i hope these are my last words

Some people are harbouring so much hatred and contemptment; blissfully carrying grudges in their hearts. The last thing I'll ever do is entertain their inner demons by allowing them to affect my energy. I wish you healing and peace of mind and I hope in the future your vibrations rise. Love.

enigmaticinvisiblezebra  asked:

For any of the anons talking about the URL name. It's a psychological thing; humans usually only read the first and last letter of a word, and let their brain fill in with context. This is how you mis-see (is that even a word? Idk) things on billboards or other media. It's okay, there's no need to get your skirts in a twist, now just leave jess alone. Okay? Okay. Moving on: Jess I hope you have a wonderful day! 💜

Preparations (Vows #1)

The next Nessian (finally!)  Previous Chapter is here.  Master list of all my fanfic is here.  Hope you all enjoy this one!  Nearly everyone makes an appearance.  It was supposed to be the last chapter but it got waaay too long (this half is over 5k words) so I split it.


Nesta tapped her pen against the paper.  “I don’t see why I have to do this,” she said flatly.

Feyre sighed, already exasperated, and set her teacup down with a click.  “You’re the one who burst in here this afternoon and told me you had to get married as soon as possible.  Making a list of what you need to get done is the bare minimum if you really expect to be ready in two weeks.”

“Okay, fine,” Nesta grumbled.  She contemplated just giving up on the whole thing, shredding the papers she’d been writing on, and telling Cassian they should just run away, but she supposed now her sister knew that option was done for.  “So far we’ve got: location to figure out, catering, dress -”

“Just ask Rhys about the dress,” Feyre cut in, “he probably already has something.”  

“Why would he have a dress for me?”  Nesta asked, a bit suspiciously.  The tendency of everyone in the Inner Circle to be constantly in everybody else’s business had not grown on her with exposure.

“Well, it’s been weeks since you announced you planned to get married,” Feyre said, like that was a normal explanation.  Evidently Nesta should automatically expect her brother-in-law to produce a wedding dress for her, just like that.

Nesta sat back in her chair and looked at her sister through narrowed eyes.  “What is it with Rhys and clothes?  Where does he get them all?”

Feyre just shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I’ve never asked.  His taste is better than mine anyway.”

An image of her sister’s tall, elegant mate sitting in a private room somewhere sewing furiously popped into Nesta’s mind, and she snorted.  Her sister looked at her in some confusion and she just waved her hand in dismissal.  “Should I cross ‘dress’ off then?”

“No, let’s make sure I’m right first.  And that you like it.  He’ll be here any minute anyway for your session.”  Ugh, magic lessons.  She felt awkward enough with Amren, having Rhys staring at her too didn’t really sound appealing, but she did want to start understanding what she could - and should - do with the fact that she now could hear everybody’s life force.  Certainly before she killed someone by mistake.  Feyre went on.  “We don’t need to worry about flowers, Elain will take care of that.  And I bet Mor has some ideas about catering.  Do you want to use the priestess Elain and Lucien had?”

“Is that the same one you used?”

“Yes.”

“Might as well be consistent then.”  Nesta wrote down ‘Priestess’ with a small arrow that led to ‘whoever Feyre says.’  She tapped the pen against her teeth.  “What else is there?”

“Do you have a guest list yet?”  Nesta most certainly did; she hid her grin as she slid it over to her sister, who read it out loud.  “‘Feyre, Elain, Rhys, The Bastard,’ really, Nesta, is that necessary? ‘Azriel, Amren, Mor,’ all plus one, ‘Nuala, Cerridwen,’ oh good, I’m glad you’re inviting them, ‘Clotho and the rest of the librarians…’”  She looked up and smiled.  “What a great idea.”  Nesta just shrugged, a little embarrassed.  “Who’s ‘Tamirah’ and why is her name surrounded by little hearts?’”

“Oh, that’s just a special one for Cassian,” Nesta replied with a bit of an evil grin.

“Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not.”  

“And ‘Willow.’  You’re inviting your cat?”

“Of course.  She’s part of the family.”

Shaking her head, Feyre grabbed the to-do list Nesta was now doodling on and scanned the sheet.  “What do you want to do about invitations?”

Nesta made a face.  “Do you really think we need them?  It’s mostly just the family anyway.”

Feyre looked rather shocked.  “Of course you need invitations!  Cerridwen did them for Elain’s wedding, I’m sure she’d be happy to do yours.  And it’s not like we need one for Willow.”  She chuckled.

“Why doesn’t Willow get one if everyone else does?” Nesta asked, deadpan.

“Does she really need one?  She can’t read.”

“Probably not, but it seems rude to exclude her if we do them for everyone else.”  Nesta stole her paper back and noted ‘Cerridwen’ next to ‘Invitations.’  

“Oh, and you’ll need to write your vows.”

Nesta’s stomach dropped.  She had never considered that; never thought about baring her soul in front of all those people, even if it was mostly just family.  “Write my…don’t the High Fae have some sort of set ceremony?  I thought I was just going to have to say, ‘I do’ or something.”

Her sister laughed.  “Didn’t you notice that Elain and Lucien had written their vows?”

“Well, yes, but that’s Elain and Lucien, they have no issue with being all, I don’t know, verbal.  They also had about a thousand people at their ceremony.  I thought I could get out of it.”  She thought for a moment; Elain’s was the only Fae ceremony she had been to.  “Did you write your own vows?”

She didn’t understand the expression that crossed Feyre’s face at what was intended to be an innocent question.  It looked almost like guilt.  “We didn’t have time to write anything, actually.  Since we did it so fast,  we just kind of said what was in our hearts at the moment.  I honestly don’t even remember what we said.”

Nesta pondered that.  While there was something appealing about sneaking out in the middle of the night and spontaneously getting married, or mated, or whatever you wanted to call it, she didn’t want to not be able to remember it.  She didn’t want the handful of people she loved to not be a part of it.  “What would you write if you had to do it over again?”

Feyre’s voice was hesitant, contemplative.  “I think I’d want to tell the story of how I came to love him.  Not so much the mating bond - as deep as it is, I think that’s more biological than anything.  But how he kept me from breaking and taught me and brought me out of the despair I had fallen into.  How he always had so much faith in me, and how he always just knew me.  Knew what I needed, even if it wasn’t what I wanted.  Does that make sense?”  

Nesta nodded thoughtfully.  Grabbing a fresh sheet of paper, she began to write.  Feyre poured herself a fresh cup of mint tea and sipped while she waited.  When she was nearly down to the dregs, her sister passed the paper to her then watched her, expressionless, while she read it.  Feyre looked up.  “This is beautiful,” she said softly.  “It’s perfect.”  Nesta took the paper and tucked it away.  Before they could return to their planning, Rhys and Amren appeared.

“What’s all this?” Amren asked, looking at the scattered papers.

“Oh, we’re just planning Nesta and Cassian’s wedding,” Feyre said breezily.  “We’ve got about two weeks.”

Rhys whistled.  “Looks like magic training is going to wait a bit.  We’ve got more important work to do.”  The three females looked at him expectantly.  He grinned.  “Want to see the dresses I picked out?”

Amren rolled her eyes.  “If you are all going to be gushing over wedding dresses, I’m going to go to Summer Court.  See you in a couple of weeks.”  She winnowed away in the middle of Nesta’s protest.  Rhys just shrugged, looking bemusedly at the spot she had just vacated.

“I was still planning on doing some training, but I guess that gives us a little more flexibility.  Come on, let’s go upstairs.”  The sisters followed him into Nesta’s old room, where he pulled three different dresses from a pocket realm and hung them on the armoire door.  All three were stunning, but Nesta only had eyes for the one on the left.  

“That’s it,” she said, pointing.  He handed it to her and she stalked towards the bathing room, Nuala appearing out of nowhere to assist her.  Feyre looked at her mate.

“That was easy,” she said.  

“She’s easy to select for,” he said.  “She always favors the more simple, elegant styles.”

“You knew she was going to pick that one?”  He nodded and Feyre surveyed the other two.  “Well, they’re all gorgeous, but I think it’s the one I would’ve chosen for her too.”

Mor burst through the door just as Nesta emerged from the bathing room in her regular clothes.  “Hey, bitch, when were you going to tell me you’re planning your wedding?”

Nesta blinked.  “Was I supposed to tell you before I told my sisters?”

“Of course,” Mor said, breezing past her cousin and Feyre to flop on the bed.  “I’m the party planner extraordinaire around here.”

Giving a small mocking bow, Nesta replied, “My apologies, I did not know that was one of your formal titles.  I hereby appoint you queen of the catering.  May you prosper.”

Mor returned the bow as best she could from the bed, with a flourish of her hand.  “I shall not disappoint.”

Feyre broke in before the verbal sparring could come to a head.  “Where’s the dress?  Is something wrong?”

“No.”

“Wait, I missed the dress?” Mor interjected.

“Then can’t we see it?” Feyre asked almost simultaneously.

“No.”  Nesta could tell Feyre was biting her cheek to keep from snapping at her, and tried hard to not snap her response, though she hated having to defend herself about it.  “Half the people invited are in this room right now.  The dress fits, it’s exactly what I want, and you’ll see it in two weeks.  And don’t you dare use your Daemati powers on me.  Or Nuala.”

Feyre and Mor both turned to Rhys, who had been watching the three females with some amusement.  He shoved his hands in his pockets with his usual grace.  “It’s up to Nesta.  I’m staying out of it.”

“Ugh, what good is being High Lady if I can’t even make my own sister show me how she looks in her wedding dress?” Feyre asked no one in particular.

*****

Cassian was sitting in the family library in the House of Wind, thinking, a blank pad of paper and a pen on the low table in front of him.  There was so much he wanted to say to Nesta when they bound themselves to each other in just one short week, but he could not for the life of him figure out how.  He had cut his training session with Brisa short, sending her to spar with Sabine and Az, while he had flown here to do - exactly nothing.  He growled at the paper, as if he could somehow intimidate it into writing his vows for him.  

The door swung open and Lucien walked in.  He and Elain had returned from the Dawn Court late the night before.  “This is…the exact last place I would expect to find you,” Lucien said by way of greeting.  Cassian couldn’t even find a snappy retort.  Damnit.  He rubbed his face with his hands, then let them drop into his lap.  “Why does it seem like every time I see you, something is always bothering you?”

“Because every time you see me, you’re in the room.  It’s a paradox.”  There, at least he was able to come up with something.

“My my, another big word.  Though I suppose I set myself up for that one.”  He studied the empty paper, russet eye narrowing.  “Let me guess, you’re working on a dissertation on the usefulness of wings.”

Cassian huffed what might have been a laugh.  “I wish, I’d have a thousand pages by now.  No, I’m trying to write my vows.”

The red-haired male slipped into the seat next to him and put his feet up on the table.  “Well, since I just did this a few weeks ago, let me give you some advice.”  

“Okay,” he replied, eyeing the court-trained male warily.

“I’d advise against going with, ‘You’re my mate.  Let’s fuck.’  It kind of takes away from the grandeur of the moment.”

Now Cassian laughed for real.  “I wouldn’t want to steal your line anyway.   I was practically unconscious at the time, but wasn’t that basically what you said when Elain came out of the Cauldron?”

A smirk played on Lucien’s lips.  “I told you I was speaking from experience.”  He crossed his arms and looked straight into Cassian’s steady hazel eyes.  “Why do you want to marry her?  What first drew you to her, though I doubt you got a lot of encouragement?  You’ve been alive and from what I’ve gathered, fucking freely for over five hundred years.  Why decide now to bind yourself to her?”

The slight disdain in his tone coupled with the emphasis on the last word had anger flaring, and Cassian leaned forward, every inch the warrior.  He opened his mouth, and Lucien pointed at the paper.  “Don’t tell me, write.”  His mouth tightened, but he took up his pen and began to work.  There was a lot of crossing out and long pauses, but eventually he stopped, surveyed his work, then passed the paper to Lucien, who had been watching the process with no little amusement.

“I hope that wasn’t as painful as it looked,” he said, before reading the lines.  “Mother’s tits, your handwriting is atrocious.”  His expression changed from its usual irreverence as his eyes scanned the page, and he handed it back wordlessly.  Cassian looked at him with a question on his face, and Lucien merely nodded.  Standing, he walked towards the stacks, dropping a hand briefly on Cassian’s shoulder as he passed.

*****

Elain walked into the kitchen garden, bearing a tray full of iced tea that she set out for everyone before settling into a chair herself.  It was an unusually warm day for this late in the fall and everyone was soaking up the last of the sun’s rays.  She looked even more beautiful than ever, Nesta thought; more grounded, which seemed ironic given how much time Elain always spent with the earth.  Unlike herself, Elain had always imagined and wished to be married with children and a nice manor house and everything.  Though her current situation was not how she planned it when they were younger, being bonded forever to a male as magnetic as the fox-faced bastard didn’t seem to be disagreeing with her at all.  Even if he was just about the polar opposite of Graysen.  Nesta wasn’t sure which of the two males she despised more, Graysen for abandoning her sister or Lucien for winning her in the end.  

“So, I know you were talking about having the ceremony at the House of Wind,” Elain said, “but I’d like to make another suggestion.”  Nesta, Feyre and Mor all looked at her expectantly.  “There’s that walled garden I finished a few months ago, it’s totally enclosed so it would be nice and private, and there should be room for everyone since it’s such a small group.”

“That sounds like a great idea!” Mor exclaimed.  

Feyre looked a little more hesitant.  “Isn’t it a little late in the season for a garden to be practical?”  Nesta was internally grateful to her for asking the question; after all, it was close to winter.

Elain leaned forward eagerly.  “No, not at all!  I designed it to be usable in all seasons, and it’s spelled to protect it from any extreme cold.  Right now it’s got beautiful foliage, and some nice rich flowers in reds and purples and yellows and there are some patches of white.  They should go nicely with Cassian’s Siphons.  Plus I can add some potted or cut flowers of whatever colors you want.”

Nesta smiled at her sister, at her palpable joy and excitement, as she said, “That sounds perfect, and I’ll trust your judgment as to what flowers are appropriate.”  She thought Elain was going to take flight right there and disappear to prep the garden.  It was obviously an effort her her sister to keep in her seat, but she managed to refocus on the rest of the task at hand.  

The three of them went through the extensive menu Mor proposed, then Elain asked to see the guest list.  She studied it for a moment, then asked, “Why is there a burned out hole at the bottom of the list?”

Playing with a piece of her hair, Nesta replied airily, “Oh, Cassian took exception to one of my invitees.”

“But he’s okay with the cat coming?” Feyre asked drily.

Nesta leveled one of her flat looks at her.  “Of course.”  She didn’t understand her sister’s evident irritation at Willow’s inclusion; she’d always seemed to enjoy her playful antics when they spent time together.

Elain piped up, “I’ll manage Willow!  Oh, I’d love to have her there.” Feyre subsided with a shrug and a wry smile, won over by her sweetness, just as everyone always was.

A shadow appeared overhead, and everyone looked up as Cassian touched down.  “Everything going well?” he asked, bending down to brush a kiss to the top of Nesta’s head.  

The four women nodded in unison, then Nesta added, “Other than Feyre being beaten into submission about Willow being issued an invitation.”  He laughed.  

“Can I be updated on the plans?” he requested as he sat on the edge of the table, all chairs being occupied.  Elain and Mor immediately began running through all the details while Nesta sat back, a little bemused.  Elain had been home for less than twenty four hours and was already more involved with the plans than she was.  She met Cassian’s eyes and her mate gave a tiny shrug.  They were lucky to be able to basically wind up the other females and let them go, though she did appreciate having final say.  Not that she had had to overrule much of anything.

“We haven’t discussed one very important thing,” Mor said.  “Alcohol.”  Feyre nodded fervently.  “I’ve already got wine planned, both sparkling and regular.  What else do you want?”

Lucien winnowed in, as if summoned by the mention of liquor, and after kissing Elain and settling her in his lap he joined in.  Only Rhys was absent, having left after their lesson to discuss some sort of assignment for the spymaster.  She found herself missing him a little for some reason.  He had been surprising her with his patience and understanding during their lessons.  Together they had realized her power worked almost directly opposite his - when he wanted to kill, he pushed out with his power, while it seemed she needed to pull in.  They speculated that was why she was unsuccessful against the King, as lashing out could affect a body but not terminally.  Rhys could also affect a huge number at once, while she could sense many but only affect one at a time.  The best thing from a day to day standpoint was she was discovering that she did possess a few of the extra abilities, like accessing pocket realms.  He was also pretty sure she’d be able to winnow given how easily she could manipulate living energy, but she hadn’t managed yet.

Cassian began listing an impressive additional supply of spirits and Nesta refocused onto the conversation.  Feyre chimed in with some of Rhys’s favorites.  Nesta was fine with just the wine.  She didn’t want to forget any of the ceremony, and after her experience with the Gravediggers she doubted her ability to handle anything stronger.  Watching the others laugh and discuss the merits of various liquors warmed her; she loved her mate’s enthusiasm for all of this.  In the human world, the men generally acted as if all this was the women’s territory and beneath them.  Here, the males seemed to see the planning as not just a responsibility but a valued right.  The two present males started an enthusiastic discussion of the merits of licorice in some sort of drink she’d never heard of before, and she sat back contentedly and let the noise and joy flow over her like water.

*****

The night before the wedding, Feyre had insisted that Nesta stay with her and Elain at the townhouse, just as they had for Elain’s wedding, so Cassian went back to the apartment alone.  Willow greeted him with her usual demands for food and petting, then settled herself on the bookcase for a thorough wash and a nap.  He hoped she would enjoy herself at the ceremony; she certainly had never seemed fazed by traveling to the cabin or the townhouse, so he suspected she would take it in stride.  He ate and had just settled down on the couch with a glass of wine to read when he heard footsteps on the roof and headed up to check it out.

Azriel and Rhys were making themselves comfortable on the chairs Nesta had insisted be added to the chaise in the rooftop garden.  They had brought a bottle of something stronger than the wine, no doubt secreted out from under Rhys’s bed.  Cassian took the glass Rhys was holding out and claimed the chaise.  Rhys held up his glass in a silent toast, and the other two echoed the gesture before they drank in unison.  “Feyre kicked me out for the night,” he said ruefully.  “So Az and I decided to come down and keep you company on your last night alone.  Ready for tomorrow?”

“Sure,” he said, with unfeigned nonchalance.  “I mean, we’ve been living together for a few months now.  This is just a ceremony to make it all official, right?  I don’t really expect anything to change other than getting used to wearing a ring.”  He actually couldn’t wait for that part; he loved the rings Rhys had helped him select.

The High Lord looked contemplative.  “I don’t know, my situation was so different.  I mean, we’d only really been together a few days before we had the ceremony, and it was all so rushed…But I definitely felt like having it official made it seem so much more permanent.”  He thought for a moment before continuing, “Somehow, when that priestess declared us married and mated, it was like the bond connected in our bones, not just our hearts.  Does that make sense?”

It was hard for Cassian to imagine the bond being any deeper or more enduring, but he nodded and took a sip of his drink.  He was really going to have to figure out his brother’s source of alcohol at some point, because damn, that shit was good.  There was a patter of tiny feet and Willow appeared on the roof, pausing to look around and sniff for a moment, tail twitching.  Her domain adequately surveyed, she scampered to Azriel and leaped onto his lap, arching her body up to bump him in the face with her little head.  He looked to Cassian with a long-suffering expression, but his hand stroked her automatically and her wild purr reverberated through the garden.

“Why must your cat torture me?” he asked in that cold voice, while scritching under her chin with his scarred fingers.  

“She likes you,” Cassian replied, “is that a bad thing?”  Willow stuffed her tail up Azriel’s nose while vigorously kneading his knee with her tiny needle claws and he glared at his brother, who was struggling not to laugh.  “Are you bringing anyone tomorrow?”

“I’m thinking Willow should be my date at this point,” he replied.  The cat responded by sprawling out on her back along his thigh, fluffy gray belly exposed, feet curling in the air.  

The others both laughed but Cassian sobered quickly.  He studied his brother.  “Mor’s bringing someone,” he said abruptly.  Rhys’s head snapped up, a warning in his eyes.  

Az’s fingers didn’t pause in their massage of the blissful cat’s neck.  “I know.”  There was not a trace of emotion in his voice or on his face.  

Cassian opened his mouth, but Rhys interrupted.  “Leave it alone.”

Az looked between his two brothers for a long moment.  “I always hoped you two would understand,” he said, the slightest hint of disappointment in his voice, his shadows curling around his shoulders.  “I know Feyre doesn’t, but she’s young, and has a human heart.”

“Understand what?” Cassian asked, quite gently for him.

“I am…content, with how things are,” he replied quietly.  “I have no need to share my life with anyone beyond the family.”  

“But -” Cassian started to protest and Az spoke over him, perhaps for the first time in history.

“I do not need what you need, brother.  I am happy for you, for all of you,” he looked to Rhys, “but I have no desire for that type of bond myself.  I thought you could understand that.”

The other two exchanged looks.  “But what about Mor?” Cassian finally asked.

“Any feelings I had for Mor beyond the familial faded a long time ago.  It’s just that none of you noticed.”  There was a cold anger rising in his face, despite the dry humor in his voice.  “You have been assuming for all these years that I sought what you did.  But I have all I need with the two of you.  Brothers who truly care for me.”  Cassian thought of Az’s biological brothers and his eyes flicked to the scarred hands beneath the blue Siphons.  Rhys’s attention was similarly focused.  “And you,” he turned to Rhys, who pulled his violet eyes up to meet his gaze, “brought me the added benefit of Feyre, who despite the fact that she wants for me what I do not desire for myself, also truly cares.”

Cassian was struggling to understand this.  He thought back to how his life had been before Feyre had fallen into it and brought her sisters with her; back to before Rhys had disappeared Under the Mountain.  He had been comfortable, yes, but always restless; he would never have described himself as content.  Even when he was sated following a good fight or a good fuck or preferably both, as soon as the fatigue wore off the buzzing energy had returned.  But he had never seen that with Az, who would take a lover, yes, but without that driving need.  Who while he fought and practiced with an eye to perfection, it was only to hone a necessary skill.   He had always assumed the shadowsinger just hid it better, that the cold rage that lurked beneath the impassive surface was a result of the same emptiness he felt.

Perhaps it was instead a result of the fact that even those who loved him best didn’t really see him.

“Do not dare to condescend to me with your pity,” Azriel snapped, and Cassian bristled until he realized he was not the one being addressed.  He looked to Rhys, to the muscle feathering in his clenched jaw.  “I am not diminished because I am not bound to another.”  Willow startled at the shift in mood, leaping down and skittering across to settle underneath the chaise.  Rhys bowed his head under the fierce glare.

“No, you are not,” he said quietly, almost humbly.  “You most certainly are not.  I just…I can’t believe I was wrong all this time.  And the way you look at Mor, the sadness…I still don’t understand it.”

His voice softer, warmer, Az responded, “I am sad for Mor because I pity anyone who cannot acknowledge even to themselves who they truly are.  Not because of any unfulfilled wishes of my own.”  Cassian could have laughed at Rhys’s expression of utter bafflement, and even Azriel smiled a little.  “Did you think I haven’t noticed Mor bedding females all these years?”

Now it was true shock on Rhys’s elegant face, and Cassian did laugh out loud at his dropped jaw.  “What?”

“You may have noticed,” Cassian said wryly to Az, “but clearly our brother here has been out of the loop.”  He turned to Rhys.  “Did you never wonder why Mor is always hanging out at Rita’s?”

“What about Rita’s?”

The two Illyrians exchanged very amused looks before Cassian decided to take mercy on Rhys.  “Rita’s is basically a hot spot for those who are looking for same-sex options.  Did you not ever wonder why you constantly had males inviting you to bed there?”

Rhys shook his head, a trace of his usual arrogance reappearing as he replied, “No, I get invitations from everyone no matter where I am.  I never really thought about it.  Though considering you also did whenever we were there, I suppose I should have.”

Cassian winked at him.  “I too get invitations from everyone everywhere, brother.”

Az snorted.  “You accept them though, Cass.  Rhys doesn’t.”  Rhys turned to him, looking startled again.  Cassian just shrugged.  

“You better get over yourself,” he said to Rhys, “because Mor is bringing Ahna tomorrow.”

“Ahna?  As in, Vivianne’s sister?”  He nodded, and Rhys turned speculative.  “I wonder what Feyre is going to say to that.”

Clearing his throat, Cassian said, “Um, as far as I know, it was Feyre’s idea.  And Nesta had Cerridwen write the invitation to her directly.”  Laughing again at Rhys’s dismay at learning he really was the last to know, he rose and poured them all another knuckle’s length.  He stood behind Az’s chair, dropping a broad hand on his shoulder, and looked at these males that he had loved almost all his life.  They had fought for each other and pushed each other and each had become a better version of themselves thanks to the other two.  He knew that without Rhys and Az, and Rhys’s mother, he would never have amounted to someone worthy of the female he was to marry tomorrow.  No matter how big the void Nesta filled in his soul, it would never diminish what he felt for his brothers.

Clearing his throat, he raised his glass.  “I know we haven’t done this much since the war, or really for a lot longer than that, but I want you to know that I love you both, no matter what.  To truth among brothers,” he said.  The others raised their glasses, murmuring, “To truth,” in reply.  As Cassian tilted his head back to drain his glass, a shooting star passed overhead, echoing the fiery trail of the liquor down his throat.  All three of them froze, staring at the sky, as awed by the flash of beauty above them as they had been centuries ago when they first stood together beneath the stars.

“Tightrope Walking” - Part 7

“Tightrope Walking” - Part 7

(Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6)

My Masterlist - Here

Tag List - Here

Bruce Wayne x Reader - Romantic Relationship

Jim Gordon x Reader - Father/Daughter Relationship

Jerome Valeska x Reader - Past Friendship

Word Count: 1,200-ish

Key: Y/N = Your Name, L/N = Your Last Name, H/C = Your Hair Color, E/C = Your Eye Color

Warnings: None that I can tell. Let me know if I missed anything

Originally posted by peculiar-p0st

Summary: The Aftermath

Author’s Note: This is the end of this series. I may do an epilogue at some point. But I hope you guys have enjoyed this series!

If you would like to be tagged in any of my future pieces (All Works, Specific Fandoms, or Specific Multi-Parts), please let me know! And as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

<3

- DreaSaurusREX


You woke up to the sound of a heart monitor beeping steadily and a comfortable warmth around your hand. You slowly open your eyes and have to blink a few times to get adjusted to the light. But when you do adapt, you see you’re in Gotham General. Then you look around and see your four favorite men.

Bruce was in a chair next to you holding your hand as he had his head leaning against your bed. His chest was slowly rising and falling, meaning he was asleep. Jim was in a chair on the opposite side of your bed, also asleep. Alfred was looking at the view outside the window, and Harvey was standing with him. They were chatting about something in hushed tones, probably not to wake the other two up.

It felt as if you had eaten cotton balls your throat was so dry. So instead of speaking to let them know you were awake, you just squeezed Bruce’s hand a few times. He slowly stirred awake and lifted his head, rubbing his eye with his free hand before really realizing the situation.

“Hey there, sleepyhead.” You managed to speak, but it came out very scratchy.

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I star in a musical, titled Life, in which god is my stage director, depression is the costume designer, love is my female lead , severe anxiety is the antagonist,  and last but not least, hope, being the supporting actor
—  Life “ the musical”, the ballad of me and brain, the summary of how my life has been, the coming of age of a real life mess: who holds onto a stick called hope and never lets it go
The Last Time You Kiss III

A/N: This is the last part so I hope you all enjoy it. I don’t know why I posted all three of these parts at like 1 in the morning my time, but I did. I’ve also been trying to write over 1,000 words so let me know if you guys like shorter or longer things.

Warning(s): None

Word Count: 1,084

Part 1 Part 2

Originally posted by mednes

You: I saw your cover on YouTube

Shawn: …

You: We really need to talk

Shawn: I know

You: Do you want me to call you? I really don’t want to have this conversation over text

Shawn: Sure just give me ten minutes

You: How about you call me when you are ready

Shawn: K

You turn the ringer of your phone on so you don’t miss his call. Not moving, you watch your phone. What were you thinking asking him to talk on the phone? You didn’t know what you were going to tell him. He knows you didn’t want to break up, so what can you change. Before you can overthink the situation anymore, your phone rings. You pick up your phone and let out a shaky greeting.

“Hey” you say, feeling your palms start to sweat.

“Hey” Shawn says back to you.

“Was,” you begin to say, already regretting the words that were about to leave your mouth “was that cover about us?”

There was silence on the other end of the line. There is a strong part of you that just wants to hang up the phone and pretend that the call never happened. But you waited for your answer.

“Yes” 

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath. Before you can say anything, Shawn continues to talk.

“Everything I said that night was true. It hurts me to see people saying such rude things to you, and I thought that if I broke up with you those things would stop. I thought that I was protecting you from something, that it turns out I can’t protect you from. I still see people saying hateful things to you. I can’t stop myself from wanting to protect you. You were the most wonderful thing in my life, and the thought of you with someone else leaves me heartbroken. I honestly should have never left you. You mean the world to me.”

There are no words to express how you fell right now. If Shawn were here right now you would give him a hug, but he wasn’t. You have to remind yourself that he is not here right now, and he is the reason for that.

“Shawn, you have to realize that you can’t protect me against everything. I decided that I wanted to be with you, knowing that some of your fans would be angry. I knew that I would be in a spotlight because I was with you. I knew it would be worth it though. There is just something about you that makes me so happy. You are just such a delight to be with. Every time we kissed it felt as though time froze. I felt like we brought out the best in each other.” you say, trying to hold back tears.

“I know. We did, I mean we do bring out the best in each other. Look, this may sound a little crazy, but can you come back to my house. I miss you and I think this conversation would be better held face to face.” Shawn replies. 

“Shawn you know I don’t have the time right now to go up and see you,” you begin “can you maybe come down to my place? I know you start another leg of your tour soon, and traveling is the last thing you want to do, but can you at least consider it?”

“I’ll be on the first flight out.” Shawn says, hanging up.


You eagerly awaited Shawn’s arrival. He had just sent you a text that he had just left the airport. You look in the mirror again to make sure you looked okay. It had been a month since the last time the two of you saw each other, and you didn’t want to look like complete trash. Your phone vibrated and you saw the text Shawn had sent

“Five minutes” the text read.

You were starting to get nervous now. You looked around your apartment one last time to make sure everything was put away, everything was. That’s when you hear a knock on the door. Your heart jumps as you hear the noise. As you begin to walk towards the door, your heart rate increases. As you open the door, you see his face. It was just as you remembered it. It was just like he was picking you up for your first date all over again. 

You open the door wide enough for Shawn to walk in, and he does. You shut the door to see that Shawn hasn’t moved far past the door. He is standing just a few steps away from you. You look up into his eyes, and you started to realize how much you missed those eyes. When Shawn’s words failed to express his feelings, his eyes always did. You learned to read this man better than you could read anyone.

“I’m sorry.” Shawn says, eyes drifting to the ground.


“Shawn,” you say stepping closer to him “don’t be, you were doing what you thought was going to be best for me. I can’t be mad at you for making a decision because you cared or me.”

“No, I made that decision not thinking about your feelings. I didn’t think about how much more attention would be drawn to our relationship when we broke up. I didn’t think it would cause you to get more hate, but somehow you did.” Shawn said, sounding very upset.

“Shawn their words don’t hurt me. What hurt me is not being with you. I missed being able to call you when I was having a bad day. I missed our surprise adventures together. I missed just being with you.” You say.

As the final words fall from your lips you step closer to Shawn. He looks down at you, and you look up at him. He pulls you into his arms, and you rest your head on his chest. You can feel his heartbeat slowing down as he relaxes. You missed this, You missed him.

“I really missed you.” Shawn whispered into your ear.

“And I really missed you.” you say looking up at Shawn, but not letting go of him.

Shawn closes the gap between the two of you again, but this time in a kiss. His lips were just as you remembered them, warm and soft. His hands wrap around your hips and pull you even closer to him. 

I guess it wasn’t really the last time the two of you kissed.

Kissing in the Rain

It starts at a party with shitty cocktails, a DJ that’s definitely not as good as Nick and some ‘that only happens in the movies’ kissing in the rain.

I have added a new chapter to my Tomlinshaw WIP, in which Nick opens up, Louis braves a weekend with Nick’s friends and neither one seems to be able to say the word ‘boyfriend’ out loud. Here’s the link to Chapter Nine: Last Dance. The rest of the fic can be found by following this link.

Thanks to everyone reading and following along, reblogging, leaving notes, kudos and comments. I really appreciate it! I hope you enjoy the latest instalment. The next is well on its way so hopefully I can update again soon.

At The Mercy Of - Conor Maynard | Part Two

Okay, here you go, Part Two of my little smut story. 🙈 Let me know if you enjoyed it! I mean I originally planned on just writing about Conor but I might do the other guys if you guys would like me to. Anyways, enjoy!

Smut warning! Read Part One here.

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JeanMarco Month Day 17: Generator 2 |AO3|

@jeanmarcomonth Had to skip the last prompt cause I had quite a lot on my plate (and am watching f//ma again to compensate), but I hope you enjoy this, at least!

Prompt: warlock!Jean and royal!Marco are teenagers and dating since a few days back. They are stargazing.

Rating: G

Word Count: 475

Excerpt: 

In the fields away from the castle, away from his party and his doting admirers, we can just be those children again, lost to the blue moonlight and the darkness.  He grabs my hand and a new warmth flows through me, gentle this time, and now my heart thrums for a different reason.

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A few more thoughts on Guardians of the Galaxy 2 (yeah, I have a lot of them): while I totally get the rush of “galaxy’s best dad!/Yondu did nothing wrong in his life!” posts and fanart (I do! honestly! Michael Rooker did an amazing job) that’s just… not the story I think the movie is telling, or the story I really want it to be telling. James Gunn is at it too, what with him basically saying “Well, Peter wasn’t a great son either!” in that Q&A he did…

…Yondu was an absolutely abusive parent, yeah? He loved Peter a lot in his own equally-abused way, but he was. Peter even says it, when Yondu demands a prize for basic decency in the first movie “Normal people don’t even think about eating anybody else, let alone that person having to be grateful for it!” He doesn’t know Yondu was never planning to seriously hurt him, he just knows that he pretty much grew up under the constant threat of violence (no matter how ordinary that apparently seems to be for Ravagers.) There were presumably some nice moments every now and again, since Peter does have a clear, maybe rather begrudging affection for him, but yeah, the point: at the beginning of the Guardians films Yondu’s not even deserving of a World’s Okayest Dad mug, let alone a World’s Greatest Dad one.

But that’s why his storyline in GOTG2 is so satisfying, and hits all the tropes I love in a redemption arc, because it’s entirely about Yondu realising just how utterly, utterly he fucked up (with both Peter and the other kids he unwittingly delivered to their deaths) and setting out to try and make up for it, even if that means dying basically unmourned (as Stakar told him) and unloved. When he’s with the others on Ego’s planet, it’s obvious from his words to Rocket that he doesn’t intend to leave it at all, but rather stay and try to regain some remnants of his honour by helping to kill the thing that killed his adopted son’s siblings.

And I love the “[Ego] may have been your father but he wasn’t your daddy” line, I think everyone does, but those would have been terribly disappointing and selfish last words. I don’t think Yondu was talking about himself, it’s just a simple affirmation to make Peter feel better, what matters is the apology he makes afterwards. “I’m sorry I didn’t do none of it right, I was lucky you were my boy.” Not a plea for forgiveness, just a flat-out statement really: Peter deserved better than him. All he can do is die to keep Peter alive and hold his face when he cries and hope that that’s enough.

…..And that’s just, such a much more interesting story than “he was secretly good all along.”

Fool’s Gold by @tvshows-addict

Pairing: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

Rating:  Explicit

Word count:  55K 

Status: Complete !!!!

Leaflet for Over Again Inc.

“In relationships, there are three types of people: those who are happy, those who are unhappy but accept it and deal, those who are unhappy and in denial.

Handling this last category is our job: we are professional couple breakers.

To reach our goal, we use all means necessary.”

Or the Arnacoeur AU in which Harry is scheduled to be married to Liam in 10 days and Harry’s mother hires Louis and his team to break them up.

Poster by the wonderful @melmanpur

4

As promised, here’s an edited version of the Sander Sides as benders! Hope you like it! And it made my day that Thomas saw my first version and said he liked it, and all your faves and comments really mean a lot, so thank you everyone <3

(I wrote “passion” for Princey because I think that’s the most fitting word for him)

10

Movie Meme: {1/20 Movies}

Pride and Prejudice

You must know… surely, you must know it was all for you. You are too generous to trifle with me. I believe you spoke with my aunt last night, and it has taught me to hope as I’d scarcely allowed myself before. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes have not changed, but one word from you will silence me forever. If, however, your feelings have changed, I will have to tell you: you have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on.

3

Black and Gold

an mp100 royalty au but psychic abilities are replaced with swordsmanship!!

last pic is a redraw from one of my favorite scenes in the series 

more info under the cut

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This is an important video. Last year my ex-boyfriend gave me a traumatic brain injury that went untreated for several months. It took me having vision loss and difficulty reading/slurring words/mixing up words to finally seek testing and then eventually therapy to improve my cognitive functioning.

This is me performing a poem I fully memorized on stage last night in Hollywood, CA.

I felt like a huge piece of me had been taken away and now I have it back so, yeah. I’m happy. I might’ve cried a little. lol

This poem is “Fuckboys Are Construction Workers” and it is about my terrible fuckboy of an ex whom I hope sees this poem and my face everywhere one day and despises me for the simple fact that he didn’t kill my spirit or my drive. Fuck you dude.

It hit me today that I have made headcanons for so many different things, but out of all of them, I have never made Reibert ones. I was really into Reibert like two years ago, so these are way overdue, but finally, here they are.

  • Reiner calls Bertholdt every pet name possible while Bertholdt tends to call him “love”. This kills Reiner every time.
  • They literally share an entire wardrobe. They still have their separate clothes, but after some time, everything got piled together. Bertholdt is wearing a shirt that’s loose around the shoulders? That’s because it’s Reiner’s. Reiner is wearing a pair of pants that are too long? They’re Bertholdt’s. 
  • Bertholdt never shops without Reiner. Reiner will happily go up to employees to ask for help or will make conversation with the cashier so Bertholdt doesn’t have to.
  • Since Reiner is an extrovert and Bertholdt is an introvert, it took Reiner a bit to understand that Bertholdt sometimes needs time to himself and only himself. Now, he doesn’t think too much of it when Bertholdt distances himself a bit or recluses himself to one room. 
  • Reiner has really nice photos of Bertholdt, such as the light hitting his face at a certain angle and what not, but Bertholdt mostly has really blurry selfies of Reiner. Of course, he does have good photos of him too, but the blurry ones always get him to laugh.
  • Bertholdt cuts Reiner’s hair.
  • Reiner gets really confused when people comment on how quiet Bertholdt is because Reiner knows how he actually is. Bertholdt will talk and joke around more when he’s only with Reiner compared to being in a group.
  • When they first moved in together, they decided to buy a new bed frame. This project took them almost five hours to complete because Reiner thought they would be able to assemble it without instructions and Bertholdt put some pieces together incorrectly due to not having said instructions. In the middle of putting it together, Reiner stopped and proclaimed it was getting late. It was 6:30 pm.
  • I headcanon that Reiner has glasses and Bertholdt thinks he looks so cute when he wears them.
  • Being childhood friends, they love going through photos of when they were little kids and reminiscing in general. 
  • Reiner: One time, my boyfriend and I were-wait, did I ever mention I have a boyfriend? His name is Bertholdt. Bertholdt is the best boyfriend ever. I love him. I really love him. I love my boyfriend, which if you didn’t catch it, his name is Bertholdt. Bertholdt is my boyfriend. He’s the best.
  • A lot of people don’t know they’re dating unless they say so. They don’t do too much PDA, so to strangers, they just seem like they have a really strong friendship. They just have one of those types of relationships.
[TRANS] non-no Magazine 2017 Aug Issue - BTS V

4 QS WITH BTS

Q1: What’s your hobby or something you’re into recently, how do you spend your holiday?

A1: Classical, jazz, opera, R&B, hip hop, EDM…… I listen to all kinds of music. Right now I’m into Hisaishi Joe’s ‘Summer’. Dadadadadan da-dan ♪ (starts singing) I want to watch his piano performance in person one day.

Q2: Tell us your fashion style or preference!

A2: My favorite item is shirts. I have several shirts from the simple ones to shirts with unique prints. I also like the boston bag I bought in New Year earlier this year. I’m using it with loving care!

Q3: Favorite perfume?

A3: Lots of times I choose refreshing or relaxing fragrance. I choose which one to use based on my outfits or mood.

Q4: Favorite work among Japanese movies, dramas, mangas?

A4: I recently finished watching the ‘Nigeru wa Haji da ga Yaku ni Tatsu’ drama! I like the scene where the female protagonist and her contract marriage partner hug every Monday. I feel like I saw that male actor somewhere so I looked him up, and turns out he’s Hoshino Gen, whose music I usually listen to! By the way among Hoshino Gen’s songs, I like ‘Nichijo’ the most. I’m practicing ‘koi dance’ too!

THIS IS HIM

[Gogh]

Vincent Van Gogh is my favorite artist. I saw his work ‘Starry Night’ for the first time in January and was utterly moved. After that I went to the art museums in New York and Chicago to see his works, I have his painting hung in my room too.

[Gozaru]

I learn Japanese by using the memo app on my phone to make vocabulary list or watching Japanese movies and animes. Recently I often use ‘~de gozaru’. It’s because of the character Momonosuke from ‘One Piece’.

[Snow]

I don’t know if it’s because I was born in winter, but the word ‘snow’ is meaningful to me. I like snow scenery too. One of my hobbies is taking photos, so last year when I traveled to Sapporo, I had a great time and took a lot of photos of snow scenery there.

THIS IS HIM: V is…

from RAP MONSTER

“Good-looking face and skilled at performing. Furthermore, his passion for making good music is twice as strong as others. I think he doesn’t show it that much, but I hope many people would know he has that (passion for making music) inside.”

from JUNGKOOK

“We fight sometimes but he’s like a friend who often fools around with me. Last time we promised to go to Jeju Island together but eventually couldn’t due to my personal matter… We’re close so we’ll plan again some time soon (laughs)!”

JPN - KRN © V Gallery 뷔갤러리
KRN - ENG © ktaebwi

Von (Hope)

Þar sem gróir þar er von.
Allt sem græðir geymir von.

Listen to [x] while reading.

-

On the night of May 2nd 1998, Draco Malfoy lays awake on his bed.

It’s over. He’s dead. It’s over.” His mind chants. But is it?

A dark, hooded figure that hadn’t been there a second before stands on the edge of his bed, Malfoy starts. He grasps for his wand before realizing he hasn’t got one. The hooded figure chuckles, voice acidic and cold.

“You cheated me.” It says, Draco is frozen in place, searching his brain for whoever this might be. It can’t be the Dark Lord. He’s dead. Draco saw him die today. It can’t be.

“I’m Death.” It answers the question he hadn’t voiced, the knowledge brings a sense of Deja Vu, but he can’t quite place it “and no, I’m not here to take you with me.” he fails to conceal his disappointment. The room feels colder than it had.

“You were meant to die today, in the fire, but you didn’t.” The hairs on his body stand on edge at the mention of it. He’s shaking before he realizes it.

It had been so hot, he’d been gripping Potter’s waist like a lifeline, the fire licking at the hems of his pants, his screams drowned by the roar of the flames, Crabbe falling down and being consumed by them like he was nothing. He thought he’d die. He wishes he had.

“It was written on the stars, Draco Malfoy. However did you cheat the heavenly bodies?” It drawls out impatiently, he doesn’t know the answer. Is he supposed to?

“For this, however.” Death says, swishing it’s cloak, bony hands showing “I owe you a wish. Any wish at all.”

Draco’s eyes widen and his heart picks up speed in his chest. Any wish at all.

He suddenly remembers hearing a similar story to this one. Every bone in his body advices him not to accept, for Death could only be cunning and deceitful, not giving and generous.

Or perhaps Life was the first two and Death’s sweet release was the last. Perhaps life had been the cruel one all along. He dreams of a world where he doesn’t have to feel all of this, where the guilt doesn’t eat him alive, where he never takes the Dark Mark, where war doesn’t kill hundreds, where he’s happy.

He realizes that even if Death is fooling him, he doesn’t mind the likely outcome.

“I want a time turner” he says firmly “One capable of going back to 1991.” If Death is surprised, it doesn’t show it, it moves it’s hands in a swish and a time turner appears between them. It floats until it settles on Draco’s hand.

“Act wisely, Malfoy boy. For I can only grant you one wish.” It says, the ghost of a smile behind the dark hood. Then disappears.

Draco clutches the object and adjusts the time. He wonders if he’s in a dream, if it’ll work. Maybe he’s already dead and doesn’t know it, he doesn’t mind much. 

Doesn’t care to find out.

He closes his eyes and is launched into the paradox of time and space. He sees a colorless void and falls falls falls. His body small and insignificant in the never-ending space. Just when he’s starting to become fond of the quiet nothing and the soothing air touching his face, his stomach twists and he appears in a room that he knows too well. High ceilings and cool toned ancient furnitures. No feeling of home or coziness despite belonging to a child.

His childhood bedroom. If one could call it that.

He looks at the clock with a sharp twist and beneath the time, it reveals the date.

July 31st of 1991.

He almost can’t believe he has succeeded, but can’t dwell on his fear and excitement too long, for a small boy whom he knows too well and not at all stands at the foot of his bed, staring at him in horror. It’s a shock, seeing himself so full of life in the innocence of a child who doesn’t know what the future entails. A child with eager eyes and a prideful chest. Malfoy realizes he’s a ghost of what this child is.

“Who are you?” The small one shrieks. Draco presses a finger to his lips, shushing him. He’s grateful that the Manor is big enough for them not to be heard.

“I’m you. From the future.” young Draco flinches back and is about to start shouting again, before he seems to take in Draco’s features and connects them to an older version of himself. His eyes widen and Draco can see himself panic and glance around frantically, although also subtly, for an escape.

Slytherins. He thinks fondly.

“That’s not possible. Why-how are you here?” He demands.

“I have a story to tell you. But the first thing you need to know.” He swallows a lump in his throat “is that today you will be meeting a boy as you get fitted for your Hogwarts robes. I want you to change what you will say to him, for it’ll change how he sees you. It is extremely important that you do so.”

“Why? What do you mean? I don’t understand.” young Draco looks even more confused, of course he is.

Draco explains as much as he can and sugar coats what a child shouldn’t have to know. He attempts to explain to his own self that the opinions of his father are wrong, the small Draco tries to protest, but he doesn’t allow him to and continues telling him what’ll happen if he doesn’t listen carefully. By the end, his voice is hoarse and little Draco looks sick with fear. But he nods, seemingly understanding he has a duty to perform even if he doesn’t quite understand all of it it. Ah, the usual Malfoy, accepting what’s presented to him, born to please his elders, he thinks bitterly.

“Who’ll be the boy I’ll meet today?” His younger self asks tentatively when Draco is done talking and stands up. Draco smiles nostalgically as he adjusts the time again.

“I have put my faith in you, what you choose to do from now can change everything.” He says, and just as he feels the void sucking him in again, he says his last words to the last hope he’s got.

“And Draco, one last thing.” the kid nods “offer him your hand before you learn his name.”

-

where things grow, there is hope,
all that heals has hope.
 

The days just get longer, the weeks drag out, then the months feel faster, and the years speed by. How many days has it been since the last time we’ve talked? How many times have my fingers hovered over the call button on your contact? 

Maybe I just hope that you still think of me. That when she falls asleep next to you, your mind wanders off to me. I wonder if you wander off to the places we used to go. Climb the trees outside the school, laughing while we skip science class. Run down the hill outside the church when everyone else was praying. Steal your parents’ vodka and climb to your neighbor’s treehouse. Singing and slow dancing in the pouring rain, not scared of the thunderstorm.
I remember so many things, things we did, things we ran from, things we sang, things we danced to, things we rebelled, things we sinned.

Where did we go? The old us evaporated into the atmosphere.

—  melancholycupofcoffee, aaliyah mara brycelynne hope elizabeth esperanza isabel