#violet flame prayer

[twinflamesandtarot]

💜💜💜

[austerulous]

Tag drop! ♡

[qingxin-dream]

“My Sweet Angel”

summary | months of repressed feelings bubble to the surface one night, but you’re fast asleep while wanderer is lost in his own thoughts secretly pining for you. but, uh…pining might be an understatement. (art credits: @/1eternalstar on twitter).

warnings | wanderer is down so bad, obsession, profanity, smut [18+, MDNI], dubcon, female-bodied reader, somnophilia, aphrodisiac/drugging, masturbation, edging/orgasm denial, oral f!receiving, bondage, temperature/element play, worship, slight degradation/praise, creampie

genre | pure, filthy smut (happy kinktober!🎃)

word count | 2.8k

pairing | wanderer x reader

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

A small, breathless gasp ripples through the silence of the night. The sound of crickets and cicadas is but a low roar in the background, barely enough to mask the melody of your traveling companion’s sweet, subdued moans. Merely a foot away is your sleeping form, quietly snoozing with your pretty lashes resting on your cheeks. Your silhouette is ethereal, like an angel banished from heaven finding solace in the moonlight with her wings tucked safely away.

Wanderer’s attention ceaselessly gravitated toward you. It seemed to be a natural reaction. Instinctual, even. He admired you with the deepest devotion, seconds turning into hours. There was a part of him, something long buried and locked away, which surfaced in his chest like a breath of fresh air.

Your hair cascades perfectly over your shoulders, framing the soft shape of your face. Your rosy lips part in a faint sigh. The occasional incoherent mumble of your dreams causes his ears to perk up, hoping to catch a glimpse of what your little fantasies are made of. Your exposed stomach when you roll over with a groan and the magnetic curve of your legs make his eyes darken with lust.

Archons, he had way too much time in his hands every night. Thankfully you were blissfully unaware that puppets didn’t need any sleep.

He cursed to himself between sharp, ragged intakes, his needy violet eyes reflecting the luminescence of the moon, raking over your curves with a carnal glint. Looking back, he had all the opportunities in the world to stop that nagging desire churning within his chest.

But Wanderer was selfish. Once he got a taste of your affection, consider him a starved man.

His thoughts about you would twist and tangle his emotions until it utterly choked him of any sensibility. Love and lust are more than just a slippery slope. The puppet was free-falling in the abyss of your pheromones. The best part is you were completely clueless to these intimate escapades of his.

Could you blame such a depraved, touch-starved puppet?

The nights all seemed to blend together like this. Waiting patiently for you to snore gently before he let his fingers ghost your figure, assuring him that you wouldn’t wake up anytime soon. One hand would devote itself to exploring every bit of skin you had to offer while the other palmed the growing bulge in his shorts.

Like a moth to a flame, he became utterly entranced with the glow of your skin beneath the moon. You are like a goddess laying beautifully upon your altar of silken bedsheets, awaiting the devout worship of his soft prayers and saccharine lips.

His fingers grazed your shoulder, trailing down your arm and leaving tiny goosebumps in its wake. He let his hand mesh carefully into the dip of your waist, imperceptibly squeezing it just enough to fan the flames of his imagination. He was in another dimension entirely, wishing for the day you’d beg for his touch.

Wanderer takes his lower lip between his teeth harshly, dipping his hand beneath his shorts to tug the tip of his thick cock with growing fervor. Precum had already wet the slit of his tip, lubricating each teasing thrust of his hand over his dick. Meanwhile, he continued his journey down the round, plump curve of your hips.

Hips that were meant for childbearing.

He takes a fistful of your nightgown momentarily as his cock aches in his hand, yearning for release so soon. For fuck’s sake, why is the image of you bred full with his seed so goddamn hot?

His movements came to an abrupt halt at the lacy end of your little nightgown. He had to know what you were wearing beneath that silky dress. The idea of making a mess all over your cute panties, covering them generously in his cum, only edged him further. Or, even better, he’d love to fuck his creamy load all over your drenched folds before sliding back in for another round.

Wanderer had to make a concerted effort to reel in his filthy daydreams, struggling to keep his hands from trembling on you. He managed to slip the nightgown higher and higher up your smooth thighs, a lump quickly forming in the puppet’s throat.

He’s not sure if he could handle seeing you so vulnerable without ripping your clothes off and fucking you to his heart’s content right then and there. No, no, no... After all this endless waiting and pining for many torturous months, he couldn’t ruin this with a fleeting moment of insatiable want. He pauses, collecting himself for a brief moment.

The puppet’s pupils dilated into pools of audacious desire upon seeing the dainty black undergarments hugging your plush hip. It was lacy with a beautiful floral design, enrapturing his gaze all the way down to your cunt. Wanderer couldn’t help himself, reaching out subconsciously to brush his thumb against your clit through your panties.

“I wanna fuck you so bad… so bad,” he whispers, his voice just an octave higher with desperation as he continues to fist his throbbing cock. The friction of his hand isn’t enough. It couldn’t come close to the immaculate sensation of your slick pussy enveloping his cock, dragging the tip slowly from your clit to your fluttering, empty hole. But that would be insane, he couldn’t.

You didn’t seem to move a muscle in response to his touch. Meanwhile, Wanderer is struggling like a fool to restrain himself, it is almost comical. He could feel his impending orgasm, forcing his hand to slow down with longer, more intermittent strokes to stop from practically bursting at the seams.

Eventually, he found the courage to nudge the cloth of your black panties aside, revealing your pretty little pussy lips glistening with need. The puppet’s violet irises swirl with power, nearly drunk on the mere thought of pleasuring you in secret like this. Why else would you wear such a sexy little garment for him?

A dull, burning sensation coated his lungs as his thumb nestled into your bare clit, resolving himself to carefully lean down and relieve his parched throat with a kitten lick of your folds. It was a miracle that you hadn’t stirred in your sleep too much, yet the part of him reckless with lust wanted you to wake up while he was tongue-deep in your cunt. He dived between your labia again with his mouth, exhaling a soft, guttural moan into your hole after another good lick.

“Mm, so fucking good… I know you fucking like this, baby,” Wanderer mumbles, wrapping his arms around your hips to secure you in place as he freely drags his tongue across your folds and clit skillfully, placing an occasional kiss here and there. Your thighs subconsciously tense with pleasure.

Had he known you would taste so divine, he would’ve devoured your pussy a long time ago. Shifting slightly so that he could lay completely on his stomach, Wanderer eagerly laps at your cunt and fucks his leaking cock into the mattress. Shit, it is too easy for him to lose sight of himself and tug at your hips possessively, not hesitating to fuck you messily with his tongue.

It’s when he got a little too hasty slurping on your pussy with a particularly lascivious moan that you grumble in your sleep. Wanderer freezes, peering over your pelvis like a predator defending his prize with a piercing violet glare.

There is no way you could possibly wake up. Not now. Not when he’s so close. He deduces that the twitch in your sleep must be from that little aphrodisiac he slipped in your evening tea with him. The puppet had made a nice concoction of tasteless drugs to keep you both asleep and all sensitive just for him.

Wanderer is confident that his potion had its intended effect, but just in case—with a flick of his wrist, he ties your hands together on the headboard with a cool, pressurized ring of Anemo energy. He towers over you, a giddy smirk spreading across his lips seeing you so helpless to his desires.

He had read that cute pocket diary of yours gushing over him like he’s your high school sweetheart, don’t worry. You both know these feelings are mutual. But let’s be honest, he’d much rather you gush on his cock over and over until your pussy can’t take it anymore. And you’ve been dreaming about it too, he’s seen it with his own eyes.

Positioning himself between your legs, the puppet slaps his thick cock on your stomach, measuring it up to your belly button where his pink tip mushrooms. There’s no question that his dick would bottom out inside your walls, maybe if he’s lucky he could see his thrusts bulge in your lower stomach. He’d love to pound you deep enough to truly bury his cum inside you, plugging it with his pulsing cock until he’s sure you’re nice and bred.

No, no, he reminds himself again. He has to savor his time with you—make love to you like you rightfully deserve. There will be plenty of opportunities to fuck you senseless later, despite how badly he wants it now.

The tip of his cock trails down to your folds, tucking his length under your panties. Using one hand to guide his cock against your soaking core, the other rests on your inner thigh as he grinds against you slowly. Wanderer grits his teeth at the feeling, sucking in a sharp breath and brushing his thumb lovingly against your sensitive inner thigh. It’s everything he’s ever imagined and more.

He’s forced to bite his knuckles, nearly choking on his own pathetic whines of pleasure. His thrusts grow faster, using your lingerie to keep his cock pressed firmly between your folds.

His words are a ravenous, hoarse whisper, begging you in your sleep. “Shit, shit, shit, you’re gonna make me cum…! Can I put it in? C-Can I please put it in?”

Wanderer knows what your answer will be, grinding sloppily on your drenched cunt while he grabs your breast. He wishes he could hear you say it. But he can feel the way your sweet little hole clenches around nothing every time his tip rubs your clit just right, and that’s enough for him.

It takes no effort to snap the thin straps of your lacy panties in haste, quickly tossing the garment aside indiscriminately. It’s too much, fuck, you look too perfect. Before he knows it, Wanderer pushes his tip inside your sopping entrance, gazing with wonder at how you suck him in like a good slut. Such a good fucking slut, hugging the first inch of his hard cock like you never wanted to let go.

Your spongy walls subconsciously react to his every motion, tightening around the puppet’s cock with unprecedented strength. He hisses, materializing a blue chained choker around your neck with his Anemo abilities and yanking you forward. His girth splits you apart, sliding inside your throbbing cunt inch by every tantalizing inch, until he can meet you halfway and kiss your whimpering, tender lips.

“Goddamn you,” Wanderer growls into the kiss, harshly biting onto your lip. He doesn’t draw blood, but tends to your bruised skin thereafter with a gentler, half-apologetic kiss. “You feel so fucking good, take me so fucking good… mm…”

His hips draw back, your walls noticeably empty in his absence. Snapping forward, his huge cock plunges into your depths with a delightfully lewd smack, causing him to chuckle under his breath. The puppet carefully lays you back on the pillow, planting his arms on either side of your head so that his vision is filled with only your beautiful face.

Once Wanderer begins to establish a rhythm, there’s no stopping him. Every drag of his veiny cock against your sensitive walls is utterly addicting, he had to come back for more and more. He moans and whines your name into your delicate little neck, taking the flesh into his mouth to suck and mark you as his own.

He is panting over you like an animal in heat. “I can feel you squeezing me, angel. I know you love it. ‘M gonna use that pretty little pussy of yours.”

Your body twitches beneath him as his lips leave no crevice untouched by his kisses or hickeys, a smattering of small red and purple blotches dotting your skin from your neck to your breasts. All the while, the puppet had to throttle his pace again, almost giving in to the ecstasy. You were definitely getting close too, he could feel it in the way you clenched around him greedily.

Swirling his tongue around your cute nipple, Wanderer suckles it briefly with a pop of his mouth, admiring his work on the canvas of your gorgeous body. He leaned back, hooking his hands under your calves to press your knees to your chest. If only he had a Kamera to capture the mesmerizing image of your legs spread so good for him with a perfect shot of your cunt wrapped around his tip.

He could tell this position had your walls enveloping his length even tighter than before, angling his cock deep towards that special spot inside you that would have your toes curling. “God, (Y/N), you look so fucking sexy like this.”

It is killing him—the sensation of your hole desperately clinging to the inch of his cock sheathed within you. The puppet keeps your legs pushed back and snakes a hand down to your clit once more, which had obviously been aching for attention. He’s lost in the contours of your folds all splayed out for him, so much so that he lets a globule of his spit drip over your clit to mix with your juices.

You are squirming slightly in your sleep from all the stimulation, but he doesn’t care. The euphoric feeling of teetering on the edge of an incredible orgasm has Wanderer stripped of any sense of reason. He nudges his cock halfway inside you at a delectably slow pace, reveling in your body’s subtle reactions to his teasing.

“Yeah, baby? You wanna fucking cum?” Wanderer whispers hotly over you, circling your clit faster. There’s already a delicious ring of your essence gathering at the base of his cock.

“Cum…” you mumble in a daze, your eyelashes fluttering open slowly. Your expression is contorted into a helpless plea, licking and biting your bottom lip as you sleepily notice his cock nestled between your thighs.

Wanderer’s eyes snap to yours in disbelief. You’re lucid, but asking for more. He begins to chuckle lowly, and reaches to caress your cheek. “You want it, hm? Speak up.”

He continues to fuck you at an excruciatingly slow pace, waiting patiently for you to beg for his seed. He wanted you in tears, squirting all over him like a good girl. Your moans encourage him to go deeper.

“Please, Wanderer,” you struggle to curl your fingers in his indigo locks under the effects of the drugs. “K-keep going, feels too good. Fill me up, please…”

“Like this?” The puppet smirks, forcefully thrusting his huge cock to the brim inside of you. He relishes in your lovely cries of pleasure and pain, swallowing them in a passionate kiss as he fucks you with reckless abandon.

You could barely hiccup a response, sloppily kissing back as Wanderer abuses your tight hole. He has you pinned against the creaky mattress, holding your face with his thumb on your chin to keep your mouth open. Every noise of ecstasy is his to claim and taste on your tongue.

“Mine, baby, all mine. Say it for me,” Wanderer moans, adoring the cock-drunk glimmer in your clouded eyes.

Squeezing your eyes shut suddenly, your eyebrows furrowed together as you suddenly felt your orgasm build at a rapid speed. You whined against the Anemo cuffs restraining your wrists above your head. “Yours! Oh my god, I’m yours. I’m gonna fucking cum, please, please give it me…!”

“Mhmm, yeah c’mon baby, lemme see you cum for me, so good for me, yeah?” he praises, kissing you roughly as he snaps his hips into you. It’s impossible to deny his insatiable need for you any longer, painting your walls white with spurts of his hot seed in a series of profanity-laden grunts.

Your eyes nearly roll back as your orgasm washes over you, legs trembling around him. The continuous twitch of his cock has you arching your back, taking every last drop of his cum until your cunt can’t hold any more. It leaks out, creaming your folds and his cock nicely.

Once you both catch your breath and lock eyes, you feel your cunt ache to be filled once more. Noticing how you trap him with your legs around his hips, Wanderer realizes the aphrodisiac must have been stronger than he anticipated.

You smile sweetly. “M-maybe one more?”

thanks for reading! reblogs are appreciated. my masterlist.

[loveshotzz]

{ trying } a new position with them

I have this in my mind with AIRWIY!Steve, ‘cause I know he’s so soft during sex and you do it in missionary or you ride him, but then you ask him if he will take you from behind (feel free to change) and be a little rough🥹

Hi angel! thank you for your request 💗 I hope you enjoy. This is a request is from my All I Really Want Is You series but can be read as a stand alone.

older!steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ established relationship, smut, dirty talk, cream pie, age gap.

wc: 1.3k

authors note: for those that read the series this takes place during the gap between chapter ten and the epilogue. the relationship is still new and they are trying new things 🧡

Something felt different about tonight.

You think it might’ve been the fancy cocktails that were stronger than normal, and the dim lighting of The Violet Hour that danced across Steve’s sharp features. Or his big hand that stayed high on your thigh through the entirety of dinner. Salt and pepper scruff tickling your cheek every time he leaned in to whisper low in your ear. 

Maybe it was the lemon zest still fresh on his tongue when he licked into your mouth at the end of your date pressing you against your front door. Whatever it was Steve Harrington made your body feel like it was on fire tonight, embers burning in the pit of your stomach waiting to combust with every touch. 

The roll of his hips only stokes the flames when he’s buried to the hilt inside of you after barely making it to your bed, leaving a trail of clothes in your wake. His full weight keeps you pressed into the mattress, with your knee hooked over the crook of his elbow. The tip of him hitting the spot that makes your back arch with every slow stroke over and over again, but god, it wasn’t enough. You needed more.

That loose strand falls damp across his forehead, a bead of sweat dangerously close to falling off the end. His eyes never leave yours, the black of his pupils making the gold and moss colored flecks disappear. Lips brushing with every thrust, the whiskey on his breath mingles with the pineapple on yours, while your nails dig half crescent moons into the constellations on his back.

He shifts hitting a different spot when he drives back in, and it makes your jaw go slack. Steve takes advantage, tracing your top lip with his tongue while the tip of his nose bumps into yours. He starts a slow grind instead of pulling out, the dark thatch of hair that frames the part of him hugged tight by your walls rubs against your clit in a way that has his name sound like a prayer. But it still wasn’t enough. Not even when your hands make their way down, fingers digging into the soft dough of his ass to try and coax him even deeper.

“Fuck - honey,” He grunts, pushing in as far as he can, eyes rolling in the back of his head when you nip at his bottom lip, recently discovering how much he liked it when you did that.

“I need - “ You start but a quick snap of his hips steals the breath out of your lungs for a second.

“What do you need?” His brows furrow when you flutter around him, watching the way your eyes glaze over when he hits that spot again, “tell me, I’ll give it to you, I’ll give you whatever you want.”

“I - I want- I want you to fuck me from behind.” The words make the grind of his hips falter, the black of his eyes turning into an abyss. 

“Yeah?” Steve sounds breathless when he finally comes back to his body.

Biting your bottom lip between your teeth, all you can do is nod, a shy smile playing at the corners of your mouth despite feeling the twitch of him inside of you. He rolls his hips again, something smug flickering in his eyes when he sees the way it makes your face crumble.

“Whatever you want, pretty girl.” He rubs the tip of his nose with yours before he starts to slowly pull out. Cursing under his breath, the feeling of your walls trying to suck him back in is almost enough for him to cum. 

You shudder at the feeling of being so empty when he sits back on his haunches, long fingers wrapping around his cock, stroking himself as he watches you get on all fours for him. He’s never seen you presented to him like this, and he almost cums again in the span of a minute.

“Jesus Christ, look at you.” He sounds wrecked when he talks, and when you peek over your shoulder at him, he looks it too.

Wiggling your hips, his free hand finds the soft fat of your ass, while his strokes with his other get quicker. He squeezes at the dough of it, groaning when he sees the way you’re dripping down your thighs. The precum that leaks from his fat tip mixes with your slick as he drags himself through your folds, a lewd squelching noise filling your room when he does it over and over again. 

“Steve - fuck - please, please.” Your fingers tangle into your sheets, pushing your hips back into his for more when he adds pressure to your bundle of nerves before catching at your entrance.

“Shhh, It’s okay, I got you, I got you.” He coos when the tip of him breaches your walls, both hands finding the curve of your hips. “Gonna take all of me like the tough girl you are, aren’t you baby?” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah” Too cock drunk not to babble when he pushes half way in, the lingering effects of the drinks you had at dinner has your body ignited. You’ve never felt so full and it’s not even all of him.

“God, you’re so wet. Always so wet for me.” He groans with one final roll of his hips, burying himself as far as he can go, the stretch making you keen the heat inside your belly turning white.

He doesn’t move, letting your body adjust to the length of him like this, fingers digging into the soft skin of your sides hard enough to bruise. Your walls won’t stop clenching and it makes him twitch. He leans over earning him a soft ‘oh’ from you at the feel of him somehow pushing deeper, warm lips trailing kisses up your spine, leaving more over the hard plain of your shoulder blade before stopping at the shell of your ear.

“You ready honey?” 

He can’t see the way the deep baritone makes your eyes hit the back of your head, and all you can do is nod. He gives a smug kind of chuckle that you’ve never heard before, pulling himself back up. His hands squeeze at you one more time, a low breath escaping through his nose while he takes in the sight in front of him. 

“Ste-“ His name dies on your tongue when he pulls almost all the way out, before a rough snap of his hips pushes him all the way back in. “Oh my god!’

Steve’s never heard you make sounds like this for him before and he thinks he might lose his mind, something primal unlocking deep inside his brain. The softness he’s always treated you with is replaced by the animalistic need to fill you to the brim. The springs of your mattress squeak loudly under his knees, the head board he helped you set up after a trip to Ikea smacking against your wall with every harsh thrust. 

“Gonna make you mine, yeah? You want that?” He doesn’t sound like the man who leaves you silly notes with all his gifts, his voice is rough just like his touch. The hair on his thighs rubbing against the wet backs of yours.

“Please, yeah, it’s all - fuck, fuck, yeah it’s all I want Steve, please.” You're babbling now too close to worry about how you sound with your cheek pressed to the mattress as he holds your hips up. The grip on your sheets is tight enough to pull them off the corners of your bed, and the fire that's threatened to consume you finally does when the tip of him hits a spot he’s never found before. “Oh god, i‘m gonna - Steve! -i’mgonnacum!”

He keeps his unrelenting pace watching the way your eyes screw shut, and your jaw go slack. A shudder rolling through your body, toes curling while your walls milk him with the strength of your orgasm. 

“Oh fuck - honey.” Steve’s loud when he paints your insides white, the warmth of him filling you up until it drips down your thighs is enough to make you moan with him at the feel of it, aftershocks running though your fingertips that grasp at anything.

The blunt ends of his nails dig into your hips, his body staying ridgid as he tries to get a grip. Yours is limp in his hands, eyes slowly blinking while everything comes back into focus. When he finally regains enough brain power, he leans forward again, trailing lazy wet kisses up your spine that make the corners of your lips twitch before he stops at your ear.

“So we’re absolutely going to get drinks there again.” 

[teratocrat]

gryphongirl has soundly defeated the crocodile-boargirl of the lower valley, and saved your village, but now she wants to talk about payment. "i want icons here and here and here" she says, dragging talons like bronze daggers down the ancient timbers of your village's longhouse, which apparently as of right now also serves as her shrine. "burnt offerings and prayer four times a year, warmest night of each season, got it? or i will come back and trash this place worse than that other bitch ever did." you make some small involuntary noise of terror in the back of your throat that she evidently interprets as assent, for she relaxes, slumping back onto the splintered gouges she has just torn in the wall. "i don't want to sit around for the icon painters, though" she confides. "you guys probably dont have a kinko's or some shit? i couldn't just… print some selfies off the 'gram?" you are halfway through mumbling apologetically that the village's only printer was in fact in the library that she threw crocodile-boargirl through last night, and as such almost certainly only exists now as shards of plastic and metal and glass, when she suddenly lunges forward and pins you against the opposite wall, claws pressed firmly against the soft and fragile joints of your shoulder. The smell of her rolls over you like a summer storm, sweat and smoke and blood and ozone melting into an indescribable melange that stings your nostrils and the back of your throat. "what is that?" she asks with naked hunger in her voice, the string of amethysts around your neck transmuted to citrine in her golden gaze. you pull the Violet Starfall necklace over your head with one free hand - it was the greatest treasure of your priesthood, a sign of the covenant between the village and its catgirl-goddess Tenth Life Layabout, but Tenth Life Layabout met her end between crocodile-boargirl's jaws, and you have little time for sentimentality now. she drapes it over her head with one hand and removes the other from your shoulder to gesture obscurely: thin air turns to glossy black beside her, an obsidian mirror in which she admires how her newest treasure compliments her reflection. "ohhhh," she sighs, greasy smoke and wisps of magenta flame escaping the corners of her mouth. a noise like a revving motorcycle engine fills the room and rattles your bones; with a start you realise that gryphongirl is purring.

[throneofsmut]

BOUND IN FLAMES - Part 7

Eris Vanserra × Archeron-Sister- Reader

Description: Feyre and her younger sister go hunting in the forest behind their family's cottage and go through life changing experiences.

A / N: Sorry this took so long, work has been a shit show for the past two weeks and i have a fucking cold that makes me feel like a dying victorian child. Also the wolf in this part ( you’ll know once you get to that part of fic ) is basically like the wolves from twilight. Size wise at least. But still it’s a little bigger than that. He's also heavily inspired by Tairn from fourth wing. Him and reader's bond is similar to the bond Violet and Tairn have.

My tear stained cheek was pressed against my bent knee as I sat before the Yew Tree where the Summer Court Faerie was now buried. Fingers pulling and ripping the plush green spring grass beneath me.

Warm tears continued to wet my skin as I sat there and quietly said the prayer usually said when an Illyrian passed.

Voice cracking as I recited it, grateful that no one was around to hear the grief that was thick in my throat for a faerie I didn’t even know.

“Once soaring through skies with grace and might.

Now grounded and wounded in a fateful plight.

Though grounded they stand their soul takes flight.

Denying a flightless fate welcoming death's sweet embrace.

May the wings that once soared high carry their spirit to eternal skies.

So let us remember the fallen ones who will now become a star and be one with the night.

May they fly in the beautiful skies of immortal land of milk and honey.

Feel the wind beneath their wings.

The warm breeze a loving caress against skin.

As they lose themselves in the songs of the wind once again.”

Looking up at the stars, you searched the skies, as if you’d be able to see a whisper of the Summer Court faerie flying above you. Free from pain and suffering. Free from Amarantha. Letting out a deep sigh when you didn’t and stared at the grave at the base of the Yew Tree. You sniffled and then let out a shuddering breath, “I am so sorry I was late. Maybe—maybe if I had gone Under the Mountain as soon as I got into Prythian, Amarantha would’ve been too focused on me to take your wings.” Pulling out a small dagger from your pocket, cutting across your palm, letting your blood flow onto the earth. “Before I kill her or before she kills me… I’ll kill whoever she ordered to butcher you—your wings.” You swore.

Too drained to care to wrap your hand, you just sat there letting the darkness of the night comfort you. As it always did. But then you heard it: almost like a whisper, as if cloth were dragging over root and stone.

Nostrils flaring as you scented the air, without a doubt knowing who it was. The tall, thin veiled figure in dark tattered robes, came to sit next to me.

Then slowly, it turned to me, the dark veil draped over its bald head blowing in a phantom breeze. “Hello, Darkling.” Click, click went its fingers against each other, one for each word.

“Hello, old friend.”

The Suriel sniffed the air, once. Twice. “You’re bleeding.” Its fingers clicking again. You didn’t look at them, not even as its robes rustled as if it was looking for something. Then you heard the sound of cloth tearing. A moment later it’s too long fingers gently gripped my hand—carefully—to not touch the cut on my palm. Then it wrapped the piece of their torn robe around my hand. Squeezing my fingers before putting my now bandaged hand back in my lap. “She knows you’re in Prythian. She’s hunting you.”

“I know.”

“The faeries she sends into these lands are hunting you, faeries like the naga,” It said, its voice was at once one and many, old and young, beautiful and grotesque. “Her ilk will continue to invade these lands on her orders. To find you.”

I felt the Suriel’s eyes on me as I looked down at my wrapped hand. Then at the Suriel. They had torn the cleanest part of their robe to bandage me. “Thank you,” I gave them a small smile, it was all I could muster at the moment and they nodded their head in understanding.

“You know you’re being hunted, so why are you still out here all alone.” Not a question, but a mere fact.

As if on cue the grass brush a couple yards in front of you rustled, the Suriel and you looked up and you smiled knowing who was there. Without looking away from the blue glowing eyes that were now set on you, “I’m not alone.”

The Suriel only chuckled, “No, you are not.”

Moment of silence passed before you spoke again, “You know if I knew you were coming I would’ve brought you a new cloak,” You glanced at the old tattered cloak they wore.

“Well, I didn’t have time to schedule an appointment, my lady.” They said sarcastically, earning a chuckle from you.

“Fair enough, meet me here tomorrow night and I’ll bring you a new cloak.”

Their dark tattered robes rustled as they stood and placed a hand on my shoulder, “Thank you,” It’s fingers clicking in time with the words it spoke. Then they looked toward the grass brush again where those glowing blue eyes still watched us, “Get her back to the manor. It’s not safe out here.” All the Suriel got back was a low growl in response.

You don’t know how much time passed after the Suriel left, didn’t care, all that mattered were those blue eyes that stared back at you. Slowly you stood up from your spot in the grass and walked towards the grass brush. The same time you stood up, it did too, but it didn’t make a move. It was unnaturally still and silent. Until you spoke his name, “Raihn.” So quiet, it was barely a whisper but you know he heard by the way his ears twitched.

Then it was walking out to meet you, slowly. Menacingly.

“Raihn… It’s me. It’s me, Y/n” I whispered, I didn’t know who could be out here. Listening. Watching. He stalked closer, the night shielding most of him, all I could see were his eyes. Until he was right in front of me. Illuminated by the moonlight I could finally see him. He was bigger than I remembered, then again that was 10 years ago. He had always been huge but now he was massive. His fur was pure white and he had to be at least 10 feet in length and nearly 6 feet tall from paw to shoulders.

“Raihn, it’s me. Please. Please, you have to remember me.” My eyes filled with tears as I pleaded to him. He had to remember me, because I could never forget him.

My mother told me that her mother used to tell her stories about a rare species of wolves that hailed from the north. From deep in the mountains of the Night Court. They only ever bonded with the Lords and Princes of Illyria, if they were loyal, cunning, brave and possessed the raw killing power. The wolves used to fight beside them in battle and the more killing power the Illyrian possessed then the stronger the bond between them was. If the bond was strong enough they could channel power into each other but, if one of them was killed in battle the other would fall too even if they were physically unharmed.

It had been centuries since the last wolf had bonded with an Illyrian. Until me. Since I could remember, Raihn had always been by my side until I had to disappear.

My lips quivered as I spoke, voice cracking, “Raihn,” I slowly stuck my hand out so he could scent me. His snout twitched, once. Then twice. He looked back at me—assessing—then growled, so low, I felt the ground beneath me shake.

The massive wolf’s lips curled back as he bared his teeth inches away from my face. I know he’s confused because he can still scent my true scent beneath the blood spell my mother used on me. Which also changed my physical appearance. If only I could touch him, then I could talk to him and he could talk to me.

I let out a sharp breath, knowing what I had to do. I tried to brace myself for the pain I knew I was about to feel, it would only allow him to see me—the real me if only for a couple seconds. But still he would see me and then he’d remember who I am to him.

“Nochd.”

As soon as I uttered the word which meant reveal in the old language, my entire body felt as if it was being ripped apart yet it put back together. My veins felt as if they were on fire by the coldest flames. Gasping for breath felt like I was drowning in scorching hot water, my lungs expanding and constricting. And my head felt like it was going to explode.

Then nothing.

It was nearly dawn when I felt something nudging my face and hand. I could barely hear the whimpers over the blood roaring through my ears. My entire body felt heavy and sore as I lifted my hand and felt fur: soft and warm.

Raihn.

His head was still nudging my face. So I turned to look at him, really look at him. He has deep scarred scratches on the right side of his face but he wasn’t blinded. And most of his right ear was gone, “You’re as beautiful as the day I last saw you.” He flinched hearing my voice, hoarse from the pain inflicted from the blood spell.

You’re hurt. Stop talking, he orders, his voice deep and gruff.

Letting out a hiss as I sat up. “Yeah, and whose fault is that?”

He growled in response, Do not do that ever again. You almost died.

“Well, it’s your fault you didn’t recognize me. I had to show you it was me.” I tried to reason.

So it's my fault that you smell like you but don't look like you. How was I supposed to know. He argued.

I shrugged, “At least you know now.”

Yes, but you don't know how I felt all these years, not knowing if you would come back or if you were safe!

“I miss you too.” I chuckled.

Get on. He ordered.

I scoffed, “I can walk,” but made no move to stand.

I didn't ask. Now get on.

Raihn moved so he was laying next to me as close as he could without squishing me. All I had to do was hold onto the scruff of his neck and roll over to get on his back. I took in a deep breath and let it out once I was on his back. Cursing as he stood up, the movement jostling my sore body.

Don't be rude, he says, looking over his shoulder at me, before he huffs. You're bleeding. Stop it.”

It’s my turn to huff, “Don’t be rude,” I sit up a bit, wiping the blood coming from my nose. “Let’s just go back to the manor.”

****

The ride back to the Spring Court Manor was quiet but not uncomfortable. The both of us content with just being in each other’s presence.

None of the sentries stationed around the Manor said anything to me about the dry blood now stained underneath my nose. Or the massive wolf who was carrying my limp body inside. They only moved out of the way, letting us both pass.

As Raihn stalked into the alabaster manor and up the stairs to your room the servants let out shocked gasps. Some stood frozen in shock and when they didn’t move he growled, baring his teeth in warning.

I swatted his foreleg lightly, “Hey, be nice.”

They're the ones that need to be nice. It's not polite to stare.” He reasoned as he growled at another servant.

Once we finally got to my room he layed back down so I could get off and I slowly trudged to the en-suite bathroom. Quickly washing up and putting on a fresh night gown to sleep in. I didn’t bother looking in the mirror, I already knew my face was puffy from crying.

Walking back into the bedroom, going straight to the closet to pull out pillows and comforters. I laid them on the floor before the foot of the bed for Raihn to sleep on.

Making my way back to my bed and crawling under the covers, the wolf took that as his cue to lay down too. I fell asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow. The last thing I heard was Raihn’s voice, I missed you too.

No nightmares plagued you that night as you got the best sleep you had in over 10 years.

****

You awoke a little before noon to the sound of Raihn’s growl and Lucien’s voice.

“Mother’s tits!” Lucien whisper-yelled, his hands held up like he was trying to show Raihn he meant no harm.

Raihn only lowered his head and growled even louder, baring his teeth at the red haired male. Lucien’s throating bobbing as he remained still. “Relax, fox boy.”

Lucien didn’t look at you as he asked, “Does he bite?”

“Not me.” He didn’t have to look at me to know I was smirking.

“Y/n, please!”

I huffed, “Fine. Raihn stop scaring him.”

The large wolf turn his head slowly to face me, Is he a friend?

“Uh, no, not really.” I answered his question.

Lucien's eyes flickered between Raihn and I, “No, what?”

“He asked if you were a friend.”

“And you said no!”

I shrugged, “You never asked me.”

Raihn stalked closer and Lucien began apologizing, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”

Getting up from the bed to stand between, hissing when I moved too fast, Raihn snapped his head at me, Get back in bed, he ordered.

I patted his side, “Stop fussing, I’m fine,” pushing him further back into the room to give Lucien some space. “What are you doing in here anyway, Lucien?”

“Tamlin wants to take Feyre on a ride, to show her something.”

“And,” I arched a brow at him, even though he was still looking at the wolf behind me.

He finally looked at me, his mouth opening and then closing, before opening again, “And… I want to take you.”

“All right.”

“All right?”

“Yeah, just let me change.” I didn’t give him a chance to say anything else as I pushed him out the door and got ready. Raihn huffing behind me.

****

By the time Raihn and I got to the front doors, Tamlin, Lucien and Feyre were already saddled on their horses.

Again no one said anything, Tamlin and Feyre were just gaping in shock and Lucien was just staring as Raihn lowered himself so I could get on his back. Once I was seated he began walking, Lucien’s horse keeping pace beside us.

Then Tamlin came up on our other side, “Is that a wolf?”

“Are we in the Spring Court?”

“Yes.” He answered.

“Then yes, Tamlin. This is a wolf.” Lucien snorted beside me as I patted Raihn’s neck. Tamlin glared at him and he pretended to cough.

“Is he your pet ?” Raihn’s responding growl made the High Lord stiffen.

“No,” I laughed. “No, he’s not. Raihn and I are Ceangailte."

Tamlin’s face paled as he looked at Lucien but Lucien was looking at me. Then he whispered, “You’re bonded to each other.”

“Yes, Lucien, we are.”

Raihn let out a pleased noise and you smiled softly.

“What’d he say?” Lucien asked.

“I am his and he is mine, from now until the darkness claims us.”

****

When we finally arrived at the place Tamlin wanted to show Feyre, it was an hour or two past noon. The light still thick and golden. It was a glen, a beautiful glen.

Lucien had already sat down on the blanket they brought and Tamlin had gone to where Feyre was a couple feet ahead.

“Y/n,” he patted the space on the blanket next him, “sit.”

You looked at him and then back at the trail beyond, “Uh, I think I’m gonna go for a walk… Thank you though.”

“I’ll go with you.” The male was on his feet and next to you before you could say it wasn’t necessary. “Lead the way.”

“Raihn, Stay.” He huffed in annoyance at your order but stayed put.

You and Lucien walked the trail for a bit before veering off in the opposite direction of the pool of starlight. You couldn’t look at it without being homesick for a home you’d never been to. The walk was quiet, the both of you content in just listening to the birds around you singing along with the trees and the sounds of their leaves rustling. But, Lucien broke the silence.

“Are you alright after last night?”

I looked at him, brows furrowed before shaking my head no. “Are you?”

He sighed, “No.”

I know I shouldn’t ask but curiosity killed the cat and I was the cat. “Did she—did Amaratha do that to you?” I asked softly, gesturing to his scarred eye.

He visibly tensed, jaw clenched as he gave me a tight nod.

“I’m sorry.” And I meant it too. Making a silent promise to scar her face just like she’d scarred his.

He stopped walking and I turned to look at him. Lucien searched my face for any insincerity and when he found none he merely thanked me. Then continued to walk.

We walked until we came across a beautiful bluish green colored lake with a dock. Lucien bent down to roll up his pants and take off his boots. “What are you doing?”

“We are going to dip our toes in the water, sweetheart,” his lips settling into a playful smirk.

Lucien sat beside you on doc, his hands splayed behind him as the both of you kicked your feet gently through the water. You were lost in your own thoughts while staring at the rippling water that you didn’t hear him calling to you.

“Y/n!” He whispered.

“What?”

His eyes were wide and the corners of his mouth were upturned as he gestured in front of you, across the narrow lake. Where dozens upon dozens of different animals were staring at you but, standing proud front and center was the Ruler of the Forest.

But you knew the huge white stag with great antlers as the Lord of the North.

He stretched out one of his forelegs and bent the other, before bowing his head. His dark eyes never left mine as I bowed my head to him in return. Then he and the other animals left and it was as if they were never there.

Lucien cleared his throat, getting your attention, “Listen, I don’t know who or what you are but, I know you’re different.” If he saw you tense he didn’t mention it. “You don’t have to tell me. Yet, because you’re different I’m gonna tell you something.” I finally looked at him and nodded for him to continue.

He let out a deep sigh before he began to speak again, “I’ve endured things that make times like last night. . . difficult. Not just the scar and the eye—though last night brought back memories of that, too.” I turned so I could face him better and he met my gaze. “I am the youngest son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court." I straightened. "The youngest of seven brothers. The Autumn Court is. . . cutthroat. Beautiful, but my brothers see each other only as competition, since the strongest of them will inherit the title, not the eldest. It is the same throughout Prythian, at every court.”

Which was the reason my mother used a blood spell on me because I was already showing the physical markers of a High Lord's heir. And I was female so that made it even more rare.

“I never cared about it, never expected to be crowned High Lord, so I spent my youth doing everything a High Lord's son probably shouldn't: wandering the courts, making friends with the sons of other High Lords and being with females who were a far cry from the nobility of the Autumn Court." He paused for a moment, and I could almost feel the sorrow before he said, "I fell in love with a faerie whom my father considered to be grossly inappropriate for someone of his bloodline. I told him I didn't care that she wasn't one of the High Fae, that I was certain the mating bond would snap into place soon and that I was going to marry her and leave his court to my scheming brothers." He paused again. His jaw clenching and unclenching as he tried to will away the tears pooling in his eyes, to no avail. "My father had her put down. Executed, in front of me, as two of my eldest brothers held me and made me watch."

My own eyes had started to fill with tears and Lucien gave me a sad smile when the first one fell down my cheek.

“So… I left. Cursed my father, abandoned my title and the Autumn Court, and walked out. And without my title protecting me, my brothers thought to eliminate one more contender to the High Lord's crown. Three of them came out to kill me; one came back."

"You… killed them?"

"I killed one," He said. "Tamlin killed the other, as they had crossed into his territory, he was High Lord and could do what he wanted with trespassers threatening the peace of his lands." A cold, brutal, honest statement. "He claimed me as his own—named me emissary, since I'd already made many friends across the courts and had always been good at talking to people, while he... can find it difficult. I’ve been here ever since."

"As emissary," I began, "have you ever had dealings with your father? Or your brothers?"

"Yes. My father has never apologized, and my brothers are too frightened of Tamlin to risk harming me. But I have never forgotten what they did to her, or what my brothers tried to do to me."

It didn't quite excuse everything Lucien had said and done to us, but... I understand now. I could understand the walls and barriers he had no doubt constructed around himself. My chest was too tight, to say anything to him. I knew it wouldn’t comfort him, so I did the only thing I could think of and hugged him. A couple seconds went by and I realized he might not hug me back but when I made to pull away, he gripped my tunic so tightly before he began sobbing into me.

I don’t know how long we stayed like that. I wasn’t going to pull away until he did, he needed this. Needed to go through every emotion he’s kept bottled up. And I just rubbed his back and smoothed his long red hair back as he did.

The sun was near setting when Lucien finally pulled away from me and wiped his tear stained cheeks with the sleeve of his tunic. He gave me a sad smile, voice still tight from crying, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” my voice a gentle murmur.

“Gods, I haven’t cried like that in ages.” He said, letting out a chuckle.

“You have too every now and again, it’s good for the soul.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Raihn’s deep, gruff voice sounded in my head, Come back, we're leaving.

All right.

I stood up, putting my boots back on, “Let’s go, Raihn we’re heading back.”

“Alright.” Lucien sniffled before getting to his feet and putting his own boots back on.

****

Feyre seemed tired but surprisingly content from the few hours of swimming and eating and lounging in the glen, she eyed Lucien as we rode back to the manor that afternoon. We were crossing a broad meadow of new spring grass when he caught her glancing at him for the tenth time, and I braced myself as he fell back from Tamlin’s side.

The metal eye narrowed on her while the other remained wary, unimpressed. “Yes?”

That was enough to persuade me not to say anything about his past. I would hate pity, too. And he didn’t know me—not well enough to warrant anything but resentment if I brought it up, even if it weighed on me to know it, to grieve for him.

She waited until Tamlin was far enough ahead that even his High Fae hearing might not pick up on her words but I did. “I never got to thank you for your advice with the Suriel.”

Lucien tensed. “Oh?”

I looked at Tamlin beside me, the horse utterly unbothered by his mighty rider. “If you still want me dead,” she said, “you might have to try a bit harder.”

Lucien loosed a breath. “That’s not what I intended, I wouldn’t shed any tears,” he amended. I knew it was true and she probably did too. “But what happened to you—”

“I was joking,” Feyre chuckled.

“You can’t possibly forgive me that easily for sending you into danger.”

“No. And part of me would like nothing more than to wallop you for your lack of warning about the Suriel. But I understand: I’m a human who killed your friend, who now lives in your house, and you have to deal with me. I understand,” She repeated.

He was quiet for long enough that I thought he wouldn’t reply. Just as I was about to drop back, he spoke. “Tam told me that your first shot was to save the Suriel’s life. Not your own.”

“It seemed like the right thing to do.”

“I know far too many High Fae and lesser faeries who wouldn’t have seen it that way—or bothered.” I heard him reach for something at his side and tossed it to her. She had to fight to stay in the saddle as she fumbled for it—a jeweled hunting knife.

“I heard you scream, and I hesitated. Not long, but I hesitated before I came running. Even though Tam got there in time, I still broke my word in those seconds I waited.” He jerked his chin at the knife. “It’s yours. Don’t bury it in my back, please.”

I turned this time to look at him and he gave me a genuine smile and a nod of his head.

My gaze flickered between the both of them, Feyre now inspecting the knife and him giving me a friendly smile—a silent question. So I smiled back and nodded my head in return, friends then.

****

I gave Raihn a reassuring smile, “I’ll be careful, I promise,” while I finished securing my ash daggers to my body.

I will accompany you.

“No.”

You will be safer with me by your side, he argued.

I sighed, “I’m not saying you’re wrong but, I can’t exactly sneak out with a huge wolf next to me, can I?” His annoyed huff was answer enough as he laid down on the comforters and pillows you had set on the floor for him. Petting the soft fur atop his head, “Sleep, I’ll be back before you know it.”

You know I won’t sleep until you return.

****

You made your way through the quiet empty halls of the manor, down the staircase and to the door leading towards the garden doors. The sentries were changing shifts and you knew Lucien was on patrol tonight so you took the opportunity, running towards the north-eastern part of the woods. The new cloak you promised the Suriel in hand as you made your way to meet them near the yew tree.

Their fingers clicked twice, “You came,” as they spoke .

“When have I not?” I asked, while offering them the cloak. Looking around as the leaves on the surrounding trees and bushes rustled. Ears straining to hear if something—someone was there.

The Suriel grabbed the cloak and cradled it to their chest, “Thank you, princess—“

“—You don’t have to thank me and I’m not a princess. Not anymore.”

They bent down on a knee, “For the kindness you have always shown me,” bowing his head, “you will always be a princess to me.”

Placing a hand on their bony shoulder, “Thank you, old friend.” You heard leaves rustling again, nostrils flaring scenting the air, “Go, someone’s here.”

“Be safe. I do not know when I will see you again but, I have to tell you. You have to know.”

“Know what?” My brows furrowed as I glanced around trying to see if someone was hiding the shadow covered trees.

“Your mate,” Those two words made me snap my gaze back to the Suriel. “Like you, has fire in their blood. You will find each other on Calanmai. You have always been meant to burn together.”

I felt paralyzed, “What,” felt my heart pounding, “Who… I have a mate?” I said those last four words so quietly I didn’t think the Suriel heard me until they spoke again.

They chuckled, “Yes, darkling, you have a mate. The both of you bound in flames. Bound to each other. He is heir to Autumn and you are heir to Spring. Be safe, Princess, you are of age now and will be affected by Fire Night’s magic.” The Suriel bowed again, “Till we meet again, Princess,” and walked into the dark woods.

I don’t know how long I stood there in shock that I had a mate and in fear that Amarantha would find out and kill him.

I stuck to the shadows as always, making my way back to the manor, my mind reeling with possibilities from the information the Suriel gave me before they left. I was practically in a trance when Lucien stopped me, still sitting atop his beautiful mare, “Why are you out here so late?”

“I couldn’t sleep. So I came out for a walk.”

He smirked knowingly, “Want to try that again, Princess?”

“Is there a curfew I don’t know about? Am I not allowed to come and go when I want.” Fuck. He heard the Suriel address me as Princess. He was who I heard and scented. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Did he know his brother is my mate?

Lucien chuckled as he swung a powerful leg over his horse, dismounting the beautiful mare and stalking towards me, leaning down so we were face to face, “Who—what are you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I shrugged, keeping my face an unreadable mask.

He let out a laugh, which sounded more bitter than amused, “So I open up to you, essentially baring my heart and soul to you and you won’t even tell me your real name!”

I didn’t try to cover the hurt that flashed across my face, as he yelled, “I did tell you my name. Y/n is my name, I haven’t lied about that!”

“But you are lying!”

“No! I just… I just haven’t told you everything.”

“Why?” His narrowed eyes—one russet and one metal—searched my face.

Before I could give him an answer, Raihn’s powerful body was in between us, he gave Lucien a warning. A low growl to back off.

Lucien immediately stepped back, with his hands up showing Raihn he was unarmed. My wolf growled once more, his lip curled back in a snarl, Did he harm you?

“No,” I mumbled.

No, what ? Raihn asked tightly.

“No, he didn’t hurt me.”

Tell him if he does, I will take his remaining eye and eviscerate him where he stands.

I furrowed my brows and couldn’t stop the burst of laughter from leaving my lips as I howled in laughter, “That’s a little dramatic but, no. I’m not telling him that.”

Tell him or I will take his remaining eye.

My mouth opened but Lucien’s voice cut me off, “Tell me what?”

I looked at Lucien, then at Raihn, “I’m not telling him.”

Tell. Him. Now. The massive wolf order.

“Fine,” I huffed, rolling my eyes, “Raihn said that if you hurt me he will take your remaining eye and eviscerate you where you stand.” Turning to look at Raihn again, even though he was still focused on Lucien, “Happy?”

Not even close.

Lucien’s face turned a sickly pale, no doubt imagining the painful painting Raihn, painted for him. Without another word he turned and mounted his horse. Before he could set her into a walk I spoke, “I wish I could tell you but I can’t. I just can’t, I’m sorry.”

He only nodded his head once and then left.

****

Weeks passed, the days melting together.

The first couple weeks everyone was afraid of Raihn, especially Alis, since she’d just come into my room and he snapped at her. At least he’d been sorry but since then she was wary of him. Feyre got used to him, Tamlin and Lucien did too. The other servants just tried to avoid him.

Lucien never talked about the night we had argued and Tamlin never said anything about it either. Instead Lucien just pretended it had never happened, which somehow bothered me more.

Feyre and Tamlin had grown closer over time. Well that’s what she told me at least; gentle, soft kisses, and longing touches. He’d even gifted her art supplies and given her a space to paint. The smile she’d given you when she told you was pure happiness and you wanted her stay like that—happy. All she wanted before was time and tools to paint and now she had them so, paint she did. She never wanted anyone to see them but she would let me and ask for my opinion on certain colors. Sometimes she dared to paint the High Lord, who rode at her side when they wandered his grounds on lazy days — the High Lord, whom she was happy to talk to or spend hours in comfortable silence with. While I spent my days with Lucien or the other sentries; patrolling and training.

Just like today, Lucien and I were getting ready to change shifts and were heading back towards the manor. We cleared the little wood, a spread of hills and knolls laid out ahead. In the distance, there were masked faeries atop many of them, building what seemed to be unlit fires. I halted, they were setting up for Fire Night.

He halted beside me, “They’re setting up bonfires—for Calanmai—Fire Night. It’s in two days,” he explained.

Fire Night. My brows furrowed and I shook my head.

“It’s just a spring ceremony. We light bonfires, and the magic that we create helps regenerate the land for the year ahead.”

I clenched and unclenched my hands, “I know what it is.”

He rubbed his neck, “Oh. It’s just the way you said it, I thought you didn’t know what it was.”

“No, I just didn’t know it was in two days.” I shook my head again and gave Raihn the silent command to start walking again. Lucien did the same with his horse.

“You might see more faeries around than usual—faeries from this court, and from other territories, who are free to wander across the borders that night.”

I nodded my head before letting out a sharp breath, “I thought Amarantha had scared most of them away or trapped them Under the Mountain,” I glanced back at the unlit bonfires hoping that they wouldn’t be there. That maybe I was seeing things but they were still there.

“She has—but there will be a number of them. Just... stay away from them all. You’ll be safe in the house, but if you run into one before we light the fires at sundown in two days, ignore them.”

“I'm not staying in the house.”

It was his turn to halt this time, “Yes. You are.”

“No. I’m not.” I didn’t give him the chance to argue before telling Raihn mind to mind to get me into the house. Then to go wait in my room while I hid behind a massive pot in the garden.

I saw the moment Tamlin went rigid—it was quiet with that horrible stillness that usually meant one of Amarantha’s ilk was around. Tamlin bared his teeth at… Feyre. Fuck. “Stay hidden, and no matter what you overhear, don’t come out,” He ordered her.

Then he was gone.

She looked to either side of the gravel path, like some gawking idiot. I hoped she wouldn’t move because if she did she would fuck everything up. She had just ducked behind a hedge when I heard Tamlin and Lucien approaching. I silently swore and froze. Then Tamlin’s snarl rippled through the air on the other side of the hedge she was hiding behind.

“I know what day it is,” Tamlin said—but not to Lucien. To the Attor. Him and his brothers still plagued my dreams.

“Your continued behavior is garnering a lot of interest at court,” the Attor said, deep and sibilant. I shivered, despite the warmth of the day. “She has begun wondering—wondering why you haven’t given up yet. And why four Naga wound up dead not too long ago.”

“Tamlin’s not like the other fools,” Lucien snapped, his shoulders pushed back to raise himself to his full height, more warrior-like than I’d yet seen him.“If she expected bowed heads, then she’s more of an idiot than I thought.”

The Attor hissed, and my blood went cold at the noise. “Speak you so ill of she who holds your fate in her hands? With one word, she could destroy this pathetic estate. She wasn’t pleased when she heard of you dispatching your warriors.” The Attor now seemed turned toward Tamlin. “But, as nothing has come of it, she has chosen to ignore it.”

There was a deep-throated growl from the High Lord, but his words were calm as he said, “Tell her I’m getting sick of cleaning up the trash she dumps on my borders.”

The Attor chuckled, the sound like sand shifting. “She sets them loose as gifts—for me—and reminders of what will happen if she catches you trying to break the terms of—”

“He’s not,” Lucien snarled. “Now, get out. We have enough of your ilk swarming on the borders we don’t need you defiling our home, too. For that matter, stay the hell out of the cave. It’s not some common road for filth like you to travel through as they please.”

Tamlin loosed a growl of agreement.

The Attor laughed again, such a horrible, vicious sound. “Though you have a heart of stone, Tamlin,” it said, and Tamlin went rigid, “you certainly keep a host of fear inside it.” The Attor’s voice sank into a croon. “Don’t worry, High Lord.” It spat the title like a joke. “All will be right as rain soon enough.”

“Burn in Hell,” Lucien replied for Tamlin, and he laughed again before a flap of leathery wings boomed, a foul wind bit my face, and everything went silent.

They breathed deeply after another moment. I closed my eyes, needing a steadying breath as well but Feyre yelped. I stood without hesitating, my ash daggers in hand.

“It’s gone,” Tamlin said, releasing her. It was all I could do not to sag against the hedges.

“What did you hear?” Lucien demanded—from the both of us, coming around the corner and crossing his arms. I shifted my gaze to Tamlin’s face, but found it to be so white with anger—anger at that thing—that I had to look again at Lucien.

“Nothing—I... well, nothing I understood,” Feyre said, and meant it.

I looked back at Tamlin as I said one word, “Everything.”

“If the Attor saw them—” Lucien said, glancing around.

“It didn’t,” Tamlin said.

“Are you certain it—”

“It didn’t,” Tamlin growled over his shoulder, then looked at Feyre and I, his face still pale with fury, lips tight. “I’ll see you both at dinner.”

Understanding a dismissal, and craving the locked door of my bedroom, I trudged back to the house, contemplating telling Feyre who Amarantha was and why she was able to make Tamlin and Lucien so nervous and to command that thing as her messenger. But I couldn’t and I hated myself for it.

****

After a tense dinner during which Tamlin hardly spoke to Lucien, Feyre or me, I walked out onto the balcony that was attached to my room and climbed onto the roof. I slept under the stars that night.

I went outside the following day but didn’t venture into the woods. Raihn and I were merely sprawled underneath an Oak Tree that was near the house’s private garden. Alis brought breakfast and lunch to me knowing I wouldn’t have eaten otherwise. Too lost in the thought of tomorrow being Fire Night, the thought of meeting my mate and what would or could happen.

She had tried asking me what was wrong but I couldn’t tell her. How could I when my mates life was at risk just because he was mated to me. I knew Alis wouldn’t tell anyone if I asked her not too yet, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. The instinct to protect my mate at all costs was overriding everything.

****

The day of Fire Night—Calanmai dawned, and I didn’t see Tamlin or Lucien all day. As the afternoon shifted into dusk, I found myself sliding my blue cloak so dark it was nearly black over my shoulders as I headed towards the doors of my balcony, Raihn following close behind, “Stay here. No one can see you.”

He growled.

I sighed, making my way towards him.

Once I was face to face with him, I cradled his head in my hands, pressing my forehead to his, “Please. You have to stay here. They’re not only hunting me and… and if something were to happen to you. I—I wouldn’t survive it. And it wouldn’t be because of the bond. I can’t stand the thought of you being hurt.”

And if you get hurt… He let out a distressed whine at the thought.

“I’ll be careful. I promise.”

I heard him inhale, scenting me as if I wouldn’t be coming back. Without another word I walked out onto the balcony, giving Raihh a smile reserved only for him, then jumped off.

The sound of drums issued.

The drumbeats came from far away—beyond the garden, past the game park, into the forest that lay beyond. They were deep, probing. A single beat, echoed by two responding calls. Summoning.

I stood, staring out over the property as the sky became awash in hues of orange and red. Noting that my senses already felt… different.

In the distance, upon the sloping hills that led into the woods, a few fires flickered, plumes of dark smoke marring the ruby sky—the unlit bonfires I’d spotted two days ago. I needed to find my mate, I reminded myself.

The drums turned faster—louder. Though I’d grown accustomed to the smell of magic after not being around it since I was a child, my nose pricked with the rising tang of metal, stronger than I’d yet sensed it. I took a step forward, behind me, my long shadow seemed to pulse to the beat of the drums.

Even the garden, usually buzzing with the orchestra of its denizens, had quieted to hear the drums. There was a string—a string tied to my gut that pulled me toward those hills, commanding me to go, to hear—to feel the drums...

Smoke and magic hung thick in the air. There were hundreds of High Fae milling about, I could identify which court they came from but some I couldn’t. I hadn’t seen fae look this… well fae ever. I could feel the land and their magic pulsing around. It was beautiful, intoxicating to say the least.

I stuck to the shadows as best I could as I made my way through the crowd, my human features caused by the blood spell my mother put on me, hidden in the shadows of my hood. I prayed that the smoke and countless scents of various High Fae and faeries were enough to cover my human smell, but I checked to ensure that my ash daggers were still at my sides anyway as I moved deeper into the celebration.

Though a cluster of drummers played on one side of the fire, the faeries flocked to a trench between two nearby hills. I followed them, savoring the pulsing beat of the drums as it resonated through the earth and into the soles of my feet. No one looked twice in my direction.

I almost slid down the steep bank as I entered the hollow. At one end, a cave mouth opened into a soft hillside. Its exterior had been adorned with flowers and branches and leaves, and I could make out the beginnings of a pelt-covered floor just past the cave mouth. What lay inside was hidden from view as the chamber veered away from the entrance, but firelight danced upon the walls.

Whatever was occurring inside the cave—or whatever was about to happen—was the focus of the shadowy faeries as they lined either side of a long path leading to it. The path wended between the trenches among the hills, and the High Fae swayed in place, moving to the rhythm of the drumming, whose beats sounded in my stomach.

I watched them sway, then shifted on my feet. The string—the string I had felt tugged once. Twice. I scanned the fire-lit area, trying to peer through the veil of night and smoke. I know he’s here. My mate. But I hadn’t found him… Not yet.

None of the masked faeries paid me any heed. They remained along the path, more and more of them coming each minute. The Great Rite was going to begin soon then.

I made my way back up the hillside and stood along the edge of a bonfire near the trees, watching the faeries. I was about to make my way towards the shadow covered woods, my senses were beginning to feel more fae—more animalistic than fae, when someone grasped my arm and whirled me around.

Lucien.

He snarled in my face, “What are you doing out here?”

I twisted out of his hold, and he huffed, “I told you to stay in the house.”

“And I told you no.”

He sighed deeply, “Y/n, you can’t just do whatever--" he turned to look at what I was staring at and when he didn’t see it, he looked back at me. “—What the fuck are you looking at?”

I grabbed his face, turning his head, “Feyre.” There she was, my sister with a high fae whose black hair gleamed like a raven’s feathers. He had blue eyes that were so deep they were violet. You’d know those eyes anywhere. He was the High Lord of Night.

Rhysand.

Lucien cursed violently, then went to Feyre. I was stuck in my spot looking where Rhysand once stood. He was alive… He was here. I had to find him. I needed to talk to him.

I scanned the crowd frantically trying to find him, the darkness beyond the crowd beckoned me, called to me and I felt eyes watching me. But, everytime I tried to follow it, the string that had been tugging all night pulled me away, farther and farther.

Without realizing it I’d rejoined the crowd and Lucien appeared next to me. The drum beats picked up, making the flames of the bonfires flicker with each pulse. He was standing so close to me I could feel the radiating heat of his body and scent his arousal but, not just his, the other faeries too.

His eyes settled on my lips and tracked the way my tongue swept over them as I licked them. He took a step forward, reaching to cup my face when suddenly a tall high fae male had a dagger pressed against my tanned throat.

“Thank you for finding her for me, brother.” The male with the same red hair as Lucien said, but instead of russet eyes his were amber

Standing before me was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen and the string in my chest seemed to glow and warm in response to his presence.

Brother. His brother. My mate, he found me.

Lucien snarled at him, “Eris, if you hurt her—“ The tip of his dagger pushing into the soft pale skin of his brother’s throat.

“He won’t,” I cut him off. “He won’t hurt me. Will you, Eris?”

His lips were set in a feral grin that would make anyone else run but, you weren’t just anyone. “Never, little flame,” he promised.

For other parts: Bound In Flames Series Masterlist

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 8 part 9 part 10 part 11

Taglist: @historygeekqueen @cat-or-kitten @yeeyeebabe @khaleesihavilliard @impossibelle @sleepylunarwolf @cutie232 @meepmeep-318 @belledawnidk @fandomrejects @wasntpriscilla @brandywineeeee @consultinghuntresshasthetardis

*If you would like to be added to the taglist for this story or to my general taglist, please either reply to this post or send me a message.

[bucknastysbabe]

Omg I love your writinggggggg. We need that religious kink with Aegon (or Aemond), we know their mother had to have accidentally given these boys some religious trauma on top of their horrible daddy and mommy issues djdkjdndmd —@thattargboy (on anon cuz it’s a sideblog)

So. I had a hard time with this one but I loved it. When it comes to religious trauma there’s so many angsty ideas that pop into my head. So def went darker than intended. Hope you like it though!!! @thattargboy

Kink Bingo - Religious Kink

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Religious trauma, everyone has mommy issues, TW: dub-con, Incest, sister!wife!reader, Aegon is a shit head because He Doesn’t Know How To Process Emotions, dry humping, clitoral orgasm👍

Father, Mother, Maiden, Warrior, Smith, Crone, and Stranger

The statues stood tall in the great Sept besides the faceless Stranger. Candles were lit, people praying to the gods quietly. Knelt down, lips mumbling and begging. You kneeled at the feet of the Mother, praying for her patience and strength.

He was behind you.

Aegon hated the Sept, avoided it at all costs much to your own Mother’s chagrin. He took after most male Targaryens, fashioned themselves closer to gods than man. High in the sky on gleaming, golden Sunfyre. You felt he would burn ten times hotter than any dragon flame in the Seven Hells.

You didn’t know why he accompanied you today. Prick preferred to waste away drunk in Flea Bottom or go take his dragon on a reckless joyride. You shook the moron out of your thoughts to pray.

Most devout Mother, grant me your kindness, wisdom, and love for all.

Save me from my wicked blood.

Save my children from abomination they had no choice.

O benevolent mother, please.

“Is this what you do all day?,” he drawled. Aegon leant on a column lazily, lidded eyes glassy. Your lips twitched but you remained placid. Turning to face your husband, and brother, you said, “No Aegon. This is one of the many things I do in a day.” Not like he cared.

Aegon yawned, “So exciting.”

Your chest tightened in anger. The hot headed dragon blood did not like being smothered like this. Aegon snorted, “They’re not real. I don’t know why you waste your time.” You couldn’t help but tighten cold hands in your dress hard as possible.

Angry tears welled up in your eyes, but you remained silent and hoped he would get the hint and leave. Nope. You heard his boots scuffle to your side, the prince falling to his knees. Your own lilac orbs met violet. He raised an amused brow, getting closer into your space. You snapped your head away with a huff.

“What do you want? I figured you’d burn up stepping foot in here.”

Aegon’s pouty lips turned down. He mumbled, “That’s what mother always said,” the blonde jerked his chin towards the statue, “I always prayed to her and received nothing.”

Exasperated, you deadpanned, “Because you defile all of her daughters. Really, why are you here?”

“Our actual mother told me to come see you. Said it might save me from my wicked blood to sit with my pious sister.”

Aegon looked more uncomfortable and downcast, eyes dropping to the floor. You eyed him coolly before remarking, “She won’t answer our prayers because we’ve committed a grave sin. Marrying blood into blood like the dragon does.” You looked up at the carved statue, face loving but cold as the stone it was made from.

Your brother laughed, “If we’re doomed why waste your time here dear sister?”

Finally you snapped at him, “I believe that maybe she will pity me for being married to my own brother, one who is a drunkard that lies with whores until he’s sick with it!”

He flinched as if struck, pale curls swishing as he turned away. Your eyes flickered down to his pallid hands, trembling at his sides. Guilt ate at you— hate begets hate. You stammered, “I- I’m sorry Aegon, please.”

His gaze flashed back at you with a newly found anger. Aegon hissed, “What makes you so high and mighty sister? Because Otto and Alicent like you so much? You’re no better than me looking down on everyone like you do.” He gripped at your wrist and yanked you forward.

Aegon’s snarling face was mere inches from you now, wine on his breath per usual. His cheeks were flushed and eyes wild. You hated how handsome your husband was. All of the Targaryens were ethereally beautiful like that— making attraction almost inevitable.

“S-stop. I said I was sorry,” you murmured.

He growled, “Apologize to the Mother then. Apologize to our mother for spurning your brother while you’re at it.” You whimpered softly, eyelashes fluttering under the pressure. Alicent was the last thing you wanted to think about when Aegon was stirring up unholy feelings. Anger, lust, you couldn’t tell.

The elder sibling wrangled you back up, tucking himself behind, knees caging your legs in. You whispered in shock, “A-Aegon? What are you doing? People will see!” His chin came to nestle on your shoulder, hands came round to clasp over your own.

“We’re only a couple praying. They wouldn’t dare approach when the white knights are about.”

His hips were flush with your ass, cock throbbing between your cheeks. You whimpered again, face reddening in embarrassment. He rutted against the giving flesh softly, purring, “C’mon and pray for your dear brother’s salvation.”

“Y-you’re ma-my husband,” you said.

“Knew you as my lovely sister first,” Aegon mused.

He rutted harder, gasping into your neck. He licked and sucked at the soft skin, you moaning before cutting the sound off. One of Aegon’s ringed hands snuck between your legs. He growled, “Pray for me now. Save me from the fires of hell.”

You felt woozy, limbs wobbly and weak. Your husband’s fingers drug against your sensitive bundle of nerves, shame and desire overtaking any rational thought. You warbled, “O Mother, please save us from sin. Forgive my brother for he knows not your forgiveness, ah!”

Aegon was panting now as he used your body for pleasure. He whimpered, “G-good, keep going, so sweet.” The blonde’s fingers slid through your slick to glide easier around your button. Your thighs trembled while you recited, “Save your child from the fires of the Seven hells, smile upon thee O Mother!”

He groaned desperately, moving faster and faster. Your own breath was a nervous staccato, quivering hands wringing together. You whined, “No more, I’ve prayed, Aegon!” His swirling digits paused while he smugly joked, “Say stop and I will.”

It only took you a shameful beat before begging, “Please, please don’t stop Aegon.”

“That’s my sweet little sister.”

You shut your eyes, unable to take the shame. The Mother’s presence loomed over the pair of you— just like Alicent’s did. But he felt so good. Your head lolled upon his shoulder while you whined and gasped. Aegon groaned, “When we’re blood of dragonlords we don’t need this nonsense mother forces upon us,” he drug his fingertips up sharply, “If you want something, take it.”

You gasped and stilled in surprise, whining high in your throat as your cunt tightened and gushed between your taut thighs. Aegon cried out into the sept, echoing as he reached his peak. You felt his cock throbbing and leaking onto your fine dress, Aegon smiling against your mottled neck.

In a fit of clarity you scrambled from the elder sibling, feeling a retch bubble up. You cursed, “You’re sick! No one will ever love you— blackened and vile creature!” Aegon blinked out of his stupor, eyes suddenly going wide.

He murmured, “You don’t mean that. Don’t say that.”

Still sprawled haphazardly on the floor you reiterated, “No one will love a wretch like you Aegon, as much as you drown it out with the drink.”

The prince’s cheeks grew wet with tears, another shaky plea leaving his lips. He watched you get up and give another scathing look before stiffly walking away with a Kingsguard. His violet eyes looked up to the Mother. He screeched at the bitch. The dried spend in Aegon’s pants now felt disgusting. He was disgusting.

[fourthwingfan]

Madness - Chapter 2

Warning: violence, swear language and pretty much that's all for now

There’s a misconception that it’s kill or be killed in the Riders Quadrant. Riders, as whole, aren’t out to assassinate other cadets…unless there’s a shortage of dragons that year or a cadet is a liability to their wing. Then things may get…interesting.

– major afendra’s guide to the riders quadrant

(unauthorized edition)

I will not die today. I will survive it. Then I will be free.

The words become my mantra, repeating in my head as Rhiannon gives her name to the rider keeping tally at the opening to the Parapet. The hatred in Xaden’s stare burns the side of my face like a palpable flame, and even the rain pelting my skin with each gust of wind doesn’t ease the heat – or the shiver that jolts down my spine.

Rhiannon grips both sides of the opening in the turret, then looks over her shoulder at me. „I’ll wait for you on the other side,” she shouts over the strom.

I hope so. I mean she has my other boot, thanks to Violet’s fantastic idea. She’s too kind for my own good.

She steps out onto the Parapet and begins walking, and even though I’m sure his hands are full today, I send up a silent prayer to Zihnal, the god of luck. For all of us.

„Name?” the rider at the edge asks as his partner holds a cloak over the scroll in a pointless attempt to keep the paper dry.

„Where were you for the last 5 minutes? I don’t think that you’re so blind to not notice that staring show with Riorson just now.” I say in surprise.

„Melgren, is it?” he asks in an annoyed tone. „Go and try to not fall off like your friend. I don’t think that your father will be too pleased.”

„As if he cares…” I mutter as thunder cracks above me, the sound comforting. I’ve always loved the nights where storms beat against the fortress window, both illuminating and throwing shadows over the walls. It makes me feel small, if I was like somebody else. With a quick glance, I see Dylan’s and Rhiannon’s names already blurring at the end where water has met ink. There will be another roll at the end of the Parapet so the scribes have their beloved statistics for casualties. Morbid.

I place my hands on either side of the turret and drag my fingertips across the stone. It’s still warm from the morning sun but rapidly cooling from the rain, slick but not slippery from the moss growth or anything.

„Today if possible, Melgren.” I hear Xaden shouts behind me.

Handsome, but a prick. Just my luck.

Ahead of me, Rhiannon is making her way across, her hands out for balance. She’s probably a fourth of the way, her figure becoming blurrier the farther she walks into the rain.

In through my nose, out through my mouth. I force my breathing to calm, my heart rate to slow down. I can do it. I trained for this. I am Aelin Melgren and I will survive it.

I take the lone step up onto the Parapet. I find my balance and I move, leaving the safety of the turret. There’s no going back now.

I take measured strides that I practiced for so long. I can do it. One step a time. Don’t look down, just keep your eyes ahead of you. You will get through it. For you. For Violet. I hear my thoughts encouraging me.

The stones beneath my feet are uneven in places, held together by mortar in the joints that make it easy to trip, and I concentrate on the path ahead of me to keep my eyes off my boots. My muscles are tight as I lock my center of gravity, keeping my posture upright.

„And you think you’ll be able to ride?” I heard behind me. „Some Sorrengail, with that kind of balance. I pity whatever wing you end up in.”

I stop and glance back at Violet. It seems the wind knocked her back at the turret’s wall.

„Come on Vi. You need to tell me the facts that you know about this place. Don’t waste your time with lowlifes like that one.” I say to distract her.

„Facts? I’m not some book you know.” She replies.

„Some? No. You’re a fucking library.” I laugh at her.

Step after step, we make our way across the Parapet.

„Navarre, our home, is the larger kingdom, with six unique provinces…” I hear Vi behind me.

„Then what about Poromiel?” I ask when she stops. I need to distract her. She need to focus on something and not the fact that we can fall off the Parapet any minute.

We pass the painted line that marks halfway. We’re over the highest point now. Yes, we’re good so far. Rhiannon ahead of us, at what I think is the three-quarters point. Good.

That’s when I hear a shout behind me.

„Vi?” I ask as I try to turn around despite the strong wind.

„I’m fine. I’m fine.” she squeaks. „Go on, I’m okay.”

„Fuck Vi, don’t do this to me. I promised you that we will be getting off the Parapet the safe way, not by jumping.” I try to humor her. „Now where were we? Poromiel?”

„The kingdom of Poromiel mainly consists of arable plains and marshlands and is known for exceptional textiles, endless fields of grain, and unique crystalline gems capable of amplifying minor magics.” Continues Vi

I spare only a quick glance at the dark clouds above me before inching forward, one foot carefully placed in front of the other. My next step knocks a couple of pieces of mortar loose, and I pause for a moment. I swallow and test my weight before moving forward again.

„In contrast, Navarre’s mountanious regions offer an abundance in ore, hardy timber from our eastern provinces, and limitless deer and elk.”

Good. She’s focused on history. We can do this. We’re almost there. I can see the Riders Quadrant from here. The enermous stone footings of the citadel rise up the mountain to the base of the structure, where this path ends. Scraping the rain from my face with the leather on my shoulder, I glance behind us to see where that jerk is.

He’s stalled at just after the quarter mark, his stocky form standing still…like he’s waiting for something. His hands are at his sides. The wind seems to have no effect on his balance. I swear he’s grinning across the distance, but it could just be the rain in my eyes.

We can’t stay here. We have to keep moving. I try to walk a bit faster, in hope that Vi follows.

I look back over my shoulder to see where that jerk is. Jack if I remember correctly. Or something similar. Who cares.

He’s turned his back on us and is facing the next candidate, who wobbles dangerously as he approaches. Jack grabs the gangly boy by the straps of his overpacked rucksack, and I watch, as Jack throws the scrawny candidate from the Parapet like a sack of grain.

A scream reaches my ears for an instant before fading as he falls out of sight.

Holy shit.

„You’re next Sorrengail!” Jack bellows, and I jerk my gaze to Violet.

Then his strides eating up the distance between us with horrifying speed.

MOVE. NOW.

„Vi, we need to move faster. You can do it, just don’t look down.” I say with a serious look.

I can’t do anything right now. The Parapet is too narrow to switch places, and even if we can manage somehow I don’t want to test my figthing skills on these slippery stones.

Another gust of wind slams into me and I lost my balance for a moment. When I regain it I hear a thud and glance behind my back. Violet is on her knees, her left leg is dangles off the edge of this bridge from hell.

Jack is far too close now.

„Violet Sorrengail you can do it. Stand up and come with me. We’re almost there.” I say while I reach for her arm to help her up.

„I will not die today.”

„You won’t. Now come, we need to move.”

„I’m coming for you Sorreangail!” Jack shouts.

Vi throws her arm out to the side and nods. Good, we can go.

I focus on the end of the path, the courtyard of the citadel, where Rhiannon steps to safety. I keep my body tight, my center locked.

„Will you scream the whole way down?” Jack mocks, still shouting, but his voice is closer. He’s gaining on us.

„Don’t listen to him!” I say when I can see the end of the Parapet now, the riders who wait at the entrance to the citadel.

„It’s really for the best that I take you out now, don’t you think? It’s so much more merciful than letting the dragons have at you. They’ll start to eat you leg by rickety leg while you’re still alive. Come on,” he cajoles. ”It will be my pleasure to help you out. You’re a dead weight to Melgren anyway.”

„Fuck off Jack. If the dragons going to eat somebody, it definitely will be you.” I yell back at him.

There are only a dozen feet left to the outside of the citadel’s enermous walls. My left foot slips, and I wobble, but I only lose a heartbeat before I’m moving forward again.

Fuck this boot. It’s really a death trap.

The fortress looms behind those thick battlements, carved into the mountain in an L-shaped formation of tall buildings, built to withstand fire, for obvious reasons. The walls that surround the citadel’s courtyard are ten feet thick and eight feet tall, with one opening – and We’re just. About. There.

I hear Vi bites back a sob as stone rises up on both sides of us.

„You think you’ll be safe in there?” Jack’s voice is harsh…and close.

Secure on both sides by the walls, I run the last ten feet, adrenaline pushes my body to its max. I hurtle forward, jumping the twelve inches off the elevated Parapet down to the courtyard while turning back and grabbing Violet’s arm to push her in front of me, where two riders wait.

Jack roars in frustration. Spinning, I rip a dagger from its sheath at my ribs just as Jack skids to a halt above me on the Parapet, his breath choppy and his face ruddy.

Murder is etched in his narrowed, glacial blue eyes as he glares down at me…and where the tip of my dagger now lies againt his bare throat.

„I think, we’ll be safe for right now asshole.” I hiss at him.

„Will you?” Jack vibrates with rage, his thick blond brows slashing down over arctic blue eyes, every line of his monstrous frame leaning my way. But he doesen’t take another step.

„It is unlawful for a rider to cause another harm. While in a quadrant formation or in the supervisory. Presence of a superior-ranking cadet,” Violet recites from the Codex. „As it will diminish the efficacy of the wing. And given the crowd behind us, I think it’s clear to argue that it’s a fromation. Article Three, Section-„

„I don’t give a shit!” He moves, but I hold my ground and my dagger slices in his neck, a thin red line starts to from under the blade.

„I suggest you reconsider. Or no and I will cut your throat. I don’t care.”

„Name?” the rider next to me drawls, as if we’re the least interesting thing she’s seen today. I glance in her direction for a millisecond. She pushes the chin-length, fire-red strands of her hair behind her ear with one hand and holds the roll with the other, watching the scene play out. The three silver four-point stars embroidered on the shoulder of her cloak tell me she’s a third-year.

„Aelin Melgren” I answer, but a hundred percent of my focus is on Jack again. The rain drips off the lowered ridge of his brow. „And before you ask, yes, I’m that Melgren.”

„Not surprised, with that maneuver,” the woman says, holding a pen.

„And you? You’re pretty small for a rider, but it looks like you made it.” She said to Violet.

„I’m Violet Sorrengail.”

„A Melgren and now a Sorrengail. It will be interesting.”

„Your name?” She asks again. Pretty sure she’s asking Jack, but I’m too busy studying my opponent to glance her way.

„Jack. Barlowe.” There’s no sinister little smile on his lips or playful taunts about how he’ll enjoy killing. There’s nothing but pure malice in his features, promising retribution.

„Well, Jack,” the male rider on my right says slowly, scratching the trim lines of his dark goatee. He’s not wearing a cloak, and the rain soaks into the bevy of patches stitched into a  worn leather jacket. „Cadet Melgren has you by your throat here. And Cadet Sorrengail is right. Regs state that there’s nothing but respect among riders at formation. You want to kill her, you’ll have to do it in the sparring ring or on your own time. That is, if she decides to let you off the Parapet. Because technically, you’re not on the grounds yet, so you are not a cadet. She is.”

„And if I decide to snap her neck the second I step down?” Jack growls, and the look in his eyes says he’ll do it.

„Then you get to meet the dragons early,” the redhead answers, her tone bland. „We don’t wait for trials around here. We just execute.”

„What’s it going to be, Melgren?” the male rider asks.

Shit. What is it goint to be? I can kill him and spare us a lot of trouble, but I don’t think it would be such a good idea after all. There are a lot of people and we have been cadets for what? A whole minute? I don’t want to bring more attention to Violet. She’s barely able to protect herself and I won’t be by her side in every minute.

„Are you going to follow the rules?” Violet asks Jack behind me.

Sweet, naive Vi. Of course he’s going to, until he can find a way to kill her. Damn I need to teach her how to properly protect herself.

„Guess I don’t have a choice.” A corner of his mouth tilts into a sneer, and his posture relaxes as he raises his hands, palms out.

I lower my dagger but keep it palmed and ready as I move sideways, toward the redhead keeping roll.

Jack steps down into the courtyard, his shoulder knocking mine as he walks by, pausing to lean close to us. „You’re dead, Sorrengail, and I’m going to be the one to kill you. And watch your back Melgren, I will be there.”

„Of course honey, I’m waiting for you in a dark corner. I really like to see you bleed out.” I reply waving at him.

[watch-read-talk]

The Empyrean Theory

This is a totally random crack theory I have about Violet's father. ***** Spoilers for Iron Flame****

My theory is that Violet's dad is Malek.

I have very flimsy evidence for this but I kinda like as theory.

Evidence #1: Violet seems to have an uncanny ability to avoid death, and those closest to her seem to share. Could it be that Malek has a soft for her? We are constantly told how cruel and unforgiving Malek is and how he does not like souls being stolen from him, and yet Violet escapes death on every turn.

Evidence #2: Speaking of Malek not liking souls being stolen from him, Brennan being resurrected seems strange, unless it was a fathers mercy to his son. Maybe that is why Mr. Sorrengail started having heart problems after Brennan's "death" not because of sorrow from loosing his son but from breaking his own rules and creating some kind break between the world of the living and the dead in order to do that, and that is why he eventually have to "die" because he had to return to the world of the dead and repair the damage his actions caused.

Evidence #3: Liam's appearance in Iron Flame. Liam tells Violet that he is not wandering and that maybe Malek send him as a kindness. Could it be the kindness of a father who wishes to help his daughter in her darkest hour?

Evidence #4: Lilith. We do not know much about what happens after people die other than the fact that Malek owns their souls, yet before Lilith dies she seems very confident that she will see her husband again, one can claim that is is simply blind faith and hope but Lilith doesn't strike me as someone who takes anything on faith. Also, in Iron Flame Lilith says that Mr. Sorrengail was the love of her life, but in Fourth Wing she seems very callous and uncaring when she speaks of her husband, this may be the mask of the hardened General but I would like to think it is because she knows that her husband did not really die but simply returned to his kingdom and that she is guaranteed to see him again.

Evidence#5: Tairn at some point - I think during Threshing when they first bond- tells Violet "I know exactly who and what you are" could the what be that she is the daughter of one of the gods? Tairn later on when Violet offers a prayer to one of the gods, does not dismiss their existence he simply calls them puny. In my opinion from that we can infer that the gods are real.

This is my random crack theory, hope it makes sense the way I explained it.

[talonabraxas]

Violet Ray - Archangel Zadkiel Archangel Zadkiel is the Archangel of Freedom, Benevolence and Mercy; and is the Patron Angel of all who Forgive. In the Bible and Torah, he is mentioned as the Angel of God. This is because Zadkiel appears to the prophet Abraham when he proves his faith to God by getting ready to sacrifice his own son, Isaac. Zadkiel stepped forward to stop this occurring as God would not wish for faith to be proven this way, however some believe it was Archangel Michael or even God who stopped Abraham. In the sacred texts of Kabbalah Archangel Zadkiel and Archangel Jophiel follow behind Archangel Micheal in fighting the evil forces in the spiritual world. Hence he is often seen with a dagger or blade in religious images. His name means 'Righteousness of God' and he is also known as 'Grace of God' under the Hebrew name Hesediel. Zadkiel can also be written as Sachiel, Zedekiel, Zadakiel, Tzadkiel, and Zedekul. Symbols of Archangel Zadkiel...He is often depicted with a small dagger or weapon but is most commonly known for his connection to the Violet Flame. This is his Archeia, the Holy Amethyst, and they work together for freedom, alchemy, transmutation and to clear negative karma. Surrounded by violet and sometimes violet coloured flames, Zadkiel will clear any old karmic debts or negative energy that is holding you back from true inner freedom. Clearing fears and obstacles with the Holy Amethyst to bring you magical transformations. Roles of Archangel Zadkiel...His roles are to Provides Forgiveness for the Self and Others Rid us of judgemental behaviours Aid memory or recollection of facts including helping students to remember what they have learnt Heal painful memories and past life attachments The name Sachiel associates him with helping people to earn more money and teaching them to donate to charity. Zadkiel can help us find our spiritual origins and the karma attached to our past With the Holy Amethyst; they will clear blockages, fears and concerns that are holding you back Skills of Archangel Zadkiel...Call on Zadkiel when you are ready to let go of judgement, guilt, fear and heal through forgiveness and compassion. He heals any emotional wound! Archangel Zadkiel knows how to fix unhappy relationships by teaching you to feel mercy and compassion to each other. Enabling you to grow and understand one an others emotions and well-being. Colour Associated with Archangel Zadkiel...Shades of Purple and Violet are the most commonly associated colours. White or flame colours have also been used as a clearing method and to start the healing process. Crystals Associated with Archangel Zadkiel...Amethyst! It has to be this gorgeous crystal with its mix from very pale lilac up to deep, rich purples.Amethyst is a master healer crystal known for it's peaceful qualities, calm under pressure and deep emotional healing. Alternatives are ametrine, blue lace agate, blue chalcedony and charoite. Use any of these crystals by holding them and saying a prayer or message to Archangel Zadkiel will assist in your connection. Pop them in your pocket, bra, car, office desk, by the front door and wherever you feel you need Zadkiel's help

[apoemaday]

Winter Solstice

by Tess Jolly

I will not write about Christmas lights garlanding the tree, how steadily red blends to sapphire emerald gold, how strong the little bulbs must be to throw their dancing hearts upon the café wall, how children try to catch them. I will not say there is tinsel draped about the branches like seaweed over pebbles, nor paint the cloths swaddling our skins apricot, indigo, violet, teal. I will not speak of glazed pastries on the counter, how they shine so much they could be varnished, there for the hell-of-it, for the sheer beauty of their glistening berries. I’ll turn away from buses heaving down the rush-hour road, ignore how in all this rain the headlamps could be tumbling garnets, polished amber, as if a picture-book box of pirate treasure had spilt its pearls and precious stones across a tarmacked page.

I will not describe how the sun becomes the sea, I will not delight in words to name its colours--cerise, crimson, indigo, scarlet, madder, rose. I will not try to find a way to show your smile across the table, how it slips like warm charcoal into the fabric of my heart. I will not suggest I light a candle as the year prepares to wane, that you hold a second wick to mine then another and another, that together we whisper a prayer for each growing flame. I will not talk about the light that is everywhere, how far you have to travel for the sky to be completely black (and even then there are stars, there is the moon’s borrowed brightness). I will not question why fire burns more fiercely   before sputtering out, or how--when we know we’re dying-- we can be so fully alive. I will not say these things because this is a poem about darkness. I am writing about the darkness.

[twinflamesandtarot]

[sephirothsplaything]

DNA| Sec.80 high power chapter 5

A/N is it wrong to say that i think this may be the best chapter yet? idk

word count: 2840

Rhaella's nightdress was blackened by ash.

Indents were imprinted onto her knees from the sand she lay in. The air was chilly but Rhaella found that she was not shivering. The sky was almost unnaturally dark, moving in waves above her.

Standing up, her legs shook slightly. She was alone. Rhaella wandered, eventually ending back in the same spot she started.

“Is anyone there?” Rhaella called out to the void. There came no answer. The silence was suffocating her being.

Then, there was a deep rumble followed by a groan. Rhaella's head snapped in the direction of the sound, eyes widened in fear.

A fury of fire danced towards her rapidly, scorching the sand in its path. She tried to run away as fast as her legs would allow. But the swelter of the heat was much faster. Rhaella cried out as the flames lit up her body.

Her attempts at screaming were futile, the fire reaching up to her midriff. Unable to move, Rhaella dropped into the sand again.

Perhaps this was hell, one she was well deserving of. She thought of all the times she had mocked Rhaena for her prayers. Maybe this is where she belonged, to be swarmed by the very flames she's lusted after all this time.

Rhaella closed her eyes to accept her seemingly sealed fate. A whisper lingered in her ears.

“Dragons and death are one in the same, A dragon walks closely with death, death shall be its crown.”

The words previously uttered by Heleana rang all around her. Rhaella considered it was all feasible that she had upset a higher power. 

“ I thought you would put up more of a fight.” A deep voice spoke. The orange flames that licked up her body transformed into a mesmerizing shade of green. It no longer pained her.

Rhaella looked up to the sound of the voice. An imposing figure loomed over her. It wore a long cloaked robe. Rhaella could've sworn she was looking the figure in the face, But there was no face to be seen.

“ No need to fight, I can recognize a dream,” Rhaella said. A false bravado laced her voice as she spoke. As if she wasn't screaming only moments ago.

If the figure had noticed her front, it did not comment. It raised a hand, scaly and black it was, undoubtedly inhumane. The flames that danced on her body disappeared instantly.

Rhaella attempted to stand up, but her knees buckled once again. She felt no fear of the figure. It sounded vaguely male, too androgynes to tell. 

“Dreams are what made your family lineage kings.” The voice said. Its voice was all-consuming, luring her into a state of calm. She had no will to protest or deny.

No. Rhaella could not help it, as every word that tumbled out of her mouth was nothing but the pure truth. 

“ I have no real dream, nor do I have any desire to be a king,” Rhaella admitted. The image of self-importance that she worked so hard to build for herself was falling apart in favor of this enthralling voice.

The figure crouched to her level, black-like ink lagged behind it. A cold hand reached for her face and Rhaella was slow to pull away. With a finger, it caught a warm, stray tear that fell from her eye. 

Followed by another drop. And then another. Rhaella rubbed her eyes in surprise. She was crying. How long had it been since she'd done such a thing?

The figure gave a low hum. Maybe out of pity or simply to mock her. Rhaella was unsure.

“ You are empty, strange one...and I shall fill you.”

Rhaella didn't question how it knew the nickname she loathed. This was her dream after all. Wasn't it?

Against her better judgment, she gathered up the strength to ask a question.

“Please, who are you?” And no response came to satisfy.

“My lady?” A female voice cut through the fog.

“Lady Rhaella?” It said again. “ Please wake.”

Rhaella felt her body being softly shaken. Both of her violet eyes shot open, darting around the room.

There was no sand. No green fire. The figure had long vanished from her mind.

She was met with the face of Talya, the queen's handmaid. Rhaella sighed, slowly sitting up in her bed. It must've been early in the morning. Too early for anyone else to be awake.

Baela and Rhaena were in their respective beds, soft snores could be heard.

“What is the matter?” Rhaella asked.

“The queen wishes to see you at once,” Talya said, swiftly removing the sheets from her body. Rhaella's body shivered at the action.

“I'll wait outside for you.” Talya closed the door to the room. 

Mind still hazy, Rhaella rose from bed. She sorted through her traveling trunk for something suitable. She settled on a dark blue dress with silver embellishments, sleeves puffed on each shoulder.

Rhaella took a moment to look down at her body. No burn marks or bruises could be seen on her brown skin, save for the bruise on her collarbone courtesy of Aemond.

“Fuck.” Rhaella muttered. She had misplaced her sense in that library, and she was paying for it. Tightening her corset, she made her way to a small mirror.

Rhaella undid the hair wrap keeping her hair. The silvery-white curls toppled to her back. She was not one for wearing her hair down, but she lacked the skill of braiding. Fiddling with the ringlets for a few minutes, she decided that it looked halfway decent.

Walking out into the hall, she found Talya waiting for her. Rhaella followed after her, trying to keep up with the handmaids' prompt movements.

The door was opened for her by a guard. There sat the queen at a table, breakfast laid out in front of her.

A little to the left of the queen Alicent, stood her sworn protector, Criston Cole. He bowed slightly to greet her. Rhaella did not offer him such acknowledgment back. Something about him irritated her immensely.

“Good morrow, your grace.” Rhaella offered up a shallow curtsey. Queen Alicent smiled warmly at her.

“Good morrow Rhaella, please, join me.” Queen Alicent said. Rhaella shuffled to the opposite chair, sitting. She glanced at a plate of deliciously stacked loaves of bread. Her stomach rumbled shamelessly.

“Go on love.” Alicent affirmed. Despite her hunger, Rhaella managed to remember her manners. She took a single slice for herself onto a plate. 

Queen Alicent's hands were folded under her chin. Rhaella spread jam onto her bread simply. She was no fool. The queen did not summon her to breakfast. 

Clearly, there was something she wanted. 

“ It has been long since I've laid eyes on you, ten years or so?” The Queen commented casually.

Fine. If the queen wished to take her time, she would as well. Rhaella took a rather unladylike bite of her bread, taking time to thoroughly chew and swallow.

Rhaella glanced up at the queen, settling into a complete calm.

“ Not since Helaena's labors.” Rhaella finally responded.

The queen hummed thoughtfully. “ I'm sure you've been told before but you look just like your mother.”

Rhaella wanted to cringe. It was Baela that typically reminded people of their late mother. Yet, she swallowed her snark.

“ That's very kind , thank you,” Rhaella said.

Rhaella watched as Alicent meticulously sliced through a cut of meat as if it was suddenly much more important.

“You should know, I appreciate your kindness towards my children and your respect for me,” Alicent said.

It was hard to see where the queen was going with this statement. Rhaella settled on silence, lest her words be misconstrued.

“ I understand that you and Aemond were...particularly close back then,” Alicent said tentatively.

Rhaella's hands found their way to her lap. She knew full well what the queen was implying.

After all, it wasn't as if she was hiding the bruise. It was displayed for all to see.

Rhaella Targaryen, a virtuous girl she was.

“Well, we had much in common at that time, your grace, I imagine much has changed,” Rhaella said.

From that very moment, Rhaella decided that whatever the queen was fishing for, she wouldn't give.

“Yes I remember it quite well, he seemed to be taken with you.” Alicent said. Something was compromising in her voice.

Rhaella racked her brain for what to say. 

“ As I recall, Aegon, Jace and Luke would jeer at him often, I suppose he had no choice but to follow me around,” Rhaella said.

The Queen Alicent's eyes flashed with hostility, but only for a moment.

Rhaella had made her opening. Now the Queen won't think her an idiot.

“Aemond has taken the dragon he's longed for, he works tirelessly, and yet..”

'The way it's been, and the way it always will be'

“ I know of you and Aemond's.. endeavor last night,” Alicent said, finally getting to the point.

The breakfast, the early morning. It had been designed to strike nervousness in Rhaella. Perhaps for her to admit to things that weren't true.

Unbeknownst to the queen, the prospect of this very situation caused Rhaella's typical boredom to be replaced by a buzzing excitement.

The Queen Alicent wanted to entrap her. Hold something over her head. That mouse of a handmaid that she keeps so close probably reported her state afterward.

Who knew a kiss could be so incredibly inconvenient?

Rhaella matched her body to the queen, body leaned forward, fingers interlocked with one another.

“ Have I done something wrong, your grace? Rhaella asked innocently. She could admit that her actions after the dinner were a little reckless, considering the circumstances, but surely she couldn't be punished for a harmless kiss?

“I venture that you were quite disheartened by your father's rejection of the marriage proposal,” Alicent said.

Rhaella's lips quirked up slightly. She wanted to laugh right in the face of the queen consort.

She wasn't so clear with herself regarding what she felt towards Aemond but one thing rang boldly in her mind.

There was no way in the seven hells she could ever marry a man like him.

“Is that why you've summoned me here?” Rhaella didn't bother to hide the contempt in her voice. Alicent had revealed her true nature and now so had she.

“ I'm not sure what you mean.” Alicent's eyes shifted to Criston Cole. He returned the stare.

“ You think me so naive that i'd lay on my back for you?” Rhaella spit out.

“ Watch your tone with her grace.” Criston Cole said sternly. Rhaella made a show of rolling her eyes. She knew as long as her father remained in the Red Keep, the queen's dog wouldn't dare to touch her.

“ As a woman, I'm concerned about what people in the realm will whisper about your maidenhood,” Alicent said earnestly. Her eyes flickered to the bruise that rested on Rhaella's collarbone.

If there was any respect Rhaella held for the queen, it had been torn into two.

“ You should place more concern onto what your eldest does in his free time, your grace,” Rhaella says. Standing up from her seat, she looked toward the queen pointedly.

“If you wish to know what really happened, perhaps. you should question your own son, instead of chasing falsehoods.

Rhaella turned to leave, but Criston Cole blocked her way. Rhaella was not foolish enough to shove past him. She opted to stare him down. There were no option to shrink away now.

“ She may go, Cole,” Alicent said, voice wavering. Reluctantly, Criston moved to the side to allow her passage.

Walking down the hallway once more, Rhaella sported a prideful smirk. Turning a corner, she was met with Otto Hightower and Aemond.

Unfortunately for her, the two were blocking her path. 

“Lady Rhaella, where are you coming from?” Otto asked. 

Rhaella was sure he already knew the answer. He probably knew what the queen had discussed with her.

“ The queen wished to speak to me, my lord,” Rhaella answered, trying to keep the venom out of her tone.

Aemond's body stiffened ever so slightly, still noticeable to Rhaella.

It was apparent that he had not been involved in whatever scheme was at play here.

That made Rhaella relax a little. Just a little.

“ I trust the conversation was pleasant?” Otto said. Rhaella's lips formed into a lofty grin. This old cunt would not spoil her fun.

“It was most entertaining ser,” Rhaella said. She noticed Otto's expression falter a little.

With a bow of his head, Otto walked off, leaving Rhaella to face the very object of her confusion.

“ What did my mother speak to you about?” Aemond asked.

“What do you think?” Rhaella said. Surely he couldn't have been this slow.

Aemond glanced at the bruise, eyes lighting up in amusement.

“ Have I gotten you into trouble?” Aemond's soft voice teased.

Rhaella rolled her eyes despite the fluttering she felt in her stomach. 

“ I'm leaving today, I must get packed,” Rhaella said. Her attempts to walk away were halted by Aemond grabbing her arm and pulling her back.

“And you plan to just ignore the situation I take it?” Aemond questioned.

Rhaella sighed. There was too much consuming her mind at the moment to deal with this all. The dream on one hand and the queen on the other.

“I was wine-drunk, that's all there is to it,” Rhaella stated. A lie , she was not one to get drunk so easily.

Aemond hummed. Still gripping her arm which Rhaella allowed. The warmth of his hand caused her brain to fog.

“ I think I'd like to see you again,” Aemond said. His head tilted down to her slightly.

“Perhaps a time when you aren't...drunk,” Aemond said patronizingly

“When Princess Rhaenyra takes the throne, I'd expect you'd be seeing me often,” Rhaella said.

Aemond's hand slid up her arm, fingers tracing the bruise he'd left.

“Perhaps I'd want to see you before such a time,” Aemond said.

Rhaella allowed a soft smile to break through. One that she'd often give to him back when they were children. She took a step back from him. If Aemond thought a kiss was all it would take to entice her then he was sorely mistaken.

“Start by writing to me, you have much time to make up for,” Rhaella said.

“Goodbye cousin.” Rhaella dismissed herself from Aemond's presence.

Annoyingly, the warmth did not fade from her. It followed her back to the doors of her room.

As Rhaella docked the ship, she noticed Baela leaning over the railing, staring into the sea. Walking over to her sister, she too stared into the water.

As much as their mother was of fire, she adored the sea like no other.

Rhaella hated the water. It had taken her mother's coffin far away from her.

“ I apologize for the way I spoke to you.” Rhaella said. She was met with silence.

Baela was so stubborn.

“ I needlessly lied.” Rhaella added. Finally, Baela turned to her.

“ You were talking in your sleep,” Baela said. 

Rhaella looked away from her sister. Her mind was met with images of the green fire, the feeling of a cold hand gathering her tears.

It made her shudder.

“ Just a nightmare,” Rhaella said. Baela's eyes softened, she too felt regretful over lashing out towards her sister.

“ You should know, I didn't mean any of what I said.” Baela said. Rhaella knew full well Baela had spoken out of anger, but she still felt there might have been a shred of honesty.

“ He spoke to me again this morning,” Rhaella admitted. Her nails scratched over the wood of the railing. She was about to burst from the emotions that swallowed her.

Baela glanced at her, curiosity peaked. “ Whatever about?”

Rhaella paused. Aemond had wanted to see her again. That was the truth. What scared her more was the fact she was finding that she too wished to see him.

Rhaella wanted him in her view at all times. She wanted them to speak at length about Old Valyria as they did when they were children. The desire to watch his reasoning fall apart whenever she spoke was overwhelming.

Control is nice, but now she required much more. Rhaella's eyebrows scrunched at the thought. 

What was the more that she required? 

“I told him to write to me,” Rhaella admitted. If she divulged the entirety of it, she'd be forcing herself to admit what she now knew to be true.

Baela brushed a lock of hair out of Rhaella's face. She wore an expression of sympathy that made Rhaella feel as though she missed some point.

“ Just..be careful with him alright?' Baela said. Rhaella watched as Jace and Luke spoke, rather expressively to one another. No doubt discussing last night's events at dinner.

“It is he who should be careful with me,” Rhaella said. There was no real conviction in the statement. In truth, she was terrified.

The feelings she had repressed for so long had begun to turn its ugly head.

[thatonebirdwrites]

Finally! :) Took me a bit to edit this. EXCERPT:

She walks a steep path toward standing stones. A hand tightly grips her own, her mother so much taller, but all so warm and comforting. A small bag is over her shoulder since she’d asked to carry something, so she had the blanket. Her mother speaks, but the words tumble out in a waterfall of Irish.

The stones has candles at their base. Her mother lights them starting with the rising sun - east - and goes counterclockwise. The words she whispers is an old Irish prayer, one she’s whispered so many times while tucking Lena into bed. 

The sky burns an eggshell blue, the clouds wispy trails, and the breeze cool against her face. A scent of mountain aven burns as her mother waves the plant over the flames of each candle. The bundle smokes in her hands and she spins in a circle to take in the entirety of their picnic. 

“An cuimhneach leat, Lena?” her mother looks at her with piercing blue and green eyes. “Seo í uair na cinniúna.”

The air sparks with energy. Lena is suddenly the same height as her mother. “I don’t understand,” she says, desperately. “What are you saying?” 

Her mother reaches for her, but the dream shatters into a million fragments.

Lena wakes abruptly and winces at the bright light that shines through the windows. The sun is just rising, while the sky changes from black to violet to blue. Her mind bleeds with the imagery and words from her dream, and she needs to write it down.

Except, she finds herself trapped under the arm of a Super. It’s not like this isn’t something she’s secretly wanted since she first met Kara all those years ago, but she has not anticipated how impossible it is to move Kara’s arm. It’s like pushing against a mountain. She flounders and tries to wiggle free, only to give up with a huff. Kara’s still asleep, her arm still tight around Lena, and her breath soft against Lena’s neck. 

It’s absolutely endearing but also highly distracting. She needs to get up and record her dream, and maybe sort out why she keeps seeing standing stones. Maybe scour the landscape for said standing stones, but she can’t as the arm around her chest — as loose as it sort of is — is like the planet earth itself has bound her to the bed. 

There’s a giggle from the other bed, and Lena looks over to see Nia propped up against a wall of pillows with a book, a journal, and Lena’s map in her lap. 

“Stuck?” Nia asks with a grin. 

Lena grumbles and gives up trying to free herself. This is her life now apparently. Trapped in the arms of a Super. What a way for a Luthor to go. At least it's warm and cozy. “Oh shut up,” she says, but there’s no bite in her voice. “What are you doing?” She narrows her eyes at Nia holding her mother’s map. 

[aww-alice]

"The Academy" Chapter 4 - [The Emperor]

[Y/N] was losing herself deep into the labyrinth of mysteries. 

The corridors would whisper secrets to her, shadows of a promise waiting to be discovered.

One evening, as [Y/N] made her way through the moonlit gardens, her steps guided by the ethereal glow of the moon, she would find herself in front of a chapel, hidden at the far edge of the campus area... 

Its ancient white stone walls were overgrowing with flowering vines, guarding the sacred space within.

[Y/N] was curious. This chapel wasn’t mentioned in the academy guidebook… Was it abandoned? And if it was… why?

As she inspected the stained glass windows, her boots crinkling playfully, she noticed that all of them were drastically different, depicting ancient rituals, erased by time but forever protected in the glass. 

Or until they get shattered… another kind of “forever”.

[Y/N] was silent as the memories overflowed.

.

.

.

A voice broke her out of the nightmares of the past.

A melody that pierced the night air, captivating each and every one of [Y/N]’s senses in a hypnosis.

The melancholic vocals echoed, taking her hand and guiding her into the chapel…

At that time, she didn’t know that her decision would set into motion a chain of events that would forever alter the course of her destiny and lead her down a path she could never have imagined.

As she finally entered the chapel, she saw a lady. The celestial spotlight created by the stained glass on this moonlit night enveloped her silhouette.

She was the source of the song.

Her golden hair resembled the Sun itself. The pale skin on her arms, which were locked in prayer, sparkled like quartz.

Along with her voice, the ends of her frilly white dress were flowing ever so softly.

Crescendo.

[Y/N]’s heart skipped a beat… 

Two… 

Three.

And then it completely stopped. 

The very last thing she saw at that moment, right before she collapsed, were the crying eyes of an angel.

.

.

.

Everything was dark.

She couldn’t move at all in this void.

She didn’t know where she was. She couldn’t recall anything. 

All of a sudden, a source of light appeared.

The small sparkle revealed the entire scenery. The academy was burning… Dark shadows consuming everything left and right. Dark violet flames that been constrained for too long were breaking out. There were no screams. Everyone was dead. 

What is all this…?

A memory…? 

.

.

.

“Awake, [Y/N]…”

A voice as soothing as a lullaby... 

“It's time to face the dawn and embrace the new day that awaits.”

The melody of the angelic lady kissed her eardrums once again.

The Sun’s light above, [Y/N]’s eyelashes fluttered open like the first blossoms of spring.

[rosella-writes]

Hi Rosella, happy Friday! For DADWC, I am here with another poetry prompt, from “Fugue” by Louise Gluck:

10. A golden bow: a useful gift in wartime.

How heavy it was — no child could pick it up.

Except me: I could pick it up.

11. Then I was wounded. The bow was now a harp, its string cutting deep into my palm. In the dream it both makes the wound and seals the wound.

THANK you, I used this to deal with the idea of a mentorship that grew too close within the Circle and a child who was given an adult role far too soon. For @dadrunkwriting

Relationship: Lucas Trevelyan x Senior Enchanter Lydia of Ostwick

Warnings: mentor x student dynamic, abuse of authority, death

~~~

Beautiful, boy.

A warm glow of pride takes root in Lucas’s chest, like an ember gently blown into a flame — Enchanter Lydia’s hands around his help guide the tiniest of magelights towards a sconce, which they plant within with a quick snap of Lucas’s fingers. He’s ten, and this is his first intentional magic. 

Ever after, his success is owed to Lydia. She is the ember of pride that watches his growth within the Circle — her eyes are the ones he searches for when he learns to conduct electricity without scorching the soles of his shoes, when he learns to commune with healing wisps of Compassion, when he raises his first successful barrier against the battering power of an Enchanter. He learns quickly, but he does not do it for his own gratification. He practices and reads and studies for the sake of his mentor’s warm smile. 

Unlike the other apprentices in the Circle, Lucas holds no fear of the Templars — they are guardians, failsafes, as Lydia says. She soothes him with reminders of this in his darker days, when he comes to her with the aching pain of missing home. She folds him to her breast and strokes his hair and hums an old song that replaces any memory of his mother’s voice. 

It’s Lydia who wakes him in the dead of night when he’s seventeen. She holds his face between her hands and presses her forehead to his, whispering frantically as he rouses from deep sleep. He doesn’t know what she says — it could have been a prayer, or advice, or simply an attempt to quell any rising fear. But when the Templars take him past the door he was never permitted through, up the winding stairs, and urge him into a room with soaring ceilings and windows that pour moonlight through their tinted panes, she is not with him. 

His Harrowing is his first magic done without Lydia’s proud, watchful protection. 

Lucas cannot say what he experienced within the Fade when he wakes — the Templars later tell him he cried out, not for his mother, as many apprentices do, but for the Senior Enchanter. She is outside the door, wringing her hands, when he is finally permitted to leave. 

Beautiful boy, she gasps. She takes his face in her hands again and kisses his forehead, and he can remember the sensation of her hot, quick breaths across his hairline and over his tear-stained cheeks even years later. 

My beautiful boy. 

Her last words when Ostwick’s Circle falls carry Lucas to the Conclave itself. He can still feel her blood drying in the sticky creases of his hands, see her violet eyes grow cloudy and tacky and dark like those of a dead fish. He can taste her last dying kiss in his mouth. 

At the Conclave, Lucas’s magic is as wild and barely constrained as it was when Senior Enchanter Lydia first guided his hands. It is both the string of a bow and of a harp, humming beneath his skin — capable of such violence as what laid the Circle low, or of such healing as he tried to weave in the depths of Lydia’s wounds. But where he had excelled in warlike arts, Compassion slipped away from him, and his mentor had grown cold in his arms. He has only the memory of that glowing ember of her pride to carry him — he tries to remember it as he stands among the other mages at the great gathering, how she would find and hold his gaze even in a crowd.