#May the Lord grant me the peace of mind needed to not slam my head on the table 😭🙏

[might-be-a-potato]

The hurculean strength I have to muster when my family plays cribbage.

"We're pegging a lot today"

"That was a high-pegging game"

"You're pegging really well tonight"

[mmvalentine]

prompt request for part 2 of your utm fic? pretty please? :)

NONNIE I ALMOST SAID NO hahaha honestly @asteria-of-mars is cooking up some WILD dark!Rhys and if you're looking to not know if you're turned on or horrified I can recommend her fic Undone. She is better at this than me. But okay I'll give this a little whirl just for you, because your please was so pretty.

Fuck You, Feyre Darling Pt 2 (Mercy)

Read Part 1

Guilty.

That's all that was swirling around in my head for the next two days: guilty, guilty, guilty. I was a bad person, I was a cheater, I was so full of shame I could have choked on it.

But then Rhysand appeared in the same corner of my cell that he always did, and I had a better idea of where to place my anger.

"You fucking prick," I spat at him. He just raised his eyebrows.

"Dear me," he said. "And just what have I done to raise your ire today?"

"You made me cheat on Tamlin," I said, knowing full well that was neither true nor fair.

"I didn't," Rhys said mildly, flicking a speck of lint off his lapel.

"You did," I snapped. I stepped up to him. "You and your fucking mind tricks." My chin jerked up to stare into his eyes. Most powerful High Lord in all of Prythian? I didn't give a damn.

"I assure you, I don't need mind tricks to coax females into my bed," Rhys said, and his unaffected air was infuriating.

"You forced me," I ground out. "Admit it."

"Admit something that's not true?"

"Admit it!"

"Why Feyre?"

"Because!" I yelled. "If I wanted it then I'm a terrible person and I'm here in this horrible place to save Tamlin only to find that I don't deserve him anyway." My voice broke on the last word, and to my horror, a sob cracked in my chest.

Not again, I thought. I couldn't bear the thought of breaking down in front of Rhys, not again. He already had so much of me.

But Rhys just stood there a moment, with his hands in his pockets. Then he said, "Fine," and then the world blurred and we were back in his room.

Rhys pushed me back onto the bed, and I fell, startled.

"So what, Feyre?" he asked. I realised with shock that he was angry. "What do you want?"

Despite the darkness of the room, his violet eyes seemed to glow brighter than ever.

"Do you want me to have forced you, so you don't have to feel guilty? Or do you want to be forced because you deserve to be punished?"

Rhys pulled his jacket off and threw it onto a chair by the wall. I shrank back against the headboard, suddenly nervous.

"Because see now, I may be a whore but I'll not have some mortal questioning my honour." He knelt up on the bed in front of me, and rolled up his sleeves.

"However, if you were after a punishment," he paused, and removed his belt to fold it in his hand. Then he gave me a grin that was all teeth and no smile at all. "You only had to ask."

The anger still coiled in his voice, and now, now I was scared of him.

I didn't know what I was expecting- I had goaded him, but not thought through what would happen next. And now here we were, back in his room, and I couldn't tell where my fear stopped and my anticipation began.

What I did know is that the heaviness of the shame in my limbs had been replaced by adrenaline and that was a trade I was only too happy to make.

"Well?" Rhys demanded. "Is the cruel little creature here to repent for her sins?

And Cauldron damn me to the deepest depths of hell, my lips parted and I whispered, "yes."

"Good," Rhys snarled, and then quick as lightning he had grabbed my ankle and jerked me back down the bed. Disappeared my clothes by magic, rolled me over onto my stomach, where I tried to drag myself away with my hands but he yanked me back by the hips and slapped me hard across the ass.

I gasped, as pain burst before my eyes. I forgot everything, I knew nothing at all expect for the flash of sensation, and then a flooding peace. Yes. This is what I deserved. Rhys buckled his belt around my ankles.

"Is this what you wanted?" Rhys hissed in my ear. I hadn't noticed him moving closer.

"Yes," I whispered. Rhys spanked me a second time, and that white hot flash popped in my vision again.

"Is this what you needed, you wicked mortal thing?"

"Yes," I said again, and it came out as a moan.

"Beg me," Rhys commanded. He landed three more stinging slaps, and I couldn't help but gasp at each one. "Beg me for mercy."

He smacked me once more, and leaned down to my ear again. "Beg me, and I will deny you."

And I would never know how to admit this out loud, not to Rhys, not to Tamlin, not to anyone. But it was exactly what I craved.

So I pushed my hips up toward Rhys, turned my face to the side, and breathed, "Mercy."

"No," Rhys replied coldly, and then I was spanked on the top of my ass, on the join to my thigh on either side, and then once right over my bare pussy.

The shock of the last had my fingers curling in the sheets. It was so unexpected that at first my legs clenched together automatically- but then as the pain faded it was replaced by a spreading heat and my muscles relaxed completely.

The next touch was a rub of his hand over my reddened backside and down between my legs, and where he had slapped me my skin was so sensitive I shook hard under his fingers.

"And now what, Feyre darling?" Rhys asked. His voice was low and dangerous. I rode the edge of pain and fear and pleasure, and couldn't form words. When Rhys stroked his hand down me again, I realised I was thoroughly wet from being spanked.

"Do you need to be fucked now?" he crooned.

"Yes," I said, and even though he wasn't touching me at all now, my breaths came in pants.

"Do you need to be pounded so hard it feels like you're not in control?" Rhys asked me.

"Yes," I repeated, not able to say any more than that for the shame of it.

"Beg me again," Rhys said.

"Please," I whimpered. "Mercy."

Rhys's fingers slipped back between my legs, finding my clit and rubbing tight, fast circles into it. My hips bucked at the suddenness of the motion, and then the pleasure began to pool. I wanted to push my knees apart on the bed to get closer to his touch, but his belt still bound by ankles together. I arched my back instead, and Rhys's steady rhythm had me careening toward my orgasm faster than I thought possible.

"Rhys," I moaned.

"Yes Feyre?" he said. "Are you going to come?"

"Yes, oh gods, yes," I said, and my toes curled as my climax crested-

And then Rhys pulled his hand away and slapped me across the backside instead.

I let out a frustrated groan, and Rhys purred, "Again."

It took me a moment to figure out what he wanted. Then, "please," I begged. "Mercy."

Rhys's fingers returned, but this time he was sliding them into me and moving infuriatingly slowly. I rocked my hips back and forth on his hand, trying to build his pace. It was almost enough.

"Please," I said again. Breathlessly. Desperately. "Please."

Rhys's fingers sped up and curled to that spot inside me, and then I was chasing my climax again. My head spun, then buzzed as I found-

Nothing. Rhys's fingers slipped out of me and I was spanked again, on the other side, and hot tears sprang to my eyes. A combination of the sudden pain and the sharper frustration.

"Please Rhys!" I cried out. "Please, please, mercy, please."

Rhys's voice in my ear, one more time. "Do you deserve it?" he asked. "Do you deserve pleasure?"

"No," I whispered.

"That's right," he replied. And then sank his cock deep inside me nonetheless.

Rhys was not gentle, Rhys did not give me time to acclimatise. Just pushed inside my already soaking pussy and fucked me hard with my ankles tied the entire time. As wound up as I was, he had barely gotten started when my orgasm slammed into me. I came soundlessly on his cock, tears blocking my throat, my lips mouthing his name into the sheets.

Once my high had subsided, Rhys pulled out, removed the belt from my ankles, and turned my over on my back. I was so wrung out I barely registered the movement. And then with a shocking gentleness, he came back to me. Pulled my legs around his waist and slid inside me again- but this time moved with a rolling consistency that had me building up again, coasting on the brink of pleasure rather than screaming toward it, and when this orgasm came I was in the middle of it before I had known it'd begun.

My back arched up into Rhys's arms and he pressed kisses down my sternum as I came, and then just when I thought I'd start coming down his hips got faster and his own release triggered a new wave for me, too. I held on to him as he shuddered into me, and it wasn't until he had rolled onto his back and pulled me into his chest that I realised he had stopped punishing me.

"Rhys?" I asked softly.

"Mm?"

"Am I a bad person?"

Rhys sighed into the dark, and when he spoke he did not sound like his usual, arrogant self. He just sounded tired.

"No Feyre," he said, "you're not a bad person."

"I'm betraying someone I love," I argued.

"We're Under the Mountain, now," Rhys said. "We're only just surviving. And here, that is enough.”

We lay there for a while longer, until I thought I could almost fall asleep there in the High Lord's arms. What an absurd thought.

"I'm ready to go back to my cell now," I whispered.

"In the morning," was all Rhys said, and then he turned us and tugged me back against his chest facing away from him. He wrapped his arms around me, and I gave in. After all, there would be plenty of time to feel bad about it all if we survived at all. And maybe that was a mercy I could grant myself.

****

Eeee stop making me go UTM anons, it's toooo sad I'm gonna leave this dark edgy shit to Liz now and go back to my palace of fluff 🥺🥺

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose @darling-archeron @rapunzel1523 @fairchildjace @philosophorumaurum02 @story-scribbler @allthecolorsneverseen @asteria-of-mars

[duckymcdoorknob]

hey i am so sorry to ask this but my grandma died last week and my mom's been in a really bad place ever since, it's really hard for all of us right now - would you maybe write some hurt comfort tickles with lee tajima and ler hanai? headcanons are fine too, again i'm so sorry to bother you with this

TICKLES BELOW THE CUT

In honor of Natl. Tickle Day being a few days ago, I’m pushing this one up to the top !!

It’s been a while since you sent an ask, so I hope things are still well!

I truly hope that you are doing better now. Prayers are out to you and your family.

If you don’t mind, here’s one that I like to say when I hear the news of someone’s passing.

Eternal rest grant unto her, Oh Lord. May your perpetual light shine upon her and may she Rest In Peace.

CW BELOW THE CUT: Big big big sad. Probably my most hurtiest hurt/comfort ever. Tickles too! A sprinkle of forced toxic masculinity.

Don’tHold It In

Warning this is a tickle fic!

Ships: None

Warnings: tickles, sunshine boy is sad!

Prompt: A wise man once told Tajima to never let his emotions show. His tactics seemed to work, but Hanai can see through his fake smile.

Tags: T-fic taglist! @littlebbyleesfw, @cupcake-spice13, @0rodi0, @rachi-roo , @danibby, AND @myreygn I THINK YOUD LIKE THIS

‘Yuuichirou! Stop crying right now. Boys do not cry; you need to suck it up.’

8 year old Tajima never knew that that statement would end up being his downfall, eight more years down the road…

Every Nishiura member could attest that training was grueling, and every player was visibly frustrated.

Every player except for Tajima…

While the cleanup hitter was spacey and growing more tense by the second, he kept a smile on his face.

It was as if it was stuck there with tape.

“Oi, Tajima! What are you doing?? Get your damn head in the game!” Abe barked from behind his number 5.

Right, The scrimmage.

And Tajima’s up to bat.

Well, let’s do what he does best, bunts.

Unfortunately, when the ball came in contact with the turned bat, it became a pop-fly, and he was outed before he could even make it halfway to base.

Despite the totally embarrassing failure, the cleanup hitter joyfully trudged back to the dugout to remove his gear, passing Abe’s flaming eyes.

Good gods, that guy always made even practice games life or death.

When Tajima reached the, thankfully empty, dugout, he sunk down onto the bench and began to tug at the collar of his undershirt.

While it seemed to fit perfectly before, he can’t seem to breathe now…?

Doesn’t matter. He disappointed his catcher and his other teammates. He was useless out there.

The brunette blinked away his tears as he kept his features lifted.

‘Stop crying right now! Boys don’t show their emotions’

“You wanna tell me what the hell happened out there?” Abe’s agitated voice interrupted Tajima’s regaining of his composure.

“Mmm. I messed up!” He chirped, tugging harder at his collar, “Past is past. I tried my best, and I just screwed it up.”

“Stop playing with your shirt and take this serio-“

“Abe it’s okay. It’s been a rough practice! We’re all tired and pissed off, so I’m not taking it to heart.”

The catcher, now flabbergasted and significantly less angry, wordlessly took his gear off and left the dugout with a slam of the door.

Tajima slid down the wall with a choked exhale. Thank gods it’s all over now. He stared at the sky in a desperate attempt to keep his tears at bay.

As his collar seemed to somehow restrict his lungs even more, Hanai cleared his throat from the doorway to the restroom.

“Tajima… What’s going on man?”

So he wasn’t alone after all…

“Huh? I’m great! Nothing’s wrong!” The brunette didn’t even look down at his teammate.

“Well you can at least look at me…” Hanai mumbled, biting the inside of his cheek.

“I’m sorry….” The cleanup hitter looked down at his teammate, “I’m not trying to be distant.”

“It’s fine just-“ Hanai tried to understand, shaking his head, “What happened with Abe? He made a really insensitive comment to you.”

“Wh- insensitive? Nothing’s-“

“You tug at your collar when you panic, I know you.”

Tajima looked down to see he had been practically ripping his undershirt out from under his jersey. He sighed and hugged his knees, burying his head in between them.

“Im fine…“ Tajima whispered as his lips upturned into the smile he was trained to use. He wanted to look at Hanai, but couldn’t seem to move his head from between his knees.

Hanai sighed as he knelt down next to his exasperated teammate. “I don't think you're as okay as you insist that you are.”

The cleanup hitter finally looked up and met Hanai’s eyes.

His teammate, his best friend, his brother. The captain’s sympathetic eyes had finally gazed into Tajima’s glossy ones.

“Hey.” Hanai whispered as he smiled gently, “you don’t have to be so brave when you’re with me.”

Tajima’s eyes were suddenly flushed with tears, the first time in months he recalls. “Hanai…” he whispered

‘Don’t react until he needs you to’ the captain noted to himself, wanting nothing more than to tackle Tajima to the ground with a hug.

“I’m-” he whimpers quite softly, “I’m not okay…”

As his teammate crumbled before him, the captain was suddenly sitting on his calves and pulling the cleanup hitter into a gentle hug. He finally had the sign he needed. “It’s okay, it’s okay… shh… you’re alright, Tajima.”

Tajima let his head fall onto Hanai’s shoulder, and the latter immediately began to run his hand along the crown of it.

For a few heartbreaking minutes, Hanai gently rocked his teammate back and forth, whispered reassurances accompanying his tight embrace.

“You don’t understand how hard I try…” the brunette suddenly said with hiccups following, “I just want you guys to be proud of me, especially you and Abe.”

“Oh I’m always proud of you, Tajima. Please trust me.” Hanai noted, “I know how hard it is to be constantly seeking approval.”

“You’re-“

“I’m not just saying that. You are my role model, did you know that?”

The sides of Tajima’s lips twinged upward before they fell once more. He mumbled one small sentence that broke the captain’s heart.

“I just want to feel like… me again. Is that even possible anymore?”

"Tajima?” The captain suddenly asked with remorse lacing his voice, “How long has this been going on? I mean when was the last time you actually let yourself cry?"

“Dad always told me that boys aren’t supposed to cry…” the cleanup hitter replied, sounding a bit embarrassed.

“Well your dad is an idiot.” Hanai mumbled as he bit the inside of his cheek. “Oh. Sorry.”

The brown haired boy released a fond breath of air, a subsequent smile following.

“I heard that, you know,” the captain teased, “I’m not entirely great at the whole comforting thing, as you can clearly see… but maybe I could make you feel better in another way?”

“Y-yeah. I’d like that.”

The stuttered confirmation from his best friend was all that Hanai needed to begin his “feel better tactics”

The hand that was resting on the small of Tajima’s back began to lightly run its fingers up and down.

“I don’t wanna do too much. So, you just stop me when you need a break, okay?”

“Mhm.”

Hanai’s hands soon assumed their position at the brunette’s sides, squeezing gently and quickly.

With his head still buried in his best friend’s neck, Tajima couldn’t help the breathy giggles that escaped from him.

“Ahh there you go.” Hanai seemed pleased with himself, “Just let everything out!”

The squeezes became a little pressurized, causing involuntary jolts and little squeals to emit from Tajima’s figure.

“H-Hanai.” He mustered with an eye squeezed shut.

The squeezing ceased.

“W-wait-” oh now he was embarrassed, “I was just going to say that you could do more…”

Hanai took a turn to chuckle himself and brought his hands down to Tajima’s sides again, squeezing with much more gusto and delight.

The poor cleanup hitter dissolved into bubbly giggles once again.

“Better?”

“Behehehetter!”

“I’m glad.” The captain chirped, innocently returning to his duties.

The squeezes were rough, but still agonizingly slow.

“Hahahahahanahahai.” Tajima began to beg, falling backwards to lay flat on the floor, “plehehehease!”

“More? Again?” Hanai soon scouted a Cheshire grin, “if you insist buddy!”

With a sudden ruthlessness, Hanai moved his hands to pinch at parts of the latter’s stomach.

“How about now.”

Instead of verbal confirmation, Tajima throwing his hand over his eyes, and falling into heavier laughter, was all that Hanai needed to know he was doing okay.

“I think you’re doing great buddy.” The cleanup hitter’s ‘evil’ attacker piped up, “It’s okay to not be okay sometimes. I’m glad you let me help you.”

As if he wasn’t flushed before…! C’mon Hanai, read the room!

“Hahahanahahahai!”

“It’s alright to have an off day, we certainly aren’t blaming you for it.”

“mhmhmhm!”

“And one more thing, it’s totally okay to cry! It doesn’t make you any less ‘manly’ or whatever your dad was worried about. Okay?”

“Ohohokahahay!”

Hanai smiled and began to slowly walk his fingers up to Tajima’s ribs, sing-songing about how he was ‘coming for his worst spot’

The cleanup hitter chuckled in mad anticipation, his head turned, eyes squeezing shut, and his hands shooting up to grab his captain’s wrists.

“Oh? Now you want me to wait?”

“Wahahait! Dohohont!”

“No? Are you sure?”

“Yehehehes!”

“You super sure?”

“Gohohohods- yehehehes!”

“Hmph. Not convinced.”

Tajima swore his life flashed before his eyes as Hanai’s nimble fingers darted up to his ribs and began to tweak at each bone.

“HAHAHANAHAHAHAI! NOHOHOHO!”

“Hanai yes! You said you wanted me to make you feel better!”

“YEHEHEHES BUHUHUT-“

“No buts! Only tickles!“

“MMMMMMHH!! STAHAHAHAP THAHAHAT!”

The captain smiled widely as his best friend crumbled beneath, but also greatly embraced, the tickly touches.

“Aww are my words getting to you? Can’t handle it? Or maybe you can’t handle the word ti-“

“AHAHA FIHIHIHINE! YOHOHOHOU WIHIHIN! IHIHIHIM BEHEHEHETTER!”

Hanai slowed his fingers to help Tajima re-center himself in the world. Breathy giggles escaped as his chest heaved, and eventually Hanai’s tickles came to a halt.

“How you doing now, man?”

“M-much better.” Tajima panted, sitting up and hugging his knees again, “Thank you.”

The captain beamed and ruffled his friend’s hair, “Anytime, kiddo.”

“Oye! Don’t call me kiddo! We’re the same age!”

“Yeah.” Hanai noted, prepped and ready to run, “but you’re about as tall as a middle schooler.”

Tajima gasped and an all familiar smile overtook his features, “YOU BASTARD!”

And so the chase was on. Hanai tried to run for his life around the outfield, but as Lady Luck betrayed him, Tajima was always their fastest runner.

Double unfortunate, now it was Hanai’s turn to “feel better.”

As the rest of their teammates spectated in confusion, the two best friends couldn’t focus on anyone but themselves.

Thanks, Hanai.

—————♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎—————

[thegeneralguy]

The Champion of Olympus - Poseidon´s Passion

Out of all the three realms connected to the earth, the sea was by far the most extensive one. An entire underwater universe lurked beneath the surface, with more diversity in its inhabitants than both heaven and earth. Poseidon was the ruler of that realm, with the responsibility of maintaining the planet itself in balance. Oceanic currents and tectonic movement were crucial for the mortals´ survival. The god of the sea had inherited the realm after the Titanomachy, given to him by the true embodiment of the sea, Oceanus. He and his titan spouse had given birth to many of the phenomena Poseidon had to keep in check.

But the normally boisterous god was unusually quiet, sitting down in his chariot heading back to the cold depths of his kingdom. The words of his brothers resonated within him. Could it really be possible for Typhon to escape? And more importantly, would he be able to protect all the creatures under his rule? Keeping balance was Poseidon´s primary priority, which made the whole situation even more alarming for him. He took the reins tying the hippocampi pulling his chariot and pressured them to move faster. He had to reach the Oceanic Retreat, also known as the sunken city of Atlantis, to consult with the court about his next course of action.

The palace was located in the center of the underwater capital, adorned with bright gems and bright colorful coral. The city was so deep under the sea, it was unreachable by Apollo´s power. But despite the lack of sunlight, luminescent beings shone brightly to light the streets and buildings. Poseidon´s chariot floated over the gates of the palace and parked on one of the numerous sea gardens, which were filled with creatures and coral normally found on superficial reefs. Triton, Poseidon´s heir, and most trusted advisor greeted him from the gates of the palace.

"That bad huh?"

He asked as soon as he caught a glimpse of the god´s grim visage. The muscular deity approached his son carrying his massive trident with ease, the muscles in his arm pulsing with supernatural strength. The strength to make the earth shake and the ocean rise. Both gods rushed inside the palace to his throne room, while Poseidon put Triton up to date. The young deity was eager to learn the ways of Olympus, for when it was his turn to rise to the throne, so he listened carefully every time his father complained about their extended family.

"How fitting of uncle Zeus to find a way to try to compete with all of you. But if what he and Hades said is right, then we have no time to waste."

"It won´t be so easy son. Our job is to keep balance, and granting divinity to a mortal can very much upset the natural equilibrium of the planet. Just remember where we´re standing right now."

The city of Atlantis, once a thriving metropolis of the ancient world, had fallen victim to the whims of a fallen hero´s delirium and a heavenly dispute. After being defeated by the patron city of Poseidon´s niece, the Atlanteans fell into despair. They managed to get the favor of the god of the sea, who granted power beyond belief to their heroic leader. But this human wasn´t meant to rise as a new god, so the rest of Olympus rejected him, and punished the city by sinking it to the depths of the ocean.

While Triton pondered on his father´s worries, they reached the throne room. A glowing golden throne adorned with all kinds of underwater flora and fauna was in the center of the room, surrounded by a half-circle of different chairs more modest, but still ornamental to symbolize the sea´s royalty. Poseidon stood in front of his throne and slammed the enormous trident on the ground, producing an explosive sound that resonated within the entire ocean.

After a couple of seconds, the god of the sea´s call was answered by the most prominent figures in the oceanic realm. A representative for both the Oceanids, sea nymphs and the Potamoi, the rivers of the world, were the first to appear. Poseidon´s spouse Amphitrite also arrived fast and took her place right next to her husband. Polyphemus came next, the representative for the cyclops who were all devoted to the god of the sea. The old man of the sea, Nereus himself, showed up next. His relationship with Poseidon was more like a truce than a hierarchy, but Nereus´ connection to the ocean realm´s mortal creatures, including his daughters, was a good reason to keep him as an ally. The last one to show up was Styx, the embodiment of the river of the same name coursing through Hades´ realm.

As the court of the sea assembled, Triton took his seat on the right of his father and watched as the gigantic god paraded his muscular physique floating across the room.

"As some of you may know, I was summoned by Zeus for an emergency meeting. It seems the original monster is trying to break free from Tartarus. Is that true Styx?"

Automatically all eyes turned to the river´s seat expectantly. After Hades and the chthonic gods, the underworld river was supposed to know all the happenings of the realm.

"I have heard some rumors, but Lord Hades hasn´t told me anything. Things feel pretty normal in the underworld though. I haven´t sensed any fluctuations within my currents, which are pretty sensitive for any changes in the realm."

"That's very strange, but the fates wouldn´t lie. There is no way they would fall victims of a simple rumor."

Answered Poseidon meditating on the river´s answer. Styx was known to be direct and efficient, seeking to form a bridge between the realms so mortal souls reached their resting space safely. It wouldn´t bother to try and deceive the rest of the deities, especially on such a delicate matter. But then, who was lying? Triton raised from his seat and continued talking, trying to explain the situation his father was telling him about a couple of minutes ago.

"It seems the king of the gods has called for a new Champion to be chosen."

"Is that true Poseidon?"

Asked Amphitrite looking at her husband with worry in her eyes. Poseidon´s days of violence ended eons ago, and she was worried a heavenly competition like the trial of the Champion was going to get the worst out of her husband again.

"Zeus commanded each of the twelve Olympians to choose a champion. As you can imagine, I´m very reluctant to do so again."

Answered Poseidon with a serious tone. The last thing he wanted was to put his subjects through another catastrophe, but something smelled fishy in the whole situation. He wasn´t keen on trusting his family, but the odds were too high. He had to assume the worst in order to prepare. Nereus rose from his seat, his long white beard filled with barnacles floating around him, and talked in a raspy voice that sounded like a shipwreck crashing in the bottom of the sea.

"You have to make a choice Poseidon. We cannot risk Typhon getting out, it would mean extinction for our kind. Your newfound love for balance will have to wait until this situation is resolved."

"How dare you tell me how I should act old man. Remember I am the god of the sea, one of the twelve Olympians, and your ruler. I know what is best for my kingdom."

Growled Poseidon angrily, as his trident caused the floor to shake with fury. Nereus smirked slightly, knowing he reached the god´s weakest spot: his authoritarian nature. No matter how he tried to hide it, Poseidon was infatuated by battle and carnage. And he was going to demonstrate to all the sea that the king still had the will of expanding the realm. A Champion of the sea on earth would create the perfect opportunity to take over the terrestrial plane.

"Leave the sentimentalism aside Poseidon. You have to make a choice. Will you risk the present´s balance to secure the future?"

Everyone looked at the silent god of the sea. Poseidon hated Nereus, but he was right. Balance is not worth it if the future is put in doubt. He had made his choice. As hard as it was, he had to gift a mortal again with divinity. Triton stared worriedly at his father. The advisor knew what his king was capable of, and it scared him. But in the end, the risk had to be worth the benefits. He reached to touch his father´s giant shoulder.

"Father…"

Poseidon then raised his trident, as a powerful twisting current propelled him upwards, going through the open roof and heading for the surface. If his brothers wanted a Champion, they were going to have one. For the sake of the ocean, and the balance of the future.

  It was a peculiarly cold day on top of the St. Helena frigate. Ltjg. Gabo Ramirez was making his usual rounds on the top deck, making sure everyone was doing their respective tasks. The young man had joined the navy in hopes of finding some stability in his chaotic life. He had always felt attracted to the sea, its vast expanse offering the peace of mind that a problematic orphaned child needed. Growing up on the coast let him escape very often to meet his secret lover. He got infatuated when he was very young, and his mother was still alive. She took him to the beach every day to collect different treasures like seashells or pieces of broken coral in order to make jewelry out of them. Young Gabo felt proud he was helping support his widowed mother.

His father was a fisherman, but he barely had any memory of him, because he died when Gabo was barely a toddler. His mother told him his fishing ship sank during one of the common hurricanes predating on the beautiful Caribbean coast. But even though the sea had taken one of his progenitors away, Gabo couldn´t help but fall deeper in love with it. As he grew up, money grew tight. His mother tried desperately to provide for her son, so he could go to school and do something with his life. Life pushed her to more desperate means, selling herself so her son could have a future. In the end, things turned out grim for the poor boy.

He still remembered the stormy night when someone knocked on the door of their little apartment. A tall police officer told him the bad news. They found her on a bench close to the harbor. His mother died trying to protect her son. His childhood ended on that instant, and he was thrown down an administrative rabbit hole that turned his life into a living nightmare. He jumped from orphanages to foster homes over and over again. He felt like the world had betrayed him, taking his greatest love away from him. The sweet child turned into a sour teenager, who caused trouble and mischief wherever he went. His only refuge was still the sea. After all that had happened, it was the only place where Gabo felt grounded and alive. After his mother passed away it became his greatest love.

After he miraculously made his way through school, he decided to leave Puerto Rico and enlist in the U.S. navy. He was conscious his life needed to take a turn for the better, so he was mentally prepared for whichever challenge the tough military system was going to throw at him. The problem was, he was not physically ready for them, struggling through the first years of training. A life of chaos had left him with a scrawny underfed body, which was agile enough to get him swiftly out of trouble, but not strong enough to face it.

He remained adamant on his decision, and he endured the painful years of training, swallowing his deep survival instinct of fleeing before he was entirely committed. Gabo was used to swiftly getting out of trouble, thanks to his more cowardly nature. But he studied hard, put his life on track, and was rewarded for it. Now he got to spend a life together with his love, the sea, watching its waves flow into the horizon. A blue paradise extended before him.

Ltjg. Ramirez diverted his gaze from the ocean and went back to realizing his tasks to their full extent. The frigate was on standby close to the arctic sea, between Greenland and Europe, so there wasn´t a lot to do. The wind outside was pretty cold, nothing but dark water and a few small icebergs in the surroundings. He went back into the ship to finish his active shift and get something to eat in the cafeteria.

"Hey, Ramirez! Come here, we´re playing poker. This asshole has been running his mouth about beating you all afternoon!"

Said Lt. March calling him to one of the tables, where some of his crewmates were gathered. The person running his mouth was Lt. Krass. He and March were Ramirez´s superiors, but they had grown to like the mousy kid. His skills in gambling were known on the whole ship and made his crewmates and some of his superiors very interested in testing his skills. Life on the streets had taught him everything he needed to know to be a good gambler, and he had a good poker face to finish his killer combination.

"I can gladly take all your money off of you sir."

Said Ramirez laughing as he sat on the table to play with the cards. Sailors had to enjoy every second of interaction, or else they started suffering some mental issues that came with the constant isolation and lack of new stimuli.

"I´m telling you kid if you didn´t look like a toothpick I would´ve beaten your ass for taking a week´s worth of salary."

Said the much bigger Lt. March in an intimidating way, but just with the right amount of joyfulness to let Gabo know he was joking. He could probably pick the small junior lieutenant and throw him overboard if he felt like it.

"Give him a break March. It´s not his fault you´re a dumb player. Besides, I´ll get that money and will take you to a nice bar with it when we touch land again."

Laughed the equally big Krass punching his mate on the shoulder. In fact, Ramirez was probably the smallest man on board. The 24-year-old barely made the height cut on the recruiting process, and although he had gained some muscle mass from the rigorous training, it wasn´t enough to get close to his crewmate´s giant sizes. But his appearance was what caused his crewmates and superiors to gain a certain fondness for the young recruit. He was the runt of the litter.

After a while of laughing at Krass´s dumbfound expression as Ramirez managed to beat him and take all his money as well, the boys called off the night and everyone was in their chambers by curfew. Ramirez laid on his bed feeling the soft movement of the waves rocking his bed, enjoying the sensation. He thought about his mother and the beach in his childhood, as his memories carried him to deep sleep, completely ignorant of the approaching menace on the cold waters of the ocean.

 All sailors woke up at five in the morning, swiftly getting out of bed and lining up to clean themselves. Gabo woke up agitated. He had a strange feeling, but he couldn´t exactly distinguish what was going on. He also had strange dreams that night, about a giant black whale stalking the tumbling frigate, whilst he watched powerlessly from the deck of the ship.

"Not a very good night kid? It must be that guilty conscience for stealing from your favorite superior."

Said Lt. March, who was directly in line in front of him. Ramirez managed to get a nervous laugh out.

"It´s nothing, sir. Just a bad dream."

March looked at him with concern. He really cared for the well being of his subordinates, and he was worried being on the sea for so long was starting to take its toll on the novice sailor. He knew the young junior lieutenant was very passionate about his work, but he was still inexperienced to recognize the effects of long-term isolation.

"Listen Ramirez. I´m your superior, but we´re a team. There´s not a lot to do today, so why don't you take it easy just for a day."

The young recruit smiled broadly at the big man in front of him.

"Thanks, sir, but I can handle work. I know what I signed up for."

Lt. March smiled back, impressed at the discipline of his subordinate. This kid was going to go far he thought, as both made their way into the small shower cabin. While they were undressing, Krass approached March and whispered something to him quietly. Ramirez couldn´t hear a word, but judging by March´s expression it wasn´t good news. Krass then left the bathroom, and March turned around to face Ramirez. His big chest was inches away from Gabo´s face, and his lower part was tightly covered by a small towel.

It wasn´t a secret Ramirez was into both men and women. All his crewmates respected his orientation and felt comfortable around him. So much they didn´t mind parading themselves naked from time to time, testing the young recruit´s self-control. It was harder in the beginning, but now Gabo was used to it, casually having conversations with his fellow naked sailors. He still enjoyed the show, only silently and respectfully. He has had few sexual experiences in the past, but nothing to boast about. Still, his crew was untouchable for him, the comradery far outweighing the lust.

March was another story though. The man sported an impressive physique build through years and years of discipline and hard training. His chest was very prominent, followed by a big muscular gut that was still a couple of inches behind. Powerful arms capable of pulling even the heaviest anchor hung to his side, and tree trunk legs supported the almost 300 pounds man. He was also a good head taller than Ramirez, making the younger sailor a dwarf in comparison. Even though Ramirez tried his best, he couldn´t help but feel a certain level of attraction for the muscular man. After gawking at his superior´s body for enough time, Gabo looked up to hear what he was about to say.

"It seems there is a storm heading our way. It´s gonna be a full day of work after all Ramirez. You´ll get your chance to shine."

Ltjg. Ramirez never faced an open sea storm on his few months on board, so he didn´t know what to expect. A feeling in his gut was telling him to pretend he was sick to stay under the deck, but Gabo was no coward. He was going to do his work and prove why he was there among those big burly men. He finished showering and looked at himself in the mirror.

His dark brown hair was neatly cut in a conscription cut, perfectly square and short. His young face had a scar on his chin product of a street brawl a couple of years ago, but his features still retained the innocent look that came with youth. His beautiful light brown skin was free of any blemishes. His smooth body had slight muscle definition, but more because of little body fat than actual lean mass. He quickly glanced inside the towel to look at his manhood. He couldn´t be disappointed because there were smaller dicks around, but he was nowhere near to someone endowed. He was more like on the average to the low part of the scale. He was feeling good and confident about himself today. Gabo quickly put on his uniform and rushed outside to start his tasks for the day.

He headed up the deck to quickly brush the floors, check the analog temperature measurements and check that the lifeboats were in a good state. People quickly mobilized after news of the storm spread around. The captain made a formal announcement during lunch, telling the crew they should brace for the storm in the early hours of the night. No one seemed to be too scared about it, making their usual jokes and talking loudly lie every day. Still, the feeling in the pit of his stomach was starting to bother Ramirez. He had a bad feeling about today. And as a kid from the street, Gabo knew trusting his feelings was crucial for survival. The nerves were causing him to barely touch his food.

Lt. March noticed the kid staring quietly at his tray. It was unusual for the lively Latin kid to go dead silent, so he approached and sat down next to him.

"Don´t worry kid, it´s just a storm. Occupational hazards. It will be gone sooner than you think."

Even though Ramirez loved the sea, storms were always a cause of anxiety for him. He was reminded that a storm killed his father. And worse of all, a storm was raging the night he found out about his mother. Storms were a bad omen for him. He turned around to face the rugged, but the concerned face of his superior.

"I trust you, sir. It´s just I have a bad history with storms."

"I assure you kid, it´s gonna be a better night than one with you taking all my money."

The light-hearted joke made both men laugh, as the tense aura around Gabo dissipated. He trusted his lieutenant. He saw in him the father figure he never had. They finished eating their meal and dispersed around the ship to finish the preparations for the bad forecast. When the sun started setting down is when the dark clouds started gathering over the frigate. Strong winds pushed everything exposed to the surface, and increasingly agitated waves crashed against the ship, making the most remote corners of the shell creak under the water´s pressure. Ramirez finished his tasks on deck and looked to the horizon for the last time of the day. An ominous dark mass was approaching the ship. Little droplets started falling from the sky. They were the last preface of what was about to come. The junior lieutenant went back under deck quickly as the slow rain turned into a tempestuous downpour.

He found his crewmates in the cafeteria as usual, but there were no games this time. Everyone was eating quietly, expectant of the first order barked through the loudspeakers. March wasn´t there, nor Krass. Ramirez assumed that command was having a meeting about the current situation. He sat down on a corner with his tray, unable to take a bite. All his instincts were telling him to run, to get out of there swiftly, so he could survive. Ramirez was fighting his innate fleeing nature. He kept reassuring himself why he got enlisted, why he was doing everything he was told to. He wanted stability, he craved it. But a part of him didn´t want to leave his past self behind. It was what kept him alive for so long after all. But he couldn´t go back to fleeing from his problem. And most important of all he couldn´t let his crew know he was so scared. Bravery in the face of adversity was a virtue after all. This little sacrifice was for his future self, and no one else.

The sailors left the cafeteria quietly. One by one they retired to their chambers. Ramirez followed his crewmates and was able to go to bed early as he didn´t have any guard shift that night. He zoned out for a while, unable to reach deep sleep. After a few hours, around midnight, the alarm made him jump out of bed and get dressed. He got out of his chambers to see all his crewmates heading for the upper doors. The hallway was lit red, and a reverberating sound echoed through the passages of the frigate. Ramirez tried his best not to fall due to what he assumed was disorientation until the entire crew including him were thrown to the side. He wasn´t dizzy, it was the waves crashing against the ship that caused it to rock back and forth intensively.

When he made it to the upper deck, his fellow sailors were all running to their stations. Many went to prepare the lifeboats, while others reinforced the previously tied up materials so the storm couldn´t blow them again. Ramirez went to his emergency station next to the edge to secure the supplies he was supposed to. The sky was completely painted black, like the furious sea bellow him. Rain poured down intensively, and an icy wind blew with all force against the ship and its crew. Ramirez was freezing, his frail body more exposed thanks to its lack of body mass, and the tempestuous currents kept throwing him around like a little leaf during an autumn breeze.

A big wave crashed against the frigate, making the vessel lean completely to the opposite side. One of the crates on the opposite side of Ramirez got untied and came sliding fast towards the terrified recruit, who was holding on to the rails on the edge for his life. He turned around just on time to see the giant box charging against him, and closed his eyes preparing for the inevitable. He immediately heard his name echo in the distance and felt a powerful pair of hands push him from the back out of the crate´s trajectory. Ramirez looked back just in time to see his protector Lt. March flies off the board into the raging waters below.

"Lt. March!"

Screamed the tearful junior lieutenant. His fear was completely erased in an instant, triggering his quick reaction speed. He grabbed a safety rope next to him and without thinking he threw himself into the mouth of the beast. The black waters of the sea swallowed him whole. The only thing he felt was a bone-chilling sensation taking over his entire body, as he swam in the direction of his superior.

"Kid what are you doing here?! You crazy son of a bitch!"

Said March in a mixture of awe, anger, and gratefulness.

"It´s my duty to protect my crew lieutenant! Quick, grab the rope!"

He handed over the rope to the more experienced March, who started tying a strong knot so the crew could pull them out. Their brief moment of relief ended in an instant, as another giant wave stroke from their side this time, separating the young Ramirez from his lieutenant. The crew started pulling the rope, just to get only March back on board. The big man immediately perched on the edge and frantically searched with his eyes for the young subordinate.

"Ramirez! Ramirez!"

But only darkness remained, with no sight of the young recruit. Meanwhile, Ramirez struggled to swim against a powerful current. He considered himself a good swimmer, having grown close to the water. But no matter how hard he kicked and flailed, the underwater stream kept pulling him downwards. The cold was starting to numb his senses, as he let out a last bubble of breath and his unconscious body was dragged into the infinite abyss.

 Ramirez then woke up surrounded by complete darkness. He was laying on a rocky wet floor, dripping wet and feeling breathless. He coughed a couple of times, expelling a good amount of water out of his lungs. He stood up, but couldn't see anything around him. There was no breeze, no sound, absolutely nothing. He was about to take a step when a strong voice made him freeze in his tracks.

"Lt. Ramirez. I´ve been looking for someone like you."

"Who are you? Where am I?"

"Those questions don´t matter anymore child. You´re under my protection, that´s all that matters."

He then heard a resounding metallic sound against the rocky floor and was completely shocked by what he saw. The trident of the god of the sea emitted a powerful glow, which then seeped into the cracks on the bedrock bellow to illuminate Ramirez´s surroundings. He was inside a big air compartment under what it seemed to be the ocean, and in front of him was an extremely muscular man holding a giant trident. Poseidon then approached the young lieutenant, holding up his chin with his strong hand.

"You will do just fine. Your potential is unmeasurable, and you know the meaning of suffering and the price of balance. A noble soul like you will be of great use to me and my realm."

"I have to get back to my ship sir. Please help me, my crew is in danger."

Said Ramirez nervously while he scanned the god in front of him with his eyes. The prominent chest was probably as wide as Ramirez holding both of his arms to his sides, with strong protruding abdominal muscles supporting it. He had the biggest arms he had ever seen, even among the famous bodybuilders he always liked to watch on the internet. His lower body was even more powerful. He was only wearing the lower part of a short white robe, with gold accessories adorning his wrists and belt. Two penetrating blue eyes glowed like the deepest of oceans, set as the highlight of a rugged but beautiful face. The cherry on top was a luscious chestnut-colored beard falling right on top of his upper chest. Poseidon noticed the way this kid was looking at him and smiled broadly. He liked his ego stroked like all the gods.

"The ship was spared. But that passion is what I´m looking for. A loving protector, who is strong enough to crush anything on his way."

He pointed his trident towards the young lieutenant and smiled.

"Meet me on the base of Mount Olympus in Greece by the next full moon. I will grant you the true love of my kingdom, in exchange for your loyalty and strength. I´m counting on you."

A blue light came out of the trident, completely enveloping Ramirez. The cold sensation was gone, together with the exhaustion he felt before regaining consciousness. When the light faded, Poseidon was gone. The air bubble around him started popping, letting water in again. Ramirez was quickly swallowed by the ocean, having only time to briefly hold his breath. Once he could not hold it any longer, he coughed only to find out he was able to breathe normally underwater. He also thought about how he practically was immune to the pressure of the sea above him, not feeling any strain on his body.

He took off his uniform so he could swim better, leaving him only wearing the pair of black boxer shorts he had on, and started exploring his surroundings. The light the trident had infused on the ground remained there and formed a path leading the young sailor forward into the darkness. After swimming for a while, he found the strangest creature he had ever seen. A beautiful horse with the tail of a fish was waiting at the end of the illuminated road. The animal looked at Ramirez, and he immediately knew what he had to do. He floated towards the hippocampus, and rode on its back, grabbing its neck as the animal swiftly swam towards the surface.

He must have been pretty deep thought Ramirez because it took a long time until he saw the weak rays of sunlight replace the absolute darkness he was in before. He could feel the water caressing his body, but it opposed little resistance to the fast creature and the young sailor on top. It also wasn´t cold like before, but getting warmer the more the sea horse carried him through the vastness of the ocean. He was fascinated by its massive expanse and could feel its sheer power pulsating through the water.

They passed all kinds of sea creatures like schools of fishes, dolphins and even a few whales. Ramirez´s connection with the sea grew stronger, together with his love for it. He was so enthralled by the fascinating view in front of him that he missed the sensation the stronger current was causing on his body. The swirling water quickly surrounded him, tying him to the back of the hippocampus and constraining his limbs. Ramirez felt a dull pain product of the waters slowly pulling his limbs and spine further away from each other, rapidly adding inches to his height until the formerly short sailor reached a towering 7 feet height. The pulling didn´t stop there though, as each bone grew to form the canvas for the muscle that was coming in next.

The warm water caressed and massaged each individual muscle, transferring the titanic strength of the ocean to them. The legs holding on to the hippocampus started growing first. It looked like water was being pumped directly into his skin. Quadriceps strong enough to crush rocks between them formed on his upper legs, with edges carving themselves out of the gigantic muscles. His calves were pulled apart and rearranged by the current until two diamond-shaped calves replaced the former toothpick lower legs. His feet grew even bigger for a man his size, necessary for the swift propulsion underwater. The growth moved to his butt cheeks, the sensation finally making Ramirez aware of what was happening to him. He felt a strong cramp in his ass, as both glutei raised further and further from the back of the sea horse. His underwear strained to the maximum under the pressure of the new watermelon-sized ass cheeks.

Ramirez watched his lower body turn into the one of a card-carrying professional bodybuilder. The sensations invading his body were too intense for him to remain calm. He felt incredible awe for the creatures that were crossing through his sight. He felt the warm and pleasurable caress of the water on his body. He felt the strong rocking of the hippocampus´ swimming. And he felt a crushing pain as the pressure in the water reformed his body. He let go of the creature to grab his stomach in pain. He felt like the water was suctioning each individual brick in his abdomen out, and he was quickly left with a powerful eight pack cut into his midsection. His Adonis belt protruded out of his sides, and his serratus muscles carved themselves so deep it looked like the man had developed gills.

Ramirez then felt the current push him from the back of the sea horse, and the sailor fell to the back watching the creature swim away from him. He immediately began swimming trying to reach it, but his newly developed lower body still moved clumsily lacking the coordination needed to move such a heavy mass. Ramirez focused all of his strength on reaching the hippocampus when suddenly a strong water current propelled him forward and he was able to reach the creature. He then realized he was practically flying underwater, enjoying the freedom of moving like a torpedo through the ocean. He swam graciously together with the hippocampus, both dancing synchronized to the rhythm of the waters.

Small whirlpools formed around his brown nipples, sending waves of pleasure through the man and increasing their size to fit into the new gigantic chest that was about to come. His pectoral muscles squared on the lower end, and then pushed further out inflating like two water mattresses. The water was putting so much pressure on his upper body the sailor felt his bones were going to get crushed. Ramirez was left with a herculean chest powerful enough to fight the roaring waves of a tsunami. His shoulders were next, as each deltoid inflated bigger than cannonballs with enough strength to lift an anchor above his head.

He then felt the current pull his arms so hard he thought they were going to be ripped apart. The pressure in his muscles made him wince in pain, while his triceps dripped and grew like marlin´s dorsal fin, pushing the former noodles to the sides of his body, and his biceps inflated like water balloons about to pop due to their sheer size. Massive sinews formed on his upper arms, and his hands grew massively muscular, wide enough to push large amounts of water on a single stroke.

He examined both of his new arms when a cramp in his back made him bend forward and scream in pain. He felt the water vibrating on his spine, spreading the sensation to every muscle like a flare. The upper back started extending and rounding up like a turtle shell, and the lats on each side protruded so far, he looked more like a giant T instead of a V. His back was by far the strongest muscle on his body, designed to propel the new man through the chaotic waters with ease.

The current then swirled around his neck, starting to choke him. The traps raised to connect to his ears and complete the growth of the monstrous back. He could hear his grumble grow lower as his neck expanded with muscle, leaving his head looking like a tiny pin on a godly body. The pain was overwhelming the young sailor. He opened his mouth to let out a painful scream when suddenly water flowed into his body with intensity. Veins started popping out of his limbs, improving the oxygen saturation, and therefore endurance for the giant.

Large veins popped on his lower abdomen, and then he felt an excruciating pressure pushing behind his manhood. His penis then started inflating, far surpassing the limits of the already strained underpants, which were ripped off by the strong currents. His newly improved appendage kept growing and pulsing so much, Ramirez thought it was going to explode. It stopped growing at almost a foot in length, and a jaw-breaking girth. It looked like a glass bottle that was hanging from his legs. His balls were next, inflating to an equine size and falling heavy between his monstrous legs.

Male hormones combined with divine power started flowing through his body, boosted by the invading water current inside of him. He felt a cracking pressure on his head, which grew proportional to the new body size. His angular face grew more masculine, his jaw broadening into a thick square, and his brow pushing further over his eyes giving him a menacing look. His nose then cracked and widened, while his lips plumped a bit more. His already short dark brown hair retreated into his scalp, leaving him with a short buzz cut. The amount of testosterone in his body was so high, his hairline receded a little bit. His face was then invaded by a permanent shadow with the potential of growing a thick beard. The rest of his body sucked in his body hair, leaving his smooth. His beautiful brown skin darkened a bit more. His pores then started producing a small amount of oil, that gave him a shiny look and helped him oppose little resistance to the forces of the sea, making underwater travel far easier.

The current then stopped forcing its way into his body and released his limbs from their invisible shackles. Ramirez started touching his body incredulously, incapable of dimensioning the change he just went through. He felt the raw power of the sea pulse within him. He touched his face and felt his young skin under his fingers. His scar was gone too. The sight of the new man might have been bizarre, due to him still looking young despite his overwhelming masculinity. Ramirez was so distracted by his new body, that he missed the waters getting slowly more superficial and the hippocampus turning around and leaving back into the abyss.

The sailor propelled himself further into the shallowing waters when he was suddenly greeted by the figure of a beautiful young man sitting on an underwater rock. He couldn´t be older than the junior lieutenant, although his presence and demeanor felt older than civilization itself. His long hair flowed along with the current, glistening with silver light. He had the carved body of an Olympic swimmer, with defined and strong limbs made to love underwater and a very wide back developed from physical activity in the sea. He was also completely smooth, the only hair on his body remaining on his head, eyebrows, and long eyelashes. He beamed a white smile as radiant as the sun at the stranger.

Ramirez approached the young Adonis with a dumbfounded expression on his face. Even though his sexual experience was limited, he was very familiar with the feelings of lust invading his body. Only this time, they were overwhelmingly strong, almost clouding his entire conscience. The man got up from the rock and touched Gabo´s muscular chest.

"Father was right, you turned out better than expected."

He had a melodious hypnotic voice almost too beautiful to be coming out of a hunk like him. Ramirez looked down at the man caressing his body. His knees shook nervously, while he let himself be seduced by the apparition before him. But something in his mind suddenly snapped. He felt the pressure from before again, only this time inside his thoughts as if the water was rinsing the old cowardly nature of the sailor. For some reason, the situation didn´t feel right. He was the one supposed to be doing the seduction, not the other way around.

He took the young man from his legs and pulled him close to his body raising him to his same height. He then proceeded to passionately make out with the stud, both their tongues dancing in each other's mouth. Ramirez felt like sea spume was filling his head, making it harder and harder to focus. He started losing his grip on reality. Like waves carving and molding the strong rocks underneath, the magical power carved out a new man out of the young sailor. More and more dominance asserted itself into his persona, replacing the old more submissive nature. His body language was a dead giveaway of what was happening in his mind.

The sea hunk noticed how his lover´s kiss started to grow more aggressive, invading his mouth with a strong tongue. His big hands started squeezing the young man´s ass, ways of pleasuring a person during sex being engraved in his memory. Years of experience pushed their way into the new man, his face growing more rugged with lines of age and his body gaining more thickness that comes with years of labor. His giant manhood was already grown at full mast, stroking the cheeks of his prey like a sea serpent just before attacking and spreading his self-produced oil on his skin. The young man then guided the hard rod to the entrance of his body, pushing down ever so slightly to get the head in.

The hunk had been with many lovers before, but this was still considered to be a very big phallus. He carefully slid down in order to accommodate the muscular man´s size inside of him. Ramirez kept fighting the tide inside his head. He was scared of changing, of letting go of who he was. A part of him still wanted to flee and pretend none of this had happened. But remembering his hometown beach stopped his train of thought. He remembered the beautiful waters shining in the sunlight, of all the creatures dependent on them, from little crabs on the beach to the big metropolis of the world. The ocean´s ecosystem was the most important one in the world, and it had to be protected. The love he felt for the sea turned into a massive tidal wave inside of him that finally broke down all his mental barriers and completely dragged his old personality out of existence. He didn´t have to flee anymore, he possessed the strength to break the earth and part the ocean. He could destroy anything that got in his way of protecting what he loved.

Ltjg. Gabo Ramirez was reborn in the form of Gabriel, the name his mother had originally given him, and the new protector of the sea. The last bits of his personality evaporating like the sea breeze under the scorching sun. His young lover watched in awe as the eyes of the titan started to glow, and a deep blue color washed his former brown irises away. Once his manhood had entered the hunk completely, he started thrusting back and forth with the strength to shake the earth. He was a god among men, and he had the right to be pleased. Still, he liked to share the pleasure with his lovers, and care for them. He liked feeling like the strong protector he was born to be. The young sea hunk smiled broadly knowing the transformation was complete, and let himself be completely dominated and pleased by the titan inside of him.

 The sun was already setting when Gabriel came out of the warm waters. He wasn´t in the frosty northern sea anymore but the warm coasts of southern Greece. He was only wearing the bikini strap the young hunk had given him once they parted ways, along with a kiss and the promise of meeting him again. Gabriel looked at the vast sea before him and smiled. He was going to do whatever it took to protect his new home. He was going to honor his Lord´s will by conquering and crushing anything in his way. He still had a couple of days before the full moon, which should be enough to get to Mount Olympus. He then thought about all the life and all the pleasure he could have on his way. He was going to bless a lot of mortals with his sexual prowess. He took one last deep breath before heading inland, his nostrils filling with the salty smell of the sea breeze along with his own radiating masculine scent, his skin shimmering under the setting sun. The giant then disappeared into the prairie, ready for whatever challenge the world may throw at him.

In the distance sitting next to a cliff was Nereus, watching the newly chosen one walk towards his destiny. He found the Olympians obnoxious, but he had to admit they did a pretty fine handiwork. The new man looked like he jumped out of a perverted fever dream, with enough power to shatter the earth with each step.

"He really does feel like he looks, father."

A joyful voice said on the back. Nereus turned around to see his own son Nerites staring playfully at him. The young god loved to play around but was filled with respect for his father. The beautiful merman smiled broadly at the old man, who gave him an approving nod.

"Well done son. I knew Poseidon needed a little push. I´m glad to see his opus got your sign of approval."

"It´s going to be an interesting time after all. Life is just fun."

Said Nerites enthusiastically as both gods stared into the distance wondering about the Olympian´s intricate rivalries and plots in the sky.

[isis-astarte-diana]

But None, I Think, Do There Embrace (Part 2)

Part 1 ‖ Part 2

Summary:  “The sight of Missy, conscious and walking, shakes loose a deep breath you didn’t realise you were holding.” The conflict isn’t over when the gun goes off.

Warnings: None? Unresolved tension, mostly!

Word Count: 1815

NB: The promised continuation of “The Grave’s A Fine And Private Place”!

“Please, please work!”

The TARDIS hums softly in an inarticulate but clear expression of disagreement. The screen you clutch at with shaking hands remains a blurry mess of jumping pixels, the sound a warbled static hiss. You have no insight into what’s happening on the bridge.

Before you’d even glimpsed the creatures in the lifts, the ship had slammed her doors so hard that you were knocked backwards and off your feet, landing painfully on the metal floor. When you’d scrambled back up and tried to open them again, they wouldn’t budge. You still know precious little about how she functions, but it’s apparent that she’s determined to keep her human cargo safe from whatever wants to take them away.

“Siege mode,” Nardole points out unhelpfully, still fiddling with the console. “Hostile life forms detected on the bridge. No communications in or out. Your life signs are shielded, at least.”

White-knuckled on the handrail, you glance around desperately for inspiration. “We can’t just wait here!”

“I know,” Bill groans, head bowed and cradled in her hands. She sits on the stairs, catching her breath, steadying her racing heart. “I know, but what can we do? The TARDIS won’t let us outside and even if she would I don’t think we could help, I mean - we’re human! Whatever these things are, we can’t fight them.”

“I don’t think we need to.”

You scowl at Nardole. “What do you mean?”

“If they really are only interested in you two, then presumably, once they realise you’re no longer on the ship, they’ll just... wander off, I suppose.”

“Yeah.” Bill sounds quite convinced. “I mean, that blue guy was there for, what? Days?”

At the mention of the armed alien, you wince. You’ve been trying to distract yourself from the image of Missy’s limp body, slumped in the navigator’s chair. “Days,” you agree flatly.

“Exactly. Just try and keep calm, and I’m sure they’ll be back very-”

The doors tear open, flooding the room with the colony ship’s bright fluorescent lights.

“-soon.”

“Chair! Now!”

Any relief you might have felt is drained immediately by the sound of the Doctor’s voice, sharp and furious and full of pain. He has one arm around Missy, supporting her weight, half-dragging her alongside him as he staggers through the doors. Even from across the console you can see the smouldering burn mark on her coat. It’s bigger than your hand and still smoking.

The sight of her, astonishingly still conscious and walking, shakes loose a deep breath you didn’t realise you were holding. You’ve grown to quite like Missy; her quick mind and deadpan black humour had endeared you to her when you visited the vault, and she’s proven herself a useful ally more than once with her effortless navigation of the TARDIS. In truth, despite Bill’s understandable trepidation, you’d been excited to see her at the helm of a new adventure.

Be careful what you wish for.

He drops her unceremoniously in the nearest seat and she lets out a heavy, pained noise at the impact. It makes you wince in sympathy. “Watch it! I’ve just been shot, or hadn’t you noticed?” She falls just short of her usual sardonic wit, too much strain seeping into the words.

“Shut up.” There’s no kindness in it. He works urgently at the buttons of her coat, pulling it open to expose her blouse and the wound left by the laser-barrelled weapon. He’s muttering angrily under his breath. “Missed all the vital organs.”

“Yes, well, if you want something done properly,” she mutters. Then, so sharply that you jump, “oi! What the hell are you doing, man?”

The Doctor has both hands poised over the injury on her side. At first you think it’s a trick of the light, an optical illusion triggered by stress and exhaustion, but as you watch they begin to glow in a vibrant, sickly shade of orange. Light pours from his palms and drenches her abdomen until the scene burns your eyes. It feels like staring into the sun.

“Be quiet,” he says calmly, ignoring her protests. “You’ll take weeks to heal on your own. You’re no use to anyone in this state. I’m just speeding things up a bit.”

You’ve heard of regeneration, of course, but this is the first time you’ve witnessed it. Despite the blinding intensity of it you can’t seem to look away. You move around the console as if in a trance, seeking out a better view. It is, at once, the most beautiful and most frightening thing you’ve ever seen, and you know with every fibre of your being that it is wrong, a violation of physical laws that you take for granted. What unfolds between the Time Lords in front of you spits in the face of everything you know about the universe.

Your normal Saturday has been resumed.

“Oh, for- get your hands off me!” She reaches down to knock him away but he’s already moving, stumbling slightly and bracing his hands on the back of the chair to steady himself. It’s clear that he’s expended some energy.

“Not quite good as new,” he observes. “You may actually have a scar.”

“I always fancied one of those.” She twists experimentally in her seat, testing the extent of her recovery. The only evidence of what should, by all rights, have been a mortal wound is a single low hiss through her teeth. “Consider it a touching memento of my full rehabilitation.”

“Rehabilitation?” He scoffs, cold and bitter. “Do you think this was a success?”

“I saved the humans, didn’t I? At tremendous personal cost, might I add.” She gestures to her side. “This is my favourite blouse, as well you know, and now it’s ruined.”

Provoked by her arch lack of repentance, he raises his voice. “You tried to kill a man! A frightened man, who asked us for help!”

“A stupid man, with a gun,” she bites back. Her hands are tight on the arms of the chair.

“I had the situation under control until you-”

“No you didn’t!”

You almost leap out of your skin when Bill interjects, her voice whip-thin and deafening even from across the room. All eyes turn to her. She’s a beacon of rage, practically vibrating, still fuelled by mortal peril and righteous fury.

“You had no idea what you were doing,” she seethes, pointing an accusatory finger at the Doctor. “You were just chatting away like an idiot, like you always do, thinking you’re so clever, and it nearly got us killed!”

He doesn’t take it well. “I was defusing the situation! It was a negotiation. I knew that-”

“Just shut up! You were negotiating for our lives!” At her side, one hand clenches into a tight fist. You can hear the angry tears making her voice waver as the adrenaline rush begins to fail. “D’you know what, Doctor? You made the wrong call. I never thought I’d say it but Missy was better than you today.”

She turns on her heels and heads deeper into the TARDIS, leaving her scathing words to hang heavily in the air. Shrinking in the face of conflict, you stand stock still, mouth agape, staring at the space she’s just vacated; Nardole makes an apologetic face and hurries after her. For a moment, you consider following, but think better of it. If it were you, you would want to be alone.

Face thunderous, the Doctor moves over to the console, manipulating switches and levers too forcefully until the ship dematerialises with a familiar mechanical screech.

“I think there was a compliment in there, somewhere.” 

Missy stretches out in the chair, apparently unfazed, folding her arms behind her head. You don’t miss the slight flinch as the change in position tugs at her newly-healed wound. He ignores her, working his jaw in silent fury. “Oh, do try and cheer up, Doctor. I’m sorry that your softly-softly approach wasn’t up to scratch today but if you’re waiting for me to apologise for saving-”

“Don’t.” His voice is low and dangerous. “Don’t pretend to care about my friends.” His eyes dart over to you for a moment and you look away, removing your earpiece and inspecting it as if it’s the most interesting thing you’ve ever seen. “You’ve never cared about anyone but yourself. You haven’t changed at all.”

Not waiting for a response, he stalks out of the console room, brushing past you on the way. One hand skims lightly over your shoulder as if to make sure that you’re really there. You allow it. After the day’s events you’re drained, eager for peace and reconciliation that seems far out of reach. Even this gentle touch is almost enough to bring tears to your eyes.

“Well?” Missy fixes you with her gaze and you blush, setting down the earpiece you’ve been fidgeting with. “Aren’t you going to run off, too?”

“I can if you want.” You’re aiming for jovial, but the words come out small and you wince. She raises an expectant eyebrow and doesn’t speak. “Actually, I wanted to say thank you. For saving us.”

“No need. It was all part of my devious plan.” She adjusts a stray lock of hair. Despite the flippancy in her voice it’s clear that his words have wounded her. You frown.

“He’s an idiot. Time Lord or not, I know a man with a bruised ego when I see one.” She chuckles wryly, looking down at the ruins of her blouse. Her hand uselessly attempts to smooth the fabric out. You move closer. Your pulse races when you reach out to touch her; she doesn’t pull away, watching from the corner of her eye as you rest your palm gently on her forearm.

Something changes in her posture. You think of the Doctor, of Bill’s hand crushing yours as you both waited to die, of how every living thing needs to be touched sometimes and your fingers wrap around her slender arm, the slightest pressure, your thumb sweeping back and forth over the thin cotton of her sleeve. She draws a sharp breath and turns to look at you again and you see a thin mist of tears glistening in her bright eyes. For the first time it occurs to you that she must feel as weary as you do.

“Thank you,” you say again, heavy with sincerity. “I’m pretty sure we would have died if you weren’t there. He’ll come around.”

Her face hardens almost imperceptibly and she clears her throat, blinking away the vulnerability with surprising ease. “The Doctor can do what he likes. I didn’t do it for him.”

“You didn’t?” Surprised, your fingers fall still. Her free hand leaves the armrest, coming to cover your own, and she looks up at you with something so akin to hope that your throat tightens.

“No,” she says softly. “I didn’t.”

[writingithink]

Thinking, Or Lack Thereof Pairing: Ten x Rose Word Count: 3,767 For @hey-there-juliet ‘s prompt:  cuteness time spent in a planet's jail because the Doctor did/said something out of jealousy? The Doctor is denying, of course, Time Lords don't get jealous. And Rose is disgruntled that the nice day they had planned was going to be spent in jail....  [tagging @doctorroseprompts (?)]

Summary:  The Doctor ruins what was supposed to be a relaxing day on an alien planet, getting them thrown in jail. Rose is not amused. 

READ IT ON AO3

The metal door slammed behind them, there was a clicking sound as automatic locks engaged, followed by retreating footsteps as the Doctor and Rose were left alone in their cell. He gave the place a quick look - not the worst prison they’d been in, that was for sure. Bed, toilet, sink with a little mirror even. No window, though, and that was unfortunate.

Different escape plans began to race through his head as the Doctor turned to Rose, opening his mouth to begin sorting through their options.

“Shut it,” she said with a huff, crossing her arms and glaring at him.

Oh, she did not look happy. Not at all. The Doctor nervously rubbed a hand through his hair, trying not to wince. While Rose had never slapped him, he had a feeling that she might, and that in all likelihood it would put Jackie Tyler’s slap to shame.

“Just what was going through your head back there, anyway?” she asked. “Explain it to me.”

The Doctor suddenly wished that they had been placed in separate cells.

Earlier that day …

It was supposed to be a relaxing day. They were walking down a busy street on the planet Shemarl. The Doctor had managed to successfully land them during the brief window of time where the weather was safe for humans - the very beginning of their spring, which to Rose felt like summer. They walked hand in hand as he led her toward a shop he hoped would have the part he needed for the TARDIS.

“So, what else is there to do on Shemarl?” Rose asked him, swinging their arms back and forth.

“Well, the province we’re in is famous for two things,” he told her. “The crystal reefs off the coast of the bay near where we parked the TARDIS, and this dish they have. It’s called Mnisztk. Tastes kind of like a mix between strawberries and lavender, with the consistency of melted ice cream if that ice cream also was a bit fizzy.”

“Menis- Mani-”

“MiN-IsZT-K.”

“Mnisztk. Fizzy creamy stuff. Alright,” she nodded, smiling up at him. “We gonna try some?”

“Oh absolutely! We can go once I find the part I’m looking for,” he nodded, grinning back.

It had been such a nice day, really. In hindsight, this is where he figures it had all gone wrong. Well, started to go wrong, at least.

“You’re always ages lookin’ at space junk,” Rose complained. Before he could tell her that it wasn’t ‘space junk’, she continued on. “This is a peaceful planet, yeah? Why don’t I go look at some of the other shops while you hunt around for gadgets.”

“I do not hunt around for gadgets!” the Doctor asserted. “If I happen to find a few extra items while working to maintain my magnificent timeship, which you take for granted I might add, it’s only because I can see their potential uses. In the future, or for emergencies.”

“Or to add to your collection of broken toasters,” she snickered.

“You know what, fine, you can go look around at trinkets and clothes that will never save our lives one day. We can meet back here in … an hour?”

“It is going to take you way more than an hour,” Rose asserted. “Last time we went lookin’ for parts, we were there for like 5 hours!”

“You’re exaggerating. It was only 3 hours, 42 minutes and 56 seconds,” he informed her, nearly rolling his eyes. “But fine, let’s make it two hours. This place isn’t nearly as vast as the warehouse on the moon of Luron.”

“Alright then,” she agreed, letting go of his hand. “See ya in two hours!”

After giving her mobile a quick glance to keep track of the time, Rose gave him a little wave and began to walk toward the nearest boutique. The Doctor watched her go, distracted for a moment by the way the skirt of her sundress hugged her swaying hips and flowed around her thighs. The combination of the teal dress and her blonde hair made Rose stick out brilliantly against the drab buildings and the planet’s red sky. It took him a moment to snap out of it and continue walking to the shop he had in mind, berating himself as he went for his inability to control his own thoughts when it came to Rose Tyler. He was a Time Lord. He wasn’t supposed to think about those sorts of things, but then again he had never really been a model example of his species.

“Right, two hours,” he muttered to himself. The brief time apart would probably be a good thing.

In the end, Rose had been right about his - erm - enthusiasm for alien technology. By the time he’d given any thought to how long he’d been, the Doctor was already nearly five minutes late (4 minutes and 34 seconds, to be precise). After paying for his parts and getting back to their meeting place, he had been keeping her waiting for 13 minutes and 19 seconds - or so he thought. Rose seemed to be nowhere in sight.

Hoping that she hadn’t gone looking for him or went back to the TARDIS already, the Doctor began to slowly walk up the street, back the way he had just come, keeping his eyes peeled. It wasn’t long before he caught a glimpse of pink and yellow and teal. He quickly crossed the street to find Rose talking to one of the natives, a tall male with light grey skin, black hair and violet eyes. They were both smiling, and as he got closer he could hear Rose’s laughter.

“Hello!” he greeted them both, forcing his mouth into a grin. “I’m the Doctor! I see you’ve met Rose.”

“Greetings,” the Shemarlian replied. He had a deep voice and a lyrical accent, and now that he was up close the Doctor realized that Rose’s new ‘friend’ wasn’t wearing a shirt. “I am Riztaek.”

“Weeeell, nice to meet you Riz, I’m sure, but Rose and I had best be going. Lots to do today and all.” He grabbed Rose’s hand, intending to leave immediately. His skin felt all tingly, and not in a pleasant way.

“Wait, Doctor,” Rose complained, digging her heels and refusing to budge. “We were still talking. Riztaek was saying-”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure. Really, though it’s nearly midday,” the Doctor complained. He had stopped tugging on her arm, but was still ready to leave.

“So?” she hissed, “You’re being rude. Again.”

He rolled his eyes before turning back to face the tall, muscular alien that Rose was just so keen on talking to for some reason.

“You were saying?” The grin on the Doctor’s face now felt painful, more like a barring of teeth than an actual smile.

“If you must go, I do not want to keep you,” Riztaek said, politely. For some reason this just made everything feel so much worse. Because now Rose would think less of him, because apparently he couldn’t help being rude and obviously this Shemarlian bloke was just trying to make him look worse at this point.

“Oh, sure,” the Doctor snarked, losing what little self restraint he may have had when it came to his gob, “that’s just great. We can’t leave when I want to go, it’s only by your leave. I’d like to know what was so important. Obviously Rose wants to stay. Shall I give you two a moment?”

“Erm, well … he was sayin’, about the crystal reefs-” Rose began slowly, before he interrupted.

“The crystal reefs?! Really?! That’s all this is about? Riiiiiiight. I suppose he wanted to take you out on a transparent platform at sunset so that you could see the light refracting off the crystals, making the water pulse with colour?” he drawled sarcastically, even though the Doctor had intended to do exactly that.

“Well … yeah.” She ripped her hand out of his grip and placed her hands on her hips.

“That’s hardly a clever line here,” the Doctor felt the need to inform her. “Though it is obvious that you’re an off-worlder so I suppose he-”

“He is right here,” Riztaek piped in, “and you, sir, are bringing great insult to me and my family with your insinuations. It shall not be tolerated.”

It all went downhill from there.

Now ...

“Weeeeell, I suppose it would have been good to know that he and his wife own a premier platform rental company,” the Doctor allowed.

“Oh, right. Well maybe we coulda covered that if you hadn’t been so jealous that you wouldn’t even let him talk!” Rose accused, turning away from him and stomping over to the bed where she sat down and began to glare at the wall.

“Jealous?! I’m a Time Lord! Time Lords don’t get jealous.”

“Yeah, right.”

He wasn’t going to dignify that with a response. Or at least, he didn’t intend to. She was making it very difficult, though, with the way she was no longer talking to him or even looking at him. A full minute didn’t even pass before he gave in.

“I really wasn’t! I was just … concerned that you were going to be taken advantage of by- and really, what kind of respectable businessman goes around shirtless like that? How was I supposed to know?” Even to his own ears the defense was pitiful.

“The kind who works at the beach.” Rose finally turned toward him, eyebrow raised.

“Well, we were hardly near the beach,” he huffed, sitting down next to her. The Doctor took it as a good sign when she didn’t immediately get up and walk to the other side of the room. “Excuse me for assuming he was another one of your pretty boys.” The last part had been mumbled to himself, but unfortunately she still heard him. Of course she did, that was just how this day was determined to go.

“Excuse you? My pretty boys?! What are you on about now?” She stood up and glared down at him.

This was it, he was sure of it. Rose would slap him, likely into his next regeneration. He opened his mouth, but words wouldn’t come out. Nothing he could think of was likely to help.

“Tell me, Doctor, when was the last time I was hangin’ around some bloke?” she asked.

“Erm … ah, well … not including Riz?”

He watched in terrified fascination as Rose’s fists clenched at her sides. Maybe he was wrong about the slapping - maybe she was going to punch him.

“Right, yes, no, of course not Riz because he is married and you were certainly not int- ah ah um, Mickey?” he guessed, and quickly realized that he had guessed wrong and should have not mentioned her ex and childhood friend who they had very recently left in a parallel world. “Wait! No! Of course not Mickey, you said that was over ages ago, so … Adam? Or no, Jack?”

“Adam.”

“Ol’ door in the head. Right. Not Jack, really?”

“We may have had a bit of a flirt, but look who’s talkin’.”

The Doctor was a little offended, but resisted the urge to comment. That was a door best left slammed shut and locked, never to be seen again. Instead he just sighed and laid down fully on the bed. Maybe it would be best if he just went back to figuring out an escape plan. Then they could go back to the TARDIS, onto the next adventure, and never speak of this again.

Except Rose was obviously still mad at him, and he hated it.

Except Rose had just sat down at the head of the tiny cot of a bed, and even upside down he could see that she was upset - anger somehow being traded for sadness.

“I’m sorry,” he told her.

“For what? For being jealous and gettin’ us thrown in here? For ruining a perfectly nice day? Or for insinuating that I travel around with you just tryin’ to pick up blokes?”

“All of it. I’m sorry.”

“So you admit it, then,” she half laughed, “you were jealous.”

He had kind of walked right into that one, hadn’t he? The Doctor let out another sigh and was surprised when he felt Rose’s fingers carding through his hair. He shut his eyes and was determined not to question it. Usually she only did this on the TARDIS, either when they were trying to wind down from a stressful adventure or on the rare nights when he tried to sleep and then had a particularly bad nightmare. He loved it when she did this.

“Doctor?”

“Hmm?”

“You know there’s no reason for you to be jealous like that every time I happen to be talking to a guy,” she said.

“Is that so?”

He wasn’t sure where she was going with this. Well, he could make assumptions, but best not to. Those would only make things worse. It didn’t matter, anyway … whatever he might feel. There was nothing to be done about it.

The Doctor waited for her to continue speaking, but she said nothing. After a few moments, her hands left his hair.

“Why’d you stop?” he found himself asking, even though he hadn’t meant to.

Turns out it didn’t matter, as he got no response anyway.

“Rose?” he sat up and turned to look at her.

She had gotten up and was now leaning against the concrete wall, her arms crossed. He had thought that she was starting to cheer up, but now it seemed she had become unhappy again all of the sudden. It was hard to keep up, honestly.

“What’s wrong?”

For a moment their eyes met, but then she turned hers toward the ceiling and then finally the wall.

“It’s- I don’t- never mind. It’s nothin’.”

“It doesn’t seem like nothing.”

Rose moved her hands to her hips, crossed them again, stamped a foot against the floor and then began pacing the length of their cell. The Doctor decided it was probably in his best interest to draw as little attention to himself as possible. While she was usually incredibly easy to spend time with, Rose did sometimes have a temper. It had never been directed at him quite like this, but there was a first time for everything.

“It’s just, just … I don’t know what you want, okay?” she finally turned to him. “We never talk about it, whatever this is between us. So could you just tell me? Clearly, with words? Because we need to stop tip toeing around it. It’s driving me mad! Because just when I think, ‘okay, we’re definitely just friends’ you go and do something ridiculously sweet, or you get stupidly jealous for no reason. I mean, obviously I’m- I’m not gonna- god, just say something!”

Unfortunately, the Doctor was finding himself quite speechless. Possibly for the first time in his life. Well, at least this life.

“Doctor?”

He had a decision to make.

“Are you gonna say anything?”

This is not what he thought was going to happen today. Not something he ever planned on talking about.

“You know what, fine. Forget I said anything.” Rose turned away, heading toward the other side of the small room.

No more time for thinking. Action. Decision. He was brilliant, after all, so even if he had no idea what was going on in his brain at this exact moment, chances were it had already solved everything for him. He stood up, opening his mouth to say something he was sure would be great, whatever it was. Two long strides and he was caught up with her, arm reaching out and turning her around. Now he was going to say something.

Except he didn’t say anything.

He didn’t say anything, because instead of doing anything remotely reasonable, he leaned down and kissed her.

He kissed her, and it felt as though every single neuron in his brain surged into action all at once. And then abruptly shut off. All in the span of .02 seconds. Once his brain came online again, there was an influx of information bombarding him, all so quickly that even he couldn’t keep up with his own thoughts.

The feel of Rose’s lips. The way she tastes. I’m snogging Rose Tyler. The chemical compositions of the different hormones in her system. What am I bloody doing right now? Rose’s lips are so soft. How she smells. Why haven’t we always done this? She tastes like mint, and really unacceptable raspberry chapstick, and tea, and Rose. Her pulse. The feel of her lips moving against his. This is a horrible idea. Her hormone levels might be arousal related, then again it could just be shock. Her breath against his face. Wait, Rose Tyler is kissing me back- ! -! She smells like lilacs, and 21st century-Earth cosmetics, and coconut bath products, and the Shemarl breeze, and Rose. How was he ever going to make himself stop snogging Rose Tyler? Her heart rate is elevated, but not dangerously so - perhaps just the right kind of elevated. She just made a noise - soft noise, almost a sigh, seems happy or pleased. There is absolutely no reason at all to stop snogging Rose Tyler.

Once he finally finished processing (or stopped paying attention because a decision had been reached) the Doctor gave himself over to the experience. And so it was Rose who ended up pulling away, gasping for breath as she did so.

“I’m sorry,” he told her, not exactly sure what he was apologizing for - many things at once, really. Too many to count, at least right now. His entire being felt oddly fuzzy. He was very disoriented.

“Sorry that you just kissed me?” she asked, worry evident on her face.

“Not at all.” The words left his mouth without any thought put into them. Apparently logic and reason were taking a holiday today. The Doctor wasn’t sure if he cared, just then.

“You sure?”

“I’m never sure of anything.”

That had to have been the wrong thing to say, but Rose just burst out laughing. The Doctor wasn’t sure when his respiratory bypass had engaged, but he suddenly realized that he wasn’t breathing.

“What? What’s so funny about that?”

She just kept laughing.

“Rose?! Why are you laughing? Are you okay?” He placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned down so that they were at eye level as he began a quick visual examination - he was beginning to feel concerned.

“I’m fine,” she giggled, gently pushing him away. “‘S just you finally admitting that you’re just as clueless as the rest of us.” She barely managed to get the last bit out before peals of laughter made it once again impossible for her to talk.

The Doctor rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help the small smile fighting it’s way onto his face. Eventually Rose was able to gain control of herself.

“Sooooo …” He didn’t know where to go from here. She had wanted him to say something, something about what they were to each other, and in all fairness he had meant to say something. But he hadn’t. And the, er, demonstration hadn’t exactly been planned.

“So?”

Obviously Rose wasn’t going to make things easy on him.

“I, well, it’s … complicated.”

“‘S that so?” Her grin was a little too smug for his liking.

“Yes,” the Doctor asserted, straightening and adjusting his jacket, “as a matter of fact, it is. There’s a lot of …”

“Baggage?” she guessed, doing a poor job at not grinning.

“That is not what I was going to say.”

“Overthinking?” Rose continued her guessing game.

“Inter … species … stuff,” he mumbled, regretting trying to do any of this human-y talking rubbish in the first place. Especially when he could have just tried kissing her again. Not that he should kiss her again, but … having snogged Rose Tyler once, it was rather difficult for the thought of it to leave his head.

“Interspecies stuff?” Her brow furrowed. “So this is just more of the whole ‘you’re human and I’m “the last of the Time Lords” and 900 years old’ thing? Really?”

The Doctor tried not to be insulted by the air quotes she had put around ‘last of the Time Lords’, but he was pretty sure his face twitched as she did it. He didn’t know how to respond to that anyway, if she obviously thought it was such a joke. Rose surprised him by stepping closer and putting her hands on his cheeks, looking him in the eye.

“I don’t care about any of that. I care about you. And … don’t you think, if we feel the way we do about each other, it’s better to be happy when you can? In the time we’ve got with each other? Because aren’t the good memories what’s supposed to get you through the bad stuff?”

Rose was so human. So delightfully human.

It was a beautiful sentiment, but one he doubted was true. Even so, he wanted her to be right. Wanted her to justify this for him. So he kissed her again, hoping that maybe this would be enough. Because he didn’t have words for any of this. No easy reference points to tell her what it is he wanted. No way to simplify the differences between Time Lords and humans when it came to anything like what he felt for her.

His time sense didn’t exactly fail him. It was still there, of course. There was nothing wrong with him. It had just … moved completely out of his awareness, in a way the Doctor wasn’t sure he had ever experienced before. So when Rose once again pulled away to breathe, he had no idea how much time had passed.

“So, is that a yes?” she asked him, and it took a moment for him to remember exactly what they had been talking about. His mind once again felt like someone had managed to stuff cotton balls into it.

“It’s … yes. Yes.”

Of course it wasn’t going to actually be that easy. The universe never allowed for things in his life to be easy. But it was a start, and he was going to take it.

Her answering smile lit up her face and made it all worth it.

“I was going to take you,” the Doctor found himself blurting out, unprompted. “To see the crystal reefs. I had wanted to take you. I’m sorry that we ended up here instead.”

“Here ended up not being so bad,” Rose said, her smile widening and her tongue peeking out from between her teeth.

No, he thought, no it hadn’t.

[magdalenadaniels]

THE LOST LAMB CHARACTER STUDY

FULL NAME: Magdalena Ameena Daniels BIRTH-DATE: May 12th, 1993 AGE: Twenty-seven  STAR-SIGN: Taurus GENDER IDENTITY: Cisfemale (she/her) ORIENTATION: Closeted homosexual/homoromantic OCCUPATION: Church Pianist/Organist TRIGGERS: Death, suicide, alcoholism, hints of homophobia, NSFW

The Beginning…

Lights flickered in the bathroom of the Daniels’ household. A storm was swirling outside the concrete walls of the home as the screams of a woman vibrated over the thunder that in itself, demanded to be heard. With a final cry from the new mother came the first of many from the first and only child brought into the world by Adam and Ameena Daniels.

“It’s a girl!” The father chirped, pulling their blessing into his arms.

But something wasn’t right. Whereas Adam’s eyes welled up with tears of joy, Ameena’s eyes glazed over and stared up at the trembling popcorn ceiling. The tub that was filled with warm water was now crimson, tainted with the blood of a beautiful daughter, wife and mother. Turns out that the newborn child wasn’t the only soul to wail into the night as the lights continued to flicker before going out completely.

Seven Years Later…

“I love you mommy.”

A little girl’s voice echoed through the empty cemetery, her small hands resting a bouquet of daisies against a tombstone marked with the name Ameena Daniels. She tugged at the hand of her father to kneel down with her in prayer. He obliged, pulling a cross from beneath his shirt and holding it between cupped hands.

“Father of all, we pray to you for Ameena, and for all those whom we love but see no longer. Grant to them eternal rest. Let light perpetual shine upon them. May his soul and the souls of all the departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.” He prayed, pressing chapped lips to the rosary before the girl next to him began her own prayer.

“In your hands, O’ Lord, we humbly entrust our Ameena. In this life you embraced her with your tender love; deliver her now from every evil and bid her eternal rest. Welcome my mommy into paradise where there will be no pain, but peace and joy with your Son and the Holy Spirit forever and ever. Amen.”

“Amen.” He repeated before putting the rosary back beneath his shirt. “Come now, Magdalena. We mustn’t be late to supper with grandma. We’ll be back next Sunday, okay?”

“Okay, daddy.” She quipped, getting up and taking his hand again to make their way back to the car.

Nine Years Later…

“Shh… You’re going to get us caught!” Magdalena whispered in between kisses shared in a closet during her church’s youth group. Her hands wandered over their bare shoulders as kisses were peppered down her neck and to her chest. Her pale blue button up that was a part of her uniform was undone, halfway hanging off her slender frame.

“No one comes back here, Lena. It’s okay.” The voice replied, but they didn’t whisper. They had no secrets to hide. Their lips returned to Lena’s, young and greedy hands finding their way to places they shouldn’t be.

She felt like she was on cloud nine. She knew the sins she was committing as she slid completely out of her shirt, pulling off her rosary and letting it drop to the ground. She lifted herself up onto a table, it creaking loudly in protest as she hiked up her skirt and wrapped her legs around her lover’s waist. Hands then found themselves in unholy places for two teenagers. In the same breath that she moaned a familiar name, the closet door creaked open and the light cast a yellow glow over the two of them.

“Father!” Lena gasped, quickly scrambling out from underneath the other teenager to grab her shirt in order to protect what modesty she had left.

Adam stood in the doorway, taking in a deep breath before leaning down to pick up the rosary that had been his wife’s. He gave it to her recently on her sixteenth birthday. Magdalena stared at her father in fear, holding a hand out for the jewelry to be returned. In no moment’s hesitation, he shoved it into his own pocket before grabbing his daughter by the arm and pulling her from the closet.

“Get yourself cleaned up and meet me in the car.” His eyes burned holes into her soul. Holes deeper and hotter than any scorched before. As she hurried out of the room, Adam turned back to the other teen now quickly putting what clothes that had come off back onto their body. “As for you, Elizabeth–” He paused to take a deep breath. “I will be having a word with your parents. You will not taint my daughter and I will make sure of that.” He didn’t give the girl a chance to respond before turning away and slamming the closet door behind him.

Three Years Later…

It had been a year and a half since Magdalena decided to leave her hometown and go off to college. It had been something her father disapproved of and was the source of a lot of arguments. As heavy bass thumped through the walls of the college fraternity, she could remember the day the left like it was yesterday.

“If you leave, you are not welcome back here, Magdalena.” Her father stood between her and the front door.

She dropped her suitcase, going up to her father with a sneer painted across her face. “Why would I ever come back here? So I can join the stupid church and be daddy’s little girl– just too perfect to be full of so much sin? To speak words of love just to underline them with hate?” She shook her head as she went to grab her keys. “I hope I never see this town again. I hope I never see the people in it.”

Adam furrowed his brows in frustration. “This is not you!” He boomed, reaching out for her hand as he started to whisper the same prayer she heard every single time she made a mistake. Dear God, let my daughter repent her sins, but with about 100 more meaningless words.

Lena jerked away, picking her things back up. “Shut up! Do you think He hears you? Do you think He cares? A God that does what He does in this world is no God in my eyes. I don’t need your prayers. Now, let me go.” She pushed past him, yanking the door open and walking out.

“You’ll end up going to Hell, Lena! I am only trying to protect you!”

She laughed, making it to her car and tossing her things into the back. “Fuck you!” Were the last words she spoke to her father before leaving and they haven’t spoken since.

Now she sits between some guy and his girlfriend, sharing sloppy kisses and sips of vodka from plastic cups. Her breath could start a fire if you placed a match before it. She giggled as she pulled away pick up her now ringing phone. When she saw it was her father, she declined the call only to pull herself in closer to the girl next to her. It was then that her phone rang again, his face popping up to taunt her, and again, she ignored it. That was until about three more calls later. She got up, excusing herself to the backyard to answer her phone.

“Stop calling me! I told you I don’t want to ta–”

She was cut of by the muffled voice of her uncle. They had found her father in the church bathroom, a self inflicted gunshot wound to the head. He said that he left a note and told her when his funeral would be and before she hung up he said, “Just pray that your father makes it to his rightful destination. He was a good man. Pray he doesn’t end up going to Hell.”

Six Days Later…

The ivory casket lowered into freshly dug dirt. She could smell the Earth as it wafted through her senses. Her teeth clenched as they released the straps used to put her father in the ground. It was as if an iron rod were sliding down her throat, the overwhelming sensation of guilt burning all the way down into the pit of her stomach. She remembered when she was caught in the church closet and how the holes he stared into her were the worst at the time. Funny how she didn’t even know that on a scale that was only a five and this, well, you know how people save their tens. Tears threatened to leave her eyes, but she quickly slid on her over-sized sunglasses to hide the emotion.

“Now, if anyone would like to say a few words.” The pastor ended his prayer with the invitations, eyes looking in her direction. “Lena?”

It took her a moment, but she shook her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.” Her voice cracked as she pushed her way through the small crowd of people. All she wanted to do was get away from the guilt that swam through her mind. It had all come to head and for the frist time, Magdalena truly felt that her father’s suicide had been her own doing. She was callous and cruel. She was disobedient and full of sin. He couldn't live with the thought of his ruined daughter and there was no one to blame but herself. 

Dearest Magdalena,

      I am so sorry to have failed you as a father. I failed in saving your mother, I failed at saving myself and most disappointingly, I failed saving you. Forgive me for this final, damning sin and just know that I will forever and always love you. Don’t pray for me. It is too late. However, it is not too late for you. Please save yourself like I never could. Goodbye my beautiful.

The words were memorized. Of course they were memorized. They could never not be permanently etched into brain and as they repeated themselves over and over again, she found herself at the local Gas ‘N Dash, slipping a couple mini bottles of Stoli into her dress pockets and her bra. She was careful not to let anyone see before grabbing a bottle of water and making her way to the checkout. No one would question a grieving daughter whose father just ended his life in the town church.

She stepped outside after making her purchase and opened her water only to dump it out on the ground. A puddle formed around her feet until the plastic was empty. Then, she quickly got into her car, removing all the stolen bottles of liquor of refilling the bottle. Her car floor was littered with empty bottles and smelled of vodka and bile. It has been like this for so long that she didn’t even notice how bad it had gotten. All she could think about was the burn of the alcohol in her throat as she put the bottle to her lips and took a long drink. 

The Rest… 

It had been a week since Magdalena had been kicked out of school. Her grades had plummeted, she had too many absences and when she did show up to class it was either hungover or still intoxicated. The last straw was bringing a bottle of vodka to class, without switching it over to a water bottle first. She had all her things packed and the only place left to go was to her uncle’s house back in Wheeler, Indiana. He already had everything ready for her to go and somehow managed to convince her to go to AA meeting.

To her disbelief, the meetings worked and she was able to sober up with the support of her uncle. Then, she started going back to church on Wednesday… then, on Sundays and by the time she was twenty-three she was converted back to her religion and born anew.

She spent the next three years trying to become independent. She landed a job with the church, saving up enough money to move out on her own and finally be the adult she was meant to be. Her life was finally on the right track and she was doing a great job at keeping her demons hidden.

That was until Cassie went missing.

She had already felt herself slipping when all the chaos started, but upon hearing the news, something inside her snapped. She found herself going back to that place she was in after her father’s funeral, driving towards the place where it all started. She only went to get some coffee, too afraid to sleep. Then a mini bottle of Stoli caught her attention and the next thing she knew she was dropping the bottle and multiple other small items on the counter, hoping and praying the cashier didn’t notice and, from what she knows, they didn’t realize what she was doing.

[kingdeath000]

The Origin of Skeletor: Chapter 2

Bet y’all thought I was dead, huh? Bet you thought this was a done project, huh?? Well guess fucking what it’s back there’s more and there’s More to Come. Enjoy yourself.

(Link to where you can read it without having to visit my blog bc that’s how some people prefer things)

Eternian citizens in the streets went well out of their way to avoid Keldor as he stalked past them. None of them dared stare for too long, none of them dared to talk about how they had thought they had seen tears on his face until after he was out of sight. He knew they were whispering, he knew what they were saying. It only made him angrier. He felt very naked and alone, for the first time in his life. The guards didn't even bother to try to stop him as he left the city.

 Keldor pushed his way through what felt like acres of trees until his legs finally felt tired. His knees gave out and he knelt under a large pine tree and gave in to his emotions. He covered his face with his robe and wept bitterly. His thoughts came in armies, armed with both curses and remedies. How childish, crying like a baby. How unfit for the future King of Eternia. How dare they treat you of all people like this, they deserve to die!  "Stop!" he cried at his thoughts, "Leave me alone, leave me in peace!"  "Who is... shouting?" a cracked, muffled voice struggled into Keldor's ears and made him reach for the dagger at his side. He quickly wiped his eyes and jumped to his feet, looking around.  "Who was that?" he asked cautiously.  "I should be... asking you." the voice responded, "I doubt you can... see me... anyway." It sounded as if the voice was having a very hard time breathing.  "...I- I am..." Keldor began, then, partly without thinking, he said, "I am the future ruler of Eternia."  "Is... that... so?" the voice wheezed, "Tell me... what is your... trouble?"  "Reveal yourself and I might tell you." Keldor said.  The voice was silent for so long Keldor thought that the owner had gone, but then he heard it, "Is there perhaps... some sort... of reflective surface... a glass or... mirror?"  Keldor searched. He saw it by accident out of the corner of his eye, a soft gleam in the dirt. He walked to it and unburied a small glass orb. It shone blue in the fading light.  "Do you mean this, this glass trinket?" Keldor said, turning it over.  "Yes... yes!" the voice seemed excited, also louder. It was certainly coming from the glass.  Suddenly something clicked in Keldor's mind, it almost made him drop the orb. It was a legend as old as the Grayskull name, a legend of an ancient evil power.  "...I know who you are," Keldor said, raising his head.  "Do... you, now?" the voice breathed.  Keldor began to smile. Something inside of him forced him to fight his fear and keep hold of the glass. It made him uneasy. He raised the glass ball while trying to avoid gazing too far inside, "I do. And I know that I can be very helpful to you. If I wish to be, that is."  The voice paused again, considering it's position, "...Do you... think... you can bargain... with me...?"  "You're trapped in there, aren't you? You've been trapped for hundreds of years."  "...If you... release me," the voice sounded like it was restraining itself, "I can grant you riches... great riches...."  "...No," Keldor's mind raced, "I have a proposal of my own to make."  "You...? Who are... you to be-"  Keldor was getting impatient, "You're not in much of a position to bargain, Hordak."  The voice was silent.  "And as I said," Keldor continued, "I am the future ruler of Eternia. I am Keldor, I am the son of King Miro of Eternia."  "Ahhh...." the disembodied voice of Hordak seemed very interested.  "I am of more use to you than you know," Keldor continued, his thoughts now buzzing, his uneasiness melting away, "And you are of use to me."  "So... what is your... proposal, son of Miro?"  "I will free you from your prison between dimensions," Keldor said, "And in return... you can teach me. You can teach me to be a ruler as powerful as yourself."  "And what's... to stop me from... betraying you...?"  "After you have taught me sufficiently, I may tell you the secrets only known to the royal family of Eternia."  Hordak once again fell silent. Then a sound erupted from the orb, a series of grunts, wheezes, and coughs that Keldor eventually interpreted as laughter.  "You do... you know how... to make... a bargain," the ancient evil said, "I... accept your... terms."  "Good," Keldor's smile widened, "Then I am yours. Now tell me, where can I free you?"  "There... is a witch..." the voice explained, "In the... outskirts of the city.... Follower of mine.... She knows. She will tell... you...." ~~~  The beaten old door parted a short while after Keldor's knock to reveal a tall peasant woman with stark white hair. Her eyes widened as soon as she saw the man in front of her and she quickly bowed to the floor.  "M-my prince..." she stammered. Keldor suspected that she was forcing herself to say it. "What... what may I do for you?"  "Rise," Keldor commanded, a pang of emotion stinging the back of his throat, "...I am here on important business, witch, and I am not your prince."  The woman rose, meeting his gaze with fear. She looked behind him, and upon seeing no palace guards, no witch hunters or families of cursed persons she relaxed a little, but her gaze became like ice.  "Then what do you want?"  Keldor looked around, then hesitantly reached into his robe and pulled out the orb. His hand trembled a little. The witch woman stared at it for a time, confused. Suddenly she gasped and snatched it from Keldor's hand, hurrying into the house. Keldor managed to step inside before the door slammed shut magically, missing his heel by inches. The woman had set the orb down on a cushion and was waving her hands over it. Keldor stood motionless in horror and fascination.  "Oh great and mighty demon," the woman was saying, "Oh ancient power, dark and evil, are you there still?"  "Servant... witch...." the pure evil that emanated from the voice made Keldor want to vomit, "Has the... Son of Miro brought... me?"  The witch looked behind her, eyes widening as she noticed that the former prince was still there, then she replied slowly, "Yes... he has."  "Please... do... as you must.... Free me...."  "My Lord?" the witch turned back to the orb, but it was silent again, "...I must hurry," She scooped up the orb and turned to face Keldor "So what connection do you of all people have to the ancient Hordak?"  "We-" it took a moment for Keldor to gather the words, "We've made a bargain."  The woman's eyebrows raised.  "If it will help you trust me I will tell you a secret, I am no longer the Prince of Eternia."  The witch only became confused, but she said, "...My name is Evilyn, follow me. Don't let anyone see you." She pulled her hood over her head and the door opened to let them both leave. ~~~  "Please... will we reach our destination before I loose my courage?"  "We may be far enough away already. Stand still here."  Keldor stood on the spot where Evelyn had motioned towards. Every nerve in his body was howling for him to turn back, to go to the palace and apologize. His eyes grew misty. But it was too late, he had made a bargain with Hordak, the ancient demon who had been imprisoned in the bleak dimension Despondos so many hundreds of years ago by the Masters of Grayskull. And it was about to be freed.  Evelyn had placed the orb on the ground in the center of the clearing. She stepped back from it, and raised her hands to the sky.  "I summon the powers of darkness, I summon the powers of evil, free my master from the dark Despondos, let his power in this world forever dwell!"  Dark purple mist began to form above the glass ball, but it slowly faded away. Evelyn took a deep breath and repeated her chant. The mist returned, but once again disappeared just as quickly.  "You!" she snapped back to Keldor, who nearly jumped out of his skin. Her voice was as sharp as needles, "I need more power! Come help me!"  "I-" Keldor was stunned, "I have no, no powers!"  "The mighty Hordak will give you power, come help me!"  Keldor obeyed, raising his own shaky hands to copy Evelyn's movements. His throat threatened to close up and prevent him from speaking completely.  Evelyn opened her mouth to begin and Keldor followed her.  "I summon the powers of darkness...."  Keldor gasped as he felt it, the Evil, it was like fire under his skin, but it didn't burn.  "...I summon the powers of evil...."  He almost missed the second line. He could feel the power as it left his lips in the chant, it tasted like smoke and copper, he licked the inside of his mouth to savor it.  "...Free our master from the dark Despondos...."  Keldor could feel his whole body trembling. Pleasure seemed to assault him from all sides, the power flowing into his veins and out through his hands and his mouth stung and burned but it also held him and caressed him and it felt like his skin was going to explode.  "...Let his power in this world forever dwell!"  A sudden harsh blast of smoke sent Keldor and Evelyn flying backwards through the bushes. Keldor landed on his side and skidded to a stop. He looked up just as the purple mist and dust parted to reveal the orb, just as it was smashed under a huge metal boot.

[thetimelesscycle]

The Hobbit Fanfic: The Heart of Erebor - Chapter 58

Summary: ‘He could stand the wild light in his uncle’s gaze. He withstood the crazed glint that entered the ravenous stares of his companions. He endured seeing the dragon’s greed take them all. But when that madness seeped also into the eyes of his own beloved brother, he knew something had to be done. He just wasn’t expecting it to be this.’-The gold sickness of Erebor claims one more, and the path of destiny is irrevocably changed.

Inspired by the following quote from ‘The Hobbit’: “So grim had Thorin become, that even if they had wished, the others would not have dared to find fault with him; but indeed most of them seemed to share his mind-except perhaps old fat Bombur and Fili and Kili.”

*Cover Art Courtesy of Toastytoastie

 /THE HEART OF EREBOR\

ACT VI

-The King Beneath the Mountain-

Chapter 58

The Trial of the King

Thorin stood at the head of the long table, one hand resting on the back of the chair he had yet to claim as his own, his eyes fixed on the doors that granted entrance to the Royal Council Chamber. Truthfully, it should have been Dain standing in his place; the Lord of the Iron Hills was also the Lord of Erebor for the time being, and this room was his to preside over. But Dain had been firm about the manner in which this situation was to be handled, and Thorin had not thought it worth the time to argue. There would be more than enough fuel to feed the fires without lighting his own pyre.

A part of him still wondered at the wisdom of accepting the charge so many seemed determined to foist upon him. Whilst it was true a crowned King in Erebor would encourage the renewing of old alliances, there was also a chance his very presence would sow just as much division as unity. This would not be a smooth succession, no matter which way the sword stroke fell, and he grieved for the toll that might yet take on his closest kin. His quest to reclaim the mountain had already cost them dearly, what right did he now have to demand more?

But that was his own doubts and fears speaking, not necessarily the true state of affairs. If this past year had taught him anything it was that what he often thought he could not possibly ask would be freely given without the need to ask at all. It had happened often enough now he should have learned to expect it, yet still it surprised him, a gift he would never take for granted. Never again. His hand tightened minutely around the chairback at that bitter reminder. Thankfully, before his thoughts could spiral further, the doors at the other end of the room swung open, and the gathering Dain had called on his behalf – if not entirely with his consent – began to assemble.

Those he had brought with him from Ered Luin entered first. Tyrth and Lofi, Balin and Dwalin, with Fíli a step behind and Kíli walking at his mother’s elbow, ready to offer support should it be needed. They arrayed themselves down the table at his right hand, Dís immediately beside him, then his nephews and the rest of his humble court in no set order. These were his closest advisors, his dearest friends, and his family. By rights the rest of the Company should have been present as well, but there would be time to honour them as they deserved later. For now, he was bound to abide by traditions that were nearly as old as the Line of Durin itself.

Dain came next, Svala in lockstep at his side, and, in recognition of the fact it was his domain Thorin sought to rule, the Lord of the Iron Hills claimed the place opposite Thorin’s own. With Áfast and Valin both departed, Dain’s Council was formed of only two, Drúin and Thelór, neither of whom Thorin knew well. Young Rin had not yet been granted leave to join his father’s advisors, and would not for some years yet if the rumours Thorin had heard of his ready temper were true.

That trait came more from his mother’s family than Dain’s, though Svala herself did not bear the typical Firebeard temperament. Rin’s uncle was another matter, Thorin was promptly reminded, as Steinn Stormsword pounded into the room on Dain’s heels. The Lord of the Firebeards was not as tall as either of his fellows, but his shoulders were broad, his steps heavy, and his stance proud as he moved to take his rightful place at the table, perpendicular to Dain and Thorin both.

It was a position the Firebeard clan had long held, beneath Steinn’s guidance and that of his forebears. They skillfully straddled the line between paying their due respect to the Line of Durin and staking their own claim, avoiding the friction that could easily have formed between the two ruling families when Gror, the founder of Dain’s house, had chosen to make a home for his followers in the Iron Hills long after the majority of the Firebeards had settled there.

Animosity had never found fertile ground in that alliance, however, as proven by the union between Svala and Dain, and Thorin chose to take comfort in that fact now. If Steinn opposed his ascension, it would not be out of any desire to seize that power for himself. That was the very reason Dain had requested his brother-by-wed be present. If there was any one of the Seven who might be safer to approach than the others, Steinn was certainly that one, second only to Dain himself.

When all those who had been summoned were inside, the doors to the Council Chamber were pulled shut with a heavy ‘thud’. Balin rose, acting under his authority as Thorin’s chief advisor to bring the gathering to order, though it was hardly needed. Nevertheless, Thorin let his oldest friend speak the formal words, welcoming the brief respite they offered before all eyes inevitably turned to him.

He had endured such scrutiny many a time in the past, both in Ered Luin and before the entirety of the assembled Seven, yet never had he felt so bare. So entirely unprepared for the reaction his words might invoke.

No, that was not entirely true. The same dread that filled him now had burdened him also when he confessed his failures to his council in Ered Luin. He had been so certain they would turn on him then, a belief they had collectively proven void in short order. Would the same happen here, or should he be bracing himself for a long battle?

There was, he knew, only one way to be certain.

“There are no easy words to explain the circumstances that have brought us here today,” he began where Balin had left off. “No tradition or past event we may look to to guide us. The battles we have fought in recent months have not been easy, or straightforward, and they remain a part of a larger war that began when Smaug claimed Erebor as his own. That war has ended now, and so this assembly does not gather only to plan the coronation of a king, but to begin to address the harm that all conflicts must inevitably cause.”

“Conflicts?” Steinn spoke before the silence could fully settle. “You dance around the truth with skill befitting of the elves, Thorin. If we are to speak of harm done, let us at least be honest about it.”

Several of those on Thorin’s side of the table bristled, Dís among them, whilst Dain’s court remained steadily impassive. For his part, Thorin was actually relieved that Steinn had chosen to challenge him so openly. Too many had held their tongues in the past; it was a comfort to know not all would do so now.

“You ask for honesty, Steinn?” he spoke softly before anyone else could. “A confession, perhaps?”

Steinn met his stare with a challenging look of his own. “Are you denying your guilt?”

Dís, a spark of her usual temper shining through, slammed a hand down on the table in objection. “This is not a trial!”

“Well, it should be.” Steinn did not back down. If anything, Dís’ outrage only spurned his determination. His gaze did not waver from Thorin for more than a moment. “You are asking us to raise you to a position of power where your mistakes will decide the fates of many. It does not matter if the throne is your blood-right, or how many of your kinsmen are ready to stand behind you in this. If you cannot assure me that handing you the crown will not result in the same bloodshed that stained Thror’s rule then I have no intention of calling you my king.”

It was strange, in a way, to hear his own nightmares cast back in his face, and yet he still found himself more reassured than offended by Steinn’s words. Like Dain, the Lord of the Firebeards put his people before all else, including the opinion of one directly descended from Durin the Deathless, and that was a trait Thorin could easily respect.

“If you are asking me for certainty,” he replied slowly, wishing to convey his sincere regard for Steinn’s concerns. “Then I fear I cannot oblige. I cannot speak for the actions I may take in a year’s time, or in ten. All I have to offer you are my intentions in this moment.”

Steinn regarded him in tense silence for a moment, his fingers drumming an erratic beat upon the table’s surface, and it occurred to Thorin that there was more at play here than simply doubt of his ability to cast off the shadow of Thror. Steinn had sat at this table once before, after all, when the debate had surrounded Kíli and Dain and who held the greater right to the succession. The question of his nephew’s soundness of mind had been raised at that meeting as well, but by Valin, not Steinn. Whilst Steinn had more reason to doubt Thorin than he’d ever had to doubt Kíli, it was somewhat telling that he had kept his peace then.

A true Firebeard did not hold his tongue when it mattered.

So why was he asking for reassurances now, when he must know full well anything Thorin could say would mean nothing? All the promises in the world would not stop him from succumbing again if that was to be his fate, and Steinn had to know that. What was he really seeking?

Questioningly, he let his gaze drift to Dain, who would better know his fellow lord’s mind. Dain did not hesitate to respond, as steady and bold as he had always been.

“We are bound by our oaths, Thorin,” he stated plainly. “But what words could ever be strong enough to bind a King?”

What words indeed? None. There were none he could speak that would tie him so strongly to his duties that the gold sickness would never find him again. He knew it well, and so did they, no matter what Dain might have claimed to the contrary. His cousin swore he did not want the throne, but it was equally clear he did not mean to make Thorin’s ascension an easy one either.

“What do you ask of me?" he said at last, certain that they had come with an intent forefront in their minds. “You have said already that any words I can offer you would be empty, and my actions thus far speak for themselves. The right to Erebor’s throne is mine, you cannot dispute that, but it is clear a seat of power alone will not win your loyalty.”

Dain’s eyes drifted, of all places, to Kíli, and Thorin was suddenly gripped by the notion this had been planned. Perhaps not Steinn’s part in it, not even Dain could claim to have the power to predict a Firebeard, but as to the rest? His suspicions were only confirmed when Lofi cleared his throat, waiting for Thorin’s nod of assent before rising to his feet.

“It seems to me,” the elderly scribe began thoughtfully. “That we are all of us too caught up in the tragedies of the past, so much so that we have neglected to learn anything from the mistakes that led to those tragedies in the first place. It is not fair to treat Thorin as if he were Thror. The pain Erebor’s last King caused was as much his burden to bear as any other. Were it not for Thorin, the cost of Thror’s madness would have been much steeper. War may have come to Erebor’s doorstep in the wake of Smaug’s death, but that, too, was not of Thorin’s doing. We may never know if it would truly have come to blows had other forces not intervened, because the facts of what happened are these; Foes came to Erebor unforeseen, and were repelled only because armies were already gathered on the field of battle to meet them. Call that what you will - luck, fate, the unseen hand of a wizard – it is the indisputable truth, just as it is true that Thorin stood with his kinsmen in those dark hours, and did not abandon them even when all hope seemed lost.”

Lofi paused for breath, but did not withdraw, his piercing gaze flitting to each member of the table, daring them to interrupt before he continued. “That he did so then does not erase the mistakes that preceded the joining of battle, but these events must also be put into perspective. It was King Thranduil of Mirkwood and Bard of Laketown who brought an army to the gates, ready to claim the mountain’s wealth, from beneath the Company’s scorched corpses if need be. They were surprised to find the living, but that did not sway them from their purpose. When they could have demanded shelter from the encroaching winter within a warm and sheltered keep did they? No, instead they chose to ask for gold that could neither sate their hunger nor warm their chilled bones. A ludicrous request, truly, when they stood stranded and homeless, too far from any land that might trade what they needed for the wealth they desired. Thorin reacted as any King would when besieged; he refused them and sent for aid. A request, let us remember, that Dain willingly answered.”

“That may all be true.” There was something in Steinn’s voice that betrayed what was coming. Or perhaps Thorin was simply too acutely aware of the deed Lofi had so carefully skipped over. “Yet, as you hasten to excuse his lesser misdeeds you make no mention of the greatest atrocity he committed. How can any of us trust a King who would turn his blade upon his own kin in a fit of rage?”

Not even Lofi, it seemed, had an answer for that. The scribe pursed his lips in pensive silence, but he did not speak, lowering his gaze to the table between them as if it might hold a fit answer for such a question. Dís, too, was stricken to silence, though she was all but trembling with rage. Neither Dain nor Svala would speak on this matter, it was not for them to refute, for they had not been present when those terrible events unfolded. Thorin nearly looked to the rest of his council, to Balin, whose words had smoothed over many an anxious moment in the past, but he couldn’t. Not for this. Steinn’s accusation was truth, and he had nothing with which to defend himself.

“Treachery is punishable by death.” He wasn’t expecting Kíli to speak, and spun to stare at his youngest sister-son in unveiled surprise. Clearly discomfited by the sudden, united scrutiny, the archer nonetheless continued, “And I admitted to it.”

“You cannot…” Steinn started, outraged, then stopped himself as if his own words were betraying his intent.

“Kíli is right.” It was the first time Fíli had made his presence felt in any official capacity since their return to Erebor, and Thorin was not surprised it was in defense of his brother, even as his mind still grappled with the words Kíli had uttered a moment before. “Taking the Arkenstone from Erebor and handing it over to our enemies was treason. It is the King’s Jewel; none but the King may bestow it on another.”

“Surely you are not defending Thorin’s actions in this matter?” Steinn said, his face a picture of horror, any residual anger buried beneath disbelief.

“No, I am not.” Fíli shook his head, quiet steel in his gaze and voice. “But the laws of our clan do. Thror named the Arkenstone the King’s Jewel, a divine symbol of his right to rule. Giving it over to King Thranduil, our enemy, was not just treachery, but nearly sacrilege as well.”

“For such a crime,” Lofi interjected. “Banishment could easily be considered a light sentence.”

Thorin was not the only one stricken speechless by that soft pronouncement. The sudden hush was absolute, hanging over the entire gathering in a pall of shock and dismay. Because Fíli was right. Whilst every part of Thorin screamed its dismay at what he had done, by the laws of Durin’s Folk the crime committed on Erebor’s walls that day had not been his.

“That is…” Steinn was the first to recover, struggling to find the words to express his thoughts. “That is… Just because something is right in the eyes of the law does not mean it is vindicable!”

“No,” Lofi agreed with all the smug satisfaction of someone whose point has been made with very little effort on his part. “It does not. And, yet, if we were to blindly follow the edicts of Kings long passed that is exactly what we would be asked to believe. Fortunately, we know better, and so it is incumbent upon us to act in a manner befitting of the present, not the past. Thorin is not Thror. The blade may have been raised, but it did not fall. Prince Kíli sits amongst us today. Erebor is ours. You must make your own decision, Steinn Stormsword, as to who you are willing to trust. No argument made by any of us here today can make that choice for you.”

“But the choice has already been made, has it not?” And there, beneath the accusations and the doubt and the bridled fury, was the true reason for Steinn’s steadfast opposition. “You hold the Arkenstone,” he said, speaking directly to Thorin. “The oath has already been made. I will not have it said that the Firebeards do not stand by their word. We are not elves to so readily abandon our promises.”

Thorin hesitated, uncertain how to respond to what was both a declaration of loyalty and a heavily resentful reminder that it had not been willingly given. His thoughts were still spinning from the sickening realisation that his act of violence against his own nephew was defensible on any grounds, and thus he might have been excused for not at first realising what it was Kíli removed from the folds of his coat to lay upon the table.

“The Arkenstone is not in Thorin’s keeping,” he uttered softly, tugging back the coverings of the glittering gemstone to let its radiance shine forth. “It is in mine.” As always, the sight of the jewel’s shimmering surface transfixed all those present, so that they did not realise until too late that it was the Arkenstone’s bearer to whom they should have been paying the most heed. “And I revoke every oath sworn upon its name.”

 ~The Heart of Erebor~

 If Kíli had not already been terrified out of his wits by the very idea of speaking before so many assembled lords and councillors, then the absolute silence his words sowed in their wake would surely have brought him to that point. Lofi had insisted this was the best way, and Dain had agreed when the scribe had dragged him into their plans, but he still wished now that they had forewarned more than just Fíli of what was going to unfold.

His hands were trembling as he drew them away from the Arkenstone’s coverings, even as he managed to make his voice sound steady. As if he knew what Thorin’s reaction would be. As if he didn’t fear that in trying to prove Thorin worthy of Erebor’s throne he would unwittingly unleash that which had nearly destroyed them all once before. Sitting beside him, Fíli reached over to touch his arm in silent reassurance, and Kíli reminded himself to breathe.

“You are a Prince of the Blood, Prince Kíli.” Surprisingly, it was Thelór, the younger of Dain’s two councillors, who recovered first. “But that does not grant you the right to unbind the oaths of old. That belongs solely to the King.”

As if drawn by an irrepressible force, all heads inevitably turned in Thorin’s direction, including Kíli’s own. His uncle was still standing alongside the seat he had never taken, shock lingering yet on his features, though he seemed to recover himself even as Kíli tentatively dared to meet his gaze.

“No,” he said, the word little more than a whisper, and then he shook his head and spoke more firmly. “No, I willingly gave the Arkenstone into Kíli’s keeping. He is its rightful bearer until such a time as I find another worthy of that honour.”

“But the oaths, Thorin,” Balin protested in consternation. “They are sworn to the King, not–”

“They were sworn,” Thorin said slowly, deliberately, “to Thror.”

And just like that, the terror abated. It was gone so swiftly Kíli had to consciously hold himself upright, his limbs gripped by a sudden weakness that shuddered through him and made Fíli’s grasp on his arm tighten. Not that he truly noticed, overwhelmed by the simple fact that Thorin had understood. In that moment when their eyes met across the table, his uncle had realised what it was he was trying to do, and he had approved. It was there to see in the barely-there smile Thorin offered him, along with a brief nod, before the King Beneath the Mountain directed his attention back to the rest of those present.

“I will not shy away from the shadow my grandfather cast upon his line, Steinn, nor will I deny that I played my part in giving others leave to doubt. The oaths of the Seven were sworn to Thror, and, whilst little harm came to those who kept their distance, he betrayed every one of those oaths in due course. The old trust has been broken, I accept this, and I do not ask for more than you are willing to give. Those who followed me this far were offered the chance to stay or go as they chose, and I will grant you nothing less than the same.”

Steinn absorbed Thorin’s words slowly, his eyes darting between the speaker, the Arkenstone, and Kíli with something like dazed curiosity. “You would forfeit your birthright so easily? On your nephew’s say-so?”

“He is my nephew,” Thorin said, and there was no mistaking the fondness in his words. “First and foremost. But he is also an heir to the throne, a Prince of Durin’s Line, and a member of my council.” Turning back to Steinn, he offered the royal approximate of a shrug. “His advice is worth far more to me than the jewel he carries.”

 ~The Heart of Erebor~

 “I’m starting to think it’s a bad idea to leave you to your own devices.” Smiling, to soften any sting the words might otherwise have held, Fíli joined his brother on the fringes of the dispersing Council. Conversations were still taking place between the individual members, but the gathering was, for all intents and purposes, over and done with for the day. For the day. They would meet again on the morrow, once everyone had had a chance to clear their heads and ponder all that had been discussed, so he wasn’t about to waste a free moment now. “I’m glad I was forewarned. Most of the others in there looked like they’d been struck by lightning.”

“It was mostly Lofi’s idea.” Kíli still looked more shaken than amused. The Arkenstone was safely tucked back into its hiding place now, but the weight of its presence had yet to dissipate. “I thought I was going to choke on my words.”

“But you didn’t.” Reaching out, he gave Kíli’s shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “As Balin would say, you ‘acquitted yourself admirably’.”

“Now you’re just teasing me,” Kíli huffed, something like relief in his voice even as he scowled. “Just remember, you’ll be making all the speeches at the coronation.”

“I won’t need to,” Fíli said cheerfully. “There’ll be plenty of others on hand to do just that. You and I, we’ll be there to look the part of the gallant princes, nothing more.”

“That would be a gross misuse of you both.” Dís approached them with steps that were somehow steadier than those she had taken walking into the room, sliding an arm about each of her sons, a devilish glint in her eyes. “Hellions. Your uncle does not even wear the crown yet and already you plot behind his back.”

“For his own good, ma,” Fíli protested mildly, a grin tugging at the edges of his lips. “Just as you taught us.”

“I taught you no such thing. Durin only knows where you picked up such a habit.”

Fíli let the grin form then, feeling, for the first time since they had reclaimed Erebor, decidedly… hopeful. It was strange. Nothing had really changed. It was still going to be an uphill battle, even with Steinn’s word that he would at least consider a new alliance, though not before Thorin had been crowned as Erebor’s King and ruled for long enough to prove that his admirable intentions would not evaporate the moment he had the position he wanted. How long that might take the Firebeard lord had not stipulated, but Dain had seemed to think even that grudging allowance was a good sign, and had already pledged his own support. That was only two of the six houses, and one of those two was tentative at best, yet that did not diminish his sudden optimism about the whole thing.

Perhaps he was only feeling this buoyant because of Kíli’s unexpected interference. His brother had never been one for tradition, and others tended to doubt his abilities when it came to fulfilling their princely duties, but Fíli never had. For all his dark moods and his penchant for recklessness, his younger brother had always pulled through whenever Fíli had needed him, whether that need was a distraction, a presence too stubborn to believe he was as calm as he pretended, or a bow and arrow to his sword and shield. Kíli might struggle with the proper decorum of a royal, and let his heart rule his head more than was wise, but Fíli would never doubt that that quick and agile mind would find a way when every last shred of common sense said there was no way to find.

The very fact he and Thorin were standing in Erebor now, alive and well, was proof of that, if any was needed. Fíli did not think it was. Not anymore. Whether Kíli realised it or not, he had just proven himself worthy of the badge Thorin had pinned to his collar all those months ago in Rivendell, and Fíli could not have been more proud.

“There you are.” Having at last freed himself from the mass of councillors, Thorin joined the rest of his family on the outskirts of the room, tension bleeding out of his shoulders even as he did so. His gaze met Dís’ only briefly in silent conversation, and then he turned his full attention onto his nephews. “You handled yourselves well in there.”

“You are not upset?” Kíli asked nervously, though the very fact he was willing to ask was proof he was fairly certain Thorin had not been angered by his actions. “I would have told you, but–”

“Lofi has explained his reasons and yours.” Thorin held up a hand to still the flow of words. “And, even if he had not, I can well understand why my not knowing would be important. Steinn was testing my answers, but I think you devised a better trial than he ever could have. I am grateful, Kíli. Grateful that you had faith enough in me to take that risk. After what transpired here, what others know transpired, such a show of trust from you is…” He trailed off, shaking his head, and without words to give voice to his thoughts he simply reached out to squeeze his youngest nephew’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

Kíli merely nodded, a slightly unsteady smile the only response he was ready to offer, and Fíli decided it was his turn to speak.

“I suppose this means the Arkenstone won’t be part of the coronation after all. Balin will be disappointed. He already had plans for repairing the throne so it could be returned to its rightful place.”

“Actually,” Kíli looked anxious again, though it was to Dís, not Thorin that his gaze darted this time. “I had a thought about that…”

[soartfullydone]

A Deal of Knives and Ash

I posted this first chapter of my self-insert ACOTAR AU about a year ago and just wanted to update it with new canon names, characters, and the like. But if you’re reading this expecting Book 2 and 3 stuff, don’t. I’m ignoring all of that and writing about actual Fae stuff now. Book 1 characterizations or bust.

Melody could say, with utmost certainty, that she despised the Children of the Blessed. She wouldn't even be in her current position if it weren't for them, wouldn't even be in Prythian of all places. If she hadn't needed somewhere to go, if the timing had been just a little different, if they hadn't caught her so lost and desperate.

If she hadn't been so desperate to begin with. Children of the Blessed. Melody scoffed. Children of the Cow-eyed Fools was more like it. 

She wished she could say the same of her faerie masters, but after spending close to a year in their company, Melody found they were neither cow-eyed nor foolish. Instead of being the merciful, benevolent gods their idolaters promised, they were cruel, capricious, and unforgiving. They were also unfailingly arrogant, and as much as their behavior irritated her, it also worked to her advantage. Still, she despised the Fae with equal fervor behind her mask of cool indifference. All save one. "Quick! Don't fall behind now!" a faerie with skin of gnarled wood and tendrils of tiny leaves for hair half-hissed, half-barked at her. "I thought we were trying for discretion. I'm right here, Lyra. No need to shout." "You picture me for a fool? I know how you like to wander." Lyra grabbed her gently by the wrist, not letting Melody leave her side. "Cauldron boil me! The drums have already started." "You sure no one will mess with the horses?" Melody glanced back to where they were left tethered, barely discernible in the darkness. "I'm not worried about the horses. They can take care of themselves." "Implying that I can't?" Melody’s lips quirked to the side wryly. "I was asking more for escape plans than anything." Lyra laughed under her breath. "Of course. I should have known." They ascended a sloping hill, crouching low to peer over its crest at their surroundings. Bonfires were scattered across the dark green landscape like stars and gathered around them were faeries—so many faeries—both High Fae and otherwise. Melody's eyes strained as she took them all in, her senses assaulted as she saw through glamour after glamour. A pounding started in her head, matching the beat of the drums in the distance. "We can always go back." Lyra's voice was kind and deliberate. "I shouldn't have brought a human here, and on Calanmai of all days. It was a mistake." Melody smoothed her scowl of pain into a steady, impassive mask. "I'm fine. Besides, we had to come, and I didn't ride for five days, earning myself a sore ass, for nothing."

"Just don't get discovered, or else you'll be wishing a sore ass was the worst of your problems." Lyra's eyes trailed guiltily to Melody's back, where they both knew a wicked scar rested along a shoulder blade. Melody pretended not to notice. With a huff, Lyra straightened her spine, businesslike. She leveled a cool stare at her mortal friend. "Let's run through it once more." Melody nodded. "You gather information on the Spring Court for the little lordlings while I find our favorite plant." "And remember: pull the root. It's useless otherwise." “It’ll be a full-grown tree here, though, right? Not the measly shrub we have.” Melody grinned. "Are you sure you're not just saying that because you love to eat the roots?" "Because everyone knows that all faeries have a steady diet of roots, twigs, and berries. Don't sass me, mortal." Lyra swatted her playfully before making eye contact and holding it. "Listen to me. I used the last of the blossoms to mask your scent, but your body's grown used to it. It's weaker now. Up close, anyone will be able to faintly smell your humanness, enough to make them look at you twice. Don't let that happen. Do not make eye contact or speak to anyone. Keep moving. The night's festivities should distract them." "Should?" Melody whispered back, finally feeling trepidation coil like a viper in her stomach. "Is the Spring Court's Fire Night like Autumn's?" "It used to be worse, but the new High Lord is very different from his father. The crowd, however, is still relatively untamed. And there are many beings here who shouldn't be." The pair watched the crowd shift, more and more Fae gravitating towards a cave entrance in the distance, away from the estate. The drums pounded louder, more urgently. Melody felt the pull, but steeled herself. Resisted. It was only magic, nothing she hadn't encountered before at the Autumn Court. Slowly, the crowd before them began to thin out. It was as safe to descend as it would ever be. Lyra spoke as Melody threw her cloak's hood over her hair, shielding her features. "Go back to the horses when you're done. If I finish first, I'll wait for you there." "So long as the High Lord of the Spring Court doesn't select you as his Maiden." Melody's voice slid out teasingly. Lyra elbowed her in retaliation. "You're so funny. Have I told you how funny you are? Next time my Lord Beron requires a court jester for entertainment, I'll send you his way." "Oh, but I'd hate to take that position away from his sons." Melody sobered as she looked over at her faerie guide. "Be careful down there, Lyrie." Lyra smiled fondly at the nickname. "You, too, dear one. May the Blessed Mother grant us good fortune tonight." Together, they rose and walked down the hill, the faerie heading toward the crowd congregating at the mouth of the cave, and the human toward the gardens of the Spring Court estate. The latter did not get far.

It was worse up close. The drums seemed to pound into her very soul, calling to her, determining even how her heartbeat pulsed. For every step Melody took towards the Spring Court estate, she seemed to take two steps back toward the cave and the faeries waiting there.

Cheap faerie tricks, she groused, once again shaking herself from whatever hypnosis the drums and the magic in the air stirred within her. She’d handled worse. Even with the headache, she would still keep it handled. She had a mission to complete. They couldn’t return to the Autumn Court without at least the flowers from the plant. Melody could’ve laughed to herself at the irony, for it was the Flowering Ash that kept her identity as a human secret from even the sharp-eyed nobility of the Autumn Court. No wonder the Fae had burned all the human’s ash trees across the border; too much of it could be used against them.

But while the Autumn Court’s Flowering Ash tree was small, wilted, and thoroughly harvested, it was said that the Spring Court harbored their own deep in the gardens, behind a stone wall, and that tree was large and thriving still.

Melody pulled herself from her musings, only to find in her distraction that she’d wandered—not toward the gardens—but toward the cave entrance yet again. Cursing, she spun on her heel, ignoring her muggy thoughts and the hostile eyes she felt on her when a voice like liquid velvet spoke in her ear.

“Oh, my. Imagine a mortal all the way out here on Calanmai. Are you trying to be part of the buffet?”

And despite Lyra telling her otherwise, Melody turned to look at who spoke, at who had seen through her deception, felt compelled to do so. Behind her, standing far too close, was a Fae who was so beautiful it hurt to look at him. Seeing through his glamour, Melody was mentally slammed with the sight of his true form, of the pale skin that shown as bright as moonlight, of the eyes that glowed like blue-violet stars, of the tendrils of darkness that seemed as much a living part of him as his growing grin.

To give herself some peace, she willed herself to be taken in by his glamour, but the moment she did, she felt adrift. The magic around her was too much, too alluring. She had a beautiful stranger before her, and she didn’t want to leave.

No. No, that wasn’t right. She needed to leave. Now.

“Not hardly,” she answered him, despite everything telling her to run and run fast. She edged around him, aware of how they both followed the other’s movements. “Besides, I’m certain I’m not to anyone’s…taste.”

Take the hint. Walk away from the evasive, flighty girl.

The stranger took a step forward, and Melody swore it was a prowl, made worse when he smiled at her. “And a presumptuous one, too. There are all sorts here, you know.”

An alarm went off in Melody’s head about what he said, but before she could deduce why, she felt herself trip on something. The stranger readily caught her by the arm.

“Ah, mind that root—there we are. Since I already have your arm, I might as well escort you around, don’t you think?” It was less a question and more a seduction.

Though upright, Melody still felt unbalanced. That root had not been there. He hadn’t even been close enough to grab her, and then suddenly he was.

Normally, she would pull away from him immediately, except she noticed one very important thing. While she remained in this Fae’s sphere of influence, the other faeries who watched her with their keen eyes, gleaming smiles, and gnarled features gave them both a wide berth.

“Oh, yes, I suppose you might as well,” she replied flippantly. Feeling uncharacteristically combative, she muttered under her breath, full well knowing he could hear, “Though I doubt you’re concerned with what I think.”

His condescending smile was answer enough. Melody took in the shadows around him, how even with the glamour he still simultaneously blended into the night and bent it to his will. “So what sort are you?”

“What sort, she asks?” He laughed, and it wasn’t kind. The sound sent a rush of heat through her the same time it chilled her heart. “Do you want me to sit you down and tell you the Cauldron story, or shall you figure it out like a clever little girl?”

She might have tried to trip him while they walked. What was wrong with her? She never attempted this kind of behavior with the Fae of the Autumn Court. Never.

“I think you’re the ‘answers questions with a question’ sort.” She narrowed her eyes at him, saying with finality, “Night Court.” It was obvious by his state of dress alone, but as for the kind of Fae he was…

Because she wanted to wipe that smirk from his face, she said, “Perhaps you’re an elf, it would certainly explain your rudeness. Or a Banshee with how your voice is grating on my nerves. Or maybe you’re some manner of wisp or spirit designed to lead me astray. Or perhaps…”

An idea flashed in her mind. Could he be High Fae? If he were, he would have killed her by now. She dismissed the idea immediately, because humoring the alternative caused her need to flee to be almost unbearable. Because if he was, and he hadn’t killed her for her disrespect, then that would mean that he was planning worse…

“Or perhaps you’re nothing so impressive at all.” Melody wished she felt as confident as she sounded.

“Or perhaps,” he leaned down to whisper in her ear, “I’m something much, much better.” He pulled back from her, and the smirk returned, his eyes flashing with something mischievous and cruel. “In any case, you better hope so. Otherwise, these revelers might be tempted to get a bit too greedy with you.”

Aren’t you being a bit too greedy with me?

Aloud, she said, “They certainly seem to think you’re something. They’re staring but not coming any closer.” The stranger, for all his threats, walked with her with his lean frame between her and the other faeries. He wasn’t drawing her farther into the revelry, but neither was he leading her completely out of it.

“Where are we going?” she finally asked, trying to mask her features back to indifference.

“Would you bolt if I said somewhere private?” He hummed, finding amusement in something she couldn’t quite perceive. “No, I am escorting you away from becoming the snack table.”

The niggling suspicion—of something not being right with the conversation—bothered her.

“How generous of you.” She smiled, and it was all teeth. “But why? What do you want? I’ve never known your kind to do anything for free.”

Not even Lyra had taken her under her wing solely out of the goodness of her heart. The scar on her back attested to that fact.

“Oh, can it be? You’re not entirely ignorant? Half an education is a charming thing.” His eyes glinted with mirth, and Melody resisted the urge to stab them. “Since you ask, no, we rarely do anything for free, and I especially don’t see the point in it. Be assured I will be bringing this up later,” he ended with a satisfied purr.

Melody dug her heels in, twisting her wrist out of his grip. Brief surprise may have flickered across his face, but amusement quickly followed as he took in her defiant stance, the one that said she wasn’t moving, not without significant force.

“No. I asked for nothing from you. And quid pro quo is something I only humor with friends.”

She didn’t know this stranger well, but she sensed that she’d finally angered him. A long pause settled over their conversation. Then, he moved, but her senses blurred. Was he stepping closer or drifting?

“Oh? You’d rather I demand something of you right now?”

“I’d rather have a choice. It’s more gratifying that way.”

The human stayed steady, with considerable effort. Her smile held no warmth or humor. She knew the gossip, and what was the point in knowing if she didn’t use it? “Is that what you have to do? Force your company on people? The Night Court is feared, but not exactly loved, is it?”

He ignored her jibes and stalked closer. “Choices are not for girls who come to Calanmai.”

It was time to leave.

“What a convincing lie! I’m impressed,” she said with false delight. “But you always have a choice, and I’m always up for challenging convention.”

She turned from him, fully intending to walk, not run, to the Spring Court estate, ready to show any faerie pursuer just how vicious a human girl could be on Fire Night. Above all, she didn’t care if the beautiful Night Court bastard followed her or not.

He let her go.

But his voice called after her from writhing shadows, dripping with caresses and amusement once more. “All by yourself? Does that mean I should come back later for seconds?”

“I don’t care what you do. But the fact that you think there’s going to be something left of me after all is positively moving.”

She broke away from her stalking shadow, discreetly feeling for the weapons Lyra had given her, and ran through the conversation in her head. Something still bothered her about the whole thing, something he’d said early on. When she recalled the part where he called her “presumptuous, too,” she came to a halt, realizing.

That Fae could read her thoughts.

And he’d gotten in when she’d accepted his glamour.

The knowledge froze her to her bones, like being held under ice water. But her mind sharpened at last. The spell of Fire Night and her headache vanished as she refused to be fooled, as she closed the door to her mind, a door not made from solid iron, but of mighty ash.

Proud, she turned her head and found a spot where the shadows appeared darker. She snarled in its direction then marched away.

Despite what the stranger implied, no other faerie crossed her path. Lyra had been right.

The night’s activities proved to be far worthier distractions.

"Gathering these on Calanmai turned out to be a good thing, even if seeing Lucien almost gave me a heart attack," Melody noted one morning in Lyra's quarters. "One plant lasts us for four weeks. And it's more potent." Lyra bustled around, still getting ready for the day ahead. "I bet that was a fright, but none of the young masters have any reason to visit Spring. Only the disgraced son. I’m not even certain if they would survive it. But it'll be good once we host our own Fire Night. The plants will be restored, and we can harvest our own supply again. No need to go back to the Spring Court." Melody caught the edge of trepidation in her voice. "I told you to stop worrying. That Fae isn't going to suddenly be lurking around a corner to snatch me away. He doesn't know what court I'm from. We didn't even exchange names." "That's what's worrying me. The way you described him, on top of him being Night Court of all things." Before Melody could reassure her, another faerie poked his head into Lyra's room. "We need someone to send a tea tray up." "Fine," Lyra sighed, rolling her eyes skyward. The faerie vanished, and Lyra gestured to Melody. "I should have never let you make the tea that day. She can't get enough of it. Well? Why are you still here? You know what to do." She did. Prepare the tea the way the Lady of the Autumn Court liked, deliver the tray unseen to her rooms, and come straight back. Nothing more. "How do I look?" Melody asked, wanting to make sure her disguise was properly in place. "Hmm." Lyra gazed at her haphazard appearance critically, then promptly scooped up a layer of dust and dirt from the floor and smacked Melody in the face with it. The human flinched back, sputtering and coughing as a satisfied smile curved Lyra's lips. "There. No one will want to look at you now." A final cough escaped Melody. "Thanks very much."

A few months later, Melody woke up on her small, makeshift cot in Lyra's quarters alone. Not unusual. Lyra sometimes had to manage the kitchen staff earlier in the mornings than her typical schedule called for. But there was something different about this morning, something wrong. It was too quiet. Tentatively, Melody slowly uncoiled herself and rose. Rotating her stiff joints, she made her way over to the entrance and leaned out of the doorway, taking in the corridor on either side. Empty. Not a single faerie came or went, and the air was dead. No magic to be sensed. The human didn't know what time it was, having no windows to consult on the matter, but it felt later than usual. Certainly later than Lyra ever allowed her to sleep in. She turned back to Lyra's rooms, shut the door, and walked over to the small table where they took their meals. That's when she saw the hastily scrawled note written in Lyra's curvy hand. Melody snatched it from the table, her worry cascading into a heart-racing fear as she read: It's finally happened. The fifty years are up, and the Spring Lord did not break his curse. She's decided to call us to her. All of the courts have been summoned Under the Mountain. I do not know why or when we will return, if we will return. I’m sorry I did not wake you, but I didn’t want you involved, and everything is happening so fast. Take the rest of the Flowering Ash and flee—as far as you can. Travel by daylight, cross the border, and go south. She means only death for you and your world. I'm so sorry.

All she felt was cold. Amarantha, the Deceiver, had actually won. Prythian was fully under her control, just like the lordlings had wanted.

Melody clenched the note in her hand, fell back into her cot, and tried not to panic.

It wasn’t working.

No, she had to think. Assess. It took five days to get to the heart of the Spring Court by horse, another three days to reach the border from there. And then she would have to find an opening, and there was no knowing how long that would take if she wound up near a part of the Wall without a breach. Melody only had a week left on her current batch of lotion before it would be used up. She would need to make more. She’d watched Lyra make it from the flowers and bark of the Flowering Ash tree (while eating any roots that could be harvested) dozens of times.

Melody remained in the Autumn Court for another three weeks, and she still hadn’t perfected it. In fact, the concoction never turned out right at all.

A month passed. Then another. By the end of the second month, she’d given up on making the lotion from the Flowering Ash, having already ruined most of the flowers. No one ever came or went into the Court, and Melody became braver and braver, roaming into the nobility’s rooms, stealing weapons, food, clothes, anything she needed before returning to the sanctuary of Lyra’s quarters in the lower levels. Every morning she woke up, she told herself that this would be the day she would leave, that she would brave the wilds of Prythian, that with everyone Under the Mountain, there would be no safer time.

She stayed for another month, convinced that Lyra would return and that things would return to normal.

And return, the Autumn Court did, but it wasn’t Lyra who found her.

It was the Eldest Son.

Eris.

He found her outside at one of the training grounds. Melody hadn’t run three steps before he was upon her, hoisting her in the air by the throat.

“What is more human filth doing here?”

She gasped for air, unable to answer, unable to explain, or beg, or whatever she had to do to save her life. He wasn’t built like a mountain, but he held her in the air effortlessly. He threw her down to the ground like a ragdoll.

Melody tried to crawl away, to get to her feet, but he planted a foot on her back and held her, crushed her, in place. She didn’t dare move when she heard a blade being drawn, didn’t react when he spoke again.

“This seems familiar.” His tone was cruelly nostalgic, like he was recalling a fond memory.

The scar on her back seemed to burn. Despite everything, it gave her the courage to speak.

“Please. I don’t—”

A blade slashed down, grazing her cheek the same time another voice cried out.

“My Lord, please have mercy!”

Lyra.

Melody heard more than saw Lyra appear and throw herself at Eris’ feet, could barely make out the faerie’s explanations through the rushing in her ears.

She jumped, though, when she heard the slap and felt the dust kick up when Lyra hit the ground next to her.

They were attracting an audience. Autumn Court faeries were murmuring, some laughing. She heard one say, “Another human? It’s an infestation.” Then came a retort. “But we wouldn’t be back home if it weren’t for—”

The faerie was silenced when Eris hurled a knife into his gut. The rest of the faeries took that as their cue to leave. When the area cleared and all that could be heard was Lyra’s sobs and Melody’s own stilted breathing, that’s when Melody knew through the cotton in her mind. Both she and Lyra were going to die here.

Very shortly.

Before Eris could deal out his punishment, a mocking laugh as dark as midnight and as smooth as silk broke the silent tension. Melody finally felt her numbed shock give way to shuddering fear at last.

She knew that laugh.

“What a sight. Did you know I was coming, that you prepared a little show for me?”

“Now is not a good time, Lord Rhysand.” Eris’ controlled posture slipped into acute rigidness. It took a moment to realize that he wasn’t fearful, but angry. “If you’re here to see my father, I’m afraid he has yet to return to court.”

The beautiful stranger, the one she had met at the Spring Court, the one she had once sworn would never find her, appeared in her line of vision. Tendrils of darkness still coiled around him, blending in with his dark, fitted, resplendent clothes, and though he gave the same cool smile, Melody knew there was something different about him.

She couldn’t explain it, but he seemed freer. Power rolled off of him, like his body could no longer contain it. He was utterly relaxed and unquestionably invincible.

Like nothing could touch him and live.

She hadn’t detected this from him before. He had felt dangerous, certainly, but this was something entirely different.

What had happened during those three months Under the Mountain?

“As it turns out, you’re the one I’m looking for.” Though the stranger—Rhysand—spoke to the Eldest Son, he turned his gaze on Melody.

Eris did the same. “Human vermin found its way into my court.” He sneered at Lyra. “And this traitor helped.”

“I see. Now how could that be when the Autumn Court is so well-guarded?”

Melody felt Rhysand’s gaze on her, and she willed her mind blank, willed anything anyway that could incriminate Lyra further. Risking a glance at him, she saw his brows furrow with sudden surprise. His gaze flicked to Lyra, and by the grimace on her face, Melody knew Rhysand had been successful with reading the faerie’s mind.

But not hers.

“Flowering Ash,” Rhysand announced, half-surprised, half-intrigued. “They created an ointment to mask her human scent, then masqueraded her as a servant.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“A year and a half.”

Eris laughed, and its mirth promised nothing good. “What clever rats we have. I can only hope you’re as clever with your screams.” He pressed harder into Melody’s back until she cried out. “I admit, I’ve been in a terrible mood lately. Perhaps this is just what I need. Permitted, of course, that the High Lord of the Night Court allows me such an indulgence before we discuss business?”

High Lord of the Night Court? Melody thought dazedly, her despair mounting with each passing second. All that time, she had been talking with…?

And he hadn’t killed her, which meant he was planning something worse.

“By all means. Only—wait a moment.” Rhysand crouched down in front of Melody and forced her to look up at him with a hand under her chin. Her muscles and spine strained, close to breaking. She watched those sensuous lips curve, watched as something worse formed itself in his violet eyes. “Mmm, I thought so. I was hoping we’d run into each other again, love.”

“Why am I not surprised that you know this human? You seem to know all the mortal women lately, my lord.” No one could miss the accusation in Eris’ voice.

“Blame that love-struck fool, Tamlin. He seems to draw them. I met her at Spring’s Fire Night, only now I know why she was really there.” He smiled at her, and it was slightly wild. Melody recoiled back, but his hand grasping her face squeezed, holding her in place. “And it seems I can finally collect my debt for saving you, can’t I?”

He released her and stood in a smooth motion, facing the Eldest Son. “I don’t care what you do with your traitor, but the human belongs to me.”

The amusement died on his face, replaced by cold fury. “You cannot be serious.”

“You dare question a High Lord of Prythian? A High Lord restored of all his powers, no less?” Rhysand’s laugh was a rumble of dark promise. “I wouldn’t.”

Eris stared the High Lord down, then kicked Melody in the side, like a spoiled child does a toy after being told he has to share. “Have her, then.”

Rhysand looked bored with the whole display, but the line of his shoulders had gone taut. He watched dispassionately as Melody rose on her side on one hand, her eyes only on her faerie friend.

“But Lyra—”

“Don’t worry about me,” the faerie hissed back, her eyes dry now that it appeared Melody wouldn’t die by Autumn hands. Though her dark skin was much paler.

And because it seemed worse to go with the High Lord of the Night Court than to die by one of the Autumn Lord’s sons, Melody cried out, “I will take it!”

The grounds froze. Melody felt every eye on her. “Whatever punishment you intend to give Lyra, I’ll take it all.”

Behind her, Rhysand heaved a sigh. Lyra called her a fool. But Eris considered her thoughtfully. Then he smiled.

“It seems we’ve reached an interesting situation, Lord Rhysand.”

“More like an idiotic one.” He waved a careless hand. “Her life belongs to me. Death is off the table. But exile is obvious.”

“Obviously.” Eris didn’t roll his eyes, but he looked like he wanted to.

Rhysand appeared to ponder something, then he said, “Five lashes should do nicely.”

“We’re agreed.”

And Melody watched in horror as a whip appeared in Eris’ hand, did nothing as he hauled her to her feet only to tie her by the wrists to a post in the center of the grounds. She jerked in fear when she felt him rip the back of her tunic in half, revealing her undergarments and her scar.

“Ah, I thought so. We’ve punished this one before.” He looked back at Lyra, a knowing glance. “The way it’s curved here. Wayward. Like it reached an unintended target. She took that for you, didn’t she? That’s why you sheltered her. Why you betrayed your court.”

Lyra, who was now on her feet, clenched her fists, the muscles of her arms protruding slightly. Melody had always believed that Lyra was a warrior at one time. It was only her discipline that held her back.

Melody faced forward as Eris’ footsteps receded. Her back was to the three other occupants on the grounds. She tried to control her shaking. She failed. So she tried to clear her mind, but memories of her first scar resurfaced with a vengeance. She’d gotten it from the High Lord’s second son, who’d been drunk on his own cruelty, punishing servants as it pleased him. Phantom pain rippled down her scar, and no matter how she lied to herself, she couldn’t believe that the next five lashes would hurt less.

So she tried to withdraw into herself, to go to a place so deep in her mind that she wouldn’t register the pain.

She failed. When the first lash tore diagonally across her back, she nearly fell to her knees, her screams echoing across the grounds. The second slash occurred a hair’s breadth away from the first, and she collapsed, her legs unable to hold her. Tears fell like a torrent down her face, and she nearly tore her throat with her scream when the third slash crossed the other two.

All of it was deliberate. He was aiming to cause as much pain as possible, to make the healing process as difficult as possible.

The fourth slash cut down her lower back, and the fifth followed close behind, tracing the outline of her old scar, reopening it. It hurt so badly she forgot to scream, didn’t have a voice left to scream with. Her body, her pants, everything felt soaked with blood. The ropes bit into her wrists as she hung limply from them, but she didn’t feel it. It was nothing compared to the fire that raged all over her back.

Just as she relaxed and felt like congratulating herself on weathering the punishment, the whip snapped into the air and a sixth slash was cut deep into her, and Melody found that she could still scream.

“That was six, by my count.” Rhysand’s voice cut through the air, somehow even sharper than the whip could ever hope to be.

“Forgive me, Lord Rhysand. I must have gotten carried away.”

Melody felt a brief flair of smugness as Rhysand dismissed him—in his own court, no less—when movement at her wrists caused her to lift her head. She found Lyra there, tearing through the ropes. She opened her mouth to speak, but her throat was hoarse. Lyra shushed her, shaking her head.

“Can’t believe you did that. Fool! What were you thinking? You and your stubborn, human heart. Idiots, both of you!”

One of her wrists fell free then the other, and Melody found herself falling forward, unable to find the strength to stop. Lyra caught her by the shoulders. Melody felt her hands tense and could only surmise that Rhysand had approached.

“That was quite a spectacle. I’d forgotten how fun humans could be.”

“Please, Lord Rhysand! Show some godforsaken mercy and heal her!”

Rhysand tutted. “You know how this works, Lyra, dear. She must agree to my terms first.”

“She’s barely conscious!”

“All the more reason to make her decision quickly. These wounds didn’t kill when they were inflicted, as agreed, but they will if remained untreated.”

Melody raised her head and rested her forehead against the post. Half delirious, she mumbled, “What decision?”

“For saving your life on Calanmai, your life belongs to me now, to do with as I wish. You can either live in my court as you did here, nothing more than a slave—” He cut himself off with a laugh. “Excuse me, a servant. Or you can live almost like an equal. All I would need from you in exchange is for you to perform some tasks for me, whenever I ask, without question.”

Melody fought to follow him. Still the fire on her back burned, reminding her the clock was ticking. “What kind of tasks? And what use could you have for human vermin, anyway?”

“I don’t know about human vermin, but perhaps I have use for a girl who can see through glamours, resist faerie magic, and live among them for over a year without detection. The thought of all you must have heard while here, where they thought you were one of them, where they thought you were loyal. The possibilities are delicious.”

“…For how long?”

He picked a stray piece of lint off his jacket. “Until I grow bored with you.”

His face—his beautiful, merciless face—swam in her vision. He’d given her answers, which only gave her more questions. But one thing was clear, at least to her.

“Lyra comes, too.”

A flash of teeth. “Of course.”

“Not as a servant. As a guard or—or whatever she wants, so long as it’s her decision.”

Lyra clutched her tighter in warning, but the damage was done.

“Such care you have for each other. One would almost say you were lovers.”

Melody would later blame the pain. “It’s called a best friend, you patronizing jackass.” Lyra sucked in a breath, but Rhysand only laughed.

“So, do we have a deal?”

Melody would have drawn it out, just to make him work for it, but the pain was too great. “Yes.”

“Wonderful,” he purred, then his hand spread across her back. Melody threw her head back and screamed as her pain reached new heights. It felt like all of her wounds were being ripped open wide, like he was filling them to the brim with salt. Then, they were knitting themselves back together, slowly, the creeping, unnatural feeling almost as terrible as the pain itself. Then it was over.

“I do believe this is my best work yet,” Rhysand said, languid with satisfaction.

Melody opened her eyes and felt a drop of sweat fall from her face as she craned her neck to see what he was talking about.

The tops of her shoulders no longer sported white, unblemished skin. Whorls and sharp lines resembling Flowering Ash blossoms and knife blades rested there in dark navy ink, and Melody could only assume her whole back featured the rest of the design. Reaching behind her, she determined that she had no scars—even her old one had been completely healed.

The human felt like she was out of her body, like she was observing her life’s events from someone else’s eyes. Disjointed, detached, she watched Lyra kneel and swear an oath of fealty to the Night Court and its High Lord, demanding instant death if she wavered. A tattoo spread, covering the palm of her right hand after her pledge, sealing the contract.   Lyra exchanged a glance with Melody as the young woman rose to stand beside her, the latter clutching her torn tunic across the front of her body. Not even phantom pains disturbed her. In truth, Melody didn’t feel anything at all. Was she in shock again?

“Come.” Rhysand turned on his heel, expecting them to follow. “It’s time to return to my court. I’ve been away from home for far too long.”

“Can’t we stop for—”

“No,” Rhysand interrupted Lyra. “We cannot. Now, stand close to me.”

Melody watched as pure darkness spread from Rhysand’s feet and quickly climbed higher, soon covering all of them. They were pulled under, and Melody drew back, taking in a quick breath when total darkness blocked out every shred of light that there was. She flinched when she felt a cool hand on the small of her bare back, but Rhysand didn’t remove it. Instead, he began tracing the lines of her tattoo.

It didn’t reassure her. Instead, she kept thinking about what her tasks could possibly entail, what the feel of his hand touching her so familiarly could potentially promise.

Until I grow bored with you.

When the shadows fell, they were somewhere else entirely.

Somewhere dark, but wholly, unquestionably beautiful.

“Welcome to the Night Court,” Rhysand breathed into her ear, pride coating every syllable of his voice.

Melody took in the palace before her, the snow-capped mountains, and the gorgeous starry sky all spread out like a panorama around them, and agreed that Rhysand had much to be proud of.

The Autumn Court, for all its splendor, never stole her breath like this.

As they entered the palace, Rhysand turned to Lyra.

“You’re dismissed.”

She straightened, threw one last glance at Melody, then strode away. Melody watched her, wondered how she knew where to go. Before she could ask, two shadows broke from a dark corner and coiled toward them. When the shadows reached them, they took the forms of two women. Were these Rhysand’s servants? His shadow harem?

“Take this one upstairs. Get her cleaned and dressed.” Rhysand pushed Melody forward towards them.

She wheeled around, still holding what was left of her tunic. “This one?” She glared at him. “You offer me a deal, and you don’t even know my name?”

Rhysand shrugged, like it didn’t matter, and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I forgot to ask. Very well, what’s your name, darling?”

She stayed stonily silent.

His lifted a brow, and she could tell he was frustrated. “Fine, then. If you don’t want to tell me your name, I’ll just have to call you my pet.”

“It’s Melody.”

“Mmm.” He moved toward her with effortless grace, viewing her with half-lidded eyes. “Melody.” Rhysand said it with the kind of reverence lovers reserved for each other, like suddenly it was the only word that mattered. Chills erupted down her spine, down her arms. She told herself it was because she was standing in a palace resting on top of a snowy mountain, at night, and she was half-naked. “I think I still prefer ‘my pet.’ ”

Melody glared at him until the shadow servants dragged her away, his mocking laugh following her.

Honestly, she’d had better baths. The shadow servants weren’t what she’d call tender.

But she would gladly go back to the harshest bathing of her life if it meant that she didn’t have to wear this dress.

“Where’s the rest of it?”

“That is the rest of it,” one of the servants hissed at her in a disembodied voice.

Melody scowled. “That bastard.”

“Do not address the High Lord so disrespectfully,” the servant snapped again. “You have no idea what he has done for his people.”

“I’m just calling it as I see it.”

Her dress had been designed to cover the bare minimum of the parts most important to her. The front was short, stopping mid-thigh, only for the back to gently flow down to her calves. Her breasts were half-heartedly covered with straps that thinned to tie around her neck. Naturally, the dress was backless, displaying the tattoo, which did cover her entire back for all to see. On top of everything, the color of the dress was a deep wine red, rounding off the harlot look for her quiet nicely.

‘’I want to go to bed,” she groused.

“You must attend the party,” the second servant hissed back, for the third time. “The court has come to celebrate our lord’s return.”

So Rhysand’s court was going to see her, the High Lord’s newest, mortal plaything, like this. Swell.

She took one last look in the mirror, at her long, brown hair spilling over her shoulders, the dark makeup, the dress, the ridiculously high shoes, and straightened her spine, holding her head high.

“Let’s get this over with.”

When she rejoined Rhysand, he was in the ballroom, where more servant girls were flitting about, setting up a line of covered carts on wheels. Melody hoped that’s where the food would be, if there was food. Rhysand conversed with two other Fae. The first was a dark-haired, clean-cut male with an expression that only seemed to move from serious to more serious. Melody blinked at the impressive, leathery wings he had tucked close to his back. Was that…a normal feature here? Perhaps not, for the stunning blonde woman next to him was wingless, though she did possess an ever-present smirk on her face that was endearing until one met her sharp brown eyes. It reminded her of another certain infuriating smirk.

The conversation stopped when she entered the room. Melody pretended not to notice how Rhysand took her in, almost appreciatively, like he was preening. She was much more interested with the reactions of the Fae male, who closed his eyes as if praying for deliverance, and the woman, who hid her smile behind her hand, never taking her eyes from Melody.

Well, she supposed, in a few years, this would all be funny to her, too.

“Azriel,” Rhysand said to the male. “Mor.” The female Fae inclined her head. “I’d like you to meet the Night Court’s newest asset. The girl who can resist magic: Melody.”

Melody nodded her head but said nothing, assessing them just as they were assessing her.

Finally, Azriel said, “You can’t read her.” It wasn’t a question.

“Not yet. She’s blocking me somehow,” Rhysand replied, smirking. “But I’ll find her weakness soon enough.”

Melody snorted. “Good luck with that, Your Worship.”

“Your Worship?” Mor let out a delighted laugh, turning to Rhysand, whose grin had spread at Melody’s mocking title. “Oh! This is going to be so much fun, Rhys.”

Rhys?

Melody wrinkled her nose in mild disgust. “You know what would be fun? Returning to matters of state,” Azriel said, moving to ignore Melody entirely. Good.

She needed a breather.

The pounding in her head was starting again. There were faeries here, all over the palace. She could sense them. They just weren’t allowed into the ballroom yet. She knew she should be listening to the conversation, but in truth, she was tired, so tired. Melody kept her gaze settled on a spot just before her, not really seeing anything. Not wanting to see anything. Everything felt scrubbed raw, especially her mind, and every new sound, smell, or sight that involved a faerie had her nearly on the ground. Melody knew the signs well, having experienced it before at the Autumn Court and at Spring's Fire Night. Over-stimulation from all the glamours and magic in the air. And the Night Court was so much bigger, so much more populated, especially now that their High Lord had returned. Briefly, Melody considered giving in for a moment, dampening her will to allow the glamours and spells the faeries so desperately wanted to fool her with to do their work. But then, Rhysand laughed at something Mor said, the sound sliding over her nerves like velvet, and she knew she couldn't. If the force of her will wavered, even for a moment, he would know. He would see everything, why she had even come to faerie lands in the first place, and would be able to discern her thoughts again, maybe worse. And he was much stronger now. Just as she was about to beg Rhysand to let her leave and rest, a series of movements across the room caught her eye, moving separately from the natural energy of the room. Two of the shadowy servant girls wheeled yet another cart, this one also covered with a sheet, on the end of what she still took to be a banquet. More shadows appeared from nothing, and at once, they began removing the covers. Though there hadn't been anything there before, the cart's surfaces flat, as soon as the sheets were removed, mountains of food appeared. Once more, the last cart the servants had wheeled in caught her eye, and Melody couldn't stop her gasp, welcoming the sudden burst of energy at the sight of— "A cheese cart!"

Food. Without even thinking, without even remembering who she was with or where she was, Melody slipped away from Rhysand to begin her journey to happiness. 

From beside him, Rhysand heard her gasp and exclamation and tilted his head to find the human's face shining with wonder. The stark contrast between this and her usual guarded coldness gave him pause, so much so that he let her leave his side. Rhysand only half-listened to the ongoing conversation, his amusement focused steadily on the mortal as she practically skipped to the cheese display. He watched with growing fascination and surprise as she perused the selections with a critical eye—his servants darting around to avoid her—to finally settle on a soft cheese. After spreading it on a cracker with acute deliberation, she popped it in her mouth, and Rhysand was caught by the look of rapture that stole across her face. Then she let out a moan so erotic it made his ears tingle. Rhysand no longer cared how obvious it was that he was staring. He wanted to see what else she would eat, wanted to see what could stir her sense of pleasure. She chose a cube next and tossed it into her mouth with zeal—only to screw up her face in disgust. As a look of utmost betrayal widened those deep, blue eyes, Rhysand heard a low laugh escape him. "Something you find amusing, my lord?" Rhysand snapped his attention to his shadowsinger, whose features were blank and controlled as always. "Only that my inner circle is so worried about the other courts' reactions that they've chosen to bother me with them, on a celebratory night no less." "Two dozen of the Winter Court's younglings dead, meanwhile our court prospered under the Deceiver's rule. Even despite your actions protecting the Summer Lord and Tamlin's mortal woman, there's been a lot of talk. Mostly concerning calls for retribution." "So things are finally getting back to normal," Rhysand flippantly remarked. With palpable disinterest, Rhysand waved the words away. "I did what was necessary. I can't be bothered with High Lords who were too cowardly to do the same." "But—" "Azriel," Rhysand admonished, his smile growing at the shadowsinger’s narrowing eyes. "I plan on enjoying my homecoming tonight. Perhaps after imbibing a few glasses of wine, you'll do the same?" Azriel was kept around for more than just his efficiency. He knew a dismissal when he heard it. Rhysand watched him stalk off then turned to Mor. "And you are being far too quiet." She smiled sweetly at him. "I think I'll go bother your mortal." Rhysand stopped her with a hard grip on her arm. "You can play with my toys when I am done with them, Mor." His smile was all charm, but his eyes were knives. "And not a moment before." Mor matched him, smirk for smirk. "Of course." She glided off, all too sure of herself. Rhysand wondered how this was all going to play out as he rejoined the mortal. "Do you plan on leaving any for the rest of the guests?" he purred in her ear. She spun around, mouth full of the telltale cheese. Swallowing with effort, she pointed at the cubes. "You can have those. They're horrid." "The generosity of mortals always manages to stagger me. But I think I'm more interested in this spread." He served himself a cracker-full and didn't take his eyes from hers as he took a bite. He swallowed. "It's good. Hardly moan-worthy, though." Her face was a little pink as she broke eye contact with him. "Ah, right. The hearing thing." One by one, her walls came back up, and her tone was defensive when she said, "I just really like food, okay?" He wanted to bring that delightful flush back to her cheeks, so he leaned in and purred, "What else do you like that makes you moan like that?" "A return to country, family, not to mention extended freedoms and liberties," she rattled off with ease, her skin still frustratingly pale. "I have need for little else." In his annoyance, Rhysand nodded mock-understandably. "You will, of course, be granted none of that." She moved away from him, and he got the impression that she was trying to hide from him. "Don't worry. I wasn't holding my breath." An uncomfortable silence passed between them. Melody filled it by eating more cheese. "There will be roasted duck served, too." He wasn't sure why he said it, other than to ignite that visible sense of passion within her. Rhysand reminded himself that human feeling was fleeting and weak. Even so, out of the corner of his eyes, he watched her freeze then look at him. "…Are you serious?" "Deathly so." He grinned. She leaned back from him slightly. "And will I be allowed to sample it along with you and your toadies?" So distrustful. He wondered which had caused this, her living among her own people or his. Still, her distrust would serve her as well as it did him. "Of course." His grin widened as he stepped forward, trapping her between himself and the cheese display. "Provided your cooperation." "With what?" She said, an annoyed slant to her voice and her brow. "That when I ask you to dance with me tonight, you won't look so obviously miserable." The tension released from her shoulders, and she gave him a searching look. Not for the first time, Rhysand felt a wave of frustration that he could no longer read her thoughts. But that, he vowed, would change. Finally, she said, "I suppose I can manage that. For roasted duck."

He smiled, knowing just how much she would despise said dance when she realized what it entailed. This wasn’t the human realm, after all.

And he wasn’t a gentleman. He was Fae.