#snippet 1

The sky was a rare sight that day, ribbons of yellow and orange swirling around the setting sun. The lilac clouds chased each other, turning the colours around them into a golden haze. It looked like a scene from a fairytale. It looked absolutely perfect.

Villain closed their eyes and leaned back, taking a sip of their now warm tea. A content sigh escaped their lips. What a beautiful, blissful day it wa—

“AHHHHHHHHH!”

They jumped in surprise, cursing when they almost spilled hot tea onto their lap.

The demonic screech was followed by a loud thud and some angry stomping. Villain heard a bit of hasty shuffling and the balcony door slid open, revealing the irritated face of Civilian.

Villain raised their eyebrow at them. Their love narrowed their eyes back.

“Some dumbass beat me at Mario Kart. Again.” Civilian crossed their arms in a somewhat childish manner, “they’re 11.”

Villain shook their head in response, trying to hide the smile tugging at their lips.

“How many times does this make now? 5?” They pretended to think, fingers tapping on their chin, “Ah yes, 9.” From their peripheral vision, they could see Civilian quietly roll their eyes.

Villain went back to staring at the view when it was suddenly blocked by a rather handsome face. Civilian straddled their lap, looping their arms around Villain’s neck. Their nose was scrunched up in an adorable way as they started explaining that it was, in-fact, not their bad skills but pure unluckiness that made them lose the game to a literal child.

Villain let them ramble for a moment, amused eyes taking in their features. They hardly ever got to see them out of work so they cherished any rare moment where they could simply sit and relax in their company.

Villain pressed a soft kiss to their lips, cutting off Civilian’s rambling. Civilian’s eyes widened for a moment but they immediately reciprocated it, hands tangling in Villain’s hair.

They pulled apart for a second, foreheads resting against each others.

Civilian’s cheeks were coloured with heat and they wouldn’t look them in the eye, “What was that for?”

Villain grinned at the effect they had their partner, “Do I need to have a reason to kiss my lover?”

Potential Spoilers Ahead, and Constructive Criticism Always Welcome!

It also helps that Tarquin isn’t with her when they arrive at Sevenda’s. The restaurant is already bustling with guests, and he wonders if there’s any tables that can fit them all. There’s... one, two... eight of them together. 

Well, it isn’t his fault the others want to make fun of him firsthand. 

“I only got a table for three.” 

“Don’t worry about that,” Rhys says with a wave of his hand. Nyx follows the movement, kicking his feet as he floats in that baby carrier strapped to his chest. 

Cassian can’t believe they brought the baby. 

But he decides to ignore them all, as Rhys talks to the front staff. He goes to Nesta, his hand settling on her neck as he leans down to peck on her on the lips. It’s the only affection she’ll allow in such a public setting besides a simple holding of the hands. Cassian doesn’t mind. It doesn’t mean she loves him any less. 

When he pulls back, Nesta keeps him close. “They brought the baby.” 

“I know,” Cassian whispers back, astonished. 

“Why?” 

“Because they like to make my life miserable.” 

“You know, we can hear you,” Feyre says. 

Luckily, Cassian doesn’t have to elaborate as Rhys gestures for them to follow. He’s already gotten a table cleared and Cassian hopes no one had to scatter for their impromptu lunch. 

Nesta’s the one who go gets Tarquin and Cassian has to swallow his tongue. Just leave him, he wants to blurt. But Tarquin sidles up to them gracefully, standing much too close to his mate 

“Tarquin!” Mor calls, smiling. Cassian wants to gasp in betrayal at the look of joy that crosses his friend’s face. 

Even Rhys smiles warmly, “Sit, sit. All of you. Let’s catch up.” 

“You brought the baby today,” Tarquin notes, his voice rich like silk. 

“We teach our kids early,” he says.

Teach them what, Cassian huffs, how to betray your friends.  

But the greatest betrayal--the one that hits hardest in the gut--is the way Tarquin looks to Nesta like he knows a little joke and Nesta smiles slightly like she’s in on it, too. All it takes is a little raise of her lips and he grabs her hand. If hand-holding is the only affection she’ll allow, then it looks like he’s holding her hand all day. 

The others notice. The others smirk to each other, that little evil gleam in their eyes, and Cassian thinks he’s really got to learn how to keep a better poker face. 

 They place their orders and that’s when the games begin. Not punches or yells, though Cassian’s not averse. But in fawning all over Tarquin. 

“Where did you guys meet?” Feyre asks as if his mate is introducing the Summer Court High Lord to the family. 

“Oh that’s right, you weren’t there the last time we went to Summer,” Amren remarks. 

“You didn’t miss much, just Amren playing kissy face with Varian over peace talks,” Mor says, taking a sip of her iced tea. She looks over to Nesta who sits in between Tarquin and him. Tarquin oh so conveniently being claustrophobic and so can’t sit in the middle of the booth. How does he know that Nesta can’t stand being in the middle? 

He clings to her like a bad smell. Cassian pulls Nesta closer into his side, taking a whiff of lavender. 

Snippet | Deucate, Daliah, Lynx in Deucate's forest | 5th chapter | Fires, Flowers and Freedom

"Ah! Zapperlott! Impossible!", a voice of a little girl yelled and suddenly the fog parted and let Daliah and Lynx see a shaggy hut. A young girl sat before it and threw ingredients into her kettle and cursed. Her hair was pitch-black, her skin snow white. On her cheeks were beautiful  golden patterns, but her eyes glowed so deeply red as those of the beasts that Daliah had seen in her forest.

"Let's better go back again", she whispered to Lynx who flipped his short tail nervously. 

The night-witch hadn't seen them yet, but as they turned around, it was nearly as if a wall of owls was blocking their way. 

A banging sound erupted and they found themselves in black smoke. Someone cried. 

"Oh, what happened? Did you hurt yourself?", Daliah asked and ran back to the little witch who sat on the ground, wailing. 

"No, no. I just failed again", she cried loudly.

"Daliah, don't go so close", Lynx murmured but both Daliah and the night-witch ignored him. 

"Well, I'm only rarely getting visitors. What lead you two to me?", the night-witch asked and now looked happy again, even extraordinarily curious, from one to another. Behind her, her owls spread in the trees again and on the colorful garlands that were tied between the twigs. 

"Actually, we were looking for a day-witch", Daliah said carefully. 

"Then you're just at the right spot. I may still be a night-witch, but I'm on the best path to become a day-witch. Yes, yes. I'm working extra hard to only do good and now it's only a matter of time before my black hair turns white. I assure you!" 

"Oh! That's possible?", Daliah asked surprised and the little kid nodded hastily.

"Of course! Whether you're a day- or night-witch depends on whether you're a good human. That's why it changes a lot! There are day-witches who have turned to night-witches and night-witches who have turned to day-witches. Although it is much harder in that direction, of course. How can I help you?" Her red eyes were beaming with exhilaration. But Lynx had his ears still put close and even if it was barely audible, Daliah heard him growl. 

" I need help. My forest is infected with black slime and dies. I want to save it! It is my home and those of my mother and so many more living things!" 

"Oh! Do you mean this slime?", the little witch asked, grabbed into her kettle that exploded before and then held her hand full of the exact same black slime that was killing Daliah's forest. 

"Yes, exactly! My mum lost an arm because of it", she said shocked.

"Well, that's just failed magic. Trash, if you so will. If your forest is full of it, it means that someone is taking the forest's magic in a way that doesn't work with its magical field of energy."

"And what can I do about it?" 

The more I looked, the more I felt a growing sense of discomfort. This level of organizing just seemed far too extreme. A sudden thought crosssed my mind that I was going to end up as some unsolved mystery and that my body would be found dumped in a river or ravine.

"Something wrong?" Zachariah's voice jarred me out of my over-active imagination.

Scott was the eldest of five brothers, all unique and as individual as himself. They had always functioned well as any family, even if to outsiders it seemed that the five were too…what was the word? Too close, too protective, too perfect. Especially the first and third boys.

They most definitely were not perfect.

Scott had a wicked temper on him, and although he usually took time to get provoked by a brother, it could switch on in an instant if the threat or cause was an outsider and was directed at one of his family.

Virgil was almost the complete opposite. Calm under pressure, he so rarely got riled up, even when his peers were ribbing him. Of course, this was mostly because Scott just got there first with his fists. However, put Virgil in a situation where the person ribbing was a brother, he would put up with only so much before the bear bit back.

The other three brothers were not much better. John was scary. He was cold and aloof and could pin you with a stare while confusing you with logic. Gordon was almost as free with his fists as Scott had been, but whereas Scott would knock the crap out of you and that would be that, Gordon would plot revenge and get you weeks later. You never knew if you were safe. Alan, well Alan was an amalgamation of all his brothers, he just rarely got to show it.

This, of course, was what outsiders saw and was such an incomplete picture of the subtle and nuanced dynamics that bound the Tracy boys to each other.

She’s on her balconet again, clothed in sunlight as much as the fabric draped over her skin. Remiel stares. He knows it’s improper but, despite his limited exposure to anything outside of the studio,  he’s pretty sure she’s the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. Furthermore he is almost certain she’s not dressed for propriety’ sake. 

Butt she’s alone and so is he. 

Only difference is. . . she owns herself. 

He leans against the windowsill; content in the moment of peace he has stolen. She’ll eventually go back inside and he will go back to work; painting whatever commissions his keeper is too drunk or too unskilled to finish. ‘There are worse ways to live,’ he reminds himself, arms folding across his chest. 

Remiel studies the dark cascade of hair tumbling over her shoulders. ‘Marcella,’ he remembers hearing her name called in the house once. It wraps around his mind during the long days and the late nights when he is alone; heavy with the weight of everything else in his life she is a lightness that carries him through. 

She smiles at something and Remiel smiles back before he realizes she is looking at him. He blanches and falls back from the window, landing on all fours in a cloud of dust and clattering art supplies.