#uhhhhhh enjoy!

[dontlookherealexhorne]

I was finally able to get that MS Paint art on here :)

[biruesque]

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

Of Truths and Dreams; Lilia Vanrouge

Dreams can tell a lot about a person. Their wants, their fears. But sometimes they can tell you the truth, and sometimes it isn't pretty.

Supporting Characters; Baul (for a second), Sebek Zigvolt

Content; Soulmate AU (I call them soul matches), gender neutral reader, can be read as familial, platonic, or romantic, Chapter 7 spoilers, hurt/comfort, some General Vanrouge

Content Warning; Chapter 7 spoilers, war, death (talk, I don't describe it), angst? (idk man)

Word Count; 5.5 K

Don't put my works into AI, as AI steals in order to "create".

Sebek's Story | Malleus's Story

The Thorn Fairy had gifted a blessing to the fae, a blessing of soul matches. 

A connection forged between two souls. Such a connection is rare, and different variations do occur; primarily in beastmen and merfolk. Each clan had their unique soul match bonds. And the fae were no different. However, their history was not written down on paper, or carved into the corals. The information and history of fae soul matches was an oral history, passed down from generation to generation through hushed tones. 

To outsiders, they shrugged it off as just another odd behaviour of the clan, but the fae had good reason to be wary. In the past, the knowledge of fae soul matches was shared with an outsider, and because of that blunder of misplaced trust, the royal family was targeted. But that was many a queen’s reign ago. But the fae do not forget such transgressions, no; that story, that history, is used as a warning. Tell no one but whom you would trust your life with any information regarding your soul match, lest it be used against you. No one outside of the fae, save for their soul match, is to know of this most treasured bond.

Despite the secretiveness of fae soul matches, they were celebrated once they manifested themselves, as they were a blessing from the Thorn Fairy herself. There is a catch though; due to their long life spans, it can take years, decades, or even centuries in the very rare and unfortunate cases, for the bond between soul match partners to manifest itself. The only thing more unfortunate than it taking centuries is if their soul match were human… for a human lifespan is only a fraction that of even the more short-lived fae clans. It was seen as a tragedy, a doomed pairing from the beginning, with a heartbroken fae as the only possible answer. Such pairings were pitied, and seen as bad luck.

But what does the bond between soul matches take the form of within the fae? What does the Thorn Fairy’s blessing of soul matches look like?

There are many speculations on that. Many scholars say it is a mark on the body; a mole, or three scratches. But that is not correct. It is not a shared song, a stone messenger, or a coloured thread on their finger. And there is a written record of the bond as well; one just has to dig deep into the records, scrolls, and tomes that exist within the library of the former castle of the Draconia’s.

It is also a melody, a hum on the lips of many fae if by chance you are able to hear it. I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream. The soul match bonds between the fae and their match took the form of shared dreams, tinted the colour of their soul. They cannot truly see the other, or speak to each other, but the gleam in their eyes is one that will stay in their mind, as it is so familiar a gleam. 

…

…

…

Rest is a luxury, a luxury that Lilia could not spare. The war would not wait for the general to be well rested, or wait for him to have a nap. No, it would continue until it either ended with one side coming out the victor, or it would end with peace negotiations. Rest can wait. But the fae in his company were sleeping, and he was on the first watch.

But there was something else which made him avoid resting; his dreams. His dreams were black and white, devoid of any colour, and he was always alone in them. Yes, there may be other people, but they didn’t interact. His soul match was nowhere to be seen. Three hundred years and there has been absolutely nothing.

He wasn’t alone on watch duty though, Baul was beside him, staring out into the dark. 

“You need to rest,” he huffed, shooting a look towards Lilia from the corner of his eye. 

Lilia quirked a brow, but his gaze did not waver from the darkness of the forest. There was something out there, waiting. “I can rest when this is over.” His voice was cold, sharp, like that of a blade. “I cannot rest while a war is still being fought on our lands.”

Baul pushed his shoulders back and turned his eyes back to the darkness of the forest. “General, if you do not rest, it will eventually catch up to you. Whether you like it or not.” 

He was right, if Lilia did sleep, it would eventually catch up with him in the worst possible moment. The last thing that he needed was to fall into a microsleep in the middle of battle. Thirty seconds of vulnerability in the heat of conflict could spell the very end for him. He let out a tired sigh, “I suppose you are right. When our shift is over I can rest.”

After an uneventful night watch, save for the crack of a stick in the distance — which turned out to be nothing more than just a deer passing through — Lilia turned in for the night in his tent. He stared up to the ceiling, and tried to fall asleep, but the harder he tried the more difficult it became, but eventually exhaustion won over frustration and Lilia fell asleep.

His dream was black and white, as always. They have been devoid of colour for the past three hundred years, so why would they be any different now?

He was a child again, playing in a flower meadow with Malenoa and Levan. Well, Malenoa was playing whereas Levan had been dragged along against his will. And Lilia? Well, wherever the crown princess went, he followed; part of it being that they were friends, the other being that he was raised alongside her and swore to protect her.

“Lilia! Come on,” Malenoa shouted from across the glen, a big smile on her face. “Last one to the thicket is a rotten egg!” And she took off, dragging Levan behind her, the young boy letting out an undignified squawk.

Lilia gave chase, a peel of laughter escaping his lips. “That’s not fair! You got a head’s start!” He eventually caught up to the two royals at the large rose thicket on the outskirts of the meadow. “I guess I’m the rotten egg,” he huffed before sitting down next to a dishevelled looking Levan.

He didn’t really understand why the Thorn Fairy had bonded them together, Malenoa and Levan couldn’t be more opposite of each other. But soul matches do work in mysterious ways… But Lilia wondered when the Thorn Fairy would place that blessing onto him. He had spent, and would spend, his life serving the royal family after the queen had taken him in, so why didn’t the first of the royal bloodline deem him worthy?

Malenoa was looking at the roses until she found one that she liked. She plucked it from the stem, whispered a quiet thank you to the briar patch, and then placed it behind Lilia’s ear. A baby pink rose, but he could not see the colour of the flower, only that it was pale. A stark contrast against Lilia’s jet black hair.

“What’s that for,” he asked but did not dare remove the flower. He should have been used to Malenoa’s antics by now, but she still caught him off guard despite their time spent together.

Malenoa hummed, “Pink suits you, plus since you were the rotten egg, you stunk so badly that you needed the rose to cover up the smell.” She stuck out her tongue and pinched her nose with her fingers, giggling. “A stinky, stinky egg! Right, Levan?”

Levan looked tired, but he nodded his head. “Unfortunately it seems so.” He coughed, trying to cover up the chortle that nearly escaped his lips.

The easy nature of the dream shifted, the briars from the rose thicket separating Lilia from Malenoa and Levan. The thicket then caught on fire, smoking out the dream (the memory?) in a thick, dark, smoke.

Lilia woke with a start, and placed his hand over his heart. It was beating fast, and he was covered in sweat. He then heard a commotion coming from outside, and it wasn’t the usual squabbling he heard as people tried to barter over the best breakfast options.

He strided out into the camp, and he didn’t make it very far until one of the soldiers came clamouring over to him, tripping over their feet in the process.

“G-general!” They heaved, looking pale. “N-news! From the front lines!” They handed him a scroll before taking back off to their tent.

Lilia opened the scroll and his eyes froze, pupils contracting into harsh slits. The parchment crumpled in his tight fist, but he regained his composure. They had a war to end, but Lilia’s mission had shifted from that of victory for country. It had shifted to justice; to serve justice to the murders of Malenoa. For his friend, his family, for Levan, and for her unhatched egg; the hope, and now only future, for the Draconias.

…

…

…

Another four hundred years had passed, and Lilia’s dreams were still black and white. And where he may have had been bitter in his younger years, he no longer held that resentment. Yes, he still questioned why he had not received a soul match, but he had accepted that it was simply not to be. Besides, he now had more meaning in his life. He had been many things in his life; a friend, a soldier, an advisor, and now, a father. The silver haired baby that he had found years ago, Silver, was everything Lilia could ever really ask for. He loved Malleus, but not to the same degree as Silver; Malleus was the heir to the throne above all else.

Lilia was content with how things currently were, happy even. He had found his purpose.

“Hmm, this school year should prove interesting,” he hummed to himself. The ceremony was today, and it proved to be a most interesting one at that. He did wonder what the newcomer, the one not suitable to any dorm, would do. They didn’t seem like the type to just leave things alone. He shook his head though, and made himself comfortable in his bed, turning in for the night.

He was in the meadow of his youth again, but it was now overgrown. The vines from the rose thicket choking out all of the other flowers and grasses. And all but one rose was withered away. And this single rose was pink. Lilia could see colour, and the pink bled into the rest of the dream, casting everything in a rose-tinted light. 

After seven hundred years, the Thorn Fairy had finally answered his call. And everything was pink. “After all this time, now you have decided they can enter my life,” he whispered, looking directly at the rose. 

If he were younger, he would have been overjoyed, but Lilia knew that he did not have the commodity of time at his side. Despite the fae’s long lifespan, he was old, and his magic reservoir was running low. And the bitterness that he had since forgotten reappeared. “Why would you put them through this?”

He turned on his heel, but stopped. At the edge of the meadow was his soul match, he could not make out their face, appearance, nor their voice, but he knew it was them. “You should leave.” His words were not spoken, but were instead written in the air in glowing pink letters. But instead of turning around and leaving, they took a step forward, and then another, before coming to rest in front of Lilia.

“Who are you,” their words were written in pink letters, just like his. And even though he could not see their face, he could distinctly tell they wore an expression of confusion. “And why is everything pink?”

Lilia woke up to the sounds of his alarm going off, ripping him out of the dream. Why is everything pink? His soul match didn’t know what the colour ment, which could only mean one thing; his match was not fae. His soul match was mortal. And that revelation made a lump form in his throat.

He was worried about his soul match outliving him, that the possibility that he would outlive them never crossed his mind. Why had the Thorn Fairy chosen them? Why did she gift him an ending that would end in heartbreak?

…

…

Ever since finding yourself in Twisted Wonderland you started keeping a dream journal. Alongside the weird, and sometimes downright disturbing, dreams about future overblots, you had rose-tinted ones with a stranger in them. But they kept their distance. And you hadn’t found any answers for them. 

“Human!” The sharp shout from Sebek tore you away from your thoughts, as the first-year student was incredibly… loud. “Do you know how rude it is to ignore somebody when they are talking?! Did you not sleep last night?!” 

In the few months that you’ve been stuck here, you came to call the abrasive Diasomnia student a reluctant friend. He may be prickly, but it was his own way of showing that he cared… in his own roundabout way which usually involved yelling and non-intentional insults. 

Did you not sleep last night?! Yes, but it was anything but restful.

You were in the midst of a battlefield, which was now long over. The only evidence being the hollow armour of warriors long fallen. And, as in all of your dreams, there were roses everywhere. Their thorny vines creating a wall, trapping you and the pink stranger in together.

This wasn’t your dream, it was their’s… or more like a memory? It was all way too centred in reality, in mourning and loss, to be a dream. What did they live through?

“What happened here?” Your words floated gently in the air and only disappeared when the stranger noticed them.

They picked up a broken spear and held it gently in their grasp. “What do you think? War. War is what happened here.” Their words floated in front of you, and you could see the weight of them on their shoulders. “The dreams of many died here, the only thing remaining of them being the armour that was supposed to protect them.”

What the hell have they lived through? “... were you there?” 

The dream shifted, no longer were you standing on a long forgotten battlefield, now reclaimed by nature, but you were now sitting in a dark castle. Not even the pink hue over everything could brighten it.

The stranger went up the stairs. Go away, can you not tell I am not the best person for you? Our story will only end in hurt. But they said none of that, continuing to go up the long winding staircase. “Did you hear me? I asked you if you were there!” You yelled after them, following them up the spiralling staircase until the both of you came to a halt in front of a large wooden door, scorched at the bottom.

“Yes,” the words floated in your face before fading away. “I was there… I led the battle. I led them to death.”

I led them to death. You were sweating buckets, but before you knew what you were doing you wrote down a note in your dream journal

Roses. Thorns. Battle. Magic. War. You had no real idea what it all meant, but it was somewhere to start. A step in the direction of figuring what it all meant

“No,” you said, avoiding Sebek’s concerned gaze, “I didn’t sleep well… not at all.” You hadn’t slept soundly in weeks. You hadn’t had a pleasant dream since you woke up here. “Nightmares,” you whispered, “night after night. And a stranger, the same stranger, who is avoiding me.”

Sebek’s face paled, and he placed his hand on your shoulder. “Human,” his voice was now quiet, guarded. He led you to a classroom and made sure no one was around. “Are these dreams a certain colour? Do words float in the air? Can you not make out their face?” Even though this was the quietest that he has spoken, it was also the most serious Sebek had been with you. 

You nodded your head, “All of that, yes. How did you know?” Your brows pinched, and you let out a deep sigh. “Sebek, if you know something, please, just tell me.”

Sebek was fighting a war in his head; tell the truth to you, or keep the fae soul match a secret. But the dark bags under your eyes told him enough. “You have a soul match, and they are fae. I’m… sorry.”

The bell rang and he was off to his next class, leaving you alone with this world altering information. I have a soul match? They’re fae? … why did he look so sad for me?

…

…

…

Lilia noticed something off about Sebek the moment he walked, or rather stormed, to the confines of his room. So, he followed, gently knocking at the door, waiting for an answer.

“May I come in?”

He heard Sebek scramble up and open the door. “Of course, Lilia-sama!” He was just like his grandfather; loud, a bit too stiff for his own good, but loyal, almost to a fault. 

Lilia walked over to the bed, and patted the spot beside him. “Come, sit. You seem to be carrying quite the burden.” He had noticed Sebek’s odd behaviour all day, and it wasn’t like him to do so. “Come now, out with it.”

Sebek picked at a loose thread on his bedding, and massaged his temple. “It’s about soul matches.”

Lilia felt the lump in his throat form again. “What about them? They are a blessing from the Thorn Fairy herself. Who are we to question her decision-”

“A human disclosed that they have a soul match, a fae soul match. And I told them that. I broke the oath to not tell anyone!” Sebek clenched his fists and looked down at the floor. “They aren’t even my soul match, and I told them!”

Lilia placed his hand on Sebek’s back, and started patting him on the back. A gesture that meant everything was going to be okay. “Well,” a breathy chuckle escaped his lips, a soft smile on his face, “they deserve to know what is ahead of them, do they not?”

Like I have been trying to tell mine, but they still have not left it alone. They keep on showing up, night after night.

Sebek seemed to calm down, but there was still a lot weighing heavy in his mind. “It’s not my place to talk. It is for them, and their match to decide. But,” he took a deep breath, and that familiar intensity in his eyes was back, “I can’t help but worry.”

Lilia recognized the look in his pseudo-adopted son’s eyes, it all too well reflected the look Baul would get before battle. And this was Sebek, concerned for a human, which would only mean one thing; whoever they were, they were a friend of his. And that narrowed everything down. Time to do some sleuthing of my own. “They’re strong, most likely stubborn. They shall be fine,” his voice was light, trying to brighten the atmosphere of the room. “It’s late, you should really get some rest.”

With that, Lilia walked out of the room and softly closed the door. There was something that he needed to do tonight, in his dream.

…

…

This dream was different from all the others. There were no signs of the thorny brambles of roses. There were no signs of war. No, instead Lilia found himself in the courtyard of Night Raven College, the sun high overhead and a slight breeze playing with loose leaves. This wasn’t his dream; it was his soul match’s. And you were sitting under a tree, looking up at the sky, just watching the clouds pass by. 

“This is a nice change of pace,” the pink words drifted slowly in the wind. “Better than nightmares and bad memories.”

Lilia felt a twinge of guilt. Better than nightmares and bad memories. Those were his doing. And instead of him being subjected to your nightmares and memories that you would rather forget, the both of them were here, in a quiet moment in time. There was no war, there was no loss. There was only you and Lilia, and an easy feeling. “You are too kind,” he sighed. Thank you. That is what he meant.

You hummed, “I can’t control my dreams, so it’s really just a fluke.” You sighed and rested your head against the tree, closing your eyes and enjoying the filtered sunlight. “I’m just happy it’s a pleasant one.”

“As am I,” he took a seat next to you and looked up to the sky, watching the clouds aimlessly pass by. I need to tell them. “It is cruel, what the Thorn Fairy has done to you. Gifting you a fae soul match.”

You turned your head towards him. Even though you couldn’t truly see who they were, you could see that they carried a lot on their shoulders. You didn’t say anything though, but instead offered your silence as an indicator for him to continue.

“How much do you know about soul matches?” It is their and their soul match’s decision. He wanted to tell them everything, so that they could decide for themself if they wanted him in their life.

You sighed. So now they decide to tell me? “Pretty much nothin’. Just the basics; soul matches exist, which I can kinda infer what it means, they’re gifted by the Thorn Fairy, and you’re fae. I have found absolutely nothing that even talks about the subject, and nobody but my one friend has mentioned it.”

Nobody but my one friend has mentioned it. Were they friends with Sebek? That would narrow down everything drastically, and would also explain why they were relaxing at Night Raven College in their dream. Lilia knew them. They were already closer than he ever thought. 

“So, please,” you turned to look at the stranger, your soul match, eyes gleaming gently. “Tell me, tell me everything.”

So he did, he and you sat under the tree for the entirety of the dream, discussing what soul matches were, the different forms and bonds they come in, and what you could expect from this. 

I know you, that look in your eye is so familiar a gleam.

…

…

Ever since that dream from a few days ago, you have noticed your soul match get more playful and teasing in your dreams. They no longer held you at a distance, it was a drastic but welcomed change. The cold was gone, and instead there was warmth. But something still felt off. With everything that has happened, with seeing each other's dreams and memories, you still didn’t know who they were. And everytime you tried to tell them your name, the words didn’t form. It was annoying.

“Something on your mind, Prefect,” a familiar teasing voice chuckled from behind you. Lilia shot you a teasing smile, eyes twinkling with mischief. He used to startle you whenever he decided to sneak up on you, but you grew accustomed to his playful nature. 

You shot him a look, but then shook your head and chuckled. “Just thinking is all. What about you?” You had noticed that Lilia had gotten more lively, the dark cloud that seemed to hang around him for the past few weeks had seemed to vanish. “You seem to be in a more chipper mood,” you chuckled.

 He gave you a quiet chortle, the only real evidence of it being the subtle movement of his shoulders and the quiet exhale from his lips. His magenta eyes gleamed softly in the dim lighting of the hallway. They were familiar, but you could have sworn that you had seen them somewhere before, but the answer was avoiding you.

“Just a lot has happened is all, and it brought a surprise with it.” Lilia was cryptic, but it was a part of his odd charm. A mix of something old beyond your years, and a more youthful impishness. It was endearing.

He reminded you of somebody, but you couldn’t quite place your finger on it. “Fine then, old man, keep your secrets. One day I’ll make you spill.”

The two of you exploded with laughter, and Lilia patted you on the shoulder. “Maybe someday. I’ll be looking forward to it, Prefect.” He waved you goodbye as he made his way to his next class. Leaving you alone in the hallway. 

You hummed to yourself as you made your way to your next class, History of Magic, where Trein was preparing on his lecture to tell the first years about the fae-human wars. Something that you had already witnessed the aftermath of, despite not knowing it at the time. After all, that’s what that one dream was about; the one of the meadow, the rose briars, and the rusting armour laying half buried in the earth. But you didn’t know the true horrors of war, and your soul match made sure that you would never have to witness what he had.

…

…

…

You were back in the meadow, in the middle of the fray. No longer were the rusted armours and broken weapons half buried, their wielders were alive again, and you were caught in the middle of it. The sky was an angry shade of pink, and thunder rumbled ominous in the distance… nope that was cannon fire.

Everything was absolute chaos, and you were thankful that nothing could harm you in the dreams, but that didn’t make you flinch any less whenever a ghost arrow flied through the air. Or maybe it would be more accurate to call you the ghost. You weren’t going to dwell on that though, since you didn’t want to push your luck. Something you seemed to be in short supply of.

You saw a flash in front of you, and a bat-masked figure was in front of you, glowing red eyes staring at you, before running back into the battle. Even though this was a dream, you could have sworn that they saw you. And then you were ripped away from the battle ground, being pulled up by your underarms. Looking up you saw the fuzzy and distorted visage of your soul match, pulling you away from danger.

“What were you doing?!” They snapped at you. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but you could infer their tone and emotion from their body language and you know, hauling your ass away from danger.

You patted their forearm, and looked back down to the flashes of magic and metal gleaming in the waning light of the setting sun. “Were you here? This is more than a dream, isn’t it? This is a memory.” 

Dreams are often a flight of fancy, but for Lilia, and for you, they were more than randomly concocted scenarios played out by the sleeping mind. These dreams held truth, the dreams were memories. And this memory showed the most impactful one.

“How many?”

That statement could mean so many things. It could mean how many battles. How many lives were lost. How many lives had he taken. “Too many to count,” is what he decided on saying. It was true though, Lilia had lost count of how many times he had done all of those things. “You must think of me as cruel,” a sad yet harsh laugh left his mouth, and he looked down at you. “A monster.”

You looked back. There was sadness in your match’s eyes, but also a tiredness. “I don’t think you’re a monster, or cruel though.”

Lilia looked into your eyes. You were being honest, sincere, and your eyes showed that. They were the only part of you that he could clearly make out. They were familiar, they were warm. “I am down there though, leading the assault… against the humans.” Against you.

“The past is the past. What is done, is done. We can’t change that.” Leading the assault… didn’t Professor Trein talk about the wars today? “I won’t judge you based on your past, especially if you’re super old which I know pretty well that your are, gramps. But you can’t change it. It has left its scars, but what matters most is the present and what lies ahead.”

You were right, and Lilia felt foolish to let that small part of himself, the insecurity of not being wanted, fester. “I’m the old one? You sound far more wiser than your years… you whippersnapper.”

The battle faded away, and the two of you floated down to the meadow. It had morphed, morphed back into the meadow of Lilia’s youth; filled with wildflowers, grasses, and the rose thicket was in full bloom. And if you listened close enough, you could hear the laughter of a young girl in the breeze as a raven flew overhead.

…

…

Lilia needed to find you. Your dreams were filled with premonitions, and they sat heavy in his mind at the repercussions they could make. They sent off alarm bells in his mind. Lilia was in a tizzy. I have to find them.

His magic was running out, and he knew that his lifespan had shortened drastically. He would be lucky to live another sixty or seventy years, which was nothing in the eyes of many fae. But that was a human lifetime. A lifetime that could be spent with not just Silver and Sebek, but you. He wanted to find you. He didn’t care what form your soul match bond took; be it like the relationship of family, of friends, or of lovers. He wanted to find you, needed to find you.

I know you, that look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam. Those eyes, they were the only part of you that he could ever make out. Eyes filled with mischief, responsibility, curiosity, and kindness. He knew those eyes. They were your eyes, the Ramshackle Prefect’s eyes. How could I be so blind?

It made all too much sense. The dreams had only started when you showed up. He felt drawn to you, like a moth to flame. It made sense that you would be the human that had made Sebek drop his guard and tell a human about fae soul matches. It made all of the sense in the world. And it had taken until now for him to realise. Perhaps he really was an ‘old man’ and already going senile like you joked, both in and out of the dreams.

That is how he came to find himself at your front door, in the middle of the night, still wearing his hot pink and neon green pyjamas. All because of the one dream, the most recent dream of overblot, and his own realisation of who you truly were. So he knocked three times, and waited for you to come down.

You groaned awake, the faint memory of the dream still weighing heavy on your mind. I can never catch a break, huh? I swear if it’s Ace I’m going to drop kick him. You begrudgingly made your way to the front door, and opened it right as a yawn escaped your mouth. “Lilia?”

What was Lilia doing at your front door? It was like two in the morning… although his bat print pyjamas were pretty great. Was that ‘Bat-tastic’ written in swirly font? Where in Twisted Wonderland had he found that?

“What are you doing here?” Was what you said instead. 

“Do you recognize me,” he whispered, taking your hands in his, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

Recognize you? “Your Lilia, of course I recognize you, old man.”

He looked at you, magenta eyes practically glowing in the dark. Familiar magenta eyes. Eyes that held such familiar a gleam… as if you had seen them countless times in your dreams, tinted a paler shade of the colour. “Prefect, have we met before? I could have sworn that I met you… once upon a dream?”

It all made sense. It all made sense. The coldness at first, the memories of war, the playfulness. Why everything was pink. Your match, the perceived stranger, was no stranger at all. They were Lilia.

“So you’re them,” you said softly. “We’re soul matches?”

He shot you a playful wink, “It would seem so. And I’m happy that you are them, and they, you.”

All of those centuries spent alone, wondering why the Thorn Fairy had not granted him the blessing of having a soul match, and then the confusion of finally receiving one after years of nothing, now had an answer. It was you, and Lilia knew that the seven hundred years may have been lonely, but whatever time he had left, he would be more than happy to spend with you. 

Fin!

Author's Note; Enjoy this word vomit. If you want to read more, do check out my masterlist.

Tags; @xxoomiii @eynnwwyjth @twistwonderlanddevotee @savanaclaw1996 @identity-theft-101

[robinson-graves]

"Anyway, you say you're too busy saving everybody else to save yourself And you don't want no help, oh well" That's the story to tell.

[grapeenthusiast]

LOOK AT THESE FUCKIG HOMOSEXUALS!!!!!!!!!!

the victim design is from my wonderful boyfriend @thesecondcitrus go look at his stuff ok.

[phoenix-before-the-flame]

Aaaaaand we got here a very long overdue Gray commissioned by @classysassy9791 who was mad patient for the time I kept her waiting!

Thanks again for commissioning me my dude!👉😎👉

[cj-kenobi]

🌙I wanna do what lovers do with you🌙

🌼I wanna walk the edge of the Earth with you🌼

🌻I wanna say to you the minute feel the heat,🌻

☀️Would you be, my lover?☀️

M'lover - Kishi Bashi

Some bonus pieces under the cut <3

Full song

This was gonna be one of the panels but I liked it with the mirror vibes better

There's also a version with lyrics :)

[anuspastor]

you know it's bad when he's got his slay on

[brinkle-brackle]

local boy (and dogs) befriend eccentric old man with weird laser pointer who is probably definitely not an alien at all

[butterflies-and-roaches]

Idk man.... seing all this gorgeous fanart/fanfiction of alastor being shipped with all those other hazbin/helluva characters, or even OCs! makes me happy.... cuz like.... THAT MAN RECEIVES SO MUCH FUCKING LOVE 🥺

(And a lot of gay sex. And a lot of hate sex prob. And a lot of unhinged, kinky, borderline perverse sex >:3.)

But also

All the little kisses

All the ear/tail ruffles

All the head pats

All the joking around and light hearted moking

(All the shouting and arguing and manipulating that turns into wild intercourse or downright bloody murder)

I'm happy for him. Trully.

<3

[higgsfigs]

[very light spoilers]

Finished reading Dorohedoro

What a ride!! 💛 🥟

[happyk44]

When Annabeth becomes pregnant at twenty-three, everyone is excited. Percy, most of all. They get married in a small shotgun ceremony inside the safe haven of New Rome, mortal and godly parents in attendance, friends shedding tears of joy.

She gives birth a month early to a screaming, underweight bundle of joy. Everyone adores their son. He has fuzzy hints of black hair and wide curious gray eyes. He doesn't cry much after his birth, is abnormally quiet, observing everyone who holds him like he sees something more beneath the surface.

His quiet demeanour reminds Hazel a lot of Nico. When she mentions this in passing, Annabeth laughs quietly and squeezes baby Oliver's chubby fist. "He does, doesn't he?"

Her words sound unbelievably fond. The tone doesn't shock Hazel - she knows that the three of them have gotten close recently - but it seems... odd. Misplaced in its meaning.

She finishes off her final protective ward on Oliver's crib. "Has he met him yet?"

Annabeth hums. "He was here this morning."

She doesn't say anything more, and before Hazel can ask, she effortlessly glides the conversation to Hazel's training as a witch. Hazel takes the hint and lets the conversation change without any complaint.

-

Grover counts himself lucky in many regards. He's got a wonderful wife. He's Lord of the Wild. He hasn't been eaten alive by any monsters yet. All but one of the kids he's brought to camp are living successful happy lives.

And he knows the truth about Oliver.

They never talk about it - the circumstances that brought him into the world. It was just a few hints here and there in conversation, before he cuts the cord and just asks.

"Nico is Oliver's biological father, isn't he?".

Percy doesn’t even hesitate. "Yeah."

Grover watches from the kitchen, Percy at his side, as Nico emerges from what everyone thinks is the guest room, but Grover is confident is actually Nico's room. Oliver sits on his hip. The one year old is bundled up from head to toe. Nico himself has a matching beanie - bright blue with a warped crochet design of a yellow fish. He waves Oliver's little hand their way before disappearing into the shadows.

The two of them come back a couple hours later with In-and-Out takeout bags. Oliver is chewing on a lone french fry. He falls into Percy's arms with ease. Nico smiles kindly at Grover and comes to sit at Percy's side on the couch. Their thighs press together.

Grover doesn't ask about it.

They're happy. He can tell just by looking at them. Whatever thing is happening between the three of them, they're okay.

That's all that matters.

-

Piper loves Annabeth, she does. But she also believes in integrity. Oliver is three years old and the shadows tremble when he's annoyed. The air goes cold and frigid when he's upset. He doesn't talk very loud, but he's perceptive.

It's one hour into Piper's babysitting time when Oliver tells her that her grandfather says hello and she pieces it together. Oliver doesn't understand what he's done, the secret he's just revealed. She asks him to get her grandfather to tell him a story, just like he used to tell her. Oliver reaches out with one hand, and Piper's world turns upside down.

Annabeth and Percy come home two hours later, laughing and carrying a goodie bag from the restaurant. Grandpa Tom left half an hour ago, right when Oliver murmured a sleepy, "I'm tired", and let go of his hand. Piper doesn't know if he's still around, watching her. But it's the idea that he is, that keeps her brave.

When Percy disappears down the hall to check in on his sleeping son, Piper corners Annabeth in the kitchen.

"Are you cheating on Percy?" she whispers.

Annabeth blinks at her, startled. "What?"

"Are you cheating on Percy?" Piper whispers again, trying not to hide the urgency in her voice.

Annabeth is cool as she puts the leftovers in the fridge. "Why do you think I'm cheating on Percy?"

The question is easily answered, yes or no, and Annabeth's side-stepping is obvious and painful to Piper's heart. She changes gears. "Is Nico Oliver's dad?"

Annabeth pauses. It feels like hours. Then she closes the fridge door and crosses her arms over her chest. "People can have more than one dad, Piper."

Piper scowls and gets in close. "Does Percy know?"

Warm hands plant on both her shoulders. "He knows," Annabeth says, her voice soft. "And I'm not cheating on him."

Piper can't tell if Annabeth is lying. She wants to say more, ask more, but Percy's footsteps are loudly closing in. She takes a few steps back just as Percy rounds into the kitchen and slips an arm over Annabeth's shoulders. The image is sickly sweet. The two of them gaze happily at each other. They're so painfully in love.

Piper's stomach clenches.

The three of them stay up an extra hour. Percy is oblivious to the tension ruminating off of Piper. Annabeth seems fine though. It only stresses her out more. When she finally turns in, she doesn't know how to feel. She pauses just inside the guest room, the door pinched open. She can hear the two of them talking quietly in the hall. Oliver's bedroom door squeaks open.

Another voice, one Piper hasn't heard in a couple months, teases Percy from nearby. Percy protests his protective habits. Piper peeks through the gap. Nico is leaning against the wall. He's smiling widely in Annabeth's direction. Percy is oblivious, sneaking into Oliver's room. Annabeth takes Nico's hand. He pulls her close.

Piper relaxes for a minute. Maybe she doesn't have to say anything, maybe Percy will catch them before they can drift apart.

Or maybe he'll walk out of Oliver's room, shove Annabeth away and dive into Nico's mouth greedy, like he's starved for breath and Nico's mouth is oxygen. Maybe he'll tangle his hands into Nico's hair and push him into the wall with a low growl.

They don't separate, not really. Instead Percy drags Nico towards his - their - bedroom, Annabeth laughing as she follows.

The door clicks shut behind them. Piper takes a step back before pulling her own door closed. In the morning, Nico is gone and Percy is making pancakes. When Oliver asks for pomegranate juice, Piper passes it to him from the fridge and says nothing.

-

Leo doesn't know where this new baby came from. Annabeth wasn't pregnant the last time he saw her, but there's definitely a newborn asleep in the corner of their combined workshop. Annabeth doesn't even let him ask about the kid, just throws revised plans for their latest project in his direction before answering her screaming phone.

Oliver is there next to the baby, rocking her back and forth in her carrier. A picture book sits on his knee. He blinks up at Leo as he approaches. Leo likes Oliver. He's quiet and isn't afraid to use a hammer. The baby girl has small curls of black hair. She is bundled up in a fish-printed blanket.

"Who's this, big man?" Leo asks, squatting down to get a closer look.

The four year old stares at him. Then, "Ariel. She's my sister." He pauses, before adding, "She's really loud."

"When did your mom get a baby?"

Oliver stares some more before answering. "My uncle made her yesterday."

Leo doesn't know what to say to that.

-

Oliver and Ariel are joined a year later by a third and final child. While Ariel's origins are still speculated by anyone not in the know, it's clear from Annabeth's round belly where Eve was going to emerge from. She has thin wispy hair so blonde it blends into her skin. Her bright sea green eyes mimic her father's.

But Nico is her favourite. By now everyone knows not to bat an eye when instead of "Daddy" or "Mommy", her first word is "Papa". She reaches for him more than anyone else. As soon as she is old enough to crawl, her favourite place to wiggle towards is his lap.

Frank watches as she tries to pull herself to a stand. He runs a hand over the head of a nearby cat. It purrs loudly. Nearby Nico's hands are outstretched, ready to catch her if she falls.

Like Grover, he cuts the cord fast. "Is she yours too?"

Nico doesn't falter. "No."

Eve doesn't make it to a stand, but gets close enough before she falls face first into Nico's arms. He bundles her up to his chest and she squeals, reaching out with one hand to tug at his necklace.

He doesn't wear the camp beads anymore. Instead, it's a silver band looped through a golden chain. The band has three different jewels studded into it - a diamond, an aquamarine gem, and an onyx. What each jewel represents isn't a question. The fact that Percy and Annabeth wear the same silver band just above their wedding rings isn't much of a question either.

Frank takes Eve when offered and holds her close. Her green eyes look exactly like her father's, look exactly like her sister's. Her blonde hair is soft against each stroke of his fingers.

Nico comes back with drinks. Frank doesn't go for them when offered, content with where he is. Nico puts his can next to his foot, before lowering himself back to the ground. Frank watches him for a moment.

Then, "I thought you were gay."

Nico shrugs as he pops the top to his soda. "Annabeth's pretty," is all he says after a slow sip and Frank snorts.

He hands Eve back when Nico reaches for her. "Is that why Oliver was first?"

Nico's grin is wicked sharp, but happy in all its angles. "No," he says. "That's because I'm pretty."

-

Jason watches as Ariel and Eve team up to drown their older brother in the lake. In retaliation, he summons skeletons that ignore Ariel but grab at Eve. She screams, loud and unholy, as she’s tossed through the air and lands with a gigantic splash. Oliver pulls himself out of the water, shaking wet black hair out of his face. Ariel bats her eyes at him as he approaches, unafraid even as he picks her up and tosses her into the lake himself.

The two girls laugh as they surface, before swimming speedy laps around each other. With a short scowl, Oliver settles on the towel next to Jason. He does not enjoy swimming. Jason remembers the first summer after his birth.

They had tucked his feet into the water to splash and he’d screamed bloody murder. People joked about how Percy’s ocean powers clearly hadn’t made themselves known yet. But now it was pretty well known that Oliver didn’t have any ocean powers.

It had been pretty funny when Ariel came around. She took to the water like a fish and Oliver had panicked himself into a stressed out ball around the edges of the lake before he accidentally summoned a dozen ghosts to wrestle her from Percy’s arms and bring her back to the safety of dry land.

Percy hadn’t been allowed to hold Ariel for the rest of the day after that. If he tried, shadows would whip at him with Oliver’s frustration. He stayed tucked around his little sister while she cooed at the ghosts still protectively hovering nearby.

After that, everyone had pieced together what they had already started guessing at, if not outright knew.

The three of them never said how, or why, or even when, it had all come together for them, but they seemed happy nonetheless. And Jason was good with that. Nico deserved to be happy in whatever shape or form that came in. He didn't bat an eye whenever Nico kissed Annabeth's cheek before leaving with Jason. He didn't question it whenever the two of them came back and Percy clung onto him like needy barnacle.

Nico would flush a soft pink, and his smile was gentle, almost hidden sometimes. But he was happy, genuinely happy.

And that made Jason warm to see.

He pulls out the book Oliver had packed for their day out. Oliver puts on his glasses, thin round frames just like Uncle Jason’s, rolls over onto his stomach, and begins reading. In the lake, the girls are still splashing one another. A couple times they glance over at Oliver, like they’re thinking about pulling him into their game. But they know better than to bother their brother when he’s reading.

Oliver hums curiously and kicks his legs. Jason glances at him. “Good book?”

“Yes,” Oliver says.

He still speaks quietly and slow, each word a deliberate thought. It makes him the worst person to argue with. Ariel and Eve get loud and passionate - Ariel like Annabeth, cutting sharp like a knife, each spit of her words an uncontrolled punch; Eve like Percy, thunderous and vibrant, fast and off the cuff.

Watching the three of them fight a genuine fight is a masterclass in terror. The last time it’d happened - Eve blowing out Ariel’s candles on her sixth birthday and Ariel throwing a tantrum that exploded cake all over Oliver’s face - Jason had thought the whole city was going to be destroyed with every scream and thrown punch.

It had taken nearly half an hour to separate them. Oliver remained furious, refusing to cry even as Jason helped him wash the cake out of his hair, and stubbornly avoiding everyone for the rest of the day. Eve, like her mother, refused to admit she was wrong, steadfast in her determination not to apologize (although she caved fast when Nico came back with Ariel). Ariel got over it fast, she always did, which Jason found hilarious considering how emotional each of her fathers’ were. But her eyes remained red rimmed and she would tear up each time she caught sight of her siblings’ bruises.

She hit the hardest. Always did.

But when they fought together? In defense of one another? Amazing to see. It reminded Jason of the wolves, of the Cohort - working in tandem with one another, flying seamlessly off one another. A well oiled machine, each cog fitting together like the pieces of a puzzle. Oliver was the leader, in charge of each attack, Eve assisting in his command, and Ariel the powerhouse ready to take aim.

It’s clear where they picked it from.

-

The kids are half-asleep in a pile on the floor as Nico crawls across the couch cushions and into Annabeth’s lap. He dangles mistletoe above her head. She laughs and rises up for a kiss. In the chair nearby, Percy watches with half a grin across his face.

“That’s gross,” Eve mutters tiredly.

“Go back to sleep,” Nico calls back before kissing Annabeth again.

Ariel makes a gagging noise. Oliver swats at her before he slips out of their pile to rise slow to his feet. His glasses are lopsided on his face, but he doesn’t fix them. Instead he leans down to pull both girls to their feet. Eve yawns as she ducks her face into his shoulder. He slides one arm across each of their shoulders before tucking them in close and dragging them off to bed.

Percy pushes off the chair and flops against Nico’s back. Annabeth groans under the added weight.

“Seaweed Brain,” she grumbles. “Get your fat ass off my boyfriend.”

“Fat?” Percy huffs. He leans in harder. Nico laughs while Annabeth groans louder. “Woman, I am toned.”

“You have a dad bod,” Nico says. He tilts his head back and Percy accepts a kiss.

“You’re just jealous because you can’t put any weight on your bones.”

Nico rolls his eyes. Percy squeezes his hips and pulls away. Annabeth breathes easy, and then easier when Nico pulls himself from her lap. Percy turns off the TV as Annabeth rises groggily to her feet. Nico tucks her under his arm, and the two waddle off to bed.

Percy crawls in soon after.

In the morning, Eve will ask for pancakes, which Percy will make while she helps. Ariel will braid Nico’s hair in the bathroom and he will braid hers. Oliver will argue with Annabeth about the philosophy of Plato.

In the evening, the kids will ask the question that no one else has ever been brave enough to ask. And without falter, their parents will answer.

It was never a secret to begin with.

[kreachvera]

nooo little german boy don’t go into the yassification mashine

[iaus]

so. the nature of epilogue made it really hard to hammer home the fact that. while porter did care about jace he was pulling strings. he was lining jace up to be his perfect little pet sorcerer.

and part of it i think is that i had to cut porter's reaction/discovery of jace's spell thiefing (which is a homebrew boss mechanic i made specifically for jace... and will be borrowing)

eli. if you read this i'm doing bad things to your new adopted wyrmling.

also i go over some mechanical stuff that... justifies jace to me. if you don't wanna read that skip to the giant ANYWAY.

and also. this post. is a doozy and i cannot tell how coherent it is tbh. so uh. if you read the whole thing. i love you.

first thing's first. this "stealing" that jace does was literally me saying fuck rules as written i HATE rules as written i want jace to have cool powers that porter would have IMMEDIATELY been interested in and wanted under his control.

the long and short i have jace as a level 20 divine sorcerer with a unique action that i have crafted. just for him. because if he's not porter's specialest sorcerer he's mine.

Spell Thief 3/Long Rest

You harness the source of your magic and use it to rip a spell from the Weave itself. This is considered extremely dangerous to you and those around you. You do not require components for the spell you steal, unless using this to resurrect a dead creature. The spell you steal does not have to be from your class list but 1) cannot be a spell you currently know 2) cannot be a spell higher than your casting level. (For example, a 5th level caster cannot use this to manifest the Wish spell.) With DM’s discretion, you can use this to steal higher level spells, but this may incur grievous consequences. The first time you use this feature priming the spell is a DC [10+Spell Level] spell check. Upon each success or failure, the DC raises by 5+Spell Level. To use this feature, roll a primer check [1d20 +Spell Casting Modifier +Proficiency] to see if you can manifest the spell. Whether the spell is successfully stolen or not, roll a CON saving throw at the end of your turn to determine the cost of your spell. Use the table provided below to determine the price.

i won't put the table in but the consequences vary from everyone around you has to roll a dex saving throw or take take [Spell Level Summoned] d20 + [Spell Level Summoned] force damage (the sorcerer always fails this save) to you can never cast the spell you stole again to you permanently lose spell slots to there are actually no physical draw backs (20+ save).

so as you can see this is a pretty fucking powerful ability. i'm going to be using it for a boss fight later in my campaign.

but anyway. giving jace this ability automatically makes him interesting to porter. it gives porter a reason to actually pursue jace (besides finding him attractive because i find porter being desperately attracted to jace so funny all the time, sorry man).

ANYWAY.

the (multiple) cut scene(s) i have from chapter 11 is one that gives a lot more detail to porter first bringing up that he knows about what happened to jace in college. but. due to how epilogue is written and presented it was JANKY. like it did not mesh well at all there was no reason for jace to think about what happened in college even IF it was a flashback with porter. the other thought was to have jace pass out after using his spell thief ability and to have a dream about rage!porter we saw in the finale.

this also felt janky and i didn't want to do any more dream scenes after chapter 6.

but this leads to these two cut instances of porter (in their first year of hooking up, because. though they don't really gel imo my first fic does lead into/happen in the same universe). i'm gonna put both of them here to kinda see what i was working with and to show why this ultimately got cut.

version 1 (scene that got cut quickly because the tone didn't match):

Jace had hummed, thought to say something snippy like speak for yourself, but stayed quiet and let himself relax in Porter’s hands. He wasn’t sure how long they had sat like that before Porter ruined it by saying, “Wanted to ask you something.” The memory of the incident—as Jace had taken to calling it during his later years at Aguefort—was fuzzy at best. The campus police reports filed were much more detailed. He had told Porter as much at the time, mood souring as he pulled back. “If you’re that fucking curious just pull up the paperwork. It’s easy enough to find. Especially since you’re a fucking adventurer.” “Hold on—we don’t have to talk about it.” Porter had sounded remorseful. As if he actually regretted upsetting Jace. He still pulled back. The blue and white snowflakes illuminated a dark look on Porter’s face. “Listen—” “I need to go home.” “Let me drive you.”

and version 2 (which almost made it into the final draft):

This—whatever volatile, greedy thing inside him made it possible to do this—it seemed no one could take it from him. Porter had asked him about it once that first year they knew each other—had tried to play sweet at the Moonar Yulenear party and told Jace he had wanted his help on a faculty adventuring quest over the break. You were flagged when I tried to add you to the roster, Porter had said with a frown, said you were… what was the list called. Jace had left the party—drove home tipsy and ignored Porter’s calls and messages for the next three days. He’d been intent on ignoring Porter the entire break until he showed up at Jace’s townhouse with a coffee and breakfast sandwiches. Didn’t think you were gonna be rid of me for three weeks, did you? He’d been charmed. And Porter didn’t ask about the list again.

i am kind of disappointed that this ultimately was decided to be not.... jace enough to make it into the final draft but. what i'm about to say is going to reveal WHY it could not make it into the final draft:

porter, to me, is a little too... overt. almost creepy in theses scenes (which i was angling for). but for the context of epilogue where jace is romanticizing and pining for this idealized porter he has in his head... it didn't work.

this is porter angling to get something from jace. he's fishing for information about what jace did in college and whether jace felt remorse over it or not, he shuts it down and porter then has a reaction to it. in version 1 even jace manages to notice a "dark look" and this is in their first year of being a situationship!

this is a little peek into what epilogue porter actually was. it's really hard to get a read on him in epilogue since he is a memory/ghost for the entire story and we are viewing him in this hopeless, searching for meaning jace who cannot see himself without this man who has abused, used, and killed him. he is coping by only remembering the good things about porter-- he is seeing porter as a man who loved him so much he had to kill him, who wanted jace so much that he was doomed to never leave.

it's what he's always wanted-- no one has ever wanted him like this, chased him like this. but the problem is we can't see porter's thoughts in this. as author of this horrid little universe i know the approximate truth that these two unreliable men hold for each other and i can say that i do think porter loves jace. he sees it as love, but there's a lot of dark shit. a lot of isolating, patronizing, possessive unhealthy ownership happening that makes it, imo, inevitable for jace to break down the way he does.

he doesn't want the reader to see that in epilogue though.

he wants to frame this as a i need to get back the only person in my life who loves and gives a shit about me.

but in his need to do this, he glosses over really dark shit about porter and their relationship.

to continue that version 1 scene a little:

Porter rubbed the curve of his hip and smiled indulgently. “C’mon, Jace. I’m being a considerate coworker.” That had made it worse, somehow. “Sober me up. You do it all the time.” “Tapped out—some of the seniors got rowdy last period.” Jace rolled his eyes. “Fine. Take me home. One condition.” Porter hummed, still rubbing circles along Jace’s hip. “No. Asking me about.” He waved his hands vaguely. Porter had agreed, then stood and tucked Jace under his arm. Told everyone they passed: Stardiamond’s cut off. Just looking out for him. “You,” Jace had announced as Porter fiddled with the climate control. “Did that on purpose.” Porter grinned at him. “It’s winter break. Everyone will forget about it.”

[...]

“It was an accident,” Jace finally said, head feeling unfortunately clearer. He recognized the streets. They weren’t going downtown; they were still in Tillering—winding the streets to Porter’s house. “It was… like a wild magic surge.” Porter had stayed quiet, keeping his eyes on the road. Snow was finally beginning to fall (what a strange detail to remember so clearly). Despite the empty roads, Porter signaled his turn and as he was slowly easing onto his street he finally spoke: “Didn’t think you were that kind of sorcerer.” “I’m not.”

i think this is a perfect example of the kind of read flags jace was ignoring and the kind of red flags he wouldn't want in his narrative. (there's a reason this scene is cut.)

porter does a few notable things here, right:

ignores jace's boundaries- jace puts distance between them. porter ignores it and grabs him. intimately. and continues the contact.

porter tells everyone he's taking jace home. something jace doesn't want (especially since this would be like 5 months into them fooling around.)

he then, instead of taking jace to his townhome, takes jace to his own house. when he knew jace didn't want to go there.

like. jace doesn't react to these- he sees them as flattering in a way. but it's bad. porter starts this shit early and it doesn't stop. jace just doesn't tell us about it in epilogue because he doesn't deem it good enough for his narrative of the man who wanted him so bad he was willing to sacrifice him and bringing him back all wrong.

also... in chapter 6 jace does give the tiniest nod to porter and this whole college situation but it never comes up again because jace doesn't think it's important outside of his dream:

How strange to think that Porter had known about that in this moment. Had that been what made Porter pick him?

he knows porter knew about his spell thief ability. we just don't get to understand it until much later.

THIS LITERALLY WENT NOWHERE I'M SORRY. but let me leave you with a cut bit that almost made it into the final draft and that i now regret cutting, but hope you can see why i felt it necessary to cut:

He wonders. Would Porter have been excited at the prospect of Jace’s talents if he had told him that night? Would he have asked in hushed tones if Jace could still do that. Could he still steal magic—rip spells that weren’t his out of the weave itself? Would Jace have seen earlier the way Porter might have wanted to use him? Porter had never been shy about saying how he loved Jace’s magic—loved watching him use it, loved how powerful he knew Jace would be. I’ll make you more than you are, Porter had whispered in his ear one night as he pressed Jace into the mattress. Imagine it, pet. Jace stares at the spot of blood on his carpet—aware of the ache in his bones, the blood under his fingernails and wonders, faintly: Did Porter ever want him? Was it always his magic? Did it matter? He thinks. Porter had felt so inevitable. Does it matter? He gets up. There’s one way to find out.

[sacharowan]

THIS!!! is the fic of all time to me aka the best thing I have ever written imo :DD

29k soulmate au with buttersebchal (the ship I have been threatening for months!! (since monaco probably)) that is completely chaotic and also insane and also yes my favourite thing I've ever written <3

part of the @amazing-lovers-fic-fest which has been so cool!!

that is all pls enjoy I had so much fun writing it!! :D

[lunarharp]

leftovers :')