#valhallan asks

[valhallansim]

I miss you :( Are you okay? It's been a while.

Hi anon, thank you for your concern!!

Not to worry, I'm mostly doing okay! The last few months have been a rollercoaster for me and my family, but things are finally settling down a little bit after all the chaos. It's not all bad stuff, though, I have also been very busy with finishing up the illustrated children's book me, my mom and a friend of mine have been working on for a long time. I have since sent the draft to a couple of publishers and am waiting for a response!

As for why I haven't been active on here, the answer is fairly simple: I haven't felt like playing the SIms much at all. Not necessarily because of the state of the game, but just because I've also been trying out a lot of games in my backlog that I have owned for years but never touched (I just finished Inscryption yesterday and I was FLOORED by how good this game was). Also, BG3 came out and ate up all my time for a good while lmao

Anyway, I am not planning to abandon this blog and I'm definitely looking forward to the moment I feel the drive to play the Sims again! Thank you all for sticking by, and for those that have sent very sweet messages inquiring about my wellbeing: thank you so much! <3

I hope everyone is doing well and is still enjoying the game!

[jeannineee]

Umbra et Ventus (Ⅱ)

Azriel x Reader

a/n: Part one found here. Quickly proofread.

warnings: Mostly canon-typical themes, other than Valhallan alongside most of the continent still has slavery, depictions of scarring, allusions to PTSD.

PART THREE

Sunlight crept through your windows, serene and welcoming as you woke from your sleep.

No nightmares.

How long had it been, since you last slept so peacefully? You couldn’t remember.

You took your time in the bath that morning, savoring the warmth of the water, the feeling of the soap sliding along your skin. The realization that you would soon be running late to meet Feyre forced you from your relaxation.

You dressed, and made quick work of your hair. You stuffed some fruit and toast down your throat just in time for Feyre to knock on your door. You were still chewing as you opened it, with Feyre walking inside as though she’d known you for years.

“It’s so cozy,” Feyre said, eyes darting around your cramped apartment.

Your cheeks heated in slight embarrassment. “Probably toils in comparison to what you’re used to.” Feyre was High Lady. She had to have multiple homes. To her, your apartment was likely a shack.

“I lived in a home smaller than this, for many years.” Feyre said, almost solemn as she linked her arm through yours, leading you outside.

You didn’t pry her for more information as the two of you made your way through the streets of Velaris. Feyre went on and on about the four Palaces and the types of establishments they bore, even going so far as to introducing you to some of the shop owners whom she was friends with.

As the two of you entered Feyre’s favorite dress shop, the tailor wasted no time in attaining your measurements, learning your likes and dislikes, and sending you off to the fitting room, several dresses already waiting for you.

Feyre waited excitedly outside the fitting room. The dresses were skillfully crafted, with intricate lace and beading; the colors chosen to complement your skin. But as you tried on the first dress, your heart plummeted.

As if sensing your unease through the door, Feyre asked, “Everything alright?”

“Yes,” you called back quickly.

“Do you need help?”

“No. Just…give me a minute.”

You turned away from the full length mirror in the fitting room, craning your neck to see the open back of the dress. It was as beautiful as the front. Save for the horrible scars that littered your skin. You immediately remembered the vicious cracking of the whip, the agonizing, white-hot pain as it met your back. The blood, running down—

“Y/n,” Feyre’s calm voice coaxed you from your thoughts. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” you said again, before taking a deep breath. “All of these dresses have open backs. I’d prefer one that covers my back.”

“Are you sure? I’m sure those dresses look lovely on you. Why don’t you let me see—“

Mild panic rose in your voice. “No, that’s quite alright. I would just prefer a different dress.”

Feyre made no argument as her footsteps departed.

Feyre also allowed no room for argument as she paid for the dress you selected half an hour later. You’d practically begged her to let you pay for it. The death stare she gave you as she handed the store owner her credit card showed you exactly why she was the High Lord’s mate.

~~~~~~~~

“You’ll get used to it,” Feyre said as you settled into the booth with her and Mor at Rita’s that evening, the sound of upbeat music thrumming through your ears. “The liveliness. The passion. The joy.”

It confused you, at first, what she’d meant. But as you observed the people around you, dancing, chatting, drinking to their hearts’ content, you realized how foreign this was to you. Supposed it was foreign to Feyre, too, for a time, if any of the stories you’d heard about her were to be believed.

Before you could open your mouth to reply, Cassian, Rhysand, and Azriel approached, all of whom held drinks for the group.

“I hope you can hold your liquor,” Rhysand said, amusement lining his words as he sat next to Feyre.

“We’ll find out,” you told the High Lord.

You realized a moment later that the male with the shadows—Azriel—was watching you expectantly, eyes darting between your form, and the booth. “May I?” He asked, in a voice that turned your core molten.

“Of course,” you said. And Mother spare you, the next words flew from your lips before you could rein them in. “I don’t bite.”

The group snickered at that. Except Azriel, who only offered a wicked smirk in response as he slid in next to you, a grinning Cassian on the other side of him. To your own surprise, you held Azriel’s stare for a few moments longer, before returning your attention to the rest of the group.

~~~~~~~~~

A couple of hours had gone by, and you’d found that you could hold your liquor rather well. Though that may have been out of sheer stubbornness, given Cassian’s taunting.

Mor had disappeared onto the dance floor. Rhys and Feyre sequestered themselves in the bathroom, while Cassian left to get more drinks. Leaving you with Azriel.

Perhaps it was the alcohol dulling your good sense, or maybe genuine curiosity. Or maybe a death wish. But you said to Azriel, “You don’t talk much.”

Azriel tilted his head at you, observing. He seemed to do that often. “I find talking to be unnecessary, most of the time.”

You hummed. “How can I get you to talk more, Azriel?” It’s the alcohol. Definitely the alcohol.

You swore his pupils dilated at the sound of his name on your lips, but you said nothing of it as Azriel replied, “I’m talking now, aren’t I?”

You smiled. “You’re simply replying to what I say.”

The spymaster returned your smile. “Isn’t that how talking works?”

A soft laugh. “Yes. But sometimes it’s nice to not have to lead the conversation, you know.”

Azriel leaned in closer, his cedar scent engulfing you. “Perhaps I like hearing you talk.”

You tilted your head back to meet his gaze. Mother above, he was beautiful. “Likewise,” you managed to say, some primal part of you refusing to break his stare.

Azriel was close enough that his breath tickled your face. His lips looked so soft. If you edged forward just a bit more—

Cassian plopped down across from the two of you, grinning wildly. “Was I interrupting something?”

“No,” Azriel responded before you could. Cassian nodded, before ranting to Azriel about the girl he flirted with at the bar.

It was only then that you noticed Azriel’s hands, where they rested in his lap. Brutally scarred and disfigured. Azriel followed your gaze, but said nothing as he returned to his conversation with Cassian.

You were almost certain whatever happened to his hands is what invited the presence of his shadows.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That night, as you laid in bed, you found yourself wondering if you were out of your damned mind. You’d never so blatantly flirted before. Ever. Nor had you ever been so unwilling to back down. Azriel was…you’d never met someone like him. You couldn’t figure him out.

And Cauldron be damned if that didn’t piss you off.

You grumbled, turning over in bed. Your thoughts then went to Rhysand’s offer, at the end of the night. After he’d returned with a disheveled Feyre, he explained that Amren was hounding him about you, about your powers. She wanted to work with you, to see if she could get your powers to come to light. To what end? Rhys was unsure.

Despite your adamance that your powers were dormant, if not completely gone, Rhys wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Mostly because he feared Amren kicking his ass into oblivion.

So you agreed.

Starting tomorrow, you’d spend a few hours out of each day at the House of Wind, proving to Amren what you already knew: your powers were gone.

Your captors made sure of that. Decades ago.

As you teetered on the edge of sleep, you couldn’t help but hear Amren’s voice in your head.

There’s power in your blood.

There’s power in your blood.

There’s power in your blood.

[rinseesims]

I am currently playing Morbid Gamer's Ultimate Decades Challenge! At this time, we are in the 1330s! I have given this LP a supernatural spin with real life event parallels, so I'd like to consider it "history adjacent." I really like telling stories and making up reasons for why my sims act the way they do, so if you like semi-narrative simming, perhaps you'd like my videos!

please refer to this list triggers.

Below the cut are a few of the mods + death wheels I use, mostly found in Morbid's discord server! I will do my best to reblog as many bits of great CC that I find, but feel free to ask if there is anything specific you're looking for!

YOUTUBE LINK FAMILY TREE (updated with episodes) SPREADSHEET (updated with episodes) IN BLOOM LEGACY SIDEBLOG CC FINDS SIDEBLOG

LINKS BELOW

*please back up your game and be wary of possible corrupted files!*

Death Wheels !

FROM MORBID'S SERVER!

☠️ WHEEL DECIDE (in first ep)

🤰 PREGNANCY COMPLICATIONS

👶 BABIES/INFANTS

🧒 TODDLERS/CHILDREN

👫 TEENS/ADULTS/ELDERLY

For the World !

FANTASY / HISTORICAL CC MASTERPOST

Srslys Blank Save File

Miss Chipsa's Medieval Map Replacements

TheSense Medieval's Windenburg Override

No Premade Holidays

Main Gameplay Mods !

MCCC

Wonderful Whims

UI Cheats Extension

Control Any Sim

Royalty Mod

Realistic Childbirth

Relationship and Pregnancy Overhaul

Healthcare Redux

Ye Olde Cookbook

Rambunctious Religions

Brazenlotus

Live in Business

Home Regions

Additional Farm Animals

More Woodworks

Children / Toddlers Can Die of Anything

Adult Jobs for Teens

Quit or Join School

No Makeup / Random Accessories on Randomized Sims

Interaction Mods!

Arranged Marriages

Mood Pack

Medieval Activities

Road to Romance

100 Social Interactions

More Kisses

Live In Services

Overrides / Default Replacements !

Henford Default Replacements

Phone to Notebook Replacement

Windenburg Almshouse

Medieval Bathhouse

Present Override

Baby Override

Stick Fishing Pole

Fire Lighter

Bug Spray Replacer

Mop Replacement

Functional Broom

Functional Hairbrushes

Creators / CC Find Blogs !

creators i frequently go to for cc items!

TSR Ye Medieval Collection

Medieval Sim Tailor and Carpenter

Zx-Ta

lunamoth

eumedieval

LittleMsSam

Shandir

JaneSimsten

myhistoricalsims

Sifix

Historicalsimslife

Simshistoricalfinds

TS4 Medieval Tumblr

JohnnySims

Simstrouble

Sunivaa

AHarris00Britney

Valhallan Blogspot

[jhudora-sims]

Oooooo. I'm sorry! Valhallan's Aquaria Top was left out of my last request, and I would also love to see it recoloured by JewlRyBox palettes. Thank you all the same, I may be asking too much… sorry

I can also recolour this.

And don't worry about it, if I can't do something I'll say so.

[ssspringroll]

Hi!!! I hope you are still active.I really want to thank you for cyclop eyes mod, and please beg you for update for infants as well! And make it like, genetic, I'm unsure if it is already but when sims are born it switches to normal eyes for some reason. I'd love to send ya pics of my cyclops too haha, just not sure how, Im not really on social media but I made this to ask you for this update <3 and to say huge thanks! Im really grateful for your mod and hope you make more (maybe 3 eyes??) thank

It was updated for infants almost a year ago

If there's a way to fix genetics, I unfortunately am unaware of it. Unless I find out how to do that, it's not possible for me to make it genetic.

It's impossible to make a preset that adds more body parts, that's why so many of my presets remove or reduce the number, since that's all that can be done. Adding more body parts is left to the realm of stick-on cc parts. Zaneida has some good cc including extra eyes, extra arms, and stuff like that. Lots of other people have made 3rd eye cc as well, including Valhallan and Gerbithats, off the top of my head.

As for sending images: generally, on simblr, folks will make a post with their images and tag the cc creators (or other users) that they'd like, using the @ symbol followed by their username. eg @ssspringroll . That will send the tagged user a notification that they were mentioned in a post.

[fandomflotilla]

RWBY 40K

Tldr: RWBY characters transposed to warhammer 40K.

Sister Ruby of the Order of the Sacred Rose: As a Junior member of the Sororitas, she was charged with the safeguarding of her local chapter of the Sisters of Battle. Her first mission as the lead was to assist the 229th Valhallan Imperial Guard Regiment with the extermination of a small heretic group. However, when she and her partner returned, they found their chapter annihilated, with all her sisters slaughtered. At first mislabelled in Imperial records as dead alongside her chapter, and with nowhere else to go, she and her fellow Battle Sister, Yang, decided to attach themselves to the 229th until the Ecclesiarchy gets around to reforming their chapter, or bothers reassigning them. Fortunately, her fascination with weaponry and mechanics mean she’s been able to keep her and Yang’s battle suits in good working order.

Sister Yang of the Order of the Sacred Rose: While technically a higher ranking member of the Sororitas than Ruby, that is a distinction that mostly exists on paper. She does have more combat experience and leadership experience, but the two sisters are so close, they rarely need to pull rank on each other. They were brought into the Sororitas convent at around the same time, and due to Ruby’s skill, were often treated as equals despite the age difference. Even within the convent, they were often teased for being much closer to literal sisters than fellow Sororitas. After the convent was destroyed, along with most records of their existence, they have quietly started claiming they were half-sisters, to ensure that whatever happens, they would be kept together.

Commissar Weiss Schnee: Commissar Schnee was attached to the 229th scant weeks before the Sororitas arrived. Her first outing as Commissar…did not end well. Due to her fawning over the 229th’s commanding officer, Sergeant Nikos, and the harsh disciplinary measures she imposed on the 229th, Commissar Schnee accidentally facilitated a heretic ambush that would have destroyed much of the 229th, were it not for the timely intervention of the Sisters of Battle, Ms Belladonna, and Commissar Arc. Her family is quite highly connected on holy Terra, to the point that there are multiple inquisitors in the Schnee line, which made Weiss’s decision to become a commissar and join the front lines of the Imperial Guard…controversial. After that disastrous first impression, she has gradually warmed up to Commissar Arc, the errant Sisters, and the various soldiers in her care.

Lieutenant Blake Belladonna: A felinid subspecies of human, she had a varied career as a gang member, recruit in the Vale Planetary Defense Forces, before finally joining a Felinid rights group in the Hive City she grew up in. Over time she realized that her group was being subsumed by something…wrong. While not exactly fond of baseline Humans, she still placed some faith in the God-Emperor, and she initiated contact with a nearby chapter of the Adeptus Sororitas to ask for assistance. Unfortunately, by the time the Chapter sent aid, in the form of two heavily armed Sisters of Battle, things had already taken a turn for the worst. The 229th Valhallan regiment, sent months ago to quell what was thought to be light rebel activity in the bowels of Hive City Vale, had made landfall, and engaged the enemy without any knowledge of its true strength. Blake and the Sisters, as well as a particularly awkward commissar, rushed to assist the 229th, saving them from a deadly ambush. However, the chaos taint had already subsumed the bowels of Vale, and the 229th, much to the protestations of Blake, evacuated with whatever civilians they could fit onto their spacecraft, as Demons tore the city apart. After that action, with nowhere else to go, Blake joined the 229th as a Lieutenant, helping several of the refugees integrate into the 229th as new recruits.

[yeehaww-sims]

Howdy!! There’s tons of lovely long ears by many creators, and I’m not sure which ones you were referring to specifically but I’ll link the ones I used in the post you replied to! @billyisagirl / @boxofbombones​

[Valhallan’s Teldrassil Ears] [Eirflower’s Sunwell Ears] [Adfly warning] [Divadoom’s Droopy Ears w/ Earrings] [Tekri’s Goblin Ears] [MischiefSkill’s 1k Follower Gift] [Kittrix’s Fantasy Ears] [Cmar’s Pointed Ears Slider]

You can also find these and many more on my Fantasy & Occult CC Finds Simblr → @ts4fantasy

[miss-s-sims4]

Sleeping Beauty Disney

Hi! So I came back after a rather long pause and I'm with you again. Today I want to share my findings on such a cartoon character as Aurora, her clothes from cartoons disney. In this collection, absolutely everything that I found on the Internet or on Tumblr from great authors. And I want to ask, if you have any content on Aurora that is not in my collection, then write to me whatever it is!)In addition, if I see new clothes for Aurora from the authors, I will let you know about it. Don't forget to download meshes.

We will start with the works of such authors as DANNY'S DOMAIN, @duplica-imite, @tekri and me (2 picture)

AURORA SET

SLEEPING BEAUTY: AURORA FAMILY CROWNS SET

SLEEPING BEAUTY: AURORA EXTRAS!

Aurora

Aurora Designer Dress

Aurora’s Green Dress

Next, we have such authors as Enchanted Dominion, @stardustsims4, @sifix and  MARIOBRO0S (3 picture)

Aurora & Prince Phillip:Sleeping Beauty (1959)

AURORA & PHILIP CASUAL SET

AURORA WEDDING DRESS

Briar Rose Dress

Aurora Dress

Aurora sifix ampon dress

In the following picture we have MaleficaXD Sims 4, @makesims, @casssgoths and just authors from the internet (4 picture)

Pack de 6 vestidos (cutres)

Vestido Aurora

Pack de vestidos de las princesas en Ralph rompe internet

“Comfy Princesses” tops from Wreck-It Ralph 2

Whoa, whoa, whoa, ladies! I’m a princess, too!

Aurora от heartbeat ( In the next picture there is still a crown from here)

And the last thing left is Mythical Dreams Sims 4 and additional things that are needed to create an aurora (5 picture)

Sleeping Beauty Inspired Necklace

Sleeping Beauty Inspired Gown and Crown

moodaye gettogether disney recolor - the sims 4

Warmth: a cloak conversion by Valhallan

Medieval Cloaks

Warriors: a Telltale Game of Thrones cloak conversion by Valhallan

Big Hooded Cloak  

Madlen Mateola Ballet Flats  

Amelie Pumps

Head band

Anto - Sabrina

Avita Necklace

I will be glad if thanks to me you found content on Aurora that you haven’t seen before. So, again if you have any sort of content not covered in this post, write me in direct)  

[earlgreydream]

death of me.

| loki x reader | angst | fluff |

anon requested. Imagine s/o has the same powers like Wanda and after the death of Loki she made her own reality where he was alive. 

a/n: this one took me a long time to get to, and I altered the request a bit, but here it is! ❤️✨

cw: mentions of death/murder (for the sake of humanity and otherwise), mentions of blood

Loki’s death had changed you.

After losing the love of your life, you were never the same. You would’ve burned down the world for one more second with him. The grief ripped a hole in you, and you ripped a hole in reality. 

That’s how you ended up in a fake Asgard, in a fake life, with a fake Loki. But it felt so real. 

You were in love again, running through the halls of the palace in gowns, chasing your lover, the god of mischief. You squealed as he wrapped his arms around you, kissing you passionately. 

“I love you!” Loki kissed your cheeks, making you shriek with giggles. Thor smiled at the two of you, the young lovers and leaders of the Aesir realm. 

Your wedding was the biggest celebration the realm had ever had. White flowers filled the golden halls of the palace, stars glittering over everything. You were surrounded by everyone who cared about you, celebrating your starstruck love. Music, dancing, and feasting filled the city, the festival of your marriage bringing everyone together. 

You and Loki were beloved leaders. Your subjects were always welcomed in the palace, and the gardens, surrounding you with love. 

You and Loki sat on the throne, and he smiled as he placed his golden helm on your head. You giggled, magically changing your outfit to match his, green and black leather. Laughter echoed in the halls, and the royal guards watched you both in amusement. 

Those were the happy memories. 

Loki was stuck in the past, and you were stuck in your fake reality. The instruction of the Time Variance Authority weighed heavy on him. You have to kill Y/N. She’s a threat to space and time, and you must kill her now before she rips a hole in my reality. Loki was sick at the thought of killing you, the love of his life, before you even had the opportunity to commit your war crimes.

“What will she do?” Loki asked, and the leader sighed.

“After your death, she rips a hole in reality. She enslaves an entire realm to live in her memory fantasy of having you alive again.”

“It’s in the past? What memories does she hold?” Loki asked. The two of you were together, and you were in love, but it was still the early stages of your relationship, and he had no idea what was to come. 

“Your wedding, and your rule over Asgard.”

Loki’s felt his heart crack, breaking for you. For your grief, for your pain, and for everything he was about to rob the two of you of. 

“You must do it, Loki. I know you love her, but it is your duty. The longer you wait, the harder it will be for you. If it is not done by tomorrow, you will have failed.”

Loki went home to you, and you ran to him as soon as you heard the door open. Your arms went around his neck, and he caught you as you jumped into him. The pain that spread through his chest was suffocating, and he held you tightly. 

“Loki, I made cookies! Come here, you’re going to love them. I used chocolate, your favorite!” You announced, taking his hand and pulling him into your shared kitchen, unsuspecting of Loki’s mission. 

You beamed as you held out a plate to him, and he took one off the top. He bit into it, savoring the efforts of your love. He kissed you sweetly, and when he pulled away, you saw the sadness in his eyes. 

“Loki, what is it?” you asked, setting down the tray and reaching out to touch him. A shaky breath left the young god, tears welling at his waterline.

“It’s you.”

“It’s me? Are you breaking up with me? What have I done, Loki?” You asked in disbelief, your mind somersaulting over every action of the last few weeks.

“You’ve done nothing wrong. It’s what you will do.” 

The TVA. Loki’s conditional release from being a permanent resident of a Valhallan grave was using his magic for good. You supported him, but now he was frightening you.

“What have I done in the future?” You asked softly, and Loki looked at you in misery. 

“You enslave the entire Asgardian realm. You hold them hostage, torturing them. You rip a hole in reality, and make everything collapse. You destroy everything,” Loki explained with a sob. 

You stared at him in shock, processing. You knew what he told you was true, because they could see the future far before you could ever anticipate. You just couldn’t imagine why you would do that. You were good, and you loved Loki, and loved his people. You never imagined yourself becoming evil, or a villain.

“Why? What turns me evil?” 

Loki looked down at the floor, a deep sigh leaving him. You held his face and made him look at you. You had to know.

“I die in battle, protecting my brother. The grief changes you. We get married, we become rulers of Asgard, and you can’t handle the loss. You tear a hole in reality to live in your memories of us. You love me too much.” 

You were crying with Loki now, understanding why he was so upset. 

“I love you, and I don’t blame you,” he whispered, kissing your lips. You kissed him back, emotion and heartbreak washing over the two of you. 

“You have to stop me, Loki.”

“I know,” he whispered, and you nodded, swallowing your grief.

“I love you so much, Loki, it’s okay,” you promised, and he sobbed as an Asgardian blade appeared in his hand. 

“I don’t want to do this, you’re the love of my life,” Loki breathed, and you squeezed his hand, kissing him for the last time.

“You have to. I love you, Loki. The sun will shine on us again,” you nodded, giving him permission to fulfill his mission. 

Loki wept as he pushed the blade through your heart, and you slowly sank into his arms, crimson staining the white dress you wore. 

“I’m so sorry.” 

Loki took you to Asgard. You were buried in Valhalla, led to rest by the Valkyrie. Loki honored you, and carried on the legacy of your love. Every subject of Asgard told their children about the princess who loved their king so much, she was willing to tear apart reality for him. You became the subject of legend, and a hero for Aesir women. 

For Loki, there was never another like you. 

[astaroth1357]

The MC is a Valkyrie

Demigod MC Series: Intro

Greek: Aphrodite, Hermes, Hades, Dionysus, Demeter, Athena, Hades Pt. 2, Poseidon, Ares, Hestia, Nyx

Norse: Valkyrie

A bit of a change of pace this time! No worries, I'm not done with the Greeks or anything. I just had this idea and wanted to get it out. 

Valkyries aren't really demigods, but are a part of Norse myth as the minor divinities that help choose and deliver fallen warriors to Valhalla to join the ranks of the einherjar (the souls who will fight when Ragnarok comes). Valkyries are depicted as women who are fierce warriors in their own right. Despite their place as the gatekeepers of the Chosen, they've been said to sometimes take heroes and mortals as lovers or take residence in Midgard posing as daughters of royals/nobility. 

Lucifer 

At first, they thought they grabbed an heiress - which would have been bad enough - but then the MC grew wings, drew a spear, and asked who among them wanted a glorious death...

How hard is it to find ONE damn human on Earth? Isn't that realm supposed to be full of them??

Diavolo was thankfully able to talk their winged friend down from skewering Asmo and accepting the exchange on behalf of the human wo-… Midgard. 

Living with a Valkyrie is different for sure. The MC is a proud woman who takes her role very seriously and she's seemingly deemed him and his brothers as candidates for einherjar (despite being demons).

He's tried many, many times to explain to her that they're not interested, but she's unconvinced. Now the MC watches his brothers like a hawk waiting to cart one of them off to Valhalla! Any mortal wound could be an excuse...

He's had to save Beel and Satan twice from getting dragged to that infernal palace… For whatever reason, she seems to have taken to them the most. Is it old Norse culture to favor the brash and strong? He has no idea...

At the very least, she knows better than to try to drag him into her little plans. Though he's sure he could qualify for the einherjar (obviously, why wouldn't he?) he has no interest in leaving his life here behind.

To think he'd actually have to put surveillance on his own brothers for their safety… But they're not going to get drafted into some ancient Norse war, not if he can help it.

Mammon 

She’s an heiress… An heiress!!

Well, her human world identity is an heiress to a well-respected (and rather magical) rich family but that still technically counts! She’s crazy loaded back there! He’s in love!!

The only problem is that in the Devildom she doesn’t have a cent.

… and the fact that she keeps trying to get him killed. That’s also a problem.

In a way, things are not as bad and exactly as bad as that sounds. The MC apparently wants him to go to Valhalla (dope) but she can’t just take him there… He technically has to die in some kind of “vallent battle” first.

Her solution? Pick fights with nearly anything that moves and drag him into it!

Honestly, it’s pretty annoying… Sometimes he just wants to have a fun night out without getting into a barfight, you know??

At least the MC can handle herself… Hell, he was her "babysitter" but she barely even needed him. A lesser demon once made the bad idea of trying to cup her ass and lost a hand for his trouble…

Though, what this amounts to is the MC starting something then fighting alongside him like back-to-back badasses while looking for any excuse to scoop him up and fly him to Asgard!

Why does he put up with this? Well for starters human world rich is still rich, all he has to do is get himself a portal then he's living the high life! And secondly, well… what's the harm?

Sure, she technically wants him dead but he's the secondborn! The list of people who can take him down is so slim that it's not like he's in any danger. She even fights with him so things are a piece of cake!

Is this a case where he's 100% more forgiving because she's rich? Yes. Absolutely. But a golddigger's gotta eat somehow, right?

Leviathan 

Is it weird to be jealous over someone not wanting you to die...?

Okay, that's an oversimplification but Levi can’t help but feel snubbed that the MC doesn’t have any interest in taking him to Asgard. Like, none! And why not??

He’s strong! He’s tough! He’s part snake too! Don’t the Nords have a thing about that? Like, there’s a giant snake they’re all worried about?? Maybe he could communicate with it!

Logically, Levi knows that he really shouldn’t press her on this… MC is pretty much a Grim Reaper with a Norse coat of paint and Asgard doesn’t really sound like his speed. No anime, no video games, not even cable! It’s just eat, train, and drink all day… Ew.

But still… What makes him an odd one out? 

At best, she just knows he wouldn't be happy there. At worst, she's underestimating his skill… or maybe she's gauged him just right? He's always known he was weak!! 😫

Oh well... at least she's not a bore to be around. Far from it. She treats EVERYTHING like a life or death trial - he's pretty sure that if he challenged her to rock, paper, scissors she'd commend him for his bravery and swear on her sisters that she won't lose.

He once made the mistake of inviting her and Simeon for a game of Devil Party and they both got so into it that they nearly had a duel to the death as a tiebreaker… 

Thank Devil that the game had a pre-programmed minigame for that kind of thing… It would have gotten messy otherwise.

Well, even if his other brothers go to Asgard, he can just chill out here with Lucifer and Asmo… right…? Actually, no, that sounds horrible! MC, he changes his mind!! Take him too!!! 😭

Satan 

How many times does he have to say that he doesn’t want to go to Asgard?!?

Well, okay that’s not entirely true. Out of scientific curiosity, seeing the godly realm of the old Nords would be fascinating but he doesn’t want to stay, which the MC seems to have trouble understanding…

He’s not even sure why she's singled him out for einherjar status… Any one of his brothers are powerful beings in their own right and he’s not particularly, uh, “even-tempered” himself...

His best guess is she saw him wipe out a handful of lesser demons at some point and declared him Ragnarok material. He always ends up throwing around at least three of those idiots a week so checks out… 

If he's being honest, her very existence raises so many questions… Does this mean that Ragnarok is real? Will the human world be swallowed up by the sea? Will the gods of Asgard fight and die as a new world is established? When??

Unfortunately, the MC won't tell him when it all will come to pass (he suspects even she doesn't know) just that Loki will trigger it… Someone keep tabs on that guy.

Until then, he just has to put up with her attempts to convince him but his patience is wearing thin… He's pretty sure he threw a bookshelf at her once but she caught it anyway so yeah...

He did challenge her to a proper duel too but… well let's say she's a Valkyrie for a reason and leave it at that. (Being saved by Lucifer was so humiliating… He's done here, move on already!!)

Asmodeus

First things first, she's gorgeous. Beautiful! Divine! (Literally 🤭)

Now that that's out of the way… She may also have a screw or two loose.

Like, he gets it. She's a Valkyrie and snapping up strong souls is her thing but come on… Mammon? Really? Why would he get into Valhalla instead of him, huh??

Why can't he get to go to the beautiful afterlife of the old Norse with all their strapping warriors, lovely maidens, and endless partying?? It's not fair!!

Ugh… and now she's got him sounding like LEVI! How frustrating…

Well, it may not be that bad. According to MC, he'd have to do battle training in Valhalla and that wouldn't really agree with his beauty routine. Like dirt, sweat, blood, and muscles? No thanks! Not for him.

He asked MC if he could get some kind of pass, but no dice… Maybe he could still convince her to let him vacation there… Or go for a visit? Just one? Surely that couldn't be so bad right?? He's heard that Thor looks NOTHING like people think he does and he's so curious!!

The closest he's ever gotten was challenging the MC to a fashion contest for a visit, but he dropped that idea quick when she proposed that they somehow include a wrestling match in the dressing room (and he knows she didn't mean the fun kind...)

As much as he'd love to get skin-to-skin with MC, the idea of getting locked in a chokehold was less appealing for some reason. 🤔

Ah well, he'll just have to make due admiring her wonderful body clothed for the time being… There's something to be said about muscular ladies, no?

Beelzebub 

So she’s almost convinced him to join the einherjar like twice now…

He’s not the best at making decisions when he’s hungry and the MC keeps hyping up the food… Apparently it’s really good up there and MC says that she’s never seen an empty platter... Just thinking about it makes his stomach do backflips.

Thankfully for him, Lucifer usually steps in before Beel can sign his soul away and reminds him that he can’t just abandon the family for a meal, even if it is a feast.

You'd think he'd be annoyed but Beel isn't really bothered by her habit of trying to bring everyone to Asgard. At least not on a personal level.

Like Lucifer, he doesn't want to see his family broken up so he'd rather she wouldn't… But she's a Valkyrie right? It's what she does. It's not like she can help it.

In a weird way, he also thinks she means well. She just respects them and wants them to have a good afterlife. It would be kind of sweet if they didn't have to die for it first…

If he's being honest, he's not that worried about it anyway. His family is pretty tough, not a lot in the Devildom can take them down. As long as they're careful, everybody should be alright. 🙂

Maybe he could get MC to make some Valhallan food for them in the Devildom… Or he could get one of those immortality apples?? Though those would extend his life wouldn't they…? Oh well...

Belphegor 

Belphie's attempt to kill the MC went something like this:

Belphie: *switches to his demon form* "I can't believe you actually trusted me!"

MC: *blinks* "Oh. So you want to challenge me then?"

Belphie: "What?"

MC: "Ah, now I see! You want to fight to prove your valor then die by my hand??"

Belphie: "What are yo-??"

MC: *summons wings and golden spear* "I like your spunk, demon!! Fight me with all you have and perhaps I'll take you to Valhalla! May you join us in our fight as a brother!!"

Belphie: "What the hell are you talking about!?!"

To his credit, he put up a good fight and probably would have gotten into Asgard if Lucifer hadn't intervened to save his life.

It can be said that the MC's Valkyrie-hood took Belphie completely by surprise. Sure, he thought she was a little weird for a "human" but challenging him to a duel to the death? That came out of nowhere!

His uneasiness about her only grew after he found out that she's been literally trying to get Beel killed! How in the world were his brothers so relaxed about this?? She's insane!!

So say what you will about the MC, but she's managed to do the impossible. She got Lucifer and Belphie to make up and work together on something! (i.e. making sure she doesn't send them all to their deaths)

Between Lucifer monitoring his brothers and Belphie watching the MC, they'll keep everybody in the Devildom where they belong. That's a promise!

[valhallansim]

What mod do you use for the colorful skin you give your sims? The ones I've tried are completely useless because of the new skin system :0

I had the same problem! I downloaded some new skintones that work with the new update:

ratboysims' Star Skintones

noodlescc's Noodles' Berry Skin Colors

lamatisse's Bare

friday-sims' Historian Palette Skintones

pyxiidis/ceeproductions' Stuck on You skintones

Just as a note: some of these skintones are enabled for random Sims, so there will be Townies running around with colourful skintones (I am unsure which of these skintones it is). If that bothers you, beware!

[houseofhurricane]

Rules for Spies: Chapter Six

Summary: While Azriel and Gwyn work to free Koschei’s captives, attraction turns into something more.

Chapter Word Count: 5,437

Warnings: This chapter has mentions of torture, and this fic includes mature consensual sexual situations, references to past assault, and torture.

Art & Banner: cosmikla

All chapters are available on Archive of Our Own. All previous chapters linked here.

Azriel had stayed up too late wondering if Gwyn might knock on his bedroom door. She’d sat next to him at dinner, dressed like Nesta in a large sweater and leggings, and by dessert, her feet in their thick knit socks were twined around his ankles. The shadows had moved between them as if there were a tether connecting their two bodies, perching on Gwyn’s shoulder or circling her wrist as she lifted her fork to her mouth. He’s never seen them so blatantly encircle anyone aside from himself.

Cassian had given him a look across the table, but Azriel had only reached for Gwyn’s hand when it dipped under the table.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her mouth on his hand, kissing him in spite of his scars. In spite of everything she knows about him.

After dinner, Gwyn and Nesta had gone to sit with Emerie, and Cassian only looked at Azriel, the questioning stare his brother rarely uses, because he knows Azriel will so rarely answer.

“I’m going to try very hard not to hurt her,” he’d said, and Cassian only nodded and drank his wine, the conversation moving to the solstice and Cassian’s ongoing project to find a gift for his mate, before he pointed out all the ways that he could have won the stealth contest against Gwyn, if he’d really wanted to.

Azriel had fallen asleep telling himself that of course he should not have expected her to appear in his bedroom, but in the morning, at breakfast, she gives him a bright grin while she drinks her tea and says that she’ll be staying with Emerie during training, since Nesta and Cassian need to work on their stealth as much as possible.

“I thought Mor would be coming with Anahit,” Cassian says, and Azriel can feel his eyes, the question he knew would come, the question Rhys asked last solstice: what of Mor?

“I’m glad she’s done with her work in Valhallan,” Azriel says, his voice carefully easy, the way a person would talk about a friend. “She seems happier here.” He cannot say here, in front of Gwyn and Nesta, that his old love for Mor was the shield he hid himself behind. That he is glad for the new fondness between them, even for its moments of awkwardness. That now they are both a little freer.

“She says it’s a court full of pricks,” Cassian says, and maybe he sees the answer to his unasked question, because it’s a real smile on his face now. “But at least she’s convinced them to ally with us.”

That development had been a fucking relief. A major alliance with a continental power strengthens Rhys’ argument for a united Prythian, will make the other High Lords think twice about allying with Beron and Koschei.

“It looks as if you’re stuck coming to training,” Nesta is saying to Gwyn, interrupting Azriel’s contemplation, and he’s glad when he sees the challenge on Gwyn’s face.

“Be careful what you wish for, Archeron,” she says, and when she looks at Azriel, he doesn’t hold back his answering smile.

He’s enjoying these stealth training sessions, but when he teaches the group, he finds himself seeking out Gwyn’s face, making sure she understands, that she’s not bored when he has to review certain concepts. He forces himself to take note of the other priestesses, of Nesta, but his eyes always drift back to Gwyn. She’s the one with the mission, the one who will most likely need to master the fundamentals, the silent steps and the controlled breaths and the swift, secret glances that lead to a quick analysis and a quicker plan.

Even so, Koschei managed to infiltrate the library, and much as he wants to give the session over to Cassian and focus wholly on Gwyn, Azriel knows he has to provide a comprehensive overview of each technique, to give everyone plenty of feedback when they practice. Though everyone else struggled on the course in the darkness, they catch on quickly, to the point where Azriel starts to think, if they were ever willing, that Anake and Lina might have potential in spycraft. And for all they’ve teased her over the past few days, Nesta herself is determined and improving considerably. Spying is not her calling and she likely knows it, but that doesn’t stop her from relentless pursuit of mastery. Still, it’s Gwyn who continues to shine, her natural talent and her focus making each of the fundamentals perfect. Azriel isn’t the only one whose eyes rest on her. The priestesses sometimes stop to watch her when they’re confused or out of breath, but Gwyn gives no indication that she’s aware of their regard. She only works through each repetition, fully surrendered to the exercise.

When practice is over, and the priestesses have left for the library, Gwyn approaches him, one hand clasped over the other. Her fingers are red from the cold and he reaches out his hand. Without looking to see who might be lingering, she steps closer and takes it, a bright smile on her face. His own lips mirror it.

“Are you ready for training with Rhys?”

“I’m worried that I’ll harm the High Lord,” she says, biting her lip. “But I’m ready, I think, to see what my powers could do.”

What if I could help? She’d asked as if she’d known what the question meant. The weight and the horror she’d be transferring to herself. And still she’d offered, drawn closer.

“You’ll both come out of this mostly unscathed,” he says. “Rhys can handle your powers.”

She nods, still unconvinced, but the smile returns to her face bit by bit.

“Am I allowed to know what you’re doing this afternoon, or is it another classified mission?”

“I’m visiting Merrill.”

The story on her face, the smile that becomes fear and concern, which is willed back into a convincing placidity, is one Azriel watches with a knot in his stomach. Not only because he’ll have to train those visible responses out of her, or because his shadows cluster around her, sensing her alarm, but because, he realizes, he wants to never inspire anything but happiness and calm on her face.

For five centuries, he’s been a spy for the Night Court, and he’s managed to avoid even flirtation with his contacts and partners, the spies who work alongside him and the spies who report to him. There is too much at stake to risk heightened emotion, let alone romance.

Now, though, he chooses his words carefully, knowing he cannot lie. Not to her.

“I’m going to see if her captivity has made her more receptive to providing information,” he says.

“You promised not to harm her.” Her voice is too calm, a fabrication.

“I won’t.” Despite all the commands he has issued in his life, it is an effort to keep the words from becoming a plea.

Gwyn considers him, her face gradually relaxing.

“What do you think she knows?” she asks, in the curious voice he knows well.

“Likely more than she thinks, based on what Vassa and Lucien have told us about Koschei’s control. She may not even have a conscious idea of his reason for sending her to Velaris.” Though it wouldn’t be out of the question for Koschei to want a set of eyes in the secret City of Starlight, a set of hands ready to do his bidding. He wouldn’t have to provide Merrill with the full scope of his desires, given his control over her.

“If she doesn’t tell you,” Gwyn says, her fingers tightening in his, “I should be able to get the answers from her soon.”

“We’ll find a solution,” he tells her, because maybe his legacy is more than pain and shadows. Let Rhys break his way into Merrill’s mind with his own power, let them work with Vassa and let Merrill rot away for the rest of her miserable existence.

For the space of a long moment, Gwyn’s hand in his, her teal eyes hopeful and sparkling, Azriel thinks that something better is not only possible but likely.

But when he reaches Merrill, locked behind the barred door of the Hewn City’s smallest torture chamber, the set of the priestess’s chin seems to laugh in the face of his extravagant hopes.

“Your prison is terrifying, Illyrian.” Merrill sneers through each word, and though her hands and feet are bound to the chair, exactly as he’d requested when he’d made arrangements with the Hewn City, there’s a sense of repose in her body.

“You’re not as creative with your insults as you seem to think,” he says, unlocking the barred door to the cell and slamming it shut behind him in a smooth gesture, faster than most Fae can blink.

“I’ll have to ask your little acolyte for suggestions. After all, she has the power to wound you, does she not?”

Azriel knows it is a tactic, mentioning Gwyn in an attempt to throw him. His hackles rise, the shadows filling the room, but he schools his features into stillness and does not break Merrill’s scathing gaze.

“She’s not here to ask for your salvation, priestess. And I’m going to need a convincing reason not to cause you pain.” Merrill does not need to know that he promised otherwise. The anticipation of harm, often worse inside their own minds than any actual torture, has driven fae mad. Almost drove Azriel, as a child, to abandon his senses completely.

So it’s with intention that he looks around the cell, cataloguing the weapons and instruments of torture. Each blade is gleaming and sharp, the gears of each machine oiled so that the only sounds that will emerge are the screams of the victim, their eventual confession. Azriel keeps a small staff solely for this purpose, paying them extravagantly, and he’s grateful for their work when he watches Merrill consider the mace and the rack, her russet skin growing pale even in the gloom.

“There is so little I’m allowed to tell you,” she says, soft and scared, and his hackles rise.

The change in direction is too sudden and her tone is too contrite. But he decides to let her play out her little tableau, determine whether there’s any valuable intelligence amidst what he’s certain will be lies.

“What has Koschei offered Beron?”

Merrill’s eyes widen in panic.

“You think he’d give me that kind of information?”

Azriel draws closer to her, so that his face looms over her in the darkness, his shadows closing in to make the picture more frightening.

“I think he holds you in higher regard than you’d like me to believe,” he says, lowering his voice. “And I think he’s more than willing to sacrifice you for his own ends.”

There’s a shift in the air, like a vortex has opened where Merrill sits and removed all the magic.

“Hello, little spy,” a new voice says through Merrill’s lips.

Azriel has heard Koschei speak when he and Cassian went after Eris months ago, but that deep slithering voice still makes his skin crawl.

“Are you watching through the eyes of all your captives?”

“Like you, I have eyes watching and lips whispering in every corner of this world,” the death-god says, “only mine will do anything I ask. They are beautiful as swans, but they’ll bite, spymaster.”

“What are you after?”

Koschei laughs, and a chill goes down Azriel’s spine. He wishes that Rhys were here, with all his quick wit. Azriel’s speciality is watching from the shadows, forming his strategy from a distance.

“Surely you could not begrudge an old creature who wants a respite from his miserable containment.”

“I know the histories where you feature.”

“No doubt your chosen acolyte has done her research well. My Merrill has revealed her to me. I don’t see how you stay away from her, with that delicious power coursing through her veins. When I have the chance…”

The shadows converge on Merrill’s eyes, thick and furious, and Azriel uses this temporary blindness to take a deep breath. He reminds himself that with any luck, Gwyn will be able to use her power against Koschei, whether to attack or to escape. Still, even knowing that she’s with Rhys and therefore safe, he wants to step into the shadows and appear at her side, ready to shield her from the world. He clenches his fingers and focuses on the tension in those small muscles, releases it, breathes in and out. Revealing any of this will only turn Gwyn into a pawn.

All too soon, Koschei once again looks at him, the shadows dissipating of their own will or through his magic. They cluster around Azriel’s fingers now, waiting for his command.

“I always thought of you as a loyal bat,” the death-lord says.

“I’m surprised you ever thought of me,” Azriel parries. If Merrill is his only plant in the Night Court, he knows only what the priestesses have said about him.

“And I’m wondering what it would take to claim your loyalty.”

“You’re trapped next to a lake, sorcerer. You have nothing to offer. In this place, you answer to me.”

“My Merrill seems to think otherwise.” Koschei lets out a snarling laugh, perhaps the way he shows his amusement or his dominance, and then that magic of absence vanishes from the room, replaced by Merrill’s considerable but more ordinary power.

“Is it always like that?” he asks, seizing on the moment where Merrill’s eyes are disoriented.

“Next you’re going to offer to free me.” Again that indulgent smile, as if she is only held captive in a torture chamber because she deigned to linger there.

“If you wanted to be free, you would have begged the High Lord to break the connection. So what does he offer you?”

“You think your High Lord is so mighty, but you’ve barely seen a fraction of what the death-god can accomplish with his powers.”

“After all the hospitality you’ve been shown.” He means the library but he spreads his hands to the weapons on the wall, twisting the pleasantry into a threat. His smile is little more than bared teeth. “Tell me this, then: how does it feel when he controls you?”

“Like I’m not alone.” Though she manages to keep a smile on her face, as if she’s placating him, he’d swear these were the first genuine words she’s spoken in days. And maybe he can follow that one kernel of truth into the information he needs.

“What happens when you’re alone, Merrill?”

She takes a deep breath, and then another, almost shuddering, and just when Azriel thinks that she’s going to say something, her mouth twists into the smile of a wolf.

“I don’t think you’re going to lay a hand on me.”

He flexes his fingers, the scars aching as they stretch, and dearly wishes he could reach for Truth-Teller. He knows just how he would wield the blade, the thin cuts on the skin of Merrill’s fingers, leaving her in agony every time her hand so much as twitched. Then he’d move to the soles of her feet, making walking an impossibility. The beasts would go wild at the scent of her blood, and she’d be trapped in this chamber, blood pooling around her, wondering if perhaps they could escape and tear her apart. Of course, she’d heal within hours, but in the meantime she would hurt and fear enough to wonder whether Koschei could ever punish her so thoroughly.

His blade is only inches from his hand. It would be so easy.

Instead he turns away from her and walks to the door. When he’s at the threshold, he turns to the priestess, and when he finds her expression unchanged, he says, “It doesn’t have to be today, Merrill.”

He is every horrible thing he’s ever claimed, but he made a promise to Gwyn. Today, at least, nobody will be harmed by his hands.

.

.

.

.

.

When Azriel leaves her at the High Lord’s river estate, Gwyn realizes she has no idea what to say to Rhysand. She was perfectly happy smiling and nodding at the edges of his conversation with Azriel, studying the large room with its cream-colored walls and deep teal furniture and exquisite tables of dark wood. Hung on the walls are paintings of the High Lord’s family, Azriel captured inside one of the frames, alive in a way that is totally unlike his real existence. Everything is beautiful and comfortable, a room that will not be ruined by its use, and while Rhysand and Azriel bluster on about a snowball fight that surely must be made up, Gwyn lets herself listen and enjoy the space. But once Azriel disappears into the shadows, the silence between them quickly lengthens.

“I’m afraid I’m going to break you,” she says, finally, and he smiles.

“I think you’ll find it’s hard to access my mind. But by all means, do your worst.”

It’s the arrogance in his voice that makes Gwyn delve deep inside herself in search of her power. When her feelings are strong, it is easy to find, rising up like a tide inside her, but at times like this, when she’s merely feeling awkward, it’s more like a hidden gold thread in a complex tapestry, almost impossible to locate. When she finally locates it, she pulls hard, summoning the resonance that makes her power into something real, which makes it possible for her to locate the note that will bring the High Lord of the Night Court under her command.

For a moment, she examines her power, listening to its contours, the way it reacts to Rhysand, and then she summons the note from the air.

Those violet eyes show no change.

“Walk towards me,” she says, testing the power of her command.

He only shrugs his shoulders, as if to say, I would prefer not to.

She’s confused. Her power, once located and channelled, always works. Often, it’s been too effective.

“Is that all you’ve got in your arsenal, Gwyn?” He slips his hands into his pockets, as if her magic is only a breeze in the room. All those years she spent, living in fear of her great and terrible power, and now it’s revealed to be weak.

Frustrated, she digs deeper, following the thread to its source, the glow and the resonance, the power and precision of the notes which will bring her magic forth. Perhaps she wasn’t listening well enough and chose the wrong note.

She lets awareness flood her, drops the habitual blocks on her senses, and listens for the High Lord’s signature: the sounds his being makes, the song of his power. Every person has a countermelody that allows her access to their wills, she has learned, though most people can be beckoned and commanded by a few similar notes. But she’s never tried her powers on a High Lord.

So, note by note, she creates her melody, weaving in and out of Rhysand’s power and his very self. She opens her mouth and lets the notes emerge, their resonance held in the room by her magic.

When she looks at him, the High Lord’s eyes are glassy and pleading. He leans toward her, as if awaiting her command. The sight of him this way is a bolt to Gwyn’s heart, but she knows she has to test her hold on him.

“Walk forward on one leg only, until I tell you to stop.”

Instantly he begins to hop toward her, one foot suspended in the air. His shoe slips off and he does not bend to retrieve it, so wholly is he focused on her command.

When he nears her, Gwyn holds up her hand.

“Stop,” she says, and his motion ceases. He wobbles slightly but does not fall.

Gwyn heaves a sigh and lets go of her power.

Instantly, the room goes quiet and Rhysand’s eyes return to normal. His shoeless foot drops to the floor.

“Good,” he says. “You have an impressive grasp of the technique for someone who was never properly trained.”

“I learned music theory. The power works along similar lines. Only certain notes can follow one another, and only certain notes harmonize. It’s like creating a counterpoint for a hymn, only I could’ve killed you.”

He shakes his head, just slightly, and in the High Lord’s eyes there is a tenderness, as if he sees the precise contours of her fear.

“I left my mind open to you,” he says.

“You let me command you?” She’s not sure if she’s more horrified or offended, that he would lay himself bare to her power.

“Try again now,” he says, smirking.

Gwyn lets her irritation and horror rise and catches the cresting wave of magic, but when she sings the melody, she finds that it echoes strangely, as if the notes bounce against a barrier. Quickly, her magic gutters.

“What did you do?”

“I shielded my mind.”

“It’s that easy to block me out?”

“I’m very good at shielding, and I trained with a powerful siren to improve the ability. But you can learn to get around it.”

“How?”

He smiles, and it reminds her of Clotho, how she responds when Gwyn asks a rapid-fire series of questions, or bursts into her office asking for the location of some obscure manuscript.

“There are many ways to think about the way magic is structured,” he says, “and often these metaphysics only matter if they help you conceptualize your magic more successfully. But in your case, Gwyn, the very essence of your magic is based on certain frequencies of sound. So it will help you to think of all magic in that way.”

“My other powers don’t work that way.” She’s never been bothered by her more ordinary magic, the kind that lets her summon things from across a room, or shelve books without lifting her hands. For all that it’s useful, it is not an exceptional gift. Most of the temple children had similar magic.

“In most cases I’ve heard of, the sirenic powers overwhelm the ordinary High Fae magic. But this gift is generally the realm of nymphs.”

“I’m a quarter nymph,” she says, and though her voice is calm, internally she’s daring him to look down on her, so that she doesn’t feel so badly when she has to overwhelm his mind again.

“Which might explain your powers. Now, this time, try to visualize what is blocking your access as a series of frequencies.”

“That’s how I’ll find the notes to get to your mind?”

“Only if you’re very good at this,” he says, and though Gwyn suspects that he smirks at her just to rile her, it has the intended effect.

This time, it’s noticeably easier to call up her power, to center herself in the resonance.

She considers the High Lord as she did before, trying to focus on what is different now that his mind is shielded. Sure enough, when she listens closely, there’s a place where the melody is dampened.

Perhaps if she created melody and countermelody, a song entire, that would be enough to slip past his defenses. She opens her mouth, but only the melody sounds, a key with no lock to slip inside.

“How do I get both out at the same time?”

“I know it’s possible,” Rhysand says, and she realizes there’s pride in his eyes, that she’s gotten this far, “but I don’t know the technique. But you may be able to get past my defenses still.”

She tries the melody, feels something in the High Lord’s essence answer, but the countermelody does not allow her access. When she commands him to walk towards her, he makes a big show of taking one step, but she knows this is a performance for her benefit and only rolls her eyes.

“That’s your assignment for the next lesson,” he says. “Figure out a way to get past my shield. You’ll come again tomorrow.”

Gwyn opens her mouth to protest that a day isn’t enough time, and she needs to go to the library at some point because there is probably a priestess in need of her assistance, when she hears footsteps, the almost-understandable babble of a child.

“Still a prick in training, I see,” the High Lady says as she enters the room with her son on her hip, aiming a smile at her mate, which deflates even the hint of an insult in her words.

“I thought you were in meetings,” he says, his whole aspect changing as he looks at her.

Gwyn feels her power rising in her and she realizes that what she’s feeling is jealousy, at the love and warmth between the High Lord and High Lady, the bond between them evident in every gesture. She thinks, only for a second, that it could be so easy to have that devotion. Only a simple command and Azriel might look at her in that way.

As soon as she realizes the implications of her thought, her stomach drops and she forces the magic deep inside of herself. Her power might never cause a moment of physical pain or leave a scar, but it would be an act of violence, to command his love or devotion. It would be torture.

“You’ve scared Gwyn,” the High Lord says, reaching out for his son.

“No, it’s not that!” Gwyn says, holding out her hand, trying to think of an explanation that won’t get her thrown out of this lovely place. “It’s only -- I try to keep a tight leash on my power, but sometimes it just rises up inside of me and I have to get it under control.”

“What happens if you don’t?” The High Lady’s voice is curious and gentle, her blue-gray eyes searching Gwyn’s face. Although their features are similar, Gwyn is always struck by how different she looks from Nesta, and still, perhaps there is some deeper family trait that links them, because Gwyn likes her instantly.

“My sister once spent two hours rubbing my back before I figured out I had accidentally hummed a melody that would command her.”

“That’s not a convincing example,” the High Lord says, glancing at his mate even as his son reaches for his ear.

“Isn’t that kind of reaction a result of not using your magic enough?” The High Lady has turned her attention fully on Gwyn, letting Rhysand disentangle his collar from the baby’s clutching fingers.

“The priestesses in the temple where I grew up,” because it still hurts sometimes, to mention Sangravah by name, and she cannot break down here, “found that it was all right if I let a little of the magic surface when I sang at morning and evening services. Clotho has allowed me to continue that practice since I came to the library.”

“What happens to the priestesses?”

“A trickle of my power is more like a convincing suggestion than an all-out command. They leave services feeling newly devoted to the Mother.”

“And it doesn’t seem wrong to you, to force their piety?”

Gwyn didn’t anticipate this verbal trap, not with the High Lady’s gentle mien, her wide-eyed gaze, and she blushes while she tries to collect her thoughts.

“I know that my powers are terrible,” she says, her eyes on the High Lady’s feet, covered in silk slippers of an exquisite blue, the color of Azriel’s Siphons, “but I think that this is the least harm that I can do, to help others believe in the faith to which they’ve committed their lives. Though I’m willing to use my power in other ways, if I can be useful.”

She expects another rebuke, but the High Lady only asks, “And have you learned how to shield your mind?”

“I had to learn the basics as a child. If someone had gotten control over my power…” She tries not to ever think of the possibility, though it sometimes presents itself in her nightmares.

“I can help you make a better shield. Yours might not survive against Koschei.” When Gwyn looks up, the High Lady is studying her a bit too carefully, as if she can see inside Gwyn’s skull.

“I wouldn’t want to break you, High Lady,” she says, bowing her head, and she’s surprised when there are fingers on her chin, callused in the same places as Gwyn’s are, from carrying a sword.

“I’m Feyre,” the High Lady says, a smile on her lips, “and I’ve found that it’s difficult to break me. We’ll start tomorrow, before Rhys has a chance to wear you down.”

“I’d appreciate that, then.”

Before Rhysand and Feyre and their son leave for whatever else their day contains, the High Lord gives her instructions on what to practice, tells her she can have the room as long as she likes, and in the hour before Azriel appears, Gwyn thinks she’s managed to conjure a hint of a harmony, two notes sounding as one. But she still cannot capture two interwoven melodies, not the way she’d need to get inside a guarded mind.

“Did you manage to command Rhys to leave you alone?” Azriel asks, and she whirls toward him, silencing her magic. There is no blood on him. She hopes that means he hasn’t harmed Merrill, and mostly, selfishly, she wants to believe that her trust in him isn’t foolish.

“No,” she says, walking past the low table and the sofa to get closer to him, “he gave me an assignment and left me alone to figure it out before our next session tomorrow.”

“I’m sure you’ve figured it out already.”

She lets her mouth gape open, feigning shock. “When did you develop this kind of confidence in me, shadowsinger?”

“A second before you sliced the ribbon.”

He’s flirting with her. She can hear it in his voice, a combination of laughter and desire, and she lets herself savor it for a moment.

“I have no idea how to solve this problem,” she finally sighs.

“Explain it to me,” Azriel says, and although he’s listened to her talk for hours about Koschei, and he always seems interested in even the most obscure facts about the Valkyries, Gwyn still marvels over the fact that in the twenty minutes she spends describing her powers, the process of raising them, and the challenge of Rhys’ mind, his focus is total.

“How quickly can you get from encounter to command?”

“It usually takes me a few minutes. Usually I’m not in a rush. And with Merrill, I think my powers were building as soon as I felt Koschei’s magic.”

He nods, storing this information away for when it is needed.

“If Rhys caused such a problem for you, don’t you think that Koschei would have protected Merrill’s mind?”

She swallows, thinking.

“I was so angry,” she says, her only explanation. “Maybe my magic burned past her shields.”

“It’s possible. But I’m worried Koschei baited a trap to get a glimpse of your magic.”

“That only means I need to figure out how to get inside Rhysand’s mind.” She says the words brightly, like she’ll have some grand epiphanic moment if only she wills it into being. But Azriel reaches for her, his fingers carefully wrapping around her wrist.

“He could be hunting you.”

“He can’t leave the lake.”

“We don’t know whose minds he occupies.”

“Then I’ll carry a dagger and keep training my powers.” She turns her hand so that her fingers are tight around his own wrist, the muscles she can feel despite his gauntlets and his Siphons. “I’m part of this mission. If he’s hunting me, then he’s also hunting you.”

“I know,” he says, his eyes skittering away from hers, the shadows drawing so close that the lines of his body are blurred.

“What happened with Merrill?”

“Koschei appeared. He knows who you are.”

“He’s known who I am since we met with Vassa.” She does not say, he mentioned me to hurt you because it seems almost delusional, that she could be that person for Azriel. There are stories, centuries old, about his love for Morrigan. “What else?”

“There was a moment after Koschei left her mind, when she wasn’t fully herself. She said that when he’s there, then she’s not alone. Maybe she doesn’t mind his control.”

For a second, she is held down on that kitchen table in Sangravah, pain ripping through her.

“No,” she says, and Azriel’s grip tightens at whatever he hears in her voice. “What she minds, I think, is being left alone with the memory of all he’s done.”

Notes: In spite of the dark themes that run through this chapter, it was a really fun one to write. Getting to let loose with slightly evil Azriel was a blast. And, fun fact, I went to music school instead of regular college (where, in addition to my bassoon performance major, I also managed to get an English major and rarely sleep), so writing Gwyn's powers had me thinking of operas and the sensation of sitting in the middle of an orchestra during a symphony, in addition to making a lot of early morning music theory classes feel suddenly useful.

Incidentally, the way Gwyn and Azriel are holding each other's wrists at the end of this chapter? It's called a rescue grip.

If you're wishing that this slow burn would get steamier, I have good news for you: I wrote a smutty solstice Gwynriel one-shot, and I'm posting it tomorrow.

For more theories, thoughts, and occasional sneak peeks, follow me on Instagram at house.of.hurricane or TikTok at houseofhurricane.

Thank you so much for reading! 🧡

Taglist: @almosttenaciousmoon, @azrielbedara, @azrielsdarling13, @books0lover, @brown-and-weird, @camreadsum, @cozycomfyliving08, @drinkbleach0, @girlbossenergy, @glemiessa, @gwynrielsupremacy, @imsointobooks, @katekatpattywack, @lightwood-bane13, @livelyblu, @lola-lightwood, @meher-sumedha, @moonbeammadness, @mystical-blaise, @nansr, @nervousninjasuit, @onemorenightdreamer, @rubyriveraqueen, @ruthieluvsbooks, @sanniegirl1214, @saramoonbeam, @secretlovelybeauty, @shisingh, @soffiiione, @thenerdywriter, @the-stars-eternal, @trashforazriel, @valkyriesbooks, @vassien-supremacy6, @vikingmagic33, @whoever-you-choose-to-love, @witching-by-the-willow, @zanywolffriendhairdo

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[bloodycassian]

HOUSE OF WOLVES - (DEVOTION AND DESIRE PART TEN.) PART NINE HERE

Cassian thanked Madja over a dozen times once Nesta was stable. And a dozen more when was nearly fully recovered. The healer waved him off each time, but did not complain. Nyx had gained his full color back over the week of deliberating what the note Nesta found meant. 

“Deep among frozen 

Roots from tree and ocean 

Lies death awaiting”

The soft curves of Feyre’s writing on the parchment seemed out of tune with the meaning behind the words. Amren had even tried reverse translating them into the runes similar to the ones marked on the book of breathings. Azriel had only stopped in once in the week he’d been gone, only to inform Rhys of why exactly he wasn’t able to help at the moment. 

Cassian barked a laugh when Rhys told him. “They’ll be bruised and raw when we see them again.” His high lord shook his head, but there was a smile there. Both the males knew just what their brother was feeling, how impossible it was to stay away from his Winter mate now that the bond had been accepted. 

“She may know more about this than we do. Frozen roots and ocean? That sounds like winter court to me.” Mor said, propping her feet on the coffee table. The others had gone for the night, tired of the different interpretations of the same phrase over and over again. Mor was stubborn though, and determined to figure out what each syllable of it could mean. 

“It could also be anywhere north, though. Our own territory is frozen half the year, as well as Valhallan. The East side of Illyria is the most forested of the coastlines, but it is mostly beaches. Not many caves like Winter holds.” Rhys sighed, and summoned a bottle of wine beside Mor’s feet. She happily poured herself a glass, and sat back in the chair again. Cassian watched the flames in the hearth, hoping for some kind of answer to come to him. He wasn’t the best with words, Nesta knew that the best. But he could manage a riddle now and again. 

“What if it’s not actual ice, or frozen shit it’s talking about? What if it just means… settled?” He offered, talking to himself more than anything. The two cousins paused, and looked to him slowly. 

“The Middle.” Rhys breathed. 

+

Azriel was not the best cook, but it was better than nothing. The soup he made remained half eaten once a comment was made about how well it smelled. After scenting the air, and picking up just the slightest arousal from you, he had taken you there in your seat, until you were both too tired to move. You rested your forehead on his shoulder, panting.

“Aren’t you tired of this yet?” You asked, words muddled from exhaustion. His warm fingers tickled up and down your back soothingly as you shook from the aftershocks.

“I dont think I could ever tire of you.” He muttered into your ear. 

It was true, even when you’d gotten back to Velaris it was hard not to remain locked in the house of wind together - fucking on any available surface. But you managed, and had to stay on the opposite side of the room as him while Rhys told the group of the plan. 

“Cassian was right about the frozen part. We could take that literally or figuratively at this point. We know that whatever Kai is looking for would be in the middle. Nesta and Cassian will search the Mountain. Feyre and I will take the western coast, you and Azriel will take the eastern coast.”

 He handed you a cloth map detailing sections of the middle and different landmarks. “Remember how brutal it is there. Do not lose each other. There is no law there, their rules abide by who is deadliest, meanest. We will start searching at noon, and return only when we are done with our areas. It may take days. Then, we all meet at the entrance under the mountain.” He said the name of the place with disdain, the edge of his lip curling up in disgust. 

“I can help.” Elain said softly from the corner. Azriel tensed, you could see the concern in his features, feel it lace the bond as his eyes whipped to her. “I can try a scrying. I have herbs to help.” She offered, looking away from Nesta’s outraged expression. 

“Absolutely not-” She began, but Feyre held up a hand. 

“Would you be comfortable doing that?” The high lady asked. “It isn’t a necessity, but it would help.” 

Nesta glared at her sister with a heated expression you wanted no part of. Yo ucould feel the tension building in the air as the sisters discussed. Mor’s eyes went to all three of them, bouncing back and forth while awaiting an answer. Elain shifted on her feet, her full figure swaying in her dress with her. “If I can help, I will.” She nodded.

Mor looked to Rhysand, her eyebrows raised in surprise. “I can winnow to the middle and tell you what she finds. Amren will be with her until I get back.” Mor said, if was meant to be an offer, but sounded more like a definitive plan. Cassian pulled Nesta back to his side when she raised a finger to Mor. 

“The girl is brave. Let her try.” Amren said casually, her nose in an ancient book, the runes of the poem beside her. Still translating it back, still trying to find any connection.

After Nesta’s hissed arguments with her sisters, it seemed there was a deal struck. As long as Elain was Scrying, Feyre would be at her side. Morrigan and Rhys would scour the mountain together, and the youngest sister would winnow back any information. IT was the best compromise they could come to.

+

Mor winnowed you and Azriel to the edge of Day court, at the edge of the wood that you destroyed the barrier to. A chill seemed to emit from where it once had been. “We don’t stop until we find it. If you think you’ve found something, come find us. Rhys may be able to sense what it can do.” 

Azriel muttered something that had Mor scowling. “Watch out for each other.” He finished. Mor glanced to you, giving you a long, knowing look. “You too.” She said, before disappearing into the wind.

+

Feyre laid out the bones before her sister. Grateful that Nesta was gone, they could both breathe easier knowing that the Scrying wouldn’t be interrupted. The high lady did not miss Elain’s slightly trembling hands as she placed the bowl in the center of the table. 

“This will be different than last time. You’re not searching for a person, but feeling for whatever… this is.” Feyre placed one of the many copies of the riddle beside the bowl. 

“I’ll try my best.” Elain’s voice came out weaker than she meant it too. As if she felt the hopelessness of it already.

“I know you will.” Feyre smiled, and for a moment, Elain could see a glimpse of Nyx as a child there. His smiling, laughing face as he would get into the sweets cupboard at Elain’s apartment when she watched him. “Dont get pulled in too deep though, we need you here.” Feyre pulled a chair beside her sister. The warm sound of the townhome’s creaky floors settled her stomach slightly.

“I said I’ll try my best. If that is what it takes, then I’ll do it.” She crushed some of the fresh garden herbs around the scrying cloth, and took a steadying breath. Her last time doing this had led to nothing but trouble, and death. Now.. now she had the chance to help her own court. To help her own people, her family. 

She did not take the opportunity lightly.

+

Exhaustion was beginning to have its toll over you as the sun began setting behind the mountains and treetops that speared to the sky. Azriel landed beside you as you sat on a fallen log. Small ferns and sprouts poked out of the cracked side near where you rested. “Anything?” You asked, pushing hair from your damp forehead. You had kept a steady jog the entire time, criss crossing with Azriel’s path as he flew overhead. 

He groaned and stretched his back, flexing his wings at different angles. “Nothing. No word from Rhys either.” He sat beside you, your thighs bumping together tiredly. “How are we even supposed to know what this looks like?” You sighed, leaning back. 

“I think we’ll know it when we see it. And if we haven’t found it yet, I doubt we will. We’ve covered a lot of ground today, we have a few miles until the halfway point.” He rubbed his eyes, and pulled his damp hair back. 

“Will it rain?” You asked, stretching your arms.

“Not sure, but you should rest while it’s dry out.” He grunted, hauling himself from the log and offering his hand to you. You stared him down, waiting for him to question you. But he didn’t. He merely waited, hand still outstretched for you. He was learning your ways, your stubbornness and the looks you sent his way. It seemed with each hour he was with you, he was learning more. He couldn’t get enough of it. It was like learning to fly again, finally being able to let his instincts take control and tell him what to do.

“You should rest. I’ll take first watch.” You tried spinning it on him, but knew the outcome before you’d even offered. He pulled you up, and strung up the lines for the tent while you started a small fire. Soon, he had the bedpads down and a blanket ready. The soup was surprisingly filling, for being so light on protein. 

You watched from the tent while he stoked the fire, secret grateful that he insisted on you sleeping first. The deep, cold aching in your bones was beginning to thaw away when he laid beside you. “What if it’s a ploy?” You asked quietly. You wouldn’t have suggested it before you were mated. You didn’t trust your paranoid thoughts enough with another person. But he was bound to you now, and something deep inside you said that you could tell him anything. 

“Then we’ve left Velaris nearly defenseless against an attack.” He said back. He’d clearly been thinking about it as well. 

“And if it’s not… we have something called death itself at our hands.” Your words seemed to be a shout in the night, even though it was barely a whisper. No sounds outside, besides the rustling of trees in the wind. 

“Along with three high fae in the night court alone. We’ll win this.” He pressed a kiss to your temple, and wrapped an arm around your middle. You hoped he was right. The doubts swarmed, and kept you from sleep for a while before he began stroking your hair. You were out within minutes after that.

+

Elain floated through the fog along the coastline, soaring high above the crashing waves and wind chill. The view was almost as if she was being flown by an Illyrian, only this was much, much faster. Her hands roamed over the map in front of her as Feyre watched. The shaking of her fingers stopped as soon as she began searching. 

Feyre was ready to grab her sister’s hand as soon as she showed any sign of struggle. But her fingers traced over and over the parchment, again and again in a grid pattern. 

She was soaring, flying fast and faster it seemed. But she saw everything with clarity. Especially the plants below, the trees, even some of the animals. The branches seemed to sway towards her, the ivy reached up to touch her where she skimmed closer and closer to the treetops.

Sweat began beading at her brow. She was falling. 

+

Aching soreness stung your muscles when you woke. Azriel had let you sleep much longer than he should have. Dawn wasn’t far off, the night sky diluting into a deep blue color from the east. His tired smile was too sweet to be mad at him. You did throw the blanket at him, however. 

He fell asleep quickly, savoring your scent and warmth of the blanket. You idly stroked the ridge of one of his wings while he dozed off, earning an unexpected groan from him. Your thoughts narrowed on that sound, blocking out everything else. The bond raged with need on your side, calling for him on his empty, restful side. You shoved it down. He was sleeping. He was sleeping! 

But your thoughts were muddied as your breaths grew shorter in the cramped tent, scenting him in every lung full of air you brought in. You clenched your thighs together, trying to contain yourself. His wing twitched, as if asking you to play with it again. 

You needed air, quickly. Before you woke him to really make him groan like that again. 

The stars shimmered faintly even as the sun rose, winking out their last goodbyes when the sheer brightness of the morning rays shut them out. The birds began calling, singing and chirping to one another as if they weren’t in a cursed land, full of the worst monsters of Prythian. The ones that weren’t locked in the Prison, that was. 

You stoked the fire, and checked in on Azriel occasionally. His mighty figure took up nearly the entire footprint of the tent while he splayed out on his stomach. Arms propped his head up like a pillow, and the curve of his back reminded you of just how muscled he was under all the layers. The soft breathing was even, and peaceful. 

The morning sky faded from pink to orange, then gave way to the bright, clear blue sky of late spring in Prythian. Perhaps that was why the birds sang, calling to each other to find a mate for the season. Tiredness still left you dozy, and you fought not to fall back to sleep when you sat beside the fire. You got up, began doing stretches, workouts, lunges. Anything to keep you awake while you kept watch over Azriel’s sleeping figure. 

+

The fall seemed to be faster than the flight somehow. Elain braced for the impact against the rock wall that grew closer and closer without slowing. Her breath lodged in her chest, she readied for the pain of it. But it became quiet, eerily so. 

She opened her eyes, lowered her arms. In front of her, about ten feet above the stone floor, was a carved archway. Dusty and black with age, but very clearly an archway. Her heart no longer thundered in her chest. This place was..empty. Utterly empty, the light itself hadn’t touched it in many, many years. She approached the jagged rock wall, intending to climb her way up. But she floated, gracefully and gently up the side until her feet rested on the ledge in front of the arch. 

Now closer, she could see the small carvings there on the recessed wall. Blocky, strange letters that did not belong to this era of Prythian. Below them lay a small square inlet, with a button like square on the bottom of it. It had been a long, long time since anyone had seen this place. She reached out her hand to push the square, but she found she couldnt. Like there was an invisible shield around it.

Then, she was being pulled backwards, back to warmth. Back to reality. Back to her sister’s wide, worried eyes staring at her. “Elain?” She asked, her voice high pitched with worry. 

“I know where it is.” She breathed. “I need Amren.” 

+

You woke Azriel at noon, with some warm soup and pine needle tea. He seemed to put on a brave face for the day, but you could see the exhaustion beneath his eyes. It hurt your heart to see him so ragged. “We’ll start the pattern again, the forest begins to thin as we get closer to the mountain.” 

“You mean to say, I can move faster with less brush in the way.”

“Yes, and I can see you better.” He sipped from his cup and set it down, beginning to lace up his boots.

“You dont have to worry about me. I grew up on ice, I can handle rock.” 

“Maybe I’m not worrying.” He gazed at you from under his lashes as he expertly tied the top of each lace. You froze at that look, those eyes that told you everything that he wanted to do, but couldn’t. Not right now, anyway. He went from sitting on the bedpad, to kneeling. Directly in front of you. The sight alone made your body thrum with arousal, setting every thought of anything but him out the door. He took a deep, savoring breath, and sighed. “Maybe I just want to see you.” 

+

“This is what you saw in your vision?” Amren asked, her eyes more drawn than when the sisters first appeared at her door. Elain nodded, and pointed at the drawing Feyre had made from her description. It was like a perfect picture of it, minus the dark colors. 

“And this is some kind of button, on the inside of the tray here.” Elain pointed to the square panel below the lettering. 

“Do you know what this says?” Feyre asked. She wasn’t a fool, she didn’t dare place her bets on this solving all of their problems. But her sister had pointed toward the middle, with her eyes closed. Her finger landing directly on the eastern slope of the cursed mountain. 

Amren’s lips moved silently as she read the letters, over and over again. “I dont know.” She sighed, and hurriedly brought the paper over to her living area. She sat comfortably on the floor, the plush rug waving over her tight leggings like grass. “It looks familiar… but in a different way. Like hearing someone with an accent speak.” She brought out a large binder of notes and papers from under the coffee table. Along with it, rolled out the box from The Warden. 

She went pale. Concerningly so. “Amren?” Elain asked, kneeling beside her friend. Feyre looked to the box, then to Amren’s frozen figure. “Amren? Are you alright?” Elain placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed slightly. The small Fae did not move an inch. She sat, still and cold as a rock. 

The paper in her hand quivered. 

“Holy mother above-” Feyre breathed.

+

You somehow managed to pack up camp and begin the trek without anything more than a simple kiss. It was hard to say the least, but you both knew the priorities with the task at hand. He did however, promise to continue it later. 

Branch after branch, stone after stone and so many damn thorny bushes later, you found the foliage finally clearing out, as he had promised. You gazed up to the sky, waiting to see him, but he never revealed himself. As much as it disappointed you, you understood the risk if he was that close. Others could easily see him if they were searching. In the Middle, you never knew who or what was looking.

He sent quick thoughts down the bond every now and then. Small updates about lovely things he saw from the view up high, a shimmering lake, the way the trees arced upwards  and casted shadows over one another when they grew tall enough, and sometimes - when he could see through the clouds, he’d send you an image of yourself. You batted them away usually, but it was interesting seeing his perspective on you, feeling what he felt while observing. The overwhelming attachment and care he felt during those images. 

It made your stomach flutter, and an amused zing would crack along the bond. It made him giddy. Like a fool in love. 

Truthfully, that was what he was now.

+

Feyre fell to her knees and scrambled for the box. It’s dark coating felt like a weight on her hands. Amren still did not move. The high lady’s power roiled inside her, flecking shadows of night along the walls and blotting out the sun from the open windows. 

“Amren.. Read this.” She said, not fully calm, but a tinor in her voice while she placed the box beside Amren’s hand that held the paper. 

“Feyre I think she-” Elain started softly, but Feyre’s intense look made her stop in her tracks. She had never used that commanding look upon her sisters before. Even when Nesta had been off the rails with drinking. It was unsettling, and made Elain recoil slightly. Her hand did not leave Armen’s shoulder though. The small female blinked, her pupils unmoving. Feyre watched, waitied. Amren blinked again, her eyebrows raising and eyes narrowing down at the paper in her hand. “You already know what this is.” She said, voice monotone. Like she had been possessed, taken on her own vision journey like Elain had been.

“Read. It.” Feyre said through her teeth. Elain could see the pain, the tears welling in her sister’s eyes now. Her heart sped with the possibilities. 

Amren flicked open the box’s lid, and held out the paper, side by side. She checked her notes. A small smile appeared at the corner of her lips as she nodded, her dark hair swaying with the movement. 

“Deep among frozen 

Roots from tree and ocean 

Lies death awaiting”

She took a shuddering breath. “Your door says the same… but at the end here..” She pointed to the last two runes before the square inlet below. “This one reads.. ‘Welcome, death. Welcome the end.’

Elain’s hand slipped from her shoulder.

+

You had reached an impassable rock wall long before you expected to, and Azriel landed, guiding you through a clear path he had seen from above. “Isn’t this romantic?” You sighed, grasping his hand. He smiled, and squeezed back. 

“Walking my mate through a deadly maze of rock, probably made by some creature that likes to play with their food before eating it?” 

“Sounds like you.” You laughed, the sound of it clashing off the flat boulders. 

+

Everything happened in a flurry of motion and half completed sentences. Amren was to stay at the townhome with Elain and try to find the entrance to the cave, while Feyre winnowed the box to Rhys and explained everything. 

Elain stopped her sister before leaving, her face a bit less pale than it had been moments ago when Amren read those last few words. “Be safe, please.” She said the words as a demand, not a request. The High lady pressed a soft kiss to her sister’s forehead, her tattooed hand clutching the box at her side. 

“I’m coming back. I promise.” She said, then, before Elain could stop her, she disappeared into shadow and wind.

+

Azriel had searched two more times for the path he swore he was leading you down. Only, when he looked back, it seemed the trail was disappearing as you went. He swore under his breath when he landed again, kicking up dust with the flare of his wings. “I may have conjured that beast we were talking about.” He said apologetically. “But there is a cave not too far ahead, we may be able to get through the other side of it and come out of a portal.”

“A portal, like in Spring court?” 

“They’re only really used to get here. And no one comes to the mountain anymore. It was sacred once, but after Amaranth and Hybern…” 

“I understand. It was taken from you. Not just you, but all of Prythian.” You knew the feeling. Having your home torn away by forces you couldn’t control felt pretty damn similar you’d imagine. You were glad though, that you hadn’t been around for the war with Hybern. It seemed that the world hadn’t been at peace since then. You couldn’t imagine going from a life of somewhat normality, to now this constant, raging political battle between courts. 

“Rhys saved us all from it though, he gave himself to keep Velaris safe. It’s why we never speak of the middle when we can avoid it.” He leant you his hand to climb up a particularly large rock. “He’s the bravest male I know.” 

“You would have done the same.” You said after a few steps. He hesitated, and you nearly ran into his wings. 

He did not turn to you when he spoke. “I’m not sure I would have. Not for Velaris, not even for myself.” He admitted. “I think I would have considered it a rightful punishment for me.”

“We’re going to work on that.” You said finally, earning a slight shake of his head. You turned him around to face you, glad he even let you. His stormy presence in your mind brought a chill to your bone. You shot back a whisk of cool wind, shocking and bright as an overcast sky. He stood straighter, just slightly. “We’re already making progress. Whether you like it or not.” You smiled.

You continued through the winding rock, gaining more and more height as you travelled. Eventually, there came a large outcropping of flat rock that led to a large archway made of stone among a flat vertical boulder. Azriel looked to you, feeling the unease down the bond. “Aren’t Mor and Rhys supposed to be here by now?” You asked quietly, as if the stones were listening. He sighed, and went to the dark beckoning archway.

The entrance to the cave was eerily quiet, not even the wind whistled through the cracks of the stone. You followed your mate closely, hand at your sword, ready to be drawn at any moment. The tunnel wound tightly, like a snake’s body. Curve after curve it grew wider and wider, until you could walk right next to him in the darkness. Ahead, rock skittered and froze you in place. Your blood rushed in your ears, the silence nearly deafening after. If it had been Rhys and Mor, they would have told you about finding this place, right? Or they were exploring it, making sure that it was a promising lead before reporting back.

 Azriel gripped his sword and gave you a nod to continue. “Rhys?” You called. Your voice echoed off the stone walls. Each step further led you into more and more darkness. 

“Morrigan?” Azriel’s call was much louder, causing more of an echo than yours had. Each step of your shoes seemed to be too loud, too harsh against your ears as you followed the widening path towards more darkness. Azriel gripped your hand. “So we dont get lost.” He muttered, his eyes never leaving the emptiness in front of you.

“You dont need to make excuses.” You whispered back, letting the smile seep into your tone. IT brought the smallest quirk of amusement to his lip. He squeezed your hand tighter.

Eventually, the turns evened out, and turned into a long corridor of wet stalactites and murky puddles. The end of it turned sharply, and seemed less natural than the rest of the cave had been.

Around that corner, it wasn’t darkness that greeted you. It was the shining metal of summer court armor. A bright light hung high above them all, shining down like the sun itself. And at the far wall of the cave, where all the soldiers watched, was a male you knew not from memory, but by only a name. 

Fendyrie. 

Your breathing stopped all together as you stared at him, no… at them. Kai as well.

+

Azriel’s breath caught in his throat when he saw the Spring male there. In a cave already filled with horrors, another seemed to be added. His lip curled on its own accord, and fire rushed through his veins. Fendyrie’s pointed ears twitched, and he turned towards you. Towards both of you. 

The grin that split across his face was the epitome of wolfish. Not in a charming way, though. In the deadly, violent way that he possessed. Covered in light scars over his exposed skin, he seemed all the warrior that his father was.

His towering might turned to you, and even from far away you could tell he was an enormous brute. “Hello, princess.” He greeted. His golden hair shone in the light, much like Tamlin’s had in the portraits you’d seen. Yet the eyes… it could have been like looking into a mirror of yourself. His eyes and more delicate facial features resembled your mother. Yourself. Your stomach turned, heart leapt into your throat waiting to fight, to scream at him, to kill him yourself. To seek vengeance for your mother’s untimely death at the hand of his father. 

Guards shoved you and Azriel to the floor, away from the entrance. Your mate growled, and was up in an instant - ready to fight. But his sword was gone. Your eyes tracked the floor, looking for where it had fallen. It was nowhere to be seen. “Nice of you to show up.” Fendyrie stepped down from the spot they had been inspecting high up the wall. His sure footing handled the rock well, and he jumped down with more grace than you’d expect for someone so huge.

“This is my lovely wife.” Kai jumped down from the ledge as well, and the guards followed them as they closed in on you. A tight circle of silent, armed males growing closer and closer. At least eighty of them, far too many to try to fight your way out. Azriel knew as much too, and hauled you back up on your feet, and positioned himself just in front of you. His wing brushed your arm, almost in a comforting way. Kai prowled closer, Fendyrie circling to stand to the side of Azriel. Kai placed himself only a few dozen feet in front of you, and sighed.  “And I will become a widower today.”

+

Azriel’s shadows curled around your ankles, cold and weighted. As if you were standing in a tide of ocean water. “You will not touch my high lady.” Azriel’s snarl was nearly incomprehensible. Despite the grave situation, your cheeks heated. 

“As I recall, shadowsinger, you are sworn to Night Court.” Fendyrie cocked his head to the side and took a deep breath of the cave air, letting it sting his lungs. You knew what he would smell there, and did not balk at his reaction. “Your wife seems a bit loose, Kai.” He laughed. Azriel’s stance changed, his footing pointing towards Fendrie now. Kai circled closer, tisking his tongue as he did so. 

“I could see you lowering yourself to fuck an Illyrian, but to mate with one? The bastard must mean something to you. I’ll be sure to let you watch him die.” You readied yourself, tracking each step he made and preparing for an attack. The words clawed at something inside you, dragging down your tender heart and leaving your belly full of heat. Rage, unlike you ever felt it before. You knew Azriel thought of himself as nothing more than an Illyrian bastard, a torturer, but hearing it aloud…from someone you hated so deeply… Your power roared to life, surging in your veins, waiting to strike. He would not kill your mate. You would at least die before that happened.

+

Feyre winnowed straight to her mate, the box in hand. “Azriel-” She didn’t know how to form the words, didn’t know how to tell him what they’d found out. Mor jogged to them, while Feyre shared her thoughts.

Rhys went pale. “Mor, winnow back to Velaris. Now.” He ordered, that cold tone of the high lord forcing her will. She looked between them, but left without a word. “We need to find that cave. Winnow to Azriel, I’ll get Nesta and Cassian.” Rhys’s plan become clear in Feyre’s mind as he thought it through. They would find the cave together, and be able to defend and carry out whatever the box unlocked. 

The high lady readied herself, placing the cursed box under her arm. The other hand gripped the dagger Lucien had given her long ago. It had been the only one she carried when leaving the townhome earlier. Rhys gripped her arm before she could disappear. “Be careful.” His tone was deep, and the double meaning of it rang through Feyre’s mind. “I love you. I cant lose you.”

They shared a quick, tight hug before both winnowed away.

[thelordofdarkreunion]

The Misty Planet

Here we go.  By request, a story (or, in this case, story line) where the Scoundrels meet Deus from the Empyrean Iris stories by starr-fall-knight-rise.  Things play out a little differently here, because this time, the Great Game has begun, and there are now more players...

“The game is afoot.”  -Sherlock Holmes

The view from the starship’s bridge was quite the sight to behold.  A massive red star, glowing with power, shone from outside.  The windows were tinted, of course, to allow the individuals inside to see without damaging their vision.  But, mighty as the star was, it was another structure that the individuals were examining.  The second star.  Smaller, but no less beautiful than the first.  This one, though, had strange, alien structures orbiting it.  Which was why the group was here.  

“So.  We’re the bloody universe’s problem solvers, I suppose,” muttered Thomas Drake, itching his nose with the edge of a black-gloved finger.  

“Well, we were the first to make contact with each other and the other galaxies after the… time-screwy thing.  We also prevented the attack on the Citadel, and found out who was behind it,” replied Shepard.  “Still working on finding the Shadow Broker and why he… or she, possibly, would want to kill the members of almost every government in the universe.”  

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.  We’ll figure that one out later.  One problem at a time,” sighed Krirk.

“I’m good with that,” said Drake.  “Now.  On to business.  Admiral Vir.  Why the hell are we here?”  Vir walked up to the viewing glass and let out a low sigh.  

“Well, basically, here’s the deal.  My crew and I came to the Polaris star, which most of you ought to recognize as it exists in all of your galaxies except one, and saw this weird, unknown structure on Polaris Ab, the smaller star of the two main ones.  We have also discovered a planet nearby.”  Vir went to a console and pulled up an image, taken from the ground of a strange looking alien wasteland.  He let out a deep breath before going on.  “This was a picture taken on a very similar planet that my crew found in the past.  The two seem to be related.”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” muttered Solo.  Cooper gave him a blank stare.  

“Do you ever not?” 

“Occasionally,” huffed Solo.  “When we aren’t going to mysterious planets covered with red mist and big black pillars.”

“I agree.  The whole thing is rather… ominous,” said Shepard.  

“Well, if in doubt, we nuke the whole thing and be done with it,” said Drake.  Vir gave him a long-suffering side glance.  

“No.  We are not going to nuke it,” he said.  “There is too much information at stake.”  He sighed again.  “On that planet, we, or some of my crew and I, received visions of an entity called ‘Deus.’  What Deus is or what it wants we do not know.  However, we believe that these planets are somehow aligned.”  The holographic image changed, showing the Polaris system interlinked with the other strange, red planet, the Drev homeoworld, the Celzex homeworld, and Earth.  “What this place is, who created the massive structure on Polaris Ab, and why these systems are all interlinked is what we are here to find out,” finished Vir.  

“Visions?” asked Cain.  Not good.  Most definitely not good.  

“Yes,” replied Vir.  “Not harmful or long lasting, though.”  The group was silent for a moment, as they decided on how to approach this.  Throughout his career as a ship’s captain, and later, admiral, Vir usually operated on his best judgement.  While occasionally shaky at times, it usually won the day.  However, when wasn’t sure what to do, he usually asked himself one question: what would Captain Kirk do?  Well, Kirk was now here, in the same room, and apparently he didn’t have any clue either.  Might as well find out what he thinks, I suppose.  “Captain Kirk?  You seem to be in these sorts of situations a lot.  What do you think we should do?”  Kirk looked over with a frown.  

“We should investigate,” he said finally.  “I don’t particularly like it, never have, never will, but we have to see what’s going on all the same.”  The group nodded to each other.  

“Cooper and Solo, you stay up here in case anything… funny goes on,” ordered Vir.  The two nodded their consent.  “The rest of us… prepare.  Meet you on these coordinates on planet in 45 minutes.”

Aboard the Apocalypse   

“Right you sorry lot!  We are going planetside to investigate a bunch of alien architecture.  There may or may not be hostiles, but this place gives me the creeps,” announced Drake.  The Third Squad of armsmen looked over to him.  Lucky them.  They drew duty rotation when we’re above disturbing planet central.  “I’ve been around long enough, seen enough, heard enough stories, and watched enough horror movies to know what’s probably going to happen.”  As he said this, a pair of robotic arms locked his armor in place.  The armsmen were gearing up and checking their weapons, but still listening intently.  “You are going to bring full combat gear, full weapons, the works!  The whole works!  Everyone is going to be wearing fully sealed armor, and carry an extra respirator on hand, just in case.  You are also bringing provisions, again, just in case.”  Drake grabbed his plasma rifle and double, then triple checked it.  He then keyed his comms.  “Richter.  Ordelphine.  If for some reason we do not make it back, you are not to send any more soldiers down.  You have full authorizations for Genesis 19 protocols.  Use your best judgement.  I trust you two more than anyone else in this fleet, so do not allow them to override you.  Hopefully it doesn’t come to that.”  On the other side of the comms line, Richter and Ordelphine winced.  Genesis 19 was code for the complete nuclear annihilation of anything on a planet deemed to be a threat.  Drake wasn’t taking any chances here, it seemed.  

Aboard the Normandy

Shepard took up a heavy machine gun and checked the ammunition.  This place reminded him too much of old Prothean planets, and the beacons located on them.  The massive black pillars and the visions Vir and his crew got from being near them were too much like the beacon he had touched on Eden Prime…  He still had nightmares about that mission.  This time, he was taking no chances.  Instead of taking a full team with him, he decided to go with what he normally did, and take three ground crew members.  All were carefully selected.  Garrus, because he wouldn’t trust anyone else to have his back as well as the Turian sniper.  Samara.  An ancient Asari biotic.  None more powerful or calm in a crisis.  Lastly, Mordin.  A Salarian scientist.  The only expert he had at the moment who might be able to figure out what these ruins were.  He hoped it would be enough.  

Aboard the Enterprise

Kirk, Spock and Master Chief stood next to the cylindrical grey transporters of the Enterprise.  The two Starfleet officers stood, checking their phasers and respirator masks, making sure nothing would go wrong once they got planetside.  Alongside them were a group of low ranking redshirts (hopefully they wouldn’t die this time, though Kirk was less than hopeful)  and the massive, green-clad figure of the Chief.  Said figure was currently looking over all of his weapons, making sure they were all there and battle ready.  Out of all the Scoundrels, it went without saying that he was the most physically powerful.  It would be his duty to eradicate anything particularly big or nasty they found on the planet.  If, of course, there was actually anything there.  The fleet’s scanners had picked up no life signs, but everyone was still on edge.  Kirk nodded and the group stepped into the transporter.  

“Beam us up, Scotty.”

Aboard the Omen

Commissar Cain leaned against a shuttle in the Omen’s massive hangar bay.  Of course, as the regiment’s champion of all things strange and alien, he had been chosen to lead the surface party.  He couldn’t say no.  How would it look to refuse to partake in a mission of this calibre in front of not only the Valhallans, but the Omen’s crew as well?  He would lose his status if he did.  So, it was with a very heavy heart that he warily donned his tattered set of carapace armor, strapped on his weapons, and made his way to the hangar.  Sargent Grifen was already there, along with her squad.  At least it was Grifen.  Cain had gone through a necron tomb with her squad and lived.  If he trusted anyone in the regiment with this mission, it was her.  And, of course, Jurgen.  Cain’s aide stood by his side, his ever present smell lingering in the air.  In his hands he held his melta gun, a weapon that had saved both their lives on numerous occasions.  Cain was sure Jurgen had other trinkets hidden in his pouches, in addition to the las rifle slung across his back.  Jurgen was ever prepared for anything.  

Cain looked up and over to where Admiral Vir entered the hangar.  He was backed up by a full contingent of marines and members of the Drev clan, followed by a few of the ship’s scientists.  Vir was wearing his suit of Iron Eye armor, fully insulated against the outside atmosphere.  Inside it, he was one of the group’s resident super soldiers, able to perform feats no ordinary person could ever aspire to.  Vir nodded as the Drev came to ease, resting their spears on the floor, and the marines checked their rifles one last time.  

“Let’s get going then, shall we?”

On the Planet

The Omen’s shuttle had landed in some sort of marshland, brackish water reaching up to the group’s shins.  Red mist stretched as far as the eye could see.  Black plants and a few totally black, dead trees littered the ground.  The Milano was parked nearby, on a larger solid stretch of ground, and Quill lounged outside it while his crew looked merely bored at the lack of action on this strange planet.  The Valhallans filed out of the shuttle, looking apprehensive in contrast to the Quill’s boredom and Vir’s excitement over exploring new planets.  A tiled black road led to some sort of black mass in the distance.  A city, if Vir had to guess.  How exciting!

A high whining sound rang out, and Kirk, Spock, and Master Chief teleported in alongside a contingent of Starfleet red-shirts.  The Chief stood statue still, weapons ready, as the Starfleet operatives joined the crew of the Omen in examining the black plant life that dotted the ground and the spaces in between the road tiles.  

The roar of shuttle engineers pierced the air, and the Normandy’s sleek shuttle made its descent alongside the Apocalypse’s heavy gunship transport.  Shepard, Garrus, and two aliens Vir and Cain didn’t recognize stepped out of the first, while Drake and a full contingent of armsmen.  

One of Shepard’s crew, a Salarian, by the looks of him, made a b-line to the scientists examining the plants, while Shepard and the other two greeted Quill.  The Apocalypse’s armsmen disembarked quickly, weapons at the ready as if they were on an active battlefield.  Drake made a circular motion to the shuttle pilot, who gave a thumbs up and immediately took off.  Drake approached Cain and gave a curt nodd.   

“This is your galaxy, Vir, so you’re in charge, but I don’t like the looks of this place.  I don’t want to spend a second longer here than I need to.”  Cain nodded.

“I agree.  This reminds me too much of some of the… stranger things I’ve seen.”  Vir pointed to the buildings on the horizon.  

“I understand,” he said reassuringly.  “Plus, we need to investigate that way anyway.  Let's move on.”  Vir made a motion to the scientists still crouched along the beginning of the pathway.  Dr. Wilson, one of the Omen’s scientists, looked up and held out a vial of the black plant.

“These are all dead.  But they’re remarkably well preserved…”

“Wilson is right.  Planet is dead.  Was once alive, but now everything here is lifeless.  Strangely well preserved, though,” rattled off the Salarian, almost without any breaths.  

“I’m liking this less and less,” muttered Cain.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The group had walked the long titled road in silence, the red mist swirling around them.  At one point, there was a rain storm, and Vir had ordered everyone inside one of the decayed buildings they had finally reached.  Everyone had taken it differently.  Shepard and his crew looked apprehensive.  The crews of the Omen and Enterprise were looking over everything with curiosity.  Master Chief, Drake, Cain, the Valhallans, and the Apocalypse’s armsmen were fanned out, weapons raised, clearing corners and rooms as if they were expecting something to pop out of the dark any minute.  Quill and his Guardians merely looked bored.  Again.  

They had moved on further since then, into the city itself.  Huge black buildings, in varying states of decay, loomed ominously through the fog.  The scientists were all muttering to each other as the took readings, while the soldiers had all unconsciously moved into wedge formations.  Drake’s gunship whined overhead, ready to provide close air support at his request.  Some might have called it overkill and over-caution, but Drake hadn’t lived this long by not taking such measures.  

At this point, Vir was starting to get creeped out.  Everything here was… wrong, somehow.  It was like a faint childhood memory that one knew they remembered, but couldn’t actually remember.  The place was… familiar.  Sacred, somehow.  In addition, it was a decayed city with no signs of life, and no signs of what had happened to it.  

“Anyone know what might have happened here?” he whispered to the rest of the group.  Somehow, it felt wrong to raise his voice.  

“No.  Not the Borg’s style,” replied Kirk.  

“Reapers would have been more thorough,” whispered back Shepard.  

“I have no idea…” trailed off Cain.  In actuality, he had a few ideas.  None of them good.  None of them he could say, either.  

They came to a central spot, the roads all branching into what looked to be a main square.  A large building rose up in front of them, looking distinctly human in style.  

“Should we investigate?” asked Shepard.  

“Yes, and no,” replied Drake.  “I think some of us should stay here, outside, to make sure no one attacks our rear, while others go inside to investigate.”

“That makes… tactical sense,” replied Vir with a nodd.  “Alright.  Quill and Chief, along with some of the Enterprise’s crew and Valhallans, stay here.  The rest of you, follow me.”  

The building, as it turned out, was some sort of massive laboratory.  There were test tubes of strange, glowing liquid, some form of massive, incomplete mech hanging on calves, and endless rows of filing cabinets.  There were huge factory floors, complete with conveyor belts, all decayed and rusted into ignominy, and rooms filled with rows upon rows of vats of sludge.  With every passing room, the entering group got more and more apprehensive.  What the hell is this place?  What were they doing?  Vir wanted to yell.  It was all so very strange.  So very… creepy.  

This went on for some time, the invaders of this strange sanctum touching nothing, until they got to a central room.  The heavy blast doors that should have protected it were open.  Not a good sign.  In the center of the room was a pedestal, and upon the pedestal, a glowing white ball.  

“Safeties off,” hissed Drake.  “If there’s an ambush coming, now’s as good a time as any.”  Vir, Wilson, Kirk, and Shepard walked up to the ball. 

“What the hell is this?” asked Shepard warily.

“I don’t know,” replied Vir.  “Maybe… some sort of artifact?  Communication device?  No clue.”  Wilson reached out.  

“Don’t touch it!” screamed Cain and Shepard as one.  It was too late.  As soon as Wilson’s skin made contact with the glowing ball, a blast of pure white energy rang throughout the room, knocking everyone off their feet.  Soldiers flew in tangles of weapons, and scientists stumbled and knocked into walls.

Cain slid on the floor, and shook his head a moment to clear it of the force the ball had unleashed.  He looked around.  The Valhallans stood up, checking their weapons to make sure they were still working.  Shepard’s team stood up, Garrus bringing his rifle around and Samara glowing with blue energy.  Kril and the Salarian scientist stood up.  Rigaldis, leader of the Apocalypse armsmen, pushed himself to his feet.  All of the aliens were fine.  All of the Imperial humans were fine.  But the rest, the other humans…  Cain checked Shepard’s neck for a pulse.  It was there.  They were all alive, but completely unconscious.  

“What the hell was that?” asked one of the Valhallans.  

“Don’t know,” murmured Cain as he studied the unconscious humans.  With a suddenness that caused the medic checking him to recoil, Vir’s one organic eye snapped open.  It looked straight ahead, completely unseeing, and seemed to have an incandescent white glow about it.  The medic waved his hand in front of Vir.  He didn’t blink.  

“Deus…” he murmured, before falling once more into unconsciousness.  Everyone looked around uneasily.  

“What do we do?” asked one of the red shirts. 

“Don’t touch that,” Cain pointed at the white orb, “But bring them outside.  We can’t leave them here.”  

Outside was calm, or, as calm as a planet filled with roiling red fog could be.  Quill and Master Chief walked up to the group, noticing the bodies flung across many of the soldiers’ backs.  

“What the hell happened?” asked the Chief.  

“One of the scientists touched some sort of strange white orb,” replied Cain.  “It knocked them all unconscious.”

“We noticed some sort of burst of white energy,” said Quill.  “Didn’t know what it was.  Now we do, I guess,” he added with a shrug.  

“What do we do now?” asked the Chief once more.  

“It’s a strange, alien artifact, and they seem to be… possessed,” replied Cain.  He didn’t want to say it, but there was no avoiding it.  All of the unconscious humans had a white glow around their eyes.  

“Hmm,” muttered Quill.  “Possessed… I think I know someone who might be able to help us here,” he announced after a moment’s deliberation.  “I’ll send a message to him.”  

“I need to send a message too,” said Cain.  “We need to call in the experts.”

Stay tuned, because next time, the experts will arrive, and things are about to get pretty cool...

As per usual, none of these characters except Drake and his crew belong to me.  If you have any questions, comments, criticisms, requests, or concerns, please, feel free to ask!

[jomiddlemarch]

Making something disappear isn’t enough

“Dr. Lewis?” Agent Woo said, pretty carefully, like he might be offending her in some way she couldn’t remotely imagine. She’d been watching the most fucked-up sitcom of all time for roughly eight zillion hours, so she was completely beyond offense. Well, say a solid 80-20.

“Darcy?” he said, as if she wouldn’t respond to her title and his respectful tone and to be honest, she’d zoned out for a minute, so he wasn’t entirely wrong. She was running on the fumes of fumes by now, which was funny, because she couldn’t have said what time it was to save her life and she didn’t think that thought very loudly, because plenty of weird stuff had happened and she knew better than to tempt fate.

“Yeah, sorry, what?”

“Ta-da!” he said, sounding nothing like Thor or Bruce or Tony. He sounded like a guy in her college physics class, one of the ones who hadn’t underestimated her and also hadn’t tried to get in her pants. “Um, Darcy, maybe you didn’t hear me—ta-da!”

He did something with his left hand that was supposed to be a magical little flourish and it wasn’t bad but what was truly good was the positively enormous cardboard cup emblazoned with the Starbuck’s logo, Jimmy scrawled across it in loopy black marker. She suddenly knew how Thor felt every time he beheld an embossed tankard of Valhallan mead and she grabbed at the cup as if she might get Blipped on a second pass.

“Wow, you really did want that coffee,” Agent Woo aka Jimmy said. “Sorry it’s from a chain but I only had twenty minutes and their corporate policy is fairly eco-friendly.”

She didn’t answer for a minute because she was guzzling down that sweet, sweet caffeine and he’d gone old school and left it black, which truly merited the chef’s kiss she gave him.

“I did--want it that is—and I’d given up hope. Makes me believe in magic,” Darcy said because it didn’t cost her anything and the look on his face was the way she’d probably look when she figured out what the hell was going on with Wanda.

“You didn’t have to say that,” he replied, which meant he was more self-aware than she’d given him credit for. Not sharper, she’d gotten that right at first glance, but it would be worth asking him sometime what he saw in legerdemain.

“I know that,” she said. She might have said something else but then the screen caught her eye, something about the way Vision looked at Wanda and Darcy knew it would take more than magic to figure it out.

It was a good thing there was a world full of cups of coffee and someone willing to get her one.

[inkdrinkershadowsinger]

We’ve been thinking about the order for the next acotar books all wrong. We don’t need to ask who the protagonist is going to be, but who the villain is going to be. If the Endgame Villain is Koshcei, Elains book will be last. While if the endgame Villain is Valhallan, the other queens, and Beron puppeteered by Koshcei then Az’s book will be last with the novella in between. She needs a big villain finale battle to end this series. She’s not going to send these characters out with a whimper. She’s going with a bang.