As We Reach The Edge Of Camp, The Awkward Hush Fell Back Over Our Party’s Usual Loud, Tittering Banter.

I’m so sorry

What i made instead of writing.....

If the very touch of him corrupts, then Castiel was willing to let his very grace, his very being corrupt and corrode his entire self. He remembers the agony from which he grasped him from, pulling Dean from the chains of perdition. He remembers the sting and the burn, of their first meeting that drove the demon blade into his vessel’s form, and as he gazed into the eyes that he so carefully rebuilt, and saw the man whose body he rebuilt to contain the soul that shouldered and sacrificed so much for those he cared for, that was so willing to die and follow the every command of his father, and he knew he would endure that pain a thousand more times and much more, just to protect, aid, and love that tormented soul of the man before him. He knew as he watched him shoulder the weight of the apocalypse, the weight of the guilt of his role in bringing it, and knew that he would do everything in his power to relieve any of that burden that he could, and he would leave no plan unmade. Cas was willing to live, loving Dean from a distance, even though all he wanted was for the loving, kind, self-deprecating man to know how dear he was to him. Cas loved him so much, that he knew the only way that the darkness could come to claim his existence and pull him into eternal rest was to just share an admission of that love with him. He loved Dean so much, that even in the face of eternal death, he experienced true happiness just in the simple act of confessing his love to the man who had held his heart in his bloody, calloused, war-torn hands since Cas had rebuilt his physical body with the same careful, loving consideration that his father had used when Dean was knit together in Mary’s womb all those years before.

There’s something so devastatingly beautiful in that love. In their love.

“the very touch of you corrupts, when castiel first laid a hand on you in hell, he was lost” yeah i’m gonna need you to never speak again

Me? Sobbing uncontrollably over a webtoon? In the lobby of my dorm building? It’s more likely than you might think!

I would die for Missouri. I just needed to put that energy into the world. I love her so so so much.

They really pulled no punches

And Missouri was a psychic. She KNEW

This!!! My loves please I want you to engage bc I love engaging with you lovely folks!!

not to be controversial bc I know this is like…not in line with shifting opinions on fanfic comment culture but if there’s a glaring typo in my work I will NOT be offended by pointing it out. if ao3 fucks up the formatting…I will also not be offended by having this pointed out…

‘looking forward to the next update’ and ‘I hope you update soon!’ are different vibes than a demand, and should be read in good faith because a reader is finding their way to tell you how much they love it. I will not be mad at this.

‘I don’t usually like this ship but this fic made me feel something’ is also incredibly high praise. I’m not going to get mad at this.

even ‘I love this fic but I’m curious about why you made [x] choice’ is just another way a reader is engaging in and putting thought into your work.

I just feel like a lot of authors take any comment that’s not perfectly articulated glowing praise in the exact manner they’re hoping to receive it in bad faith.

fic engagement has been dropping across the board over the last several years, and yes it’s frustrating but it isn’t as though I can’t see how it happens. comment anxiety can be a real thing. the last thing anyone wants to do is offend an author they love, and that means sometimes people default to silence.

idk where I’m going with this I guess aside from saying unless a comment is outright attacking me I’m never going to get mad at it, and I think a lot of authors should feel the same way. ESPECIALLY TYPOS PLZ GOD POINT OUT MY TYPOS.

Hey y’all, I know I try to keep non-fandom stuff off of here, but I would really appreciate it if you took the time to do this survey! It’s just for the final in my data analysis class, so none of the information will be used outside of my groups slides. Thank you so much!!

Y’all this is top tier

Ludos Imperiales IIII

Summary: Princess!Reader tries to convince her mates to leave the Empire, but they have other ideas.

Content Warnings: Mentions of Slavery/Abuse

Part 1, 2, 3

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Anise is right; I do look like shit. No attempt at washing my face or fixing my hair or changing my clothes changes the sickly color that remains on my skin from the time spent with my head in the toilet. Secluding myself in the house these last couple months have already sapped the color from my cheeks, but today’s events have not helped bring any life back into my features. The dull, lifeless gray of my eyes, the limpness of my hair, the way my dress hangs limp off me… I do not recognize the face in the mirror.

“Anise?” She’s still pacing in my chambers, biting on her weathered thumbnail. Her anxiety makes the vines sprouting from her head grow, leaves and tiny, yellow flowers blossoming as the thick strands slither down her waist. 

“You shouldn’t see them alone,” she persists.

I brush a strand of hair over my yellowing cheek, then push it back behind my ear. I can explain away a bruise. Besides, it is not as if I can expect them to care enough about me to ask how it got there.

I sigh as I push the hair back in front of my face. I do not want to appear weak and frail, not in front of my mates. Not in front of anybody. I need to remain strong.

“Anise,” I try again, turning away from the mirror. There is nothing I can do to change it now, the damage is done and it’s too late in the evening to call for one of my lady’s-in-waiting to come help me fix it. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Get the guard? Yes, a splendid idea!”

I snag her arm as she goes for the door. “No, Anise.”

She huffs her irritation. “You’re being foolish, Little One.”

Probably; she won’t hear that from me though. “I need you to look into something for me and I need you not to tell a soul about it.”

She goes still at that, her emerald eyes widening in surprise. “What’s wrong?”

“I need you to see if there is passage out of the Empire and into the Wastes through the sea.”

Her bark-like features twist in surprise as I continue. “I need a passage my Father doesn’t know about, and I need it quickly.”

“What have you done?” She whispers. 

“Nothing. Not yet anyway.”

Anise fights her way out of my grip so she can take my face in her hands. “Now you listen to me, child! I have already lost your Mother, do not ask me to sit here and lose you too.”

“It’s not for me.”

Her eyes flick to the door and back. “Them?”

I nod.

“Why?”

“They’re dead men if I don’t,” I say, hoping the heaviness in my voice is enough to keep her from pressing further. I do not have it in me to admit what they are after what I’ve done, not even to her. Her loyalty was always to my Mother first, and I trust her more than anyone, but there are some secrets best kept close to the vest. Maybe she’d never tell anyone, but her mouth wanders sometimes, and if it were to slip… any number of the staff would sell me out to my Father in a heartbeat. I have to be careful. This is all I can tell her for now.

“I don’t like this,” she whispers. “You are entering a dangerous game. If your Father finds out…”

“Don’t let him find out,” I counter, pulling free of her grip. If I linger any longer, I will lose my nerve. I need to see them now.

My hands shake as I open the door. Moonlight spills into the hallway from the high, open windows on either side of me. I’d kept the heavy, silk curtains pushed against the far walls closed for months and months, refusing to accept that time was moving on without me. Anise had opened them this morning, when I’d announced I was finally ready to go out again. She’d hoped the fresh air would be good for me, truth be told, so had I. I didn’t expect so much to change in such a short time frame. 

There are guards on patrol outside the windows. A couple torches had been lit along the path through the gardens, bathing their armored heads and ridiculously large horse hair plumes in an orange glow. As a kid, I’d thought they were monsters when I’d see them in this light, stalking through the palace grounds; maybe I hadn’t been so far off.

Anise trails after me. “I will do it, but you will let me accompany you for this first.”

“No.” I should head out the side door and follow the footpath to the guest house, but I make a show of walking towards the kitchen instead. There is a servant’s passage through the cellar that will keep me out of sight. As far as the guards are concerned, I’m getting a snack in the kitchen with my maid. No one needs to know that I’m meeting the Illyrians. 

“Why are you…” she stops when we come to the kitchen. All the lights are off. The staff asleep earlier than usual so they can, undoubtedly, rise earlier in the morning in order to prepare bigger meals than they’re used to. They have to be in an uproar over the sheer amount of guards they’ll have to feed every day now. The House has not seen much attention in the last couple of months; I certainly wasn’t hosting any parties. 

“Is this a sex thing?”

I am grateful the dark hides the blush working its way up my neck and cheeks. “What!?”

“It’s not like you to sneak around, I’m just wondering if there’s something happening here between you and them?” She is the only other person that knows about the secret passages in the house. Mother had them built as a safety measure against intruders, and promptly found an excuse to execute the architect before he could show Father the plans. There are a number of false doors and hidden hallways throughout the house, a couple of secret exits and a panic room only accessible with a key I keep around my neck at all times. She was as paranoid as my Father, but at least hers had practical applications. And could now serve as a means to move around my house without arousing suspicion. 

“This most definitely is not a sex thing!” I hiss. 

I mean, yes, some sponsors do sleep with their champions. Hels, some sponsors sell their champions for a night of pleasure to the highest bidder. Amarantha and my cousins included. It was an abhorrent practice that I tried not to think about in the past, but the mere suggestion of it has me clenching my fists. Did she truly think I’d stoop to that?

“You’re being strange is all I’m saying,” she returns. 

“I don’t have time for this. If you’re going to insist on hovering, just make it look like we’re in here making a snack, will you?”

“Will you tell me why this is necessary?”

I pry the door that leads down to the cellar open slowly, conscious of how loudly it squeaks and trying to minimize the noise as best I can. “No.”

“Then I’m coming with!”

I slip behind the door and hold it nearly closed as she approaches. “Fine, we’ll talk when I get back. Happy?”

Even in the dark I can see her eyes narrow suspiciously. “Don’t get pregnant.”

“I’m not fucking them!” I hiss as I close the door. She’s impossible! Once she sets her mind on something, she just can’t let it go. At least she doesn’t try to follow me. 

There’s a slim set of stairs that leads down into the cellar lined with fae lights that flicker to life as I descend. Rows of dried meats and herbs hang from the rafters, casting eerie shadows over the shelf lined walls. The cellar is lined with rows of more shelves and barrels of wine, everything cataloged and arranged in alphabetical order. Our steward has always been exceptionally neat, and the concealed door in the backs sits connected to the wall where he keeps all his flour. I will have to remember to sweep the floor upon my return, just in case anything falls from the shelf and gives the door away. 

The door opens by turning one of the panels in the wood in a full circle, disturbing a sack of flour as it swings inward with a groan. The hallway is dark and dusty, a heavy layer of cobwebs disturbed by the door. I haven’t used this tunnel in years. 

I take one of the bobbing fae lights out of its perch on the stairs and carry it with me into the dark, making sure the door closes behind me, just in case any of the guards decide to come do a sweep of the place now that they’ve seen Anise in the kitchen. I can’t be sure of their orders, I have to assume that they will check on everyone in the house if there is the slightest deviation from the routine. Which also means I need to make this quick.

The silence of the tunnel is not good for my nerves, I find myself once again digging my knuckle into the knot in my chest. Without Anise to distract me, I’m once again consumed with the guilt of having to look at them after what I’d done. Not knowing why they’re asking to see me doesn’t help either. 

The tunnel slopes downward, filled with cobwebs and the occasional rat I startle back into holes in the walls. There’s some rain damage along the supports I should really have looked at, but updating these means having to tell someone about them, and that’s not an option. Not unless I wish for Father to find out about it, or worse, be forced into a situation where I have to consider killing an architect after rebuilding it as my Mother had done. There haven’t been any reasons for the tunnels since I was a child, I’ll avoid having to make any decisions on it until I absolutely have to. As long as the roof holds, I can make do.

Mother wanted to ensure that this place had multiple advantages, one of them being strategically placed and concealed vents for both air flow, and espionage. The vent hidden in the garden lets me hear the stomping of boots as the guards pass overhead. Some of them complain about the quiet as they pass each other, but it doesn’t sound like they’re yet suspicious of me moving around the house this late. 

I keep moving, comforted just a little by the fact that I don’t have to worry about dealing with them yet. 

The tunnel curves in a crescent shape to come around the back of the guest house, where there’s a door carefully hidden behind the lararium built for the Mother. The carefully carved statue of our beloved Goddess hides the door, and the altar serves as a deterrent to keep people from looking too close at the seams in the wall. It also hides the vent that lets me hear three, arguing voices, even in hushed tones:

“This is a bad idea, Rhys!” Cassian. 

“It is our only shot,” Rhysand shoots back. 

Their voices are so different: Cassian’s gruff and husky, Rhysand’s smooth and rich. Having them near soothes an anxiousness I didn’t know was inside me, I find myself drawn closer and closer to the door, just for a chance to listen to them speak. I’ve never had something as simple as a voice cause such an intense reaction before. All of this is so new and foreign; it will take some getting used to.

“I don’t care!” Cassian returns, the words sharp as a knife. “I don’t want anything to do with her.”

And just like that, my revelry is broken and that pesky knot in my chest returns. It is an effort to get a deep enough breath in, as if someone had sucker punched me right in the stomach. He really does hate me. It was one thing to think it, but it’s another to hear it so openly. I really have ruined this before it even had a chance to begin.

“She is our only chance,” Azriel chimes in, voice a hissed whisper. He sounds agitated, I can picture him pacing in front of the altar. 

“She’s his daughter! Am I the only one bothered by that?” Cassian protests. 

“That’s exactly why we need her,” Rhysand counters. 

Time slows to a crawl. Need me? Hope is a pesky, irritating, thing that I shove down inside me, even as my body moves to press itself against the door, waiting for them to continue. 

“We can’t trust her.”

“Yes we can,” Azriel retorts. 

I wonder if they can hear my heartbeat stuttering through the door--no matter that it’s waded so I can hear them and they can’t hear me, it’s so loud it still feels like a possibility. 

“What, because your shadows can smell that on her?” Cassian sneers. 

“Because I looked in her head,” Rhysand hisses, his voice rising. 

I know that I have a limited amount of time to do this, but I can’t bring myself to open the door, not with a confession like that. What does he mean he looked in my head?

“She’s terrified of him.”

“She could have fooled me. She didn’t look a bit terrified of branding us.”

“Because she didn’t brand us at all!” Rhysand snarls. “I did.”

“You hit your fucking head harder than I thought.”

“Asking for us to be spared threw Hybern off his game. Whatever plans he has for us got derailed because of her. And we need whatever edge we can get right now. When I slipped into her mind, she was panicking, she couldn’t do it and we would have all been fucked. I moved her hands around that iron, I touched it to your skin. Not her. She was so distraught over it I had to hold her upright the whole way back. Trust me, she liked it as much as you did.”

“But the collar…?” Cassian stammers.

“It dims a lot of my powers, but not all of them. I threw what I had out there. It only works when I’m close. Whatever she felt after we separated, whatever she’s doing now, I can’t get a feel.”

Rhysand was that invisible hand on me? I hadn’t just imagined it? How is that even possible? The twins are Daemati, but even they can’t reach into someone’s head and control them like that, especially with the gorsian chains in the way. At least, they’d never shown me they could. I suppose I’d never thought to ask.

“We have to act fast,” Azriel chimes in. “The quicker we get ahead of this, the more time we have to work around Hybern. Until now, he’s always been one step ahead of us. We’ve been playing his games on his terms. She… changes things.”

Does he know that we’re mates? Could that really mean something to him?

“Why are you so quick to trust her?” Cassian challenges. “Let's say what Rhys saw in her head is even real, because let's face it, she very well could be like the twins and been throwing those things up to see if you’d take the bait, but for the sake of the argument, sure they’re real. So what? What do you think she’s going to do here? Throw in her lot with us and help us overthrow her father?”

“Yes,” Rhysand says, as if it’s just that simple.

They can’t really be serious with this, can they?

“What could she possibly get out of it? She’s a spoiled princess who has not had to feel the effects of this Empire a day in her life! The best of this place has been handed to her and you think she’s just going to give that up to a couple of bastards like us?”

I dig my knuckle into my chest again, trying to ease the tension that feels like it’s trying to claw its way out of my skin. 

“You don’t get it,” Azriel hisses. 

“Explain it to me, Az!” Cassian shoots back. “Explain to me how the limited interaction we had convinced you that she’s a good person who would help us for the hell of it?”

“You don’t have to trust her, Cass,” Rhysand interjects. “That doesn’t change the fact that we need her.”

I take my lower lip between my teeth. I’m supposed to be saving them; I’m supposed to be getting them as far away from this place as possible and they want me to what? Overthrow my Father? It’s delusional. No one can outmaneuver him. Mother tried and failed. How many rebels has Amarantha executed? How many slaves have been carted from the far reaches, having been defeated for daring to oppose the Empire? Everyone that has ever gone up against him has lost and paid for it with their lives. I can’t let them do this. It’s suicide!

I get my hand on the hidden lock and turn. It’s my responsibility as a mate to save them from themselves. I have to put this foolish notion to bed. By tomorrow, Anise will have an answer about a way out of here. I just need them to stay put for the night and this mess will be over. 

I get the impression they are not males used to being taken by surprise, if the way they stand their gaping at me is any indication. Dark shadows wreath Azriel’s, still bare, shoulders, curling around his ears like they’re living things whispering in his ear. His scarred hands twitch over his hip, as if he’s reaching for a weapon instinctively, despite there being nothing there. 

Rhysand grins wolfishly as he leans a bruised shoulder against the doorframe, violet eyes once again roving over every inch of me. “Aren’t you full of surprises, Princess?”

“What if we had been indecent?” Cassian retorts.

“You’re barely dressed now,” I blurt before I can stop myself, though it is true. He’s stripped down to his boxers, using what was once a white towel, but it’s now brown, to clean up a gash across his thigh. Judging by the color of the bruising and the still forming scab, the wound is from before the arena. He needs to have it cleaned and looked at by a healer. I should be focusing on that. I should not be focusing on how large his thighs are, or imagining what it might feel like to sit in his lap.

Rhysand’s grin broadens like he can hear my thoughts, and then I remember that he can. 

Shit! I need to focus. I need to put my shields up, just like I do when I’m around the twins. Just because they’re my mates, doesn’t mean they’re incapable of using their abilities on me. Who’s to say, if Rhysand really is powerful enough to move me around like a puppet, even with the collar, that he won’t simply reach in and use me as he sees fit if I don’t cooperate. I don’t know anything about them. I have to be careful.

“We can strip down if you’d like?” He purrs.

“Did you make me come all this way just to harass me, or…?” I let the question hang there so I can give myself an extra second to reinforce my mental shields. 

“Sorry to pull you from your ivory tower,” Cassian snarls.

I instinctively take a step away from him, the venom behind each word enough to make me flinch despite myself. Azriel moves away from where he’s been sitting on the edge of the altar, effectively putting himself between us. “No, we didn’t.”

“Then what do you want?” My shields are in place, but I feel my confidence waning. I thought that this would be easy, that the bond would make everything click into place for us. They could trust me and I could trust them and this thing that tethered us together would put us at an even playing field. But it doesn’t. Our goals are off and I don’t know how to get them even, I don’t know how to get them to listen to me. 

“We want your help,” Rhysand says. 

“We need your help,” Azriel corrects.

I should just tell them that I heard them and skip all the repetitiveness, but there is a piece of me that worries I was naive before, and that they will tell me something different to my face. Maybe I’m the only one who feels the bond and they merely see me as something to be manipulated and used. I have to be sure.

“With what?” I ask.

“We want Hybern off the throne,” Rhysand explains. He hasn’t left his perch against the wall; though his gaze lingers on me, he gives me space that feels intentional. As if I’m a rabid dog he thinks might bite if it feels cornered. “We think you do too.”

“And why would you think that?” It is only from years of training that my voice doesn’t shake. How can they be so flippant about this? Saying those words out loud is enough to have their heads removed from their shoulders. The thought that any guard walking past might hear has me shaking, yet they don’t even flinch.

“He scares you,” Azriel says. His voice is already a low whisper, but it softens when he looks at me. A tendril of shadows slithers down his leg and across the floor, tentatively drifting across the pale tiles to come poke around at my ankles.

“He scares everybody and for good reason.” I need to keep my original goal in mind here. I’m here to get them out. They need to see the necessity of it. “Do you know how many people are dead because they underestimated him? No one is safe.”

“That’s why he needs to be stopped,” Rhysand presses.

Cassian folds his broad arms over his tattooed chest, frowning, but he doesn’t jump into the conversation. While Rhysand’s gaze is assessing, Cassian’s is cold, unyielding. He’s made up his mind about me. 

The fact that the others haven’t gives me more hope than I know I should have. They will have to leave anyway. I should hope they haven’t felt the bond, hope that it doesn’t convince them to stay. They need to be far, far away. But there is a small, desperate piece of me that clings to it anyway. 

“He can’t be stopped.” I bite back all the bitterness and rage that threatens to escape out of me and try to keep my tone even, unbothered. 

“You stopped him this afternoon,” Azriel counters as his shadow brushes up my calf like a phantom cat. They feel like a slight brush of breath against my skin, gentle and strange and I might giggle against the sensation if I wasn’t so focused on keeping my composure. 

I don’t kick it off either. A broken, desperate piece of me claws after the attention and blatant need for affection like a lifeline. 

“He listened to you,” Rhysand presses, doubling down when he sees me hesitate. Azriel isn’t wrong, though he’s not, technically right either. Still, he sees an opening and he swoops down like a vulture to take it. “No one else has that kind of influence.”

“It was a fluke,” I retort. “He was surprised. That won’t happen again.”

“It will if you keep surprising him,” Rhysand counters. “He has you, and everyone else, in a quaint little box, but if you deviate from the script he’s written for you, you can maneuver him where you want him.”

My hand goes instinctively to my bruised cheek, right as Azriel’s shadow comes slithering up my shoulder. It lets out a soft huffing sound as it follows my wrist to see what my fingers are doing. The shadow still curled around Azriel’s ear hisses softly, like the two are communicating. Maybe they are, given the way his eyes darken. 

“You cannot fight him.” I pull my hand away from my face a little faster than I mean to, and the shadow curls into my palm, inspecting the indents my fingernails had left earlier.  “You might as well quit while you’re ahead.”

“I wouldn’t call this being ahead,” Cassian huffs, turning his wrist to flash the brand I put there.

“I can find passage out of the Empire for you.” We’re going to run out of time if we keep standing here talking in circles. The guard will get curious eventually. They are bound to wonder why the lights are still on and no one is preparing for bed soon. “I should know by morning when it will be here.”

“If that’s true, why haven’t you taken it?” Cassian challenges.

Azriel takes a tentative step towards me. For someone so large, he’s surprisingly quiet on his feet. “I was terrified of my father too,” he says gently.

I can’t help but look at his hands. Had his father done that to him?

“I thought it was normal, how he treated me. I thought everyone was afraid of their father. I didn’t know any better until I got out. Until I met these two jackasses.”

Rhysand snorts a laugh behind him.

Cassian grumbles out a retort that sounds like it’s in another language. 

Azriel stops when he’s only a few inches away from me. I have to tilt my head back to look him in the eyes. “Sometimes you just need a little help. We can help each other, like you helped us earlier, right?”

I’ve lived around the ass kissing and political games of the palace long enough to know when someone’s trying to work an angle on me, and this isn’t one of those times. He means it. As hard to imagine that someone his size, someone who just took down a Giant and a bunch of Wargs, even with his wings broken, could be scared of anything, I believe him.

The bond warms, just a little. It’s nice, after years of feeling like no one could hear me when I whispered my complaints, to have a kinship with someone. I cling to that little shred of warmth like it’s a roaring fire amidst a blizzard. How long have I begged the Mother for even a shred of solace like this?

Perhaps that makes me weak. Perhaps I am a fool, but I want this. I want them. 

“A lot of good my help did,” it comes out in a whisper, like it’s dragging itself out of my throat. 

“But it does help,” Rhysand interjects. “Being your champions gives us an excuse to be close, and it gets us into places we couldn’t get before. You give us direct access to your father. That’s all we need.”

Azriel reaches out and brushes that loose strand of hair I’d pushed over my cheek behind my ear, scarred fingers brushing over my jaw with a feather light touch that is not unlike the one his shadow gives me. My whole body trembles all the same. 

“We won’t let anyone hurt you,” he promises.

I am entirely unprepared for that kind of promise. I’m supposed to be protecting them, not the other way around, but I’ve been on my own for awhile now, and I can’t help the way my body leans into that faint brush of his hand over my skin. Am I so starved for affection that even this feels like some grand gesture?

“We’re not asking you to do any fighting. You’re not challenging him.” Rhysand assures. “We merely need you to use these brands to your advantage. Drag us around with you. Show off the prize you’ve claimed like anyone else in the Empire would.”

My stomach twists. 

“Play the games the rest of the court plays, and we will do all the rest,” he assures. 

“I don’t understand how that helps you?” 

“For now, we need to observe his habits. There’s a parade tomorrow, right?”

Shit, I’d forgotten about that! 

“Yes.”

“Take us with you,” Rhysand explains. “Lots of people bring their champions out like bodyguards or trophies, right?”

“Or dogs,” Cassian hisses.

I wince. “Yes.”

“We don’t know much about the city. Just act like you’re showing us off so we can get a look around.”

He makes it sound so simple.

“And then what?”

He shrugs as he finally pushes off the wall. Though the touch had been brief, Azriel hasn’t moved out of my space, and seeing that it hasn’t sent me running, Rhysand takes this as a sign that he can move closer too. He’s just barely shorter than Azriel, and despite the fact that I inherited my Mother’s height, I cannot help but feel small next to them. I don’t think I entirely mind though.

 “Leave the strategies to us. The less you know what we’re doing and when, the safer you are. This is a long game, we have to take it one step at a time.”

“I don’t think you realize how dangerous playing this game with my Father is,” I warn. If anything were to happen to them because I didn’t insist on getting them on that ship in the morning, I’d never forgive myself!

He grins, flecks of starlight glinting in his eyes. He really is the most beautiful male I’ve ever seen, even with all the grime and blood on him. Which reminds me, they still haven’t seen the healer. Ember will never let me hear the end of it; I’m surprised she didn’t come with Anise to bust down my door. 

 “Let us do the worrying, Princess.” He’s very confident for someone who had just been thrown into a pit and been forced to fight a bunch of monsters. I hate to admit it, but that confidence worms its way through the bond like a rat chewing through a wall. No matter how hard I try to fight it back, a bit of it hits me anyway. Even without his presence inside my head, I feel safer when he’s near. 

My gaze flicks from him to Azriel for confirmation that this is something they have both agreed on, and he nods reassuringly. 

“You really think you can win?” I ask.

“Darling, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for my people,” Rhysand vows. “Whatever it takes to see them free, I will do it.”

So much for me finding a way to get them out of here, they’re pretty determined to stay, influence from the mating bond or not. On one hand, if I do this, I can keep an eye on them; maybe I can find ways to rig another Game, can make sure they have everything they need to survive. On the other hand, this is crazy! We’re talking about taking on Hybern. Take him being my Father out of the question, no one has ever won anything against him, he’s always two steps ahead, always sees the outcome before it happens. 

I take my lower lip between my teeth again. I’m going to need a dark shade of lipstick in the morning to hide all the teeth marks I’ve undoubtedly left in it today. 

“Let’s say I agree, but only on a trial basis,” I begin, trying and failing to organize all my thoughts. The bond pulls me one way and rationale pulls me the other. I cannot find a happy middle ground. “If tomorrow goes poorly, will you get on the boat and leave the Empire behind?”

“Happily,” Cassian huffs.

Rhysand shrugs, “Ask me again tomorrow.”

I have a sinking feeling it’ll be the same answer tomorrow, but I’ll take whatever I can get, as long as it means there’s a shot at keeping them alive.

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Currently have like 7 wips like this that I cannot figure out to save my life 😭

DBSBSUIEIEH BOKUTO WITH PLDER SISTERS BRAIN ROT IS BACK SHDHEIEI AS SOON AS IM NOT FIGHTING WITH DEBILITATING WRITERS BLOCK THERE WILL BE SO MUCH SHIT I HAVE TO SAY

something so important to me for no reason is that msby 4 all have siblings !! but also they must have WILDLY different sibling experiences and relationships. like atsumu is of course a twin, hinata is the an older bro, bokuto is such a younger girl brother, and this isn't really confirmed but i always think sakusa's older siblings have a big age gap with him. so sometimes one of them will be like "only people with siblings understand" and they'll all collectively agree. but sometimes one of them will be like "oh you guys have siblings you get it right" and the others are like what the actual fuck are you talking about. like atsumu's the type to be like "lol me and samu chased each other around w a knife yk sibling things ! " or mention twin telepathy and the others are like no what. hinata is the only one who gets what it's like to be an older sibling (atsumu interjects that he does too since he's the older twin but he's full of shit). bokuto and sakusa being so obviously the youngest child. atsumu knowing absolutely nothing about women and bokuto knowing the most.