#and i cant even really say why. i just had to. and now im here a decade later. still writing

[foodtruckery]

Hi there! Im a bit new to ur blog but i just wanted to pop in to tell you how much i adore Combat Baby! Im actually super insane about it!! Idk why but the whole coat bits were just phenomenal and live in my brain forever now? Im already a sucker for older ford and mullet stan but oh boy now i cant stop picturing every version of stan stealing his brother's coat...for regular reasons and maybe also spicy reasons 👀 like a consensus i see is ford being a clothing sniffer but stan could also have a coat to sniff...as a treat...anyway sorry for rambling a bit here!! but please keep up the excellent work!

hello there, anon!! hey, if it makes you feel any better, i am also new to this blog so no worries there at all lol. ahh but thank you so much, it's so kind of you to come over here to say that!!

and okay hahaha let me ramble a little bit about the damn coat! cause i hadn't actually planned for like. ANY OF THAT to happen, so i am just thrilled to hear you enjoyed that random ass bit that ended up running away from me! cause like here's the thing. my main goal was just to get a few of ford's fucking layers off for the sake of the scene (fun fact: this whole scene originally started in a different room entirely and i said fuck that and moved them to the kitchen).

but then i figured the coat gave stan something to kinda consider while ford is faffing about, gave me a point to work on to keep driving at that "similar but different" narrative i was trying to lean into. but like....then the coat is there y'know?? i hadn't even included him asking for the thing in my first pass of that scene. but then it kinda felt like chekov's coat at that point and i couldn't not bring it back in.

but yes, i'm absolutely with you. i really do love the idea of stan like. taking comfort in being surrounded by something that smells like ford. especially if we're talking mullet stan and older ford here. and uhhhh. i had other like stuff i was gonna say, i think, but i kinda got carried away so.

hey! welcome to the blog! have a vaguely, hand wavey post-combat baby tidbit of stan jerking off in ford's coat:

This was stupid. Painfully, humiliatingly stupid. And if he got caught, Stan was pretty sure he'd just voluntarily disappear for another ten years rather than reckon with that particular flavor of mortification. 

Fuck, what did it say about him that the thought of Ford walking in and catching him beating off in nothing but his brother's stupid coat just made his dick twitch harder in his palm? 

Stan bit down on his lower lip and cast a furtive glance towards the door, but he didn't slow his fist any. He couldn't hear any movement outside the room, which suggested that Ford was still down in the basement or fucking around in the woods — he couldn't actually remember which one at the moment. He just knew that Ford had gone and occupied himself somewhere else and left his coat laying around, easy pickings. He hadn't even thought it through before he grabbed the thing and made himself scarce with it.

Vaguely, Stan reasoned that if Ford hadn't taken his coat, he probably wasn't wandering around outside in the fucking snow. But that meant he was probably somewhere inside still, and that really shouldn't make him as hot as it did. 

“Fucking hell,” he panted, fumbling with his free hand to tug the collar of the coat up to his nose. He breathed in the familiar-but-not smell of Ford and the memory of making embarrassing noises into the same material while he was railed on the kitchen table. 

Shuddering, Stan rolled his palm over the head of his dick and smeared precome down the shaft, muffling a moan in the jacket collar. It was heavy, a noticeable enough weight shifting against his bare skin that if he closed his eyes and tried hard enough, he could almost imagine Ford kneeling behind him, pressed against his back and draping his arms over his shoulders. It would put his mouth right against that spot behind Stan's ear that had never fully shaken the phantom feeling of Ford's lips moving there. 

But what the fuck would he even say? Would he be pissed at Stan for taking his coat? Probably. Sneer that he shouldn't be surprised that a whore who can't keep his own clothes on would feel entitled to stealing his. He'd loom against his back and watch Stan fuck his own fist right up until he was twitching, nearly there, and then Ford would grab his wrist and tell him to stop because he didn't deserve to come. 

Stan tucked his chin to press closer to the material he was holding to his face and rocked his hips, as much to follow the steady pumping of his fist as to feel the coat shift against his thighs and around where his knees were pressed to the floor. Because he hadn't even managed to make it to the fucking bed once he'd gotten into the room. He'd just stripped in a hurry, leaving his own clothes thrown haphazardly to the side, and yanked on Ford's stupid space coat. 

If he were going for realistic, if Ford wandered upstairs and threw open the bedroom door and found Stan jerking off in the middle of the room, he probably wouldn't do anything at all. He'd get that brief, surprised little look on his face, eyebrows raising over the rim of his glasses and maybe, maybe part his lips just a little bit. 

And then, while Stan was stammering and trying to come up with an excuse or an apology or literally anything worth saying to make this look less like what it was, Ford would reset his expression and cross his arms and say something short like, “Well? Get on with it, then.” He would stand in the doorway, maybe lean there a bit, comfortable as you please, and watch Stan frantically try to finish the job like he was simply overseeing one of his less interesting experiments. 

Stan huffed against the coat and swallowed down a moan as he rubbed against the sensitive spot under the head of his dick. He was so close. And he needed to hurry the fuck up if he didn't actually want Ford to walk in on him. Cause that was all well and good while he was hot and shivering and chasing down an orgasm, but he would probably actually die if he got caught. Or maybe Ford would do him a favor and just kill him on the spot for it? 

Nosing the fold of the coat collar, Stan heard a quiet click in the room before the heater kicked on, thrumming away to keep the stupid cabin at a reasonable temperature for the middle of winter. Because the heat had been turned off, like Ford had suspected, and they'd managed for a few days with Stan chopping wood and putting the shack's little fireplace to use. But that was a miserable chore, and eventually Stan figured, fuck it, and gave the gas company a call. 

Turned out, telling the right sob story with an appropriately pathetic voice could get you an extension and get the heat back on until your genius brother figured out his nerd ass replacement for powering the shack. Stan didn't know what he meant by that, and he hadn't asked, because as long as they had some way of heating the place up, he was happy. 

But he did distinctly remember telling Ford he had gotten the gas turned back on for another couple weeks. The way he made that brief, surprised face and then, for a moment, nothing else at all. Long enough that Stan had rolled his eyes and turned to head back out of the room, because really, what the hell had he expected here? But then Ford had finally cleared his throat and said, awkward, like he'd only just realized he should, “Thank you, Stanley. Good work.” 

Stan shoved a mouthful of Ford's coat between his teeth and bucked jerkily when he came all over his fist, skin tingling and Ford's voice rolling around between his ears. 

��J-Jesus Christ, Stanley,” he panted to himself once he'd stopped whining and could spit out the edge of the coat — didn't taste nearly as good as it smelled. And, he realized with a groan, he'd managed to get jizz all over the sleeve. Fantastic. 

Once he caught his breath, he would get dressed, wipe the coat off as best he could, and put it back. Then he would pray to god that Ford didn't notice anything, wouldn’t see the splotchy attempts at cleaning it or smell Stan on it. And he would never touch the damn thing again. Really.

[lovebunnie]

“it’s not about canon fucking capital!” nandor spits in the air between them. guillermos jaw drops a bit, and it all starts to feel like a bit of a sick joke to nandor. its never easy, not with guillermo.

he shifts and narrows his eyes. “being a janitor had its good moments,” nandor admits. “i liked being the barrier between the cleanliness of productivity and the filth of failure. also those paper towels were very powerful, they didnt even leave any streakies!

“but…” nandor lets his shoulders drop and he suddenly cant look at guillermo. “being around humans all day is kind of shitty.”

guillermo huffs. “trust me, hanging around vampires all the time isnt all its cracked up to be either. ya know, i spent so many years cleaning up shit and say what you will about panera but atleast cleaning toilets there got me a free pastry-“

“why do you always leave me?”

it shocks them both into silence. guillermos jaw clicks shut while nandor hunches his shoulders, as though he could curl away from his own confession. he was literally commanding an army, but here was where words failed him.

guillermo swallows. “leave you? im right here.”

“no you are not,” nandor hisses. “you are with celeste and then you are with derrick and then it is freddie and laszlo and now you are with jordan.” he steps forward, which makes guilermo step back. conquering lands, even here and now.

“why must you always leave? why do you want to leave, and why do i want you to stay? it was not like this with other familiars, ill have you know!”

nandor thinks about all the snide comments made by laszlo and nadja over the years. their familiars were always easy come, easy go. but guillermo was always there. he would misplace an ugly sock or leave his toothbrush in the open.

guillermo has always been different. guillermo has always been the exception.

it makes all the leaving he does very painful. nandor doesnt know why.

“other familiars don’t pledge almost half their lives to one master,” guillermo counters. “other familiars wouldve left a long fucking time ago.”

it takes everything in nandor not to shudder at being referred to as master by guillermo. “i dont give a shit about other familiars. not even my own old familiars. they were just… blips in the radar.”

“and me?” guillermo whispers, finally reclaiming the ground covered by nandor and placing them almost chest to chest. “fifteen years for a vampire doesnt seem like much of anything.”

“you were my purpose, guillermo,” he says. “to make you into a fucking cool vampire. and then you decided it wasnt actually what you wanted and after that annoying ceremony that i put a lot of hard work into, you wanted to leave again. so now i have no familiar, no purpose because you are not a vampire. i have nothing.”

guillermo stays quiet for many seconds and nandor can see his eyebrows twitching in thought. it had been so long since nandor has stood this close to guillermo so if nothing else, the proximity was a nice touch

“my purpose was to be turned into a vampire, by you,” guillermo says. “and then i realized it would never happen unless i did something, so i did. but it doesnt change the fact that i spent so many years knowing that i…” he swallows and to nandors delight, his cheeks turn crimson under shitty lighting. “i was meant to be yours, turned by you.”

“you are driving me crazy,” nandor says quietly. “i do not know why you keep leaving me and why i care so much. you really hurt me, you know! every time you leave it hurts!”

“i know why i keep leaving,” guillermo says. “and i think i know why you want me to stay so bad. the reasons are pretty similar, if i had to guess.”

“tell me,” nandor growls, his hands coming up to grip guillermos biceps so that he cannot flee, not again. “tell me.”

with the same drive behind the words that would compel weaker men, guillermo looks up at him, and before nandor can even think about speaking again, guillermo surges up and crashes their lips together with his hands tangled in nandors hair and knocking the head piece off in the process.

before it can even begin, guillermo pulls away. he is panting and then pulling a vibrating telephone out of his pocket. nandor watches with blazing eyes

“its jordan…” he trails off, looking thoughtful while nandor feels murderous.

a small smile creeps onto his face as the still vibrating phone goes back into his pocket. “but I’ve got better things to do.”

guillermo smiles at nandor and for once, he looks settled, not ready to bolt. nandor knows the same expression is reflecting on his face as well.

as he makes his move towards a willing guillermo, he hopes the camera crew is more engrossed with whatever antics nadja and laszlo and colin robinson have gotten into.

[moeblob]

Deacon loves two things: Ymber and digging himself a grave.

Fulj hates one thing: Deacon.

[saintlioncourt]

watched Logan (2017) for the first time after watching every single x-men/wolverine movie this week and lemme tell you-

I am NOT okay. what the FUCK

[hella1975]

why do you write? what do you think about, what drives you?

passion love grief rage spite confusion loneliness community shame boredom perfectionism fun because i dont know how to stop

[jils-things]

i went wandering off in my pokespe gallery and had to relieve how wonderful this scene played out. no kidding

please dont read the tags i got emotional there /lh

[lesbiangiratina]

Not very fond of people like waving off testament’s gender as just a Gear Thing but well at least it becomes funny when people apply it to gears as a whole. Like yeah i can agree with that. It has nothing to do with being a gear tho theyre all just transgender

[arolegos]

how the motherfuckers in college feel after giving you info LAST FUCKING MINUTE. DO THEY WANT ME TO FUCKING KILL MYSELF I SWEAR TO GODDDDDDDD

[spacedlexi]

i Need to draw more clemviminnie shit but how am i supposed to do that when minnie only exists alongside them for 2 episodes then dies

[bunnihearted]

🍄‍🟫

[arlathen]

i keep trying to want to play starfield but the main plot has so profoundly failed to convince me to buy into it. and im not a guy who needs a lot of convincing.

[widevibratobitch]

.

[rox-of-iu]

book depository closing down. no nice things allowed.

[acourtofquestions]

🚨 SPOILERS🚨

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 50

Rowan's hands tightened on Aelin's shoulders as the words settled into her, hollow and cold.

"Maeve is a Valg queen?" he breathed.

Aelin said nothing. Couldn't find the words. Her power roiled. She didn't feel it.

Nesryn nodded solemnly. "Yes. The kharankui told us the entire history."

And so Nesryn did as well. Of how Maeve had somehow found a way into this world, fleeing or bored with her husband, Orcus. Erawan's elder brother. Of how Erawan, Orcus, and Mantyx had torn apart worlds to find her, Orcus's missing wife, and only halted here because the Fae had risen to challenge them. Fae led by Maeve, whom the Valg kings did not know or recognize, in the form she had taken.

The life she had crafted for herself. The minds of all the Fae who had existed that she had ripped into, convincing them that there had been three queens, not two. Including the minds of Mab and Mora, the two sister-queens who had ruled Doranelle. Including Brannon himself.

"The spiders claimed," Nesryn went on, "that even Brannon didn't know. Even now, in the Afterworld, he doesn't know. That was how deep Maeve's powers went into his mind, into all their minds. She made herself their true queen."

The words, the truth, pelted Aelin, one after another.

Elide's face was white as death. "But she fears the healers." A nod toward Yrene. "She keeps that owl, you said—an enslaved Fae healer-should the Valg ever discover her." For that was the other piece of it. The other thing Nesryn had revealed, Chaol and Yrene adding in their own accounts. The Valg were parasites. And Yrene could cure their human hosts of them. Had done so for Princess Duva. And might be able to do with so many others enslaved with rings or collars. But what had infested Duva ... A Valg princess.

Aelin leaned back into her chair, her head resting against the solid wall of Rowan's body.

His hands shook against her shoulders. Shook as he seemed to realize what, exactly, had ripped into his mind. Where Maeve's power had come from that allowed her to do so. Why she remained deathless and ageless, and had outlasted any other. Why Maeve's power was darkness.

"It is also why she fears fire," Sartaq said, jerking his chin to Aelin. "Why she fears you so."

And why she'd wanted to break her. To be just like that enslaved healer bound in owl form at her side.

"I thought—I managed to cut her once," Aelin said at last. That quiet, ancient darkness pushed in, dragging her down, down, down-" I saw her blood flow black. Then it changed to red." She blew out a breath, pulling out of the darkness, the silence that wanted to devour her whole. Made herself straighten. Peer at Fenrys.

"You said that her blood tasted ordinary to you when you swore the oath." The white wolf shifted back into his Fae body. His bronze skin was ashen, his dark eyes swimming with dread. "It did."

Rowan growled, "It didn't taste any different to me, either."

"A glamour-like the form she maintains," Gavriel mused.

Nesryn nodded. "From what the spiders said, it seems entirely possible that she would be able to convince you that her blood looked and tasted like Fae blood."

Fenrys made a sound like he was going to be sick. Aelin was inclined to do the same.

And from far away—a memory-that-was-not-a-memory stirred. Of summer nights spent in a forest glen, Maeve instructing her. Telling her a story about a queen who walked between worlds.

Who had not been content in the realm in which she'd been born, and had found a way to leave it, using the lost knowledge of ancient wayfarers. World-walkers.

Maeve had told her. Perhaps a skewed, biased tale, but she'd told her. Why? Why do it at all? Some way to win her-or to make her hesitate, should it ever come to this?

"But Maeve hates the Valg kings," Elide said, and even from the silent, drifting place to which Aelin had gone, she could see the razor-sharp mind churning behind Elide's eyes. "She's hidden for this long. Surely she wouldn't ally with them."

"She ran at the chance to get hold of a Valg collar," Fenrys said darkly. "Seemed convinced that she could control the prince inside it."

Not only through Maeve's power, but because she was a demon queen.

Aelin forced herself to take another breath. Another. Her fingers curled, gripping an invisible weapon.

Lorcan had not uttered a word. Had done nothing but stand there, pale and silent. As if he'd stopped being in his body, too.

"We don't know her plans," Nesryn said.

"The kharankui have not seen her for millennia, and only hear whisperings carried by lesser spiders. But they still worship her, and wait for her return."

Chaol met Aelin's stare, his gaze questioning.

Aelin said quietly, "I was Maeve's prisoner for two months."

Utter silence in the tent. Then she explained—all of it. Why she was not in Terrasen, who now fought there, where Dorian and Manon had gone.

Aelin swallowed as she finished, leaning into Rowan's touch. "Maeve wished me to reveal the location of the two Wyrdkeys. Wanted me to hand them over, but I managed to get them away before she took me. To Doranelle. She wanted to break me to her will. To use me to conquer the world, I thought. But it perhaps now seems she wanted to use me as a shield against the Valg, to guard her always." The words tumbled out, heavy and sharp. "I was her captive until nearly a month ago." She nodded toward her court. "When I got free, they found me again."

Silence fell again, her new companions at a loss. She didn't blame them.

Then Hasar hissed, "We'll make the bitch pay for that, too, won't we?"

Aelin met the princess's dark stare. "Yes, we will."

A Valg queen.

That's who had held his Fireheart. What sort of power had tried to break into her mind.

What power had broken into Rowan's mind.

All their minds, if she could glamour her blood to look and taste ordinary.

He felt the tension rising in Aelin, a raging storm that nearly hummed into his hands as he gripped her shoulders.

Yet her flames made no appearance. They hadn't shown so much as an ember these weeks, despite how hard they'd trained. Occasionally, he'd spy Goldryn's ruby gleaming while she held it, as if fire glowed in the heart of the stone. But nothing more. Not even when they'd tangled in their bed on the ship, when his teeth had found that mark on her neck.

Elide surveyed them all, their silence, and said to their new companions, "Perhaps we should determine a plan of action regarding tomorrow's battle." And give them time, later tonight, to sort through this colossal mess.

Chaol nodded. "We brought a trunk of books with us," he said to Aelin. "From the Torre. They're all full of Wyrdmarks." Aelin didn't so much as blink, but Chaol finished, "If we get through this battle, they're yours to peruse. In case there's anything in them that might help." Against Erawan, against Maeve, against his mate's terrible fate. Aelin just vaguely nodded.

So Rowan forced himself to shove away the shock and disgust and fear, and focus upon the plan ahead. Only Gavriel seemed able to do the same, Fenrys staying where he was, and Lorcan just staring and staring at nothing.

Aelin remained in her chair, simmering.

Roiling.

They planned it quickly and efficiently: they would return with Chaol and Yrene to the keep, to help with the fighting tomorrow. The khaganate royals would push from here, Nesryn and Prince Sartaq leading the ruks, and Princess Hasar commanding the foot soldiers and Darghan cavalry. A brilliantly trained, lethal group. Rowan had already marked the Darghan soldiers, with their fine horses and armor, their spears and crested helmets, while they'd strode for this tent, and breathed a sigh of relief at their skill. Perhaps the last sigh of relief he'd have in this war. Certainly if the khagan's forces hadn't yet decided where they would take this army afterward. He supposed it was fair-so many territories were now in Morath's path-but when this battle was over, he'd make damn sure they marched northward. To Terrasen.

But tomorrow-tomorrow they'd hammer Morath's legion against the keep walls, Chaol and Rowan leading the men from inside, picking off enemy soldiers.

Aelin didn't volunteer to do anything. Didn't indicate that she'd heard them.

And when they'd all deemed the plan sound, along with a contingency plan should it go awry, Nesryn only said, "We'll find you ruks to carry you back to the keep," before Aelin stormed into the frigid night, Rowan barely keeping up with her.

No embers trailed her. Mud did not hiss beneath her boots.

There was no fire at all. Not a spark.

As if Maeve had snuffed out that flame.

Made her fear it.

Hate it.

Aelin cut through the neatly organized tents, past horses and their armored riders, past foot soldiers around campfires, past the ruk riders and their mighty birds, who filled him with such awe he had no words for it. All the way to the eastern edge of the camp and the plains that stretched past, the space wide and hollow after the closeness of the army.

She didn't stop until she reached a stream they'd crossed only hours ago. It was nearly frozen over, but a stomp of her boot had the ice cracking. Breaking free to reveal dark water kissed with silvery starlight.

Then she fell to her knees and drank.

Drank and drank, cupping the water to her mouth. It had to be cold enough to burn, but she kept at it until she braced her hands on her knees and said, "I can't do this."

Rowan sank to a knee, the shield he'd kept around her while she stalked here sealing out the cold wind off the open plain.

"I-I can't—" She took a shuddering breath, and covered her face with her wet hands.

Gently, Rowan gripped her wrists and lowered them. "You do not face this alone."

Anguish and terror filled those beautiful eyes, and his chest tightened to the point of pain as she said, "It was a fool's shot against Erawan. But against him and Maeve? She gathered an army to her. Is likely bringing that army to Terrasen right now. And if Erawan summons his two brothers, if the other kings return—"

"He needs the two other keys to do that. He doesn't have them."

Her fingers curled, digging into her palms hard enough that the tang of her blood filled the air. "I should have gone after the keys. Right away. Not come here. Not done this."

"It is Dorian's task now, not yours. He will not fail at it."

"It is my task, and always has been—"

"We made the choice to come here, and we will stick to that decision," he snarled, not bothering to temper his tone. "If Maeve is indeed bringing her army to Terrasen, then it only confirms that we were right to come here. That we must convince the khagan's forces to go northward after this. It is the only chance we stand of succeeding."

Aelin ran her hands through her hair.

Streams of blood stained the gold. "I cannot win against them. Against a Valg king and queen." Her voice turned to a rasp. "They have already won."

"They have not." And though Rowan hated each word, he growled, "And you survived two months against Maeve with no magic to protect you. Two months of a Valg queen trying to break into your head, Aelin. To break you."

Aelin shook. "She did, though." Rowan waited for it. Aelin whispered, "I wanted to die by the end, before she ever threatened me with the collar. And even now, I feel like someone has ripped me from myself. Like I'm at the bottom of the sea, and who I am, who I was, is far up at the surface, and I will never get back there again."

He didn't know what to say, what to do other than to gently pull her fingers from her palms.

"Did you buy the swagger, the arrogance?" she demanded, voice breaking. "Did the others? Because I've been trying to. I've been trying like hell to convince myself that it's real, reminding myself I only need to pretend to be how I was just long enough."

Long enough to forge the Lock and die.

He said softly, "I know, Aelin." He hadn't bought the winks and smirks for a heartbeat.

Aelin let out a sob that cracked something in him. "I can't feel me-myself anymore. It's like she snuffed it out. Ripped me from it. She, and Cairn, and everything they did to me." She gulped down air, and Rowan wrapped her in his arms and pulled her onto his lap. "I am so tired," she wept. "I am so, so tired, Rowan."

"I know." He stroked her hair. "I know." It was all there really was to say.

Rowan held her until her weeping eased and she lay still, nestled against his chest.

"I don't know what to do," she whispered

"You fight," he said simply. "We fight. Until we can't anymore. We fight."

She sat up, but remained on his lap, staring into his face with a rawness that destroyed him.

Rowan laid a hand on her chest, right over that burning heart. "Fireheart."

A challenge and a summons.

She placed her hand atop his, warm despite the frigid night. As if that fire had not yet gone out entirely. But she only gazed up at the stars.

To the Lord of the North, standing watch.

"We fight," she breathed.

Aelin found Fenrys by a quiet fire, gazing into the crackling flames.

She sat on the log beside him, raw and open and trembling, but … the salt of her tears had washed away some of it. Steadied her. Rowan had steadied her, and still did, as he kept watch from the shadows beyond the fire.

Fenrys lifted his head, his eyes as hollow as she knew hers had been.

"Whenever you need to talk about it," she said, her voice still hoarse, "I'm here."

Fenrys nodded, his mouth a tight line. "Thank you."

The camp was readying for their departure, but Aelin scooted closer, and sat beside him in silence for long minutes.

Two healers, marked only by the white bands around their biceps, hurried past, arms full of bandages. Aelin tensed. Focused on her breathing.

Fenrys marked her line of sight. "They were horrified, you know," he said quietly. "Every time she brought them in to … fix you."

The two healers vanished around a tent.

Aelin flexed her fingers, shaking the lightness from them. "It didn't stop them from doing it."

"They didn't have a choice."

She met his dark stare. Fenrys's mouth tightened. "No one would have left you in those states. No one."

Broken and bloody and burned—

She gripped Goldryn's hilt. Helpless.

"They defied her in their own way," Fenrys went on. "Sometimes, she'd order them to bring you back to consciousness. Often, they claimed they couldn't, that you'd fallen too deeply into oblivion. But I knew—I think Maeve did, too— that they put you there. For as long as possible. To buy you time."

She swallowed. "Did she punish them?"

"I don't know. It was never the same healers." Maeve likely had. Had likely ripped their minds apart for their defiance.

Aelin's grip tightened on the sword at her side.

Helpless. She had been helpless. As so many in this city, in Terrasen, in this continent, were helpless. Goldryn's hilt warmed in her hand.

She wouldn't be that way again. For whatever time she had left.

Gavriel padded up beside Rowan, took one look at the queen and Fenrys, and murmured, "Not the news we needed to hear."

Rowan closed his eyes for a heartbeat. "No, it was not."

Gavriel settled a hand on Rowan's shoulder.

"It changes nothing, in some ways."

"How."

"We served her. She was ... not what Aelin is. What a queen should be. We knew that long before we knew the truth. If Maeve wants to use what she is against us, to ally with Morath, then it changes things. But the past is over. Done with, Rowan. Knowing Maeve is Valg or just a wretched person doesn't change what happened."

"Knowing a Valg queen wants to enslave my mate, and nearly did so, changes a great deal."

"But we know what Maeve fears, why she fears it," Gavriel countered, his tawny eyes bright. "Fire, and the healers. If Maeve comes with that army of hers, we are not defenseless." It was true. Rowan could have cursed himself for not thinking of it already. Another question formed, though. "Her army," Rowan said. "It's made up of Fae."

"So was her armada," Gavriel said warily.

Rowan ran a hand through his hair. "Will you be able to live with it-fighting our own people?" Killing them.

"Will you?" Gavriel countered.

Rowan didn't answer.

Gavriel asked after a moment, "Why didn't Aelin offer me the blood oath?"

The male hadn't asked these weeks. And Rowan wasn't sure why Gavriel inquired now, but he gave him the truth. "Because she won't do it until Aedion has taken the oath first. To offer it to you before him ... she wants Aedion to take it first."

"In case he doesn't wish me to be near his kingdom."

"So that Aedion knows she placed his needs before her own."

Gavriel bowed his head. "I would say yes, if she offered."

"I know." Rowan clapped his oldest friend on the back. "She knows, too."

The Lion gazed northward. "Do you think ... we haven't heard any news from Terrasen."

"If it had fallen, if Aedion had fallen, we would know. People here would know."

Gavriel rubbed at his chest. "We've been to war. He's been to war. Fought on battlefields as a child, gods be damned." Rage flickered over Gavriel's face. Not at what Aedion had done, but what he'd been made to do by fate and misfortune. What Gavriel had not been there to prevent. "But I still dread every day that passes and we hear nothing. Dread every messenger we see."

A terror Rowan had never known, different from his fear for his mate, his queen. The fear of a father for his child.

He didn't allow himself to look toward Aelin. To remember his dreams while hunting for her. The family he'd seen. The family they'd make together.

"We must convince the khaganate royals to march northward when this battle is over," Gavriel swore softly.

Rowan nodded. "If we can smash this army tomorrow, and convince the royals that Terrasen is the only course of action, then we could indeed be heading north soon. You might be fighting at Aedion's side by Yulemas."

Gavriel's hands clenched at his sides, tattoos spreading over his knuckles. "If he will allow me that honor."

Rowan would make Aedion allow it. But he only said, "Gather Elide and Lorcan. The ruks are almost ready to depart."

[inmirova]

"it's easier to leave an abusive situation than it is to stop an abuser" :^( but it's not easy :^(

[sensitivegoblin]

Vent

Tw SH, sucide