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lathalea · 5 months ago

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Entangled 4/10

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x Dwarf OFC (The Hobbit) Rating: G (subject to change) Warnings: ANGST Summary: Arranged marriages are common among the dwarven nobility. After reclaiming the Lonely Mountain, the Kingdom Under the Mountain needs to be rebuilt. Thorin agrees to marry a lady from the Blue Mountains, securing a mutually beneficial alliance with the Broadbeam Dwarves. Lady Mista is said to be a practical and hard-working dwarf-woman, willing to give him an heir who would secure the line of succession. A decent queen material, his advisors say. If only Thorin could let go of his past… You can find this fic on AO3 (search for lathalea).

A/N: First of all, sorry it took me so long to update this story but your comments and messages kept me going! TRSB and Real Life™️ hit me hard, but I haven't forgotten about this story. In fact, I have a treat for you: an XXL-sized chapter as a thank you for your patience 💙 Special thanks to @legolasbadass and @absentmindeduniverse for your help. You are amazing and you made this chapter so much better than it originally was! 🤩🙏💙 -*-*-*- KHUZDUL: ‘Urdêk - ereborean variant of Lonely Mountain (referring to the Halls within the mountain) Nadad - brother Nan’ith - little/young sister Zabdûna - the Queen Zabdûna undu ‘Urd - Queen Under the Mountain Khagal'abbad - Ered Luin, the Blue Mountains Azsâlul'abad - the Lonely Mountain (both the mountain and the dwarven kingdom known among Elves and Men as Erebor) Tumunzahar - an ancient dwarven city in the Blue Mountains rebuilt by the Broadbeams in this story. The Elves call it “Nogrod”. Gabilgathol - an ancient dwarven city in the Blue Mountains rebuilt by the Firebeards in this story. The Elves call it “Belegost”. Thorinuldûm - Thorin’s Halls, the settlement of the refugees from the Lonely Mountain in the Blue Mountains Iglishmêk - the sign language widely used by all the dwarves -*-*-*-

✨ Chapter list: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4... ✨ Entangled Masterlist

Thorin opened his eyes with a gasp. That cursed dream again. Those eyes…

Several deep breaths helped to banish the haunting afterimages from his mind for good. Deep inside the Mountain — much deeper than the Royal Chambers — the mine bell struck eleven times. One hour before noon. It was later than he expected.

Thorin’s head was pounding, and the bitter aftertaste of rowanberry brandy in his mouth made him yearn for a mug of water. Slowly, he rose, noticing that he was not in his bed but in his armchair, still wearing some of yesterday's clothes. His finely embroidered undershirt and similarly adorned trousers — now crumpled. Parts of his wedding attire. His wedding.

He truly needed a drink.

The only thing he found in his chamber was an empty brandy bottle that lay forgotten on the floor. For a moment, Thorin wanted to ring for a servant, irritated at the fact that he slept so long — and his usual breakfast tray was nowhere to be seen. Had they overslept in the kitchens as well? What could have been so important that… Of course. His wedding.

He grunted. There was not going to be any breakfast tray and no servants. Not until he rang for them, at least. No one would disturb him in the morning after his wedding night. Frowning, Thorin managed to recall that a celebratory dinner was scheduled later that day — not only for the people of ‘Urdêk, but also for the whole royal family and the family of the bride. His wife.

Thorin ran a hand down his face. He was a married Dwarf now. A husband. Years and years ago, in another lifetime, that thought would have made him enormously proud — and happy. And yet, on this very morning, the only thing he felt was that bitter taste in his mouth — and shame; his foolish dreams of youth long forgotten. The weight of a new braid in his hair, the marriage braid, was not a symbol of perfect, eternal love he had foolishly envisioned as a youth. This braid only denoted the contract between the two dwarven houses: the Longbeards and the Broadbeams.

A memory from the previous day appeared in his mind: pale, small, pale fingers nervously sliding through his hair, braiding a pattern that was unfamiliar to him. The personal pattern of the lady who now occupied the adjacent bedchamber — Lady Mista. The woman he had barely met and knew nothing of. His wife.

He should have felt something about this image, anything — sadness or perhaps the satisfaction of yet another duty he fulfilled as the King; hope or disenchantment. There was nothing — only a gaping hole deep inside him where his feelings should be. He stared with disappointment at the empty brandy bottle in his hand, and placed it on the table beside him with a clank.

Perhaps everything was as it should be. His was an arranged marriage, after all. The Kingdom Under the Mountain needed an heir to the throne. The future and prosperity of the realm depended on it. It was Thorin’s duty to fulfil, and time was of the essence. As the ancient scriptures stated, only the firstborn son of the firstborn son — of the current king — had the right to the throne of this realm. The Book of Law emphasised that it had to be the direct descendant of Durin — as the line remained unbroken since the beginning of time. If the direct line was to be lost, the next in line was the second son and his progeny. Thorin closed his eyes and Frerin’s kindred face appeared before him — and quickly disappeared. That future perished more than one hundred and forty years ago beneath the East Gate of Khazad-dûm before it even had a chance to come to fruition. As for the other possibilities… they were just as painfully non-existent.

“Is there truly no legal way to name Fili or Kili as my heir apparent, Master Maldur?” Thorin crumpled a piece of parchment in his hand.

“I am afraid not, Sire.” The elderly scholar adjusted the emerald pince-nez on his nose. “They are both the sons of a daughter of Durin.”“Besides, since Fili is married to Lady Fridvi of the Firebeards. According to the treaty between our houses, their firstborn child will rule in the Blue Mountains,” added Balin with an apologetic smile.

“Aye. Even if it’s a daughter,” Thorin said and added, as if to himself, “I have always thought the Firebeards to be more sensible when it came to the laws of succession.”“Yes, well, Your Majesty…” Master Maldur cleared his throat in ill-disguised disapproval, shuffling some parchments in front of him. “The Longbeard laws, however, clearly state that if no male heir is procured by the current king before his 200th birthday, the next Dwarf in line — albeit one who is not a direct descendant of Durin — would be the grandson of your Grandfather’s brother, Grór, the firstborn son of his firstborn son, Nain, your…”

“I do know the lineage of my cousin, Dain Ironfoot, quite well, thank you,” Thorin remarked curtly. Genealogy, lineages, and recounting endless familial connections always made him irritable.

“And hypothetically speaking, if your revered cousin was not there to claim the crown of the Kingdom Under the Mountain, may Mahal give him long life,” Maldur spoke in his hoarse voice that made Thorin think of crumbling stones, “the next in line would be, of course, Lord Balin, the firstborn son of Fundin, the firstborn son of Farin, who, in turn, was the firstborn…”

“Thank you, Master Maldur.” Thorin nodded to him, having heard enough, and then turned to the firstborn son of Fundin. “Balin, how would you feel about becoming the next king?”

“I would rather not. Unless you and Dain plan to drink your way to the Halls of Awaiting together anytime soon?” Balin chuckled, shaking his head. “I have other plans, laddie, and besides, I’m not getting any younger.”

“And yet your wit is as sharp as it was one hundred years ago,” Thorin offered him a half-smile.

“Your Majesty, may I take this opportunity to point out how crucial it is that a direct descendant of Durin sits on the throne of Azsâlul'abad?” The frown on Master Maldur’s forehead deepened. “Additionally, the unfortunate discord between Your Majesty’s Grandfather and his brother, Grór, is vividly remembered by your subjects. Sadly, because of this, Lord Dain is quite an unpopular personage here. Not a favourable position to be in for a prospective ruler. If such an event were to happen, of course.”

“Of course.” Thorin sighed. “Any more ideas, Balin? Lord Bori?”

Balin slowly shook his head.

“May I remind you, Your Majesty, that we have received several offers of alliance through marriage?” said the white-haired chancellor, who — until that very moment — remained silent. Lord Bori always picked the perfect moment to strike.“Very well.” Thorin stood up, signalling that the meeting was adjourned. “It seems that we have run out of heirs. Balin, would you be so kind as to discuss the matter with my sister? I entrust you both with choosing a suitable royal consort for the King Under the Mountain.”

A thud brought him out of his reverie. It came from the adjacent bedchamber. Thorin heard two distinct voices, although he could not quite make out the words. It must have been Lady Mista discussing something with her maid, he suspected. He clearly recognized the soft lilt of his spouse’s voice, so characteristic among the Broadbeams. Perhaps she was readying herself for the day, as he should as well. Thorin was about to ring for his servant when a resonant voice reached his ears despite the thick door between their rooms.

“Why doesn't it surprise me, Mista?!” The voice was definitely feminine. “You had one job…” “Let me explain…” That was Lady Mista speaking. Thorin was able to recognize only one or two words.

“There is nothing to explain!” The first voice returned. “It was your wedding night, for Mahal’s sake! Couldn’t you have made an effort? Just look at yourself! For once in your life…”

“Mother, you don’t understand, I…” Lady Mista’s words trailed off. She sounded tense.

The pounding in Thorin’s head intensified. He glared at the door.

“Have you forgotten how hard your father and your uncle worked to achieve this?! Is that how you repay your family, Mista? By ruining everything? On the very first night?”

Without thinking, Thorin placed his hand on the door handle and pressed. He had heard enough.

“What is the meaning of this?!” he demanded.

In the silence that filled the room, just after he stepped into Lady Mista’s bedchamber, he saw Lady Mista sitting in her bed. Her face was as pale as the bed linen, her eyes wide, and her quilt pulled up to her chin. She looked at him as if she wanted to disappear underneath it. With her hair tousled and her slightly skewed spectacles, she looked more like a defenceless young maid than an adult Dwarf-woman.

Next to her bed stood a corpulent red-haired matron in a fashionable green-and-gold gown, her hair immaculately dressed, her neck and wrists adorned with elegant jewellery, her fisted hands resting against her hips.

“Your Majesty.” The matron executed a customary curtsy, offering him a sweet but artificial smile. “What an honour to see you in my daughter’s bedchamber. I believe…” “Lady Milva.” He gave her a curt nod of recognition and graced her with a cold stare. “You will have to forgive me, madam, but I do not intend to reciprocate. I, for one, cannot understand why you would choose this particular time to visit Her Majesty the Queen.”

“Ah, but Your Majesty would surely understand that I wanted to see to my daughter’s comfort on the very first day of her rule.” Her smile widened.

“Do you wish to imply that I am incapable of such a feat, madam?” Thorin hissed.

“Oh no, Your Majesty, not at all!” The matron attempted a giggle. “On the contrary, I believe it is my daughter who failed to see to your comfort.”

Thorin’s head seemed to be pounding even more than before.

“Mother, please…” He heard Lady Mista’s strained voice behind him.

“Enough, Mista, you should be apologising to His Majesty for disappointing him!” Lady Milva turned to her daughter and Thorin decided that he had heard enough.

“My lady, you are disturbing me and my spouse in our private chambers. Only because you are my wedded wife’s mother, My Lady, I am going to ask you kindly.” Thorin hissed. “Leave now.”

Silence filled the chamber for several heartbeats. Lady Milva’s gaze moved between her daughter and Thorin before she spoke again.

“Very well, Your Majesty,” she replied stiffly, abandoning her insincere manner. “Mista, I will return later, to prepare you for dinner.”

“Is that what you wish, My Lady?” Thorin turned to Mista.

“I… Thank you, Mother,” Lady Mista’s words were a mere whisper as she clutched the quilt, “but I think I will manage on my own this time.”

Her mother stood there for a moment longer, her brow furrowed, and then she replied, “If that is what you wish.”

She made another curtsy to Thorin, and then, in a swift flurry of her opulent gown, she stormed out of the bedchamber.

“Forgive me, My Lord, have we woken you up?” The bedclothes rustled, making Thorin gaze at Lady Mista — the woman he wed yesterday. As she left the bed, he caught a glimpse of her bare feet, so much smaller than his, and so dainty. Her sleeping gown flowed elegantly down her body, hugging her figure and revealing patches of smooth skin that only a husband was allowed to see. Quickly, he looked away. He did not feel like one.

“I was already awake,” he offered, glancing around the chamber. “Have you broken your fast yet, My Lady?”

“No, My Lord,” she replied. “I’m afraid I lost track of time. I was reading.”

Thorin followed her gaze to the thick tome that lay open on the bed. It looked like something from the Royal Library of Erebor, but he did not recognize the cover.

“I’ll ring for breakfast for you then. You must be famished,” he offered.

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you,” Lady Mista replied, her words barely audible, like the chirping of a frightened little bird. “Would you… would you like to join me?”

Thorin shook his head decidedly.

“I am expected elsewhere. The meeting of the Guildmasters is going to be held quite soon,” he was amazed at how easily this half-truth slipped out of his mouth. That meeting was on his general agenda, but no one expected him to join it, not so soon after his wedding.

“Oh, I see,” Lady Mista’s voice wavered, but she continued after a pause. “In that case, allow me, My Lord, to thank you for your… intervention. My Mother can be tempestuous at times, but she means well.”

“Forgive me, My Lady, but her behaviour was out of place,” he said, attempting to ignore the insistent pounding in his head. “You are not only her daughter but — first and foremost — the Queen. No one is allowed to treat you so, no matter the circumstances. No one. Not even her.”

Thorin took a deep breath in order to rein in his temper. He was abrupt, his words far from courteous, but his patience was wearing thin. The last thing he was willing to endure was a lady on the verge of tears, bullied by her own kin. A half-forgotten memory surfaced in his mind: those sobs, that lavish but abhorred wedding dress, and his sister’s words: “You can’t help it, nadad. This is women’s lot in life.”

This time, unlike that other time, Thorin could help it — and so he did. That was the least he was able to do for this terrified woman. His wife.

He did not find the strength to look into her face once more and see those glossed-over eyes and those trembling lips. Instead, he excused himself under the pretence of procuring breakfast and left her bedchamber.

He found his reward in the form of a full jug of water in the adjacent parlour. Quenching his thirst, he rang for a servant. Katla, Lady Mista’s new maid, arrived soon after. She was one of the maids who worked for their family when they lived in the Blue Mountains. Now, however, Dis decided that Katla was exactly the person Lady Mista would need. The girl was unusually agitated, and as soon as Thorin asked about Lady Milva’s presence in the Queen’s bedchamber, her countenance wavered.

“Forgive me, m’lord,” she curtseyed, her gaze lowered reverently. “I had no means to stop Her Ladyship, I asked her not to disturb Your Majesties, but she said that she was the Queen’s mother and the Queen would dismiss me right away if Her Ladyship was not allowed to enter, and I thought…”

“Thank you, Katla, I understand,” he said. “You are not going to be dismissed. However, Her Majesty does not need such disturbances. Should someone attempt to storm into Her Majesty’s private chambers without her consent again, do not hesitate to call the guards.”

“Of course, m’lord,” Katla nodded stiffly. “And… Thank you. For not dismissing me.”

“My Mother, the Dowager Queen, always spoke highly of you. Now, I need you to take care of the new Queen in a similar manner. This is her new home, and we need to make her feel like it. Can I rely on you?”

“Always, m’lord.” A hopeful smile appeared on her face. “Does the Queen need anything now, m’lord?”

“She is requesting a hearty breakfast,” he ordered.

“I’ll be right back with her tray! Shall I bring one for you as well, m’lord?”

“No, thank you. I have matters to attend to.”

With these words, Thorin directed his steps to the Royal Baths. Hot water and steam were exactly what he needed at that very moment. A sizable pile of documents waited for him on his desk, but he needed to clear his head first.

***

“Here you are, nadad! I’ve been looking all over for you!” Dis’ voice made him raise his gaze from a parchment.

“Where else should I be?” Thorin tilted his head, observing his sister as she approached his desk. There was only a handful of braids in her modest hairdo — her wavy strands as dark as his own — and she wore a simple day dress. Yet, Dis looked more elegant than many other ladies in their finest gowns. She inherited her noble bearing and facial features from their paternal grandmother, after all.

“Where should you be? Let me see…” she tapped her mouth with her index finger and then asked innocently. “Perhaps with your wife?”

Thorin cursed inwardly. Dis inherited their grandmother’s wit, too.

“If only those trade licences could somehow sign themselves…” he grunted.

“And while you are drowning in parchments, your newly-wed wife is halfway through the second volume of The Golden Age of Azsâlul'abad,” she grunted back.

“The second volume?” Thorin’s eyebrow rose as he recalled the size of that monstrous twelve-volume work. He never managed to make it past the first one.

“Yes. Apparently, Mista finished the first one during lunch. Which she ate alone.” Dis folded her arms on her chest. It had never been a good sign when Grandmother Birgit folded her arms like that.

“I ate my lunch alone as well.” He pointed at a plate with a forgotten piece of dark bread left, half-covered by a couple of documents.

“On the first day of your marriage,” Dis retorted.

“These licences are vital for…”

“Thorin…” His sister rolled her eyes.

“Dis…” He sighed. “You know what I mean.”

“Some things need time,” he heard himself say.

“I know, Thorin,” Dis stepped to him, placing her hand on his forearm. “Of all the people in the world… I know.”

“At least you knew Vili before your wedding,” Thorin put his quill aside.

“Vaguely. While you managed to spend a whole evening with Mista in Tumunzahar.”

“Which apparently happened a long time ago — and of which I remember nothing.” He admitted with a frown and then drummed his fingers on the desk. “Nan’ith, I may have made an utter fool of myself yesterday.”

Dis sat heavily on a chair beside him, “Let me hear it.”

“Lady Mista was convinced that I remembered meeting her at a feast. Apparently, we danced and talked, and she expected me to…” He sighed. “I don’t know. The problem is that instead of playing along with it, I told her that I did not remember it at all.”

“Nadad, I have always admired your disarming honesty, but…” Dis paused and then grinned. “Well, it looks like you have figured it out yourself. You are an utter fool.”

When she elbowed him, as if they were smooth-cheeked youths again, Thorin simply had to elbow her back.

“Thank you, dearest sister. I know I could count on you.” He let out a lukewarm chuckle.

“How did she take it? Is that why you are hiding in here?” Thorin shook his head, “Lady Mista did not seem offended. I’d say she was perhaps… surprised? Disappointed?”

“I would be too if my future husband first sent me a letter in which he spoke fondly of our meeting years ago and then admitted to not remembering it at all,” Dis waved her hand in despair.

“A letter?” Thorin’s frown deepened.

“The letter. Don’t tell me you haven’t read it.” A frown appeared on her face as well. “Balin and I spent half a day composing it before it was sent along with the marriage contract.”

“For which I am very thankful. I have no head for this sort of letters, as you know.” “That was precisely why you were supposed to read it before it was sealed, Thorin.” She rolled her eyes.

“I knew I could trust you with its contents. Dis, we were rebuilding the Forges at that time! I barely had time to eat or sleep; that letter was hardly on top of my agenda.”

His sister let out a long sigh.

“It is not me you should explain yourself to. What happened, happened. Tell me, do you truly not remember anything from that meeting?”

“This was one of many feasts I was obligated to appear at. Amicable relations with our allies, and all that,” he offered.

“We were there together, you know.”

“Were we?” Thorin searched his memory. To no avail. All those feasts seemed like a blur in his mind.

“Balin was there, too. And Dwalin, I think.” Dis added. “And Mother. She wore that emerald green gown.”

He tried once more. Still nothing.

“There was lots of food, lots of political scheming… Oh, and there were quite a few mothers flaunting their offspring at me and you. Mostly at you, the Crown Prince,” she snickered.

“You have just described most of the feasts I have attended in the past.” He ran a hand over his face. “Every time I felt like game during hunting season. Did I really spend the whole evening with Lady Mista?”

“Quite a bit of it.” Dis nodded. “You were seated next to a matron who insisted on making you dance with each of her daughters — I think she had two or three of them — and then you did what you usually used to do. You disappeared. When you returned, Mista was with you already, and then you danced. That matron, together with her cronies, was of course appalled, because you never even looked at anyone else. And Mista was not even formally out, she was maybe a few years over half battle-age at that time!”

“It seems that I scandalised the matrons of Tumunzahar and nearly robbed a cradle. What an achievement. And I cannot even remember it.” Thorin smiled wryly, although an image or two flickered before his eyes. A handkerchief with his monogram in a lithe hand. Grey-brown hair adorned with pearls.

“At least no one bothered you afterwards,” she put her hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eyes. “Now, I hope you find a way to make amends with your wife, nadad.”

Thorin gave her a nod, “You and me both. I simply do not have the slightest idea how to talk to her. I feel as if she is afraid of me.”

“We both know that you are not the greatest charmer when it comes to the matters of the heart,” she offered him a smirk. “And neither am I. I can only tell you what Mother told me once. Marriage is like the endless forging of a sword. If you want to make a great blade, you have to keep the fire going, and work the metal every single day. Draw it, shape it, and then keep on tempering it so that it never breaks.”

“She knew her way around the forge,” Thorin admitted fondly. He liked to think that he inherited his bladesmithing skills from their Mother.

“She knew how to deal with Father, too. I took her words to heart, and it worked for me — for us. Vili and me…” Dis cleared her throat. “We had nothing in common — or so I thought at first.”

A sad smile softened her features, and Thorin covered her hand with his.

“He was even younger than me,” she continued, “so rowdy and boisterous, and talked only of mountain goat races and throwing knives. Remember how terrified I was when I had to braid his hair?”

“You? Terrified? You were as decorous as Grandma Birgit would,” he said.

“That was because I knew Grandma Birgit would have been appalled if I fainted halfway through the ceremony. You cannot believe how mortified I was before the wedding night!” His sister chuckled.

“You asked me for two pints of the strongest malt beer we had,” Thorin offered lightly. It was good to see her smile.

“I only wanted to take the edge off things!” Dis grinned. “How was I supposed to know you spiked it with Dwalin’s horrible brandy?”

“You weren't. And you and Vili were supposed to drink them together. How should I know he would down them both at once?” He shrugged as if he had not seen it coming.

“I think I was the first bride in the history of Arda who spent her wedding night listening to her new husband’s loud snores.”

“You should talk with Bombur’s Ronja,” he quipped.

“Nadad! I shall not discuss their wedding night with her!” Dis feigned outrage only to burst out in laughter.

“Be glad that you did not hear his snores during the Quest. Every. Single. Night. He even made us think a storm was coming! And once, in the Misties…” It was so easy to fall back on the anecdotes from the past, and Thorin was awarded with another bout of laughter. Since Dis arrived back to the Mountain — their home — for the first time in years, it was easy to make her smile. There was a new spark in her eyes too, one that Thorin saw in countless eyes these days. A glint of hope for their reclaimed homeland they were rebuilding — and for their future. Was the same glint present in Lady Mista’s eyes last night? He could not say.

“Thank you”, Dis startled him, pecking him on his cheek.

“For what?” He met her eyes.

“For many things… like not terrifying your bride too much.”

Thorin swallowed, “What do you mean?”

“You know how you can be sometimes.” Dis patted his hand.

“Are you going to tell me once more that I scare others away with my ‘brooding’, or whatever you call it?” He rose from his chair and looked down at her.

“Not at all! Brooding is not as loud as snoring.” Tilting her head up, she winked at him. “Do you know you sometimes come off as quite intimidating?”

“I have never heard of such a notion,” Thorin let his lip curl up. “Especially from you.”

“What about that agreement you managed to hammer out last week with those stubborn donkeys, the Guildmasters?” Thorin knew better than to offer a reply.

“I heard your voice all the way to the warehouses! And when the Masters left the council chamber, they were meek as lambs, even the fiery Master Karg!”

“I simply reminded them that the world did not revolve around their coin pouches. Loudly.”

“I am glad you made use of it this morning.”

“You heard about what happened,” Of course. His sister had a knack for knowing things that did not happen in her presence.

“A word or two.” “Lady Mista’s mother needed to be put in her place,” Thorin quickly recounted his confrontation with Lady Milva.

When he finished, Dis pressed her lips in a thin line.

“What a viper,” she huffed. “Now I know why Mista looked so shaken today. But we are in luck. The whole Broadbeam delegation is leaving in a week or so. We will manage.”

“We have managed worse.” He finished the thought, their private saying, one that they used since the vile Smaug ravaged their kingdom. Last time they spoke it happened just before the Quest to reclaim their homeland. Now, both the current circumstances and stakes felt vastly different, and Thorin could not help but wonder — would he manage?

“I must say you did wonders with the Queen’s bedchamber in such a short time.” Thorin admitted in a hasty attempt to change the subject. “It looks quite… comfortable. Especially with that tapestry from Grandmother’s chambers. And to think it survived Smaug almost untouched…”

“Oh, so you did spend some time with Mista after all?” Dis raised an eyebrow, her eyes twinkling. “Were there two pints of malt beer involved or not? Don’t you make that face at me, nadad! This was your wedding night and everyone will jest about it, whether you like it or not!”

Sadly, she was right.

***

Dis’ prophetic words proved true in the evening at the celebratory dinner. It was held in the largest cavern under the Mountain, the Great Hall. It was as tall as several levels of the Dwarven kingdom, making it easy for people to freely join and leave the festivities, catch a glimpse of the royal family or listen to the music while feasting in their local quarters. Thorin remembered that this natural formation in the depths of the Mountain was where all the largest festivities happened when his Grandfather, King Thrór, ruled. He himself did not expect to celebrate his royal wedding in these legendary chambers as well. After all, marriage had not been a part of his plans for the future.

Upon entering the Great Hall, it was difficult not to notice all the lavish adornments he remembered from the day before, countless tables filled anew with various dishes, lanterns and candles that cast their golden glow on the walls, brightening everyone’s faces — and the fact that all the eyes were now set on Thorin and his new royal consort. They were both clad in matching attires made especially for this occasion; every detail, pattern, and jewel on those black, silver, and gold garments was supposed to symbolise the imperishable beauty and opulence of the Kingdom Under the Mountain. Judging by the reactions of his subjects, the newly-wed royal couple made a favourable impression on them.

Casting a sidelong glance at Lady Mista, Thorin expected to see the joyful or perhaps even triumphant smile of a new queen. Instead, he noticed the strained lines of her face, the paleness of her cheeks, and her bespectacled gaze set somewhere above the heads of the guests. Only the crown over her temples softened the solemn impression somewhat and lent her a regal air. Lady Mista’s palm rested stiffly on his forearm as Thorin led her through the chamber towards the royal table. He could feel how stiff her muscles were, as if she was a wooden doll controlled by an invisible puppeteer.

Thorin made an effort not to look at Lady Mista’s kin, who had already gathered at their side of the royal table. After what he experienced with the members of this family so far, it was not at all difficult to infer what face — or rather, faces — that puppeteer bore.

That poor, terrified girl. His wife. The new Queen Under the Mountain.

“Our people are curious about you, My Lady,” he whispered just as they walked onto the stone dais where the royal table was placed.

“Oh?” Quickly, she turned towards him, her eyes wide. “About me?”

“They do not know you yet, and many of them are wondering what they can expect of you, their new Zabdûna,” he murmured, leaning slightly closer to her.

“Of… of course I will do my best to care for them,” she lowered her gaze and a blush darkened her cheeks. Then she added, “There is no Kingdom without its people.”

The last time Thorin heard those words, he was barely a youth, and his days were filled with endless studies and training. One of his Grandfather’s sayings — words of Dagur Sture, an ancient philosopher from Khazad-dûm — spoken in the trembling voice of a Broadbeam lady from the distant Khagal'abbad, the Blue Mountains.

“Indeed,” he said, shaking off the surprise as they both turned towards the guests, an endless sea of faces before them . “Pray, show it to them, My Lady.”

“But how?” Lady Mista blinked, adjusting her spectacles on her nose. “I do not know what to do…”

“Simply greeting them will be enough,” Thorin attempted to say these words with an encouraging smile. “Acknowledge your new subjects.”

Lady Mista nodded slightly and swallowed, lifting her gaze upon the crowd. He felt her right hand tighten on his forearm, but then her left hand rose into the air, and she waved to the gathered crowd. An avalanche of cheers went through the cavern; some of the guests responded to her greeting in turn, their faces brightening.

Thorin chose this moment to greet the gathered Dwarves in the same fashion, enhancing their jubilation even further. All it took was a wave. A simple trick his Grandfather taught him a lifetime ago, but one that never failed.

When he glanced at Lady Mista’s face again, there was a new glint in her eyes and a timid smile on her lips as she took in the enthusiastic response to her gesture.

“They like you already, My Lady,” he whispered, nodding to her in approval and seeing her features finally soften when her lips curled up slightly. A welcome change, he thought. People needed to see their rulers glad, especially on such an occasion. Appearances mattered more than one’s true feelings; he had learned that bitter lesson well.

After the customary welcoming speech — Thorin somehow managed to keep it short — he led Lady Mista to their chairs at the centre of the table, and then the feast began. Soon, he found himself in a lively conversation with Glóin, Dwalin and Lord Taran, Lady Mista’s uncle, discussing the strategy applied in the siege of an Orc stronghold that happened during the Great War. Various pieces of golden tableware turned into numerous units of dwarven troops, a nearby platter with fruit acted as a mountain range, the octagonal brass salt cellar became the stronghold, and leftover pheasant bones served as Orcs.

“What a battle it was! We hadn’t slept for three days in a row!” Glóin announced as the culinary re-enactment of the battle came to an end. “When we were done with the Orc scum, Thorin looked every bit as tired as he looks now after one night with his bride!”

Thorin grunted.

“Aye, he does, but can ye imagine his state after three nights of storming her stronghold?” Dwalin roared with laughter.

Thorin glowered at his friend, who, in response, laughed even harder.

“With such a meek lass like our Mista, he doesn’t have much storming to do!” Lord Taran bellowed, the tattoos on his cheeks stretching in a wide grin.

Thorin clenched his fist.

Dis threw him a meaningful glance from across the table. We will manage. Mahal, give him strength. Casting a fleeting look at Lady Mista, Thorin saw that she was deeply immersed in a conversation with Balin, who at that very moment patted her on her hand.

“May Your Majesty strike a gold vein quickly so we have a new reason to celebrate soon, a naming ceremony!” Lord Tair, the new Queen’s father, raised his goblet, meeting Thorin’s gaze. “May Mahal bless this union with many children!”

Other cups shot into the air, and the toast echoed across the hall, countless eyes set on the royal couple. Thorin gritted his teeth. This was not a purely well-meant wish, not in Tair’s mouth. The Broadbeam lord, who negotiated the marriage contract himself, alluded to its crucial clause: children from this union meant prosperity for both of their houses. On the other hand, no offspring by Thorin’s 200th birthday meant the dissolution of the marriage, the end of the vastly profitable trade agreements for the Broadbeams, and the end of the direct line of Durin for the Longbeards — and Thorin. The stakes were high for both houses.

Decidedly, Thorin grasped his own goblet and returned the gesture. A quick glance to his left told him that Lady Mista followed his lead, her fingers stiffly holding her goblet’s stem. He felt her eyes on him, but he found himself unable to reciprocate her gaze.

Another toast came after the first. This time, it was Dis wishing the newly-wed couple a long and happy marriage. A couple of toasts full of platitudes followed, and when everyone in the Great Hall drank their fill, conversations returned. Thorin’s sister was talking with Lady Mista now; he thought he heard them speak of a library when a sonorous voice reached his ears.

“Such a match happens once in a lifetime, Lord Balin, wouldn’t you say?” Lady Mista’s mother gave the older Dwarf a charming smile.

“As you say, Lady Milva. And it is a prosperous one, too,” Balin nodded with a twinkle in his eye.

“I am truly overjoyed that I had this idea! I told my husband: ‘Remember that winter feast we had in Tumunzahar, love? The one when Prince Thorin — for His Majesty was merely a prince then — danced only with my dear Mista?’ He only had eyes for her that night! So many mothers had fits of jealousy, because he did not even spare a glance for any of their daughters!” Lady Milva chuckled.

“That must have been quite an event,” Balin admitted.

Thorin gritted his teeth, acutely feeling the weight of his crown on his head — and the eyes of his subjects on him. Instead of addressing a few curt words to Lady Mista’s mother, he took a large gulp of wine.

“So it was, Lord Balin, so it was! If you only had been there to see it!” She dabbed an invisible tear from her eye. “They danced, and danced, and afterwards my sweet daughter would sigh, and dream away, and ask if Prince Thorin would attend the next feast! So when the Lonely Mountain was finally reclaimed, I told my husband: ‘My love, if you are not going to send that marriage proposal to King Thorin, I am going to take her to Azsâlul'abad myself!’. And do you know what he said?”

Thorin’s old mentor declared, “I have not the slightest idea, My Lady.”

Neither had Thorin. He refilled his goblet. Beside him, Dis asked Lady Mista a question he did not quite hear, but she received no answer. Lady Milva’s daughter, the new Zabdûna undu ‘Urd, sat unmoving, staring at her empty plate, her lips pressed into a thin line, while her relentless mother kept on talking.

“Well, my dear Tair said ‘No need to do that, my dearest, for I have already sent the proposal!’. I swear, we act and think as one, is it not so, my lord husband?” Lady Milva turned to her spouse and loudly pecked his cheek.

“You speak the truth, my dove,” her husband replied, running his hand down his thick silver beard braid with clear contentment. “It was a great honour that His Majesty agreed to our offer this time!”

“Oh, hush, my gem, no need to bring that up, it happened such a long time ago,” Lady Milva waved her hand. “It is of no consequence now.”

“May I ask what you mean, My Lady?” Óin put his fork aside and brought his hearing trumpet to his ear. “Is there another layer to this charming love story?”

“Indeed, there is! I can tell you in confidence,” Lady Milva clapped her hands, leaning towards Óin, although Thorin noticed that she did not bother to lower her voice, “that we sent a marriage proposal to Thorinuldûm a few years later, but we were informed that King Thorin was not interested. I must admit that we made a grave error that day! You see, dear Lord Óin, we offered the hand of our daughter Adla in marriage instead of Mista! Therefore, it was not at all surprising that His Majesty was not interested. She was simply not the right daughter! The whole Blue Mountains wondered why he would not marry our Adla — for you must know that she is considered one of the greatest beauties of our clan — nor any other lady for one hundred years!”

“A true mystery indeed,” Óin agreed with a chuckle.

Thorin glared into his goblet. It was not a mystery to him. He clearly remembered the day the first proposal arrived. This missive from Tumunzahar came together with another letter from Gabilgathol, the city of the Firebeard Dwarves. The city he vowed never to return to. The memories he buried on the bottom of his mind, never to revisit. The eyes he would never look into again.

“...so when we sent our second offer,” Lady Milva placed her goblet on the table with a loud thud, “the answer came swiftly. And now — just look at these two, My Lord, and tell me this was not a match carved in stone.”

“May Mahal grant them happiness!” Óin said, lifting his goblet.

Lady Milva did the same, stood up and added loudly, “Let us drink for their long-awaited reunion! Will our royal lovebirds sweeten the toast with a kiss?”

“A kiss! A kiss!” Several voices from among the guests were heard at first, and then more and more of them joined in the chant. “King and Queen! King and Queen!”

What a viper, Thorin cursed inwardly. So that was her revenge. He should have seen it coming. At that moment, he could no longer pretend that he had not heard Lady Milva’s words. Neither had Lady Mista. Their gazes met; her spectacles slid slightly down her nose, uncovering a pair of brown eyes — wide open and terrified.

Thorin leaned towards her, whispering into her ear in order to be heard despite the continuous chanting.

“Forgive me, Lady Mista. This is not how I…” He paused, searching for the right words that did not seem to come. “I am afraid that we may need to make a little spectacle of ourselves, if you do not mind.”

“Kiss! Kiss!” The chanting grew louder, just like Lady Milva’s vicious smile, as people started clapping their hands, stamping their feet, and banging their goblets against the tables.

“I understand. I apologise for my mother.” She signed discreetly in Iglishmêk. Her fingers trembled when she added, “Let us turn it to our advantage and give our people the fairy tale they expect.”

Our people.

“Very well,” Thorin signed back, offering her his hand, palm up, and trying to empty his mind of all the importunate thoughts. With everyone in the Great Hall staring at them expectantly, they had to do it. There was no other way. Lady Mista took his hand, and it seemed to him that in that very moment, a spark of understanding passed between them. This was something they had to do together, something they were expected to do as the King and Queen Under the Mountain. A duty. Nothing more.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” The guests continued to chant.

Thorin stood up, waiting for Lady Mista to gather her skirts and do the same. A moment later, they stood, arm in arm, before the gathered crowd, their hands joined. The continuous chanting echoed against the ceiling of the Great Hall when he turned to face her. Their gazes met; in the candlelight, her eyes looked like molten amber. The new Queen nodded almost imperceptibly, her fine hand gave his a little squeeze, and he could not stall any longer. Thorin lowered his face towards her and his nose bumped against hers, so he tilted his head further, mindful of her spectacles, and let his lips gently brush against hers.

Her breath hitched, and he carefully moved to press his lips against hers, and she must have stood up on her tiptoes because he met the softness of her lips much sooner than expected, and she smelled, or perhaps tasted, like an apple orchard, sweet and innocent, and—

An enthusiastic storm of cheers washed over the Mountain, drowning all the importunate thoughts of his for a long while.

To be continued...

✨ Chapter list: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4... ✨ Entangled Masterlist

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starberry-cupcake · 8 months ago

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Me reading this book is like trying to pin things to a cork board with red thread but the things I'm trying to pin down are fog and they vanish before I can grasp them.

Here's a visual representation of me finishing a chapter:

previously, in harrowbeenie the ninth:

this happened

currently, after chapter 5 (you're gonna have to be patient with this one):

we're moving back and forth between the second and third person

knowing now the content of the letters that yandere twin had talked about in the prologue, it makes some sense

but we aren't there yet

I need to point out something I don't think I specified enough last time

ice cube barbie changed eyes

people be changin' eyes here

she used to have eyes like harrow and now she has, and I quote: "ever since you had writhed in Lyctoral agony, her eyes had turned a yellow that made you dizzy to behold: a bronzed, hot, animal yellow, as amber as the inside of an egg"

this is from gideon's last ch.: "Gideon's eyes, as they always did, startled her: their deep, chromatic amber, the startling hot gold of freshly-brewed tea"

just gonna leave that there

but now, moving forward...or backwards to ch. 3 flashback of sorts

we got a recap of most of the events we knew, but in a gideon-less ver.

I'm gonna also point out that harrowbean mentions her mother holding her wrist the same way she said ice cube barbie did when they were in the coffin hangar

another addition to the clown emperor's story is that the Resurrection is described in harrow's memories as "ten thousand years ago had given them all release from death that none of them had deserved"

I don't know about any of this

we've got a disturbance in the force when harrow describes her parents finding out about the tomb thing

it says "her parents had...found out...about what she had done"

interesting edit of the story there

there's a gideon-sized hole in this story

there's also an interesting new count of nooses??

she says they tied five, two for mortus (???) but in gideon's book she said they tied their own nooses and then helped her tie hers, what's up with mortus having two??? is this nothing and I'm just obsessing about every detail???

I'm gonna start seeing palmolive's force ghost roaming around my house

at the end of ch. 3 it says "there had been another girl who grew up alongside Harrow—but she had died before Harrow was born"

this is a VERY INTERESTING wording

if someone dies before you are born, they can't grow up with you

UNLESS

I'm not gonna dwell on that yet

let's put a pin on that

ch. 4 has the re-apparition of yandere twin

*live studio audience cheers, maybe*

she gives her a letter addressed to her from her

the letter has a lot of instructions of things she doesn't remember at all and also are supposed to be opened at specific times/events

one of them says "in the event of the emperor's death"

another says it's in case she sees regina george twin, which makes a whole argument happen and knives are used to settle it

yandere twin will not hear someone imply her sister might be no longer with us

she probably isn't dead, this I know for certain, people wouldn't be confusing my names for them if that was all we got from her

the most important letter, though, is the one in case she sees camilla, who harrow claims not having interacted with ever

this is a very important thing to note, but most importantly, CAMILLA MENTION

very important to be noting who harrow remembers interacting with and who she doesn't

very important as well that she remembers yandere twin losing an arm in battle but does not remember gideon or camilla

I haven't mentioned it yet but, in the letter, past!harrow tells present!harrow that she needs to check yandere twin's tongue and lower mandibule

to which I think to myself "I bet she's gonna kiss her"

and that she did

which makes me want an edition of this book but with gideon commentary

like a dvd commentary but it's gideon commenting on all this stuff

and cracking jokes

because I bet she'd be cracking jokes about this

remember when she joked that yandere twin would marry mayonnaise uncle?

and then both harrow and mayonnaise uncle were like "ew the third's magic is weird"

imagine if she saw this display

another CRUCIAL thing is that harrow is doing like an oath to yandere twin as requested by past!harrow

and she says "by the ripped and remade soul of ortus nigenad"

and yandere twin goes "who? oh, yes—the cavalier"

I mean, mood at not remembering the names, but also SUSPICIOUS BEHAVIOR

she also tells present!harrow "I gave you something you cared about very deeply at the time"

side note, there is yet another moment in which chad is read for filth

get obliterated even in undeath, chad

last detail from this chapter is that harrowbean almost gets assassinated

maybe I should have started with that

at this point there's so much going on, death seems like a normal one

so yeah, she's gonna get killed with a pillow to the face and then she defends herself and discovers at the end of the chapter that she didn't hallucinate the whole thing and it was hidden from her on purpose that somebody tried to end her

so what's the point in being in this clown death star and surviving big brother canaan house if you can't even sleep peacefully???

moving on to chapter 5

remember the timeline I was making?

yeah, about that

chapter 5, in the third person continuity, establishes that what I saw previously was not necessarily a memory but an au memory

if we can call it something at this point

so my calculations were made as if the timeline was one

but this is not one timeline, it's a sort of parallel gideon-less one

of course my heart is making me believe the gideon-less one is the one that isn't real

and that past!harrow might know what's going on with that

maybe gideon's existence needs to be protected

maybe the emperor doesn't have to know about her

(I'm still holding on to the gideon hope, leave me alone)

but, in any case, present!harrow doesn't know

let's remember the prologue begun with harrow doing something she shouldn't and yandere twin saying something like "was there something in those letters I don't know about?"

I'm just gonna have to throw my timeline in the trash and start over with multiple timelines for now

ALSO, I didn't say anything about it yet, but it's mentioned that harrow is "in love" with ice cube barbie

take that as you will

which is another joke gideon has made in the past and would be stellar in a commentary of this

and, talking about things gideon would be awesome at commenting

in the new ortus-inclusive (?) narrative, ortus is talking about the epic of Matthias Nonius, who we know because harrow has compared gideon to him in the past

and also there's is a comment made about how ortus looks down on people who read "prurient magazines or pamphlets"

I really need gideon confessionals commentary over here

she also says that "the ninth house character, she was forced to admit, had always been low on wild and confident fucks"

yeah, well, how about that

and we end with THE FLIMSY

lots of important flimsies in this

she finds a note that reads "THE EGGS YOU GAVE ME ALL DIED AND YOU LIED TO ME"

ortus says he can't read it

but, in any case,

that made me stop in my tracks because I was reminded I forgot about the writing on the walls of canaan house?????

I filed it under canaan house weirdness but then, it was never talked about?????? again????

also the paper gideon found with her name

which I assumed was addressing the other gideon that not!dulcinea mentioned knowing

but who tf knows at this point

who knows what time and space are anymore

time to leave it for today...this is getting wild, you guys

#luly reacts to tlt #tlt spoilers #harrow the ninth #harrow the ninth spoilers #the locked tomb #long post #gif cw #me looking for that scene of Kim just to make that gif #I need to start making these shorter istg

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loggiepj · 3 months ago

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To Love A Lannister

chapter 4 | chapter 5

Sleep was hard to get by after what happened with the Starks. You couldn't even talk to Sansa about it, console her that everything would be fine from that day on. Although, you doubted it would ever be. You knew nothing you'd say would bring comfort to the girl. So you chose not to talk about it. Even you avoided spending time with her husband, Tyrion.

The less involved you were, the safer Martells were from the Lannisters' wrath.

Somehow, the devastating news made you forget that Cersei was there. And there Cersei sat in the dining hall beside her evil son and she was still as beautiful and magnificent as ever. The Lannisters hosted a celebration, of course. Robb Stark's death meant a victory for the Capital. Deep down, you knew, even Oberyn, even Ellaria, that the Martells were supporting the wrong side.

As you headed outside the castle to get some fresh air, you didn't expect to see two familiar blondes in one dark corner. Cersei and Jaime.

You had found the couple in some compromising positions before yet it didn't deter you from your advances. But right now, when you could truly see them as what they truly were, all you could feel was rage inside of you.

Although this time, Cersei seemed to be pushing off Jaime, and Jaime persisted, taking advantage of what's to be taken advantage. Then she slapped his face when he didn't listen. The next thing he did was wrap his other hand around Cersei's neck as if to strangle her. And before you could stop him, Jaime stopped, pushed Cersei against the wall and hissed at her with threats you couldn't hear. You could see how uncomfortable Cersei looked, with tears in her eyes as Jaime finally left her.

You knew then where Joffrey had gotten most of his traits.

"He doesn't deserve you, Your Grace," you said, making your presence known. Cersei quickly wiped her tears with her hand.

"What are you talking about?"

"Ser Jaime," you replied, damn getting killed.

"What are you implying?" she hissed, nostrils flaring.

"I know the truth, Your Grace."

"You know nothing. You're just a lady from a foreign land who thought having a cock would give you a right to involve with such affairs!" Cersei spat. "Do not speak ill about this. I could give orders that would lead to your death-"

"Why haven't you, Your Grace? You've been making empty threats since the time I've annoyed you."

Cersei was fuming but you stood your guard. "Leave!"

You quickly bowed before leaving.

It wasn't the last time you saw the siblings' interaction. You wanted to fight for her. You wanted to save her. You wanted to protect her from Jaime. But how could you save someone who doesn't want to be saved?

You walked past Cersei crying one night. If walls could only talk, they'd mention how Jaime had abused and hurt the Queen and the Queen only let him. The moment she saw you, she quickly wiped away her tears.

You walked past her, deciding whether to get involved or not. But you paused and sighed, you couldn't just leave her alone. Not while looking like that.

Cersei glared at you when you approached her but her composure softened when you offered your handkerchief to her. Surprisingly, she accepted it after a moment of hesitation.

Then you walked away, knowing that staying would only trigger her anger.

It wasn't only Jaime who had seemed to always step on her. There was also her son Joffrey, of course. And her father Tywin, who seemed to always put pressure on her every now and then. Sometimes, you caught her holding off a snarky comment against her father's wishes when you dine with them at nights. But would then eventually and reluctantly agree to her father's demands as if she was the perfect daughter.

Although you knew she was far from it.

~~~

"I thought you were going to be engaged with that girl from Riverrun, what was her name?" Margaery asked you. Avoiding the Lannisters meant spending time with the Tyrells.

"I can't remember," you answered, chuckling, making Margaery laugh. "I swear father has been insisting for me to marry. And that I should do it soon."

"Well, I hope you'd meet someone special one day," she said. "It's quite sad growing old alone you know. Plus, it'd be amazing if there'd be kids around to take care of."

Smiling sadly, you couldn't help but worry about Margaery's future with Joffrey. You knew it wouldn't be a happy ever after kind of ending.

"Lady Margaery," you began. "I didn't mean to pry. But. . . there are times when we are conflicted on our own actions just to obtain that power you don't even need in the first place."

Margaery only fell silent as she sliced through the piece of steak before her.

"The King . . . strikes me as someone . . . you are not meant to grow old up with-"

"I know what I'm doing, Lady Y/n-"

"Do you? Does your grandmother Olenna know how cruel the King could be without him even trying? You know you don't have to marry him. You have a choice-"

"In a fortnight, I'm going to be a Queen and Joffrey will be my King."

You sighed. "Well wishes to you then, My Lady."

You decided to change the topic to eradicate the awkward silence.

~~~

It was some time later that night, when a knight had knocked on the door of your chambers. Thankfully, it wasn't Jaime.

"The Queen Regent would like to see you in her chambers, My Lady."

You took time to get dressed, thinking over whether you need to send a message to Oberyn or not. This could be the last time you'd be able to breathe.

Somehow, what little courage left inside of you brought you to Cersei's chambers that night.

You were left alone by the Knight, closing the door when you were inside the room.

The moment it was closed, Cersei in her white underdress and with her golden hair down, approached you. The glow from the candlelight in her room illuminated the Queen like a Goddess.

"You wish to see me, Your Grace?" you greeted.

A slap. The force rendered your face to turn to the side, the sting of the skin reverberated through your entire skull.

Confusion and hurt filled you as you controlled your temper.

There was only silence before she walked away.

"Sit," Cersei ordered.

And you didn't know if she meant the bed in the center of the room but then she slipped down her underdress, revealing her naked marvelous skin, and you had lost any coherent thoughts in your head.

Tales of her beauty were truly not exaggerated.

"Your Grace." You bowed your head to the floor, avoiding to look at her.

"I said sit!"

And you obediently walked towards the edge of her bed and sat.

Cersei immediately straddled you, pulling your chin to meet her gaze. And you could see right through her eyes something odd, something different, something innocent hidden under a mask.

She smelled of flowers - soft, delicate and powdery. And you felt your cheeks warm as your eyes quickly caught the sight of her nipples, all hard and rosy like unripe cherries.

Her eyes darted all over your face down to your waiting lips, her forefinger tracing from your cheek down to the outline of your jaw, thumb brushing over your lower lip, as if mesmerized by you.

And just in an instant, Cersei pushed you down on the bed harshly. She then began crawling until you could see her beautiful cunt, all slick, flushed and ready for you.

"Cersei. . ."

She fisted your hair, making you grunt. "You don't get to call me that."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Now, pleasure me," she demanded.

And you did as you were told.

Cersei let out a rather loud moan you didn't think you'd be able to hear. The sound awakened something carnal inside of you and you longed to hear more of it. She arched her back the moment your tongue touched her center, licking your way from her slit up to her aching bud. She almost lost her composure, her eyes shutting close as she began a slow grind on your face.

She could have killed you right there. For all you knew, she meant for you to run out of air to breathe. But alas, it would be a beautiful way to die.

You breathed her in. You drank her sweet nectar like you were a deprived beggar. You held her thighs firmly but gently as she squeezed her thighs around your head, her moans and whimpers filling the entire room.

The bed squeaked as the Queen moved with fervor. You could see how her perky breasts bounce with every movement and you moaned from the view.

Her movements became sloppy yet eager as she finally let go of your hair, her hand grasping the sheets of her bed instead, the other on the wooden headboard before her.

You thought she was mindlessly moaning, realizing she was muttering a name. Your name.

Feeling more slick coming down your mouth, you held up your tongue into her center and encouraged her to grind against it. You could see how the action affected her, her eyes shut tight and her mouth agape as she stiffened before her movements trembled.

"Y/n!"

And how amazing it was to finally hear her scream your name as she convulsed and came into your mouth, her other hand on your head again, as if terrified you'd stop and leave her hanging.

"Seven hells," she panted, chuckling breathlessly, as she slowly crawled down and climbed off you.

"See yourself out," Cersei ordered as she wore back her underdress and walked towards the table to take a glass of wine.

You were mad. You were confused. And worse, you were aroused. Incredibly aroused. It took you longer than necessary to gather your bearings and walk yourself to the door.

With your hand at the knob, you turned around to argue.

"That's it? I'm just some experiment for you to try?"

"What did you expect?" she asked.

You fell silent.

"That you would get to marry me?" she went on, her sadistic voice present. "I know, Y/n. I've seen you looked at me. And when I didn't reciprocate, you went after Margaery."

"I-"

"Don't fuss on explaining yourself. If power is what you want, this is not the place to look."

"I'm not after you being Queen!" you argued exasperatedly.

"Really? Because that's what anyone is always after."

"I. . . I adore you," you confessed silently. "I do adore you."

Cersei stiffened.

"I adore you not as a Queen but as someone who is kind inside but is too afraid to show it because you think it'd be seen weak, someone who cherishes her children no matter what kind of monster they are. As someone who puts the Kingdom first-"

"You think flattery will get you somewhere?"

You sighed. "It's not flattery. It's a fact."

Cersei exhaled as she placed the glass on top of the table. "Then I believe it wouldn't be hard for you to hear that what happened earlier is nothing more than just a one time thing. Do you think I'd ever have feelings for someone like you?"

"Someone like me?"

Cersei smiled, knowing she had hit a nerve.

There was silence after that.

You swallowed a lump in your threat, tasting the reminiscence of Cersei.

"Have a good night, Your Grace," was all you could reply.

You could see Cersei stiffen, her face suddenly looking concerned, conflicted, as if not expecting you to surrender that easily, expecting you to counter back at her. Maybe she hadn't realized how insulting her words were.

You bowed then immediately left her room.

#cersei lannister x reader #cersei lannister #game of thrones #g!p reader #angst #smut

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spyxfamilyanalysis · 21 days ago

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Did you know? (Trust me, y'all will shock!)

So recently, aside from waiting for Endo-sensei releasing the next chapter, and it was soooo longggggg.....

[May contain spoilers!] + poll pls choose :")

So a week ago, I started reading new manga (online), and recently there's a new anime series in Autumn 2024, and currently has 5 episodes, the story is about aliens & youkais and cute romcom 🥰

You guess it! DANDADAN by Tatsu Yukinobu! (R - 17+) (should it be a bit 18+? slightly)

(continue reading will unlock surprises~)

Yes, I read and reached chapter 173, which was just out yesterday, so that means, 172+1 chapters finished within a week!

Usually, if I didn't go to uni/school in general, like in summer break, I would have finished 150+ within 3-4 days

Listen, I won't spoil the manga or anime, go watch it on your own pls :)))

Recently, I've been thinking of doing analysis about Dandadan as well, but it's still in consideration, because I still have SPY x FAMILY analysis here, and it's still undone! So not quite sure if I have the urge to make a blog about Dandadan, even though this is currently a hot anime. And there haven't been many blogs about Dandadan doing analysis (i think?) So I'll let you decide! Pls comment whether I should make a blog about Dandadan (think wisely! 'Cause I still have uni study too :")))

You know why I post sth not about SxF? You think it's not related?

Not because there's no relation... IT ACTUALLY DOESSS!!!

So as you already (or not) know

You know Chainsaw Man (Autumn 2022), right? By Fujimoto Tatsuki (R - 17+) (a bit 18+)

(though I haven't watched it yet, but yeah I heard of the name)

So Fujimoto-sensei has his amazing assistants who also have great manga series and earn popularity and respect from the fans! One of them is Tatsu-sensei, the author of Dandadan.

Next, Hell's Paradise: Jigokuraku (Spring 2023) by Kaku Yugi (I heard it's coming up for season 2)

I have already read and finish the manga, like a year ago. Trust me, it's wild (but ofc R - 17+) (the manga is a bit 18+ :"))

Finally, you guessed it! SPY x FAMILY by Endo Tatsuya!!!

I've been wanting to tell ya this, but I kept waiting and you know, busying with exams :")))

Also, here's a cute reference from Dandadan that I captured:

[Dandadan chapter 129]

slightly hihihihihihihihihihihihihihihi (laughs uncontrollably)

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laura1633 · 20 days ago

Text

Fic writer interview thank you for the tag @481boxboxbaby and @souvenir116

Tagging @saviour-of-lord and @ilyarozanove (not sure if you have been tagged already and no pressure if you don't like tag games!) and anyone else who wants to do this feel free to use this as your invite.

How many works do you have on AO3? 155 - Wow okay I don’t know how I ended up writing so many.

What's your total AO3 word count? 1,076,320

What are your top 5 fics by kudos? 1. Preloved 2. Good Boy 3. A million times over 4. Weak 5. My Pretty Princess

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? I try to respond to comments and I have gotten a lot better at it. If I have ever not responded it's because I have left it too late and then panic over whether it's still appropriate to respond!! I read all comments though, it’s the biggest motivator so thank you to everyone who leaves comments on fics, I appreciate you all <3

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending? Either ‘One last night’ or ‘Hitching a ride’ Both are open ended though.

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?There are a lot that have happy endings but off the top of my head I will go with ‘A million times over’. It’s just an overall short cute one-shot.

Do you write crossovers? No

Have you ever received hate on a fic? If I have then I have forgotten about it because I can’t recall any hate coming in. I am sure there are plenty of people who hate my stories though, I’ve just been lucky they haven’t told me about it!

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Yes I do and lots of it. Almost any kind. Dom/sub, pain play, tentacles, omegaverse, lots of kinks, nice soft sex, loss of virginity. I would definitely say varied!

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not stolen but hmmm I have seen something very close to what I have written.

Have you ever had a fic translated? No, not that I have seen anyway. I have had people ask before but I am not sure if they ever actually translated them.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? No but I have spoken about it with @481boxboxbaby unfortunately I am disastrously disorganised so I don’t know if I should really inflict that on other people 😂 I do think it would be fun to have a fic with a set up and then multiple authors taking a chapter each to write the scenario from various drivers points of view. That would take a lot of organising though.

What's your all-time favorite ship? Lestappen

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?There are so many of them, I have a folder full of random wips that will likely never be finished. At the moment I am fighting my way to try and finish a cowboy Max au one shot, I have started it and deleted it soooo many times, I will finish it though, it’s just not clicking right now!

What are your writing strengths? I guess maybe just having a certain level of creativity when it comes to coming up with ideas. That can also be my downfall because there are too many ideas pinging around for me to concentrate on one!

What are your writing weaknesses? I always say that my writing style is more about a general vibe rather than it being grammatically correct 😬

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? I’ve personally never done it. I’d have to use google translate and I wouldn’t trust that it would read properly.

What was the first fandom you wrote for? F1

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?Charles/Oscar or Max/Rico Verhoeven. I will get around to writing them eventually

What's your favorite fic you've written? It’s probably recency bias but the fic I am writing and posting right now “Preloved” is probably my favourite. I think it's also super encouraging when people are commenting and enjoying the story so it has made the whole thing more enjoyable. I will definitely be writing some more multi chaptered fics going forward. Of the one shots maybe The Sweetest Deal because it plays into my love of babygirl Max.

#Fic Interview Game

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centrally-unplanned · 1 year ago

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Since I am discussing anime academia today, I was reading another paper that was equally frustrating, along a different axis:

“Do female anime fans exist?” The impact of women-exclusionary discourses on rec.arts.anime

This as a premise is a good concept; someone mining the 90's Usenet anime communities for how the fandom saw female fans back then (the article title is quoting one such thread). So of course, the opening line of this article about the anime fandom in the 90's is....sigh....a reference to Donald Trump:

Commenting on the 2016 American presidential elections, multiple news reporters noted that a relationship could be found between Donald Trump supporters and online anime fans

It of course goes on to discuss Gamergate, 8chan, online right-wing radicalization, references to the "Fascist" themes of Attack on Titan, and on and on. The obvious problem with this is that it is irrelevant; the "methodology" section involves this aside about how they pulled this data from Google Archives but Google is an advertising firm and not a replacement for a real archive and we need to Fight The System and buddy my dude that is not germane to your sample size!!! But more importantly, it is backwards. I don't need to explain the argument here in detail; the article is positing a throughline from 90's anime discourse to modern right-wing internet politics through a sort of 'lock-in' effect of built culture norms around misogyny. Which is fine, you can make that argument - but why is all this future stuff in the first section? You haven't really presented the argument yet! This isn't a book, its not the intro chapter - literally 30% of the text of this article is stating a conclusion upfront, justified not through the text itself but citations to other articles about its truth.

This is something media studies pulled from traditional science - traditional science states "established facts" up front that the paper is building on. But that is because - a thousand caveats aside - in chemistry those facts are....facts. They may be wrong facts, but they can, ostensibly, be objective descriptors. This paper cites "anime is still synonymous with far-right ideologies of white and male supremacy, and events of anti-Blackness" like its citing the covalent bond count of carbon. That is not and never will be a fact one can cite, that is an argument; and its not one that is important for understanding this analysis of Usenet groups. This structure is pulled from other sciences, but it flourishes because it lets you pad the citation count of your peers. Its embarrassing how often you can skip the first 1/3rd of a paper in this field - really the worst possible thing to copy from economics (ding!)

This paper also does the insane thing of jumping between citations from 1992 and events in the 2010's like anime culture is continuous between those time periods. Its an extremely bold claim it just does in the background... but lets set that aside.

This hyper-politicization & hyper-theorizing leads to the second issue of extreme under-analysis. This is the actual value-add of this paper:

From this search, I was able to find the discussion threads “How many females read r.a.a.?” (135 messages; opened on July 13, 1993), “Question: Girls on r.a.a?” (23 messages; opened on February 25, 1994), “Female Otakus” (221 messages; opened on June 25, 1994), “Women watching anime” (72 messages; opened on October 4, 1994), and “Female fans - Do they exist?” (61 messages; opened on October 26, 1995). While these discussions may seem like they were spaces for marginalized users to discuss their experiences, they were often started and overwhelmingly occupied by identified male users. In total, I extracted 252 messages from 1992 to 1996 that were relevant to the gendering of anime fandom, and among those, I classified them as 7 kinds of negative networking discursive practices: (e.g. Table 1. Negative networking practices on rec.arts.anime).

252 messages, five threads - later on it will name other threads, so its more than this, but you get it. It has a bunch of data. And from that data, the article quotes...less than half a dozen examples. There are no quantitative metrics, no threads are presented or discussed in detail from this data set. Some other event is discussed in detail, but again it quotes essentially one person once. The provided "Table 1", the only Table, is a list of the author's categorizations of the data; the data itself is not present. Its file format is a CSV, presumably to mock me for clicking it.

There is, from top to bottom, a complete lack of engagement with the data in question. This would fail an intro anthropology seminar; the conclusion is simply presumed from 1% of the sample size while the rest of the messages are left on read. I just don't think there is any value in that, a handful of messages from 1996 divorced from their context and stapled onto modern politics as a wrap-up. What did the people on this Usenet value? How did they think of women collectively? As anime fans, as outsiders, as romantic partners, as friends? What subfactions existed? Questions like those would presumably be the point of this investigation, but they are treated as distractions.

And this article was, in anime academic circles, a pretty well-trumpeted one. I'm not cherry-picking a bad one here, it was the "hot paper" of the month when it came out. Its just that the standards can be so low, its a field that simply lacks rigor. Which doesn't stop a ton of great work from being done btw, that isn't my point at all. My point is that the great work is not selected for; it goes unrewarded, bogged down by academic standards divorced from discovering real insights.

(I do not think the question "why are they misogynist" ever crossed the author's mind. That should be your literal thesis, and its a ghost. Just ugh.)

#anime academia

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bigratsdeservebigpats · 2 years ago

Note

Overblot victims (and Malleus) reacting to Yuu patting their heads when they look stressed after the incidents (and for Mal, after Chapter 6 the night Idia and Ortho come over to play games)

MY FIRST ASK OMG THANK YOU RANDOM CITIZEN

Lmao I haven't played part 6 yet I am a disgusting lowly eng player but I can do them getting headpats

Victim #1 - Riddle

He's disgusted at himself and his actions. Who wouldn't be after reacting in such an uncouth matter? His dorm members still keep their distance, eggshells more like glass shards as they tiptoe around him.

Yuu finds them after a throwaway comment from Adeuce about their dorm leader looking even wearier than usual

He's holed up in one of the study rooms, the floor is adorned with books and sticky notes, study materials repeated over and over, it's less of studying than a distraction, not that it's working.

He doesn't notice Yuu is there until he feels the gentle weight of a hand on his head, and the warmth it gives. Something tells him it's Yuu, and something else tells him that it's okay.

He cries there, without a single word exchanged between the two.

When times are hard, or when Adeuce is being especially awful to handle, he'll come over just for some quiet time, to get his head pat

Victim #2 - Leona

Leona is someone who hates being indebted to anyone, and he now owes his life to a bunch of meddling kids, and Yuu, some magicless nobody. It's embarrassing, not just for him but also his actions. Like a child who threw a tantrum.

I wanna say that Ruggie sent Yuu to talk to him. not for any reason in particular, other than the fact that Yuu is really helpful to others.

He's at the spelldrive practice, lazing off per usual, but this time while glaring at everyone. He shouldn't be mad at them, but it's sort of an automatic response.

He notices Yuu, but didn't expect them to approach, less to reach over and. pat. him. it's humiliating, especially in front of the crowd, but the sheer balls of their actions is the only thing keeping Yuu from disintegrating into a pile of sand.

"What in the land of the great seven do you think you are doing, herbivore."

"sharing good vibes."

If Yuu runs their fingers through his hair, he'll melt. if anyone asks, he hates it. if no one is there, he might mimic the action, and then curse himself when he realizes it.

Victim #3 - Azul

It's easy for Azul to hide behind the guise of work, to distract himself with ideas of promotions and menu additions and money-making schemes of the legal sort, but the usual chaotic grin wouldn't show when he was huddled over his desk.

Yuu doesn't have the money to get one of his little consultations, but that's okay, because the twins have decided they didn't want to deal with his BULLSHIT cruel increase in hours

Even buried in work, everything is organized and tidy, so much so that it doesn't look any different from the last few times Yuu snuck in, which is insane. If the twins hadn't noticed anything, they doubt anyone would have.

He's on edge, tearing his sight from the paper scribbles and readjusting his glasses.

He isn't given the chance to speak before Yuu stomps over and places a hand on their head. "You deserve a break, don't you?"

The Prefect is magicless, he knows this, but it feels like they put a sleeping spell on him, a heavy weight like that of a warm duvet blanketing over him.

It's the first he's relaxed, but he's too exhausted to say his thanks, resting his head on the desk as Yuu pets him.

Victim #4 - Jamil

Jamil is perpetually stressed. He has to worry about Kamil's food, Kalim's daily safety, Kalim's chores, Kalim's grades, Kalim Kalim Kalim, it's no wonder he's overblotted, but just because he has doesn't mean he'll be given any sort of break.

It's a bunch of Scarabia students who beg Yuu for help, since they were one of the handful of people who's actually faced off against his overblot, and who isn't terrifying to talk to.

Without any other attendants to help with Kalim or the dorm duties, Jamil would be found carrying stacks upon stacks of items to and fro down the halls

Yuu practically shouts his name, and a whole chill raced up his spine from Kalim trauma, but relief hit hard when he realized it was just the Prefect. He doesn't know why they are so worked up about him doing his job.

Yuu would offer a hand, and before he can refuse, it settles on top of his hood, pressing down just the slightest. When he looks back on it, he should have remarked that they would mess up his hair, but he was too stunned to even speak.

They would take some of the stuff in his arms, and spend the rest of the day just helping do small chores, and in return, get a lovely meal and a genuine thank you from Jamil.

He won't ever mention the headpat again, but if by some lucky miracle he gets some time off, he'll seek the companionship of the Prefect.

Victim #5 - Vil

Vil is hard to find stressed, because he knows that stress messes with his sleep and that messes with his skin and he can't risk that, so he has spa days - that always get interrupted, yoga and meditation - that are ruined when Rook enters and spews verse after verse about such a lovely day being spent outside, well fine, he still has his cheat days to fall back on, except Epel ate all the berries.

He has no choice but to escape, and whats the one place he knows for sure he won't be bothered? Ramshackle, as long as he brings some tuna to bribe Grim away.

Yuu is the one to open the door, surprised but not bothered by his presence, and he asks if they would let him stay for just a few hours to just... hide.

He ends up falling asleep on the couch, which is one of the worst things he could have done, but when he wakes, he finds a pillow under his head and Yuu patting his hair gently.

While it wasn't part of the plan, it's certainly got a calming effect. Probably not as useful as a nice soak, but certainly something to keep in mind the next time he needs a quick pick-me-up

Idia - head pat headcannons

Obviously Yuu is the one to initiate, probably because the bitch called them 'the real life equivalent of a discord kitten' and he got so scared that to stave off their wrath he had to meow for them Kawaii Anime Girl Style

He got headpats for being a good kitten and went [Windows XP Error Sound Effect]

Do not mention or his head will turn pink and He Will Never Speak Again

Ortho will spill the beans and say that his Nii-san has developed an odd fascination with the action Ortho PLEASE DONT SPEAK YOUR BROTHER COMMANDS IT

Malleus - head pat headcannons

So idk I've never met a dude with horns on his head, and I would think that the horns kinda be like tusks on an elephant, or like, a tooth. Not a lot of feeling, but they still got nerves

But they are still the symbol of his might and power, so it's gonna be hard to get him to let anyone get near them. I feel like it would almost be seen as an insult if he were to lower his head and expose his horns.

Yuu asked very politely with no ill intentions, and he knows that, so it's probably why he does let the Little Child of man inspect the horns.

What he doesn't expect is for them to place a hand right between, and just. pet him. He would chuckle, but he wouldn't complain.

This Child of Man always manages to surprise him somehow.

This was a little longer than expected, but it was fun to do an ask. Continue to feed me, children.

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gotham-daydreams · 1 month ago

Note

How are you?

Busy, unfortunately!! Started college not too long ago, and all that - won't bore anyone with the details, though!! Sorry if I worried anyone with all the silence - I didn't even realize how long it's been! Wow!

Few things!!

1. HOLY HELL WE'RE AT 3K FOLLOWERS???? ALREADY???

I'VE BEEN TRYING TO CATCH UP AND COME UP WITH SPECIALS BUT OH MY GOD... There are so many of you!! And you all come in so fast!! It actually breaks my heart a little only because I haven't shown my best yet (or definitely feel like I haven't), which will definitely change! You guys deserve so much better! Though I'm still unsure what to do for specials... so ideas would be nice! I'd like to also do some late ones- since you guys 100% deserve it, and they're still milestones!! Though for 3k, I'll do something in the spirit of Halloween!... or fall if I'm late again- 😅

Regardless! I'm so happy for all the support!! It really is something that so many people see my posts, no matter how old, and interact with them! It's overwhelming, honestly, but I deeply appreciate it! Even more so when I have a habit of going to get the milk for a while, before coming back with a few cookies - LOL!

2. I've been seeing that my work has inspired a lot of people to make their own stuff, and it's super endearing and heartwarming!!! Really, even if I don't really comment and only interact with the posts on my main account, I still see them! And I love them!!! I'm honestly really surprised how much the Not [ ] Series has inspired others or served as inspiration for their work. It baffles me but I'm also really glad I was able to do that for someone! It's still insane, especially since I really don't see the series as my best work by a long shot, but I do still really admire and appreciate how people still took inspiration from it :]

To which, yes! I do read all of the works people tag me in LOL! I may not say much! But I do see it!! You're all amazing writers and I can't wait to see what you all make in the future!!

3. I will definitely try to catch up on asks! There have been a lot of them - which I'm very happy to see! So now that I have some time, I'll start to tackle them! I have a break coming up, so if not now, then definitely then! So, soon!

4. YES. CHAPTER 4 IS IN THE WORKS!! I doubt it'll be longer than 3 - I learned a lot during that, and I plan to not repeat my mistakes and take what I've learned. Though we'll see how it goes in actual execution!! I already forget what I've said on that end, and thanks to time I have made a few adjustments to the original plan, though the ending remains the same! Very... eventful!!

5. I AM TRYING TO GET A NEW SERIES OUT!! Because damn it do you guys deserve some quality on this blog!!! I'm not the best writer, obviously, but again, the Not [ ] is a farcry from what I can really produce, and even if I view it as a taste of what's to come - still!! Been also thinking of making it one of the romantic stories I had planned (seeing as a lot of platonic stuff has come out, which is cute!), but we'll see! 'Waiting' Reader has been on my mind... I'll say that much! Though maybe don't hold your breath...?

Overall, a little tired as usual, but glad to be back, and really kick start writing again! 💛... I say, at 5:30 am, like every great author!

#talking daydreams #guess who got the milk...#and is back for.... uh!!! we'll see how long this time until i forget how long it's been!! since i could've sworn i at least posted in june!#or july-#one of those!!#author can be very 'time blind' unfortunately!...#no wonder i don't even make my own deadlines for chapters and projects-#ANYWAY #glad to be back!!!#hope i haven't left y'all too starved??? 😅😅

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staybabblingbaby · 1 month ago

Text

Soulmate Garden AU Ch.4 (Lewisia) a2d3 Addition Post (+1,308 words)

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: Growing up, you knew Soulmates weren't all that they cracked up to be. So when, on your 18th birthday, your skin is painted with a garden of flower buds, you resolve to hide it from everyone. Who had ever heard of someone with 8 soulmates, anyway?

Or; Reader has 8 soulmates and no issue avoiding all of them. It's up to SKZ to show her that while every soulbond might not be made of fairy tales, theirs certainly could be.

Word Count: 2,866

TO THE UNAWARE: THIS IS A PROGRESS UPDATE OF A CHAPTER NOT REMOTELY CLOSE TO DONE! PLEASE DON'T EXPECT A FULL OR POLISHED PRODUCT HERE

Notes: The first addition post in the history of the archive! Huzzah! This chapter just keeps growing, I was expecting this to be shorter than Lino's chapter, but I think it's gonna be quite a bit longer. Some genuine editing notes - I think the transition into the flashback is a bit awkward and I would like to smooth out the whole morning sequence. I'm not even 100% sure what that vibe is and it shows. I also don't like the complete change in Reader's mood while she's talking to Jake, so I either have to make her morning more lighthearted or show her shoving her feelings down somehow. I genuinely operate like this, just code switching between private emotions and public face, so idk. What do y'all think? Is it was weird and jarring as I think it is? I also need to find a place to mention that this Stray Kid (dunno if I've mentioned who it is yet - obscuring just in case some of you haven't gotten it yet) is wearing a mask. I completely forgot to, but it's important for later. At a point in this one where I think I need another pair of eyes. Writing by yourself is hard :c

Dividers by @saradika

Warnings: She/Her Reader, Flashback (yelling), pls lmk if this needs smthn more specific

Leave me comments or questions or anything! Love hearing from folks <3

Masterlist <3 | Main Part (Unfinished </3)

The next morning marks a return to routine.

You roll out of bed half awake, sleep-mused and ready for murder. Your mood isn’t improved by the way you’d gone to bed - still in your work clothes with day-after mascara gluing your eyelids together.

A quick stop by the restroom to strip and scrub your face is a necessity, otherwise you’re liable to just crawl back into bed and rot there. You brush your teeth while you’re there, doing your best to ignore the remaining traces of grey streaks down your cheeks where your eyeliner hadn’t been as water-proof as advertised.

You don’t even know why you’d cried. After all, it’s not like you were the one rejected by your soulmate for no reason.

You do your best to shake off the maudlin feeling of the morning, ambling your way into the kitchen. As tired as you are, you still spot your twenty on the counter where you’d left it. You press your lips together to stop the bottom one from trembling and open the fridge. There’s a plate of eggs, fruit, and toast inside.

Taylor, freak of nature that he is, has been up for hours already, you know. He’d probably been up and out the door before the sun had even thought about rising. Weirdo.

your roommate is well aware of how non-functional you can be in the morning, so it’s not unusual of him to leave you leftovers when he makes breakfast. The little note on top isn’t new either, usually a reminder, grocery list, or a little encouragement for your day. The whole thing makes you smile, usually.

Today that little note makes your eyes prick with a new wave of tears.

‘Give yourself a chance. Bet’s still on <3’

You very deliberately do NOT cry, though it’s a near thing. You’d done enough crying last night. But if you sniffle a bit into your eggs, well. That’s for you to know, isn’t it?

You leave the money where it is.

It’s a Tuesday, so after breakfast you drag yourself back to your room to throw on your largest, rattiest, t-shirt and a pair of leggings to head to the gym.

You can’t help it when eyes catch on the newly-bloomed marks on your skin as you strip away your sleepwear. You take a moment to wonder why looking at your mark, a daily ritual you’ve kept for years, feels odd to you.

It occurs to you, only after several long seconds of staring blankly at your stomach, that you hadn’t taken the time to look at your mark at all since since you’d met your first soulmate. Things have been... hectic, to say the least.

It’s no wonder looking at it feels weird. It might as well be a whole new mark, for all the changes that have happened since you last saw it.

You decide, in the name of returning to your routine for good, that you can’t skip even this tiny part of your daily rituals.

You shuffle over to your closet, swinging open the door to reveal the full-length mirror hanging on the other side. You don’t bother with your usual rounds of self-depreciation or daily affirmations. Instead, you find your eyes glued to droopy purple petals and blankets of white stars across your abdomen.

The names of the flowers come to mind with ease as you trace gentle fingers over echoes of delicate petals. ‘Bellflowers’ You recite to yourself, drawing your finger up thin stalks and back down dipped heads. ‘Edelweiss’ you muse, lightly tapping each fuzzy white star.

The knowledge comes easily to you, not from any cosmic force, but because of course it does. Your sister hadn’t been wrong when she’d said that asking a person’s favorite flower had been basically an obsession of yours.

The habit had started well before you’d gotten your mark. Before you’d even properly known what soulmates were, really.

Gardening with your mother had started as a way for her to drag you out of the house to get some sun while keeping an easy eye on you. Before your sister was born you’d spent many a joyous afternoon learning to work the soil beside your mother.

After the advent of your favorite gremlin, you’d spent those afternoons tending to the family garden alone.

You remember being grateful to the newborn back then. Those solitary afternoons were some of the most peaceful in your memory.

At some point the ‘family garden’ had become more ‘your garden’. Your mother wouldn’t even bother to plan it out with you by your sister’s toddler years. She’d drive you to the store, hand you a bit of cash, and leave it all in your tiny hands.

You’d spend hours researching the best ways to nurture your plants. What flowers liked being planted together, which ones should be separated. You learned about soil types and the nutrients found in them. You learned about ph. values, how to measure them, and why they mattered. Anything to have your garden thriving more brightly, more beautifully, for longer.

If you weren’t in the garden you were in the library by your house, nose buried in a gardening book.

You vividly remember the day it all went wrong.

It hadn’t even been that dramatic, as you recall. At least, not in terms of your parent’s usual fights. It was heartbreak- despair- that marked the day, instead of fear.

You’d been digging up weeds, clawing up deep roots with your gloved hands and a trowel, when your father had come storming outside. You don’t even remember what he’d said. Something about you always taking your mother’s side because of your shared hobby, you think.

Never mind that the woman hadn’t put so much as a toenail to the dirt since your sister had been born.

He hadn’t let up for quite a while, if memory serves. Stood there yelling at you in your safe space for close to an hour. Maybe two, but your child-brain couldn’t be trusted with the time. It might have just been minutes, now that you think about it.

Nonetheless, he’d yelled and yelled and yelled. He hadn’t trampled on or broken anything, hadn’t even made sense. And yet, when he’d finally left, everything was different.

The blooms you’d worked so hard to nurture were no longer beautiful, and the soil you’d once called home was no longer safe.

You hadn’t tended another garden after that season. You’d seen your plants to winter, and you’d let go. You’d turned away from the sun and soil and leaned into your books and silly questions to fill the hole left behind.

You’re sure you left claw marks in the dirt.

Something like a gentle humming fills your soul, and you notice how tightly you're clutching the garden around your waist. You gingerly pry your hands away and study the crescent moons you’ve left behind, soft skin indented where petals should have ripped.

You wonder if you’ll leave claw-marks in this garden too.

You tear your eyes away from the mirror, ignoring the gentle tingling up your side where your fingers had dug in. You quickly toss on a camisole, forgoing your usual privacy wraps, and your t-shirt over that.

There was nothing for emptying your mind quite like running yourself into the ground at the gym. With full awareness that you’re going to regret your gym session later, you flee your apartment.

Maybe jogging all the way to gym wasn’t such a great idea. It’d sounded fantastic at the time, a head start on your cardio and a way to remove yourself from your negative headspace before you tried to toss around weights you barely knew how to use.

It had sort of worked, but now you hadn’t even entered the building and you were already a sweaty, panting, mess.

After guzzling down half of your water bottle you enter the building, resignation in your heart. Cardio wasn’t even your focus today.

The automatic doors slide open with their usual swish, and you’re greeted by the familiar stale smell all gyms seem to share, no matter how clean. It’s comforting, even if you do wish you could go home already.

There’s someone already at the receptionist’s desk when you approach, talking in slow and measured English. You try not to be annoyed with the tiny delay, but your mood really hadn’t been helped by running from your thoughts, no matter what you’d hoped.

Alas, you’ve ventured into the public and so you’ve encountered a member of the public. Shocker. You cross your arms and bite back irritation that this complete stranger hadn’t done anything to earn.

Luckily enough, the low and measured cadence of the stranger’s voice is soothing enough to zone out to. Unfortunately, your latest obstacle is the only thing around to rest your eyes on, and so you find yourself studying his form.

His back is broad and built, huge biceps on display in a tight fitting black t-shirt. You kinda wanna squish them.

A vivid tattoo sleeve runs all the way down to his wrist, and you find your stare glued to it. Large boldly colored flowers take up the majority of the space, vague outlines of crashing waves and rolling mists fills in the rest in a luxurious combination of oriental art styles.

You can’t help but think it doesn’t look finished.

Dragging your eyes away from such beautiful ink is quite a task, but you don’t want to seem judgmental for your admiration. That arduous labor is made infinitely easier by how fine the man himself is.

You really can’t help the way your eyes trace up and down his form. It should be impossible, you think, to somehow bulk up in only the right places, but by Jove his man has done it. You’re quite jealous, honestly.

Your eyes come to a rest on the stranger’s backside. Quite jealous, indeed.

You try to shake yourself from your admiration, reminding yourself that there were very many well-muscled men in this place and that you’d always endeavored to keep a polite line-of-sight, even when they don’t. It hadn’t even been a hard ask, until now. You drag your gaze back up to the back of his head.

You’d be polite if it killed you. Even if neither the stranger or the scrawny receptionist had noticed your wandering gaze.

Especially then.

While you were.... distracted... the man’s conversation with the receptionist seemed to be going a whole lot of nowhere. From what you can gather, he’s looking for a short-term membership, and the receptionist is trying to tell him they don’t do that.

You know this to be true, even the trial period was an entire month. You’d specifically chosen this gym for that reason. If you hadn’t been able to stick it out for a month, you know you’d have never used the place enough to justify a membership.

Your sympathies to this stranger, it seems he really just needs a little less than a week. You know there are some no-commitment type places not too far though, so you wonder why he’s stuck on this place.

Their back and forth goes a while longer, but it’s evident that the beautifully-built stranger can’t really argue his case properly. Whether because of the obvious language barrier he’s working with, or because he’s run out of arguments, you can’t be sure.

Eventually he steps to the side to make a call, and you’re able to approach the counter.

The receptionist (you think his name is Jake. The owner’s nephew, if you recall correctly) looks relieved to see you after whatver hassling the stranger had given him. He lazily waves the clipboard and it’s sign-in sheet at you in greeting. You take the clipboard, trading him your membership card and driver’s license for it, and turn to prop your knee up on the counter to balance it while you write. Incidentally, your choice of position keeps the stranger in your line of sight.

You magnanimously ignore Jake’s gaze wandering to your chest, if only because you’re still looking not-so-respectfully at the tattooed stranger a few feet away.

“So what was that all about?” You ask him as you hand back the clipboard. He shrugs at you as he types a second longer.

“Some big-shot who needs a security detail,” He answers, unimpressed, “Says this is the only gym in, like, five miles of his hotel that he doesn’t need an entourage to go to.”

You hum your understanding, now trying to place if the handsome stranger was someone you knew of.

Such situations weren’t uncommon for this gym. Celebrities that actually lived in LA weren’t spotted here very often but, since it was settled very close to quite a few high-security luxury hotels, the building saw it’s fair share of famous faces.

Security was kept quite tightly, and a certain code of conduct was expected amongst the gym’s members. It was another justification for the long trial period, wherein one could only access the front room with the basic weights and machines. All the fancy stuff (including a pool, rock wall, dance studio, and all sorts) was in the back.

It was also another reason you yourself were a patron here. The high security and strict standards made for a quiet and comfortable atmosphere.

At least, as long as you ignored the judgmental stares.

“What’s the issue, then?” You question Jake, “Doesn’t the owner make exceptions for high-profile clients?” You phrase it as a question, but you know he does. The unfamiliar faces that pop up for a few days every now and then wouldn’t show up otherwise.

Jake just sighs like he’s had this conversation a thousand times. Considering the celebrity (?) waving his hands around as he spoke rapidly into his phone not far away, maybe he had.

“He does, but he’s out of town and no one else can adjust the contracts.” He eventually explains. He finally hands you your stuff back, and you hum consideringly as you put the cards back in your wallet.

Another glance at the furrowed brows on the stranger’s masked face has pity welling up your throat.

You turn your gaze to focus on Jake.

“Do I still have that visitor pass?” You ask him, knowing that he still has your details up. Jake glances at you with a raised eyebrow, but obligingly checks the computer.

“Yup,” He confirms, “You’ve been paying for it since you dragged your poor roommate in here that one time. Why?”

“Can he use it?” you nod your head to the frustrated stranger. From where you’re sat, still perched on the edge of the desk, it looks oddly like he’s begging whoever’s on the other line.

Jake levels you with his most deadpan stare. It’s quite a good one, completely unimpressed. You think it must be something about customer service that allows him to make that face. Or maybe it’s just you.

“You realize that your visitor pass is you vouching for your visitor’s character, right?” He reminds you, “If he does anything, breaks anything, pisses off the wrong lifeguard it’ll be on your head.”

You just shrug. It’s not like you couldn’t find a new gym if you had to. You’d miss this one, with it’s quiet atmosphere and abundant amenities, but you didn’t require it’s security and discretion like some of the other clients did.

“I’ve got a good feeling about it.” Is all you tell Jake. It’s not even a lie.

The poor boy just rolls his eyes at you. He still turns to rifle through the desk for the right form for you to fill out though, so you’ll take it.

“You a fan of his or something?” Jake asks as he hands you a different clipboard.

“Nope!” You answer cheerfully, starting to fill out the form, “No idea who he is.”

Jakes huffs an incredulous laugh, and turns a considering gaze on your new friend. And the stranger does have to be a friend now, because “some guy” is not an option on your paperwork.

“I bet he’s a wrestler,” he finally says after a long moment, “Or a sportswear model.”

You gently bop him on the head with your clipboard, “I refuse to participate in your speculation.” You admonish, ignoring his whining.

“I’ll show you his picture when you leave,” He smirks back, “and whatever google says about him.” He shrugs when you send him a cutting glare, “It’s not speculation then.”

“Respect your customer’s privacy, you weirdo.” You scold. He just laughs as you hand him the form, all filled out and just waiting for the stranger’s signature. You know full well that Jake will go through with it, regardless of what you say, so you give up easily.

He won’t get fired as long as you don’t blab outside of the gym. Privileges of nepotism. You exchange farewells as you hop off the counter, and he begins to wave over Mr. Celebrity. You meet the eyes of you on-paper friend and offer him a quick nod before you scuttle off deeper into the building.

Hopefully he’d be too grateful of your offer to find you terribly strange.

I could really use some feedback for this one, if y'all have the time. 人´∀｀) Especially regarding my dialogue and transitions. plsplspls I would be so grateful. My comments, dms, and ask box are all open

#skz x reader #stray kids fanfic #stray kids x reader #baby writes #skz fanfic #skz fic #w.i.p fic #w.i.p #SGAU #Soulmate Garden AU #Soulmate AU #skz soulmate au

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miffy1111 · 7 months ago

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Fish in a Birdcage

cross posted onto Ao3 (Account is Miffy_1111)

Tw! -Gross wounds, bugs in said gross wounds, violence and death Also fun fact when I was writing this, I grinded a little too hard (on this as well as a million others fics) and got a weirdly painful ganglion cyst in my wrist and it is currently stuck in a wrist brace for the next week or so :p so the end of chapter 1, the editing process and all this stuff here has been typed one handed, so I apologise for any mistakes. This was really fun to write, and I'm excited to get the second chapter out! This chapter here is basically a look into the past and why he'll be silly next chapter, Also I haven't gotten to book 7 yet so I apologise if General Lilia is ooc! Please let me know in the comments what you think, Im pretty new to writing so I'm always happy to hear what you think!

(Word Count: 3847)

1/2 Chapters

i. Damnation: condemnation to eternal punishment in hell. To be doomed to suffer in hell forever. - do this one for the last word thing lol

The sun felt warm. Its heat soaked into Lilias's armour, making it feel rather stuffy to stand in the forest clearing. He couldn't see any reflection of himself in the lake before him, however he knew his cheeks were flushed. As a nocturnal fae, he hadn’t spent much time outside during the day, either training indoors or sleeping.

However, due to the diurnal nature of humans, he often found himself needing to be up when the sun was.

He pulled up his hood to shield himself and wiped the sweat off his forehead. He looked down on the human soldier below him, the cheeks of their face- left unconcealed by their metallic helmet, were also a reddish colour under the unforgiving rays of the sun.

During a patrol in the forest that further deprived him of much-needed sleep, a familiar yet unfamiliar scent caught his attention. It was heavily metallic, with undertones of bitter red wine. He followed the scent towards the mossy shores of a lake, where he saw a figure lying, body half in the water.

Crimson leached into the lake from beneath them, the source of which was a large rather gorey-looking cut in their side. They looked to be a human soldier, a low-ranking one at that. The only armour they wore was a spangenhelm and a chainmail shirt, their dark blue aketon covering the rest of their arms. A shield bearing King Henricks emblem was half-sunk in the shallows of the lake, Lilia taking it as a sign.

Looking at the human soldier, Lilia noticed magenta scorch marks on the edges of broken chainlinks, indicating that the weapon used was likely enchanted. He also estimated by the blowflies laying eggs and chewing through the wound, that the soldier would have been here for a few hours, at least 4. Lilia knew that blowfly eggs took anywhere between 8-20 hours to mature to maggots, which the wound was devoid of.

A series of wheezy coughs snapped Lilia back to reality, as the soldier attempted to lift themself with their elbow, hand just barely clutching a broken sword.

“Just kill me. To die by the likes of you… is a better fate than this,” Their voice was hoarse, and shortly after they spoke they broke into another coughing fit, more blood dribbled from their side from the movement.

Lilia looked at the soldier, eyes narrowing as he scowled, “Silence soldier! I will not have a human such as yourself command me,”

Lifting his boot to their head, he swiftly kicked off the helmet that covered their face, not bothering to avoid their nose. The soldier groaned in pain, the arm that lifted them gave in to cradle their seemingly-broken nose, blood trickling down their pale olive-toned skin.

Though Lilia hated humans, he truly hadn’t aimed to further injure the soldier- he just wanted to get a better look at their face, without the barrier of the helmet. His eyes raked over their newly revealed features.

The human soldier's gender was indiscernible, and their face was wet and speckled with dirt, with dark curly hair just barely touching their shoulders.

Despite their nose being rather crooked due to the far-too-much force of his kick, Lilia could see its aquiline shape, different from the typical straight-pointed ones common in their comrades. Their jaw was clenched hard and they looked at him, dark eyes squinted in pain, as shaky hands attempted to lift their sword at him.

He grabbed the sword by the handle, taking it from their hands and throwing it into the lake. The human soldier was no danger to him, this was just an example he would make. Grabbing onto the wrist that once held the sword, he hoisted them over his shoulder- ignoring their groans of pain, and walked back into the woods to return to the camp.

The position was awkward for the both of you, the soldier was completely limp, so the tips of their boots smacked against his calves with each step, and he had to focus on his steps so that the both of your legs wouldn’t tangle together.

Despite Lilias' disgust at the thought of having to save a human (especially one from the blonde bastard's side), he needed information, and if they survived they could be useful.

After another series of painful-sounding coughs that left little specks of blood on Lilias's armour, the soldier spoke up with a strained voice, “Where are you taking me,”

“You’ll see, try anything and I’ll leave you back there to perish,” he grunted out, eyeing the tiny red speckles that trickled down his torso.

They went quiet.

Premonitory: A warning about something unpleasant before it happens.

When Lilia arrived at his quadrant's temporary base, he barged into the healer's tent, curtly described the soldier's condition and why they were to live, dumped them in front of the healer and left.

As he walked over to his tent, he looked at where the soldier had coughed on him. The splotches of blood left on his armour turned a strange almost burgundy colour, and turning as far as he could to see his back, a large patch, more purple in tone, was left there from their side.

As he tried to wipe as much of it off as possible, a sense of foreboding washed over him. It was no doubt just by looking at the state of their armour that they fell victim to something enchanted, however, there was no telling what effect such a weapon would have on them, or if they would even survive.

—

Around 4 weeks later, Lilia was called to the hospital tent, a mere blink in time for the fae. While at times he was left morbidly curious about the soldier's fate, it wasn’t something he lost sleep on.

As he arrived he scanned over the room, ruby-red eyes searched like an owl hunting a rabbit. Only to find that they weren’t there. He looked accusingly at the now-trembling healer.

His scowl had done all the talking for him, as the healer finally began to stutter out an explanation

“Ah-h! General Vanrouge, the human soldier, she was sent off to the dungeon in Black Scale Castle as of yesterday. They asked me to tell you to go… there for questioning,” he grew meek as he continued, irritation evident on Lilias's face.

“I see…” Lilia said calmly, confusion washing over the healer, “And the thought hadn’t come across you to tell me this, several days ago?!” his calm disposition quickly disappeared as he raised his voice, the healer quickly muttering something about him not finding out till this morning.

Lilia sighed and shook his head, his features softening as his anger fizzled out, “Nevermind that, how was their health?”

“Ah yes! I suspect th-that they were hit with a spell, maybe corrosion magic? B-but! It hadn’t gone so far into their system that I couldn’t somewhat heal them, they were rather difficult to deal with…” he spoke with both constant stuttering and muttering, things that Lilia found rather irritating back in his youth.

“Oh! Also, t-the nature of their illness, i-its similar to… something like, say mould for example,” The healer's shy nature crumbled away as a grim expression washed over his freckled face, “Once it's there, its roots slowly spread throughout the host. Meaning that- though it is a trace amount- there are still roots of the magic inside them. I give them a few months at best,”

Lilia nodded, all the more reason to get the interrogation done sooner rather than later, “I understand,”

___

It took him almost 2 days to get to Black Scale Castle, with the first day spent being pestered by the Senate to receive permission and the second spent travelling without rest. Upon arriving at the castle, he was immediately sent to the dungeons.

Looking at the soldier through the bars of their current prison, they seemed ever so slightly better than when he had last seen them. A torso covered by layers of chainmail and aketon was replaced with a hemp-cloth shirt, as were their linen pants, both several sizes too large. He could spy bandages wrapped around their shoulder and left arm, as well as around their chest. The air smelt of wet stone and medicinal herbs.

The dungeon itself was poorly lit and dank, and each cell was only made accessible through a wooden door, with a slot for food trays to slide through on the bottom. The only light let into each cell was a small barred window at the top of the door, however after looking through, Lilia could spy a rectangular (also barred) window at the top right corner of the cell.

The dungeon was practically desolate, he almost felt a sliver of empathy for the human. Almost.

Holding a torch, Lilia opened the door to the human soldier's cell and prepared for what was to come.

iii. Ephemeral: Something that lasts a short duration of time, a fleeting moment, a brief period in time.

His eyes pierced through them, attempting to either read them with a single glare or intimidate them into submission. It was always unnervingly quiet in the dungeon, all sound almost completely sucked up by the stone walls. It should have been considered a miracle that someone hadn’t gone insane in there.

The soldier's face remained downcast, however, he could sense their vulnerable state. Dark circles were prominent underneath their eyes, however their skin was less sickly-pale than when he last saw them.

Lilia crouched down beside them on the stone floor and lifted their chin to meet their gaze

“You will call me General Vanrouge from this moment forth. You will answer my questions with nothing but the truth, fail to do so- and the punishment will be beyond any pain you’ve ever felt. Now state your name and rank, human,” he said, pointed teeth bared.

The way the soldier looked glaring upwards at him, jaw clenched and nose crinkled in disgust, such attitude flared the faes temper.

“I am a low-ranking soldier, I was given the name Siro,” Despite the scowl on their face, the human spoke without malice in their voice. They made themself seem small against the cold stone, and even though their stare was poisonous, they almost wanted to look submissive.

“And what were you doing in fae territory? I’m sure even the daftest of your kind would know that that forest is strictly overseen by fae,” he asked, no lack of his prior harshness

“I was given the wrong directions to camp, and I wound up by the lake you found me at. If you want to blame anyone- please, blame my commanding officer, Lucius,” they spoke with a flat voice, and even though Lilia wished he did, he couldn’t feel any indication of them lying.

“What a fool” He replied, “Now, tell me everything you know,” This was Lilias's favourite part of the interrogation. A human soldier's pride and ego often knew no bounds, so breaking them in was a lengthy process the Lilia thoroughly enjoyed. To wipe their dreadful smirks from their faces and tear that awful look of hope from their eyes.

The soldier, Siro, looked up at him with an unreadable expression, opening and shutting their mouth as if continually deciding not to say something- like a fish gasping for air.

Lilia moved his hand to his weapon, a threat to hurry things along.

“I-I! Uhm,” Siro quickly cleared their throat, “I don’t believe anything I know would be of use to you. I am of the lowest rank, so I am not trusted with important information,” They blurted out.

Siro almost looked panicked. They clearly knew what became of hostages that weren’t of any use. Lilia once again almost felt bad for them. Even though Lilia revealed in their fear, it would be a pain to find yet another human soldier

“Well then, I want what little you do know, as well as how you came to be attacked. Surely you weren’t foolish enough to go alone into the forest?”

“I was sent on my own. Before my unit made our way back to camp, my officer pulled me aside and asked me to stay and sharpen my sword on one of the rocks. It must have been a prank, as I only realised later well after everyone left that all the swords were sharpened only yesterday. He gave me a map as well, but it must have been the wrong one as I wound up at that lake,” Siro explained with a bitter edge to their voice and a glare in their eye. One that Lilia wanted to slap clean off.

Cruel pranks like those weren’t uncommon in human armies. Hazing, he believed it was called. Lilia could only imagine the officers all giggling together, telling each other ways to make fools of their subordinates. Lilia only wished he could see the look on the officer's face as the weeks rolled by and Siro was nowhere to be seen. Another one of their pathetic soldiers gone.

“Such pranks are common in human armies, I hear. Humans truly are foolish. You would have died out there,” He replied “Now, how did you come to be injured,”

“I don’t remember. I was by the lake looking around for anyone I may have known, then next thing I knew, I was in some healer's tent with a broken nose and a chunk out of my side,” they said.

“How strange…,” Lilia said, avoiding Siro’s eyes at the mention of their nose.

An hour went by, and nothing more than basic questions and answers were shared. He hadn’t learned much, however they were far more cooperative than other humans he had interrogated.

As he prepared to leave the cell and return to his duties, Siro spoke up, “Was that enough for you? When will I be permitted to leave,” They asked him.

“I assume till either the war finishes or you do. Perhaps if you continue to behave I might be able to send you to a prison of… better quality,” He said, looking around the dank cell to further his point, “However it is out of my control,”

They looked at him, shoulders slumped as their standard glare was replaced with a melancholic gaze, “I understand”

iii. Wasting: Causing a person or a body part to become progressively weaker and more emaciated, typically by a wasting disease

As the months passed, Lilia (much to his dismay) often found himself returning to the dungeon. The first few times it was purely for information, however as time went on he slowly became more and more curious about them as a person. However, he wasn’t sure how long he could continue saying he was just curious.

Siro, the lowly soldier, no longer had any name of their own. Their birth name was Mariam, born a girl in a place they no longer remembered. The soldiers who raided their village assumed them to be a boy, only realising after a week their mistake. Their name had already been changed to Siro, and so they were brought up as a boy.

They would never be able to return to their family, all slaughtered in a land now foreign to them. Their sister, Arev, Siro assumed was still alive, as she too was taken. Siro had told Lilia with eyes as dead as a fish how it was obvious Arev was a girl, and a beautiful one at that. He knew to read between the lines and assume that she had been taken to be some soldier's wife; a war prize. Such was one of the many things about humans that disgusted Lilia.

After they had been taken, they were banned from their language. The commanding officer Lucius, the one who played that rather cruel prank on them, was the one who taught them how to speak the common language. Lucius never had a son, so he helped raise Siro, and despite his somewhat cruel tendencies, Siro never said much on their feelings about Lucius, and Lilia never asked.

Being born a girl and raised a boy, Siro never really saw themself as either. They weren’t ashamed of what they were born as, nor were they embarrassed about what they were raised as. They were simply just a person, they had told him once.

Lilia hated how he remembered everything they told him, how he soaked up their words and near reveled in the sound of their strained voice.

Siro the human soldier. Truly an example of how cruel fate can be. Born in a place to a peoples that weren’t seen as human enough, forever fated to being a glorified slave. They were a slave to their own race, and they would be chained in this prison for the rest of their life. Chained to him. Despite the change in scenery, they would never be free, something they never truly accepted, even through their growing weakness.

The months went on, and both him and Siro slowly became consumed. The former, his mind- as it became overrun with the thoughts of Siro, and the latter, their body. As the months passed, deep purple veins became more and more prominent across their skin, which too grew to be a sickly pale. Their eyes looked glazed over and dark circles emerged underneath despite their frequent sleeping. Their body, though already thin when they were first found, grew even more so as their muscles fizzled away. They knew they were dying, and their appetite dwindled to the point Lilia had to come by every day to force food and water down their throat. He was never soft with them, and though he would say it was due to his hatred he knew deep down that he was in denial.

As the seasons changed and the weather grew colder, so did the cell. The cold had gotten to Siro, as their hands were even more clammy and their nose became stuffy and red.

When Lilia came to visit again, a spare blanket hidden behind his back, he found them shivering in the corner. The blanket draped over their shoulders was thin, a hole torn near the middle meant that it was doing little to provide warmth.

Silently, Lilia draped the extra blanket over them, averting his gaze from the purple roots creeping across their face. The healer said himself, they would likely only live a few months, and it was a miracle they made it past 8. Siro wouldn’t live to see the end of the week.

As Lilia laid in bed that night, he regretted leaving that cell. Though Siro had an extra blanket, a twinge of guilt tugged at him. What if that was the last time he ever saw them? What if they were lying on that uncomfortable straw mattress, Lilias blanket wrapped around them as they breathed their last breath? He tried to shake away those thoughts, they were nothing but a pathetic human!

He wasn’t sure what he would say, to his superiors, to himself, as he snuck into their cell. The opening and shutting of the heavy wooden door didn’t stir them from their sleep as it used to, and Lilia immediately went to check their breathing.

He kneeled down and checked everything twice over; their soft pulse, the slow rise and fall of their chest, the laboured breaths that left their nose. He let out a sigh of relief, hand going to stroke their thinning- now wavy- hair. A strange feeling sat heavy in his chest. Why was he even doing this? He must look like a fool, he thought as he smiled at their sleeping face.

Would they want to die here? He quickly shook the thought from his mind, he could only imagine the outrage from the senate if they found out he released an enemy soldier without written consent. Even if they were sick and dying, it wouldn’t be allowed.

Siro roused from their slumber with a painful sounding cough, more of that purple mucus splattering against their hand like phlegm. The roots had taken place in their lungs not long ago, shown by their recent difficulty in breathing. They looked up at him, tired and disoriented, “Lilia, is that truly you?”

Lilia wasn’t sure what had got into him, his hand trailed down from their dark strands to gently hold the side of their face. He merely nodded then hushed them, a tenderness he had never felt before overwhelmed him, the feeling like a tide washing over him, blocking words from his mouth. They slowly pushed themself up till they sat up before them, opening their blanket so that Lilia could find warmth in there too.

Intimacy, his first taste in a while. He cosied up next to them, allowing them to rest their head on his shoulder. Maybe Lilia was just tired, but he was finally able to ignore his internal feelings of disgust, of hatred towards Siro.

Suddenly his arms were wrapped around them, suddenly they were playing with his hair; suddenly their lips met and they both fell completely silent. An all-consuming warmth washed over him, silencing his doubts. They weren’t slowly dying before him, they weren’t a soldier from the enemy side, and they would be able to kiss like this again. The stoney walls of the dungeon disappeared around the two of them as his tongue slipped into their mouth. They ran their fingers down black and red strands of hair, then shakily caressed his cheek.

It was unfortunate that all good things came to an end. Their body suddenly became too weak to hold itself up, and they crashed back into their bed, ending the kiss. They coughed again, it racked through their body as purple veins in their neck began to bulge slightly. They were in pain, it was only right.

With one last strained breath, they were gone. No final words were spoken, neither did Lilia say anything else. There was no point in shedding any tears or screaming out with regret, and even though his heart cried out, Lilia merely sat, still and silent as the stone walls around him.

He would have preserved them if he could, however, there was a war, and as the Silver Owls closed in, he had to have them cremated. Lilia had tried to find their sister, Arev, however he hadn’t the time or resources to do anything beyond scour through a few official records. He knew Siro would have wanted their ashes to be spread, Great Sevens, that was one of their dying wishes. Call him selfish, but something inside him couldn’t let go of them yet. They would have to wait a few more years, he would tell himself, to at least let his grief pass.

Siro, the human soldier, forever left longing for their freedom.

End of Part 1

I hope you enjoyed! Sorry if this was straight ass, this is only my second work in this fandom lol. The second chapter might not be released for a hot minute as I'm currently both flooded with school work and! stuck wearing a wrist brace for the next week or so. Stay well and stay hydrated!

#twisted wonderland #twst #lilia vanrouge #twst fanfic #lilia vanrouge x reader #Lilia Vanrouge x OC #yandere lilia vanrouge #second chapter will be more yandere #general lilia #hopefully not ooc

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minamartin · 5 months ago

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Chapter 4 - Will He Be Okay?

Thank you guys for all the likes and reblogs! I also would appreciate your comments below. It would be nice to know, what you guys think about the story, the characters. As always, i appreciate everyone who is interested in this little story. I try upload a chapter every week, but sometimes it takes a little longer.

Rating : Mature, NSFW

Warnings : Mentions of smut - not the complete thing though just yet, Mentions of physical abuse, Mentions of psychological abuse, Trigger warning for people who feel sensitive about cancer.

Stella, who long minutes before was still in a panicked state, started feeling simply anxious as she drove onto the familiar street. She had no idea what she was doing here instead of the police station. That's where she should've gone. They should handle this! But she just couldn't escape her meeting with Vince or her own thoughts. Because ever since Robert mentioned him going to jail, she couldn't answer a simple question: – Who called the police?!

She stopped before the all too familiar house and pulled the handbrakes in front of the closed garage door. She didn't turn off the engine. She glanced at the garage door and dark windows. Maybe he is not even home!

She started banging on the door ferociously in the hopes that he would open the door and she wouldn't have to start thinking about turning to the police. She continued her efforts, until she saw light behind one of the windows. The lock on the door clanked, and there was Benny. With a little bit of messed up hair, shirtless in his black boxer briefs, but with an awake and way too alert gaze. Stella felt windswept for a few seconds when she caught sight of the abs she haven't seen on him before. She gave herself a second as she closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, her mouth started moving as well.

"This was your idea? Hiding that shit on the farm?!"

Benny's face showed his confusion. "You know i'm not good at trivia!"

"Drugs, Benny!" Stella yelled.

Benny didn't exactly have many neighbors, but he was a little concerned about the volume of Stella's voice. He grabbed her upper arm, and with a peaceful intent but firm grip, yanked her close to his chest and stepped inside his house, dragging her in as well. He flicked the light on the wall, and the foyer lit up. "What are you talking about?"

Stella violently pulled out her arm from Benny's grasp and started walking up and down in the small foyer. Benny listened to her panting and watched as she put her palm on her forehead as she tried to calm herself down in front of his confused gaze.

"I was at the farm. The new owners wanted to know something about some water pipes. I remembered something, and i walked off the road towards the tree line, all the way to the fence. And then, at the foot of a fucking tree, there is a giant spot of wet dirt. I started to look, maybe a water pipe broke...whatever, im thinking if i showed them where it was, they would leave me alone." Stella rambled on in a firm, categorical tone. "And what i've found, is a pack of carefully wrapped something, that has this card on it!" Stella pulled out the card from her jeans back pocket.

Benny took the card between his long fingers, and one look was enough. It was the Ghoul's symbol. A hooded monster figure with a cane in its hand. Benny's bare foot thumped through the silence of the house. Stella leaned back against the first wall she found. Panic and anxiety started to attack her again. She had no clue why she was even here. She should've gone to the police! It was their job to deal with this!

In the dimly lit hallway, Stella saw Benny's tall frame approaching. In one hand he was holding his boots, and with the other, he was dragging a black t-shirt onto his muscular torso. Stella's stressed out, dry mouth started to water, and she nervously watched as he stepped into his boots, and grabbed his keys, and led her out of the house. "Show me where you've found this!" He opened the garage and grabbed a shovel, then closed the garage just like the house.

Benny stopped beside the open door of the passenger seat in her car. She stood frozen beside the garage, staring in front of herself. "Stella!" Benny's voice got through the fog in her brain. "Get in!" He reminded her that she was still standing in front of the garage, staring into the void. She hesitantly walked back to her car and got into the driver seat. She drove without a word throughout the entire way.

Stella slowly stopped the car and glanced towards the glove compartment, but she would not dare reach towards it. Benny's lap and arms were too close to it. She swallowed hard and said "There is a flashlight in...in the glove box!" She stuttered and opened the door and got out of the car, running her eyes through the thick tree line. She saw Benny getting out as well and grabbing the shovel from under the back seat.

Stella grew more nervous than when she was here alone. Benny turned on the flashlight and waited for Stella to lead the way. She heard Benny's steps behind her, but she also felt his presence. When she stopped in her tracks, Benny lightly bumped into her back. Her breath hitched as she felt his hips bump into her lower back and behind. She moved instinctively. Her right arm reached back and sideways. Gently grabbing his wrist and lifting it. Her fingers couldn't even form a complete hold on his whole wrist.

Benny shivered at her touch. Goosebumps covered his arm, and the pleasant, electric feeling quickly traveled down to his groin area. He wanted to stay like this forever. He wanted to toss away the shovel and the light and wrap both of his hands around her instead.

Stella had to concentrate and put significant willpower into moving away from his body. She felt like a magnet, trying and managing to break the laws of physics. Her body felt like it belonged to Benny's, and it was unnatural to try to get away from him. Her body was resisting it, but her mind was still relatively clear from his influence.

Benny realized the spot that Stella's was directing the light toward. He gave the flashlight to her. Their fingers brushed together, and their gazes found each other's. They both felt that unexplainable feeling that caused them to stir under their skin.

Stella glanced away.

Benny forced himself to focus on digging.

"Careful!" Stella warned him. "The one i've found, i didn't bury deep!"

Benny quickly found the first one. More precisely, the shovel did. It cut it in half. White powder was mixed into the dirt. He continued digging and sweeping the dirt away. Stella nervously held the flashlight as Benny dug and dug. In the poor light, she was still able to see the muscles in his arms working. Her mouth started to water again, and a familiar throbbing and pulsating feeling started to make itself obvious at the center of her groin.

Her sane mind mocked her body. She was standing on someone else's property in the middle of the night while Benny was digging up illegal drugs that she had found earlier, and she was turned on by the sight of his muscular arms. She clenched her jaws and swallowed nervously. She kept the flashlight on the spot, but she forced her eyes away. She contemplated returning to her therapist. It seemed like her money was thrown out, because she is officially and without a doubt insane!

"Twelve packs. Counting the ripped one too." Benny broke the silence.

Stella noticed he hadn't even broken a sweat. His breath wasn't even hitching or becoming ragged, despite the obviously hard labor he was doing continuously without stopping.

"This at least worth a million!" Benny said it firmly, and a muscle in his jaw twitched.

"Can we just get out of here? I mean...if this worth that much, someone must be nearby to keep an eye on it!" Stella asked, tip-toeing nervously and running the flashlight through the trees, keeping an ear out for suspicious noises around them.

"Whoever buried this thought that no one would find it. You left five years ago, the farm was abandoned, so he used it to stash this. Now that it is sold, soon he will be looking for this." Said Benny, grabbing as many packs as he could with his hands and glanced at her. "Bring the shovel, would ya'?!"

Stella grabbed up the tool and followed Benny, directing the light in front of their feet. Stella turned off the flashlight when they reached the car and watched wordlessly as Benny shoved the packs under her front seats. Stella's mind was attacked by doubt. "It wasn't you...was it?!" Stella felt ashamed asking this out loud, but she also felt distrustful. Towards everyone. Even him.

Benny felt like acid was flung onto his skin and soul.

"Are you serious?" Benny's back straightened up, standing beside the car.

"Do i look like i'm joking?!" Stella scoffed.

Benny flunged the car door in and with a few long strides, closed the distance between themselves. His tall and broad frame towered over her, and his angry gaze was burning her eyes, but she held her ground and did not back down an inch.

"No, Stella! I did not hide drugs on your farm!"

Stella glanced down.

"Is this what you thought of me? Someone who would do something like this?"

Benny's tone was clearly saddened.

"I don't know what to think anymore. About anyone." Stella's voice was weak and sad, her gaze was distant. She felt lost. Lost in her life, lost in her thoughts, lost in her feelings, lost in her decisions.

Benny softly grabbed her face, directing her eyes onto his face.

"You can trust me!" He said.

Stella was barely able to look at him, let alone find her voice.

But eventually she did.

"I trusted you." She said it in a matter of fact way. "And then what happened?!"

Benny felt like a knife had slashed through his heart.

"I-im..." He started stuttering. "I'm sorry about your father."

Stella glanced aside.

"I'm not talking about my fucking father!" She said it with weak anger.

Stella gently removed his hands from her face, and with tired movements, walked back to the car. She had a hard time not starting to cry. She never loved her father because she was never even close to him. The closest she got to him were his hands and feet. When she pretended like he wasn't even there, she wished he would fucking die already before he killed her. She had a hard time admitting it even to herself, but she felt relief when she heard he died, and it made her feel like she was a bad person. Yet, she couldn't lie to herself.

When Robert told her the truth that Carly tried to hide from her, that relief was gone in an instant. Because when she thought about the price of her father's death, was not simply the insignificant price of an incineration, but Benny's freedom. The men's, who's name would have been written beside the definition of freedom in a dictionary. The men who meant more to her than that miserable excuse of a father ever did. And that made her feel like fuming with anger, because the price of her freedom from her father's abuse was never Benny's to pay, it was hers. She should have been able to rescue herself like Carly did. Simply just give up and leave. Cut ties, forget, and move on completely alone in the world.

Stella's tired eyes glanced aside at Benny, who sat back in the passenger seat.

His eyes darted downward in defeat.

Stella started the engine and drove themselves, and the heavy silence that swept between them as a ghost, back to Benny's house.

She stopped before the garage.

"I never asked you to kill him! I never would have asked that!"

Stella felt if she doesn't say this out loud, it would poison her from inside.

"You never should've and i would have done it anyway!" Benny said quietly.

"His life never worth as much as your freedom!" Stella said it in a trembling voice.

"No, but yours did!" Benny's voice was stern.

Stella kept her thoughts to herself, and they quickly got rerouted.

"Vince stopped me yesterday." She said.

"Yeah, he told me." Benny said, and he felt nervous in his stomach. He wanted a smoke, but if he got out to get them from his bedroom, he was sure Stella would be gone by the time he came back with them.

"And you figured out yet who called the police on you?" Stella asked.

"No." Benny felt shame because of his own inadequacy.

Stella looked at him, and her eyes continued to study his face.

Benny felt as if the sun had come up this very night and warmed his face.

"You might want to give a call to your big boobed blonde friend!" Stella's voice was serious, but her gaze was a little bit sarcastic.

Benny rolled his eyes and slightly shook his head as he looked out the window. He didn't want to hear about it anymore. He had Vince to remind him about that, now he had Stella to rub salt into the still rotting wound, and he had his own fucking memories of that event.

"However it sounds, Benny, i'm serious!" Stella pressed on this opinion of hers.

Benny's brows raised upwards as he fully turned his torso in the seat towards Stella. "What do you mean?" He asked with curious eyes.

"Well...i have less to go on than you. I didn't see anyone around the farm, but i wasn't exactly in the mood to notice any fucking thing if it had not jumped in front of my car that night...so it is possible that someone was there in the dark, only i didn't noticed him...or her." She entertained and voiced her own thoughts on this matter, except some of her feelings of anger seeped through. "And we never had anyone in that house, so it was just my father, me when i arrived, and apparently you when you arrived. The only person who wasn't in the house but had awareness or guesses where you might be going after you left your own house, would be your blonde friend!"

Benny remained quiet while looking at and away from Stella's face as the gears of his mind worked hard. "She could've called someone." Benny's voice was barely audible as he looked out the window.

"Exactly. It doesn't matter if someone was at the farm or not, all it took was the knowledge...of who i was and where you might be going! She saw me there, i don't think she was working at NASA, but i'm pretty sure she was able to put two and two together and make a call when you left her in your house or made her leave, whatever!"

Stella saw a muscle strain in Benny's jaw. She glanced out her side of the window. Benny in an angered state was not a nice or safe environment for anyone, especially the one person who angered him. Yet, she didn't grow nervous or fearful while sitting in her seat. "You took her home from the bar?"

"Yeah." He said shamefully.

"I've never seen her around there. I mean the bar." She said.

"You remember every single one of them who walked in?" Benny scoffed with a smile.

"Yes, Benny. I remember most of them." Stella said it with a sad tone. She started to count and recognize each one that walked into the Pit and she especially took notice of the ones that shamelessly eyed Benny, either from a distance or up close, despite her sometimes standing right next to him. They could not care. They thought they would be better, or he could do better. And despite Benny sometimes throwing a few flirty lines towards them, he always returned home with her behind him on his bike and holding her close to him in his bed. But that didn't make Stella less anxious. Benny was free as a bird. If he wanted to fly off, there was nothing she could do about it.

Stella saw a few that made her a little bit jealous and insecure, but given it was a small town, the selection of those was not overwhelming, thankfully. But in the end, it didn't even matter.

Stella's buzzing phone grabbed both of their attention.

Benny saw a picture on her phone as her caller's background. A brown haired, smiling man held her in front of him with his hands on her stomach. The name on the screen was Sebastian. Stella grabbed the phone quickly and answered it. "Yes?!"

Benny concentrated heavily, but he could not hear the man she was talking to.

Stella was aware of Benny's presence, but she listened to Sebastian so she could put the phone down as quickly as she could. "I will have a long night. If i should sleep in, could you pick up my dry cleaning tomorrow morning?" Sebastian asked.

"Of course."

"Thank you. Also, you had a big package this early afternoon." He added.

"Probably the fabrics." Stella said quietly.

"Okay. I made a hotel reservation in San Francisco for the weekend, if you don't have any plans, we could go together. There are a few new restaurants that could be interesting." He added.

"I don't know. I probably don't have anything."

"Okay. We should talk about it tomorrow." He said.

"Okay, we will."

"Okay. Bye." Sebastian put down the phone, and so did Stella.

A sigh erupted from Stella as she glanced at the clock on the dash.

"Boyfriend?" Benny asked with a hint of fury and poison in his voice.

"Yes." Stella said it quietly, like she just insulted him on some level.

Benny's right hand clenched up into a fist between his seat and the door, invisible to Stella's eyes. He felt his jaw tense up so bad, as if he were getting ready to tank a punch. He wanted to throw punches at this very moment. His mind went to wild places with unwanted pictures. Someone else touching and kissing Stella. Her naked breasts touching someone else's chest, not his. He needed a cigarette, or better yet, someone to punch to relieve his anger and frustration. Instead, he just took a deep breath through his nose.

"What is he doing? I mean, what's his job?" Benny couldn't hold back his curiosity.

"I don't want to talk about it. Him." Stella said quietly. "And you shouldn't be asking questions about him. You should be asking questions to Johnny, so you might get out of this alive!" Stella added and took a deep breath through her nose. It was a mistake. Her car's air refreshener was weaker than Benny's scent. Her naked, dirt covered toes curled in her sandals.

"How the fuck do i know if it wasn't him?" Benny asked in an angered tone.

"Johnny?!" It was Stella's turn to get louder and frustrated at him. "Benny, the only person from that club, besides Vince, that i'm sure hasn't had any hand in what happened to you, is Johnny! He is a proud, egotistic, violent asshole, but you always were like a son to him, and i don't think that type of thing changes so easily, if ever!" Stella said it with firm conviction.

"I haven't realized you paid so much attention." Benny said, scoffing.

Stella felt furious.

"I did, Benny! I always did! I couldn't give a shit about that club, and if the majority of those dudes were to catch fire, i wouldn't as much as spit on them, but it was important to you! They were important to you, so i paid attention! And i think it's safe to say that at this point you probably arrived to the conclusion, that you always cared more about them than they ever did about you! Save Vince, again. And Johnny, probably." Stella's voice softened when she mentioned Vince, but it had a sour sting and a hint of unsureness in it when she added Johnny.

"I'm sorry to break it to you, princess, but not all of us grew up in a nice home with parents who took care of our needs! Some of us, you know...had to find our own family where we could belong. So yeah, they were important to me!" Benny said it in an accusatory tone.

A loud and painful sound escaped Stella's throat.

"You, out of all people should know that my home was nothing sort of nice, so keep your taunts for someone else, who you think had such a nice life! And if that's the way you think of them, nice fucking family you have found! Setting you up and sending you to jail for whatever reason you were inconvenient to them!"

"Says the girl who's own father used her as his fucking punching bag!"

Both of them started to feel as if the car was a sardine box around them.

"You know what...i felt like i owed you for what you did for me, so i figured i'd give you advice, but if you don't want it, you might as well get out! Or better yet! I'll drive you to the Pit myself if you are so eager to defend those who stabbed you in the back! This time, they'll probably be content with just stabbing you up front. Literally!"

Benny couldn't listen to this anymore, and with a sarcastic and mean laugh he got out and taking a glance around the street, making sure no one was around, started to get the packs out from under the seats and load them into his garage until he figured out where to actually hide them or what to do with them.

Stella got out of the car because she felt like she will burn up inside. She started pacing up and down beside the car with crossed arms at her chest. She moved her top away and back to her skin, using it as a fan. Her skin was burning, her lips were trembling and she still had Benny's scent up in her nose.

Benny had thrown away his self control and the shovel in his hand with it. It loudly clanked and thumped on the dark garage floor as he angrily stomped over to Stella, who realized she got stuck between her car and Benny. "Why did you even tell me about this? Hm? Why didn't you just go to the fucking police if you loathe me this much?!" His voice was frustrated, his eyes were glassy, and his face looked more vulnerable than ever. Even just hearing the word loathe me broke Stella's soul to pieces, but all this together...she couldn't hold all of her emotions anymore. She had to let out some before they made her explode.

Her hand flung and she slapped Benny in the face. The sound had echoed between them for a long second as Benny's head turned in the direction of the weak hit he got. His surprise wasn't visible because he felt like it was a long time coming and he deserved it. She couldn't believe this was her first reaction, nor the fact that he was this stupid!

"I don't loathe you, Benny!" Her voice was brittle. "I care about you! I don't want you to waste your life in prison or to...i don't...i don't want you to die!" Her face contorted, and her voice trembled and became high pitched for a second, holding herself back from crying.

Benny's newly found self control broke down. He forcefully grabbed Stella's face, and his mouth found her's like a magnet. Stella felt all her strength leave her in a second. Relief found them both, and their strained, quiet moans mixed up in the air before their next kiss. Stella's finger found the fabric of Benny's t-shirt and grabbed ahold of it for leverage. She was afraid that her legs will give out. Her whole body felt so hot, like it was burning, when Benny grabbed her ass to hold her closer. The desperation and need behind his kiss was overwhelming.

Stella felt all her thoughts go out the window with Benny's finger digging into her flesh. As his jeans clothed erection brushed against her, a helpless moan erupted from her mouth, going straight into his. Benny's kiss instinctively deepened, wanting more. His hand pulled her even closer. Stella pushed her weight a bit to her toes to reach a little bit higher to his face. Their noses bumped together, and his hot breath leaving his nose was radiating onto Stella's face, and the short beard around his lips was prickling her skin. His tongue was wandering in and out of her mouth, and she couldn't get enough of him!

"I'm not gonna die!" He whispered into her mouth, feeling dizzy and lightheaded. "I'm not gonna die, i promise!" He said it with a tense jaw and continued to kiss her in a much more tender, but not less passionate way. Stella felt her whole body go weak. Oxygen was rushing back into her brains as Benny's kisses started to become slower and more intimate. Her resolution was wearing thin as she felt his erection grow stonger and bigger.

Stella broke away by pulling her whole head backwards and then sideways.

"I need to go!" She breathed hard, and her voice was still weak with desire.

Benny extended his arms beside her head, holding onto the top of the car.

"Back to your boyfriend?!" He asked half accusatory, half heartbroken.

"Yes. Back to my boyfriend." Stella felt these words as a lie.

"Do you love him?" Benny asked moving his head along with hers, continuously looking for Stella's gaze as she was trying to avert it so she didn't have to look into his eyes. All it took was one long look into his eyes and another kiss, and she was lost.

"I'm with him, Benny." She said and she ducked down under his arm, but he was faster. His hand hooked onto her waist and pulled her back against himself, and kept her there. Stella had trouble breathing again, now, when she thought she just catched her breath.

"Do you love him?!" Benny's tone was more direct and right in her ear.

Stella felt weak in her bones from his voice alone. His palm was flat and gentle against her belly but still, he was the stronger one. As always. Stella felt as if the price to her freedom was a lie, so she was ready to say it.

"I loved you!" She wrestled off Benny's arm off herself. She received no resistance as she got into her car and drove off.

Many hours have passed since Stella arrived back at the apartment. She took a long shower, she washed her hair, she did her long skincare routine, and then she tried to sleep, but she couldn't. This is how she found herself above her sketchbook. She tried to add new pieces to her designs both on her computer and in her sketchbook. But her mind wasn't even near where it should have been. She was still thinking about Benny. And his kiss. And his touch. And his scent. And his scruff scratching against her skin.

She sat in her chair with a pencil in hand and tried to push her curiosity towards the dress she was intent on designing and making, but her memories kept vomiting up distracting images and sensory driven micro hallucinations.

She received Benny's touch in the past, she received his kisses. His cock was in her more times than she would be able to admit without feeling shame. At one point in that summer, she kept thinking both of them should get help, because they couldn't remain fully clothed for more than a few hours. There wasn't a minute when his hands weren't on her body somewhere. It could have been her back, waist, hips, face or just her shoulder or hair. He never let her go further than his arms could reach her and she didn't want to be far away from him either.

Stella's frustrated huff was the only noise in her spacious closet room, which she used as an office as well. Her own clothes, her dressing table, and her tools and fabrics for designs were here as well. But no matter how many small things were laying around, serving as a reminder of what she came here to do, she could not think clearly or remain focused. The only thing she was able to consciously do was rubbing her thighs together and hope that the arousal will go away on its own, like it did many times before.

She glanced down at the box of fabrics. Sebastian receiving the huge package made her think of him. She could not make sense of it all. She couldn't even fathom how it started and had gone as long as it did. Two years. Sometimes she wondered and tried to remember the exact moment she decided that whatever Sebastian was able or willing to provide would be enough for her.

She met him for the very first time she ever went to a farmers market. It was an entirely new experience for her. Sebastian was selecting vegetables at the same seller she was standing in front of. She was taking a closer look at the weird shaped tomatoes, which she had never seen before. Sebastian said only one word – heirloom tomatoes. He started telling her about them and offered to tell her more if she was curious. And she was. But more so about the handsome man, who knew more than her.

They went to have lunch on their first date. And then they went to many dates in restaurants, cafes, bakeries, museums, and Sebastian's apartment. The very first time she was about to have sex with him, she was just as nervous as when she was before her first time with Benny, only for an entirely different reason.

This time, her body had way more scars than before. Even though the plastic surgeon and her dermatologist did the best they could, she was still really insecure about her scars. She would prefer all of them to be gone and not simply minimized. The biggest and deepest one was on her right side, where the surgeon made the incision to save her from internal bleeding. It has whitened and thinned out, but was visible from a close distance and also a little bit noticeable by touch. The older and more uglier ones were on her back. These were the ones from her father's belt, and they also whitened and thinned out, but were clearly touchable. One on the outer side of her left breast was simply visible up close but not touchable. This was from a cut, that she got when she tried to run from her father, and she had fallen onto some broken glass and porcelain, without having a bra on. Her breast grew along with it into adulthood, stretching it longer than it was before.

The first few times Sebastian didn't even notice her scars because they only had sex with the lights off. They only had sex in broad daylight once, when Sebastian saw her scars and didn't seem to be enthusiastic to have sex with her in visible conditions again. Then after a while, he didn't seem interested in having sex with her at all. Stella grew to accept it as time passed. She didn't try to initiate it and so far the two years into their relationship, she could count on one hand, how many times she was able to reach an orgasm or was simply shown a little affection through physical touch.

She tried to look back to find the reason he lost interest in her, or when did she lost the courage to try to reach out to him. Or maybe they simply both lost interest in each other. Or they never had it in the first place. They were just two people who didn't know how to connect to people, and gaining knowledge of this fact about each other, they made a wordless agreement to simply keep each other company, so neither of them have to be completely alone nor will they have to feel awkward about not feeling the need or not having the ability to go deeper into this relationship.

Stella knew that Sebastian entertained himself with other women with whom he could find common ground with regards to sex, but nothing else. He was subtle and tried to remain respectful towards her about it – never bringing a woman to their shared bed or apartment, never taking such a woman's calls in front of her, never appearing in public with another woman other than her. On the other hand, he kept Stella as a dutiful actress who played the part of an intelligent, well read, well behaved, beautiful prop that could appear on his side in certain public events, but he expected nothing else from her.

She tried to reach out to him many times in the first few months of their relationship, but she kept hitting brick walls. On rare occasions when they sat on the couch at the same time, Stella would sit very close to him, trying to go in for a cuddle or just waiting for an extended arm or a hand on her thigh, but never got anything. A hug from behind at the kitchen counter or a kiss on the cheek never happened.

On the other hand, he was very generous and affectionate in public places. Kisses on the cheek, holding her close while standing in line at a bakery, walking the streets of foreign cities while holding hands, hugging each other for a photo. These were the only occassions on which Stella would get any physical affection from Sebastian.

Stella felt like her whole relationship was a big theater, and she was playing a role in her own life, instead of living it. Playing the pretty girlfriend in pretty clothes, with impeccable manners and a gentle, polite personality who Sebastian could introduce to his colleagues and acquaintances and receive compliments. She never complained about anything, at least not out loud. She never had a problem when Sebastian planned their vacations without her having a word on where they are going, where they would be sleeping, or what sights they saw, what restaurants they visited. She just went along, paid her part, and pretended to be happy in a different place.

She lived more in the month she spent with Benny that summer than she ever did in her whole life, and not a single second was spent pretending. She couldn't wait to wake up in the morning and spend the entire day with him. She had seen some stuff from the scarier side of life, but never for a second did she feel unsafe with Benny, nor did she ever want to be with anyone else.

After she recovered from that night, she started to look at it as a lesson she was forced to learn, yet she never had any idea what the subject of that lesson was. She felt as if she was forced to change by outer circumstances. She took her bad experiences, which she barely lived through, as a warning. A warning to look for a decent, calm, and predictable guy if she wants to be with someone at all. When she started dating Sebastian, she wasn't even looking to be with someone. She just didn't want to be alone with her thoughts and her feelings, but that's exactly what happened in the end.

Stella glanced down at her sketches. The longing ache between her legs was still apparent and unshakeable. All it took was one kiss from Benny. A little bit more than five years have passed, and Benny was still able to drive her insane with just one of his kisses. Sensory and sex deprivation probably took part in the state she was currently in as well. Stella couldn't ignore the irony of someone as calculated, centered and self controlled as Sebastian didn't have a quarter of passion in his whole body that Benny had in a single finger.

In the very first few days of knowing Benny, she had her suspicions about him. She thought someone as rebellious and angry as him would probably treat her with the same notions, but she couldn't be further from the truth. Benny's rebellious nature was intrinsically his, that was for sure, but that anger he had...it stemmed from the purest and deepest type of love, and the fear of losing it and never having it in the first place at the same time. Stella couldn't get enough of discovering new layers of him every single day. And all of a sudden, she ran out of days to do that.

She missed him wildly.

Every day.

In every single way.

She finished her drawings and worked on her computer when she heard Sebastian close and lock the door a little after two a.m. She closed her eyes and reminded herself of how she felt the very last time she tried to have sex with Sebastian. Sweaty and insecure hands tried to mimic interest in her body. Like an amateur who barely ever touched a piano tried to play a concerto. His lips were always too weak and indecisive. As soon as he got what he needed or wanted, he left her behind at the base of the mountain she hadn't even begun to climb to fend for herself. She always gave up these losing battles.

She grew nervous looking at the closed wardrobe room door. She knew Sebastian would never barge in through that door. She could never even recall an occassion when he knocked on that door when it was closed. And if she was completely honest with herself, she probably should do the same. She will not start to knock on a door that will never open for her.

She clenched her thighs together and focused on her work.

Benny finished his cigarette, sitting with his back against the wall. He watched as his drunk friends stumbled out of the bar. Some of them left their bikes here because, in the state they were in, they barely found the door of the bar. Benny couldn't remember the last time he was this wasted. His bet would probably be never. He never had problems controlling himself with booze. He had a little bit harder time with cigarettes, and a little while ago, it seemed like a nearly impossible effort to get a grip on his anger, but it seemed that the impossible was the new normal for him.

He stumped his cigarette in the ashtray and stood up from the chair. He finished his warmed up beer and with his box of cigarettes and the empty bottle in hand, started to walk towards Gail, who helped the bartender collect the empty bottles and glasses, trying to make the bar as close to clean and orderly as they could.

"Hey, Gail. Do you have a minute?" Benny asked nicely.

"Sure. What's up?!" She said, touching his upper arm, while with her other hand she stacked empty beer bottles onto a tray.

"I was wondering if you remember the blonde girl from a few years ago. I went home with her the night the cops took me." Benny didn't have to look around. Johnny, Wahoo, Cockroach, and Mel, all of them went home. Two guys in the far corner were sweeping up the broken glasses, cigarette buds, and peanut shells, and Brucie was finishing his glass of bourbon at the bar while he waited for Gail.

Gail stopped in her tracks, reaching for new bottles.

"Boy, you have to be more specific! You had many blondes and then more!"

"Blonde, big boobs. If i remember well..." And he did. Every detail of that mistake burned in his mind. "She had a butterfly tattoo on her ankle. But i can't remember which one." Benny added.

Gail straightened up. She put her hand on her hip. Her eyes were moving all around while she was thinking quietly. "I think she wasn't from town. But she came with a few girls from town. I can ask around, maybe they know where she is nowadays." Gail said nodding, and then flung the kitchen towel in her hand towards Benny's head. "You are a moron! You ruined that perfect thing you had with Stella!" Gail said angrily collecting the empty bottles.

"Im aware." Benny murmured under his breath as he left the bar.

Vince parked his car in front of Johnny's house. His body was shaking from an overwhelming cough. The pain kept echoing between his ribcages and traveling down his left side as well. He wiped his mouth. The blood on the handkerchief was nothing new to him. He failed to remember when it started, but the fatigue that kept floating above him like a raincloud, was harder to bear and fight, despite having only appeared in the last few weeks. For the pain, there were painkillers. A lot of them have gone down these days.

He slowly got out of his car and with slow steps, approached the door. He fastly repeated the notions in his head, that he wanted to get through in this upcoming conversation, before ringing the bell. He saw that the lights were on downstairs and upstairs as well. It wasn't so late that his visit would be deemed outraegous, but late enough for Johnny to surely be at home.

Vince never visited anybody at their home. He respected the guys who had managed to build a normal and stable life around themselves, and he had no heart to disturb it. Whatever he wanted to talk about, could have waited until they showed up at the Pit the next day. But not this!

He wasn't surprised by the expression on Johnny's face when he opened the door.

"Sorry for coming here. I hoped you would show up at the Pit today, but you didn't."

"No worries. What's up?" Johnny stepped out and closed the door.

"I wanted to talk to you about the kid!" Vince said, fighting back a cough.

"What about him? He seems to be doing fine." Johnnny said it nonchalantly.

"Yeah. He certainly looks the part." Vince mumbled quietly. "I wanted to talk about something he mentioned happening while he was inside. It was so interesting, i thought i share it with you."

Johnny stepped closer with a curious gaze.

"He said that a few months after he was in, a couple of guys ganged up on him, and tried to off him. One of them had the Ghoul's brand on him. He said they beat him up pretty bad. They were ready to slit his throat when the guard's shift change took place and the new guards heard them going at it."

Johnny studied Vince's face patiently. His brows furrowed slightly.

"It happens a lot. A lot of Ghoul's did time for either drugs or murder. I would imagine a lot of them would be jizzing their pants to get their hands on one of us. The fact that they can't go through town to sell their shit and have to store it further away...they probably lost a lot of money. They were pissed off, that's what it is." Johnny said, scratching his eyebrow out of frustration.

"Yes." Vince nodded glancing aside to the street. "Money makes some people go insane. But the main thing that concerns me, is that the Ghoul told Benny, that our club wanted to get rid of him."

Johnny stiffened and his gaze hardened right onto Vince's face.

"So that's why you're here!" Johnny murmured with tensed up jaws. "To ask if i was the one who wanted to get rid of the kid?!"

Vince sensed the thin ice he dared upon, but he did not care.

"Thought has crossed my mind." Vince said it with a passive tone.

A thin, threatening smile slid up onto Johnny's lips.

"You got some fucking nerve, mate!" Johnny nodded with an angry expression on his face. "That kid is like a son to me! Do you think i would try to hustle some half-assed scheme to try to kill him...and for what exactly?!" Johnny leaned closer to weigh his words right down on Vince's conscience.

"Well...that's exactly what led me to you. The fact that you had no reason to try to get rid of him, since you yourself asked him to take over when you're done. That makes you the only person i'm sure of not being in on it. But it also makes you the person, who someone actually tried to get rid of, by removing Benny. Which makes me think...that someone was worried about Benny taking over instead of him once you're stepping down or...you are removed. And if and when you are removed, he still has to deal with the kid. I think someone saw an opportunity and took it."

Vince's saw the visible proof of his words registering in Johnny, as he started to slowly pace up and down. He watched as his club leader tried to digest the situation that, up until now, was nonexistent to him.

"So...we have a snake." Johnny said, surveying the dark street.

"It seems so." Vince said peacefully. "And that snake probably has a few people helping him." Vince said, sniffling and trying to ignore the pain in his chest and back.

"What do you mean?" Johnny turned towards him.

"I keep asking myself the same question...ever since the kid went inside. Who called the cops on him?! Chamberlain surely didn't, unless he was ready to out himself as the piece of shit he always was." Vince's brows furrowed as he watched the left side of Johnny's face twitch. "The kid surely didn't, and the girl...i mean she could have when she sensed that things were going really badly for her...but when did she ever call the cops on him before, you know?!"

Vince only saw a side profile of Johnny's face.

Regret and sadness swept up on it as he listened to Vince's ongoing thoughts.

"So someone had to be out there...watching the house that night. Or followed Benny from home. So...i went out to have a walk around the farm...which really took a lot out of me. But eventually, i found something. Pretty much a million worth of cocaine, buried under a tree, with the Ghoul's branding on it."

Vince was aware that he was lying and what could be the consequence of that, but at this point he stopped giving a shit. Rather be his, who's door they kick down if his instincts were wrong, trusting Johnny, than Benny's. He will not spend his last months on this earth, mourning the kid he raised and could have saved, if he had made the right decision. And this was the right decision. The only decision.

Stella drove past the gas station that seemed to be an unlucky place for her, seeing as she kept bumping into Vandal's there. This time she filled up her car in the city before she left it and hoped that she wouldn't meet any other leather clad biker this time. Although, it would be weird if she did, as she was intending to visit the town hall and its archives.

The only reason she ventured here again, was the advice of her lawyer, who currently worked on looking up all documents, regarding the farm and its surrounding area. According to him, certain documents should be found at the town hall, considering the size of their farm, the surrounding neighbors, and the closeness of the forest, that was in the possession of the town. There used to be constant bickering about the ending of the forest and the beginning of the farm.

She walked into the building, and in her usual polite manner, asked for some guidance, but she quickly met disinterested, passive aggressive rudeness, as the old lady informed her that out of the only three people who worked there, two had already left for lunch and she would not stay either, so she had to leave and come back in an hour.

"It's a joke!" She murmured as she walked back to her car and sat back in it, debating what she should do, and where she should spend this hour. Because spending an hour sitting in her car, in a parking spot that had no trees or any shade above it, surely wasn't a good idea.

She decided to go to a place, where she hadn't been in a while. The diner in town was a popular place among all age groups. High schoolers liked to hang out in or around there for their cheap milkshakes and for the curly fries they did back then. Stella wasn't really surprised that the place haven't changed at all. Everything was the same red and white color. The tables and chairs outside were freshly painted, judging by the thick, vibrant red color of the wood. She left the outer seats to the families, those who had plenty of little kids running around them. She walked in and sat in the last box at the far end of the diner. The inside of it was much quieter than the terrace anyway.

She took her time reading through the menu card, and when the really young waitress arrived, she asked for a grilled cheese sandwich with fries and a Cheerwine for old time's sake. She pulled the sketchbook and the pencil out of her purse and decided to be productive. She continued her sketches about the cruise collection she was designing for her store. Lydia was already neck deep in designing and planning the accessories, so Stella decided to follow the lead of her friend and follow the vibes of the already half ready accessories with the clothes she was designing.

"Quite the picture!"

Stella's whole body shook. Her head shot up towards the person who appeared next to her table, as quietly as a ghost. Vince was standing there with a polite smile on his thin lips.

"Oh...hello." Stella's sigh was full of relief.

Stella closed the sketchbook.

"Do you...mind if i sit with you until my order is ready to go?" Vince asked.

"Be my guest!" Stella smiled kindly and watched as Vince sat down.

The last time she met Vince, she didn't really look at him. She was too stressed to pay attention to anything besides the foreboding thoughts in her head. Now that she was looking at him, he seemed off. Old and tired. And also like someone who lost a lot of weight and his muscles went along with it. And yet, he still had the bone structure and build of a smaller tank.

"How are you doing?" Stella didn't even notice, but she already asked.

"I am well." Vince's brows stretched upward in a short grimace.

Stella knew he lied, but she took the hint and didn't inquire further.

"I just...came to pick up lunch for Benny at the garage." He added.

Vince noticed the glint in her eyes when he mentioned Benny. His thin lips twitched. He couldn't ignore the fact that Benny reacted the same way each time her name was mentioned. Part of him was amused by the obvious and deep love that was still going on between them, but another part of him was confused as to why they haven't even tried to mend things between themselves, if they were obviously still in love with one another. But a really small part of him understood Stella.

She was a beautiful, young college girl who was always kept on tight leash by the man who raised her. She was told and met a lot of no's. It wasn't really surprising for Vince that she was instantly attracted to Benny, and it didn't take long for her to fall in love with him either. He probably represented the freedom for her, that she never got to experience.

Vince knew Stella's mother when he was younger and also was she. She had an on and off fling with Johnny throughout the years. Except Rebecca always knew what she wanted out of her life. To keep her farm, her horses. To have a family, a husband, a quiet life. Except a part of her also wanted excitement, freedom, passion. That attracted her to Johnny and kept her interested in him for quite a while, even after she got the life she had wanted. It seemed like a curse was hereditary amongst the Hawkins women.

"He works at your garage?" Stella asked, clearing her throat.

"Of course he is. I'm not letting a good mechanic sleep until noon."

Stella's smile was light and barely visible. She herself was aware of Benny's tendency to sleep in, but she also had knowledge of the why. And also the fact that he could be up all night and dawn, going into the next day without any sleep at all. Or be asleep at eight p.m already on a Saturday night. His mind would not let him sleep a lot of times. He had various ways to deal with it. Stella witnessed quite a few of those. Just as she witnessed his mechanical skills. He was always good with his hands. In many ways.

"How is he?" Stella asked quietly and she almost felt haunted by him, even though she was just talking about him with someone else. Benny's influence on her known no distance, limits or boundaries.

"He is doing good." Vince cleared his throat as much as he could. "He changed quite a bit. I'm proud of him! He shows up every day and he is the last one out of all of us to go home. He drinks even less than he used to." Vince added.

Stella never knew Benny as someone who heavily drinks. But she saw the rest of the club members getting so low, that they couldn't even find the door. Benny never had more than a beer or a glass of whiskey, either bourbon or scotch. When she asked how come he doesn't drink as much as his friends, he said – if he drinks too much, his mind is not clear enough to ride his bike whenever he feels like. Alcohol was never his choice to deal with whatever he had to deal with at any given moment.

Stella has silently succumbed to her own fear and anxiety.

"Will he be...okay?" Her voice was thick with worry.

Vince felt the same as she did.

"I think...he will be. He is a strong boy!"

Vince's voice was harsh and croaky from the pain in his chest and back.

Stella noticed a thin layer of sweat on Vince's forehead, but he wiped it away.

They sat quietly for a minute.

Stella's fingers tapped lightly on her closed sketchbook.

"Do you...mind if i look at it?" Vince asked, gently looking at the notebook.

Stella was nervous, but she didn't know how to say no.

"Sure." She slid the sketchbook through the table toward him.

Vince slowly and carefully flipped through the pages. Taking note of every little shape, color, and detail. He saw clothing pieces drawn in a very detailed manner, colored and here and there were texts explaining certain details in words he had no understanding of. Wonderful dresses were created on paper and then colored. Some pages had magazine cutouts or a photo pinned to them.

"It is...these are really pretty." Vince cleared his throat and fought with all of his willpower to keep the cough where it was born. Ever since he woke up today, he felt the chest pain make itself apparent in his back and shoulders as well. "You always had a keen eye for pretty things...an ability to see beauty." Vince took a long, last look at the last filled page.

Stella hasn't reacted. She never learned how to receive compliments. And it was her father's way to give her a compliment, right before going in with a jugular, in the best-case scenario with a humiliating insult, in worst cases with an actual hit.

"And this is just a hobby or you do something with these?" Vince asked in a rough voice and cleared his throat, which was followed by a rather ugly cough.

"I...i opened a store in the city. With a friend. I design the clothes, and sometimes shoes, bags. My friend does the jewelry and also shoes and bags." Stella spoke quietly, without any intention to brag. She almost was lacking even proudness.

"And it's going as you want it to?" Vince asked with sincere curiosity.

"It's going well. It pays us. There is a little plus as well." Stella said. "But what is with you? Don't take it the wrong way...but you don't look well. And the cough...it doesn't sound good." Stella's voice and face were genuinely concerned.

Vince shook his head. "It's nothing."

Stella saw through the lie. She hasn't seen her mother's health significantly decline before she passed away. It was a fastly approaching, sudden accumulation of the violent cancer that had spread, eating itself through her ovaries and moving into her other organs as well, eventually killing her. One night she was still there, in the morning she wasn't. The doctors gave them a folder full of papers that contained information about the particular cancer she suffered from. Stella found it somewhere around the house and read through it.

Later in life, she also read quite a lot about the disease out of curiosity. Weight loss was a very common symptom of many types of cancer. The body is desperately trying to feed its cells, including the greedy, corrupt cancerous cells that demand much more than they really should. If not this, then the chemotherapy drugs cause nausea and vomiting, loss of appetite, which is not good when a war is going on inside the body that needs every ounce of energy to fight to win it.

Stella, as an adult came to the conclusion that cancer is very typically human disease - stupid as shit. Viruses evolve themselves but never try to intentionally kill their host, they just want to spread. Parasites harm the body that they feed upon, but never eat as much, to kill them. Cancer just spreads, demands, eats and takes until there is nothing left, and then by this behaviour, it invites it's own destruction as well. Because of it's greed.

Stella didn't understand a lot of it, but still, to this day, she couldn't figure out why her mother never wanted to try and fight it. If not for herself, for her and Carly. To be able to spend more time with them. Even if just a few months more. As an adult, she accepted that it was her body and life, so it was her decision. But the traumatized child in her felt disappointed and sad about it.

Stella glanced down on her own, black painted nails on the ligh blue cover of her sketchbook. The light blue color always reminded her of Benny's soulful, sky blue eyes. "You guys figured it out yet, who tried to get rid of him at the club?" Stella's voice volume was careful but curious.

"What makes you think it was someone from the club?"

Vince didn't know how much Benny had told Stella. He only had awareness of the fact, that Stella was the one who found the drugs and she only told about them to Benny. But it wouldn't surprise him if she figured out this small, but significant detail all by herself. She always was really perceptive and intelligent.

"Who else would've tried such a thing?" Stella scoffed sarcastically.

The waitress arrived with her order, but all of a sudden she lost all appetite, but she took a sip off the soda though. The taste awakened a simple, pleasant memory from her childhood and teenage years.

"Benny is a good kid at heart...but we all know he has an attitude..."

Stella scoffed again. "Tell me about it!" She murmured with a little smile.

A small and silent laugh shook Vince and then a long cough as well.

He wiped his mouth with a handkerchief.

"That attitude can piss off a lot of people. Also, before you came along, he pissed off a lot of people. Other club members who's asses he handed to them. And there are the brothers, boyfriend and husbands." Vince said.

Stella felt the sweet cherry taste grow bitter on her tongue.

"My point is, there are many people who would want him gone." Vince said.

"Uh-hum." Stella's hum was quiet but it was full of sarcasm. "If those people really wanted him gone, they would have waited to get him alone somewhere and beat him to a pulp, or..." Stella didn't felt the need to continue with examples, and she wasn't even sure that she could. "My point is, i'm not sure that many of them knew about...us, and neither where i've lived and neither about the fact, where he headed and will be that night. Only a club member would've known and even that person should have been keeping a close eye on Benny to be at the right place and the right time for their scheme to work." Stella said with a plain face, in sharp contrast to the speed and frustrated way she kept spinning her pencil on the table.

Vince could not argue, nor he wanted to.

"Why do you think someone would do such a thing?" Vince scratched his jaw.

Stella remained quiet as she thought the question through.

"Benny was always the heart of that club. I mean...i don't know about before he became a member, but in recent times, surely. Johnny always valued his opinion and he thought greatly of him, otherwise he wouldn't have asked him to lead the club after he feels like he can't do that anymore. You and him were always close. Who was there for anyone who got stranded on the side of the road, when someone needed to be taken to the hospital, when some punches were needed to be thrown?!" Stella didn't expected an answer. "Someone could be jealous of his place within the club...maybe tried to make him go away, so they could take it."

Vince was genuinely surprised.

"Benny told you about Johnny asking him?"

"Yes, he told me."

Vince nodded silently with a clear gaze. He was aware of how much Stella meant to Benny, but he never could've guessed the depth of his feelings. Surely, as soon as Stella first walked into the Pit, Benny never had eyes for any other girl or woman. His eyes always studied, stalked, and adored Stella. If she had left the table, to go to the ladies room, Benny never stopped watching the door until she came out. If she was started to feel cold out of tiredness, he would give his jacket to her. The very jacket that had all the color on it, which he would be rather kmurdered in, than to take it off willingly.

"You were always a mystery to everyone." Vince added quietly and glanced aside from her. His mind went to unusual places. Only a few seconds have passed since she walked into the Pit for the first time ever, and everyone instantly noticed her. How they couldn't? She was the prettiest girl that ever walked into that wretched place in a really long time. How could have, out of all people, Benny avoid noticing her?!

Vince still remembered every single, small detail of that night, because it was significant for many reasons, and not just for future ones. The girl glanced around and probably felt as all the attention was directed towards her, but after a quick second she seemed completely unbothered by everyone, and walked to the bar, asking Neil to use the phone because her car broke down a few miles back, and her cell phone died on her.

She never even sat down. She didn't even got the phone in her hand, when Johnny walked over to the bar and took it from Neil's hand. Vince never heard, never tried to guess, nor did he ever asked what Johnny said to her within those few minutes when he was talking to her. Then Johnny summoned Benny and with him at his side walked her back to her car. She didn't came back at the bar that night. But she showed up a few days later on Benny's side. No one had to guess who she wanted to be with. But everyone was wondering what was she doing in a place like the Pit.

The pain in Vince's chest and back started to worsen. His shoulder's started to pulsate to the rhythm of his heartbeats. He felt the shortness of breath, the nausea and the lightheadedness. Only now he wasn't doing anything physically demanding. He was simply sitting. He didn't find any more strength in himself, than to simply turn sideways, before his stomach sent back its contents along with vibrant red blood.

Stella jumped in her seat. Within a few seconds, her feelings had spun from worry, anxiety to becoming speechles out of fear. She could only see as Vince's stomach made another attempt to get rid of what has been ailing it, but blood kept coming with it. The quantity of it made Stella's heart pound as if she were running, but she was glued to her seat by the shock of the reality changing so fast around her. "Somebody call an ambulance right now! Please!" She turned her head towards the diner's staff. Her voice was brittle. Her eyes were pleading.

Stella felt disgust, fear, anxiety, and a little bit of nausea. The smell of heavy, sanitizing chemicals and sickness was thick in the air. She hated hospitals. She spent enough time in them for a lifetime. Also, she felt pain in her feet. Her black heels weren't made for the day she turned out to be having. But the pain was useful in a way. She was able to direct her attention towards it and the awful smell of her surroundings, instead of succumbing to her panic and anxiety.

She followed the ambulance from the diner to the hospital and watched as the paramedics and nurses took Vince to a room. Nurses were running in and out of it in a hurry with medications and liquid bags in their hands. Two doctors also visited his room with fast approaching steps. They were in for a while and then simply asked her if she was a close relative to him, and when her answer was no, they simply left her without a word or an answer.

She was pacing up and down in front of the room Vince was in, in who knows what kind of condition, and a thought just hit her right in the center of her brain. Why hasn't she went to Vince's garage yet, to get Benny? He should've known about this by now! Maybe the doctors will give answers to him!

She turned around in her step and she froze immediately, when she spotted Benny at the end of the seemingly endless, bright hallway. He was running, and with his tall legs he was there faster than Stella anticipated. He seemed slightly surprised and very much terrified.

"H...how is he?!" He asked a little bit out of breath and with a lot of fear in his voice.

"I don't know." Stella said gently. "Two doctors were in for a while. When they came out they asked if i am a close relative and then they left." A relieved sigh escaped out of Stella. She felt her anxiety becoming thinner, weaker as she stood next to Benny. She glanced down at his hands. They were still covered in grime and oil. So were his t-shirt.

"Brucie called me. He said Vince signed him as his emergency contact, but he couldn't leave the work he had." Benny said and his breathing had already returned to normal. "But how did you ended up here?!"

"I was at the diner and so was he. He sat down, we talked a little and then all of the sudden, he started vomiting...blood too, and then he just collapsed out of his seat and...i followed the ambulance." Stella still wasn't sure herself, what was she still doing here. Other than making sure that Vince is okay, which was already half assured when the paramedics arrived at the diner.

Benny looked around in the hallway before with a fast and light movement went inside Vince's room. Stella remained on the hallway, indecisive. Her anxiety and nervousness kept urging her to leave. Benny was already here for Vince, and Brucie and the rest of the bikers probably will turn up very soon.

She has to get back to the town hall before it closes for today.

The door of the room opened and Benny sneaked out of it nonchalantly, and without shame or worry of being caught. Stella wasn't really surprised, that even in a hospital, Benny didn't give a shit about the rules. "He is asleep or unconscious, i don't really know. There is a lot of bags hooked onto him." He said quietly and swept through his hair with his fingers.

Stella nodded as a mute. She couldn't overlook the fear in his eyes and she understood the meaning behind it. Vince was Benny's father in every way except biologically. Benny told him that his mother died when he was a little kid and his father started drinking after that. He never knew what to do with a kid aside from keeping it alive, fed and clothed. They were just a lost in life adult and a young boy living under the same roof. This knowledge helped Stella understand Benny's withdrawn and emotionless approach towards people in his life. He never learned how to connect. Not in ways that people usually did anyway.

"Vince has...some kind of cancer?" Stella asked carefully.

"He said lung cancer." Benny sank onto one of the chairs.

Stella didn't know what to say. In her peripheral vision, she spot the leather clad figures at the end of the hallway. She hooked her black handbags handles onto her forearm. "Here is the club." She said sorrowful. "I have to go!" Stella said straightening her back and adjusting her feet in her heels as Johnny and all the man approached closer and closer.

"Stella..." Benny jumped up from his seat when Stella started walking.

"Give my best to Vince." She said softly and kept walking through the swarm of bikers that were approaching, never stopping for a step, not once looking up at their eye level, not even trying to look back at Benny.

Her anxiety urged her to leave and to concentrate on her task.

Whatever happens.

#whispers of violence series #benny cross x ofc #austin butler fanfic #the bikeriders #benny cross x reader

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