#THE FIRST ONE!! SOUNDS LIKE!! A DECLARATION OF LOYALTY.!! OF MARRIAGE!!!

[asherasgayagenda]

(leo in checkmate // izumi in lionheart)

WHY ARE THEY LIKE THISSSS

ACTUALLY I ACCIDENTALLY READ LIONHEART. because there were so many izuleo lionheart references on my dash sometime ago (woah... i wonder where they cAme from) and i was so pissed reading it in class because izumi wasn't a terrible character.

-- "It'll be a pain, but I'll duel on his behalf" HHJRJJGSHFHR I LIKE THAT. A LOT/.

when leo is poetic. >>>>> i havent read checkmate yet but all the knights stories seem so.!!!!

[nyracel]

rhaenyra is as much of a girl’s girl as the society she lives in allows her to be.

book wise she has multiple ladies in waiting (not just alicent, which is a grave oversight in the show), one of which is said to have gouged out her own eyes at the sight of rhaenyra’s murder. that doesn’t sound like someone who isn’t capable of inspiring loyalty from the women around them. rhaenys fully and wholeheartedly supported rhaenyra and her cause, even dying in her attempts to make her the first queen regnant of the seven kingdoms. laena betrothed her daughters to rhaenyra’s sons, ensuring that her blood sat both the iron throne and the driftwood throne, all while being a pretty difficult backing to break due to the wealth and naval power of the velaryons (all of this in spite of the bastardy rumors surrounding jace and luke). the agreement also puts forward how politically astute rhaenyra is, and how she didn’t just rely on her father’s word to put her on the throne. she made alliances using her sons hand in marriage; borros baratheon might not have declared for aegon had a proposal taken place the night luke brought rhaenyra’s terms. baela was only held back from partaking in the many battles because of her dragon’s size, otherwise she would have been right beside her betrothed fighting for rhaenyra. there’s even a chance that rhaena would have joined had she had a rideable dragon of her own. she had mysaria, a former sex worker, as her mistress of whisperers, a very esteemed position on her small council. the cases of rosby and stokeworth have no bearing on this, because they were never named as heirs (along with being literal children during a war time) which is what rhaenyra was using as the basis for her rulership. jeyne arryn knew her own position as lady of the eyrie would be challenged (again) if aegon stepped over rhaenyra and subsequently supported her cause. important women like alysanne blackwood and sabitha frey were key players in cregan’s army.

show wise she is shown in the season two trailer to be taking advice from rhaenys and allowing her to be a part of the war efforts. baela and rhaena are explicitly included on her war council, with rhaena as her cupbearer. moondancer is no longer a hardly rideable dragon and baela seems to be taking direct part in the war. rhaenyra is already shown in a set picture to be communicating with mysaria (whether that’s discussing blood and cheese, the aftermath of it, or something entirely different remains to be seen). these are not the acts of someone who hated other women, and using her falling out with alicent and the resulting enmity between them (that is almost completely one-sided due to the difference in power dynamics) as an excuse to otherwise is worse than strange, considering alicent’s canonical goal was to seat her son, a known violent misogynist, on the throne over a woman who was the named heir to the king.

the green’s entire ideological standpoint is that women cannot rule, ever, for it would make the main members of the green’s powerless, and any other lord or heir’s claim would be up for debate if they have an elder sister. if the iron throne had truly been aegon’s by right alicent, otto, and criston would not have left viserys’ body to rot for days AND they would have had the backing of most of the houses. if alicent had cared more for her children’s wellbeing she would have convened a great council before the war began or considered any other effort that would not lead to her children fighting on dragonback. rhaenyra’s (peaceful) ascension would have at least started the necessary changes needed to grant women more authority and (!) autonomy in the seven kingdoms. queen consorts had significantly less influence after her murder, along with the targaryen’s losing their ability to hatch dragons. rhaenyra does not need to be a feminist for her cause to be inherently feminist by proxy.

rhaenyra was not a feminist, but she did have great love for other women. it’s disingenuous at best and downright insulting at worst to try to paint her as anything else. she inspired loyalty even after her murder. if the black’s cause had truly relied on putting rhaenyra on the throne, her armies would have disbanded once she was dead. instead corlys and larys poisoned aegon, with rhaenyra’s son being placed on the throne afterwards. it was ultimately about bloodlines in the end. jaehaera suffered the unfortunate consequences of an ambitious hand because of her status as aegon’s daughter. it plays directly into how alicent outlived her entire family, besides jaehaera, and went mad with grief, learning to hate the color green. how greed and the allure of power can and will corrupt those who choose to make that a priority in their lives, and how the innocent will usually pay the price for those sins.

[biggerbetterbat]

THE SECOND SON | one.

Ubbe Ragnarsson x oc!Valdis

Summary: Valdis travels to Kattegat to finally meet her husband. During the journey she reflects on the past and struggles with doubts. Ubbe struggles with his own worries.

Words: 5,916

A/N: Hello :) I came back with the very first chapter and I have everything figured out. I changed the oc name as there is another Astrid in the show…Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

The memory was all she had. She was clenching it in her hands as if her life depended on it. Every day she was trying to recall the tone of his voice, the intensity of his stare, and the melody of his laugh. Her biggest fear was forgetting it, forgetting him.

Valdis stood on the deck of the longship, her gaze fixed on the horizon as the salty breeze tousled her hair. In her heart, a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty churned like the restless sea beneath her. As the rhythmic sound of oars slicing through the water echoed around her, Valdis's thoughts drifted to the life that awaited her in Kattegat. Leaving behind her homeland, she embarked on a journey, where her fate awaited her in the form of an arranged marriage to Ubbe, son of Ragnar Lothbrok.

She recalled the relief she had felt when news of Ragnar's disappearance had reached her ears, a flicker of hope igniting within her that perhaps her arranged marriage would be called off. She couldn't deny the sense of liberation that had washed over her when he vanished without a trace. In the absence of Ragnar's influence, Valdis dared to dream of a different future, one where she was free to carve out her own path, unbound by the constraints of duty and obligation. Despite the hope for freedom that Ragnar's disappearance had kindled within her, she couldn't shake the profound sorrow that washed over her at the thought that she would never see him again.

However, he came back.

One of their sailors brought the news, and before she could fully process the implications of Ragnar's return, her brother had made a swift and decisive decision – they would set sail for Kattegat without delay, ensuring that Valdis fulfilled her obligations to her betrothed. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was leaving behind more than just her homeland – it was as if a part of her soul was being torn away with each passing wave. For a moment, she allowed herself to entertain the notion that this voyage was not merely a transition, but the closing of a chapter in her life, or maybe even the end of her life.

With a heavy heart, Valdis turned her gaze once more to the horizon, steeling herself for the inevitable confrontation that awaited her in Kattegat.

"Forgive my intrusion, my lady," she murmured softly, her voice a gentle caress against the backdrop of Valdis's melancholy. "But I could not bear to see you suffer in silence."

Vadis's gaze lifted, meeting her servant's with a mixture of surprise and gratitude. "You need not concern yourself with my troubles," she replied, her voice tinged with resignation. "They are burdens I must bear alone."

The servant's voice rang with conviction, each word infused with the unwavering loyalty that bound her to Valdis's side. "You would never be alone, my lady," she declared, her tone resolute as she met the young woman's gaze with determination. "For as long as I draw breath, I shall stand by your side, a steadfast companion through every trial and tribulation."

Valdis's heart swelled with gratitude at her servant's unwavering pledge, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. But she just placed her gentle hand on the servant's arm. "Thank you."

Sensing the heaviness in the air, the servant sought to shift the focus of their conversation, offering a glimmer of levity amidst the weight of her Lady's  burdens. With a gentle smile, she ventured forth, "My lady, forgive my curiosity, but I cannot help but wonder...what do you imagine Ubbe to be like? What image fills your mind when you think of him?"

As Valdis's gaze drifted once more toward the endless expanse of the ocean, her voice carried a hint of melancholy, mingling with the distant cries of seabirds and the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. "I stopped imagining him long ago," she confessed softly, her words a whisper carried away by the breeze.

"In my mind's eye, Ubbe is a man of striking stature," she began, her words painting a vivid portrait of the man they both longed to know. "His eyes are like the sea on a stormy day, yet filled with softness. And his voice... it carries the weight of authority, yet holds a warmth that draws others to him like moths to a flame."

Valdis listened with rapt attention, her imagination ignited by the servant's vivid descriptions. "And his presence?" she pressed, eager to delve deeper into the realm of possibility.

The servant's smile widened as she continued, her words infused with a sense of wonder and awe. "His presence is like that of a warrior king, commanding respect without the need for words," she replied, her voice tinged with admiration.

"Hmm."

"Who knows what wonders fate may yet unfold? Perhaps in Ubbe, you will find not just duty, but unexpected blessings beyond imagining, my lady."

"What is the meaning of this? Have you no respect for the gravity of our situation?" said low and dangerous voice. The man's tone tinged with anger. The servant's heart quickened with fear, her earlier resolve crumbling beneath the weight of his wrath. She cast a fleeting glance at Valdis, her eyes pleading for understanding before retreating with haste, her steps echoing softly against the floorboards as she made her exit."This is not a matter of personal desires or preferences. It's a deal, a pact forged for the betterment of our family and our people."

"I know what my responsibilities are," she answered.

"Do you?" he demanded, his voice laced with accusation. "Or have you blinded yourself to the truth, consumed by the illusion of duty?"

Valdis met his gaze with a mixture of defiance and sorrow, her eyes betraying the inner turmoil she sought to conceal. "I am not blind, Olaf," she retorted, her words tinged with a hint of defiance. "But sometimes duty demands sacrifices that weigh heavy on the soul."

"I don't think you fully grasp the gravity of the situation, sister," he retorted sharply, his tone tinged with frustration. "This is not just about your responsibilities; it's about our family's reputation, our standing in the community. Your actions have consequences that extend far beyond your own desires."

As Valdis found herself alone once more, the echoes of her brother's words lingering in the air like a haunting melody, she turned her attention to the scene unfolding in front of her. With each passing moment, the distant figures aboard the vessels grew clearer, their silhouettes etched against the backdrop of the horizon like darkened specters emerging from the mists of time.

As the boat was slowly approaching Kattegat, Ubbe and Hvitserk stood on the shore, watching the it with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension, Ubbe couldn't shake the feeling of resentment that simmered beneath the surface of his thoughts.

"This unknown bride and forced marriage," Ubbe muttered bitterly, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "It's all Ragnar's doing. Chaos."

Hvitserk's voice cut through the air, his tone laced with skepticism as he addressed his brother. "Is it really that bad, Ubbe?" he queried, his brow furrowing with uncertainty. "Mother will be happy that her oldest son will finally have a wife and children. Plus the bride... maybe she's not that bad."

Ubbe paused, considering his brother's words carefully before responding. "Perhaps," he conceded, his thoughts still swirling with doubts and uncertainties. "He had no right to choose my future for me."

"He needed an army."

"He always needed something," Ubbe clenched his teeth. "Tell her my greetings," he instructed, his voice tinged with resignation.

Hvitserk watched his brother's retreating figure with concern, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Where are you going?" he called out, his voice echoing against the shore.

Ubbe paused for a moment, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. "To be alone for the last time," he replied quietly, his words heavy with the weight of impending change.

Hvitserk's eyes widened in realization, a pang of sadness gripping his heart at the thought of his brother facing his fate alone. "And what am I supposed to tell them?!" he demanded, his voice tinged with frustration.

Ubbe shrugged, a sense of resignation settling over him. With a final nod to his brother, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows of the forest with purposeful strides.

As the boat docked, Valdis stepped onto the wooden planks, her hands trembling with nerves. She straightened her shoulders, steeling herself for the encounter that awaited her—a meeting with the Queen of Kattegat and her sons. At the far end of wooden planks, stood the Queen of Kattegat, a regal figure dressed in richly embroidered robes. Beside her stood her sons—Hvitserk, Sigurd, and Ivar.

"Welcome to Kattegat," the Queen said, her voice firm but welcoming. "I am Aslaug, Queen of the North."

Valdis bowed her head respectfully.

As she looked up, she found herself meeting the eyes of Ivar the Boneless. There was something about him—something that sent a shiver down her spine. But beneath the intensity of his gaze, she saw something else—a glimmer of curiosity, perhaps, or even a hint of admiration.

Olaf, Valdis's brother, stood beside her, his expression a mixture of pride and protectiveness. As the Queen of Kattegat greeted them, his gaze narrowed slightly, assessing their hosts with a keen eye.

"We are honored to be welcomed into your kingdom," Olaf replied, his voice strong and unwavering. "I can't see your husband, or Ubbe. Are they coming? Or perhaps Bjorn?" he inquired, his tone tinged with curiosity.

Aslaug's expression softened slightly, a shadow passing over her features as she considered her reply. "Bjorn will come in a moment," she assured him, her voice carrying a note of certainty. "As for my husband, I cannot say. And as for Ubbe..."

Before she could finish her sentence, Hvitserk interjected with a wry smile. "Ubbe is haunting," he remarked cryptically, his eyes dancing with mischief.

Olaf's confusion deepened at the enigmatic statement, his brow furrowing in bewilderment. "Haunting?" he echoed, his voice tinged with skepticism.

Valdis couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment that Ubbe hadn't even wanted to see her upon her arrival. After all, they were to be married, and she had expected at least a greeting from her future husband.

As her gaze met Hvitserk's, she couldn't help but notice the warmth that radiated from his smile. It was a silent reassurance that she was not alone in this unfamiliar place. His smile was a beacon of light in the midst of uncertainty, a reminder that she had allies in this new and unfamiliar land. Valdis returned the smile. "Maybe...for the time being, I can show you around?"

"Thank you," she replied, her voice soft with appreciation. "But I would like to rest after the journey. Perhaps another time."

Hvitserk nodded understandingly, a warm smile gracing his features. "Of course," he said. "You'll have plenty of time to explore Kattegat."

"I believe, my sister's husband should take care of her," Olaf interrupted.

"Oh, he will," Aslaug answered with a tone, matching the man's tone.

Valdis's room was modest yet comfortable. A simple wooden bed stood against another wall, draped with furs and blankets to ward off the chill of the night air. Beside it, a small bedside table held a flickering oil lamp, casting a warm, golden glow that illuminated the room with a sense of coziness. Opposite the bed, a stone fireplace crackled merrily, its dancing flames casting shadows across the room.

As Valdis settled into her new accommodations, her servant, a kind woman named Astrid, helped her unpack and get settled. "Have you seen Ubbe yet?" Ingrid asked, her tone gentle with concern.

Valdis shook her head, a hint of disappointment in her voice. "No, not yet. But Hvitserk has been very kind to me," she replied, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"Hvitserk seems to have taken quite a liking to you," Ingrid teased, a playful twinkle in her eye.

Valdis felt a blush creep into her cheeks at the remark. "Oh, stop it," she replied, her voice tinged with embarrassment.

But Ingrid merely chuckled, unfazed by Valdis's protests. "I'm just saying," she continued with a mischievous grin. Ingrid's teasing took on a more speculative tone as she continued, "A shame he's the younger brother, I suppose?"

Valdis shrugged, her expression thoughtful. "How would I know?" she replied with a hint of uncertainty. "I haven't met Ubbe. I still know nothing about him."

The mention of Ubbe brought a twinge of curiosity. Despite being betrothed to him, Valdis hadn't yet had the chance to form an opinion about her future husband. The uncertainty of their arranged marriage lingered in the back of her mind, overshadowed by the unexpected kindness she had received from Hvitserk. Ingrid nodded understandingly, sensing Valdis's hesitation. "Well, perhaps you'll meet him soon enough," she remarked optimistically. "And until then, you have Hvitserk to keep you company."

Valdis gave her a smile.

"Rest my lady," Ingrid bid her farewell and left the room, Valdis felt a sense of restlessness stir within her. Despite her weariness from the journey, her mind buzzed with thoughts of the mysterious "haunting" and Ubbe's absence. Unable to shake the feeling of unease, she knew she couldn't simply rest.

She undressed from her dress and put on the one that belonged to Ingrid. Her servants didn't know that she stole it from her to regularly sneak out of her room. When she was once again dressed, she draped a cape on her shoulders and with determination, Valdis rose from her bed, careful not to make a sound that would alert anyone to her departure. She moved swiftly and silently, slipping out of the room like a shadow.

As Ubbe strode through the dense woods, his footsteps echoing amidst the towering trees, he found solace in the quiet solitude of the forest. Though he had long accepted the inevitability of his arranged marriage, the reality of the situation weighed heavily upon him, casting a shadow of discontent over his thoughts. His future wife was here...somewhere, but here. She wasn't just a story or a thought. The woman was here and his marriage was getting real. With each step, Ubbe's frustration grew, his brow furrowed in consternation as he grappled with the uncertainty of his arranged marriage.

As he was walking deep in his thoughts, he didn't notice a person materializing in front of him. The sudden appearance of the unknown woman sent a jolt of adrenaline coursing through his veins, his senses sharpening with the primal instinct of survival. With a swift motion, he raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, his gaze fixed upon the gleaming blade pointed in his direction.

"Stop!" called a woman.

As Ubbe observed the mysterious woman before him, his eyes were drawn to the gentle rise and fall of her chest, her breaths coming in soft, rhythmic waves. Her white hair cascaded in loose waves around her shoulders, catching the dappled sunlight, framing her delicate features like a halo of golden light. Her features were finely sculpted, her skin kissed by the sun and the wind, imbued with a natural glow that spoke of a life. He felt a sense of awe wash over him, a reverence for the woman who stood before him.

As Valdis stood before the stranger in the woods, her hand trembling slightly as she pointed her blade at him, she couldn't shake the feeling of uncertainty that gnawed at her insides. Despite her initial alarm, Valdis found herself captivated by the sight of the man who stood before her.

"I mean you no harm," he assured her, his words carrying the weight of honesty and respect. "I understand your caution, but know that I am not your enemy."

Valdis's shoulders relaxed slightly at Ubbe's reassurance, a flicker of relief dancing in her emerald-green eyes. "What are you doing here?" she repeated, her voice firm yet tinged with uncertainty. "The whole city is greeting newcomers...soon to be wife of Prince Ubbe."

Ubbe met Valdis's gaze with unwavering resolve, his expression earnest as he sought to ease her apprehension. "I needed some time alone," he explained, his tone gentle yet firm. "The prospect of my future weighs heavily upon me, and I sought solace amidst the quiet of the forest."

Under his calm voice, the tension started to drain from her muscles as she released the blade to the forest floor with a soft thud. With a weary sigh, she sank down. "Tell me about it," she mumbled under her nose.

Ubbe watched in silence as the woman settled onto the ground, her posture one of weariness and vulnerability. With a gentle expression, he joined her, lowering himself to the grass beside her - but in a safe distance, with his hands still up. He observed her eyes change from determined to filled with sadness. He eased himself down onto the grass beside her, his movements fluid and unhurried. Valdis mirrored his movements, easing herself down beside him until they lay side by side, their bodies parallel in the embrace of the forest floor.

Valdis closed her eyes, allowing the warmth of the sun to wash over her, she felt a sense of calm settle over her being. With each breath, she felt herself sinking deeper into a state of relaxation, the tension melting away from her muscles.

Beside her, Ubbe's gaze lingered on stranger's profile, his eyes tracing the delicate curve of her jawline and the graceful arc of her neck. In the dappled light of the forest, she appeared ethereal. As he watched her, Ubbe felt a stirring within his heart—a sense of wonder and admiration for the woman who lay beside him. With each passing moment, Ubbe found himself drawn further into Valdis's orbit, captivated by the quiet grace and inner strength that radiated from her like a beacon in the night.

"Are you a slave?"

"Aren't we all slaves of something?"

Ubbe felt a corner of his lips going up.

"Are you from around here?" he asked. "I have never seen you before."

"No," she answered. "I came here because I heard about Ragnar Lothbroke's come back."

Ubbe grimaced. "And why would you want to see him?"

"He's a legend."

"He's nothing," Ubbe scoffed. "The sooner you'll understand it the better for you."

"Why?"

"His actions brought pain and suffering to those closest to him, tearing apart his family with each selfish decision he made."

"He may have made mistakes, but his travels opened our eyes to worlds beyond our own, expanding our understanding of the world and its people."

"Have you ever dreamed of traveling to distant lands, beyond the horizon?" he asked suddenly.

"I desire this more than anything," she said. "There's a whole world out there waiting to be discovered, and I long to explore every corner of it."

Ubbe smiled, captivated by her fervor. "What draws you to it?"

Valdis's eyes danced with enthusiasm as she spoke. "It's all of those things," she answered. "I want to see whatever lays beyond the horizon. Every night I dream of setting sail on a longship, feeling the wind in my hair and the salty spray on my face. I yearn to explore the unknown."

"What's stopping you?"

"Responsibilities to my family."

"I understand more than you may realize."

"Is that so?" she asked, not looking at him. "Who are you then?"

"My name is Ubbe."

For a fleeting moment, time seemed to stand still, the world around her fading into a blur as the weight of those words settled upon her like a heavy cloak. In the hushed stillness of the forest, Valdis's mind raced, her thoughts a whirlwind of emotions. As her heart raced with the realization of who lay beside her.

With a hesitant movement, she turned her head slightly, her eyes searching his features in the soft light of the forest. Finding that his eyes were already on her. As Valdis's gaze lingered on Ubbe's face, a sense of familiarity washed over her. Ubbe bore a striking resemblance to his father, Ragnar Lothbrok, the legendary Viking warrior she had met so many years ago. The same piercing gaze, the same rugged features, the same air of quiet strength that had captivated her from the moment they had first crossed paths.

"The Prince?" she asked before she bit her tongue.

"Have you seen my future wife?" he asked, keeping his eyes on the sky.

Valdis, her heart heavy with the weight of hidden truths, met his gaze with a mixture of sadness and resolve. "Yes, I have," she replied softly, her words laden with meaning that remained veiled to Ubbe's perception.

His brow furrowed in confusion, Ubbe pressed on, oblivious to the revelation that lay just beyond his grasp. "And?"

"And?" she met his eyes.

Curiosity burning within him, Ubbe turned back to Valdis, his eyes alight with inquiry. "Is my future wife... pretty?" he ventured, his voice hesitant yet tinged with a hint of anticipation.

Valdis, her gaze steady and her heart heavy with the weight of unspoken truths, met his question with a measured silence, her mind racing with the words left unspoken. "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder," she finally replied, her words carefully chosen to obscure the truth that lay just beyond his grasp.

Undeterred, Ubbe pressed on, his curiosity unyielding. "Can you describe her to me? What does she look like?" he asked, his voice tinged with a mixture of apprehension and intrigue.

Valdis hesitated, her thoughts swirling like leaves caught in a gust of wind. "She... possesses a certain grace," she offered cryptically, her words veiling the truth that hovered just beneath the surface.

Ubbe couldn't help but snort at Valdis's cryptic description. "Grace?" he repeated incredulously, his skepticism evident in his tone. "What does that even mean?"

Valdis, caught off guard by his reaction, struggled to maintain her composure, her mind racing for a suitable response. "It means... she carries herself with elegance," she replied hesitantly, her words chosen carefully to mask the truth lurking beneath the surface.

"Why would that information even be important?" he queried, his voice tinged with a hint of frustration.

Her heart racing with the weight of hidden truths, struggled to find the right words to appease his curiosity without revealing her true identity. "It's... important to know what to expect," she replied evasively, her words carefully chosen to obscure the truth that lay just beyond his grasp.

Unsatisfied with her response, Ubbe pressed on, his desire for clarity outweighing any sense of decorum. "But what does it matter how she looks or carries herself?" he persisted, his skepticism unyielding.

"It matters because... appearances can be deceiving," she offered cryptically.

"Tell me more." As Ubbe's persistence grew, he turned back to Valdis, his gaze intense with curiosity. "Tell me more. What have you seen?" he pressed, his voice firm and unwavering.

"This is all I saw," she replied softly, her words a careful blend of truth and evasion.

Unsatisfied with her response, Ubbe's determination only intensified. "Tell me," he insisted, his tone imploring.

"Why haven't you welcomed her? You would know," Valdis countered, her voice tinged with a hint of desperation as she sought to deflect his inquiries.

Ubbe's brow furrowed in confusion, his mind grappling with the implications of her words. "Welcome her?" he repeated, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

But before he could press further, Valdis, sensing the precariousness of their situation, chose her next words with care. She shook her head and turned her head away. I must go now," she murmured softly.

As Valdis prepared to leave, Ubbe, unaware of her identity as his future wife, couldn't help but feel a pang of reluctance at the thought of their impending parting. With a sense of longing in his heart, he turned to her, his gaze searching hers for reassurance.

"Will I see you again?" he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty.

Valdis paused, her heart skipping a beat at the earnestness in his question. Stopping a wistful smile, she turned to face him one last time. "Sooner than you may think."

As night descended like a heavy cloak upon Kattegat, casting shadows that danced ominously in the flickering torchlight, the great hall buzzed with the murmurs of its inhabitants. The air was thick with the scent of mead, laughter echoing off the wooden rafters as the sound of music and dancing filled the air. The hall pulsed with life, each heartbeat of the drum resonating deep within the hearts of those gathered.

Ubbe made his entrance into the bustling hall, his eyes adjusting to the flickering torchlight, he was met by the familiar figure of Hvitserk weaving his way through the crowd. With a grin, Hvitserk approached, though there was a hint of something else in his expression—jealousy.

"Ubbe," Hvitserk greeted, clapping him on the shoulder. "I must admit, I'm feeling jealousy knowing you'll soon be wed to this woman."

Ubbe, taken aback by his brother's candid admission, arched an eyebrow in surprise. "Jealous, Hvitserk?" he questioned, a mixture of amusement and confusion coloring his tone.

Hvitserk chuckled, though there was a touch of bitterness in his laughter. "Aye, jealous indeed," he confessed. Hvitserk's words hung heavy in the air, his tone filled with disbelief and a hint of resignation. "She's nothing like we supposed to. I expected some fat and horrible woman," he confessed, his voice tinged with a mixture of surprise and disappointment. "I must admit, I'm feeling a pang of jealousy knowing you'll soon be wed to a woman like her."

Ubbe's curiosity piqued by Hvitserk's unexpected admission, he furrowed his brow inquisitively. "Why would my future wife make you jealous?" he queried, his tone laced with genuine curiosity.

Hvitserk's response came with a mixture of admiration and envy. "She's so pretty, Ubbe," he confessed, his words tinged with longing. "And her body... it's like something out of a skald's tale."

Ubbe, caught off guard by his brother's candid admission, felt a surge of curiosity course through him. "And yet, she's so amazing?" he questioned, his voice filled with incredulity.

Hvitserk nodded emphatically, his eyes alight with a newfound sense of wonder. "Go and see for yourself!" he urged, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice. "She's with Mother."

With a sense of anticipation building within him, Ubbe wasted no time in making his way through the bustling hall, his heart racing with the prospect of finally meeting the woman who would shape his destiny.

As Valdis found herself seated near Aslaug, she couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled like a heavy cloak upon her shoulders. The atmosphere around them crackled with tension, and despite her best efforts to remain composed, she could feel Aslaug's hostile gaze lingering upon her like a shadow. For a fleeting moment, Valdis dared to steal a glance in his direction, her heart quickening at the sight of him. But as their eyes met, she found herself caught in the intensity of his gaze, a silent understanding passing between them amidst the chaos of the crowded hall.

Ubbe's brow furrowed in confusion as he caught sight of Valdis seated beside his mother, clad in an elegant dress that seemed out of place amidst the rustic surroundings of the great hall. The contrast between her current attire and the simple garb she had worn in the forest only added to his bewilderment, stirring a sense of curiosity within him.

"Why are you here? And why are you dressed like this?" he queried, his tone tinged with a mixture of surprise and uncertainty.

"You already know each other?" Aslaug slurred.

"What do you mean?"

"Ubbe, I..." she began, her voice trailing off as she searched for the right words to explain.

But before she could speak further, Ivar, ever perceptive despite the revelry around them, interjected with a smirk playing on his lips. "It's your future wife, brother!" he declared, his words cutting through the haze of confusion that clouded Ubbe's mind.

The realization struck Ubbe like a bolt of lightning. Valdis, the woman he had encountered in the forest, was to be his bride by the will of their clans.

Anger surged through him like wildfire. He felt like a fool, letting some woman play with him. How could he have been so blind, so naive, to have shared secrets with a stranger. But amidst the storm of anger and confusion, there was a flicker of something else, something unexpected yet undeniable. Back in the woods and now in the Great Hall, Ubbe found himself drawn to Valdis in a way he had never anticipated. He was inexplicably drawn to her, his heart torn between conflicting loyalties and desires.

Ubbe felt too much at once, he needed a distraction. His eyes met Margarethe's.

As Valdis walked away from the bustling hall, her footsteps echoing softly against the damp earth. The moon cast its shimmering light upon the surface, lending an ethereal quality to the scene before her. As she neared the shoreline, her gaze fell upon a solitary figure seated upon a massive rock. A sense of curiosity stirred within her, compelling her to draw closer, her footsteps cautious against the uneven terrain. As she approached, the figure turned towards her.

Her heart skipped a beat, her breath catching in her throat as recognition dawned upon her. It was him, the man who had occupied her thoughts since their first fateful meeting—the legendary Ragnar Lothbrok.

Her prayers were being heard.

With a mixture of awe and reverence, Valdis climbed onto the smooth surface of the rock, her heart pounding in her chest with the intensity of her emotions. As Ragnar glanced over at Valdis, he noticed her, but said nothing to welcome her. Or maybe he didn't recognize her. He said nothing, choosing instead to turn his attention back to the vast expanse of the sea before them.

Feeling the chill of the night air seep into her bones, Valdis instinctively wrapped her arms around herself, seeking warmth in the absence of the fading sunlight. Sensing her discomfort, Ragnar's gaze softened, and with a scoff, he reached for the heavy cloak draped across his shoulders. Without a word, he gently draped the cloak around Valdis's shoulders, the fabric enveloping her in a cocoon of warmth and comfort. "Not enjoying my wife's company?"

"She's rather..." Valdis answered, but tried to find a word that wouldn't insult the Queen, or Ragnar. "Aloof?" she finally replied, choosing her words carefully to convey her meaning without outright insult.

Ragnar chuckled softly, a wry smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Aloof, you say?" he echoed, his tone tinged with amusement. "That's one way to put it."

As Valdis looked at Ragnar, a sense of amazement and affection washed over her, mirroring the awe and admiration she had felt as a child of seven summers, captivated by the larger-than-life figure before her. There was something about the way he carried himself, a quiet strength tempered by a gentle kindness, that drew her to him.

"You were but a child when I last saw you, and now... you've become a woman."

"You recognize me?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Ragnar met her gaze with a knowing smile, his eyes twinkling with a warmth that seemed to pierce through the darkness of the night. "Of course," he replied, his voice a soft murmur that carried on the breeze. "I've been thinking about you, little one."

Silence fell between them for a moment.

"You can finally marry my son, is he handsome enough? Like me?" he quipped, his tone laced with a hint of mischief.

Valdis couldn't help but smile at the jest, a warm glow spreading through her chest as she remembered the innocent words she had spoken to Ragnar so many years ago. "Handsome enough, I suppose," she replied playfully, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "But not like you."

"If I were younger, I would marry you instead," he quipped, his tone filled with mock regret.

Valdis laughed softly, her amusement mirrored in the warmth of her gaze. "Not that your age could stop you," she retorted, her voice tinged with playful defiance. "Queen Aslaug is the real reason."

Ragnar's laughter mingled with hers, the sound carrying on the night breeze like the echo of distant thunder. "She would end us," he agreed, his tone light despite the underlying truth of his words. "Best not to risk it."

And so, they shared in the playful banter, their laughter mingling with the gentle rhythm of the waves as they sat together beneath the starlit sky.

"Where is your father?" Ragnar asked, and watched as the smile disappeared from her pretty face. "How did he died?"

"He was ill," she answered. "At the end...He wasn't himself anymore."

"Was it a quick death?"

"I suppose," Valdis nodded. "He died in the sea he loved so much."

Ragnar felt a pang of sorrow grip his heart, a deep ache that seemed to echo in the depths of his soul. Her words brought back memories of his own dear friend, a comrade-in-arms whose presence he had sorely missed since his passing. A solemn silence fell between them as Ragnar absorbed the weight of her grief, his thoughts turning inward to the memories of battles fought and victories won alongside his fallen friend. "Seems like I missed a lot."

"Things change."she replied softly, her words carrying the weight of unspoken truths.

In that moment, Ragnar realized that Valdis was no longer the wide-eyed girl he had once known, filled with dreams of marrying a prince and living happily ever after. She had grown, matured, and faced hardships that had shaped her into the woman she had become.

"You don't want to be here."

"So do you."

Ragnar couldn't help but chuckle at Valdis's sudden and witty retort, a glimmer of amusement dancing in his eyes as he regarded her with a newfound sense of admiration. In that moment, he saw glimpses of the spirited young girl he had first met years before—a girl filled with fire and determination, unafraid to speak her mind even in the face of uncertainty. Ragnar felt a surge of affection for her, a fondness born from the memories they had shared and the bond that had formed between them over the years.

With a playful smile, Ragnar reached out to ruffle Valdis's hair, a gesture of affection that spoke volumes more than words ever could. "Some things never change," he remarked, his voice filled with warmth and fondness. As Ragnar rose from the rock, a sense of purpose guiding his movements, he began to walk away, his steps steady and sure. But as he reached the edge of the shore, he paused, turning back to look at Valdis with a meaningful gaze.

"Come," he called out to her, his voice carrying on the wind. "There is much we have yet to see."

As Valdis rushed towards Ragnar without hesitation, her determination evident in every step, Ragnar couldn't help but laugh, the sound echoing through the night like the call of a wild animal. Her eagerness was infectious, and he found himself caught up in the moment.

[nerdygaymormon]

Romance in the Bible is Queer

Romance doesn't usually enter the equation for relationships in the Bible. Not that people wouldn't learn to love the person they are married to, but our concept of dating, falling in love, choosing to spend our lives together and marking that with a ring and a marriage proposal is largely absent from the Bible.

The few times we see it something like it, they are queer relationships!

The first story of romance is Jacob & Rachel. When we first meet Jacob in the Bible, he chooses what would traditionally be feminine roles--he does the cooking and he stays home in the tents instead of out hunting or other manly jobs. Jacob first met Rachel when she brought her family's flocks to get watered from a well, which means she also violated gender norms because typically men were shepherds. Jacob was smitten with her, and agreed with her father to work for 7 years in exchange for getting to marry Rachel. "So Jacob served seven years for Rachel, and they seemed to him but a few days because of the love he had for her" (Genesis 29:20 RSV). However, on his wedding day Jacob was tricked into marrying Leah, Rachel's older sister. Jacob agrees to work another 7 years if he can also marry Rachel. So here we have a polyamorous relationship with 2 sisters and their cousin.

Ruth and Naomi is a beautiful story of loyalty and fidelity, and I have no doubt their relationship would be held up as the epitome of what a good marriage should be if they weren't two women. Ruth’s vows to Naomi sound similar to modern marriage vows: "Wherever you go, I will go. Wherever you live, I will live. Your people shall be my people and your God will be my God too. Wherever you die, I will die and there will I be buried beside you. We shall be together forever and our love will be the gift of God." (Ruth 1:16-17)

Straight Christians tend to view them as two good friends and Gay Christians usually see a powerful love story, but more chapters of the Bible are devoted to Jonathan and David than to any other human love story. They became so close that it looked like they would one day rule Israel together, until Jonathan was killed in battle, which is when David declares, "Your love for me was wonderful, more wonderful than that of women" (2 Samuel 1:26 NIV)

[writeshite]

Robb thinking his husband is cheating

Lady Margaery and Olenna of House Tyrell arrive in Kings Landing on a beautiful summer afternoon, and every ounce of assurance of your marriage Robb had shriveled when he noted how familiar you and Lady Margaery were. Viserys finds him glaring daggers from a balcony overlooking the courtyard; the bastard laughs when he notes how tightly Robb grips the railing as you and Margaery exchange pleasantries over tea. 

“My, my, this look of jealousy is quite attractive on you,” Viserys comments, Robb sneers at the man. “Calm yourself; I’m not foolish enough to attempt and take you a few feet from my brother.” He ran his hand around the base of his neck, “He’d have my head for that.”

“Good, then you should stop bothering me.”

Viserys mock pouted, “I only came to see how you felt knowing your husband’s ex-lover was in town.”

“Ex-lover?”

The bastard gasps mockingly, “Don’t you know, before you, hundreds if not thousands lined the streets,” he remarks, gazing up dreamily as if remembering, “Cersei Lannister and Margarey were high contenders, constantly vying for my brother’s hand.” Viserys glanced down, you looped your arm in hers, and you both laughed as you waltzed away, “But I’m sure it’s nothing.”

Robb spends hours after spiraling, watching your interactions with Lady Tyrell; his mind plays scenario after scenario incessantly, as Viserys’ mockery does the same. His panic draws your attention, but he ignores you when you speak and shrugs off your affection. He wanders the halls, hands shaking as he fiddles with his wedding band at every waking moment.

Viserys enjoys his turmoil. “If you’re that upset, then why not find your own comfort in another?” Robb cusses him out, storming off before he does anything irrational, wandering the halls aimlessly until he stumbles across Lady Olenna enjoying her wine. He turns to leave but is beckoned by her.

“Come on; I don’t have all day.” A handmaiden pours him his own cup, and he downs half of it without hesitation, “Do you know of Old Valyrian customs, Lord Stark?”

“What?”

“In Old Valyria, love was a bloody conquest; dedication was shown by impaling your lover’s enemies for all to see,” she replies, nursing her drink. “It was said that their bloodlust made them dangerous and volatile creatures to love.”

Robb blinks slowly, mind swimming to understand what he’s been told; she stands, “Walk with me.” The terrace edge overlooks Traitor’s Walk on one side, “Do you recognize any of the people there?”

At first, he doesn’t, but then he does - the head at the center is covered in blood, bruising around its face, and a jagged haphazard cut from ear to ear - he recognizes it as Lord Stuar, who’d taken to tormenting Robb alongside Viserys months back. Lord Stuar, who’d been declared missing soon after, “How….”

“Your husband,” Lady Olenna supplies, “He’s been filling Margaery in on his bloody conquests; she enjoys the details, as do I, I suppose.”

“What are you trying to say, Lady Olenna?” He asks.

“Don’t you understand?” she turns to him now, “Your husband, like all Valyrians, is a dangerous and volatile creature, willing to spill blood for you without so much as a thought. Believe me when I say, he wasn’t quite this,” she searches for the word, pursing her lip, “murderous for my granddaughter.” She parts from him with words of wisdom, “Use it to your advantage.”

His mind is buzzing from both the wine and the knowledge now bestowed upon him; your chambers are empty, and he’s thankful, needing the space and time to sort through his thoughts. He dozes off and wakes to the sound of light murmuring, your at the door, back to him; the conversation ends, and then the door is closed again. Robb doesn’t face you when he stands, unsure of how to broach anything; he instead focuses on shedding his heavier clothing, unbuckling his belt when your arms draw around him.

“I’ve been told you doubt my loyalty,” you whisper by his ear, hands settling on his, “Why is that?” He mumbles a half-hearted response, and you hmm, “Silly wolf,” you kiss his temple, turning him to face you, “I’d rather burn in dragon’s fire than break our vows.”

[nellie-elizabeth]

Grey's Anatomy: If Walls Could Talk (21x01)

Wow, I hate Catherine Fox so much! Kind of an uneven premiere in terms of the things I care about.

Cons:

Honestly there's kind of a cognitive dissonance to how much Catherine sucks as a character, and her marriage to Richard. How exactly is he managing to thread the line with all of his friends who his wife just fired? It's bizarre and it's irritating. She's so entitled and such a bully and she's so unambiguously wrong in this situation that it's hard to see the complexity of the situation. And I hate Jackson being on his mom's side here, against Meredith! No no no! I didn't hate the Meredith and Catherine scene about her health, but I just keep coming back to Catherine literally being the Big Business Baddie who is restricting access to life-saving knowledge. Yuck!

Lucas Adams is still the most uninteresting intern by a large measure, and I hate that so much of our time is wasted on his angst. When he shows up at the end to Simone's door and declares that he's not going to Chicago, I'm thinking... boooo. I wish you'd go, and I wish Yasuda would stay instead. She's a better character in every way.

I am not a fan of the setup for Richard's arc this season. Him lacking confidence about surgery, and Winston trying to encourage him? Honestly, it's just like... let this dude retire! It sounds like he really shouldn't be working anymore in any case! I liked that moment of him mentoring Winston at the end, but please just get him out of the OR post haste.

I did a full-body cringe when Link used a Harry Potter reference to try and cheer Levi up. Like first of all, let's not invoke Rowling for any reason ever at this point? But also it was just very patronizing and it felt like Levi shouldn't be so moved by such basic advice.

Jo and Link having a baby is still a big yuck for me, I will never support this pairing. And what with me not liking Lucas and Simone, and my utter lack of interest in Kwan's amnesia ex-fiancé, I'm kind of 0 for 3 on the main romances going on here.

Pros:

Except! Jules and Yasuda coming in with the steel chair! I was so happy that they actually went there with those two characters. They were tiptoeing around each other, and then they shared a lovely kiss against the lockers! I'm especially bummed that Mika isn't long for this show, but I hope we get some fun romance vibes here in the meantime. I honestly don't mind Jules/Kwan as a pairing, I think it's that Harry Shum Jr. has good chemistry with most scene partners I've seen him with. (Except on Shadowhunters where him and the guy he was in the romance with had like... negative one million chemistry lol sorry). But back to the girls - I hope we get some fun stuff with them for a while, even if it's ultimately doomed not to last for long. That cute little smile after the kiss was so precious.

Sydney Heron coming back onto the show is kind of a hoot. She's so fucking annoying, but like... in a way that makes me smile? I don't know. I love her as a common adversary for all these dark and troubled souls, and as a contrast to Bailey as a leader. I'd love to see the interns prove their loyalties to Bailey in the end!

Probably my highlight this week was with Bailey and Ben, honestly! It was so nice to see him back and playing supportive hubby, I'm thrilled that Bailey is going to fight for her job, and I love that the episode opens with her dreaming about slapping Catherine in the face. I mean, honestly. I get why you'd have the urge. I loved seeing her trying to make the best of things in the clinic, but really snapping into focus to help save the woman stuck in the wall. The moment when Sydney burst in and stole the interns back away from Bailey was hard to watch!

I continue to not give a shit about Jo and Link as a romantic pair, but Jo and Levi's friendship is still the cutest! Why is it that the relationships that are the most interesting and compelling on my screen in this premiere are also the ones I know will go away soon, due to actors leaving the show? Levi's joke about Jo needing to tell Link about the baby because he didn't want to raise this kid with her was so funny! Also, I do love that he got some confidence back, even if I hated Link's pep talk. Our last glimpse of him in the episode is going to talk to a random dude at the bar who was giving him a look. Get it, Schmitt!

I actually really liked Meredith in this episode. Probably in part because Nick was nowhere to be seen, and we all know he's the boringest character ever to exist. Her stubbornness is such a defining character trait, but I do think that overall she comes across as the reasonable one, here! Yes, she broke rules, but her cause is good and it turns out that she's right about what she's been saying this whole time. I love that she showed up to talk to Catherine out of respect for Jackson. That was a nice little moment, I love it when the veterans of this show stick with one another.

So, yeah. Lots of stuff that intrigues me, and lots of stuff that already bores me. Simone is too good of a character to be dragged down by Lucas's nonsense! And Link, c'mon buddy, you used to be a favorite of mine. Please stop being annoying.

7/10

[atopcat]

Interesting take, usually it’s Daemon antis who point out Team Black weren’t exactly The Brady Bunch those eight years on Dragonstone. First time I’m seeing a Daemon fan admit that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t super thrilled Harwin’s bastards were going to inherit the throne and he would have actually preferred his trueborn sons becoming kings instead. That being said, I also think he knew it was never going to happen.

Rhaenyra isn’t Viserys, she won’t turn a blind eye if Daemon tries to do an Alicent. We know she’s violently protective of her children, Fire & Blood tells us she ordered Daemon to kill Vaemond Velaryon and then she fed his carcass to Syrax. Nor is she scared to go as far as kinslaying, this is going to be a controversial opinion but I think Blood & Cheese was her idea. Daemon’s smart enough to know this, it doesn’t matter he’s her husband Rhaenyra won’t hesitate if he shows signs of becoming a genuine threat to Jace, Luke and Joffrey.

Rhaenyra isn’t her father but Jace isn’t his mother either, unlike Rhaenyra’s strained relationship with her half siblings the Black kids have a very different dynamic. They genuinely love each other, nothing in the text suggests Jace saw Aegon III as a threat the way Rhaenyra saw Aegon II. Jace made arrangements in the Vale to keep Aegon safe, he was then killed protecting Viserys. That doesn’t sound like the actions of a Crown Prince who thinks his stepfather will steal the throne for his half brother, it sounds like a big brother who loves his little siblings more than anything else. So even if Daemon did try and seize the throne from Jace (again unlikely he’ll ever try) his kids are more likely to turn on him than their brother.

I did see another pro Daemon argue Aegon and Viserys are kids, if Daemon takes the throne on their behalf they can’t exactly stop him but the question then becomes can he?

Here’s who supported Team Black:

The Riverlands: the houses were divided between the Greens and Blacks but the ones who supported Rhaenyra did so out of loyalty to her, not Daemon.

The Crownlands: same as the Riverlands, their loyalty was to Rhaenyra and she declared Jace to be her heir apparent that never changed until his death.

House Velaryon: the richest family in Westeros and the Black’s strongest ally. Through Jace and Baela’s marriage Corlys gets both his name and blood on the Iron Throne, King Aegon III Targaryen can’t give him this. He only pressed for Aegon to become King after the deaths of JL&J, not before.

The North: the ones who ultimately won Team Black the throne. Jace created the Pact of Ice and Fire with Cregan which promises either Rickon becomes the next Prince Consort or the next Lady Stark is a Targaryen Princess, he joined Rhaenyra’s cause out of loyalty to Jace he won’t turn against him.

The Vale: they hate Daemon, Jeyne Arryn supported King Aegon III because he’s Rhaenyra’s child and Jace’s brother not because he’s Daemon’s son.

The Iron Islands: Dalton Greyjoy supported them because Daemon appealed to his bloodlust, not out of loyalty to either him or Rhaenyra.

Which goes back to my original point: OP you’re right, Daemon did want his sons on the Iron Throne and (again controversial opinion) he has every right to want so. Problem is he didn’t have the power to make it happen. I honestly think he was smart enough to cut his losses a long time ago: Baela will be Queen Consort and Rhaena’s the next Lady of Driftmark, so his bloodline will still be on both the Iron and Driftmark thrones.

Stop

Seriously, when will they stop calling the bastards Rivers/waters (because they don't even have the last name Strong) sons of daemon? They ARE NOT, Daemon Targaryen ONLY HAD TWO MALE CHILDREN who are AEGON AND VISERYS TARGARYEN..... NO MORE... when will they learn? They annoy me....

and also those who think that Daemon wouldn't do anything to them and He was super happy that the bastards were kings instead of HIS LEGITIMATE CHILDREN.... fuck off those who make up the family story perfect

[shina913]

Scions, Ch.1 - Namjoon | Kim Line + JHS

Scions, 1 - Namjoon

sci·​on | \ ˈsī-ən \ Definition: (1) a descendant (2) a shoot or twig, especially one cut for grafting or planting

✼Scions Masterlist✼

Pairing: Namjoon x Fem!OC; Fem!Reader Sister + Namjoon

Rating: M (🔞)

Genre: Siblings!AU; Marriage!AU; FWB!AU; exes to ?; angst; smut; fluff

Warnings: angst with a capital A; character illness; excessive cussing; some lingering family issues; infidelity; sibling bickering; pregnancy loss; slight hints of depression and trauma; dirty talk; name-calling; some humiliation (not by Namjoon); alcohol consumption; also, Namjoon drives here (trust me, it's integral to the story)

Word count: 6,435K+

Series summary: Four grown siblings return to their childhood hometown after their father is declared to be terminal. They are forced to live under the same roof for days, along with their overbearing mother, to say their final goodbyes. It starts off nostalgic until some unresolved family issues along with an assortment of spouses, exes, and might-have-beens make things even more interesting.

A/N: This chapter was written as part of @btswritingcafe's Specialty Coffee Anniversary Event. There were three categories that featured various B-side tracks whose lyrics were meant to be the basis for the fic. For this particular chapter, I have chosen "Butterfly": You're there but for some reason, I can't reach you.

“Can we run it again but can you turn up the synth more on that next cut?”

Namjoon pushes the ‘talk’ button so that he can hear him through the soundproof booth. “I thought it was perfect the way I had it set up,” he says, trying to sound professional.

“Sure but…I think we can really punch it up, you know? I want this bumpin’ in the clubs!”

“If you want more bumpin,’ we can add more percussion, increase the bass–”

“Nah, I think the synth is more club-appropriate,” he says dismissively.

Namjoon sighs, making sure not to let rapper-idol extraordinaire Jaxon Park, known mononymously as ‘JAXX,’ see any hint of irritation in him. They were currently working on tracks for his second album. They were also under pressure by the company to make sure that this one topped the first.

The first album was Namjoon’s first successful effort as a solo producer. Jaxon had taken a chance on him during a songwriting workshop with several others and he gravitated towards Namjoon’s unique sound. They just clicked–and the first album’s success was a result.

Namjoon also wrote a fair amount of the lyrics on the album, earning him notable accolades in the music industry and boosting his reputation almost overnight. Pretty soon, other artists wanted to collaborate with him as well. However, he always made time for Jaxon.

If there was one thing that Namjoon wanted to be known for, it was his fierce loyalty. Yes, he was cerebral and ambitious but his father always taught him that loyalty was a priceless value. It would always keep you grounded in any situation. When you come to a crossroads at any point in life, loyalty would lead you to the right path.

And just because Jaxon had taken that chance on a young, budding songwriter-producer almost three years ago, he felt that he owed him in a way. And other than loyalty, Namjoon always felt like he was in a competition with himself. He wanted to help break the whole sophomore album ‘curse’ and see if he could top his efforts then.

But Jaxon has been more pushy, more persistent. He’d been shutting down more of Namjoon’s suggestions, wanting to change more than half the beats or lyrics that he came up with. Namjoon was trying to be flexible. Jaxon was growing as an artist, too, so he didn’t mind loosening the reins a bit.

Namjoon pushes the ‘talk’ button again. “Alright, Jax. We’ll try it with your adjustments,” he relents.

******

“Hey, Jax—I came up with this new beat last night. It’s a little slower than what you had originally envisioned but I think we can really work it in—“

Jaxon groans. “Can’t we just pick this up tomorrow, Namjoon? I’m beat.”

“I was just hoping we’d capitalize on this. Maybe show something extra for the bosses? You could record a few bars and I have the demo track ready–”

“Namjoon…” he says gravely, “We’ve been at it since last night. Let’s take a break, huh?”

They’d been at the studio since 10PM, the previous evening. Like it or not, Namjoon was on Jaxon’s schedule. He flew around the country and had crazy hours, trying to hype up the buzz on the second album and the first single off it, which they were scheduled to drop in a couple weeks’ time.

“And we’ve got another week to go before the first full listening sesh so–I think we can afford to chill out a bit,” He says, patting his shoulder. “We’re still ahead of schedule, Namjoon. And, as a friend, please don’t take this the wrong way but–you look like you could use some sleep, bro,” his mouth curved and let out a chuckle.

He didn’t really consider Jaxon as a friend, per se. They were professional partners and occasionally went to parties thrown by the label but they did not know each other like that personally. However, it was of note that Jaxon became somewhat of a confidante last year, especially after what happened to Namjoon and his wife, Victoria. He appreciated how an idol, as big as Jaxon was, could be accommodating and sympathetic.

Namjoon glances at his watch. It is currently 9:45AM and he considers Jaxon’s suggestion for a few seconds but eventually changes his mind. “Mm—nah, you go on. I’m cool, though. I’ll stay a bit longer and add a couple more layers to the tracks we’ve got. This way, we’ve got something more polished to send off. It will almost sound like it’s been completely mastered.”

“Alright. Suit yourself,” Jaxon says before turning towards the exit.

“Nice work today, Jax!” Namjoon calls over his shoulder as his fingers return to the knobs and toggles on his board to make some adjustments.

“Thanks, bro. You, too.”

******

It was a little past noon and he was still messing around with the percussion levels on the track when his phone rang.

“Hey, what’s up,” he answers.

“Wanna come over for dinner tomorrow? I’m making maeuntang.”

“Ooh–that actually sounds good,” he said, leaning back, reclining his seat.

YN pulls the phone momentarily away from her mouth then turns to the fishmonger who greets her and inquires about her order. “Yeah, hi–can I get three pounds of the black bass, please? Thank you,” she smiled as he handled her order and pulled the phone closer to her again.

“Black bass, huh? The way dad makes it?” Namjoon asked.

“I mean…is there any other way?” She says to him rhetorically, smiling into the phone. “Tae’s already coming over–hence the extra serving,” she chuckled.

He sighs and laughs softly. “Ah, what time is it?” He asks absently, raising his arm up to check his watch.

“Like, 12:10.”

He suddenly snaps up, straightening in his seat when he catches a glimpse of today’s date reflected on his watch’s dial, suddenly remembering something. “Shit! I just remembered that it was–”

“Uh huh,” she deadpanned as she accepted the bag of cleaned, freshly butchered fish and put it in her cart. “I tried calling her but she didn’t answer so…I just left a message.” She shrugged.

He squeezes his eyes shut and pinches his nose at his idiocy. “Are you still at the store?” He says in a rush while saving his work, and simultaneously gathering his things and stuffing them in his bag.

“Yeah, why?”

“Can you please, please do me a favor and pick up a cake? Nothing too fancy but if they have that strawberries-and-cream one, I’d be forever grateful,” he begs.

YN laughed. “Fine, fine. Should we meet somewhere so I can hand it to you or…” she trailed off.

“Uhh–just meet me in front of our building and hand it to me there? I might be a couple minutes late since I’m coming from the studio but–”

“Say no more, bro. I’ll wait for you.“ She uttered.

“Thanks, YN. You’re a lifesaver,” He’s sprinting towards the elevator now to get to the basement parking garage.

“Mm-hm. Love you, too.” She signed off.

******

YN hated driving around the downtown area and it was a shock to her that Namjoon actually managed to get through traffic easily around here when he struggled so much trying to get his drivers’ license. But he needed to drive. The record company didn’t always have drivers available on-call and Namjoon couldn’t keep riding his bicycle to get from one point to another, especially when he had to rush from one meeting or session and get to the next one quickly. It was an inconvenient necessity.

Finally, she sees his car approaching. Before he pulls into the parking garage in his building, he spots his sister’s car idling on the curb out front and double-parks. He turns his hazard lights on and exits his vehicle to jog over to her car. She rolls the window all the way down and he pokes his head in while she nudges the box that sat on her passenger seat. 

He lifts the lid slightly and sees a 6-inch round white cake, with slivers of strawberries that sat atop little dollops of the same whipped cream that covered the entire dessert. The center said, ‘Happy Birthday, Vee,’ written in dainty lettering in red icing.

“There’s a candle taped on the box there, just in case,” she pointed out.

Namjoon smiled in gratitude. “Thanks, YN. You’re a saint,” he says as relief washes over him while he leans in on her car door.

“I think she’s going to be surprised,” she says.

“I think so, too,” Namjoon responds with a slight hint of guilt. “Also–I managed to book a last-minute trip this weekend before I got on the road so…even though I’d love some maeuntang…” his shoulders lifted as he gave YN a half-smile.

She smiled at him, shaking her head and waving him off. “Totally get it. More for Tae then,” she laughed. “And, it might be good for both of you. You know…especially after the tough year you had.”

He nods soberly at that. “Let’s have lunch sometime next week, huh? I promise I’ll get it on my calendar and stick to it this time. I know you have a pretty set routine,” he says apologetically.

She smiled warmly. “I’d love that. And yeah,” she sighed. “It’s a bit more difficult juggling things for the next couple weeks with drop offs, pickups–very little room for flexibility.”

“No worries. And thanks again for this,” he gestures at the cake box before he withdraws himself from the car.

“You’re welcome. Tell her ‘happy birthday’ for me,” she says to him before pulling out of the spot to make her way home.

She sees him wave at her from the rearview mirror then catches a glimpse of him walking back to his car to drive into the garage and surprise his wife.

******

Victoria hears the door buzzing after she slathers her freshly-showered self with body butter. She was feeling good and refreshed–not just from the shower but in anticipation of a surprise today. She takes one last look at herself in the mirror. Turning a couple different ways, checking herself out, making sure her tits and ass looked great. She hummed, clearly pleased with her reflection. She then sauntered over to the front door to answer it.

She doesn’t even take a peek to find out who it is because she already knows–which is why she greeted him wearing nothing but a lace teddy with strategically placed apliques.

“Hi,” she says sheepishly, batting her eyelashes at him.

He rakes in her near-naked form from bottom to top. “Wow–and here I was thinking that I was going to give you a nice surprise.”

She bites her lip at him seductively. “Well, don’t keep me waiting, baby. It’s my birthday and I want my present now.” She fists at his shirt and yanks him in through the doorway, capturing his mouth in hers. She giggled as he lifted her off the floor effortlessly to walk her back down the hallway and into the bedroom.

******

Something felt off when he began to walk down the hallway.

The music was blasting around the bluetooth speakers he had installed around the apartment. He never figured Victoria would listen to Nas…at least, not without any prompting from him. But, some small part of him just figured that she was finally growing into it. 

He walks into the kitchen and sets the box on the counter and retrieves a lighter. He opens the box and very carefully lifts the cake out of the box. He rips the candle taped on the lid but it breaks in half. He grimaces. He then quickly pulls off one half–the one where the wick was still intact and pushes it gently into the cake before lighting it. 

–Grey goose and a whole lotta hydro Only describe us as soldier survivors Stay laced in the best, well dressed with finesse In a white tee lookin' for wifey Thug girl who fly and talks so nicely Put her in the coupe so she can feel the nice breeze We can drive through the city no doubt But don't say my car's topless, say the titties is out–

“Baby?” He tries to call out over the music. He rounds the corner back to the hallway towards the bedroom, careful not to trip over anything. 

As he takes a couple of steps closer, he hears faint moaning as he closes in. For some odd reason, it turned him on. It’s been a while since but it brought him back to a memory when Victoria suggested that she and Namjoon watch each other touch themselves. It felt like a century ago and after the rough year they’d had, he had forgotten how much of a freak she was. Maybe this would be the perfect way to finally start getting back to normal again.

He pushes at the door and is immediately greeted by a bare ass that was clenching–and it wasn’t his wife’s. But the moans that it elicited by its repeated thrusting definitely belonged to her.

“Yes! Fuck me harder, yes!” She screamed.

“Yeah? You like being fucked like a dirty slut, Victoria? Hm?” he smacked her ass hard. “Tell me whose pussy this is,” he demanded.

“Yours,” she answered.

“Yours-what?”

“Yours, Jax! This pussy is yours!” she says with a yelp after he slams harder into her.

He is flabbergasted and unsure exactly what to do but he is unable to look away. Finally, when he was able to pry his eyes away from the sweaty cluster in front of him, he looked at the console by the door that held some controllers–the entangled pair still unaware of their audience. He reaches for the one that powered the speakers and promptly shuts his system off. As soon as the music cuts, he takes one big stride and his free hand moves on its own volition and hurls the still-lit cake, which hits Jaxon square in his back.

On impact, Jaxon balks and halts his movements. “The fuck–” he turns around to look behind him then freezes to find Namjoon, seething. “Shit, shit–” he hurriedly pulls out of her then stumbles away and off the bed, trying to retrieve his clothes…as if that would improve the situation.

“Jax–what–” she turns around, stunned to see her husband home early. “Oh my god, Joon–” she gasps. 

“Still too fucking tired to talk about that beat now, Jaxon?”

******

Victoria scrambles to chase her husband down the hall, initially telling her lover to stay where he is as she makes an attempt at diffusing the situation.

“Joon! Namjoon–” she calls out while trying to hastily tie the silk sash of a robe that she haphazardly throws on. 

Namjoon sat quietly at his dining table. When she finds him there with his back facing them, she quickly waves Jaxon through to make a quick escape.

When he hears the door click, Namjoon speaks. “How long?” He asks in an eerily calm tone. He was still in shock but something in him–call it divine intervention–prevented him from ripping Jaxon to shreds right then. His hands rested on the surface, where they were balled up into fists.

Victoria’s heart was pounding as she kept a safe distance, her eyes trained at her husband’s broad back. She was silent for a few seconds–trying to form the right words to mouth to her husband. “N-Namjoon…“ she stuttered.

“I said, how long??” he shouts while simultaneously banging his fist against the table, making her jump up and whimper.

“A…a-a few m-months,” she stammers quietly but loud enough for him to hear. In actuality, it’s been closer to a year–which more than constituted ‘a few’, but she wasn’t about to make this worse–as if there were any way to make this better.

A low growl escaped his chest. He covered his face with his hand–his fingers gripped and dug into his cheeks. He so badly wanted to rip the skin off his skull. He wanted to scream and throw the chair at the window–hell, he wanted to do worse things. Instead, he kept calm then started walking back to the bedroom. She braced herself and flinched when he closed in but was surprised when he walked past her.

Victoria snaps back to reality to catch up to him.

He picks up an overnight bag and stuffs it with random clothes from his closet and dresser. Victoria stands by the doorway dumbfounded.

“Namjoon,” she tries to call his attention but he ignores her and continues to pack his things. “Joon, please… Let me–let me explain–” She says with tears in her eyes now. Her eyes drift down to the mangled cake that still sat on the bed.

When Namjoon deduced that he had enough things, he zips up the bag then starts towards the door and sees his wife, crying softly–looking vulnerable and waiflike. For a second there, he flashes back to a similar vision a year ago. But he shakes his head and the memory is replaced by a vision of her getting pounded on by another man.

He sidesteps her then walks out of their bedroom to head back to the entrance to retrieve the rest of his things. He grabs his keys, his phone, and his backpack. 

In a few seconds, she was on him again. “Please, Joon…just give me a chance to ex–”

He spins around abruptly to face her. “Tell me–how exactly were you going to explain that back there?” He seethed through gritted teeth.

“Joon, it’s more complicated than that–”

“What’s so complicated about seeing Jaxon Park balls deep into my wife?” His blood was boiling and his whole body practically vibrated in anger. He didn’t wait for her answer. Truthfully, he didn’t want to spend another second in her presence. He needed to calm down and get his head straight before he did something he would regret. He reached for the doorjamb and turned it, preparing to exit.

“Wh-where are you going?” She asks stupidly.

“Anywhere but here,” he spits out before pulling the door open and slamming it shut.

******

Namjoon opens his eyes and stares up at the ceiling. It was lower than what he was used to waking up to–and the moulding was definitely much different than the style that he had personally picked when his unit was getting remodeled. He lifts his head slightly and sees a blurry figure seated by his feet, with a pair of big brown eyes staring back at him..

Shortly after, he hears a tiny giggle up by where his head rested. “Good morning, Uncle Joonie!”

“Good morning, Jooni and Joobin.” He sounded like death…which was appropriate since he felt dead. Seconds later, his corpse felt like it was slowly coming back to life as his niece and nephew jumped up to cover him in hugs and kisses. He relishes it, almost as if last night was just a bad dream.

“I made coffee,” YN called out from the kitchen in between all the giggles.

******

It was Saturday morning, a little after 7:15. Namjoon had passed out on the couch and YN didn’t even want to try waking him to crawl into her guest bedroom. He rubbed his temples and grumbled, wishing that he could sleep in a bit more since it was still early and he was extremely hungover. But YN deadass told him that her children had no regard for time at their age because they just go with whatever their body clocks dictate. With their standard routine during the week, waking up on the weekend without anybody crying was a success in her book.

She observed him quietly while he watched the children play together in the living room. They were both at the kitchen counter–YN standing on the other side, making breakfast while he sat on one of the stools.

He smiles while her older one dotes on the younger–knowing full well that peace doesn’t last between these two. It won’t be long until the other doesn’t get their way and starts to tell on the other, followed by minutes of whining until she bribes them with a snack.

“When did they get so big?” He says as he turns to face his sister, taking another sip of his coffee.

She shrugs her shoulders. “You blink and you miss it,” she says wistfully. “Funny enough, that’s exactly what dad said, too when he and mom came to visit last week,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee. “I think he might have tweaked his back when he pretended to be a horse and carried both kids.”

Namjoon chuckled at that. “Is it just me or has he lost more weight?”

She nodded. “Hmm. I thought it was just because I hadn’t seen him in a while but he did look pretty skinny to me. I asked him about it and he told me he was doing yoga–and going on a plant-based diet.”

Namjoon snorted. “I can’t imagine dad not eating meat.”

YN inhaled through her teeth and contorted her mouth. “Oh, I know. I can’t either.” She then turns the focus back to him. “Did you…get any sleep at all?”

He sighed while he rubbed his eyes before slipping his glasses on. They were extremely dry now since he had fallen asleep with his contacts on. It was only hours ago that he had completely broken down in front of her. Whatever last shred of composure and restraint he clung onto in front of Victoria that afternoon, it was all nonexistent by the time he walked through YN’s door.

He was a blubbering mess–primarily because he had already gulped down half a bottle of tequila while giving her a play-by-play of what happened. She cringed while he narrated but she didn’t interject and held back any big reactions. She just listened to him while he let it all out.

“Some…but mostly tossed and turned,” he mumbles before sighing deeply.

“You know you have to talk to her at some point, right?” She turned off the stove.

He shook his head. “I don’t know if I can…and truthfully, I don’t know when I can. Everything’s still so–raw.”

He had shut off his phone shortly before he arrived at his sister’s front door last night. He spent most of the afternoon driving around aimlessly until he finally called her, asking if he could stay with her for a couple days. On the other hand, Victoria had been pummeling her with calls and texts that she had to put her sister-in-law’s number on mute so her brother wouldn’t completely fly into a rage. Scratch that–it was more so that she wouldn’t fly into a rage.

It was difficult for YN to see him like this. Her always-reliable brother. He was her source of strength and stability, especially years ago when she was just starting out on her own in the city.

Their closeness was not just a result of their less than 12-month age gap. They always leaned on each other even when they were kids. And even after he and Victoria got married and she had her own family, they still turned to each other often, particularly when life gave them a swift kick in the shin.

“Surprised you didn’t call Tae…or Jin-oppa,” she commented.

“Jin-hyung would give me a whole speech about doing the right thing—which, I really am not in the mood for right now. And Tae…” he sighed, “He’s got other things in his mind right now,” he said of their youngest sibling.

She chuckled. “And you think I don’t?”

A pang of guilt hits him. “Sorry, YN. I didn’t mean–”

She shook her head. “Only kidding,” she said before turning away to retrieve some dishes to plate up breakfast.

“I just–I don’t know if I can talk to Taehyung about things like this. I don’t know if he’d understand.”

She gave her older brother a half-smile. “Try him!”

Namjoon regarded her in curiosity.

“I don’t know why you and Jin-oppa still treat him as if he was still a baby. He’s a grown man, you know,” she said, pushing a plate towards him. “He knows things.”

He scoffed but quickly bulged his eyes out in realization. “Shit–is he still coming over tonight?”

“Yep,” she said simply. “I really hyped up the soup and he’s been looking forward to it. He might be disappointed to find out that he’s not getting an extra serving now,” she teased.

“Ah well…he can deal with it. And, YN–” he looks up at his sister tentatively. “It goes without saying that–I don’t want anybody finding out about this. I’m…just not ready to talk about it yet.”

“It’s fine, oppa. I get it,” she tells him. Just then, her two littles come up to him and drag him back to the living room, demanding that he help them build a fort, which he reluctantly agrees to.

YN takes this opportunity to pull her phone out of her pocket to see the six missed calls and several texts from Victoria. She finally replied with a text–telling her to stop blowing up her phone and that her brother would reach out whenever he was up to it.

*****

//FLASHBACK

“Baby? Baby?” When she doesn’t answer, he calls her one more time, “Vee,” he says a bit louder.

She finally turns to him. “Hm?”

She had been sitting on the couch, blankly staring at the TV for hours. “There’s some soup here–actually, YN dropped it off. She also made some hotteok, thought it would uh, cheer you up?”

“Oh…okay. Thank you,” she says quietly before turning back to the TV. “Just uhm, leave it there, I guess. Or put it in the fridge.” She readjusts herself on the couch, laying down and pulling the blanket over her.

Just be there for her. Let her go through the motions. YN's words ring in his head. 

It’s been over two weeks of this...she sleeps in ‘til noon, cries, watches TV. When she falls asleep on the couch, he picks her up and carries her into their bedroom. When she wakes up, she repeats the cycle.

Desperate to do something to ease her pain, he approaches her. He sits on the couch by her feet and rubs them gently through the blanket.

“Baby–is there anything else I can get for you?”

“No, thank you,” she says with a small voice.

“Uhm–I…” he hesitates, but he gathers up the courage. He loves her and it was killing him to watch her go through with this or that she felt like she needed to deal with this on her own.

“Victoria–I…I hate seeing you like this,” he says. She doesn’t look at him and instead keeps her eyes glued to the screen.

“Vee, baby…I love you and I know I said that whenever you feel ready, you can always talk to me, right? I’m just really worried about you.”

Tears start to sting her eyes after hearing her husband attempt to reach her.

“If…if you don’t want to talk to me…maybe,“ he sighs, “Maybe, you’d want to talk to somebody? Like a professional?”

At the sound of that, she sits up angrily. “I’m not crazy, Namjoon,” she snapped. “I don’t need to talk to a shrink–or whatever the fuck you call it,” she continued to berate him.

Namjoon chose his next words more carefully. “Victoria, I’m–I’m sorry. That’s not what I’m trying to imply. I feel like you're there but for some reason, I can't reach you. And I just love you so much and–please, just tell me what I can do to help you. I need you to talk to me–”

“We lost our baby, Namjoon!” Her voice thundered through the room. “If you can’t wrap your head around that…” Her chest heaved with anger, unable to finish her thought.

Namjoon is rattled. It was as if he had just poked a sleeping lioness–he tried to walk back as quickly as he could. “Baby, I didn’t mean it like that. I only want to help you,” his voice cracks.

“Yeah, a great fucking deal you’re doing,” she says as she gets up and furiously walks away from him and into their room, slamming the door behind her.

//END FLASHBACK

******

“Joon? Joon?”

He looks up to see Victoria’s eyes staring back at him. After a week, he had finally agreed to meet with her–at one of their favorite restaurants...the one they had been to on their very first date. Sadly, Namjoon didn’t feel nostalgic when he walked in.

His slightly overgrown hair was tucked under his beanie. He also stopped shaving, judging by the 5 o’clock shadow that he sported. He used to be very meticulous about it before.

He exhaled heavily while he picked at his plate.

“H-how’s the album coming along?” She asks cautiously.

His eyebrows quirk up. Was she actually asking how his work was doing or was she asking because she knew that he was working on finishing the last couple of tracks for Jaxon’s album?

As soon as she sees his jaw tick, she switches tact. “I uh, I ran into one of the producers in the building the other day. W-we just got to talking and I was hoping I’d catch you there.”

“Yeah. I’ve switched my studio schedule,” he replies coldly.

He sends his edits and mixes to Jaxon remotely and vice versa. Being the consummate professional, Namjoon thought he’d be perfectly fine conducting business with him without unnecessary banter but it was Jaxon himself who suggested they work separately–via email. Jaxon has an engineer come in to help him make adjustments to vocals or other settings then sends his parts to Namjoon to make all of the final touches on the tracks.

She nodded tentatively then decided to switch subjects. “So, I’ve been talking to a therapist and–”

“Oh, now you want to talk to a therapist…” he sneered.

Victoria’s lips narrowed into a thin line, desperate to push through this conversation with her husband. “The sessions…they’ve been helpful. A-and,” She struggled to get the next few words out. “She doesn’t just treat individual patients. She uhm…she sees couples, too. I think…I think that maybe we could try it?”

He regards her with curiosity. “Marriage counseling?”

She tries to steady her voice. “Y-yeah. I’ve had a couple friends go through them, a-and–it’s not so bad…”

“Not so bad,” he repeats dryly and follows it with a chuckle. “You think that this can be fixed?”

******

He excused himself from the table and told Victoria that he needed a few minutes to collect himself when he decided to call YN in a panic.

“Fuck me…I don’t know, YN. I don’t know what to do,” Namjoon says on the phone while he paced back and forth in the parking lot.

“Maybe counseling isn’t too bad?” She offered gently. “It could…” she sighed, “It would,” she corrected herself, “Unlock some lingering issues and bring those to the surface.”

“I know but…” he shook his head. “I just want to make the right decision here. I don’t want to be an asshole but I also don’t want to walk away feeling like a jackass.”

“Okay, why don’t we calm down for a bit. I really don’t know why you agreed to meet with her so soon when clearly, you’re not in any state to try and talk things through yet.”

“That’s because every time she speaks, I hear her fucking voice, moaning…over and over in my head,“ he hissed.

“Okay, okay. Don’t…” she cut him off as she felt him spiraling out over the phone. She sighed, “Don’t get too worked up over this. What if—what if you tell her that you can’t do this right now and that you need a few more days? Walk away right now and revisit later.”

There was silence on his end. Gripping his forehead, he relents. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. I just…need a couple more days to refocus.”

“Take your time,” she said while he hummed in agreement.

“And Namjoonie? Maybe,” she paused for a beat, “Maybe don’t take counseling off the table?” She suggested. “It could help, you never know.”

“And if it doesn’t?” He asked, chewing on his bottom lip.

“Well…then at least you could say that you made an effort to save it…you know…if it’s worth saving,” She says, her voice thick with indistinct emotion.

“Plus, you know my door is always open. As long as you don’t mind the kids using you as their personal jungle gym,” she said.

He chuckles, sincerely looking forward to it.

******

He felt slightly better with renewed purpose as he stepped back into the restaurant. At least he had some semblance of a game plan.

As he closes in on his table, he slows his steps when he sees the scene unfolding in front of him.

“Don’t ruin this for me, Jax, please,” she begs. “Please leave before he sees you!”

“Look, I just want to talk to him and—“

“Wow. What kind of bullshit entrapment operation is this,” Namjoon says acrimoniously.

“Namjoonie—“

“Don’t you fucking Namjoonie me, Jaxon,” he says through gritted teeth. “I don’t know what you’re planning here, Victoria but I won’t be part of it.”

Fully aware that they were in public and that Jaxon was still an idol, Namjoon summoned all of his strength not to completely obliterate him on the spot.

“Namjoon, baby—this wasn’t planned. Jax, I mean, Jaxon happened to be here, too. I, I swear, I didn’t know. I was shocked when he just came up to me.”

Namjoon’s ears start to ring. His heart was racing and he broke into a cold sweat. He had to get out of here…and quickly.

“Namjoon, I just wanted to apologize—“ Jaxon starts before Namjoon cuts them both off.

“I can’t fucking do this right now. This is too much,” he says. With a huff, he turns on his heel and marches to the exit. 

******

Victoria chases after Namjoon at the parking lot after he storms out of the restaurant. Jaxon stays back…which was probably for his own good. He thought, you never know who’s watching and what they might post online. He had to hand it to him–even after being a total douchebag, he still wanted to keep up appearances. 

“Joon, I swear, it’s nothing. I told him to stop calling but he kept telling me that he just wanted to talk to you. I swear, this wasn’t planned. I don’t know how he found out that we were meeting here,” she rambled in a panic.

Namjoon laughed inwardly. If he really wanted to talk to him, Jaxon knew where to find him. They were still working together in spite of current circumstances.

“He’s just persistent, and–” 

“Persistent, huh? I wonder why,” he said suspiciously. 

“Joon...” Victoria says, her voice faint. “After that night, I–I’ve ended things.”

“How do I know you’re not lying to me right now?” Anger stews within Namjoon’s chest.

“Joonie...I swear, it’s over. You just have to trust me.”

But that wasn’t good enough for him.

“There lies our problem, Victoria. I don’t trust you.” His words burned her like acid. He puts his hands on his hips, flaring his nostrils, desperately trying to control his breathing while looking down on the ground.

“Baby...baby, look at me,” she advances towards him and cups his face in her palms but he does not make eye contact. “Please,” she begs him. “Look at me, please.” He looks up at her, tears pooling in his eyes.

“Baby, I swear–it’s just you. Only you. I will do anything–anything–to earn your trust again.” She continues to plead. She feels him slipping further away from her and she’s trying to desperately hang on to any sliver of hope that he could throw at her. She looked into his eyes–they were filled with pain. Pain that she caused. Tears start to stream down her cheeks.

Namjoon curled his fingers around her wrists, gripping at them. And for a moment–she thinks–maybe. Just maybe.

But he moves to pry her hands off his face instead. “I–can’t do this,” he whispered harshly.

Victoria panics. “Joon, please. Please, I’m begging you. Don’t give up on me, please.” She tries to desperately touch his face once again but he holds her back.

“I wanted to try, Vee–believe me.” Tears betray his resolve. “I can forgive but I can’t forget. I just…I don’t think I can live like this. Looking over my shoulder, wondering if…” He couldn’t bear to complete that last thought. “I just can’t.” There was a finality to his words but Victoria wasn’t going to give him up easily. As Namjoon starts to walk towards his car, she tries to cling on to his back.

“No, Namjoon, please. We love each other, don’t we? Shouldn’t that be enough to get us through this?” She begs him between sobs.

Namjoon’s shoulders slump. “I used to think so. But between us, you were the first who decided that love wasn’t enough. And that I wasn’t enough–to give you what you needed.”

At that moment, she loosens her hold on him until her arms drop to her side. He takes this opportunity to wipe his tears quickly and compose himself before he turns to face her one last time--as her husband. 

His voice matched the iciness in his eyes. “I want this done as quickly as possible. I think this is the best thing for us...You’ll hear from my lawyer soon.”

He gets in the car and looks back at her once more. She is despondent, in shock. Her soul seemingly left her body as she tried to process the last few minutes.

“I’ll be back for my things tomorrow…and I would really like for you to not be there when I do.”

The moment she comes back to reality, she sees his tail lights fading in the night. She slumps over with her hands on her knees, shoulders shaking. Right then, the first few drops of rain start to fall...as if the heavens were also mourning the end of Namjoon and Victoria’s marriage.

As Namjoon rounded the corner at the intersection, his phone rang. He was ready to reject it, thinking that it was Victoria but was surprised to see Jin’s name on the caller ID.

“Hyung?” He answers.

“Namjoon-ah,” His older brother sounded grave, which caused Namjoon’s stomach to drop. 

He pulls over to the nearest curb, mind racing now. “What’s wrong, hyung?” 

Jin sighed audibly on the other line. “It’s dad. You need to come home soon.”

Chapter 2◥  | Main Fic Masterlist

Thank you for reading!

If you loved it and/or curious to learn more, please comment, reblog, or send me feedback! 📩. I love hearing from readers! If you didn't like it so much, I would still like to hear about it 💜

Tagging: @internetjunkdrawer @deepseavibez @joeybeanxbts

[nastybuckybarnes]

Of Kings and Beasts  -  Twelve

Pairing: King!Bucky X Princess!Reader X King!Steve

Summary: Born a bastard of the King of Orlen, you’re thrust to the West to marry the Kings. However, the greeting you get is anything but warm, and your life with the King is far from enjoyable. He knows it isn’t your fault his husband is gone, but that fact alone won’t prevent him from taking it out on you.

Warnings: Angst, Language, Smut (almost?), Injuries, Violence,

Word Count: 3K

A/n: Hehehehehehehehehehehehehehe

THIS SERIES CONTAINS SMUT AND DARK THEMES THAT MAY BE TRIGGERING TO SOME AUDIENCES!!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!! 18+!!!!

Series Masterlist

~*~

Your eyes slowly flutter open, your head throbbing and body aching.

The events prior to your collapse come flooding into your mind and you’re suddenly filled with anxiety.

You push yourself up, wincing as ropes bite into your wrists and a gag scratches the corners of your mouth

You’re bound on a bed, still wearing your cape and gown.

“I was beginning to wonder when you would wake up... if I had been a little too rough with you,” a silky voice says.

You look over to the source, glaring at the man by the window.

Loki only smiles at you, slowly walking towards you.

“You’re far smarter than anyone gives you credit for, do you know that? The Kings think you to be nothing more than a delicate princess, but we both know that’s not true. You had to find your way, make your way. You’ve gone to great lengths just to survive. And that’s where you and I are similar.”

Two long, cold fingers are under your chin, tilting your head back.

“You’re so much more than they think. But they won’t get to know that, will they?” Your eyes widen and you shimmy back, terrified for your life.

The man only laughs, shaking his head.

“I’m not going to kill you, petal. Not yet, anyway. But I cannot say the same for your husbands.” You make a noise through your gag, wanting to only ask him one question.

“You want to know why?” He asks, waiting until you nod before answering.

“Because I have lived in the shadows for far too long. That is something that you and I have in common. We’ve both blossomed in the shadows of other people. But for no longer. It is time for me to take my rightful place as King. King of Asgard. King of Acadia. They will be one under my rule.” Your brows draw together. He means to overthrow not one but two of the strongest kingdoms on the continent.

He opens his mouth to further his explanation, but the door opens and a certain blond-haired beast walks in.

“Ah, yes. I was about to come fetch you,” Loki says, looking over at you and shooting you a wink. You’re still so confused.

“Now, you have your fun with your new wife, while I go divert the attention of her husbands,” Loki says, taking a step back. His appearance changes before your very eyes, and then you’re staring at yourself.

Your lips smile at you, and then your body is walking out of the King’s chambers and closing the door tightly behind.

Thor seems to pay his shape-shifting brother no mind and is instead entirely focused on you.

He slowly approaches the bed, hands extended towards you and you flinch away.

A frown graces his features and he shakes his head, pulling the gag from your mouth.

“I had asked him not to be so rough with you, but he insisted it was necessary. I do hope you’ll forgive me, my love.” You’re taken aback by the name, staring at him in shock.

He chuckles, the sound almost nervous.

“I suppose I should explain myself.” You wait a little less than patiently as the King gathers his thoughts, his eyes darting to you ever now and again.

“You... you are intriguing. You’ve bewitched me, as I said. Captured both my attention and my heart with only a few moments.”

“What in the name of the Gods are you speaking of?” You’re so bloody confused.

“When I first stumbled upon you, I had hoped that you were not in fact the queen. That instead, you were a mere maiden in the Palace. But even finding that you are wed to two of my dear friends... why, it wasn’t enough to stop me from falling for you.” He takes your bound hands in his, thumbs rubbing over your palms. It makes you feel sick to your stomach, and you wrench yourself out of his grip.

“You will not touch me! Not after what you’ve done.” A thought bubbles into your mind and you look up at him. “Loki had called me your new wife... what on Earth does he mean by that?” Thor grins, two fingers stroking your cheek gently while he gazes at you like a lovesick puppy.

“You are to be my wife, (Y/n). And I swear to you that I shall treat you with the respect and the love that you deserve. Your current husbands should be killed for the way they have treated something as delicate as you.” You glare at him, jerking your face away.

“You will not speak of my husbands in such a manner. Your actions are treasonous, and you will bring war upon your kingdom. Why would you do that for me? Why overthrow their kingdom? The greed of men never ceases to disgust me.” He furrows his brows, him being the confused one this time.

“Why would I not go to the ends of the Earth for the woman I love? You have carved a way into my heart, darling, and I would both die for you and kill for you.”

You shake your head vigorously, wanting to cease his speaking.

“How can you claim to love me when you do not even truly know me? You know nothing of me, besides whatever you have created from your own imagination. You do not love me, Thor. Do not try to convince yourself or me that you do.”

He grips your face roughly, eyes alight with fire.

“Do not for a moment think that I am not in love with you.” His voice is booming, frightening even, and for a moment you shrink in on yourself, reduced to that terrified young princess yet again.

He takes a deep breath then lets it out, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead.

“I did not mean to frighten you, my love, I just... I love you and I need you to know it, to accept it. You are to be my wife. My queen, and the mother of my children. I know it is not something you are keen on, only due to your loyalty to your first marriage, but that will be fixed over time, I promise. You need only give me a chance. A chance to show you how it feels to truly be loved.”

There's something off about him, his eyes, his smile. But you cannot deny the fact that his offer is tempting. A chance to not live in fear? To be treated with respect and love? It’s everything you’ve ever wanted and so much more.

But you cannot simply give up on your husbands, can you?

~*~

“There you are! We were beginning to get worried!” James exclaims, taking your hand and ushering you into the room.

Steve watches curiously, something about you seeming off to him.

“I was engaged with Loki, I do apologize for taking so long.” You sit down on the bed, hand reaching for Steve’s.

Something’s not right.

You’ve been quite receptive to their physical touches, but this doesn’t feel right.

Instead of saying anything, the King keeps quiet and plasters a smile onto his face.

“You’re safe here, darling. You need not cut your conversations short for us.” You smile up at him then look over to the note on the bedside table.

“Have you had any luck?” The two shake their heads, wishing they were closer to figuring out who the threat is.

“What can you remember about receiving the letter? The time, if anybody was around?” James watches as your brows furrow, trying to recall anything that may be of use.

“Nothing stands out... although... Thor was quite adamant about bringing me here instead of back to you. I thought that a little strange but at the time I did not question it. And... there was an incident the other night.” Steve’s hand finds your lower back, urging you to continue.

“He made advances... declared his love for me. He later apologized for it, but the entire event has put me on edge.” The two Kings exchange glances at this new information, the brunet ready to go find Thor and give him a piece of his mind.

“Please do not be angry. I’m sure he meant nothing by it, and I wouldn’t want to cause any trouble.” James shushes you, taking a seat on the bed beside you.

“You won’t cause any trouble. If this issue bothers you, then it must be brought up. We will have words with Thor.” You nod, the corners of your mouth turning up in a small but sinister grin.

~*~

The door to the chambers you’ve been trapped in opens, and the trickster walks in with a gleaming smile on his face.

“What have you done now?” You demand, tugging against your bonds.

He only chuckles, walking past you to the small tray of food on the bedside table.

“Oh, I’ve done nothing. It’s what you’ve done that will be the downfall of the two great kingdoms.” You shake your head at him, wanting to know exactly what he’s talking about.

“Right as we speak, you’re confessing to the Kings just how much my idiot brother loves you, how much he longs to be with you and how he would do anything for you. And we both know how much of a temper your husbands have, especially when it comes to you. So it is only a matter of time before they become defensive and seek him out.”

“Wait, Thor is unaware of your plot?” The man laughs, a full belly laugh from deep in his core at your question.

“Oh, Gods no! He is nothing more than a pawn in a far bigger plan than he realizes. His simple mind was far too easy to take, and his initial protection over you was easy to nurture into an infatuation and an unhealthy obsession.” He looks over at you, a smile on his face.

“And you, my dear, are going to be my greatest piece yet. His obsession will be not only the downfall of the Kingdoms, but also of you. He will be your undoing. Because in his mind, if he cannot have you, then nobody else can.” He straightens up and walks over to the wardrobe, pulling off his cloak and hanging it up.

“It’s unfortunate, really, because you are quite beautiful. Beauty is something that shouldn’t be wasted. But I suppose they’ll write sonnets and ballads about how ‘your beauty was what brought the kingdoms to ash’.” You struggle against your bonds, wanting nothing more than to take the knife strapped to your thigh and slash his throat with it.

“You will never get away with this! The Kings are far too smart. They’ll see right through your disguises.” He chuckles and turns to you, arms crossed over his chest.

“There’s a magic in this world, girl. One that you could not even begin to understand. The Kings are nothing more than mortal men. They will succumb to the powers I wield and they will burn, with you alongside them.” He cocks his head to the side, eyes raking over your face.

“But perhaps I need to have my own turn with you. Experience you both inside and out.” You shiver in disgust, pushing yourself as far back on the bed as you can.

The door creaks and the two of you look to the sound, the trickster backing up a step before vanishing into thin air, leaving you alone with the newcomer.

“I do hope you'll pardon my absence,” Thor says timidly, raking a hand through his hair and shutting the door behind himself.

“I had hoped to spend more time with you, however the duties of a King need to be fulfilled.” You say nothing, Loki’s words ringing over and over again in your ears.

You’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t realize he’s climbed onto the bed until his large hands are pushing your knees apart.

“W-wait no!” An idea bubbles into your mind and you speak before you have time to second-guess yourself.

“If you truly wish for me to enjoy our time together, you must release me from my bonds! Do not take me the way the other Kings have. Please. You say you love me, then release me so that I too may enjoy it.” His face softens and he nods, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek before reaching around your back to yank the rope off of you.

“It was never my intention to bind you, sweet flower. But Loki insisted. He said that you couldn’t be trusted and I... I believed him. Please forgive me, my love.” He takes your hands in his so gently, so much love and affection behind his actions, and you find yourself feeling sorry for the man.

Beneath the pity is an anger. Anger at Loki for putting not only Thor through this, but for tormenting you with the knowledge that his love is not real. Nothing more than a facade.

“Thor... how much do you trust your brother?” The blond looks confused by the question and takes a moment to ponder it before answering.

“I... well... Loki and I have not always seen eye to eye. But within the past few months he has come around and been more present. All I’ve ever wanted was for my brother to feel at home in his kingdom. He believes himself to be shunned, an outcast, but he is my brother and I love him dearly. It pains me to see him shut himself away, but now he’s opening back up. And I do think that there is hope for us yet.” Your heart cracks at this.

“But enough about him. This should be about us. You and me, my dear.” His lips are then on your neck, hips pushing between your thighs and big body holding you down against the mattress.

Once again, you find yourself pinned beneath a man with no hope of escaping.

Well... almost no hope.

You swallow back the bile in your throat and seek out his lips, kissing him fiercely while your hands grasp at his shoulders.

He pulls away after a moment, yanking his tunic above his head and grinning down at you.

“Eager, are we?” You nod, fingers trailing over his sculpted torso.

He is a beautiful specimen, and it pains you to do what you’re doing.

“My King,” you whisper, back arching as he kisses over your neck once again. He hums, waiting for you to speak.

“May I ride you?” The words are whispered, barely breathed in the warm air of the room, but they elicit a growl from the man above you.

Your positions are flipped in an instant, you straddling the blond man while he lays comfortably below you.

His hands find your hips while your own shaky fingers pull his manhood from his trousers.

A groan leaves his lips at the feeling of your soft hands against his hot length, and your eyes flash up to his face.

His eyes are squeezed shut, and in that moment you realize it’s now or never.

One hand stays on his length, stroking gently, while the other reaches to the dagger strapped on your inner thigh.

You don’t need to kill him, only to incapacitate him long enough for you to escape.

Disguising the motion as you simply moving your skirts out of the way, you grind your teeth together and squeeze your eyes shut.

The blade is raised high above your head, and then with all your might, you slam it down into his abdomen.

He lurches forward, eyes popping open in shock as you yank the blade back out and stumble off the bed.

His face contorts with first confusion, then betrayal, and pain following.

“Why?” His voice is a broken whisper, but you don’t dwell on it. Instead, you rise to your feet and sprint out of his chambers, bloody knife still held tightly in your grasp.

You can hear him behind you, grunting with pain as he moves through his chambers then stumbles through the doorway, but you’re already far enough ahead to create a scene if need be.

You cut through the gardens, grabbing your skirts and hiking them up above your knees to give you more room to run.

Your shoulder connects with the familiar door of safety, and you stumble inside, shaking hands dropping both your skirts and the blade onto the floor.

“(Y/n)?!” James and Steve rush over to you quickly, inspecting your body for any wounds.

“I-It’s Thor! And Loki! Loki’s behind all of it and he has Thor trapped under a curse of some kind! I do not know what he has told you, but he was posing as me and you must believe me!” You’re near hysterical, knowing that if they don’t believe you then you’ll be sent straight back into the hands of the King.

“What on earth are you talking about?” Steve asks.

“Loki is a sorcerer. A powerful one. H-he posed as me and no doubt came to the two of you. I can only imagine the lies he spewed. He means to overthrow the kingdoms and he has Thor under-” The door gets pushed open, the man in question looking around frantically until his eyes fall upon your figure.

“Ah, there you are. You needn’t be afraid, my love. I know it was only an accident.” He’s got one of his hands pressed against the gaping wound in his abdomen, the other reaching out for you.

“No!” You cry, near ready to pull your hair out.

James pushes you behind his back, unsheathing his sword and pointing it at the King.

“You will not take another step, do you understand? We can discuss this like men, not fight about it like boys.” Thor blinks a few times, eyes darting between you and your husbands.

“Very well.” He straightens up, face perfectly political.

“I would like you to hand over my wife, or I will kill her where she stands. If I cannot have her, then nobody can.”

[asktheheirofslytherin]

The boy didn't move, didn't even make a sound. Her mind was a jumbled mess of thoughts: Was he dead? Did He murd- No! Was she deceiving herself, attempting to soothe the feelings stirred by the realization that she'd caused his death? After what had happened, she was attempting to prove to him that she cherished him and desired the marriage. Was it true love, or had she grown accustomed to his company? Oh, she wanted to turn around, to look, to check on him and see if he was breathing. But- she couldn't risk it. If there was a remote chance he was still alive, she had to be careful not to make a mistake.

"Yes?" Her pulse was racing beneath his fingertips, a shiver ran down her spine - anxiety tinged with excitement. Lord Voldemort was already dangerous enough, and yet now, he was far more unpredictable than ever before. It scared her how unconcerned he appeared to be, despite the fact that others were probably watching. She had to do something. But what? How? He'd listen to her in this state, he'd do whatever she wanted to, wouldn't he? He had listened just a moment ago. Or had her mind played tricks on her once more and she had only thought his grip had loosened?

How dare you let him touch you!

"Master..." she said, the first coherent word that came to her mind. "I belong to you. My body, my mind, and my loyalty are solely yours. Only yours. Please... Forgive me." If she'd thought the look in his eyes was beguiling before, it undid her now. She'd mistaken his infatuation for raw passion, but nonetheless, she liked the obvious intensity of desire in his crimson eyes as he stared back. "There's no higher regard than yours, and no mercy than that which your hand bestows. But ah, pity. I wish I could've seen the look on his face when this betrayal pierced his heart. Betrayal, but more importantly, my devotion to you." Her lips curled upward, revealing a delicious smirk. "You're above all the others."

She glanced sideways. She had been torn between keeping Voldemort at a distance and preventing the others from finding out. But everyone was watching now. Hands were placed over mouths, glances and whispers were exchanged. What were they thinking? She had been trying to hide his odd behaviour, hoping to keep others from discovering that their Lord had fallen prey to such deceptions - even though it had been unavoidable from the start. What would they think? Would some stupid fool be encouraged? His prestige was his number one priority, but perhaps it was more important to her tonight.

She leaned in a little closer, her breath hot against his skin. "Let's not declare the game over just yet, my Lord. We're merely getting started. Is it not true that the longer the wait, the sweeter the... prize? Oh, just waiting for you gives me ple-"

The host of tonight's dinner, one of the Selwyn's, dared to approach, and interrupted her words. "Is everything in order, my Lord? Is there anything we can do to serve you right? We wouldn't want-"

"Please...forgive me."

Lord Voldemort let out a long slow exhale, a breath he had not been aware he was holding. Right then. Her words soothed him in a way he found almost repulsive. He knew he should not be feeling like this, but he was, and there was no stopping it, not now. He needed to get a handle on himself before he caused even more of a scene, he realized.

She was shaking as she spoke, her breath tagged, her pupils dialed in fear. Fear for whom? Herself? The boy on the floor? Someone else? He fleetingly thought of the images he had seen in her mind but still could not make sense of their significance.

People were approaching, cutting into athaliahs whispered assurances and words of devotion. Oh to hear her speak such things - he could listen to such declarations for hours.

He looked away from her, blinking at Selwyn as though just realizing he was there. Ah. This scene did not look...good. why he was like this he did not understand, but he could minimize the damage done to his reputation.

"I admit I am feeling a bit...unwell," Voldemort said, taking great care to adjust his tone, to appear calm, though inside he felt anything but. The facade would not last long. Seconds, if that. He fought the compulsion to gaze back into Athaliah's eyes and drink in her gaze, her words. A few more seconds. Control. It used to come to easily to him and now he was rendered fragile. His thumb stroked Athaliahs bicep as he spoke, her skin against his an assurance.

"Something... something did not quite agree with me, I believe," he continued. "It would be best if I took my leave now."

He did not wait for an answer, nor did he speak to why Octavius lay on the ground or what exactly he had done to him. He also did not provide any explanation to why Athaliah was apparently coming with him - he pulled her along as he exited the dining room, his hand still firmly gripping her bicep.

He pulled her close the second they were out of sight, apparating to the drawing room of his manor.

He let go of her, his body trembling, and stood before the fire, gripping the mantle with both hands, knuckles white. He closed his eyes, trying to steady himself, to regain his mind.

"Do not leave my side," he commanded, his dark tone very much a threat. Athaliah. Athaliah. He opened his eyes and looked at her.

Athaliah.

He stood up straight, pulling away from the mantle to turn to face her, his fingers reaching out, cupping her chin so her eyes once again locked with his.

"Mine."

[lanseax]

I honestly hope we can marry randvi at some point! (i also cannot come up with a good sounding ship name and I hate that)

(omg i know the ship name is so ridiculous i have no clue. the best i can think of is randvor and even that sounds weird)

I want so much more in the romances. I think that’s something Ubisoft is going to have to improve if they keep romances in the game. I think the romances should have more of an effect as well. Like romancing your brother’s wife should not just be a one and done situation especially when the both of them live in the longhouse which by the way has NO DOORS. Anyone could walk in! Like imagine Dag finding Eivor and Randvi in bed that would cause a fucking RIOT!!

I do want more with Randvi, she’s so good. Even her little side parts in other quests make me so happy. She is deeply devoted to the clan and her background makes me so intrigued, like she’s from a previously rival clan, I want to know more!!

I doubt she was happy with her marriage but it was her duty because she was the jarl’s daughter.

So what I want to know is when her family came to the Raven clan did she see Sigurd and Eivor standing by Styrbjorn did she have a spark of hope she could marry Eivor?

Was she perhaps thinking that surely Styrbjorn would save his son for a marriage with another kingdom so she would be married to his adoptive daughter?

Did she spend time among the Raven Clan before her marriage was ever declared? Was this time spent with Eivor, seeing as Sigurd was an explorer and never home? They must have felt something, so hopeful to wed each other because surely the king would only marry his prince to a princess.

Were they absolutely devastated when Sigurd returned one day with riches for his bride to be? Was Eivor outraged Styrbjorn never told her Randvi was marrying Sigurd? Did they stop talking for a while before the day of the wedding when Eivor caught Randvi alone for the first time in weeks? Did Eivor for once forget all honor and loyalty and beg Randvi to run away with her? Was Randvi the one who wished so much to run away but was bound to this marriage because she knew, they both knew, if this marriage failed war would continue?

Did Eivor even stay for the entire wedding? Did she run to the mountains and hide away for days? When she returned was she hardened and stoic? More bound to her quest for vengeance as she refused to entertain the thought of love or happiness?

[imaginedhaven]

Rules of Engagement: Chapter Nineteen

Link to Masterpost

It’s here! It’s finally here! Thank you all so much for putting up with my extended absence while I wrangled this chapter and my life. The first half feels... idk, kind of filler-y? But I hope the second half makes up for it!

Definitely just one more after this and then an epilogue.

~*~*~

Aelin frowned as she looked over yet another draft of a letter, grabbing at the candle on her desk to keep it steady as a particularly large wave rocked the ship. “I hate formal letters,” she grumbled.

Aedion chuckled from the bed across the room from her own. “It can’t possibly be any worse than the… seventeen previous attempts,” he said as he glanced at the scraps of paper littering the area around her.

“Aedion, this is important.” She sighed, tugging at her own hair. “Everything is on the line, and I need it to be perfect.”

“How is it,” he asked, “that you can be absolutely fearless facing down a Valg queen and yet be so defeated by a simple piece of paper?”

“Says the male who couldn’t even tell me he’d met his father before we’d already left Wendlyn,” Aelin retorted unthinkingly before immediately regretting her words.

Rather than get angry, though, Aedion only sighed. Aelin frowned; he must truly have been torn about the situation, if he wasn’t yelling at her. “Says the male who followed you to face down said Valg queen,” he replied, though it was without any of his usual teasing.

“Very well,” she said primly. “If you would like to write to the lords and request this meeting, then by all means.” She stood up and positioned herself beside the desk chair, sweeping an arm toward it in a grand gesture with a grin.

He finally laughed, and though it was a shadow of his normal reaction it made her smile regardless. “You don’t want me writing to the lords under your name. They’d only hate you more.”

Aelin sighed, tugging at the end of her own braid. “It was easier when I didn’t care how they felt about me, you know.”

“I know.” Aedion stood then, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “But for what it’s worth, the fact that you care—and that all you’ve done here, you’ve done for Terrasen—those facts, not any pretty words you can put on a paper, are what will hold the most sway.”

“I hope you’re right.” She leaned against him, head resting against his shoulder. “I’m certainly not good at pretty words. You saw my letter to Galen, right?”

He chuckled at the memory. “’Terrasen remembers Evalin Ashryver.’ So needlessly dramatic.”

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?” she asked, defensive. “He met with me, and he even agreed with me.”

“I never questioned your results, cousin, only your methods.”

Aelin let out a noise that sounded embarrassingly close to a squawk, outraged. “My methods are what got us to this point, cousin,” she reminded him. “They brought us the proof we needed as well as the support of other royal lines. Not to mention the end of a longstanding enemy of Terrasen. Oh, and a Valg queen.”

“That reminds me,” Aedion drawled as Aelin froze, “I wanted to ask you about how you knew of this Arobynn Hamel in the first place.”

Aelin winced. While it had been easy enough to avoid the question with Captain Westfall, she knew Aedion would not be so easily put off. Not to mention the fact that she was fairly certain he was still upset with her for keeping her plans from him. If she didn’t handle this in just the right way, she was liable to have a far larger fight with her only surviving family than she was prepared for.

And she was certainly not prepared to handle the situation correctly now, not while there was so much else to do. Instead, she sighed. “Can we talk about him later?” she pleaded. “I really do need to work out what I’m going to say to the lords.”

“You’re terrified,” he said softly, as if in realization. “I didn’t stop to think of why you never told me. I was just angry that you were leaving me out when I could help.”

Aelin grimaced. “Is it truly that obvious?”

“It likely wouldn’t be to many others. Only to those who know you well.”

With a wave of her hand, she extinguished the flame of the candle on her desk. She wasn’t going to get any further on the letter, not right now. Perhaps she would go up to the deck and let the motion of the waves ease her mind. That plan had the further benefit of ending this conversation; Aedion was avoiding looking at the ocean for any great length of time.

Before she could leave, though, Aedion spoke again. “Tell me, Aelin. What are you so afraid of? Why would you keep all of this to yourself, for so long?”

Aelin sighed. So the truth-telling was to start now after all, then. “You’ll hate me,” she whispered.

“I could never hate you.” His reply was soft and yet fierce, and when she looked at him she saw a fire in his eyes that matched her own.

“Truly?” she asked. “Even if I nearly left Terrasen with no clear ruler?”

There was no hesitation in Aedion’s voice as he responded. “Even then. Terrasen is our home, but you’re my family.”

Aelin could feel the tears welling up in her eyes from the affirmation of her cousin’s loyalty and devotion. Rather than letting him see it as well, though, she tugged him into a firm embrace. “I’m going to the upper deck,” she declared, “before you decide you’re sick of me after all.”

He laughed. “It’s far too late for that. Are you sure you’re not going up there to see if you can spot a hawk following behind the ship?”

Aelin didn’t bother pretending she didn’t know what he was talking about. “He won’t be,” she said simply. “I ordered him not to.”

As she climbed the ladder and looked out onto the horizon, though, she couldn’t quite stop herself from looking eastward and imagining a pair of wings in the distance.

~*~*~

“We’ve spoken of this continent at great length,” Sellene said as she set a map aside. “But what of Erilea? Did we have ties with them? Will any of the nations want diplomatic ties, other than Terrasen?”

“I imagine most of Erilea will want to hear from you, now that we’re establishing ties with Terrasen,” Rowan said wearily. “We largely ignored the entire continent before now, as Maeve never left Doranelle.”

“And now we know why.” Sellene frowned. “I should probably make it a point to arrange a diplomatic tour and re-establish some of those ties. We’ve been secluded for far too long as it is. Not to mention, I’m soon to have family in Erilea.”

And there it was. He had been wondering how long it would take her to bring up the obvious relationship between himself and Aelin. To be blunt, he was surprised she had made it a full week without that teasing glimmer in her eyes. “It would be even sooner, if you would consider my portion of this mess completed so that I could leave,” he remarked pointedly.

Sellene laughed, clearly delighting in his misery as she usually did. “And ruin Aelin’s moment? I couldn’t possibly be so rude. No, she told me exactly when to send you back, and I intend to listen to her.”

“And I’m assuming you don’t intend to tell me a damned thing about it,” he grumbled.

Though she didn’t directly answer his question, Sellene’s grin told him everything he needed to know. “You’re about to be leaving us forever,” she said in a tone approaching serious. “I think that means I can keep you here for a little bit longer.”

“Does it bother you?” Not the question he had intended to ask, but he supposed he couldn’t take it back at this point.

“On a political level, or a personal one?”

“Either. Both.” Sellene wasn’t the closest of his cousins; that honor belonged to Enda, with whom he had been raised. However, the Whitethorns were a close enough family in general that it was possible and even likely that she had an opinion of some sort about it.

“No, and no,” she smiled. “Your mating and likely eventual marriage to the future queen of Terrasen is a political boon, not a drawback at all. Not to mention that I like her for you. She’s going to challenge you, and the gods know you need that.”

“She already has,” he grumbled, but he couldn’t keep a hint of a smile from his face in response. “Daily, in fact.”

“I knew I liked her.” Sellene shifted her attention back to the maps laid out in front of them. “She has family in Wendlyn as well, right? Her potential claim came from her Ashryver heritage, if I’m not mistaken.”

Rowan nodded. “She does, though relations between Wendlyn and Terrasen have been somewhat strained of late. Maeve’s disapproval of the marriage between Evalin Ashryver and Rhoe Galathynius left an impact that has been felt for decades.”

“I see,” she muttered. “So this transition is truly going to affect large parts of the world.”

“Larger than many know, and larger than most of those who know are willing to admit. It will likely take months or even years for the full impact to be revealed.”

Gods, he certainly hoped she didn’t intend to keep him here for months or years. It had been ten days since Aelin had left and ordered him to remain, and they had been some of the longest days of his life to date. The pull of their bond tugged at him with every waking moment, just enough that it was impossible to forget, and he frequently found himself looking to the northwest as though he could see her across the sea that separated them.

A slender hand tucked itself into the crook of his elbow, and he turned his head to see that Sellene was now standing beside him. “It won’t be forever,” she murmured. “It won’t even be very long. I know we can’t hope to keep you for any great length of time.”

It was true enough, certainly. Even the blood oath he had sworn felt like a mere suggestion against the pull of the mating bond, one he knew he could likely work around with even the most shallow of excuses. Still, he frowned at his cousin. “And yet here I am.”

“I have plans for you yet,” she replied. “We’re done for today, though. I need to meet with Lorcan and Vaughan, now that they’ve returned.”

Rowan nodded and turned to the window again, glancing once more in the direction of the sea. “Vaughan is likely to stay and serve you,” he said quietly. “It’s Lorcan you’ll need to convince.”

“I don’t intend to keep anyone who doesn’t wish to stay. Yourself included. I’ll meet with them all, but you’ll all have a choice.” When he turned to face her the amused glimmer was gone from her eyes and the corners of her mouth were drawn down in a thoughtful frown. “I will not rule as Maeve did.”

“You never did like me having sworn to her,” he recalled.

Sellene scowled. “She swept in when you were at your lowest moment and made a bargain you had little choice but to accept. Our family may have officially forgotten that, but I assure you that I have not.”

“It was my choice,” he protested, the words sounding hollow even to his own ears.

“We can discuss this later.” She dismissed the topic with a shake of her head. “I really do have a meeting to get to, and you’ve been staring at the skies for the past hour. Go fly.”

Rowan didn’t even wait for her to leave the room before shifting, darting out of the open window in a flurry of winds and wings. He may not be able to go to his mate just yet, but perhaps the flight would clear his head long enough to do what had to be done.

~*~*~

Aelin sighed as she stared at the double doors she knew led to the audience chamber. The lords of Terrasen had gathered as she had requested, and now that she’d had a day to try and rest it was time to face them.

As she stood, she smoothed trembling fingers over the green silk of the gown she had chosen for this meeting. It was a simple style, adorned with a belt and jewelry of silver to match Terrasen’s colors. Though as crown princess she was entitled to wear a circlet in official meetings, she had chosen to forego the headpiece. Instead, her hair was braided around her head in a style that mimicked the circlet she had decided to go without. She and Lysandra had carefully decided on every element of her appearance that morning, knowing she would need to present herself as someone who loved her country, but wasn’t preemptively assuming the role she was seeking.

She truly disliked this part of politics, she thought with a sigh. But her image mattered just as much as her deeds, for all she thought it shouldn’t, and she had a part to play.

With that in mind, she carefully assumed an easy smile before pushing the doors open and strolling into the room.

A long table had been set up in the chamber, with a seat for each of the prominent lords of Terrasen. She glanced at each one as she passed, as was expected and polite, though she didn’t truly see any of them. No, all of her focus was on the open throne at the end of the table. It would continue to go vacant, of course; Darrow was only a regent, not a king, and she was not yet queen. They each had their own chair on either side of the vacant throne, and Darrow was already seated in his.

With any luck, this would be the last day the throne would be empty. Aelin took a breath and thought a silent prayer to Mala Fire-bringer before sitting in her own chair. “I’m so pleased you were all able to meet with me on such short notice,” she began. “Much has happened since the last time we were all able to gather.”

“I should say so,” a voice sneered from across the table. “A foreign queen is dead, by your hand. Your letter admitted as much.”

Another deep breath, and Aelin looked inside herself, searching for the drop of calming water at the center of her fiery power. “Lord Sloane,” she acknowledged, pleased with the lack of tremor in her voice. “I’m certain you have concerns, as there was only so much I could share in my letter. I hope to address those concerns today.”

“And we are pleased to hear your explanation.” This voice was warmer, and Aelin rewarded Lord Murtaugh Allsbrook with a thin smile.

“Thank you, Lord Allsbrook. My cousin and our general, Aedion, has gathered the evidence that we obtained over the course of the past several months, proving that the Fae Queen was not who she claimed to be.” With that, she set the book and various papers they had accumulated during their research on the table, to be passed around among the lords. “Before I acted, I presented this evidence in Adarlan and in Wendlyn. I also sent copies to the other ruling families in Erilea, though I did not have time to wait for all of them to reply. I did everything I could to both protect us all from the threat of the Valg and upset the balance of power as little as possible. That leads me to the reason I called you all here today.”

“Why call us here, if not to explain yourself?”

Another deep breath, another grasp at what calm laid within her. “Explaining my actions was always intended to be a part of this meeting, Lord Ironwood. I could hardly expect you to trust me blindly.”

A softer voice spoke up then. “You have my thanks, and you should have the thanks of all present, for both saving our kingdom and taking the time to explain your actions.”

“It was the least I owed you, Lord Suria,” she replied.

The meeting went on, her own words barely registering in her ears. Ordinarily by this point she would’ve already singed some of the papers spread across the table, or at the very least shouted at someone as smoke began to fill the room. Rowan’s training had paid off, after all.

She quickly cut off that line of thinking. It wouldn’t do to tune completely out of the conversation in favor of missing Rowan, not when everything she had worked for was on the line.

Finally, she reached the moment she had been building toward. “So, we’ve agreed that my magic is much better controlled than it has been in years. That leaves the question of a spouse.”

“Yes,” Regent Darrow interjected. “We heard that you won’t be marrying Prince Dorian after all. Have you made another selection?”

Aelin took a deep breath. “It is my request to you and to all of the lords present that I be allowed to assume my throne without a husband. I believe that I have proven myself and my love of this country, and I have made every effort to comply with your requests. Many of our previous rulers, and many of our current and previous lords, have gone on to successful careers unmarried and found their spouses in good time. This is not a declaration that I will never marry, simply a request that my current marital status be removed from your consideration of my right to rule.”

Silence followed her statement, but Aelin kept her nerves from her expression as best she could. She had said her piece and presented the evidence, and now her fate rested in the hands of the lords.

She knew that Lords Ironwood, Sloane, and Gunnar would be the least likely to accept. Lord Allsbrook was likely firmly on her side, and Lord Suria had proven reasonable in the past. Regent Darrow was technically one of the lords as well, and she couldn’t be certain whether or not he would approve of this maneuver. Either he would be impressed by her machinations or he would resent her for going around him.

That left Lord Lochan, who had remained silent throughout the deliberations. She wasn’t certain of his decision, either. She could only pray.

An unexpectedly high-pitched voice interrupted her thoughts. “I don’t see why we should impede Aelin any further. We will still be around as counsel, and I believe I serve as proof that a woman can rule without a husband.”

Aelin turned to the speaker and shock overtook her.

~*~*~

Aedion paced in the hallway outside the audience chamber, hand gripping the hilt of his sword tightly as he walked. There was nothing further he could do. While he was a successful military leader and his word might have held sway on a matter regarding the troops alone, he had no title or lands in Terrasen and he could not have any decision on the matter of Aelin’s right to rule.

He wondered if Aelin felt equally powerless, with her fate in the hands of the lords and only her words to guide them.

No, surely Aelin was actively plying every charm she had available to her. She wasn’t locked out of the room while they deliberated, as he was. While the final decision would not be her own, she still had some degree of power.

A noise broke the silence behind him and he whirled around, sword half drawn before he recognized the person who stood before him. “Nervous?” Lysandra chuckled.

“Are you not?” Aedion sighed as he did his best to relax. “I don’t think I’ve felt so powerless in years. The last time was after the first time you told me off for… how did you put it, exactly, ‘territorial male bullshit’?”

“Aelin helped with the phrasing,” Lysandra admitted.

He snorted. “That much was obvious. It’s a fight we’ve had for years now.”

She leaned against his side, humming softly. “She’ll be fine, you know. Evangeline’s been working on Darrow from the moment we arrived, and you know his vote holds the most sway.”

“Has she, now?” He tugged playfully on one of her chestnut curls. “I can’t imagine who she learned that from.”

“Well, it most certainly wasn’t you. To be blunt, I’m amazed you haven’t drawn that sword and rushed into the room already.”

So was he, but she didn’t need to know that. Instead, he turned to properly embrace her. “And to think I was about to tell you how much I missed you,” he teased.

“Here in this hallway? Where anyone could find us? How scandalous.”

As Lysandra laughed, Aedion felt his ears grow warm. “As much as I’m certain at least one courtier would enjoy the show, I’d rather save that part of it for later.”

“Well, that’s a good thing. I couldn’t stop someone else from coming down to see you as well, since you arrived after her bedtime.”

Aedion turned just in time to see Evangeline flying down the hall, golden locks streaming behind her as she approached him at a full sprint. He bent his knees just enough that he wouldn’t be knocked over by the impact and caught her gently around the waist, something in his chest tightening at the way she wrapped her arms around him. “I missed you too, Evangeline,” he assured her. “But Lysandra tells me you’ve been keeping busy while I was away.”

She nodded and smiled. “I’ve been helping Regent Darrow. I deliver messages. Sometimes I write them too, but I’m not good at that yet.”

“I’m sure you’ve been very helpful,” he replied. “And I’m glad to see you’ve been doing well.”

“You’re back to stay now?” Citrine eyes dark with suspicion glanced up at him. “You’re not leaving again?”

He sighed. “I can’t promise I’ll never have to leave,” he cautioned her. “But I’ll always do my best to come back home as quickly as possible. And I don’t have to leave anytime soon.”

She nodded, hugging him once more before taking up a position behind Lysandra. Lysandra let a hand rest on the girl’s shoulder and glanced up at him. “So now we wait?”

Aedion nodded, one hand lifting to card through his own hair. “Now we wait. There’s nothing else we can do.”

He supposed it was a good sign that the audience chamber was so silent. If no one had raised their voice, it was likely that Aelin hadn’t set anything on fire either, and that was possibly the worst thing she could do at this point. Rowan had trained her well, certainly, but not even years of intensive training would manage to wipe away the bulk of Aelin’s temper and the male had only had a few short months to attempt the task.

On the other hand, it was entirely possible that the room was silent because Aelin had decided she preferred knives to fire. Aedion shivered as he considered the possibility.

Before he could ponder too much further, however, the doors opened and he immediately straightened, hand returning to the hilt of his sword. His cousin emerged from the room, shoulders drawn in close and looking down at the floor. She was obviously exhausted, but neither her posture nor the soft conversation still ongoing in the room behind her provided him with any indication as to how the meeting had gone.

He rushed to meet her as she allowed the doors to swing shut behind her and took a deep breath. “How did it go?”

“I was unaware that Lord Lochan had died while we were in Doranelle,” she replied. “I know you probably didn’t know either, but it would’ve been nice to avoid looking like an idiot in front of the lords.”

Aedion grimaced. “Did it truly go that poorly? What did they say?”

Aelin finally looked up at him, eyes gleaming. “His daughter inherited his position, and did a great deal to argue our case.”

“Little Elide is Lord of Perranth now?” he spluttered.

“Lady, technically, and she’ll pretend not to hear you if you address her otherwise in a formal capacity.” His cousin grinned. “I might need to adopt that tactic myself.”

He wasn’t quite certain how he managed to avoid his knees buckling in relief. “Then it is done?”

“I’m afraid not,” she replied. “You’re about to have a great deal of planning thrust upon you.”

Aedion frowned. “Planning? Whatever for?” Gods, if the lords had renewed their case for a marriage between himself and his cousin… well, he would do it if she asked it of him, but she might also kill him so it would remain an impossibility.

Aelin laughed. “So serious. For my coronation, of course.”

“Your coronation?” Lysandra asked from somewhere behind him, and he was grateful she had done so for he found himself suddenly unable to speak.

“Yes. You’re looking at the next Queen of Terrasen, and the lords have officially approved of my ascent to the throne.”

Aedion hugged his cousin tightly, not missing the triumphant gleam in her eyes. Now that this moment was finally here, he wasn’t sure why he had ever doubted her ability to sway them. After all, it only took one glance at her now to see the queen that she was.

Perhaps the lords had finally seen it, too.

~*~*~

Tagging:

@ireallyshouldsleeprn @queen-of-glass @fangirlprincess09 @sassys-world @morganofthewildfire @superspiritfestival @perseusannabeth @sis-it-dont-add-up @jlinez @julemmaes @emilyoftheshadows @thegoddessofyou @mymultiversee @swankii-art-teacher @rowansfirebringer  @rabodocardan - having a hard time tagging you! Not sure what broke on tumblr this time lol @courtofjurdan @danibutterr

[flowerflamestars]

Effloresce: Secrets and Silence

I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI

Elain had fallen asleep just as the sun began to rise.

 No true excuse to have stayed awake- but, for the first time, Lucien had drifted off first. His head propped against hers, the arm extended along the back of their shared seat toppling to catch her waist. 

The glow of victory, settled to something softer. He was a furnace, shifting with every hour. Tangling their limbs together like in sleep, in this utter, foreign vulnerability, all Lucien sought was closeness. It kept Elain awake: a little too warm, her grin hidden against a shapely muscled shoulder.   Even High Fae as powerful as Lucien slept.   She known it, but it was another thing to see.   There were a hundred lies they’d told together. And this, her youngest, foolish sister, insisted was one of them. That Elain, because Feyre had a High Lord at her back, didn’t need the safety of a marriage.   A High Lord, blood bound in fact, not that Feyre could know it, to deliver on promises to safeguard the people of the whole ancestral Archeron lands.   A fact, that Feyre failed to see: that she’d doomed them so thoroughly that the entire damning list of lies for humans would cease to matter, that Elain and Nesta would lose their mortal lives no matter what came next. Respectability wouldn’t matter, not the gentry, not the arbitrary, entrapping rules.   It was too late.   That there was no guaranteed safety in the war to come, in the ancient feud coming to swallow the Archeron sisters whole.   They could lie all they wanted, would fight every way they knew how, but in the end, there was only this- Elain didn’t know how long she had to live.   She’d never known how long she had, what decades would come.   She didn’t know what would be safe, in the choices she and Nesta and Lucien were making.   But there was a safety she wanted, and it was this. Lucien’s arms around her. His sly voice and teasing smile, the burr of an accent in tiredness, telling her of faery knowledge. Joking with Nesta, who he loved too. Sharp teeth and hungry flames, ferocious loyalty- the family they’d made.   Elain wanted the ring on her finger, wanted it to be real.   So Elain was ready when sleep came. When she rose, untangled, to find her sister.

***

Nesta wasn’t in the library.   Her office, the kitchens, her secret, glorious armory beneath the ground. Not even her bedroom, the location of which Cassian had shamefully memorized by sheer scent.   She wasn’t anywhere, and the last time he’d seen her she’d been covered in blood.  Azriel had seen her, come back and laughed in Cassian’s face, in fact, a drink in hand. Promised that not only was Nesta Archeron alright, she was extraordinary. That Cassian was in trouble. Just enough assurance that Cassian was a twitchy wreck by morning, trying desperately to pretend he wasn’t stalking the palatial halls chasing the scent of fire. Ash wood. Anything of her- too densely laid in this place she lived to get a clear trace.   He couldn’t find her.   So it was with typical dramatic timing that Rhys found him. His High Lord- his friend, his brother, even when Cassian felt like pummeling him into the floor- Nesta, in the snow, in the storm, bleeding- who clapped him on the back like absolutely nothing was wrong.   Like nothing had changed.   “Breakfast with the allies,” Rhys had purred and led the way, Cassian helpless not to follow.   It could not have been clearer, as he pushed open the doors with a billow of darkness, that the comfortable little nook of a room where the eldest Archeron’s where cloistered, was private.   That Rhysand was absolutely not invited.   Warded in fact, Cassian would bet on it, magic a faint shudder in the air as Rhys strong-armed them both past the threshold. He sat down. Cassian, eyes on Nesta’s stilled, wrathful face, head still inclined toward Elains over a little table holding tea, stayed exactly where he was.   “Wards,” Rhysand drawled, legs kicked out, hands in his pockets as he leant back. “I thought we were all friends now, bloodshed settled. No need to hide, little Archerons.”   Crisp, clear as the fact Rhys was taking being thwarted as a call to be an absolute ass, Nesta made obvious effort to slowly set down her cup. “Do you misunderstand the concept of privacy as much as you clearly do friendship, Rhysand?”   Braced, Cassian still had to swallow a little flinch at the light laugh that followed.   Rhys hated her- but Nesta was going to slaughter him. High Lord, Feyre’s, promise bound or no, Cassian didn’t want to imagine what exactly retribution would entail from the eldest of the Archerons.   “Have you spoken to your sister today?”   It was Elain who answered, sipping her tea like nothing was wrong. “We’ll see her at breakfast.”   “Ah,” Rhys sighed, laying it on thick. “No.” Nesta’s lips had pulled back from her teeth, a low hiss echoing. “We’re going to head out to the woods to train. I think she could use the distraction. She has nightmares, you know. Being here, in the human world where she grew up. That she might lose another parent”-   “Feyre,” Nesta all but snarled, near faery- savage and utterly vicious, “Doesn’t even remember our life before. She doesn’t remember our mother. She has no idea what our father was like, who he was before the world punished him.”   Rhys had frozen at the horrible twist of Feyre’s name from her elder sister’s lips. Quick heartbeat fading out of his ears like a battle oncoming, Cassian fought the urge to get in between them as Nesta rose to her feet.   “You don��t know anything,” She said, devastating, a pillar of rage. Not for the first time, Cassian looked and thought, lllyrian.  “And I don’t owe you answers, High Lord.”   The title was an insult, sneered before she walked away, head held high.   An ugly twist had taken over Rhy’s face in response. Cassian sank down onto one of the comically plush purple chairs, the sigh that escaped him as he ran a hand through his hair buried in the sound of a distant door slamming.   He ignored the impulse to pull on it, and groan.   When Cassian looked up, he found Elain watching him. Still perfectly composed, for the first time he saw some of Nesta’s exact steel in the set of her shoulders.   If he hadn’t been startled into looking back he would have missed the breathe of a nod as she inclined her head- as though Elain Archeron, like her dream, nightmare, perfect sister also saw exactly what he was thinking across his Cauldron-damned face.   He also saw the moment that resemblance became even truer.   “Feyre told me your mother died fourteen years ago,” Rhys had reined himself in enough to speak softly to this sister, a less visible threat, “Her family name was Seren, yes?”   Elain’s face went colder than Cassian had imagined it could become, light draining from dark eyes. With perfect human manners, she sipped her tea and set it back on the saucer, before standing to smooth her skirts. “We do not say that name in this house.”   And she curtsied her goodbye.   But unlike her sister, she paused before sweeping out the door. The face Elain eventually turned back to Rhys was utterly level- frightfully so, Cassian had seen that look on High Fae courtiers.   Control, the equalizer: what made ageless High Fae a horror, what gave Illyrian’s a hold over killing power.   Elain’s was absolute, a slate wiped clean.   “Feyre doesn’t remember,” She said, calmly, “And she’s lucky not to."

***

Elain had taken a second over their now routinely fraught breakfast to tap the back of Lucien’s hand with her pinky, their standing signal to escape. It usually meant she wanted a break from the suffocating gentry, or to speak privately.   So he barely blinked when she walked into the library wrapped in a white fur cloak, and announced much to the benefit of the General glaring at him beside Nesta that the sleigh was waiting.   Without so much as a breath, Nesta stole the pen from Lucien’s hand and pulled the rest of the documents to her side of the desk. “Lady Isabeau hates to be kept waiting.”   There was no Lady Isabeau.   Nesta was saying get out- get away. Escape.  Concern, spooled tightly beneath Lucien’s ribs since he’d overheard Elain get in the last word with Rhysand from a room away, became a sickening weight when he sprang to his feet. Elain didn’t wait for him to offer his arm, her hand landing familiarly against his bicep, grip iron.   Automatically, Lucien curved toward her. Courtesy from the outside perhaps, but the closeness of his body also screened her white knuckles from Cassian’s view.   The Illyrian treated Feyre like a little sister. Fascinated by Nesta yes, protective of Elain perhaps, helpful- Lucien suspected of all this inner circle, Court of Dreams, Cassian was the one he might trust one day.   But not today, with Elain’s unhappiness sending him careening to the edge so fast Lucien could barely control his voice.   “Maybe if we’re late she’ll have run out of that wretched tea,” He carefully joked.   “Yes,” Replied Elain, dark eyes strange in her utterly contained, utterly cheerful face. Her grip would have left bruises on a human. “It does always taste of roses.” Roses. To Lucien roses were love- were home, not just a long lost mother- but the deepest red blossoms he’d ever found that he’d woven into Elain’s hair for midsummer. The smell had lingered on Lucien’s skin for days- roses and honeysuckle, embers and warmth.   It tasted like her laugh.   On that same night, Nesta putting white blooms in her own hair. A declaration of intent to the community that she planned never to marry at all. Together, the three of them had made that option safe for her.   Freed her and them both from the prison of human expectation, the rules they had to play by to survive.   Elain was telling him this was important.   Like they had a hundred times before, they swept from the room together, continuing the easy rhythm of meaningless chatter. A clean exit, a smokescreen- courtly grace and charm.   In their wake, Lucien could hear the shifting rustle of Cassian’s wings moving and re-settling, a near sure sign that Nesta had begun to smile.

***

Out in the frozen day, the newly fallen snow as even and thick as any Winter Court vista, Lucien guided draft horses in a steady clip down the road that led as easily to the Archeron’s forest as it did to the nearby estates.   Luckily, it had recently become fashionable for noble human men to drive their own curricles and sleighs.   Elain didn’t look at him until they’d cleared the house grounds. Onward, toward tenant farms and the warm stone buildings where cloth was woven, the smell of fires burning strong in the air. The whole world was dazzling whiteness, and her silence.   They were utterly alone in the still winter’s day.   Finally, Elain sighed. “Feyre,” She started and stopped, biting her lip.   Lucien directed the horses into a glade of trees, coming to a smooth halt hidden from the road. He’d thought it might be this. The complications of family that didn’t want to outright stab you were new to Lucien, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t see the betrayal on Elain’s face every time Feyre mentioned their parents. Their father, who Nesta and Elain both so clearly despised.   That, Lucien knew very much about.   The reciprocal action the three of them banded together to accomplish: the entrapment of Feyre’s High Lord, a secret she would absolutely treat like vengeance. Selfishness. Feyre, who saw so very little, who believed absolutely that Rhys could and would, keep them all safe.   That there could be a difference between alive and alright under the authority of a High Lord had already, it seemed, melted from her memory.   “You don’t have to agree with Feyre,” Lucien said softly, “To make up for everything that’s happened.”   Surprise, warmer than any fire burning in his blood to protect him from this day, bloomed as Elain smiled.   She shook her head, curls slipping from beneath her hood. “That’s not it,” She said, cheeks dimpled, like somehow, Lucien had said the right thing.   He could charm and he could lie and he would do both for her- but this dance, this endless reel he no longer understood the tempo of- Lucien had lost track of where the story ended and his own enormous wanting began.   Friendship, affection, family, but-  He dreamt of her scent.   Bloodmoons nights across her skin, the impossible, deadly danger of Autumn’s might bound to this one mortal woman.   Of that damning scar on her wrist, hidden from their faery incursion only by the season. He knew exactly how she acquired it- but that didn’t stop his sleeping mind from conjuring much better, impossibly different circumstances.   Rumor had always been that Rhysand was of mixed blood, had been raised away from the High Fae gentry. Lucien had to hope it was true.   Not for his sake, but for Elain’s.   “What does Lady Ingrid say about our grandmother?” She asked him, throwing Lucien back into this snowy day with her.   Drawing him in.   Those nearly faery black eyes said, secrets. Clever, careful Elain. Said that there was one more Archeron mystery to join their covenant, the value of which Lucien would burn and burn for.     Lucien leaned against the padded sleigh seat to face her. “She mostly talks about how beautiful she was,” He said, gaze steady on Elain’s face, “She says you have her eyes, like your mother."   The amused breath Elain let out painted the air white. “I have Archeron eyes, actually.”   Here, where no one could see, Lucien gave into the urge to tilt his head like a predator. It wasn’t just human manners Elain and Nesta had mercilessly drilled into him- until Lucien could take them on and off like any garment- but body language that hid the extra flexibility and strength, utter stillness and instinct that said other.   He never hid the otherness from them.   Nor did they, his small, precious family, hide from him.   “Have you ever heard anyone mention our mother?” She asked him, those eyes- Acheron eyes- that he couldn’t imagine on the face of anyone else bright. 

Over-bright.   The part of himself that Elain made all the louder wanted to burn to the ground whatever had upset her. Ash and bone wasn’t enough. Whoever- Lucien suspect the dark couldn’t put out flames, anymore than he could burn it away. But Mother embrace him if he wouldn’t have tried.   Instead, he answered her. “Yes,” Lucien said, “There’s a story people tell, about her getting roses to bloom in winter. I assumed your greenhouses were built on the bones of hers, like the rest of the house.”   Again, Elain smiled, but finally, Lucien saw the sadness.   “No,” She murmured, “She made them bloom right up out of the snow.”   Lucien’s heart seemed to stop. Shuddering, to resettle somewhere around his throat.   “Lady Ingrid never knew your grandmother,” He heard himself say.   It was starting to snow again. Soft as a dream, flakes smaller than a fingertip made their slow, slow way onto Elain’s delicate shoulders.   “No, she didn’t,” Elain agreed. White billowing briefly in the air as she took a deep breath. “We didn’t realize until we rejoined noble society,” She began quietly, “But everyone seems to remember her strangely.”   Lucien didn’t have to ask to know she wasn’t speaking about her grandmother now.   “Everyone describes her just a little differently. Off. Or remembers the same events like they didn’t experience them at the same time or the same way.” She sketched a glance over his face. “Someone remembers the snow and drinking too much, someone else remembers a greenhouse- but everyone remembers the roses.”   Taking his own deep breath, Lucien reached out to brush some of the snow from the velvet and fur of her cloak. At her slightest lean, he settled one hand between Elain’s shoulder blades, buried in softness.   Her heart hammered beneath his palm.    “Glamour,” Lucien whispered.   The gift of all faeries, a natural toxin they could seep into the human world. Memories differed to the shape whoever remembering wanted most, magic safe in plain sight.   Roses, conjured alive out of ice.   Elain nodded. “I imagine it’s been fading since she died.” Her mouth twisted ruefully, lips bright as the flush of cold on her pale cheeks. “We just assumed it was safe, because Feyre still doesn’t remember.” Faery blood.   He’d dreamt of Elain, glowing with immortality, on full moon nights. Had the forest tried to tell him? Had wondered if maybe Nesta had some of the latent capabilities of a human witch- with the ease which her blood mixed with warding.  How much?   He remembered, all at once, Elain asking him if all magic smelled like fire after encountering some of his power.  How many years?   She could smell that- she could-   “Wait,” Lucien said, more to himself than Elain, “Feyre was glamoured? When you told Rhysand she was lucky not to remember- someone made her forget your childhood.”   Absently enough that Lucien would feel it again and again, Elain flicked snow from the front of his coat. Not a returned gesture- her comfort so great between them that Elain touched him like it was nothing.   Finally, the flakes temporarily cleared and her damp fingertips leaving lines down the deep grey of his coat, Elain met his eyes again. “Our mother made her forget.”

***

Nesta stayed in the library all afternoon, through dinner and into the cold evening.   For reasons Cassian wouldn’t quite let himself name, he stayed as well. Her usually stormy scent was awash with lightening now- anxiety coiled tight and controlled, but so much of it that it was nearly making him sick.   Nesta watched Elain and Lucien return through the wide windows, in silence.   Cleared what seemed like more correspondence than any Night Court official Cassian had ever met received. Not a word, only the weight of her eyes in acknowledgement as he slid beside her without invitation, melting wax for each missive before the press of the Archeron seal.   Wings, stars, a sextant- in bloody, beautiful red.   The hours passed in Nesta’s ceaseless steady motion, not a single outward sign of the tension that had begun to grown teeth as night fell.   Four chimes of the clock past sunset, Cassian, stupidly, found himself speaking. It felt like shedding skin. “I know something about the worst possible fathers.”   Straight-spined and so graceful she called to mind a wraith, drifting- but wraiths didn’t have so much steel- Nesta stood and crossed the room to one of the tall windows that made up the easternmost wall. Stopped there, deep cushioned seat before her ignored to stand.   Cassian honestly thought she wasn’t going to bother to answer. Braced himself for another silent nighttime hour, watching that relentlessly gorgeous, exhausted face grow pale, before her voice cut through the stillness.   “I imagine you would,” Nesta said, eyes on the falling snow.  “You don’t introduce yourself with any family name.” Slowly, like coming a long way back, Nesta turned to catch his eyes. “Because you don’t have one?” Bastard. That she didn’t say the word was the only thing that surprised Cassian- of course Nesta Archeron remembered every detail.   Joints locked, Cassian braced himself. For the word from her perfect mouth, maybe. For dismissal, for what had always been coming.   Instead, wavy hair, luminous in lamplight, fell across the sharp line of her jaw as Nesta tilted her head thoughtfully. Looked at him, leaning, wings tucked anxious tight, against the soaring shelves behind her slab of a desk.

“I’ve read about your people in books,” She said, after a long while. “There’s not a damn thing known about the Night Court. But Illyrians are a legend, as far away as the Weeping City.”   He wanted to memorize the sound of her saying Illyrian- had heard it a thousand times from the mouths of others, spit like any curse. The blood that ran so strong in Cassian’s veins it could never be denied- a burden. Lesser faeries. Savages. Something to be feared, above all else.

But from Nesta? Curiosity. Maybe he was imagining it- hoping it- but wonder?   Not the first time, Cassian imagined flying through the skies with her.   “You’ve been to the Weeping City?” Beneath the largest waterfall the world over, surrounded on all sides by three more. It was a continent away, the crown jewel of an old faery kingdom whose people believed their great stone monuments were carved by the hand of a mourning goddess- a beautiful place, where her tears would forever touch her people.   Nesta’s mouth twisted.   “No. But as you can see, faery gold buys lots of books."   Something in the bitterness- rage surely, but Cassian was learning that all of Nesta’s emotions wore the shape of rage, no matter what they were- made him ask. “What Rhys called you, Banfhlaith,” He repeated careful- as careful with her words as she’d been with Illyrian, “That’s your title?”   Nesta turned back to the window in a snap of movement.

“No,” She said, low, “I can never be Banfhlaith, Lady of the Archeron lands.” When he didn’t reply, Nesta laughed, an equally quiet, terrible sound. “Do Illyrian lords allow their daughters to inherit?” And Cassian couldn’t stand it.

“You and Elain take care of all those people,” The words burst out from where they’d had been sitting in his chest since that first time he’d argued with her.   Fought her- asininely unable to stay away, equally lacking the ability to resist challenging her- and flown away glamoured, deeper into Archeron lands. It didn’t calm him down, but eventually Cassian had landed on a snowy roof, so tangled in his thoughts he didn’t immediately realize he was surrounded by the noise of happy children.   Dozens of them, and women of all ages too, but more young ones than there could have been mothers.   Something molten in his bones, growing every minute, hadn’t let him leave.   So Cassian listened and watched. Found that Nesta Archeron- pillar of rage, warrior of a woman- had started a home for orphans. For women who didn’t have families- or did and needed to escape them. That the sister’s paid for doctors and teachers, clothes, and a sprawling home.   The building he was perched on was a weavers hall- Nesta had allotted the home fields. Fallow and covered in snow now, but in spring they’d grow flax, the woman would tend the trees he found now that he was looking that would feed silkworms.   Later, Elain would tell him the adults here kept the profit of their labors, the cloth they could produce and trade, without paying tax to the estate.   But the children. They spoke about Lady Nesta constantly- excited for the winter holidays, dinner at the estate, gifts from the Lady. Not in the distant way of a benefactor- but like the  fond favorite aunt Cassian might imagine existed in some happy distant world to ask about childhood studies and bring treats. They knew her personally, not as a lady above them.   He’d flown back, not to her side, but to find Azriel. And Az started listening for more than threats.   Together, they learned that no matter that any humans with power looked to Lucien Vanserra hiding behind a false human face for authority, the people loved the Archeron sisters. That by retaking the fiefdom of their great- great grandfathers they hadn’t gained a profit.   They might in a year, or two, if things continued as they were.   What they had done was take a half of what their closest fellow landowners took from their people’s yields. Rotated the crops and changed the largest tenant farms to more profitable growth. Abolished the law the banned villagers from hunting on their land. Built a free school with teachers paid and brought over from human continental cities to teach the village children more than just their letters.   Nesta herself, under the name of her fathers judgement, granting divorces and never turning away a single person in need.   Plans and schemes and shipments of poison, turning the tide of a war that wasn’t hers to keep her people safe, endangered for every act.   She was gods damned impossible, a miracle. Cassian couldn’t understand it.   “You take care of all those people, and Vanserra takes the credit to keep you safe.” Cassian snarled, angry even to his own ears. “Feyre told me you going to marry some Lord twice your age to protect Elain. The title should be yours.”   Lack of recognition was something Cassian had felt his entire life- had told himself didn’t matter again and again. Hadn’t allowed to matter when he brought back legions safely, kept the fragile peace in the Steppes no matter what it cost him.   But this- like so much of Nesta- crawled right under his skin and burned.

Couldn’t be called poison, just sparks catching on so much ready kindling.   Not agreeing- not acknowledging the cauldron damned ocean that filled him at the thought of Nesta Acheron, saving everyone she could find as it bled into his tone- Nesta looked at him with those dawn blue eyes.   “I’m going to tell you a secret,” She announced.   It was so far from what he’d expected her to say that Cassian froze, words on the tip of his tongue to tell her no. Not because he didn’t want to know- Cassian would have lit himself on fire to know- but because she was in a house with a Shadowsinger.   And something told Cassian Nesta’s confidence was the rarest of possible gifts.   A gift he wanted-  her faith, her trust, a real reason to stand at her side and belong.   A smile, so fast he might have imagined it, flickered over her face. No less sharp, but lovely.   “The room is warded,” She told him. Looked up and up, leveling him from across the room. “Do you want to know why I hate my father?”   She waited for him to nod.   Cassian was afraid that answering aloud would break this moment. Behind her, the sky glowed with the captured light of a heavy snow, framing her in the surreally lit night. Grey eyes, white, white skin, pale sky- no matter the golden lamplight.   Somehow all the more real, fragile, than Nesta asking his help to plan for the battles to come. Be careful, Cassian. Like he’d ever lacked care, like Cassian would have ever survived this long without his eyes open.   As though Cassian, his whole life wrought in blood, inked in promise marks for the whole open, glorious sky, had ever taken a single disloyal breath.

Before the words ever came Cassian’s heart had clenched with a phantom pain, a sword straight through.   “It's not the title. Or the business, or the fact that he’s never, ever coming home.” Nesta’s eyes moved over his face. “My father killed our mother.”   Cassian was across the room and at her side before another breath could be taken.

***

“The Archeron name is old. Royal.” Elain whispered, to the grip of Lucien’s hands where they’d come up to catch her wrists, held captive against his heart. “But our grandfather was ruined. Our father had just enough money after his death for a single trading voyage. He had nothing to lose and went along to the continent. To Hesperia.”   Lucien had been raised by monster.   Whatever doubts of his parentage that lived in his heart, whatever questions could be drawn, nothing could ever change those first decades under Beron’s monstrous eye. That Lucien was called to his ancient throne by blood and birthright and act, every bit as dangerous as Autumn could be.   The Archeron’s had grown up dangerous too, but he’d never questioned, imagined, it might be for similar reasons.   “It was a great love story,” Elain hissed, a harsh, beautiful sing-song. “An heiress, who left her country to come live beneath the Wall. Seren is the name of an extinct merchant clan- I don’t know how he convinced her to use it, to marry him in human law- any of it. But overnight, the Archeron name was saved.”   Helpless, Lucien dipped his head. Brushed his lips over the tangle of her knuckles, pressed hard to his chest.    She sighed.   Slumped, tipping forward, until her cheek rested against his shoulder. It was only after Lucien curled his body around hers in the snowy cold that Elain began speaking again.   “Nesta thinks she might have been very old. That it was something new, to try to live a human life. The thrill of a secret.” She shifted, slipping closer, words a warm breath to Lucien’s neck. “I don’t know. I imagine she was young- she must have been. That perhaps she really fell in love and was ruined by it, I don’t know.”

No, Nesta had promised, the favor she wanted a shadowsinger for was not murder. Good, Lucien thought- he wanted to be the one to skin the absent Lord Archeron for every bit of pain in Elain’s tone, every bitter drop of grief.

He wouldn’t kill him- no, Elain and Nesta deserved that privilege. Lucien would just make it possible. Ensure, if that was their choice, they never had to see their father’s face again.   “Elain,” Lucien whispered, unsure he even wanted the answer he could feel trying to burst from her, visible tension limning her entire body tucked in his arms, “What happened to your mother?”   Elain sat up. Looked at him head on. “He killed her. Poison. Worthless parasite- do you know what we found among the treasure he’d hid from the creditors? His journals. I hated him for years for not caring when she died- but he killed her. He killed her and he wrote about it.” Mist billowed around her furious face. Not mist- snowflakes melting to steam before they could reach even her hair, Lucien’s power alive in the air.   He ripped off his gloves, pulling at the fine leather with his teeth. Moved faster than could be seen to catch her face- to cup, gentle, the curve of Elain’s cheeks and catch those first, enraged tears as they fell.   Lucien said nothing, wished he could bleed the whole force of his heart into the simple touch because he knew- he knew, Elain wasn’t done speaking yet.   “Feyre’s very like her, you see. Joyful. Reckless. She loved above all beautiful things- strove to be the best, to have the brightest. After years of living among humans, of having half human children, she stopped being careful.”   “The roses,” Lucien whispered.   “The roses. Healing little scrapes and bruises whenever Feyre fell,” Elain audibly swallowed a laugh, “Fey always was the favorite. Magic- she was so magical, maybe she simply couldn’t hold it in any longer. But that drew talk. Whispers. No one marries faeries- to know them is one thing, legal if they’re from across the sea. But even the rumor that magic could have come into the nobility from over the Wall- the newly reborn Archeron name couldn’t have that.”   “She took ill in winter. Normal- we didn’t understand, but she’d never been ill before. Dead in a week. A formal funeral, but we weren’t allowed to attend- to- to say her name.”   Her black brown gaze flickered up to capture his, two burnt out suns. Elain smiled- dimples lovely, her beloved face, so damned faery as he’d thought a hundred times before- how had Lucien missed it? How did anyone? “And then, of course. The curse came manifest.”   So plain to see, so wondrous to behold, the pieces that had been missing and clicked so easily together.   The Archeron sisters- their mother’s daughters. Their history, so much more extreme than human folly.   “The curse,” Lucien breathed, “On the merchant contract with your bloodline. What allows Archeron ships into faery ports, your people into faery land.”   “No hand in violence may be raised,” Elain recited, “Against magic folk. No innocent faery blood shed, lest the seas themselves rise in revolt against mortal passage. His ships sank, his life unwound.”   Lucien stroked beneath her eye, sliding warmth into her cold-flushed skin. “You needed a man’s presence to keep you safe from other humans, but you never wanted him to return. Hated him- for the negligence, for abandonment, for that need, for existing. He deserves worse. Say the word, and I’ll weave a curse of my own.”   Every bit Autumn, his words embers burning. Flame to follow for the foolish, death all the way down, no light to lead out of the dark.   Elain wrapped her hand around his, pressed Lucien’s calloused palm harder to her cheek. “Blindness? Ill-luck? A damning wish?”   The curses of faeries in stories- lies of their own people Elain and Nesta had been deprived the truth of until Lucien crashed into their lives and found a home.   A home that wouldn’t disappear.   Not a hundred years. Not stolen decades Lucien would burn the whole damn warring world to hold unto each second of. Elain- who wasn’t afraid of him, who could smile and say such things- who might live as long as him, a crown of bone in her hair.   It was with utter honesty that Lucien murmured, “Anything.”   “Anything you’d like, Elain.”

***

When the war came, it started with a wardrobe.   Red leather, once and half over again human height and twice as wide. Landed before the great doors of the manor, a soft thump in snow that went unheard. White drifted down and down still, no eyes out in the storm to see that the flakes didn’t touch that supple surface.   Unblemished through ice and damp, red shone through the softly quiet world. Impervious, to the wards that sang strong, no warning gifted to the Lady of the estate, occupied entirely by her own white knuckled grip on the shaking Illyrian beside her, tales of mother’s lost exchanged. 

Of vengeance, offered free.

No alarm to break through the soft clink of crystal, a midnight drink shared by the lady the ground beneath that snow loved and the man who’d bled to make it safe. Only this: flaming, fire-bright magic, and awed assurance that humanity would fade.   A future that stretched forward, risk taken with assurance and this-   Brighter than the leather, than the seal of the House it had been delivered to, untouched by the weather and all the more horrifically real for it, blood began to seep out onto the snow.   Unfrozen, fresh, through the night.   A message waiting, for Archeron hands.

@breath-of-sindragosa

@flxwer-petals

@ladyvanserra

@illyrianinterrasen

@missanniewhimsy

@tntwme

@ourbooksuniverse

@pitterpatterpot

@thestarwhowishes

@abillionlittlepieces

@my-fan-side

@the-eightofswords

@wonderland–memories

@ourbooksuniverse

@cohen-theeleven

@donnarosemary

@keshavomit   @superspiritfestival  @court-of-fandoms-and-art @sunsummoner @iwastoowildinthe70s @courtofmadness @oonjiawen @ashiok @caotica-e-quieta

[5lazarus]

There Is No Ithaca, Ch. 2

from the wonderful promptlist @brightoncemore created, answering a prompt @because-im-hap-hap​ sent me. There Is No Ithaca: Solas wrecks his revolution on the altar of Mythal. Ch. 2: there is a traitor within you whose time for punishment will come Summary: Solas returns from war to find Ghilan’nain incubating the Blight within their own home. Content Warnings: Psychological Horror, Body Horror, Abusive Relationships. Remember the codex of Ghilan’nain’s ascension? The hunter blinds her, and Andruil revives her and makes her a god. This is the story behind the myth, or at least one version of it. Read on AO3 here. Find Ch. 1: if one of us has sinned it must be God here.

The shiver of her flesh as he steps into her arms and she pulls him down intoxicates him. They enjoy working together, and they enjoy lounging in her rooms afterward. Ghilan’nain is the First amongst the People, occupying a similar place of honor he had left, and she has enough political support from the Evanuris to step forward and become one of them. He likes the sharpness of her mind and the purity of her aesthete. Their partnership is useful to both of them, and he enjoys the side-benefits.

Mythal has them marry, as a precursor to declaring her new title. Neither of them have any reason to object, and Fen’Harel loves her. He craves her on the field, returning to the barracks to mop the gore up. He can imagine her cool smile regarding him. She does like the smell of blood. Whose? His, perhaps: and the danger quickens his pulse. Solas well knows there are others. He has never claimed anyone’s full loyalty, and would not ask that of her. He does not want it. Ghilan’nain’s devotion is terrible, and he is glad to weaken her hold. He loves her, so he is happy to let her go. “So you tell yourself,” Felassan says. “Yet you haven’t been home twice since you’ve married. While Andruil has stayed there for the entirety of our last campaign.” Solas makes a face. “She leaves when I return, and that is all I ask. That we dispel the rumors that we are in any entwined. Ghilan’nain may do what she likes, as I may do what I like--as long as Andruil does not make my home hers.” “And people find it titillating,” Felassan says. “The idea your wife is fucking your half-sister.” “Now, that’s unconfirmed,” Solas says, amused. “That she is my half-sister. I know they are engaged in a passionate affair, reaching heights equalling my own. The household attendants say they are not particularly discrete. But you know I have never confirmed who my mother may be.” “Because the uncertainty works better,” Felassan says. “Sure. So you say. But what will you do when you have to commit?” “No comment,” Solas says, and Felassan throws back his head and laughs. They have married and perhaps they have grown bored but they have used the marriage-gifts from Mythal to build a laboratory to study the vallaslin and undo its binding. Ghilan’nain is an expert at blood magic, he walks the Fade like none but Wisdom have, and with the two together they can feel the lease lessening. With him at war, she has the freedom to call for volunteers amongst her own people, and it keeps them both safer. They can pretend it is the other’s fault, they can pretend they never knew, if one is caught--and the work will continue, because the work must be done. The Pillars of the Earth have slowed their shaking since he closed the corrupted mine. The corruption seems to have stagnated within the Stone’s own children, and a dwarven general with whom he has occasion to parley tells him that for now, the poison seems to be isolated in that one lyrium vein Mythal had seized. Solas looks hopefully to the near future: peace is almost upon them. Quietly his aides have drawn up terms. Once they break the vallaslin, they will have enough popular support to force the Evanuris to convene, and he is determined they will have a treaty for the dwarves’ grandchildren, at the very least. He returns from war with a swagger in his step, and Felassan leaves him at the gate. “I find her eyes unsettling,” Felassan says, waving off the invitation to stay. “She’s constantly taking my measure and seeing where I’ll fit.” Solas laughs. “I quite like it.” He clasps him on his back. “She makes me--useful. But take care, my friend. If you shall not visit me, I shall visit you.” He turns and walks the monumental marble entrance, smiling at the magnificent halla he had carved to mark this as their place. He can feel Felassan watching his back as he goes, and appreciates his concern, though he himself does not deem it necessary. Nothing would dare strike the Dread Wolf within his own home. The household ranges in front of him--the staff that followed him from Arlathan, Ghilan’nain’s own aides, all paid. His wife stands at the center. She radiates an almost underwater heat, reminding him of the laboratory she created in the caldera of the Sundered Mountain, to the North. There is a tension in the air; he schools his posture to look unaffected. His lead attendant, Marella, looks at him pleadingly. Ghilan’nain steps forward. She wears a new diadem, inlaid with red stones that whisper like the Fade. He can almost hear it, the song sounds familiar, but he tears his eyes from her jewelry and meets her gaze steadily. “Yet another triumphant return,” she says. “The avenging hero comes home.” He takes her hand and kisses it. Her skin is cold. Arm-in-arm, they enter the hall, and their attendants fall in silently behind him. The whispers nudge at his mind. The stones must be Fade-touched, and she cannot hear it because of her blood magic. They do not bother him, but it is almost comprehensible, they want his attention, and it is hard to focus and see if she has made any changes in his absence because they hiss like shaken-up snakes. He can’t help but wonder how they were so stirred. She leads him to their baths, shedding attendants on their way. He had chosen this plot of land from Mythal’s munificence precisely for the natural sulphuric springs and proximity to the sea, and Ghilan’nain’s engineers have made good use of the hydrothermal energy. Finally, they are alone, and she turns to him and regards him coolly, those seaglass eyes measuring him, checking for any flick of the eye or uncertainty. Solas stares steadily back. She is smug about something, she cannot hide the slight smirk to her lips. He caresses her face and she smiles back up at him. Mythal’s vallaslin is as terrible on them as ever, but underneath the mark of their own fate is seething. She has done something, Solas realizes. She wants to celebrate it. He carefully lifts the diadem from her brow, careful to make sure the arms do not snag in her hair, and places it on the marble bench already waiting for them. The pool is before them, steaming gently. “You’ve done it,” he says, “haven’t you?” “In part,” she says. “Why don’t I show you?” She traces a hand up his chest and begins unstrapping him from his armor. When she has his breastplate off, leaving him in a relatively unremarkable silk shirt, he grabs her hands and kisses her. She tastes like smoke and lyrium, right into his veins, and he gasps as she strips him bare and takes him into the water. He has been a long time from the comforts of home. She pins him to the side of the pool, marble cool against his skin, and fucks him. In a less desperate mood, he would call it making love, but with Ghilan’nain it seems too quaint. And when she is satisfied with him, he sinks deeper in the water, tired but glowing, and closes his eyes as she traces the lines of his vallaslin. Her hand at the lines drawn onto his neck, Ghilan’nain speaks. “My exhausted soldier,” she says, amused, “always eager to perform in the line of duty, no matter how exhausted, how recent the battlefield, how tired from the road.” He wraps his arms around her and pulls her in tighter. Truthfully he wishes to rest, even fall asleep in the bath, and then retire to his offices and find out what has his staff so anxious. “I wouldn’t call it a duty,” he says. “Not nearly so rote as that.” Ghilan’nain tosses her hair back. “I should hope not.” She pushes herself up slightly in his lap, hands on his shoulders, and Solas rocks back. Her eyes glitter. “Now, my heart, where no one can see us, where all assume we are celebrating your return home.” “Yes, we do have a reputation to keep,” Solas says. He places his hands on her hips to keep her steady. Ghilan’nain arches her back, and he notices a slight bruise right at the edge of her right breast, and wonders if he left it. He resolves to leave a match on the left one: it is not jealousy, but he has always been competitive. He traces the edge of her breast like she likes, and she shivers. She genuinely shares this passion with him, he knows it. The alternative is too humiliating to bear. “The vallaslin,” she says. “Though it cost me thirty percent of my sample size, I’ve reverse-engineered the geass Mythal laid upon us. It’s not blood magic, not like we thought it was. She’s been using lyrium, my love. Lyrium and Fade-touched stormheart in the ink.” Solas leans back into the wall, and Ghilan’nain slips slightly in the water and wraps her legs around his waist. She searches his face. “How large was the sample?” Solas says repressively. She pulls back. “Large enough to get the results,” she says sharply. “You may read my report yourself.” “My heart,” he says, by way of an apology. Their limbs are entangled now, and Solas worries she will trip. Carefully he extricates himself and rises, dripping, from the pool. He towels himself off and turns back to Ghilan’nain, who watches him. Her face is unreadable. It mirrors his. Solas reaches for the clothes an embarrassed servant must have placed, while they were otherwise occupied, on the bench where Ghilan’nain had left her robes. A red tunic with gold embroidery about the collar, soft doeskin trousers, and a new wolfskin: Solas turns back to her, smiling. “These are lovely,” he says, fingering the embroidery. He can taste the sigils sewn into the shirt: to keep it from tearing, to wick away sweat, to keep it clean. He catches a particularly strong shielding spell, powerful enough to glance away a blade going for the neck. Ghilan’nain rises from the pool. “You never buy new clothes,” she says. “And what we are about to do will not make us popular at court. Try them. They’ll adjust to fit. I’ve been working the weave to adjust to your body heat.” She takes up the diadem and hands it to him expectantly. It sears his hands, and Solas drops it in surprise. It clatters to the floor. Ghilan’nain bends to pick it up, his eyes travel the length of her back, and she straightens, placing it back into her hand. He takes her hands. They are untouched. “Too sensitive,” she says, “Fadewalker.” She takes his face and kisses him. Her tongue is cold, her skin is cool, and he cannot summon back the fire he found in the pool. She has not answered how large the sample size was. She knows he disapproves. He breaks the kiss and picks up her robe. Disappointed, she steps forward, but he drapes it around her. “Perhaps later,” he says, trying to smile. “The dispatches…” “Of course,” she says. “And do read my report.”

They do not sleep apart, though each has their own rooms where they entertain other guests. Solas hurries to his private quarters, uneasy in his marble halls. The house is too quiet. Where are his young scholars, his petitioners, his angry priests? He was expecting, at the very least, a dinner party, perhaps with Imshael and Geldauron in attendance. In his office his in-tray is already filled. He groans. Mythal’s business never ends. He slides into his chair and begins sorting his mail. His staff would have already prioritized what must be answered today, but he prefers to pick the order in which he writes. He sets aside a letter from Falon’Din, complaining about a group of partying swineherds, to be answered last. His swineherds may party on, and encroach on whomever’s borders as they like, as long as they keep their brawling to a minimum. He makes a mental note to send Felassan that way, to make sure this does not escalate. At the very bottom of the pile is a curious little letter, written on fishskin. Solas wrinkles his nose at the smell. Carefully he tugs the almost translucent paper from its scaled envelope. The words are inscribed with Veilfire. The message is short, written in bold block letters: HAIL THE EXALTED ONE THE WILL THEY CALL PRIDE MYTHAL’S OWN, THE DREAD WOLF WE CRY YOU MERCY MERCY MERCY MERCY WE REPENT MERCY Solas places the letter on his desk and sighs. He closes his eyes, palm flat over the words, and enters the Fade. The room melts into the Waking World, Veilfire bringing him into the message, and in the Dreaming he floats in an underwater chamber, gorgeously ornamented in gold and green glass. They show Ghilan’nain taking tribute, which is her right. Solas glances around him and sees that he is flanked suddenly by whispers, elves with their faces splitting raw with scales, throats bleeding as gills emerge, and their vallaslin ripping suddenly from their bodies in as they erupt, screaming muted in the underwater temple, and horrified Solas opens his eyes to his simple office with the words in his ears: “Mercy. Mercy. Mercy.” “Those were her people,” Solas says aloud. “I knew she was taking volunteers, but I didn’t know--the vallaslin was ripped from the body in their transformation, how can anyone survive that without aid? How many died? How many died after the experiment was deemed a success?” He waits until she is sleeping to investigate. The report lies heavily on his mind. One thousand elves, given willing sacrifice: only seven hundred have survived, and they have changed. They are creatures of mottled flesh and ripping pain, minds shattered by blood-bond Ghilan’nain pulled apart. She treats skeins of flesh like yarn that she can knit--but her subjects feel. His staff has kept track of how many have survived since the vallaslin was removed: only fifty-five percent. Of one thousand loyal attendants, seeking their freedom, only three hundred and eighty-five have survived. The kill rate is equal to Falon’Din in one of his worshipful moods. Solas is seething. She promised him they would do better. He would not have bound his heart to hers, if he knew she would end like this. He changes his clothes to a more simple homespun, and leaves off the wolfskin. He has been a servant and is still a slave to Mythal, whatever his manumission papers say. He can still pass as one today. He walks through his staffers’ paths through the wing he calls his own towards Ghilan’nain’s private laboratory. He is realizing why Mythal encouraged the match, and how both he and Andruil can find something compelling. Ghilan’nain has always been chilling. He mistook the shivering for passion, not frozen sadism. They both would do anything for their freedom, he has always known that--but this beggars belief, this crosses beyond what he thought possible. He presses a hand to her office door, and it swings open. She trusts him, and has left it unlocked. He has never done that for his wing of the house. Slightly ashamed, he wonders how she could have so misunderstood him. Then he remembers: six hundred and fifteen dead. Solas groans aloud, then slaps a hand over his own mouth. Mercy, mercy, he thinks: I repent. Her space is as clean and shining as possible. She has a sketch of her first halla that he made her framed on her desk. Solas resists the urge to take it. Above her desk, she has a set of antlers mounted on the wall. Andruil must have hunted it for her. It must be her fault, she was so reckless, Andruil must have egged her on: no. Solas waves the thought away. Whatever Ghilan’nain has does, it is her choice and hers alone. Andruil has never been capable of this calculating cruelty. Ghilan’nain chose to press ahead with the trials, even as her people began to mutate. Solas thinks again: thirty-eight point five percent. He says it aloud, to make it real. The glowstones activate at the sound of his voice. Lyrium is so responsive, especially to those who walk the Fade like he does. He walks away from her desk and begins examining the tanks that line the walls. Most of the creatures are asleep. Some of their faces are burnt blank. Solas’ heart sinks. These were people, once. These were Ghilan’nain’s people, so his people too. The vallaslin must be removed, but not at a cost such as this. He investigates, growing more and more disgusted. One creature is still recognizably elvhen, but bowed by massive horns erupting at odd angles from its face. Another has half its body melting into a dragon’s tail, but speckled with sores angry with inflammation. Solas stares at it, removed from itself. He wonders how it removes waste. He notices its hands are bound. Scales litter the bottom of the tank. He moves on. Hidden in a recess at the back of the room, furthest from the door, is a small pool, stinking of brine. The room grows hotter as he approaches it, and he hears strange whispers, the same from that odd diadem Ghilan’nain wears. Again, they feel familiar, but even if they are imbued with Veilfire, it is not the same kind that the petitioners wrote into the letter that brought him here. He casts his mind back, trying to place the odd sense of familiarity. The whispers have a sense of sluggish rhythm, and he finds himself moving in time towards the pool. It glows red rather than green, so it cannot be Fade magic, though he knows color signifiers are arbitrary, and Ghilan’nain’s senses are different from hers, ground by her blood magic. She would not be able to hear the whispers. They come at him through the Fade. Solas crouches by the pool. His hand reaches out to touch the water and he stops himself. Shaken slightly, he takes a step back. Grounding himself firmly, he closes his eyes and listens. “We are here, we have waited,” the red waters whisper. “We have slept, we are sundered. We are crippled, we are polluted. We endure. We wait. We have found the dreams again. We will awaken--” Solas rips himself away, foot hovering above the pool. He scrambles, stumbling over himself, clattering to the ground, but mercifully on dry ground. He knows those evil whispers, he knows that red glow. It is the corruption in the Titan’s blood that festered when he and Mythal dealt it a mortal wound. It is a pollution he thought he had culled. It is a poison he broke from Mythal to cure. The Children of the Stone with whom he has drawn peace terms call it a blight. Ghilan’nain has cultivated it in their own home. Rage grips him and he surrenders to it. Dead whispers poison the air he breathes, the pollution is in his lungs now, synthesizing in his bloodstream, and red he storms calling fury electric down the halls of his silent home. The door to their bedroom swings open before he even shapes the ask in the Fade. Ghilan’nain is sitting before a mirror, combing her long hair. She turns, and for a moment they simply stare at each other. Finally, Ghilan’nain breaks the silence. “I take it you read the report,” she says. Solas throws the papers at her feet. “Ah,” she says. “I should have anticipated you would react that way. Did you make it to the conclusion, at least?” “The lyrium,” he says. “The pollution I found in the Deep Roads. That was not used. It was supposed to remain forgotten!” Ghilan’nain twists her mouth. “Is this what this is about? Really? You are angry because I explored and expanded our options--the corrupted lyrium broke the geass of the vallaslin, Solas.” “And how many died for you to find that?” Solas snarls. “I saw the corpses, Ghilan’nain. They were our people! They came to us for aid! They volunteered only because they trusted that we would make it worth it, and now--” His voice breaks. “We are no better than Sylaise in her vanity. Or Falon’Din.” “Perish the thought,” she says mildly. “Surely I’m no worse than Mythal--she has asked the same of her people, and more.” He is disgusted, and he is disgusted with himself, because he has thrown his lot with her. He was to petition Mythal formally to raise Ghilan’nain to Evanuris--and she deserves it. She is just like the lot of them, happy to drown in blood. “No,” he says. “No. No. You are worse. Mythal has asked too much of me, that is true. But she has never let her people die in vain. She has spared us what agony she could. And even when she has been cruel, she--” He stops. “This is no justice, Ghilan’nain. You are nothing like Mythal.” “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Solas,” she says exasperated. “You want your freedom--I found it. And I did not even use up the whole stock. I was merciful. And for the dead?” She shrugs. “Well, they died for a good cause--your cause. Their sacrifice must be nobly borne. No more of these histrionics, my love. You have been too long away in war. You are home now, and we are so close to unravelling the bindings. I can break the geass, but you can hear what the lyrium says. Together we can--” “Shut up,” Solas growls. “Shut up.” Ghilan’nain’s face sharpens, and he sees her reaching for her staff. He throws his arm out, reaching into the Fade to shove her away. The force of the blast shatters the mirror of her vanity, and quickly he throws up a barrier. Ghilan’nain screams, her face dripping with blood. The glass has cut into her eyes. “I can’t see,” she sobs. “Mythal’enaste, I can’t see. You bastard, you fucking son-of-a-wolf, I can’t see!” Her voice rises to a wail. “Solas! Help me! My love, help me!” Solas hurriedly picks up the papers he had scattered so carelessly on the ground. Stepping around the shattered mirror, Solas leaves. Ghilan’nain weeps blood and mucus behind him. He hears her calling behind him: “Andruil, avenge me.”

[mostlycompetentwriter]

You can STAY- Part Three

F/M Pairing: Y/N x Lee Felix (side pairing: Y/N x Stray Kids)

Word Count: 5.2K

Warnings: Language

Genre: Fantasy AU; Scarlet Heart AU; OT8 SKZ

Previous Parts: Part One, Part Two

Summary: Y/N has another unexpected confrontation with Prince Felix. But he’s also not her biggest problem, especially when she uncovers a potentially devastating plot that could completely unravel the royal hierarchy.

Taglist: @angelphantomlove​ @moonlightracha​ @staycarat0801 @jjabbur​ @pinkchcn​ @smolchild-lol @straykidbaby​ @moonnstars90​ @choisaemi @dru-shadow​ @skzooyeet​

It was still early that morning when I woke-up to the sound of someone knocking on the door to my bedroom. For a moment, I was too disoriented to respond, but the sound grew louder with the force of whoever was insistent about coming inside. Finally, I gave in and walked over to answer the door with a nonchalance that I’m sure reflected my drowsiness.

“Jeongin?” I questioned, surprised to see the younger standing on the other side.

“Hi, Y/N,” he said, and it was a timid greeting as he shuffled anxiously in the doorway. 

“Did you need something?” I asked, wondering why one of the King’s sons had went out of his way to visit me in my small dungeon bedroom.

“I, uh, wanted to make sure you weren’t busy today,” Jeongin said. “I'd like to visit the market again and try to sell my paintings.”

The request took me off-guard, and I didn’t know which I was more surprised to hear: that Jeongin wanted me to accompany him, or that the King’s youngest son made trips to the market to sell his artwork like he didn’t already have enough money. “I guess I can go with you,” I said.

“It’s mostly for protection,” Jeongin said. “Cuz’ of your powers and stuff...”

I grinned at his awkward conversation because it was strangely adorable to hear him stumble over his request. “I’d love to, Jeongin,” I said. “Let me get dressed and I’ll meet you outside on the bridge.”

Jeongin nodded in agreement and I gently closed the door to prepare myself for an impromptu trip into town.

It certainly sounded like a better prospect than resigning myself to another day of medicinal experimentation - searching for the cure that would alleviate Ella’s suffering. Ever since my encounter with Chan’s wife, I had been relentlessly searching my manuals and the records kept neatly arranged in the Castle’s library. However, despite my efforts, I was no closer to finding the answers than I had been during our first meeting.

Yet, I could never give-up on something that might help someone else in need, so I maintained my confidence that I just needed to look harder. But one day out of the confines of my bedroom couldn’t possibly hurt, especially since I had experienced an excruciating headache during the previous night after spending all afternoon hunched over my desk.

I nodded in self-determination, swiping my brush through my hair one more time before I left my room, walking upstairs alone with the company of my thoughts as I tried to focus on the task at hand. If Jeongin trusted me enough for protection, then I would do my best not to disappoint him. I had worked hard to fine-tune my powers for any case that might arise while I served the royal family, and I considered my fighting skills to be an enormous source of pride.

“You should feel privileged to walk so freely without care.”

I paused at the top of the staircase at the sound of an all-too familiar voice, and I frowned when Felix came into view while wearing an arrogant smile. “Forgive me, miss,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of a proper introduction.”

“Then what do you consider our last meeting?” I asked him. “If I recall correctly, you insinuated that I would bring ruin to this Castle.”

“Of course not,” Felix said. “It was rather premature of me to base my opinion on a foolish disagreement with Seungmin.”

“I agree,” I said, keeping my tone neutral as I watched him come even closer. “Do you not believe such things anymore?”

“I find you perfectly elegant, Y/N,” Felix said. “You seem to prioritize your morals above everything else, and I can sense a profound loyalty for my family despite only just arriving a few nights ago.”

“Not so much your family,” I corrected him. “I serve the kingdom, and that means honoring those who lead it.”

“How righteous,” Felix said. “Consider me impressed by your character.”

“I wish I could the say the same,” I said, and I was pleased when Felix’s smile vanished.

“Have I done something to offend you?” Felix asked. “I apologized for my actions. Please don’t tell me that you intend to hold a grudge?”

“Consider it more of a casual suspicion,” I said, watching his green eyes narrow. “I’ve learned a lot about you since my arrival.”

“Is that so?” Felix asked, and I could tell that he was not appreciative of my comment.

I nodded as I remembered my conversation with Chan on the same afternoon when I met his wife - how he willingly opened up to me about his red-haired brother in exchange for a tentative promise to help his wife.

“I know that you aren’t wanted here,” I said. “I was told that your own mother tried to kill you when you were merely a child.”

“Where did you hear this?” Felix asked, but his tone wasn’t angry like I had been expecting; instead, he seemed unusually morose while he looked at me with sad green eyes.

“Does it matter?” I asked him. “How else should I look upon someone whose own father hated him so much that he sent him away to another kingdom?”

My words triggered a brief silence between us, and it seemed like they had a great affect on Felix, but I was still stunned when he reached out to grab my wrist - directing my hand over his heart. “Do you feel that?” he asked, and I slowly nodded. “I’m human, Y/N,” he continued. “This opinion you have of me matters because it’s made you forget that I’m flesh and blood like you. And I expected someone with your moral integrity to know better than to treat an equal as lesser, or to believe nasty rumors without understanding the whole story.”

I could feel my mouth fall open in shock, and I looked at Felix for the first time without a single ounce of judgment. But I still couldn’t help but remain stuck on one word in particular: “Equal,” I repeated.

“Do you not consider that accurate?” Felix asked. “As far as I’m concerned, we both live and breath and share the same experiences. And to address your other offense against me, I’d like you to understand that my mother is a wicked woman who has always favored her eldest son. She held him to the utmost regard while I was nothing but a mistake that she always regretted...Yes, my mother did try to kill me, but it wasn’t out of a sense of righteousness to rid this world of a perceived evil. And when she wasn’t successful, she gave me this scar that I hide from the rest of the world.”

I swallowed hard when Felix removed the black mask obscuring the left side of his face to reveal a diagonal line of jagged edges. “In actuality, she would’ve done anything to ensure that Chan had no competition to stand in his way of the throne. But look at how well that worked out for them both. Chan decided to marry a peasant girl and defy our father, and he deserves his lowered status because he needs to finally understand that his actions have consequences that can last for a lifetime.”

He finished his tirade with a heavy exhale before securing his mask back into place. “Look at us, Y/N. We’ve both decreed presumptive judgments of one another, and they’re entirely inaccurate.” He then lowered his gaze when he infiltrated my personal space - far closer than what might be considered appropriate. “Forgive me for all that I’ve done that forced you to seek these lies. Perhaps in the future, we can hold a civil conversation together.”

I closed my eyes, reeling from the onslaught of his confession. “Why are so insistent on defending these perceptions, Felix?”

“Because you came here with no outside bias against me,” Felix replied. “I refuse to see these royals feed you misinformation just for you to turn against me as well.”

“I suppose it almost worked,” I said. “But I’m still confused after listening to an entirely different side.”

“It’s my side,” Felix insisted. “Seek the truth for yourself, but keep in mind that the people in this Castle are all looking out for their best interests.”

“Aren’t you doing the same?”

“Yes, but you’ll hopefully come to find that I never speak untruths,” he said. “My mother is an insane liar, and her clever tongue managed to keep Chan in this castle after his marriage, even though the king decided to deny him the opportunity to take the throne. I’ve seen her behave this way for my entire life, and I once vowed to never be anything like her.”

He finally stepped away, and I was able to inhale without restriction. His grin returned as he observed me. “Despite what you’re thinking, my return to the castle was not predicated on ill-conceived intentions. There’s no reason to doubt me, Y/N, and for the record, I’d like you to know that you’ve fascinated me from the moment I saw you at the choosing ceremony.”

His final declaration rendered me speechless, and I found myself trembling when he offered me a discreet wink before returning in the direction from which he had arrived.

By the time the sun was at its highest point in the sky, Jeongin and I were carefully walking around the outskirts of the market - searching for the perfect place to set up his paintings. “I do this all the time,” Jeongin reassured me with a cute smile that was impossible to deny.

“Okay,” I agreed, admiring the usual bustle of the market as eager patrons searched for the best prices on the goods they required.

“Over there,” Jeongin suggested, pointing to an empty stall, and I followed him with a selection of his paintings secured under my arm. “Let’s organize them,” Jeongin said, and I carefully followed his instructions while also admiring the beautiful creations that he had crafted. 

“These are gorgeous,” I said, and he brightened at the compliment.

“Really?”

“Of course,” I said, tracing my fingertips across the texture of an oil painting. “They look so real.”

“My mother thinks it’s a waste of time,” Jeongin scoffed, gaze hardening for a moment as he stepped back to admire our efforts. 

“I think it’s creative,” I said. “It makes you stand out from the others.”

“Exactly,” Jeongin agreed. “Everyone else already has something that makes them unique, and I wanted my own thing.”

“Well, you certainly found it,” I said, pausing when I noticed an elderly woman approaching our collection.

“How much for this one?” she inquired, indicating a rather gorgeous recreation of the surrounding mountain range.

While Jeongin started negotiations, I took my time perusing the remaining pieces that he had brought with him. I could tell that he had put his heart and soul into faithful adaptations of the most random subject matter: everything from scenic portraits to little drawings of his family members. It was a fascinating dynamic to his character, and I wondered how long the prince had been painting because these looked far too advanced considering his young age.

“Are you serious!?” a hostile voice growled, interrupting my musings with a tone that alerted me to possibility of an impending confrontation.

“What’s going on?” I asked, coming to stand next to a fuming Jeongin as he glared at the man who was holding one of his paintings.

“This little brat thinks he can swindle me out of my money!” the man said. “The cost of this shit is worth more than my house!”

“Oh, I’m sure he’d reconsider the price,” I said, stepping closer when I sensed an opportunity to appease the tension.

“I won’t!” Jeongin declared. “That piece is incredibly valuable!”

“Of course, the bastard thinks that his royal blood makes everything he touches turn to gold.”

“That’s enough,” I said, lowering my tone. “You can look elsewhere if you can’t afford his price.”

“For your information, bitch, I’m looking in exactly the right place,” the man said, and I noticed him reaching for the sword secured at his side. 

I took a deep breath when I noticed that the men he had traveled with were also advancing on the two of us - raising their own weapons into the air. I narrowed my eyes and willed their swords to fly out of their hands - shocking both of his partners. “You might want to reconsider your stance,” I said to the first man, but his accompanying smirk caught me off-guard - like he wasn’t intimidated in the slightest by my magic.

“Maybe you need a lesson in manners too,” the man said, and I could barely formulate a response before I heard Jeongin shriek my name while a pair of arms wrapped around my waist. I could feel the breath escape my lungs, and then there was a hand over my eyes, preventing me from seeing what was happening, and I started thrashing around in the limbs holding me hostage. “Let me gut this stupid girl first,” the man said, and I could hear Jeongin calling for help as the sharp point of a sword teased the side of my throat. 

But the man never followed through on his promise, and I only realized a moment later that he had been compromised when I fell to the ground with a grunt. My hand went to my throat because I could still feel the phantom effects of the sword’s blade, and my eyes blinked rapidly as I saw two figures standing at the front of our stall - waving their swords with impressive skill and growling out insults. Apparently, Jeongin’s call for help had actually been answered, and I was relieved to see both Prince Chan and Prince Felix warding off the opposition. 

“Your business here is done,” Felix said, appearing nothing short of intimidating with his mask and sword.

“They should be so lucky,” the first man snarled, but he knew better than to continue a fight that he was destined to lose.

I watched him walk away before I realized that Felix and Chan were both hovering over me with matching expressions of concern. “Y/N?” Chan asked with a gentle tone.

“Thank you,” I managed to respond, flushing when I noticed that both Felix and Chan had outstretched their hands for me to take. But instead of forcing myself to make that decision, I rose at my own autonomy, glaring at Felix when he chuckled.

“They might not be so lucky next time,” one of the men called back, and he must’ve still been riding the waves of adrenaline when he chanced a step back in our direction.

“Get the hell out of here,” Chan snapped at the burly man who had helped attack us, and he grumbled in complaint but obeyed nonetheless. “Y/N,” Chan repeated, shoving Felix out of the way as he came closer. “Are you okay?”

I nodded while Felix scoffed. “What the hell were the two of you doing causing trouble like that?” 

“We weren’t causing trouble,” I said, and Felix smirked.

“Good,” he said in response. “After our conversation earlier, I would hate to discover that you had lied to me, Y/N.”

Chan frowned at that - glancing between me and Felix with a curious expression. “Let’s just get everyone back to the castle,” he said, and I agreed with one last glare in Felix’s direction.

The next morning, Anna woke me up early with a bright smile. “Good news,” she said, starting for my wardrobe. “The King has requested your presence at the tea ceremony today! They’re honoring Minho for his selection.”

I groaned around the exhaustion holding me captive. “Is this a request or a demand?”

Anna hesitated as she laid a dress across my bed. “Well, I wouldn’t ignore the King.”

“Of course,” I said, forcing myself to abandon the comforts of my mattress. “When will it take place?”

“This afternoon,” Anna said. “You should hurry and get dressed.”

I nodded quietly in easy compliance, watching Anna leave me to my own volition as I forced myself to put on the dress that she had left behind for me. It was fairly modest, but the sleeves had a very delicate lace lining them. I also spent a few moments in front of the mirror to check my appearance, which I never normally allowed, before I left my room to walk upstairs. 

It was suspiciously quiet in the corridors, and I found it strange because I remembered that the King’s wives lived in this area of the Castle. But it was pointless to assume anything, and perhaps they were already waiting at the ceremony with their sons.

However, my senses went on high alert when I heard two voices intermingling towards the end of the passage, and I pinpointed the noise coming from a single bedroom. Subsequently, I paused outside the room, glancing through the space between the door and the entryway to see Changbin and Queen Seo speaking together in low voices.

“You’ll be next to the King,” Queen Seo said, and she clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she examined Changbin’s outfit. “Do you remember the plan?”

“Of course,” Changbin replied. “I shall look for the handmaiden.”

“I’ll have her deliver the tea,” Queen Seo explained. “Once Minho drinks it...” She trailed off with a maniacal grin, reaching out to adjust Changbin’s hanbok. “My son looks so handsome,” she remarked. “Like a true leader.”

Changbin sneered at her words. “He thinks that Minho could possibly do better than me?”

Queen Seo shook her head as if she couldn’t believe it either. “Don’t trouble your mind. Tonight, we shall change his perception after we kill that little bastard.”

The promise held dangerous implications, and I stumbled backwards from the door in surprise. It was my sworn duty to protect the rulers of this Castle, and I had barely given the plot any further consideration before I was returning to my quarters.

Because I would ensure Minho’s well-being, even at the cost of my own position.

I was late to the tea ceremony as a result of my efforts, but I only received a stern reprimand from Ms. White before she escorted me to my seat next to Seungmin and Jisung. It also offered me an appropriate vantage point of Minho who I kept within my sights as everyone spoke around me with joyful tones. I had nearly forgotten that it was a celebration, and I found myself narrowing my eyes at Queen Seo and Changbin as they laughed together with the King like there was nothing wrong.

“You seem distracted.”

I slid my gaze away from Changbin - locating Seungmin as he leaned in closer to be make himself heard over the noise. “What did you say?”

“You know, Y/N,” Seungmin said, propping his chin against his hand. “I happen to like this color on you.”

I was surprised by his strangely flirtatious tone. “Excuse, me?”

But instead of replying to my query, Seungmin shot me a discreet wink and turned to Jeongin who offered his brother a friendly smile. The whole encounter was decidedly unusual, and I wondered if everyone in this Castle was startling to lose their minds.

“Don’t concern yourself with him,” Jisung said while nodding at his brother. “He’s a rare breed.”

I found myself smiling at the jest in spite of my concerns. “What can you possibly mean by that, Prince Jisung?”

“It’s his way of impressing you,” Jisung said.

“Impressing me?”

“He’s convinced himself that you only fight with him to hide your true feelings,” Jisung revealed. “Seungmin thinks you’re harboring secret affections.”

“I might’ve helped,” Hyunjin added from across the table, and I grimaced at the idea before reclining back in my chair.

“How remarkable,” I said. “He didn’t seem to like me.”

“Seungmin always acts that way around strangers,” Jisung said. “But he warms up to them eventually.”

“Don’t take it personally,” Hyunjin said. “And try not to hold it against him. He really does like you.”

“But why shouldn’t he?” a new voice contributed, and both Jisung and Hyunjin flinched when Felix suddenly entered the room - pausing at the end of the table. “Y/N is very interesting.”

I turned away from him, fanning my hand across my chest because my heart was doing something peculiar inside my chest.

The King, however, was furious. He stood and glared down at Felix with narrowed eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“Why shouldn’t I come?” Felix returned. “I’d like to celebrate Minho’s ascension to the throne. It’s what a good brother should do.”

“It’s alright, father,” Minho said, and I’m sure his words were shocking to most of the people at the table. “He can sit with us.”

“Very well,” the King relented, but he never took his eyes away from Felix as he sat down next to Hyunjin. “We shall begin.”

The King’s command summoned several handmaidens who brought inside the ceremonial tea for our consumption. Because of what I had discovered earlier, I kept a close eye on the handmaiden who served Minho - it was poisoned tea, and I had taken a potion earlier that should stop its effects. Since the potion contained a powerful chemical that was effective against all the traditional poisons I had studied, everything should be fine.

But there was a small risk that the queen had chosen a poison that could defy my potion, but I doubted that she would go to such great lengths.

“In honor of my son, Minho,” the King announced. “We shall drink to his health and vitality.”

I held my breath when everyone lifted a tea cup into the air, and I chose that precise moment to make my move.

“Your highness,” I intervened, coming around the table to grab Minho’s cup - ignoring the gasps of horror that echoed from the queens. “Shall I try it first?”

Minho blinked in surprise, looking at me like he couldn’t believe that I was standing over him. “I-I suppose.”

“In your honor, of course,” I added hastily before lifting the rim of the delicate cup to my lips. 

I could taste the poison as it slid down my throat, but I emptied most of the glass before wiping the remnants with the back of my hand. I sat the cup back on the table, swallowing hard when I felt the effects swim through my system. Thankfully, they were quickly assuaged by the potion that still lingered in my bloodstream. It worked just as I had imagined, and I reached out for Minho’s chair to overcome a brief bout of dizziness.

Everything was silent around me, but I forced a smile as I bowed to the King who was regarding me with a peculiar look. In the meantime, I was determined to finish the rest of the tea so that I could pour Minho something untainted. But I never anticipated further interruptions:

“I’d like to have the honor as well,” Felix said with a smirk, and I glared at him when he rose from his seat.

“It’s not necessary,” I insisted, but Felix jerked the cup away from me with an acute speed.

“But I insist,” Felix said, and he gave me a knowing look - one that said he was aware of the situation.

“Felix-” I tried again, but he had already lifted the rim to his lips - downing the rest of its contents with a sigh.

“Is this funny to you?” the King growled, and Felix simply chuckled.

“I’ve caused enough mischief for one afternoon,” he said, and he stumbled on his way to the exit. 

“Fool,” I whispered because I knew that Felix could potentially die without treatment. Thus, I bowed once again to the king before running out of the room in search of him.

It didn’t take me long to find him - collapsed in the remote corridor outside of the room.

“Prince Felix!” I gasped, and I ran the remaining steps before dropping down next to his crumbled form. “Are you insane?”

Felix rolled over onto his back, chest heaving, as he fixed me with a familiar smirk. “How is it fair that you get to have all the fun?

“You knew,” I hissed, cradling his head on my lap as I reached into my robes for the extra potion. “Drink this,” I insisted, holding the vile up to his pale lips.

Felix obeyed, consuming the potion before grinning up at me. “Are you furious with me, Y/N?”

“You absolute fool,” I said, resisting the urge to jostle the prince too much while he still fought to recover. “Why would you do something like that? It was poisoned.”

“But nobody would’ve ever known,” Felix said. “I do admire you, Y/N, but is it wise to stop the efforts of one plot when the same person might conceive of a dozen others?”

I sighed when I realized the wisdom of his words. “It’s a complicated matter,” I said, and the Prince narrowed his eyes.

I didn’t like the suspicious gleam in his gaze, especially when he leaned most of his weight against me for a closer examination. “You know who it is?” he asked, and his nose brushed against mine. 

“Don’t do this,” I pleaded with him because I knew that we were teetering precariously over dangerous ground with consequences that went beyond what either of us were prepared to face. It was a personal mattered that involved one of the King’s wives and her son - an issue that would lead to radical conflict.

“You won’t tell me,” Felix stated simply, and I thought I was in the clear until the prince opened his mouth again. “It must be very sinister. I’ll have to assume that it involved someone in that room.”

I swallowed hard and Felix smiled because I had just inadvertently given him the confirmation that he was seeking. “You shouldn’t meddle,” I warned him, shivering when his fingers traced along my lips.

“What I wouldn’t give to see inside that beautiful head of yours,” Felix said, and we both continued to stare at one another in awe.

But the moment was broken by the sounds of approaching footsteps, and I moved away from Felix just in time to see several guards running in our direction. “What’s wrong with him?” one of the guards demanded, and I hesitated because I had also noticed that most of the princes were arriving on the scene. 

There was every opportunity to stick to my original plan and keep everything incognito, but then Felix gave me a meaningful look, and I reluctantly relented. “He’s been poisoned.”

“Poisoned!” one of the guards exclaimed, and there was only chaos that followed. Just as I had suspected. But there were also Felix’s green eyes, and they managed to anchor me to the moment, even amidst all the noise and screaming. 

They were somehow reassuring, and I clung to them desperately when the King demanded my presence in the Throne Room.

It was an intimidating sight: kneeling before the King as he leered down at me from his throne. “Do you understand that you have no right to decide the fate of this Castle?”

I shivered at the underlying threat in his tone. “Your highness,” I said. “Forgive me. I thought it was best to solve this issue on my own as deemed by my duties.”

“Is this an admission of guilt?” The King asked. “Did you know what would happen before stepping inside that room?”

“Yes,” I said, closing my eyes and wondering if this would be my last day in the Castle.

“You knew of this plot but refused to speak up?” the King growled, and I lowered my head before him.

“Forgive me,” I once again requested softly. “I was afraid that revealing the complexities would cause the perpetrator to act out far more rashly.”

“My son almost died,” the King said, and I could see Minho shift in his seat from my peripheral vision. 

“My intention was to save him,” I said. “I wanted to let the assailant know that their plots will never work while I’m around to protect the royal family.”

The King was silent for a moment after my confession, and he considered me with a strange look. “I see,” he finally said. “I cannot punish you mage because your efforts saved Minho, but I must also give you a warning: the next time you learn of something so consequential, you will come to me and reveal everything.”

“Yes, your majesty,” I said, and I stood once more at his command. “I shall remember your words.”

“Very well,” the King said with a dismissive hand. “You may retire to your quarters.”

I made sure to offer him a polite bow before I was rapidly making my way out of the Throne Room - mind working a mile a minute. The brief intervention had allowed the the rare chance to speak to the King without his wives - one of which remained guilty of the plot to kill Minho. I could’ve spoken out against her, but there were far more complications to such an innocuous action.

Who would really believe me over the word of the Queen?

More importantly, would Felix say something about my hidden knowledge? Because he had somehow figured out that I was aware of the guilty party involved, and I had no doubt that he would question me in the future.

Yet, there were also more pressing matters to consider, such as the unexpected arrival of Minho who had somehow escaped the King’s notice. “Mage,” Minho interrupted, stopping me outside the throne room. “Could I have a word?”

“Of course, your highness,” I said, and I followed Minho as he led me further down the corridor to a quiet enclave.

“This is more private for our conversation,” Minho explained, and I was struck by the smile he gave me.

“I’m all ears, your grace,” I said, but Minho surprised me further by laughing, and he crowded me against the wall.

“I know you drank the tea to save me,” Minho said, and I startled when he reached out to touch the side of my face.

“Your highness,” I said, flushing at the unexpected contact. “W-what do you mean?”

“You don’t have to be coy with me, Y/N,” Minho said, and I gasped because it was the first time that he had ever used my real name. “I may not understand love, but I can tell when someone is trying hard to catch my attention.”

I nearly spluttered around my words when I caught onto his implication. “Y-you misunderstand-”

“Please don’t hide anymore,” Minho said, and I faltered at the desperation in his tone. “Perhaps when we get to know one another, I’ll consider bringing the prospect of marriage before my father.”

Marriage!? 

“You’re serious,” I said, and I struggled to form a single coherent sentence following Minho’s passionate declaration. 

“Shall we start tonight?” Minho continued as if I had never spoken, and his fingers burned a trail down the side of my face. 

It was obvious that he was lost to whatever perception he held of me, but I glanced to the side when I heard a noise that had not originated from myself or Minho. My eyes scanned the darkness, and I froze when I found myself caught in the snare of an intimate gaze. But I hesitated when I realized that those green irises belonged to Felix, and the look in his stare was impossible to discern.

[chickensarentcheap]

Sanctuary -Chapter 22

Warnings: smut

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @valkyrie-of-the-light, @innerpaperexpertcloud

Her flight arrives at eleven thirty in the evening, Belfast time. Tyler waits at the edge of the tarmac as the jet coasts to a stop; baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, clad in a pair of jeans, combat boots, and a simple white t-shirt under the flack jacket. Leaning against the driver’s side door of a newly rented SUV, hands stuffed in his pockets, biding his time as the pilot begins the final steps before passengers can begin to deboard. A slight rain falls: the pavement slick beneath the soles of his boot as he makes his way towards the jet; the stairs finally being lowered and the door being tossed open by a steward.

He smiles when he sees her, giving a small wave in greeting as he approaches. There’s a lap top bag over her right shoulder, a large -and jammed packed- knapsack over the left, and she wears a simple pair of leggings, a beat-up pair of sneakers and one of his hoodies. The sweater impossibly big on her; falling well below the knees, sleeves rolled up several times. But it’s the hair that he notices. The unexpected change in colour. Gone is her normal chestnut tresses, replaced by a rich mahogany that shines purple under the lights that surrounded the tarmac and small hanger. In all the time that they’ve been together, her appearance has seldom changed; aside from weight put on during her pregnancies and the several inches chopped from her hair. And while stunned by her transformation; he finds he actually likes it.

It’s intriguing. Alluring. Sexy.

“Hey,” he greets from the bottom of the stairs, holding out his hand to assist her the rest of the way.

“Hey,” she cheerfully returns, her feet on the third step when she curls her arms around his neck; his own wrapping around her willowy body, effortlessly lifting her off her feet, chuckling when her legs encircle his waist.

He’s smiling when she pulls away just long enough to remove his ball cap, turning it backwards before placing it back onto his head.

“That’s better,” she declares, and kisses him. Long and slow. That sweet, welcoming kiss that comes with a reunion. It doesn’t matter how long they’ve been apart, days, weeks, months. That first kiss is always the best one.  

“I missed you.” Tyler says, as he presses his lips to her temple and tightens his hold on her. Eyes closing as he breathes in the familiar yet still intoxicating scent of her body spray.  All the tension, stress, and worry soothed by the warmth that radiates from her body. It’s only been two days, yet it’s felt like a lifetime.

She holds his face in her hands, kissing him once more. “I missed you too.”

His palms briefly glide over her ass as he places her on the ground, then turns his hat back around the proper way and accepts a second backpack from the steward.

“How was the flight?” he asks, as he unloads of the other two bags as well, slinging all three over his shoulders, then placing a protective arm around her as he escorts her to the waiting SUV.

Nik has gone to a lot of trouble. The first rental vehicles being exchanged for replacements under different names. A new hotel on the outskirts of the city. Even new SAT phones: fears that the others have been compromised and calls and texts being recorded or traced. All new numbers, their actual physical whereabouts being kept secret. Nik being the only one with knowledge of where they actually are.  

“Long,” she replies, her arm across his lower back, hand just inside the back pocket of his jeans.  “But travelling on a Gulf Stream made it so much easier to cope with. I love Yaz and he’s a great pilot, but he doesn’t have one of those,” she jerks a thumb over her shoulder towards the sleek, modern aircraft. “How does Nik know this guy?”

“She said she did some work for him. That he owes her. Maybe they’re actually hooking up. He gives her the jet in exchange for good p…”

Esme frowns. “Isn’t he an old man?”

“So? Maybe he’s a sugar daddy. You know, Nik. She doesn’t want to settle down. Or commit to anything. An arrangement like that would be perfect for her.  He lends her his toys; she gets to be his toy.”

She snorts.

“How were the kids when you left?”

“Fine. They dealt with a lot better than I thought they would. I think they like the idea that we’re together. Maybe they think that means I’ll keep you out of trouble. It makes it easier to have Ovi there with him. They adore him. And Chloe. Not to mention they are over the moon that grandma came to visit for a while.”

“I’m surprised. That she was even willing to do it.”

“Well, with Sarge out of the house, she’s lonely. Maybe she’s trying to turn over a new leaf. I notice she’s been better with you. Since you went over there to see her. Whatever you said must have struck a nerve.”

“We had a good talk. Cleared the air,” he loads her things into the backseat of the SUV, then pauses before he opens her door. Reaching out to run a hand over her hair, letting smooth, silky strands slip through his fingers.  “What’s up with this?”

“You hate it. Don’t you.  Nik wanted to just go with a wig, but you could tell it was fake. So I thought, why not? It’s only hair.”

“Actually, I like it. Never thought I’d see you as a redhead. It’s different. But sexy.”

“It just gets better…” she reaches into one of the pockets on the hoodie and pulls out a pair of dark framed eyeglasses; fake lenses, but real enough looking to pull off whatever ruse Nik has cooked up. “What do you think?” she slips them into her face. “Are they me?”

“You look like a sexy librarian.”

“You have a fetish with librarians? We’ve been married for five years and I’m just finding this out now? Was there a sexy librarian in your past you lusted over?”

“Math teacher, actually. We can pretend you’re a math teacher if you want.”

“Math doesn’t scream sexy to me. Neither does librarian. I was thinking more…I don’t know…” she lowers the glasses onto the bridge of her nose and peers at him over the top of the rims.  “…private tutor…”

“Yeah…” he grins, and lays his hands on her hips, using his weight to back her up against the car. “…I don’t think there’s anything you could teach me that I don’t already know. You can try if you want, though. I’ll take one for the team.”

“Such a hard life you have,” she dramatically sighs. “How do you ever cope with being so selfless? What a burden to have to carry. Maybe I can actually be a sexy therapist and you can lie down and confess all your troubles to me. I bet there’s ways I can make you feel better.”

He smirks. “I bet there are,” his hands slide over her hips and around to the small of her back, mouth covering hers in a deep passionate kiss just as his fingers press roughly into her ass and pull her tight against him.

A sensual, lustful moment, hidden from the outside world by the looming shadow cast by the aircraft hanger.  Her lips taste like strawberries, the hint of the same when the tip of his tongue briefly brushes against hers. It’s more than want; it’s the relief of having her that close again, the lift of the stress and the worry that had been plaguing him since asking for her help, the gratitude that she’d even agreed.

There is so much to lose. The risk far greater than the reward. And he’s desperate to keep her close; to feel her lips against his, their bodies pressed together, all of his senses filled with her scent, her taste, the sound of her soft sigh when he leans into her and pins her against the car.

“Mmm…” there’s a smile on her lips as she pulls away, eyes closed as he presses his forehead against hers. “…that was…nice…”

“I missed you,” he says, as he lays a hand on her cheek, thumb softly brushing over the orbital bone before drifting across and down the entire length of her jaw.

“I can tell,” she grins, and brushes a palm against the obvious beginning of his erection.

“Not just that. Although that’s pretty fucking amazing. It always has been. But I missed you. I missed us. I just got back home. I thought we’d have more time than we did. And I’m sorry for that. For all of this.”

She turns her face into the hand resting against her cheek, pressing a kiss to his palm.  “It is what it is, Tyler. This is your life.”

“No. It’s not. You’re my life.”

There’s a sadness to her smile. But also peaceful resignation. “I long ago realized that I was number two.  And I’m not saying that to hurt you. I’m saying that I accept it. I accept who are you. I accept what you are. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. I never would have called you that night when we were separated. I would have just cut you loose. But I couldn’t. I’ve never been able to. I should have walked away. That first night in Dhaka. But I didn’t.”

“I wouldn’t have let you. I would have chased you down. I would have followed you wherever you went. I would have found you.”

“And maybe people will say that’s your weakness. Me. And maybe they’ll say it’s an obsession. An addiction. That we can’t ever walk away.  That it’s unhealthy.  I even think it sometimes. The way we fight. The way we’re ready to rip each other apart in the worst possible way and then in the best possible way in the blink of an eye. But I love you. More than you could ever realize. And I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Part of him says that the words she’s just spoken should break his heart. That he’s failed in some way, putting the job before her and not concentrating enough on their marriage or their family. Yet the other part of him is relieved. The things she’d said bringing about his own sense of peace. Completeness, even. For years he’d wondered just where he stood, in the shaky balance between mercenary and family man. He’s struggled to keep them separated. And her words have reassured him that he can be both.  She accepts it. Her love and loyalty her own blessing and curse.

He takes her face in both his hands, pressing a kiss to her mouth and then to her forehead. Lips lingering there, eyes closed, feeling her hands come up to cover his.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says. “Thank you.”

One of her hands moves to the back of his neck, then slides up into his hair. Nails scraping against his scalp where the shorn areas are, pressing into the skin before her fingers move up to comb through the longer strands. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you,” she says.

And means it.

*****

It’s quarter past midnight when they reach the hotel; she’d dozed in the car, lulled to sleep by the soft pattering of the rain against the windows, the rhythmic sound of the windshield wipers, and the safety and security that being reunited with him has given her.  And when he kills the ignition in the underground parking garage, he reaches over to smooth her hair away from her face, looping pieces behind her ears and the leaning in to softly kiss her awake.  Grinning at the content, dreamy smile that slowly spreads across her face.

“We’re here,” he says.

“Okay,” she yawns, and the wraps both arms around his neck and pulls him into her; her mouth devouring his as one hand rips off the ballcap and tosses it aside.

Her tongue aggressively pushes its way into his mouth, his palms cradling her face as he kisses her back with equal…if not more… fervor. It’s been like this for five years; an insatiable hunger, an almost overwhelming sexual attraction. Lust often overpowering love.  A honeymoon stage that has far outlasted what either of them had ever expected. By now most couples have fallen into a routine; the stress of raising a family and the often mundane rituals of domesticity putting a damper on the sexual aspects of things. But they’d found it’s only been heightened. As if the bond they share as spouses, confidants, and best friends is only strengthened because they make such great lovers.

“You’re trouble,” Tyler grins, and has to peel her arms away from his neck. “You were trouble five years ago and you’re trouble now.”

“The best kind of trouble,” she declares, and he can’t help but agree.

The underground lot is dimly lit; damp, smelling like mould, gasoline and exhaust fumes. There’s many hidden spots and dark areas where an unknown threat can linger, and as he carries his bags on his shoulders, he keeps a protective hand on the small of her back, a small amount of pressure keeping her walking half a step in front of him.  His eyes constantly searching; scanning those dark shadowy places where someone could hide, glancing at vehicles to see if any passengers suspiciously remain inside, checking over his shoulder to make sure that they aren’t being followed.

It was a risk going to the airport to pick her up. Even with a new rental under a fake name. If anyone was watching the hotel and had seen him leave, it would have been easy for them to follow him and then spot them together. Ruining any chance of using Esme as their ‘inside person’.  And putting an even bigger target on her back.  But there is also no guarantee that she hasn’t already been made the same way he and Yaz had been; word getting back to those responsible before she even stepped foot on the plane in Colorado. Which in turn made her travelling to the hotel alone just as dangerous, if not even more.

She breathes a visible sigh of relief when the reach the elevators. “That was a little freaky,” she says, and nervously bounces up and down on her heels as he hits the up button.  Five years ago, she’d been confidant. Fearless, even. But so much as changed since then. Good and bad.

“Everything’s fine,” he assures her, and lays a hand on the back of her neck, lightly massaging the tense muscles. “Just breathe. We’re almost there.”

He practically pushes her into the elevator when it arrives, dropping the bags on the ground and hitting the button for their floor. His own sigh of relief about to escape when he hears the door leading to the garage open, followed by three boisterous voices. Two males and a female.

“Fuck me,” he mutters, and then uses his foot to move the bags to the very back of the lift. A hand wrapping around Esme’s upper arm and pulling her tight against him just as the newcomers manage to slip through the doors before they close.  

The scent of alcohol practically oozes from their pores, their voices loud and obnoxious, the female’s shrill laugh piercing, especially in such small confines. But the three strangers all give a polite nod in greet, then turn to face the front of the elevator.  Tyler’s hand moves from her upper arm to her side, drawing her even closer. And he feels the way she relaxes against him. Comforted by his smell and the warmth he provides and the pure solid mass of his body.  He looks down at her, giving her a reassuring smile, and drops a kiss on the top of her head.

Esme’s eyes are riveted on the numbers that light up above the door, but she can’t help but smirk when the female grabs a hold of one of the males and kissing him passionately, causing him to stumble backwards and collide with the side wall.

“Newlyweds,” the friends says to them, and rolls his eyes. “You guys too?” he nods down at the wedding band that Tyler sports.

“Yeah,” he answers. “We’re here on our honeymoon too.”  The lie rolls easily off the tongue. Years ago, it became second nature; either telling small snippets of the truth or none of it at all. Whatever takes away any hint of suspicion.

“Australian, huh?” the young man observes. “I hear you guys have killer beaches and surfing.”

Tyler nods.

“I’d love to go there sometime,” he says, and then turns back around to face the door.

Esme’s watching the young couple against the wall, amused by the drunken make out session. But then suddenly her body tenses once again, a frown on her face as she steps in front of Tyler, placing her hands on his sides. At first he wonders if she’s playing up the whole being on the honeymoon lie, her nose against his chest, her hands sliding along his rib cage, then up onto his lats and back down again. Until her hand stops on the Glock holstered to his right hip.

He drops his head, nuzzling her ear with his nose before pressing a kiss to her ear. “What’s going on?” he whispers.

She lifts her head, their lips mere millimeters apart. “He’s carrying.  Left hip. Looks like a Sig Sauer. It has a magazine in it.”

He just nods, then places a hand on the back of her head and kisses her. More of a comforting action than a lustful one. Feeling the way her hands tightly grip the front of his jacket.  And he keeps her there, tucked securely into his chest with one hand on the small of her back and the other resting on the Glock.

The floors seem to pass by at a snail’s pace; he can feel her heart hammering against him. “Just calm down,” he whispers, lips against her temple. “Everything’s fine.”

The three strangers are staying a floor below them, and when the elevator finally grounds to a halt and the doors open, Tyler can feel her entire body relax.  And he gives a polite nod when the younger man and the couple wish them a good night and an even better honeymoon.

“What the fuck was that?” Esme breathes a sigh of relief when the doors close.

“Nothing. They’re just drunk and obnoxious. You need to bring it down a notch. Why are you so on edge?”

“Oh I don’t know, Tyler. Maybe because I just left the safety and security of my own home to help you go up against the IRA. I’m sorry if that’s a little…upsetting.”

“None of this is going to work if you freak out about every little thing,” he says. “You need to just relax and breathe.”

“He had a gun.”

“I have a gun.”

“You have a reason to.”

“And maybe he did too. Maybe he’s a cop. Maybe he’s private security. Maybe he just has a permit to conceal carry. Just try and relax, love. Just a bit. I know it’s been a long time since you’ve done this sort of thing, but I’m not a rookie. Nothing is going to happen to you. Did anything happen to you five years ago? In Dhaka?”

“Well not for the first five days, no.”

He frowns.

“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. Things going to shit after that was definitely not your fault.”

“Did I not keep you alive? The first five days and the two after it?”

She nods.

“Then calm the fuck down,” he implores. “You’re safe. I got you.”

She smiles, then stands on her tip toes and presses a kiss to the underside of his chin. “So, newlyweds, huh? Five years is a long ass newlywed stage.”

“Sometimes it feels like five days,” he admits.  “And other times it feels like fifty. Years.”

“You are such a dick,” she laughs, and his hands slide down to grab a hold of her ass. “Maybe we can be newlyweds again. You know, just for tonight?”

“Just tonight?”

“I don’t know how much you have left in you,” she teases. “One night might be all I get out of you. You’re getting older and your stamina might be starting to go.”

He grins. “Is that a challenge?’

She cocks her head to the side. “Maybe…”

“Well in that case,” his fingers bite into her ass. “Consider that a challenge accepted.”

****

She doesn’t even flinch when the back of her collides with the solid wood of the hotel room door; their mouths locked in a savage, merciless kiss as unrepentant hands yank and tear at clothing. His much larger and stronger body pinning her in place; his fingers hooking in in the waistband of her leggings and yanking them down over her ass and her hips, allowing them to pool at her ankles.

“Really?” he smirks, when he discovers missing undergarments.  “You had to make things that easy for me?”

“I knew it would be late when we got back,” her hands push the jacket off of his shoulders, falling to his wrists before he tosses it aside. “I figured you’d be all out of patience. I thought I’d cut you some slack.”

“You know I like to work for it,” he says, and then his mouth is on her neck, her head falling back as his warm, moist lips sucks harshly at her pale skin, marking her as his. Teeth grazing against the hallow of her throat, his beard scratching her tender flesh.  Large hands pulling off the hoodie and flinging it aside, palms drifting up the back of the t-shirt. Nimble, experienced fingers finding her nipples, lightly pinching and twist as his mouth once more makes it way back up to hers. Pulling her bottom lip between his teeth, biting down with enough force to cause her to give a sharp yelp, his tongue pushing its way into her mouth.

Her hands yank his t-shirt up his torso, intentionally dragging her nails along his skin, leaving bright red tracks in their wake.  Her touch needy and aggressive as she explores his wide shoulders and beautifully muscled back, their kiss only breaking when he pulls back long enough to remove his shirt and add it to the pile of clothes. Desire pools between her legs just at the way he looks at her; a hand on the side of her face as his eyes lock on hers. Intense. Hungry. Burrowing to her very soul.  And she reaches for his belt buckle, only for him to grab her by the wrists.

“No,” he says, and forces her arms down to her sides.

She opens her mouth to protest, but he’s dropping to his knees in front of her, his eyes locked on her as his palms push her thighs apart, fingers digging into the soft flesh, a cry escaping her mouth when he places his tongue flat against her pussy, licking a wide strip all the way from the juncture between her legs to the top of her pubic bone. Two fingers pushing the swollen, moist lips open and his mouth zeroing in on her clit. Pulling it between his lips, grazing it with his teeth, her hands burying themselves in his hair.

“Jesus….Tyler…shit…fuck…” it’s all she can manage; mesmerized and even more turned on as she watches him eat her out. Fingers twisting at the longer strands of hair, pushing his face further into her. Head falling back and her hips moving on their own accord; grinding against his tongue with every lick, suck, and nibble that he unleashes on her. A litany of profanities, encouragement, and his name tumbling from her mouth.

One hand grabs a hold of her left leg, fingers pressing deep as he places it over his shoulder. The new position making it possible for his tongue to delve even further inside of her.  Thrusting it in and out, mimicking the movement of a cock, before turning his attention back to his clit and slipping three fingers inside of her. No lead up; just those three long digits being forced as far as they can possibly go. Before one hooks forward and finds that spot that she always thought was a myth.  And he presses, hard, as he takes her clit into her mouth at the same time.

She comes undone. Throwing her head back against the door. Screaming his name. Those hands painfully yanking at his hair.  And he continues his ministrations throughout the entire orgasm, moving those fingers at a slow and steady pace, the tip of his tongue now circling her clit. And the sensation is just too much; tears spilling down her face as attempts to push him away. It’s all too much. Too soon.

He backs off; his fingers slipping out of her, pressing soft kisses to her fluttering stomach as his palms run up the backs of the calves and thighs. Travelling all the way to her hips. Feathery kisses being placed along her pubic bone before moving higher. Making a slow, agonizing journey all the way from her navel to her mouth. Thumbs tenderly brushing away her tears as he kisses her, letting her taste herself on his lips and his tongue.

She reaches for his belt and this time he allows it; eyes on her hands as she unbuckles it and then pops open the button and yanks down the zipper. A low growl forming in his throat as she slides her hand down the front of his boxers and those soft fingers close around his cock. His eyes closed and his forehead resting against hers as her hand works him; slow and lazy at first, then more aggressive. Until his own hips are bucking into her and he struggles to draw breath into his lungs.

“Enough,” he orders, and pushes her hands away once again. “I don’t want to come like that.”

“Well how do you want to do it?” she asks, and something in her voice just sets him off. Igniting that primal, animalistic need inside of him. Arms circling her waist and lifting her off her feet; mouth once more on hers as he uses his strength to hold her against the door. One hand planted firmly on the cool, smooth wood as the other reaches between them to guide his weeping, aching cock inside of her.

“Tyler…” it’s a long, drawn out sigh, her eyes closing at the sensation of that initial penetration. And when he pulls all the way out and pushes back inside with more force, her legs wrap around his waist and her fingernails dig into his shoulders.

He takes her hard and fast. Face buried in the crook of her neck; eyes closed. His palm still flat against the door, the other hand slipping between them so his fingers can find her clit.  Applying just enough pressure to cause her to cry out, then using two fingers to rub smooth, quick circles. Until her entire body is shuddering against him and she’s biting down on his shoulder with enough power to break the skin, her scream muffled by thick muscle. He chases his own orgasm, moving the hand from between them and roughly grasping her hip; hard enough to bruises as his thrust become erratic and sloppy. His face still buried in her neck, breathing ragged, a string of profanities and her name leaving his lips as he empties himself inside of her.  Legs trembling and weak. Praying they’ll hold him up.

She pulls his head up by the hair and kisses him. Her legs tightening around his waist. The heels of her feet digging into the small of his back as she holds him tightly inside of her. Until his own shuddering subsides and their breathing begins to return to normal.  And she giggles into his mouth as he effortlessly carries her across the room and drops her into the middle of the bed. Her legs still wrapped around him; his cock still buried inside of her.

It’s two thirty in the morning and they eat the junk food that she’d packed in her oversized purse. A box of strawberry frosted poptarts, mini Kit Kat bars, and cheese strings that she’d stolen from the kids’ stash in the pantry.  Lying side by side on their stomachs with their heads at the foot of the bed and their feet on the pillows, Tyler is just his boxers, Esme in his t-shirt.  The tv tuned in to a 24/7 news channel, but the volume on mute.

“Déjà vu,” she says, as she tears open the foil on a package of Pop Tarts.

He arches a quizzical eyebrow.

“We ate Pop Tarts in Dhaka too,” she explains, as she hands him one of the pastries. “The first night we…”

He grins. “I remember.”

“The room’s a lot nicer this time around,” she muses.

“The toilet actually flushes,” he says, and she laughs.

“What about the shower?” she inquires. “Can you actually stand under it?”

“I can,” he confirms with a chuckle. “And there’s even hot water.”

“Holy shit, we’re just living the rich life. Do we even get complimentary bar soap and fuzzy towels?”

“And bathrobes.”

“Do we really have to go home after this? I don’t even have a bathrobe at home.  At least I get one here.”

“I’ll steal one. Just for you.”

“Tyler Rake…” she gasps dramatically. “…you committing a devious offence? Never.”

He smirks.

“Did you call home?”

Tyler nods.

“The kids haven’t given grandma a mental breakdown yet?”

“Not yet. But she’s only been there twelve hours, so…”

“I give it three days. Before she’s hitting the bottle hard and weeping as she rocks in a corner.”

“Three days is generous. I had it at a day and a half.”

“That’s longer than it took you to lose your mind while trying to teach the boys how to pee standing up. And you’re supposed to be the patient one. See what I mean? About boys being the hard ones?”

“Bullshit. Millie is a hundred times harder than the two of them put together. Her attitude is enough to drive me to drink. And she’s only five.”

“I wonder where she gets that from. Her propensity for being an asshole.”

Tyler stares at her pointedly.

“Oh, excuse you! I don’t think so. You are a much bigger asshole than I am.”

“How you figure?”

“You have a resting asshole face. All the time. And you’re sarcastic and a total wise ass. Not to mention, you look intimidating. You’re all big muscles and huge shoulders and massive hands and feet. Not to mention you’re absurdly tall. What did your mother feed you when you were young?”

“It was all the vegemite,” he reasons. “And I am not intimidating.”

“Right!” she scoffs. “That’s why the pizza guy nearly wets himself if you answer the door.”

“He nearly wets himself because I told him I was going to tear him a new asshole for calling you hot. Not that you aren’t. You’re insanely hot. But when the twenty-year-old pizza delivery guy is going around town talking about how hot you are and calling you a MILF…”

“It’s actually quite flattering. That the yearlings think that about me. You should be flattered. You have a wife that the guys half your age want to bang.”

“It’s not flattering. It’s fucking disturbing.”

“So are the women at the grocery store that get all wet whenever they see you. But you don’t see me complaining about it. I just sit back and laugh at them and be like ‘stare all you want, bitch. He’s all mine’. You should find it flattering though…” she rolls over onto her back, hands on her stomach. “…I’ve given you four kids and I still have a fairly decent body.”

“Fairly decent? You have a fucking amazing body.”

“Aww baby…” she tousles his hair.  “…you’re so biased.”

“Maybe. But it doesn’t make it less true. And no, I do not find it flattering that the pizza boy wants to get in your pants. That’s like Ovi wanting to get in your pants.”

“That’s even worse. He’s practically my kid. Speaking of getting into someone’s pants…”

“Would you let me fuel up for fuck sakes? I can’t run on an empty tank.”

“I wasn’t talking about you! I think Ovi and Chloe have sealed the deal.”

“Yeah? What makes you think that?”

“I said I would do some laundry for him and I found an empty condom wrapped in a pair of his jeans.”

Tyler grins. “Atta boy.”

“I’m not ready for this. I can’t handle him growing up. Where’d the old Ovi go? The one who wet his pants because you scared him so badly?”

“It wasn’t me that made him wet his pants. He’d already pissed himself before I got to him. What was I supposed to do? Let him walk around like that? It was traumatizing enough. I didn’t want him completely embarrassing himself.”

“And people say you’re nothing but a savage hard ass. You’re a big man with an even bigger heart.”

He snorts.

“Right…right…don’t talk about the feels. Tyler doesn’t like to talk about the feels. It emasculates him. Why do you have to be such an alpha male?”

“Because I am. Because that’s what made you fall in love with me.”

“No…no…” she disagrees. “I’m pretty sure it was the eyes and the voice. The muscles played a part too. A big part.”

“Stop objectifying me,” he chides. “I have feelings. I’m not just some piece of meat.”

“Oh yes. Yes you are. Sorry to say. But the best part is the fact that you’re not just any piece of meat. You’re my piece of meat. You’re my trophy husband.”

“That doesn’t work. I’d have to be younger than you. I’m five years older. So technically, you’re my trophy wife.”

“What contest in hell did you win to get that kind of trophy?”

“Whatever it was, it must have been very, very bad,” he teases, as he uses the remote to flick of the tv and tosses it onto the dresser. “Because…” he settles on his side beside her, a hand resting on her stomach. “…I am definitely being punished.”

“You’re such a dick sometimes, I swear.”

He presses a kiss to her temple. “You like my dick.”

Esme grins. “Okay, I’ll give you that one.”

He moves further down the bed, wrapping both arms around her lower back and then resting his head against her stomach. Letting loose a small yet content sigh when she commences playing with his hair. This is a side of him that no one else got to see. When he is tender and sweet. Needy.  He’d long ago found that level of comfort with her. Able to let his guard down completely and just be…human.

“Tired?” she asks, pushing his hair off his forehead, fingertips brushing against his brow. Tips pressing into the top of his nose, gently massaging.

He nods, yawning against her stomach and closing his eyes as her fingers trace the scar across the bridge of his nose and then one that runs vertically down the left side of his forehead.

“Maybe you’ll be able to sleep now. Now that I’m here. I promise I won’t wake you up three times a night. No matter how horny I am. I’ll take pity on you.”

“You don’t have to go overboard now. You can wake me up as many times as you want. Just give me like half an hour. Then I’ll be good to go.”

“I give it ten minutes and you’ll be out like a light. Snoring like crazy.”

“I don’t snore.”

“Sure you don’t.” She lays her palm against his forehead, just letting the weight and the warmth of her hand soothe him. “Tyler?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Smiling against her stomach, he tightens his hold on her. “I love you too.”

He’s asleep in minutes.