#because people that she encounter almost always expect her to be powerless

[modernwizard]

Alison meets the Master’s TARDIS

Blah blah Scream of the Shalka fanfic blah alternative Ninth Doctor in a plot device blah blah leaving Alison, black British barmaid, and the Master, evil alien super-powered robot, to piss each other the hell off figure out how to deal with each other blah blah blah actually sort of functional relationship, even if not entirely a good thing blah blah even collaborating in a diplomatic mission.

New chapters are up at AO3!

This excerpt comes when Alison’s in a frenzy of anxiety over her and the Master’s upcoming meeting with the Agricole. These are the people who created the Schuaschen, including Uscheschua, Alison’s friend, and who think that their creations are less than human. Needless to say, Alison is not looking forward to this at all.

Alison asks the TARDIS to point her in the direction of her robot. The ship, who knows very well that Alison was circumventing him even up until a few days ago, gives a trumpet peal of laughter. Nevertheless, neon yellow outlines of footprints appear on the floor, leading off down the hall. Alison follows the trail.

Alison ends up at a grandfather clock -- made of dark, glossy wood, almost black, like that of wet pine trunks -- set into the wall. It’s a grandiose edifice, as narrow as her shoulders, but at least twice as high, set with more crenellations, scrolls, and flourishes than a Baroque cathedral. The dial features Roman numerals and two flat tinplate figures pursuing each other about the rim. One of the figures appears to be a Grim Reaper, with tattered robes and a scythe, and the other a woman with bare feet and streaming hair. The figures waver, however, and, as she moves closer to stare, she finds that she can no longer discern which is which. She backs up, shaking her head. “He’s in the clock?”

The TARDIS laughs again. That’s no clock, but the Master’s TARDIS, who has been expecting Alison. At this, the glass door on the front of the clock swings open.

“Hello,” says Alison, not sure if she should be looking at the clock face or the open door. “I’m Alison Cheney. Before we go any further, I should tell you -- I don’t send out or receive telepathy, so no mental communication or control.”

Used to the Doctor’s TARDIS’ playful use of music and lights, Alison jumps like a scared cat when a wry, dry voice emanates from the clock: “Fear not, mistress. I am obliged to obey your wishes, and so we shall speak only by voice.”

“Okay...thank you.” Alison breathes a little easier.

“Well, well -- so you are the Master’s Domina.” If the ship could pace around her, inspecting from every angle, she would be doing so.

“No, the Magister’s.”

“Yes, he said that you would not call him Master, at least not in your language.”

“Not in any language!” Alison levels her glare at the clock face.

“I thought you knew Latin. Magister is master.”

Alison puts her hands on her hips. “Excuse me? I had six years of Latin. I may not remember all fifty thousand conjugations of the subjunctive, but I do remember that I called all my tutors Magister or Magistra for Teacher. When was the last time you attended a Latin tutorial on Earth?”

“The Magister’s Domina indeed!” exclaims the ship. “I must concede that even dead languages may change over time, and magister has clearly acquired other uses besides the one with which I am familiar.”

“Was that an apology? Because I didn’t hear any sorry in it.”

There’s a pause. “I am truly sorry, mistress. I was to welcome you, not antagonize you. I have squandered my chance for a good impression, and I know that I have displeased you.”

Alison wonders if he’s been teaching his ship how to properly accept responsibility for mistakes and make amends. “Okay, I accept your apology. Just don’t do it again. Why don’t we start over? What’s your name?”

“Well, I would tell you the name that the Master calls me, but it doesn’t translate into speech. It’s more of a mental image -- a flash of light across the sky.”

“Scintilla!” Alison says, the Latin word for spark.

The ship gives a gasp of delight, though she has no breath. “I like that! Scintilla it is then. Thank you, mistress; that was a very generous gift, especially when I’ve just been so rude to you.”

“Hey, I just said the word for spark; you were the one who took it as a name.”

“Dear me! The Master has just asked me why I am detaining you!” says Scintilla. “Please come in, mistress -- don’t keep him waiting.”

“Pfft. He’s a Time Lord, isn’t he? Tell him he can sit on his arse for a few minutes.”

“He’s laughing,” Scintilla reports after a second, her voice filled with wonder.

“Yeah, he does that on occasion.”

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Love, fear, peace.

My Masterlist  

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: “I wanted to request an imagine where the reader and Ivar have a 4-5 year old daughter. And while Ivar is usually very cruel, he'll do anything for his little princess. And she asks to paint his nails and have him join her for a tea party, so he does, as long as it's a secret between them but the reader ends up seeing them and her thoughts on it? I'm in a big mood to read Ivar fluff”

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: A lil bit of angst, my best attempt at fluff, just soft stuff all around, probably ooc

A/N: My friends, may I interest you in an AU where all five sons of Ragnar are alive and happy? We call it ‘denial’ where I’m from, but yeah, in this universe they’re all alive, Sigurd married off to some Saxon Princess, Ubbe in Dublin, Ivar King of Kattegat and Hvitserk with him with a family of his own goddamit, Björn fuck-knows-where avoiding commitment like he was born to do, and that’s it. Ta-da.

Ástríðr is a name derived from the Old Norse elements áss "god" and fríðr "beautiful, beloved"

Taglist: (If you wanna be added or removed lemme know!) @youbloodymadgenius​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @1950schick​ @ietss​   @peachyboneless​ @encounterthepast​ @maggiescarborough​   @chibisgotovalhalla​ @receptionistfromhell​​ 

Hvitserk greets you with a kiss on your cheek, and you thank the gesture with a smile, though your eyes are scanning the main hall.

“Where’s Ivar?” You ask as he walks at your side, greeting a few people with false smiles and courteous nods.

Hvitserk only shrugs, “I thought he was with you.”

“No, we were supposed to talk with one of the earls about the effect of a high tide, but he wasn’t there.”

“And how was it?”

“Dull,” You reply sincerely, “But I have an idea of where my husband is.”

The other man betrays a smile, “Can you blame him? It is hard to say no to her.”

Oh, you know that. She has him -and you- powerless to deny her anything since she first came to this world.

Try as he might to deny it, to keep the idea of the ruthless king that loves nothing alive, to mantain the façade of how nothing makes Ivar the Boneless falter; your daughter is an adorable force to be reckoned with, capable of making even the King of Kattegat surrender.

It is no secret, for you or any soul that encounters your husband, that Ivar loves his family, his wife and daughter, like nothing else.

The world will never forget the battles he’s won and lost, the wars he started, the kingdoms he reduced to ash, the lands he conquered. The world will never forget of all he did in the name of his ambition, in the name of his fame.

But the world will never forget what he did in the name of love either. Countless deals made, countless fights, countless plans devised and even more sacrifices made so that he could grant his daughter the safeties she deserved; so that he can give her the world and, when time comes, have her step sure, knowing the very earth and the very skies are hers.

You don’t know how much time has passed when you blink past the sleep that weighs on your lids. You find yourself as you were, resting comfortably on a seat that has progressively become just a pile of pillows and furs since the start of winter.

You still feel the comfortable weight of Ivar’s head on your lap, and you can make out his voice speaking quietly. Looking down you find him talking to the small bump on your stomach, the evidence of your child growing inside of you.

At the feeling of your fingers running through his hair, Ivar looks up and offers you a smile, before scooting even closer to your stomach.

“Tell your mother to go back to sleep. You and I aren’t done talking, Princess.”

A part of you is tempted to taunt him about how the might Ivar the Boneless is so smitten by a child not even born yet, but you choose instead to bask in the softness in his expression, in the happiness that curves his mouth.

Still, after a few moments, you offer, “They could be a Prince. Ivarsson.”

Your husband hums, presses a kiss against your stomach and settles again on his back with his head on your lap.

“We will have sons, I know,” He tells you, smile faint as he closes his eyes, “But first, we will have a daughter.

He speaks with such certainty that you cannot help but huff a laugh. Still, it is a nice thought, to have a Princess to call your own, a little girl, blessed by the Gods.

“She will be just like her mother, and she will be ours to spoil and take care of.”

“You speak as if you wouldn’t spoil our sons, Ivar. Someone else might believe that lie, but not me.” You tease, eyebrows lifted.

“Mhm, but a father grows jealous of his sons, and their fame, their triumphs.”

“No daughter of mine, or of yours, will be content without her own triumphs and conquests.”

“I know,” He replies without hesitation, proud smile widening and eyes opening to gaze up at you, “Like I said, she’ll be just like her mother.”

It was never a secret, a surprise, for you to witness Ivar love your child before she was even born; to feel his joy and his anticipation and his love in the way he spoke of that daughter you’d have, and all the sons and daughters that would come after.

You learned to love him years ago, and found beneath the cruelty and venom and bloodthirst a man that loves intensely, that willingly gave his heart to you to keep safe the day he made you his wife. So his love doesn’t surprise you, his devotion to his family doesn’t make you falter.

There were still many things that made you falter, that made you see everything with new eyes, during those months while you carried Ástríðr and in the years you’ve been fortunate enough to have her.

One of them was how the sons of Aslaug, much to your surprise and despite all their other failings, had been raised to be utterly devoted to their families. Hvitserk was almost giddy at the possibility of a niece or nephew that he could keep close to him, unlike Ubbe’s children all the way in Dublin. Ubbe, always the father figure, visited more than once and kept watchful eyes not only on you and his brother, but on everything, as if from Dublin he could look over all of you like he did while growing up. To your surprise, even Sigurd, past the animosity between him and Ivar -and all the disagreements he has had with you over the years, of course- sent word from Northumbria wishing you three the protection of the Gods.

Another of those discoveries, sadly not as heartwarming, was to witness the burden your husband carried and not being able to do anything about it. The more easily-soothed fears, like what your daughter would think of him, or whether she would be born healthy, were quietened by your voice promising him over and over that any child of yours would love him like no other, or by the soft kicks of your daughter against where his palm rested on your stomach, making tears shine in Ivar’s eyes every time.

There were deeper fears, and fears that plagued you too, that you couldn’t so easily soothe. The whisper in the back of his mind that happiness is nothing, that everything you love eventually you lose, that all his cruel ways and his mistakes would one day cost him what he holds dear. The blue eyes of the man you love, so used to seeing what others cannot, so used to planning ahead and seeing the world like his enemy does, seeing a world where at any time his fame and his conquests could cost him your life or your daughter’s.

For a man as cruel and vicious as Ivar, it is easy to forget he is not something otherworldly, some demon like the Christians say, some beast like your own countrymen claim. Sometimes, in all his rage and all his chaos, it is easy to forget he is a husband, a father, a man.

And like any man with a beating heart, especially a heart so wholly owned by his wife and daughter; Ivar fears.

Ástríðr blinks big and strikingly blue eyes, and you smile widely, unable to keep yourself from bringing your daughter closer and pressing a kiss on her head, delighting yourself in the familiar and comforting smell of your baby.

“Good morning, little one.” You whisper, and she coos in response, as if she understands.

“Is she…is she alright?” Ivar asks, moving closer to you and looking at her over your shoulder.

“Of course she is,” You smile down at your daughter, your finger tapping the tip of her tiny nose. “Our beautiful girl, she’s more than alright. She’s perfect.”

“She was…coughing.”

“That’s something babies do, Ivar, she’s fine.” You reassure him, only slightly bothered by the fact that he woke you up because your daughter coughed. You adjust your grip on Ástríðr, let her nuzzle against the column of your throat and find her sleep again.

Ivar drops his head to your shoulder, sighing against your skin and laying quite a bit of his weight on you. You sit there, your daughter against you and your husband letting you hold him up as he releases a tension you didn’t realize was there, and feel a pang of something in your heart.

After a few moments, you hold back a sigh, you try biting back your worry, and whisper, “You should sleep, love.”

“Mhm,” Ivar mumbles, but it is an argument, even if he doesn’t find the words to voice it yet. “Later.”

He has taken the awful habit of not sleeping at night. Each night when you settle in bed with Ástríðr nestled close to you, and Ivar holds you both close in his embrace; he remains awake, vigilant and expectant, watching the shadows for ghosts and enemies. You’ve noticed him faltering during the day, worsening his pain by not letting himself rest like should.

And it has only been worse since Hvitserk has been gone.

You know there are few people Ivar trusts fully, even fewer he entrusts the safety of his wife and daughter to. With just being here, Hvitserk granted his brother a peace nothing else can, a certainty that there was someone’s back to lean his own against, a promise that he could lower his guard and rest assured he wasn’t alone.

It is just a matter of days before Hvitserk returns, but you refuse to let Ivar run himself ragged.

So, you use your and not holding Ástrídr to wrap around his waist, and slowly move the three of you, as well as you can manage, back to lay on the bed.

With a slightly startled breath Ivar opens his eyes, focuses almost frantically on you and Ástríðr. You sigh again, but make use of the loss of his weight against you to settle against the pillows, holding your daughter better against your chest, your hand covering her back and holding her gently.

When you’re certain she’s comfortable, you lift your free arm and run your fingers through Ivar’s hair.

“You’ll rest.” You order, your eyes on your husband’s. He wants to argue, you know he does, a war between exhaustion and stubbornness, but it seems the pull is strong enough to even make him cave.

Ivar settles on your opposite shoulder from your daughter, his hand warm and rough as it settles over yours on her back. You chase tension off his back by running your hand up and down his back, and as both he and your daughter sleep safe and warm against you, you allow yourself a whisper of gratitude to the Gods.

You never knew what the Seer had meant when he told you so many years ago that ‘he can only use one hand and chooses to hold the sword, and for that you’ll need to hold the shield’, but now, as you hold your world close against you, you dare think that you understand the Ancient One’s words.

Eventually, the fear of something stealing her in the middle of the night passes. It always returns, that irrational fear he has that he will lose it all, that frantic paranoia that if he doesn’t plan, if he doesn’t prepare, they will take you both from him.

But as Ástríðr grows healthy and lively, the fears dwindle, or maybe they just change. And for a man that scorned the very uttering of the word, Ivar finds peace.

Through the halls, you follow the familiar sound of Ivar’s war cry, though quieter, and the adorable giggles of your daughter. Walking into your rooms, you make sure to remain hidden as you watch Ivar on the floor, holding himself up on his arms, mocking a taunt towards your daughter, daring the little shieldmaiden to attack.

A part of you is glad that this is a secret, a side of your husband, of your family, that the world will never know of. The world needn’t know of how easily Ástríðr makes her mother and father cave to her every wish, the world needn’t know of how fiercely and uncondicionally she is loved; only she needs to know of it, andn you and Ivar have made sure she lives a life knowing how loved she is.

You lean your shoulder on a pillar near the door, arms crossed over your chest but still betraying a smile.

Ástríðr brandishes a wooden sword at her father, big eyes strikingly alike Ivar’s when she focuses and finds her determination.

“I will defeat you!” She exclaims, the seriousness in her expression making your chest warm.

“You’re just a shieldmaiden, you can’t defeat me!” Ivar replies without missing a beat, faking a monster’s swipe with a hand that tries grabbing at her small foot.

Your daughter jumps out of the way with a squeal, but quickly furrows her brow adorably and lifts her chin, stubborn and arrogant.

Gods, Ivar is right, she looks so much like you.

“I am Ástríðr Ivarsdottir, I’ll always win!”

“Ah, you will, won’t you?” Ivar teases, letting go of the role of whatever beast he was supposed to be, grabbing onto your daughter and falling on his back with her in his arms, lifting the girl up and making her giggle. “Mighty shieldmaiden you’ll be, my sweet.”

“I know.” She replies without hesitation, startling a laugh out of you.

Two pairs of blue eyes turn to you, and Ástríðr wastes no time in calling out for you, squirming her way out of her father’s grasp and skipping towards you.

You kneel on the ground and welcome your daughter’s enthusiastic embrace, even if it was only this morning you last saw her.

“Did you defeat him, little one?” You ask her, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Of course I did, mama.” She replies, almost offended. Of course, look whose daughter you’re asking about a victory in battle, imaginary or not.

You catch Ivar’s eyes and whatever intent you had on chastising him for leaving you to deal with the earl alone vanishes at the softness in his gaze at he looks at you both.

Not many know of Ivar the Boneless’ love. Even fewer know of his fear.

But there’s only a few lucky ones that have seen his happiness, his peace.

You two share a look, a look that speaks not only of gratefulness for one another, but of gratefulness for this perfect blend of the two of you, of your stubbornness and his drive, of his eyes and your hair.

Ivar betrays a small smile and his eyes go to the discarded wooden sword at his side.

“Oi, shieldmaiden!” He calls out, and Ástríðr turns to him without hesitation. “You never leave your weapon behind. It is the one thing, besides your mother and me, that you can trust blindly in this world.”

Ivar motions for the sword, and your daughter dutifully goes to pick it up, only to be ambushed on the way, Ivar’s eyes trapping her to his chest.

She is startled, and lets out a loud and adorable laugh as her father once again drops to the furs at his back, his smile blinding.

“You see? If you’d had your sword, no monster would have gotten you.”

Ástríðr grumbles an argument, but Ivar only snorts a laugh. His eyes lift to yours, and he lifts his hand, calling for the touch of yours, calling for you to join them.

You sigh, but still walk to them and stretch on the furs near the fire, accepting the embrace Ivar offers you when he lifts his free arm.

You nuzzle your nose against his throat, reaching with your hand and taming Ástríðr’s wild hair.

“Do you think one day I could defeat a dragon, like the warriors you tell me about?”

“Mhm, of course. You’ll be the most famous shieldmaiden who has ever lived.” He promises her, pressing a kiss against her hair, his arm tightening and trying to bring you closer even if it is impossible.

___

I struggled a lot writing this, I don’t really know why bc it was a lovely request. I tried my best :)

I hope you liked this, lovely anon! And I’m sorry it took me so long to get it done! I love you!!

[9layerdevilfoodcake]

Some Of A Kind

Chapter 1: Virgin in the Chapel

(Michael Langdon x reader)

Summary: When you accompany your friend to a black mass at the Church of Satan. You pick the wrong time and place to let him in on the fact that you’re a virgin, garnering the attention of the ‘chosen one’ himself.

Warnings: murder, mentions of drug use, poorly represented Satanism

Word count: 3,666 (that’s right)

//

It was a typical Wednesday night when you got a text from your friend Tyler.

‘So what do you say? Is tonight the night?’

He had been bugging you for weeks to come see a sacrifice at the satanic church. And since the first time he asked, the conversation always went the same way.

/

“I’m telling you, just one slice and then you can have whatever you want”

“You mean I can have powers beyond compare?”

“Yes” he answered back, in a hopeful tone. Clearly he hadn’t picked up on the sarcasm in your voice.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the excitement in his voice.

“I’m sorry, you do whatever you want over there with your edgelords but I’m perfectly happy in my boring powerless existence”

“First of all we aren’t edgelords, we're satanists. We just see the world for what it is. A dreadful place full of selfish people.”

“Well I can’t say I argue with that”

“Exactly, so give in to being selfish, and start doing what you want. You work so hard, and for what a one bedroom apartment you can barely afford and bags under your eyes that are only getting bigger by the day?”

“Hey” you interrupt, slightly offended. Which only earns a laugh on his end.

“I’m just saying, you put in so much effort for no pay off, when you could do this one thing and have everything you deserve”

“What a cable package and a ‘skip the line’ pass at Disneyland?”

“I also get unlimited snacks!”

“Oh sorry how could I forget, well if one soul is all it takes to get a free waffle cone then what are we still doing here?!” You ask back, your tone full of mockery.

“Have you ever wondered why I can snort as much coke as I want and have never OD’d? Or why every girl I bring home is a certified 10?”

Actually you had, the two of you had met the year prior in a religious studies class when you were partnered to write a paper on whether morality was dependent on a god. He could barely get through a sentence without tripping over his words or looking away in embarrassment. It was sweet really, and by the end of the class you two had basically become best friends.

But about 2 months ago things started to change. There was almost always a girl leaving his house when you would come over.

You swore at least two of them you recognized from Victoria Secret runways.

One night you even saw a man leaving whose resemblance to Ryan Reynolds was suspiciously uncanny.

He got a new car without any explanation as to where he got the money, and he had so much coke in his living room you assumed he started dealing, before he told you it was just his stash for the weekend.

At first he was vague about everything, but eventually he told you the truth, or at least what you assumed was a version of it.

For his final project he wrote a research paper on the church of Satan.

You went with him to a couple of services when he was writing it, him being too nervous to go alone.

You both thought they seemed a little kooky, but relatively harmless.

Yet what you didn’t know was that he kept going back after the class ended and had gotten himself sworn in, and eventually given the honor of participating in a black mass.

Where he had sacrificed a school teacher in order to get these new “gifts”.

Now you weren’t naive enough to think he actually killed someone!

You were sure his new lifestyle was a part of some religious Ponzi scheme, and one day the debt collector would come calling.

You’ve watched enough documentaries to know better than to get involved with this.

But he is still your friend so you take it upon yourself to be supportive and let him have his moment, while simultaneously letting him know you’ll be here for him if the day comes that he gets excommunicated.

“I love you and I am so happy for all you’ve gotten, especially when you share it with me, but I’m good, really. I’ll let you know if I ever change my mind”

That dropped the subject for a while.

 

That is until a few days ago when you lost your job.

Well actually when your job was stolen from underneath you by your boss's son.

All it took was one night of bitching to your best friend for the talks of satanism to start up again.

//

So here you were bored on a Wednesday night actually considering his offer to watch a black mass.

‘Well…’

He texted back after a few minutes of no response on your part

‘Fine’

It’s not like he’s ever going to let up, you might as well go see what all the hubbub was about.

After he picked you up, you made your way to the church.

More precisely the back alley with a hidden door. Not at all unsettling.

And the rain pelting down on the robe he gave you just adds a nice ominese touch to what you're sure is going to be a long night.

Now inside you sit in a pew in the back. While the choir above you sings as the others file in.

They actually sound pretty good if you’re being honest. Maybe on your way out you’ll pick up the album you saw for sale in the lobby (for $6.66 no less).

You haven’t been sitting more than 10 minutes before the mass begins.

And in that time Tyler roughly explained what you were about to see.

You weren’t paying too much attention though. More enamored with the atmosphere.

It was a sea of red cloaks and black pentagrams. And the thunder outside appeared to clap along in sync with the crescendo or the choir.

This place seems vastly different from the shabby collection of misfits you encountered when you visited the first time. Who spent most of the service complaining and handed you a stale donut on your way out the door.

“...Y/n are your listening?!”

“Hmm Yea”

“Really?”

“Yea the guy’s gonna sacrifice some ‘innocent soul’ say a few hail satans and voilà he gets his hair back and starts getting laid again” you answer back, waving him off. You’re more interested in watching two Satanists in the front of the room give each other the “sign of the cross” gesture in reverse order.

“This is serious, the things you see might shock you but you can not react! If they think you’re some sort of threat to our secrets or even just afraid of them, it won’t end well. I’m kind of taking a risk by bringing you here”

That brings your attention back to your friend.

“So you hound me for weeks to come with you, but I’m not even allowed to be here?” You ask back, starting to wonder why you actually said yes to this.

“Well yea, I just really want you to see what I’ve seen, I want what’s best for you”

That was actually really sweet of him.

Now you felt a little bad for making fun of this so much.

That is until you see a man in the next row pull out a flask with “unholy water” written on it and rub it on his chest like Vick’s.

But before you get the chance to ask Tyler where he keeps his flask(which you're certain he has). The choir stops singing and the Priestess has the room's attention.

Everything goes as Tyler explains at first.

The “sacrifices” are brought in in their underwear. (They couldn’t even keep their clothes on, what does the devil give them a level up if the victims are humiliated before they die?) and tonight's chosen one, Phil, is about to take his position, before you hear a voice behind you.

“Wait!”

You turn your head to see an older woman rushing in, but it’s not her that steals your focus it’s who walks in behind her.

He is quite possibly the most attractive person you have ever seen. With cheekbones that could slice butter and soft blonde hair falling around icy blue eyes.

She says his name is Michael and this honor belongs to him.

You look over to Tyler to see what’s going on. He didn’t explain what part of the performance this was, was this some sort of second act surprise?

You were expecting this night to follow like a church service, watching Phil take his vows and minimal audience participation. Now you wonder if this is all rehearsed, or if the Satanist’s are partial to improv?

But Tyler pays you no mind, he can’t take his eyes off the blonde either.

It’s not until the Priestess mentions the “mark of the beast” and that he is the chosen one, that you get why Tyler is looking at him like he’s some sort of god.

Because to him he is, this guy is supposed to be the Antichrist.

Tyler says nothing only glances in your direction when he sees you’re the only one still standing, before he pulls you down to your knee like everyone else.

The rest of the performance is really top notch.

The flickering of the lights was a nice touch, but you can’t help but feel a little uneasy wondering how they keep getting the thunder to time up with everything they do.

Plus the bodies of the sacrifices fell to the ground almost too well.

How did they manage to get their bodies to look that lifeless, and why did those cuts look so deep?

But you try not to focus too much on it as you walk to the ceremonial Wednesday night potluck.

/

After the Antichrist has dismissed his followers from fawning all over him, you sit with Tyler at the end of the table and dig into your lasagna.

“So does the antichrist part happen at every sacrifice or is this one special? Is it some Satanic holiday I wasn’t aware of?” You ask, breaking Tyler out of whatever trance he appears to be stuck in.

“What?”

“I gotta say the dramatics were very entertaining, but if you really wanted to get me here all you had to do was tell me the guy who plays the Antichrist is really hot” you snicker under your breath.

“Play? Y/n your don’t understand he IS the Antichrist” he explains in a hushed voice before continuing

“That doesn’t happen every time, he really has come. This is the moment we’ve all been waiting for! Don’t you see?! I think it was fate you came here on this night!”

“Ha, why do you need a virgin to sacrifice or something?” You laugh and take another bite before you look over and see Tyler staring at you with wide eyes.

“What?”

“You’re not serious are you?”

“Well yea, what’s the big deal, I didn’t realize you were so caught up on a social construct”

“I’m not, but you can’t say things like that around here” he looks around the room nervously and you follow his path of vision until your eyes land on Michael, who’s own gaze is locked on you.

There’s no way he heard you, you were across the room and you were whispering.

Still he continues to stare with eyes that speak only of intensity. No smile, no nod, no hint emotion whatsoever.

It’s only after you raise your brows and mouth a “What?” That he looks back down at his plate with a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Oh Satan, I think he heard you. You should go” Tyler’s tone becoming more erratic by the second.

“What?” You’re sure he's joking, but when he looks at you there is nothing but worry in his eyes.

Now you’re starting to get nervous, this is too far.

He actually thinks these people are going to do something?

He’s practically shaking with fear, and because of the man in the turtleneck? Who barely knows how to hold a spoon?

Okay you’ll play along for tonight, but tomorrow you are having a serious talk, he might need professional help.

“Alright let's go then” you huff out as you start to grab your belongings.

“I can’t just leave, especially since our savior is here, but I’ll make sure everything is good and you’re not followed or anything”

“Okay, is there some sort of satanic shuttle bus that can take me home? Or should I call an Uber? Does this place have an address or should I just send them an inverted cross?”

Still unamused by your inability to grasp the gravity of the situation, he just shakes his head and hands you his keys.

“Here just take my car, I’ll get a ride later, in fact stay at my house incase you’re followed”

He’s basically pushing you out of your seat and nodding to the door.

“Okay...bye I guess”

And with that you take off down the hall.

You know you’re supposed to go straight to the car. You’ve never seen Tyler look so serious in his life.

But when you walk past the chapel you can’t help but stop. You can still see the bodies up at the altar.

Why are they still there? Was there a trap door you missed and these were just doubles?

Or were these people so committed to the role and as crazy as your friend that they had to stay in the character of “dead sacrifice” all night?

Curiosity got the better of you, the car could wait, you had to see for yourself.

Closer inspection did nothing to stifle your suspicions.

It looked so real.

They weren’t breathing, so there was no way they were still the two actors, but you had never seen fake bodies look so real.

You're reminded of an anatomy class you took last semester.

Those cadavers looked suspiciously close to these.

Just colder and with less life left in their faces.

And there was so much blood, the iron was thick in the air.

But that couldn’t be true. Your friend wouldn’t kill someone would he?

He didn’t actually think they would kill you?

If you got a closer look, if you just swiped some of the “blood” with your pointer finger it would surely taste like corn syrup and not like…

“Are you afraid?”

You whip your head around, blood still staining your finger and beginning to drip onto the linoleum. To see Michael walking in the same way he had an hour earlier. Only this time without the cloak, but with some newly added confidence.

“They’re really dead aren’t they?” You know it’s true, but you still wait for his confirmation.

“Yes, that tends to happen when you slice someone’s throat” He acts as if this shouldn’t be a shock to you. It didn’t shock any of the other members of the congregation. Yet you know without him saying it, that he’s well aware you’re not like the others. That you don’t belong here.

“So you really sacrifice people, just to get stuff” you blurt out. Still trying to wrap your head around the fact that everything you witnessed tonight was real. Perhaps you shouldn’t have taken that last crescent roll you’d seen another satanist eyeing at dinner, you definitely have a curse coming your way. That is if you live through the night.

“Well not me” Michael says, pulling you out of your thoughts and back to the present.

“Oh of course, you’re the one they do it for”

“Well my father more specifically”

“Does that upset you?” You know you should be more careful about how you proceed with this conversation, but the words leave your mouth before your mind can stop them.

The question seems to catch him by surprise as he ruffles his brow, you’re not sure if it’s in anger or just shock at your brazenness. But he doesn’t answer. Just goes on to question you.

“Have you ever witnessed a murder before?”

“No”

“How did you feel watching it before your eyes?”

“Well I didn’t feel much, considering I thought it was all fake” That earns you a smile from him.

“And how do you feel now?”

“Curious”

“Really? Not scared?”

“No. Why should I be?” You’re really digging your own grave here. But your mouth seems to have a mind of its own.

“It seems your friend would say otherwise”

“Ah so you did hear.” You say, seeing his smile grow wider. “These aren't the days of the Old Testament, virginity doesn’t equally purity. Just ask sacrifice number one over there, with a body like that I doubt she was a virgin” you laugh, partially at your joke and partially out of sheer uncomfortableness. Michael doesn’t even spare the bodies a glance, eyes latched onto you, you go on to add

“I’m no saint. Despite my sexual history, or lack thereof”

“No, I’m sure you’re not” he emphasizes by swiping some of the liquid from your finger with his own, before taking it into his mouth. Making a show of it by closing his eyes as he releases it from his lips, slow as molasses. Smiling when he opens his eyes and sees you’re practically drooling.

Before his little show can go any further, you continue with your own questions.

“Have you killed people before?”

“Yes”

“How many?”

“You don’t have the time”

He’s looking at you waiting for your response. Waiting for the shock to subside and the shrieks of terror to take over.

Instead you just pause thinking everything over.

You should be scared, you know you should.

In one night you have watched two people die, found out your friend is a murderer, and that the Antichrist is not only NOT a myth, but is standing in front of you, conversing with you like he’s nothing more than your new neighbor.

Yet you search and search in your mind for any hint of fear and come up empty. All you feel is curiosity. You must be losing it too, you feel bad for judging Tyler so harshly. Maybe it’s his youthful face and the little outburst in the dining hall earlier, but Michael seems like more than simply the ‘incarnation of evil’. He seems so...human.

And more than anything he just seems confused and dare you say, lost.

“Do you like killing people? Or do you do it because it’s expected?”

“It depends”

“Would you like to kill me?”

Now it’s his turn to take pause, looking like he’s trying to decide if he’s “in the mood” to take your life.

“Not right now”

You can’t help but laugh at that (yea you’re definitely in shock). Soon enough he joins in too, and the mood feels lighter than it has all night. You might even say you feel comfortable.

That is until the laughter subsides and you meet his eyes. He’s now staring at you with the same intensity you’d met earlier at dinner.

It’s like he’s looking right through you, into your soul. You feel on display and more than anything afraid of what he might find.

“Stop that”

“Stop what?” He says with a playful tone and a tilt of his head.

“You’re..well..I don’t know what you’re doing but I don’t like it. You’re trying to get a read on me or something.”

He just smiles at that, because of course he does.

You know there is no avoiding playing into his hand. He wants to get a rise out of you, in one way or another.

“And what do yo-”

“Y/N!”

At the mention of your name you both turn to see Tyler standing in the doorway.

Antichrist or not, the look Michael gives him is enough to send a wave of fear up your spine.

He appears as though he’s about to snap his neck through just a look(and you're afraid to find out if he could).

Noticing his anger, Tyler stops and bows before Michael, apologizing incessantly for interrupting him.

You don’t miss the twitch of Michael’s lips. He’s clearly loving the effects he has on his followers.

You just roll your eyes at your friend.

“Calm down Tyler, get up”

He just let’s your words pass over him as if you hadn’t even spoken. If he hadn’t been the one to call your name a moment ago, you wouldn’t be sure he even knew you were in the room.

Every sense he had was aimed at Michael, and it was only when his precious dark lord gave him a nod that he got up and looked your way again.

“What are you doing? I thought you were going home?” He says through clenched teeth.

If he weren’t so worried about keeping you alive he would be pissed at you for not listening.

“I was. I am” you reassure him turning to Michael.

“It was a pleasure to meet you Michael, I’ll see myself out”

You are scurrying out of the room, grabbing a frozen Tyler and tugging him along with you, when Michael calls after you.

“No y/n, the pleasure was all mine.”

You’re at the end of the hall, and in the middle of Tyler’s scolding session, when you realize there is still blood on your finger.

It feels like it’s vibrating where Michael touched you, begging you to take notice.

Just wipe it on your jeans, you tell yourself.

Wait until you get to the car and find a napkin.

Do anything rational other than what you're thinking.

As you pass through the exit door, you cave and take a taste of the crimson on your finger.

Although you can’t see him, you know Michael is smiling. You can feel his smugness in the air around you and you're sure he knows what you just did.

This started out just as me wanting to make some jokes about Michael and the Satanists and has somehow turned into a multi-chapter fic. I still don’t really know where it’s going I’m just letting it take on a mind of it’s own. If it looks familiar it’s cuz it’s been on ao3 for a little bit now, so sorry it’s not a “new” new story! If you liked it that makes me very happy, and if not I hope it was at least entertaining! Either way thank you for reading!

(I wasn’t sure who wanted to be tagged just in my Xavier fic and who did in general so I didn’t add a tag list to this one)

[dayseternal-blog]

do you know any mafia/spay nh au? 😁😁 thank you in advance!!

I do!  There are many!!  These are two of my favorite tropes to read!!!!!!!!!! 😄😄

NaruHina Mafia/Gangs AU

“When the Devil Picks Up a Stray” by callmesenorita - Rated E, A/B/O Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. Hinata, an Omega, questions buried feelings when she decides to help a childhood friend who has adopted a new persona under the name Menma. Although their attraction is instant he is no longer the Naruto she once knew, and soon enough Hinata is thrust into a dangerous yakuza conspiracy. 

“Bound” by suryass - Rated E, Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Series of One-shots/Incomplete. Mafia AU-Collection of oneshots.

“July - Movie-Inspired” from “Still Falling For You” by @chloelapomme - Rated T, Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. Naruto and Hinata peacefully live with each other. Well, almost peacefully…

“Powerless” by @bunny-hoodlum - Rated E for a lot of things like depictions of violence and character death, High School AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. - His family’s past can’t be taken at face-value, and it comes clawing back to hurt him in ways that are out of his control.  DELETED FIC.

“Opposites Attract” by KyuubiLover100 - Rated E, High School AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Citizens of Konoha all know that "The Light cannot exist without casting its Shadow." It's the unspoken system that the city runs on. Everyone knows their place and their roles. Those in the Shadows do what those in the Light cannot. Uzumaki Naruto knows this and has known this since he was young. Hyuuga Hinata knows this as well and understands her Father's wished, but still...

“put on your warpaint” by @borzbois - Rated M, Tattoo Artist/College AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Hinata meets a stranger with beautiful tattoos. She never could have guessed the turn her life would take when she asked to draw him.

“MOB” by @bkgsbby - Rated M (?, I think), Mafia/Arranged Marriage AU, Socmed format, Ongoing. When Hiashi can’t repay the debt he owes Kushina, he offers his daughter instead.

“All Kinds of Wrong” by Kieren - Rated E, Infidelity/Modern AU, One-shot. It was ironic how something so pure had sprung from such a sordid arrangement. They were perfect for each other. But they had met at the wrong time.

“Pink Chiffon” by @scalding-coffee-cup - Rated M, Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. During the day, she wears pink chiffon and nude pumps; her glossed lips curve into an innocent smile. At night, she struts down the alleyway in black stilettos and wears a scowl on her red lips. The pistol is her most expensive accessory.

“Molasses” by EroPrincess - Rated E, Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Adult film star, Hinata Hyuga, encounters a fledgling underground kingpin, Naruto Uzumaki. Is it possible for a romance to blossom between two people from very different worlds?

“Second Chances” by enzhe - Rated T, High School AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. Namikaze Naruto was abducted, then declared dead. Twelve years after he disappeared, his parents find him: now a scrappy, reckless teenager, with good friends, a lot of trauma, and ties to the murderous, anarchist Nine-Tails gang. As the family tries to put itself together, trust breaks, hurts heal, and the power struggles that led to Naruto's abduction resurface.

“Dirtbags// The Fox” by OwlwaysHungry - Rated M, Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Naruto and his friends end up having to work for a notorious drug dealing gangster by the name of Kyuubi after a not so satisfying night out.

“a home is a dream” by girlbaldwin - Rated M, Modern AU, One-shot. Naruto Uzumaki returns home with all the force maelstrom, three days after her husband’s disappearance and six years since she went and stumbled on Neji’s body floating in the creek downtown.

“Gangster AU” from “Tales of Two Ninjas” by @magmawrites​ - Rated M, Modern AU, One-shot. This world is an endless cycle of destruction, no matter how hard you try to stop it and sometimes the innocent get involved in the crossfire.

“What He Wants” by agitosgirl - Rated M, Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Hinata Hyuuga is an average girl struggling, and failing to stay on top of things. But everything in her life changes once she meets a handsome stranger at club. She knows that he wants her, but doesn't realize that he has the power, and the determination to do whatever it takes to make her his, no matter the cost.

Untitled collab w/ @matchaball for anon by @utsus​ - Rated T, Modern AU, One-shot. Prompt: She’s his ace in the cards that no one sees coming (that they honestly should’ve seen) and yes: she dislikes violence.

NaruHina Spy AU

“Made in Heights” by @utsus - Rated E, Modern AU, Long One-Shot/Incomplete. Hinata is definitely skilled enough to infiltrate the highly secured Uchiha party and steal sensitive intel that will save lives.  It’s just a matter of making it out alive.

“Spy AU” from “Tales of Two Ninjas” by @magmawrites - Rated M, Modern AU, One-shot. They were one of the best teams The Agency had ever seen. Until they broke one of their most important rules…don’t fall in love with your partner.

“Lady Usagi” by @mmmbuttery - Rated G, Canon-Divergent AU, One-shot. A quiet girl working in an inn meets a noisy young lord, but all is not as it seems.

Untitled wip by @matchaball - Rated T, Modern AU, One-shot. He will always entrust her to watch his back in a heartbeat.

“Team 7″,  “Team 8″, and “Stellar Interview” by Journalist298 - Rated T, Modern AU, 3 Related one-Shots. Stories of the Konoha Security Agency.

“Reaching you” by Wasabisugar - Rated M, College/University AU, Multi-chapter, Unfinished. As an undercover elite spy with a mission expected to last several years ahead, Hinata is ordered to acquire information from the owner of La Vie Global Resorts - Uzumaki Naruto - surrounding a massive drug deal. However, the man she's met with is nothing like what she expected and she soon finds herself developing feelings for the one person she is set out to expose.

And there’s the one I wrote “Undercover” - Rated E, Canon-Divergent AU, Multi-chapter, Unfinished. Naruto and Hinata join the Twelve Guardian Ninja of the Land of Fire's Daimyo. But not really. Their mission is to smoke out the rat among them who's selling political secrets to insurgents, while making sure the other Guardians don't figure them out. Neither can tell when their acting became so convincing. 

That’s everything I could think of!!!!!!  I worked all night on this omg why 😪 lol It’s because I kept on rereading!!!!!  HOW COULD I NOT WITH THIS GOLD.

PLEASE ENJOY!!!  HAPPY READING!!!!

[childrenofthenightt]

heart of gold (chapter one)

pairing: robert plant x florence bennett (oc)

warnings: domestic abuse, misogyny, description of (past) injury, just... absolute fuckery

words: 3.3k

summary: trapped in a loveless marriage to a powerful man, florence bennett lives every day in despair. after a chance encounter with a golden-haired actor, florence finds that her life will never be the same again.

author’s note: so. this is a nice little period piece, because what else am i gonna do with the history degree i'm studying for. please note that the views of one mr. bennett (and friends) are not my own. hope you enjoy :) feedback, as always, is appreciated!

masterlist

playlist

------

Nightgown swaying in the soft breeze of a crisp fall morning, Florence stands outside the door of the ornate music room. Notes of beautiful melancholy and bitter hope filter softly through the wooden door, slightly ajar, a broken barrier to the outside world.

Looking through the small crack, Florence gazes upon the face of her friend and confidante, John Paul Jones. Too enthralled in his playing to notice the distraction, he never lets up, heavenly melodies echoing against the marble walls.

John was rather short, thin, with straight tawny hair that framed his strong jaw, softening his face. His stormy gray eyes and high cheekbones give the immediate impression of royalty, of which he was not. A lowly servant of the master of the gorgeous manor, Mr. Allen Bennett, John’s time was divided between his seemingly never-ending list of chores and his music.

An orphan from an early age, John was adopted into the local church and took what little knowledge of the piano that remained from his childhood and put it to good use. Listening to the man playing now, it is apparent that he had kept this skill sharp.

“That is a beautiful song, John,” Florence giggles, a beaming smile on her face at the sight of her friend sitting at the sleek grand piano. “I would appreciate you teaching me to play this well, though I know that my lovely husband would rather die than to see me touch a single key on this beautiful instrument. The bloody bastard.”

“Ah, what lovely words from a lovely woman… Florence, I don’t necessarily disagree with you, but I’m not sure we should be insulting your husband in such an open space.”

“John, my dear friend, I do apologize for my sharp tongue, but I believe it is warranted,” Florence says, taking a seat beside John, smoothing her lace nightgown. John’s fingers still press softly on the piano keys, as he plays a simple tune. “I’ve seen the way he treats you and the servants. As much as I wish to change this for you and the others, I am powerless. This is the only way I may hope to keep my sanity.”

“Very well,” John says, a soft laugh punctuating the end of his sentence. “Though I hope, for your sake, that he doesn’t catch wind of this, or else we are both in trouble!”

“John, pardon me, but I do need to take Florence off your hands for now.”

John’s hands pause, the room falling into silence.

A soft voice belonging to one James Page filters through the open door, interrupting the moment between the two friends. A lean man of average height, with a shock of long midnight curls and eyes a kaleidoscope of colour, James Page is yet another servant indebted to the cruel Mr. Bennett. Whereas John tends to steer clear of the man, and subsequently, punishment, James witnesses Bennett’s anger much too often. Unwilling to submit to Bennett’s furious dictatorship, he often receives the brunt of the man’s mistreatment.

Upon entering the music room, a dark bruise is visible, blossoming on the man’s eye, surely another ‘reward’ for his defiance. James sends the pair a shy smile, and with twin looks of concern, John and Florence take in the state of their friend.

“James! My goodness, your eye looksー”

“It’s nothing, John.”

“Nothing? That certainly looks likeー”

“It is nothing that hasn’t happened before. Please leave it, Florence.”

“A-Alright… What did you need, James?” Florence says, absentmindedly twiddling her fingers, a nervous habit of hers.

“Well, my friend, a certain someone is going to be requesting your presence very soon. I thought it best to warn you ahead of time, so you can prepare.”

With a smile thrown to John over her shoulder, Florence bounds over to her raven-haired friend, hooking an arm through his. James, comfortable with the casual touch of the woman, leads her to her room with a final wave to John.

Navigating through the maze of grand halls of the manor, the wealth of the owner is more noticeable. Shades of red and gold flirt with rich browns, lit by immense crystal chandeliers. Priceless paintings adorn the walls, trapped, much like the lady of the house, in embellished shining frames, just expensive enough to throw shadows on the pain and suffering that happens under the surface.

Not yet rid of the worry that James’s beaten appearance had brought her, Florence unlinks their arms. Ensuring the door to her bedroom is shut, she pulls James closer to her with a hand on his elbow. Her other hand flies to his face, assessing the damage done to it.

“James, I am aware that you do not wish to submit to my husband. That is your choice to make. I will stand by you, always.”

“I appreciate this, my friend.”

“But you must be careful. You don’t know what he is capable of, and neither do I,” says Florence, a grave look of concern gracing her features. “James, I need you here with John and I, not 6 feet underground in an unmarked grave. I know it is not in your nature, but please do try and be careful?”

“I will try,” James’ hand raises, landing in his long dark hair. Raking his nails across his scalp, his lips lift into a crooked smirk. “Though this is an interesting development.”

“Pardon me?”

“The wife of the madman has a heart. And I thought this trope was only found in the books shelved in that gigantic library of yours.” James’ chuckle echoes across the grand hallway. Usually filled with suffocating silence, the halls of the manor serve as another reminder of the terror that fills its occupants. “Now, I understand that you have afternoon tea with Mr. Bennett and his mother, so I will leave you to prepare.”

And with that, the stubborn servant is gone with a click of the closing door.

Minutes later, Florence, finally dressed in a ruffled scarlet dress, a sunhat perched on her head, reaches out to turn the doorknob.

A second too slow.

The door is opened from the other side, and the woman is met with the face of her husband, mouth contorted into a permanent frown.

Allen Bennett was a short, burly man, with close-cropped hair and dark eyes. What he lacked in height he made up for in power and prestige, swindling people out of their money in back alley deals at night, and running the city as mayor by day. This man is not to be crossed, and he knows it. Everybody does.

Gazing at his wife with disinterest, he scoffs, immediately glimpsing the beautiful dress she is wearing. His eyes almost glow in their anger.

“Hm. I thought I had told you that dress looks atrocious on you before. Take it off right this instant. You are not a whore, my love, so you will not dress like one.”

“Yes, dear.”

“Wonderful. I expect you in the foyer in 20 minutes, not a minute later. We must attend a meeting with my mother. I am sure you have been notified of this.”

“Yes, dear.”

With a quick peck on the lips of his wife, Mr. Bennett is gone, and the unfortunate Ms. Bennett feels as though she can finally breathe again. Changing into a sky blue number, she is struck by the thought that this cannot last forever. This treatment of the servants and of Florence herself. The control this vile man has over everyone. The unhappiness and unease he supplies wherever he goes.

This simply cannot last, can it?

-------------------

“Florence. Are you listening, dearie?” A grating, sickly sweet voice breaks the woman from her reverie, a storm in her sea of dreams. Florence takes a sip of her tea and smiles apologetically at the older woman across from her. The woman, satisfied once more, launches into a tedious story about her shopping excursion the day before. Feigning delight at the tale, Florence’s eyes travel around the sun-lit tearoom, with its gleaming surfaces and tall, gold-lined ceilings. Truly a beautiful creation.

“... And, my son, as I was exiting the shop on St. Thomas’s Street, you know the one…” Florence catches the eyes of her husband, glaringly angry as per usual, and at this, she realizes the older woman had paused in her story once more, shooting her an irate scowl.

“Mrs. Bennett, I must apologize for my inattention. My mind was indeed elsewhere, I am terribly sorry.”

“It’s quite alright, girl. Does my son deal with this offensive daydreaming as well? If he does, we must fix this immediately!” Mrs. Bennett titters, cigarette dangling precariously from her lips.

“Mother, it’s quite alright. You mustn't worry about this,” Allen says, leering at his wife as though she was a prize to be won. “My wife knows her place. At least I do hope she does…” The mother and son erupt into giddy laughter at the horrible joke, Florence following uncomfortably, quivering smile creasing her face.

“My goodness,”  Mrs. Bennett wipes her eyes of phantom tears with a lily white handkerchief. The woman takes a drag of her cigarette, and huffs a plume of smoke in Florence’s face. “How old are you now, dearie?”

“A month ago, I reached my 23rd birthday. Allen bought a beautifully crafted sapphire bracelet for the occasion.”

“So thoughtful, my son. You are of age, of course. May I ask when you two are planning to conceive?”

“Well, as of this moment, we were notー”

“You may still be… young, but the only use you are to us, my dear, is to create a wonderful child,” Mrs. Bennett, eyes scrunched up in mock kindness, takes the young woman’s hands from across the table and strokes her thumb across the elegant wrist. “I know you would be a very capable mother. As a result of this, I am expecting a lovely grandson or daughter to call my own.”

“O-of course… Thank you for your counsel, Mrs. Bennett.”

“My pleasure, dear. Now, my son, where was I…?” The woman says, launching into her story once more. “Ah, yes…”

Florence, try as she had, could not take her mind off of the words of the matriarch. As a young girl, she had wished to be a writer, a musician, maybe. What she had not planned for was a truly unhappy marriage to an evil man, doomed to the static life of a housewife. She had loved Allen once. In the beginning. He had supported her and her dreams, and she had loved him in return. She had loved his humour, and his chivalry. His treatment of others. This was but a ruse, of course.

A year after their courting had transformed into a union, Allen Bennett had changed. Florence had finally met the man behind the mask of charisma and kindness. She had gotten too close, and now she is stuck, like a bird with a shattered wing, unable to escape.

“Thank you for a lovely time, Mother, as always,” says Allen, placing twin kisses on her heavily rouged cheeks. “Come now, Florence, we must return home immediately.”

“Thank you Ms. Bennett, for your advice and hospitality. We must do this again sometime.”

“Lovely idea, dearie. Hopefully, the next time I will be able to finish my story without you nodding off!” Ms. Bennett drawls, smirk hanging off her lips like the fancy cigarettes she so often smokes.

Formalities over and done with, the couple step out into the fresh afternoon air and into the waiting carriage that had brought them. Once inside, Mr. Bennett shoots out a strong hand, clutching his wife’s arm in a bruising grip. She lets out a surprised gasp, caught off guard by the sudden pain dealt to her by the man.

“Florence, Florence, Florence… What on God’s green earth will we do with you?” says the man, squeezing harder with each repetition of his wife’s name. “You are incapable of paying attention. You can only dream of meeting my mother’s expectations, the way you have acted today.”

“Allen, I am tryingー”

“You are not trying hard enough! You never have! Why I married a whore like you, I have no idea.”

The vice grip on Florence’s arm grows ever stronger, and she feels wretched anger in her heart, climbing up her throat. With a gaze of fire, she retaliates. “Allen, let go of me! I have done nothing wrong, and as a reward I receive your anger and a bruise to boot!”

Gazing into Allen’s eyes, Florence is confused, frightened even, at the horrible amusement dancing in them. Quick as lighting, before she could even register the action, the woman feels a sharp pain grace her cheek, and, with growing horror, she witnesses Allen’s raised hand begin to lower.

“My dear, you must know your place in this house,” whispers Allen in a venomous tone, bringing his wife ever-closer to him. “You will stay quiet and obedient. There is no other option for you, I’m afraid. Alright?”

“Y-yes.”

“Lovely. Tonight, we must attend a play at the theatre you love so much. This is an important appearance, very good for business. Please do try not to ruin it.”

Florence nods minutely, pressing her palm to her burning cheek. A crimson streak spoils the otherwise pristine white of her glove. She had forgotten that Allen wore rings.

“You will not speak to anyone. You will appear happy and in love, the image of a perfect wife. You will dress in your best garments,” Allen rattles off, smugness dripping from his features. He’s proud of this; proud of the power he holds over her. The power he holds over everyone. “That is all I ask of you. A list of tasks that someone as useless as you could complete with ease. Is that clear?”

“Yes, dear.”

-------------------

“Flo—”

“John, I—”

“My Goodness, your cheek! What happened?” The dulcet voice of one John Paul Jones rang through the quiet of the hall. Florence, caught in her attempt to make it to her room unnoticed, deflates and faces her friend.

“John… I’m sorry, but I do not have time to talk right now,” Florence rushes out, face pinched as she checks the time on the ornate grandfather clock in the corner of the foyer. Must have costed a million, though it meant nothing to Allen, of course. “I am attending a performance at the theatre with Mr. Bennett, and time is… of the essence, I’m afraid.”

“I understand, I truly do, but Florence… was this Mr. Bennett’s doing? You must tell me what happened.” John gestures to the woman’s cheek, which is tinted red from the force used against her.

Sighing, Florence takes John’s hand and leads him into her room, once again the door is shut and promptly locked. She takes a seat on the immaculately-made bed and gestures for her longtime friend to follow suit. John sits, smoothing out his work-wrinkled shirt, and looks down at Florence expectantly.

Taking the man’s hand, she looks into his gemstone eyes, and recounts the story of what had transpired early that day.

“After all that had happened, I was, in my opinion, justifiably angry, so I took a page, pardon the pun, out of James’ book. It seems that my beloved was not a fan of this particular chapter, and he made that quite clear.”

“And the cut? The blood on your glove?”

“I had forgotten that Allen had the propensity to wear rings,” Florence whispers with an acerbic giggle, eyes pained and downcast now. “I doubt that I will be forgetting this anytime soon.”

John meets the woman’s gaze, and notices the beginning of tears brimming her eyes. He takes Florence’s hand in his, a silent offer of comfort that she would never refuse.

“John, as much as I adore your company,” says Florence with a peal of wet laughter. He knows Florence is avoiding the subject, but he lets her. She’ll talk to him, eventually. “I must get dressed for the performance. Hopefully, after we return, I could witness some of your incredible talent on the piano?”

“Of course, of course!” John exclaims, standing now, as, once again, he gently takes hold of Florence’s hands, now rid of the soiled glove. “But Florence, before I leave… Please be careful. James and I, we couldn’t bear to see further pain come to you. Please, for us, be cautious.”

“I will do my best, John. Thank you.”

John presses a quick kiss to Florence’s cheek in passing, and exits the room, and the woman is left alone again. Slipping on a lovely ensemble painted lilac and silver, the woman lets her thoughts wander.

She’s been alone quite often lately, after all. Her only friends in the house are John and James after all, the other servants too frightened by the man she married. Florence certainly does not blame them. She can’t say that she minds the solitude either, if it gets her away from Allen.

The intricately paneled door opens with a sharp click, and Allen waltzes in, leering at his wife, as if the thoughts drifting through her mind were audible to the man.

“Ah, Florence. I am glad that you've finally learned to dress yourself. Thank God himself for that.”

Florence, cheek still stinging from the blow dealt to it earlier, has only the mind to nod and smile as warmly as she can manage. This is taken as permission by Bennett, who caresses his wife’s uninjured cheek with the tips of his fingers, as if he thought her to be precious. Florence bristles at the touch, a string of rather unladylike words at the ready, but she holds her tongue, remembering her promise to John. She would be cautious, act like the perfect wife. She would be safe.

“Come now, my love,” whispers Allen, into his wife’s ear, beckoning her closer with a finger under her chin. “We have a show to attend.”

Palm outstretched towards his wife, Allen helps Florence into the waiting carriage, uncharacteristically gentle, as he always is in public. Public image means everything, and Allen Bennett is picture-perfect in that respect.

“My love, I remember how you love the theatre. I do hope this play captures your attention.”

“As do I, dear,” Florence says, voice wavering ever-so-slightly under the scrutiny of her husband. “Though I do not know if I have knowledge of this particular play.”

“I believe it’s called ‘The Voysey Inheritance’. It details the scandals of a family thought to be perfect, polite and proper. Interesting, is it not?” At that, Allen has pasted on a cheshire grin.

Sounds familiar, Florence thinks, silently cursing her husband and his monstrous greed. If only she had known, walking into this. Known about the sides, dangerous, that he hadn’t shown until it was too late. Until she was trapped.

Finding their seats, the couple take in the gorgeous marble pillars and the ruby, velvetine seats. The shining wood of the stage is visible from the upper flights, where elite folk like Sir Bennett make themselves at home. The massive carmine curtains remain closed, shielding the growing audience from the scenes that are set to come to life. Florence has always loved the beauty of this theatre, and, though it has been years since she has last stepped foot inside of it, she is charmed anew.

The lights of the theatre dim, signalling the start of the show. Florence grins into the still darkness, excitement for the performance growing. Casting her eyes to the stage below, she puts aside her worries. She completely forgets about the vile man sitting next to her, mind filling with the orchestral opening music of the play. She is home.

The curtains open slowly, and Florence loses her breath. There, on stage, is the most beautiful man Florence has ever laid eyes on. She cannot focus on the words flowing from his thin lips, for she is distracted by the halo of golden curls surrounding the man. His romanesque nose is prominent and his eyes, stormy skies in an ocean of blue, are captivating. His curls, spun silk, bounce across his broad shoulders, as he commands the stage. The actor’s luxurious suit glints navy in the blinding lights on him, accentuating his muscled body. He is not phased in the slightest by the attention firmly placed on him. Completely in his element.

He enchants her, as though he was a wizard, and she, the poor soul under his spell. A snake charmer that she’s read about in books found in the gigantesque manor library, and her, the sin-riddled reptile under his control. He is forbidden fruit, and she wants a taste.

The performer is ethereal, and Florence cannot take her eyes off of him. She must find out who he is, somehow.

------

taglist: @jimmys-zeppelin @salixfragilis @timetraveller4 @earthfire-75 @thatiloveyouso @jonesyjonesyjonesy @jimmypages @kyunisixx (let me know if you want to be added!)

[retrievablememories]

why don’t you love me | taeyong

title: why don’t you love me pairing: taeyong x black!reader genre: angst, some fluff request: “Taeyong is dating a black girl who SM doesn’t know about and they get into an argument because they’ve been dating for 2 years and he hasn’t told any of the members of NCT . She wants to break up but he doesn’t want to let her go. She accidentally meets Jaehyun and they become friends(Taeyong doesn’t know) and he wants to introduce her to the members so she decides to use this as an opportunity to meet them so Taeyong can crack and tell them about her which he still won’t do out of fear. ❤️” word count: 3.3k warnings: unhealthy relationship dynamic, one tiny mention of sex a/n: i’m not sure if reader meeting jaehyun is realistic, but i wasn’t sure how else to do it since no one at SM knows she exists...don’t clown the music choices plz, i had to look thru my own playlists for this 💀 the ending of this fic has me so shook tbh, i’d have to fight

When you open the door, Taeyong stands before you looking sheepish. “Hi, Y/N. I’m sorry I’m late. I was with the guys today.” You immediately roll your eyes at that and walk away from the entrance, throwing your hands up. Taeyong closes the door behind him and trails in behind you to the kitchen.

“On one of your very few days off? You’re with them everyday. You couldn’t tell them you had other plans? Or even that you have a girlfriend to see?” You turn to look at Taeyong again, crossing your arms. Your body language is already telling him you don’t want to hear more of his excuses. He tries to reach out to you, though you step away from his touch.

He sighs, his shoulders slumping with the knowledge that you’re not going to let this go easily. “They don’t know about us, I can’t exactly—”

“Yes, because you’ve never told them. Or anyone. I’m getting tired of this.” You lean back against the kitchen island, giving him an unimpressed look. “Do you think I enjoy living like some shameful secret?”

“I’m not ashamed of you, and you know it.” You’re not sure about that, actually. “If SM finds out, they’re not going to be happy, and going public is out of the question.” You suck your teeth at that.

“I’ve never asked you about going public; I don’t need or want that. However, I don’t think it’s too much to ask to meet the other men you spend 95% of your time with. God forbid I want to meet the people you refer to as your family.”

Taeyong chews his lips, mulling over your words but feeling too powerless and afraid to do anything about them. Then he sighs and shakes his head, running his hands through his hair. “I just...if gets out, somehow...my career…you know there’s already been so much. A dating scandal would be…”

“I think it’s clearly about more than that,” you argue, your eyebrows drawing together. “You just don’t want anyone to know about me because I’m black.”

“Stop saying that! If I cared about that, I wouldn’t be with you in the first place.”

“Because that’s such a reassurance? Instead, I get to sit up here like the woman in the attic and be hidden away from your friends and family. What a life! Maybe we shouldn’t be together.”

At this, Taeyong’s anxiety becomes almost palpable. “I—what are you saying? You can’t—”

“I can do whatever I want, Taeyong.”

“I don’t want us to break up,” Taeyong argues, his tone becoming more desperate. “I—I can find a way to tell the guys, just...please don’t leave me.”

You give him a long stare. “Quit with the last-ditch attempts to get me to stay. I don’t want you to say that just because you think it’s what I want to hear.”

“What else can I say? I want you in my life. I need you here. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Taeyong’s eyes become shiny with tears, which you wish you could ignore, but there is still a part of you that loves him and doesn’t want to see him hurt. Even if it’s hurting you too.

Taeyong gets closer to you, and you allow him to pull you into something of a hug. His head slumps to your shoulder, leaning heavily on you, and you can smell the scent of his shampoo in his hair.

“Do you really still love me?” you ask him softly, next to his ear. “Really love me. Don’t tell me you want me next to you just because you’re afraid to be alone.”

He squeezes you more tightly around the waist and lifts his head back up to look you in the eyes. “I love you,” he says quietly. “You have to trust me…”

“Then show me,” you respond. Your patience has been steadily wearing thin, and you are past the point where nice words can get you to be complacent. You wonder if Taeyong has even noticed that—how close you are to the breaking point.

He nods slightly to your words, his lips drawing into a thin line and his eyes heavy with stress. He tries his luck with a kiss, but you turn your head and his lips land on your cheek. “Maybe you should just leave,” you say quietly. The words make you feel cold and alone, but you’re sure you’d still feel that way even if Taeyong stayed. He sags a little but doesn’t fight you on it, instead letting you go and stepping backwards.

He seems unsure what to say for a few moments, and then he nods to himself. “I’ll leave. But please don’t give up on me.” He leaves you with those words lingering in the air—words you’d like to put your belief in.

It’s been a week since you and Taeyong last met up in person. You’ve texted sporadically in the time between then, but you haven’t wanted to say much to him, and he already knows he can’t force you to do anything you don’t want to.

You decide to head out for a day all to yourself as a way to de-stress, though it doesn’t really help. Everywhere you go there are couples, out and about and holding hands without a care in the world. You only wish you could do the same. You haven’t known what that’s like since your last relationship before Taeyong, and the thought of going without that kind of open and unafraid affection for 2 whole years makes you more angry and sad.

You end up in a nearby clothing store, looking through the racks of outfits and subconsciously wondering which ones Taeyong would like. You roll your eyes at this, still unable to get him completely off your mind even though you don’t want to be thinking about him right now.

You end up leaving that store and going to another one nearby—which is a tiny record shop that sells vinyls all the way up from the 1940s to now. You’ve been here a handful of times before, though it’s been a while since your last visit. To your surprise, the clerk still remembers you, waving happily when you enter.

Besides the cashier, you don’t pay much attention to anyone else in the store, only concerned about getting what you want so you can get out and go back home. Your mind is endlessly stressed about Taeyong and his lack of action. Even though you still love him, you don’t know how much more of this you can take. Your resentment only grows, which propels you to want to call things off before they get worse for the both of you.

Worse, indeed. You’re not sure how it can get much worse than your boyfriend acting like you don’t exist, though you’re not willing to try and find out.

You leave the store after making your purchase, ready to go back home and wallow some more, but before you’re fully out the door, someone hurriedly taps you on the shoulder.

“Sorry to bother you, but you dropped this.” You turn around to see a guy holding your sunglasses out to you, which surprises you because you hadn’t even heard them fall off your bag. But more importantly, you’re shocked to see that the guy is Jaehyun, Taeyong’s groupmate. Though he’s wearing the classic kpop idol disguise, you can still tell it’s him.

“Oh—thank you…” You take the glasses from his grasp, still looking at him with a bit of incredulity. You weren’t expecting to see him in this place. You didn’t even notice him in the store.

Jaehyun sees your recognition of him and gives an embarrassed smile, which makes his eyes crinkle above the mask. “Let’s keep this between us, yeah? Better not to draw attention here…”

“Oh, no, I was just surprised you would even be into...” you glance at the store’s sign, which is just above you, “...vinyls?” You say this somewhat sarcastically, not wanting him to think you’re some starstruck fan.

“Do I not seem like that kind of person?” Jaehyun smiles politely and glances to the bag in your hands, the cover of the vinyl album showing through the translucent material. “I just recently heard that one; it’s really good.”

“Really?” You look at the album, which is the record Through Water from Låpsley. “This one’s kind of obscure…”

“Obscure is good too. You find lots of hidden gems in places you didn’t expect.” You nod at that, but the way he’s looking at you makes you think he isn’t entirely talking about the music, and that makes the back of your neck sweat.

“Uh...no, of course. I get it. I was going to get something from The Internet but this caught my eye so…”

“Seems we have similar taste...I wouldn’t mind if you showed me some more of your favorites. I’m always looking for new music. Maybe next time?”

“Next time…?”

Jaehyun nods. “Whenever I swing back around here...who knows. Tuesday? Wednesday? Maybe I’ll come by on a Saturday afternoon and see you here.” It’s an invitation. Maybe not a direct one—he says it like a suggestion—but he is making it known he’d like to meet up again.

Still a bit confused by this sudden encounter, you simply nod. “I’ll keep that in mind, then?” He flashes you a thumbs up before heading off in the other direction, shooting you another quick look over his shoulder before going off on his way.

You walk back to your own place feeling bewildered at the coincidence of it all, and wondering if you should mention it to Taeyong. But what for? You’re still mad with him, and you don’t even know what would come of it. Maybe more of the same—nothing at all.

To your surprise, Jaehyun is actually at the record shop when he said he would be—that Saturday around 2 p.m., flipping through the different albums. You’d managed to talk yourself into thinking he was just playing around, but here he is.

“So you were serious,” you say, walking up behind him. He turns around to meet your eyes, smiling beneath his mask at the sound of your voice.

“Nice to see you again, stranger.” That reminds you; he still doesn’t know your name.

“It’s Y/N.” You stand beside him, looking at the section of records he’s browsing through. All of them are more modern picks, released within the last 5 years. “What are you looking for today?”

He hums throughtfully. “Not sure. I didn’t have anything specific in mind, but if you know anything…”

“Maybe.” You look through the records for something interesting before pulling out one from Toni Braxton, Spell My Name. “Have you heard this one?” Jaehyun looks up to see what you’ve picked, then shakes his head no. You pass it to him and he looks over the cover, then turns it over to read the tracklist. “I like it. Might wanna save it for when you wanna get in your feelings, though.”

He laughs at that. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Also, if you like more indie rock stuff, this is pretty good too.” You hold up a vinyl of The Driver Era’s album, X.

Jaehyun’s eyes light up at that suggestion. “Ah, I’ve wanted to get into this group but it keeps slipping my mind.” He takes that record too.

“What about you? Show me something you like.” Jaehyun nods and walks further into the aisles, and you follow. You notice he’s heading for the section of older albums. “Oh, the oldies, I see. A man of refined taste,” you say, laughing to yourself.

“This one’s the best.” Jaehyun points to one album that’s displayed on the shop wall along with a collection of other records—Chet Baker Sings. Below each album is a rack stacked with copies of the vinyls, and you pull one out to look at it more closely.

“Jazz, huh? I’m not too familiar with this artist, but I’ll trust your judgement; you’re the singer here, after all.”

You and Jaehyun go around the store looking at a few more things before buying your chosen albums. You end up getting more than you expected, but Jaehyun offers to pay—which you’re flustered and surprised by. The cashier giggles at your reluctance to accept, but you end up allowing him to pay for half.

“Well...that was fun!” You let out a breath after you’ve both left the store, lingering around the front of it.

Jaehyun nods his agreement, then hesitates before saying, “Would you like to stay in touch?”

You raise your eyebrows at that, the corner of your mouth lifting in something of a smirk. “I have a boyfriend, so if you’re looking for a romantic prospect…”

Jaehyun shakes his head, his cheeks coloring pink. “No, not like that! I just thought it’d be nice to get to know each other, you know, since we like the same music and all…”

“If you insist!” You tell him your number so he can put it into his phone. He texts you to make sure he’s got the right number, and so you can add his number to your own phone. “So, I guess I’ll talk to you later?”

He grins, and you can imagine how his dimples must appear under the mask. “Of course.”

You and Jaehyun get closer over the next few weeks, though he still doesn’t know you’re Taeyong’s girlfriend, and Taeyong remains equally clueless about your developing friendship with his groupmate. You’ve scarcely seen Taeyong’s face within that same timeframe, other than a few video calls—and one night when he showed up at your place tipsy and managed to talk his way into your bed.

You haven’t directly lied about anything, but you also haven’t felt the need to tell Jaehyun who you really are—not if Taeyong seems to think it doesn’t matter. Besides, you still want Taeyong to say it for himself.

You don’t consider yourself as cheating on him and have no intentions of doing so, but you like being around someone who doesn’t seem to be embarrassed or hesitant about going places with you.

One day when you’re hanging out with Jaehyun, he brings up an idea that makes your eyebrows rise. “Wouldn’t it be cool if you met the rest of the guys? What would you think of that?” he proposes.

This suggestion gets the gears in your head turning. Taeyong would inevitably be there, which would be an easy gateway for him to introduce you as his girlfriend. He’d have no other choice—not with you right in front of his face. Plus, you are curious about getting to know the other members, not knowing much about them other than Taeyong’s anecdotes and the few tidbits Jaehyun has mentioned in passing.

“Really? I don’t know, you're all pretty busy, so it’ll be hard to gather in one place…” You’re hoping your reverse psychology works so he’ll take the bait and come up with a solution to this apparent “dilemma.” Thankfully, he does.

“Well, you don’t have to meet all of them at once,” he suggests. “But if you want, you could come visit after practice or something…”

“I’d like that. Yes, I could do that. If that’s okay with you guys.”

Jaehyun grins, taking a sip of his drink. “Yeah, I think that would be fun.”

The day of your visit with NCT 127 comes up on you before you know it, and you’re more nervous than you can remember being in a while. You have no clue how Taeyong will react, but you can only hope things don’t go completely left. In your mind, this is the only option left for the both of you, since he refuses to take the initiative himself.

What you do know, though, is that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. You can’t go wrong with bringing food to a bunch of hungry men who’ve just finished dance practice.

In the practice room, the boys hang out huddled together in little groups, taking a break from practicing for their upcoming comeback. They usually would’ve called out for food at this point, but Jaehyun has already let them know he has a friend coming who’s bringing something to eat. The other 8 boys wait somewhat impatiently for your arrival, as Jaehyun left earlier to let you into the SM building.

“I wonder who’s this friend Jaehyun’s bringing,” Doyoung says. “He’s really excited about it. She must be quite special.”

“For real! Whenever he mentions her he gets the same smile he always does whenever he meets another girl he thinks is gonna be The One,” Haechan says sarcastically. “Let’s see how long it takes before he fucks it up this time.”

“Aw, that’s messed up,” Mark says, though he has to stifle a snort of laughter.

The boys cheer when Jaehyun finally comes back to the room with you and the food in tow. You try to calm your racing heart as you face the room full of men, including your boyfriend—who’s just caught sight of you.

Taeyong’s eyes are confused, panicked, and pitiful as he looks at you. He tries to keep his demeanor indifferent so the other members won’t notice anything suspicious, but he doesn’t believe he’s doing a very good job of hiding the cracks. His chest tightens with anxiety as he observes you and Jaehyun standing next to each other.

How do you even know each other? Why did you never mention it? Does Jaehyun know? Perhaps most importantly of all, what should Taeyong do? He loves you—at least he believes he does, though you haven’t seemed very convinced of it lately. He doesn’t know how to admit it out loud to anyone else, though, and now it seems even more complicated than before.

Taeyong hangs back a bit as the others introduce themselves to you individually. Johnny and Jaehyun give him slightly odd looks, wondering about the reason behind his tense expression.

There’s nowhere left to hide when Taeyong is the only one left who hasn’t introduced himself.

You look at him expectantly, waiting for him to introduce you as his girlfriend, though to the rest of the men it only looks like you’re waiting for him to acknowledge your presence with a greeting. There’s an undeniable tension in the room as you and Taeyong practically stare each other down, though no one is quite bold enough to directly address it.

His stomach is nothing but a collection of knots now. He thinks about just saying it, but a vice-like sense of fear has him pinned. He thinks he can feel a headache building behind his temples.

Finally, Taeyong cracks a strained smile and holds his hand out to you. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Taeyong, leader of NCT 127.”

Your heart and stomach drop to your feet, and your hands tremble a little. Your face falters, though you try to disguise it, your mouth drawing into a tight, closed grin. In that moment, you make your decision. You take Taeyong’s hand, squeezing it tighter than necessary. He winces, the back of his neck burning. “It’s nice to meet you, Taeyong.”

When your hand leaves his, Taeyong feels as if a huge dark cloud has just crossed over him. His stomach twists with dread as he watches you turn to Jaehyun without a second glance, talking to the younger man casually about the food you’ve brought. Something about the gesture feels undeniably final, and he knows you’ve just slipped out of his life.

[imaginaryari]

Welcome to the Show

Part One

The prisoner looks up as her least favorite cop comes into the interrogation room. Officer Warren has awards for rounding up the enhanced, people like Silver. He walks and talks like a man the people respect and fear. Talks to the enhanced like they’re close on first name bases and revels in the fact that he put them in their cells. What she would give to lay one finger on him. That’s all she needs. Unfortunately, her hands are gloved and bound because officer Warren also knows that. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure officer.” She asks.

“How would you like to get out here?”

It’s a trap. Silver knows this. The enhanced don’t get second chances especially not from officer Warren. 

 “Wasn’t I supposed to rot in here? Just as you said?” Silver asks.

Officer Warren gives her a sick grin. “I thought you would be interested in parole but if you aren’t...there’s plenty of you in here. “

The promise of seeing the outside world again would sway anyone.

“How can I trust you?”

Officer Warren beckons one of the guards. “Remove her cuffs.”

“Sir?”

“Now, please.” Warren orders.

Silver immediately rubs her wrists when the cuffs click open. The relief is almost overwhelming. She quickly reminds herself not to do anything stupid, no matter how satisfying it would be to knock Warren’s lights out.

-

“There’s a group of enhanced kids going around and robbing people. Messing with their heads. You’re fond of doing that so I thought this would be the perfect way to end your sentence.” Warren had said as he escorted her out.

Silver squints. Nothing about that story adds up. Robbing civilians while common isn’t a team effort especially if you can mess with minds and memory. A group would actually draw more attention and a tight knit one wouldn’t take the risk of losing a member to officials. 

Unless your Silver’s ex. Hm. Things are starting to make sense. 

“You’ve tried to catch them before.” Silver states. 

Warren doesn’t even look ashamed admitting his failure. “Physical powers are one thing. Mental ones are harder. But from my experience you can catch ‘em with a little trust.” He begins to walk away, leaving Silver at the gates. “You have three weeks.”

—

It’s no fancy hotel, barely a motel, but it’s a place and it’s furnished. Officer Warren had said it was hers for as long as it took her to finish her task. Silver won’t complain, before she was arrested, she was constantly couch surfing. Never out staying her welcome and never spending too long on the streets. She had made friends this way but contacting them was out of the question. Getting caught means getting blacklisted. A means of protecting themselves. Well, Silver had been thrown under the bus. Semantics. She won’t see them again and hopefully they’re doing okay. 

She shakes her head, never mind that. She has a job to do and extraordinarily little to go on. 

The neighborhood is different. She didn’t expect it to be quite the same after lock-up but the changes are more than jarring. New buildings going up, less of the spots her old friends used to hang. Silver is so sure the neighborhood has been purged of the enhanced until she decides to hit up one of the cafés. She stares at it; upset she can’t remember what it used to be and then enters reading the weirdly named drinks on the menu.

“Are you new around here?” another patron asks.

“Not exactly,” Silver says with a shrug, eyeing the stranger. He’s handsome even if he looks like he should have taken a sip of his drink before speaking. The bags under his eyes scream exhaustion but he still sounds awake. And happy about it. “It’s just a while since I’ve been round here.”

“Ah, try the mint hot chocolate. It’s a crowd favorite.”

“Is that what you’re having?”

He chuckles. “No…this is way too caffeinated for the masses.”

“Is the inevitable crash worth it?” She asks.

“Always.” He says as Silver is called next to order. “See you around.” The stranger says exiting. She thinks about the encounter for hours afterwards. The enhanced were still around even if they were muted.

—

She finds what she’s looking for the next day, right before the sun sets. It’s a large tent set up in a nearby park. Big enough to draw attention but lacking the actual necessities to pass as a real circus. No animal trailers, no confection stands. To anyone paying attention there’s no possible way it could have been set up so quickly. Definitely the work of the enhanced. 

Civilians flock to the tent with the promise of entertainment. Silver by-passes the line and taps a potential viewer on their shoulder. “You don’t really want to see this show, right? I can take that ticket off you.” The man blinks and then hands over his ticket. Silver quickly takes it and makes her way to her seat.

-

The spotlight lowers, illuminating what has to be the ringleader. He’s barely dressed for the occasion. Top hat donned but instead of a blaring red jacket, a black T-shirt with a tuxedo print and black jeans contrasting nicely with white sneakers. 

“Hello everyone. Welcome to your wildest dreams. I’ll be your guide. Whenever you need me you can shout More!” Silver snorts at the corny introduction but still applauds with the crowd. It takes a moment but she recognizes him. The man from the café with the over caffeinated drink. Interesting. So far he’s just the host, maybe the leader of this whole operation, but Silver can’t place an ability just yet.

“Please give a round of applause to our first act, Mirage, master of illusion.”

Silver is willing to bet he’s the one responsible for the tent. His set isn’t too extravagant; he just has smoke and card tricks. It’s what he does with them that counts. Shifting the smoke to look like a bird that soars over the crowd. It lands ever so gently on the empty seat in front of one of the viewers. The spotlight shifts to them, a young boy, and he offers a nervous smile, not prepared for the attention. The guest looks to Mirage who gives a cocky smile. “Blow it away.” He instructs through his mic. With a shrug he does. The smoke dissipates to reveal a real bird. A stark white dove. The young boy reaches for it face lit up in wonder, but it takes off landing right on Mirages shoulder. He pets it to prove its real and the dove seems to love it. However, it then dissipates into smoke after Mirage blows on it. That confirms it for Silver, the dude simply makes illusions.

“I need a volunteer for my next trick.” Mirage says.

He and More look around at the audience and More locks eyes with Silver. There’s a connection, a shock of understanding, and something else she can’t quite place before he says, “You, cutie with the hood. Would you like to help Mirage?”

Silver nods unable to break eye contact.

“Don’t be nervous, it’s just a simple card trick.” Mirage says, a deck of cards pulled from his pockets. Silver keeps her head down and her hood on as she walks into the ring. She wasn’t supposed to draw attention. More finally backs away giving Mirage the stage.

It is a simple card trick, with a lot of flourish. Silver selects a card, memorizes it, puts it back in the deck. Mirage is skilled making the cards seem to dance, shuffling and tossing them even pulling some from behind Silver. Sleight of hand can be learned, however,

“Is this your card?”

“It sure looks like it!” Silver says, and the audience applauds. Her choice in words don’t go unnoticed by Mirage. He smiles, like he just learned a juicy secret and gestures for Silver to return to her seat.

More passes her on his way back to the stage and gives her a similar smile to Mirage’s. She can’t help but feel she shouldn’t have done that.

“Our next act goes by Charlie. He doesn’t say much but he’s loads of fun!”

Silver immediately understands how the next act earned his name. Charlie dances out, encompassing Chaplin’s energy. He dons a similar top hat to More, and shirt except his is white instead. More comments on this with a laugh. “Clearly one of us has to change!” As corny as Silver finds More, she can’t say she’s not amused. Charlie looks More up and down, and then gets into a stance. He’s posed like a batter on home base and leans back and forth on his toes. He swings and More ducks, his top hat flying across the ring as if a real bat had hit it. The trick ears them impressed gasps and amused giggles from the audience. From Silver it earns a disbelieving stare. She’s never seen an enhanced like Charlie yet.

Charlie continues, his set like any traditional mime. Tripping over objects that aren’t there, pushing invisible walls, overexaggerating his facial expressions. Except Silver thinks, knows, he isn’t. There is a wall the audience can’t see. Silver can’t prove it, and wouldn’t even know where to begin explaining Charlie to officer Warren.

“Give it up for Charlie everyone!” More says shaking Silver from her thoughts. Charlie leaves the stage with the same comedic swagger and a wave.

“Now our next act is unfortunately our last. But we always go out with a bang! Please welcome to the ring, Star!”

With the snap of More’s fingers the lights go out. Another snap and they’re back, along with a woman sitting on a trapeze. She’s beyond beautiful, it could be the lighting, or the slight shimmer she has, but she’s captivating all the same. Her hair is pulled into two puffs and her smile dazzles the audience. Silver notes that there is no apparent netting beneath her, that should be concerning.

The music starts, a haunting melody punctuated by a bass that Silver feels in her chest. Star is flying above the audience on her trapeze. She hangs by her legs and lets her arms hang. If Silver focuses, she can see what looks like dust, her charisma spills off of her, entrancing the audience. She makes another mental note, three out of four isn’t bad. Maybe she wrong about him being enhanced. He could just be the fall guy if this all goes to shit. Authorities like Warren wouldn’t keep a powerless civilian. It’s smart. The doubt lingers. She knows what she felt.

Silver almost misses the end. Stars trapeze returns to the ring and she waves before letting go and falling to the ground. The audience gasps bracing for an impact that never comes. Star vanishes in a puff of smoke that settles all over the ring. The applause is stuttered out, the crowd is impressed and worried.

When the smoke clears the applause picks back up as all the performers are safe, taking their bows.

“Thank you all for coming!” More says. The lights go out. When they come back on the group is gone. Well, that’s one way to end things.

-

“Like the show?” A voice comes up from behind Silver. She’s just as dazzling up close and silver can see how she captivates the audience. The charisma wisps around her like smoke. 

“Sure did. Wasn’t expecting to be part of it though.”

“Yeah, More can be a bit impulsive,” Star says apologetically. She steps closer to whisper. “But his guess was right! You are like us.” 

“All of you? Special?”

“Yup!”

“What gave me away?”

“You didn’t immediately fall for my charm.”

“...really?”

“That and More caught you using your gift to get a ticket.”

“Also caught her struggling to order at the café,” More says rounding on them. “We should stop meeting like this.”

[orangegreet]

No Minor Miracles | Chapter 10

In the End, In the Beginning

In which we get a jail break and some deaths and some light and some life and maybe the end of the world.

The shrieking cries of the volcra overhead melted into the drumming of hooves across the earth.

All of it, loud and incessant and completely cancelled out by the pulse of blood pounding in his head. The circling thoughts that spurred him forward.

He is going to kill me in the morning. She had said.

Aleksander had never seen her look frail. Not in his memory.

The Grisha slaver bar that kept her powerless, kept the wrath of her Sun at bay, flashed through his mind again.

Fucking cowards. The Darkling pushed his horse harder. Faster.

The Shadows of the Fold reached for him as he passed just as worshippers extended hands of blessing for their Saint.

Behind him, Ivan and Fedyor urged their horses forward, almost falling out of the dome of Light he held overhead.

It had been easy this time—effortless really, to call the Light up from within himself. As if Alina herself had searched through his cupboards and produced it for him with a gentle smile.

Alina. His Alina. His person.

Held captive by a megalomaniac. A fucking degenerate otkazat’sya scum who would sacrifice every Grisha life in Ravka to gain a fraction of power.

Zlatan would soon learn true power. Would see and know it intimately as the force of his Darkness crushed Zlatan’s bones from the inside.

The horses were huffing but none of them faltered their gait. Aleksander was grateful. Fedyor had chosen well.

His Heartrenders had not questioned him when they learned Alina was in trouble and he would be going across the Fold to get her. Feydor left immediately to prepare the horses and Ivan, after a long look at his General, proceeded to delegate duties to the next in command.

It had not slipped Aleksander’s notice that Ivan would elect to follow his General into the Fold deferring his right to become the acting General of the Second Army. As was his rightful succession.

Ivan had scowled for the duration of the preparations which effectively relieved Aleksander of the urge to thank him.

The Darkling lowered his brow, narrowing his eyes as they neared what must be the middle of the Fold. A white stone building was crumbling on his right and the mirroring of events was painful to recognize—the way history often did repeat itself.

He had lived long enough to see that the adage was true.

A woman he loved, killed for fear of what she was, for fear of Aleksander himself, by a power-hungry individual trying to stamp out any threats to his reign.

Only now it felt like a chance to do it all again. To change it all; to rescue and to fix instead of fail and destroy.

It would be different this time. This was Alina. She, a Sun Summoner, an immortal like him and a woman who was stronger and more powerful than anyone could imagine.

A woman whom he had crushed mercilessly just a few weeks before.

Not for the first time since he had met Alina did Aleksander curse his own pride.

This might not have happened had he been able to come to terms with everything she had done and just forgiven her in that fucking cell. Forgiven her on the journey through the Fold.

Not left her alone in a field. Not buried her under the weight of his disappointment.

Had he not learned this lesson from years of experiencing the same treatment from Baghra? Another immortal who would use her years and her influence to leverage pain and guilt over him—shame him into doing as she wished? Into feeling the weight of her expectations with an unyielding rigidity?

Could he not have at least given her something to hold onto—something that said, I am angry and I am hurt but I am yours all the same?

No, instead he had crushed Alina and sent her back into the arms of a Grisha-loathing Secessionist to play spy. Fucked with her head and her heart and expected her to recover fine.

Expected her to be stoic in her duties and not slip up. As if he had been able to keep his head after their every encounter. He was a fucking fool.

They were so alike, he and Alina. In hindsight, her reasoning and her motives and decisions all seemed remarkably easy to understand.

He had been bitter at her for shutting him out. Hurt at her apparent lack of trust that she would not confide in him. It was fair that he should feel that way and yet, would he not have done the same?

Had their years been reversed, had it been Aleksander who was so fresh and new to the world, would he not have hungered and grasped for his own independence?

Alina did not want to need him anymore than he wanted to need her. He could not fault her for her actions—not for long anyway.

When he removed himself from the torturous back and forth they had both endured and inflicted on each other the last several years, Aleksander could not deny the plain truth before him: Alina was his match in every sense of the word.

Alina was and would always be the only one who could meet the depth of his power and counter it. Descend into the cavernous pain he carried and draw him out of it. Climb to the heights of his passion and somehow drive him higher.

It might be cosmic or ancient or fated by the Saints but even outside of all that, Aleksander simply wanted her. Alina. His Alina. Just as she was.

Aleksander wanted her very soul for himself and he would tie their Light and Dark together more completely than any paltry tether if given the chance again.

He is going to kill me in the morning.

He pushed his horse forward.

The city was eery in it’s quiet.

Aleksander shrouded their party of three in shadow as they trotted through the streets. His eyes were sharp but half of his focus was on the pull of the tether, guiding them closer to Alina.

He had zero intention of visiting her friends, despite her requests. Getting to her himself was far more important. Still, he slowed as they were nearing the place he knew they had held him weeks before.

“I fucking knew it! You will pay, Darkling.” A voice shouted from his left and he raised a fine blade of darkness only to feel that clenching in his chest once more. That blood thickening, heart seizing clutch of a Heartrender.

Aleksander growled at the spasm and the screaming Heartrender emerged from an alley. Ivan immediately used the same technique against her and Aleksander was free from the thrall once more. Fedyor sat on his own horse, working to restore his General.

“Stupid girl! He did not do this.” Baghra said, joining the fray from her hiding spot. “Stop. All of you!” She demanded, grabbing the Heartrender from the ground where she had crumpled under Ivan’s will.

The Darkling snarled at them both as he darkened the street with his irritation and shadows sloughed off of him in billowing sheets.

“Good. You’re making this quite easy then.” He said through clenched teeth.

He gripped his reins and cricked his neck to keep from killing both of them and barked out Alina’s message, “Alina is being held captive by Zlatan. She said he knows she is the Sun Summoner and asked me to warn you.”

Aleksander turned his gaze on his mother, growling the words at her, “Your Sun Summoner held captive by the man you traded her to in the first place.”

He glared at her. His thoughts screaming at her. Was this a better life for her, mother? Do you believe I would have done worse to her—worse to the world than terror Zlatan intends to unleash now?

He wanted to ask it. To make her hurt. To make her regret. There wasn’t time.

The reins were tight in his hands and he could not help the added insult he bit off as he left. “Do what you will with that news, you glorified Grisha slavers.”

Picking up his reins, he kicked his horse back into motion and continued through the streets.

“Darkling! Stop!” They called after him. Aleksander did not heed them. Alina called to him in the night and he would not give them another second of wasted time.

“Follow him then, you fools! He knows where she is!” Baghra’s voice echoed up the street. The sound of hooves followed and he knew they would not be far behind.

Aleksander tracked Alina all the way to a mansion on the wealthy end of the capital.

Ivan and Fedyor flanked him on either side as they dismounted. His gaze flicked to the people they now had in tow.

The dark haired woman he recognized as the Heartrender who tried to knock him out again. Next to her was large man and behind them stood four others, unknown to him and irksome merely in their culpability of Alina’s engagement and enslavement.

“I assume you are here because you are loyal to Alina.” He said with a clipped edge.

The woman’s eyes narrowed at him but she nodded.

“Very well. Seeing as I don’t know how many people we can expect inside, it would be foolish not to work together.”

They looked uneasy and the Darkling growled at them, his barely controlled rage spewing from his hands as his shadows blanketed around their ankles, “In case you are missing something, Alina is to be executed in the morning by Zlatan. I’m certain she is inside that home at this very moment and I will not waste time fighting the Grisha who put her there.”

He twitched his fingers and his shadows tightened around their calves. The Darkling watched with a sick grin on his face as they lurched in place.

“We are not following you, Darkling. We will get her out ourselves.” The woman said, pulling her leg free.

“I don’t think you will.” His voice was quiet and dangerous now. Ivan and Fedyor stood to behind him, preparing for a fight. “It was you who gave her to Zlatan in the first place. You’re the reason she is in there now.”

A few of the members shifted guiltily and the Darkling barked at them again, “How long since she lost contact with you?”

A few of them jumped but the Heartrender simply glared at him.

“A little over a week.” The man beside her said.

Aleksander growled at them, condemning them once more. “Reckless. Sloppy pieces of shit.”

“We will fight alongside you, Darkling. Tonight we will.” The man said. The woman glared at the ground but nodded.

Aleksander scrutinized them, loosening his shadows and forcing himself to turn away from them. “Alina is being held underground. Kill anyone who gets in your way but hear this—Zlatan is mine.”

Zlatan was not home.

Or, at least, those were the last words the guard could squeeze out of his throat before the Darkling snapped his neck.

It felt different to kill with his hands. Different wrap his fingers around a throat and twist. Different to physically touch the skin of someone as their life force abandoned their body. Still, it was the only thing that satisfied on this night.

The place had been crawling with First Army soldiers. West Ravkan soldiers, as they preferred to be called. He and his Heartrenders and his borrowed Grisha army had swarmed the home like a plague and he winded his way toward the back of the house, looking for access to the basement.

Underground. He knew she was underground.

“General!” Ivan called from the next room over. Aleksander entered the small parlor where Ivan was unceremoniously shifting a corpse across the floor and lifting the rug from the edge of the room.

A hatch.

The Darkling lifted it and grasped a lantern from the wall.

“Find Fedyor.” He said to Ivan as he began to descend the stairs into the floor, “I will get Alina and we will set out for the Fold again.”

Ivan hesitated by the door.

“Fedyor, Ivan. Find him first. Then we will go together.” Ivan nodded and left.

When he found her, she was asleep.

Beautiful, even with dark circles under her eyes and a pallor to her skin. Both of which had little to do with captivity or starvation and everything to do with the fact that she was an extremely powerful Grisha forced to suppress her power.

Aleksander gingerly lifted the slaver bar, extending her arms out in front of her and laying the bar on the ground.

He conjured the Cut and sliced through one end, as close as he dared cut near her wrist. He took a breath and severed the other side.

Aleksander tucked his arms beneath hers and pulled her into his lap, her head lolling back against his shoulder as his hands met around her stomach.

“Alina.” He said in her ear. A kiss to her cheek. Another to her hair.

“Wake up, solnyshka. You are freed.” Alina stirred in his arms and, with little ceremony, he brought her hands together, forcing her to conjure the tiniest amount of Light. Hoping to feed her a little before they had to move again.

The chamber around them was forced into relief, putting the little gas lantern to shame.

Her eyes fluttered and Alina sighed, sinking into him. Her back pressed into his chest. “You’re here.”

Her forehead fell against his jaw and he could not help the way he held her face there, whispering a silent prayer of gratitude to the Saints for this moment. For her voice and her Light and her life. That she was not gone from him.

When his prayer was done he whispered more words to her. “I’m sorry, Alina. I am so sorry, my love, my Star.”

Her hand caressed his jaw and he nuzzled her in return. Her silence now assuredly attributed to her fatigue as opposed to malice for him. “Come along, we will help get you out.”

And then, to his added relief, “General!” Ivan and Fedyor emerged. Fedyor, clutching his side but otherwise smiling at the sight of Alina and her Light and the way she was sitting up in the arms of the General.

“If the Sun Summoner is able, we must move. They are calling in others now. We cannot face many more soldiers tonight.” Ivan advised.

Aleksander nodded, pushing from his legs into standing and bringing Alina with him.

Her thin, white shift snagged against the buckles of his kefta and with a sharp pang he remembered how she had clasped them together herself in the dacha.

How she had dressed him in his black kefta and his traveling cloak and her hands had smoothed the core cloth and then she had begged him to run away with her.

“Ivan. Come hold her up for a moment.”

Aleksander removed his kefta and threaded her arms through the sleeves. His fingers worked quickly on the clasps and when she was covered in the warm black shield, the only protection he could give to her right now, he lifted her into his arms.

The other Grisha, her ‘friends’ were waiting by the exit. At the sight of her, it looked as if they would reach for her. Expect him to turn her over to them.

The Darkling practically hissed at them, holding her away from them, but it was Ivan who was done with it all.

“Out. Everyone. More are coming. Get to the horses and disperse. They cannot chase us all.”

Everyone dispersed, the woman with a lingering glance at Alina. The three men hurried to their horses and the other Grisha to theirs, quick and silent in their movements.

They had just mounted, the General adjusting his posture in the saddle as Ivan lifted Alina into his arms, when the unmistakeable sound of a dozen horses echoed through the streets.

The General looked at Fedyor, hunched on his horse and waiting for Ivan to join him—he would need assistance on horseback with his injury. Ivan and the General locked eyes.

“Go. Get a head start. We can handle them.” Ivan said.

Aleksander almost protested and then Ivan had slapped his horse on the haunches with a firm hit and Alina jolted in his arms as his horse took off down the city streets.

The pursuit was something of a blur.

The West Ravkan soldiers followed them through the streets, tracking them until they reached the edges of town. Aleksander and Alina were saved more than once by the help of a Tidemaker or Squaller who was hidden in plain sight and ready to impede the pursuing enemy.

He was glad for it as he felt helpless to do much else at the moment. Alina seemed so precarious in his arms and he wondered if they had not done more to her in captivity than prevent her from using her Light.

Wondered if they had performed experiments on her. Bled her and drained her. She should not be so frail from a week of captivity. Not his Sun.

Still, they were nearing the Fold now and Aleksander would need his hands to gather Light if they were going to cross.

“Alina, please. If you can, sit up and lean against me. I need your help to get through the Fold.” Alina stirred, her eyes flickering again.

“‘M sorry.” Feebly, she brushed her hands against each other and sighed as she illuminated everything around them. Like the burst of a dawning Light she lit up their location and Aleksander panicked.

“No! Alina! Stop!”

She did not know. Could not know what she had done. Horses gathering in force sounded behind them, locked on their location now and Aleksander pushed his own horse hard toward the safety of his creation.

The blight he left on the earth. The thing which he meant to protect him and all Grisha would now have to protect him and his Sun.

History would not repeat itself. He would not let her die tonight.

“The Sun Summoner!” He heard the shouting echo across the field even as they neared the black curtain. True dawn was breaking on the horizon. The reddish glow mixing with her bright white.

Aleksander tucked Alina further into his chest, holding her with the frame of his arms and she was finally waking up.

“Sasha. Where are we going?” Her eyes opened, the black Shadow Fold billowing across their vision.

“Oh good. I do like it in there.” She said, absently, “It’s like being covered in you. So familiar. Always so familiar. Even before I ever met you, going into it was like being home.”

Alina sounded delirious now and Aleksander wanted to cry. He swallowed it down and answered her.

“Yes. We are going into the Fold now. I might need your help to Light it—I don’t have my hands free.”

Alina nodded, squeezing his thigh in response and Aleksander heard another set of hooves drawing closer.

“Now Alina!”

Alina conjured her Light and the dome put his to shame. It was broad and beautiful and white, splitting the curtain of the Fold as they entered.

The Light was too big. Too bright. Others had joined them under the dome.

Aleksander urged the horse faster but he knew it was long tired from their long evening.

“Alina, please, pull your Light in just a little.” He urged.

It was useless. Alina’s hands were no longer touching and her Light shone from her anyway. Persistent. Bright.

Her consciousness was wavering and the Light brightened and he could not tell if he was adding to it or not.

“Sun Summoner! Halt!”

Gunfire. His horse faltered. Aleksander looked around frantically but realized it was only a graze to the flank. His horse was good, strong, used to battle and gunfire. It carried on.

Darkling! I know you’re in there! The voices from the past echoed in his head and he knew they were not there and history would not be repeated on this night.

Aleksander could not bring his hands together though. He was terrified Alina would fall and their horse would slow down and all would be lost again.

They neared the center of the Fold. He could feel the pull of the creation point. It called to him. More than it ever had before. A persistent tug on his tether. The same tug he felt when Alina called to him.

Perhaps something in the Making at the Heart of the World was rooted into the Fold as well. Perhaps creation simply echoed from this very spot.

The beginning of time, the creation of the earth, the creation of the Fold.

Perhaps it all centered here in this magnetic pull and out of it’s gravity, Alina and Aleksander were born. Shadow and Light. Magnetic poles arrived to stabilize an otherwise wavering world. Arrived to hold everything and everyone in balance.

More gunfire. “You are still my betrothed, Sun Summoner!” Zlatan was with them, taunting them.

Here’s the little witch who’s been stitching him back together. Aleksander shook his head, willing the words away.

Adrenaline was spiking and Aleksander looked helplessly up at the white Light overhead and brought his hands together to conjure the shadows. He tried to direct them and felt Alina slip a few inches in his grasp, her feet lolling dangerously around the front legs of their horse. A few more inches and she would impede his gait. Would pull them all down.

“Fuck.” He cursed, anxiety mixing into his fear as he clutched Alina by the stomach and pulled her back up.

“The Black General! Did you see the shadows. That’s the General of the Second Army!”

“Are you intending to kidnap my fiancée, General?!” Zlatan shouted behind them.

Stand down, Grisha! The white stone building illuminated beneath the dome as it had not been illuminated in centuries. So bright he could not look at it directly.

Darkling! I know you’re in there!

More gunfire and this time a bullet found his back. He lurched and clutched Alina to him, willing her to hold on in case he lost his grip. Willing her to be hidden completely from their range. Shield her with himself.

The horse was slowing. The graze from before was bleeding profusely now. More than a graze evidently. Blood was spilling heavy down the buckles of the saddle.

“Sasha?” Alina questioned. His hands brushed over the black kefta he had covered her in, bulletproof and safe.

History would not repeat itself.

Another shot. Their horse was trotting and the enemy was upon them, just yards away as the beast came to a stop. As it kneeled.

He and Alina rolled to the side, hidden behind the safety of their horse. The horse who was giving it’s life for them.

Aleksander was growing cold. Shock. Bullets in his back. Bullets in his side.

He looked at her. His Light. His love. Bullet now lodged in his stomach. That was the one that was killing him.

He peaked over the top of the horse. His eyes caught on the anxious West Ravkan General who kept one eye on the wavering Light overhead. One last act. Aleksander could do this for his love. One last act to show her no one would dare hurt her on his watch.

He lifted himself to kneel. His arms sweeping out from his sides and gathered the lingering Shadow—it was waiting—ready to do his bidding. One last dark deed. The thin blade was formed so quickly. Aleksander released it.

The surge of victory at watching the head and shoulders of Zlatan detach from his body filled his chest and warmed him even as he watched Zlatan’s soldiers stagger their horses away from the mess in horror. Those men did not matter.

She was safe. He had done what he should. History would not repeat itself on this night. Aleksander was so tired. He could not reform the Cut if he tried.

“Aleksander?”

Alina looked more awake. He was relieved. Finally, she was bouncing back. Too late for him but early enough for herself. To save herself. Everything would be okay for her. That was what he wanted.

A better world for her. She would lead it.

“Alina?” She looked at him and he realized he had seen this look before. Only, he didn’t remember until now.

“I am having the strangest sense of déjà vu.” He said.

Tears were slipping out of her eyes and he was watching her and he felt certain now that he had seen this all before. A snowy battlefield, flecked with blood.

“What are you doing?” She asked. She tried to pull his face up to hers. A Fjerdan wolf dead beside him and Alina yelling at him on the other.

“What are you doing? Stop. No. You said—not again. Please.” Aleksander watched her eyes close and her face was pinched in pain and it hurt to see her hurt. She had called him weak, weak for leaving her. For dying.

“Don’t cry, solnyshka. You will be safe and that is what matters. You will make the world safe for all of our people.” His hand touched her cheek.

Zlatan’s men had not come close and he could only assume it was for fear that she would rescind the Light or fear he would send another blade of shadow. His mouth tasted like bile and tinged with the metallic taste of blood.

“You have the advantage in here, Alina. The Fold is a place only you can conquer.” He smiled and it was almost whimsical in nature. “It was made from me, after all. You were made to conquer me, were you not, little Star?”

Alina hiccuped a laugh and grimaced at the pain in her weakened body.

“Don’t leave me, Sasha.” She said and he frowned at the sign of defeat in her shoulders. His own eyes filled with tears. He had done this with her before.

“I do not want to, Alinochka.” He whispered and his vision was blackening and only had a few moments to say what he wanted. “You have inspired me, Alina. Made my life good. You will inspire everyone. Do not doubt it.”

Her mouth kissed his and he saw blood on her lips when she pulled away. “Please, Sasha. I cannot go on without you.”

Their tether was sizzling and splitting in his chest, itching to burst forth.

Aleksander was dying. “I’ll find you in the after, Alina. I swear it.”

Her hands were shaking.

They trembled as she touched his face.

His features were slack, no quirked brow, no glare for her. No devious, cunning smirk.

No breathless, open smile, as if he just realized he was caught staring.

Instead she smoothed her quaking hands over his cheeks, pulling him fully into her lap.

The horse at her back took a shuddering breath. It too, was dying. Would be dead in another minute.

Zlatan’s men were there. They were still yelling. That much registered in a distant back room of her brain but then she closed the door.

Everything was muffled.

A tiny pinprick of light illuminated them now. It was small and Alina felt it dying out inside herself, growing dimmer with a smothering loss.

The men moved to stand closer than she would like, their exit from the Fold far too far away to survive on their own.

She did not look at them. They did not move toward her, their fear of the volcra kept their eyes turned up.

It was possible to pull him back. Aleksander. She could bring him back.

She had done it once. Reforged the broken tether and tied his life back to hers. They were Inevitable. One would not exist without the other—not while she was around to ensure it.

He was dying and she was suddenly reaching desperately for their tether. Their lifeline. She forced it to the surface, the fractured electric thing barely connected to their chests. A sliver of light held onto his body.

She wrapped his limp hand around the tether and covered it with her own.

Together they ventured into the abyss. Into the Making at the Heart of the World. That place that belonged to them alone.

Only—

Aleksander was just as lifeless here. His eyes were still closed and she could not feel his breathing.

Alina felt herself beginning to panic. Anxiety and panic and chemicals in her brain lighting her up with a dying surge of energy.

She poured into him all the Light she contained. Drove her beams into his chest over and over and over. Could not explain why she was doing it. It made no sense. She was no healer and maybe her Light would only drive his Shadow farther and farther away from her.

But, it could only be them. It could not be one without the other.

Where Light traveled, Shadow was compelled to follow and she will not allow him to abandon in his duty.

Not now.

Nothing was happening and as her Light surged, the abyss itself began to fade around them.

Quite suddenly, they were back into their pocket of the Fold and those insignificant West Ravkan soldiers were still surrounding them. Crowded close. Terrified that her light would blink out completely and the volcra would descend.

Alina clutched for their tether again. Nothing but the frayed end of rope was returned. Spitting and hissing electricity like a live wire.

Nothing to ground her anymore. Nothing to hold her to the earth. Nothing to balance her out.

Hemorrhaging Light filled up inside of her chest.

Aleksander was gone. She was alone.

In the beginning, Light had joined Darkness. In the end, Darkness had left the Light and all this debating she had done over whether or not to end the world and start over was so silly.

It had never been a choice. A path she could choose to take or not to take.

Alina was alone and the wrongness of it was impossible to overcome. This was not choice. This was Inevitable.

In the end, Light would shine bright enough to blind all of creation. Blind everyone and everything and nothing would be seen but Darkness. Beautiful, glorious Darkness.

In the end it was not a choice that she made.

In the ending, this was as Inevitable as they had been.

Alina stared at the soft, blank face of her love, lost to her in the here and now.

Saint Alina, Sun Summoner and Mother of the West looked up toward the sky.

She opened her mouth and let loose an unholy wail.

White hot Light burned out of her mouth in a beam that ripped through the Shadow around her and overhead. She could not stop the wave of energy anymore than she could stop her own anguished grief.

Aleksander was limp in her lap and it was finally happening. The Sun Summoner was combusting from the inside and the power of the Sun would ravage her body and rend it to shreds.

That did not matter anymore.

Nothing else mattered in this moment.

The heat surged around her and she did not even register the shrieks of Zlatan’s men or the volcra as they burned up in the light that touched them. Gone with very little fanfare in the end.

But then, the entire earth would be gone with little warning and no time to grieve. No time for regret even.

Light poured from her body and scorched the earth and expanded within the Fold farther and farther in a growing radius around her.

Her and her Shadow, alone at the center. The center of the Fold, the center of life itself.

Had he longed for Alina before he created the Fold? Had he known she could exist before he unleashed his Shadow and necessitated a Sun Summoner join him? She could not ask him in this life and so she did not want this life anymore.

At last, she was going to blink out of the world.

Shining out of it with the blinding, fiery fury of a collapsing star, imploding from the inside.

Alina was powerless to stop what had begun.

What force could possibly contain her anymore?

She was so young. She could not keep it in any longer. Never learned to control it properly. Perhaps she was never meant to.

The radius of her light had expanded to the edges of the Fold and where it was erased from the earth, more daylight rushed in and illuminated the scene.

The fire Light was hotter than any she had ever created. Maybe hotter than anything that had ever existed.

Hotter than the fire and combustion of creation itself. Hotter than the Light that burned at the Making at the Heart of the World. She should know, shouldn’t she?

It was past the point of return and the Light would surely swallow everything in its path.

It was beyond anything known. It was beyond the beginning. She would forge a new beginning, though she did not mean to do it.

It was happening now and no one could stop it.

And then—

Something was knitting itself inside her chest.

Born from the fiery core or maybe born from that solitary cool bit of Shadow that she knew lay just beneath her power. That bit of Shadow inside of her that stabilized it all.

Her chest was itching and then Shadow was swirling into her Light.

“Alina.”

His voice reached her and she prayed her thanks to the Saints that he was on the other side of all of this. He was waiting for her.

She had collapsed the world to get to him and it had worked.

Aleksander stirred in her arms, flesh untouched by the ancient power emanating from her being. They were not in the After. He was returned to her on earth. Untouched.

Untouched because Light would never be able to conquer Shadow. Not completely.

Her wailing stopped but she looked at him helpless as she continued to burn. Light beams emanated from her limbs and out of her chest and her gut and every inch of her skin.

Who could stop a star from dying?

Aleksander cupped her face. “It is going to be all right, solnyshka. I know what to do.”

His thumb stroked her cheek, soothing her.

Of course he knew what to do. He had done this very thing four centuries before. Only he had not had Alina to help him. To push back on him and his Shadow.

Aleksander closed his eyes. Shadow denser than she had ever seen—denser than the Fold itself, poured out of him.

Where her star fire was loud with the vibration of radiating energy, his dark matter was deadly silent. It slithered to the very edges of her Light’s reach and encapsulated it.

The world went dark around them. There were no volcra here. No screeches or voices. There was only they two. Shadow and Sun. Dark and Light.

A dying star, shining it’s brightest at it’s imminent collapse and the black hole born from the sheer power of the supernova.

The dark matter swirled and undulated and it was an unyielding master of the Light.

Alina watched it awe as it pulled on every ray that attempted to escape. The Dark curled around it, cooling it, taming it into submission.

Alina gasped for breath, the column of light pouring out of her was gentling at last and cooling off.

“Look at me, little one.”

Her eyes blinked with bleary tears.

“At me.” He said again, coaxing her face.

Her eyes met his steady gaze.

“Breathe with me. We will survive this.”

His voice was soft and unwavering and she burrowed into the assurance it offered.

Her Light gentled and dimmed and then faded entirely at the center of the black hole he created.

Her eyes stared into his. She gave him a small smile which he returned. Both of them captivated in the silent awe of what they created.

Alina laughed. A watery laugh as tears poured down her cheeks and he kissed them over and over.

She sighed, weariness overcoming her and Aleksander soothed her and she let her eyes close, submitting to her exhaustion.

Only then did he call the dark matter back into himself, allowing the natural light of the morning to beat down on them.

They huddled together, centered in the fresh, circular lesion at the heart of the Fold. The buildings of Novokribirsk discernible on one side of him and the army outpost in Kribirsk on the other.

He surveyed the damage, miles wide inside the fold. Wide enough for a small village.

The only casualties were easily explained away. Zlatan and his men no more than dust in the desert. Who would care for the disgraced general and his men? The monsters who would seek to kill the Sainted Sun Summoner?

No one need know how close she came to rending the world apart. No one would know this was an accident—that her powers got away from her.

He could spin this. This—an obviously intentional attempt to banish the Fold—the people would weep and bow at her feet as they were meant to do. The people would not come for her in their fear.

His hands cradled her sleeping form and he allowed himself a smile.

“You cannot escape me now, Sol Koroleva. You watch us. Together we will drag this world into a new age.”

He kissed her cheek, her answering breath somehow, miraculously cool against his skin. He pulled her head close and held her, whispering in her ear.

“When you wake, the world will have been made new.” He stroked a hand over the back of her head, her hair white and gleaming in the morning sun. “You delivered it another miracle." He laughed to himself, tears tracking into her hair from his cheeks, "My cursed, relentless little Saint. Just another miracle.”

[nestasgalpal]

The voyage of the smuggler [Emeriel]

Part 2

Summary: Rhysand has been killed by his enemies from Hewn City, and Feyre has died with him because of a secret pact between them no one knew about. Keir, Rhysan’s only male relative, has inherited the crown of the Night Court and the High Lord’s magic, and he is taking revenge on each and every member of Rhysand’s Inner Circle one by one. Azriel’s been taken, and Emerie has only one chance to save him before he is executed in two days.

A/N: To the people who thought the last chapter had a lot of angst... sorry in advance. This is a long one.

*If you want to be added to the taglist let me know!

Azriel

Azriel’s cell under Hewn City hadn’t existed a year ago, when he was still the Spymaster of the Night Court. The space had been built in record time just for him, and the spymaster couldn’t help but wonder if Keir had given an order to create a personal nightmare for each member or Rhysand’s Inner Circle, or if it was just for him. The light was blinding and came from the ceiling. Not even his body could cast a shadow on the marble floor because of how intense it was. It felt like an endless noon, with the sun right above and not a shadow to be seen. The cell’s walls were not average either. They were not made of raw stone or bricks, it was a flat rock surface without any breaks or divisions where a tiny shadow could grow. He was absolutely powerless there.

“Maybe this is life’s way to punish me for my crimes” he thought. The white floor was so smooth he could get a glimpse of his own reflection. It was not neat, but he could still tell that his black hair was long enough to almost cover his eyes. 

That’s what gave him the idea.

Azriel knew for sure it had been less than a day since they shove him inside of the cubicle. His whole body was tense, eager to get out before he had the chance of discovering the variety of tortures Keir and his subjects had planned for him. To take revenge on him. Azriel had known a day might come in which he had to answer for all the pain he inflicted on others, and he had been ready to endure it. But now that his destiny was so close, he felt scared. He hadn’t thought he would feel that way when death lastly approached him, but he did. Because he had dreamed of his own life ending many nights, but in his reveries, Rhysand and Feyre were alive, Amren was alive, Mor and Cassian were safe, and Emerie was still a stranger who had recently befriended Nesta Archeron.

He realized with horror that he hadn’t dreamed about his final day coming since they met. Not once had the urge of punishing himself with self-inflicted nightmares come to him since Emerie forced herself into his life with her loud arrogance and big presence. He could only look forward, to what the next day by her side might bring.

The bright light of his cell didn’t allow him to sleep, so he didn’t even get the chance of trying to imagine her in the scenario. That was probably for the best. Azriel didn’t want her to see him when his life was taken from him, even if her face was the one thing he wished to see before his eyes were closed forever.

Azriel had always understood balance. He thived from it. His power was not darkness, like many people assumed, but the mastering of shadows; those that came from both obscurity and light. He was sure darkness would come into his cell sooner or later. They had built new spaces to torture them, sure, but the protocol of Hewn City’s prison was sill the same. He only had to wait and it would come to him.

“For how long?” he asked himself. They kept Amren there for a month, but Keir’s people would probably hold him for a longer time just to enjoy torturing him with no hurry.

Vengeance upon him, what Keir had wanted from the moment Rhysand sittted on the Night Court throne’s for the first time and declared him his enemy instead of making him his mentor. Azriel, a bastard born and a lesser faerie having a bigger role in the Court’s politics than he did. He was above Keir, who was of royal blood, and that couldn’t be forgiven. Nor all the humiliations that came next.

Azriel stood up and walked around his cell. There was nowhere to sit or lay, so he had to “go for a walk” pretty often to avoid his muscles becoming sore. It was tiring, and he thought it could help him get some sleep. His wings were tied, but no one touched them further. They didn’t dare. His name still had power in the Night Court, battle-hardened soldiers flinched at the sound of it. He had a reputation, and even the people who found an imprisoned him were wise enough to be scared of the tied up and unarmed Illyrian shadowsinger.

Besides, if he stayed on the floor, he would eventually get bored, and when that happened, his thoughts went straight back to Emerie. Every moment he didn’t spend scheming a way out of the prison was invested into regretting their last encounter.

After a lifetime of chasing the wrong love, he found her, and barely a year after, they were forced to part. He could have proposed to her, but instead, he was the one who suggested never binding themselves together.

“For your safety” he had said. And she had agreed.

At least, he knew it had been worth it, because she was safe and out of this big mess Rhysand and Feyre’s death had led them into.

The loud steps of a prison guard on the corridor took him out of his trance. Azriel noted he was having too much trouble unlocking the three latches. He pushed the thick door open only enough to come inside. The male was armed to the teeth and held a bucket in one hand.

“For you” he threw it on the ground before Azriel’s feet, but the Illyrian had his stare fixed somewhere else, on the guard’s eyes, covered in shadows cast by his hood.

Azriel didn’t even had to think about it, his own instinct commanded the power in his veins to come out, the darkness that was supposed to protect the male’s eyes from the bright light of the cell, becoming his death sentence. His shadows weren’t just the union of light and obscurity, but the absence of both. They were voids shaped like black snakes with a life of their own, and they were now corrupting the male’s yes, covering them, getting inside, feeding themselves with his flesh and absorbing his life into the nothingness they were.

He died before he had a chance to scream, and the shadowsinger was there to hold his body so he didn’t make any noise when falling down. Still, he was not gentle when he dropped him on the marble floor and run out of his cell.

As soon as he stepped out into the corridor, he realized why it had taken the guard so long to open the door. The absence of light after so many hours trapped in a cube of white shine made him go completely blind. His eyes simply couldn’t see anything, not even perceive the walls around him. Azriel had to use his hands to grope for the stone partitions that formed the passageway.

“Where am I?” he didn’t know. He thought he had an idea of where his confinement might be taking place, but he didn’t recognize the texture of the walls around him. He didn’t know what way to go, and he hadn’t expected that at all. He was the Spymaster, he had been for almost 300 years now, and he used to know the space under Hewn City they used as a prison as the palm of his hand. “Where am I?”

He had to think quickly, because his options were narrower than he anticipated. And he hadn’t thought he had that many to start with. Keir had put a lot of effort into making sure he was confined in the appropiate space, because he had been in a room too well illuminated to let him find his shadows in it, and now he found himself in a corridor too dark to get a glimpse of light. If he remained near to the door, he could still gather a few shadows and send them to explore the labyrinth, but they would only go so far before the darkness was too vast for them to thrive.

But he couldn’t stay there for long either, or some other guard might go check on him and find him sitting next to the dead body on the floor. He couldn’t just go now, or he would get lost too soon to be worth it.

He needed to find the way out.

Azriel recoiled a few steps and sent his shadows to explore the way ahead. He could sense what they saw... endless walls, cold floors, and if he took three turns right, he would find... Mor? No, not her, but a familiar warmth that reminded him of his friend.

“Could it be Keir?”, he wondered; they were family, after all. No, he never reminded him of her. Their auras were almost opposites. This wasn’t Mor, but it was a feeling of safety that guided him in the darkness. Azriel was disoriented, and maybe that’s why he decided to follow what would stink like a trap if he hadn’t been so desperate.

His shadows couldn’t go far enough to tell him what was it three turns to the right that called him so badly, but he put his hands to that side of the wall, and started walking, trusting it blindly.

Only when he finally saw the orb on the floor, its silver light illuminating the space enough for him to distinguish its round shape against the rest of the tunnel, he recognized the Veritas. Mor’s family treasure had once belonged to her father. Azriel himself stole it from him and gave it to Rhysand. The last time he had seen it, it had been used to negotiate with the Mortal Queens, before the war.

The shadowsinger knew it was a trap, a piece put there by Mor’s father to play mind games with him. If he had learned anything from his missions during the centuries, it was that one should never, under any circumstances, take Keir for granted. Rhysand had thought he would be able to keep him in line if he opened up Velaris, and Caldroun knew how that had worked out for him.

Yet, the magical object had an aura so strong he couldhear it calling his name.

“Azriel, Azriel, Azriel”. It was a familiar voice. Azriel touched the orb, and a vision of the past projected into his mind without giving him the chance of resisting.

They were in Emerie’s bedroom, the snowstorm outside so dangerous she had offered him to stay for the night. They had been seeing each other for half a year, but they had never spent the night in the same house before. That night they had sex, and she made dinner for both of them. At first he thought they had been lucky Nesta was with Cassian, or elsewhere it would be the three of them having dinner in silence. Then, he remembered they only met in there when Nesta wasn’t around, so it was not a coincidence at all.

Emerie didn’t like silence, but she also hated small talk, and getting into deep conversations made her uncomfortable -At least with him. At least for now-, so when they didn’t know what to say, she would start talking about her childhood and all the good memories she treasured of the time. He had been afraid it triggered him, or it made her uncomfortable if he told her about his own past, but it didn’t, and she found the right way to mix his experience into the conversation with that dark humour of hers he enjoyed so much.

“You whiny bitch” she had called him that night. He knew a fire-related joke was coming, and a smile was already forming on his lips. “Oh, my dad set me on fire” she mocked “That’s nothing, Az. My dad...” she made a pause and pinched the bridge of her nose in a dramatic gesture, like she was trying to overcome a wave of emotion. All faked. “... My dad gave me the worst haircut I have ever seen when I was 17 years old”.

Azriel held his smile and put a comforting hand on her shoulder “Em, I...” he pretended he had no words to ease her pain. She pushed him away.

“You what?” she fake-cried. There were no tears on her face, but if she could cry on command, it would have been the perfect charade “You feel me? No you don’t! I was 17, and I looked so bad not a single boy asked me out for a year. At 17, Az! That’s like the most important age for dating”.

He thought she was funny. He thought her effort to make it easy for him to talk about his childhood without throwing a pity party for him was endearing. And she always made sure she wasn’t overstepping and hurting his feelings. She had finally mastered the fire jokes, after getting bored of the not-knowing-how-to-fly ones. Those had been the first ones she came up with, because, ironically, she couldn’t fly either.

“Em, I don’t even know what to say. I can’t even start to imagine what you went through. I mean, I can’t even remember what I was doing at 17″ He made a dramatic pause too, but his weren’t as good “Oh, wait, I was getting laid every night. Yeah, that’s why I can’t really feel your pain, sorry". He held her hand in his. He wasn’t wearing his gloves, she said she liked his scarred hands better. He didn’t believe it, but took them off every time anyway. “Maybe you should try sharing this story with someone who is ugly. Maybe they’ll know what to say”

“I’m never cutting my kid’s hair” she said. She was smiling, and he was too.

“Yeah, I’m okay with that. And if they want to cut it, I can probably do it better than you, anyway” he answered.

The room went silent. They looked at each other, suddenly serious. Azriel panicked, realizing the implications of his words. When he didn’t know what to say, the shadowsinger stayed quiet, in fear he would add the wrong thing and make things worse. So it was Emerie who said:

“Well, if you want your kids and my kids to be the same kids, you’ll have to do something about your friends who hate me”. Her voice was firm, not nearly as loud as it had been moments ago. He nodded and silence reigned in the room again. “I’m serious, Azriel. I would like to have a life with you, but... I’m not doing it unless I know I’m going to be a priority”

It was fair. She had complained about his friend’s co-dependency before, and he knew sooner or later she would bring it up again and he would have to either break up with her, or grow some balls and talk to them.

Azriel had done a good amount of unforgivable things in his lifetime. He knew that, and he had never tried to make excuses for it. After all he had been through as a child, he genuinely had trouble sometimes telling where the line was. And knowing he had already crossed it once, he thought his soul would be cursed forever, no matter if he never did it again or if he did it a hundred times over. At least he was useful, and his family loved him regardless. 

He thought no other female but Mor would be able to see his darkness and embrace it, and that was why he had been pining for her for so many years. He had thought Morrigan was the only chance of love he would ever have. It was either her or solitude. But Emerie saw him, everything he had done to others, and still loved him somehow. The only thing she asked of hin in return, was the certainty that she would never be harmed or neglected even if Rhysand asked him to hunt her down, which was fair. She had wanted to know that he would always put her first, and no matter what the High Lord from the Night Court commanded, she would never suffer by his hand.

“He would never ask that from me”

“Still”

So he went to Mor and talked things out. He told her about Emerie and how deeply rooted his love for her was after less than a year of knowing her. He told her about the bond he had felt between them that night in her house, and how every fiber in his body had known he simply wasn’t capable of staying away from her, no matter what.

He then talked to Rhysand, who was his friend, but also his High Lord, and who could, technically, use his power over him to force him. Azriel was convinced Rhysand would never cross that line, but Emerie had asked for certainty, and he was going to give it to her. Rhysand had been happy to grant him his wish, and had been eager to celebrate his bond with Emerie. It had snapped for him, not for her. Azriel was not sure if it had actually fallen into place and she was being cautious, or if her fear for his job and duties in Court was so big it was the one thing preventing it from snapping for her.

Emerie and Nest had their onw party the night they all met to have dinner together in Velaris, and he didn’t mind her not attending, it was just onther one of Feyre’s endless fancy meetings. He thought there would be many more to come. The Inner Circle reunited and they drank too much while celebrating life, and happiness, and how lucky they all had been founding each other.

When the sun came out, Azriel was the one who found Rhysand’s body in the gardens.

Stabbed in the heart, his High Lord had been killed in a city that used to be safe. Inside his house. Cassian’s hungover had disappeared in less than a second when he saw Azriel carrying their friend inside the house and had run for Feyre. Their High Lady didn’t have a dagger forged in Hewn City coming out of her chest, like Rhysand did, but somehow she was dead too. Cassian was out of his mind, desperately wanting to get out of the city and go to his own house to make sure Nesta was okay, the bond pulling, but knowing his High Lord had been murdered, and he had a duty to attend. Watching him like that, so desperate, so lost and overwhelmed by feelings, made Azriel realize he couldn’t marry Emerie now. She still had a chance of having a normal life, and he wasn’t cruel enough to ask her to leave with him into exile, not knowing when they would be caught by the enemy. By his enemy, not hers. Not if they didn’t bind themselves together.

He took care of the bodies while the rest decided what their next move was going to be, because he already knew: to escape.

The the vision changed, and he was now seeing a letter. He knew the handwriting, it was Emerie’s. It was addressed to Keir. The piece of paper was folded on a familiar wooden desk, so he could only see Keir’s name and address on it.This wasn’t a memory of his own making, but if the Veritas was showing it to him, it must have been true.

Emerie sat on the desk and with a perfect trace, she flipped the paper and signed it at the end of the page. Then she put it inside an envelope, and sealed it with a wax seal Nesta had gifted her for her birthday.

The spymaster knew this game. He understood what Keir was trying to make by showing him the letter: creating doubt. He had used the technique on countless prisoners to get information from them, to drive them crazy. That’s how he knew it was working. Because he knew Emerie would never contact Keir, he would bet his life on it, on her innocence, even after seeing her hadwriting on it, her signature. But if the Veritas was showing it to him, it must have somehow happened.

How? Why would Emerie do such thing? There must have been an answer, a trick hidden inthe text he wasn’t allowed to read, even if he couldn’t come up with anything at the moment. He hoplessly wanted to believe in her.

He woke up numb, his wings still tied together, and alone back in his cell. The bucket the prison guard he killed had brought him was right where he had dropped it, but there was no trace of the body.

Azriel knew he was not making it out alive. What he didn’t know, was that Emerie was on her way.

-------------------------------------------------------------

tagging:  @illyrianwitchling  @arin1030 @bookstantrash @mireillemystique @silvernesta @thatoddgirl777 @angrypotatofairy @azrielsgirl @thalia-2-rose​ 

[btsposties]

MATES (2) -M-

―pairings: Jungkook x Reader (this chapter), BTS x Reader

―genre: smut, mature, slight e2l, College!AU, werewolves!AU

―warnings: smut duh, foul language, dirty talk, boys being rough, grinding, choking, fingering, spanking, jealousy, teasing, marking kink, the boys can’t control themselves around you, idk smut.

―summary: The Bangtan boys, a clique of seven extremely good looking, rich, smart boys on campus, quite adored by females, except no one was able to really get close to them and past their brotherhood. You never truly bothered to get to know them, until that one fateful day where you discovered their secret. You tried to avoid them, but alas they could always sniff you out because the boys needed you. 

Let the hunt being.

―part (1)

tags: @ayujaded​ @toddsgirl27​ @mrcleanheichou​ @yeontanie21​ thanks for the support!

----

“Say that again?” the tallest male blinked and tilted his head, listening carefully to what the other male said. The members were all gathered in the living room of their grand house.

“I think we found an Alphas Mate” the owner of the deep voice repeated.

“Taehyung...” the tallest frowned, “You want me to believe that a mere powerless, fragile human is an Alphas Mate” he raised an eyebrow still unable to believe the other.

“For fuck’s sake Namjoon, Jimin almost screwed her brains out on the sofa, he was acting like a damn bitch in heat, no normal female human would get him like that” another male chipped in, “even Jungkook is whipped for her” he pointed at Jungkook who in turn just shrugged his shoulder.

“Yoongi please, this doesn’t make sense, please think logically.” Namjoon insisted. Never in his many years of being with countless females or even werewolves had he felt any raw animalistic urges to mark them as his mate, let alone even considering a human as a potential mate for life.

“But it is true, Namjoon, you have to believe me, I couldn’t control myself when I met her. I know I like flirting and playing around with females but she...” Taehyung paused and rubbed the back of his neck, frustrated that the Alpha wouldn’t believe him, “She was so beautiful. I felt like she was so perfect for us like she would fit right in, so challenging, so wild and free!” he exclaimed, the excitement clearly showing. 

“Calm down there pup, she isn’t yours,” Jungkook said in a firm tone, making Taehyung nervously shift in his seat. Jungkook looked at Namjoon who just sat there pondering at the possibilities of the existence of such humans. A human who could stir up even an Alpha werewolf’s heart.

“I guess I need to meet this Y/N that’s making the pack go wild” Namjoon finally decided that he had to see to believe and that the words of his excited brothers were just not enough proof. “It could just be the moon or the hormones, was she on her period or something?” he turned to Jimin.

The smaller and gentler looking werewolf chuckled, “No, I would’ve noticed on our previous encounter, trust me.”  he giggled at the last part, making the reason too obvious.

“Then I must go pay the little Y/N a visit sometime,” Namjoon murmured to himself.

----

You had been extremely cautious on campus ever since your little incident back at the Bantang household. You dreaded meeting Jimin or Taehyung again, afraid of how you might find yourself tangled in their hands again. You had just accepted the fact that you had learned of their secret- or at least that they weren’t normal humans and that they were surely going to contact you again. Damn, were they going to kidnap you? murder you? prey on you like what the wolf wanted to with Little Red? did they have some magical powers that could erase your memories? “Holy shit, I’m fucked.” you barely whispered out loud.

“Why are you just staring at your lunch? I can always have it if you don’t want any” Jackson, your best friend waved his hand in front of your eyes, hoping you would come back. “What’s gotten into you lately?”

You let out a sigh, “It’s...nothing really, I’m just overthinking things” you took another bite of your peanut butter and jelly sandwich, lately, you just couldn’t find your appetite, mind preoccupied with Bangtan scared that they might show up the next corner you took, “I hope” you sighed again.

And just like that, two whole weeks had passed. Maybe you really were just being way too paranoid. Maybe they decided to leave you alone since you never spilled their secret. An implicit agreement of we won’t kill you if you don’t speak sort of thing. You decided that was most likely what had happened and felt like you should go back to your usual life without worries.

You walked into your most hated course of the semester, not because of the teacher or the subject, after all, it was just an ethics course that almost everyone had to take at some point. All you had to do was sit in class, read and hand in whatever work the teacher wanted you to write about. The reason for your hatred was because although you only had this class once every week, you shared the same room and roof as her - Sara. The annoying bitch that for some reason couldn’t keep her loud self to her side of the room.

“Huh, so it is true,” you heard her say. Great, here we fucking go again... you rolled your eyes and turned the opposite way from the source of the voice, the girl sitting next to you looked at you and shook her head almost taking pity.

You could hear the loud clacking of Sara’s heels, who wore heels every day to class anyway? “What do you want?” you deadpanned wanting this encounter to end as soon as possible.

“You see...” she sing-sang as she approached and stood in front of your seat, putting one of her palms on the desk and flipping her hair with the other hand. “There’s this little birdy that told me that you, Y/N, went to Bangtan’s house alone and fucked one of the guys,” she giggled and looked around the room, trying to catch everyone's attention.

“And where would you get that baseless rumor from?” you raised your voice challenging her, she was known to be a troublemaker, thus not a lot of people really believing the garbage that came out her mouth. Deep inside though, you were shitting bricks, did someone actually see you? the only one that knew was Jackson and no one else, and you knew that boy was loyal.

“Oh Y/N, someone saw you and of course, they told me. And now I’m telling the whole class!” Sara exclaimed and clasped her hands together clearly enjoying this, “So I guess it is true, isn’t it? You went to their house.”

You felt irked, why was she so annoying? You weren’t the type to be stepped on either, so you took a deep breath and readied yourself for chaos.

“Yep, so what of it?” you smiled.

Sara’s eyes widened a bit, not expecting you to admit that publicly, she then smiled, “did they give you their number? call you back? contact you again?”

You shook your head, thankfully.

“Then I guess they didn’t like you huh?” she continued and you raised an eyebrow at her statement because Jimin sure as hell looked like he was enjoying himself back then. “They dumped you just like the other girls, one fuck and forever dumped” she added.

Oh.

Ooooh.

Now everything makes sense. 

As if everything in the puzzle finally fit together, you finally made sense as to why the boys hadn’t shown up since then. That must be it. The rumor was true then, you were just another girl they fucked -or almost- and dumped. You let out a small relieved sigh confusing Sara. You were glad that they weren’t out there plotting to kidnap you for knowing their secret, they were just bored of you and since you had kept your mouth shut, they let you free. Right? 

Right?

Sara pursed her lips together, not liking the way you were ignoring her attempts at ruining your day, “I would feel so bad knowing that I did so badly in bed” she cleared her throat trying to get you to react to her.

“Right.” You hummed.

Sara frowned, she wasn’t satisfied with your reaction. You, on the other hand, could give no shits about childish Sara at the moment, too happy to finally have your mind at true peace. Just as Sara was about to say something else, the professor entered the room and asked everyone to sit down, making the upset Sara cross her arms and stomp back to her seat.

----

You were so preoccupied with texting Jackson and sharing your little feud with Sara as you walked down the halls that you had failed to notice the tall male that stood still staring at you as you approached his way. Face glued on the phone and to no one's surprise, you crashed against the body, the person's solid chest making you smack your phone to your face. Ah- Dammit, not again... you took a step back and rubbed your hurt nose while putting your phone away.

“My bad” you offered a dry smile.

“Y/N” he smiled showing his dimples.

“Hm? Yeah, do I know you?” You analyzed the male in front of you, his hair was combed up and dyed ash silver, sun-kissed skin, around 1,80. He wore very casual clothes: loose gray t-shirt ripped jeans and sneakers. It would be a lie if you didn’t admit that he was very attractive.

“N-, Y-yes? Maybe? I’m not sure...technically no, heh.” He looked down flustered and for a second you could’ve sworn that he was blushing slightly, “I’m Namjoon, nice to finally meet you Y/N” he extended his hand to shake yours.

You took his hand and shook it lightly, shy at first but then slightly confused. It wasn’t too rare for guys to ask you out or try to get your number but something about him seemed different, he spoke to you as if he really knew about you. The man called Namjoon must have sensed your confusing state, so to get things going, he moved to the side gesturing you to keep going on your way.

“So, how have you been?” surprisingly, the male decided to keep walking next to you, slowing down his pace every few steps so he wouldn’t get too ahead of your short steps. Honestly, you couldn’t help but find this cute. “I was wondering perhaps you would like to talk for a bit, somewhere more private?” 

Is he a stalker? am I in danger? You pondered, honestly weirded out at what Namjoon had suggested, you had no reason to go somewhere more “private” with him. “Uh, Namjoon... I don’t know you. Honestly, this is so stranger danger to me.” you said bluntly, cutting the bullshit.

“Huh. Guess I need to hang around a bit more around campus then...” he murmured to himself, you were still unsure on whether or not you should let your guard down in front of the handsome male. Suddenly he let out a laugh, taking you a bit by surprise.

“Okay then, if that’s all then I need to be on my way...” you waved goodbye as you picked up your pace, wanting to get away from him. There was something strange about him that you just weren’t sure what it was, your safest choice was to keep a distance from him.

Namjoon sighed, “I know that you know, Y/N” his voice dropped a few octaves as you slowly registered what he meant, you felt your heart drop and cold sweat breaking as you came to the realization of what he was referring to. You turned around wide eyes. It can’t be...no, I thought this was over.

“W-what do you mean?” you stuttered as you saw how Namjoon’s expression turned from friendly to serious, his stare piercing you, almost too intimidating. The man started to walk towards you, hands tucked in his jean pockets. 

Namjoon towered you, definitely. Eyes looking at you fiercely, one of his hands coming up to caress your cheek with the back of his fingers, “Y/N, the boys told me that they went crazy for you. I mean both Jungkook and Jimin? Taehyung I understand, he’s...easily excitable...” he trailed off and tilted your head slightly to the side exposing your neck, “You smell sweet, I guess that’s different from others...” he mumbled to himself.

Your breath hitched, unsure of what to do. This man, this Namjoon guy knew Jungkook, Jimin, and even Taehyung. He knew that you knew about them, was he one of the Bangtan? You weren’t sure you had seen him around, what did he want? Your mind was all over the place, nervous and yet curious about what was to happen as you listened to Namjoon. Something about him captivated you.

“Let’s go home Y/N,” he said and grabbed your hand, taking you to what you assumed would be the Bangtan household, to what he would call home. “We need to talk, all of us.”

You followed.

----

You weren’t sure why you followed Namjoon, you should’ve run for it, called Jackson, the police, your mom, oh how would she have screamed at you for not listening to your stranger danger radar. Yet here you were, getting out of Namjoon’s expensive Audi who-knows-what model sports car, you weren’t too knowledgable in that area. You were however somewhat familiar with the grand house you were about to enter, your last adventure with Jimin flashing past you as you saw the sofa, this time the house looked clean and organized.

“Y/N!” you heard a male shout as you entered the house, you looked up to find the familiar boxy smile man coming out of his room and greeting you from the second-floor balcony that looked over the living room and entrance. You smiled at him, he must have used his sharp senses and noticed that you were here- 

Oh, right...oh god, you had just willingly entered a house full of non-humans, why do you make such poor choices in life? Is this okay? was this it? Was this how you would die, in the hands of seven beautiful men?

“I need to send my location first” you announced just in time for everyone to hear. The rest of the Bangtan Boys were gathering in the living room some faces familiar, some not. You took your phone out and texted Jackson: I’m at the wolves den. Bangtan boys invited me over, I willingly stepped into this house again...curse their charms and good looks. Pray for me.

You could hear a loud and cheerful laugh coming from a brown-haired male as you sent the text to your friend. You looked up to find him trying to hold back his laughter, “We won’t hurt you, trust me, if any of us did anything to you the Alphas would have their fangs on our throats” he chuckled, you could notice that he had a very loud and bright personality.

“Okay, listen, I’m sorry I found out about your secret, I’m sure you don’t feel safe with me knowing...but I actually came here to say that I won’t tell anyone, I haven’t and I have no need to.” You turned to the unknown faces and smiled, “I don’t have anything to gain from that” you assured.

You were standing in the middle of the room, the seven boys all surrounding you, listening. Their expressions unchanging, as if focusing on something else and not on what you were saying.

“This human is the one?” a small-framed very fair-skinned male asked, “I’m not quite convinced, sure she’s banging from head to toes, she looks like she has personality but an Alpha’s Mate? not too sure about that” he slurred his speech, “didn’t you say you jumped her when you saw her, huh lover boy?” he pointed at Taehyung, your eyes turned to him horrified. Just what had they been talking about without your knowledge?

Taehyung nodded and Jimin came forward, “Now, don’t go all denying the fact that you all don’t smell her” Smell you? did you stink? You were uncomfortable with his remark, “She smells so sweet, I can’t describe it, it makes me go crazy even now” he winked at you and smirked. You rolled your eyes, you hated when they treated you like that, all superficial charms and empty words, you were too used to it.

All eyes were on you, their pupils dark, you felt like hopeless prey in front of them. Looking around the room you decided that you didn’t want to be the center of attention anymore and eyed the empty seat next to Jungkook and went to it, “Okay, you wanted to talk right Namjoon? Let’s talk!” you smiled nervously as you settled next to Jungkook who held his breath and lowered his head.

Namjoon observed the pack’s reaction to your presence, amused at the way Jungkook had just reacted now. He watched how the youngest of them let out a deep breath before leaning back on the sofa and turning to stare at your side profile. Meanwhile, in your seat, your hands slightly brushed against Jungkook’s when you went to push your long hair back behind your ears, a nervous habit of yours. Immediately you felt the strange sensation on your hands once again, it traveled up your arm and made your heart pound. Am I having a stroke or something? You touched your forehead anxiously checking for fever or sweating. Anything really that could explain the tingling.

“Y/N, let me introduce you to the pack as one of the Alpha’s,” Namjoon finally felt like easing the tense atmosphere, “We are a pack of werewolves, nothing too different from your species honestly, just stronger, better looking, faster...you could say that we are more enhanced humans” he explained.

“We also turn into big bad wolves” a male you have yet to be introduced to joked, “think of us as humans that sometimes act like canines who may or may not turn to big dogs when too emotional.”

You sat there trying to take everything in, time flew by as each member tried to chime in and tell you about their species although honestly, this was too much for you to take in. You turned to Namjoon when he loudly clapped two times to gather everyone’s attention.

“Okay okay, so let’s wrap this up it’s getting late for Y/N, I’m sure she has plenty of information she needs to take in,” Nanjoon proceded to point at Jimin and introduced every member to you, “That’s Jimin, you know him. That’s the oldest Jin. Yoongi, he’s a bit snarky but you’ll like him. Taehyung, no need to say anymore. This is Hoseok, he’s quite hyper. Then there’s me Namjoon and finally...” Namjoon looked at the figure next to you. Your body too aware of his presence.

“Jungkook” you breathed out and turned to face the male. His stare was piercing, lips slightly curling into a smirk as he reached out to gently hold a strand of your hair and letting it slip past his fingers.

“Nice to see you again love” Jungkook whispered to you.

“He’s the youngest, a bit tough and hard to read sometimes but deep down he’s a softie” Namjoon teased and received an Aish, Hyung from the younger one. “We have many things to discuss with you but we need time, I just want to make sure however that you know the following things...” the Alpha’s expression turned serious and everyone in the room quieted down.

“One: You cannot and must not tell others about us.” You nodded.

“Two: We are not the only ones of our kind, obviously.” You gulped and nodded, never really having thought about it. Were you hanging out with other werewolves without knowing?

“Three: Bangtan is not like the other packs, we are quite...unusual” you raised an eyebrow curiously, “Do you know what an Alpha is?” he asked you.

You gave it a thought, “Well, I guess it’s the leader? Of the pack? I guess” Namjoon hummed approvingly of your response.

“In a simple way yes. It’s the one that leads a pack, the dominant one.” his eyes slightly shifted to your left, your eyes following the direction of his gaze. “Bangtan...” he sighed, “Bangtan has three Alphas,” he said with slight annoyance in his tone.

“So you mean...Jungkook is an Alpha...” you reached the conclusion since Namjoon didn’t leave the gaze off the younger one even though he was talking to you. He must be referring to him as one of the Alphas, you thought.

Namjoon nodded, “and the third one is our lovely Jimin, though he might not really act like one. Don’t let him fool you.” Namjoon set his sight on you again, “Packs are not supposed to have more than one leader do you know what I mean Y/N?”

“N-not really...”

“We will decide and must decide who the top dog is” you sensed the tension in the air, this must be a sensitive issue for the pack. You weren’t sure why he was telling you this information.

“Y/N, you’ll help us” Jimin’s soft voice filled the room and the contents in your stomach turned, feeling a bit nauseous you frowned at Jimin, almost asking him to rephrase what he had said because your ears couldn’t believe him.

“I think I’ve overstayed” you got up and scrambled to grab your bag and headed towards the door, “This is not my problem, I appreciate that you guys trust me, but this is just too much, I won’t tell anyone but please keep me out of this.” your hands reached for the door handle only to have a large warm hand grab your wrist and stop you.

Your eyes opened wide, still not used to the superpower shenanigans that the boys were capable of doing, you pulled your hand away and looked at the owner of the hand that stopped you. Jungkook. 

“Y/N, let me take you home.” 

“No thanks, I’m fine.” you opened the door and it was dark outside, realization hitting you that Namjoon had been the one to give you a ride and that you were going to have to walk back home alone at dark in a very lonely neighborhood, it was at least half an hour walk. You pressed your lips together and took a deep breath, you had to do this, it’s too late to turn back, you weren’t going to embarrass yourself asking them for another ride after being the one to rush out.

“I wasn’t asking you,” Jungkook said dryly and stepped outside with you, he took out the car key and the same Audi sports car flashed its lights and unlocked itself. “Let’s go” he grabbed your hand and guided you to the car. The hand that Jungkook held felt incredibly hot and tingly, you blushed at the thought of holding his hand and settled in the passenger seat trying to ignore the rise in your body temperature.

“It wouldn’t be too crazy to assume you already know where I live”

“Yep,” Jungkook admitted. Of course they knew, they had probably investigated everything about you by now.

The first few minutes of the car ride was awkward. Pure silence and the sound of the car moving to its destination. Your hands holding tightly onto the seatbelt, unsure of what to. Next to you, Jungkook’s eyes were focused on the road, once in a while, you could hear him sniffle. “You can just leave me on the other side of the road so you don’t have to turn around-”

“Nah” Jungkook responded.

“I just don’t want my neighbors to see me come out of this flashy car, they’ll think I’m with a pimp or something” you almost facepalmed hard at the lame excuse. 

Jungkook turned to you and you could feel he was judging hardcore, “Y/N...” he frowned, “just what kind of reputation do you have with your neighbors? Getting out of a nice car doesn’t mean you pimped yourself out that doesn't make sense.”

You opened your mouth to refute but he was right, you sighed, “I...just feel a bit uncomfortable here, you’re just- you’re impossibly intimidating Jungkook.” you confessed eyes straight on the road.

Jungkook couldn’t help but chuckle, “Am I really?” he turned to you once more, this time his expression different, mischief in his eyes.

“Are you serious? You’re just so quiet, and tall, to me at least. Big and everything I see you wear is black! You also look like you’re ready to break someone's face if you wanted to just for the fun of it.” 

Jungkook looked down at his clothes. Yep, black hoodie, black cargo pants, black boots, black hair. He almost laughed at your comment. “Well damn Y/N, now that you say it, I see what you mean!” he smiled amusingly, corner of his eyes wrinkling a bit. Your heart almost jumped out of your body.

“Plus, you guys don’t exactly have the best reputation around, especially with women” you added, “I’m not sure why you guys want me to help, I really don’t wish to involve myself in any Twilight Jacob werewolf-vampire dispute or whatever problem you guys have.”

Jungkook frowned, “Vampires don’t exist.” 

“Oh, but werewolves do?” you deadpanned.

“Yeah, well- not the types from romance novels, those kind vampires don’t exist.” he rubbed the back of his neck slightly uncomfortable with the topic, “As for werewolves, it’s complicated.”

“Complicated is an understatement,” you rolled your eyes, this conversation was ridiculous. Part of you just couldn’t believe the monsters you thought were fictional were very much real and breathing next to you. The other part of you very much so believed it all, after all, you had personally witnessed the powers. 

“Do you like scratches?”

“Huh?” Jungkook almost stopped driving, unsure if he understood your question, “what do you mean?”

“You’re a dog right?”

“Wolf. Werewolf. Part wolf.” he corrected you as saw a small pout forming on his lips not really liking you comparing his species to a regular household canine.

“Same thing, so do you?” you didn’t know what had gotten into you but your curiosity was getting best of you, you had to know now the answer, you didn’t wait until Jungkook verbally gave you an answer and reached out to him. You put your hands behind his ear, your fingers slightly tangling with a few strands of his hair and gave it a go.

Immediately, Jungkook tilted his head to the side, “stopstopstop” he giggled, “y/n this is dangerous, I’m driving!” he was trying to hold in his laughter. You pulled your hand away satisfied with the confirmation of your thoughts and burst out laughing.

“You can’t tell the others about this” he gave you sheepish smile.

For a second you were lost at the sight of this Jungkook, it was different and new seeing him show a softer side of him. You hadn’t noticed that he actually had very soft yet manly features: big doe eyes that you just discovered now that you had taken a good look at him- they weren’t that intimidating now that he wasn’t looking so serious, thin upper lip, his longish dark hair just reaching below his eyes. He looked very youthful, playful, innocent-like even.

“Stop staring so much, or I can’t promise I’ll control myself before I get you home if you keep this up” his words smacked you right back to reality. You whispered a quiet sorry and wanted to hide, Jungkook had just caught you staring.

“I wasn’t staring. I was just...taking in details of your face” you lied, “not every girl is dying to get in your pants Jeon.” you frowned.

Jungkook smirked slightly unable to hide his enjoyment, he set an arm on the window sill and rubbed his lips, he sucked in a bit of air through his mouth and looked at you sideways tilting his head back a bit, “Am I really just that handsome?” he raised and dropped one eyebrow cockily. 

You couldn’t help but burst out laughing at his silly expression, of all the things that could happen you didn’t picture yourself laughing with Jungkook during the car ride, both of you giggling at his endless exaggerated meme-able expressions showing you how “handsome” he could be. You were laughing uncontrollably the whole time this happened, truly comfortable with the Bangtan member. Maybe they were decent people after all.

“Jesus stop Jungkook! Focus on the road!” you laid your hand on top of Jungkook’s, giggling and his grip on the staring wheel tightened, his eyebrows furrowed and you let out an audible gasp. It was as if there was a spark when your hands touched. You immediately pulled your hand away and held it close to you dumbfounded as tingling started to take over it.

“I-i think I’m showing signs of heart attack or stroke, I don’t know, my hand...” you nervously spoke. Jungkook, on the other hand, slowed down and steered to the side of the road and parked the car on the almost empty street. He sighed before turning to look at you.

“Jungkook, I’m worried. It keeps happening whenever I’m around you guys or I don’t know if it’s a coincidence but i-”

“Calm down Y/N” Jungkook cooed, grabbed both hands and lowered them down, “Please, breathe” he whispered with concerned eyes. He could hear your heart quickly picking up the pace and you panicked, “trust me, it’s not something bad, just breathe, don’t panic.”

You took a deep breath in...and a deep breath out while looking at his lowly dimmed face. His hands felt very warm holding yours and although there was a tingling sensation, there was no pain or any other symptoms, your heartbeat going back to a steady and normal rhythm, your panic most likely the reason for its rapid beating. You somehow managed to calm down while doing breathing exercises with Jungkook, who watched you carefully the whole time.

“Looks like your hearts back to normal” he smiled, “you’re not having any sort of heart attack, you just panicked” his thumbs rubbed calming circular motions on your palm, “this tingling that you feel Y/N, I feel it too.”

“You do?” He nodded.

“It’s a sign,” he whispered lowly almost inaudible, “that we’re meant to be.”

He looked at you with half-lidded eyes, his gaze so soft and sincere that your body started to react to him on its own. Jungkook’s gaze dropped to your lips and he slowly leaned his body in, also acting on instincts. As if you could feel his very warm body heat spread over, you also started to feel the warmness in your cheeks as you could feel his face draw closer and closer. You felt like you were under a spell.

“Jungkook...” you mumbled and he stopped his movement immediately, his eyes traveled to yours as if waiting for permission to continue and you responded by lowering your shy gaze down to his lips, you weren’t sure if this was correct, you weren’t completely registering what was happening as you were mere seconds from kissing Jungkook. And it happened.

His soft lips touched yours lightly, lips slowly exploring yours, almost scared of hurting you or perhaps he was giving you a chance to back away before it was too late. But you gave in, you leaned forward and responded to his kiss by deepening it, intensifying it and Jungkook loved it.

“God you’re driving me mad right now” Jungkook pulled away to look at your expression, your half lid eyes were staring back at him, your lips slightly parted and breathing heavily. Your face truly begging for more and it was costing Jungkook inhumane self-control to not just take you right there. He cupped your cheek and his thumb caressed it as you melted into his touch, he was being so gentle with you that you just didn’t know how to coherently respond to his actions.

“I should get you home now” he whispered and left a kiss on your forehead, you both settled back in your seats, Jungkook once again focused on the road and you on the warmness on your forehead on the place his lips had touched. Your whole face was heating up, you hadn't said a peep, the mind too preoccupied replaying everything that you had failed to notice that you were home.

Jungkook got off along with you and stood next to you as you were a nervous wreck trying to open the door to your home. “Jackson’s not home?” he finally spoke.

You nodded and opened the door, the familiar smell of your house invading you. Coffee and food, mixed in with the lavender smell from the air freshener. “Do you want anything to drink?” you asked as you took off your shoes and settled your bag on the counter.

Jungkook didn’t expect you to invite him in, all he wanted to do was really make sure you were home safely. He looked around the house, it was pretty normal, not too messy yet organized in its own way. It suited you. He took a step in and closed the front door making sure to lock it.

“Water is fine, I’ll stay until Jackson’s back” you hummed as you went over the fridge and passed him a cold bottle of water. You told him to make himself at home, turned on the tv and that you were going to change into something more comfortable.

Oh god, why did I invite him in? It just happened so fast I couldn’t stop myself, he did give me a ride, this is just a small thank you- You spoke to yourself as you quickly put on your usual home clothes. A thin, loose, very worn out t-shirt and pajama shorts. You rushed out of your room not wanting to keep Jungkook awkwardly alone in your living room on his own for too long.

“Y/N”

“Yeah?” 

“Do you usually wear that at home?” Jungkook frowned eyeing you from head to toes and stopping his gaze at your chest. Oh. You froze in the hallway as you were making your way to the living room, and stared back at Jungkook who was sitting on the sofa eyes glued on you.

“I can see your tits poking, y/n” Jungkook was an honest man.

“STOP STARING” you shouted and covered yourself. Out of habit, you had taken your bra off when you had changed, a routine you did every day at the end of the day. As you were about to turn around and head to wear something more proper, you felt something pull you back and stop you on your tracks.

Turning around you realized it was Jungkook, again using his insane speed to get to you. “Does Jackson get to see you walk around the house like this every day?” his tone was low, dark, he almost sounded mad.

“No- Yes- Maybe?...” you stepped back and Jungkook stepped forward. You were clearly trying to put some distance between you now that you felt exposed, but he didn’t quite get the message through. You couldn’t help but blush at the fact that Jungkook was staring at you, knowing that just a flimsy fabric was keeping him from seeing your direct skin. 

It’s not like it was the first time a man admired your body or that you hadn’t been with a man...It’s just the fact that it was the Jeon Jungkook that was the one that was staring you down, he somehow made you feel flustered.

“Stay back. I don’t like it when you guys get too close to me.” He continued stepping forward.

“Why not?” he paused and tilted his head to the side waiting for your answer.

“I- It’s weird, I don’t know, I can’t control myself. YOU guys can’t keep your hands to yourself” Jungkook lips slightly curled up, he found your flustered self cute.

He continued to corner you until your back was facing the end of the corridor, he looked very composed, confident, unlike you. His big innocent doe eyes no longer there when his hand reached to touch your lips. 

“Show me what he sees every day” he whispered leaning down next to your ears.

Your body was on fire, there was something about Jungkook that made you so attracted to him despite barely knowing him. You gulped nervously and lowered the arm that was covering your breasts, you immediately felt your sensitive nipples perk up and rub against the fabric, clearly visible through the shirt.

Jungkook took a deep breath in, “Jesus Y/N, look at yourself” his hand went down to cup your breast and gave the nub a few circles with his thumb, “you should at least be considerate with your roommate, how much self-control do you think humans have?” his hot breath was on your neck, his hand gently fondling your breast before he rested both his hands on your hips. 

He was right, you hadn’t realized how uncomfortable this could’ve been for Jackson, maybe he hadn’t said anything because this was your house after all. You saw him as a really close friend you could trust and he was very respectful of your space so you had never once realized that your comfort could be a discomfort to others.

You gasped when you suddenly felt Jungkooks large hands get under your shirt and grab your breasts harshly, “Don’t go thinking about others when I’m right here Y/N” he warned, “focus on your Alpha” you let out a moan when he pinched your nipple as a form of punishment. You felt your lower region tighten and wetness on your panties, you were so incredibly turned on by the way he was showing his dominance over you, you didn’t know you had this kink.

His lips claimed yours once again, this time the kiss was more intense, both of you desperate and holding onto each other while you paused to take a breath, “Wheres your room?” he asked breath shaking and you pointed to the room to your left. It didn’t take a second for Jungkook to barge right in as he pulled you in along with him.

He held your thighs and lifted you up easily and you wrapped your legs around his waist, kissing him as he walked towards your bed. He dropped you down and stayed above you never once leaving your lips, you moaned into the kiss when you felt him grind his hips right between your legs, you could very much feel his length hard against your clothed core.

“Y/N, tell me if you don’t want this” he mumbled as he lifted your shirt up and left small kisses around your chest, he then took your breast into his mouth and gave your nipple a bite and pulling it with his teeth, you hissed at the mix of pain and pleasure. He continued to devour you, leaving kiss marks all along your breasts and every once in awhile biting down harshly, you were sure you were going to be covered in marks the next day. “Tell me Y/N” he asked again.

“J-Jungkook!” you could only moan in response to his treatment, there was no way you were able to give him a coherent answer and he knew it, he was only having fun with you. Jungkook never gave you a chance to rest or to process anything, his lips, and hand touching you all over never giving you a chance to catch your breath. You felt his weight off you for a second only to be drowned again in pleasure when you felt his slender fingers slide between and over your clothed core.

“You look so beautiful to me right now” Jungkook whispered as his fingers slowly slid up and down, he stopped at your dripping core and slightly pressed in, teasing you, making you wish he had taken your shorts off so you could feel him inside, “God, the faces you make when I touch you like this.”

He added even more pressure and your back arched, hands grabbing onto the bedsheets and moaning out his name. You moved your hips to get more friction, to have his touch all over your pussy, you wanted release, you wanted him inside, you just weren’t sure what you wanted anymore but you needed more of Jungkook.

“Please, please just fuck me already” you finally begged him as you held onto his arm, your hips never stopping as you chased after your orgasm. Jungkook’s breath hitched and he completely pulled away and stood in front of you, admiring the messed estate you were in.

“Take it off and show me your pretty little cunt” he took his shirt off and you could’ve sworn you felt yourself wet even more. Jungkook looked at you in a very erotic and cocky expression, his eyes full of lust. He licked his lips and growled as you took your shorts and panties off together, revealing your wet dripping core to him. You bit your bottom lip and started to slowly, teasingly touch yourself for him, you parted your folds and showed your glistening core to the man before you, showing how your pussy was aching to have something inside.

It took every ounce of self-control for Jungkook to not jump you right then, but he didn’t because he too also enjoyed the teasing game. He slowly pulled his pants down enough to reveal his clothed member. Your eyes followed his every movement, you gulped when you saw how big he looked. “You think your pretty little pussy can take me?” he taunted you palming his cock. 

You nodded and circled your clit with your slender fingers, letting out a small moan trying to seduce him over, you could hear the wet sounds your fingers made as they rubbed against your dripping cunt.

“Fuck yourself, show me,” Jungkook ordered and your body obeyed. You slid two fingers in and arched your back, hissing as you felt a bit of burn, you started to slowly pump your fingers in and out of you while letting out small whimpers. 

“Just look at that cunt taking in those fingers so well, keep going, stretch yourself more or it’ll hurt when I fuck you,” he praised you as he stood there watching, he pulled his boxers down and his thick member pop out, he let out a groan as he started to slowly stroke himself spreading the precum all over his cock.

“God, please come here” you begged as you saw the glorious figure masturbate in front of you, “Jungkook, fuck me” your fingers headed for your clit as you rubbed hard on the nub, raising your hips as you edged near your orgasm, “please, please” you whimpered desperately. 

Jungkook snapped.

He lunged forward and crawled on top of you, lips crashing into yours for a messy kiss, his hands all over you, grabbing your breasts harshly and giving them a slap making your skin go red, you winced at the pain and pulled away from his lips, “I’m so close” you warned him and he pulled your hand off your cunt. You let out a gasp when you felt your orgasm fade away due to the lack of stimulation, “What are you-”

“I’ll have your first orgasm” he whispered hotly in your ear and flipped you on your stomach, he pulled your hips and easily put your ass in the air with his strength, your stomach filled with butterflies as you loved how you were being manhandled. 

“Fuck!” you cursed when his hand suddenly came in contact with your ass. The sound resonating in the whole room, “That hurt-” before you were done saying the sentence, his hand came down on your skin once again.

“I’m punishing you for teasing me so much” his tone was low, he grinned when you told him to not slap your skin so hard, “Can’t you take a bit of pain, my love?” he asked as his hands caressed the now bright red skin, trying to ease the stinging, “Sorry, sometimes I forget humans are so fragile” he went for another slap, this time much gentler. 

“Please stop teasing me” you softly asked with your face to the side pressed on the pillow, “I can’t take it anymore.”

“Impatient aren’t we? I’ll reward you this time.” he kissed your flush ass cheek, “for putting up with my teasing.”

His hands were on your hips again as he flipped you around, he propped your legs open and slid two fingers inside you without warning, your eyes widened and you gasped at the sudden intrusion. His larger fingers filling you up more and reaching in deeper than your own. He started out with a merciless pace, wet sounds filling your room as he helped you reach your high.

His lips roamed your body leaving kiss marks all over until he just like the other Bangtan stopped at your neck, he gave a long sensual lick, sending goosebumps all over your body, you could feel his lips curl into a smile and you heard a small chuckle, he must really be enjoying your reactions to his every touch. He pulled his fingers out and slid his middle and ring finger back in, you held your breath knowing all too well what was about to happen.

Just as you were about to protest that you weren’t going to be able to take it so roughly, you felt his other hand make it’s way to your neck, his long fingers wrapping around your thin neck, getting a good grip around it he tightened his hold. “Jungkook!” you gasped when you felt your airway tighten, his lips traveled to your ears as he filled your head with filthy sweet nothings making you blush harsh as you imagined it all.

“Can my bitch come all over my fingers for me?” he pressed his whole body onto you, trapping you under his hold, he gave your breast a kiss and the other nipple a bite and pulling it, your back arched at the pain, your whole body on sensory overload, the whole time Jungkook pumping his fingers in and out of you.

Jungkook pulled away from your body, letting go of your neck and your eyes lost focus as your body regained its normal breathing. He stayed on his knees, he opened your legs up further and leaned forward, putting his torso between your legs and supporting his weight with his left hand next to your body, his torso preventing your legs from fully closing in. You gulped, you knew what he had in mind. 

Jungkook gave you a wicked smirk as he tilted his head slightly up and looked at you with lustful eyes, “I’m going to make you lose your goddam mind Y/N, you’ll forget what Jimin even tried to do to you” he curled his fingers upwards, searching for that spot, the one that would make you snap and break, “I’ll have you thinking about me and your pussy is going to wet your panties as you remember how I made you cum”.

He found it.

“Jung-!” you barely got his name out as his fingers started to furiously pump in and out of you. He pushed all the way in and moved his hand up and down with his fingers curled inside, the palm of his hand also rubbing deliciously against your sensitive nub. You were seeing stars, you were a moaning mess, body covered in sweat, hair sticking to your forehead, your body was trashing all over the place, 

“Jungkook, I can’t-” you groaned and grabbed the wrist of the hand that was fucking you so well, you couldn’t take the extreme feeling, you felt your whole body lose control, “God I- going to-” you were a loud mess, you held onto his wrists hoping he would slow down a bit but he slapped your hand away and pinned it down with his free hand.

“You are going to take it all” he continued to watch the faces you made, his cock twitching, desperate to be inside your sopping cunt, “I love seeing you like this” he bit his bottom lip and added more force against your clitoris with his palm, hand rubbing up and down, “God Y/N please come all over us both” he urged.

You nodded desperately, your orgasm just a few seconds away, your legs fighting to close together but Jungkook stopped them and made you take it all. 

And then it hit. You screamed out his name.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he whispered as your body tensed, your legs started shaking and his hand slowed down a bit as your orgasm took over, you felt your juices spill, with Jungkooks movements making it sprinkle everywhere, you felt some of it fall on your thighs, most of it dripping down to your ass cheeks, you felt the mattress dampen as you shut your eyes and let it all out.

You heard Jungkook curse as he pulled his fingers out of your sore region, his hands landing softly on your thighs drawing circles helping you come down from your high, he watched as your chest breathed in and out rapidly, he listened to your heart pounding inside trying to calm itself after an intense orgasm. 

“I might have ruined fingering for you,” he suddenly said.

You rolled your eyes and grinned, half agreeing with him and shifted your body to the side to look at him and your breath hitched, you saw how Jungkook was still holding a massive hard-on, his cock standing proudly in between your legs, you honestly for the first time felt worried being with a guy, not too sure you body was going to be able to take him after that.

“What’s wrong love?” he followed your gaze and looked down at himself, smirking, his eyes flipped up and met with your horrified look, “don’t worry love, I had plenty of fun this time” he smiled, the corner of his eyes forming wrinkles. He rubbed your inner thighs lovingly and stepped down the bed, pulling his pants back up and searched for his shirt.

You stared at your ceiling, feeling the soreness creep up and take over your legs, you let them slump down and let out a sigh. Why were the guys so irresistible to you? You normally weren’t so easy to sway. Your thoughts were interrupted when you felt the side of the bed dip as Jungkooks figure sat at the side next to your spent body. 

“How are you feeling?” he pushed a couple locks of your hair away from your face, “I...got a bit carried away, I really was just going to wait until Jackson was back-”

“Y/N?!”

Your eyes widened.

“ARE YOU FUCKING HOME?!” you heard Jackson shout outside in the living room followed by the slam of the front door, “I’m going to murder you for leaving me hanging after you said you were at their house!” he voice grew louder as he was closer to your room.

Your heart was pounding, you jumped up and scrambled to put on your clothes, this time also putting on a bra underneath. The whole time Jungkook stayed seated and watched you panic, a playful smile plastered on his face. You ran to your bathroom to check yourself out and make yourself more presentable. when you stepped out you froze when you saw Jungkook still where you left him, you didn’t know what to do. Your eyes scrambled around the room for solutions and stopped at your window. 

No way, this is the second floor...

“Y/N?” Jackson knocked on your door.

“I’m here!” you shouted back, stared at Jungkook and silently mouthed ‘you need to leave’, “I’m in the bathroom, I’ll be right out!” you told your friend.

“Why didn’t you answer my calls?” Jackson asked through the door.

Shit.

You grabbed your phone and unlocked it, 5 missing calls and 10 messages all from Jackson. You own loud moans and Jungkooks fingers inside you probably made it hard for you to notice anything. You were busy reading the missed messages from your concerned friend that you failed to notice Jungkook had gotten up from where he was.

“Sorry, I-” you were suddenly interrupted as you were pulled into a kiss, his hands cupped your face as his lips met yours so suddenly that you didn’t have time to react when he had already pulled away, “What?...” you whispered.

He rested his forehead against yours, your faces merely inches apart, “I hate when you pay attention to other males when I’m right here” he murmured.

“Y/N?” You turned your head to the door, the voice reminding you that there was another person in the house. 

“Jackson, I’ll be right there” you lied and heard Jungkook chuckle behind you.

By the time you turned back to Jungkook, he was gone from where he previously was and was opening the window. He can’t be serious...you told yourself. 

Oh but he was. 

He took a look outside as if calculating where he would land if he were to jump from there. Thankfully only your empty grassy backyard was waiting but it was still a long way down. A frown suddenly formed when you knew that Jungkook was indeed going to jump down from your window.

“No! what are you thinking? You’ll hurt yourself” you whispered really low as you grabbed his arm and tried to pull him back in, he already had one of his legs dangling outside, “Are you stupid? just wait until he goes into his room, just wait here.”

Jungkook grinned and his youthfulness really showed this time, his playful nature showing when he poked his tongue out, “You really have a lot to learn from our kind, y/n” and with that, you watched as Jungkook’s body slipped out the window and fell down.

You poked your head out the window in time to catch Jungkook landing smoothly on the ground with a squat to soften the fall, kind like how cats would always land on the feet. He got up and looked to see you watching him, he smiled, waved at you and jogged away, you watched him until his frame was out of view and stepped back in your room dumbfounded. 

What the actual fuck was that? How could you not be one bit hurt from that?

You finally stepped out of your room and headed to the living room where Jackson was laying on the sofa eyes busy on his phone.

“Sorry, I was taking a shit”

He looked at you in disgust, “You’re nasty.”

You giggled and went to join your best friend on the sofa, you went to hug him as usual when he suddenly froze and looked at you. You noticed he glanced at your body briefly and frowned, “You stink, go shower you nasty person.”

You tilted your head to the side, he had never said anything like that before, maybe you did smell like sweat after your little session with Jungkook, you blushed as you stood up a bit too conscious and wondering if you did smell, “Yeah, I had a long day. I’m going to take a nice relaxing bath.” 

“Yeah, you better wash that stink off,” You slapped his shoulder playfully at his remark, you smelled your shirt but only picked up the scent of fabric softener and the body cream you always used.

Huh, what smell is he talking about? You wondered.

[stfreds-arc]

HC | VIOLENCE .

TW : abuse, domestic abuse, ptsd.

it doesn’t take much to figure out fred’s relationship with VIOLENCE is awful. most of it comes from the trauma of both jimmy and victor’s abuse — there are, however, TWO DIFFERENT TYPES OF VIOLENCE as perceived by fred. there is a kind she has processed, she has been born into and evolved side by side with her —— this is the one tied to her ENVIRONMENT, her upbringing, a slice of dirt in west texas where bruises are a language entirely separated from words. the second is the kind that has crept up to her, caught her off-guard: a single BLOW that sucked her in and never even gave her time to recoup. 

                       essentially, violence is differentiated between:

— PREMEDITATED / EXPECTED VIOLENCE : this is the kind she recognizes before it happens, the kind she can prepare for. it can range from bar fights brewing over pent up tension, it can even be as sudden as someone reaching a point of anger where they need to smash things, as long as it is anticipated by a shift in the air, a signal that alerts her of what’s to come. she tends to perceive this kind as a sort of IMPERSONAL violence, not aimed at truly damaging the other but serving other means ( establishing status in case of a bar fight, for example ). it’s the sort of violence she can mostly reason with. she doesn’t love it, it will still unsettle her and put her on edge, but because she can mostly see it coming, she can adapt herself to it and keep herself ( her PTSD too ) reeled in. this also means she can reason with the concept of KILLING and doesn’t really have a problem hanging out with people who have killed ( whether inadvertently or as part of criminal activity i.e. gang wars, etc, or simply for a job i.e. assassins ). she’s rather desensitized to the morality of it, and doesn’t really see it as an act of violence itself —— it’s either an ancient ritual or a job, either way it seldom has anything personal, the way she sees it. it’s important to also note that she tends to assign RESPONSIBILITY, in this kind of violence, to the PERPETRATOR —— although it is something she tends to not judge or blame, she recognizes it is a voluntary act and it comes with a will.

— SUDDEN / EXPLODING VIOLENCE is entirely different. this is the kind that springs UNPROVOKED ( or mostly so ) and whose sole purpose is hurting the other. examples may vary from one bar patron having an excessive reaction at another’s words and punching him out of the blue, to something as little as someone suddenly raising their voice at another. bar fights are a good example of this ( and something she’s inevitably subjected to almost on the daily ), but bar fights usually have an escalation process, they start as a disagreement and more or less slowly rise to a full blown fight. they do put her EXTREMELY on edge but she can catch herself before she loses her grip, and she can try her best to de-escalate the situation. it will ruin her night, turn her mood sour, prevent her from sleeping, but mostly she can handle it. what she CAN’T handle is BEING CAUGHT OFF GUARD, read: someone suddenly throwing a punch for no reason. someone losing their temper and suddenly smashing / throwing something. someone gripping another by the throat seemingly out of nowhere. her reactions can have VARYING DEGREES of intensity but they always latch onto her trauma and her PTSD, and this is the kind of violence that draws UNCONTROLLED responses from her. it is in fact her main trigger, and despite her constant repression of her trauma, it takes the shape of a TIDAL WAVE of sorts when she’s this triggered. there’s no reasonable line of thought behind it, no logic: her body tenses immediately, her focus is lost, and when the altercation is between two people in distinct positions of power ( i.e. when it’s clear that it’s person A attacking person B ) she tends to shift her attention to the perceived victim. RESPONSIBILITY, in this case, is paradoxically assigned to the VICTIM — as if they were somehow triggering or inspiring the violence, and in occasions she’s allowed to intervene she will shout, try to tell the victim to get out, rather than try and stop the perpetrator. it’s of course a simple MIRROR of her trauma and she tends to replay her relationship with jimmy and project it over similar scenes she encounters — sometimes even entirely misreading the situation, running up to someone in a craze while they’re simply having a disagreement with someone else. the consequences of witnessing acts like this will be mostly psychological, of course —— the impact they have lingers on for days, and the strength of the trigger can sometimes have a ripple effect on her relationship too, distancing her from people she can’t speak about it this with.

the exception to this classification is people she’s close with, whether they be the perpetrator or the victim. because being CLOSE to someone, for fred, means trusting them fully and letting her guard down. she can’t love someone ( be it romantically or platonically ) a little — she loves unreservedly, if it’s a REAL bond then she will let her guard down entirely. which means that when violence sneaks up on her, it will shock her balance to the core.

— if her loved one is the one CAUSING the violence, her fear will take the shape of blame and her blame will simply be put on them. she will find it hard to forgive it, seeing it as a personal attack even without her being the recipient of their violence. she’ll see it as a BETRAYAL of her trust, as if her letting them in meant PEACE was to be expected, and they betrayed this premise.

— if her loved one is the one RECEIVING the violence, fear will take over and, where in the very first moments she will keep herself busy with helping them / taking care of them as best as she can, right after her fear will be crippling. the thought of them being hurt will automatically translate to her LOSING them and she will be driven to cut all relations right off before more pain comes down the way —— as if the notion of them being vulnerable never even crossed her mind.

[ we’re only speaking about the "second” sort of violence here, the sudden kind. as far as the first goes, she can always more or less reason with it, even when it comes to killing. i mean — she did marry an assassin in a couple verses ].

either way, being in the presence of violence of any kind puts her terribly on edge, and even when she can reason with it and keep her reactions in check, it tends to affect the rest of her day and put a great amount of stress on her. it’s not unlikely to catch her nervously chain-smoking outside the bar after a bar fight, or holding her arms crossed and tight, keeping herself close to corners, fidgeting. not the ideal condition with someone so used to hanging out with known criminals, or ready to help whenever there’s wounds to be patched up or wounded people to be hidden. as long as the act itself is unseen, however, she can handle it.

it’s the second she witnesses it that things get rough. it replays old memories she’d rather forget. in a way, it reminds her of her inability to fight back and how small she still feels.

VIOLENCE as a display of power, basically, simply reminds her of her own powerlessness. 

[darisu-chan]

whatever our souls are made of (his and mine are the same), pt. 1

Hi!

Welcome to my first entry for IR Month.

This is a new collection of interconnected one-shots, that you can also find here.

Hope you like this first chapter!

See ya!

but if i know you

Prompt: once upon a dream

Summary: And she believes she would wait for him for lifetimes. Yet she’s not sure she wants to wait any longer.

But if I know you, I know what you'll do

You'll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream

Rukia has never been one to ponder the meaning of dreams.

 When she was a young, hungry child, she never allowed herself to daydream, much less to dilly dally in whatever nocturne vision she had had the night before. The only way for her to stay alive had been to keep both feet steady on the ground. Never looking back. Only ahead, to another day of struggle. And that’s how her life went. Day, after day, after day.

 She finds that being a Shinigami is not that different.

 From the moment she had entered Shin’ō Academy, Rukia hadn’t dared look back or stall. And when she had been adopted into the Kuchiki Clan, she had forced herself to not yearn for what she couldn’t have, and instead be grateful for all the wonderful things she now got to enjoy.

 What were dreams when you got warm food in your belly, a soft bed, clothes and a job?

 Rukia had always been pragmatic, and so, most of her days had become dull.

 Although it is true that Hollow-hunting brought some action into her life, between training, filling out paperwork, attending meetings, and the occasional get-together, decades have passed her by without much excitement. Even after becoming a lieutenant, her life hasn’t exactly been colorful. It just means she’s busier and that her responsibilities have increased.

 But there have been times, sprinkled here and there in the past four years or so, when she has felt more alive than ever before. When her days have been filled by sunlight. When she has been painted orange by more warmth than she had ever known before.

 And it has been in these moments, when Rukia has allowed herself to dream.

 Back in the Human World, back in Karakura, she has learned the true meaning of wonder.

 When she was powerless and lost in a foreign place, she had finally felt as if she were more than what she always had been. She had finally felt human. And even though such feelings had ended up burdening her, Rukia cannot help but cherish every single one of them.

 Because Shinigami have ambitions and emotions, but they don’t let themselves experience the beauty of life, as they are, by all effects and purposes, dead. So they go through their afterlife fighting, and working, and drinking, and eating, and worrying about, quite frankly, nonsense.

 And Rukia had been like that as well. Trying to become a better Shinigami, but failing in both her duties to her division and her duties to her brother. There had been only one ray of hope that had soon been extinguished by her own failings.

 But in Karakura, she had felt lighter than ever during those couple of months.

 And she had had dreams.

 Dreams about the manga she would read, the bunnies she so liked, the spirits she had encountered, the people she had met at school, and even what went down in the lessons she hadn’t been quite able to grasp. It had all been so very mundane and simple, yet wonderful at the same time.

 There had been a beauty to it, to these dreams any normal human had every day. The ordinary had seemed so rich to Rukia, in comparison to the tediousness of her dead life.

 But there had been nightmares too.

 Some humorous, like when she had dreamed she had failed an algebra quiz ─ only to find out later on that she had done so indeed.

 Others were more gruesome.

 (Mistakes from her past, rain, blood, Grand Fisher)

 She didn’t like to dwell as much on those dreams, preferring to forget about them once morning would come.

 But, most of all, she had dreamed about Ichigo.

 Rukia hadn’t stopped to think at the time what it meant to dream so often about him.

 As they had spent almost every waking hour together, it had been obvious to her he would have to appear in her dreams as well.

 It was to be expected.

 However, even when they were apart, Rukia had found herself dreaming about him.

 About his stupidly bright-colored hair, his scowl, how he would complain each time he had to fight a Hollow. How good he was with kids, particularly his younger sisters. How nice he often was to her, bringing her food, asking if she had been hurt during a tough fight, teaching her school stuff, and even lending her money.

 (How heroic he had looked when he had saved her from her execution)

 During their time apart, Rukia had figured Ichigo so often appeared in her dreams because she missed him. He was so ingrained into her life, into her soul, that she wouldn’t even be surprised if, somehow, he shared space with Sode No Shirayuki in her inner world.

 However, now she has to question this idea.

 And it’s not as if Rukia doesn’t miss him ─ she does, oh so much ─ but the nature of her dreams is much different than it used to be.

 Because, after the war, things have changed.

 In the Soul Society, in the Gotei 13, in her division, death looms everywhere she goes. Tragedy had struck in the afterlife as it had never before. They had lost so many great Shinigami, and their absence is felt even two years after the war was won. Rukia, who had to deal with the tragic death of Captain Ukitake, feels it more keenly. There is now an even greater responsibility on her shoulders. To do right by her division, by Ukitake-taichō, by Kaien-dono.

 Yet it is frustrating.

 Rukia cannot help but wish she was anywhere but the place that was supposed to be her home.

 When she’s all alone and no one is looking, she often thinks about clear skies, green grass, the breeze gently blowing on her face, the sun, shining brightly from above, warming her from inside out, as she walks the streets of a sleepy town. She envisions classrooms, the mall, the park, and a house next to a clinic. Soft dresses, delicious food cooked by young hands, lion plushies, and orange at every corner. It’s peaceful in this corner of her mind. But whenever she catches herself having such thoughts, she admonishes herself. Because the Soul Society is where she needs to be. She is a soul, and this is the place where souls live. It is time to stop pretending she is human.

 At night, when sleep takes over, it is a different story. Her treacherous thoughts make a comeback, and it is when she dreams about Ichigo again. She sees him, not broken or defeated, nor as a hero, just him, standing next to her, and smiling at her so tenderly, as he had done back at the Soul King Palace, when their blades had crossed as they had trained. And Rukia believes this is what happiness is all about. What she had been missing her whole life. The feeling of standing next to Ichigo as her equal. Side by side. Always together.

 However, her dreams are not as calming as they could be. Because each night, just as she is enjoying his presence, Ichigo will suddenly give her his back, and walk away. Far away from her reach. And before vanishing, each and every time he would look back at her only to cryptically say, “You know what to do.”

 And what the hell is that supposed to mean? Rukia thinks every single morning, upon waking up. Because she does know what needs to be done. Ichigo is a human, and thus had returned to his home, his family, and the life he had been meant to live before she had gotten in his way. And she needs to continue down her own path. Guiding her division, making nii-sama proud, fulfilling her duties, and being the best Shinigami she can be.

 They are from two different worlds and no matter what her dreams tell her, this is how things have to be. Forever apart. Meeting once in a while. Each of them moving on. Finding their own place in the universe.

 Such is the way things must be.

 The natural course of their existence.

 The unavoidable truth.

 Yet there are some things that not even destiny can stop.

 Everything finally falls into place one evening when Renji comes to pick her up at her division, claiming he needs to talk to her. Rukia is not sure what is going on, but she walks away with her friend to a secluded area, where Renji pours out his heart to her. He confesses he has loved her ever since they were children. But that when she had been adopted into the Kuchiki family, Renji hadn’t felt good enough for her, and had decided to wait until he was finally worthy of her. And now, after several battles won, after the end of the war, with both alive, he has decided it is time to make his intentions known. He wants to love her, to marry her, and even to have children with her. Whatever she wants, Renji swears he will give her.

 Rukia is stunned into silence, not knowing how exactly she can respond to such a confession. Renji, most likely fearing her refusal, tells her to sleep on it before giving him an answer. He leaves her there with the promise that, surely, in the morning everything will be clear for her.

 But when she goes back to her room, she doesn’t think about Renji. Instead, a distant memory resurfaces in her fogged mind. Suddenly she’s back in Karakura Town, to a time when the Arrancars had left them rest for at least one day, just before things had gone south. Yuzu had wanted to watch a movie that night, Rukia recalls. She had chosen a romantic film about a princess, one Karin and Ichigo hadn’t cared to watch, but had accepted out of love for their sister. And, as they had watched it, Rukia had been mesmerized by what she had seen. She still isn’t sure how humans had managed to make drawings move on a screen, but the combination of the animation’s fluid motions, the colors, the music and the voice acting had made for an unforgettable experience. Yet, the plot perhaps had been what had intrigued her the most. The story about a young girl, the same age as Ichigo, cursed to sleep for one hundred years, with the only cure being true love’s kiss. Luckily, in the film the heroic prince had defeated the witch and had kissed the princess that very night. No harm had been done and the two had lived happily ever after. But how sad it would have been if the girl had slept for a lifetime, wasting her life away, Rukia had wondered. She had told Ichigo as much later that same evening.

 “But she does, in the original story.” He had interjected. “Or at least in the version I know.”

 Rukia had been clearly surprised by this statement, so Ichigo had continued explaining. “In the story, there is no prince at the beginning. So when the princess pricks her finger, she falls asleep for a hundred years, just as the curse intended to happen. And once that period of time had passed, a prince did find her and kissed her, breaking the curse and waking her from her deep slumber.”

 “But why didn’t he appear sooner?” Rukia had questioned, clearly outraged.

 “Well, the story comes with a lesson. That it is better to wait for a hundred years for your true love than to just marry anyone else just because.” Then Ichigo had become inexplicably bashful, and as he scratched his cheek, he had told her, “but it’s just a story. Don’t think too much about it.”

 But she had.

 Rukia had often wondered since about the cursed princess.

 One hundred years is a long time for a human.

 It is more than a lifetime.

 So many things can happen during that time, and upon waking up, the world would have definitely not been the same for the princess.

 And when she slumbered, what had she dreamed about?

 “Her prince!” Yuzu had quickly answered Rukia. “She probably dreamed about her true love day after day until she finally got to meet him. So that when they met, she knew him by then!” The young girl had exclaimed, gushing about the romance in the story.

 But that answer, if lovely, was not truly satisfying.

 Because who would wait for a hundred years for a promised love? And what would one do during that time? Would you truly be happy not living as you wait for someone that may not come at all?

 And what about dreams? What do they even mean? Can they truly show you your true love? Or is that just wistful thinking?

 Would a sleeping princess dream every night about her true love?

 Would someone who is awake only be able to feel alive in dreams?

 And now, as Rukia lays awake considering this, she may have found her answer.

 There might be some truth to that story.

 Because, even though she should be thinking about Renji and his proposal, all she can think about is Ichigo. Him and his deep eyes, his ever-present scowl, his calloused hands and the way they feel against her skin. They fill every corner of her mind. She thinks about his passion, his will to protect, how he pretends he’s not as kind as he really is. How he never fools her when he’s sad and about to give up. How he believes he’s weak, ignoring that his strength goes beyond his muscles and fighting abilities. And she wonders what he’s doing right at this very moment. Perhaps he’s studying or working on a project. Maybe he’s already asleep. Or it could be he’s out, hanging out with his friends. Then, Rukia cannot help but ask herself if Ichigo ever thinks of her as much as she thinks of him.

 It is then that it clicks.

 The reason why she has been dreaming about him for as long as she has.

 And Rukia can only conclude that Ichigo is who and what she wants.

 It has always been this way.

 And, yes, she believes she would wait for him for lifetimes. Wait until his remaining human life is over. Until he can join her in the Soul Society as a true soul. And it could take eighty years or more, but that doesn’t matter to Rukia. She is willing to wait for him, no matter what.

 Yet she’s not sure she wants to wait any longer.

 Because, even if life and death should separate them, the issue is not as clear cut as others have made it seem.

 There must be a way for them to be together now.

 “You know what to do.”

 Yes.

 Rukia knows that now.

 So the next morning she wakes up with purpose, beyond doing what it is expected of her.

 She talks to Renji and explains as much as she can why she cannot accept his proposal. To his credit, her friend doesn’t get upset. He’s visibly sad but understanding at the same time. As if knowing what she is about to do, Renji simply tells her to take care of herself, and to tell Ichigo he better be good to her. Rukia can only thank him for the kindness he has always shown her, and watches him walk away, finally able to move on.

It is a bittersweet affair.

 Telling Byakuya, on the other hand, is altogether a different story. It is supposed to be more difficult than talking to Renji was, yet she soon learns that it is not, as it takes nii-sama one look at her to know what she intends to say.

 “It took you long enough, Rukia.” Is his mere reply.

 It goes without saying that his reaction leaves her flabbergasted.

 Of all people, Byakuya should be the first one to oppose her. But she forgets he is one of the few people that gets her decision.

 Nii-sama manages one soft smile at her, before talking again. “He’s waiting for you. Go. I will handle things here.”

 As astonishment becomes understanding, Rukia can only nod. She feels a tightness in her throat that she can’t unravel. She turns around and she’s almost out of the door when her brother speaks again.

 “And Rukia.”

 She turns to look at him.

 “I’m very proud of you.”

 She could’ve hugged Byakuya right then and there and cry in his arms, but she controls herself. It would make the two of them uncomfortable and, besides, there is no time left to lose. So, instead, Rukia sprints away from the Kuchiki Mansion and opens a Senkaimon to Karakura Town. As she enters, she never looks back, and when the gate opens, she finds herself directly in front of Urahara’s store, who is already waiting for her, with a knowing look on his face.

 “I had a feeling we’d have a visitor today.” The former Shinigami explains to her, as he shows her the new gigai and the set of clothes he’s carrying.

 Rukia is once again overcome with emotion, but before she can thank him, Urahara interrupts her.

 “Don’t make him wait anymore.” It is what he tells her before shooing her away.

 She doesn’t think twice and, now inside the gigai, she leaves to her destination.

 The trek to the Kurosaki household is much more peaceful than Rukia remembered. As she walks under blue skies, with the sun shining brightly from above, she feels lighter somehow. As if this is the place where she’s meant to be. And when she sees the house in the distance, she can’t help but grin.

 As she reaches the door, there is a single moment of doubt. Rukia cannot stop herself from questioning if she made the right choice or not. But as she takes a calming breath, she assures herself. Because if there is one thing in this world that Rukia knows better than she knows herself, it is Ichigo.

 And he has never failed her.

 So, with her heart leaping through her throat, she knocks the door.

 Not a second later, he is there, openly gaping at her.

 “Long time no see, Ichigo.”

 Rukia can’t help but smile.

 He looks just the same as always, if a bit out of breath.

 Then, warm arms envelope her.

  She’s made it home.

[swordmaid]

Hi! I really value your insight into Brienne, and I would love to pick your thoughts. So I noticed that in response to the parts of the fandom that downplays Brienne gentle, romantic side, Brienne fans have really been emphasising that part of her. However, I feel that it almost gone too far in the other direction, and now there is this attitude that Brienne would have chosen the life of a traditional lady with few, if any, regrets, if she had been beautiful. Here is where I struggle.

Brienne has been alienated from the role of lady due to her looks and size, but her decision to become a knight would have faced no more positive reinforcement. If anything, she would have faced more hostility. Westeros is a patriarchal, militant culture where strength is inherently linked to martial power. In becoming a knight, Brienne challenged masculine power, inciting not just ridicule, but disgust and revulsion, and violence born of anger. Therefore, the school of thought that

Brienne only became a knight because she felt she couldn't be a lady doesn't work because she would have been made to feel equally unfit to be a knight due to her gender. That she fought against these views to be a knight shows she feels a clear affinity for the role. Her match with Wagstaff, where she overcame her shyness to fight for her right to continue baring arms, speaks of that true desire.

So becoming a knight as a consolation prize does not fit Brienne's character, or Westeros as we know it. She truly wants both. Family and romance and music, but also to bear arms and fight for justice. As she feels that in becoming a knight she has lost the chance to be a lady, her sadness over that is more poignant, but her desire to be a knight is evident in her actually living that life, despite the roadblocks in her way. Sorry for the ramble! Would love to hear your thoughts. :)

OH thank you so much for sending! I love any chance where I can talk about Brienne lol. Brienne IS about the duality of being both the knight and the lady first and foremost. Even with imagery behind her: the pink and the blue, sun and the moon--hell, even with the castles in Tarth--Evenfall and Morne--it’s all about  duality co-existing in one space. That is the epitome of Brienne’s character communicated through imagery. She is both the lady and the knight and I believe her personal story is about achieving that imagery because so far she jumps on one side of the spectrum and never anywhere near the middle. 

Rest under the cut because it gets a bit long!

Though I believe that she chose to be a knight because she thought her body would be more fitting for it, there is this quote in her AFFC chapter: ‘[...] but a rose was no good, a rose could not keep her safe. It was a sword she wanted. Oathkeeper’ that I always found rather interesting and if anything, indicates WHY she chose to pursue to leave behind the life of being a lady and pursue being a knight. Brienne is powerless as a lady. She’s already deemed a failure from the start: she’s too big, too ugly, too clumsy, she stumbles over her words, she’s graceless, etc. etc. Society had already deemed her a failure because she fails to live up to the expectation of what a highborn female should look like, and she’s deemed a failure even more when she can’t perform like one. Her encounter with Ronnet and his rose is basically society indicating what happens if she tries to perform that role: after she gets judged for her appearance and mannerisms, she WILL get mocked and humiliated because they already decided from the start that she doesn’t fit that role. And I think Brienne realized that if she can’t be the lady then she’ll be the knight in the songs instead. Hence her training with Goodwin and her using her body for what it’s good for. So the next time around when Wagstaff came along and tried to humiliate her the way Ronnet did, she had something to defend herself with instead of just standing there and accepting their mockery.

I think that’s the biggest point as well, and that’s the difference between her choosing to be the knight than the lady. Because when she’s a knight---even if she gets mocked or ridiculed, she is able to defend and protect herself. The playing field evens out a little bit. When her maidenhood gets turned into a bet, she beats up all those men who played a part in it in the melee. She can defend for herself when she gets thrown into a bear pit, she can defend for herself when she meets the man who captured her before and threatened her with rape. When she was still a lady, she could do none of that; only stand there and accept the humiliation they were giving her.

And it’s just as you said: she’s not FIT to be a knight too, in a sense. Even if she’s a knight, she essentially longs for her home and wonders what her life would be like if she didn’t run off to Renly’s campaign. Even if she’s out there acting as a knight, she’s still very much the lady. Not to mention that her prowess, how she serves, the oaths she takes, etc. they don’t matter because Society still sees her as a woman. Jaime--one the best swordsman in the Seven Kingdom-- hails her as good when he was fighting her but Society doesn’t acknowledge that because her is what they see first. Even when she was in Renly’s campaign she had to WIN her chance of being a part of Renly’s campaign even though she proved that she was better than the knights there. Brienne as a knight has to constantly prove her worth to everyone she meets because her gender is an ever present shroud that clouds the judgement of others, which I find a really interesting contrast to Brienne being the lady who is INSTANTLY judged worthless because her appearance becomes said shroud. She’s not one or the other because Society tells her she doesn’t fit in those roles: She’s too freakish to be a lady, too woman to be a knight. And right now, Brienne is leaning on the ‘knight’ side of the spectrum but she essentially belongs in the middle and I think her personal story is about finding that balance.

Which is why I really like her with Jaime and why my favorite scenes with them is the Bear Pit and the White Tower in ASOS. I like the Bear Pit because it’s essentially boiled down fairy tale trope: lady is being attacked by a monster and the knight comes in to save her but it’s.....twisted and made crude and wrong. Brienne essentially becomes the lady in the songs except it’s made to be a mockery. She gets fitted into an ugly pink dress that doesn’t fit her---mildly unrelated but DON’T get me started on the way george ACTUALLY dressed them to fit the part. Brienne in a dress and Jaime in armor---which is SO significant because before Brienne had always been taking the role of the protector---essentially the knight-- to Jaime especially when they were captured by the Brotherhood. In those parts, Jaime was the lady that was distressed while Brienne was the knight who aids her. Jaime acknowledges her to be his protector, and it is shown in his Weirwood dream where he’s left alone in his doom with no one else but Brienne protecting him. But in the Bear Pit, the roles essentially gets switched--Brienne is the lady, Jaime is the knight who comes to save her but the fairy tale is all so WRONG and it’s so good lol. Jaime tries to defend her but Brienne is still defending him and in the end, they got saved by Steelshanks and his crossbow. On the opposite end with the White Tower Scene, here’s where they actually being the lady and the knight. Unlike the Bear Pit, it’s not made out to be crude or the mockery. It’s a knight and a lady, a sword and a quest. What’s interesting though is that the knight isn’t actively saving the lady, rather, giving her the tool so she’s able to save herself (and she DOES refer to Oathkeeper as sort of her safety blanket. The sword being the very thing that can protect her however it’s meaning gets twisted by the end of feast but I’ll talk about that in a different post because it’s not relevant lol) Jaime is not forcing her to be one or the other; he gives her the dress so she’s able to perform the part of being a lady without the ridicule she usually gets and he gives her the sword and the quest because she is that knight as well. Jaime acknowledges both sides of her and never makes her choose one or the other-- which is so important to her character because she’s always been forced to fill a role and when she does, it doesn’t fit her as well as she would’ve liked. 🥺🥺🥺

And as for the emphasis of Brienne’s more feminine side, I think that’s too contrast the all too familiar characterization of Brienne being just a knight/or just Sansa’s sworn sword. I do believe that if Brienne were--say, beautiful or someone that looks average (less freakish), I don’t think she would’ve pursued the life of a knight because the only reason she did is that she was able to defend herself. Her physique and size is more suited for battle and so she used it accordingly, and she turned out to be really good at it. But even with her prowess, she still has the desires to become a lady though she’s been pushing it away. There’s this part--I forgot which chapter it came from--but a scene where Brienne psyches herself up to ask these people and she mentions something along the lines of, ‘if she was too scared to talk to these people she might as well trade her sword for her knitting needles’. I think that indicates how much she TRIES to fit herself into this role of a knight, and tries to convince herself that the life of being a lady is unattainable because of how much she’s been judged and deemed as a failure by Society. 

I think it’s not really the fact that she wants to be a knight, rather, she wants to live a life where she’s able to defend herself and her own worth. She’s able to do that when she’s a knight but she doesn’t fit in that role exactly. Her ideals of what a true knight should be is very black and white, very based on the songs that she so wants to be a part of. I think her plot with Stoneheart and the reason WHY she’s the one who found out about Jaime’s kingslaying is meant to challenge those ideals but rather than turn her away from the role of the knight, it would allow her to actually understand what being a knight is thus letting her to fit herself on that role more fully because she actually understands what she’s signing up for. And with the presence of Jaime for their recent chapters, I hope the side of Brienne the lady gets explored and fleshed out too because currently it’s being repressed.

[bookiemonsterph]

Serpent & Dove

Synopsis:

Bound as one, to love, honor, or burn. Book one of a stunning fantasy duology, this tale of witchcraft and forbidden love is perfect for fans of Kendare Blake and Sara Holland.

Two years ago, Louise le Blanc fled her coven and took shelter in the city of Cesarine, forsaking all magic and living off whatever she could steal. There, witches like Lou are hunted. They are feared. And they are burned.

As a huntsman of the Church, Reid Diggory has lived his life by one principle: Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live. But when Lou pulls a wicked stunt, the two are forced into an impossible situation—marriage.

Lou, unable to ignore her growing feelings, yet powerless to change what she is, must make a choice. And love makes fools of us all.

Set in a world of powerful women, dark magic, and off-the-charts romance, book one of this stunning fantasy duology will leave readers burning for more.

Title: Serpent & Dove Series: Serpent & Dove Author: Shelby Mahurin ISBN: 0062878034 (ISBN13: 9780062878038) Pages:  560  pages (Paperback) Published: August 4th 2020 by HarperTeen (first published September 3rd 2019) Characters: Reid Florin Diggory, Louise Margaux Larue Genre: Fantasy, Young Adult, Romance, Magic, Paranormal

I feel like I can’t even begin to describe just how pleasantly surprised I was by this novel. I am not a big fan of romance-heavy stories and one of my least favorite tropes of all time is hate-to-love relationships—so basically the two things the entire plot hinges on. Needless to say, I went into this very hesitantly. Very intrigued to learn how Lou and Reid end up in the position they do and to experience this story everyone has been raving about, but also keeping my expectations as low as I could. I did not for a second expect to come out of it knowing it will, without a doubt, be on my list of favorite books of the year. This is one of those books that I believe truly lives up to all the hype surrounding it.

Serpent & Dove is a dual perspective narrative following Lou le Blanc, a witch, and Reid Diggory, a Chasseur, or witch-hunter. Lou has escaped from her coven and has taken refuge in the city of Cesarine. She lives in hiding. giving up magic and surviving as a thief.  In Cesarine, witches are seen as a danger to all of society—they are hunted and burned, and no woman is above suspicion.

Reid is sworn to the church and charged with the hunting and capture of witches, sworn into a role that demands he will not let a single witch live. In a surprising turn of events, Lou’s and Reid’s paths cross in a way neither of them could have ever expected. A way that leads to their marriage, that forms a seemingly impossible love, and that brings Lou under the roof of the people who could be her source of protection—or her death.

The writing in this book is absolutely superb and cements Shelby Mahurin on my list of favorite authors. Her writing is gorgeous and so easy to fall into. It is incredibly clear how meticulously she formed every aspect of this novel. Both the plot and the setting are incredibly intriguing and captivating. I loved the French influences in all aspects of the story—it makes for a very vivid and enticing atmosphere and Cesarine is the perfect backdrop for everything that takes place. She also does a wonderful job with the dual perspective narrative and creates two very individual voices for our two main characters.

Even though the romance is the main focus of the story, the fantasy aspect is very strong as well and is of almost equal importance. The fantastical elements, though more of a side plot for now, don’t really take a backseat in terms of detail or how significant they are to the overall story. Mahurin crafts an interesting and intricate magic system as strongly as she crafts the romance. It’s something I’m particularly looking forward to seeing in more detail in the next book.

The only minor issue I had plot-wise was the event that sends Lou and Reid down the path toward their marriage. Though my opinion shifted by the end of the novel, as I was able to see every event throughout in a different light, the scene still felt a little bit clumsy and heavy-handed and also completely random, maybe a little too much so. It wasn’t at all what I would have expected and was a bit of a letdown for me, so I sort of wish it had been done differently. But overall, this barely affected my enjoyment of the story as a whole.

This novel holds one of the most brilliant and beautiful casts of characters I’ve ever come across. Lou is everything. She is one of my new favorite characters of all time—I fell completely and utterly in love with her right from the very start of the novel. She is so strong despite the pain she has been through and the terror and uncertainty of her life now. Lou is sassy and sarcastic and absolutely hilarious. She’s tough and guarded much of the time, but underneath, she is so intensely loving, caring, and loyal—just an absolutely beautiful person. I connected with her so easily, and it was an absolute joy reading from her perspective and following her journey.

It took me a while to warm up to Reid, but I definitely had by the end of the novel. He’s quite set in his ways and his prejudices against women, always acting in a very traditional way toward Lou. They are living in a time when women are little more than the property of their husbands and this is something that is clearly ingrained in Reid. He is protective of her and chivalrous to a fault, but it takes a while from him to sound anywhere near loving, even after it’s clear he has feelings for her. At first, I struggled a bit reading his chapters because his attitude and initial inability to be open-minded frustrated me so much. However, there is one major reason I noticed that I think prevented me from connecting with him sooner.

Yes, he is very close-minded in many of his beliefs and his actions, but I felt that there were a few times where things sort of got lost in translation in a sense. There would be scenes from his point of view where his actions and words felt a bit confusing to me and I took them as negative. But later on, something would cause me to realize what exactly he meant by what he said or did and that it wasn’t in fact negative. I don’t think I explained that particularly well, but basically, I think there were times where his point of view could have been written more clearly. In the end, though, I did end up really liking him and it does become very obvious how much he truly cares and would do anything for Lou.

I ended up absolutely adoring the relationship between Lou and Reid. It unfolds and transforms in such a natural way. As I said before, hate-to-love is one of my least favorite tropes, but it is done so well here that I didn’t really mind it. It’s still not something I enjoy reading about and that obviously does impact my rating of the novel slightly. However, few people can get me to like a novel that features this type of relationship, and Mahurin definitely nailed it. My problem with the trope tends to stem from the tension being completely nonsensical and feeling like it’s just thrown in to create drama, and you will not find that in this book.

The tensions between Lou and Reid feel so realistic and necessary—they have every reason to be wary of each other. Understandably, that they sometimes overlook what they truly know about the other as a person in favor of ideas and prejudices that were hammered into them from a young age. They are both strong characters that are unapologetically themselves and, while it causes them to butt heads at first, it turns into a mutual respect for each other and, of course, love as well. The issues that create conflict, in the beginning, are what come to be the things that pull them together rather than drive them apart. And the sum of both of them individually—the strengths and the flaws—is what brings them each to love the other wholly.

There are also some stellar side characters in this story. Coco was, by far, my favorite—she is totally someone I’d love to be friends with. The friendship between her and Lou is so lovely and I’d gladly spend hours just reading about them. They have such a fun dynamic and they always have each other’s backs no matter what. They are the definition of found family and their story warmed my heart. Ansel, a bit like Reid, took me a while to start really liking, but he turns out to be an absolutely wonderful person and a great addition to that lovable found family.

Now for one of the most surprising things I’ve probably ever said and also one of the biggest contradictions when it comes to my typical taste in stories. As I’ve already said, I’m generally not a fan of books that heavily focus on romance. However, this book was so well written that one of my absolute favorite scenes in the entire story was the scene where Lou and Reid make love for the first time, as well as the truly heartwarming lead-up to it.

I am beyond picky about how sex scenes are written in novels. So many fall into the trap of using overly descriptive and flowery prose and a lot of just plain weird words for everything. While I think that being extremely blunt and cold about it is not a good direction to go in either, the flowery descriptions and oversharing of details tend to make these scenes feel very awkward and unrealistic.

The sex scene in this book does not fall into either of these traps and I absolutely adored it. It just feels so realistic and natural, and that is exactly what I frequently find is missing from these types of scenes. Mahurin continues to write as beautifully as ever but is, I felt, fairly minimal on the exact details of the scene. And this is exactly why it works so well.

While yes, there is still detail, she relies more often on the reader’s knowledge of what takes place during a sexual encounter, which cuts out the need for the overly flowery prose and questionable word choices. In a number of places, she writes it in a “fade to black” way without actually fading to black. Mahurin has created a perfect example of how a sex scene should be written and how it should feel to the reader. The focus is on the passion and love between Lou and Reid—on not just physical feeling, but emotional and mental as well. It is so beautiful and natural and is, by far, one of the best-executed scenes I’ve ever come across.

Suffice it to say, I really enjoyed this book. It is so beautifully written and captivating—it is very easy to fall into and get lost in. Shelby Mahurin has created a magical and emotional tale, both heartbreaking and heartwarming that, at its core, brilliantly demonstrates the power of love of all kinds. The story and especially the characters will definitely stick with me for a long time. I’ve honestly been thinking about it constantly since I finished it a few months ago. And, of course, I am absolutely dying to get my hands on the next book in this series. I love how this ended and I cannot wait to be back with these characters once again and see their story continue.

[fuckyeaharthuriana]

Cursed - review (spoilers) up to episode 8 (very long post)

I am going to write a non spoilers review and a spoilers review when I finish the show as well, but for now. Here we go.

The review will be divided in:

Plot: alias, who I am supposed to root for? What the hell is that sword? Characters: alias trying to peek around Nimue to get more scenes from the secondary characters, plus... name droppings? Romance: zero chemistry?? tropey endings?

I generally enjoying the show, especially after the first episodes, which were just boringly long and could honestly be avoided.

1. PLOT

The story starts to be a bit more delineated by episode 7, I have to say. When I started it, I was extremely confused about who I was supposed to root for, what was happening, why all the arthurian names where mixed up. 

First of all, let me say that the show looked very pretty. A part from the hideous transitions (animated transitions), the way the show uses colors was absolutely lovely. 

a) The plot is this: Someone made a magic Sword (let’s call it Sword) which was able to give very good fighting abilities (and magic) to whoever was using it. Merlin came to use it, at some point, but the Sword ended up fusing with him, corrupting him into a need for revenge. He helps raise kings with the use of his sword, until the Sword consumes all his power and almost kills him.

He is saved by a Sky Fay woman who takes the sword out of his body and hides it, trying to save Merlin from his dark power. They fall in love and are together, until Merlin leaves, angrily, when he finds out that the woman has “destroyed” the Sword (but she has just hidden it). She later marries a guy, and has Nimue, who is actually Merlin’s daughter.

The story starts when the Red Paladins attack Nimue’s village and Nimue’s mother asks her to bring the Sword to Merlin. During her journey he encounters Arthur, who is a thief, and Arthur’s sister, a nun called Morgana who actually works with the Fey people, trying to save them.

The plot picks up once we are around episode 6 and 7, and Nimue is finally back with the hidden Fey, alongside Arthur and Morgana, and they decide that they will keep the sword and fight against the Red Paladins.

b) This is the overall plot. The beginning of the show is extremely slow. The show is heavy handed in his need to show us how oppressed and suffering Nimue is. She is shamed by her own people for being “demonic”, she is discriminated by humans (even if she is one of the fey who has zero fey features), she is attacked by both. When the Red Paladins destroyed her village... I was confused, because we didn’t really see any positive feelings Nimue had for her home (she hated everyone, she was discriminated, she was trying to leave). Also, somehow everyone could tell she is Fey? I was confused by how badly she was able to hide, her who looks like a normal human and could have easily cut her hair or something.

Her meeting with Arthur is also... strange. He is introduced as a love interest, we get bits of his story (thrown away from his family, his father has been killed, seeking honor) with the show, he is a thief and his “attachment” to the plot could have been a bit more... consistent. He helps Nimue, bringing her to Morgana, and conveniently Morgana is working to help the Fey and working for an underground smuggling operation. I think I would have enjoyed it much more if Arthur had been more involved in Morgana’s smuggling operations.

The other side of the plot revolves around Merlin or the Vikings (Pym). He is Uther’s advisor, and Uther is a shitty king. He is just there to... give Merlin something to do? I think the show would have worked well without him.

c) Uther and Pym are the comic reliefs of this show. Uther is shown as having no spine, so I am not sure why he was there. He had no interest in the Red Paladins, or the kingdom, he just wanted the Sword because apparently that gives power to the king? At the same time, we have Pym (Nimue’s friend, thought dead in the attack), who ends up as a healer for a raider ship. Honestly, the people in this show were so horrible that I definitely rooted for Pym’s Vikings. I am not sure if the show wanted me to root for the fae or the vikings, but I definitely wished for the vikings to keep raiding.

Now, for the main plot point that confused me:

d) The Fae and the Red Paladins

I was very confused about why the fae were chased and hunted. The world has Christianity, the Pope and the Church but is basically in a fantasy land (but also it has the Ninth lost legion and the Roman Empire, but the gods are not from anything I could recognize). We are supposed to believe that there is an old ancient religion, and that the fae follow.... Hidden gods? shadows? they have power related to the land? But do they? None of them seemed to have any powers, only Nimue had magic. The show seems to imply that they do, but we only see Nimue using her powers, while the fae is powerless against the Paladins. So... I suppose the Paladins attack them just because they look different? Or because they follow another religion? 

I wish there had been a bit extra information about why the Red Paladins are so anti-fae. Something maybe related to the sword, like the Sword murdered a bunch of people and it was made by people following this specific religion? 

How powerful are they? Why do they have a fortress? Are they getting taxes from the kingdom, is that why they have the “money from the Beggars Land”. Furthermore, in episode 8, why don’t the Red Paladins fight Nimue? Why leave her fight one on one? There has not been enough time for the reputation to build yet, and we have not seen her reputation building (I take as example Black Sails, and the way John Silver’s reputation was built there). The conquest of the Red Paladins in episode 8 was a bit... too easy. All these religious zealots suddenly are like nope, we surrender. The politics were generally quite confusing, I was never sure where the characters were because they could fast travel to any point at any time.

e) The Sword

I have to say that I really enjoyed the idea of the Sword as something that drains (took Merlin’s power) and corrupts. I definitely want to see what happens to Nimue after using it, and how Arthur will end up with it, as king.

f) Too much gore

TOO

MUCH

GORE

There is no point in it. The Red Paladins are shown to mutilate and torture and kill more than once. It is not needed. We need to see it once, then... just cut away. The guy who is following Merlin to kill him? He is immediately shown torturing a poor person buried alive. There is no point for the majority of these gore scenes.

g) Characters just ends up at the right place at the right time

There is no map or order. We NEVER know where character are. They can instantly transport themselves to any place. They are hidden in the forest and surrounded? It’s okay, they can immediately teleport an army to the Red Paladins’ castle.

Nimue is in the caves, hidden? No worries, she can immediately reach Arthur who is in another place, when she needs to.

Gawain is wandering the forest? The Weeping Monk is right there!

h) If you’re a secondary character you die

Unless you have an important arthurian name (and unless you are Kaze), then the character is dead. Ambushes will happen, the main characters will always survive.

2. CHARACTERS

Name dropping

I want to start with something that really annoyed me because of the over use. The name dropping.

The show did this at least four times, if not more. A character would be introduced with a name (ex. here is the Green Knight!) and then the character or the narration would rectify it by giving us a new name (”He is Gawain!”), with a long pause that leaves us (the audience) the time to GASP IN SHOCK BECAUSE “I KNOW THAT NAME”.

It just seemed.... too much, after the first time.

Gawain

Alright, let me start with Gawain because he literally came out of nowhere. It almost felt like the show introduced him at the beginning (Gawain is supposed to be Nimue’s dearest friend) but then they edited out the scenes so when we meet Gawain we are supposed to be shocked by we are not. 

A part from this, he really grew on me. He is the Green Knight, the hero of the hidden fae, and he hates humans (somehow all the main fae, Nimue and Gawain, look like humans). His character arc is well done, because he learns to trust Arthur and that is basically his character growth. 

Morgana

HANDS ON, BEST CHARACTER EVER. Morgana’s journey was amazing, also because of what we know of her arthurian character. She starts in a convent, using the family name Igraine, and having Celia as her lover.

I wasn’t too impressed by the fact that the show seemed to use her being wlw as a way to show how progressive and different Nimue is. Still, at least we have our first tv wlw Morgana! She fights for the fae and helps them escape, which shows her sense of justice, even if it is never really explained why she would do this, or even how she started to relate to the fae.

Still, she was soon set to the path of her personal pain when she lost Celia (I’ll talk more about them down in relationships), and the show is never cruel to her pain. We see that she wants revenge (when she writes the letter! Amazing! Stunning!) AND justice most of all, but she accepts the deal with the demon when she sees Celia again, when she is offered something she really desires. Love THIS FOR HER. I am sure her journey will be more and more interesting by episode.

Nimue

I wasn’t too impressed with Nimue. She feels like a character who needs to be there to forward the plot, but I was also sad when the scene moved from other characters to return to her. I understand the need for her character, but I was not too invested in her character arc? I don’t want to sound cruel, I understand the need for her character development and how she had to discover herself and her destiny, but it was all very guidebook and very expected.

At episode 8, Nimue becomes queen of the Fae and conquers the Red Paladins and allies with the Red Spear? This... happens so fast. Nothing had really happened before this point, no plan, no showing us how the Paladins were in one place only... there is really no sense in it. It was just so fast, as if the show didn’t want to spend too much time investing in grand battles or showing us things. 

Pym and the Red Spear

Pym is the comic relief of the show. She miraculously escape the massacre and ends up with the Red Spear and her raiding ship. Honestly, they were the best characters. I wish they had had more screen, more than comedic relief. They just conveniently are at the right spot at the right moment (somehow the Red Paladins don’t kill them? After normally slaughtering everyone they find, they are just captured) and thus are thrown back in Nimue’s main plot line, but I am afraid that because of this they will just disappear from the show??

Arthur

Arthur is a mixed bag for me. I really enjoyed how his character arc revolved around honor. He felt like he lost honor and had to reclaim it. But when he steals the Sword we never see him regretting it, which was disappointing, as that would have been part of his arc. Also, he somehow ends up working with the fae but he never shows any emotional investment in justice because the show is too occupied to show us how Arthur and Nimue are falling in love.

I think he shines the most in the episodes where he works with Gawain. We see how he is smart, strategic, and a good fighter, but also able to lead (he saves Gawain with a sacrifice) even when surrounded by people who distrusts him. I truly enjoyed it.

I think his character loses when he is in the same scenes with Nimue.

Kaze

KAZE WAS SUPPOSED to be Nimue’s right hand, giving her advice. And her character is shown to have both advice for Nimue but also being wiser than her. Nimue needs her counsel. Still, when Nimue actually takes the throne, Kaze is not really seen counselling her, as the show needs to immediately pass to the next plot point, and only shows us Nimue and Arthur.

Merlin

Merlin’s plot started strong and then... sort of got lost. He starts being Uther’s witty advisor. He doesn’t really care about Uther, but wants to use his need for the Sword to also get the Sword for himself (to get his magic back?). He doesn’t have magic anymore, and his character arc shows us how he goes from being selfish (he wants the Sword to get his magic back) to selfless when he finds out Nimue is his daughter. 

Still, many parts of his plot were...??? He steals fire from the Beggar King (supposedly to destroy the Sword) and this leads to the Fisherman being hired to kill him? But this whole Fisherman subplot was a bit out of nowhere. 

He allies with the Vikings (sorry, I forget the name of the king) because their king also wants the Sword... and against Uther... but Uther is literally doing nothing worthy and he could easily manipulate Uther, but ends up losing any upper hand against the Viking king? What was the point of all that?

3. .Romance? Relationships?

Nimue and Arthur? Nope. Their relationship just happens. I have nothing to say about it, a part from the fact that I always found Nimue and Arthur more interesting when they were interacting with other characters because those were the moments where we got characterizations. Arthur with Gawain? We see Arthur’s ability to lead, and the way he reclaims his honor. Nimue with Kaze? We see her insecurities and her hope for the fae.

DOF AND PYM? Yes please. They were just so cute, and Dof’s death was useless.

Morgana and Celia? Yes? But here we are again with the “buried gay” trope, because we cannot have a happy wlw. I understand that she is Morgana and she is not supposed to be happy, so I am not too annoyed at it, especially if Morgana’s love for Celia is used to give conflict to Morgana.

[queenofvestfold]

Birthday girl

Pairing : Harald x reader

Summary : you’re back in Kattegat, your childhood town but weren’t expected to meet the famous King Harald Finehair neither to fall in love with him so quickly...

Warnings : first time, explicit smut, non-protected sex (protect yourselves kids that’s important! -not in my writing though because there are no such things as STD’s in my kinky fantasy world, isn’t great?-)

This one is for my best friend, the sweetest Charlotte, happy birthday again mamour, you’ve waited a long time for this one! 

I’m french and english is not my first language -of course-, I think it’s the most important warning because mistakes can be found, so don’t hesitate to tell me about it! 

You were back in Kattegat for a few weeks now with your closest friend Lydveig in the city where you grew up with the many sons of Ragnar, especially with Björn, being the same age he was your best friend back in time.

Your friend was the daughter of a fisherman in Kattegat and you were glad that she was with you because she knew the city like the back of her hand and also everyone who lives there. Lydveig introduced you to everyone you needed to know. Organized an encounter with King Ragnar and Queen Aslaug, surprised you with your childhood best friend and all his brothers. She took you in the world you used to live in and it couldn’t have been better.

You were back for a month now and you started to enjoy your life here, some little habits were established, you helped Lydveig and her father in the fishing work, you got time to see Björn again laughing like you use to do and having some training sessions with him because “I don’t want my best friend to be powerless in front of an enemy!” 

You weren’t implied in the life of the town since you were just settling in but despite all of that Lydveig almost dragged you by force to a feast that was held that night in the Great Hall. All Kattegat was were to greet King Harald and his brother Halfdan, you sat next to your friend, who sat at the princes’ tables next to Björn. 

The hearty laughs and loud screaming increased as the doors slammed open for you to see two men with tattoos all over their faces approaching toward the table that you shared with the most important family of Kattegat. Your heart seems to miss a beat as your eyes fell on the older one, you couldn’t take your eyes off him, admiring his tattoos, that proud gleam dancing in his eyes, and his hair tied up in a bun. You understood rather quickly that he was the famous King Harald Finehair because of how acclaimed he was by everyone and more particularly by Ragnar and his sons. 

He must have felt that burning gaze on his body because after exchanging few words with Ragnar he looked in your direction, slightly bent his head with a warm smile. 

His behavior made you turned your head away quickly without controlling the blush that rises to your cheeks.

Trying to focus on something else you saw that there was an empty seat at your left Lydveig wasn’t next to you anymore as you caught a glimpse of conversation behind you. Harald’s brother had his arms around her waist “Did you missed me, love?” he said as she was unable to control her smile. When you saw this you couldn’t repressed the thought that creeps in your mind, maybe she could tell you more about Harald since she seems so fond of his brother. 

You tried to think of something else when Harald approached your side of the table and asked “Do you mind if I sit here?” pointing the empty sit on your right. “My brother and your friend are going to join us anyway”. You nod silently, swallowing hard. 

The rest of the evening went excellently, well, maybe a little too much. You and Harald talked until the end of the feast, about your lives, his raids and adventures and you secretly wished he wasn’t so nice because at least you wouldn’t fall in love with him. He was a king and you weren’t even a princess, you knew nothing could happen but you couldn’t control these butterflies in your stomach when he looked at you with his piercing eyes and would chuckle to something you said.

Days had past and you couldn’t get him out of your mind, and it wasn’t possible because you saw him everywhere. You would meet him at the market, on the shore, during your training sessions, in the Great Hall or even with Lydveig when she was with Halfdan. 

She knew something was up between the two of you, because she knew you too well and Halfdan had told her that his brother couldn’t stop babbling about the perfect woman he had met during the feast. This is why she tried to push you in Harald’s arms, even though you didn’t feel worthy of him. Lydveig told you that he always looked at you like he never looked at someone else, and that he was probably too shy to act on it since he didn’t know if you were attracted by him. 

To your despair, you couldn’t stop about what your best friend had told you that day, it haunted your thought night and day “What if she was right? What if maybe something could happen? What if...?” 

These were your only thoughts, this why a week after you didn’t understand what was happening when you woke up with Lydveig’s giggling and loud cheering.

“Come on birthday girl, today is your day, your only obligation is to wear this and join me in the Great Hall when the night will fall!” she said, throwing a pretty dress on your bed. 

The day passed without any unusual events, you went to your training session with Björn and Hvitserk who didn’t say a word about your birthday and went home to change after your exhausting afternoon.

When you arrived at the Great Hall you wondered why Lydveig had told you to come and wear this dress that was worthy of a real princess, you entered to find the room full of your friends and people of Kattegat with the tables full of delicious food. Sigurd was playing the lute on the stairs leading to Ragnar’s throne when Lydveig came to greet you. 

“I hope you’re enjoying your not so little present,” she said winking at you and grabbing your arm to guide you toward the head table where Harald, Halfdan, Björn and his brothers already were. They all came to hug and greet you wishing you all the best. As you search for a place to sit, your friend who sat on Björn’s lap pointed you the unique empty sit which appear to be next to Harald and shrugged innocently when you sent her an intense glare.

As the evening goes on, people started to dance on Sigurd’s joyful ballads, all the boys went to find a woman to invite and Halfdan just poked Harald teasingly, giving him a knowing look which embarrassed his older brother.

Harald finally extended you his hand with a soft smile that made your heart melt. You couldn’t tell for how many time you two danced together, but you were sure that the couple around you weren’t the same and that the place seemed quieter. 

After the dance you realized that almost everyone had left, people were either drunk or sleepy since it was quite late in the night and right now all you wanted was to talk to your best friend so she could give you bits of advice about this situation with Harald. 

You excused yourself for a moment and went to look for Lydveig but couldn’t find her anywhere in the Great Hall. You decided to join her in her room knowing she couldn’t be already asleep. You decide to enter without knocking and the sight in front you left you in utter shock Björn and Halfdan were sharing your bed in what seems to be not in the most platonic way. 

You closed the door quickly but silently only to meet Harald not so far in the corridor who came to see his brother “You saw things you were supposed to, am I right?” he chuckles, “You’ll get used to it, I’ve seen some indecent things too.”

Afterward, you two talked to one another in those corridors for hours as he continued to recount his adventures abroad, when a yawn stopped your laugh. 

Like the gentleman he is, he decided to accompany you to your room and bit you a goodnight, grazing his lips on the top of your hand.

Lost in the thought of how he behaved with you all evening and these past weeks you couldn’t control your hand which decided to caress tenderly his cheek by itself the moment his hand left yours. Drawing his tattoo with the tip of your finger and leaning to drop a soft kiss on his lips.

 “I am so sorry my King, I don’t know what I was thinking! Please, what can I do to apologize?” you asked realizing what you have done, you were sure it would be impossible to have a brighter shade of red on your check.

“Call me Harald would be a good start, and allow me to kiss you again if you want me too.” he chuckles and lean to kiss you but stop himself, his lips brushing yours waiting for your answer. 

You slipped your hands in his hair and pulled him to you, his lips now kissing yours in a passion you haven’t known before. The kiss started to became more and more heated and you were still in the corridor in plain sight. Just as you started to hear footsteps coming toward your corridor, he broke the kiss in haste, took your hand in his and led you hurriedly toward his guest room. 

As he closed the door behind you, he was instantly speaking “Don’t think I led you were to take advantage of you, I didn’t want anybody to see only to protect your…”

Your mouth was on his before he could end his sentence. 

You no longer hesitate when you saw how caring he was toward you, “Are you sure you really want this ?” he inquires, breathless.

“I want you more than anything Harald” you muttered while your hands rested on his chest. 

“Anything for the birthday girl then” he chuckles, carrying you in his arms toward the bed, laying you down while he took off his shirt.

You eagerly unfastened the lace of your dress, your hands being promptly replaced by his, leaving a trail of kisses down your neck and your cleavage. 

A few seconds after, your dress was on the floor, followed by his pants and your underwear, leaving you both fully naked in front of each other.

His hands roamed over your body in the most sensual and caring way, not wanting to be too harsh on you. He kissed every inch of your body, making you huff and moan softly, your hands were lost in his hair when his head disappeared between your legs. Licking and sucking your clit’ slowly, too painful slow, making you move your hips to get more friction, earning a glare from him “Eager thing, let me relish you like you deserve to be” he whispered, adding two fingers as he continues to please you with his tongue.

But you couldn’t take it anymore, you pushed him away and pull him up to your level.

“I need you now, just… don’t go too harsh on me, I’ve never…” you started, blushing immediately as he looked at you with the softest and tender gaze.

“I won’t, kitten, I promise. Let me take care of you,” he muttered in your ear, licking the side of your neck and biting it slightly to distract you as he guides himself inside you slowly and wait for you to adjust to his size. 

Making you whimper from the sudden intrusion, your walls clenching around him as you focused on him and not on the slight hint of pain. He never stopped his praising, even you told him that he could move. Telling you how beautiful you are, stunning when you’re moaning his name that way, how he could come just as the sight of you underneath him.

The room was filled with the noises of your skins, his loud grunts and your moans begging for more. You couldn’t think straight as he hit that spot inside you at every thrust making you see stars each time. 

“Come with me, kitten” he moaned as he couldn’t hold it anymore. He rubbed your clit’ at the same time, making a whimpering mess out of you as you both came undone at the time. Making you clenched your walls around him as he spilled his seed inside you with a throaty grunt.

He let himself fall next to you, trying to catch his breath as you laid your head upon his chest while his hands wandered lazily on your back.

“Do you think Kattegat had heard how pleased you are or should we make sure it’s really the case?” he asked with a false innocent smile and a wink.