder, and Diluc knows she will arrive at the right answer without him telling her. “If not for you then… for them? You’re looking for answers for your mini seelie?” 

"I try to do what I can," he says, ignoring the way Lisa's eyes gleam all too knowingly. (He always knew there was much more to her at first glance.) "Thanks for the help, I--" He pauses when he catches Lisa smiling behind her fist. "...What is it?" he asks warily. 

"Oh, nothing." Lisa croons, giggling, "I just think it's sweet how the two of you treat each other. Anyone would get jealous of that." She pauses, looking out the window as the sun sets in the west. "It almost seems like a miracle to have the two of you find each other, don't you think? Fate, perhaps? How utterly romantic!"

"You're letting Kaeya influence you too much," Diluc retorts, much to Lisa's amusement.

"Maybe so," she says, sighing, "but even if it was fate, you wouldn't have cherished them any less." She gives Diluc a pointed look even he cannot deny. "Isn't that right, Master Diluc?"

Diluc huffs, walking past her to head down the stairs. "Asking that, I'm sure you already know my answer," he tells her, and he lets his mouth twitch in a semblance of a smile when he hears her complain about his tight-lipped attitude. It blossoms into a full-blown smile when he starts heading back to the winery.

.

When he comes back, you are waiting for him among the grapevines as the winery is basked in orange light.

He's home.

.

.

.

.

Diluc sleeps early and wakes up before the crack of dawn and takes you up the clifftop overlooking the winery. He had told you that there was something he wanted to do and left it at that. Not that you minded-- you were happy to follow him, blocking out any sharp rocks so he wouldn’t grab ahold of them as he climbed and scaring off any elemental wisps that came your way. 

When the two of you reach the clifftop, the sky begins to grow brighter as the sun peeks over the horizon. The color change from blue to yellow then orange is truly beautiful, and you are almost mesmerized as Diluc takes a seat down next to you, watching the sunrise. 

“...It’s almost been a year now,” Diluc says, “since we first met.” 

Happy Anniversary? You squeak in confusion, only to whip your body to face him when you realize why you’re here with him at dawn to watch the beautiful scene unfold before you. You squeak rapidly, stumbling over your words that he cannot hear but can understand anyhow. You hadn’t realized-- You were an idiot for not planning anything either, not that you could-- What kind of ore could you go find to bring to him as a present--? 

“Thank you,” Diluc tells you, “for the past year.” In the backdrop of the rising sun, you think he is almost too bright to watch with that gentle smile of his. The thought is only exacerbated when he cups you in his hands as softly as he has always done. “Let’s see what this year has in store for us together.” 

You trill softly, floating in the air to situate yourself on top of his head to watch the ocean shine brighter with the rising sun. 

It is not the New Year for any country nor culture, but you look into the horizon and make a wish that no one can hear. One year has passed, many things have changed, but you find that the one thing that has not is your adoration for Diluc.

"Let's go back home," he tells you, not for the first time, when the sun rises substantially above the horizon. Obediently, you float down into his sights where you twirl playfully in the air in thanks for the view. He chuckles. "No problem," he says, and he leans down just enough to place a quick kiss in between your ears.

(In hindsight, perhaps you should have wished for more kisses in the following year if you thought that was actually something you could wish for.)

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.

.

Like the beginnings of a new arc, you lead Diluc onto the start of another campaign that lasts longer than normal and ties in with the previous adventures you have had with Diluc.

You find Aether on the shores east of Mondstadt. Diluc can only look at you curiously when Aether reveals his visionless powers and his desire to find his sister, for if there were ever any need for corroborating evidence on your talent or ability, Aether is living proof of it.

With the traveler, you resolve many of the things that neither you nor Diluc could comprehend. The red, crystalline tears are purified, the winds calm down with Dvalin’s defeat, and Venti-- or should you say, Barbatos-- as usual, disappears in a wisp of dandelions to leave the City of Freedom to its autonomy. In the breezes of Mondstadt, you can feel his protective gaze upon the city, and more often than not, you find him wandering in the tavern, looking for a quick drink that Diluc offers ‘reluctantly.’ (You know him better now; Diluc would rather hug Kaeya than admit that he cares for the people in his life more than he shows, and Venti is one of the people he can find a fondness for. You still find yourself abashed to know that you are the only one Diluc can say unashamedly and wholeheartedly that he adores you-- in his own way.)

Aether’s presence in Mondstadt is a breath of fresh air, considering how compassionate he is and how willing he is to help with the common troubles of those in the city. He is led along by Kaeya, tugged onto an impromptu date by Lisa, and given a mask to go undercover with Diluc and help him in ways that you cannot. The tug of jealousy is unfamiliar, but you are more glad than anything that Aether can be his partner during the most dangerous of missions. You tag along as moral support and as a guiding post-- and for that, you find yourself most similar to Paimon, who, for some reason, keeps being compared to emergency food. 

“You’re my companion,” Diluc tells you with finality when you look up at him, barely forming the thought in your head about being his emergency food. “Don’t doubt that.”

Turns out, people can not breathe when you are covering their entire face with your translucent body.   

When the dust settles, you never think of turning Aether down when he asks you if you can sense whether his sister is in Mondstadt. 

You leave with Aether and Paimon with the promise that you return to Diluc at the winery. You guide the two of them to Stormterror’s Lair, a place you have gotten far more acquainted with in the past month, and head up to the cliffside where a ruin guard’s footprints remain next to a dandelion. You can sense something here, though you are unsure of what, and you are about to apologize for finding nothing when Aether looks over to you with wet eyes.

You coo up at him comfortingly as he sighs with a mixture of relief and sadness. “Thank you,” he tells you, holding out his hand. You press against it, and you hope he knows that the best you can do to imitate a comforting hand-hold. “At least now I know for sure she’s here in this world.” He smiles at you. “This gives me a lot of hope that I’ll find her, so… thank you, really.” 

Aether leaves for Liyue in the next few days, and if you had known he would leave so soon you would have done more than held his hand. You wish you could comfort him, reassure him that his sister, too, must be looking for him just as hard as he was. (Even if this was not the truth, you think if you wish hard enough, you could maybe manifest it for him.) You have so many words within you and yet none of them are conveyed, and Aether’s sad smile stays. 

It gets hard sometimes, knowing how little you can do, and how much you could have done before-- and this is one of those moments. It is rare for you to feel melancholy over the things you no longer have, but they come and go like the waves on Falcon Coast. Without a word, Diluc can tell when you are feeling down, holding you when you fall into his hands. 

His kisses come more often now, and he places one between your ears when you are with him during your lower moods. You think your day improves almost immediately when he does so, but it helps tremendously also that Diluc never forgets to reassure you.

“If you want me to help you with anything,” he says, “you only need to ask."

You coo again, twirling once, nudging at his cheek before backing away just enough to look at him. If you had a heart (and you sometimes suspect you do), it would be beating quickly as you wait for him to decipher your actions.

“...Ah,” he says, picking you up again. You think for a moment he looks as embarrassed as you feel, but then he asks, “...Another one?” and places a second kiss onto your head. 

You trill, pleased that you are spoiled by Diluc and even happier that Diluc only joins you in your mirth when he huffs in laughter.

“What an honest seelie,” he says, and you could not be more content with how fond he sounds of you and how, again and again, he continues to be patient with you even when you cannot be patient with yourself.

.

.

Sometimes when the moon is high and Diluc is fast asleep, you find yourself at the place you first came to fruition as a seelie. The lake by the Winery and this exact scenery may as well be your birthplace. When you look into the reflection you see your orb-like features, viscous yet watery all at once, emitting light. 

But sometimes, when the only light is coming from the fireflies that glow beside you, you look into the lake and see a familiar face staring back at you. They have your face-- your eyes, your nose, your mouth, and your brows of a time when you were not a seelie. It’s the only time you get to see this image of your past self, reminding you of what you were before. Sometimes, you think you can hear your voice being carried over by the winds of another world, of another time. 

These moments are the only thing you have kept to yourself. 

After all, what’s the point of holding onto something that you no longer have? The man you’ve grown to care for-- grown to love-- is someone who has his eyes set forward toward the future, and you’re going to be there with him no matter what.

Although seelies cannot dream, you dream of carrying over the tray of tankards and washing the dishes in the tavern, of carrying Klee over your shoulders as you lead her to Albedo, of bumping elbows with Kaeya jokingly or placing a blanket over Jean’s shoulders when she falls asleep in her office again.

You dream of lacing your hands with Diluc’s, pressing your lips upon his temple, and hearing his heartbeat against his chest with a steady, grounding rhythm that reminds you you are home.

And sometimes, just dreaming is enough.

(And sometimes, it is not.)

.

.

Life goes on. You see more of Mondstadt and begin to know the land like the back of Diluc’s hand. Knights and adventurers alike know you as the little seelie, and whether they think you follow Diluc or Diluc follows you is up to each person’s interpretation. (Regardless, none of them are wrong.)  

You accompany Diluc when he trains Razor in Wolvendom, and you invite Bennett to adventure sometimes with the two of you. (The boy may be unlucky, but you’re a magnet of trouble, so you think you have some things in common. A lot more things explode when he accompanies you but Diluc can handle it.) You make sure Jean gets some rest (“Your seelie is, um… very…” “Stubborn?” “I was going to say determined.”) and follow Lisa around on her expired library book expeditions. (“You think she’s beautiful, don’t you?” Diluc says to you, and you wonder why you babble excuses to him-- You’re more beautiful!-- while he looks at you in amusement.)

You and Diluc spend more time with other people in comparison to before, but you still have quiet moments with just the two of you when the days are slow. You’ve been learning how to move small things even better than before, among other things, but with this skill in particular, you can actually slide the pieces on the chessboard when you play against Diluc, who looks on (fondly) as you do your best to carefully push the pieces with your body. 

You always end up knocking some down, but when you finally get a handle of it, you do it with such concentration that Diluc doesn't have the heart to offer help. He does, however, end up polishing the board so the pieces slide more easily. You notice it’s shinier but he doesn’t let you pay it any mind.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says to you, and you think the words I love you come to mind more often than not recently. 

Thank you, you trill instead, and you ache with a want that pulses ever so often when you want so much more than you have when Diluc reaches out to caress your head.

“Like I said,” Diluc says softly. “Don’t pay it any mind. It’s your move still, you know.”

And you move the pieces. And you pick the grapes in his vineyard. And you find artifacts of crimson for him. And you kiss the scars from the many years he has battled (with or without you). 

.

.

.

He gains another in the next, final battle with you as his seelie.

.

.

.

Diluc has gotten hurt before. It’s inevitable with the number of enemies he faces, the number of times you run into enemy territory, but it has never been a problem for him to stand back up and fight. His fire burns brightly-- shine true is his motto, and Diluc lives those words as though they have been etched onto his soul. 

Much like fire, Diluc is relentless, and you can only follow him as he pushes through enemies, listens to his connections, and finds a den of thieves that have been terrorizing Springvale for months. The two of you should have known that their efficiency was because they were led on by the Fatui, but you fail to notice until they have you surrounded. 

You have every faith in Diluc to come out safe and sound, but it takes only one mistake for you to be reminded that there is a limit to everything. 

The blade slices through so quickly you aren’t sure what happened, but when Diluc pulls his hand back from the cut on his side to have it painted with blood, your heart drops.

“A little out of depth, don’t you think, Darknight Hero?” 

“I’d keep my tongue in my mouth if I were you,” Diluc growls, and you can only tremble in mid-air as your mind races with the things you can do-- only to think of all the things you cannot do. You almost miss what Diluc tells you with the way your hearing fuzzes. “Go back to Mondstadt and tell the Knights where these bandits are,” Diluc says, and you know it’s serious when Diluc thinks about reaching out to the knights. (This is partly true, you would realize later, that despite Diluc’s hesitance on being associated with the knights, he knows you would reach out to Kaeya or Jean if needed-- if not for him but so you would be taken care of.) 

You should have told Jean or Kaeya or Amber or even Lisa where the two of you had gone just in case things go awry. The thought never crossed your mind things could go wrong when you had Diliuc with you.

“You’ll find me again,” Diluc tells you softly when you hesitate, and you wonder how he can lie to you like that when his gloves are too bloodied to even hold you. “I promise.”

How could you ask me to do that? You plead, feeling tears well up again. How could you ask me to leave you?

“It’s okay,” Diluc tells you, and his bare hands are warm. “It’s fine.”

You are ripped out of Diluc’s hands when someone throws an electro grenade in the fire below Diluc’s feet. He’s still standing even after this, but a throwing knife hits him on the shoulder, another grenade to his left. You can do nothing but watch as Diluc is hurt, falling onto the ground. 

If there was ever a moment you wanted something so badly, you would have done anything to get it, it would be right here-- right now. 

You are the last thing he sees.

.

.

“You whose strength stems from your devotion, I shall lend you my power.”

.

.

You don’t know whose voice you heard or how somehow you have the hands to hold onto the Vision framed with Mondstadt wings in your hands, but you’ve learned not to question the good things in life-- one of them being your life at Diluc’s side.

Your voice is loud, you realize, when you shout at the bandits to leave. And your powers are strong-- strong enough to protect the person that matters most.

The bandits run at the fight sign of trouble, and the Fatui agent is unconscious. (You checked.)

You hold Diluc as he lies on your lap, breathing heavily but still breathing-- thank the archons. You quickly brush his hair away from his face and press on his wound, wincing when he lets out a grunt of pain even unconscious. I won’t let them hurt you, you think, taking one of his hands to brush your lips over his knuckles. (His hands are rough and calloused, but you love them just the same for how gently they held you when you were just a seelie.) If they come back, they’ll have to get through me. 

“Hello, mini seelie.” 

You look up from Diluc just in time to see a hand reach down to softly rustle your hair, much to your dismay. The initial reaction gives way to surprise when you recognize that the voice comes from none other than Kaeya. He grins down at you with his sword by his hip, and you frantically look around to see if the bandits had come back.

How did you--?

“Nice wings you got there,” Kaeya teases you, making you look back and find that oh, when did those get there? “Didn’t even notice them because you were too worried about Diluc, huh?” When you nod, he softens his gaze. “Why don’t you let us take care of things around here, hm?” He glances down at Diluc who has been sleeping soundly in your lap. “Let’s get him back home.” 

.

.

When a few knights come with a cart to ambulate Diluc back to Mondstadt instead of the winery (you couldn’t argue with Jean even if you did choose to speak; she’s stubborn when the people she cares about are hurt), you feel the tension leave your body all at once, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, you actually feel sleepy. 

“I’m glad we arrived right in the nick of time.” You turn to Kaeya who had been working behind the scenes, directing the knights. “You did good work, chasing them out of here so we could catch them easily,” he says, “I-- oof!” 

You tackle Kaeya into a grateful hug, and it takes him a few moments to respond by placing his hands onto your back and giving it a few pats. “There, there,” Kaeya drawls, but you can hear the smile in his voice anyways. “Better not hug too long; Diluc might be jealous that I’m the person you hug first, you know.”

You let go slowly, grinning up at him as though you agree, and you dodge Kaeya before he can mess with your hair again. On the way out of the camp, Jean gives you a smile, Amber waves excitedly at you before rounding up a few more bandits, and your cheeks hurt a little from the way Lisa pinched it. You go find Diluc where he’s being taken back in a horse-drawn cart and hold his hand until you’ve fallen asleep by his side.

(In his sleep, Diluc holds onto you.) 

.

.

.

Diluc wakes up twice. Once, very briefly, when your wings are expansive and when the Vision at your waist shines brightly with power. Before he wakes up the second time, you can already feel the power fade from both you and the Vision. 

You knew that your transformation was temporary; powers do not always last forever, especially since the glow of your Vision seems contingent on the cycles of the moon-- particularly the moon that you were born on. You think that you should feel more disappointed, but you don’t. You get to hold onto Diluc’s hand in yours and wipe away the sweat from his forehead as he sleeps, and you think that if you only get this one chance to do these things, then you will take what you can get. 

You will love Diluc as you are, no matter what form you take. Your transformation wasn’t necessary. Your powers were a bonus, but even if you weren’t granted a miracle, Diluc would have been safe, as a courtesy of Kaeya who had been trailing behind the two of you since you from the start. (Kaeya and Diluc's connections had the same info this time around, so they were bound to intersect at some point.) What you’ve been given was not the power to save Diluc, but the chance to love him in a way you have always dreamed of doing.

When Diluc opens his eyes the second time around, more aware and more awake, you almost don’t know what to do. It’s a momentary panic when you think he doesn’t know who you are, but he only needs to take one look at you before he raises his hand to caress your cheek as he’s always done. 

“It’s okay, I’m here. I’m fine,” he soothes, though his voice is still raspy from disuse. “Don’t cry.” 

I can’t believe you wanted me to leave you behind. How could you tell me that? 

“...Sorry,” he says, and you raise your head from his bed just enough so he can wipe away the tears on your lashes. “It’s funny but even if you don’t talk, I can still understand you.” 

You watch as he slowly takes your hand and presses his palm against yours, lowering his fingers until they’ve interlocked with yours. “My seelie,” he says with all the warmth in the world. You can only nod before you’re wiping away the tears that spring up again. "Even in this form, you'll still lead me, right? Still find me if I get lost?"

You don't know what type of face you're making, but Diluc softens his gaze before shifting slightly in the bed offered to him by the church. "Come here," he whispers, arms outstretched.

You tentatively place your weight onto the bed, arms placed on each of his sides as you gingerly climb into bed with him. When he winces, you put a hand on his chest, alarmed, to stop him from exerting himself.

“I’m fine,” he says immediately, and when he looks at you, he bursts out laughing, only for him to wince again more strongly. “Sorry, your expressions-- they’re exactly how I imagined them.” He chuckles, though you purse your lips at him as you finally settle under the covers next to him. You make a sound of surprise when he leans over just enough to press a kiss onto your forehead. You hear his soft huff of laughter again when you bury your face into his chest out of embarrassment. “Still as easy to read as ever.”

You grab a hold of his shirt with your ears pressed against his sturdy chest. He gently rubs circles on your shoulder as you listen to his heartbeat, which is as steady as you have imagined it to be. It quickens ever-so-slightly, and you look up at Diluc in time to see him gaze down at you tenderly. “You don’t have to speak,” he says, brushing his hand across your cheek. “Nothing has to change at all. But there’s something I want to know.” You raise your hand to caress his hand (and he finds the courage to keep on speaking).

“Do you think you can tell me your name?” Diluc whispers, the most unsure you have ever seen him, and you think you’re so fond of him your heart (not just metaphorical this time) might burst from it.

It takes only a moment for you to decide to scoot yourself up just enough to kiss him on the side of his mouth, and you can't help but grin at the stupefied expression on his face. 

And you say your name. 

How interesting is it that it's the one thing you cannot convey through trills and twirls, cannot show through hugs and kisses? You never thought that your name could have such significance but you watch as Diluc's eyes widen and you think this moment is the gift the gods have given you. 

Diluc takes a moment to taste your name, and he calls out to you for the very first time out of many, many, many times.

.

Before the sun rises, Diluc wakes up to your bright glow and with your seelie body pressed up against his collarbone. He breathes your name into the quiet infirmary before he closes his eyes to sleep again.

.

.

.

.

You are found more often than you are lost. For every time Diluc calls your name-- as a seelie or as a human (fairy?)-- your heart soars as high as the anemograms at Brightcrown Mountain. 

As a seelie, your life with Diluc stays the same-- for the most part. No one treats you differently and no one loves you differently from when they knew you as just a seelie. If anything, the biggest change has been in Diluc's life where the stares from his admirers are more muted and the swoons reduced, for how could anyone continue to pine over someone that is so evidently preoccupied with someone else? (Even though they've only seen the person who Diluc holds in high regard once every new moon.)

Every adventure still has the same probability to go awry and Diluc still polishes the chessboard to perfection for you. Though on moonless nights, Diluc can hold you close, and you can hold him closer, saying his name (the second word you ever say) and hoping he can never feel quite as lost as before when you are here with him.

FIN

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[hchollym]

If Rheagar was such a bad guy then why does most of westeros still think about him positively after the Rebellion?

This ended up being a long response, so I'm going to put a lot of it under the cut for length.

First of all, even if most of Westeros thought that Rhaegar was fantastic, that still wouldn’t mean that he actually was fantastic. Perception plays a huge role in politics, which is obvious from Sansa’s observation about Margaery and the Tyrells:

The smallfolk cheered them as well.

The same smallfolk who pulled me from my horse and would have killed me, if not for the Hound. Sansa had done nothing to make the commons hate her, no more than Margaery Tyrell had done to win their love.

Reality does not always equal perception, especially where the rich and powerful are concerned.

Second, there’s absolutely no evidence that most of Westeros thinks about Rhaegar positively. In fact, quite the opposite. The story that has been told across Westeros ever since Robert’s Rebellion is that Rhaegar kidnapped and raped Lyanna; that’s the story that Robert (as the new king) spreads, and it’s what most people believe, including children like Bran:

“Robert was betrothed to marry her, but Prince Rhaegar carried her off and raped her,” Bran explained. “Robert fought a war to win her back. He killed Rhaegar on the Trident with his hammer, but Lyanna died and he never got her back at all.”

That doesn’t sound too positive to me.

Third, it may seem like Rhaegar is viewed as mostly positive because of the POV trap. We only really get a few people’s outright opinions about Rhaegar (instead of vague or implied ones): Daenerys, Jorah, Ned, Bran, Barristan, Cersei, Jaime, Robert, and Jon Connington.

Of those, 2 of them (Bran and Robert) see Rhaegar negatively, 2 of them (Ned and Jaime) see him almost indifferently (I’ll talk about that later), and 5 of them (Daenerys, Jorah, Barristan, Cersei, and Jon Connington) see him positively. That seems like there is more good than bad, but you have to look at the context.

Daenerys certainly isn’t going to view her brother (that she never met but has heard tales about from Viserys) as a villain when she’s been told a very different story, and even if Jorah and Barristan didn't like Rhaegar, they would never tell Daenerys that. It’s also worth noting that Jorah traded slaves and Barristan was part of a Kingsguard which has seriously questionable morals, so I can’t say that I hold either of their opinions in high regards.

Jon Connington thinks of Rhaegar in a positive light because he was in love with him, but ironically enough, he barely knew him. That's obvious from the fact that he was more jealous of Elia’s relationship with Rhaegar than Lyanna’s, which would make no sense if he truly knew what transpired and what Rhaegar was thinking.

Cersei thinks of Rhaegar positively because Rhaegar is to her what Lyanna is to Robert – a fantasy of what could have been that serves as an escape from the awful reality. Robert has abused Cersei countless times, and she’s understandably unhappy with him. She didn’t even know Rhaegar, but she deludes herself into thinking that her life would have been better if she had married him:

If she had only married Rhaegar as the gods intended, he would never have looked twice at the wolf girl. Rhaegar would be our king today and I would be his queen, the mother of his sons.

This is just like the way Robert deludes himself into thinking that he would be happy if he married Lyanna. Neither of these ideas are based in reality.

There’s also an unrealistic perception of royalty that comes into play. Look at what happens to Cersei:

Cersei was soiled goods now, her power at an end. Every baker's boy and beggar in the city had seen her in her shame and every tart and tanner from Flea Bottom to Pisswater Bend had gazed upon her nakedness, their eager eyes crawling over her breasts and belly and woman's parts. No queen could expect to rule again after that. In gold and silk and emeralds Cersei had been a queen, the next thing to a goddess; naked, she was only human, an aging woman with stretch marks on her belly and teats that had begun to sag … as the shrews in the crowds had been glad to point out to their husbands and lovers.

The perception (as opposed to the reality) is what really sets the royal family apart, and Rhaegar certainly had an advantage in that regard: he was a handsome and intelligent prince and a talented jouster and swordsman. On paper, that sounds great, so for people who didn’t really know him (like Cersei and Jon), what’s not to love?

Also, compare that to Aerys (who was growing increasingly paranoid and delusional and even looked like he was going mad by refusing to cut his hair or nails) & Robert (who was an abusive, angry drunk). To people like Barristan, Rhaegar seemed like the lesser of all evils (though the bar is certainly set very low).

Now think about the two people who view Rhaegar almost indifferently: Jaime and Ned. With Jaime, I say it’s indifferent because his memories and thoughts about Rhaegar aren’t really based on his opinion about him; they are more about his guilt at failing to protect Rhaegar’s children, which I think he realistically would have felt regardless of how he felt about the prince. It’s no secret that Jaime hates Robert, but he doesn’t seem to particularly love Rhaegar either. He mostly just gives facts about him that are tainted by his youth and his guilt.

Ned’s opinion is what people usually point to as an excuse for Rhaegar “not being so bad” because if Ned doesn’t hate him, then surely he must not have been so awful 🙄 The irony of that is that Ned had a much greater opinion of Robert than he deserved (at first), but that certainly doesn’t mean that Robert was a saint. And he mostly just remembers facts about Rhaegar; the only “positive” thing he thinks is this:

There was no answer Ned Stark could give to that but a frown. For the first time in years, he found himself remembering Rhaegar Targaryen. He wondered if Rhaegar had frequented brothels; somehow he thought not.

If not frequenting brothels is the standard for being a great person, then his expectations are far too low.

I also think this is rooted in Ned’s misogyny. Even though Ned doesn’t think poorly of Lyanna (which he shouldn’t), he knows that she went with Rhaegar willingly, and because of that, he doesn’t seem to fault Rhaegar for the power imbalance as much as he should.

Since he doesn't think of Rhaegar as a rapist, that implies that he seems to just accept that this was a bad decision that Rhaegar and Lyanna made together that had domino effects. It's not as bad as some characters thinking that Lyanna “seduced” Rhaegar, but it still doesn't put the blame fully where it belongs (by acknowledging that Lyanna was still a child who Rhaegar took advantage of).

Ned clearly still loved Lyanna dearly, but I do think he didn’t understand her decision to run away with Rhaegar in the first place, and part of that is because his views about Robert didn't match up with hers (which was obvious when he assured her that Robert was a good man who was true and would love her with all his heart). Even though he told Robert that he didn’t see the iron underneath Lyanna’s beauty, he still somehow thinks that Robert loved her truly:

Lyanna had only been sixteen, a child-woman of surpassing loveliness. Ned had loved her with all his heart. Robert had loved her even more. She was to have been his bride.

That’s one of the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever read, and yet somehow Ned believes that. By the time he starts thinking about Rhaegar again, he’s finally seeing Robert more clearly, and because of that, he’s finally beginning to think about/understand why Lyanna made the decision that she did. So I personally think that Ned's thoughts about Rhaegar (above) have more to do with Lyanna than the prince.

This became way longer than I intended, and I feel like I went off on a few tangents (sorry), but to sum it up: Not everyone views Rhaegar positively, and even if they did, it doesn’t make him a good person. He left his wife and children to kidnap a girl that was still a child, locked said girl in a tower without access to her family while she was pregnant, and set into motion a war that killed so many innocent people. I don’t care how many people “liked” him in the books; Rhaegar was still a jerk.

[myhockeyworld87]

Not So Dangerous Liaison - Sidney Crosby - Part 27

Word Count: 3,429

POV:  Reader

Warngings: Language, NSFW, Smut

Notes:  Here we are again. I think you all might kill me in future chapters so for now, let’s enjoy this one...haha. As always love your feedback and Happy Reading! Let me know what you guys think.

Not So Dangerous Liaison Masterlist

It was less than two weeks after your conversation with Mario that you and Sid were traveling to Los Angeles for the All Star game. Geno and Anna were supposed to be with you, but because of an injury, they had to back out. It was better for him to rest up anyhow. For Sid, it was more work than fun, though he did have a more carefree attitude than when he's normally on the ice. The two of you did sneak in some nice alone time over the few days.

Once you were back in Pittsburgh, it was business as normal. Well, maybe normal wouldn't be the right word for you, as you were busy helping with the Stadium series game that would take place at the end of February against the Flyers. Your hours were a little later when you were in town, which Sid didn't mind as he just spent extra time on the ice or watching films while he waited for you. You insisted that you could just take separate cars, but he wouldn't hear of it. It was really quite cute of him. 

The days leading up to the game were packed. The guys were doing media and squeezing in practices with their new equipment, while you worked behind the scenes with the rest of the crew setting things up. You wanted Heinz Field to feel just like PPG Arena did for them. The weather had everyone in a tither as Pittsburgh had got a bit of a warm front. Days leading up to the game saw temperatures in the seventies which was almost unheard of, for a February in Pennsylvania. In fact, on the day of the family skate, you were all literally wearing jeans and lightweight sweaters as you stood around watching the guys practice. 

"Will you hold Scar for me?" Vero asked. You were watching the guys practice with the ladies today, instead of by the bench. It was a rare occurrence that you got to take a game in with them, so it was a nice change of pace. She handed baby Scarlett off to you while she bent down and put on Estelle's skates. 

"Hello, sweetness," you said to the one-and-a-half-year-old, kissing her little cheeks in the process. "Do you see daddy out there?" You pointed out where Marc Andre was and Scarlett smiled. 

"Hi, daddy!" She yelled, but you weren't entirely sure he could hear her, as he was all the way down in net. "Unc Sid!" She exclaimed when Sidney came by and tapped on the glass. 

"Hi Scar!" He waved at her then gave you a look. One you weren't entirely sure you'd ever seen, before skating away leaving you to wonder what was going through his head. Practice ended soon thereafter and you all joined the guys out on the ice. Though most of them shed their pads due to the heat of the afternoon sun. 

"Ice looked a little slushy," you commented to Sid when he skated over to you.

"It's not bad. They said the temperature's supposed to drop tonight and tomorrow so we'll be ok. Come on." He grabbed your hand pulling you out onto the ice with him. It was something you still weren't comfortable doing. Sid could literally skate circles around anyone, while you still had to concentrate if you wanted to go backward. He recognized that and always made sure he held onto you so that you wouldn't fall. "You looked good out there." He said offhandedly as you made your way around the now shiny surface of the ice.

"Huh? I wasn't doing anything. I'm pretty sure I should be saying that to you."

"That's not what I meant."

"Obviously," you said hitting him playfully and losing your balance at the same time. Sid righted you with ease so that to the casual onlooker they never would've seen you stumble. 

"I meant holding Scarlett."

"Oh well, she's easy to love that's for sure. I'm going to miss them when they go." With the expansion team coming to Vegas, it was already widely known within the team that Flower would be the member they would choose. It was crushing, not only to you but to Sid as well. Your friendship with the Fleury's was one of the things you both treasured most; they were the reason you were with Sid right now. And while they would always be some of your best friends' things wouldn't be the same in Pittsburgh without them. 

"I know," Sid replied wistfully. "But we've still got them for now." You skated around a few more times, before he let you go, only so that he could wrap his arms around your midsection and skate with you from behind. It was definitely intimate and you were surprised with all the media around that Sid was into such a public display of affection. Sure there had been the parades, but usually, he tried to keep your relationship out of the public eye if he could. "I just think you really looked good." He whispered in your ear.

"You've seen me in this outfit before."

"Not that, you know…" You had to crane your neck back to look at him, but you noticed he was turning a bit red and it had nothing to do with the unseasonably warm temperatures. "Holding Scarlett." He finally spit out. "It makes me think about having our own."

"OH!" The word came out a little louder than you intended. Of course, Sid had confessed that he wanted kids with you. It just seemed like something that was further away in the future and not something that he'd been thinking about recently. 

"I know you're going to tell me it's too soon, and maybe you're right. I just can't help but think about it on days like today." You looked around then, watching all the guys skate with their significant others, some with kids while others had kids on the way. You could see the allure. As the two of you continued to glide around the ice, you let your mind wander to what it would be like. It was easy to picture, especially after watching Sid this summer with his Little Penguins camp. He'd be holding your son's or daughter's hands, much like Flower was doing now with Estelle, helping them navigate the ice. When Sid's hands tightened around your waist you couldn't stop yourself from wondering what it would feel like to be growing his child inside you. You found yourself relaxing more into Sid's embrace as you daydreamed about your future. 

"It's definitely a nice picture," you finally sighed, letting him know that you weren't opposed to the idea.

"Yeah, yeah it is." His voice took on a dreamy quality and you knew he was imagining the same thing as you. It seemed like one minute you were caught up in your little fantasy and the next you guys were having to leave the ice and it was back to reality. Not that your reality was a bad one, you still had Sid and for now, that's all you needed. 

Sid was right temperatures definitely cooled down. By game time the following day, it was barely thirty degrees and falling. You were bundled up in a coat with the team logo on it along with a matching tossle cap on your head. Sid had been mad that you hadn't worn the one all the ladies got with their guys' number on it, but you had insisted that when you were on the clock you were rooting for the entire team and not just him. At the moment you were wishing you had it so that you could put it on top of your current one. Your teeth were chattering and you kept bouncing on the balls of your feet to keep you warm. 

Midway through the first Sid scored, which had you jumping up and down and cheering along with the team as well as the thousands of fans in the stadium. It did little to help get you warm and you were practically running to the locker room tunnel by end of the first. You grabbed a cup of hot tea while the players went over the first period and where they could make improvements. It went pretty much the same way in the second, even though Nick Bonino scored early the Flyers were able to cut the lead in half with a goal from Jakub Voracek. Again, you raced off to get warm as soon as the horn sounded. 

Your feet were numb by the time Cully scored a goal early in the third, and though the Flyers scored on a power play, Chad Ruhwedel sealed the Pens victory with over five minutes left in play. The stadium erupted with the win, though it did little to warm you up. You stayed long enough to watch the team skate around in their little victory lap, then headed back down to the nice warm locker room. 

Of course, Sid had to do media, which meant you were there even longer. He was afforded the luxury of a nice hot shower before the two of you headed home. "Can you please turn the heat up?" you whined once you were in the car. "I'm freezing."

"It was a bit cold out there, eh?" Sid commented as he turned the heat on your side of the vehicle to max. 

"Ya think? I thought I was going to freeze to death when the snow started to fly."

"Babe, it's all part of outdoor hockey." He grabbed one of your hands in his. "Fuck, you are cold. You should've worn thermals or something."

"Trust me I will next time. I think it's just worse because of how beautiful it was yesterday."

"Well, as soon as we get home, we'll get you in the tub."

"Uh, yes, please." The ride through the city, while mostly traffic free, seemed endless. 

"Head upstairs, babe and I'll bring you up a cup of tea as soon as I get rid of my gear." Not having to be told twice, you made your way up to your shared master bath and started running the water. You hated stripping out of your clothes, as it felt like the only warmth your body had at the moment but as soon as your toes touched the steaming water, you sighed as the warmth heated your skin. You were fully immersed up to your neck by the time Sid came up with a steaming mug full of tea. "Better?"

"A little," you answered taking a sip of the drink he'd prepared perfectly for you before setting it back down on the ledge of the tub. "Still a bit chilly." 

"Well in that case." Sid started to strip out of his clothes. Divesting himself of his suit that he'd worn to the game. He folded it over the chair you used to put your makeup on, so that it didn't get any wrinkles, then made his way over to you and the tub. "Scooch up, babe." You did and he scooted in behind you, easing you back against him once he was comfortable in the water. His arms wrapped around you instantly and you felt engulfed in his heat. "This better?"

"Mmm much." You were completely content wrapped up in your boyfriend's arms with the water lapping around you both, so you rested your head against his chest. "You played really well tonight," you mused shutting your eyes and just giving yourself over to the warmth that was Sid.

"It was a lot of fun. I love playing outdoors. It's so authentic." Only Sid would put it like that, but you knew what he meant. "Though I wish you would've dressed warmer baby."

"I'm fine now." You took another long sip of tea, the temperature perfect. 

Sid kissed your temple. "Good, can't have you getting sick on me." 

"God no, I'll have to sleep in the guest room, if that happens."

"Why?"

"I'm not going to be responsible for getting the star player sick." You told him, turning your head so that you could look him in the eye. "You will not be missing a game because of me."

"I'd still probably end up missing a game because I wouldn't be able to sleep without you in our bed." His arms tightened around you, almost as if you were going to run off to the guest room right then. "But we're not worrying about that now, because we are definitely sleeping in the same bed tonight." His lips captured yours then, stealing your breath away and heating your body all the way to your core. You could feel his erecting grow against you as the kiss went on. It was nothing to reach behind you and wrap your fingers around his length. He moaned into your mouth, before gently sucking on your bottom lip as he broke the kiss. "You know two can play that game." His hand stole down your stomach and slipped between your folds, the water making it easy for him to caress you there. Your hand stuttered on his cock as he slid two fingers into you. Sid took the opportunity to grab your wrist with his free hand so that you could no longer manipulate him as you liked. "Lean your head back and enjoy this for a bit."

"But…"

"We'll get to that." He told you as he settled you against him once again. He shimmied his legs so that they were in between yours but only for a moment so that he could spread yours wide; your legs now splayed on either side of his. Sid's fingers continued to toy with your pussy, alternating between pumping in and out of you and rubbing circles on your clit, while his other hand tweaked your nipples into taut little peaks. Before you knew it you were panting with need, the chill of the evening game completely forgotten as Sid stoked a fire deep within you. His lips came down on the nape of your neck, his tongue driving you wild just as his fingers were. It was all too much as the water gently lapped at your skin. You felt your body gently rise into his touch, yet he held you firm working you towards that peak you craved. It didn't take long for your orgasm to hit. It washed over you like a wave cresting on the sand as your body trembled, this time not from the cold but the pleasure of Sid's touch. "You're so fucking sexy when you cum." His warm breath sent a shiver down your spine.

You were so sated you almost didn't want to move, but then you wanted him to experience the same ecstasy that you'd just felt. "We should…" you went to tell him that you should move to the bed but Sid had other plans.

"We'll be fine here, just kneel for a second." Your legs were already on either side of him, so it wasn't hard. He adjusted himself a bit, sitting more upright in the tub, before bending his knees slightly for you to lean against. You turned your head to the side to see him stroke himself a couple times, before lining himself up with your pussy. "Now just come back a little." You did as instructed; your pussy engulfing his cock as you basically sat reverse cowgirl on him. With his knees bent you leveraged yourself against them and started to ride his cock. "Fuck baby, you feel so good." His hands were on your hips making sure you wouldn't slip in the tub, but controlling your pace as well. 

Water sloshed against the sides of the tub, some of it spilling over the sides. "Oh shit," you moaned out knowing that you were making a mess of the bathroom floor. 

Sid could see where your thoughts were going. "Forget it, (Y/N). We'll get it later." He accentuated his words by thrusting up deep inside you. The action making you groan with desire. "That feel good, baby?"

"Yes," you cried out as he hit your g-spot again. "Right there," you panted and he hit the spot over and over again until you were convulsing around him in your second climax. 

"Jesus, (Y/N)," Sid moaned as your pussy gripped him like a vice. The grip he had on your hips tightened as he rammed into your cunt. He was so close to falling off the edge and cumming with you but he wanted to hold off, make it last longer, give you one more orgasm before he sought his own pleasure. Sid slowed his thrusts then, as you relaxed momentarily against his knees. "So fucking beautiful." It took you a moment to catch your breath before you started to move again. His thrusts weren't as deep as before, giving you a moment's reprieve before he went at it again. You knew Sid, knew he could keep up this leisurely pace all night if he wanted. The water was cooling though, and even though your body was still on fire after two orgasms you had no wish to be cold again. It was then that you decided to move your hips, rocking in a motion that you knew would drive him wild. And it did. It wasn't long before he was bucking up into you again. The water going everywhere now. Some of it even hitting his designer suit which rested across the room on the chair. "Fuck, (Y/N)," he hissed out and you could tell he wouldn't last much longer at this pace. He let one hand snake around to your clit. His fingers applying just the right amount of pressure there, as he rubbed circles into the little nub. 

"Sid, I'm gonna…"

"Yes, baby, yes," he groaned on the verge of hitting his peak as well. You were both there with a few thrusts. His hot cum filling you up as you quaked around him. The pleasure so intense you swore you saw stars. Sid collapsed against the back of the tub and while you wanted to follow, the position you were in did not make it that easy. It took a little maneuvering on both your parts, but soon you were back to lounging against Sid.

"We should get out." The water was definitely cooled now and this time you shivered from it.

"You still cold?"

"A little."

"Well, let's get you in bed then." The towel you had laid out was completely soaked, so you just laid it across the floor as you moved to get out of the tub. "Careful," Sid warned as you stepped out onto the shiny marble floor. You moved quickly yet cautiously to the cabinet and grabbed both of you a towel while laying down a few more to soak up the water. 

You'd just finished wrapping the fluffy white towel around your body when Sid scooped you up and headed towards the bedroom. "Sid, stop! I need to clean up that mess."

"It'll dry." He must have been anticipating how the night would go for the bed was already turned down as he placed you in the middle of the mattress. He scooted in behind you, discarding his towel in one swift motion, before sweeping the covers over both of you. His hands made quick work of ridding you of the wet cloth that was helping you dry. "They say body heat is the fastest way to warm someone up."

"Hmm, is that so," you said turning in his embrace. 

"Mmmhmm. I'm sure I read it somewhere."

"I'm sure you did. I'm just wondering what else this book said."

His hands were roaming up and down your back and gliding across the globes of your ass. "Oh, lots more."

You kissed his neck wanting to return the favor he had given you a while ago, then you moved to his chest before saying, "such as?" You continued your path downward over Sid's abs.

"I'm sure there was…" he sucked in a breath as you placed a warm kiss on his pelvis. "Fuck I can't think of a word." 

You grinned up at him from beneath the covers. "Let me see if I can make you forget all together." Sid lost all train of thought as your lips connected with his cock. The night continued on like that for a few more hours before the two of you were so sated you could do nothing but sleep. 

[writing-in-april]

Converging Parallels

Spencer Reid x Female Single Mom Reader (Spencer’s POV)

Summary: Spencer goes to a support group Penelope suggested after the death of Maeve. He quickly connects with a single mom who’s experiences have been similar to Spencer’s.

A/N: I’m prefacing this by saying I know shit about math and am horrible at it lol 😂 so my math analogies might be horribly off 😂 This is my fifth fic for my 30 fics in 30 days for April- this one was requested by @samuel-de-champagne-problems- this is the request- (go check out there fics too!!) I tweaked it a little bit so I hope you enjoy it 🥺 a lot of it is confined to Spencer grappling with his thoughts- but there is dialogue I promise lol 😂I had a good time writing it ☺️Thanks for all the love recently and if you want to drop me an ask for any reason you can do so here- I’m always looking for some new friends on here (I promise I don’t bite lol) Thanks again and hope y’all enjoy 🥰

Warnings: Angst with a hopeful ending, General dealings surrounding death and grief, Mentions of Maeve’s death, Reader’s a widow, Guilt about moving on, Reader’s child is a daughter

Main Masterlist Word Count: 1.6k

Parallel lines were never supposed to meet, they were set on a strict path following in a similar direction with no hope of ever converging. At least that’s what was the widely accepted definition by anyone with any authority in the field of mathematics.

My own math degree was being contested by a set of two lines set on a collision course with each other, though they were not supposed to. Logically I knew that the two lines were not beholden to any mathematical equation as I was referring to two human lives.

We were set on a similar course, only slight differences that seemingly were leading us to different destinations, or at least I tried to convince myself that. I tried every night to convince myself that she was only a friend, that it wasn’t what she wanted and I was desecrating the memory of the person I still claimed to be the only person I loved.

Logically I knew that by forcing where I wanted our relationship to go, what I thought the universe wanted to happen wasn’t what I truly wanted. The reason I had boxed us in so vehemently was only because I was scared and guilty, I knew it too. I wanted us to converge, but logic doesn’t always win out when dealing with guilt.

It had all started with Garcia mentioning that I should consider going to a grief support group after the death of Maeve. Every action I took was being weighed down by her death, whether I cared to admit it or not.

Garcia had good intentions when she suggested going to this meeting to me, of that I was sure. It isn’t that I saw no reason to go to the support group, I just knew that it would dreg up all the unwanted feelings that bombarded me enough already.

The flier in my hands felt heavy even though it was made of paper it weighed my hands down enough where I almost dropped it. I could have let it go then to have it fly away, being taken by the wind, that would let me forget about it. But, I knew it would have only made me forget for a short while, I’d inevitably get questions from Garcia and my own mind wouldn’t let me forget the reality of what had happened. And, logically I knew that it would most likely help. So instead of letting the wind take it away, I crumpled the paper slightly in my hands out of frustration, moving my feet forward one step at a time to enter the building.

That’s where I had first met her. When I first walked in I didn’t immediately lock eyes with her or anything, my eyes were too fixated on the ground for that to happen.

I only noticed her when she was invited to tell her story. Her strength instantly captivated me, almost making me feel like a failure at first. Her story of how she lost her husband was eerily similar in some aspects, especially the cause of his death. The feeling of failure on my part to be strong swirled in my gut as she recounted her struggles that were so starkly similar to mine. She even had a young daughter to take care of as well, she often spoke of her whenever she told her story, almost neglecting herself sometimes- which she admitted she knew she needed to work on.

However, when she came up to me to talk after the meeting was concluded my opinion switched to view her as inspiring. We began getting coffee after each meeting, sometimes talking for hours, sometimes sitting in silence. Whatever I needed she was there to give it to me, whenever she needed help I wanted to be there too.

To see our almost parallel lives begin to converge at first felt like someone had driven a car into traffic about to collide straight into my path. My mind would not stop arguing about whether or not I should pull away from her or not, like guilt was on shoulder and my potential happiness was on the other.

—-

Guilt was eating away at me from the inside out slowly, that part of my mind would not stop clawing away any good aspect of my relationship with Y/N. The relationship between us had shifted in recent weeks, tension invading what had once been a simply platonic connection formed through our shared experiences. When it became clear to me what our lingering stares and touches were leading to, guilt had reared its ugly head to burrow its way down deep and take root.

It had disrupted my sleep even more than usual, nightmares ranging from Maeve guilting me to the visuals of her death. The images of Maeve and any time I had shared with her invaded my brain at all hours of the night, haunting me. I scrunched my eyes up tight, maybe that would banish the images from my brain. That only made the guilt worse it seemed as I now felt double the guilt for wanting to banish the thoughts about a person I still claimed to love.

My hand hit the pillow in frustration, then grabbing it and throwing it to some unknown location across the room. Sitting up, no longer being able to tolerate laying down knowing that sleep would never come, made my exhausted joints beg me to lay back down. I leaned forward to put my head in my hands, also tangling my curls with my fingers. I tried to think about what Y/N had said to me at one of the first meetings I had attended, my normally impeccable memory struggled as the memory of Maeve’s bloodied face would not leave. Screaming internally was the only thing that seemed to work to push the words I was looking for forward,

“I try to think about something my therapist told me- Although it's difficult today to see beyond the sorrow, May looking back in memory help comfort you tomorrow.”

The quote wasn’t something groundbreaking or new, though the origins were unknown. But, the words still struck me deep everytime I forced my memory to call back on them.

The words she had spoken in the meeting when talking about her husband made me want to try too. She inspired me whenever she told snippets of her story to me or the rest of the group, her story had been similar to mine- with the added element of having a daughter to raise on her own.

Her strength was what had drawn me to her initially, like a moth to flame. Our relationship wasn’t even a friendship at first, just two people sharing advice (more her giving it to me) about how to deal with crippling grief.

What had blossomed since then from death and decay had thrown me for a loop. I hadn’t been expecting for this to happen, I never even thought romance would be an option for me again. I thought that I would have one great love and that our time in the sun had ended along with any option for romantic interests in the future.

Then she came along and spun my thinking upside down, not that I blamed her at all for it. She originally had just reached out to help me, not to pursue any romantic connection purposefully while I was vulnerable.

She continued to stay with me to help despite my urge to push her away even though that’s not what I wanted. I tried hard to convince myself that our lives were never meant to connect, that we were destined to remain apart.

It took many more sleepless nights for me to realize what I hadn’t seen for so long, even with Y/N reassuring me at every turn. Maeve would want me to be happy, I was sure of it. So I’d try to let myself, no longer letting myself get hindered by my own swirling thoughts of guilt that Maeve wouldn’t have wanted me to feel.

—-

Asking her out on a date had been surprisingly easy once I had let go a little of my guilt. We had chosen to go somewhere different than a coffee shop, since we already did that often. I took her out to more of an upscale restaurant than she was used to, which may be too fancy for some for a first date, but she deserved it. She worked so hard to take care of her daughter and even me to some extent.

At the end of the night we were both standing outside her door ready to go in to relieve the babysitter for the night. I had already given her a chaste kiss for the night, even though my nerves kept trying to talk me out of it. I was about to say goodbye when she grabbed my wrist to hold in her hands. She looked afraid at first, almost like she wondered if I wouldn’t like her touching me. Touch may bother me with most people, but she wasn’t most people, I’d happily share germs with her. When I did not pull away relief was evident in her eyes, then taking a big breath before speaking,

“Would you like to meet my daughter?” Her voice was shaky, understandably full of worry.

“Of course.” In the past hesitation would have littered my voice if she had asked me the same question. But, my thoughts had been slowly shifting to want our lines to converge fully and with no fear. Sure, Maeve would always capture a place in my heart, but I was ready for our lives to collide. Our parallel lives converged into one line, with a set path forward. It may get derailed from its intended path, but we would be stronger together than apart.

Ask me anything

—-

Tag lists (message me if you want to be added):

All works: @shotarosleftpinky @oreogutz @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg @takeyourleap-of-faith (damn tumblr just let me tag them)

All MGG characters: @muffin-cup @willowrose99

Spencer Reid/CM: @calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @slutforthegubes @onlyhereforthefanfics @jareauswifey