inky hair

Pocket Change | 1 | (M)

word count: 7.5k

genre: smut; supernatural AU + demon!yoongi

pairing: reader/yoongi

warning(s): mentions of domestic abuse

special thanks to: @honeyheonie for being a wonderful beta  ♡

masterlist

Originally posted by sugaa

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Midnight Reminiscing: ReggiexReader! PART TWO.

hey guys, here is the last part of the mini fic! Thankyou to the anon who sent in a couple of prompts, I have included one in this part! 

Summary: (Y/N) and Reggie head back to Reggie’s house.

Warnings: Sliiiiight smut, not much at all tho. Cussing.

Originally posted by peteharry

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Burnt Out // Sirius Black

A/N: another shitty old draft with a terrible ending that no one asked for and isn’t what i’m supposed to be writing :)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

Originally posted by it-is-just-the-begining

In all your years at Hogwarts, one thing remained constant - Sirius Black always had a smile on his face, until now. You knew Sirius enough to know something was wrong. The whole school was buzzing with joy and excitement - the Christmas spirit. The annual Gryffindor Christmas Party was happily bustling along in the common room. Usually, Sirius was the life of the party. Dancing, telling jokes, keeping the alcohol stocked - it was his thing. 

But this year, he stood by the fireplace with a lifeless expression on his face. Kids were raising hell all around him, laughing and downing cup after cup of firewhisky. This year, James had enchanted them to automatically fill back up once empty, so you knew this blowout would ultimately end in buckets of vomit and the infirmary running to the brim with hungover, cranky Gryffindors in the morning. Marlene McKinnon cackled across the room. She clung to Sirius like her life depended on it, giggling and drunkenly flashing cleavage in his face. You smiled softly to yourself at Marlene’s behavior and when you looked up, Sirius was looking at you. 

Most people would say Sirius’ best feature was his hair, but you disagreed. His eyes stuck out to you. They were a light, misty gray color that made you think of thick morning fog on the hills and the smooth silver locket your mother always wore around her neck. They reminded you of your grandmother’s thin wispy locks piled on her head like the crown she deserved to wear. They were pulchritudinous and alluring, but above all things, soft and gentle. His eyes were warm and inviting, but mysteriously deep and full of stories at the same time somehow, and that’s what made them so complicatedly beautiful.

Tonight though, they weren’t. They’d lost their sparkle of happiness. He looked at you with eyes like a hard slate of steel. You cocked your head to the side, smile slipping into a hard line. You stood gazing back at the inky haired boy across the room, nibbling on your bottom lip. You didn’t think you’d noticed how breathtaking Sirius Black was until now. He was a ball of pure sunshine most days, a burning flame. But, now his fire had gone out and you saw vulnerability and imperfection. You saw Sirius for the human he was, not for the light he pretended to be. 

You were pulled abruptly from your trance as Marlene whisked Sirius away. You blinked a couple times before shaking your head and stumbling to the cup counter. You picked up a red solo cup, muttering James’ incantation for the automatic refills and downed a couple of cupfuls, distracting yourself from Sirius and directing your attention to a hammered Gryffindor boy a year above you.

It didn’t take him long to be stolen away from you by a few of his friends. Sighing, you plopped down on the bottom step leading up to the boys’ dorms. You watched the party around you. The chaos of it all always intrigued you. It wasn’t long before a seething Marlene Mckinnon stomped past you, Sirius following feet behind her. He stopped where you were, sitting down beside you. 

You took a sip of your drink before turning your head to look at him, “What was that about?”  

“You know how Marlene is,” he said, lighting a cigarette. “She throws a fit when she doesn’t get what she wants.” 

“Yeah?” you asked, playfully ramming your shoulder into his. “And what is it that she wanted?” 

He sighed heavily, smoke billowing out from between his lips and shook his head, turning to you. “You wanna get out of here?” 

“Gladly,” you said, taking the hand Sirius offered you. You let him pull you through oceans of people and out of the common room. He led you through the portrait hole and into the hauntingly vacant halls of after hours Hogwarts. Sirius didn’t stop outside of the Gryffindor Tower, though. He continued to hold your hand in his own regardless of the fact that he couldn’t possibly lose you in these empty, commotion free hallways. You didn’t mind though. You followed at his heels until he came to an abrupt halt.  

“Why are we stopping?” you asked. 

A smirk crawled onto his face slowly as he started to tap on the nearest window. You furrowed your eyebrows. The hallway you were on looked out over the Black Lake and was full of windows. Each was long and rectangular, stretching about two inches from both the floor and the ceiling. It was magnificent at night; stars twinkling through the glass and casting soft shadows throughout the tunnel like way. Sirius didn’t seem to notice though. He pushed on the window softly, and your eyes widened. 

The window swung open like a door, revealing a dark room. Sirius stepped through and for seconds, you thought he might fall. He smiled from inside, tugging softly on the hand he still held. You stepped through in complete awe. Hogwarts had many secrets, you knew that, but you never thought you might discover one of them. Instinctively, Sirius wielded your wand, whispering, “Lumos…” 

The room instantly lightened and Sirius walked to the center of the room, pulling a string hanging from the ceiling. Around the room, several pedestals appeared, each holding a circular crystal ball holding a blueish light. The balls of light lit up the entire room. Sirius returned to you as you gawked at all the moving portraits. Each depicted a child, no older than you or Sirius, completing highly advanced magical endeavors - taming trolls, riding graphorns, battling quintapeds. On the opposite wall as you, a golden jewel covered box sat on yet another pedestal. You turned to Sirius, “What’s in the box?” 

Sirius stuffed his wand down in his pocket, “Open it.” 

You let your fingers slip through his and approached the box. It was rectangular and the top hand no hinges. You ran your fingers along clusters of ruby, sapphire, emerald, and amber before sliding the heavy top off the matching box. Reaching inside, you pulled out a wooden goblet. You cocked your head to the side, “What is this?” 

“Looks like a prehistoric goblet to me,” Sirius answered, plucking it from your hands and inspecting it himself. 

You snatched it back, “You mean, you don’t know what it is?”  

“I’ve never opened the box before,” he told you, leaning against the wall. “Thought there might be something dangerous in there.”

You put the cup back into the box hastily, glaring at Sirius playfully. You knew he would never truly let anything hurt you. He cracked a small smile and you couldn’t help but to grin back. He sighed, “This room could use some chairs, wouldn’t you think?” 

“I don’t think this room is meant for sitting,” you said, plopping down on the floor regardless. “I think it’s a room for reminiscing, like history museums, or something…” 

Sirius sat down next to you, “What are you plans for Christmas?” 

“The same as they are every year,” you answered shortly. “What about you? What do the Blacks do to get into the Christmas cheer?” 

“Easy answer,” he laughed. “We don’t.” 

“Oh c’mon,” you rolled your eyes. “Christmas cheer is infectious, like the bloody flu. You can’t even buy a coffee in December without seeing at least one sad bloke dressed up like Santa.” 

“Yeah, well if that’s the case, we’re immune,” he snorted. 

You propped you head up on your nears, narrowing your eyes, “I don’t believe that Sirius Black, an actual ball of sunshine, is immune to the Christmas spirit. I refuse to.” 

“Yeah?” he asked, leaning back onto the floor, sliding his hands to use as a makeshift pillow under his head. “Well, maybe this ‘ball of sunshine’ is just burnt out.” 

You frowned, your voice lowering as you spoke, “I refuse to believe that, too.” 

“I’m not going home this Christmas,” he said abruptly. “I’m going to James’. His mum, Euphemia, she’s a dime, really. And Fleamont, Prongs’ old man, he’s just as grand. The Potters - they’ve never made me feel anything less than family, so why do I still feel so…alone?”

You sprawled out on the floor beside him, staring at one of the crystalline balls. You remembered hearing the story at the beginning of the school year that Sirius had ran away from home over the summer vacation and has been living with the Potters since, but gossip was never really your thing, and you hadn’t even thought about it until now. Sirius turned his head to look at you and you licked your lips before talking once again. “Blood is thicker than water, Black.” 

“Thanks, Y/L/N,” he snapped sarcastically. “But my blood - it fucking sucks.” 

“The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb,” you said. “The bonds we choose to have are stronger than those that are forced.” 

“What in Merlin’s name are you rambling about now?” he asked, interest lacing his tone. 

“The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb,” you repeated, sitting up. He followed suit, listening as you spoke more. “Blood doesn’t make a family, Sirius, love does.” 

He slung an arm around your shoulders, “I think this sunshine might shine a little brighter with you around.” 

You grinned up at him, watching the twinkle return to his eye. The silver, captivating sheen arrived with the toothy smile he gave you. He chuckled, turning his head away from you. You giggled, resting your head on his shoulder. All around the two of you, the lights in the spheres faded away and suddenly, the room was filled with blackness. But, you could still see Sirius smiling beside you.

In order for the light to shine so brightly, the darkness must be present. 

Fight or Flight (Elorcan) pt 1

(in which I am once again a slut for modern day Elorcan. I’ve wanted to do something like this for a while, so I hope it’s okay! ) 

Elide Lochan tapped her fingers impatiently against her jeans, her carry-on bag slung over one shoulder. Airports always made her antsy- part of her expected her uncle Vernon to just appear out of nowhere. He’s in jail, she reminded herself. If he ever gets out, it won’t be for another ten years at least.
   

The day she’d stood against her Uncle as a witness had been one of the hardest days of her life, but it had been worth it. He’d been charged with battery, assault, neglecting a child, fraud, and also dealing illegal substances for his boss’s company. She hadn’t known about that last one, but it had been a definite plus. Three years ago, that had happened.
  

 And for four years now she’d been free of him. Four years since she had hunted down her God siblings Aelin and Aedion, four years since she had met Manon and the Thirteen and had her first friends since she was a child. Four years since she had vowed never to go back to Morath, and that was a promise she intended to keep. Her life was, if she was being honest, amazing. She owned her own bookstore in Perranth, the town she’d been raised in, and was perfectly content living above it in her cozy little apartment.
 

 It had been almost two years since she’d had her last night terror.
  

 She handed over her ticket to the clerk, smiling politely when it was scanned and handed back to her, and limped through the gate towards the plane. Usually, she’d never go directly from one place to another, but Manon had insisted she come for a few days to her home in the Wastes. It had been a damn long time since they’d seen each other, and it seemed her friends weren’t okay with waiting until Thanksgiving.
  

 So that had been the last six days for her, but instead of going home to Perranth and her little bookstore, Anneith’s, named after the Greek Goddess of wisdom, she was going straight to her sister’s wedding. She’d been sure Lysandra was going to be the maid of honor, so when she had been bestowed it instead, she may have cried a little bit. And it wasn’t like she couldn’t afford traveling from one place to the next- not only did she have the steady income of the bookstore, but she had all the money her parents had left her. The money Vernon had hoarded from her for years.
 

  She let a family of four pass her, not wanting to slow them down with her crippled leg, and then started going again, entering the plane. The stewardess smiled and asked if she needed any help after a glance at her ankle. Elide kindly refused- it was insulting, honestly, when people thought she needed help. She had escaped her Uncle, had navigated through bustling Orynth and found her family and friends with that ankle. It wasn’t, and never had been, an excuse for her to not be able to do something.
  

 She shoved her carry-on into the compartment above her head and then slid into the first class seat, glancing out the window. Nothing but concrete and the grey skies of the Wastes awaited her. She wished Manon had been able to come with her to Aelin and Rowan’s wedding, but she had the last of her recently deceased grandmother’s paperwork to deal with, and she couldn’t get away. Her lover, Dorian, would be there to offer her congrats, at least.
    

 There was a shifting, and Elide glanced over as a towering man slid into the remaining seat next to her, not even sparing her a glance. He was incredibly handsome, even with the scowl that seemed permanently sketched into his face, and if the designer jeans and jacket over his black Henley said anything, he had money. She allowed herself to appreciate the dark hair and eyes and the muscle of him for a second more before she turned back towards the window. When she felt the weight of his eyes finally fall on her, she didn’t look over.
 

  They were quiet through everyone settling into their seats, and when the pilot announced that they’d be taking off soon and began to go through safety guidelines as they did through every flight, Elide blew out a breath, buckling up. The handsome stranger’s gaze was buried in his phone, and she moved to dig out her own phone. She texted Aelin quickly, saying she’d be landing on time in five hours, and then powered it off. Her purse carried almost nothing but books- Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre, Ana Karenina, and a new one she had just started reading, A Court of Mist and Fury. She dug the latter out and opened to the page she had dog eared.
 

  She prayed she wouldn’t get freaked out this time- she’d been on plane rides plenty of times, but she had never seemed to get that fear out of her when they first took off, even if once they were in the air, it felt like she had been made for flying. The plane moved slowly at first, and she was feeling pretty confident that this was it, this was the time that she’d finally be okay for lift off. But then it sped up and her breath hitched, all thoughts of Feyre and Rhysand forgotten as the plane lurched upwards. She scrambled for anything to hold onto. And that ‘anything’ just so happened to be the handsome stranger’s muscled arm.
  

 He turned slightly, raising an eyebrow, and she smiled sheepishly, retracting her grip. “Sorry,” she murmured, going to grip the arms of the chair instead and wincing as her ears popped.
  

 "First time flying?“ He guessed in a smooth, deep voice.
  

 "Twelfth, actually,” she replied, her own voice strained and small. She took a deep breath. “The flying part, I like. But I just can’t seem to get used to the taking off part.” He snorted, and she raised an eyebrow at him despite the fact he was a stranger. “I suppose you love flying?”
 

 He gave her a dry smile. “I hate it, actually. The entire thing. But it comes with the work.”
 

  "And the work is?“
  

 "Ex military.” That would explain how muscled he was. When he chuckled, she realized, in horror, that she had said that out loud. Her cheeks went red, but he didn’t seem to mind, extending a hand. “I’m Lorcan.”
  

 "Marion,“ she replied before she could stop herself. It wasn’t like she’d ever see him again, and you could never be too cautious around strange men. He probably wouldn’t even remember the skimpy girl he’d met on a plane ride. Part of her wondered if she should get back to her book, if she was bothering him, but she asked anyways, "What brings you to Orynth?”
  

 "A wedding,“ he said simply. "You?”
 

  She laughed lightly. “I’m actually going to a wedding too.” Though she was sure it wasn’t the same one. Orynth was huge, and she was sure she would remember if Aelin or Rowan had mentioned a huge, muscled, grumpy wumpy guy. “You’re from the Wastes, then?”
 

  "Doranelle, actually.“ His answer was short, clipped, and she assumed that meant the end of their conversation, but then he spoke again. "Is that where you’re from, then? The Wastes?”
  

 She shook her head. “Perranth. I’m just going for the wedding before it’s time to go back home.” Aedion would drive her there, most likely. Her car was home anyways, and her ankle made it hard for her to drive long distances.
  

 He gave her another one of his dry smiles, just a faint twitching of his lips. “You travel a lot, then?”
  

 She shrugged. “When I feel like it.” The plane had leveled out, and she felt herself relaxing. She should dismiss him, should get back to her book. They’d passed through the 'polite small talk’ stage, and now were bordering on actually chatting. She had enough people in her life, and, frankly, the only men she trusted were Rowan and Aedion, possibly Dorian. But after this, she’d never see Lorcan again. And what was the harm in chatting up the hot stranger? So she asked him, “You said you were ex military. What do you do now?” He opened his mouth to speak, and the book stayed forgotten in her lap.
-
 

  They talked for almost half of the trip. Lorcan found it surprising- he’d only meant to say a few polite words, make sure she was okay. She was obviously young-early twenties, he later found out- and he, frankly, hadn’t wanted her to puke everywhere or something. But no, Marion just HAD to be interesting and intelligent, and instead of resting up to meet rutting Whitethorn and the bitch queen like he should have, he had talked to her.
   

 They had kept the conversation light- Lorcan only mentioned Maeve, his ex boss (that he may have been in love with for a time) once, and she only briefly mentioned a crazy uncle. They didn’t talk about any family, either. Instead they spoke of her bookstore, of what they’d both been doing, of movie genres and that blue book in her lap, along with the others stuffed into her purse. They spoke of music-she liked classical and alternative, he was more of a classic rock and anything angry type of guy- and culture, any light conversation topics they could think of.
 

  She fell asleep first, and he found himself studying her face, though he didn’t go any lower (even if her breasts were tempting.) It was obvious she was attractive and most definitely his type- dark hair and eyes, pale skin- but she didn’t seem the type for one night trysts, so he wouldn’t ask. He fell asleep soon after that, and woke up with a weight on his shoulder.
   

He tensed when he saw her nuzzled there, eyes still closed, inky hair spilled across his shoulder. The pilot announced they’d be landing soon and he tapped her awake gently. Her eyes opened and she practically jumped away from him. He gave her a look, to which she responded with another sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He looked down the aisle. “We’re landing soon.” She groaned. “Don’t like landing either?”
 

  "It’s possibly worse.“ There was a lurch, and this time, when she gripped his arm, he let her.
-
    

They walked off together, picking up a new conversation that she was more adamant about then him- cats or dogs. She insisted dogs were better- Manon, her best friend, had a pet Doberman named Abraxos and he was apparently the sweetest thing ever. He listened in amusement, but as soon as they both got out of the gate, they froze. Marion turned to him.
  

 "So,” she said. “This is it, I guess.”
 

  He nodded, stone faced. “Thanks for making the plane ride… less droll than it could have been.”
  

 She snorted, tucked a piece of hair behind an ear. “You helped as well, I suppose,” she said, and he almost started in confusion. People tended not to tease him, but that seemed to be what she was doing.
  

 He hesitated for a moment, studying her. Should he offer her his number? Should he ask for hers? Ridiculous- he was ridiculous. So he simply said, “Have fun at the wedding,” and turned. He didn’t look back to see if she watched him go. 

Sparring. A Rowaelin Oneshot.

  Hiya Guys! This whole story is a lot more angsty and long than I had intended, but ya know…. This was my first fic that I’ve ever had someone submit me a prompt. That wonderful person was @targaryenqueenofvelaris.

Prompt: Aelin is hurt while sparring and has to calm down Rowan.



Aelin grinned a bit as she watched Connall slap Fenrys upside the head, the dark twin snarling as Fenrys laughed. It was refreshing to see them kid with each other in spite of the last month’s events. She shook her head and braced a hand on her hip. She still couldn’t believe she was standing there; in the sunlight, breathing, feeling, living.
  She had survived Maeve and Erawan, and now she stood in her Castle, watching her friends— her family train.
A laugh escaped her lips, and Rowan, who had been leaning against a tree a few feet away from her, cocked a brow.
“What?”
She shook her head, “Nothing, nothing.”
 Rowan shoved of the tree, his eyes bright as he walked towards her. She took him in as he walked closer, his powerful body at a sort of ease she had rarely ever seen.
“You know, Princess, you should be out there training.”
She rolled her eyes, “First of all; I’m a Queen. Second of all; I was going to ask you if you wanted to spar, but since you’re being a pain in my ass, I’ll ask one of the twins.”
 He stepped closer, close enough that they shared breath, “Really?”
Aelin hummed and slid a hand up his chest, over his shoulder. “Really.”
His eyes danced, the green dark in the shade of the tree, and pang of love went through her. She laughed again and stood on her tiptoes, kissing the bow of his lips softly.
 “You know I can kick your ass,” she whispered against his skin.
Rowan huffed a laugh, “Why do you think I love you so much?”
  With another laugh, she slanted her mouth against his, her other hand coming up to tangle in his hair. Rowan slipped a broad hand around her waist, his fingers making idle strokes along her back.
Behind Rowan, there was a sharp wolf-whistle. Two guesses from whom it came.


  “Break it up, love-birds, we’re out here to train, not fornicate!”
Without breaking the kiss, she showed Fenrys her favorite finger, but Rowan too soon pulled away.
 “We did come out here to train,” he murmured against her. With a deep, dramatic sigh, she nodded, but gave him a quick peck on the lips before skipping over to where Connall and Fenrys stood, smirking.
“Do I have to be extra careful with the Queen today, don’t want her injured before Coronation?” Fenrys purred as she approached, that maddening smirk spreading across his face.
 “No, actually, I was hoping to go up against your brother,” she said as she drew the sword strapped against her back.
 Connall, the wise man, paled and scratched at his wrist. “Are you sure, Your Majesty? I—,” Aelin raised a hand to stop him.
 “I’ve been getting tired of playing with these ones, need some new blood in the monotony.”
Rowan slid behind her, and she knew he knew what she was doing.
 Even since after she’d been liberated from Maeve and after Connall, Fenrys, and Vaughn had been freed from their bloodoaths, Connall had been…Distant.
 The male was kind, gentle for a warrior, and Aelin genuinely liked him. And he and Elide got on like wildfire, but he always seemed like he didn’t know whether or not he was wanted in her court.
“Well, come on then,” she jutted her chin towards the center of the field they stood in. Connall swallowed and followed her, glancing once towards Fenrys.

She paused at center, and smiled as Connall cautiously approached her, his own fine sword drawn.
 “Count of three?” She asked softly, watching out of the corner of her eye as Rowan and Fenrys sidled up to watch.
 Connall nodded, a strand of his inky black hair slipping out of its tie.
“One.” she crouched lower. “Two.” Connall flipped his sword, the blade glinting in the light.
“Three!” She struck.
  Rowan watched as Aelin struck first, Goldryn whining as it struck Connall’s blade. He grinned in delight as a look of shock spread across Con’s face. Why he was surprised, Rowan didn’t know. The male had seen Aelin take on armies of demons and survive.
 But, in his defense, Aelin had seemed much… Stronger since forging the Lock. Everything about her seemed amplified, her strength, her power, her magic, and even her beauty. Rowan crossed his arms as he watched the two whirl around each other, a few strands of Aelin’s golden hair slipping from its braid. She was beautiful, a storm of fire and ash and—
Tan skin and … Blood. There was so much blood. Too much.
She was dying— his mate. Rowan screamed again as he tore through the dying Valg that swarmed around his queen.
 No no no no. She was screaming his name, and he could feel her magic pouring out into the world desperately flowing towards Erawan and the Lock, but death loomed over his shoulder. The Golden Queen, bloodied and gaunt and dying and—

“Rowan?”
Shit. He’d done it again.
Fenrys was glancing at him with a concerned look in his golden eyes.
“You look like you zoned out for a moment.”
Rowan shook his head, trying desperately to focus on the match before him and not that damned day.
“Sorry, sorry, I was thinking.” He murmured, a faint flush creeping up his neck.
 He’d faced battles so terrifying, so blood-ridden he refused to allow himself to think about them, but still that battle…The carnage that reined. And Aelin— Never in his life would the image of Aelin’s body lying at his feet leave his mind.
A loud grunt brought him back to attention as Connall advanced, swinging a leg out to trip Aelin, but she nimbly avoided it.
 “Don’t tell him, but I’m hoping Aelin beats his ass.”
Rowan let out a low laugh, shifting on his feet as Connall twirled slashing at Aelin and missing only by a few inches.
 Aelin ran her eyes up and down the male before striking again; her blade making a neat arc through the air before striking Connall’s.
 Neither of them had landed a hit yet.
“Rowan trained you, didn’t he?”
Connall paused for a moment when Aelin said that, as if remembering Rowan had trained the queen as well.
  Rowan watched in amusement as Aelin used that momentary pause to her advantage, swinging out a leg then—

 Aelin let out a groan as Connall’s blade slid through the side of her thigh, the blood already spurting from the wound.
She hadn’t even seen him move.
 Shit.
Connall dropped his blade, his hands sliding beneath her arms before she could collapse.
 “Your majesty— I am so— Oh, gods, I’m.”
He didn’t have a chance to finish before Rowan was there, practically shaking with rage.
  “What the hell!” He roared as ran near, almost shoving Connall away from her. She would’ve rolled her eyes, had a wave of sickening nausea not rolled over her. Blood loss.
“Lay her down!” Rowan barked, a hand going out to brush the leather of her pants.
“Ro’, I’m fine. Just a flesh wound.”
Rowan didn’t listen, he just came to her side as Connall laid her down, the faces of the three males loomed over her as Rowan crouched down. Her mate stretched out his hands over the wound, a faint tingling moving through the wound as he healed her.
 “What the hell were you thinking?” Rowan growled again, and something sifted within her at the ire in his pine eyes.
 “Rowan, he didn’t mean to—”
“No! He should have been able to stop, he struck his own queen!”
Aelin sat up, already feeling back to normal. She glanced down at her leg; the wound was barley a scar now.
  “Rowan! Calm. Down.” She gritted out through clenched teeth.
Rowan locked his eyes on hers, and she saw the panic, the sheer terror within.
Rowan glanced down at his hands, now covered with her blood, and sucked in a shallow breath.
His hands began to shake over her; those mighty, strong hands.
She threw a look to Fenrys and Connall, who were now watching them with concerned eyes.
“Go,” she said softly.
With a nod, Fenrys seized Connall’s arm and winnowed off.

 When they had gone, Rowan jerked up, fisting hands in his hair. His breathing was shallow as he paced away.
 “Too much blood. Too much.” He mumbled, his eyes squeezed shut.
She stood slowly, walking towards him with her hands outstretched.
“Rowan.” She murmured softly, the wind stirring the grasses along the edge of the field.
He shook his head again, his breathing getting quicker.
 His panic was making her heartrate pick up. In the back of her mind she registered that this was a panic attack of some sorts. She was all too used to them.
“Too much,” he groaned.
She crossed the distance between them, reaching up a trembling hand to slid it over his chest. His heart was thundering.
 “Look at me, Rowan.” She commanded.
He sucked in a deep breath and opened his eyes. She made herself calm down, willing her heart to settle.
“Give me your hand, Rowan.”
Rowan lowered his arms, hesitantly slipping a hand into hers. She made sure he saw each movement she made as she took his trembling hand and guided it to her chest; right over her heart.
“Do you feel that? I am alive. I am fine.” Her voice was soft; more reassuring than she felt.
Rowan’s fingers contracted and uncontracted over her chest, and she stepped closer.
“You’re not going to lose me again, Rowan. I’m not leaving you.”
Her mate loosed a shuddering breath, “You died, Aelin.”
 She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I did. But I’m here now, we’re together.”
Rowan began to slow his breathing, his eyes calming.
“I— I keep seeing you laying there. I keep seeing you dead, and— I keep feeling you die.”
  A single tear slipped down his face, and Aelin reached up a hand, wiping it away.
“I keep seeing the blood covering you, and I can’t breathe—I can’t focus on anything besides the blood. There was so much blood.”
A deep breath.
“And the damned cut on your leg and the blood. I’m sorry, I—”
She placed a finger on his open lips in a hushing motion. “Don’t apologize. I get them too.”
 Rowan cocked his head a bit. “Them?”
Aelin looked toward the Castle, the silver and green banners whipping in the summer wind.
 “I get the nightmares, the flashes of the War, the memories of being in the coffin.”
She didn’t like thinking about it, but those memories… they would always remain. But she’d heal, and so too would Rowan, and her people and the lands and her friends. They would heal.
Rowan very methodically wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer and pressing his brow to hers.
 “We’re going to get through this, Fireheart.”
She smiled up at him— a real, lovely smile, one she knew he loved.
“We always relish in beating the odds.”
A laugh warmed her mouth, and she wrapped her arms around his waist.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too. To whatever end.”

let the moon do what she does

A reunion “fix-it” for @abbadons-little-witch and @hencethebravery because we’re aching. Spoilers for 6x14. ~1k words.

She’s at war with herself.

She watches the Nautilus break above the threshold of the sea, first its scope, then the entire body of the submarine. As the vessel grows nearer and nearer, Emma can feel her walls climbing up to shield against the impending disappointment when Killian does not come off that ship. Part of her thinks it’s stupid to believe that he’d be there. She’s looked everywhere, and so why should Nemo’s ship be any different.

And then there’s that gnawing feeling in her gut, the one that tells her when he’s sad, when he’s hiding something, and most importantly, when he’s in danger. It’s that ache that feels much like the last one, and if something happened to him (again) she isn’t sure how she’ll make it this time. Not after everything they’ve been through, not after they’ve gotten so close to a happy future.

Nemo is the first to come out, eyes scanning over the few people that came to welcome them back. Emma had been under the impression that Nemo would be departing with Liam and his crew indefinitely, which is what caught her eye when she felt the rumble of the submarine surfacing. When the captain’s gaze lands on her, Emma swears she sees him soften.

It appears as though someone might be coming out next, but suddenly they’re shoved out of the way and a familiar head of inky hair pokes out from the hatch. Emma’s heart stops in her chest, and if only for a moment, everything feels like it’s falling back into place.

Killian,” she chokes in a quiet voice that sounds half like a whimper. As if the wind carried his sweet name to his ears, his head snaps up. The moonfall that reflects on the water is enough illuminescence to show Emma the comforting blues of his eyes. One look at him and she realizes there will never be a place where she doesn’t belong completely to him.

She sees him say her name, a recognizable shape on his lips. He must be saying it in his own whispers of disbelief, because she can’t hear it until he comes barreling forward.

A few quick observations meet her acquaintance as he rushes forward. The first being that he is filthy, patches of blood and dirt sticking to his messy hair and skin. Then she realizes that she seems to be walking toward him, a reflex that takes over when he comes near her like a magnet. The last things she notices are the few tears that trace down his cheek, smearing away dirt in their tracks.

“Emma?” he calls, boots stomping on the snowy ground. “Emma.”  

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all i have is love

the love of my life turns 27 today. happy birthday @arrogantbullyingtoerag​. here is the time traveller au i never thought i’d write. you deserve all this and more.


She is a young girl squatting in a field of wheat, the reeds rustling reverently around her as she holds her breath. Her sister will not find her here. The other boys might. Her red hair marks her out as sure as a bloodstain pooling on white snow, and yet she sways with the reeds, her knees buckling, the joints aching. They will not find her here. She can hear them calling, bloodhounds baying in the late afternoon sun, sniffing out her scent, the sprig of honeysuckle she plucked from the hedge down the road clutched tight in her sweaty palm, the sweetness of it dancing around her ears, in her head. Why is her head spinning? She is hiding. The cicadas are bleating all around her, soft ripples of activity jumping from plant to plant. She can hear a bike rolling its wheels past her on the gravel path behind the field. The trees are blustering in the gentle wind that ripples through. The reeds talk. She can hear them coming. She can hear their voices. She wants to be far, far away from here. The scent of honeysuckle is making her head ache. Take me away. They are coming closer. Take me away. She closes her eyes, and disappears.

A musty bookstore in Edinburgh. The shelves talk. The books rustle. Everything is coated in dust and candlelight. Hello? she wants to say. She’s holding her breath. She dare not say a word. The floorboards creak beneath her feet and the deep jade carpets bring up clouds of dust around her ankles, like there are ghosts trying to grab her by the calves, like they are trying to keep her here. Hello? This is like a perverse game of hide and seek. She wanders down the corridor, stepping into rare pools of candlelight, the heavy carpet leading her into the front room. The world is dark outside the windows. She wonders if she will ever leave this place, if she can ever leave. There is a heavy, baroque desk in the middle of the room. The bookshelves seem to climb up into nothing, into the stars. Hello? There is a man behind the desk. He looks like he has just stepped out of the bookshelves. His hair is white as a sheet, whisker-thin, climbing about his face like static. She wants to breathe but her lungs are full of dust. The man smiles at her, showing yellowing teeth, and speaks aloud the word that is stuck inside her head. ‘Hello,’ he tells her. She runs. She screams.

There is a tall manor house she went to once with Petunia and her parents, stuck in the middle of the countryside, so quiet and polished, like a French château. The people were musty but the house was not. She got bored and went wandering from room to room, surveying the display cabinets, chatting with the ghosts. That is where she is now. ‘Hello,’ says the lady of the house. Lily cannot remember her name. ‘We didn’t expect to see you back here so soon.’ The lady rings for tea, and Lily excuses herself. It is exactly like she remembered it, but without the warmth of her sister beside her. The house is whispering to her like it did the last time she was here. She cannot hear what it is saying. She wants to hear what it is saying. So she follows the whispers through the walls, trying to find its source, hear its secrets. She plays sardines with the suits of armour and ends up stuck in the airing cupboard, crying for help. Everything is so dark. She feels like she has been here before. She is in a dream. Everything is in a dream. She tries to reach out and touch the towels, the linens, but there is nothing. There is only darkness.

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2.1 out of 5.0  [part one]

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader
Genre: Black Mirror Nosedive AU, Smut {angst in later parts}
Warnings: exhibitionism, voyeurism, dirty talk
Summary: You were a 4.9 and he was a 2.1, and that fact alone should have made you realize that the two of you were never meant to be. But as the saying goes, “the heart wants what it wants”.
Word Count: 10k

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

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nomnomcupcakesworld  asked:

Hi! I just read your HC middle name! And i loved it! While damian and bruce are arguing about the middle name. How do you think bruce would react if damian told his father that he wants his middle name to be thomas like his grandfather's name?

“What about Jacob?” Bruce asks, adjusting his cuff links.
Damian scowls into the mirror. “‘He who grasps the heel’?” he questions archly, unveiling the name’s meaning. “My rivalry with Drake is not that deep, Father.”
“Are you quite certain?”
“Tt. On second thought, Jacob is acceptable. He steals the birthright. I find that an ideal model.”
Bruce leans down and straightens the boy’s tie. “No to Jacob, then.”
“I shall still steal the birthright.”
“There is no birthright to steal.”
“Quite right, because it’s mine now.”
“You cannot steal what does not exist.”
“Capitalism would not agree.”
“You’re not a capitalist.”
“But you’re an American, and thus a capitalist. Ergo, I am a budding capitalist.”
“Last week you were a socialist.”
“The vacation time was appealing. To be frank, Father, I am an opportunist.”
“Frank, huh. How does Franklin sound?”
A distasteful look.
-
“Don’t wander off,” Bruce warns. He’s on a business trip to London, and Damian was brought along after Tim had expressed a thinly-veiled threat of disembowelment.
“I won’t,” the boy replies, attempting but too engrossed in the sights to be sulky.
“What do you think of William?” Bruce muses.
“Hn.”
“George?”
“Tt.”
“Henry?”
No reply.
Bruce turns around. Damian is several feet back, young eyes cast with light from a window front.
“I said,” a hand shoots out and collars the distracted son, “don’t wander off.”
“I wasn’t!” They move quickly through the streets, and several Londoners’ ears ring with, “Fath-ER, I’m not a baby! Stop holding onto my hand!”
-
“Leonard?” Damian repeats scornfully. “Are you trying to make me sound like a nerd?”
“Leonard means 'lion-hearted,’ you imp,” the man replies. He reaches across the couch and grabs the child’s ankle. Damian shouts, yanks it away, and scrambles out of reach.
Bruce smirks. “Benjamin?”
Damian is sulking in his corner of the couch, ticklish ankles tucked under him. “No,” he announces sharply. “And I don’t want to hear any more.”
“Nikolos.”
“I already have a Greek name.”
“Perhaps I should take a cue from Jason and focus on fictional sources.”
“Father.”
“I dub thee Legolas.”
“No!”
“Damian Legolas Wayne.”
A pillow shoots out from the corner, knocking the tip of Bruce’s head. “You, young man,” said in deceptively soothing way, “should not have done that.”
Damian leaps off the couch and goes running, but despite the valiant attempt (and a great deal of noise) is caught.
A yelp and Damian is upside down, being mercilessly tickled by his ankles.
-
“Jasper,” Batman suggests. They’re on their way back from patrol. The car is humming peacefully, moon glimmering between the clouds.
Robin is nodding away in the front seat, head low. Bruce smiles slightly at the sleepy child. He had not known how much he was missing, and he thanks God everyday that Damian came to be a part of his life.
Bruce reaches across the car and smooths back Damian’s inky hair. The boy blinks. “You can go to sleep.”
“Hngh. No.”
“Go on.”
“I’ll have to wake momentarily, it’s not worth it.” But this is slurred, and Damian’s eyes are already closing once more.
“Okay,” Bruce agrees, knowing full well that Damian will be asleep by the time they return to the cave. “Reza,” he comments thoughtfully. Arabic for Contentment. That would do. It linked Damian to his heritage, and expressed Bruce’s affection for his son.
The car turns a corner. Several minutes pass.
“Thomas,” a small voice murmurs.
Bruce’s heart stutters. “What’s that?” he replies gently, knowing but wanting to be sure.
Damian’s eyes are still closed, but his small mouth is firm. “Thomas.” Then, after a moment, a sleepy sigh: “After grandpapa.”
Bruce blinks under his mask.
The car pulls into the cave. The air is quiet and hushed. Bruce unstaples their seat belts, and leans over maneuver the child out of his. “I think,” he whispers, planting a kiss on the sleeping brow, “that’s perfect.”
And it is. He couldn’t have chosen better himself.
Bruce drafts the paper the next day, under the portrait of his parents.
On the document, the name scrolls across in thick black ink.
Damian Thomas Wayne.


STOP MY SINFUL HAND

The Dashing Florist. CS AU.

So this is my first shot at a one shot - since the word count is 11,579, I guess I didn’t succeed all that well. Sorry! 

Anyway, this fic is gifted to @lenfaz for her birthday, Happy Birthday shipmate, as she mentioned she would like this to happen in her reblog of the original prompt post  I hope you enjoy it Lena. 

Thanks as always to my incredible beta @ilovemesomekillianjones and her continuing encouragement for me to write whatever my crazy muses throw at me. You’re the best!

Also available on AO3 and FFN


The door jingled as it was roughly pulled open, the sweltering heat followed Graham Humbert as he stormed into the office.

“He’s done it again,” an accented voice rang through the space.

“Done what?” a muffled voice called back. Graham followed the sound and found a very pert ass sticking out from under a desk.

“He’s parked his delivery van in one of our bays. August is looking for somewhere to park that doesn’t involve a three-block hike.”

The body under the desk wriggled back a little, then there was a sharp crack, followed by a ‘fuck’, and finally his boss pulled her lithe body from under the furniture.

Emma rubbed her head where it had collided with the desk as she stood. “This is the third time this week,” she grumbled. “And it’s only Tuesday.”

“I know. You have to do something about it, Em. We need our vehicles on hand, not miles away.”

“I know,” Emma agreed on a tired exhale, brushing her hands off on her black skinny jeans. “And I’ve told him this as many times as I can remember. I pay way too much for the privilege of those parking bays and he thinks he can just…” she stopped mid-rant. “You know, I’ve had enough of his shit. Maybe it’s time to do something that will get the message through his thick hair.”

“His what?” Graham asked.

“What?” Emma responded, unclear on what he was asking her.

“You said thick hair.” Maybe she hit her head harder than I thought, he mused.

You know what I mean, Graham. Time to get the message through his thick skull,” Emma exaggerated the word, nodding once in self assurance before she marched for the door.

“Hey, now, Swan. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Like what?”

“Like flash him your boobs. Not everyone is pulled toward their magnificence.”

Emma protectively cupped her breasts. “Don’t listen to him girls, there isn’t a man alive able to resist your charms.”

Graham laughed at her as she left.

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lovesbiggerthanpride  asked:

Hi there! My birthday is on April 5th. If anyone has time, I would love to get a drabble. Maybe "friends finally taking a chance on each other" with a little bit of smut. Thank you! Y'all do great work!

Originally posted by mono-n-o-aware

Wishing you the happiest of birthdays! To help celebrate, the lovely @ally147writes has crafted this amazing slice of Everlark, just for you. Enjoy!


rated M


AN: Happy Birthday to the prompter! I hope you like this 26k word behemoth. I am both sorry and not sorry at all for the length of this story, which is decidedly not drabble length. (To think I had plans to add more…) In my defence, ‘Friends to Lovers’ is a really loaded prompt.


This is written in Australian English and unbeta’d, the former because that’s what I’m used to, and the latter because I couldn’t find a willing American to help me in time.

Rated M for swears, mentions of canon-typical abuse, and sexy-times I’ve managed to keep relatively non-explicit ;)


“And I was crazy like the moon for you
And head over my heels for you
And never would I change or compromise”
‘Selected Poems’ – The Gaslight Anthem

——————–

Age 5

Peeta’s putting the finishing touches on a crayon drawing of a dandelion when he sees her for the first time.

It’s the middle of the year, so they don’t get many new kids starting. Peeta’s not the only one watching, curious. She just reaches her dad’s waist, her hair hanging down her back in two glossy black braids, red plaid dress coming down past her knees. She looks out over the classroom with her wide, grey eyes and clutches her daddy’s hand while he talks to Mr. Cinna.

She’s the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.


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anonymous asked:

Your drabbles are my absolute fave! Since that clip this morning I've been trying to imagine Yousef/Sana in any capacity. Could you write a hc about them? Anything about them, really... The first time they met, them praying, when they were lil kids, even an overprotective-Elias-macho-older-bro-hurt-her-and-i-will-end-you type thing. These kids are getting under my skin, man.

Ya know…. I’ve been staring at this one for a bit, trying to choose one to do and then I realized- yo jill this is your blog, do whatever tf you want. So I”M DOING A LITTLE OF EVERYTHING. (also thanks to @imansmeskinis for the nickname help)

  • Sana can distinctly remember the first time Yousef was thrown into her life. 
  • She was ten and commanding a troupe of neighborhood girls on the playground- all of them laughing and playing chase, running fast and hard in order to catch each other. Sana was running them all down, tagging girls left and right, drunk on the knowledge that she was the fastest in the land. 
  • Then a scrawny boy barely starting his growth spurt, with strands of inky-dark hair windswept in all directions and wearing the football uniform, came into view. He was arm in arm with Elias, so Sana thought she had an excuse to stop in the middle of her race to tag-out the last girl. And she just kind of blinked for a few moments, lost in the unfamiliar pinch deep in her stomach.
  • But then Elias catches her eyes and is all what is this shaqiqa? You just going to give up in the middle of your game?
  • And the boy next to him kind of half-grins and his dark eyes meet her and she’s just-
  • She takes off after the last girl like a thunderbolt and has her tagged down within 30 seconds. And the girls are all cheering, but Sana hears none of them and instead looks to her brother and his friend.
  • Elias rolls his eyes, but comes over to sling an arm around her shoulder. And the boy (Yousef, according to her brother’s cheery explanation) smiles.
  • From then on, Yousef is everywhere.
  • He’s there when she gets home from school, playing video games with Elias; he’s there in the mornings when she’s woken up, bleary eyed and sat down at the breakfast table. He’s there when she’s done praying; when she’s relaxed and warm in her peace. He’s there.
  • He’s there when the girls Sana used to get along so perfectly with begin to taper off- startled now by the difference between Sana’s culture and their own. He’s there when Sana rebuilds and makes new friends, better and stronger, at Nissen.
  • He’s there everywhere; in her house, in her head, a constant stream of yousefyousefyousef
  • And he doesn’t seem to notice it. He just smiles at her when she walks into a room and delights in dragging her into the activities of his and Elias’s ever expanding friend group.
  • (truthfully, as clearly as Sana can remember him coming into her life, she can’t really remember a time when he wasn’t in it. It’s like her life is divided into Pre-Yousef and Post-Yousef and everything Pre is just static.)
  • One day, when Yousef comes over, Sana is doing homework in the living room and he just- plops down beside her. and she’s all Elias is in his room and Yousef shrugs and says, yeah and he’ll still be there in ten minutes. I have a bit of time. and then don’t you want to talk to me Sana? I’m hurt.
  • And Sana will roll her eyes and maybe flick her pencil at him or something and he’ll lean down and eye her notes and mention that something or other is wrong. And she’ll just lay her shrewd gaze on him and wait.
  • Then, after a good fifteen minutes, Elias will come down stairs and stop at the entrance of the living room because Yousef and Sana are huddled together- not, like, indecently, but still close- discussing Math. And Elias just bites his lip a bit because he has an idea where this is going.
  • (maybe he’s had an idea for awhile now)
  • So he intercepts Yousef and drags him off to his room, but can’t quite bring himself to warn him off Sana. Not yet. He will, because Yousef isn’t good enough for his baby sister- it’s not personal, no one is good enough for Sana. But not yet.
  • (but he does subtly insist that Yousef get to know Sana’s hot blonde friend a tad better. Noora? That could work.)
  • Only it doesn’t and Sana is suddenly not smiling as much and she can’t meet his or Yousef’s eyes anymore and there is far more here than Elias anticipated.
  • And it’s not like Sana is angry that Yousef likes Noora- everyone does. She’d blonde and beautiful and smart and mostly kind. But it’s Yousef and whether she knew it or not, Sana set her heart on Yousef a long time ago. So Sana right now is struggling to reconcile that with the current situation.
  • (If only Sana knew that Yousef had his heart set on her for just as long.)
Colour Soulmate AU - Jughead X OC / Part 2

[LONG A/N: You guys asked for it so you guys got it, I don’t love it as much as the first part but this is as good as its gonna get cause I’ve wrote it and rewrote and then rewrote it again and then went to the SBC and asked them all about it (thanks @kingpendleton u my boo). So without further ado, here ya go bbs.

Also sorry if you wanted to be tagged in this but didn’t, I had a lot of people requesting to be tagged and now because tags aren’t really working well plus the amount of you asking is just a super crazy amount I’m going to stop adding new people to the list - honestly I totally appreciate and love your guys support but I feel like its a bit pointless when I know tagging isn’t directing anyone to my work and you’ve still just got to scroll through my blog to get to the specific fic. In light of this though I am going to seriously update my masterlist so finding my work shouldn’t be difficult and I will reblog it daily so people can stay up to date!]

Part 1

Word Count: 2106

Originally posted by juptern


‘Jughead, can you see in colour?’

The inky-haired teen quickly began to raise himself from the booth, he slammed shut his laptop and gathered it together with the papers that lay scattered across the table. He brought his knees up to his chest in a bid to jump over the back of the booth before a looming hand grappled his shoulder tightly.

‘Oh no you don’t buddy.’ Archie Andrews booming voice called out.

‘Let go of my shoulder Arch.’ Jughead replied sternly. ‘This is something that isn’t up for discussion.’

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Rm 6725

Emma Swan is having a horrible day, and just when she thinks things might look up, she gets stuck with a very cranky patient, but God is he gorgeous.

Nurse Emma Swan

Generally speaking, Emma loved being a floating nurse at Boston Mass Gen Hospital.  She moved all around the hospital to different departments letting her do a bit of everything, which she found exciting. Ruby, her best friend who was also a nurse, was always complaining about how boring her floor was.

Ruby worked in the post-operative ward, where patients were sent to recover after their operations if they were considered stable. Most of the patients were just waiting until they were well enough to be discharged so they could go home, while others were older and waiting, well, for anything. Some were hoping their children would come and take care of them, while others were waiting for a spot to open up in a nursing home. Ruby had coined it the ‘limbo floor’.

Emma couldn’t count the number of times that Ruby had complained because she was forced to give someone a bed bath or had to empty out their ostomy bags. Emma had laughed at the time, having yet to work on Ruby’s floor herself. She had only lived in Boston for about seven months, and she had only worked at the hospital for just a month less. Most of Emma’s floating was done in the emergency room, labor and delivery, or on the pediatric floor, but soon that would change.

Emma woke up early enough that she could go for a run before her shift. It had rained the night before though, and the pavement that morning was unforgiving. She slipped on the pavement in front of a crowd of high school kids waiting outside for the first bell to ring. If that hadn’t been mortifying enough, when Emma got home, she discovered that she had stepped on what appeared to be a used condom somewhere along the way, and it had tagged along home with her on the bottom of her shoe. The day was already off to a horrible start, and then it got worse.

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anonymous asked:

Ooh can you do a fic, au, HC or something where Will meets Maria di Angelo in a dream of something. And she tells him, "Take care of my boy." Or something please and thanks xx

Sure


Will had the tingling sensation that came from distant feeling. He didn’t know where he was, a thick mist hung over the horizon and cast everything in a hazy glow. Will could see no light, but the space around him was illuminated in a soft blue light, giving everything an eerie look. Not that there was anything to see. As far as Will could tell, there was nothing around but the fog and himself, wandering through the dense overcast. Will didn’t know where he was going, but his legs tingled and movement seemed like the best option to quell the buzzing sensation that shot up his legs.

Will had no idea how long he had been wandering, everything looked the same in the foggy landscape. He had no idea how far he’d gone, only that the feeling in his legs had subsided. For all he knew, he could have been walking in a circle and he was simply retracing his steps for the amusement of a god. How did he get here anyway? He didn’t remember walking into a forest or anything that would look like the area laid out before him. The last thing he remembered was falling asleep in Nico’s bed, his arms wrapped around his boyfriend.

Oh. He was dreaming. That made a lot more sense. Still, why would he be dreaming about mist? It wasn’t something Will spent a particularly long time thinking about. It wasn’t like Will loved fog or anything, and there was no impending danger that a god needed to warm him about. At least, he hoped there wasn’t. The last thing Camp Half-Blood needed was another quest. After the war with Gaia, everyone deserved a rest.

Will was caught up in his own thoughts long enough for a woman to appear in front of Will unnoticed. If Will had been paying more attention, he would have noticed her step out of the fog. As it was, Will only had seconds to realize she was there before his instincts kicked in and he was scurrying away.

The more rational part of Will’s brain studied the woman, with her inky black hair and her tanned olive skin. She was average height and wore a plain black dress, and though Will was farther away from her now, he could see that she was older, her skin weathered by age in the form of wrinkles on her face and veins in her arms.

There was something eerily familiar about the coffee brown eyes that seemed to bore straight into Will’s soul.

Somehow, Will knew this woman.

He walked closer to her, watching her as she regarded him calmly. Will had to fight back the shudder that ran up his spine. He couldn’t pinpoint where he had seen this woman before, but something about the way she held herself, the pride in her straight spine whispered in the back of Will’s mind.

He got within five feet of her when Will felt everything around him start to slip. He knew the sensation well enough by now, he was waking up. The fog around them became murkier and the woman’s face blurred. Will tried to hold onto the dream, if only to find out why the woman seemed so familiar to him.

Right before Will slipped away, the woman spoke five words that embedded themselves into Will’s brain, stapling themselves in so that Will would remember them when he woke.

“Take care of my son.”

Will’s eyes opened to the dark of the Hades cabin. Nico was still next to him, Will could feel his body heat. Silence of early morning hung heavy in the air, and it took Will a moment to realize that his boyfriend was awake, staring at him with coffee brown eyes.


This was honestly just 90% scenery

Birth and Boodletting: A Feysand Pregnancy: Part Five

I, II, III, IV

A/N: I am actually really proud of this part!!


She could hear it outside the cells. Blood and death and ruin. Cassian and Blake were out there. So was Bay. Nate looked seconds away from bolting, to get to him. Instead, he dug his fingers into the towel, his eyes were near black with barely restrained impulse. Out of his brothers, Nate was the one who was to act first, damn the questions. And he was fighting his impulse to go to Bay. How either of those boys managed to go years without actually being together remained a mystery to her.

“Nate,” she blinked slowly, “Go to Bay.”

“No,” he said tightly. “You need me more.”

“Don’t worry about him, focus on your baby.” Azriel ordered.  “A big one this time.”

Her palms connected with the stone floor. Her chin to her chest. She pushed.

Azriel looked up at her, the sound of crying filled the cell. Biela.

“It’s a girl,” Nate breathed.

She tried to smile. Nate wrapped a towel around her daughter and scooted up to her. Feyre looked down at the baby. Inky Black hair and wickedly bright blue-grey eyes. Biela, she was different. She leaned her head back against the cool stone. She just needed to close her eyes, just for a moment; then she could hold her children.

———–

The sound of drums filled the night sky. Bonfires reached the sky, revelers and females littered around her. She had done Calanmai before. She knelt, ready for the magic to consume her. She had done this twice before, but this time, her nose was enveloped so strongly with the scent of Jasmine and citrus, she almost forgot where she was. But it was gone in an instant.

What the hell just happened?

———-

His sight was starting to come back. He could see outlines and vague movement but it was too slow. And Feyre, she wasn’t moving. His heart was in his throat and his mate was unconscious and-

“Feyre-” Rhys started, moving to his nephew. “Nate take him. Feyre don’t you dare close your eyes.” He moved two fingers to her throat. Her heartbeat was thready. “Az-”

“The bleeding,” Azriel said. “It won’t stop. Nate, you take the twins to your mother and get Amren. Now. Rhys, you help me. She’s going to hemorrhage if we dont stop this now.”

Nate took the babies. “I’ll get Ash.”

“He won’t help,” Azriel said, ripping the skirts from Feyre’s body. “Not after Nesta.”

“I’ll make him,” Nate growled and winnowed away.

“Rhys,” Azriel said, cutting into Feyre’s abdomen. “Can you do this? You are a High Lord. Your healing can keep her alive until either Ash or Amren get here.”

He would move heaven and earth to keep her alive; he would do whatever he had to. “Yes. What do I need to do.”

————–

The rooms were dark besides the candle atop the table and Elain reading. His aunt almost dropped her book. “Nate!” she exclaimed. “What are you-”

He handed her the twins. She blinked before bringing them to her chest.

“Where is Ash?”

“The training ground out back-”

He winnowed.

———

Ash felt his cousin before he saw him. His heart was pounding so fast and his blood pressure was through the roof. He smelled like blood and birth. And fear. Bone deep fear that he had smelled before.

“Nate?” He asked carefully. “What are you-”

Nate gripped his shoulders. “I need you to help Feyre. She’s bleeding out and-”

“I can’t. I can’t-” Not after Nesta, not after the baby. He could barely close his eyes and not see-

Nate clasped both sides of his face. “Yes you can. Feyre is your aunt too. You were willing to die to bring back Nesta. You feel guilt for not being able to save her. Here is your chance to make up for it.”

I-”

A low snarl came from Nate, his cousin gripped his throat, his nails dug into his skin. “I swear on the Cauldron, if the next few words out of your mouth aren’t ‘I will help you’ I will rip out your throat and let your fancy healing magic grow you a new one.” Nate meant every single word, his magic pulling the truth from Nate’s body. Ash’s life outweighed his own fear.

“I will help you.” he choked out. “Take me to her.”

Nate grabbed his arm. “Good choice.”

————-

Bay’s sword went through the male like paper, the blade down to the hilt in flesh. Pulling the blade out, he ached it to another male’s neck.

“Why the fuck are so many attacking?” Bay yelled. “Was there some kind of revolt?”

Cassian ripped out a throat, his fingers sticky with blood. “It was started by Keir.”

Blake punched a male in the nose. Hard enough cartilage ruptured the brain. The male crumpled to the ground. “That fucker is dead when I see him next.”

“He’s locked in the interrogation rooms.” Bay panted. “Your father is going to get information out of him.” Oh no.

Both he and Blake echoed, “This is a diversion.”

Cassian slammed a head against the wall. The sound of the male’s skull cracking filled Bay’s ears. “There is too many too split up and find him. We need to hold the line. We can’t let them get to either the High Lord and Lady or the heirs.”

They were so, so fucked.

————

The High Lord poured his healing magic into her placenta as he had instructed. Azriel had learned a lot about deliveries when he found out Mor was pregnant with Blake; just in case something went wrong. Cauldron, he was glad he knew what was wrong.

Nate winnowed in, pushing Ash forward. “Do it.”

Ash’s throat was red with fingerprints. His son had forced him to come. Leaning down, Ash surveyed Feyre’s body. Her skin was dangerously pale, her bleeding was slowed, thanks to Rhys, but still flowing too fast. She was close to Death.

“Please,” Rhys’s voice cracked. “Please save my mate.”

Ash sucked in a breath, his hand rested on her heart. A bright light glowed beneath Ash’s fingers.

“Please, please, please.” Ash begged under his breath. His eyes were squeezed shut, his breath shallow. “Let me save her.”

The light pulsed, Ash’s nose started to bleed down past his lips. His eyes opened, a bright green, almost glowing, casting a shadow across his cheeks. He coughed and removed his hand from her sternum, his lips were red with blood.

Ash put his fingers to Feyre’s throat and exhaled. “She’s out of the woods. For now.”

Rhys dropped his head into his hands. “Thank the Cauldron.” He looked up to Ash. “Thank you, Ash. Thank you. So much.”

Ash shook his head, the glowing of his eyes starting to dim down. Ash slid back against the wall, his long hair scattered around him. “I saved her,” he breathed. “I saved her.”

Nate’s voice was tight. “What now? We are surrounded and can’t move her right away.”

Rhys’s thumb brushed Feyre’s cheek before standing. “Not for long.”

—————

Blake ran his sword through the male’s throat. Keir was dead. He was going to kill him slowly. He warned the male what would happen if he fucked up. He should have killed him after he broke Nate’s wrist.

Rhys came out of the cells. His finery was covered in blood and dirt. His face was bleeding, his eyes unfocused and his face was a brutal nightmare.

Darkness slammed out from around him, dropping the revolt to their knees, clawing at their throats.

“You just couldn’t help yourselves,” Rhys purred. “You wanted me dead. My mate dead. My children dead.” Rhys’s face hardened, his starry eyes glowed. “You failed.”

Sound cracked around them all, dropping each member of the revolt in a bloodless silence. He shattered each and every one of their minds.

Rhys leaned a hand against the wall, his breath uneasy.

“Keir is gone,” Rhys said. “When we find him. He is going to regret the day he was born.”

———–

Bay slid past Rhys and flew down the hall. He stopped short. “Ash?”

Ash turned to him, his face-

“I’m fine,” Ash said.

“No you’re not!” Bay bellowed. “What the fuck happened?!”

“Feyre was dying,” Nate said quietly. “I went to get Ash.”

“You forced him to heal her?” Ash so much hasn’t healed anyone since he got back from the Dawn Court. He wouldn’t be here voluntarily. 

Nate met his stare. “Yes I did.” He had no room to judge. He forced Tarus to heal Zevakyn in the Blood Rite. But this was Ash and-

“It’s fine. I’m fine,” Ash said, wiping blood from his mouth. “Feyre is alive and I’m fine.”

“Shut up, Ash,” Bay snarled. “No you aren’t.”

Bay knelt down, examining Feyre’s face. It was starting to flush with color. Bay pulled off his shirt, covering her with it. It was covered in blood but at least it would cover her.

He looked back up at Ash. “This almost killed you.”

“I know,” he tried to grin. “I was there.”

Bay gripped Ash’s face, “Thank you.”

“You keep touching me like that and you’ll have to buy me dinner. I warn you, I’m not a cheap date. I expect flo-”

Bay snorted and hugged him. “You do something like this again and I will kill you.”

Ash froze before hugging him back. “We both know I’ll be doing something like this again. It’s just who I am.”

He didn’t care. As long as Ash stayed safe and alive, he would be okay. He had lost too many people and losing Ash or Nate, that would kill him.

————-

Cassian put Rhys’s arm around his shoulder and helped him stand upright. His High Lord was on edge and was weak. The Cells sapped so much of his strength from him.

“How’s Feyre?”

Rhys groaned, “She’s okay. Ash saved her. It nearly killed himself to do it, but he saved her.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Bay had gone in there before them. He would not be happy with Ash being in this place. Or being near dead.

“Let’s get Feyre and go home,” Cassian said. 

—————–

The female lifted the cloak to cover her face, covering her starry eyes and shifting hair.

It would seem she had made a mistake. She had highly misjudged Cassian and the High Lords abilities. And Blake was not what she expected. She expected the arrogance, the vicious grin. She did not expect the genuine kindness in his features, or the ability to dance or the empathy.

She supposed she had grossly miscalculated her family and acted too soon.

She would not make this mistake again.

———–

Here is the next part!!! I think there is roughly one or two parts left of this. Thank you for reading!! Please, please leave a comment!! XO