The Sweetest Con

Summary: Nesta Archeron has been trapped in witness protection for the past five years, hiding a secret no one can ever learn. All she has to do is wait out the criminals back home determined to punish her and her sisters for a lie they told years before.

She can handle anything- even the new agent sent to keep her safe.

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Nesta Archeron had bread in the oven. 

It had been Cassian’s idea that morning. Why not check on the sourdough starter they’d been fermenting and try it in some bread? It was obvious he merely wanted to spend time with her in the kitchen and Nesta was hard pressed to think of a reason they shouldn’t. It was moody that morning—a thunderstorm had rolled through and showed no signs of relenting.

They were stuck inside and she’d reasoned it was better to do something rather than what they were usually doing.

And still, with twenty minutes left on the oven timer, Nesta found herself on her knees anyway, Cassian’s massive cock in her mouth. It started with a kiss that became two, became four, became Nesta up on the table while Cassian pressed himself between her legs. And then everything became frantic and desperate. She’d just managed to get his pants around his ankles first, but if she’d waited another thirty seconds, she’d be spread across the table.

Not for the first time, either.

She told herself just liked to watch him (a lie). Cassian was terrifying, a force to be reckoned with. He was an immovable object right up until Nesta was sliding her hands between his legs—and then he was as malleable as clay in her hands. Did he genuinely like her, she wondered? Or was she merely a distraction? 

There was only one way to find out. Nesta had been plotting for the same amount of time she’d been touching him to get her hands on his phone. Sitting next to him on the sofa the night before had revealed his passcode—0000—and now all she needed was to so thoroughly exhaust him, he wouldn’t notice her snooping through his messages.

She just wanted to know, once and for all. What was his plan for her? Had Rhysand instructed Cassian to kill her? And what of her sisters? Nesta told herself once she knew, she could better plan…but that didn’t account for her actions right then. Nor was it entirely true to act like this was merely all part of some brilliant scheme. Not when Cassian threw his head back, hand holding her jaw while Nesta struggled to take the rest of him into her throat.

“Fuck, Nes—just like that,” he panted, his grip tightening ever so slightly. Nesta could feel the bulging vein just under the head of his cock, a tell-tale sign that he was about to come. She braced herself, eyes fluttering shut, just as Cassian grunted with pleasure and poured himself into her mouth. 

The timer went off at the exact same time, thwarting Cassian’s obvious plans to reciprocate his pleasure. That was both disappointing and for the best, she decided. The night before, Nesta had passed out with her cheek stuck to his chest and woke to bright sunlight and the smell of burning coffee. 

Not this time. This time, Nesta intended to wear Cassian out and stuff him full of food and let the Georgia heat do the rest. While she made her way to the oven, Cassian hastily pulled up his shorts.

“Is it wrong that I want to know every man you’ve ever practiced on?”

Nesta bent over the steaming oven to examine her sourdough. “What are you going to do, shoot them?”

“Yeah,” Cassian replied, elbowing her out of the way. His hands were clad in bright pink oven mitts and his dark hair was a tangled mess around his otherwise handsome face. It was the exact kind of logic a mobster would employ—she belongs to me, so I’ll pretend no one else has touched her.

Like a toddler hoarding toys at the playground, she thought wryly. She’d grown up in this life and had always rebelled at the idea that men owned their wives. And yet…yet, Cassian’s possessive nature wasn’t awful, either. Maybe because she knew the entire affair was time limited. Either he’d try to kill her or he’d be discovered by the actual feds and wind up in a prison cell.

So what did it hurt to enjoy herself for now? 

“Looks good. Want me to grab butter, or—”

“We should let it cool down,” Nesta said, eyeing his naked, tattooed chest. “Want to do some yoga with me before we eat?”

The look on his face screamed no even as Cassian smiled easily and said, “Sure thing, baby.”

What followed was torture for them both. It was already miserably humid and insufferably hot. Nesta wanted to claw herself out of the clingy fabric she wore and hoped none of it showed on her face. She was one with the world, serene and unbothered. The sun could not hurt her so long as she slathered a thick layer of sunscreen all over her body. She’d bullied Cassian into putting some on, too—a careful ruse to run her hands up and down the toned muscles of his body though he needed it, too. 

They practically crawled back into the cold air, with Nesta flinging open the freezer to stick her head inside while Cassian drank straight from the kitchen faucet.  

“You’re a masochist,” Cassian accused, eyes squeezed shut as replaced his mouth with his entire face beneath the stream of cold water. 

“I didn’t think it would be so bad,” Nesta said, taking some frozen, bagged broccoli out to place against her bare stomach. Cassian watched with open fascination, though he didn’t move to touch her. 

“No more outdoor workouts. Lets go to a gym like civilized people,” he breathed, rising to his full height. 

“The gym is unairconditioned—”

“Nesta, I can’t live this way,” he half pleaded, half joked. “I’ll put weights in the basement and run at two am.”

Nesta bit her bottom lip, thinking of the life Cassian was proposing. It was so easy to picture—and dangerous, too.

“I’m gonna shower, and then we’re going to eat some of this bread,” Cassian promised, pressing a quick kiss against her cheek. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“You got it,” she lied, eyes snagging on his phone. It was exactly where he’d left it, tossed casually to the kitchen table along with all the mail she didn’t want to look at. Nesta waited unmoving, listening as the bathroom door clicked shut. A moment later the sound of water hitting the porcelain tub filled the silence. Nesta counted to ten before lunging, typing in the passcode.

There, pinned at the very top of his messages, was a group chat with no other descriptor than a bat emoji. She wondered the significance as she scanned the names.

Rhysand: I don’t care what you need to do—drag E back and lock her in a closet if you have to. 

Azriel: Easy for you to say while you’re playing house. She broke my fucking nose with that stupid bat—and she’s with a goddamn agent.

Cassian: How hard could it possibly be to keep track of one oblivious woman? 

Azriel: Eat shit. 

Rhysand: Are you tracking her? What does the agent know?

Azriel: He’s got family up in Appleton. Headed that way—as far as I know, they don’t know who I was. 

Rhysand: Take the agent out, no questions asked. Secure E through whatever measures necessary—do not kill her. 

Azriel: Wasn’t planning on it, but got it. 

Nesta’s heart hammered in her chest. E—that had to be Elain. She hadn’t spent much time thinking about Elain but now…fuck. A quick search of her phone told her Appleton was in Wisconsin. If Elain was headed that way, Nesta needed to find her and warn her. 

With shaking fingers, Nesta sent a text.

Cassian: Want help with a trace? Send me her number.

Please, please, please let them buy it, she prayed silently. Nesta’s heart was the loudest sound in the house, beating so violently she could barely hear the sound of Cassian’s shower over it. Her hands shook, holding his phone as she waited. The water cut off and Nesta was certain she’d been caught—Cassian would get the text later, realize what she’d done, and the entire thing would be blown.

Azriel: Sure. 555-201-9855. See if you can figure out where Vanserra is taking her. I’ll continue following behind. 

Cassian: Meet me in Chicago? I can help lure her home with Nesta.

Azriel: Will she cooperate?

Cassian: Got her eating out of the palm of my hand.

Azriel: See you soon. 

Nesta scribbled the number down on the back of an unopened bill before deleting the messages she’d sent. Nesta scrambled for her own phone, punching in the number to the sister she hadn’t spoken to in years. That ought to buy Elain some time, she reasoned, heart still pounding. Just enough for Nesta to get to her before anyone else did, anyway. 

Nesta: Elain? This is Nesta. Rhysand is after you—they’re tracking you. Hide and tell no one where you are until I can get closer. I’m on my way—we have to find Feyre. 

There. With that sent, and a clock ticking loudly in her head, Nesta all but ran to her bedroom and the gun she had hidden in her bedside table. Nesta had it in her hands, a small bag thrown together years ago slung over her shoulder, when she and Cassian met in the hall. His eyes dipped to the gun in her hand before he offered her a lopsided smile.

“Everything okay, Nes?” he asked, running a hand down his naked chest. The towel he’d wrapped around his waist was almost too small for him, accentuating the vee of his abdomen and the appendage hanging just between. 

“I know what you are,” she whispered, hating the waver in her voice. Cassian’s smile only widened. “I’ll shoot.”

“Put the gun down, baby,” Cassian murmured, his voice honeyed and sweet. “Let's talk about this.”

“I’ll kill you,” she warned, well aware that her words were a lie. She couldn’t—even knowing who he was and what he was capable of, Nesta knew she couldn’t kill him. 

Cassian advanced, unconcerned with the gun in her hand. She supposed he was used to seeing them, used to having them pointed directly at him. He was The Lord of Bloodshed, after all. That didn’t stop Nesta, who’d been going to the gun range long before feds ever dumped her in this swampy nowhere town. 

Kill him and be done with it.

“Then why were you on your knees this morning, Nes?” Cassian whispered, those hazel eyes glittering with amusement. “You had my cock in your mouth. I didn’t even have to ask.”

“What happens in the bedroom and what happens out here are two separate things, Cass,” was all Nesta could think to say in response. She really was sorry, in that regard. She knew he didn’t see it that way. 

Cassian shook his head, the loose ends of his wavy, dark hair brushing those muscular shoulders. “I’ll find you.”

“You’ll be dead,” she replied, willing the words to be true.

“You can’t kill me and we both know it,” Cassian told her. She hated that he was right, just like she knew that if she didn’t, he would hunt her down. This was personal, now—beyond the lies she’d told on her sister's behalf.

It didn’t matter. Rhysand had found them and Nesta needed to get to Elain before something horrible happened. Then they’d find Feyre and pray Rhysand hadn’t gotten to her first.

“I’m sorry,” Nesta whispered before she pulled the trigger. Cassian howled, crumpling to the ground. He wasn’t dead—just wounded. She’d shot him in the leg. 

Nesta turned, knowing she only had minutes to put distance between them before Cassian rallied, caught her, and did god knows what to her. He looked enraged as she made her way toward the front door.

“This isn’t over between us, Nesta! I’ll have you back by the end of the week!” 

She grabbed the keys to his jeep and made her way outside, fingers shaking. Nesta tossed the gun to the passenger seat before pulling her phone from her pocket. She had the car out of the gravel drive before she pulled out her phone, texting people she knew better than to drag into this mess.

Gwyn and Emerie were waiting for her when she pulled up to Emerie’s place.

“Start from the beginning,” Emerie ordered the moment Nesta swung from the blue vehicle while Gwyn held a shotgun in both hands, eyes pinned on Nesta. It was an odd moment, telling her friends—who were like sisters in a different sort of way—everything that had transpired half a decade before.

Gwyn and Emerie wouldn’t turn on her, though. Nesta didn’t know how she knew that, only that it was true. As Nesta drove, she told them everything they didn’t already know—starting from the beginning with the murder of their father. Nesta told them how she’d lied to the police for her sister, how it had been her idea to kill two birds with one stone and frame Rhysand. She hadn’t expected to be put in witness protection or she might have decided to take all the money their father had and flee the country instead.

One decision, made by a young, impulsive woman, had cost the three of them so much. Nesta couldn’t bring herself to regret anything that happened, a fact she told her friends while clenching her jaw. Let them see her, she supposed. Calculated and cold when necessary, and willing to make the hard decisions no one else would. Better they knew upfront than to find out later and decide they wanted nothing to do with her.

“So there’s a mobster after your sisters?” Gwyn confirmed, the shotgun now resting in her lap.

“Rhysand will kill Feyre if he finds her,” Nesta lamented, squeezing the steering wheel so violently her knuckles were bloodless. “I knew when Cassian came, but…I figured they hadn’t found her if he was still with me.”

“It sounds like they only have you and Elain,” Emerie reminded the pair, reasonably, sitting in the middle back seat so she could position herself between Nesta and Gwyn. “If we can get to Elain first, we could go to the police and tell them what we know.”

“Did you take his phone?” Gwyn asked.

Nesta sighed. “I didn’t.”

“That’s okay,” Gwyn reassured her, teal eyes hard with determination. “We’ll figure it out while we drive.”

“I’ve never been to Wisconsin,” Emerie added cheerfully. 

And that was that, Nesta supposed.

CASSIAN:

“What the fuck do you mean, Nesta Archeron shot you?”

Gritting his teeth, Cassian held a lighter over the wound in his thigh, having already poured alcohol in an attempt to sterilize it. He didn’t have time for a hospital nor the inclination to spend a night hooked up to machines while nurses fussed over him. 

“Don’t know how to make it anymore clear, boss,” Cassian snapped, his pain making him mean. “She fucking shot me, she knows who I am, and she’s on the run.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you and Azriel?” 

“Enough to fill a textbook probably,” Cassian mumbled, wincing as he rose to his feet. When he got her back he was going to teach her how to aim better. If she’d been going for his heart, she’d failed abysmally. Not that he wanted her to kill him, of course. Cassian wanted Nesta back in his bed even if he had to tie her up to get her there. 

“When Az and I are back together, we’ll have fewer problems.”

“You’ve got forty eight hours before to lock this whole thing down,” Rhysand warned. Cassian didn’t need to be told twice. Practically, if Nesta and Elain slipped their leashes, they’d go straight to the cops and it would be hard to deny his involvement this time. At least where their father was concerned, Rhysand was actually innocent—one of the Archerons had killed their father. Cassian’s money was on Elain given her use of the bat against Azriel, though in truth it could have been any one of them. Nesta had a penchant for violence that rivaled her bastard father. 

But more realistically, Cassian simply wanted her, reason be damned. If she’d just come to him, he could have reassured her that no one wanted to hurt Elain. Hell, for all Cassian knew, Azriel was in love with her, too. It seemed to be their current curse, after all.

He’d been down fifteen minutes—long enough to give her a moderate head start but not so long Cassian couldn’t easily catch up with her. She’d need to make stops…and she’d taken his jeep. Cassian could track its progress as he slid into Nesta’s smaller coup, leg screaming in pain. At least she hadn’t shot his driving leg, he reasoned before swallowing an ungodly amount of ibuprofen. It would have to do.

The last thing he needed was to get pulled over for being under the influence. 

What Cassian really needed was sleep, preferably with Nesta curled up beside him. As he drove, his mind wandered to the sight of her flushed cheeks and shaking hands as she held that gun between them. Was it deranged, he thought, to admit he’d been turned out?

Would she use it in the bedroom, he wondered? 

God, he hoped she would. Cassian intended to ask her when he had her back. With the location of his jeep tracking on his phone, Cassian set his course and tried to keep his mind off his leg. Azriel was after Elain, but had promised to help Cassian if they caught up with each other, and it was clear Nesta was headed toward them both. It had been easy enough to guess what she’d sent Azriel and Azriel, frustrated with the situation, hadn’t bothered to ask himself why Cassian would offer to help track Elain’s technology.

As if he knew jack shit about that sort of thing. 

There was more than enough time to ruminate on his failures. While Rhys waxed poetic about moving Feyre without her figuring out the truth, Cassian focused on catching up with Nesta. He caught her just outside Bowling Green, Kentucky. She’d brought her friends with her—Gwyn, with her vibrant hair and a shotgun tossed casually in the passenger seat and Emerie, her dark hair pulled off her face in a messy ponytail and flip flops on her feet. They could have been on a road trip.

They weren’t. 

Cassian could have dragged Nesta back and killed her friends if he’d wanted to. Watching her outside a truckstop, he weighed the pros and cons of the killings before ultimately deciding against it. Nesta would never forgive him and Cassian didn’t like killing people without a reason. Gwyn and Emerie were innocent—it didn’t sit right with him to take their lives.

Besides—Cassian wanted to see what was going to happen next, Rhysand be damned. Everything was a mess already—if the FBI agent hadn’t already alerted his superiors, well, he would before Cassian crossed into another state. Rhys might come up with some lie that explained what they were doing, but Cassian doubted anyone would believe them.

Might as well enjoy himself.

And trailing Nesta was immensely enjoyable. He liked the way her mind worked. She was logical, picking the most expedient routes and when she stopped, it was always somewhere populated. Somewhere people could hear her scream. Cassian might have liked that, but practically, didn’t want to sit in a holding cell for twenty four hours waiting on a judge.

She’d have to stop eventually, and stop she did a day and a half later in Chicago.

Cassian knew Nesta and her friends were exhausted. They’d traded driving, but he very much doubted any of them were getting quality sleep. Neither was Cassian, truthfully, but he reasoned that he was better at keeping himself up, his instincts sharper.

Azriel was waiting for him when he arrived, his face a mask of sharp, cold fury. “Give up?” “I’m not getting fucking arrested,” Azriel snapped, hands jammed in his well-fitted jean pockets. “What are you doing?”

“Watching,” Cassian replied, nodding his head across the busy intersection where Nesta, Emerie, and Gwyn were standing. They hadn’t noticed him, laboring under the belief they’d lost him. 

“What happened to your leg?”

Cassian grimaced. “She shot me.”

Azriel’s brow furrowed as he ran a scarred hand through dark, mussed hair. “And she’s alive?”

“I’m bringing her home,” Cassian said, throwing a wink at his exasperated friend. “What’s Elain’s apartment like?”

“A death trap,” Azriel replied without emotion. “They can get in, but they can’t get out.”

“Where’s Morrigan?”

“Ahead of you,” Azriel muttered, whipping his phone out to make a call. It would be easier if they had a third person helping them, and unlike Azriel and Cassian, Mor was cold-blooded in a way that made even Rhys hesitate at times. Cassian watched from his spot behind a street cart selling tourist items as Nesta and her friends jogged toward the towering skyscraper and vanished inside.

Good girl.

Getting her out without causing a scene would be another thing entirely. It was a big city, he reasoned. He’d have Mor park right out front, flashers on, and just dump Nesta in the back before anyone could say anything. He doubted anyone would be racing to rescue her, besides. 

Mor arrived in tight jeans and a tank top, blonde hair pulled in a thick, deceptively messy ponytail. Cassian knew her well enough to know she labored over it, every wispy strand placed by Mor’s own immaculate hands. 

“What needs cleaned up?” she asked, flashing them both a perfect, white smile. 

“Upstairs,” Azriel muttered, beckoning for Mor to follow after him. She was Rhys’s second in command and even Cassian didn’t know everything she did for her cousin. Only that she was called in when shit went south. Things were so far south that they might have been at the equator. Could Mor drag the missing Archeron back, too? 

That was Azriel’s problem. All Cassian needed to worry about was Nesta. Trailing behind Mor, the three made their way into the immaculate lobby and Cassian was struck at the incredibly elegant life Elain Archeron appeared to have been living. While Nesta was holed up in rural Georgia, Elain got to live in screaming civilization. It irked Cassian, even as he recognized the solitude had served him well.

Azriel pushed the number thirteen, staring anywhere but at Mor, who was too busy examining her nails to notice how awkward things were. Cassian said nothing because it was none of his business. Something must have happened, though—Azriel wasn’t standing too close, wasn’t shooting furtive glances. And Mor wasn’t using Cassian as a shield like she often did. 

Had they talked, then?

Cassian didn’t ask. Instead, he followed Azriel down a blue carpeted hall that smelled like someone's two day old cooking. Azriel pulled a keycard from his pocket and opened the door to find a shotgun waiting for him.

“Not another step, pretty boy,” Gwyn said in that southern drawl of hers.

Behind Az, Mor rolled her eyes.

“You think I’m pretty?” Azriel asked casually, unconcerned with the danger he was in. 

“That ain’t a compliment,” Gwyn snapped.

“Sounded like one to me,” Azriel replied smoothly. Cassian and Mor exchanged a glance. Since when did Az engage in witty repartee? “What else do you like?”

“Shut up,” Gwyn ordered, but it was too late. Azriel had the upper hand and they all knew it. With the speed of a man used to being threatened, he wrenched the barrel of the shotgun out of her hands and yanked, pulling both the weapon and the woman into his waiting arms. Gwyn yelped, arms pinned to her side as Az tossed the gun behind him for Mor to pick up.

“Quickly,” she ordered as Cassian swept in. Az hadn’t lied—Elain’s apartment was turned upside down, furniture shoved against the walls for his little traps and cameras. Nesta and Emerie had clearly walked right into one, legs tied to the floor in some contraption that shouldn’t have fascinated him as much as it did.

“Hey, Nes,” he said with a grin.

“Fuck you,” she replied, sweet as ever. 

“Are you gonna come with me nicely? Or am I going to have to carry you out?”

“Don’t you touch me,” she warned, answering Cassian’s question all the same. Just beside him, Mor was pulling rags from her bag like they were mints, handing one to Cassian before making her way toward the flailing, fighting Gwyn. Cassian let Nesta watch Mor smush the rag over Gwyn’s face so she knew what was waiting for her.

What he’d do if she didn’t agree to come like his good little girl. 

Gwyn went limp against Azriel, who merely scooped her up like she was nothing. 

“What do you want to do with the two of them?” Mor asked Cassian, eyes finding a silent, but furious looking Emerie. God—this plan was so off the rails it was almost embarrassing. There was only one thing they could do.

“Take them home,” he said. 

“Their home? Or our home?” Mor clarified.

“Ours, for now.” Cassian turned back to Nesta. 

“Cass,” she tried, the pretty little liar. “You don’t understand. My sisters, they—” “It’s too late for them,” he said. He wasn’t even a lie. “Rhys has Feyre and Elain is on her way back home. The only hold up is you.”

She shook her head. Nesta was smart not to believe him, even if it irked him deeply. Cassian made his way toward her, trapped by Azriel and unable to do anything but watch. 

And slap. The moment he crouched in front of her, Nesta slapped him hard. Her nails raked down his cheek, wounding him just enough to rankle him. He shook his head. “Don’t do that.”

“Let me go.”

“I can’t,” he replied with some regret. 

“Make a decision, Cass,” Mor said as she leaned beside Emerie. Emerie didn’t hit, grimacing as Mor brought that rag to her face. “I don’t have all day.”

“You’re a cunt,” Emerie hissed at Mor, who only grinned back.

“I’ve been called worse.”

Mor held the rag to Emerie’s face as Nesta watched, face pale and eyes wide. “Cass,” she whispered. 

“Come with me,” he urged, knowing she wouldn’t. Nesta couldn’t. She’d fight him until she decided this was her decision, and then she’d likely fight him a little more. The rest of his life would be a fight—and Cassian wanted it. 

“It’s time to go home, baby,” Cassian murmured, pressing a kiss to Nesta’s temple as she tried to wrench away. Putting the rag over her face felt like a betrayal and Cassian had to remind himself that she’d shot him not two days earlier. Mouth to the shell of her ear, he murmured, “We’re even now.”

Hardly, though. Cassian hadn’t held it against her to begin with. Nesta never took her eyes off him, holding her breath until she couldn’t, only to suck in a gasp of poisoned air. It went faster after that, leaving her limp in his arms as Mor undid the traps. 

“You’re a bastard for these,” Mor said, looking down at Emerie with an expression Cassian couldn’t quite place. 

Azriel onlys shrugged, still holding Gwyn in his arms. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“Come on,” Cassian interrupted, not interested in another argument between the pair. “I’m fucking tired and I want to go home.”

Cassian’s leg was killing him, he was bone weary, and a little afraid of what was coming for him. Either the US government or Rhys—and Cassian didn’t know which scared him more. For now, Cassian was resolved to get her home and hope that Feyre wasn’t far behind.

Elain was already lost. There was no getting her back. The best they could hope for was utter silence as Rhys hunted them down, killed the agent hiding her, and brought her into the fold, too.

But it would take time and right now they were nearly out of it. 

And it was time to go home.

Chapter - 32

(Ella's POV)

He was the fifth god I’d met. He was ten feet tall, dressed in black silk robes & a crown of braided gold. His skin was albino white, his hair shoulder-length & jet black. He sat on a throne of human bones, lithe, graceful, & dangerous as a panther. He resembled pictures of Hitler, Napoleon, or terrorists. His eyes had an evil charisma.

“You're brave to come here, Son of Poseidon,” he said. “After what you have done, very brave indeed. Or perhaps you are foolish.”

Percy steps forward & says. “Lord & Uncle, I come with two requests.”

Hades raised an eyebrow & sat forward in his throne, shadowy faces appeared in the folds of his black robes, faces of trapped souls from the Fields of Punishment.

“Only two requests?” Hades said. “Arrogant child. As if you haven't taken enough. Speak. It amuses me not to strike you dead yet.”

I cleared my throat when Percy didn't reply & prodded my finger on his back.

“Lord Hades,” he said. “Look, there can’t be a war. It would be..bad. Return the bolt to me. Please, let me carry it to Olympus.”

Hades’s eyes grew dangerously bright. “You dare keep this up, after what you've done?”

Percy glanced back at us, confused.

“Um...Uncle,” he said. “You keep saying ‘after what you’ve done.’ What exactly have I done?”

The room shook with a tremor so strong, they probably felt it up in Los Angeles. Debris fell from the ceiling. Doors burst open along the walls, & skeletal warriors came in, hundreds of them. They lined room, blocking the exits.

Hades said, “You think I want war, godling?”

I wanted to say, Well, these guys don’t look like peace activists. But I thought that might be a dangerous answer.

“You're the Lord of the Dead,” Percy said, “A war will expand your kingdom, right?”

“A typical thing for my brothers to say! Do you think I need more subjects? Did you not see the sprawl of the Asphodel Fields?”

“Well…”

“Have you any idea how much my kingdom has swollen this past century. More security ghouls,” he moaned. “Traffic at the pavilion. Double overtime for the staff. I used to be rich, Percy Jackson. I control all precious metals under the earth. But my expenses!”

“Charon wants a pay raise,” he blurted. When he said it, I wished I could sew his mouth up.

“Don’t get me started on Charon!” Hades yelled. “He’s impossible since he discovered Italian suits! Problems everywhere. The commute from the palace to the gates drives me insane! No, godling. I need no help in getting subjects! I didn't ask for this war.”

“But you took Zeus’s master bolt.” he said.

“Lies!” Hades rose, to the height of a football goalpost. “Your father may fool Zeus, boy, but I'm not stupid. I see his plan.”

“His plan?” Percy asked.

“You were the thief on the winter solstice,” he said. “He directed you into the throne room, You took the master bolt & my helm. Hadn't I sent my Fury at Yancy Academy, Poseidon may have hidden his scheme to start a war. But now you'll be exposed as Poseidon’s thief, & I'll have my helm back!”

“But...” I said. "Uncle, your helm of darkness is missing, too?” he noticed me & his look suddenly softened.

“Nora! It's nice to see you. You've grown prettier." I smiled. "Thank you, uncle."

“I said nothing of the helm’s disappearance,” Hades said to Percy, “because I had no illusions that anyone on Olympus would offer me the slightest help. So I searched for you, & it was clear you were coming to me to give your threat so I didn't try to stop you.”

“You didn’t try to stop us? But-“

“Return my helm, or I'll stop death,” Hades threatened. “That's my proposal. I will open the earth & have the dead pour back into your world. There will be chaos everywhere.”

“You’re as bad as Zeus,” Percy said. He kinda had a point actually...I mean dad did have the habit of always jumping to conclusions.

“You think I stole from you? That’s why you sent the Furies after me?”

“Of course,” Hades said.

“And the other monsters?”

Hades curled his lip. “I had nothing to do with it. I wanted you brought alive so you might face all tortures in the Fields of Punishment. Why do you think I let you enter so easily?”

“Easily?”

“Return my property!”

“But I don’t have it. I came for the bolt.”

“Which you already possess!” Hades shouted. “You came here with it, little fool, thinking you could you threaten me!

“But I didn’t!” Percy protested.

“Open your pack, then.”

A horrible feeling struck me as Percy slung it off his shoulder & unzipped it. Inside was a two-foot-long metal cylinder, spiked on both ends, humming with energy. Oh styx!

“Percy,” Annabeth said. “How-“

“I-I don’t know. I don’t understand.”

“You heroes are the same,” Hades said. “Your pride makes you foolish, thinking you could bring such a weapon before me. I didn't ask for Zeus’s master bolt, but now, you will yield it to me. I'm sure it will make an excellent bargaining tool. Now..my helm. Where is it?”

I was speechless. We had no helm. I had no idea how the bolt had got into the backpack. I realized Zeus, Poseidon, & Hades had been set at each other’s throats by someone else...

“Lord Hades, wait,” Percy said. “This is all a mistake.”

“A mistake?” Hades roared. The skeletons aimed their weapons.

“There's no mistake,” Hades said. “I know why you came-I know the real reason you brought the bolt, to bargain for her.”

Hades loosed a ball of gold fire from his palm. It exploded on the steps in front, & there was Sally, frozen in a shower of gold.

“Yes,” Hades said with satisfaction. “I took her. I knew, Percy Jackson, that you'd come to bargain eventually. Return my helm, & maybe I'll let her go. She's not dead, not yet. But if you displease me, that will change.”

“Ah, the pearls,” Hades said suddenly, “Yes, my brother & his little tricks. Bring them forth, Percy Jackson.” Percy took them out.

“Only four,” Hades said. “What a shame. You do realize each protects a single person. Take your mother, then, little godling. Which of your friends will you leave behind with me? Or give me the bag & accept my terms.”

“We were tricked,” Percy told us. “Set up.”

“Yes, but why?” Annie asked. “The voice in the pit-“

“I don’t know,” he said. “But I intend to ask.”

“Decide, boy!” Hades yelled.

“Percy.” Grover put a hand on his shoulder. “You can’t give him the bolt,”

“I know that.”

“Leave me here,” he said. “Use the third pearl on your mom.”

“No!” Percy & I protested.

“I’m a satyr,” Grover said. “We don’t have souls like humans. He can torture me until I die, but he won’t get me. I’ll be reincarnated as a flower or something. It’s the best way.”

“No.” Annie drew her knife. “You three go. Grover, you have to protect Percy, get your searcher’s license & start your quest for Pan. Get his mom out of here." She paused looking at me. "I plan to go down fighting.”

“No way,” I said. “I’m staying behind.”

“Think again, sparky,” Annie said.

“Stop it, guys! I know what to do. Take these.” Percy said handing us each a pearl.

I said, “But, Percy...”

He turned & faced his mother.  “I’m sorry,” he told her. “I’ll be back. I’ll find a way.”

Hades said surprised, “Godling...?”

“I’ll find your helm, Uncle,” Percy told him. “I’ll return it. Remember Charon’s pay raise.”

“Do not defy me-“

“And it wouldn’t hurt to play with Cerberus once in a while. He likes red rubber balls.”

“Percy Jackson, you will not-“

He shouted, “Now, guys!”

We smashed the pearls at our feet. For a scary moment, nothing happened.

Hades yelled, “Destroy them!”

The army of skeletons rushed, swords out, guns clicking. Just as they opened fire, the pearl fragments exploded with a burst of green light & a gust of fresh sea wind. We were encased in a milky sphere, which floated higher. Spears & bullets sparked off the bubbles as we floated. Hades yelled & the entire fortress shook. I knew it wasn't gonna be a peaceful night in L.A.

“Look!" Grover yelled. “We’re gonna crash!”

Sure enough, we were racing right toward the stalactites, which I figured would pop our bubbles & skewer us.

“How do you control these things?” I shouted.

“I don’t think you do!” Percy shouted back.

We screamed as the bubbles slam into the ceiling &...Darkness. Were we dead? I could still feel the racing sensation. We went up. I couldn’t see anything outside, then my pearl broke through on the ocean floor & soared through the water. And-ker-blam! We landed in the Santa Monica Bay & knocked a surfer off his board with an indignant, "Dude!"

I began to panic since I couldn't swim & felt an arm wrap around my waist. I look over & see Percy. He gave me an assuring smile & pulled me to a life buoy. In the distance, Los Angeles was on fire, plumes of smoke rising all over the city. There was an earthquake, all right, & it was Hades’s fault.

We had to get to shore to return dad's bolt.

Link to the next chapter is here.

Link to the prev chapter is here.

Comment, like & share.

Take care my lovely readers.❤

Alice signing off.

XOXO.

2/5/2023 DAB Transcript

Exodus 21:22-23:13, Matthew 24:1-28, Psalm 29:1-11, Proverbs 7:6-23

Today is the fifth day of February, welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I am Brian, it is great to be here with you today as we greet a…a shiny, sparkly week out in front of us. A busy week it will be indeed, for us, later this afternoon, and all through this evening and all night, we will be journeying to the land of the Bible, from the rolling hills of Tennessee, all the way over to Tel Aviv, where we will be preparing to begin our 2023 tour of the land of the Bible. And that will indeed, be a community experience. There will certainly be a couple of buses of us there, but we will be talking about what we’re doing and where we’re going and how we’re getting along and what's up and posting pictures on social media, of what we’re doing and where we are. And then, later, about a week from now, we’ll have a live broadcast. Once we…once we make it to the Galilee, we’ll be doing that. So, we’ll be talking about all this stuff as we go. I'm just, I’ve got all these like jitters, you know, like am I forgetting something, do I have everything packed, am I ready because it’s not like you can just run down the street to the local whatever store to get what you need. So, thank you for your prayers. And we’re looking forward to that. But that's not until later, and so, this is now, and let us take the next step forward in the Scriptures. We’ve got ourselves a brand-new week here, we’ll read from the EHV, the Evangelical Heritage Version this week. And of course, picking up right where we left off yesterday, Exodus chapter 21 verse 22, through 23 verse 13.

Prayer:

Father, we thank You for Your word. We thank You for this brand-new, shiny week. We thank You for resets, we thank You that Your and mercies are new every morning, and that every day is a reset. We thank You for Your kindness and Your patience with us, as we continue to grow and mature. And Father, as this week is a week of traveling, and…and…and immersing ourselves in the land of the Bible, we pray for all of those who will be boarding planes and traveling far, and we pray for ourselves. We have to do the same thing, tonight. So, Holy Spirit, come cover in and among us, over all of the details, over all of the logistics, over all of the moving parts, as we navigate to another part of the world and immerse ourselves in the places that the Bible happened. We ask that You would change us, that this would mark us, that this would change us, irreversibly that we would never see the Bible the same again. Come, Holy Spirit, we pray into all of these coming days. Whether we are in the land or whether we are there, virtually as a community together, make this an important part of our journey, an important part of our year, an important part of our understanding of the Scriptures. We pray in the name of Jesus, we ask. Amen.

Prayer and Encouragements:

Good day, Daily Audio Bible community, my brothers and sisters. This is Kacey, the Single-Minded Plumber. I’m feeling inadequate, as a father. A lot of you guys know, when I first started listening and calling in, I was an alcoholic, my wife was an alcoholic. We were alcoholics for almost a decade raising children. And I was just hoping that some of you guys might help me pray to be a better father. Feeling lacking as a parent. And there is so much that I can’t do, that I can’t defend for the kids. I am just not good enough. But I know someone who is and I’m hoping you’ll ask the Lord if He could help me be a better parent. But I help, my brave boy Bradley, feel included in my family. And that my son Derek isn’t so mad a lot of the time, cause he sees me mad, lot of the time. And my daughters, Hannah and Heaven, don’t pursue gender dysphoria, cutting. Thank you, guys, I love you.

Good evening, this is Pray without Ceasing in Atlanta. Today is January 31st. I am finishing up the January 21st prayer and encouragement. I just wanted to reiterate for the others, who like me, missing and pray with and for the callers who cry and rejoice with the callers. And sometimes we just shake our heads because we have no words. We don’t’ always call in to let our family know that we are praying but we do call to God, the God of all possibility, on your behalf. And often we get to pray more than once when we hear someone else praying for you. So, I just wanted to let it be known that though you may not hear us, we are on the other side praying for you and thinking of you and caring about you and loving you from a distance. But we are here, we stand with Rosie, Great to be Free in Jesus, as she prays for the children. We stand with Sparky and Beloved as they pray for the parents. We pray for Duane, I mean, Duane from Wisconsin. And Valiant Val as she encourages us. We pray with Jonathan from Denver, as he prays for the students. So, we’re here, we’re not calling, we’re not, you know, recording, but we’re with you. Anonymous on Purpose, I’m with you. I’m praying for you. Amen. Love you guys.

I’m calling from Melbourne, Australia and I’d like to say, God bless you to all the DABers. Love listening to the word of God and hearing your testimonies and praying for the people who call. I’d like you to share with me please and pray for a Christian friend of mine who’s desperate at the moment. She’s a solo mum and the other day she walked into her garage and found her 28-year-old son ready to hang himself. He had a prepared noose. And she got there just in time. We really need prayer for her. Things are really quite desperate. I told her I was gonna ring you. She is a DABer herself. And so, I just know that with combined prayer it makes a difference. And God bless you all, thank you so much. The boy’s name is …

Hi, I’m calling to ask for prayer for my grandson Willem. He has autism, he’s non-verbal. He’s in the psychiatric hospital right now. But he’s going to start a new living situation on Friday, the 3rd of February. And I’m asking for prayer for God’s protection for his safety. For God to manifest His presence and His love to Willem. He’s not able to communicate well. And in this living situation isn’t successful, the next step is a facility two hours away. I love my grandson very much. I actually would like to have him here with me but that’s not a choice that’s available to me right now. So, please pray for Willem. I do pray for all of you every day. And I’m very thankful for the DAB. Thank you.

This is Road Toad. I was raised in a home where appearances were valued, where we never admitted to any wrongdoing, where we judged people of standards other than that of the Bible. Even though it is a Christian home. I struggle to overcome this, yet today. However, this weekend, my wife and I were in a public place. And I probably was not even consciously aware of what I was doing but looking at beautiful women. One of those women, saw me looking at her and looked at my wife and laughed. My wife is overweight. She’s a wonderful woman. She’s a Godly woman. I am the one who pails in her light. I regret this. I feel shamed this morning as I think about this and tell you. I struggle to not to even do this because, as I said, in our family, we didn’t want to admit, we ever done wrong. Don’t want to be looked at in that light. But I need prayer folks. And I listen to your prayers, and I listen to your words, and I know our nickname’s give us anonymity. So, would you pray for us please?

"The Sun Stands Still." From Joshua, Chapter 10.

From Chapter 9:

24 They answered Joshua, “Your servants were clearly told how the Lord your God had commanded his servant Moses to give you the whole land and to wipe out all its inhabitants from before you. So we feared for our lives because of you, and that is why we did this. 25 We are now in your hands. Do to us whatever seems good and right to you.”

26 So Joshua saved them from the Israelites, and they did not kill them. 27 That day he made the Gibeonites woodcutters and water carriers for the assembly, to provide for the needs of the altar of the Lord at the place the Lord would choose. And that is what they are to this day.

Here begins Chapter 10:

10 Now Adoni-Zedek "The Lord of Justice", the king of Jerusalem heard that Joshua had taken Ai "ruins" and totally destroyed[a] it, doing to Ai and its king as he had done to Jericho and its king, and that the people of Gibeon "hillbillies" had made a treaty of peace with Israel and had become their allies. 2 He and his people were very much alarmed at this, because Gibeon was an important city, like one of the royal cities; it was larger than Ai, and all its men were good fighters. 3 So Adoni-Zedek king of Jerusalem appealed to Hoham king of Hebron, Piram king of Jarmuth, Japhia king of Lachish and Debir king of Eglon. 4 “Come up and help me attack Gibeon,” he said, “because it has made peace with Joshua and the Israelites.”

The Five Kings are:

->Adoni-Zedek "The Lord of Justice"

-> Hoham King of Hebron= The Mountain of Friendship

 -> Piram king of Jarmuth= Wild Donkey from the Heights= Brotherhood

-> Japhia king of Lachish= Illustrious, May He Cause To Shine Forth, the Lion King= Protection

-> Debir king of Eglon= Place of the honey bee= the Place of Milk and Honey, = the Place of the Word, Eglon= "A fine bull calf." ruff. = Intelligence, leadership, prosperity

Eglon, The Bull Calf is the male version of the Leah, the leading cow, synonymous with a male deacon.

For Layish, the Lion read here.

Obviously these men had fallen from their positions of greatness if the Torah is now calling them Amorites:

5 Then the five kings of the Amorites "talkers" —the kings of Jerusalem, Hebron, Jarmuth, Lachish and Eglon—joined forces. They moved up with all their troops and took up positions against Gibeon and attacked it.

-> As for why the King of Jerusalem and his "roaring lions" were also Amorites, and wanted to attack an allied force of Gibeonites and Israelites "hillbillies and overcomers" is not revealed until the end of this chapter. Hint- it has to do with empire.

-> ->The earliest mention of the Amorites and their kings comes from Noach. The Torah does not focus all that much on the five senses, or the First Five commandments, talkers violate all of these, so the problems facing the former, must be the Five Plagues- Five Sins of Speech, which should go away by the Fifth Day, when the Trumpets sound and the water teems.

“Through the power of speech, the Fire, God gives happiness to the humble. By speaking of the Seven Oaths, the Drunkard, Noah,  broke through the circle, defeated the violent, and led the gentlemen to peace.” 

*Noah opens a window in the Ark, I think that is what is meant by breaking through. 

8 Cush fathered Nimrod “the rebel”; he was the first on earth to be a mighty man.[n]9 He was a mighty hunter before the Lord. Therefore it is said, “Like Nimrod a mighty hunter before the Lord.” 10 The beginning of his kingdom was Babel “the gate of God”, Erech (length), Accad (to bake, to make glow), and Calneh (center of the world, beautifying), in the land of Shinar (that which is young and growls!).

“Men of Might hunt at length for the gate of God, where the Glowing makes the young man’s vessel bake and glow until he growls.” 

  11 From that land he went into Assyria (level, plain, happy) and built Nineveh (the fish place, the seat of government), Rehoboth-Ir, (wide city) Calah (like new) , and 12 Resen (head of a spring) between Nineveh and Calah; that is the great city. 

“Men who mature and glow these make new the seat of government and expand its horizons like the head of a spring contributes fresh water to a river. They are the antidote of the propaganda that causes the Flood of Violence.” 

13 Egypt fathered Ludim (from the Tree or standing pool), Anamim (responding water), Lehabim (flaming), Naphtuhim (engraver) , 14 Pathrusim (southland), Casluhim (a mental invertebrate), and Caphtorim (the crowned).

“The power of speech produces the water needed to crown the dumbass, engraving the knowledge of the Southern Fire on him, giving him a brain.”

15 Canaan fathered Sidon (hunting place) his firstborn and Heth (terror), 16 and the Jebusites (to trample down) , the Amorites (gossipers), the Girgashites (dwellers in clay), 17 the Hivites (tent villagers) , the Arkites, (fugitives, gnawers) the Sinites (thorn bush), 18 the Arvadites (wanderers), the Zemarites (wooly), and the Hamathites (people of hotness). Afterward the clans of the Canaanites dispersed. 

“The servants, the most humble before God, hunted down the gossipers, the self-masturbators, liars, the corrupt, the unshaven, wild, and violent, always hot with rage and trampled them.” 

19 And the territory of the Canaanites extended from Sidon in the direction of Gerar (sojourning) as far as Gaza (strong), and in the direction of Sodom (to burn) Gomorrah (people who shoot arrows tyrants), Admah (red earth, arable soil), and Zeboiim (gazelles), as far as Lasha (gaped at, delighted). 20 These are the sons of Ham, by their clans, their languages, their lands, and their nations.

“The servants of God overpower those consumed by the lust for power, who work for tyrants, using the Fire free the citizens of oppressed nations and create herds of happy, delighted little gazelles!”

21 To Shem (supreme knowledge) also, the father of all the children of Eber (who has passed over), the elder brother of Japheth (boundless civilization), children were born. 22 The sons of Shem: Elam (hidden),  Asshur (level, happy, just), Arpachshad= chesed= mercy, Lud (standing water), and Aram (high citadel). 

“The supreme knowledge, hidden within the happy, balanced, just and merciful is the standing water that reflects the Most High.” 

= the mirror image of a flood of violence. 

23 The sons of Aram: Uz (inner strength), Hul (writhing circle), Gether (winepress of vision), and Mash (drawn out). 

“Through contemplation and strength of will, the writhing mind is pressed and made to draw out the essence of the Most High.” 

24 Arpachshad (bordered by mercy) fathered Shelah (the mission); and Shelah fathered Eber (the region beyond). 25 To Eber were born two sons: the name of the one was Peleg (divided canal),[p] for in his days the earth was divided, and his brother's name was Joktan (he will be small) . 26

“Through mercy the mission can reach the farthest regions, and the divided earth can became one.” 

Joktan fathered Almodad (immeasurable is how God loves!), Sheleph (draw out), Hazarmaveth (village of death), Jerah (the moon), 27 Hadoram (thunder is exalted), Uzal (vanish), Diklah (palm tree), 28 Obal (not clouded), Abimael (God is father), Sheba (seven oaths), 29 Ophir (mark of wealth), Havilah (the burning fort), and Jobab (Yah is father); all these were the sons of Joktan (he will be small). 

“The unified world is loved by God without measure. Those who follow His Voice, the Exalted Thunder will be drawn forth from the village of the damned, and their sins, their clouded judgement will vanish. If they swear the Seven Oaths, they will bear the mark of wealth, live under the Tallest Date Palm, which resides behind the Wall of Fire, within the Burning Fort.”

30 The territory in which they lived extended from Mesha (retreat or depart) in the direction of Sephar (the census) to the hill country of the east. 31 These are the sons of Shem, by their clans, their languages, their lands, and their nations.

32 These are the clans of the sons of Noah, according to their genealogies, in their nations, and from these the nations spread abroad on the earth after the flood.

“To face east, towards the rising sun, to grow up, evolve, depart from the masses and reach for the Knowledge of the Supreme, is to become a part of the Effort to create an effortless peace all around the world.”

6 The Gibeonites then sent word to Joshua in the camp at Gilgal- the place of anointing nobles: “Do not abandon your servants. Come up to us quickly and save us! Help us, because all the Amorite kings from the hill country have joined forces against us.”

7 So Joshua marched up from Gilgal with his entire army, including all the best fighting men. 8 The Lord said to Joshua, “Do not be afraid of them; I have given them into your hand. Not one of them will be able to withstand you.”

=Those who erect altars, which divide what is barbaric from what is civilized in men, and carry the "reflective surface" within them are not afraid of a bunch of gossips and perverts.

9 After an all-night march from Gilgal, Joshua took them by surprise. 10 The Lord threw them into confusion before Israel, so Joshua and the Israelites defeated them completely at Gibeon. Israel pursued them along the road going up to Beth Horon "House Of The Hollow, House Of Freedom" and cut them down all the way to Azekah "the hedge" and Makkedah "the place of shepherds" . 11 As they fled before Israel on the road down from Beth Horon to Azekah "up against the wall", the Lord hurled large hailstones down on them, and more of them died from the hail than were killed by the swords of the Israelites.

"The road up to the House of Freedom leads to the hedge of the place of shepherds and down the other side leads to the Wall. In between the Wall and the talkers, God destroys the five sins of speech with hail, and the swords of the Noble Qualities."

-> As for hail...the Torah calls it Perverted Rain:

When rain does falls in Egypt, it falls as hail—hail that is ice without and fire within. Thus the Torah describes the seventh of the "ten plagues" to visit the Egyptians:

And G‑d rained hail upon the land of Egypt. And there was hail, and fire burning within the hail... (Exodus 9:23-24)

We often speak of "warm" and "cold" personalities. A "warm" person is a passionate, loving, outgoing individual, always ready to extend a hand and a smile to a fellow. A "cold" person is reserved, self-centered, indifferent to the fate of others. But the cold individual is also aflame—fired with self-love, ablaze with egotistical passions. Indeed, it is his excess of inner heat that is the cause of his icy exterior.

-> the Torah says in Mattot, there is an Edom, a commitment to which we must pledge ourselves- to take revenge on those who smear the good names of others:

Vengeance on the Midianites- The Strifers.

31 The Lord said to Moses, 2 “Take vengeance on the Midianites for the Israelites. After that, you will be gathered to your people.”

3 So Moses said to the people, “Arm some of your men to go to war against the Midianites so that they may carry out the Lord’s vengeance on them. 4 Send into battle a thousand men from each of the tribes of Israel.” 5 So twelve thousand men armed for battle, a thousand from each tribe, were supplied from the clans of Israel. 6 Moses sent them into battle, a thousand from each tribe, along with Phinehas son of Eleazar, the priest, who took with him articles from the sanctuary and the trumpets for signaling.

-> This means there must be an anti-propaganda war against the Strifers, which we know is the case vs. physical violence as Moses tells the Oracle, Phinehas, to bring trumpets.

7 They fought against Midian, as the Lord commanded Moses, and killed every man. 8 Among their victims were Evi, Rekem, Zur, Hur and Reba—the five kings of Midian. They also killed Balaam "the destroyer of the the people, son of Beor "the burning"  with the sword. 

Evi= Lust

Rekem= vanity

Zur= "strange incense"

Hur= the central hub of heat, AKA anger

Reba= "to stretch out" as in to display one's ass.

"If you spread strife, signaling it is okay for lust, vanity, anger, and propaganda to rule the people instead of the Commitments, you need to die."

This is what is meant by the hail the Lord sent against the Kings of the Amorites.

Why Joshua trapped the Kings and their men between the wall and the mountain and hailed on them will be revealed soon.

12 On the day the Lord gave the Amorites over to Israel, Joshua said to the Lord in the presence of Israel:

“Sun, stand still over Gibeon,     and you, moon, over the Valley of Aijalon "the place or protrusions.” 13 So the sun stood still,     and the moon stopped,     till the nation avenged itself on[b] its enemies,

as it is written in the Book of Jashar "upright".

The sun stopped in the middle of the sky and delayed going down about a full day. 14 There has never been a day like it before or since, a day when the Lord listened to a human being. Surely the Lord was fighting for Israel!

-> The sun is always supposed to stand still when the Lord brings salvation or works a miracle:

Birkat Hachamah literally means "the Blessing on the Sun." Its text: "Blessed are You, Lord our G‑d, King of the universe, who reenacts the works of creation." 

Birkat Hachamah marks the sun reaching a specific (and not unusual) position – the same one it occupied at the moment of its creation – at the same time of the week when it was created.

-> Hear the miracle is a conversation between Joshua and God, who want the world trapped between the Gossipers and the Lion Kings, the fledgling Gibeonites and the Israelites who just put roots down in Jericho to have peace. Over all that noise of the multitudes, God listened only to one man:

There has never been a day like it before or since, a day when the Lord listened to a human being.

15 Then Joshua returned with all Israel to the camp at Gilgal.

Five Amorite Kings Killed

16 Now the five kings had fled and hidden in the cave at Makkedah. 17 When Joshua was told that the five kings had been found hiding in the cave at Makkedah "shepherd's place." 18 he said, “Roll large rocks up to the mouth of the cave, and post some men there to guard it. 19 But don’t stop; pursue your enemies! Attack them from the rear and don’t let them reach their cities, for the Lord your God has given them into your hand.”

->By the grace of the Shepherd, the rocks, the Noble Qualities were able to teach the talkers to be more discrete.

20 So Joshua and the Israelites defeated them completely, but a few survivors managed to reach their fortified cities. 21 The whole army then returned safely to Joshua in the camp at Makkedah, and no one uttered a word against the Israelites.

22 Joshua said, “Open the mouth of the cave and bring those five kings out to me.” 23 So they brought the five kings out of the cave—the kings of Jerusalem, Hebron, Jarmuth, Lachish and Eglon. 24 When they had brought these kings to Joshua, he summoned all the men of Israel and said to the army commanders who had come with him, “Come here and put your feet on the necks of these kings.” So they came forward and placed their feet on their necks.

25 Joshua said to them, “Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged. Be strong and courageous. This is what the Lord will do to all the enemies you are going to fight.” 26 Then Joshua put the kings to death and exposed their bodies on five poles, and they were left hanging on the poles until evening.

27 At sunset Joshua gave the order and they took them down from the poles and threw them into the cave where they had been hiding. At the mouth of the cave they placed large rocks, which are there to this day.

-> There must always be an "Israelite boot" on our necks, their rocks in our mouths and their poles up our...

There must be stillness, silence, and purpose throughout the day, otherwise, the sun will not stand still, God will not converse with us, He will not rescue us.

Southern Cities Conquered

28 That day Joshua took Makkedah. He put the city and its king to the sword and totally destroyed everyone in it. He left no survivors. And he did to the king of Makkedah as he had done to the king of Jericho.

=Remember the sword separates what is innocent from what is guilty, what is naive and what is experienced, etc. as in the story of Eden, it divides us from former states of ignominy to which we cannot return.

This is also what is meant by going South towards the Light of Realization.

29 Then Joshua and all Israel with him moved on from Makkedah "the shepherds house" to Libnah "purity"  and attacked it. 30 The Lord also gave that city and its king into Israel’s hand. The city and everyone in it Joshua put to the sword. He left no survivors there. And he did to its king as he had done to the king of Jericho.

31 Then Joshua and all Israel with him moved on from Libnah to Lachish; "from purity to the lion" he took up positions against it and attacked it. 32 The Lord gave Lachish into Israel’s hands, and Joshua took it on the second day. The city and everyone in it he put to the sword, just as he had done to Libnah. 33 Meanwhile, Horam king of Gezer "King of the Mountain Shape" had come up to help Lachish, but Joshua defeated him and his army—until no survivors were left.

34 Then Joshua and all Israel with him moved on from Lachish to Eglon "the fine bull boy"; they took up positions against it and attacked it. 35 They captured it that same day and put it to the sword and totally destroyed everyone in it, just as they had done to Lachish.

36 Then Joshua and all Israel with him went up from Eglon to Hebron "the place of joining" and attacked it. 37 They took the city and put it to the sword, together with its king, its villages and everyone in it. They left no survivors. Just as at Eglon, they totally destroyed it and everyone in it.

38 Then Joshua and all Israel with him turned around and attacked Debir "the place of honeycombs". 39 They took the city, its king and its villages, and put them to the sword. Everyone in it they totally destroyed. They left no survivors. They did to Debir and its king as they had done to Libnah and its king and to Hebron.

40 So Joshua subdued the whole region, including the hill country, the Negev "undulating hills" , the western foothills and the mountain slopes, together with all their kings. He left no survivors. He totally destroyed all who breathed, just as the Lord, the God of Israel, had commanded. 41 Joshua subdued them from Kadesh Barnea "Sacred Desert Of Wandering, Holy Purifying Staggerings" to Gaza "to be strong" and from the whole region of Goshen "to draw near" to Gibeon. 42 All these kings and their lands Joshua conquered in one campaign, because the Lord, the God of Israel, fought for Israel.

43 Then Joshua returned with all Israel to the camp at Gilgal.

-> A long, drawn out and windy way of saying:

="The Lord of Justice told the men to rely upon one another, and descend form the heights, illustrious with their knowledge of the Words, leading like fine bull calves, roaring the truth like lions."

Should we listen, creation will be ever new.

Love Has a Learning Curve: Part VII (x reader)

Summary: Reader tries to make things right, with a little push from her mama.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: hurt/comfort

Warnings/Includes: none

a/n: I know, I know— please just let our babies be happy ♥️ and so it was. Also, big ups to my tumblr gf @idmakeitbehave​ for being my beta the past two chapters.

Series Masterlist

———

One week.

That’s how long it had been since their argument. Spencer had driven back to his apartment in silence, absolutely stunned by the way things had blown up.

They’d gotten back from the case in Utah on the fifth of January, and he’d driven straight to Y/N’s, ready to give her a belated New Year’s kiss. Immediately upon entering her apartment, he knew something was wrong. Her hug was stiff, her kiss brief, her eye contact minimal. He’d spent the night, but they barely touched, and she left early for work without waking him. He’d let himself out and texted her later in the day to invite her over for dinner.

Dinner hadn’t been any less awkward, and when he felt awkward, he knew it was bad. He finally couldn’t ignore it any longer, and he’d called it out. He had expected some resistance, but he hadn’t expected that. Y/N never spoke to him with any malice at all, even when he was actually doing something that irritated her. She was the queen of healthy communication. So for her to speak to him like that meant that the underlying issue was much, much worse than he’d originally thought.

He’d gone over their conversations a thousand times, looking desperately for the moment that it went wrong. After some deep consideration, he was certain that something had happened on New Year’s Eve. He just wasn’t sure what. Y/N was insistent that she wasn’t bothered by the declined call, but he still wished he could go back in time and answer it. He was pretty sure the seeds of their argument had sprouted in that moment, regardless of what she said.

Spencer knew she was a creature of habit, and that sometimes she needed space to process and experience her emotions. And if he was being honest, he needed some space after the argument, too. But usually she would have at least texted him by now.

He sighed and set down his newspaper, realizing he’d read the same page four times and hadn’t retained any of it. It was Friday, and he knew she was working. But still his fingers itched to dial her number. He picked up the phone, pressing a key to light up the screen yet again.

No new messages.

He dropped the phone back to the table with a little more force than was necessary. He decided he’d give her the rest of the weekend. If he didn’t hear from her by Sunday, he’d have to do something.

…

Y/N dropped her bag on the floor inside the door and turned to lock the deadbolt. She had managed to sneak out of the building without being stopped by Anita, and she thanked the universe for small miracles.

She didn’t want to have to explain herself. She didn’t want anyone to know what an absolute troll she’d been. Considering that Sam and Spencer had practically become attached at the hip since they’d started hanging out more, Anita was bound to ask about him.

She showered and ordered Thai food, snuggling down on the couch to watch a movie with Roald. She settled on Dumplin’— a favorite for the body positivity, the southern drawls, and the Dolly Parton drag.

And then she came to the argument outside of Harpy’s and lost what little emotional stability she had left.

“Never took you for the type that cares much what people think.”

“I can’t, Bo. And that might make me a coward, but—”

“It does. Willowdean Dixon, I think you’re beautiful. To hell with anyone who’s ever made you feel less than that.”

She didn’t realize she was crying until Roald meowed in distress. She choked out a sob and stroked over his ears, closing her eyes in defeat. “I really fucked this up, huh?”

It had only been one week, but it felt like years since Spencer walked out of her apartment. She’d stayed in bed for the entire weekend, crying on and off. She knew she had no one to blame but herself. Owen had knocked over the first domino, but she’d done nothing to stop the rest from falling.

Spencer had done everything right. He’d done everything she asked, and she’d thrown it all back in his face. He had made the comparison to Mitchell Park, and he was absolutely right. She’d done the exact same thing, only she had almost a year’s worth of ammunition, and she cut a hell of a lot deeper.

Roald nuzzled against her, but she nudged him away— she didn’t even deserve the comfort. Instead, she fumbled in the couch cushions for her phone, swiping open the screen and tapping her favorites list, thumb hovering over Spencer’s name. Then she tapped on the name right above it and blew out a breath.

The line connected and rang three times before she picked up. “Hey, sugar! Your ears must be ringin’, ‘cause I was just thinkin’ about callin’ you.”

“Hey, mama,” Y/N breathed.

Her mother’s tone changed from chipper to concerned in an instant. “What’s wrong, baby?”

She leaned forward to the coffee table to grab Spencer’s scarf— somehow left behind in her apartment— rubbing it between her fingers. “I— I really messed up.”

“Oh, Lord. You need bail money?”

Despite herself, Y/N laughed wetly. “Oh my god , mama. No, I don’t need bail money.”

“Well, if you made bail it can’t be that bad,” Rose insisted.

“I didn’t— I’m not in jail, for Christ’s sake.” Y/N ran a hand over her face. “I messed things up with Spencer.”

“Well, we can fix that,” Rose responded matter of factly. “What happened?”

“We were fighting, and I said some really, really awful things,” Y/N admitted, tears spilling over her lash line.

Rose scoffed. “Honey, I say awful things to your father all the time, and we’ve been married almost 40 years.”

Y/N heaved a long sigh. “Not like this, mama.”

Her mother hummed in consideration. “Well, what were y’all fightin’ about?”

“It’s complicated,” Y/N hedged, toying with the fringe of the scarf.

Rose clicked her tongue. “Do ya want my help or not?”

Y/N dropped her head back against the couch. “I ran into Owen on New Year’s Eve—”

“Well, I hope you told him to stick it where the sun don’t shine,” Rose practically growled.

Y/N closed her eyes as the tears tracked hot down her cheeks. “I didn’t. I— I let him get under my skin, and then I didn’t want to tell Spencer about it because it’s embarrassing, but he knew something was wrong, and he wouldn’t stop asking about it.” She had to pause and suck in a hiccuping breath, releasing it on a sob. “So I yelled at him and said all kinds of terrible things, and then he left, and now I think maybe we broke up, and I’ve literally never been so sad in my whole life.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone, and then she heard Rose sniffling. “Really shoulda had your brothers knock the mess out of that son of bitch when we had the chance. He's been gone five years, and he’s still hurtin’ you every chance he gets.”

Y/N swiped uselessly at the tear tracks on her cheeks, sniffling pathetically. “And now I hurt the person who’s spent the last year singlehandedly undoing all of his awful handiwork.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Rose cooed. Y/N could hear the creak of the floorboards as her mother walked through her childhood home. “You said he knew somethin’ was wrong, right? I can almost guarantee that he’s still just wonderin’ what’s goin’ on. I know he’s supposed to be a genius, but he’s still a man. And men are dumb, sugar. You gotta spell it out for ‘em. Have you talked to him since?”

“No.” Fresh tears spilled over Y/N’s lashes as the thoughts that had kept her from calling him spilled out of her mouth. “What if it was too far? What if I ruined everything? What if he never wants to speak to me again?”

Ross heaved out a long breath. “That’s a lot of what ifs, Y/N.”

“What if I’m right?” she whispered.

“And what if you’re not?” Rose countered. “That boy loves you. Anyone could see that, clear as day. He’d do just about anything for you.” Rose paused, and Y/N heard the springs of the bed squeak as she sat. “But you gotta let him, sweetheart. Right now you’re takin’ away his chance to do that. You’re makin’ the decision for him.”

Y/N listened as her mother’s advice crackled over the line, and for the first time in a week, she felt a tiny sliver of hope.

“If he doesn’t want to be with you anymore, you need to let him tell you that. Don’t settle for a what if. Find out for sure, or you're gonna spend the rest of your life worryin’ and wonderin’, sugar.”

…

That evening found Spencer in his usual spot on the couch, reclined against the arm with a book in hand. He’d promised himself he’d give Y/N the weekend to herself— that he’d let her come to him. That didn’t stop him from checking his phone obsessively; it never buzzed with any new calls or messages, but he still looked every seven minutes.

The sound of the buzzer jolted his body to attention. He checked his watch and drew his brows together before closing his book and scrambling to cross to the intercom, a tiny seed of hope beginning to germinate. He pressed the button to talk, calling, “Yes?” into the speaker box and then listening for the response.

“Hi.”

Her voice was so quiet that he could barely hear it over the crackle of the speaker. He buzzed her in without hesitation, crossing to the door and opening it immediately. She made her way slowly up the stairs, turning at the top of the landing and pausing.

His heart broke at the sight of her. She looked utterly exhausted, dressed in black sweatpants and a soft purple sweater, a black puffer jacket over top. She was holding his scarf, wringing it in between her hands. Her eyes were ringed red, and the bags under them were worse than his.

He watched as she crossed the landing, coming to stand quietly in front of him. He’d known something was wrong, but the way she looked now made him wonder just how long she’d been battling whatever private demons she wouldn’t let him in on.

“I, um.” She cleared her throat, and it was clear she’d been crying from the thickness of her voice. “I have a lot to say— again. But since I was such an asshole, I wanted to give you the opportunity to say anything you need to say first.”

He’d imagined this conversation countless times over the last week, and never once had he thought it would start like this. “Um. Well. You— you really hurt me.”

She could barely look at him. “I know.”

He swallowed. “Please don’t do that again.”

She shook her head, finally meeting his eyes. “I won’t. I won’t ever again.”

Spencer tucked his hands into the pockets of his lounge pants. “I know I may not be the best at social cues, but I’m a pretty good profiler. And I can tell when something’s wrong.” He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t have to tell me everything. I’m just asking you to tell me when I do something that makes you upset.”

“You— you didn’t do anything wrong. I—” He watched her squeeze her eyes shut. “God, I’m so sorry, Spencer. I’m just— I’m sorry for so many things. For lying about being fine, for being up on my high horse about communicating and then not actually doing it, for being an absolute bitch.”

He wanted to argue— she wasn’t a bitch— but he could tell she was far from done.

“I— I thought therapy was supposed to teach me how to talk about things, but this still feels… impossible to say out loud,” she admitted, fingers fumbling with the fabric of the scarf. “It’s embarrassing and ridiculous. But I— I have deep-seated insecurities. That I’m not really that smart or interesting or particularly special.”

He thought back to that night in Mitchell Park and felt the guilt all over again. He’d practically said those exact words to her— it was no wonder she was feeling this way.

“And every person that I’ve ever been with has— really reinforced those ideas, so for a long time they were just… a set part of my self-image,” she explained, dragging a hand over her messy hair. “I thought— I thought that I was over it, but I— I don’t know. Maybe you never really are.”

His brain sorted through every moment of their year together, pinging off the countless examples of her self-doubt and insecurity. She was easily the most wonderful person he knew, but he could clearly see the cracks in the facade if he looked close enough. How had he missed it for so long?

“And then I met you, and you…” Y/N let out a wry laugh. “You’re easily the most interesting person I’ve ever met, but you made me feel like… I don’t know, like I’m interesting, too. Like I’m worthy of being with you, like I’m— like I’m good enough.”

He felt his heart splintering into a thousand tiny shards— good enough?

“But I can’t— I still have a hard time believing it sometimes. And I— I’ve been letting myself keep you at arms length. Letting you see parts of me, but… never giving you everything,” she admitted.

He watched her struggle to get the words out, her voice thick with the act of holding back sobs. He hadn’t realized she was carrying all of this. She was so good at supporting him and loving him through all of his trauma and issues, he hadn’t stopped to consider just how much she needed him, too.

She continued, “It’s why I took so long to say I love you… why I couldn’t talk to you last week. Because I just—” She shrugged as the tears rolled down her cheeks. “I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For you to realize that I’m really nothing special. That you’re getting bored, or there’s someone who’s a better fit for you, or one million other things. That I’m needy, and annoying, and too much work.”

A fresh tear tracked down her cheek, and he felt his own eyes filling. She never failed to put a stop to his own insecurities— reminding him that she liked his rambling, that he wasn’t irritating, that he was just the right amount. In his eyes, she was perfect. He would have never guessed she felt this way about herself.

She continued, “That’s what happened before, and none of those guys were even half as wonderful as you are.” She swiped a hand haphazardly over her cheeks, looking at him sheepishly. “And then I was hurtful and awful, and I realized that I was just creating a self fulfilling prophecy and I don’t— I don’t want to do that.”

Her hand shook a little as she brought it back down to twist in his scarf. “Because it’s never— I’ve never felt like this. I've never been this happy with anyone else, and I don’t want to give that up. I don’t want to give you up. Even if sometimes I feel like I’ll never be enough.”

Her voice cracked on a stifled cry, and his chest physically ached. “And if you never want to see me again, I completely understand, and I’ll leave you alone, but I— I’m just so sorry. And I love you so much, and I’m trying so hard to be better.” She sucked in a ragged breath and let it out on an exhausted sigh. “And that’s, um— that’s it. If you want me to go, I—”

“I don’t want you to go,” he interrupted.

Her eyes went wide. “You don’t?”

“Of course not.” Spencer stepped forward and reached for her. “Of course not. C’mere.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, she was tumbling into his arms with a choked off sob. He pulled her inside and closed the door behind them, walking her to the couch and sitting them both down. She clung to him like she was afraid he’d disappear into thin air.

“Y/N, I’m right here,” he assured her. “I’m right here, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But if you n-need space, I understand,” she sobbed.

“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t need space. I think a week was long enough, don’t you?” he asked, pressing a kiss into her hair.

She pulled back out of the hug, head down. “But I really hurt you.”

He held her hand. “Yeah. And I really hurt you, too.”

She huffed out a breath. “That’s not how this works. I don’t get to hurt you just because you hurt me.”

“I know that.” He almost laughed at how indignant she sounded. “I’m not saying that we should hurt each other. I’m saying that sometimes it happens. And when it does, we apologize, and we forgive, and we move forward. And it’s okay if you need space. But I don’t.”

“What if you change your mind?” she whispered.

“Then I promise I’ll tell you.” Spencer tilted her chin up so he could meet her eyes. “I promise I’ll tell you what I need, as long as you tell me, too. We’ve gotta use all those communication skills we learn in therapy.”

Y/N nodded, and he pulled her into another hug. He closed his eyes, letting out a sigh of relief. “If I hadn’t heard from you by Sunday, I was planning to bother you until you talked to me.”

He could feel the beginning of a smile turning up the corner of her mouth where it was pressed to his shoulder. “You never bother me,” she mumbled. She held him for a moment longer and then released him from the hug and sat back, fidgeting with her hands and letting out a breath.

“Sometimes I need to be told that my worst fears about myself aren’t true,” she admitted. “I know that’s so annoying, but—”

“It’s not annoying,” he interrupted, putting an immediate stop to that line of thought. “Telling you how amazing you are isn’t the chore that you think it is. I’m sorry that anyone ever convinced you that it was.”

He covered her hands with his own, rubbing his thumbs softly along her skin. He couldn’t stop thinking about her dealing with all of this by herself. He hated that she’d ever felt anything less than adored. More than anything, he hated that he hadn’t been able to help her through it. And he wanted to make sure that he never made that mistake again.

“A wise man told me once... that love is helping someone navigate their storms,” he murmured, squeezing her hand. She looked at him then, and he continued, “You’ve been my lighthouse for a long time, Y/N. And I— I’m trying desperately to be yours… But you have to let me.”

Her eyes filled with fresh tears, but she nodded. He let out a long breath and pulled her hands into his lap. “I understand that sometimes you need space, and that’s fine. I’m happy to give you whatever you need.”

He shook his head. “Just— please don’t try to weather the storm by yourself. You can’t do it all alone; no one can.” He smiled ruefully. “I can tell you from experience that’s pretty much a guaranteed way to capsize your boat.”

His voice cracked a little at the end, and he felt a tear slip over his lash line. “I’ll help you repair your boat, or build a new one, or you can just float on mine for a while. It’s not perfect but it’s pretty sturdy, I think.”

She brought her fingers up to brush at his damp cheeks, and he met her eyes. “What I’m not going to do is let you float out on the ocean by yourself. I love you too much.”

She was quiet for a long moment, sniffling a little and just watching him— almost like she couldn’t believe he was there. She brought her hand back to his and laced their fingers together, rubbing her thumb along his skin. “I love you the most.”

“Agree to disagree.” He gave her a small smile and leaned forward to press his lips to her forehead. “Want some tea?”

She was frowning when he pulled back, her brows drawn together. “I need to tell you about Owen.”

The conversation he’d had with Anita was suddenly on replay in Spencer’s head.

… a real piece of shit… telling her lies about herself… isolating her… destroying her from the inside out...

He squeezed her hand. “You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready. You don’t have to tell me at all if you don’t want to.”

She shook her head. “Talking about him takes away his power. I have to stop letting him have so much sway over my emotions.” She looked at him then. “I do things I regret and hurt people I love.”

He brought their joined hands up his lips. “Well, I’m here either way. And I’m still going to make you some tea.”

He stood and pulled her up with him, bringing her into the kitchen and refusing to let go of her hand. He filled the kettle and turned it on, found a bag of her favorite tea and ripped it open with his teeth. He dropped the bag into her favorite mug, and then made a mug up for himself.

“You know, it’d be a lot easier if you’d let go,” she said, the hint of a smile in her voice.

“Mhm,” he agreed, but he made no move to release her hand. In fact, once he’d fumbled a spoonful of honey into each of the cups, he dropped the spoon into her mug and turned to pull her into another hug. He hooked his chin over her shoulder and closed his eyes as she brought her arms around his waist. “I missed you,” he whispered.

She squeezed him tight. “I missed you, too. I’m so sorry.”

She buried her face in his neck, and he felt her breathe him in. He pressed a kiss into her shoulder and then settled his chin again. “Apology accepted, in case it wasn’t clear.”

They stood like that until the kettle began to whistle, and then Spencer kept her tucked underneath his arm as he turned to shut it off and pour the water into the mugs. They each grabbed a mug, making their way back to the couch and setting them on the coffee table to steep. Spencer kept their fingers intertwined and stayed quiet, letting her set the pace of the conversation.

Y/N took a deep breath and let it out on a long sigh. “I guess I should start at the beginning. I, um— I had my first boyfriend in high-school: Cal Cunningham. He was older and cooler, and so I felt— I don’t know… special when he picked me.” She rolled her eyes. “In reality, he was rude, and arrogant, and kind of a misogynist. We didn’t date for very long, but it kind of… set me up on this path of dating guys who weren’t very nice.”

Spencer ran his thumb soothingly along hers, waiting for her to continue. “When I started college, I dated this guy Adam for a few months. He was nice enough but really self-centered and a little immature. When we broke up I just wanted to be on my own for a while.”

“I was single for two years after that, just kind of… finding myself and whatever.” Her eyes tracked the path his thumb traced along her skin. “So when I started dating Owen at the end of junior year, it felt like my first real relationship. Like— we were both adults, and he dressed up for our dates, and he paid for things and bought me flowers and fit all the cliches.”

“And it was great at first,” she admitted. “We had a lot of the same friends, so we’d been hanging out for a while before we got together. He was a perfect gentleman— and smart, accomplished, and ambitious. I fell fast, and I fell hard, and we were sort of— it feels so stupid to say this, but it felt like we were an it couple.”

“A few of us made plans to move to DC after graduation— my friend Jess and her boyfriend Chris, Sam and Anita,” she explained. “And Owen and I, obviously. We moved in together in an apartment downtown. And that’s when everything changed.”

She drew her brows together. “It was little things at first. Like he’d jokingly call me stupid for forgetting something, or he’d complain about one of my friends being annoying. But it snowballed pretty quickly. He’d tell me I was stupid, and he wasn’t joking. All of my friends irritated him to the point where we couldn’t hang out anymore— even our former mutual friends. He thought that teaching kindergarten was a mindless, pointless job.”

Spencer tried to keep his heart rate steady, his facial expressions neutral, but his blood pressure was on the rise. No one deserved to be spoken to like that, least of all Y/N.

She continued, “We spent the holidays at my parents’ the second year we were dating, and he spent the entire car ride home explaining, in detail, how ridiculous and low-class he thought everything was.”

She shook her head and rubbed her free hand over her face. “I know it’s insane that I stayed with him for five years, but I— he did a really good job of convincing me that I was... that I was nothing. That he was doing me a favor by loving me. That he could have anyone, but he chose me. No one else was going to, so I should be grateful.”

He balled his free hand into a fist to avoid squeezing her to death. When Anita had said Owen was a piece of shit… he hadn’t realized just how deeply she meant it.

She picked at the fabric of her sweatpants, staring intently at the tiny pills. “When someone says all of that to you on a daily basis, and you’re not hearing otherwise from anyone else— because no one knew what was going on— when someone tells you you’re nothing… you start to believe it.”

Spencer relaxed his fist to bring his fingers up to her face, gently cupping her cheek. She leaned into his touch and closed her eyes for a long moment. He didn’t know what to say. Instead, he pressed his lips to her forehead in a voiceless assurance that she was, in fact, everything. He felt her relax under the warm pressure of his lips, and he hoped that was enough for now.

He sat back to let her continue. “We were together for five years, and we only broke up because he cheated on me. It was a long term affair; they were sleeping together for almost a year before I found out. And… a lot of people knew. Almost all of his friends knew. But I didn’t. I was still being this ridiculous, desperate little Suzy Homemaker trying to make him happy, even though he was still treating me like shit.”

She laughed, but there wasn’t an ounce of humor in it. “When I found out, I wasn’t even hurt. I was… embarrassed, I guess. But I was so relieved. I was so fucking relieved that I had a way out.”

He watched as her shoulders settled, almost like an actual weight had been lifted off of them. “I got a therapist and dropped all of the friends that were still hanging around with him. I moved to a new neighborhood, started hanging out with Anita and Sam, and just— started fresh. And I was doing really well. I’ve had my moments of insecurity here and there, but for the most part, I’ve been able to recognize the moments when I’m falling back into old thought patterns.”

She looked at him then, and her eyes were so soft and lovely that his heart ached. “You’re a big reason for that. You’re so open with how you feel about me, and… it makes things a lot easier.” She dropped her gaze with a sigh. “But I— he was at the party on New Year's. And I didn’t know he was going to be there until I was already there , and then it felt stupid to leave. I thought I could handle it—”

“And then I didn’t answer your call.”

“No, no .” She shook her head and reached her free hand out to grasp his arm. “That’s— Spencer, none of this is your fault.” She furrowed her brow, and the crease between them was practically an abyss. “He sort of— cornered me on the patio. I hadn’t seen him in like, four years? And he was complimenting me, and asking about you, and then he tried to— well, he did kiss me actually. I shoved him off, and he didn’t like that, and he did his whole Owen thing. Told me that he’d cheated because I was uninteresting and worthless. That eventually you’d get bored of me, too. Just, um— generally awful shit.”

She took a deep breath, and the rest steamrolled off her tongue and over his heart. “And then he just— left . And he’d absolutely demolished my self-image in less than ten minutes, and I was embarrassed and angry at myself, and then you didn’t answer, but I was kind of glad you didn’t because I didn’t actually want to talk about it. And I thought I could just move on, but then I was being weird, and you knew something was wrong. And I just wanted to pretend like it never happened, but then you kept pressing me on it, and I just— I didn’t want to have to explain it all to you because I was afraid that— that maybe he was right.”

Y/N dissolved back into the couch, an unwelcome indication of the emotional exhaustion that came with reliving trauma. Spencer moved closer and mirrored the position of her body against the cushions, bringing his face close enough to bump their noses together. They breathed the same air for one noiseless minute before she finally met his eyes.

“I need you to understand that not one single thing he said to you— on New Year’s or ever— was right, in either sense of the word. None of it was factual, and none of it was acceptable.”

She gave him a weary nod, and he continued, “You are the single best person that I know. You’re kind, brilliant, and driven. You’re interesting, and wonderful, and lovely. You’re my absolute favorite person on the planet, and I will never get bored of you.”

He let his eyes trace over all the angles and curves of her face, and then raised his eyebrows. “He’s lucky that I respect you enough not to go over your head, because what I’d like to do is run a full background check and find any and every possible transgression that could be legally investigated and then use that information to ruin his life.” He tilted his head in thought. “That or— get really jacked and then beat the shit out of him.”

“God, please don’t. As much as I’d love to watch that unfold,” she cupped his face in her hand, “you’re better than that. And he’s not worth either of our energies… I already wasted enough time dwelling on it and hurt you in the process.” She dropped her hand back to her lap with a sigh. “I spent so much time in that relationship that my brain didn’t know what to do with this good, healthy one.”

He took both of her hands in his, squeezing them tight and then pressing a kiss to the back of each. He wouldn’t commit assault, since she’d asked him not to. But he wasn’t going to let Owen taint any part of his life with her.

“I’m so sorry that someone you loved made you think it was hard to love you. Because loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.” He pressed his lips together and mused, “But I think maybe love has a learning curve. Especially when you’re used to being hurt. You have to unlearn all the bullshit. People will have you thinking that you have to water yourself down, or change who you are, or make yourself more palatable. I thought that, too.”

He brushed her hair back away from her face and waited for her to meet his eyes. “And then I met you. And you love all of it— all of me. All the rambling, all the quirks, and— even the dark parts, too.”

She sniffled a little, but really smiled for the first time that night. “What’s not to love about you?”

He smiled back. “I’m not sure if you realize that I fully reciprocate that feeling. What’s not to love about you? I have a hard time thinking of even one thing about you that I don’t absolutely adore.”

“Even when I act like a horrid bitch?” she mumbled, only half joking.

He leaned his head against the couch cushion. “A year ago, you stood on my doorstep and gave me forgiveness— after I’d been a complete asshole to you... I told you then that I wanted to learn how to love with you. I still do. In all the wonderful, and the weird, and the terrible. Even when we get it wrong.”

He shrugged, and then ran a soft fingertip down the bridge of her nose. “There is no one else I’d rather get it wrong with. Because when we get it right… it’s the closest I’ve ever felt to magic.”

Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears, and she brought both hands up to his face, holding him with an adoration that made his own eyes burn. “You can believe that you love me the most,” she whispered, “but just know that you’re wrong.”

He leaned forward to close the distance between them, pressing a kiss to her lips with a reverence that felt technicolor and devout and more magical than any trick he’d ever mastered.

“Agree to disagree.”

———

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The Fifth Lord: Chapter 2

Pairing: Alcina Dimitrescu and (Fem!Dragon)Reader [non-romantic], Bela Dimitrescu x (Fem!Dragon)Reader

Summary: Your name is Y/n Dracul; The only ‘mutant’ that doesn’t have the Cadou Parasite. You already have some sort of power that impressed Mother Miranda; you were the first known Human-Dragon Hybrid. Although you have your own house, “House Dracul”. Your ‘house’ itself is basically an unused wing of Castle Dimitrescu.

Warnings: None?

A/N: So like- Y/n’s dragon form is different from Alcina’s. Y/n Dracul is based on the Dragon Slayers from an anime titled: Fairy Tail. Y/n’s relationship with Alcina is that similar to like close work colleagues. Aside form Donna and Mother Miranda, Alcina respects Y/n a lot. Fun Fact: “Dracul” is Romanian for Dragon or Devil

Ethan Winters is captured by Heisenberg and we take this chapter to the intro of the Five Lords.

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

As you enter the main hall, Bela and her sisters are seated before Alcina.

“Y/n, you and I are to go to a ‘family’ meeting,” Alcina says, taking a sip of her drink from her teacup

You nod as you seat yourself in a single seat, “When do we leave?”

“Right now,” She says, “Bela you are in charge of the castle until we reutrn.”

“Aww, Why can’t I watch the castle Mother?” Daniela pouts

“Because you will burn down the castle,” Bela states

“I do not!” Daniela looks at her elder sister

“Now now girls,” Alcina calms them, “My decision is final. No arguing while y/n and I are out. Understood?”

They nod their heads calmly. 

“Good,” She says, “Let’s go y/n.”

You nod and begin following her before Bela takes your hand. You turn your head and she pulls you in for a hug.

“Keep that fly with you,” Bela whispers, “That way I’ll always be with you.”

You give Bela one last kiss before she let’s you go to go to the meeting.

“I’ve called you all here today to discuss this man’s fate,” Mother Miranda begins, “The lord who can persuede me the most, I will leave this man’s fate in your hands.”

“My daughters do so love, entertaining foreigners,” Alcina starts, “Furthermore, I can assure you can entrust the mortal to me.”

“Dracul, do you have anything to say about this mortal?” Mother Miranda asks, “How do you argue to entrust the mortal to yourself.”

You were sitting along a ledge right above Alcina. Smoke comes out of your nose as you exhale and you look away from whatever it was you were staring at and look at Mother Miranda; all eyes are looking up at you.

“You know, if I’m going to be honest,” You start, ‘You four can do whatever the hell you want with him. Don’t entrust the stupid manthing to me.”

“Y/n... We live in the same domain,” Alcina sighs in annoyance

“You may be right My Lady,” You add, “But, I’d be responsible for him and I’d rather not look after a stupid manthing. I rest my case.”

You lean back into a beam, letting out smoke from your mouth. You just listen to Alcina and Heisenberg argue over the manthing. 

“You can entrust the mortal to house Dimitrescu, the manthings suffering is assured. Regardless,” Alcina states

“Yada yada if the man’s dick is cut off in the castle blah blah blah,” Heisenberg drones on

You couldn’t help but let out a snicker. You and Moreau. Alcina looks up at you in annoyance and a question of; are you on my side or not?!

“I’ve heard all of your arguments, some of you were less persuasive than the rest. But, I’ve made my decision,” Mother Miranda starts, “Heisenberg.”

She points to him, “The manthing’s fate is in your hands.”

You watch Alcina and Heisenberg argue once more. 

“Mother Miranda I must refuse this decision!” Alcina states, standing up from her chair, “Heisenberg is but a child. Give the mortal to me and I will ensure he is ready.”

“Shut your damn hole!” Heisenberg growls, coming up to Alcina and telekinetically dragging his hammer back into his hand, “And don’t be a sore loser. Go get your food elsewhere.”

“Quiet now child! Adults are talking,” Alcina attempts to calmly say

“Oh, I’m the child?” Heisenberg asks, “You’re the one always arguing with Miranda’s decisions!”

“You wouldn’t know responsibility! Even if it was welded to that hammer!” Alcina argues

“Oh! Keep growing! Maybe your head might one day fit your ego!” Heisenberg argues back

Your eyes widen... 

Not even I can make an argument like that... Well, they are siblings after all...

“Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!” Angie provokes the two arguing lords

“SILENCE!” Mother Miranda yells, unfolding her wings, “I’ve made my decision and it is final. There will be no argument. Remember from whence you came.” 

You gently land yourself into Alcina’s chair as Alcina walks over to stand behind her chair. You all watch Heisenberg deal with Ethan.

“Lycans and gentleman,” Heisenberg announces, “We thank you for waiting.”

You watch Heisenberg lean down to Ethan’s eye level, “Let’s see what you’re really made of, Ethan Winters.”

You follow Alcina back into the castle where you just head straight towards your clocktower. Having Bela be a regular visitor of yours has you really thinking on where you should set your bed. She told you about her weakness despite Alcina’s protests for you to know. However, you promised her that you would never take advantage of that.

“Tired already? Here, let me help you,” Bela teases as she throws the blanket around the both of you

You place a warm kiss on Bela’s forehead as you begin warming the blanket slowly for Bela to warm up.

“Mother is upset,” Bela sighs, “I guess it’s going back to woman flesh...”

“Sorry love,” You say, “I’d feel like I’d be the worst at looking after a manthing...” 

Before the both of you continue on, you hear flies from the distance which are getting louder.

“Sister!” Daniela yells as she materializes first, “I heard the front door opening. Someone’s here.”

You and Bela give one glance at each other before throwing the blanket onto your bed and you follow their lead. 

Once you reach the main hall with the girls, you watch them. The giggles echo throughout the castle entryway.

Music to my ears...

You see Bela hooking her sickle into the manthing’s calf. A shrieked pained scream exits his mouth. 

“Mmmmm Man-blood,” Bela smiles 

She yanks on the hilt of her sickle and begin materializing into her swarm of flies, dragging him with her. You follow close behind Daniela as Cassandra helps her older sister by hooking her sickle into the manthing’s other calf. The both of them bust open the door, beginning to turn back into their human form. You walk towards Bela, but stopping once you had reached Cassandra’s right side.

“Mother, I bring you fresh prey,” Bela says, trying to take the credit

You look over at Bela, slightly unamused.

Bela honey... Cassandra helped you drag him here...

“You are so kind to me daughters,” Alcina smiles through her glass

You stand next to Cassandra as Alcina stands to see who had entered her castle. 

“Well Well Ethan Winters,” You and Alcina say in unison

You look up at Alcina as she looks down at you. However, someway somehow the both of you turn your heads toward Ethan, also in unison.

“You’ve escaped my idiot brothers’ games did you?” She asks, “Let’s see how special you are.”

You stand next to Cassandra as Bela and Daniela hold up the manthing’s arms for Alcina to taste his blood. 

“Hmm,” She swallows the remaining blood lingering in her mouth, “Starting to go a bit stale.”

“Then let’s devour this man-flesh quickly mother,” Daniela suggests

“But- I’m the one who brought him in here!” Bela protests

Bela... Again, Cassandra helped you drag him in here...

“Now now daughters,” Alcina states, pressing a napkin between the creases of her lips, “I first must inform mother Miranda. Oh, but later, there will be enough for everyone. Now, put him up.”

Again, you watch Bela and Daniela place hooks into Ethan’s hands and Cassandra cranking a lever. 

“Let me... Down!” Ethan pleas in pain

“Oh,” Alcina moans, “Be careful what you wish for, Ethan Winters.”

You watch Alcina turn and begin walking towards the door. You begin following her but you stop.

“You! I saw you in one of the photos in the village!” He says, “Let me down and I’ll help you find your past!”

You actually debated on doing that. However, if it wasn’t for Bela stepping in front of you, you would have actually let him go.

He might be lying... I’ll find out on my own time.

“Mere humans left me,” You state, stopping at the doorway

You turn your head and look up at him, “They sacrificed me to Mother Miranda. If it weren’t for her sparing me, I would have been long dead.”

I owe it all to Alcina for raising me though.... Mother Miranda neglected me...

You take Bela’s hand as you walk out with her. The both of you part ways for the time being.

“I’ll see you in my chambers love?” You ask

“The same time as always my love,” She smiles as she gives you a kiss

You return the kiss and watch her off with her sisters and Alcina. You decide to return to your clocktower and rest. Your head was pounding from the meetings.

Of all times head?... Damnit...

As you lay there in your bed, you hear high-heeled footsteps echoing through the tower. You look over and notice Daniela.

“Oh- Lady Daniela,” You say, “What can I do for you?”

“Can you help me make this for mother?” Daniela asks, holding up a decently sized weapon

Quite unfinished... But, Nonetheless impressive.

“What do you need help with specifically?” You ask

“Heat it up for me? Make the basic form of it,” Daniela explains

“Give it here,” You say, “ Don’t want those hands being severely burned now do we? You need to eat that manthing.”

You take the unfinished weapon from her hands and begin heating it with your hands, concentrating your heat into your hands. 

“Can’t you just breathe fire?” Daniela asks, watching you

“I haven’t done that... Ever,” You say, shamefully, “I don’t know if I can.”

“Oh... Well, you’ll figure it out.” Daniela says, cheerfully

You couldn’t help but smile at Daniela’s comment of encouragement. 

Maybe I will try it once everyone has taken care of the manthing... 

You make a makeshift hammer and begin molding the basic form of the weapon. Reheating it when you needed.

“Okay,” You sigh, removing the sweat off of your head, “That should be good to get you started. Don’t worry about telling her that I helped you.”

She squeals in happiness and jumps onto you to give you a hug.

“See you at supper My Lord,” Daniela says, materializing into her fly swarm

Just as you were going to go rest some more, you could hear Bela’s voice...

“Bela?” You ask yourself

You could head a gunshot as well.

“Oh no,” You panic

You jump out of bed and begin making your way towards Bela. wherever the hell she was in the damn castle.

Bela you better be okay or else...

You make your way through the dungeon, pivoting or even forcibly moving all of the turned-ghoul maidens out of your way. 

Bela...

You inhale the foul stench of the dungeons.

It’s blocking Bela’s scent... Shit...

You find a set of stairs and you ascend them.

Oh! I finally got her scent! And it’s stronger! Bela I’m coming my love!

Chapter 3

An Agreement Between Gentlemen (Chapter 7/?)

Continuation of the E/R Bridgerton AU, regency-era fake-marriage with less shenanigans this time around and more...well, explanations. (Chapter 1 tumblr | AO3, chapter 2 tumblr | AO3, chapter 3 tumblr | AO3, chapter 4 tumblr | AO3, chapter 5 tumblr | AO3, chapter 6 tumblr | AO3)

This Author does not normally deign to speak of love in these papers, as love is not what society marriages are traditionally built on (nor, for that matter, is good gossip built upon love). Love, it seems, is good for nothing more than making one do foolish things: it causes men and women alike to abandon all reason and do things to which they would otherwise not be remotely inclined.

And yet sometimes love is the simplest explanation in the world that one can offer to allow everything else to make sense.

Rumor has it that the Marquess of Enjolras has taken his new bride on a brief honeymoon trip before returning to the city, leaving Mr. Grantaire behind. A honeymoon seems an odd choice for a couple forced together by circumstance, which is why this Author is pondering whether there is more to this story than meets the eye.

Perhaps this was no mere scandal, after all. Could the Marquess have traveled to the Grantaire manor only to find not just a bride, but love? Could that explain the delay in returning to the city, and the reason for not involving friends or family, lest they try to talk him out of it?

Or could there be another explanation for why the Marquess seems so reluctant to show his face?

If this is a love match, this Author will owe the Marquess and his bride a mea culpa, but never fear – the course of true love never did run smooth, and this Author suspects that one way or another, there is certainly more to this tale than meets the eye. LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 8 MAY 1831

Grantaire glared defiantly at him, which Enjolras thought was quite extraordinary, since the man’s clothes and hair were completely plastered to him by wind, rain, and mud. “I said I’m in love with you.”

“You are?” Enjolras asked dumbly.

Grantaire jerked a nod. “And evidently I’ve been much more subtle about it than I thought.”

“Let’s perhaps not rule out me being extraordinarily stupid quite yet,” Enjolras said, unable to take his eyes off of Grantaire, as if seeing him for the first time. Despite the fact that he was soaked through to the bone, he felt a warmth flooding through him as he looked at Grantaire, really looked at him, the man he had known for years and the man he was beginning to suspect he didn’t really know at all.

But God, he wanted to.

Something shifted in Grantaire’s expression as if he realized Enjolras was not going to throw him out on his ear for what he had just confessed. “I’m certain I owe you an explanation,” he started, but Enjolras shook his head. 

“I believe we can save that for when we’re back indoors.”

For one moment, it looked like Grantaire might argue, but then he jerked his head in another nod and both men started trudging back towards the house. Enjolras kept glancing sideways at Grantaire, so many things that he wanted to say dying on the tip of his tongue. 

It was probably for the best that he couldn’t seem to speak: the rain and mud made the trek far more hazardous than it should have been, and besides, as the rain soaked through all of Enjolras’s clothing, his teeth began to chatter, and he could only imagine how much worse it was for Grantaire, who had been out in the rain for much longer—

He stopped in his tracks so abruptly that Grantaire almost did not notice, pausing only when he seemed to realize Enjolras was no longer next to him. “Have you lost your mind entirely?” Grantaire demanded, half-turning to glare at him.

“Not my mind,” Enjolras assured him, unbuttoning his coat as quickly as his shaking fingers would allow. “Just my manners.”

“Your—” Grantaire started, his confusion turning to bafflement as Enjolras shrugged out of his coat and held it out to him. “What in the hell am I supposed to do with that?”

“Wear it,” Enjolras said, as if it was obvious. “A gentleman should always offer his coat when his companion is cold, and I’d imagine you’re considerably colder than I am, given how long you’ve been out here.”

Grantaire just stared at him. “And what, pray tell, is your coat supposed to do?”

“Keep you warm.”

Grantaire took the outstretched coat and held it up. “This is supposed to keep me warm?” he asked, incredulous. “It’s soaking wet.”

Enjolras blinked, realizing all too late that Grantaire was right. “You may have a point there,” he admitted.

Then, suddenly, both men were laughing, deep belly laughs that had them both almost doubled over, oblivious to the still-pouring rain. “God,” Grantaire said finally when he straightened, wiping rain, or tears, or both from his cheeks. “What a pair we make.”

Enjolras laughed again, a gentler laugh. “I did warn you not to rule out me being extraordinarily stupid.” He held his hand out. “You may return my coat to me,” he told Grantaire. “I won’t make you carry it the rest of the way just because I’m a fool.”

Grantaire cocked his head. “Last I heard, a gentleman has an obligation to offer his coat to his companion,” he said mildly. “I heard nothing about an obligation to return it.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Perhaps not an obligation, but I really must insist.”

“Oh, you insist, my lord?” Grantaire returned, with a playful lilt to his voice, something about it warming Enjolras more than his sopping wet coat possibly could. “And what if I were to insist upon wearing it? After all, you offered it to me. Would you renege on your offer?”

Again Enjolras rolled his eyes, doing his best to drum up some requisite irritation, despite feeling like he wanted to grin. “Grantaire, don’t be daft—”

“Do you wish to stand here and argue with me, or do you wish to return indoors?” Grantaire interrupted. Truthfully, there was a not-small part of Enjolras that would quite rather wish to stand and argue, but he knew a losing argument – on both fronts – when he saw it, and just sighed and shook his head in acquiescence. “That’s what I thought,” Grantaire said, just a little smugly, as they started toward the house again.

Were it not for the smug tone in his voice, Enjolras might have let it slide, but he had never let Grantaire have the last word when he could help it, and he was not about to start now. “You’re an idiot,” he said, more of a sigh than anything else.

Grantaire just shrugged blithely. “Perhaps,” he said, before glancing sideways at Enjolras. “Or perhaps a gentleman also does not allow his companion to feel like the only foolish one.”

The warmth that flooded Enjolras from that was almost enough to sustain him the rest of the way to the cottage.

By the time they arrived, the rain was finally beginning to let up, not that it did anything to help the two men as they hurried inside and made a beeline for the fireplace in the library, teeth chattering. “I’ll bet you wish you had some alcohol in the house now,” Grantaire muttered, rubbing his hands together.

The exact thought had crossed Enjolras’s mind, but he refused to dignify Grantaire’s comment by admitting as much. “We should bathe,” he said instead, remembering the boiling bath his governess had forced him to take after his horse had foundered and he’d been forced to walk home for several hours in the pouring rain. “Warm water will do us good, and that way we can also get the mud off.”

Both men had indeed attracted an absurd amount of mud from sloshing their way back to the cottage, enough so to make it difficult to tell where their clothes ended and their skin began. 

“Personally I think the mud only adds to my good looks,” Grantaire said blithely, before adding, “Besides, Jehan was telling me that in ancient times, they used mud as a restorative for the skin, so perhaps we should leave it on to be safe.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “You were that child that always refused to take his bath, weren’t you,” he said with a resigned sigh.

Grantaire laughed. “I have no idea what makes you say that,” he demurred. “That said, I’ll let you take your bath first.”

“Don’t be an idiot, you’re the one who was out in the rain for two hours,” Enjolras told him.

“Yes, but—”

“Besides, the tub is big enough for the both of us.” Grantaire’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly, and Enjolras added, “After all, you owe me an explanation, and this seems as good a time as any.”

Grantaire’s brow furrowed, but he attempted no argument against the idea, merely telling Enjolras, “Then we’d best start heating some water.”

They worked in seamless unison in the kitchen heating massive pots full of water to transfer into smaller buckets to carry up to the massive porcelain bathtub in the room off of Enjolras’s bedchamber, as it was the only tub in the house. As Grantaire hefted his fifth and sixth bucket for his third trip, he gave Enjolras a look. “I bet you’re also wishing you had servants in this house.”

“Who needs servants when I have you?” Enjolras shot back, saccharine sweet, and was surprisingly gratified when Grantaire just flushed and mumbled something incoherent in response.

If anything, the task of filling the tub was enough to warm them up even without the bath, but since Enjolras had been the one to suggest it, he felt they might as well follow through. And he really did want to get the mud – which had now dried enough to be caked onto his skin – off.

Once the tub was full, both men stood awkwardly in the bathroom, and Enjolras wondered if he should again offer to let Grantaire bathe first, and alone.

But before he could make his offer, Grantaire started unbuttoning his shirt. Despite his initial reluctance to the idea, he exhibited no shame in peeling off his damp clothes in front of Enjolras, who, despite it being his idea in the first place, still hesitated.

“I have seen you naked, you know,” Grantaire told him as he struggled to get his wet trousers off, adding, “if that was your concern.”

They both had, having gone swimming many times during one summer at one of the de Courfeyrac’s country manors, one that boasted a secluded lake perfect for young men to cool off in. None of Les Amis had brought their swimming costumes but they were all young and foolish and didn’t care, stripping down to nothing and splashing about more like children than the young gentlemen they had been.

But Enjolras rather suspected that they both realized this was nothing like that.

Still, Grantaire’s words were enough to finally dispel Enjolras’s hesitation, and he began stripping his own clothes off, albeit at a much slower pace from Grantaire.

Grantaire got into the tub first, settling in on the far side of the tub and tilting his head back, eyes closed as he soaked in the steam. Enjolras hesitated once more and Grantaire cracked one eye open. “I’m not going to do anything to you, you know.”

Enjolras flushed. “I know,” he said, finally stepping out of his trousers and slipping into the tub, settling opposite of Grantaire.

“Do you,” Grantaire murmured, his head still tilted back. “Sometimes I wonder if you would even know what it looked like if someone were to try to do anything to or with you.”

The warmth of the water was slowly seeping through the chill that clung to Enjolras, and it felt good enough that he was tempted to let Grantaire’s comment go uncontested.

But even when stark naked and still freezing cold, Enjolras had never been one to let things go uncontested.

“I would too,” he said, knowing full well that he sounded like a petulant child and hating it. “I am not completely ignorant, you know, to the world.”

“To the world,” Grantaire repeated.

Enjolras busied himself with trying to scrape the mud off of his fingernails. “To…to the physical act of lovemaking.” He flushed scarlet and studiously avoided looking at Grantaire. “I am not a virgin.”

“I see.”

Those two words may have been the most infuriating thing that Grantaire had ever said, if only because Enjolras had no idea what to read into them, if anything. Grantaire’s eyes were still closed, his expression as unreadable as his tone, and Enjolras felt as if he had no choice but to explain further. “Courfeyrac took me to a brothel when my father died,” he said, still flushed. “He said that he could not in good conscience allow me to become a Marquess without ever having lain with someone.”

Grantaire opened both eyes. “I truly cannot imagine you at a brothel,” he remarked.

Enjolras shrugged, trailing a hand through the water. “It was not as terrible as I expected,” he admitted. “Courfeyrac picked out a young woman for me, and I spent over an hour or so just talking with her.” Grantaire looked very much like he wanted to interrupt, but Enjolras did not let him. “I wanted to know about her conditions, about what working there was like, and how she had found herself there. She told me that she used to be a factory worker but made twice as much in less than half the time worked, and with four mouths at home to feed…” He trailed off an shrugged. “To her, it seemed a fair bargain, and no matter my personal hesitation with the profession, she seemed in a better position to judge it than I.”

Grantaire shook his head slowly. “Only you could go to a brothel and emerge with a tale of the plight of the working class,” he said with a dry chuckle. It was his turn to hesitate, just for a moment, before asking, in what he clearly deemed a casual sort of way, “And then after that, you slept with her?”

“No.” Grantaire’s eyes flew to his and Enjolras felt himself color again. “After that, she kissed me, and it was…fine. Serviceable. But then she asked—” Enjolras’s blushed deepened. “She asked if I would prefer the company of a man.” 

Something almost like relief flickered across Grantaire’s face before his expression smoothed back into something unreadable. “Ah.”

Enjolras swallowed and looked away. “And I said yes. So she went and got a man who worked at the establishment, and...well…I did. Very much so. Prefer it.”

“I see,” Grantaire murmured. “And did you similarly inquire of this man what conditions had led him to working there?”

“We found ourselves rather too occupied to do much talking,” Enjolras muttered, assuming Grantaire would understand his meaning. He took a deep breath before asking, “Is that…is that what you were hoping would happen when you agreed to help me?”

Grantaire raised both eyebrows. “This was not an elaborate seduction, if that’s what you mean.”

It had been, but Enjolras felt suddenly foolish for asking. “No. Yes. I’m not sure what I mean. Speaking of my father’s death,” he said, ignoring the look Grantaire gave him at the abrupt segue, “I don’t recall seeing you much in those days.”

Clearly judging himself clean or at least warm enough, or perhaps just tired of sitting in the water, Grantaire stood, and Enjolras averted his eyes as he reached for a towel. “Yes, well. Some of us took it harder than others.”

“The death of my father?” Enjolras asked, confused, and he was so taken aback that he looked at Grantaire, modesty be damned.

Grantaire had a strange, closed look on his face. “The death of what could have been, more accurately,” he said quietly, more to himself than to Enjolras. “It is one thing to want something you know you’ll never have, and quite another for the world to remind you at every turn that it is an impossibility.”

“I’m not certain I understand,” Enjolras said slowly.

Grantaire shook his head, once, before looking at Enjolras. “Ask me again,” he said abruptly, and Enjolras frowned.

“Ask you what?”

“You know what.”

Grantaire sounded almost impatient, and Enjolras realized he did know what, the question that had been answered in the most unexpected way in the pouring rain, the question whose answer still demanded an explanation that Grantaire had promised to provide. “Why did you do this?”

“Because you asked me to,” Grantaire said simply. “Because only once before had you ever asked me to do something, and I failed you then.”

Enjolras squirmed uncomfortably, well aware of that to which he referred. “The Barrière du Maine was not—”  

“I failed you,” Grantaire interrupted sharply. “And when presented with another opportunity, I knew this was my only chance to prove I would not fail you again.” He shook his head, bracing himself against the wash stand. “It was meant to be simple, really. One and done, fake married to my sister and then we part as friends with you having consented to try me once more and this time with me proving you correct in your estimation. But you…”

He trailed off, but Enjolras did not try to interrupt again. “I love you,” Grantaire said finally, and even though he had uttered those words once before, they still hit Enjolras just as if he was hearing them for the first time. “That is why I did this. Not to seduce you, or to take advantage of you if that was also something you feared. I did it because I love you, and because you asked me, and if I could not have you – and I cannot, I know that as clearly now as I did the day your father died and elevated you to a position you’ve never wanted, a position that made how I felt for you more of an impossibility than it always had been – then at the very least I could have this.

“It is why I left earlier,” he continued. “Because this, whatever this is, was nothing like I pictured it, spending this time with you, and I could not stand to hear you call everything I have ever dreamed of a fiction, even though it is, even though it must be. For me, every word I have uttered has been the truth, including the words I spoke before the wedding and the vows I made therein.”

Enjolras felt his heart sink in his chest as he remembered how he had laughed at Grantaire’s words before the wedding, how he had brushed off every hint at what the man had felt. He felt foolish for not realizing it all sooner, and, true to form, he took it out on someone other than himself. “Well, why in the world did you not say something sooner?” he demanded.

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “When would you have preferred I tell you?”

“I don’t know, at any point in the past decade?” Enjolras shot back.

“What good would have come from it?” Grantaire asked simply, but the words felt like a blow to Enjolras’s gut. “I was...not happy, I suppose, but content, at least, with the pieces of you that I was privy to, with our bickering and arguing, even, if that’s what it took to get your face to flush that delightful color I love so much.” Grantaire’s expression hardened, something bitter creeping into his voice. “And now I don’t even have that. Just this fake, preternaturally nice version of you and all because I suppose you think you owe me something, as if I was doing this all from the goodness of my heart and not because I am hopelessly in love with you.”

Enjolras opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything, Grantaire turned to leave. “You should get some rest,” he said over his shoulder. “I will see you in the morning.”

With that, he left, and Enjolras wasn’t sure if it was just the nature of the bathtub water cooling to lukewarm or something else, but it felt like all the warmth went with him.

----------

Enjolras had a reputation for rash action that he felt was remarkably unearned. Weeks if not months of planning went into every public action he took to assure maximum impact, and the same could be said for his personal considerations. If anything, he was even more deliberative in his personal life – once, he took so long figuring out the best way to tell Combeferre that he hated his most recent haircut that by the time he got the words together, the man’s hair had already grown out.

Still, it was a reputation that lent him credence in some circles, so he did not often push back against it.

But as he lay in bed that evening, staring at the ceiling, his usual deliberations did not seem to be helping him make sense of the day’s revelations. 

Once the shock had worn off from Grantaire’s confession, Enjolras found that one thing he didn’t seem to feel much of was surprise. It wasn’t that he had known all along, or anything remotely of the sort. It was just that, looking back on it, all of the signs were there. Signs that Enjolras had ignored, certainly, or pretended weren’t there, but signs nonetheless. Breadcrumbs leaving a trail to this very moment.

And as he pondered it, he realized that the signs were not just from Grantaire. He had left a trail of his own in every conversation, in every action, in – just as frequently – every inaction. He and Grantaire had never had the same type of friendship that he had with each other of Les Amis, or even with Marius. Theirs had always been more complex, more complicated, more— Well, just more.

Nothing from what Grantaire had said had changed that. It had just provided him with a long overdue reason for it.

A reason that to Enjolras did not change anything, least of all his own feelings. It simply illuminated them.

He stood, his mind made up, and grabbed his dressing gown before slipping out of his bedchamber and crossing to Grantaire’s. He hesitated, his fist raised to knock on the door. There would be no going back after this, and a decision of this magnitude required deliberation at the very least.

But it wasn’t rash, he reasoned. It was the furthest thing from rash, this decision having been deliberated for years now if he was being honest with himself.

No, it was anything but rash.

It was just that his mind was finally made up.

He rapped on the door and waited, hoping that Grantaire had not yet fallen asleep, and he breathed a sigh of relief when Grantaire called, “Come in.”

Enjolras opened the door and stepped just inside, leaning against the doorway as he looked at Grantaire, who, though in bed, looked no closer to sleep than he had been. “Is it morning already?” Grantaire joked, clearly aiming for a moment of levity to hide the wariness Enjolras could read in his expression.

Enjolras ignored him. “Would it make it better or worse if I told you that I never once thought you were doing this from the goodness of your heart?” he asked, picking up the conversation where they had left it as if no time had passed.

Grantaire blinked, his brow furrowing. “Why did you think I was doing it, then?”

Enjolras shrugged. “I genuinely had no idea. It was driving me a bit mad, honestly.”

“And now?”

Some of the wariness from Grantaire’s expression crept into his voice. Enjolras just shrugged again, crossing his arms in front of his chest mostly to give himself something to do. “Now at least I have an explanation.”

Grantaire snorted. “And what an explanation it is,” he said, a little bitterly, tracing a finger down the stitching of the quilt as he avoided look at Enjolras.

“It’s almost a gift, actually,” Enjolras said mildly, and Grantaire looked up, startled.

“How could what I have said possibly be a gift?”

“Because it gives me the words to use to understand what I’ve been beginning to feel. Or rather, what I’ve been beginning to allow myself to feel.” Grantaire stared at him, and Enjolras took a deep breath before continuing, “I choose my words carefully, you know that more than anyone else—”

Grantaire did, more than any of their friends, as it was he who was always at the Musain late at night when Enjolras grew frustrated with his writing and sought to punch it up. “I do feel at times as if I’ve been little more than a walking synonym dictionary,” Grantaire said faintly, and Enjolras smiled slightly before continuing.

“So I’m not fully prepared to make an equal confession. Not yet.” He paused and took another deep breath. “But when I stood up next to you on our wedding day, it was not fiction for me either. Not fully. And it took, as it always seems to, you shouting at me for me to realize it.”

Emotions flashed so quickly across Grantaire’s face that Enjolras could not possibly track them. He thought he saw relief, and just a hint of smugness, and something so soft that it made Enjolras’s knees feel weak. But then Grantaire’s expression evened out, and the look he gave Enjolras was almost calculated. “I made an oath to myself,” he said, his voice low, and Enjolras felt his heart stop. “I swore to myself that when I kissed you before, that I would never do so again. But I believe I may need to amend that oath.”

“In what way?” Enjolras asked.

Grantaire grinned at him, too jubilant to be the smirk he was almost certainly intending. “That I will never kiss you without your full and enthusiastic participation.”

Enjolras was only too happy to oblige.

He crossed the room in three long strides and caught Grantaire just as the man was starting to get out of bed. He cradled Grantaire’s face between both his hands, their noses just brushing against each other, and for one moment that might have been infinite or the briefest of seconds, neither man moved, both just breathing the same air in the mere millimeters between their lips.

Then Enjolras kissed him.

Their first kiss in the church had been chaste, and clumsy; their second, that Enjolras had not even been able to participate in, had been like fire.

This was like a lightning bolt of perfect clarity, the undeniable knowledge that there was no where else in the world that Enjolras would rather be than right here.

And then Grantaire turned it back to fire, teasing the seam of Enjolras’s lips with his tongue until they parted, his hands grasping Enjolras’s hips hard enough to bruise through the fabric. He tugged him down onto the bed and Enjolras was only too happy to comply, eager to rid them of any space left between the two of them, eager to drink in every noise and sigh that came from Grantaire’s mouth, usually wielding words so sharp and now so soft against his own.

Enjolras did not know if they stayed that way for a minute or an hour or an entire day – every option seemed equally likely, lost in each other and this moment years in the making. And when they finally broke apartm neither man moved far from the other. “How was that for enthusiasm?” Enjolras asked, a little hoarsely.

Grantaire laughed lightly. “I’ll take it,” he said, reaching up to card his fingers through Enjolras’s still-damp curls, and Enjolras shifted to pillow his head on Grantaire’s chest. “You should really return to your room, though, lest I be tempted to see just how far I can press your enthusiasm.”

It was an idle threat, and they both knew it: Enjolras knew as he always had that Grantaire would never do anything to hurt him or trespass upon his boundaries. And the kiss had been spectacular and more meaningful than Enjolras thought he would ever find the words to describe, it had also been somewhat chaste, neither man making a move to turn it into something more salacious. 

So Enjolras merely tipped his head up to capture Grantaire’s lips again. “Let me sleep here,” he murmured, his lips moving against Grantaire’s.

Even as he said the words, he knew he did not just mean for the evening. This was not just one night between them, and even if he was not yet ready to return Grantaire’s confession from earlier in word, he knew that he was ready in practice. He was asking for so much more than one night – for a lifetime more.

For one life and one love.

Let me sleep here until I die.

Grantaire sighed, and Enjolras wondered if he knew what Enjolras felt in that moment, if he understood what he was asking, if he felt the same way, too. “I am, as always, helpless to refuse,” he murmured, but the way he wrapped his arm around Enjolras’s waist and pulled him close told Enjolras that he had equally little desire to let Enjolras go.

It was Enjolras’s last coherent thought before Grantaire kissed him once again, and when sleep finally claimed them, he fell asleep with a smile.

Shadowsinger Part 5 - Gwynriel

ACOSF Spoilers! Do Not read this unless you have finished ACOSF and the Azriel bonus chapter

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Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

*****

Madja smiled as Gwyn followed her sisters into the healer's house,

"I believe you wanted to get a brace made for your wings?" She asked, gesturing for Emerie to sit, and she nodded,

"I can't fully draw a bow with the limited movement." She admitted, and nodded when Madja paused before reaching out to see exactly how far her wings could move on their own, and then with assistance. Gwyn and Nesta sat in front of Emerie, each holding one of her hands, and she squeezed each time something hurt, but never stopped Madja.

"How much higher do you need them to rest?" Madja asked,

"Not too much, I can't remember exactly what Azriel suggested."

"That's okay, I'll make one that's adjustable, so it can change as needed. Just so you're aware, bracing your wings higher than where they naturally rest will stretch the muscles, and might leave them a bit sore depending on how long you brace them for." Emerie nodded, "But it might also loosen the tightness that's come with the years, and if you want to, perhaps we can incorporate some physical therapy to improve movement a little."

"Physical therapy?" Emerie's eyes flashed with fear, "Not - not reopening the wounds to heal?" Gwyn gently squeezed her hand,

"No, nothing like that. You're not alone in wanting to avoid that, just stretches and exercises to improve strength and movement as your wings are. Perhaps with the right encouragement, your wings will be able to rest in a position suitable for archery without a brace at some point."

"That'll certainly be helpful," Emerie mused, "Okay, let's try it."

"Wonderful." Madja slowly released Emerie's wings, and pulled a sketchpad from under her desk, she sat silently for a few moments while Emerie turned to sit normally in her chair, "This is what I'm imagining," she explained, showing the females her sketch, "Does that look about right?"

"Yes. Thank you." Emerie grinned, and Madja smiled, her joy at helping a patient obvious in the way her eyes shone,

"I should have it made within a week or so, I will send word when it's done, and I'll let you know a potential schedule for your physical therapy."

"Oh. Um," Emerie started, "I don't live in Velaris, and I'd rather any letters not be found by my neighbors."

"I know," Madja said, smiling softly, "I meant, I'll send word to the House of Wind, I assume either Cassian or Azriel will help you when you come for training."

"Thank you," Emerie grinned, and turned round to Nesta, "Watch out, Nes, I'm coming after your title." Nesta narrowed her eyes,

"We'll see about that," she muttered, and Gwyn laughed,

"Oh please, neither of you stand a chance against me," she joked, and thanked Madja again before leading her sisters outside, to where Mor was already waiting,

"Well?" Emerie grinned and nodded,

"She says it should be made in a week!"

"That's great, are you feeling alright?"

"Yeah, she also said that she thinks she can help with some stretches and exercises to eventually strengthen my wings so they won't need a brace." Mor grinned, and Emerie threw her arms around her, holding on tight as they winnowed back to the House.

Gwyn and Nesta shared a knowing look when they arrived, and slipped away, leaving Emerie and Mor alone for a moment,

"Oh, Gwyn, before I forget, there'a family dinner tonight, I doubt Emerie will be able to come, but you're more than welcome to if you want."

"A family dinner?"

"Yeah, at my sister's River House."

"You mean, a dinner with the High Lord and Lady?"

"With my sister and brother-in-law, my other sister, Elain, I don't think you've properly met, but she'll be there, and Amren and Varian, have you met them?"

"Briefly, but only for a couple of minutes,"

"And obviously, Mor, Cass and Az are all coming. It's okay if you're not comfortable coming though."

"No, I'll come, is it okay if I decide to leave early though?"

"Of course. Whatever you're comfortable with." Nesta didn't say it, but Gwyn easily noticed the pride in her eyes, pride for her, that she was willingly going to a gathering with people she didn't know well, or at all, in Elain's case. She smiled, Nesta didn't need to know that Azriel was the sole reason that she was comfortable with going,

"I'll see you tonight." Nesta grinned, before turning away,

"Oh, and my nephew will be there as well, at least for a bit." Gwyn smiled as Nesta disappeared off to whatever work she had to do.

*****

Gwyn was beautiful. There was no other way to describe her as she walked towards him, Azriel couldn't help the smile that sprung to his face, and his shadows shot across to her, not even waiting for his permission, dancing around her as she walked across to him. She had forsaken the robes of a priestess tonight, instead opting for a loose dress, the skirts not quite falling to the floor, leaving her shoes on display. The dress itself was midnight-blue, the skirts made from several swathes of fabric, flowing around her as she moved, and on her feet were a pair of flat shoes, matching the dress, elegant but practical. She had swept her hair onto her head, out of the way. She had dressed to look relatively formal, but so that she could still run, and fight. Azriel extended a hand, waiting for her to reach him, his shadows still surrounding her when she grasped his hand. They stayed with her as he flew her down to the River House, with Cassian and Nesta beside them.

Gwyn took a deep breath when Azriel set her down on the porch of the River House,

"You okay?" He muttered, and she nodded, but didn't step away from her side, going motionless when the door opened, and Feyre grinned at them,

"We're just getting sat down." She said, her gaze lingering on Gwyn for a moment, "Gwyn, I'm Feyre, we met briefly a few months ago." Gwyn returned her smile, and shook the hand Feyre held out for her,

"I remember," she faltered for a second, "I don't know what I should call you," she admitted, and Feyre smiled again,

"Just Feyre, no 'my lord' or 'my lady' within our family." Gwyn smiled, and,

"Alright, Feyre." Feyre grinned, and Gwyn seemingly opened up, her nervousness visibly fading a little at Feyre's friendly tone,

"Come on in then, you lot."

Azriel kept a hand on Gwyn's lower back as she followed Nesta and Cassian inside, and she flashed him a grateful smile, this was still difficult for her, but if he could make it any easier, he would.

Everyone else was already sat down when they reached the dining room, except for Mor, who was still sitting in an armchair across the room, playing with baby Nyx, her joy at his every giggle and squeal of delight plain for anyone to see. Were it not for Gwyn at his side, Azriel's gaze would have lingered, but he checked that Gwyn was still alright, and deliberately guided her to a chair away from the males she didn't know well. She was still close to Elain though, and Mor slid into the chair opposite Azriel after handing Nyx back to his mother. Gwyn kept close to him as conversations started around the table, casual conversations, no mention of work, or the potential situation in Illyria, not at family dinner. Gwyn was unusually quiet, mostly observing everyone around her, and talking politely to Mor and Nesta when she needed to. Every casual move was clear, calculated, her instincts for observation were perfect, had she been there to report back to someone, she would have been able to talk about everyone. A flash of pride shot through him at the realization that she was trying to figure out what to talk about with different people, and he cursed himself for not briefing her beforehand,

"Feyre tells me that you got some new seeds, Elain," he started, daring a glance at Rhys as her attention snapped to him, his brother wasn't watching, thank the Cauldron. Elain stared straight at him, and he tried not to squirm under her gaze as she excitedly talked about the new plants she was growing, exclusive to the Night Court. Was she still upset that he'd had to stop whatever had been starting to form between them? He almost winced at the intensity of her gaze, resisting to urge to ask his shadows what was up with her, but he wouldn't invade her privacy, even if she was mad at him.

"Did you ever find any night-blooming lilies?" It was the first question Gwyn had asked all evening, "We had some at Sangravah when I was young, but I've not seen them since,"

"No," Elain sighed, "I can't find them anywhere, it's as if all the seeds vanish the moment I try looking for them. I'll get my hands on some eventually. Excuse me," she muttered, standing to go and fetch the food, returning with Nuala and Cerridwen a few minutes later, leaving Gwyn hanging, and Azriel almost glared after her, but turned to Gwyn,

"Well done," he whispered, just loud enough for Gwyn to hear him, and he noticed Rhys glancing towards them for fifth time that evening, "If you're okay, I think Rhys wants to come over,"

"Oh?"

"You're a part of the family now. But he'll understand if you'd rather not tonight."

"No, it's okay," Azriel jerked his head slightly, and Rhys made his way slowly towards them, claiming the seat across from Gwyn, and smiled at her, "Hello, my lo-, sorry, Rhysand." He chuckled softly,

"Just Rhys is fine, Gwyn, we don't reinforce rank here."

"I know. Feyre mentioned, it's just a bit of a surprise," she glanced across to Azriel, just for a moment, wanting that little reassurance that he was still there,

"How's Nyx doing? You getting any sleep now?" Rhys rolled his eyes, and snorted,

"Sleep? What's that?" Rhys groaned, but grinned, and Gwyn smiled,

"Nyx is your son?" Rhys nodded,

"He's almost four months old now," he turned to see Feyre making her way across the room, Nyx in her arms, grabbing at her hair, and giggling when she passed him to Azriel,

"Say hi to uncle Azriel," she crooned, and grinned as she returned to her seat, Nyx stared up at him, and he reached out for something, grabbing at the air, the shadows,

"He's beautiful," Gwyn whispered, "I've always loved children, I used to look after the younglings at Sangravah."

"Do you want to hold him?" Rhys asked softly, and she nodded, giggling when Nyx hiccuped, staring up at her with wide eyes, then back at Azriel, "I hope we might see you around a bit more, Gwyn," Rhys said as he too left, following Feyre back to their seats. Gwyn looked around in a panic,

"Doesn't he want his son back?"

"You're fine, Gwyn, look, Nyx loves you." True to his words, the child had fallen asleep in Gwyn's arms, his little wings flopping down, and she carefully gathered them up,

"It's been ages since I held a child," she whispered, "I miss it." She smiled down at the sleeping child in her arms, "Babies don't ever judge, they see the world exactly as it is, and don't apologize for it." Azriel couldn't help but smile as she look back at him, laughing when Mor swooped back in to steal her nephew,

"My turn," she demanded, and grinned when Gwyn relinquished the child, his chubby hands pulling on a golden chain around her neck, a necklace, the necklace, oh shit, Elain was going to see it. He had to distract her attention, if Elain saw it, she'd mention it, and Gwyn, he never wanted her to think herself second best, if he'd been thinking he would have returned it, and bought her a different one, but it was too late now, shit. He could hide it, with his shadows. It was too late, Elain had already turned back, her gaze landing on the necklace,

"That's a lovely necklace, Gwyn." No. Shit, shit, shit.

"It was a gift from a friend at solstice, I never found out who." Gwyn smiled and touched the charm,

"I'm glad Azriel found someone who wanted it after I gave it back to him." Gwyn turned to face him, and he wished he could just vanish,

"What? Is that true? Did you give it to Elain first?" Tears were shining in her eyes, and devastation marred her beautiful face,

"Yes, but -" she didn't give him a chance to speak, running out of the room immediately,  "Gwyn!" he called after her, and glared at Elain, "What the fuck, Elain?" he almost shouted,

"She deserves to know. No one wants to be second best."

"She's not. I didn't even tell her it was from me! I just wanted someone to be happy with it, not using it as an escape from something else!" He snapped, following Gwyn out of the room before Elain had a chance to answer.

*****

He had just given her the necklace because Elain didn't want it. Azriel thought she was just someone to pass off unwanted gifts to. She would have been thrilled to learn it was from him, if he hadn't just been passing it on to her. She paused at the door, hearing Azriel's angry words to Elain, and debated going back, but ran outside, into the gardens, finding a bench to sit on. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, but couldn't stop the tears from falling. She had thought he was different, better, but he had only thought of her when Elain had given it back, of course he wanted Elain, his brothers were with her sisters, so of course they were, whatever they were. She was foolish to think he'd ever want her. She buried her face in her hands and cried, letting out the sobs that she had hidden earlier, tears falling freely down her face.

Footsteps sounded on the marble floor at the entrance to the house,

"Go away," she muttered,

"Gwyn, please." Azriel. He thought he could just follow her out here, as if he had done nothing wrong,

"Why don't you run inside and find Elain!" she snapped,

"I don't want Elain." He said, not coming any closer,

"I won't be someone you just use to replace her. If you cared, you would have bought me a present for me, not just because the person you bought it for didn't want it."

"Gwyn," his voice broke on her name, "I never meant for you to feel second best-"

"Aren't I?"

"No! I just wasn't thinking."

"Obviously!" Gwyn glared at him, her vision still blurred by tears, "You were supposed to never lie to me! You're the first male I trusted! And you didn't even prioritize me!" She shouted, "I just wanted you to trust me, to not hide from me like you do with everyone else, and you lied to me."

"Gwyn please, it wasn't like that, I do trust you, I just, I was going to tell you, but then it was so long, and I thought it would just upset you to bring it up. Yes, I bought it for Elain, but it didn't make her happy, and I just wanted someone to be happy." He took another step towards her, something like devastation crossing his face when she shifted away, ready to run, and he stopped, "Elain didn't want to face her mating bond, either to accept or reject it, and she used me as a way to avoid it. I thought I wanted her, that she wanted me, but she wanted an escape, and thought I could provide it. I bought the necklace because I thought she would be happy, but I, Gwyn, there is nothing with her, and she gave it back when she realized that. I just wanted it to make someone happy. Clotho never told you it was from me, because it doesn't matter, I just told her to give it to someone who would be happy." Tears were shining in his eyes as he spoke, "I know I'm an idiot, you don't have to tell me that, and I know I can't fix it, but I'm sorry, I should have taken it back and bought you something different, but I wasn't thinking, and," he stopped, "I'm just sorry." It had made her happy, and she didn't know what to say. Perhaps she was overreacting, it was true that Clotho had never told her it was from him, and she supposed it didn't matter, but she unclipped it from around her neck,

"Then take it back now." A tear slid down his face as she passed the necklace to him, and he dropped his head, but before he could apologize again she continued, "Return it, and let's choose something different, together."

"You're not mad?"

"Oh, I'm furious, but not just because of you. I understand, I know what is to want to make someone happy, but you do make people happy, Az, you are more than just your job. I don't care what you've done, I just care that you're honest with me. You lied to me. That's what upset me, that, and I thought you preferred her."

"No, never."

"Let me finish. But mostly, I'm angry at her, she saw that I liked the necklace, that you had made someone happy with it, and she tried to ruin that. You should have got a different one, and you should have told me, but Elain shouldn't have tried to upset me with that, she was jealous, Az." Azriel smiled, and dropped to his knees in front of where she was still sitting on the bench, clasping her hands in his,

"I swear to you now, I will always tell you everything, always, Gwyn. No secrets." He gently kissed her hands, and she smiled,

"Thank you, that's all I ever wanted." The necklace was left on the bench when they returned to the dining room, where Elain was nowhere to be seen.

"Gwyn!" Nesta shot to her feet the moment they stepped through the door, glaring daggers at Azriel, "Are you okay? I'm so sorry, Elain, she was way out of line, I don't think she'll be coming back, I was pretty mad," Gwyn laughed at Nesta's explosive temper, but reassured her,

"I'm fine, stop it, it's not his fault, it was a misunderstanding, it's fine." Nesta narrowed her eyes at Azriel once more before relaxing,

"Don't ever pull that kind of shit again," she said,

"I have already sworn to never keep secrets from her." Nesta nodded,

"Good,  I won't have to cut your balls off then," Gwyn snorted and sat back down, apologizing to everyone for making a scene, but Mor just laughed,

"There's always something that goes a bit wrong, at least you two made up." Gwyn laughed, and stayed for the rest of dinner, her hand still clasped in Azriel's as they finished dessert, she didn't let go until they were in the air again.

"Where are we going?" The House was behind them as they flew,

"You'll see." Azriel chuckled, gently setting her down outside a shop, still open, even at this time, and pushed the door open, "Let me at least try to fix my mistake,"

"You don't have to. You apologized, and took responsibility, you're forgiven, it was a mistake."

"Let me do this." he repeated, "Neve! What do you have that would suit Gwyn?" A female popped her head up from behind the counter, studying her quickly,

"Perhaps something in emerald, one moment," Azriel led Gwyn to the counter,

"Pick whatever you want." Neve returned moments later, a pair of emerald earrings in hand,

"These are new, one of a kind, perfectly suited to your lady,"

"Oh, she's not-" Azriel started, but Gwyn smiled, stopping him before he could finish,

"They're beautiful, but they must be expensive?"

"That's alright." Azriel insisted, "Rhys massively overpays me."

"No, Azriel I can't accept this, I'll pay you back."

"It's a gift. For you. Please." Neve held the earrings up as if Gwyn were wearing them, and Azriel's breathing hitched, almost imperceptibly,

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. We'll take them."

"Excellent, I'll put the charge on your tab,"

"Thank you, Neve." Azriel helped her to put the earrings on, and grinned at her, "You look beautiful," he whispered before guiding her out of the shop, and flew her back to the House. Gwyn felt herself drifting off to sleep and buried her face in Azriel's shoulder, she was asleep within moments.

*****

Gwyn was asleep in his arms when he landed, and Azriel unconsciously hugged her closer, setting her down in her bed, stopping when she mumbled his name. He turned back, but she was still asleep, reaching across the bed to where he had been sat moments before. He was still there when she opened her eyes,

"Az?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you stay with me? I don't want to be alone tonight."

"Yeah, okay."

"Just turn around a moment, I need to change into a nightgown." He did as she asked, and quickly returned to his own room to grab a set of sleeping clothes and to move a few of his weapons into her room. When he got back, he made to pull the chair he had slept in before to the bed,  and Gwyn was already asleep, his shadows swirling around her,

She's fine, get some sleep,

They whispered, and he settled down in the chair, sitting next to her all night.

Enchanted

Masterlist

Chapter 4

Category: series

Word count: 524

Pairing: none at the moment

Summary: When Thorin Oakenshield goes on the quest to reclaim his homeland, Gandalf advises him to visit an old friend, who might be helpful. He finds a woman in the forest he was sent to. A woman he underestimates. She proves herself to be just what Thorin needed for his quest. This is a series about loyalty, love, old alliances and broken friendships.

Warnings: mentions of death, blood

The next day, they had to travel through rain, which was not very pleasant. The ground was covered in mud and puddles, making Prada growl at every step she took. Ketsia could hear one of the dwarfs asking Gandalf if he can stop the rain, she chuckled at the stupid question, remembering the many times she tried to do that herself, while she wad in her forest. Of course she had failed, almost getting struck by lightning. “If you wish to change the weather of the world, you should find yourself another wizard.” Gandalf informed the dwarf. “Are there any other wizards?” The hobbit suddenly asked. “There are six of us. The greatest of our order is Ketsia, the Silver Witch, Saruman the White, then there are other two blue wizards, I’ve quite forgotten their names.” “And who is the fifth?” Bilbo asked again. “Well that would be Radagast the Brown” “Is he a great wizard, or is he more like you?” The halfling raised a brow. The Silver Witch failed to contain her laugh hearing the question. “I think he is a very great wizard. In his own way” The two of them continued talking, but Ketsia wasn’t paying attention anymore. She was praying the rain would stop before her wolf would decide to kill everyone in the company. It was no secret she hated rain.

They decided to camp on an open field. The remains of something that looked like a stable could be seen there. “A farmer and his family used to live here.” Ketsia stated, looking around. “ I think it would be wiser to move on” Gandalf added. “We could make for the hidden alley” he added. “I told you already. I will not go near that place” Thorin scolded. “Why not? The elves could help us. We could get food, rest, advice” the girl suggested. “I do not need their advice.” The king declared. Ketsia grew inpatient and pissed. “We have a map that we cannot read. Lord Elrond could help us.” The dwarf turned to look at her. “Help? When the dragon attacked Erebor, what help came from the elves? Orcs attacked Moria, elves looked at us and did nothing. You’re asking me to seek help from the very people who betrayed my grandfather, betrayed my father” Thorin continued. Ketsia rolled her eyes. “You are neither of them. I did not give you that map and key for you to hold on to the past.” Gandalf shook his head. “I did not know it was yours to keep.” The dwarf spouted. Ketsia let out a sigh. She was so tired of this. Gandalf turned his back on the two of them and left. “Where are you going?” Ketsia asked. “To seek the company of the only one around here who’s got any sense!” He respond. “And who exactly is that?” The girl followed him. He stopped a moment to look at her. “Myself!” He shouted, making sure everyone heard him. Ketsia felt offended. She scoffed and ran after him, not before giving Thorin a dirty look. “This is your fault, you little…” she pointed at him, and left.

Unexpectedly Bitten

Vampire!Henry Cavill x Reader

Summary: Your ex gets into some trouble with Vampires, and his mistakes lead the bloodsuckers back to you. After seeing you, one vampire gets a little attached and he’s taking his time deciding what he plans to do with you, but whatever it is, you’re not afraid. In fact, you might just be a little attached to him too.

Warnings: cursing, smut, violence. (Count on spelling mistakes or repeating words too often. it’s very likely.)

Notes: Let me emphasize this: there is little rhyme or reason to the way this story is broken into parts. I did my best though, and I stuck to 7. I tried not to make each part too long.

This is a Vampire!Henry x Reader story where each chapter, while chronological, is a different conversation or event during the course of their evolving relationship. 

Words: 1310

Part 3: Nighttime Activities

Henry ran into the kitchen the instant the yelp left your lips. The knife in your hand clanged to the floor, breaking the silence surrounding you, and thick red droplets were splashing on the metal of the blade when Henry grabbed your hand in his. You winced and looked up at him.

“What did you do!”

“I was just—”

“What did I tell you, huh? Either Chris or I will cook.”

“I didn’t mean to cut myself.”

“I’d hope not. Now let me see,” He said, slightly irritated as he ran a thumb over your blood-stained palm, careful to avoid the wounded forefinger. “You’re dripping blood all over the floor.”

When he saw the expression on your face, he sighed and rolled his eyes. “I won’t drink all of your precious blood, Lamb. Not unless you ask me to.” Examining the cut closely, he continued. “It’s not a scratch, that’s for sure.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Seal the cut.”

“How?” You tried to yank your hand back, but Henry gripped it firmly.

“Just trust me.” He stared into your eyes, as if he had the ability to bend you to his will.

You tentatively extended your finger to him and he wrapped lips around it, slowly sliding his tongue along the edges of the cut. It stung and your eyes snapped shut, but within a minute the pain subsided to a delicate, tingly heat that seemed to flow into your veins.

When he was done, he slid your finger from his mouth, licked the remaining drops of blood from your palm, and let you go. It was fully healed; only a little, pink scar remaining in its place. The new flesh shimmered dully, reflecting under the light of the kitchen as you angled your hand in different directions. It was beautiful. He’d taken something broken, and with the smallest amount of power, restored it past perfection.

You’d never heard of this, not in the rumors or stories. Then again, something good a vampire could do wouldn’t be found written anywhere. It was unknown and would clash with the ideas had of how horrid they are to humans; how they show them no mercy.

“I won’t deny it though, Lamb. You do taste delicious.” He smirked and you felt the violent blush rising from your chest to your cheeks. Your eyes traveled from his blue ones down to his lips, now coated in your blood, and you had to resist the urge to touch them and feel their plushness.

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

You huffed as you watched Chris flip through the pages of some dusty old tome with a bored expression on his face. He didn’t like this babysitting job, but according to the blond vampire, Henry had begged him to stay behind and watch over you while he went out into the night. You’d all but stomped your foot like a spoiled child when he refused to leave you unprotected despite how well you argued you could take care of yourself.

“This is ridiculous,” You mumbled.

“Yes, it is,” Chris sharply flipped a page, “But Henry seemed laughably desperate for my help.”

“Laughably desperate to make me feel incompetent.” You crossed your arms and slumped back further into the oversized armchair.

“Believe me, sweetness, it’s not about that.”

“Then what is it about?”

Chris looked up and closed the tome with a dusty slam. “Why don’t we play a little game to entertain ourselves, yea? How about we—”

“Do vampires love?”

Chris’s mouth closed fast, and his eyes narrowed at the question. “Now why would you ask something like that?” He asked, and you thought you saw, just for a half-second, a tiny quirk of his lips.

“I’m just curious.”

He hummed, unconvinced, then shoved the book away. “Love is complicated with us. It’s not…common.”

“Why?”

“It’s unusual for vampires to find more in one another than temporary companionship.”

“So, you don’t love.”

Chris chuckled at your ignorance. “We love, but rarely one another, in that way at least. Being a vampire can be a lonely life. Sex is one thing, but true connection is hard to come by.” You couldn’t ignore the twinge of sadness that made its way into his tone, but then it faded, and he said, “Now let me ask you something.”

You nodded.

“Was that blood-bag really your love?”

“At a time,” You said, “Why?”

Chris only shrugged.

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

It was the fifth time Henry had returned just before dawn with a sour mood that would undoubtedly last throughout the day. Usually you slept while he was gone, after you and Chris exhausted all your resources for any potential fun, but not last night. You stayed up, waiting for him out of irritation since he refused to tell you what he was doing, but you weren’t an idiot.

He met your eyes the minute he walked through the front door. The expression on his face did not change despite the obvious tense air circulating in the room, and he crossed his arms, matching your guarded stance.

“Are you making deals for bodies,” You asked. “Is that why you’ve been going out every night?”

He snorted at the clear beginning of a long lecture and slipped the leather jacket off his broad shoulders to toss on a nearby chair. “Don’t worry yourself over it,” He said, and went to walk past you, but you sidestepped, blocking his path the way a feather might a bulldozer. He cocked his head as if amused.

“I’m going to worry if I’m to end up in a group of women for some sacrifice.”

Oh, that made him mad. Everything in him took a sharp shift. His features twisted darkly, and his fangs peeked out. “Why the hell do you think I’m trying to make deals anyway, huh?” He began. “Chris and I need more if I’m not going to give you up. But half of you humans have grown stupid, and you can’t get anything done right! I ought to just start giving the deal makers to the Lord for fucks sake!”

Your eyebrows knitted and your arms dropped to your sides at his explosion. “Why are you so mad?”

“Why am I mad?” Henry all but growled in your face, then louder, said, “Do you think it’s easy to get bodies? If it were so simple then we’d get them ourselves, but your kind don’t go out after dark anymore, so I have no choice other than to make deals! I have to get more, and soon, otherwise you will be sacrificed to the Lord, is that what you want!”

He yelled the way a lion roared, with such ferocity it rustled your hair and threatened to shove you backwards.

“No, but—”

“But nothing!” He snapped. “Let me and Chris handle this. Just keep your nose out of it!”

He moved to slip around your body, but you once again sidestepped in his path, provoking his hefty groan. You placed a firm hand on his chest to make your intentions clear. He wasn’t going anywhere.

You looked at him sternly. “If word got out that you and Chris killed Jason, it’ll be a long while before anyone will be willing to accept any deal you try to make.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Then why did you kill him?”

“He fucked up! He didn’t finish the job!”

“He might have if you hadn’t killed him.”

With a step back, Henry scoffed. “Oh, so now you wish I spared that little pest for you? It’s not like he bartered your life or anything!”

“You didn’t have to let him die.”

“Yes, I did!”

“Why!”

Henry’s face fell at your shout, and he stared at you before shaking his head, then said, “For more than one reason, Lamb. None of which are your business, so let it go.”

---

Tags: ​ @agniavateira​ @tumblenewby @forthebrokenheartedthings​ @summersong69​ @starlite13​ @mstgsmy​ @purplelove75​ @defffcc​ @the-soot-sprite​ @kissthatlifeaway @atomicpaperhairdouniversity​ @aquariuslavenderhoney​ @harrysthiccthighss​ @the-problem-of-leisure​ @jimmypagesandbrianmayshair​ @readermia​ @angelofthorr​ @itmejado​ @caro-jean​ @raven-black102​ @itty-bitty-dancer​ @grungeisntmything​ @wolfiepirate​ @scuzmonkie @heartfullofl @wanderlustkitkat @maan24​ @furievonalexandria​ @posiemax​ @sweetybuzz25​ @iamthetwickster

Hi KC Readers,

After a long break, we are back with our weekly releases! We apologize for the delay but we have reached the end of the week which means we have new weekly releases for you! The stories below were updated during the week of May 22nd - May 28th.

Happy Reading!

FanFiction.Net

Something Like Love (Chapter 8)

Author: Recklessnesspersonified

Rating: M

Length: 20,346

Summary: Klaus Mikaelson was a bad boy, the quintessential jock or so Caroline Forbes had thought until one night their paths cross in the school hallways. He was different, intense and she was falling for him, but soon she finds out it was all a sham. Will she forgive him or would they break up before they confess their true love? AU/AH

Date of update: May 23 2021

Klaus POV - The Trouble with Spells (Chapter 26)

Author: ilovetf

Rating: M

Length: 105,863

Summary: I think the title is self explanatory. The Trouble with Spells as seen through Klaus's eyes and his POV. Over the years, people kept liking this story and some even asked for Klaus POV, so I decided to give it a try. Hope you enjoy it. All feedback is more than welcome. Good or bad.

Date of update: May 23 2021

High Stakes

Author: stardancer10

Rating: M

Length: 4,105

Summary: When Klaus died something in Caroline broke. She could not take anymore of Mystic Falls and she left. In her travels she finds herself doing things that she knew others wouldn't agree with, but she did what she felt was right. It was a gamble she was willing to take, something she felt that she owed him.

Date of update: May 23 2021

Purgatory (Chapter 22)

Author: Scarletborn

Rating: M

Length: 333,312

Summary: Caroline Forbes always thought that evil creatures and demons belonged to Hell. What she did not know was that vampires belonged to Purgatory. A place worse than hell where the only thing that mattered was survival. A place where enemies turned into allies and foes into friends. [Klaus/Caroline AU story set mostly in New Orleans]

Date of update: May 24 2021

The Wolf II (Chapter 11)

Author: yokan87

Rating: T

Length: 4,718

Summary: The Guerreras' threat still looms over the Mikaelson house as Caroline tries to adapt to life as a vampire, away from her daughter. But an unexpected family reunion makes everything worse, taking away the little peace Klaus, Caroline and Elijah managed to find after the war that nearly broke them. [It's TO S2, but Caroline was a witch, had Klaus' baby and now she's a vampire]

Date of update: May 26 2021

Vampires suck (Chapter 4)

Author: Miss.Mystic.Falls

Rating: T

Length: 5,583

Summary: What would happen if Caroline knew about vampires way before the Salvatore brothers come to Mystic Falls.

Date of update: May 28 2021

Archive of Our Own

No Reservations (Chapter 3)

Author:  PumpkinDoodles

Rating: M

Length: 6,890

Summary: Caroline Forbes is having a tiny crisis: her restaurant partner and co-chef has disappeared again and isn't returning her calls. Caroline cannot function without Stefan. Her kitchen staff starts making jokes about getting her meds for irritability and she takes out her issues on helpless chicken breasts. It's not fun on a good day. But when tragedy strikes, Caroline's forced to work with a new chef. She doesn't remember meeting him in New Orleans--but Klaus Mikaelson remembers her.

Date of update: May 22 2021

Sibling Rivalry Redux - Adventures in Polyamory (Chapter 3)

Author: kcatdino

Rating: M

Length: 4,105

Summary: In which Klaus and Rebekah are both bi, their taste in men and women overlaps infuriatingly often, and they argue over their newest shared interest. In which Caroline feels like she might be a sugar baby, but no one’s dating her and she hasn’t gotten any in so long. Like, basically since meeting her new best friends, Klaus and Rebekah. Weird, right?

Date of update: May 22 2021

Darkness Becomes Thee (Chapter 6)

Author: BelleMorte180

Rating: E

Length: 32,424

Summary: Austria 1300s When Klaus met a young girl on a riverbank, he knew that he would one day come back for her. When he looked into her bright blue eyes, he could see a reflection of his own soul, a darkness that lingered inside both of them. When the young girl turned into a beautiful woman with a thirst for blood, his fascination with her turns into obsession. He wants not only her loyalty but her eternity, a possessiveness that is equally returned. or my "Caroline is the serial killer Elizabeth Bathory" au.

Date of update: May 23 2021

The Big Bad Wolf (Chapter 9)

Author: MorningStarGirl666

Rating: M

Length: 66,087

Summary: He was the Big, Bad Wolf of this story, there was no doubt about that. But Caroline? She was the light to his darkness, the moon that shone brighter than even the stars in a sky of endless void. Like every wolf, he fell in love with the moon, and every month, he was destined to cry for a love he would never touch.

Date of update: May 23 2021

Klaus vs the Soulmate Goose

Author: kcatdino

Rating: T

Length: 2,129

Summary: Klaus has met his match in the form of a goose as immortal and obstinate as he is: The Soulmate Goose of Enforcement. Will he succeed in killing the magical creature or will it force him to accept what’s in his heart?

Date of update: May 23 2021

Louder Than Thunder (Chapter 28)

Author: khaleesiofthewolves

Rating: M

Length: 179,641

Summary: All Hell was about to break loose. After dying while protecting a grieving Klaus, Caroline finds herself sent back in time, and she's not who she once was. She's more. Back in Mystic Falls, something else is stirring. After the arrival of a mysterious figure from Klaus' past, it all comes to a head. It really is louder than thunder.

Date of update: May 24 2021

We are young (Chapter 17)

Author: kcatdino

Rating: T

Length: 20,572

Summary: Basically, Klaroline flirt in front of their kids who they are barely older than, and Landon is appropriately confused. Edit: Now a series of one-shots! Edit 2: Oh my god, this has plot now!

Date of update: May 24 2021

Our Time Now (Chapter 4)

Author: perfectpro

Rating: M

Length: 52,838

Summary: Caroline is going to spend her senior year getting into the law school of her choice, leading the cheerleading squad to a nationals title, and passing her sorority presidency to someone who will continue a legacy of excellence. She doesn't have time to figure out what's happening with her relationship with Klaus - not that it's much of a relationship to begin with.

Date of update: May 24 2021

I See Dead Cheerleaders (Chapter 4)

Author: PumpkinDoodles

Rating: M

Length: 7,865

Summary: When Caroline saves Jenna from Klaus's sacrifice ritual and is killed instead, she vows to haunt Klaus Mikaelson forever. Never underestimate the determination of Miss Mystic Falls.

Date of update: May 25 2021

Finding Out the Truth in a Year or Even in a Century

Author: klarolineshipperxoxo

Rating: G

Length: 1,348

Summary: Caroline goes with Stefan to New Orleans in search of Klaus 18 years after the events of TVD 5x22 and TO 1x22 but things don't go as planned and buried feelings are unearthed.

Date of update: May 25 2021

Klaroline Returns (Chapter 2)

Author: kcatdino

Rating: T

Length: 8,010

Summary: The savior of Gotham, Catwoman, is Caroline Forbes, flighty heiress by day. But what happens when her worlds collide in the form of reporter Klaus Mikaelson and her worst supervillain, The Hybrid?

Date of update: May 25 2021

witchy business (Chapter 4)

Author: MaddestMaid3n

Rating: M

Length: 13,783

Summary: "A little birdie told me you might have a book or two that might pique my interest,” “Well, that depends on your interests," Caroline's just trying to survive Marcel's New Orleans. Colluding with an Original was so not on her to-do list.

Date of update: May 25 2021

Klaus’ Thousand Year Plan to be Her Last (Chapter 3)

Author: anncatherine

Rating: T

Length: 4,022

Summary: So these are some missing Klaroline scenes from my Elena/Elijah soulmate fic that I couldn’t include because they either didn’t fit or needed to be form Klaus or Caroline’s pov. I think it would be helpful to read at least the first couple chapters of that for background, but basically at twelve people’s soulmate’s birthday shows up on their wrist.

Date of update: May 26 2021

what a wave you have made

Author: sekretny

Rating: T

Length: 3,413

Summary: “Do you really hate me this much?” She shouts in frustration. Klaus looks her in the eye, their gazes locked in a battle of fiery tempers. “Hate you…” He repeats with every ounce of venom he can muster. After ransacking the contents of his backpack, he removes a sketchbook Caroline has never seen before. He starts to flip furiously through the pages, “You have given me more than enough reasons to hate you, sweetheart,” he spits while he looks for a specific page. He finds it and turns the sketchbook around to show her. Klaus makes his feelings for Caroline visibly clear.

Date of update: May 26 2021

The Concept of Time (Chapter 3)

Author: BelleMorte180  

Rating: E

Length: 19,640

Summary: Pairs, France 1864 After learning some distressing news, Klaus seeks out the advice of a friend in the middle of the night and meets a mysterious woman who leaves him with more questions than answers. She hands him a journal filled with the mad ramblings about time by a man named Lorenzo St. John and sees a curious date tattooed on her shoulder. Klaus can think of little else after their first meeting and tracks her down at a burlesque club in the wrong part of the city. Klaus begins to wonder if he can solve the mystery of Caroline Forbes or simply be lost in what has deemed to be impossible.

Date of update: May 26 2021

Revenge of the Fifth - TVD Edition (Chapter 3)

Author: kcatdino

Rating: M

Length: 6,168

Summary: A star wars AU for vampire dairies for May the Fourth Be with You! Caroline, Bonnie, and Elena are padawan learners at Luke Skywalker’s new Jedi training academy, desperate to prove themselves by taking down some of the new Sith Lords that have popped up. The problem is, those Sith Lords are the Mikaelsons, and each girl has a Mikaelson brother obsessed with them, unwilling to let them come to harm. Will that make it harder or easier for them to triumph over the Dark Side?

Date of update: May 26 2021

Smoke Signals

Author: misssophiachase

Rating: T

Length: 3,017

Summary: "You, you must have been looking for me...sending smoke signals" Professional photographer Caroline Forbes and firefighter Klaus Mikaelson keep running into each other. It’s either the universe playing a joke on them or Katherine’s ‘accidental’ matchmaking. Or maybe it's a bit of both?

Date of update: May 27 2021

Reasons Not to Date a Mikaelson (Chapter 8)

Author: kcatdino

Rating: T

Length: 15,851

Summary: Bonnie and Caroline gain a new roommate for their freshman dorm when a vision leads them to tracking down a pregnant Hayley in the Rockies. Also, Bonnie may or may not have raised a certain dead Original instead of Jeremy and Klaus takes a job at Whitmore teaching, to be annoying. He’s very good at it. This is a season 5 rewrite where the Originals never leave for New Orleans. But you know, with comedy. And increasing angst with every chapter.

Date of update: May 27 2021

if you want me to fall (Chapter 2)

Author: FeyresUnbecoming

Rating: T

Length: 1,807

Summary: Caroline and Klaus scramble out of bed before Rebekah can find the two of them, lest she find out they've been sleeping together.

Date of update: May 27 2021

Good to you - Side Stories and Prompts

Author: originalhybridlover

Rating: T

Length: 801

Summary: So this is going to be a set a side stories or prompts related to my Klaroline story, Good to You

Date of update: May 28 2021

Genuine Beauty: Klaroline Canon-ish Drabble Collection

Author: Klauscarolove

Rating: M

Length: 30,884

Summary: Klaroline Drabble Collection: Close Canon, Canon Compliant, Canon-ish, Canon Universe....... basically if they are vampires in the drabble, it will go here.

Date of update: May 27 2021

Klaroline Storybook (Chapter 44)

Author: misssophiachase

Rating: T

Length: 63,904

Summary: A new selection of Klaroline drabbles

Date of update: May 28 2021

Lost Through Time (Chapter 7)

Author: Life_is_a_fantasy

Rating: Unavailable

Length: 4,173

Summary: What will happen when Hope, Landon, Lizzie and Josie fall through a time portal? Will they change things, even if they don't mean to? How will Klaus react to knowing his daughter has a boyfriend?

Date of update: May 28 2021

When your family is too nosy.... (Chapter 3)

Author: kcatdino

Rating: Unavailable

Length: 4,349

Summary: Klaus’s plan to get back at Rebekah by staying friends with Stefan backfires spectacularly when Stefan and Stefan’s ex-girlfriend Caroline convince him to fake a relationship at his family’s get-together at the beach. Sure, Rebekah will probably assume Caroline’s a prostitute and the rest of his family are too nosy for his own good, but what could go wrong? (I will add a rating later when I decide how explicit the smut will be)

Date of update: May 28 2021

LITTLE TENSE (Chapter 4)

Author: wincefish16

Rating: T

Length: 4,462

Summary: Klaroline's life together as they work in Mikaelson and co. Different snippets of their life. HUMAN, FULL OF FLUFF AND LITTLE BIT OF ANGST.

Date of update: May 28 2021

Like snow we melt, like rain we fall, like the sun we burn, in love. (Chapter 3)

Author: BlackRaven475932

Rating: M

Length: 4,088

Summary: after episode 5x11, Klaroline sex scene. Klaus and Caroline have a secret relationship. Teasing in public, a lot of smut, no one knows. WARNING, this story contains a blood kink in later chapters. If you don't like this then I advise you not to read it. It will occur in later chapters and I will give a warning before the chapter.

Date of update: May 28 2021

The Allure of Darkness (Chapter 2)

Author: Loveyou3000Klaroline

Rating: M

Length: 5,127

Summary: “Anything that’s worth anything is dangerous.” Or... Klaus Mikaelson is the big bad hybrid, but he is the only one who can make Caroline’s world stable. Especially after the lie of her life gets unraveled.

Date of update: May 28 2021

That Pesky Phone

Author: timetravelercat

Rating: T

Length: 1,029

Summary: "What was that?" he asked her curiously. She looked at him, embarrassed— —Wait, Caroline Forbes? Embarrassed?" Just Klaus," she answered simply, not giving him anymore details and averting her eyes. Huh, suspicious.

Date of update: May 28 2021

Ok, Cupids

Author: timetravelercat

Rating: T

Length: 795

Summary: Klaus and Caroline sign Stefan into an online dating site.

Date of update: May 28 2021

Available On Both Websites

FFN: The Traitor and the Coward (Chapter 6)

AO3: The Traitor and the Coward (Chapter 6)

Author: Uppity Bitch

Rating: M

Length: 10,677

Summary: Klaroline AU supernatural multi-chap - Original!Caroline has spent lifetimes running from her lover and his family. Despite the centuries of loneliness, she regrets nothing. Soon, she'll bring an end to this madness. Or bring the madness full circle.

Date of update: May 23 2021

FFN: What You Always Wanted

AO3: What You Always Wanted

Author: Eliliyah

Rating: M

Length: 2,646

Summary: After waiting a thousand years for her husband to break his hybrid curse, Caroline realizes Klaus neglected to mention that his next step was to build an army. Furious, she leaves him alone in Mystic Falls. Knowing there's only one way to make it up to her, Klaus shows up on her doorstep with the one person who can get him back in her good graces: their old friend, Stefan.

Date of update: May 26 2021

Embers & Light (Chapter 22)

Notes: Apologies for any major errors. I'm going to edit this again in the morning, but I wanted to keep to my promise and give you something today!

And also, I'm sorry... this is an eventful chapter...

EDIT: Now hopefully free of typos and grammatical errors...

Chapter Twenty Two Nesta

Despite the fact that it was only an hour past dawn, the camp was already bustling the next morning as Nesta made her way through the back end of the mountain pass. Cassian was scheduled to visit Swallow’s Ridge at midday, so Nesta had risen early and eaten breakfast alone before walking to meet him in their usual training spot.

It was a bleak, grey sort of day, the sky kissed with the promise of snow and the air so cold Nesta’s breath clouded thick in front of her as she approached the sparring rings. 

The training grounds were not the same as those carved into the rock towards the front of the mountain pass. Instead, an area had been felled of pine trees that was just large enough to construct three large training areas, which were partitioned off by wooden fencing. Unlike the punishing crystalline rock, the ground was soft and open to the elements, a mixture of stone and compact earth that had frozen solid in the cold weather.

Nesta counted twenty girls in the ring as she drew closer — the most Cassian had ever had, he’d informed her over dinner a few nights prior — and whilst some of them looked like they hated every second of it, Nesta noticed Durkhanai and some of the other orphans frowning in concentration as Cassian took them through the guard swings.

At the entrance of the ring, with his arms crossed firmly across his hard and unyielding chest, was Lord Devlon. He was wearing a stern expression, but apart from the odd clipped order he allowed Cassian to lead the session rather than stepping in himself. This did not seem to bother Cassian, who appeared wholly focussed as he walked up and down the training ground, correcting handgrips and stances with a voice that was still General but kinder than when Nesta had heard him barked instructions at the males.

Unlike when Nesta trained, no males had stopped to watch the girls in the ring. Instead, they appeared to avoid the training ground altogether, as if they were purposefully keeping their distance. Nesta was sure there was some pathetic reason for it, but she cast the sneering males to the back of her mind as she deliberately drew to a halt beside the pine fencing a metre from Devlon.

The positioning was purposeful; Nesta was not going to be intimidated by a half-wit bat with a stick up his ass. If Devlon wanted to believe she was a witch, she’d damn well let him.

So drawing up tall, Nesta surveyed Cassian walking up and down the line of girls as they practiced guard swings with wooden swords, and ignored Devlon with blatant disinterest.

The girls attention wavered as they clocked her arrival, and even Cassian stopped correcting a young female’s grip, his wings and nostrils flaring slightly as he scented her on the breeze.

Cassian’s head started to turn but Nesta didn’t have time to meet his gaze, as Devlon cast his dark, cold eyes to rest upon her. 

“Here for training are you,” he grunted. He eyed her hands warily as if he expected mist to be seeping from them.

Nesta twitched her fingers in the hope that he might squirm — just for her satisfaction — and a small, cruel smile twisting her lips upwards. “Yes.”

A begrudging nod. Not a snarl or a sneer. Only, “Mind where you blast that fire.”

Nesta opened her mouth to reply, but then Cassian was in front of her on the other side of the fence. His hair was even more tangled than usual. “I’m nearly finished,” he told Nesta, even though his eyes remained fiercely trained on Devlon. His expression was hard and a muscle in his jaw was already twitching. “Start warming up. Ten laps around the ring.”

Shrugging, Nesta started to jog around the training ground as the girls began to put away their wooden training swords. Durkhanai’s eyes widened as she spotted Nesta, a shy smile flitting across her face.

Nesta saw the orphan most days. Together they helped bathe, dress and feed the younglings to relieve the widows who needed to get down the mountain for work. Durkhanai was quiet but lovely, and after a week of working silently side by side, she started to speak to Nesta, telling her of the death of her mother during the brutal winter last year and her journey to the widows camp, the only place that would take her in. In turn, Nesta had shared a part of herself: her starvation as a human and the death of her own mother.

She did not speak about how she had been Made or about her father’s death. That was something Nesta was still not ready to discuss, let alone face herself.

Sometimes, late at night, Nesta would wake with her face wet with tears, having dreamt of those ships sailing into the midst of battle. How her father had stood at the helm of Nesta, as he looked towards the coastline and his daughters. In that moment, he looked forever young; his hair golden brown rather than grey, his face alight with purpose, his posture tall. The father he had been before their mother died, when Nesta had been his favourite and Feyre had not been forced to the woods so they did not starve.

Feyre. The sister who Nesta might potentially see today, if she willed it.

Originally, Nesta had not even contemplated meeting her sister. Had imagined Feyre standing at the top of the mountain in the freezing cold as she waited for a sister who would not come. But slowly, as three weeks passed, Nesta found herself torn between unbridled fury and curiosity.

Even now, Nesta did not know how to feel. Did not know whether she would face her sister or not. Did not know if she could.

So when she and Cassian trained, Nesta went hard. She ignored the few girls that had stayed behind to watch and Devlon’s beady eyes from his spot at the gates. Instead, Nesta slipped into the rhythm of hand-to-hand combat with an ease that had not come before, her fists and body a blur against the grey landscape.

When she finished her fifth round, a bead of sweat trickled down Cassian’s brow. “Good,” he praised between breaths, and Nesta knew it was deserved. “I felt that kick to the side, sweetheart.”

“Good,” she mirrored, and Cassian barked a laugh. “Maybe you’ll stop going easy on me.”

“I didn’t,” Cassian promised.

A dismissive snort. “You could have pinned me after that upper cut.”

Hazel eyes glowed bright. “I don’t fancy being blasted with silver fire this early in the morning,” Cassian said, even though they both knew why he hadn't pinned her. He stalked to the weapons rack and threw her a longsword, which she effortlessly caught by the handle. “Guards and then combat. Let’s see if you can strike me twice today.”

After their training session, Cassian loitered around the bungalow for longer than he should have. He had bathed first, so Nesta raised an eyebrow at him in surprise as she came out of the bathroom to find him in the living room.

“I thought you were going to Swallow’s Ridge,” Nesta said, her chin lifted as if daring for him to comment that she was wearing nothing but a towel.

The Nesta riddled with alcohol and completely numb would have had no qualms about baring her skin for all the world to see, if only to discover whether it would make her bitter heart feel. But with the potential meeting of her sister on the horizon, Nesta felt splintered and raw.

After failing to illicit comments from Cassian the day of Mor’s visit, Nesta also no longer felt as body confident as she had been. Her failure to draw his attention had only confirmed what she had not wanted to admit: that whilst she had put on weight, the knots in her spine were still too prominent and her thighs were far thinner than they should be, bowing at the tops rather than meeting in the middle. And whilst it wasn’t as if Cassian hadn’t seen more of Nesta’s skin before, today she wasn’t in a place where she could relish in it. If she had known he were still around the house, she would have changed into fresh clothes in the bathroom rather than her room.

Cassian’s nostrils flared and his eyes gleamed for such a short moment that Nesta wondered if it had merely been the fire dancing in his irises. “I might stay and oversee the foot soldiers instead.”

Raising an eyebrow, Nesta tightened the towel around her body. “Why,” she asked shortly. Too shortly. They both knew what today could be, depending on Nesta’s decision. It had been an omen hanging over them that morning as they trained. Cassian had not dared bring it up, and Nesta, who was still too conflicted over her sister’s impending visit, had only set her mouth in thin determination and wielded the longsword after he had thrown it at her, as if it were an extension of herself.

To Cassian’s delight, she had struck him twice. When they had ended, Cassian had vowed that he would start training her with the bow the following day at Spearhead.

Loosing a shrug, Cassian replied, “The rite is in three months. The Windhaven soldiers need as much training as they can get.”

A casual response, but Nesta was not fooled.

She reset her posture, her eyes narrowing in a way that usually had other’s running. “Do it tomorrow.”

Cassian cocked his head and those hazel eyes tunnelled into her with such intensity that Nesta wanted to look away. She didn’t let herself give in to the temptation, staring him down with the sort of unveiled threat that promised she’d make his life hell if he dared defy her.

Eventually, Cassian just shrugged, his broad wings shifting with the movement. He ruffled them, spreading them quickly before tucking them back in. It was a signature move of his when he was uncomfortable. “I’ll be back at dusk. I’ll see you for dinner?”

A careful question designed to ensure that Nesta didn’t intend to retreat into herself should she meet with Feyre. Cassian was worried, Nesta realised, fiercely so, the sensation escaping the walls he had constructed after Kamanam and lining her stomach with the scent of pine and musk and untamed air.

It had been a while since Nesta had been left feeling fully numb. It was a feat that hadn’t escaped her. Clearly, it hadn’t escaped Cassian either, and he wanted the reassurance that meeting with her sister wasn’t going to make her suffer, even though they both knew it didn’t work that way.

For once though, Nesta did hope that the numbness wouldn’t take a hold of her. The sensation felt odd — hope — but it was there, a flicker in the dark. And the thought of coming back to the bungalow later to eat in the kitchen with Cassian… the image was warm and inviting. Nesta could see the orange glow of faelight around the kitchen window, could imagine her feet crunching on snow and ice as she trekked her way back, could taste the spices on her tongue as she bit into the food he would prepare for her…

So Nesta said, “That depends on what you’re making.”

Cassian barked a laugh. “What would you like, sweetheart?”

Nesta shrugged, as if she were wholly uncaring, even as it felt as if someone had clenched a fist in her chest. “Dosas,” she said, tossing the word over her shoulder as she turned on her heel to head into the bedroom.

A low chuckle made her stomach twist and flip, but she did not look back at him, even though she knew his eyes had darkened and flared simultaneously.

Despite the distance, Nesta felt Cassian’s laugh rumble through her, like a flame licking down to her core. “Dosas it is.”

***  

Once she had dressed, Nesta left her bedroom with the intention of making her way to the widows camp. To her fury, she found that Cassian had still not left. He was waiting by the door, her headband in his outstretched hand. Her coat remained hanging from its hook, as if he had anticipated that she would emerge in clean leathers rather than an Illyrian dress.

When he informed her that he planned to walk her to the bottom of the mountain, Nesta snatched the headband from his hands and stormed out of the door with a furious hiss that had him grinning.

Yet... Nesta allowed him to follow her. Knew his cocky grin was just for show. Knew that he wouldn’t voice what they both knew: that somehow his presence had a calming effect on her, smoothing over the gravitas of what could or couldn’t happen in a few hours time.

Cassian opened his mouth a number of times during the walk, but eventually he chose to remain silent. Only when they arrived at the base of the mountain did he surprise her, conversing quickly with the guards in sharp Illyrian before stepping onto the treacherous path with her, rather than shooting into the skies.

Nesta’s scathing look did nothing to stop him in his tracks, and it was only when they made the first brutal turn that he spoke. “You don’t have to see your sister today if you don’t want to.”

Nesta scowled, angry at Cassian for bringing up Feyre when she had intended to cast her to the back of her mind whilst she still could. Her entire body stiffened but she did not turn to him, knowing somehow, that he wanted eye contact from her — hazel on blue.

She kept on walking; one foot in front of the other, her fur-lined boots crunching loose rock beneath her feet. “I am fully aware of what I can and cannot do.”

Her delivery was pointed enough to wound, but Cassian did not flinch. He stopped, reaching for her, his fingers closing around her wrist. “I meant what I said to you the other day, Nesta. You shouldn’t see your sister if you don’t think it’s best for you right now.”

Silence followed as heat licked through Nesta’s veins, her power slithering like a serpent through a dark tunnel.

When Cassian spoke next, his voice was low — a confession, “I fucked up before. I was so angry at you for ignoring me that I didn’t try to see things from your perspective. So I’m going to tell you again what I think you need to hear: only do this for you. Don’t do this for Feyre. If it feels right to meet your sister, meet her. If your gut tells you it is wrong, follow that feeling.”

Nesta nearly snorted in dismissal, but she quashed the sound before it could escape, remembering the look on Cassian’s face that night of Solstice, when she had treated him as if he weren’t worthy enough to even reject.

Instead, she said frostily, “I don’t need your support.”

Something flickered behind Cassian’s eyes. “I know,” he admitted, “but I want you to know that you have it, if you do want it.” His grip tightened around her wrist, his touch warm and too packed with meaning. “Sometimes we need distance to figure out what we need, Nesta.”

His gaze was too intense, so Nesta threw his words back at him as she scrabbled to keep her expression neutral. “And what do you need.”

A shake of the head had Cassian’s wind-snarled hair moving. “I don’t need anything from you," he confessed. "Recently there’s a spark of life in you that wasn’t there before. I don’t want to see it go out.”

Nesta’s windpipe tightened and she sucked in a breath as she purposefully slid her eyes away from him to the frost-kissed landscape; to the snow-capped pine trees, the canvas tents and the shadowed blurs of leather and steel.

“I’m not the same girl who was forced into the Cauldron,” Nesta said.

It was true. Nesta was not who she had been. The Cauldron and the war had remoulded her body and self until she was recognisably different: harder around the edges, broken in the middle. A jumble of revenge and anger and grief and hatred. Emotions that she tried in vein to trap in ice to stop herself from self-combusting.

As if he could tell what she was thinking, Cassian’s fingers moved from her wrist to squeeze her fingers.

“No,” Cassian agreed softly, “but I like who you have become, all the same.” With his other hand, he reached up to brush his thumb lightly over the arch of her cheekbone.

The initiated contact surprised Nesta so much that she did not have the time to order herself to flinch.

“I’ll see you later,” Cassian said, after he had stared into her eyes for a little too long. “If you need me, get one of the guards to send a messenger to Swallow’s Ridge. I’ll come back.”

They both knew Nesta would not ask for him, but she nodded to indicate that she had heard before he shot into the sky. Nesta watched him until he faded into the clouds, his dark wings merging with grey…

A flash of ruby flared like lightning, and then he was gone.

The weather was moody — Nesta’s favourite — and the rolling white and smoke clouds made her emotions spark in a way that she found comforting as she continued up the path. Despite her initial hesitancy, Nesta had learnt that for the most part, it was better to feel than to feel nothing at all. And now… all she could feel was where Cassian’s calloused thumb had brushed over her skin. She wondered if the bastard had done it on purpose to distract her — to make her feel when now was a time when she’d usually retreat into herself.

It irritated her beyond belief that it worked, but it irked her more that she wanted him to do it again.

Females dipped their heads at Nesta in greeting as she submerged herself into the bustling widows camp. Nesta nodded back at them, and when she found the least battered tent at the East side of the camp, Nesta rapped her knuckled on the canvas to alert Mas to her arrival before she ducked quickly inside. The housekeeper’s face lit up at the sight of her. Mas had been winding a thick scarf around Roksana’s neck, but she stopped the task to take Nesta’s face in her hands and plant two quick kisses on each cheek before she hurried off to help the other females in the makeshift kitchens.

“Tiya, sunt tibi beni?” Nesta asked Roksana when they were alone, smoothing a hand over the girl’s tangled hair before she continued to wind the scarf around the youngling.

Roksana did not reply, she only wrapped her arms around Nesta’s legs in a hug that warmed Nesta’s blood.

It was a recent development that Nesta had taken to greeting Roksana in Illyrian, hoping to coax out some words in her in her native tongue. It hadn’t worked yet, but the way in which Roksana’s eyes had lit up the first time Nesta had tried to sound out the language, had left Nesta determined to persist, even if she continued to come up empty.

The chores in the widows camp were never-ending. Tuesdays were many of the females day off and so the camp was far busier than usual. Nesta helped to feed and clothe the orphans with Durkhanai at the Eastern side of the camp, before urging the younglings to warm their wings and frozen limbs by the campfire.

Some of the older widows, including Mas, had come to settle by the fire as well, in order to keep an eye on the younglings whilst they weaved beautiful fabric together with needle and thread. Braving the fire, Nesta settled with Roksana against her side and recounted a few stories, until the spitting became too much and the sun was high in the sky.

Then, without thinking, Nesta stood. She ran a hand over Roksana’s hair and bid Mas goodbye, before heading to the path that traversed up the mountain to the summit at the Western point of the camp. She ignored the way in which Mas had watched her go, her expression concerned to the point of troubled. There was no way in which Mas could know what Nesta was about to do — Nesta had not told anyone about her potential meeting with her sister — but Mas had come to learn her moods just as Cassian had.

If Nesta was more forthcoming about herself, she might have asked Mas’s advice, but instead Nesta continued to move on instinct — on the pull that was drawing her legs to climb up, up, up until the path flattened out.

She saw Feyre as soon as she reached the peak. It was not hard to spot her. She was standing at the precipice, staring down at the widows camp below. Despite the long braid that had woven her sister’s golden brown hair into three strands, the fierce wind carried it behind her, highlighting the sharp angles of her cheekbones and the slight upwards slant to her eyes. Her long, elegant figure was swept up in the finest fur-lined leathers, as if she too had unwittingly dressed to expect a battle. Or, Nesta thought grimly, the clothing that her mate had insisted she wear, knowing that her sister was not only braving the Illyrian weather but her thorny, quarrelsome sister.

Nesta had just noted the sword strapped to her spine, when Feyre turned and noticed her.

There was a pregnant pause as eyes near identical to her own took in Nesta’s figure: her frost-kissed skin rather than sunken cheeks; the loose braid rather than the tight crown; the figure-hugging leathers rather than the drab, over-sized dresses. A far cry to when Feyre had seen her last, Nesta could admit that much.

“You came,” Feyre said eventually.

Nesta angled her chin, ready to spar.

“I come here every morning,” she replied coldly. “I’d assume that’s why you were advised to suggest here as a meeting point.”

There was no added insult for Cassian. No bat, no bastard, no scathing him. Even so, Nesta couldn’t bring herself to say his name. It felt too intimate — too much of a giveaway that she no longer hated him with such raging intensity she wanted to shatter things.

That was not to say that Cassian did not make her want to break things now… He did, but it was rarely from anger. Rather, it was in the way that he would look at her — in the way that no one else dared — as if she were wholly unbreakable and he had no qualms about closing the distance and pinning her between a wall and the muscled cords of his body.

The tension was rising between them — it had been for a while — and it hung thick and heavy in the air, so much so that at times Nesta found it hard to breathe.

And the worst thing was that Nesta felt herself giving in; melting into the temptation and scent of him, even when she knew that every sensation he pulled from her was a veiled disguise. An illusion. Not of choice but of a decision already made, whereby they were both playing out what was destined for them.

Yet, despite that knowledge, Nesta couldn’t deny that the thought of Cassian speaking of her to the Inner Circle opened the fetid wound that had been falsely healing inside of her. It seeped ruby through the cracks in her wall of ice, like blood tainting the purest snow.

In Nesta’s mouth, she tasted copper.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come,” Feyre repeated, her voice disbelieving as she shook her head.

“I can leave as quickly as I came,” Nesta threatened, her face stony and impenetrable.

To her surprise, Feyre didn’t retaliate or sigh. She only looked down at the view in the fearless way anyone with wings could on a deadly precipice.

“That rock looks like a tombstone,” Feyre observed.

Nesta did not move from her position at the top of the path. Instead, she remained rooted to the spot in case she decided to make a quick exit. Nesta suspected that moment might come sooner than later. Already she felt rubbed raw, her hackles raised, her body primed to fight, yet she kept her face impassive as she followed her sister’s gaze.

Far above them, three warriors flew across the sky. Their bodies were black dots against the grey backdrop, and Nesta watched silver glint off one of them as a gap between the clouds exposed the sun’s rays. Nesta wished she was with them rather than here. Maybe Cassian was right, she was not ready for this. She was not ready to face the ghosts that haunted her… the ghosts that Feyre unwittingly brought with her.

“It’s the widows camp,” Nesta told Feyre coldly, trying to swallow down the urge to run.

Feyre cut a sideways glance at her. “You were there this morning?”

Nesta rose her chin. “Are you asking me that because you’ve been spying on me or because your faithful informant has been telling you how I spend my day?”

Feyre blew out a breath that Nesta dissected as a method of steadying the rising temper they both shared. “I arrived early. Cassian doesn’t like to speak of you to me.”

Surprise flared inside of Nesta so sharp that for a second she couldn’t breathe. She had always thought Cassian loyal to Feyre first and foremost. Had always thought he would choose his High Lady over her lowly, cruel sister, despite the things he had said that had insinuated otherwise.

But Nesta kept her expression blank as she asked, “And I suppose that makes you angry?”

The way Feyre shook her head was tormented. “No, he — it has made me realise some truths — of how I have failed you, Nesta.”

The concession was not packaged how Nesta had been expecting it, so she did not speak. Feyre had turned to look at her. Her irises were the exact same as Nesta’s own, yet not half as steely. Out of the three of them, she and Feyre were the most similar; both in looks and personality.

Nobody was as lovely as Elain, she and Feyre had learnt that long ago.

Just once, Feyre rang her hands before they fell uselessly at her sides. It betrayed her as nervous.

“I don’t know if I ever told you the full story of what happened to me Under the Mountain,” Feyre started. She tore her gaze from Nesta’s to stare out at the sky. “Afterwards, I… things were very difficult. I had nightmares every night of those I had killed and I couldn’t keep any food down. I barely slept and I felt heavy all of the time, as if I were wading through mud. I hated being confined so much so that when Tamlin locked me in the house the Night Court saved me because I threw the entirety of it into darkness. Even once I was in Velaris, there was no light, only dark, and I could barely feel… Sometimes I went days of feeling nothing and I had this... power inside of me that I didn’t know how to use.”

Feyre turned back to look at Nesta. Her expression was grave, as if she were tunnelling too far into herself, into a part of her that she did not like to bring back to the surface.

Nesta had seen the look many times before, in the reflection of Cassian and Mas’s eyes, as they stared concernedly at her.

“I’m not telling you this with the intention of making you feel sorry for me,” Feyre said quietly. She had stepped closer to Nesta without realising. Nesta had been too preoccupied with that haunted look. “The reason I’m telling you this is because despite everything I went through and the people who helped me, I didn’t truly stop to realise that you were going through something similar after the war. I should have seen what was happening with you, Nesta, and tried to truly understand what you needed, but I didn’t. I could try to better myself by saying that everything was so busy during and after the war that I was too distracted, but really that’s just an excuse for my behaviour. I thought Illyria would give you a change of scenery away from…everything.”

Nesta’s snort was harsh. “You thought to throw me into a war camp so I could escape the memory of what happened in the war?”

Feyre’s wince was visible and Nesta watched her sister pinch the bridge of her nose. “I didn’t—” Feyre started, but then she trailed off with a shake of her head, as if she wished to start again. “Nesta, I’m sorry for sending you here. I was so worried that you would destroy yourself and so I did something drastic—”

“I am not yours to control,” Nesta snarled. “You summoned me like I was dirt on the bottom of your shoe. You banished me in front of half of your precious Inner Circle with no regard to how I was suffering. You humiliated me not as my sister but as High Lady and that is unforgivable.”

Fire raged inside of Nesta at the memory, so bright that she knew mist was seeping threateningly from her fingers. Feyre cast an alarmed look to her hands as Nesta stepped closer, as if she were expecting her sister to blast her off the mountain.

“You say you don’t like small spaces,” Nesta continued with quiet fervour. “Have you considered what it is like for me? To be banished somewhere where I cannot fly away? Have you considered that I too was trapped when I was kidnapped and thrown into a Cauldron to be remade against my will? And when I told you I could not bare to sit in the tub — when I gave you a piece of myself — you did not truly listen. Instead you trapped me into another life that has been chosen for me.”

Another step forwards, so close that Nesta could feel the warmth coming from her sister’s skin. “I am sorry for what you endured Under the Mountain. I am sorry for making your life miserable when we were younger, but I am not sorry for how I chose to deal with my trauma.”

Feyre’s skin turned so pale her freckles looked like they had been painted on with the tip of a paintbrush. “Nesta—”

But Nesta was not finished. Now she had started, she couldn’t stop. The words poured forth as easily as fire wanted to flow from her fingertips. “Have you considered that I have never had control over any aspect of my life — that I have always been told what to do and how to behave?”

That fateful finger was out now, stabbing the air between them. Feyre took a step backwards as if Nesta had prodded her in the chest. Silver sparked in the air between them, a promise of what would undoubtedly come.

“I fought in the war,” Nesta continued with quiet fury. “I killed the King and changed the course of history. I tried to show you that I was sorry for how I had treated you through my actions. I tried to earn forgiveness, to try and make up for what I had done wrong. Yet you and your mate did not see my actions as worthy. And when I told you I did not want to be controlled by you, you banished me somewhere with somebody I could not stand to be around, as if I wasn’t your sister but a troublesome subject.”

Taking that final step, Nesta closed the distance between she and Feyre. Feyre did not back away again. Instead, Nesta watched a tear roll down Feyre’s cheek with a chilled sort of fury, and with quiet fervour, said, “Well, I have news for you, sister. I am untameable and I do not answer to anybody but myself.”

Horror coursed through Nesta’s insides, the sensation interwoven with the scent of lilac and pear. Feyre’s hands came to cover her face and a sob coursed through the mountain landscape, so sharp it was as if it were her sister’s last breath. “I didn’t want you to die. I thought you were going to drink yourself to death, Nesta. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Seeing her sister cry hurt, but being understood hurt more. So Nesta ploughed on; the words escaping as if they had been scrabbling to get out for a long, long time, “You once asked me why I pushed everyone away but Elain — why I pushed you away. Well, here’s your answer High Lady: you never needed me. I lost you long ago, as soon as mother told you that I was unsuitable to look out for my younger sisters and that you were the only one up for the task.”

Nesta hadn’t thought it possible for Feyre to turn paler, but she had. Her skin looked as if it had been leeched of life. As Nesta said the words, she knew they were unfair. Her younger self had projected anger onto Feyre rather than taint the dying mother who Nesta had always tried so hard to please.

A silence stretched out between them that was so taut and angry, Nesta had to resist the urge to throw her hands to the sky until it was burning mercury. Instead, she kept her power inside, wanting to feel the ferocious thrum of it in her blood, at the pulse in her neck which was hammering as if it were trying to escape.

“Is that why—” Feyre started, but a sound had Nesta throwing up a finger to stop her, because she had heard something on the wind which had made her blood freeze.

For a moment… nothing. Then on the wind came familiar, high pitched laughter that sent chills down Nesta’s spine. It was a sound that she had hoped to never hear again, yet it was unmistakable — clear as day.

“No,” Nesta breathed, whirling round to stare down the mountain path. Through the misty clouds, Nesta could make out nothing but the dark shape of the tombstone, but she knew that sound. She would never forget that sound, not as long as she lived.

“What is it?” Feyre demanded.

“Be quiet,” Nesta snapped.

Laughter came again. It skittered up the craggy rock, followed by snarling and snapping teeth.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Nesta moaned, running to ledge that Feyre had been standing at previously, which gave an unhindered view of the widows camp. And through the foggy clouds, Nesta saw them. Sloping four-legged figures on the western perimeter of the widows camp, slinking through the shadows. Too many of them. Nesta had no idea how they had gotten there, why they would have ventured somewhere so populated…

“What is it?” Feyre demanded again, running to Nesta’s side so she too could look over the mountain. “Oh Gods,” Feyre breathed. “The females. The children. Nesta, what are they—”

But Nesta was not listening. She was running before she had time to think, her feet digging into the stone as she tore her way to the mountain path that zagged its way down to the widows camp.

“Move,” she barked over her shoulder. The command was biting but Feyre did not hesitate, tearing after her sister as if it were second nature.

Nesta had only reached the first bend with Feyre hot on her heels when the first scream pierced through the clouds. Power leapt within Nesta, and then her mind went loose as it went taut… as Nesta reached within herself, into her veins where that magic hummed hello… ready. And Nesta did not push it away. Instead, she brushed against it in greeting, just as she had done when she had worn Cassian’s siphon, in the moment before she bended it to her will. And then her fingers were curling around the pommel of a longsword made entirely of breathing, silver flame.

She clutched on to it, the weapon so much an extension of herself that she did not have to worry about it falling from her grasp. The rest of the descent passed in a blur of moving rock, as she and Feyre skidded on loose stone and slushy ice, and the screams… they kept coming. Again and again. Panic and terror so palpable they pierced through Nesta’s emotional shields, each agonised sound stabbing through her, her power leaping to meet it, pushing beneath her skin, desperate to get out…

Together, she and Feyre plunged into the fray. Crowds of female were stampeding towards them, desperate to get to safety, to reach the only path that led down to the safety of the main camp.

And amongst them… kerits. So many of them chittering and snarling, their long, pointed teeth snapping and tearing as they leapt at the defenceless females with the intent of feasting on their flesh. Nesta slashed at them with her sword, fire sizzling through fur and flesh, her body moving independently of her brain as it fell into a killing dance.

Feyre had not drawn her sword from her back, instead she wielded ice from her palms, and spears of it wove their way through the air like arrowheads, plunging themselves into moving bodies of spotted fur. Nesta just had time to see the body of a kerit slump to the floor, its body impaled by ice, to reveal a female cowering against the canvas of her tent. The female’s face was ashen and disbelieving as she stared at the sloping bodies that had fallen before her at the will of Feyre’s magic. At the trail of limbs and guts scattered around her, belonging to the female who they had not been in time to save… But then another kerit was leaping at Nesta, and Nesta did not have time to think, only react as she plunged her sword into it’s belly. It fell by her feet with a sharp cry, black blood spilling on the rocky ground. Nesta did not pause to consider the bloodshed or how her feet slipped in it as she continued to run, she only raised her free hand to the sky again, desperately blazing silver into the clouds, hoping that it would be enough to alert the camp below of the attack.

Already Nesta knew that there were too many kerits for she and Feyre to fight off themselves… Already there had been casualties. And still, the orphans were huddled at the Eastern-point of the camp with nobody to protect them…

It was that thought that had Nesta pressing on. Kerits leapt at she and Feyre before they realised that they had chosen the wrong pray, and Nesta sliced and jabbed with her fire-breathing steel, relishing in the beasts dying screams and savouring the sobs of the widows, which brought solace in the knowledge that they were alive and momentarily safe.

All went eerily quiet as Nesta and Feyre reached the towering tomb of rock and the makeshift canteen surrounding it. The stampede of females had petered out, and Nesta hoped it was because most of them had managed to escape down the mountain pass, rather than because they had fallen victims to the kerits. Her gut twisted at the thought… as she thought of Mas, Roksana and the other orphans who had been tucked away against the mountain wall at the Eastern side of the camp… a dead end.

If the kerits had managed to corner them… it would be a massacre.

Another lurch of her stomach as Nesta surveyed the benches and tables that had been strewn across the stone floor. Beside one of the upturned benches lay the twisted body of the elderly cook with crooked teeth — the female who insisted on feeding Nesta each morning, even when Nesta told her that she had already eaten breakfast. The cook’s tan skin was covered in claw and tooth marks, her body bloody and brutalised in such a horrific way that Nesta knew there was not a glimmer of life left in the female.

It must have been a horrible way to die.

Biting back a sob, Nesta closed her fingers around her sister’s arm, needing Feyre to understand that in this moment, she did not care if she died; she only cared that she could protect the defenceless females before she fell.

“The orphans,” Nesta urged to Feyre, pointing towards the Eastern side of the camp and the screams that were being tossed away on the wind. “They’re at the East side of the camp. There’s no way out.”

Nesta did not dare say the name Roksana or Mas. Could not voice what she was terrified of… That something could have already happened to the Illyrian’s she had come to care for so deeply.

Nesta tried to push away the thought of how Roksana had clung to her that morning… of how her small fingers had grabbed onto her legs in a clumsy hug. Nesta tried not to think about how Mas had kissed her in greeting; her weathered palm patting lightly against Nesta’s cheek in that motherly way of hers that always made her feel unconditionally accepted and loved.

The boom of wings sounded across the mountain pass, and then different coloured lights started to flash as siphons were willed into action, warriors finally landing in the camp to fight off the beasts. Nesta spotted Ragar and his friends, Devlon, guards on patrol, but then Feyre’s hands came to rest on her arms, pulling her attention away.

Nesta stared at her sister — at the white face streaked with blood which was set in grim determination, even as they heard the rising screams.

“Let’s go,” Feyre said, those two words sparking more respect in Nesta than any of their tense exchange at the top of the mountain.

And then they were running again, both of them throwing magic from their palms, taking out a gang of kerits who had leapt between the tents. Nesta swung her longsword of silver fire with her left-hand just as a kerit jumped in front of Feyre, attacking from seemed like nowhere.

Black blood streaked hot across Nesta’s face as her sword sizzled through muscle and sinew, but she ignored the wailing screams of the dying beast, turning only to make sure her sister was alive and unharmed.

Feyre’s eyes were wide, her heartbeat as frantic as a hummingbird in Nesta’s ears. “Thanks,” Feyre breathed, panting desperately for breath. Then she pointed to the direction they had been heading — to the Eastern-most point where Nesta had left Roksana and Mas that morning. “There are lots of warriors up ahead.”

Together they dodged the crowds and beams of coloured light. To Nesta’s relief, the huddled figures on the floor seemed to mainly consist of spotted fur, the Illyrian males clearly having arrived in time to prevent a massacre. But still Nesta ran, not realising how her lungs were heaving for breath or the burn in her thighs as she weaved through lifeless bodies and crying females, heading towards the smoke that wafted up from the dying camp fire — the place she had left Roksana and Mas what felt like mere minutes ago.

It was not how she had left it.

In front of her, metres before the campfire, lay Durkhanai’s bloody body. Her eyes were open and unseeing, her pupils green and mesmerising even in death… her spirit already well departed from the world. And a foot away from her…

“No.”

The sound that tore from Nesta was agony. It ripped from her chest — from deep, deep inside that locked cage as it cracked.

Nesta’s boots slipped through guts and gore, but she did not care. In her periphery, Nesta saw limbs and the unseeing eyes of the females who had flung themselves in the paths of the beasts, as if they had willingly lay themselves on the pyre to put the lives of the orphans before themselves.

Nesta did not feel the blinding pain that should have splintered through her as she fell to her knees on the grey rock. Because in front of her was Mas. She was lying on the floor and her wings — her scarred and battered wings — were in tatters. Her stomach was oozing with blood, deep claw marks raked through raw flesh.

And beside her was Roksana, her face and clothes covered in bright scarlet blood. Her small, precious hands buried deep in Mas’s gut, holding in the punctured intestines that were trailing out of her body; as if they had been dragged out by long, pointed teeth…

The little girl stared up at Nesta, her dark eyes blown wide in shock. Around them, the anguished cries and screams of agony went quiet, Nesta’s ears drowning out all noise but the croak that came from the youngling’s mouth. “Help,” she said, those little hands sliding on intestines and blood as it leaked through her fingers. “Help.”

“No,” Nesta repeated again, the word cracking out of her as she surveyed the damage that was too severe for an Illyrian to remedy. “No, no, no.”

Her hands slipped in hot blood as she pressed her own palms over Mas’s gaping wounds. The housekeeper’s breath rattled, the sound terrible and wringing with what Nesta knew was unimaginable pain. Mas’s face was grey — as if already it had been drained of life; as if the end had been written and there was no avoiding it.

Fingers grasped at Nesta’s but the Illyrian’s eyes did not open, even as her eyelids flickered — the movement asking too much of her body. They slipped against Nesta’s as they moved through her own ruby blood.

“You will not die,” Nesta told Mas fiercely, her eyesight blinded by tears. A silver tear rolled down Nesta’s cheek and fell onto their clasped hands… into the open, gaping wound. “You will not. Do you hear me?”

Only silence answered as Mas’s body went slack. Her chest rattling one last time before it stopped moving all together.

When the housekeeper’s fingers fell away from Nesta’s own, everything went still.

“Nesta.”

A hand was on her shoulder — Feyre — but Nesta did not feel or care for it. Someone had pulled Roksana away into the safety of their arms — away from the dead body with its departing soul. Deep inside of Nesta, the scent of roasted chestnuts and wood shavings began to fade, as if it had been caught in the wind and was about to be tossed away.

“No.”

That same word again, but this time it came with weight behind it. Defiance. Anger. Heartbreak. All her own, and yet piling on top of that, layer by layer, was every painful emotion and memory of loss that had been imprinted on the stone over the years, from the widows that had come before and had suffered unimaginably.

Something turned inside of Nesta, her magic flipping as if someone had turned a key in a lock to reveal not silver but white… A pure, snow white light that seeped from her fingertips, singing with gentle promise rather than destruction.

“No,” Nesta said.

That word again, but this time deadly calm.

Still.

Who do you want to be, Nesta?

Cassian’s words from the day before sounded in her head. At the time she had not known the answer, but now, her path had never been clearer.

Raising her steady blood-stained hands to hover over Mas’s wounds, Nesta let that icy wall protecting her emotions fall away inside of her. It crashed down around her like a dam whose gates had been opened, her emotions running like rampant and wild rapids, rushing into her blood and down strands of interwoven rope. Her power vibrated with a controlled energy and then that white light glowed, shining from her palms.

It was so bright that Nesta had to close her eyes to protect herself from the sheer brilliance of her power as it poured forth.

She did not need to look at Mas’s body to bear witness to her healing. Did not need to watch the housekeeper’s wounds knit themselves back together, as if someone were turning back time in slow motion.

She just knew.

And in that moment, Nesta also knew exactly who she was supposed to be, even as her body started to hurt.

Two weaving components, bound together as surely as a rope plaited with two complementing strands.

Protector.

Healer.

That was who Nesta was.

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Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader -Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything was now ruined.

CHAPTER 10: The Wheels On The Bus Goes Skrt Skrt Skrt

It didn't take me long to pack. I didn't have anything at all, which left me only an extra change of clothes and a toothbrush to stuff in a backpack Grover had found for me and Percy. Both having nothing to carry we decided to share a bag. The camp store loaned us one hundred dollars in mortal money and twenty golden drachmas. These coins were as big as Girl Scout cookies and had images of various Greek gods stamped on one side and the Empire State Building on the other. The ancient mortal drachmas had been silver, Chiron told us, but Olympians never used less than pure gold. Chiron said the coins might come in handy for non-mortal transactions—whatever that meant. He gave Annabeth, Percy and I each a canteen of nectar and a Ziploc bag full of ambrosia squares, to be used only in emergencies, if we were seriously hurt. It was god food, Chiron reminded us. It would cure us of almost any injury, but it was lethal to mortals. Too much of it would make a half-blood very, very feverish. An overdose would burn us up, literally. Annabeth was bringing her magic Yankees cap, which she told us had been a twelfth-birthday present from her mom. She carried a book on famous classical architecture, written in Ancient Greek, to read when she got bored, and a long bronze knife, hidden in her shirt sleeve. I was sure the knife would get us busted the first time we went through a metal detector. Grover wore his fake feet and his pants to pass as human. He wore a green rasta-style cap, because when it rained his curly hair flattened and you could just see the tips of his horns. His bright orange backpack was full of scrap metal and apples to snack on. In his pocket was a set of reed pipes his daddy goat had carved for him, even though he only knew two songs: Mozart's Piano Concerto no. 12 and Hilary Duff's "So Yesterday," both of which sounded pretty bad on reed pipes. We waved good-bye to the other campees, took one last look at the strawberry fields, the ocean, and the Big House, then hiked up Half-Blood Hill to the tall pine tree that used to be Thalia, daughter of Zeus. Chiron was waiting for us in his wheelchair. Next to him stood a surfer looking dude. According to Grover, the guy was the camp's head of security. He supposedly had eyes all over his body so he could never be surprised. Today, though, he was wearing a chauffeur's uniform, so I could only see extra peepers on his hands, face and neck. "This is Argus," Chiron told us. "He will drive you into the city, and, er, well, keep an eye on things." I heard footsteps behind us. Luke came running up the hill, carrying a pair of basketball shoes. "Hey!" he panted. "Glad I caught you." Annabeth blushed, the way she always did when Luke was around. I looked at him with a frown. "Don't look at me like that. I had to find out from the others you're going on a quest." he glared. "So much for the option you won't die at." "I would've told you if you were at the cabin when I got back. Now what's with the shoes?" "Just wanted to say good luck," Luke told Percy. "And I thought... um, maybe you could use these." He handed him the sneakers, which looked pretty normal. They even smelled kind of normal. Luke said, "Maia!" White bird's wings sprouted out of the heels, startling me so much, Percy dropped them. The shoes flapped around on the ground until the wings folded up and disappeared. "Awesome!" Grover said. Luke smiled. "Those served me well when I was on my quest. Gift from Dad. Of course, I don't use them much these days...." His expression turned sad. I didn't know what to say. It was cool enough that Luke had come to say good-bye. But here he was giving Percy a magic gift.... It made me a bit jealous. "Hey, man," Percy said. "Thanks." "Listen, Percy..." Luke looked uncomfortable. "A lot of hopes are riding on you. So just... kill some monsters for me, okay?" They shook hands. Luke patted Grover's head between his horns, then gave a good-bye hug to Annabeth, who looked like she might pass out. The three went to Chiron about stuffs while Luke and I had a staring contest. "So Percy got a present and I only get an I don't know... a hug? Here I thought I was your favorite." "What made you think you are?" He laughed and ruffled my hair. "And no you don't get a hug." "Suddenly I'm not coming back." He smiled and from his back he pulled out a sheathed knife. "I meant to say you won't get only a hug. I noticed you're not a fan of swords. So, I made this my self. I am no Hephaestus child but hey..." He handed me the knife. The sheath was plain colored with a metal chap and locket, it had chains attached to the locket where I could probably put it on something to make sure I bring it with me. Pulling the knife out of the sheath, its knife was around 15 inches. On the blade, Ancient Greek was engraved on it. I think it's my name and the other side is his. "What is this?" I grinned. "I don't know. I ran out of good ideas! I swear I looked up some of Plato and Socrates for that." "And you settled for that?" I laughed. "I am going to take that back now." "Hey, that doesn't mean I don't like it. Thanks." "It's celestial bronze... Half of it at least." "Half?" "I'm sure Chiron won't appreciate it. It will harm both us and humans." "So... It'll hurt both side?" "Yup. And I'm not sure but according to a Hephaestus kid but it's supposed to glow when its near something." "Its not glowing now." "We never said no backsies. I'd like it back now." "I'll take good care of..." I stopped to think of a name and almost immediately remembered a perfect one, "Sting." "I would ask but I already know." Luke shook his head. "Be careful with Sting. It---" "He. Sting is a he, thank you very much." "HE, is lethal. He it can kill us, others close to our kind and normal humans." "Oops I accidentally stabbed myself." With a worried look he pulled me in a hug, "And whatever happens. Put your safety above all. No need to be the hero. If you die in this quest I will get the lord of the dead revive you or kill me." "Ew how sentimental." "Be careful... okay? All of you. Promise me that." "Fine, I promise. On the knife, I'll come back not dead, with everyone." After Luke was gone, I placed the knife on my waist. I went back to Percy. "Okay, that's extremely cool," I heard him say. "What's cool?" I grinned standing behind Percy overlooking his shoulder. "My new pen." He showed me his pen and uncapped it only to show a sword. "I can't loose it no matter what! Its called Riptide." "But what if a mortal sees you pulling out a sword?" Chiron smiled. "Mist is a powerful thing, Y/N." "Mist?" "I just keep hearing that over and over can someone finally explain?" "Yes. Read The Iliad. It's full of references to the stuff. Whenever divine or monstrous elements mix with the mortal world, they generate Mist, which obscures the vision of humans. You will see things just as they are, being a half-blood, but humans will interpret things quite differently. Remarkable, really, the lengths to which humans will go to fit things into their version of reality." Percy put Riptide back in his pocket. For the first time, the quest felt real. We was actually leaving Half-Blood Hill. We was heading west with no adult supervision, no backup plan, not even a cell phone. (Chiron said cell phones were traceable by monsters; if we used one, it would be worse than sending up a flare.) I had no weapon stronger than a knife to fight off monsters and reach the Land of the Dead. "Chiron..." I said. "When you say the gods are immortal... I mean, there was a time before them, right?" "Four ages before them, actually. The Time of the Titans was the Fourth Age, sometimes called the Golden Age, which is definitely a misnomer. This, the time of Western civilization and the rule of Zeus, is the Fifth Age." "So what was it like... before the gods?" Chiron pursed his lips. "Even I am not old enough to remember that, child, but I know it was a time of darkness and savagery for mortals. Kronos, the lord of the Titans, called his reign the Golden Age because men lived innocent and free of all knowledge. But that was mere propaganda. The Titan king cared nothing for your kind except as appetizers or a source of cheap entertainment. It was only in the early reign of Lord Zeus, when Prometheus the good Titan brought fire to mankind, that your species began to progress, and even then Prometheus was branded a radical thinker. Zeus punished him severely, as you may recall. Of course, eventually the gods warmed to humans, and Western civilization was born." "But the gods can't die now, right? I mean, as long as Western civilization is alive, they're alive. So... even if I failed, nothing could happen so bad it would mess up everything, right?" Chiron gave us a melancholy smile. "No one knows how long the Age of the West will last, Percy. The gods are immortal, yes. But then, so were the Titans. They still exist, locked away in their various prisons, forced to endure endless pain and punishment, reduced in power, but still very much alive. May the Fates forbid that the gods should ever suffer such a doom, or that we should ever return to the darkness and chaos of the past. All we can do, child, is follow our destiny." "Our destiny... assuming we know what that is." "Relax," Chiron told me. "Keep a clear head. And remember, you may be about to prevent the biggest war in human history." "Relax," Percy said. "I'm very relaxed." When we got to the bottom of the hill, I looked back. Under the pine tree that used to be Thalia, daughter of Zeus, Chiron was now standing in full horse-man form, holding his bow high in salute. Just your typical summer-camp send-off by your typical centaur. I took Percy's hand and we gave each other a reassuring nod. I wish us luck. Talking whilst at camp drained me. I apologize if I won't be much help. You have stamina? So you aren't a bigshot all powerful god? Without you and I as one. I am nothing. I have given you my everything.

Argus drove us out of the countryside and into western Long Island. It felt weird to be on a highway again, Annabeth and Percy was sitting next to me as if we were normal carpoolers. After two weeks at Half-Blood Hill, the real world seemed like a fantasy. I found myself staring at every McDonald's, every kid in the back of his parents' car, every billboard and shopping mall. "So far so good," Percy said. "Ten miles and not a single monster." She gave him an irritated look. "It's bad luck to talk that way, seaweed brain." "Remind me again—why do you hate me so much?" "I don't hate you." "Could've fooled me." She folded her cap of invisibility. "Look... we're just not supposed to get along, okay? Our parents are rivals." "Why?" She sighed. "How many reasons do you want? One time my mom caught Poseidon with his girlfriend in Athena's temple, which is hugely disrespectful. Another time, Athena and Poseidon competed to be the patron god for the city of Athens. Your dad created some stupid saltwater spring for his gift. My mom created the olive tree. The people saw that her gift was better, so they named the city after her." "They must really like olives." I interjected. "Not you too! You know what? Forget it." "Now, if she'd invented pizza—that I could understand." "I said, forget it!" In the front seat, Argus smiled. He didn't say anything, but one blue eye on the back of his neck winked at me. Traffic slowed us down in Queens. By the time we got into Manhattan it was sunset and starting to rain. Argus dropped us at the Greyhound Station on the Upper East Side, Percy and I didn't let go. Taped to a mailbox was a soggy flyer with Percy's picture on it: HAVE YOU SEEN THIS BOY? He ripped it down before Annabeth and Grover could notice. "They could've at least gotten a better picture." I smirked which caused him to roll his eyes. Argus unloaded our bags, made sure we got our bus tickets, then drove away, the eye on the back of his hand opening to watch us as he pulled out of the parking lot. Grover shouldered his backpack. He gazed down the street in the direction Percy was looking. "You want to know why she married him, Percy?" I stared at Percy then at Grover. "Were you reading my mind or something?" "Just your emotions." He shrugged. "Guess I forgot to tell you satyrs can do that. You were thinking about your mom and your stepdad, right?" Percy nodded. I missed my parents of course, but I had Luke and Grover to talk to which made me less lonely. Percy became an outcast when we got to camp and had no one to talk to. I squeezed his hand and gave him a smile. "Your mom married Gabe for you," Grover told him. "You call him 'Smelly,' but you've got no idea. The guy has this aura.... Yuck. I can smell him from here. I can smell traces of him on you, and you haven't been near him for a week." "Thanks," Percy said. "Where's the nearest shower?" "You should be grateful, Percy. Your stepfather smells so repulsively human he could mask the presence of any demigod. As soon as I took a whiff inside his Camaro, I knew: Gabe has been covering your scent for years. If you hadn't lived with him every summer, you probably would've been found by monsters a long time ago. Your mom stayed with him to protect you. She was a smart lady. She must've loved you a lot to put up with that guy—if that makes you feel any better." I knew what Percy was thinking. He was thinking of the fact we'll get his mom and my parents. How we'll save them all. We got restless waiting for the bus and decided to play some Hacky Sack with one of Grover's apples. Annabeth was unbelievable. She could bounce the apple off her knee, her elbow, her shoulder, whatever. I wasn't too bad myself. The game ended when I tossed the apple toward Grover and it got too close to his mouth. In one mega goat bite, our Hacky Sack disappeared—core, stem, and all. Grover blushed. He tried to apologize, but we were too busy cracking up. Percy pulled me to a corner, after excusing ourselves for a bathroom break. "You finally going to tell me about this quest?" "The truth is," He started. "I don't care about retrieving Zeus's lightning bolt, or saving the world, or even helping my father out of trouble." I gave him a look that reassured him to continue. "The more I thought about it, I resented my father for never visiting me, never helping my mom, never even sending a lousy child-support check. He'd only claimed me because he needed a job done. All I cared about was you and my mom. The underworld god had taken her unfairly, and he is going to give her back." "Percy, we don't even know what's going on. Yeah, he might have her. But what is there's another reason? We don't exactly know anything. I don't even think my parents are with him." "Well, no matter where they are. We will get them back. The least I could do is get them back." He rested his head on my shoulder. "Don't "You will be betrayed by one who calls you a friend," "What?" I froze. "Percy... I would never---" "You will fail to save what matters most in the end." "What are you talking about?" The rain kept coming down. "The rest of the prophecy. Y/N, I don't want you to betray me. Please... don't." I could hear his voice breaking. "Of course I won't. We'll get this quest done. We won't loose anyone and we'll get our parents. Don't worry." I hugged him. "I will stay with you. I won't leave and I won't betray you." "Hey Bonnie and Clyde, we need to go." Finally the bus came. As we stood in line to board, Grover started looking around, sniffing the air. "What is it?" I asked. "I don't know," he said tensely. "Maybe it's nothing." But I could tell it wasn't nothing. I took Percy's hand and started looking over my shoulder, too. I was relieved when we finally got on board and found seats together in the back of the bus. We stowed our backpacks. Annabeth kept slapping her Yankees cap nervously against her thigh. As the last passengers got on, I immediately clamped my hand onto Percy's knee. "Percy." It was Mrs. Dodds. Older, more withered, but definitely the same evil face. I scrunched down in my seat. Behind her came two more old ladies: one in a green hat, one in a purple hat. Otherwise they looked exactly like Mrs. Dodds—same gnarled hands, paisley handbags, wrinkled velvet dresses. Triplet demon grandmothers. And I was now sure, Mrs. Rudolph was one of them. They sat in the front row, right behind the driver. The two on the aisle crossed their legs over the walkway, making an X. It was casual enough, but it sent a clear message: nobody leaves. The bus pulled out of the station, and we headed through the slick streets of Manhattan. "She didn't stay dead long," Percy said, "I thought you said they could be dispelled for a lifetime." "I said if you're lucky," Annabeth said. "You're obviously not." "All three of them," Grover whimpered. "Di immortales!" "Who knows maybe they just want to play?" I said nervously. Annabeth gave me a look of irritation, "Not now," she said, obviously thinking hard. "The Furies. The three worst monsters from the Underworld. No problem. No problem. We'll just slip out the windows." "They don't open," Grover moaned. "A back exit?" she suggested. There wasn't one. Even if there had been, it wouldn't have helped. By that time, we were on Ninth Avenue, heading for the Lincoln Tunnel. "Maybe a nice chat would help?" "They won't attack us with witnesses around," Percy said. "Will they?" "Mortals don't have good eyes," Annabeth reminded him. "Their brains can only process what they see through the Mist." "They'll see three old ladies killing us, won't they?" She thought about it. "Hard to say. But we can't count on mortals for help. Maybe an emergency exit in the roof... ?" We hit the Lincoln Tunnel, and the bus went dark except for the running lights down the aisle. It was eerily quiet without the sound of the rain. Mrs. Dodds got up. In a flat voice, as if she'd rehearsed it, she announced to the whole bus: "I need to use the rest-room." "So do I," said the second sister. "So do I," said the third sister. They all started coming down the aisle. "I've got it," Annabeth said. "Percy, take my hat." "What?" "You're the one they want. Turn invisible and go up the aisle. Let them pass you. Maybe you can get to the front and get away." "But you guys—" "There's an outside chance they might not notice us," Annabeth said. "You're a son of one of the Big Three. Your smell might be overpowering." "I can't just leave Y-- you guys!" "Don't worry about us," I assured him. "Go!" His hands were trembling. But I took the Yankees cap and put it on. And he simply vanished. Mrs. Dodds stopped, sniffing, and looked straight at a spot. My heart was pounding. Apparently she didn't see anything. She and her sisters kept going. "Maybe if they approach us, I could try talking? I really was Mrs. Rudolph's favorite..." I stammered. "Yeah stage is yours." Annabeth answered. The old ladies were not old ladies anymore. Their faces were still the same—I guess those couldn't get any uglier— but their bodies had shriveled into leathery brown hag bodies with bat's wings and hands and feet like gargoyle claws. Their handbags had turned into fiery whips. The Furies surrounded us, lashing their whips, hissing: "Where is it? Where?" The other people on the bus were screaming, cowering in their seats. They saw something, all right. "He's not here!" Annabeth yelled. "He's gone!" The Furies raised their whips. "Don't!" I stepped in front of them shaking. "H-Hi Mrs. Rudolph. W-What could you need?" Annabeth drew her bronze knife. Grover grabbed a tin can from his snack bag and prepared to throw it. To our surprise the bus jerked to the right. Everybody howled as we were thrown to the right, and I heard what I hoped was the sound of three Furies smashing against the windows. "Hey!" the driver yelled. "Hey—whoa!" The bus slammed against the side of the tunnel, grinding metal, throwing sparks a mile behind us. We careened out of the Lincoln Tunnel and back into the rainstorm, people and monsters tossed around the bus, cars plowed aside like bowling pins. Somehow the driver found an exit. We shot off the highway, through half a dozen traffic lights, and ended up barreling down one of those New Jersey rural roads where you can't believe there's so much nothing right across the river from New York. There were woods to our left, the Hudson River to our right, and the driver seemed to be veering toward the river. The bus wailed, spun a full circle on the wet asphalt, and crashed into the trees. The emergency lights came on. The door flew open. The bus driver was the first one out, the passengers yelling as they stampeded after him. The Furies regained their balance. They lashed their whips at Annabeth while she waved her knife and yelled in Ancient Greek, telling them to back off. Grover threw tin cans. It was as if I didn't exist which was kinda offensive. "Hey! I'm also here!" I yelled pulling out my now glowing knife and helped Grover. "Hey!" A voice from the door way echoed. "Percy you idiot! Run!" I yelled. The Furies turned, baring their yellow fangs at him. Mrs. Dodds stalked up the aisle. Every time she flicked her whip, red flames danced along the barbed leather. Her two ugly sisters hopped on top of the seats on either side of her and crawled toward him like huge nasty lizards. I don't know how but I managed to parkour my way to avoid them and get to Percy in no trouble. I raised my knife and stood in between of them. "Perseus Jackson," Mrs. Dodds said, in an accent that was definitely from somewhere farther south than Georgia. "You have offended the gods. You shall die. I suggest you step away from him Y/N L/N." "I liked you better as a math teacher," he told her. She growled. Annabeth and Grover moved up behind the Furies cautiously, looking for an opening. Percy took the ballpoint pen out of his pocket and uncapped it. Riptide elongated into a shimmering double-edged sword. The Furies hesitated. Mrs. Dodds had felt Riptide's blade before. She obviously didn't like seeing it again. "Submit now," she hissed. "And you will not suffer eternal torment." "Nice try," I told her. "Percy, look out!" Annabeth cried. Mrs. Dodds lashed her whip around my sword hand while the Furies on the either side lunged at him. I managed to keep one of them and parried with her using my knife., which turned out to be Mrs. Rudolph. "I hate to admit it but you were my favorite teacher. Why go mean now?!" I struck with the hilt of my knife against her, sending her toppling backward into a seat. I turned to see Percy had sliced the Fury on his right. As soon as the blade connected with her neck, she screamed and exploded into dust. Annabeth got Mrs. Dodds in a wrestler's hold and yanked her backward while Grover ripped the whip out of her hands. "Ow!" he yelled. "Ow! Hot! Hot!" Mrs. Rudolph came at me again, talons ready, but I dove in and got in range to swing Sting at her and she broke open like a piñata. Mrs. Dodds was trying to get Annabeth off her back. She kicked, clawed, hissed and bit, but Annabeth held on while Grover got Mrs. Dodds's legs tied up in her own whip. Finally they both shoved her backward into the aisle. Mrs. Dodds tried to get up, but she didn't have room to flap her bat wings, so she kept falling down. "Zeus will destroy you!" she promised. "Hades will have your soul!" "Braccas meas vescimini!" Percy yelled. I wasn't sure where the Latin came from. I think it meant "Eat my pants!" Thunder shook the bus. The hair rose on the back of my neck. "Get out!" Annabeth yelled at us. "Now!" I didn't need any encouragement. Taking Percy's hand, we rushed outside and found the other passengers wandering around in a daze, arguing with the driver, or running around in circles yelling, "We're going to die!" A Hawaiian-shirted tourist with a camera snapped my photograph before I could recap my sword. "Our bags!" Grover realized. "We left our—" BOOOOOM! The windows of the bus exploded as the passengers ran for cover. Lightning shredded a huge crater in the roof, but an angry wail from inside told me Mrs. Dodds was not yet dead. "Run!" Annabeth said. "She's calling for reinforcements! We have to get out of here!" We plunged into the woods as the rain poured down, the bus in flames behind us, and nothing but darkness ahead.

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UwU Haha this is what the knife looks like since I'm not sure if I describe it that well... Omg I just realized my brother changed the chapter title lmao -kookie-doughs

Just imagine it has your name on the blade.

Taglist?

@gayer-than-the-gayest-gay @the-natureofme @booknerd-3000

3/5/2023 DAB Transcript

Numbers 4:1-5:31, Mark 12:18-37, Psalm 48:1-14, Proverbs 10:26

Today is the fifth day of March, welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I am Brian. It is a wonderful to be here with you today, as we greet a shiny, sparkly new week. And this week is out in front of us, and we are stepping into the first full week of this, the third month of the year. We kind of transitioned into this new month during the last week and so this is our first full run through a whole week in this month. And I am grateful and thankful to be here around the Global Campfire together with you today, as we take the next step forward together. And that of course, the next step forward begins where the last step ended and that will be the book of Numbers. So, we’ll read from the Christian Standard Bible this week, picking up where he left off yesterday. The book of Numbers, we’ll read chapters four and five.

Prayer:

Father, we love You, we thank You for this brand-new, shiny, sparkly week that we are moving into, and we acknowledge as we so often do, at the beginning of the week is out in front of us, these decisions that we will make, they are out in front of us and we can choose wisely from the beginning, from this point, right now, to walk with You and all of our thoughts, words and deeds. That we might in deed, and in thought, and in word do exactly what we were reading in the Gospel of Mark today, love the Lord your God with all your heart with all your soul, with all your mind with all your strength and love our neighbors as ourselves. There is zero chance of our succeeding at this, without us surrendering completely to You and becoming fully aware that we are utterly dependent upon You, and that all that we have is Yours, and that all that we have we are stewarding and that You have allowed us to do this, so that we might review You to the world. Come, Holy Spirit, and show us how to love You with all that we are. We pray this in the name of Jesus. Amen.

Prayer and Encouragements:

Lord, I came to You on behalf of Kathy in Kentucky. And I just thank You for blessing her with 31 years of freedom from alcohol addiction and just ask that You bless her health, Lord. Help her to…to follow the plan. It sounds like she already knows what she needs to follow, as far as diet and exercise and just ask that You give her peace and comfort in her heart, Lord. And I’m not sure why she wasn’t invited to the wedding, I don’t know if that was just uncomfortable because of her brother's death, or what. But I just ask that You give her peace with that and that You speak to her heart, as she needs to reach out to her, her former sister-in-law and mend that relationship. And Lord, I just ask Your, Your peace and blessing on her and her health. In Jesus name. Amen.

Hey family, this is Bobba D from Tennessee, offering up prayer today for Work In Progress and his daughter. Heavenly Father, be with work in progress. Lord, the father's heart is completely destroyed by this horrible news of what his daughters going thru. Lord, I ask that You be with him. God, I’m asking that You would give him the strength to keep praying, keep believing, keep trusting in You. Though we ask that You would intervene and get his baby delivered from this. The rumors of being trafficked, Lord God, would You send Your angels to fight on her behalf. In Jesus name. Bless you brother.

Hey, DAB family, it’s Sadie McFarland. I’m a student at __ University and I just listened to the February 26th readings and God is amazing. I actually had this, the topics of the vision of Elijah and Moses in that reading in Mark in my Bible study today at my church. That was really cool. But I really want to just take time and bless and pray over the gentlemen that called with his daughter being trafficked. That just breaks my heart and shows how much the world needs the Lord. So, please DAB family, let’s join together in prayer for a moment over this family. Please pray with me. Abba Father, we come to You today, humbly, knowing Your power, know Your might. And we pray that You would just pour out Your love and comfort on this family. Bring their precious daughter back. Help the sisters to be there for one another when that happens. And just protect that daughter, protect that family. Bring peace upon that house, upon that family, Lord. And punish those who have trafficked her. Laugh in their faces, because You have prevailed, and You have rescued this poor woman. I pray for her safety and her restoration to the family. In Your almighty, powerful name. Amen. Thank you all. Let’s continue that prayer daily. God bless.

Hello Daily Audio Bible brothers and sisters. My name is Michael, also knowns as Michael Rows the Boat Ashore. I come to you, humbly, asking for your prayers. My wife, of 35 years, 7 years ago was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s dementia. She’s in a nursing home, where she’s falling multiple times. I am estranged from her because of the decisions that I made in my past. I haven’t talked to her or seen her in 3 years. And my kids are currently not talking to me. But my oldest son reached out to me and gave me permission to go visit my wife in the nursing home. Her name is Ingrid, and she took a fall yesterday. And she’s in the hospital. I was supposed to go see her tomorrow, which was Monday the 28th I believe, or the 27th. Anyway, if you could pray for the situation. So, that I can restore the relationship with my children. And get to see my wife again. I’m 100% blind. And that isn’t gonna stop me from seeing her and speaking to her. Please pray for me. Thank you DAB family with all my heart. Again, Michael Rowing the Boat Ashore.

Hello, my DAB family. This is Mark Street from Sydney, Australia. Today, is Sunday, the 26th of Feb. And I was calling, I was just listening to today’s 25th podcast and just heard Junk to Treasure calling in, asking for prayers for her daughter. And that’s what I wanted. Heavenly Father, we live in such a world that makes us feel unappreciated, unworthy, unloved, by the surroundings around us, Lord. That put pressure on us, Lord, to meet expectations of this world, Lord. And Lord, You don’t want us to have to meet the expectations of this world. We only need to meet your expectations. Lord, open Junk to Treasures daughter's mind. See that, what the world needs, is not what You need. Lord, open her mind. Fix all the things that she needs, Lord. Lord, and I ask You to put a blessing also onto Junk to Treasure and the rest of her extended family as well, Lord. Lord, You know exactly what they need. And I am coming humbly before You, Lord, asking You to help Junk to Treasures poor family and her daughter, Lord. Lord, in Your name. Amen. Love you, Junk to Treasure, and I’m praying and will continue to pray for your extended family and your daughter. Mark Street from Sydney, Australia.

jin zixuan » captivation

parts - 1 | 2

hello everyone! here is the second part, as requested by @impossibleme09​ to captivation! this is a reader insert so if thats not quite your vibe, i understand~ but if it IS your vibe and you have read the first chapter, i hope you enjoy! and i thank all you kind readers for your patience!

title - captivation word count -  3,004 words   paring - jin zixuan/fem!reader tags - THE ANGST (for the most part) IS OVER!! hopefully only lovely tings in this chapter, heartfelt emotions, mutual pining, affair, kinda happy ending

Four weeks.

Four long, lonely, dark, desperate weeks had passed since your sentencing by the Gusu Lan Sect, alongside the remainder of the court. 

They had dragged you out, kicking and screaming at the verdict whilst they quite literally began to rip apart your only best friend. You could see the look on Zhao Gang's face, the look in his eyes.

At least now, you knew he would be at peace.

You however, were confined for the rest of your days to stare at four stone walls, and a barred window and doorway being the only access you could never have again to the outside world. 

On the third day of the fifth week, which you had conveniently kept track of by using a corroded nail to carve the rustic tallies into the floor, you noticed something peculiar going on outside of your cell window. It was faint, given how quiet it always was down in the prison of the Lanling Jin Sect, but you heard it.

 The small sound of rustling paper, following by said parchment falling down onto the floor of your cell. Your cell was partially underground, the window starting at the beginning of the ground and only extending up a few feet, so on occasion trash could come in through the slots in the bars, you didn't pay much mind to it.

However, this parchment seemed different. It was a letter. 

With curious eyes, you walked over to it, picking up the letter that was sealed with a gold emblem to keep it shut. You knew that sigil anywhere, it was that of the Lanling Jin Sect. When you turned it over, you saw your name beautifully written on the front of it. 

Why would a letter be addressed to you, coming from the very sect you were imprisoned at, be coming through your cell window? Couldn't whatever message may be, not be delivered by word of mouth from a guard?

Regardless, you opened up the letter, not caring for the golden wax infused sigil that was ripped in half as you pulled it apart and began to read. 

Cultivator [ Y/L/N ], I do hope this letter finds you in good health -- though I do understand your predicament is less than desirable and for that I do apologize on behalf of the court and my sect. 

I was present that day, the day of your sentencing, and while I do agree that your choices of alternate methods of cultivation were a bit of an extreme shock to us and to the cultivation world, I believe you do not deserve a life such as this. 

You were in mourning for your companion, and it is with my deepest  apologies that you must go through it again. I wish for his soul to be carried to the highest of places, awaiting yours in the future. 

I would like to help you, should you so want that. You do not deserve to spend the rest of your life trapped as an animal for one mistake. I will leave you this letter, and return just before daybreak for your answer. 

Please think over my offer well, I hope to see you in the morning. 

Someone... wanted to help you? Someone saw through your scrutiny you were served by the Sect Leaders... the truth? That you weren't a threat, or had any ill will to harm anyone? There had to be a catch, there had to be something -- who would just willingly help you? Definitely not out of just blind trust.

Your stomach turned throughout the night, not even getting so much as a wink of sleep as your eyes were trained on the window, your evening sludge of dinner forgotten on the floor. As the evening darkness turned to a dark magenta and clementine hue, the morning sun shining through the small window, you raised up to your own two feet to pad toward the window.

You raised up on your tip toes, looking out of the barred hole as you curled your fingers around the cold metal and waited. You waited for what had felt like forever, your eyes heavy from the lack of sleep, and just when you felt like giving up on whatever hope had been brewing in your head over the night, you saw a pair of black hanfu boots, the lining instead of white cotton, was a shimmery silk laced gold. 

The robe to match could be mistaken for nothing else than a member of the Lanling Jin Sect and it swayed elegantly even from what you could see. The owner crouched down, and you nearly fainted when you saw who's face it belonged to.

"Y-Young Lord Jin?" You gasped, slipping off of your tip toes as you braced yourself against the stone walls of your prison cell. You must have gone truly mad- did your eyes really deceive you?

A small, barely present smile raised along the corners of his mouth, and you had to blink yourself out of your trance to come to terms with the fact that it truly was him. “I hope I have not troubled you due to my early risings, Cultivator (Y/L/N), I needed to arrive during the changing shifts of the dungeon guards.” He apologized, looking left and right before sitting down on his knees, bracing himself on the bars as he peered down at you. 

There was an awkward and tense silence between the two of you -- you watching him, a rosy flush coloring his cheeks as he tried his best to maintain eye contact with you. 

“So... did you sleep well?”

“What exactly is it you want from me, Young Lord Jin?”

Time. It was something you had plenty of, but in this current moment the anxiety was eating at you -- the apprehension of not knowing -- and your patience was wearing thin as he tried to skirt around the issue at hand.

Jin Zixuan cleared his throat, shaking his head. “I want nothing of you. I want to help you.” He answered, and alas, there was no tell-tale signs of dishonesty anywhere on him. His fingers couldn’t cross behind his back, as they were curled around the cold metal bars. His eyes didn’t shift side to side, as they were trained on you.

So either Jin Zixuan was a really good liar, or he was truthfully only trying to help.

Which prompted you to the question that had been at the forefront of your mind since the moment you received his letter. “Why?”

His brow furrowed, “because, I believe... you do not deserve to be here. Not trapped in here for the rest of your life as a common criminal-” he began, though you cut him off quickly. “How do you know I’m not? How do you know you can trust me not to abuse your position to get what I want? How do you know I will not, upon my freedom, raise another ghost puppet to do my bidding?!”

“Because of your eyes.”

Well that... truly stunned you. You weren’t sure how to counter that, but you didn’t need to, because he continued on in explanation.

“Your eyes show more emotion than you want. I was raised in a family where all I could do was sit and observe. I learned many things during my years, but one was how to spot someone evil.” He said tersely.

“An evil person, someone truly evil, is someone who could not care less of who gets caught in the crossfire of their wrongdoings. They enjoy the fear they inflict, the pain, the agony... But you,” he pointed towards you with an accusatory finger, though didn’t hold accusatory words, “you do not. Your eyes still have that sparkle of innocence.” He finished, but then added, “it’s quite... captivating, if I do say so myself.”

“Even if what you are saying is true-” you interjected, “how do you expect me to escape this prison? There is only one way in, and only one way out -- and it is through that door right there-” you pointed to the doorway cut out of stone, jailed by more bars.

Jin Zixuan smiled, “I’ve lived here my whole life. I know more ins and outs of this palace than you could imagine.” He pulled something from his outer robe as he stood, tossing down another letter into your hands as he looked around. “The guards have switched -- I will leave you more letters with my plans. Keep them hidden, keep them safe.” 

And then he was gone.

Days bled into nights, which morphed into the longest few months you had ever experienced. Having nothing to look at but your prison walls, the food becoming more and more inedible as the time went on; if it weren’t for your lingering hope of escape and your track keeping of each day, you were sure you would have gone mad.

But Jin Zixuan kept to his word. Visiting you every single day at sunrise on the dot, sometimes to simply just sit and talk, or to leave you more letters due to his rush to get done his princely deeds of the day. But in all the days you were stuck there, he had become the highlight of your day.

His smile, while regal and reserved, was always genuine. His voice would tell you stories of what was going on in the real world, stories you’d recall as you drifted to sleep each night. He was always helpful, never condescending... and it finally began to dawn on you that you might actually feel something for the Young Prince of Lanling Jin Sect.

This took a while for you to come to terms with. What if it had been just in your head? To be quite fair, he was the only man you had really had any contact with in... god knows how long. What if it was only your imagination that was making you picture the longing in his stares? Making you picture the somewhat suggestive sentences that hinted at wanting something more than just helping you?

But he was engaged... He had told you this much himself. To a woman who didn’t deserve how dismissive he had been to her as of late. That she was kind and sweet and caring, and deserved a better man to call a husband. It was hard for you to hide your dislike for the matter, to hide your jealousy, even as he expressed that it was only for show to keep the big sect families in harmony.

It was all a lot to process, and at the end of the day you at least knew to be true that you did in fact share some semblance of feelings for Jin Zixuan.

Months passed before the day had come. 

The day of your escape.

The change of guards would take longer due to the need for increased protection following the wedding ceremony of the Young Lord Jin Zixuan and his bride to be, Young Lady Jiang. You had only seen her a few times in passing, and only had heard seldom things about her -- but you knew one thing for sure: she definitely was lucky to be able to spend the rest of her life by his side. Something at this point you could only wish for.

A knock sounded from the barred door of your cell, and you lifted your head from the ground where you lay to see a familiar face. Jin Zixuan. He was dressed very well, in red robes as was custom for wedding ceremonies, and it honestly looked quite breathtaking on him.

The robe, which was normally a mix of golds and cream colored fabric, was a vibrant red that made his skin glow that much more than normal, it suited his tone well, and his hair was done up with the most royal braids you had ever seen. He looked amazing, and this was most likely the last image you would ever have of him.

At least it was a charming memory to have.

“Are you ready? We have little time, I’m awaiting for the word to begin the entry to the palace for the ceremony. I figure whilst everyone is busying themselves in the wedding hall... this would be the best time.” Jin Zixuan spoke, and you felt a heavy feeling in your heart. But nonetheless, you nodded. Young Lord Jin was not yours to have, he was already spoken for... but yet you still could see a pain behind his deep brown irises.

Jin Zixuan produced a small key from inside his sleeve, and for the first time since your imprisonment, you saw that cell door open and heard it creak. As you stepped outside, into the prison hall, you saw not a single guard was in sight. With a quick look you both shared together, he took your hand and began to lead you down the hall.

You were thankful for his aid, because even if you had managed to conspire this plan yourself, you would have gotten lost easily in the maze of halls. 

After what had seemed like forever, you were stopped by his arm curling around your form to jerk you back between two pillars against a stone wall. His hand came clasped over your mouth to silence any yelps that betrayed you from the surprise, and just as you were about to ask him why he had stopped you, when you heard it.

Guards. The clink of their swords. The sound of them talking. You heard at least two to your left, and even more to your right. You looked up at Jin Zixuan with a look of fear -- not for you, but for him. What would happen to him if he was caught helping a fugitive? A criminal?

He didn’t seem to share that same look of fear though, because he reached above him to pull a small pin from what looked like an embedding in the wall, and just like that, the wall behind you disappeared, only to be realigned in place soundlessly. 

It had taken you nearly off your feet, if it hadn’t been for the Young Prince’s grip on your waist holding you steady. As darkness encased the both of you, the only light allotted a few torches along the tunnel that lay before you, you felt him move before a rustling of fabric sounded, a dark blue robe being held out to you. 

“The less suspicious you seem when you get to the outside world, the better.” He explained, and after the robe was passed to your hands he turned around to politely allow you to change.

You quickly made work of your outer robe, ignoring the blush coloring your cheeks that you were thankful was hardly noticeable in the lighting, slipping on the disguise and making sure it was secure before clearing your throat. “I am finished, Young Lord Jin.” You said solemnly, your head downcast as he turned back around.

He nervously shuffled in place, holding a hand out to you. “Shall we?” He ushered, and you took it gingerly, feeling his warm, big hand, engulf your smaller, colder one as the two of you began to sprint down the tunnel. 

You were beginning to run out of breath, panting as you tried your best to keep up with him; but the fact of the matter was you had been confined to a dungeon prison cell for nearly a year in preparation for your escape, you weren’t in the best shape to run this way.

But it wasn’t endless, because at the end of the tunnel was a wall. Jin Zixuan reached up, grabbing onto a small string as he passed it to you. 

“If you pull this string, it will remove the pin above your head. The wall will shift open, just enough for you to sneak past... If you continue down the tunnel, it will let you out just outside of the city.” He said, his face alight with the torches next to him. He seemed... nervous, but not because of the big risk he was taking by busting you out.

“I know our time is almost up... but may I please be frank with you if only for a moment, Cultivator (Y/N)?” Your eyes were hopeful as you looked up at him, “of course.”

“We have spent quite a lot of time together over the months, and while I know it is very much frowned upon given our social statuses as well as my pre-arranged betrothal-”

“Young Lord Jin, please, do not hold back what it is you wish to say.” You cut him off, the anticipation nearly killing you.

He looked down at his hands clasped before him. “I... I have begun to grow a liking to you. An attachment I know is not socially acceptable. Once I become Ruler of the Lanling Jin Sect, your crimes would become nothing more than memory -- but that isn’t for a long, long time-“ He was rambling again, and you reached out a hand to steady his own.

You couldn’t quell the joy in your heart as you asked, “would you wait that long? Would you wait long enough til you were crowned leader to see me again?“ You inquired, and he blinked for a moment, before a big smile broke across his face. “I would.“

With all the courage you could muster, all things considered, you leaned up and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. They were soft and pillow-like, and he chased your own lips even as you pulled away, unable to hide your happiness and fondness as you pulled on the string. 

“Then I suppose our worries of never seeing each other again are nothing to be thought of then, don’t you, Jin Zixuan?”

And just like that, you were running out to your freedom, chasing the future where you could walk in the sun with Jin Zixuan.

general masterlist

Love Has a Learning Curve: Part VII (x OC)

Summary: Maggie tries to make things right, with a little push from her mama.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x OC

Category: hurt/comfort

Warnings/Includes: none

Word count: 5.8k

a/n: I know, I know— please just let our babies be happy ♥️ and so it was. Also, big ups to my tumblr gf @idmakeitbehave​ for being my beta the last two chapters.

Series Masterlist

———

One week. 

That’s how long it had been since their argument. Spencer had driven back to his apartment in silence, absolutely stunned by the way things had blown up. 

They’d gotten back from the case in Utah on the fifth of January, and he’d driven straight to Maggie’s, ready to give her a belated New Year’s kiss. Immediately upon entering her apartment, he knew something was wrong. Her hug was stiff, her kiss brief, her eye contact minimal. He’d spent the night, but they barely touched, and she left early for work without waking him. He’d let himself out and texted her later in the day to invite her over for dinner. 

Dinner hadn’t been any less awkward, and when he felt awkward, he knew it was bad. He finally couldn’t ignore it any longer, and he’d called it out. He had expected some resistance, but he hadn’t expected that. Maggie never spoke to him with any malice at all, even when he was actually doing something that irritated her. She was the queen of healthy communication. So for her to speak to him like that meant that the underlying issue was much, much worse than he’d originally thought.

He’d gone over their conversations a thousand times, looking desperately for the moment that it went wrong. After some deep consideration, he was certain that something had happened on New Year’s Eve. He just wasn’t sure what. Maggie was insistent that she wasn’t bothered by the declined call, but he still wished he could go back in time and answer it. He was pretty sure the seeds of their argument had sprouted in that moment, regardless of what she said.  

Spencer knew she was a creature of habit, and that sometimes she needed space to process and experience her emotions. And if he was being honest, he needed some space after the argument, too. But usually she would have at least texted him by now. 

He sighed and set down his newspaper, realizing he’d read the same page four times and hadn’t retained any of it. It was Friday, and he knew she was working. But still his fingers itched to dial her number. He picked up the phone, pressing a key to light up the screen yet again. 

No new messages. 

He dropped the phone back to the table with a little more force than was necessary. He decided he’d give her the rest of the weekend. If he didn’t hear from her by Sunday, he’d have to do something. 

…

Maggie dropped her bag on the floor inside the door and turned to lock the deadbolt. She had managed to sneak out of the building without being stopped by Anita, and she thanked the universe for small miracles. 

She didn’t want to have to explain herself. She didn’t want anyone to know what an absolute troll she’d been. Considering that Sam and Spencer had practically become attached at the hip since they’d started hanging out more, Anita was bound to ask about him. 

She showered and ordered Thai food, snuggling down on the couch to watch a movie with Roald. She settled on Dumplin’— a favorite for the body positivity, the southern drawls, and the Dolly Parton drag. 

And then she came to the argument outside of Harpy’s and lost what little emotional stability she had left. 

“Never took you for the type that cares much what people think.”

“I can’t, Bo. And that might make me a coward, but—”

“It does. Willowdean Dixon, I think you’re beautiful. To hell with anyone who’s ever made you feel less than that.”

She didn’t realize she was crying until Roald meowed in distress. She choked out a sob and stroked over his ears, closing her eyes in defeat. “I really fucked this up, huh?”

It had only been one week, but it felt like years since Spencer walked out of her apartment. She’d stayed in bed for the entire weekend, crying on and off. She knew she had no one to blame but herself. Owen had knocked over the first domino, but she’d done nothing to stop the rest from falling. 

Spencer had done everything right. He’d done everything she asked, and she’d thrown it all back in his face. He had made the comparison to Mitchell Park, and he was absolutely right. She’d done the exact same thing, only she had almost a year’s worth of ammunition, and she cut a hell of a lot deeper. 

Roald nuzzled against her, but she nudged him away— she didn’t even deserve the comfort. Instead, she fumbled in the couch cushions for her phone, swiping open the screen and tapping her favorites list, thumb hovering over Spencer’s name. Then she tapped on the name right above it and blew out a breath. 

The line connected and rang three times before she picked up. “Hey, sugar! Your ears must be ringin’, ‘cause I was just thinkin’ about callin’ you.”

“Hey, mama,” Maggie breathed. 

Her mother’s tone changed from chipper to concerned in an instant. “What’s wrong, baby?” 

She leaned forward to the coffee table to grab Spencer’s scarf— somehow left behind in her apartment— rubbing it between her fingers. “I— I really messed up.” 

“Oh, Lord. You need bail money?”

Despite herself, Maggie laughed wetly. “Oh my god, mama. No, I don’t need bail money.”

“Well, if you made bail it can’t be that bad,” Rose insisted. 

“I didn’t— I’m not in jail, for Christ’s sake.” Maggie ran a hand over her face. “I messed things up with Spencer.”

“Well, we can fix that,” Rose responded matter of factly. “What happened?”

“We were fighting, and I said some really, really awful things,” Maggie admitted, tears spilling over her lash line. 

Rose scoffed. “Honey, I say awful things to your father all the time, and we’ve been married almost forty years.”

Maggie heaved a long sigh. “Not like this, mama.” 

Her mother hummed in consideration. “Well, what were y’all fightin’ about?”

“It’s complicated,” Maggie hedged, toying with the fringe of the scarf. 

Rose clicked her tongue. “Do ya want my help or not?” 

Maggie dropped her head back against the couch. “I ran into Owen on New Year’s Eve—”

“Well, I hope you told him to stick it where the sun don’t shine,” Rose practically growled. 

Maggie closed her eyes as the tears tracked hot down her cheeks. “I didn’t. I— I let him get under my skin, and then I didn’t want to tell Spencer about it because it’s embarrassing, but he knew something was wrong, and he wouldn’t stop asking about it.” She had to pause and suck in a hiccuping breath, releasing it on a sob. “So I yelled at him and said all kinds of terrible things, and then he left, and now I think maybe we broke up, and I’ve literally never been so sad in my whole life.” 

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone, and then she heard Rose sniffling. “Really shoulda had your brothers knock the mess out of that son of bitch when we had the chance. He's been gone five years, and he’s still hurtin’ you every chance he gets.”

Maggie swiped uselessly at the tear tracks on her cheeks, sniffling pathetically. “And now I hurt the person who’s spent the last year singlehandedly undoing all of his awful handiwork.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Rose cooed. Maggie could hear the creak of the floorboards as her mother walked through her childhood home. “You said he knew somethin’ was wrong, right? I can almost guarantee that he’s still just wonderin’ what’s goin’ on. I know he’s supposed to be a genius, but he’s still a man. And men are dumb, sugar. You gotta spell it out for ‘em. Have you talked to him since?”

“No.” Fresh tears spilled over Maggie’s lashes as the thoughts that had kept her from calling him spilled out of her mouth. “What if it was too far? What if I ruined everything? What if he never wants to speak to me again?”

Ross heaved out a long breath. “That’s a lot of what ifs, Maggie Mae.”

“What if I’m right?” she whispered. 

“And what if you’re not?” Rose countered. “That boy loves you. Anyone could see that, clear as day. He’d do just about anything for you.” Rose paused, and Maggie heard the springs of the bed squeak as she sat. “But you gotta let him, sweetheart. Right now you’re takin’ away his chance to do that. You’re makin’ the decision for him.” 

Maggie listened as her mother’s advice crackled over the line, and for the first time in a week, she felt a tiny sliver of hope. 

“If he doesn’t want to be with you anymore, you need to let him tell you that. Don’t settle for a what if. Find out for sure, or you're gonna spend the rest of your life worryin’ and wonderin’, sugar.” 

…

That evening found Spencer in his usual spot on the couch, reclined against the arm with a book in hand. He’d promised himself he’d give Maggie the weekend to herself— that he’d let her come to him. That didn’t stop him from checking his phone obsessively; it never buzzed with any new calls or messages, but he still looked every seven minutes. 

The sound of the buzzer jolted his body to attention. He checked his watch and drew his brows together before closing his book and scrambling to cross to the intercom, a tiny seed of hope beginning to germinate. He pressed the button to talk, calling, “Yes?” into the speaker box and then listening for the response. 

“Hi.”

Her voice was so quiet that he could barely hear it over the crackle of the speaker. He buzzed her in without hesitation, crossing to the door and opening it immediately. She made her way slowly up the stairs, turning at the top of the landing and pausing.

His heart broke at the sight of her. She looked utterly exhausted, dressed in black sweatpants and a soft purple sweater, a black puffer jacket over top. She was holding his scarf, wringing it in between her hands. Her eyes were ringed red, and the bags under them were worse than his. 

He watched as she crossed the landing, coming to stand quietly in front of him. He’d known something was wrong, but the way she looked now made him wonder just how long she’d been battling whatever private demons she wouldn’t let him in on. 

“I, um.” She cleared her throat, and it was clear she’d been crying from the thickness of her voice. “I have a lot to say— again. But since I was such an asshole, I wanted to give you the opportunity to say anything you need to say first.” 

He’d imagined this conversation countless times over the last week, and never once had he thought it would start like this. “Um. Well. You— you really hurt me.”

She could barely look at him. “I know.”

He swallowed. “Please don’t do that again.” 

She shook her head, finally meeting his eyes. “I won’t. I won’t ever again.”

Spencer tucked his hands into the pockets of his lounge pants. “I know I may not be the best at social cues, but I’m a pretty good profiler. And I can tell when something’s wrong.” He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t have to tell me everything. I’m just asking you to tell me when I do something that makes you upset.”

“You— you didn’t do anything wrong. I—” He watched her squeeze her eyes shut. “God, I’m so sorry, Spencer. I’m just— I’m sorry for so many things. For lying about being fine, for being up on my high horse about communicating and then not actually doing it, for being an absolute bitch.”

He wanted to argue— she wasn’t a bitch— but he could tell she was far from done. 

“I— I thought therapy was supposed to teach me how to talk about things, but this still feels… impossible to say out loud,” she admitted, fingers fumbling with the fabric of the scarf. “It’s embarrassing and ridiculous. But I— I have deep-seated insecurities. That I’m not really that smart or interesting or particularly special.” 

He thought back to that night in Mitchell Park and felt the guilt all over again. He’d practically said those exact words to her— it was no wonder she was feeling this way. 

“And every person that I’ve ever been with has— really reinforced those ideas, so for a long time they were just… a set part of my self-image,” she explained, dragging a hand over her messy hair. “I thought— I thought that I was over it, but I— I don’t know. Maybe you never really are.”

His brain sorted through every moment of their year together, pinging off the countless examples of her self-doubt and insecurity. She was easily the most wonderful person he knew, but he could clearly see the cracks in the facade if he looked close enough. How had he missed it for so long? 

“And then I met you, and you…” Maggie let out a wry laugh. “You’re easily the most interesting person I’ve ever met, but you made me feel like… I don’t know, like I’m interesting, too. Like I’m worthy of being with you, like I’m— like I’m good enough.”

He felt his heart splintering into a thousand tiny shards— good enough? 

“But I can’t— I still have a hard time believing it sometimes. And I— I’ve been letting myself keep you at arms length. Letting you see parts of me, but… never giving you everything,” she admitted. 

He watched her struggle to get the words out, her voice thick with the act of holding back sobs. He hadn’t realized she was carrying all of this. She was so good at supporting him and loving him through all of his trauma and issues, he hadn’t stopped to consider just how much she needed him, too. 

She continued, “It’s why I took so long to say I love you… why I couldn’t talk to you last week. Because I just—” She shrugged as the tears rolled down her cheeks. “I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For you to realize that I’m really nothing special. That you’re getting bored, or there’s someone who’s a better fit for you, or one million other things. That I’m needy, and annoying, and too much work.”

A fresh tear tracked down her cheek, and he felt his own eyes filling. She never failed to put a stop to his own insecurities— reminding him that she liked his rambling, that he wasn’t irritating, that he was just the right amount. In his eyes, she was perfect. He would have never guessed she felt this way about herself. 

She continued, “That’s what happened before, and none of those guys were even half as wonderful as you are.” She swiped a hand haphazardly over her cheeks, looking at him sheepishly. “And then I was hurtful and awful, and I realized that I was just creating a self-fulfilling prophecy and I don’t— I don’t want to do that.” 

Her hand shook a little as she brought it back down to twist in his scarf. “Because it’s never— I’ve never felt like this. I've never been this happy with anyone else, and I don’t want to give that up. I don’t want to give you up. Even if sometimes I feel like I’ll never be enough.”

Her voice cracked on a stifled cry, and his chest physically ached. “And if you never want to see me again, I completely understand, and I’ll leave you alone, but I— I’m just so sorry. And I love you so much, and I’m trying so hard to be better.” She sucked in a ragged breath and let it out on an exhausted sigh. “And that’s, um— that’s it. If you want me to go, I—”

“I don’t want you to go,” he interrupted.

Her eyes went wide. “You don’t?”

“Of course not.” Spencer stepped forward and reached for her. “Of course not. C’mere.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, she was tumbling into his arms with a choked off sob. He pulled her inside and closed the door behind them, walking her to the couch and sitting them both down. She clung to him like she was afraid he’d disappear into thin air. 

“Maggie, I’m right here,” he assured her. “I’m right here, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But if you n-need space, I understand,” she sobbed. 

“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t need space. I think a week was long enough, don’t you?” he asked, pressing a kiss into her hair. 

She pulled back out of the hug, head down. “But I really hurt you.” 

He held her hand. “Yeah. And I really hurt you, too.”

She huffed out a breath. “That’s not how this works. I don’t get to hurt you just because you hurt me.”

“I know that.” He almost laughed at how indignant she sounded. “I’m not saying that we should hurt each other. I’m saying that sometimes it happens. And when it does, we apologize, and we forgive, and we move forward. And it’s okay if you need space. But I don’t.”

“What if you change your mind?” she whispered. 

“Then I promise I’ll tell you.” Spencer tilted her chin up so he could meet her eyes. “I promise I’ll tell you what I need, as long as you tell me, too. We’ve gotta use all those communication skills we learn in therapy.”

Maggie nodded, and he pulled her into another hug. He closed his eyes, letting out a sigh of relief. “If I hadn’t heard from you by Sunday, I was planning to bother you until you talked to me.”

He could feel the beginning of a smile turning up the corner of her mouth where it was pressed to his shoulder. “You never bother me,” she mumbled. She held him for a moment longer and then released him from the hug and sat back, fidgeting with her hands and letting out a breath. 

“Sometimes I need to be told that my worst fears about myself aren’t true,” she admitted. “I know that’s so annoying, but—”

“It’s not annoying,” he interrupted, putting an immediate stop to that line of thought. “Telling you how amazing you are isn’t the chore that you think it is. I’m sorry that anyone ever convinced you that it was.” 

He covered her hands with his own, rubbing his thumbs softly along her skin. He couldn’t stop thinking about her dealing with all of this by herself. He hated that she’d ever felt anything less than adored. More than anything, he hated that he hadn’t been able to help her through it. And he wanted to make sure that he never made that mistake again. 

“A wise man told me once... that love is helping someone navigate their storms,” he murmured, squeezing her hand. She looked at him then, and he continued, “You’ve been my lighthouse for a long time, Maggie. And I— I’m trying desperately to be yours… But you have to let me.”

Her eyes filled with fresh tears, but she nodded. He let out a long breath and pulled her hands into his lap. “I understand that sometimes you need space, and that’s fine. I’m happy to give you whatever you need.” 

He shook his head. “Just— please don’t try to weather the storm by yourself. You can’t do it all alone; no one can.” He smiled ruefully. “I can tell you from experience that’s pretty much a guaranteed way to capsize your boat.”

His voice cracked a little at the end, and he felt a tear slip over his lash line. “I’ll help you repair your boat, or build a new one, or you can just float on mine for a while. It’s not perfect but it’s pretty sturdy, I think.”

She brought her fingers up to brush at his damp cheeks, and he met her eyes.  “What I’m not going to do is let you float out on the ocean by yourself. I love you too much.” 

She was quiet for a long moment, sniffling a little and just watching him— almost like she couldn’t believe he was there. She brought her hand back to his and laced their fingers together, rubbing her thumb along his. “I love you the most.”

“Agree to disagree.” He gave her a small smile and leaned forward to press his lips to her forehead. “Want some tea?”

She was frowning when he pulled back, her brows drawn together. “I need to tell you about Owen.”

The conversation he’d had with Anita was suddenly on replay in Spencer’s head. 

… a real piece of shit… telling her lies about herself… isolating her… destroying her from the inside out...

He squeezed her hand. “You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready. You don’t have to tell me at all if you don’t want to.” 

She shook her head. “Talking about him takes away his power. I have to stop letting him have so much sway over my emotions.” She looked at him then. “I do things I regret and hurt people I love.” 

He brought their joined hands up his lips. “Well, I’m here either way. And I’m still going to make you some tea.” 

He stood and pulled her up with him, bringing her into the kitchen and refusing to let go of her hand. He filled the kettle and turned it on, found a bag of her favorite tea and ripped it open with his teeth. He dropped the bag into her favorite mug, and then made a mug up for himself. 

“You know, it’d be a lot easier if you’d let go,” she said, the hint of a smile in her voice. 

“Mhm,” he agreed, but he made no move to release her hand. In fact, once he’d fumbled a spoonful of honey into each of the cups, he dropped the spoon into her mug and turned to pull her into another hug. He hooked his chin over her shoulder and closed his eyes as she brought her arms around his waist. “I missed you,” he whispered. 

She squeezed him tight. “I missed you, too. I’m so sorry.”

She buried her face in his neck, and he felt her breathe him in. He pressed a kiss into her shoulder and then settled his chin again. “Apology accepted, in case it wasn’t clear.”

They stood like that until the kettle began to whistle, and then Spencer kept her tucked underneath his arm as he turned to shut it off and pour the water into the mugs. They each grabbed a mug, making their way back to the couch and setting them on the coffee table to steep. Spencer kept their fingers intertwined and stayed quiet, letting her set the pace of the conversation. 

Maggie took a deep breath and let it out on a long sigh. “I guess I should start at the beginning. I, um— I had my first boyfriend in high-school: Cal Cunningham. He was older and cooler, and so I felt— I don’t know… special when he picked me.” She rolled her eyes. “In reality, he was rude, and arrogant, and kind of a misogynist. We didn’t date for very long, but it kind of… set me up on this path of dating guys who weren’t very nice.”

Spencer ran his thumb soothingly along hers, waiting for her to continue. “When I started college, I dated this guy Adam for a few months. He was nice enough but really self-centered and a little immature. When we broke up I just wanted to be on my own for a while.”

“I was single for two years after that, just kind of… finding myself and whatever.” Her eyes watched the path his thumb traced along her skin. “So when I started dating Owen at the end of junior year, it felt like my first real relationship. Like— we were both adults, and he dressed up for our dates, and he paid for things and bought me flowers and fit all the cliches.”

“And it was great at first,” she admitted. “We had a lot of the same friends, so we’d been hanging out for a while before we got together. He was a perfect gentleman, and he was smart, accomplished, and ambitious. I fell fast and I fell hard, and we were sort of— it feels so stupid to say this, but it felt like we were an it couple. 

“A few of us made plans to move to DC after graduation— my friend Jess and her boyfriend Chris, Sam and Anita,” she explained. “And Owen and I, obviously. We moved in together in an apartment downtown. And that’s when everything changed.”

She drew her brows together. “It was little things at first. Like he’d jokingly call me stupid for forgetting something, or he’d complain about one of my friends being annoying. But it snowballed pretty quickly. He’d tell me I was stupid, and he wasn’t joking. All of my friends irritated him to the point where we couldn’t hang out anymore— even our former mutual friends. He thought that teaching kindergarten was a mindless, pointless job.”

Spencer tried to keep his heart rate steady, his facial expressions neutral, but his blood pressure was on the rise. No one deserved to be spoken to like that, least of all Maggie. 

She continued, “We spent the holidays at my parents’ the second year we were dating, and he spent the entire car ride home explaining, in detail, how ridiculous and low-class he thought everything was.” 

She shook her head and rubbed her free hand over her face. “I know it’s insane to think that I stayed with him for so long, but I— he did a really good job of convincing me that I was— that I was nothing. That he was doing me a favor by loving me. That he could have anyone, but he chose me. No one else was going to, so I should be grateful.”

He balled his free hand into a fist to avoid squeezing her to death. When Anita had said Owen was a piece of shit… he hadn’t realized just how deeply she meant it.

She picked at the fabric of her sweatpants, staring intently at the tiny pills. “When someone says all of that to you on a daily basis, and you’re not hearing otherwise from anyone else— because no one knew what was going on… you start to believe it.”

Spencer relaxed his fist to bring his fingers up to her face, gently cupping her cheek. She leaned into his touch and closed her eyes for a long moment. He didn’t know what to say. Instead, he pressed his lips to her forehead in a voiceless assurance that she was, in fact, everything. He felt her relax under the warm pressure of his lips, and he hoped that was enough for now. 

He sat back to let her continue. “We were together for five years, and we only broke up because he cheated on me. It was a long term affair; they were sleeping together for almost a year before I found out. And… a lot of people knew. Almost all of his friends knew. But I didn’t. I was still being this ridiculous, desperate little Suzy Homemaker trying to make him happy, even though he was still treating me like shit.”

She laughed, but there wasn’t an ounce of humor in it. “When I found out, I wasn’t even hurt. I was… embarrassed, I guess. But I was so relieved. I was so fucking relieved that I had a way out.”

He watched as her shoulders settled, almost like an actual weight had been lifted off of them. “I got a therapist and dropped all of the friends that were still hanging around with him. I moved to a new neighborhood, started hanging out with Anita and Sam, and just— started fresh. And I was doing really well. I had my moments of insecurity here and there, but for the most part, I was been able to recognize the moments when I was falling back into old thought patterns.”

She looked at him then, and her eyes were so soft and lovely that his heart ached. “You’re a big reason for that. You’re so open with how you feel about me, and… it makes things a lot easier.” She dropped her gaze with a sigh. “But I— he was at the party on New Year's. And I didn’t know he was going to be there until I was already there, and then it felt stupid to leave. I thought I could handle it—”

“And then I didn’t answer your call.”

“No, no.” She shook her head and reached her free hand out to grasp his arm. “That’s— Spencer, none of this is your fault.” She furrowed her brow, and the crease between them was practically an abyss. “He sort of— cornered me on the patio. I hadn’t seen him in like, four years? And he was complimenting me, and asking about you, and then he tried to— well, he did kiss me actually. I shoved him off, and he didn’t like that, and he did his whole Owen thing. Told me that he’d cheated because I was uninteresting and worthless. That eventually you’d get bored of me, too. Just, um— generally awful shit.”

She took a deep breath, and the rest steamrolled off her tongue and crushed his heart. “And then he just— left. And he’d absolutely demolished my self-image in less than ten minutes, and I was embarrassed and angry at myself, and then you didn’t answer, but I was kind of glad you didn’t because I didn’t actually want to talk about it. And I thought I could just move on, but then I was being weird, and you knew something was wrong. And I just wanted to pretend like it never happened, but you kept pressing me on it, and I just— I didn’t want to have to explain it all to you because I was afraid that— that maybe he was right.”

Maggie dissolved back into the couch, an indication of the emotional exhaustion that came with reliving personal trauma. Spencer moved closer and mirrored the position of her body against the cushions, bringing his face close enough to bump their noses together. They breathed the same air for one noiseless minute before she finally met his eyes.

“I need you to understand that not one single thing he said to you— on New Year’s or ever— was right, in either sense of the word. None of it was factual, and none of it was acceptable.” 

She nodded, and he continued, “You are the single best person that I know. You’re kind, brilliant, talented, and driven. You’re interesting, and wonderful, and lovely. You’re my absolute favorite person on the planet, and I will never get bored of you.” 

He let his eyes trace over all the angles and curves of her face, and then raised his eyebrows. “He’s lucky that I respect you enough not to go over your head, because what I’d like to do is run a full background check, find any and every possible transgression that could be legally investigated, and then use that information to ruin his life.” He tilted his head in thought. “That or— get really jacked and then beat the shit out of him.” 

“God, please don’t. As much as I’d love to watch that unfold,” she cupped his face in her hand, “you’re better than that. And he’s not worth either of our energies… I already wasted enough time dwelling on it and hurt you in the process.” She dropped her hand back to her lap with a sigh. “I spent so much time in that relationship that my brain didn’t know what to do with this good, healthy one.”

He took both of her hands in his, squeezing them tight and then pressing a kiss to the back of each. He wouldn’t commit assault, since she’d asked him not to. But he wasn’t going to let Owen taint any part of his life with Maggie. 

“I’m so sorry that someone you loved made you think it was hard to love you. Because loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.” He pressed his lips together and mused, “But I think maybe love has a learning curve. Especially when you’re used to being hurt. You have to unlearn all the bullshit. People will have you thinking that you have to water yourself down, or change who you are, or make yourself more palatable. I thought that, too.” 

He brushed her hair back away from her face and waited for her to meet his eyes. “And then I met you. And you love all of it— all of me. All the rambling, all the quirks, and— even the dark parts, too.” 

She sniffled a little, but really smiled for the first time that night. “What’s not to love about you?”

He smiled back. “I’m not sure if you realize that I fully reciprocate that feeling. What’s not to love about you? I have a hard time thinking of even one thing about you that I don’t absolutely adore.”

“Even when I act like a horrid bitch?” she mumbled, only half joking.

He leaned his head against the couch cushion. “A year ago, you stood on my doorstep and gave me forgiveness— after I’d been a complete asshole to you…  I told you then that I wanted to learn how to love with you. I still do. In all the wonderful, and the weird, and the terrible. Even when we get it wrong.”

He shrugged, and then ran a soft fingertip down the bridge of her nose. “There is no one else I’d rather get it wrong with. Because when we get it right… it’s the closest I’ve ever felt to magic.”

Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears, and she brought both hands up to his face, holding him with an adoration that made his own eyes burn. “You can believe that you love me the most,” she whispered, “but just know that you’re wrong.” 

He leaned forward to close the distance between them, pressing a kiss to her lips with a reverence that felt technicolor and devout and more magical than any trick he’d ever mastered. 

“Agree to disagree.”

———

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