#ld writes

The bell above the boutique jewelry store door jangled sweetly as Cassian and Azriel pushed it open. Cassian felt entirely too large to be such a small room littered with delicate displays and glass tabletops. He curved his shoulder in, trying to make his frame take up less space. Azriel instantly noticed and rolled his eyes at him.  “Come on, you’re being ridiculous.” “What if I knock something over, Az? I don’t want to break anything!” Cassian hissed in a half-whisper as Azriel pushed him further into the shop, letting the door swing shut behind them.  “Then don’t break anything, Cass!”  “But—” Az turned on him. “No buts. We’re doing this, and we’re doing it together okay?” Cassian couldn't help the smirk that lifted up the side of his lips. “I love it when you get bossy.”  “I know you do,” Az responded, the feral glint Cassian recognized all too well shining in his eye. “So be a good boy, don’t knock anything over, help me pick a ring, and we can get home to play.”  His breathing picked up, chest heaving as Cassian tried to control his response to Azriel using those words on him. “You can’t do that to me in public,” he said, moving his hand in front of his obviously tenting pants.  Az leaned in to press a kiss to his lips. “I can, and I will. You love it.”  “I do,” Cassian responded with a smile, his lips brushing Azriel’s as he spoke. 

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Sunlight streamed through the billowing curtains that framed the balcony of Nesta’s room. Her face warmed beneath its rays. The gentle glow pulled her tenderly from the deep sleep she’d finally begun to find each night. Beside her was a fresh glass of cool water, courtesy of the House of Wind. It was only in the surprisingly intuitive magic house that she finally felt safe enough to let her body rest. But this peaceful deep sleep had taken all of the nearly ten years since she’d moved in to achieve.  The water touched her lips when she took a sip. It was such a small thing, being able to enjoy cooled water. These little moments reminded her how far she’d come since those freezing waters stole her human life and thrust her into this fae world. The years between the start of this new existence and the aftermath of the war that nearly cost her everything felt simultaneously like seconds and an eternity, and though it’d been almost twenty years, sometimes it still felt like yesterday. A shiver ran down her spine as she folded the blankets back, baring herself to the chill wind coming from the open doors. She loved sleeping with a breeze, the colder the better to help her sleep. Back when she’d been living in her apartment, it had been too dangerous. The first few nights she’d tried more than the wind had found its way inside. She pushed the sheets back further, along with the intrusive thoughts.  As she pulled on her tight pants and bound her breasts, Nesta remembered just how bad it had gotten, and how she’d wound up living here.  “She’s unstable!” Rhysand yelled. Nesta flinched on the other side of the dining room door where her family was having breakfast. She’d decided today was the day she’d tell Feyre just how bad things were, how much she was struggling. Nesta had wanted to save her sister the pain of it, had wanted to hide her failures, but it had gone too far. Here she was crawling with her proverbial tail between her legs to ask the person she’d been placed in charge of all those years ago for help. And instead she’d found Feyre’s husband, no, Feyre’s mate, screaming about the charges she’d placed on their card. “If you won’t do something about her, I will,” the High Lord had continued. Another voice drifted through the crack, equally angry. “She needs help, Rhys! Can’t you see she’s suffering?”  Rhys scoffed. “Suffering with thousands of dollars of booze and a fresh male or several warming her bed each night.”  “That’s enough.” Feyre’s voice shouted. Nesta took two steps back in response, hugging her arms tightly around her too-thin frame. She knew Rhys was right, and so was Cassian. It hurt that things had gotten this far, but she was so lost and so unsure… The door before her opened and Cassian stormed out. He stopped suddenly when he saw her. From his expression Nesta could tell she looked as broken as she felt. “Nes-”  A single soft syllable from his lips and Nesta almost broke. But she wouldn’t, not here anyway. Forcing her arms to relax by her sides as she rolled her shoulders back, Nesta spoke as calmly as she could. “I came to speak with my sister.” 

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Ilya loved the camp he and Shane had created as part of the Foundation. He loved working with the kids and seeing them grow and have fun. Because at this age that’s what hockey was supposed to be - fun. So when he noticed a child who wasn’t having fun, Ilya made it his mission to find out why.  Little Jimmy had been practically pushed onto the ice by his father the first day, and Ilya had instantly clocked the man. He was big, brusque, the kind of person who reminded Ilya of his father. Jimmy had stayed distant through drills, and Shane had worked with him one on one. It had been the only time Ilya had seen Jimmy smile.  By the end of the week there was no improvement. Shane and Ilya stood side by side, watching Jimmy’s father pull his son off the ice.  “We have to do something.” Shane said, his voice tight.  “Of course. But which path do we take?” Ilya knew what he wanted to do, but they’d made a pact. It was in his and Jimmy’s best interest for Ilya to let Shane guide him to his targets, and help with clean up after.  “See how his dad responds if you go talk to Jimmy now.”  And that’s how Ilya found himself in the locker room, watching Jimmy’s father carelessly tug his son’s gear off his body. The boys shirt came off with his shoulder pads, and Ilya saw them. Bruises and bites on his lower back, upper arms. Too large to be from another child, too specifically shaped to be anything but intentional and human.  Ilya didn’t talk to the man, or to the boy. But he locked eyes with Jimmy, trying to convey everything he could. I know, I see you, I’ll make it stop.  And he would. Jimmy’s father had no idea what, or who was coming for him that night. But Ilya knew he’d rip every one of that man’s teeth out of his skull before he finally killed him. 

"They had lots of reasons to keep their relationship a secret, but those reasons seemed extremely unimportant now. What if Ilya had died? What if he had fucking died? Shane would have died too. Alone, and secretly for the rest of his life." - The Long Game, chapter 24

Chapter 1: Time Stops, Time Starts

“Brace, brace, brace!” The flight attendants shouted, fear creeping into their once-steady tones. The plane lurched and then they were falling, too far, too fast. Ilya closed his eyes. Maybe he’d see his mother soon. That would be nice. But until then, his thoughts would stay with the man he loved.  The plane sped up. But that was wrong, they should be slowing down, they should be—he wouldn't let the panic win.  He thought of the dogs, the kids, the sound of a loon over a near silent lake. His hand clutched his phone, wishing it was someone else, wishing it was Sh- January 9, 2021, 19:12

Chapter 2: Hours