#he probably gets sent out to hunt brute down

[h0use-fly]

i love neurotransmitters with positive associations

[seancekitsch]

The Sword and the Quill: Chapter One

Pairing: Gwayne Hightower x Reader

In the weeks leading up to little Daeron's departure to Oldtown, Queen Alicent finds herself trying to entertain the unmarried ladies of court. As one of her ladies in waiting, you agree to an anonymous penpal in one of the men at court, and end up spilling your heart to him. He is your perfect match, your equal. The only issue? The Queen's brother Gwayne Hightower will not stop teasing you as you try to uncover who responds to your letters.

“Do you really have to give him to that brute?” you ask Alicent, bouncing the toddler Daeron on your knee. He’s much too old to be amused by a game this simple, yet he plays along, giggling and grabbing at your sleeves. You scrunch your nose at him, prompting even more laughter

“Now I’ve heard my brother called many names, but a brute is not one of them,” The Queen quips, sipping her tea as she wiggles her fingers for Daeron to take, “besides, Oldtown is beautiful.”

“Well I may be selfish,” you admit, “I want another of your little blonde angels to spoil.”

Alicent has to laugh at that, covering her mouth with her teacup. Angel was not the word most would use for her children. Aegon, while beautiful, is already an outspoken handful, a child of eight and already flirting with grown women; Helaena, sweet Helaena, is shy and gentle, seldom seen; Aemond barely can read yet, but is more studious than half the kingdom, already strong willed and stoic for a child; and Daeron, well, mayhaps Daeron can be raised without the proverbial crown and sword dangled above his pretty head. Despite this, you love to take them on walks and read to them and give them sweets or breads that their parents do not allow them regularly. 

“The boy will be plenty spoiled in Oldtown, I assure you.”

Alicent lays a hand on your arm gently, and you stop bouncing the toddler. He looks up at you, mumbling in protest. She looks down at him, and then you, her face betraying a deep worry and sadness.

“I want to give him something other than what we have, and the other children are already in too deep,” she says, and you understand her perfectly. The Red Keep is beautiful, decadent and indulgent, yet at the same time dreary and often times suffocating. You’d been here for almost a decade now, chosen as one of Alicent’s ladies in waiting when Rhaenyra and the young queen fell out with one another. The Hand had told you that his daughter needed a friend as a young queen, and that it would be your duty to be that for her. Luckily, when Alicent is not praying, she is easy to love and converse with. You care not for the devout practices in the keep, but understand her efforts to cling to something to believe in. Your lord father had even sent your dowry here with you, knowing the crown would probably arrange a match for you instead of himself. There is every wine you could taste, every book you could read, every hue you could paint; and yet you are kept out of reach of anything beyond this place. Daeron is getting an opportunity not to be trapped here, like his siblings and his mother and you are. 

“Yes, My Queen.”

Alicent pushes a tea cup towards you, leaning down to the window. It overlooks the training yards, where young knights take up sword and young ladies of the court watch if they’ve nothing else to attend to. 

You lean over as well, bringing Daeron up to view the training yards too. You see most of the kingsgaurd and gold cloaks there, as well as the queen’s brother. He flips auburn hair arrogantly as he beckons another man over. Careless bravado, if one were to ask you. Women fawn over the sight, pointing and cheering for various men and their swords and skills. You don’t care to join them, not one for tourneys or sport or even the hunt that’s held for each of Alicent’s little ones. Travel, however, is something you’ve always cared for. The travel to and from a hunt, the travel that brought you here; cherished memories you’d yearn for more of. It’s something the men, even the tiny princes, take for granted. You suppose, one day, you’ll travel when you are finally betrothed, however you’re comfortable by Alicent’s side for now.

“How are you with written word?” She asks you suddenly, as if the thought just occurred to her.

“Had I been born a man, I could have been a writer,” you jest, looking down at Daeron thoughtfully. His hair already curls at the ends, like Aegon and their mother. He could be a writer, or a poet, or anything he wants. You cast a suspicious glance at the Queen, however, as she knows this. The Queen has been in your chambers, has seen the writing desk and extensive journals filled with poems and stories and notes.

“Pardon me for speaking out of turn, but what are you up to?” you ask. The Queen allows you frank words the King would probably have you sent away for, but there is always a chance that goodwill will run out. You aren’t exactly sure why Alicent allows you to speak so freely, but if you had to guess you’d think it would have something to do with her personal loss of the princess as her previous confidant.

Alicent sighs again, and looks away from you. You do not like the look of that.

“The King has requested I entertain the ladies of court in some way,” she reveals, and you have to wonder where her apprehension comes from.

“Like the ladies court Alysanne created?” you ask. She picks at her thumb, and it takes everything in you not to swat her nails away from her hand. It hurts, to think that she causes herself pain to relieve whatever concerns her.

“No,” she frowns, “Nothing serious, I was told. I think…”

She pauses, and looks down at the courtyard again before continuing.

“Have you noticed what’s taken place the last few feasts Viserys held?” she asks, her eyes no doubt following her brother’s sparring. A lot of nothing, if you were being honest. The same three dances, the same cliques talking in hushed voices. You would not consider the recent feasts to be an entertaining occasion.

“You mean nothing?” you snort as you lean back in your chair.

“Exactly.”

“Are you planning on playing children’s games to get people out of their seats? Or line dancing lessons so the lords stop stepping on my feet?” you are only half jesting when you say this, your poor pinky toe bruised and stiff for a week after the last feast.

“No, darling,” Alicent lets a rare laugh slip through her voice as she speaks.

You look between the side of her head, and towards the training yard below. Suddenly, you have an odd feeling about this.

“I have devised a letter writing system. I think it would be nice if people could speak freely without their pretenses, so the letters will all be anonymous,” she pauses thoughtfully, chewing on her bottom lip, “I hope that if the lords and ladies know there is someone else at court with something in common with them, they will be more willing to be open. Maybe… I don’t know.”

Alicent falters, unsure of herself. You can tell this is the first time she’s talked through this plan with another person, completely unsure of it. But, it’s not a bad idea.

“Maybe…” you pick up where she left off, “Maybe it will help us find entertainment within these walls.”

Alicent beams at your words, nodding. There is truth in her idea, you realize. That perhaps even you are part of the problem. So easily had you just now even dismissed the women watching the men spar in the courtyard. It is important to have a queen who thinks of these kinds of things.

“Exactly right,” she continues, “I fear that I will be seen as a bad queen if I do not try to bring some life to this place.”

You try to comfort her, to reach out and clasp her hand in yours in a silent reassurance, but sweet little Daeron beats you to it, giggling as he yanks on one of her auburn curls.

“Will you help me?” she asks, and it is a double sided question, both with her plan and with the immense strength of a toddlers fist when they have something they want.

“Yes, My Queen,” you huff out a laugh as you give Daeron your index finger to grab instead, “I’ll write my first letter tonight.”

News spreads quickly of Queen Alicent’s idea, and already the Red Keep seemed more lively than it had since before Aemond’s birth. Everyone’s eyes seemed to be searching, every other unmarried person of the court their potential penpal. Who was yours? Alicent was already working on having Larys Strong organize each match.  You could only hope it wasn’t someone like dull Jason Lannister or contemptible Gwayne Hightower; maybe it would be someone who likes travel and could show you maps and take you away from here at least periodically to see the rest of Westeros. Though truly, you know that you will make a puzzle out of this. To be surprised is not your favorite feeling. Maybe, you think with a small sigh of laughter, you will try to trick the men of court to show you a writing sample so you can compare it to the letters you will receive. 

Your eyes shift as you hear loud voices from around the corner, men’s laughter carrying and bouncing off the walls. Immediately, you know it’s the men from the training yard. Already cringing internally, you attempt to steel yourself and ignore the banter. 

The men boast of the women watching in on the training, pointing out how the lady of House Something would want to give favor to the Knight of So-and-So. They joke about the blush upon women’s cheeks, about the way they speak in hushed tones. What a joke, you think, that they can freely jape at the way that women express themselves. You’d read as a child how knights are supposed to be the most gentlemanly and gallant men in all the lands, about their deeds and generosity and kindness. Now as a woman you realize why those stories were considered a fantasy. You look down at your hands, twisting your rings as you attempt to pass the men without their attention or greeting, but then a voice cuts through the noise. Gwayne Hightower himself. 

“Is cream the color of a maiden’s underdress or her sheets?” He laughs, gloved had pushing his auburn hair back.

“Neither, if you are skilled, I say.”

You balk at his words, loud enough that the knights do not care that a passing lady can hear. Your shock turns to a scowl quickly, ready to burst the bubble of chauvinistic confidence the green knight displays. Surely, you’re not unaware of the way that the knights and lords speak of women, King Viserys himself has said wildly offensive things even about Alicent while she is in the room while she must grin and bear it. But the fact that it is him, so handsome and confident and seemingly flawless, him who paints himself as the picture of chivalry and the epitome of a gentleman knight; him that says it so flippantly as if women- maidens- are but another tourney game to him that has your blood boiling.

“Ser Gwayne!” you call, not hiding the anger that seems like ichor from your tone. For a quick moment, you realize that as one of Alicent’s ladies, you should not be shouting at men in public, but you must follow through with what you started, you cannot bring yourself to back down. Gwayne, surprised, break away from the other men and turns, taking a few curious steps towards you as the other knights continue down the hall. You know what they must think, and blood rushes beneath your skin. Though the sun has gone down, it is still too hot. 

“Does it not disgust you?” you exclaim as you cross the hallway towards him, unable to keep the thought to yourself, “The way you speak of women? And what if your sister were to hear?”

You stop as you land in front of him, not at all hiding the anger in your face. 

Gwayne smirks, face twisting arrogantly, and leans in close. Not too close that it’s improper, but close enough that the conversation does not walk. 

“Then it is good it is not my pious sister, yes? Just her pretty, aggravating little shadow with a free tongue.”

He leans back, as if to mark a victory against you. The sunlight wanes, its setting orange casting a glow that seems to make the sweat upon his brow shimmer. You do not scoff at his words, for in truth the jester has said far worse. To scoff or show anger would be to let him win. But he is wrong perhaps, as his sister 

“Aye, and I’m sure everyone would be the better if yours were sewn in place, Ser.”

He winks, and starts to walk back towards his fellow knights. 

“I am sure you would do it for me!” he calls over his shoulder, a far enough distance that you cannot respond. Effectively, gaining the last word. You cannot believe that Alicent would send her youngest son to live with… that. 

You curse under your breath, your smile not at all reaching your eyes as you keep walking. Anything to put space between you and over confident knights. The stone floors clack under your low heels, echoing in now silent halls as you reach your chamber. They are not far from the royal chambers, so in case that Alicent would like to call upon you easier. This was also the doing of her father The Hand. You look to the ornate doors down the hall from your own, and sigh deeply. Perhaps it is the young queen’s loneliness that makes your desire to leave all the more remarkable. You do not envy her, you think, despite her children you love dearly; And you push open your own door, to the lovely apartments you’ve been given. For a cage, you do like the way this one’s been gilded. Lush velvets and fresh flowers and bookshelves full of knick knacks and lots of natural light to ordain your space. 

You debate throwing yourself down upon your bed, collapsing into the plush down and drifting off to dreams that do not include Gwayne Hightower under the same roof as you. But, you had made a promise. Instead you kick your shoes off and change into something comfy before settling down to your writing desk. 

Dear Ser Lord

Dear Lord

Dear 

You crumple the paper under your fist, not even letting the ink fully dry. The paper gets tossed carelessly behind you, another piece of parchment ready to go. You think to yourself, how to start this without knowing it’s intended? You tap the quill against your chin, staring out the window at the city below.  You get an idea.

My Unfamiliar,

You begin, and yes, that feels right. You don’t know if he’s a Ser or a Lord, and you’d hate to miscategorize. You’d hate to sound too affectionate, or too cold. Him on the other end being your stranger feels a bit more… playful, a bit more unserious without insulting anyone. 

How does the summer treat you? I would ask how you are spending it, though I fear that maybe that would be too forward. I understand these letters to be anonymous, and I would hate to ask you for clues as to your identity too quickly. Though, if you offer, I will accept them gladly. 

I feel that this is an odd pretense to meet, or meet again, in this way. However, I cannot help but find the idea thrilling. I must introduce myself to you in a way that I have not before, in a way that does not immediately give away my identity. Perhaps, you may know me even better than

Your hand hovers for a moment, your hand having been ready to write ‘My Queen’ next. 

my closest companions. I am a maiden of noble birth, as you already know. Yet, that is hardly all I am. I love my studies, reading and charting courses on maps. My hearts truest desire is to see the world I read about, to see more than the Red Keep, my homeland, and the site of a hunt. I wish to ride horseback through mountain ranges and by ship to Pentos or Essos. I wish to experience the food I read about in historical journals, even see some of the more exotic and unseemly experiences there are to travel. Amongst all this beauty, it almost feels wrong to want to see the world warts and all, but I feel I need to. I hope that you are a man that understands this desire, or possibly has seen some of this world and can tell me about it. Have you traveled? Do you travel often? Is the world as vibrant as I imagine? 

I am a woman who enjoys the arts, tapestry weaving and writing of my own, though I will admit I find myself quite terrible at making music. I may dance to it, but I cannot create it. 

And what of you, My Stranger? What are the things within you that you are able to share with me?

I apologize for the haste of this letter, however this concept is new of me. I am certain that within more time, my letters will grow in length as we get to know one another. 

Sincerely, 

Your Unfamiliar

You look over the letter, once, twice, three times, four; Finally, you decide that it will not be better written than this. Just the right amount of information, interest in your receiver, and you seal it. 

You walk to your door, almost shaking, nervous as you peek your head out into the hallway. Luckily, Keely, one of Alicent’s dressers is in the hall. She accepts the letter easily, though you gift her an extra few silver anyway to ensure it gets to its destination safely. 

Now, you wait. 

[lych33dragoncookie]

alright so the main reason i wanted to make this blog; those new Wind Archer trailers.

I already had a lot to say about the first one, for... One big reason.

The fact we're going to the laboratorium is pretty exciting, but I did not expect for us to already catch a glimpse of the Ultimate Cookie. In fact, I had almost forgotten about that; I thought Matcha making MyCookie was more of a byproduct of the Beast cookies needing bodies to inhabit, but...

Well, I guess Dark Enchantress's original ambitions haven't left her. And she's really, really close to realizing her dreams; the dreams she carries on from White Lily Cookie.

It really makes me wonder how White Lily would react to these developments. To see her dreams realized, every bit as horrifying as she most likely knew they'd be, carried on by a part of herself. I really, really wanna see where they go with this.

On another note...

sorry, i just much prefer his Japanese VA HE'S BAAAAAAAACKKKKK~

You have... No idea how frustrated I was to see that the first Beast cookie to release was Mystic Flour and not him. And while it's not guaranteed we'll get him this time, either (even if i really hope we do)... Come on, it's just nice to have him back. He's a really, really fun antagonist. Sometimes, when all your antagonists have complex motives, believing that despite everything they've done, ultimately they're the ones in the right (with even Dark Enchantress only committing as much harm as she has as a response to the revelation that the world, on a fundamental level, was seemingly much more cruel, uncaring and pointless than she had ever thought; a desperate need to make a difference, no matter how many lives and pain it takes), it's incredibly nice to have that one villain, that one villain who doesn't try to find an excuse for what they do, having fun, not believing that they're doing everything that they do for some greater motive, but just to have fun, to make the entire world one big, brightly burning play area for them to toy with as long as they want, however they want. I love Shadow Milk, because he perfectly offsets the usual monologuing, self-righteous villainy we tend to see (And often enjoy, don't get me wrong, both Dark Enchantress and Mystic Flour have grown one me) with just pure, uncaring, show-stopping villainy for the sake of villainy.

He's manipulative, playful, silly, over the top, more concerned with putting on a show first and foremost than actually accomplishing his objectives; because you and I both know that he knows that he could probably just brute force his way into getting his soul jam back, into taking down the heroes without any opportunity for them to do anything about it. If he wanted to, he could very, very easily create an unwinnable scenario. But he doesn't. Because that's no fun.

And I absolutely adore him for it. Every single scene he's in is an absolute delight.

... Right, uh. Wind Archer.

I'm excited for him! It's been a while since we've gotten any Ovenbreak legendaries, and with Wind Archer in the game, it means we're likely very close to seeing Fire Spirit and Millennial Tree (Both pretty big faves for me, though Millie is the one that does unholy things to my brain just from looking at him). And honestly, this feels like a really, really good use for him! No beating around the bush, no overcomplicating anything, just going straight to the point and trying to stop the current threat at its root. He's going to fail, obviously. Even if he takes out the ultimate cookie, chances are it can just be rebuilt, and the beasts on an individual level would be way too much for him to handle. And with Shadow Milk having awoken... Yeah, he stands just about no chance. But, it will be very fun to see, methinks. It's also just a pretty natural fit; a protector of nature that hunts down anything that may disturb or corrupt said nature being sent to strike down what's pretty much a threat that's entirely artificial, unnatural, bodies made through forbidden, arcane magic and ethically dubious means, stumbling upon the culmination of someone's ambitions to create perfect life by artificial means. It works out really, really well, methinks.

But yeah that's my thoughts so far on the 2 Wind Archer update trailers, I'm actually really excited for where they're gonna take this, we've actually got some good plot progression going on and a lot of interesting writing ideas that while I don't fully trust the devs to execute perfectly, I do still really like and feel pretty hopeful for!

... Now just give me Shadow Milk and Millennial Tree and my life is yours. And Lychee, maybe. That one might take a bit. how are they even gonna do Longan in Kingdom. that's... quite a lot to try to adapt without either rehashing content or completely hijacking the plot. god i hope this doesn't mean they'll just stop at Lotus. I miss my dragons. Except not really because OB has been doing some good stuff with them.

Sorry for the really long post, but I wanted to dump some thoughts and have a sort of primer for the kinda stuff I wanna make for this blog.

Oh, and expect some shitposts along the way, too.

[wereh0gz]

Last wereboom post in a while probably I am. Running out of ideas and we're at the end of this au's story anyway

So Sonic's been captured, the villagers is essentially holding his friends hostage, and Eggman now basically has free reign over Hedgehog Village. He's sent his badniks to start taking over the place while everyone else was distracted with the hunt, so when they all get back, they'll be in for a big surprise (well, everyone except Tails, Amy, Knux, and Sticks of course)

The crew tries to fight and get Sonic back, but Metal Sonic swoops in and quickly overpowers them, trapping them into cages to make sure they can't intervene with the takeover

Meanwhile at Eggman's base, Sonic is thrown into a cage. Again. Not fun. And he's being taunted by Shadow. And is one more insult away from flying into a feral rage. Eggman plans to keep him prisoner and make him watch him take over of the village, then the island, and then the whole world. And he also wants to study Sonic's condition. He's never seen anything like it before (not in real life, that is) and is incredibly curious abt it. Shadow, meanwhile, wants to kick his teeth in, so while Eggman goes off to oversee the takeover, Sonic is left alone with Shadow

The two fight, of course. Shadow actually gets in his cage and tries to fight him, which ends as well as you'd expect for both of them. But it does give Sonic an opening to escape, and while he really wants to kick Shadow's ass, he's getting claustrophobic and wants to get Out. So he immediately brute-forces his way out, locking Shadow in the cage in process. He's running on animal instincts rn

Once he's outside tho, he runs into a problem- he's on an island and deathly afraid of water. Orbot and Cubot (oh yeah, they exist, sorry for forgetting abt them for this long lmao) helplessly try to stop him, but Sonic is easily able to intimidate them into taking him back to the main island

Once there, he hurries to free his friends and the village, taking down Metal Sonic and the other badniks keeping the village captive and stopping Eggman's takeover dead in its tracks. Though he's in a bit of a feral rampage, the villagers start to see that he's, at the very least, trying to help

As the fight dies down and Eggman is sent packing, the sun begins to rise, and Sonic transforms back into his normal self. He wants to run off and just be over with the day already, but the village is already celebrating and he gets caught up in it. He hazards to ask the mayor if they're gonna, uh, idk, kick him out of the village bc of the werehog thing or something, but thankfully no! He even apologizes on behalf of the village!

And he does Nothing else to compensate for the stress they just put him through. But that's to be expected at this point

And that's that! Nothing bad happens ever again (for real this time. At least nothing as bad as what just happened here). After that, Sonic decides to go back to living in his burrow full time. He needs to get away from everything for a while, until he adjusts to everyone knowing abt the werehog thing. Tails and the rest of his friends try to help him manage his condition as it slowly worsens, but having everyone know in a way makes things a little better? He has a bigger support system now which is very nice

Everything is back to normal, but it isn't at the same time, as it tends to be like when a big life-changing event happens. The end, for now :]

[tuber-tastic]

Live blogging ATOMIC HEART part 2

Ok, we finally have some action.  We are given our task: find Viktor Petrov, dude responsible for the robot uprising.  Glove provides exposition and destination.  We have a nice setpiece with that giant tentacle shooting up into the sky, probably to knock down a platform.  I also really liked the robot luring our PC into an outhouse to kill us, and we get a good look at how many people it successfully killed. 

I liked Granny Zina, but I already have a soft spot for Babushkas anyway. We see that she is hunted by robots and handy with a gun. She saves the PC’s ass.  We don’t spend much time with her at all, and there is a possibility she was killed but I doubt it, especially since her voice features in an audio diary. 

Finally, we are sent to the underground facility to hunt for Viktor Petrov, and we get a taste of how combat and exploration are actually going to go.  Now, I am not certain if the following this is occurring because the player is very on the ball and moving too fast or dialogue was poorly timed, but expository tips such as which attacks to avoid, how to lockpick, or getting info from corpses always comes later than the actions I am witnessing.  

Audio files (or chirpers) look like old pocket watches, and the devs seem to have made it very easy for the player to play a chirper while beating up robots.  No need to stay in one place or hunt in the menu to listen to them.

We get a cutscene showing the giant tentacle is actually something like a sandworm, and meet a tough no nonsense doc named Larisa. Our PC is an absolute dick about the dying man who pulled him out of the rubble.   We get attacked by a Lab Tech bot, who seems to be a miniboss. 

We unlock a door, and down an ominous lullaby, our glove (finally introduced a little earlier as Char-Les) tells us that is NORA. 

NORA....

I have no idea if I’m being a prude, but why the FUCK did they sexualize the upgrade machine.  I believe she tries to enact death by metal tentacle snu snu first before you use the glove to subdue her.  There is a good post of a French/English twitter thread commenting on this.  

P-3′s dialogue with Char-les is still antagonistic, and I’m not finding it entertaining.  I can see how some players could related to P-3′s annoyance at Char-les speaking the obvious.

I really really REALLY enjoy the talking corpse element.  I can understand how one would find their repeated dialogue annoying, but it’s explained as neuro-polymer (this game’s phlebotinum) and the fact that you can have a dialogue with the dead?  Love it!  I do not get to see the player actually use this mechanic in the Walkthrough I chose, but as he seemed to miss all the clues I think they brute forced it. 

I will likely have more thoughts as the story progresses. 

Live Blogging ATOMIC HEART

First off, Slava Ukraini. As an American I'm pleased my tax dollars are helping support your defense.

I don't really play games, I watch them for their stories. Atomic Heart seemed like it had a good story, so I jumped on Gamer's Little Playground's Walkthough. I chose that one because I can trust that it will make an effort to listen to smaller things like audio diaries, and my preferred Let's Players weren't playing.

If you are like me and in it for the story, the first 30 minutes are not good. The entrance to this story is incredibly abrupt. PC is in a boat, in a canal, and suddenly his glove is talking. Exposition is given by overhearing NPCs, and if your hearing is shit like mine, good luck reading the subtitles.

Yes, the subtitles are less than useful. I suppose the devs thought that anchoring then to the speaker would be clever. Their size is tiny, which it needs to be. But since it's so far away I can't read jack.

I digress. So we are dropped in this world and what can the PC do? Nothing. You're locked in the boat being drip-fed exposition via looking around in a slow canal ride, overhearing dialog, getting directions "over the phone". After 5 minutes in the PC gets the opportunity to interact with an NPC for more than a second and there are some nice teasers of a mystery. But there is something... both slow and rushed about it all.

This is an alternative history, and establishing the world is very important. Does Atomic Heart do this well?

Well, the game is easy on the eyes here, and we overhear from a tour robot within the first minute that we're in the clouds. It does not look or feel like we are in the clouds, like Bioshock's Columbia. You must carefully read the walls of the war memorial if you want to establish the alternative timeline in your head. The aesthetic is, to my American Eyes, on point. The abundance of robots, their interactions with people, and finally the full robot parade, also do well to flesh out the setting.

I believe our biggest problem right now is that our PC has repeatedly demonstrated that he is incurious, dismissing information as stuff he already knows. To be fair, information is regularly dumped on him, such as the tutorial scene with the Tereshkova. He stands mute while she lectures then bluntly dismisses her.

I know they wanted to establish Dr. Sechenov's office for some foreshadowing, but oh my god was it a waste of time. The car to your mission is outside the building, but you have to go in to get the key from the sexy bodyguards people are thirsting over. You go up, the bodyguards give you the key and BLOCK YOU from exploring this giant office, then you have to IMMEDIATELY go back down. Who thought that was a good idea???? The exposition in the lift ride down is leagues better than the regurgitation of the brain device on the ride up, but doesn't make up for the absolute waste of time.

I will end with our PC in the car. I liked the use of the radio, and finally revealing the cloud platforms and the land below. I can't say that I enjoy the antagonistic banter between our PC and his glove. The tour guide exposition is back, and I don't hate it, especially since it seems to be spelling out our future levels.

Facility 3826, our setting, is incredibly confusing. Why is half of the facility in the clouds and why is the rest on the ground?

The inciting incident occurs when hostile robots cause our PC's car to crash. What is confounding is that we are met by a friendly Tereshkova unit, who mentions all the other robots aren't hostile. Girl, aren't YOU a robot???

By the time we get to the title screen, It has been roughly 31 minutes, we are falling from the sky, and the story only has THE MOST tenuous grip on me. I'm watching to see if our PC is a robot.

If you're interested in playing Atomic Heart and want to jump straight into the action, I feel so badly for you. If you're like me and in it for the story, let us see if it gets any better.

[hotch-stufff]

hello, can I request an au where the team teases the reader because she likes Gibbs a lot and Gibbs do flirt with her... like pure teasing in the au... just the team teasing them both MANY TIMES, ALL THE TIME and reader getting all shy and blushing every time ... and Gibbs just smirking...

Blushing

gif by lucifersagents

Paring: Gibbs x Reader

Warnings!: flirting, a curse word or two, kissing, literally a bunch of fluff tho, and Gibbs being cocky ofc

Description: Gibbs decides to flirt a little, how were you supposed to know he was being serious?

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

You had a problem.

Not really a problem, more like an inconvenience.

But it caused problems. You tended to blush, a lot. And when people discovered this, they would try and make you blush, a lot.

One of these people happened to be Leroy Jethro Gibbs, and he, being the cocky man he is, began flirting with you just to see that blush.

This was an even bigger problem because you liked Gibbs. Like a lot. You were probably in love with him at this point. He was just so ... so Gibbs. There weren't really words to describe the man. But he was driving you crazy with the flirting.

And boy did it happen a lot. On cases, in the office, in his basment, just about eveywhere.

Dinozzo and Ziva thought it was the funniest thing. Probably because the comments were so out of character for Gibbs, and because they definitely knew that you liked him.

But when he made one of those stupid comments your face would turn bright red, and Gibbs would get this stupid smirk like he had accomplished something. Which of course led the team to believe he liked you back and you would get the brute end of all the teasing.

Of course, you never thought anything of his flirting. You simply thought it was to mess with you, to find some amusement during the long days you all spent hunting serial killers.

What you didn't know was that he meant every word he said. Every innocent little flirt that would bring out the pink dust that appeared across your cheeks.

* * *

One day in particular he was very persistent.

"Mornin gorgeous." He spoke as he walked through the bullpen. Of course, you knew he was talking to you, so you glanced up rolling your eyes, blushing hard. He looked so good today, although he looked good just about every day.

"Morning Gibbs." You muttered. Barely even 9 am and he's already starting.

"I dunno how ya always looks so pretty Y/n." You looked at him, bewildered, because this was by far the most confident he had been. Usually it was a subtle little comment. Every now and then. You continued to stare at the man bewildered.

But when he caught your eye, he winked at you. The man FUCKING WINKED at you. You were sure your face was beat red at this point.

He turned around like he hadn't said a word, leaving you to calm yourself and try and get your face to look somewhat normal before everyone filed in the room. Of course there was no getting rid of that stupid red blush. Especially since the man you were practically in love with, just said those, those things to you.

"Already started Gibbs? And I missed it!?" Dinozzo says as he walks past your desk. You simply rolled your eyes again. Usually you would let the comment go, but you decided to say something back.

"Oh shut up Dinozzo. You're just jealous he isn't flirting with you." You aren't sure where this new found confidence came from, but you definitely appreciated it. Not only does it get a laugh from Gibbs, but also McGee and Ziva who had just entered the room.

Ziva sent you a look, shooting a glance at Gibbs as her own smirk adorned her face. She raised her eyebrows up and down in a suggestive manner, causing your blush to deepen. But you had just shut up Dinozzo, and that is no small feat.

Feeling very proud of yourself, you glance at Gibbs, only to duck your head again when you saw that stupid smirk. You knew what was coming.

"Well Y/l/n, quite confident are we?" He paused, probably to prepare you for his next words. "It's hot." Aaaand here comes the blush. Shyly, you ducked your head for the millionth time that day, and avoided all eyes. Snickering was heard across the room and you are 100 percent sure if you glanced up there would be...

That.

Stupid.

Smirk.

God that smirk was starting to do things to you. If Gibbs kept going like he was for the rest of the day, you might just have to die from embarrassment or waltz over and kiss the man.

The latter was looking more appealing at the moment. And as soon as Gibbs left the room, the teasing began. The constant teasing from Dinozzo about how you should make a move already.

You again told them he didn't feel the same as he gave you a disbelieving look.

"Sure Y/l/n, if you say so." And the conversation moved on.

* * *

A week or two passed and the comments were getting scarce, one or two a day. He hadn't ambushed you like he had that morning in a while.

And you hated the disappointed feeling you got.

You didn't really appreciate the flirting in front of other people, and the constant blushing was annoying yeah, plus the teasin from the team got on your nerves, but you liked the idea of Gibbs flirting with you. And you liked Gibbs.

Maybe he liked you too?

No, that's stupid.

It was just innocent flirting. He didn't mean anything, right?

You decided that you desperately needed to know. You decided to find out right then. You got in your car at 10 pm and drove to his house, finding him in his basement.

He heard you come down, and as soon as you stepped off the last step, his eyes dragged up and down your body, making you feel hot all over.

He was checking you out. And he wasn't very subtle about it.

"What can I do for ya ... bueatiful." Here we go.

"I wanted to talk to you." You spoke out meekly. Your voice quiet.

"Oh? Just talk?" He asked slyly, his eyes telling you a whole story.

"Y-yes." He noticed your nervousness and a look of concern flashed across his face. He knew you would get shy when he flirted, never nervous. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable. Your next words took him a bit by surprise. "Why do you flirt with me?"

He looked rather shocked for a moment before recovering.

"Why?" Was his only response.

"I just wanna know. Does it mean anything?" He wanted to say no. That it didn't mean anything. Just to see you blush. That was why he did it. Thats how it started anyways. But then he got addicted to that blush. He fell in love with your adorable blush.

"Yes." Your cheeks tinted and you smiled.

"Well then. Are you going to just talk?"you asked, referencing to his earlier words. And there was the smirk. That handsome smirk you had no doubt fallen for.

One moment he was standing next to his boat and the next he was kissing you fiercer than you though possible. Brushing strands of hair from your face, he deepened the kiss, his tounge fighting against yours. You whined into his mouth, causing him to smile against your lips. He broke away only when the need for air became too strong.

"I love ya." He pecked your lips. "Georgous." You giggled shaking your head.

"I love you too. But you know what I love even more." This was gonna be a long shot. But you had to see if it would work. He looked at you confused, tilting his head adorably. You paused for only a second longer. "Your ass."

And his cheeks tinted bright red, as you smirked.

Now you knew exactly why he had done it so damn much.

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

Thanks for reading! Requests are still open, so ask away! If you would like an idea of what to request, here is my prompt list, and if you would like to read more of my work, here is my masterlist.

[shushiyuii]

Trust The Process (Part 1)

Notes: Ayoo fighting writers block! And a new au which i’m really looking foward to writing! I hope you guys like it!

Warnings: Angst (Like heavy angst), Injury, Fearplay, Fatal vore mention? and Blood! (be advised!)

Words: 3K+

Run…

Run!

RUN!

It was all that was on his mind, his main objective and nothing was going to stop him. Not even his own body that so desperately pleading for air. His body ached like hell, and he thought he had gone through worse, but he had never pushed his body this far.

Tears flooded his eyes, causing his vision to become blurry with no clear aim in sight. His soaked hair from the rain and sweat, and his stuffy nose that refused to help his pleading lungs. No doubt would be catching a cold from this.

A loud thundering and ear-piercing crackle threatened to break his eardrums from a distance, it was as if the world were against him in the current moment. Of course, Tommy had to have the worst luck, didn’t he?

He was just some kid on the streets, and someone just had to chase him down into the forest at this time of night? He wanted so badly to cry, he wanted the comfort of his family, only if they were still alive…

Another bolt of lightning simmered in the distance and with the flash of night, Tommy took the opportunity to turn behind him, only to feel ever so more terrified than he did before. He could see the figure, not too far from behind him.

The figure was a brute and showed no signs of exhaustion nor slowing down. It was nothing like he had ever seen in a person as if they weren’t even human. But one thing was clear with those glaring red eyes that glowed in the night, like a predator hunting its prey.

Tommy knew that if he wanted to escape, he would need some sort of distraction, or some sort of plan but everything didn’t even seem like an opportunity. That was until he saw it, a hill… It did look steep but surely that thing wouldn’t follow him if was tumbling down the hill?

Yes, it was surely stupid with the beating that would come with falling down a hill and possibly knocking himself out, but it would most probably work. And maybe even get a breath of air? It was his only hope.

With trembling feet, he turned as suddenly as he could to the looming slope of the hill, he hesitated for a moment. But then, the figure that had chased him, struggled to stop himself. And turned as quickly as he came to face Tommy and reached out towards him.

And as he did that, the figure was too late to reach him as the hand that had swiped, missed. And Tommy felt victorious for a moment before he was sent tumbling down the hill…

As he descended, he could feel brambles of thorns and rough skin colliding with the rocks as he let out a harsh scream, and in a moment, it was all over. His breathing was faster than he had ever felt, it was like he was on fire.

Droplets of rain gently caressed his face as he laid on the muddy dirt, he couldn’t feel more relieved. He wanted nothing more than to fall asleep into natures arms, but that thing could still be after him. And the middle of the woods was not a good place to sleep.

Above him, he could see the looming figure, staring him down and looking deep into his soul. It’s soaked yet bright pink hair, swayed in the wind as it was bleakly revealed in the moonlight. It looked frustrated with the outcome.

And Tommy wanted nothing more than to snicker in victory, but that wouldn’t be smart. The thing didn’t look like it was ready to give up… yet… And as it stared down at Tommy, he could see it barring its teeth, growling furiously.

Then it disappeared.

…

Tears flooded from his eyes as he sobbed, he was alive yet so exhausted. He felt very vulnerable as his limp arms and legs laid beside him, unmoving, adorned in scratches and bruises. Maybe even a couple of bones were broken? He couldn’t be sure as adrenaline continued to pump through his veins.

He could only taste the bitter metal of blood on his tongue, maybe he had bitten it during his fall? He only heard his breathing and heart, nothing else. He only hoped that thing decided to finally leave him alone.

But now he was alone, lost and with no sense of direction. Where would he go after all of this? He wanted to go back to the safety of the streets…

And as much as he’d love to lay on the ground for much longer, that thing was definitely still after him. So, he was either going to have to stay on guard or try and find shelter somewhere within this forest.

As if he’d be that lucky…

…

He tried to move his arm, only to let out a hoarse scream. His body was in so much agony, he wanted it to stop but he knew that he had no other choice. His body complained and pleaded for him to stop moving, anything.

But he didn’t listen, he sat up and bit his lip in order to submerge another scream. If he kept screaming, no doubt would that thing find him and catch up. He needed to be sneaky. He stood up on trembling legs and step by step began to wander through the forest.

It felt like hours of pain…

…

Eventually, he stumbled across a mansion. It wasn’t any ordinary mansion though, it was gigantic! Like nothing that he had ever seen before! Even the main entrance was giant compared to him! But he couldn’t help but get this ominous feeling about the place.

Something was definitely off with the atmosphere, the dead trees in the garden, the lanterns that laid by the door were dormant. It almost looked abandoned in the dead of night. But why would there be a mansion in the middle of nowhere? Much less not in use.

And he knew that he was supposed to use manners, but he couldn’t but barge inside at the idea of shelter and warmth, anything was honestly better than being outside in a thunderstorm.

Inside though, it was nothing but luxurious. The plants looked freshly watered and vibrant, the antiques with like no décor that Tommy had ever seen, different patterns and beautiful colours, they looked very expensive and strangely they weren’t even dirty.

If Tommy grabbed one or two of them, he’d be able to live off them for a lifetime. He’d no longer be on the streets… But then again, they were fragile and in the middle of nowhere. They’d get dirtied and definitely shatter within Tommy’s clumsy hands.

But that wasn’t the only thing that caught his attention, there was a stunning chandelier hanging from the main hall’s ceiling; it was in between two grand staircases with a wall in between it. On that wall was a painting, a painting of three figures.

They looked as if they could’ve been royalty with their fancy suits. One of them had curly, short brown hair and honestly, he looked like a snobby rich guy that if you were to get even one grain of dirt. You’d be ruined for a lifetime, despite him being a teenager.

Probably a spoiled brat in Tommy’s books. Another one of them looked vaguely familiar, but in the portrait looked stern and murderous; he was covered head to toe in jewellery in the portrait, he definitely enjoyed flaunting his wealth.

But he was also covered in scars, so clearly, he had earned such riches compared to the other snob. And then the third figure, striking blonde hair that shined like gold. He wore a strange hat, yet Tommy didn’t dare judge him.

His face had a friendly smile, but Tommy couldn’t help but feel terrified at the thought of that smile being directed at him. This was certainly a strange mansion, but no doubt would it be a terrifying one…

Tommy wouldn’t be welcomed here…

He took a step back…

And what was definitely weirder… was that this place was strangely titanic… The furniture was gigantic… The world felt way too big as if he were just a rodent in this place…

A door opened behind him.

He turned at the sound of the creaks, he shook with fear as he stared at the door, waiting for something to show itself, maybe a person?

But nothing… Nobody showed, it was only Tommy.

…

He entered the room, where there was velvet red furniture with the rims shining gold, a striking yet intricate design on its carpet with a vase adorned with a beautiful array of flowers. In the centre of the room was a fireplace, blazing with fire.

He could feel the heat radiating from the fireplace…

He cautiously walked towards it, each step was blazing with anxiety as he grew ever more anxious as he expected something bad to come, yet it didn’t. Maybe he was finally safe? He allowed himself to relax slightly as he sat beside the fire, it was much bigger than he expected it to be.

Then again, this place was gigantic. He wouldn’t be surprised at this point, he allowed himself to relax against the fireplace. He didn’t care for food, thirst, or his aching wounds at that moment, only rest. It was all that he wanted…

He allowed himself to be at ease…

A soft humming could be heard throughout the room, something felt off about it, but Tommy couldn’t help but find himself more at ease with the gentle tunes. He wondered who was the voice being those amazing tunes?

He swore he could hear footsteps. But it didn’t alert him. In fact, it felt like he wasn’t even in control of himself. His mind was screaming at him to open his eyes, but he wanted nothing more to relax, he was scared… It was like he was under some sort of spell?

Like a siren, the humming and footsteps became louder as they approached Tommy and eventually stopped as they were right next to him, they continued to hum. He felt something engulf him as if it were a giant, tight grip.

He could finally open his eyes…

And they widened, it was a sight he never thought he’d see. It was a face, a giant one that looked down at him with a devious smirk. Its eyes glowed a piercing red that scanned every part of him for every ounce of fear he displayed.

He still found himself limp against its hand, although his instincts wanted nothing more than to run harder than he ever did before. The giant creature looked much like a snobby brat in the portrait but much more mature and… less human-looking.

One thing that he couldn’t help but notice were its large fangs that showed through its lips. They were shiny and sharp looking, easily able to tear through skin and flesh… Why was he still relaxed against his giant thing?

It let out a burst of harsh laughter…

“Oh my! You must’ve been the one he was chasing!”, he hummed. His voice was strangely soothing, and Tommy found him relaxing more with its words as if he were under a sirenic spell that refused to let him go.

The thing brought him closer to its chest, gently humming as it brought its other claw towards him. It poked at his ribcage gently, yet Tommy couldn’t help but feel endangered by it. What was it talking about? That thing he saw earlier. Was it one of them?

“Well… Well… Aren’t we going to have fun with this one?”.

It brought him closer to its face…

“What’s your name? Little human…”

He couldn’t stop himself from speaking, he couldn’t stop himself from answering this monster’s question. He begged for it to stop but it wouldn’t, he was only under this thing’s mercy. “M-my name is Tommy…”, he stumbled to say with his hoarse voice.

He could see the things smile widen and brought him closer to its face only for it to nuzzle against his aching bones and skin, he could feel it take in his scent along with it. He attempted to try and escape its hold only for it to be futile.

“Oh! Aren’t you adorable!”, its sickening voice was lulled with joy and venom as it began to purr against him…? The thing could purr. What even was this thing? It took another inhale of his scent… And Tommy couldn’t help but shiver in fear…

“Oh, and your blood smells absolutely delicious! I can’t wait to see what kind of mischief you come up with… Especially if you managed to get away from him…”. The thing then placed him back on the floor as he struggled to keep balance…

“Run.”.

It spoke with a completely different tone, it was harsh with venom as it commanded him one last time as Tommy was finally granted his freedom, Tommy was in control of his body again and the thing had told him to run.

And so, he ran as fast as he could, with the energy he didn’t even know he had… And gradually he gained distance as the thing stared down at in bewilderment, yet its smirk showed it was nothing but cocky…

…

He hid behind a gigantic vase; it was his only hiding place in the open hall. The thing finally decided to chase after him as it were just a mere game of ‘hide and seek’… And footsteps could be heard from all around him, it knew where he was… It was only teasing his misery.

“Oh, Tommy! Where are you?”, it sang…

It sounded distant…

Tommy leaned against the vase as he dared peek from behind the safety of it, hoping to find the monster’s location.

It felt like someone had grabbed him from behind, a clawed like hand covered his mouth and forced him to lean back against with inhuman strength. He looked up to see the creature that had been chasing him… Just this time it was his size, just slightly taller.

Its face was buried into his neck, taking another inhale of his scent before he felt sharp fangs threatening to pierce his skin as it threatened to taste his blood much like how a vampire would in the fantasy…

Was this thing a vampire?

“My… my… You aren’t very good at hiding, are you Tommy? It’s okay though, I don’t mind… But your smell… It smells ever so sweet… It reminds me of strawberries... It’s unique and I can’t help but wonder…”.

The fangs against his neck threatened to break his skin as he struggled more against its grip…

“What do you taste like?...”.

He looked from the corner of his eye, and it was staring at him as it laid against his neck, unmoving… as if it were only holding itself back by a mere chance… And the piercing red eye that stared at him with an ever do desiring hunger…

He sobbed…

The thing moved away from his neck as it began to drag him back into the open space, he struggled to escape… Only to be held tossed into the air and landing back on the hand that had once held him, this time being held in between two fingers above a height, that Tommy didn’t find comfortable…

He let out a hoarse scream as his body begged for it to be enough, just to pass out at this point, he wanted to wake up from this nightmare already. He wanted to go home already, he wanted to leave, he wanted to get away from this thing.

It still looked at him with its piercing eyes with an evil smirk…

“We’ll have to see what he thinks… Unfortunately... But I think you’ll be perfect! Wouldn’t you agree, Tommy?”, it spoke as if it were nothing important, just casually and it sickened Tommy to find this thing found torment so normal…

It began to walk through the endless number of halls of the mansion, each turn of the corner made Tommy dizzy and confused, with no way of memorising an escape route at this point… And eventually, it came to a stop by a door and knocked…

No answer came from the door…

“Oh… He must be sleeping!”

The giant opened the door for him slightly and pushed him inside.

“Go introduce yourself, Tommy! Don’t be rude!”.

The thing then closed the door behind him…

The room was like an office, filled with shelves of books, luxurious sofas, paintings and carpet and in the centre of lavish closed curtains was a desk accompanied by a chair with seemingly a lot of paperwork.

But that wasn’t what his attention was on…

There was a figure in the middle of the room, hanging upside down from the ceiling like a bat… But the thing had wings, straight black like a bat… And not only that but it was giant like the previous…

It wasn’t human…

And weirdly, he could see the same hat from the portrait as it lay dormant on the desk…  Were those figures seen in the portrait the monsters?...

…

The thing let out a weird shriek as it moved, stretching… And within a blink of an eye, it was dusting itself off like a businessman as it yawned…  He looked sophisticated and tidy, but his narrowed eyes had a stern look to them.

He hadn’t noticed them staring right through him…

“Oh… I wasn’t told we had a guest… “.

It had a soft smile on its face, its fangs clear as day…

“Welcome to the manor of the crafts! My name is Philza, the lord of the house! I hope you’ve already met my boys… They tend to be… Chaotic at times…”.

His smile widened, it sent shivers down his spine… He wanted to run yet there was no escape insight as it came closer to him…

…

[tenebraevesper]

Sonic the Hedgehog Analyzer, Issue #26: All or Nothing (Part 1)

In the last Issue, we had set up all the pieces on the chessboard. This time, we shall see the heroes’ plan unfold, summarized by the amazingly drawn Cover B. Let’s start the last part of the journey!

We start out with Eggman and Tails finally completing the multi-portal generator, the Warp Topaz in the middle of it, with Tails mentioning they should focus on not making it implode. Cue the next panel of Knuckles frantically looking from and to Tails and Eggman, asking whether imploding was a possibility.

I kind of feel sorry for Knuckles here. He just wanted some peace and quiet and now he has to deal with the Metal Virus and the Zeti situation. On the other hand, his expression is hilarious.

Sonic arrives, glad to hear that Tails and Eggman managed to build the generator and he’s close to collapsing. Amy wants to help him, but Sonic stops her, for obvious reasons, then moves on with the plan:

Tails and Amy will take care of Zomom. He’s as dumb as a brick, so they shouldn’t have any trouble outwitting him.

Espio and Knuckles will take care of Zazz. Since the latter is a berserker, having the best trained fighters sent against him should allow them to overcome his brute strength.

Knuckles replies with a simple “Nope”.

When asked why, Knuckles points out how the Master Emerald will be left with Eggman and Metal Sonic and, as the Guardian, he cannot allow that. If the two try anything with the Master Emerald, Sonic won’t be able to fight them off since he’s too exhausted from the constant running and lack of sleep.

Eggman then questions Sonic whether he truly believes he’ll double-cross everyone, with Sonic then agreeing with Knuckles that this is indeed a “Nope”; with Eggman glaring at him in response.

Espio adds that he’ll be fine on his own and that if Charmy and Vector were able to deal with the Zombots, then he should do whatever he can. I’m proud of you Espio.

Next are Whisper and Silver against Zor. Since he’s the weirdo, Sonic feels that their best chance is to attack him from a distance. Whisper agrees, while Silver is stoked to work with her again.

Next, Sonic tells Gemerl to deal with Zeena. Since she thinks highly of herself, she will underestimate him. Considering how Gemerl is a robot, this also makes things risky, but Sonic feels Gemerl might have an advantage. Cream wants to fight too, but Gemerl tells her how she has already proven her bravery and that he won’t lose her too.

Moving on, Sonic tells the Babylon Rogues to take on Master Zik. He may be crafty, but Jet feels confident that they will be able to handle the “Grandpa” of the bunch.

Lastly, Eggman adds how they’re gonna rely on Rouge to steal the last two Chaos Emeralds from Zavok. Then, they can use them to transform Sonic into Super Sonic and finally save the day.

That is, unless Sonic succumbs to the Metal Virus first. Sonic points out that Eggman’s life is on the line too, with Eggman agreeing and calling Tails to build Sonic a treadmill, as he doesn’t want Sonic to collapse somewhere on the island and wake up as a Zombot, since the virus is getting immune to Sonic’s speed.

Amy quickly calls in Rouge to check on her, with Rouge notifying her how Zavok has been asking questions regarding to where Eggman escaped. They will have to make their move as soon as possible.

Meanwhile, Knuckles observes the survivors as they set up camp on Angel Island, confused that this is everyone. Espio notes how this is everyone they saved and there are probably more people down below, with the Zeti hunting them down. He’s afraid of failing, but Knuckles assures him that he won’t and that he will look after the survivors if in the worst case scenario.

Honestly, it is amazing to see Knuckles’ character development here. I’m sure that the old Knuckles would’ve thrown anyone off his island, but this time, he allows people to stay for their own safety, willing not only to protect the Master Emerald, but the survivors as well.

Eggman is working on the generator, with Metal Sonic and Sonic observing him, the latter running on a treadmill. Sonic is kind of pissed off, glaring at Metal Sonic, noting how Eggman didn’t really get a chance to stay reformed due to Starline, but why the hell did Metal Sonic have to return. Instead of being like Gemerl or Omega, he had to be a one-note jerk.

Now, before I continue, I will stop here for a second to address something. We see here that Sonic actually doesn’t consider Metal Sonic to be just another Badnik or robotic Eggman creation. He sees Metal Sonic as an individual, as a person, similar to Gemerl and Omega. They may be rivals and bitter enemies, but Sonic holds some genuine respect for Metal Sonic, hoping that he would be able to turn away from Eggman and live his own life. He gave him a chance, and even if Metal Sonic doesn’t want to be all buddy-buddy with him, he at least hoped he would choose a life that wouldn’t be a destructive one. Honestly, I respect Sonic’s desire here.

Eggman wonders if Sonic really thought that neutralizing Metal Sonic would make him less of a threat, with Sonic noting how Metal had nothing to fight for nor weapons to fight with, so yeah. Eggman proceeds to reveal that, even though he neutralized Metal’s hardware, but his software still demands conquest and battle. In short, his sole desire from that point on is to become dangerous again.

Sonic replies how nobody knew that Metal Sonic would be restored, with Eggman pretty much agreeing - again, they had no idea about Starline. The fact that they didn’t know about Starline is what led to Eggman’s return.

Again, how the hell can one blame this whole thing on Sonic when he had no clue that Starline even existed?! Seriously!

Sonic then responds with how Eggman lived happily as Mr. Tinker, bringing joy to others. It is indeed a waste, isn’t it? Eggman looks quite annoyed that Sonic isn’t letting go of that one, with Sonic noting that he won’t until Eggman comes around.

We once again see Sonic’s philosophy here - if he sees an inkling of goodness (even if the person needs to lose all of their memories to become good), he will fight for them to allow them turn a new leaf for real; even Eggman.

Eggman points out how Sonic has no right to speak so high-and-mighty, as he helped in spreading the Metal Virus. Sonic turns around, running backwards, noting how he wasn’t the one who was dropping gallons of the stuff on people. Eggman agrees that this is true, pointing out how Sonic had been fighting the infection for quite a while, and how it had probably mutated. Now, think about the times he hit the Zombots with the mutated virus, spreading it further.

Sonic figures out Eggman’s trying to get into his head, but notes how that won’t work. Eggman replies how he already infected Sonic with something worse - doubt - and how this is his parting gift.

As Eggman and Metal Sonic leave, Sonic yells how they’ll go back to fighting each other right once the whole Metal Virus fiasco is over, but Eggman gets the last word in, saying how they never stopped the fight. Helping Sonic is just convenient for him. That’s all.

Honestly, I really love Sonic and Eggman’s back and forth here. I don’t think we see much of them having a more philosophical conversation, trying to get under each other’s skin. They have fought for so long that they know which buttons to push to make the other react and it is glorious to read.

We briefly check on Zavok, who is talking to Orbot and Cubot as they’re searching for Eggman’s possible location. Zavok is furious at the thought of Eggman hiding in his castle on Lost Hex, telling Orbot to bring up all the bases, only to find one on Angel Island. Orbot tries to distract him, with Cubot then telling Zavok how they got an alarm on the machine that produces the Metal Virus, so Zavok leaves to make sure Sonic isn’t sabotaging it.

Rouge appears, asking Orbot and Cubot for the location of the other Zeti, adding how Orbot and Cubot need to play along a little longer until she figures out how to deal with Zavok. The two robots aren’t too happy.

Back on Angel Island, everyone prepares to leave after they got the coordinates from Rouge.

Gemerl and Cream hug and say goodbye, only for Cream to run right into the portal, wanting to support Gemerl against Zeena. He flies after her, with Cream yelling at Zeena for being mean and to give them the Chaos Emerald. Zeena responds by controlling Gemerl, noting how Cream is alone.

Tails and Amy are dealing with Zomom, lying how Zavok sent them to pick up the Chaos Emerald and how they’ll bring it to him, so Zomom doesn’t have to stop eating. Zomom replies how he has the Zombots to bring him the food and is enraged they interrupted his snack, deciding to squash them.

Zazz is just flying around on the Moon Mech, annoyed by the lack of damage in the Zombots as he sends them tearing into each other, and complains how anyone he sent into the battle arena lasted only a few minutes tops. It isn’t fun. We then spot Espio hiding beneath the Moon Mech, crawling up and trying to grab the Chaos Emerald, but is found by Zazz and dropped into the Zombot crowd.

Silver and Whisper are observing Zor, with Silver flying up to him while Whisper covers Silver. Silver demands that Zor gives him the Chaos Emerald so he can save the future. Zor, upon realizing that this future would be one of misery, refuses and fights back.

Meanwhile, Master Zik commands the Zombot troops to spread more of the infection when the Babylon Rogues arrive.

Master Zik just takes control of their Extreme Gear and jumps on Jet’s airboard. Like, damn, Grandpa got moves.

Jet is, naturally, pissed off that Zik is on his Extreme Gear, ignoring the fact that he, Wave and Storm are getting surrounded by Zombots. He confronts Zik, asking him whether he’s afraid to fight his own battles, with Zik replying how he retired from the battlefield, but is still willing to teach them a few lessons.

Honestly, there is something hilarious about the Babylon Rogues going against Zik.

Jet rallies Storm and Wave to fight back, but Zik hits the two with their own Extreme Gear.

Jet, however, manages to knock down Zik with his Bashōsen (palm fans), getting on his Extreme Gear. He’s confident that he’ll win, but Zik points out how he got his friends.

We then see the last panel - one of Wave and Storm being surrounded by Zombots.

Links:

#Previous Issue

#Next Issue

#Sonic the Hedgehog Analyzer (Masterlist)

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Misread Details, Part Two

CW: Described death of whumper, BBU, implications of pet whump, references to noncon, dehumanization, sadistic whumper

Part One: Nanda | Part Two: Brute | Part Three: Robert

The Unsolved Murder of Henry “Brute” Hanlon and the Box Boy Killer

r/LetsTalkTrueCrime

•Posted by u/oshaycanyousee

2 weeks ago

I’m back, r/LetsTalkTrueCrime! I really appreciated the questions and discussion under my last write-up, and a few of you really encouraged me to keep working to provide a part two to my Serial Killer Box Boy series, so here it is!

In Part One, we looked at the mysterious death of Nathaniel “Nanda” Benson, who died of cardiac arrest due to an undiagnosed heart defect (and likely head trauma played a part) and was found at the bottom of the stairs inside his California home. The only valuable possession missing from his property was his legally-purchased Box Boy, who fled the city wearing Nathaniel Benson’s shoes and using his money to buy a bus and then train ticket. 

The last confirmed sighting of the runaway Box Boy (and Benson’s possible killer?) was in Red Hills, California, a large-ish city a couple hours south of Benson’s house by train. 

Questions remain around Benson’s death: did he suffer cardiac arrest and fall down the stairs? Did the Box Boy push him, with the shock of the trauma and injury leading to the heart attack that killed him?

Is the Box Boy merely a witness to a tragic but natural death, or the prime murder suspect?

And most importantly: If he wasn’t guilty, why did he run?

Less than a full calendar year after Benson’s death, the question of where the Boxie went after Benson died was answered… but even that answer only opened up more questions, and the sudden death of a second man places even more uncertainty into the story of a Boxie who might simply be an innocent victim - or who could be a serial killer whose makes a victim out of those who give him shelter.

Which leads us to the story of Henry James Hanlon, known to nearly everyone - including his wife - as “Brute”.

Henry Hanlon was born in a small town in Texas, but moved to Red Hills, California after finishing a stint in the Air Force. 

His parents, James Hanlon and Estella Hanlon, maiden name Brickers, had had their first child, Henry’s older brother William “Bill”, right out of high school, born six months after their wedding day. Henry came three years later, and his sister Roberta “Bobbie” one year after that.

Henry was a perfectly normal, cheerful little boy, always toddling after his older brother and trying to join in the games of the older kids in town. His parents recalled him as the quintessential “middle child”, always resolving disputes and quietly getting things done. He received his nickname of “Brute” in fifth grade, when a classroom bully was harassing a female friend of Henry’s and Henry decided to take action. The only information I could really hunt down on this was some old school records that I found on a message board, and I can’t really verify if they’re real, but they suggest that the bully was sent home injured and Henry received a three-day suspension.

After that, it seems, anyone and everyone - even teachers - called Henry Hanlon “Brute”, and he never seemed to mind.

He received perfectly average grades, enlisted in the Air Force, served without distinction but without any significant incidents, and afterwards he moved out to California, where he settled into Red Hills (then a city with a thriving industrial district that was slowly beginning its slide into something rougher) and took a job with a manufacturing company, working in their warehouse.

“Brute” dated around a bit, but it wasn’t until three years after his move that he met the woman he would marry, Ellen Patricia Barry. She was a few years younger than him, and they met at a local bar that both were known to frequent. One of Brute’s former coworkers told police that Brute was big into pool and poker, both of which he would engage in when he went to the bar, and that he met Ellen during one of the poker nights, and that Brute stated that how easily she beat him was one of the reasons he was interested in her romantically.

Ellen claims they first spoke while playing pool, not poker, and also claims she’s never played poker in her life. Why Brute would have told his coworkers a different story is unclear. 

They dated for about a year before they wed at Grace Baptist Church on a sunny summer day in 20XX. Ellen’s father gave her away while Brute’s little sister was the maid of honor. A year later, Brute’s daughter Elizabeth was born, and a couple years after that, their son Daniel.

The Hanlons lived a charmed life - they owned a cute three-bedroom cottage home (bought and given to them by Ellen’s parents as a wedding gift) in a good part of town with a little white fence around the property and a yard big enough for the children and dog to play in. Ellen was part of the local PTA and active in her church, and Brute himself had the appearance of a man totally content with everything he had.

But Brute Hanlon had a secret.

Ellen continued to believe he was employed by the manufacturing company, but he actually left his employment there years before his death. Instead, he seems to have transitioned into making his money “under the table”. Ellen wouldn’t discover any of this until after his body was located… in a secret house he’d never told her about, in one of the roughest parts of Red Hills.

Without her knowledge, Brute purchased a two-bedroom home with cash directly from its previous owner that was badly in need of repair in the Pauls Mill neighborhood. Once a “company town” from the 1930’s - 1950’s that was absorbed into Red Hills as it grew in the 60’s, Pauls Mill today is the kind of neighborhood where everyone knows if you belong there, or don’t, and it’s best if you belong.

Brute performed a few very cursory repairs to keep it livable, laid down some new carpet, and then used it as a kind of secret base for the unsavory activities he didn’t want Ellen or the children to know about.

While his family believed he was at work at the factory, Hanlon was in fact hosting poker games, selling illicit narcotics and unlicensed firearms, and generally making quite a bit more money than he had with legal employment entirely under-the-table. He would spend his day making connections (and money) through these activities, then go home right at 5 pm sharp to his loving family, eat dinner at 6 pm, help his kids with their homework and hear about their day, and settle in for an evening playing the loving husband and doting dad.

Somewhere during this time period, Brute told Ellen he was setting up a “poker night” with his friends again, now that the kids were school-aged. 

What he did instead was drive down to the corner of Holt and McCormick streets, known to all locals as the Red Hills “red light district”, and pick up prostitutes, usually simply meeting with them in his car, but occasionally taking them to a nearby motel.

After his body was found, police showed his picture around to a variety of the individuals who make their living at Holt and McCormick, and more than a dozen locals immediately recognized him. 

Some described him as a regular customer who wasn’t particularly special or notable beyond the simple fact that he never tried to renege on payment and could be relied on to always be looking for someone on a particular night of the week… but others, almost entirely male, said he could be violent. A few described being injured enough that they had to seek medical treatment after meeting him. The same individuals stated that he insisted on using dehumanizing and insulting language to speak to them during these encounters, and that he was often unable to perform unless he did so.

One individual, who gave his name as “Mix”, mentioned that the last few times Brute had engaged his services, he had brought along a collar and insisted Mix pretend to be a Box Boy. 

During this time period, Brute continued to be an active, involved, and loving parent. 

He was home right on time every night except “poker night”, attended his chlidrens’ recitals and baseball games on the weekends. He often took them to the Red Hills Zoo, local parks, and even did a weekend trip to Berras to see the Berras Aquarium, stay overnight in a hotel as a family, and then visit a redwoods park before returning home.

Six months before his death, Brute’s visits to the red light district abruptly stopped. Instead, he apparently met with a local prostitute, engaged his services, and took him home… for good. 

The best record we have is that one woman, Needie Brandt, remembered seeing Brute leading a shorter, angular young man to his car one night, and described the young man as “one of those runaway Boxies, collar and all. Poor thing was half-starved”. 

Runaways, especially Romantics, are picked up by police from time to time in Red Hills. Most Romantics don’t really know any other way to survive, so prostitution is a common way to make ends meet. Needie said the young man had been seen around the area for a couple of weeks, right alongside the rest of the working people in the red light district, and that after this one night she saw Brute Hanlon lead him into the car, she didn’t see him again.

Asked if she remembered a name, Needie only shrugged and said that even if she did, it wouldn’t be a real one. Which is probably a good point. 

Somewhere in here, Brute began to date outside of his marriage while his family believed he was out with friends playing poker. He took dancing lessons with one Susan Krieger, had a serious relationship with a Lucy Graham, and was apparently occasionally taking a Natalie Dorn out for dinner.

Ellen was never informed about these out-of-wedlock interests. 

Brute’s family knew nothing. When his eldest son went to state with marching band his freshman year of high school, Brute Hanlon was right there cheering him on.

Then, just two days later, he presumably went right back to brutalizing the Box Boy he was keeping in his secret second home.

We don’t have a record of what exactly transpired within the house after Brute took the runaway Box Boy in. What we do know is what the police found later on.

On October 18th, 20XX, around midnight, Ellen Hanlon called police to report her husband missing after he did not return from his regular poker night. His car was located in the parking lot of an abandoned FoodMart, but a friend of Brute’s came forward to say he often parked there and carpooled with friends when going out.

None of Brute’s possessions were inside, and it didn’t appear the car had been touched by anyone but Brute himself when it was dusted for fingerprints or signs of DNA. Brute’s friends who knew about his secret activities weren’t telling, and Ellen and the children didn’t know anything about their seemingly loving husband and father’s double-life. 

At first, the trail seemed like it would go cold, and investigators were frustrated that they had so little to go on.

Then, on October 29th, 20XX, Brute’s neighbor (who apparently asked that his name not be given) called the police department complaining about how the small two-bedroom house next door had begun to smell “like something died in there”, and that he hadn’t seen his neighbor leave or return in days, which was very unusual.

When police arrived, the front door was unlocked. Officer William Keys, the first one inside, later described the smell as “unmistakable. I knew exactly what we’d find the second we walked in that door.”

He was right.

What they found was the bloodied and decomposing body of Henry “Brute” Hanlon, lying on his back in the middle of a small unremarkable living room, on a dirty and stained carpet. He had been viciously stabbed more than fifty times. One even went so far into Brute that there was an exit wound through his back. Medical examiners would later state that at least seven of his wounds would have been directly fatal, but that he had died within the first few and most of the wounds were technically post-mortem.

The murder had been committed by someone who had a very personal reason for the killing. Investigators believe this individual was “absolutely enraged”.  

Next to his body was the murder weapon, along with a set of buckles and strips of leather that mystified the officers. These were eventually identified as modified leg braces, but rather than straightening bent or injured legs, they forced the wearer to keep their legs at nearly right angles, which would ensure they had to crawl rather than walk. They appeared to be homemade.

Bloodied smears and footprints led the officers down a hallway and to the bathroom, where there was evidence someone had showered, changed clothes, and then left.

The same neighbor who informed police about the smell also remembered seeing, on October 16th or 17th (later determined that it was likely the 17th, the day that Brute did not return home from “work”), a young man wearing an oversized coat, sweatpants, and a too-large t-shirt walk out of Hanlon’s house and down the street. The young man was on the short side, the neighbor said, had an angular face, and a visible scar at the corner of his mouth and another along the side of his face. He had the collar of the coat flipped up, and the neighbor doesn’t recall if he wore a collar or not.

He had dark eyes, and short but shaggy dark hair that seemed to have been cut hurriedly and unevenly, and he waved at Hanlon’s neighbor without pausing or speaking as he walked past.

Tests on fingerprints and DNA located within Brute Hanlon’s secret second home would reveal that the Box Boy who once ran from Nathaniel Benson after his death was the exact same one who ran from Brute Hanlon after murdering him. The Boxie’s fingerprints were all over the murder weapon… and everywhere else, too.

Within Brute’s home, more knives were found, along with what looked like a badly-crafted homemade whip and some other supplies. A few of the things investigators found appeared to be essentially identical to what was found in Nathaniel Benson’s home. Other things were different (“animalization” was mentioned in some of the reports, but what I’ve been able to find is seriously vague for some reason). 

Possibly related, a series of dog leashes purchased from a local pet-supply store were found throughout the home, but there was no evidence of an actual dog. In the home’s main bedroom was a perfectly normal queen-sized bed that was clearly Brute’s, with a small side table, a large dresser, and an attached bathroom. 

There was absolutely nothing outwardly out of the ordinary, besides the room being very plain and impersonal. Makes sense, since Brute almost never slept there. 

In the second bedroom, however, there was army-style cot with a thin blanket and sheet, three folded shirts on the floor, two sets of bloody metal handcuffs hanging off the cot’s frame at the top and bottom, and a bucket next to the bed. Two metal bowls, clearly of a style meant to be a dog’s food and water bowls, were next to the door. One still had water in it. The window was painted and nailed shut, and bars had been installed over the windows.

Investigators determined the bars were on the house when Brute Hanlon purchased it and had been installed by the previous owner. No reason for that installation was ever given.

Investigation revealed trace amounts of evidence of blood, but nothing much. However, the living room and dining area both showed poorly-cleaned bloodstains that were much older than Hanlon’s murder, including discolored patches on the walls.

A contract for a 24/7 “master/slave” style relationship was found in the top drawer of the dresser, signed ‘Pet’ at the bottom, and with Brute’s name alongside it. However, both signatures match Hanlon’s handwriting, and the Boxie is not believed to have actively signed it, as he would be illiterate at best. Plus, Box Boys are not legally allowed to enter into any contract, anyway, since they can’t understand obligations at that level, so even if he had signed it, it wouldn’t have been considered remotely valid.

I mean, not that those contracts are legal, but... you get my point.

Also located in that drawer were more than one hundred photographs showing the Boxie in a variety of compromising situations and positions. Several of these photos had Brute himself clearly visible in them, and a few had other individuals who have since been identified as Brute’s associates in his more illicit activities.

Interrogations of those associates led to more than seven further arrests for illegal gambling, the production and sale of illicit drugs, and illegal weapons sales. Those interrogations are also how we know about what Brute Hanlon was up to in-between Little League games and Girl Scout meetings.

Those associates claim that Brute kept a “secondhand Box Boy”, muzzled him so he couldn’t speak whenever guests were over, and that often ‘poker night’ simply turned into a game where the assorted guests and Brute himself repeatedly assaulted the Boxie. The associates claimed they thought the entire thing was consensual, but frankly… given the overwhelming evidence that the Boxie had to be kept restrained and was often seriously injured by these assaults... that’s doubtful.

Ellen and her children, who had previously been very visible and spoke often to local news stations about Henry’s disappearance, withdrew after his body was found and his second, secret life revealed - and have never given a single public statement or made a public appearance since. 

Ellen moved her children out of Red Hills, moving back in with her own parents, briefly, in northern California. Where they went after that is unknown, but they appear to have left the state and Ellen may have changed her surname. Investigators are firm in their belief that Ellen knew nothing about her husband’s secret life.

I would give my right arm to know what his son and daughter think about it, and if they ever suspected what their devoted dad was up to when he wasn’t at home.

So, what happened to the Boxie after he left the house and disappeared down the block from the witness who saw him?

In short… no one knows for sure.

After murdering Brute Hanlon and cleaning off the evidence that must have been all over him, the Boxie simply fades away. He could have been anywhere, doing anything at all. There is a brief sighting of him on CCTV footage at the local bus station, where he is in line to buy a ticket… and then abruptly looks up, apparently noticing the camera and looking directly into it, then turns and walks quickly away.

The footage is grainy, but the Boxie does appear to be wearing his collar.

He isn’t seen in Red Hills again.

Instead, he reappears one more time before his final murder and disappearance… more than a year later, in a little town right along the border with Nevada.

Part 3 will go into how the investigation into the death of a quiet little oddball named Robert Weber reveals a basement full of skeletal bodies. But our Boxie isn’t the cause.

Instead, Robert Weber’s murder solves a series of related murders police had been stymied by for more than a decade, and a Box Boy who may have been meant to be Weber’s next victim instead turned accidental vigilante with a final killing of his own.

Or maybe I should say, his final killing so far.

-

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @burtlederp @whump-tr0pes @raigash @eatyourdamnpears @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @boxboysandotherwhump @outofangband @whumptywhumpdump @whumpfigure @thehopelessopus @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @butwhatifyouwrite @newandfiguringitout @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump @oops-its-whump @endless-whump @cubeswhump @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @whumpiary 

[hushedhands]

Challenge 83

@cecilia02 @everbeenminee Astra watching Andrew's coronation.

Astra Orders set an alarm for three o’clock in the morning, but she didn't need it. She didn't sleep at all.

Her mom had invited her to watch the once-in-a-generation event with her little cousins in Illéa Palace, but Astra had refused. Kile had offered to stay the night and keep her company, but that hadn't felt right either. Her dad had suggested not watching at all, which was cute but not really a solution. It would be weeks before footage of this faded from the news, and even then there would be anniversary specials forever. Astra might as well bite the bullet and watch the coronation that had almost been hers.

She wished her parents and her boyfriend weren’t making such a fuss about this. History was full of women who'd almost married princes and then gone home to watch them become kings. Her Uncle Maxon had left dozens of such women in his wake when he’d chosen to marry Aunt Ames, though Astra didn't have the telephone numbers of any of them. She wished Andrew had enough ex-girlfriends to make a proper club like the former Selected. It might have been nice to have someone who could understand this indescribable feeling without the need for words to name it.

It wasn't that she wanted to be married to Andy. She had no doubt at all that she'd made the right decision in calling off their relationship, and that was totally separate from the fact that she was now wildly in love with Kile.

But there was something aching in her chest as she watched the aerial shots of the city of London on the little television in her apartment in Angeles, curled up in her warmest fuzzy pajamas, hair in a messy version of her ballet bun, hands clinging to her mug of tea for dear life. Today was the day that standing by Andrew's side for his coronation went from something she wouldn’t do to something she couldn't do. She'd chosen to walk away, but this was the day that the door locked behind her.

Never was a hard word to give to Andrew, even if Kile had her Always.

The camera above the crowd panned past the palace Astra had stayed in that summer, and her chest squeezed hard. Whatever else had happened there, it had been a refuge for her at a time in her life when she’d needed it most.

It all started when she had been offered an incredible opportunity to dance for the Waverly ballet company in the summer, and an opportunity to attend an elite seminar with London’s royal ballet company in the spring, and Kile, realizing that he and Astra wouldn’t see each other for over six months, had broken up with her very suddenly.

Well, technically it had been a mutual decision. She hadn’t seen him much during his first year at school, and now she was off on her own adventures, and it seemed like a terrible time to try to make a relationship work. What if he met someone amazing at university? What if she met someone in Waverly or London? Was it fair to deny themselves new relationships and experiences just because they’d always been together? Weren’t they technically together by default, anyway?

It was a reasonable question. If you married someone you’d had playdates with for as long as you could remember, and you never even tried to date someone else, it was probably a relationship by default… right?

As she got on the plane for London, it had hit her hard that she wouldn’t have a hope of seeing Kile again, maybe for an entire year. The earliest she’d be back in Angeles was the next fall, and that’s exactly when he’d be leaving to go back to school again. And this time they wouldn’t talk to each other on the telephone almost every single day, and she wouldn’t slip secret notes in the care packages his parents sent him from home, and he wouldn’t surprise her by sitting in the audience during a matinee performance after sneaking back into town without telling her...

And maybe he never would again.

It was possible she’d cried the whole flight overseas, it was hard to remember. She must have rehydrated somehow, or she’d have shriveled up and died of the heartbreak. That time was all a blur now.

But what Astra remembered clearly, sitting on her sofa four years later, was the way she’d felt walking into that little old palace on the north side of the city and realizing that it was essentially hers for the season. It really paid to have a paranoid king for an uncle sometimes, because Maxon had pulled a dozen favors with the English royal family to get Astra somewhere safe and comfortable to live for a few months. She was technically an Illéan princess by title, so he wouldn’t hear of letting her rent a crumby apartment somewhere in the city, and besides, wherever she stayed needed to have enough room for a security detail. Still, even for a small palace, it was a palace and it was hers.

The old place had plenty of full-time staff that kept it in good shape as an estate of historical significance to the English monarchy, but Astra herself didn’t have maids or butlers, or a chef to keep her fed. At night, everyone who worked to keep the palace maintained went home, so it was only her and the security detail.

But she was allowed to order takeout from restaurants around town, so on her very first night alone she ordered enough food to live off of for a while, until she could get to a grocery store. She sprawled on a sofa in the downstairs sitting room, doodling in the notebook her Aunt May had given her for her last birthday, until there was a surprise knock on the archway in the entrance of the sitting room.

“Hello.” Andrew stood there, still in his business suit from the day, though with no tie, and with the top button undone. He looked ruffled, and in his hands he carried a large bottle of red wine. “Sorry to barge in… there isn’t exactly a doorbell in this place, and without staff to handle arrivals and departures… well, I did knock.” he awkwardly concluded.

Astra, still in her tank top and stretchy pants from the plane, would have felt severely underdressed to received a prince at a palace, except this was one of her oldest and best friends, and some of the ache in her heart from leaving Kile on the other side of the world eased away just from looking at him. She hugged him, “You don’t need to knock. It’s good to see you.”

“And you.” he hugged her back. “Ah, and here. A housewarming gift.” he offered her the wine.

“You’re just in time for dinner.”

“Am I?”

“It should be here soon. The finest spicy noodles and sautéed vegetables in the land. Although, if there’s no doorbell…”

“The guard at the gate will take it from the delivery driver and have someone bring it in.” he grinned.

“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go hunt down something to open that bottle.” she said.

A new city, a change of scenery, some delicious New Asian food, a bottle of old wine, a dear old friend… this was the recipe to get over a breakup. Astra knew it, because she already felt worlds better, just struggling to find a way into the wine bottle. There wasn’t a corkscrew in the kitchens that they could find, and this palace didn’t have its own wine cellar, which was the only other place they could think to find wine accessories. In the end, Andrew took an impressive, ancient sword off of a display rack on a wall at the top of the grand staircase and carefully poked the sharp end down until it was lodged into the cork.

Astra laughed so hard her sides hurt as she twisted the bottle out in front of her and Andrew slowly stepped backward. After a couple of tries, the cork loosened up enough that he could use brute force to pull the rest of it out.

When the food arrived, they carried it up to the top floor, to a balcony that overlooked the city, and they had a picnic of sorts.

“Where’s Lucas? You two are usually a package set.” Astra asked between bites of spicy noodles.

“Still finishing up his first year at university.”

“Oh, of course! Kile— “ She stopped abruptly, her chest squeezed tightly, her tongue fell heavy in her mouth, and she drowned the bitter taste of his name on her lips with expensive wine.

“Oh dear. That won’t do.” Andrew leant over and brushed away an errant tear from her cheek. “You mean to tell me… well, he’s safe isn’t he? He’s not unwell?”

“No, no he’s fine. He’s at school… and I’m here.”

Andrew studied her face carefully. He’d met Kile and Astra on the same day, at the same moment, so they’d been friends for exactly the same amount of time. He knew that they’d been together romantically for almost seven years now, the teenage equivalent of a sixty-year marriage. “So you’re… taking time apart?”

“We’ve decided to go our separate ways.” Astra said, the words soft and wispy in her throat. “We’re not… we’re not headed in the same direction anymore. We might never head in the same direction again. After university, he wants to see the world. And I… I might travel around for a while as a dancer, but I can’t imagine not being there for Addy once she becomes Queen… Even if that wasn’t true, we won’t have a good chance to be in the same city for at least a year… and a lot can happen in a year.”

Andrew took a large sip from his glass and then refilled hers.

“That’s really difficult, Astra… I’m so sorry. I know how much you love each other. It must be hell, knowing that you’re growing apart from the person you’re closest to in the world.”

Astra choked a sob in her wineglass and Andrew’s eyes widened, “God, I’m sorry! What a terrible thing to say—“ he sat both of their glasses safely aside and wrapped her in a warm hug.

Astra got his suit all wet from her tears, but she felt comfortable in his arms. “I’m not crying because of you, stupid.” She explained when she had the breath to do so. “It’s definitely because of him. I just… I didn’t think anyone would understand. But you do.”

“I don’t.” Andy rushed to correct her. “Not really. I’ve never experienced anything like that. The closest I can imagine is if… if I lost touch with someone in the Palace kid gang. You’re my best friends, apart from Luke, and I’ve known you forever. If I had to say goodbye to one of you, to lose you forever… it’s not even close to what you’re feeling, but just the thought hurts enough for me to know that you’re going through hell.”

Astra sniffled and collected her wineglass again, ready for more sips, content to allow herself to be comforted by her friend. “Hell has better wine than I expected, I’ll give it that much.”

“Not a bad view, either.” Andrew agreed with a small chuckle, looking out at the city.

“Didn’t expect one of my very best friends to come with me to hell.” Astra timidly admitted.

“And I’m not leaving until I get you out of it.” he’d promised.

Andrew always did have words as sweet as honey.

They drank the whole bottle that night, between the two of them. They had as good an excuse as two teenagers needed: they couldn’t find a wine stopper. Andrew offered to stay the night with her so that she wouldn’t be alone, but now that the world was blurry and warm from the wine, Astra felt delightfully sleepy. She was going to get her first good night’s sleep since losing Kile. So Andrew left, promising to bring breakfast the next morning to check on her.

He checked on her a lot.

He brought her breakfast and dinner every day, and he’d probably have brought her lunch too, except that she was always at her dance seminar during the daytime. Astra ended every night with her body pleasantly tired from dancing, a new half a bottle of wine in her stomach, and her mind full of whatever nice, easy conversation she’d had with Andrew just before bed. Her first week in England flew by.

That Friday night, Andrew appeared in the doorway to the sitting room right on schedule, two bottles of wine in hand.

“You’re mad.” Astra giggled.

“It’s the weekend.” he argued. “You don’t have to dance tomorrow, and I don’t have any public appearances to make until next Tuesday.”

“You’re off work until Tuesday? You English royals really know how to take it easy.” she laughed. She didn’t think her cousins had taken a three day weekend in their lives.

“We’ll keep the second bottle on standby, just in case we decide we want to try it.”

But of course, they were young and it was a Friday night, they definitely wanted to try it. Somewhere after the first glass of the second bottle, refilling glasses got too risky and they started drinking straight from the bottle, passing it back and forth. There was a television show on, showing a concert happening on the other side of the city in a stadium Astra could just see if she stood tall enough on the balcony.

Andrew watched her going almost en pointe to try to spy the stadium, mesmerized by her strength and balance and grace. “Can we dance?”

Astra smiled brightly. Dancing was her favorite in the world, of course they could dance! They danced in their socks to the music on the television until Andrew collapsed, out of breath, on the sofa. Astra joined him, blood pumping pleasantly fast through her veins.

“I’m out of shape!” he bemoaned.

“I’m a professional athlete, don’t compare yourself to me. You did just fine.”

“I did? Do you think I could join the ballet?” He laughed giddily.

She’d never seen him giddy like this.

Andy carried the weight of his country on his shoulders, he always had. Addy hadn’t really started bearing Illéa on her back until she was eleven or twelve, old enough to understand what was coming for her, but Andrew had always been a future king, even when he was tiny. Seeing him now, not a care in the world, laughing about joining the ballet… Astra’s heart twisted in her chest and for the first time since breaking up with Kile, it had absolutely nothing to do with him.

He had no part of this.

Astra leant forward and kissed Andrew on the warm, red cheek.

He looked at her, stunned, smile falling off his face. “What was that for?”

“I don’t know… just because. Just for you.”

“Just for me…” he’d mused.

“For being good to me. For taking care of me while I’m here. For… for being you. Yeah… just for you.” Astra nodded, this time more certain that the words made sense outside of her wine-fogged mind.

“I should be me more often.” he chuckled.

Astra blinked.

Should he?

***

There was a version of Astra’s stay in London where she pined away for her ex-boyfriend every moment she got, and maybe poured that pain into her dancing because it was overflowing from her heart and needed somewhere to go. That’s what she’d been expecting deep down. But what really happened was, she found a favorite market to buy groceries from, she found a bakery between her palace and the dance studio that kept her in much-needed carbs, she found a park with a pond where lots of locals liked to walk their dogs, which meant she got to pet a lot of dogs, and she started falling in love with the city.

And then there was Andrew.

He knew her so well, and they’d loved each other as friends for so long, and spending those mornings and nights with him felt so easy, so smooth.

And he was handsome and kind and… ugh, handsome. Astra didn’t regret kissing him on the cheek. Not even when he stood with her on the balcony a week later, watching the sunset, and she laced her hand with his.

“Are you quite alright?” he’d asked, not because she’d grabbed his hand, but just because he was still so worried about her.

“When I got here, I thought the answer to that question would be no forever.” Astra confessed. “And listen… I don’t really know who I am without Kile, he’s been a part of me for my whole life… but these past two weeks I’ve started to find out… and I like it. I like getting to know me.”

Andrew smiled down at her and squeezed her hand.

“And I like you too, Andrew.”

His smile became pained, “Astra—“

“It’s okay. You’re the next king and blah blah blah.” he laughed, because there were so few people in the world who could blah blah blah being an heir to a throne, but Astra was certainly one of them.

“It isn’t that.” he corrected her with a shake of his head. “It’s… you’re getting out of a serious relationship. You can’t like anyone yet—“

“Yes I can.” Astra scoffed, a challenging glint in her eyes, “Watch me.”

“But we’ve been friends our whole lives, too. Wouldn’t you like to like someone different? A stranger, maybe?”

“Where would I find one of those?” Astra lamented, only half-joking. Having a king for an uncle really limited one’s opportunities to meet strangers.

Andrew peered at her closely, then seemingly made up his mind all at once, saying, “Put on a dress.”

“What?”

“Put on a dress, I’ve got a surprise for you!”

Just like that, Andrew was downstairs talking to his security team and Astra was upstairs trying to figure out what dress to wear. There was a sweet springtime yellow thing… and then there was the red thing.

Astra made up her mind quickly. She chose the red thing. She chose everything that the red thing implied.

She appeared at the bottom of the stairs and Andrew’s eyes widened.

“Is this alright? I have other dresses—“

“S’perfect—“ he muttered and then cleared his throat, “Ahem, that is perfect Astra. Let us be off.”

He formally offered her his arm and she accepted with a proud smirk at the flush in his cheeks, then they ducked into his car and his driver whisked them off across town.

“What are we doing?” Astra asked after they took a turn to a part of town she’d never been to before.

“Did I not say it is a surprise?”

“Yes, but—“

“We’ve got guards, and I’ve gone to this place before. There’s no need to worry.”

“Andrew—“

“It’s where I go when I need to meet strangers.”

Astra blinked, dumbfounded.“You? Meet strangers?”

“How else am I supposed to find a queen? ” he muttered mutinously.

Astra stared over at him for a long moment, never having given it a second thought. Addy would be free to date whomever she chose, but if all else failed she could always have a Selection to find her husband. Andrew had nothing like that to choose from.

Astra was surprised when the car pulled to a stop at the backdoor to a nightclub. Could princes of England really go clubbing? But this place looked like it had tight security, and there were signs posted prominently that there were no cameras allowed on the premises. Andrew’s and Astra’s bodyguards stayed close by as they entered the club and Astra’s ears were assaulted by music so loud she could no longer hear it. All she could hear was the beat.

Andrew took her to the bar and bought her whatever drink she wanted, and then leant in close to her ear so that she could hear him say, “What do you think?”

“It’s a little loud!”

He chuckled, “About the strangers.”

“Oh!” Astra looked around as she spun the little umbrella from her pink drink between her fingers. There were all kinds of men here. Some older than her, some younger, some looked athletic and some looked bookish, and they were all having fun, losing themselves to the same beat. “What do you think?!” she yelled at him.

He looked around at the women in the room, sizing them up, and then shrugged, “Hard to say.”

“How do we meet them?!” Astra was yelling, while somehow he was able to keep his voice low and still be heard when he leaned close to her ear.

“Honestly? They usually just come up to me…” he confessed.

Astra rolled her eyes. Royals.

Sure enough, several women came up to Andrew and threw themselves at him while he and Astra waited for even one man to make a pass at her.

“Maybe you’re intimidating them away!” Astra suggested.

“Maybe so. Do you want me to go dance?”

Did she want him to go dance with one of the strange women in the club so that a strange man might come up to her and hit on her?

Not really, no. She wanted to dance with him. She liked dancing with him. More than that, she didn’t want to dance with anyone else. And she didn’t want him to dance with anyone else. She took his hand and dragged him out to the dance floor, their bodyguards hilariously close by, and they started moving.

It wasn’t dancing the way Astra was trained to think of it. There was no choreography, no gentle swell of melody to carry her movements, this was something far more basic than that. The best part was how quickly she was able to stop thinking about anything but her own breath, the sweat on her brow, and the man in front of her.

There was nothing else in the world. For as long as they could stay with the beat, there was only the beat. Endorphins that she associated with a long hard workout flooded her body, and Astra felt good. And beyond feeling good, she did not feel sad. She did not miss anybody. Not her family on the other side of the world, and not Kile. She was complete right here. All she had to do was make this last forever.

“I am not a professional dancer.” Andrew reminded her, breath coming far too fast to get that whole sentence out without gasping for air several times in the middle.

Astra giggled at him, then hugged him close, “This place is magical!” she yelled in his ear.

“Magical?”

And just to prove the point, and to express her gratitude, she pecked his lips with a kiss.

That was it, right? A kiss of gratitude?

As first kisses went, it was silly. They were both too out of breath to do more than mash their lips together for a second and then go back to gasping for air. Andrew led them away for water and after a few minutes to recover, he was ready to try again.

Astra helped him find a way to move to every other beat instead of every beat, essentially cutting the speed of his dancing in half for him. That helped tremendously. But to help him do this, she had to wrap her arms around his neck to guide him, and once he had the beat it was all much less frantic and much more sensual. This time when they kissed, it was not a silly peck on the lips.

Astra had only ever kissed Kile before, but since that was never happening again, she didn’t allow herself to think about that. She didn’t think about how Andrew was taller than Kile, and his cheeks were softer because he shaved every single morning without fail. She didn’t think about anything except how nice it was not to feel pain. When she was with Andrew, especially when she was kissing Andrew, she felt nothing but joy.

Was she using him to feel better?

If someone made you feel better and wanted to be around you, was that even using them?

They stayed at the club until Andrew was too tired to go on (and even Astra was ready to admit she was tired), and then they climbed back into Andrew’s car and rode off into the night.

Astra’s ears were ringing with the sudden silence, and they were both flushed and dripping with sweat. Astra was ready to bet her face matched the red of her dress and her hair, and was ready to feel embarrassed about that somewhere beneath her exhaustion, when Andrew slid his hand over to hers and squeezed.

She looked over at him and smiled.

It was past 2 in the morning when they got back to Astra’s palace, and Astra couldn’t believe they’d spent so many hours getting swept away like that.

“I’d do that every night if I thought my hearing could survive it.” Astra admitted as they struggled to get up the stairs, feeling distinctly like they had overcooked pasta for legs.

Astra took an ice-cold bath and then rolled her legs out to try to avert any soreness the next morning, and then she found Andrew in one of the guest bedrooms. “Thanks for the dancing… sorry we didn’t meet any strangers.” she grinned.

“I’m not.” he admitted, with complete candor.

“Well then, no future queen for you and no non-childhood friend to date for me.”

“Perhaps you could find a childhood enemy?” he suggested, and she laughed at the dryness of voice as he made the joke.

“Yes, I’ll have to make do.” she agreed.

***

The kisses felt stolen for the first week, like they were getting away with something they weren’t supposed to, but then one day Andrew showed up with Astra’s favorite breakfast, and two paper travel cups of tea, and he pecked her on the lips in greeting and it didn’t feel stolen at all. It felt as comfortable as an old sweater, and made her feel just as warm inside.

To celebrate the end of her first month in London, Astra ordered dinner for them from the same restaurant they’d eaten at on her very first night in town. He showed up looking frazzled after a long day of talking with members of parliament, but all the more pleased to see her because that stress was over now. And, of course, he brought her the same kind of wine they’d shared that first night.

Astra had bought a corkscrew weeks ago now, so they didn’t need to resort to using ancient swords to open their alcohol, which made it slightly less interesting. Astra curled up against him on the balcony overlooking the city and kissed him every chance she got.

“You’re certainly in a mood.” he noted with a smile down at her, after their fourth surprise kiss.

“I’m just glad to be here.”

“Are you?” he seemed surprised. She didn’t blame him. It was quite a turn from her first weepy night a month ago.

“Yes. I think London’s been good for me.”

And maybe she meant the city, with her new favorite local spots and the friends she was making at the seminar, but maybe she meant Andrew. Maybe she couldn’t really tell the difference, and it was all just good for her.

“I am very glad to hear that.”

“I wish I didn’t have to go to Waverly in two months.” Astra admitted. “It’s an amazing opportunity for my career, not to mention I’ll get to visit my grandparents in Carolina all the time, but… I like London.”

This time she was blatantly talking about him.

“Well… London’s not going anywhere anytime soon, I suppose.” he pointed out, fully onto her game.

She hmm-ed into her wineglass, “I suppose not.”

“And you’re always welcome in London, you know.”

Astra giggled and shook her head, surprising him with another kiss as a reward for playing along with her silly euphemism.

Later that night, when the food was stashed away in the kitchen and the wine was mostly empty, Andrew joined Astra again on the balcony as she stood there with the springtime breeze blowing through her loose, curly hair. He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

“I meant it, you know.” he said. “You could stay as long as you like. There’s a tremendous ballet company in London, perhaps you’ve heard of it.”

Astra laughed, pressing a hand to his over her stomach and turning to look up at him. “Maybe someday.”

“You’re dead-set on going to Waverly, then?”

“Well, I’ve signed a contract.” she explained.

“Ah. They shall imprison you if you break it. I understand.”

His voice was always so serious when he joked, never giving away the game. She laughed at the thought and said, “Yes, there’s a special prison for ballet dancers who break their contracts, it’s especially brutal. I hear they make you dance to jazz all day.”

This time his lips brushed the placed where her shoulders met her neck, and her breath hitched at the sensation. “I shan’t extradite you.” he concluded, his warm lips brushing her skin. “I shall keep you here, safe and sound, far away from the ballet constables.”

Astra laced her fingers with his over her stomach and said, “They’re relentless, the ballet constables. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

His lips trailed up her neck and stopped at her ear where he said softly, “I think I can manage.”

Astra’s entire body erupted in chills, and suddenly she didn’t want to continue their elaborate, jokey banter about the consequences of her actions. She turned in his arms and pressed her lips roughly to his, knowing beyond the shadow of a doubt that all she really wanted was to lose herself in the taste and the feel and the smell of him. Andrew was the only person in the world who made her not care about the future, and when his lips were on her skin that was doubly true.

It wasn’t exactly real happiness she felt when she was lying in bed with him, his sandy brown hair all ruffled, his arm slung across her like he was afraid she’d disappear in the night. True, meaningful, lasting happiness was something that required a lot of factors: feeling good about the present and hopeful about the future, and at peace with the past. Astra wasn’t at peace with her past, and she didn’t even want to think about the future, but the present… the present was so good. It was one out of three. One out of three wasn’t bad.

***

If Andrew’s parents noticed that he was essentially living with Astra that spring, they didn’t say anything about it. Maybe they just assumed that, since they were close friends, he was keeping her company and enjoying a nice, extended visit. And that was perfectly true, except that they were sharing a bed and occasionally a shower, and they shared a cup of coffee in the morning and a bottle of wine at night.

They didn’t go back to that club, but they found other ways to go out together without being photographed. There were secret tables in the kitchens of restaurants, special royal boxes in theaters, private trains to private estates, and one time there was a royal yacht. Astra was surprised that Andy had so much freedom, as the heir to the throne. Addy couldn’t have dreamed of roaming around Illéa the way that Andrew was gallivanting across his future kingdom. Sure, part of it was Andrew making sure Astra was having the time of her life— he probably didn’t usually venture away from home so much— but even so.

“Will you be able to keep this up once you’re king?” she’d asked him as they sat curled up together on a train ride returning from the south. “All this rambling.” she explained at his questioning look.

“Ah. No, there will certainly be less. But my job will be nothing nearly so intense as King Maxon’s, if that is what you’re thinking. For one thing, I’ve got parliament.”

Astra wasn't exactly sure how England’s parliament worked. She knew King Eoan set the legislative agenda, but he couldn’t pass any kind of law on his own. “I can’t believe they let you have a whole train to yourself, and you barely have to work.” she teased.

His arm was wrapped around her shoulders, and his thumb began tracing her upper arm as he said, “If you think my future job’s a scandal, you should see what our queen has to do. Host parties, go shopping, appear at events…” his voice sounded as if it was a strain to remain light and carefree. As if his words were more important than he wanted them to be.

Astra leaned her head on his shoulder. Those were all things she already did for Illéa. Well, she didn’t host many parties, but she sometimes helped her Aunt Ames out when things were especially overwhelming. It was strange to think that she had experience doing the same job as the Queen of England.

“All that, and she gets to retire young?”

“Assuming that whole heir business is sorted out sufficiently early.” he admitted.

“Oh, that.” Astra giggled.

“On the whole, it’s not a terrible job.” he said.

“No, not when you factor in the jewelry.” Astra agreed, still joking.

“Precisely.” Andrew nodded with a small smile against the top of her head.

Astra wasn’t sure why he didn’t return her joke with one of his own.

***

Though Astra very much enjoyed being swept off her feet by the prince, it was the quiet nights at the palace that meant the most to her. Sometimes, after dinner and a long, hot bath, her joints would feel well enough to practice some choreography in one of the drawing rooms. Andrew would play the piano for her, putting years of lessons to use for the first time. Sometimes her joints would not feel well enough for more dancing after a long day at the seminar, and he’d rub her battered feet and ankles until she melted into a puddle at the other end of the sofa or bed, or wherever they happened to be.

She’d ask him about his work, but he wouldn’t tell her much. Maybe he was worried about protecting state secrets, or maybe he didn’t want to worry her. Maybe he didn’t want her to see him in less than a good mood, because he was only there to make her happy. And how could she not be happy?

One night, in the middle of her second month in England, as she laid awake in their bed and brushed her fingers through his unruly hair (a sight so few had ever seen: the Heir to England with unruly hair), she pressed a kiss to the shell of his ear and said softly, “What are we going to do when I have to leave for Waverly?”

Sleepily, he’d pried his eyes open, his eyelashes fluttering against her skin. “What would you like to do?”

“Freeze this moment in amber. Live in it forever.”

“Be young, in love, and carefree forever?” he’d smirked.

“In love?” she’d hesitated, surprised. They’d only been attached at the lips for six weeks now, as impossible as it seemed. Hadn’t they enjoyed half a lifetime together already?

“Oh dear.” He’d lifted his head up so that he could look in her eyes, “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Astra shook her head, “It’s okay. I do love you Andrew.”

“Do you?” he sounded amazed.

And she did. She’d always loved him, just as he’d always loved her. They’d grown up together, perfect friends, how could she not love him?

“I’m sorry you didn’t know that already.” she let her hand fall from his hair down his spine, coming to rest on his bare lower back. She traced the shape of a heart there with her finger and he shuddered. “You’re one of the best friends I’ll ever have, and I love you.”

He smiled and returned his cheek to her chest, listening for her heartbeat. “Yes. This moment would do just fine.”

“We could freeze this moment and allow archaeologists to discover it in a few thousand years.”

“And if we don’t like the future, we could simply freeze this moment again.” he agreed.

“You don’t think you’d be bored after a few thousand years?”

He grinned, one hand tracing her ribcage lazily, “I could find a few ways to keep myself occupied.”

***

Astra didn’t notice the first time there was a photographer waiting outside of the dance studio after her rehearsals. And then, a couple of days later, when a rumor sourced to a local food delivery driver was printed in a Sunday paper saying that he delivered Prince Andrew’s favorite kind of curry to the Palace where Astra was staying a couple of times per week. She didn’t mind when Andrew suggested they stop sneaking out to exclusive clubs or restaurants around the city, because staying in was extremely entertaining.

But it was hard to miss when Andrew nervously appeared in her doorway one evening and said, instead of ‘hello’ or ‘how was your day’, “Grandmother has asked to meet you.”

Astra gaped. Queen Cerridwen, King Eoan’s mother, had never met any of the Illéan royals in-person. Maybe she’d met Uncle Maxon back before he was King, when she was still the active queen, but maybe not even then. “Me? Wh…why?”

Andrew ran a hand through his hair and ruffled it in a way that would have been funny if he hadn’t look so stressed. He sank to his knees to sit next to Astra, who’d been sitting on the floor, using the coffee table to hold her nail polish bottles as she painted her toes. “The rumors got to her.”

“Rumors… about us?”

Andrew nodded, “I’ve had the press department squashing everything the second they hear about it, and it’s bought us some time, but the rumors have been consistent for long enough now—“

“The rumors that we’re spending time together?” Astra asked.

“Yes.” Andrew looked faintly nauseous.

Astra smiled and traced his cheekbone with her thumb soothingly, “We are spending time together. We’re not being falsely accused.”

“No, I know… I think, just… I think we need to talk.”

Those were heavy words.

Kile had been the last one to say those words to her, and the outcome had been really unpleasant.

“You didn’t bring wine?” Astra noticed for the first time.

“I wanted us to keep our heads clear.”

“Are you ending this?” Astra asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“No.” Andrew promised. “But we’ve never talked about what this is before. I’ve been able to buy us a little slice of time to ourselves, but I’ve reached the end of my tricks.”

Astra looked into his eyes carefully, noticing the strain there for the first time, “You never said you had to use tricks…”

“I didn’t want you to have to worry about it. I wanted to be… uncomplicated. Simple. After everything you’ve been through, I thought that you needed simplicity.”

“I did.” she admitted, chest suddenly aching at the thought that the simple times might be gone.

He brushed an errant curl behind her ear and smiled bracingly, “I am not here to tell you that the world is ending. Merely that people have found us out. They’re asking questions that I do not have the answers to, and in lieu of my answers, they are coming to their own conclusions. Grandmother amongst the rest.”

“She wants to meet me because she knows we’ve been dating?”

Andrew huffed a breath, “It’s her way of forcing the matter at hand. When it comes to me, to dating the English Heir, there is dating and there is Dating. Courting. Something official, not just between you and I, but between us and all of England.”

Astra looked a little creeped out at the thought, “They… want in on our dates?”

Andrew rubbed his brow, “In a manner of speaking… there comes a point when I’m meant to introduce anyone I am seeing to the people of England as a potential future queen.”

“Why? It’s not like they get to vote on who stays in your bed, or in our case, my bed.”

“No, but it’s…” he seemed so uncomfortable at having to explain this to her. Probably any English girl he dated would have seen this coming a mile away and known what to expect. Astra blushed a little, feeling inadequate for the first time all spring. “It’s a bit like a small Selection, perhaps. They get to know the person their prince is dating and they get to watch me court their future queen.”

“Oh, and your gramma wants you to do that with me?” What a relief to know she was just a confused old woman who’d misunderstood.

“Precisely. Meeting Grandmother at her estate in Scotland would signal the official start to our official courtship.”

Astra felt all the tension leave her body and she smirked at him, “Your gramma is proposing marriage to me on your behalf.”

“Basically.”

“What’s she in such a hurry for? We’re teenagers.”

Andrew let out an exasperated sigh, relieved now that he could see Astra wasn’t panicking and throwing everything she owned into a bag to haul back to Illéa on the first flight out the next morning. “I don’t know. You’re a good match, obviously. My father is close with your uncle, but it would be smart to solidify that alliance with some kind of marriage.”

“Very sexy and romantic.” Astra giggled.

“Isn’t it just?” he agreed wryly. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath, “I suppose she’s worried because I’ll be king in a few more years. She doesn’t want me to have to go through that enormous transition of responsibility by myself. I suppose finding a queen would be much harder as king than as prince, too. Father’s even asked me if I want to take a few months next year and devote myself to dating full time before he begins handing off responsibilities to me in earnest. As part of a formal ascension plan.”

“What a conversation.”

“You can’t begin to imagine.”

Astra collapsed into giggles, doing her best to imagine it anyway. King Eoan asking his son if he wanted to be a full-time, 40-hours-per-week dater as part of his obligations to the crown.

“It’s good you think this is funny.” he sulked, but he only partially meant it. He was genuinely glad she was laughing instead of crying.

Fairly certain her toes were dry now, Astra stood and screwed the caps on her polish, stashing the bottles in a drawer next to her vanity. She stretched, fingers reached for the ceiling, going up on her toes, and as she came down she whisked her loose t-shirt over her head.

“Astra.” Andrew cleared his throat, forcing his eyes away from her lacy, pale blue and white bra, “Clear heads, remember?”

“I’m just getting comfortable.” she said in a voice that clearly told him she was not just getting comfortable.

He stood and she came over and loosened his tie for him. He placed a hand over hers when she made for his shirt’s buttons and said, “Do you want this to last past April?”

Astra gulped, “I wish April was forever.”

He stared at her, the only flicker of doubt coming from the small twitch of his eyebrow. “That’s not the same thing.”

“… I know.”

“You don’t have to answer me tonight, but we should talk about it. If we keep going past April, I suspect it will make the most sense for you… for you to meet grandmother.”

This time, when Astra continued with his buttons, it was a genuine effort to help him get comfortable, and not a ploy to see his bare chest. Seeing his bare chest was an undeniable bonus, though. She linked her fingers with his and dragged him towards her bed, and then she flopped down on her back and stared up at the top of her four poster canopy. “So what would happen after I met your grandmother?”

“You’d get some secret service protection.” Andrew laid on his stomach and used his finger to draw doodles on the smooth, soft skin above her navel. His breath felt warm as it puffed against her ribs, but her skin erupted in goosebumps anyway, and he pressed a chaste kiss to them. He knew the effect he had on her, and it only made him want to cherish her more.

“I’d go back to Illéa, though. To Waverly.”

“Yes. We’d coordinate that. It would probably be a less hectic place for you than in England.”

“You think England will be hectic if you announce we’re officially dating?”

Andrew huffed one dry, humorless laugh. “When they find out I’m thinking of making you their princess… sweetheart, it’s going to be a nightmare of a circus.”

“Terrifying clowns?”

“The most terrifying.” he agreed.

Astra sighed, “Then what? How long would we get to date before they’d expect you to decide whether you want to marry me or not?”

“Given the time you’d be spending in Illéa, we could get a year.”

“A year.” Astra liked the sound of that. Sure, she’d dance until her contract was up in Waverly, but then she’d come back and get to do this with Andrew for months and months. His dad might even let him date her full-time. Morning, noon, and night cuddles.

“Yes, and then…”

“And then a fairytale proposal. Would it have to be public?”

“Gosh, no.” Andrew promised. “But it would need to have a good story behind it. Take you somewhere meaningful—“

“Like the club where we first kissed.” Astra teased, running her hands through his hair.

“No, not at all.” he chuckled.

“And would I get to wear one of the crown jewels or something?”

Andrew lifted his head to look at her. “Would you want one?”

Astra laughed. It was all so completely silly. She was an eighteen year old girl! A boy was offering her a crown jewel! She laughed some more.

“Our engagement would be six months, eight at most.” he said. “That’s going to be the hardest time for you. You won’t be royal yet, but you’ll have all the expectations. Of course, you’d have everything you’d need from us. Security, education, an allowance for your clothes.”

“Mmm, clothes.”

“And then—“

“A royal wedding?”

“Yes.”

“And a royal honeymoon?”

“Of course.” he pressed another kiss to her skin, this one not so chaste.

“And then I’m your princess?”

“Until we take our oaths to become king and queen.”

“You really think I could be queen?”

“You think you couldn’t?”

“I know how hard it is on my Aunt Ames. It’s not really the life I saw for myself.”

“It’s different in England, you know. We’re smaller than most Illéan provinces, and we’ve got parliament.”

She couldn’t continue to fantasize about marrying him without understanding what he meant when he said that. “Andy, how does parliament help you?”

“Eh… help is not the word.” Andrew admitted. “It’s more that they take certain responsibilities off the monarch’s plate. Whether they do so in a manner that helps is an entirely different question. But unlike Queen America, who assists on many matters of policy and diplomacy, my mother’s job is almost entirely ceremonial, supporting my father’s efforts.”

“So do you think I could dance if we were married?”

Andrew fell quiet, wracking his brain for a way. “Not once we were engaged… I just can’t imagine that you would have time. And you’d quickly become one of the most famous women in the world… not that you’re anonymous now, just that we’re talking about a whole different stratosphere of public interest… even if we found time for you to dance in the royal ballet, it might not be safe.”

Astra hated that answer, but it made perfect sense to her. Addy had never regularly commuted into the city for any reason. Keeping her safe during recurring, publicly open performances would have been a nightmare, and Astra supposed that would be true for her too.

Astra also knew she wasn’t going to dance forever. She probably had a good ten or twelve years before retirement, and that was only if she avoided any major injuries. In Astra’s experience, injuries and pregnancies were two of the most common reasons dancers retired younger than thirty and they were both to be avoided.

“How long do you think we could put all of this off? I don’t want to stop dancing.”

“I know. I want you to dance! You’re bloody magnificent when you dance.”

“Just when I dance?” she teased suggestively.

“Other times too.” he smirked up at her. He let his face fall gently on her stomach, breathing in the smell of her body wash and then lifting his head again, “I could tell Grandmother we’re not yet ready. You could go to Waverly and come back for visits now and again.”

“Sounds like I’d miss you.”

“I’d miss you too.”

“Sounds better to me, though.”

“I suppose it must. The people mightn’t be fooled, they’ll still expect something is happening between us.”

“They’d be right.”

“But Astra… No matter what, I’ll be King four years from now. There’s no delaying that. ”

“That’s a long time, Andy.”

“I can’t… you must understand, I’d need to know for certain by then.”

“Of course!”

“Ideally… Ideally I would be married by then so that we could share the coronation ceremony.”

“So we could have a wedding earlier that fall? You’d propose that spring? That gives us a few years. That gives me time to dance.”

“But would it be enough?”

“Three years is forever, Andy.” Astra grinned down at him.

“And you’d really consider being my queen?”

“I’d consider a lot of things for blue eyes like yours.”

“They are an important part of the benefits package.” he agreed, placing an arm on either side of her and bringing himself up so that they were eye to eye. “Along with lots of travel to exotic locations. The finest champagne money can buy. Famous designers tripping over themselves to clothe you. A handful of palaces. Lots of diamonds.” he punctuated each of these offers with a deep, heated kiss and by the end Astra was absolutely dizzy and in no state to negotiate her future job benefits.

***

By the end of the week it was not just one photographer waiting outside of the ballet studio anymore, there were dozens. They were aggressive and pushy, yelling her name and constantly demanding she tell them if she was seeing Andrew. Her Illéan security detail was not pleased. The theater that housed the ballet was difficult to secure against so many persistent intruders, and there was serious discussion about whether they could even let her finish the seminar. They also discussed calling King Maxon and asking him for reinforcements, which made Astra’s stomach feel sick. She didn’t want her uncle to have to pay money and spare resources to send across the world to her all because of her love life.

It was a tense day and a half before Andrew was able to come through with security of his own to supplement her detail. It had been a tough thing to organize, given she wasn’t officially his girlfriend, but he’d found a way for her.

If Astra knew anything in those days, it was that he would always find a way for her. That had never been the problem.

There were reporters outside of Astra’s palace now, night and day, and they marked each time Andrew came or went. Instead of lounging together on the balcony overlooking the city, Astra and Andrew had to draw the curtains closed for the sake of their privacy.

“We should just tell them we’re not really dating.” Astra said. “I can’t outright lie to them.” Andrew insisted. “I can’t break trust with my people. I don’t have to confirm we’re together, but I can’t just tell them we’re not.”

“There’s got to be a way… tell them we have no intention of courting right now. That’s not a lie, is it?”

“It’s a bit transparent.” Andrew pointed out.

“Well, I’d love to hear your better idea!”

Andrew sighed into her hair. They were dancing to the music on the television, its glow the only light in her bedroom. “Maybe we break up. And I tell them we broke up.”

“You’re breaking up with me?” Astra suddenly sounded so small and vulnerable, he squeezed her tighter, “No! Not really. Not in that way. It’s just a way we can… buy you some more time before we have to fess up to anything.”

Astra didn’t want to fake-break up with Andrew. She wanted the entire world to leave them to their peace and quiet in their little palace of domestic bliss forever. What was so complicated about that?

Andrew had the idea of staying away one night to try to relieve some of the heat, but all it did was leave Astra pacing the floor alone, listening to the rumble of dozens of people camped out on the street in front of her palace all night.

Astra and Andrew were summoned by Queen Waverly the next day and sat down together on the sofa in her office.

Everything about it was embarrassing. Andy’s mother needed to know how long they had been romantic, how far their romance had gone, how serious they were about their future together, and why Andrew had turned down his grandmother’s invitation.

“Lovey, she wasn’t trying to force your hand.” Waverly told Andrew sympathetically. “What’s happening now out there… it’s going to get worse, the longer we let the media spin itself up into a frenzy.”

Astra said, “I only have a week and a half left, your Majesty—“

“Astra.” Waverly reproached the use of her title. “We’re having this discussion as family. Call me Aunt Waverly… if you’re marrying my son, call me Mum.”

Astra gulped, looking at Andrew, lost.

“We’ve only been together a few months, we don’t know—“ Andrew spoke up, until Waverly nodded and held up her hand to silence him.

“I understand entirely.” She turned her head to the side to study a giant portrait of one of Andy’s female ancestors. “Listen you two, I know that this is a complicated situation. The only thing that will help is being forthright with the people.”

“If Astra meets grandmother, the people will be demanding a proposal by Christmas.”

“Perhaps so.”

“We’re not ready for that.” Andrew was keeping a lid on his princely composure, but Astra could tell he felt hopelessly trapped by his mother and the palace and his people beyond its walls. He was ready to rattle the cages.

Waverly nodded, “Your father and I will do everything we possibly can for you, you know that. We only want your happiness. But things are getting very intense, very fast out there. That’s happening because you’re choosing not to do things the conventional way. You must understand that.”

Very intense, very fast. That was Astra’s whole relationship with Andrew in a nutshell.

“It’s just a week and a half.” Astra reiterated. “Then I’ll be back in Illéa and the press can calm down for a while.”

“The speculation won’t stop until it is addressed by us, and it might even turn ugly.” Waverly warned. “When you stop giving them fresh photograph opportunities every day at your ballet house, when there aren’t rumors flying about sightings of the two of you all over London—“

“Not true, by the way.” Andrew said.

“Some of them could be.” Astra reminded him.

“Only the very old ones. We’ve not been out in a fortnight.”

Astra nodded.

“My point is, in a vacuum of real news, someone will invent rumors to splash on their tabloids. It will be anything and everything. Abuse, affairs, pregnancy out of wedlock, Astra will be a gold digger who broke Andy’s heart one week, the next week Andy will be a womanizing fiend who took advantage of a childhood friend. Relations between England and Illéa will be on the brink—“

“They won’t!” Astra objected.

“Only in the magazines.” Waverly replied. “But we wouldn't want any hostile nations thinking the rumors were true and attempting to take advantage of the supposed rift. You see how this could spiral?”

The room fell to silence for the first time. Astra shivered just a little, “I feel like I’ve been tossed into a tornado.”

“It gets better." Waverly promised. “Once you’re proactive about telling your own story, it gets harder for the media to frenzy over half-credible unattributed rumors.”

Astra buried her face in her hands. She’d thought she’d have years before she had to tell the media a story about her relationship with Andrew. It felt wrong that the people of England were forcing an eighteen year old girl to move so quickly.

“I just need time.” Astra said into her hands.

“Right.” Waverly made up her mind and stood, “In that case, Eoan and I are inviting you to stay here with us for the rest of your visit, Astra. We’ll tell the media that we’re very much looking forward to spending time with you before the end of your trip.”

“No, wait…” Astra looked up, heartbroken that she was losing her private little palace. Would she even get to go back and say goodbye to it?

“This isn’t a punishment, sweetheart.” Waverly sighed and then tugged Astra up to standing, pulling her into a tight hug. “You’re not in trouble. Not one little bit. You’ll have more privacy here, behind our gates and with all of our guards. You’ll have one of our cars to drive you to and from the ballet, and Andy won’t be caught coming and going at all hours of the night because he already lives here… or he did before you came to town.” she said the last part teasingly to her oldest son, who had the temerity to blush at his shamelessness.

Astra felt her eyes sting with tears, “I love that palace… it’s been a good home for me.”

Waverly smiled sweetly, “You’ll be welcome to stay there the next time you come back. If you and Andrew announce an engagement, we’ll fully staff the place for you so that it’s safer. Perhaps you and Andrew could use it as your home for the time between your marriage and his assumption of the crown.”

“Really?” Andrew looked enticed by the offer.

“You’ll need to live somewhere, dear. You couldn’t live with your parents as newlyweds, it would be unbearable.” Waverly teased. “England would never get an heir that way.”

Heirs.

Hearing the queen say that word in this palace, next to the crown prince made it feel very real and very scary. Did Astra want her kids to be heirs? She thought again of Addy and Jamesy… she loved them more than anything in the world, but she couldn’t imagine raising her children for such an incredible responsibility.

Waverly continued softly, “The main thing is, we need to be very delicate here, my loves. When Andrew becomes king, he will become the head of the church. Please understand, I do not mind what you the two of you do or don’t do, so long as you are safe and consenting.”

“Mother.” Andy squirmed.

“But it would put Andrew in a difficult position, becoming head of the church, if he was seen to have a… well a marriage-style relationship with a woman who was not his wife for too long.”

“Yes, heaven forbid I have a healthy, long-term girlfriend.” Andy scowled.

“It’s the vows to God that are the issue at hand, not heaven, and you know it.” Waverly scolded his sass quietly, but efficiently.

“So we break up.” Astra concluded. “We officially break up when I go back to Illéa, and then when it’s time, I come back to England and we publicly reunite… you don’t have any church issues, and I have time to dance.”

Waverly looked between them quietly. “It might be the only option, short of scheduling dinner with your grandmother.”

Andrew looked almost as sad as if the breakup was real. Maybe he was scared it would become real once Astra was out of the whirlwind. She laced her fingers with his and squeezed, “We’ll figure this out.”

He squeezed back twice, gently.

***

That night Astra slept in Andrew’s bedroom for the first time in their entire affair.

“The maids are gonna know.”

“Everyone knows.” he snorted into her hair. “That’s why we’re here and not across town in our own palace.”

“Your parents are in the building.” she complained when his hands began wandering her body.

“Not close enough to hear anything.”

“Still… what if they have to walk by for a glass of water or something?”

“You want me to keep my hands to myself tonight?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Oh, so shall we see who can be quietest?” he brushed his fingers across her ribs and she quietly shrieked a giggle. “You are so bad at this, darling.”

“Oh yeah?” she got her revenge with vicious tickles, exploiting every sensitive spot she’d found on his body the last few months.

***

Living in the English palace was an easy adjustment for Astra. She'd grown up in Illéa Palace which, as the functioning capital building of one of the largest nations in the world, was larger and had a much bigger staff. The English palace was certainly ancient and stately, but Astra had grown up visiting the place, so at least she wasn’t too dazzled to see this for what it was.

There was no more delivery from local restaurants once those palace gates were closed, but the royal chef made sure that Andy and Astra had everything they wanted delivered to one of their rooms each night, so that wasn’t actually too much of a change. Not only that, but the maids were discrete and only came onto their floor when Andrew was at work and Astra was at the ballet for the day, so it was almost like their bedrooms magically tidied themselves up each day.

Really, the biggest change for Astra had been weeks before, when rumors had started flying and she and Andrew had stopped venturing out into London. Andrew still appeared in her doorway just in time for dinner, looking handsome and happy to see her. They still shared good meals and long baths, and a warm bed each night. But now the illusion that time didn't exist and that they could continue peacefully, blissfully existing in their little bubble forever was burst.

Since the royal palace hadn't released a statement about the gorgeous young foreign princess living in the same palace as their handsome young future king, salacious headlines were beginning to trickle from tabloids to increasingly reputable news sources. Astra and Andrew's private affair wasn’t so private anymore.

Some part of Astra had been hoping that the rumors would die down once she and Andrew had retreated into the palace, even though she knew better. But on her second-to-final rehearsal before her big seminar performance, photographers started camping out overnight at the stage door to the ballet, not just hounding Astra but harassing her fellow dancers, too. It was humiliating to think that these world-class performers, some of whom Astra had idolized for years, were getting manhandled on their way to and from work every day because of Astra’s love life. She wasn’t sure her reputation in the industry would ever recover from this. Who would want to work with her when her very presence could cause such a disruption?

She cried in the backseat of the car on her way back to the royal palace that day, but she had big sunglasses on, and at least no photographers caught her moment of weakness.

“I don’t want to be the girl who’s dating the future king. I want to be a damn good dancer.” Astra said that night, her cheek pressed to Andrew’s chest as he drew swirling designs on her bare back with his fingers.

“You are both.”

“You don’t understand… you literally can’t.”

“What?” Andrew wasn’t insulted, which was the great thing about him. He was always humble about his own limitations. “Why can I not understand?”

“Have you ever looked up to someone who was truly excellent at the very thing that you wanted to be truly excellent at?”

“Of course.”

“Who?”

“King Maxon.”

Astra rolled her eyes and lifted her head so he could see her at it. “You met him when you could still count your age on one hand.”

“So?”

“So most people never get to meet their idols, and if they do it’s because they’ve worked extremely hard to become very good at something. There are choreographers and dancers at this seminar that I’ve admired for a decade. And now my presence is turning their workplace, a place I consider to be sacred, into a hostile circus.”

Andrew frowned down at her and said softly, “Did I not promise you terrifying clowns?”

“I don’t want to bring chaos to every stage I cross.” Astra pouted.

Andrew nodded and said, “So we should announce our breakup immediately. I’ll release a statement tomorrow, and ask a friend of mine to appear in public with me tomorrow night… a woman. It won’t cure everything overnight, but it would surely alleviate some of the pressure.”

Astra stared into his eyes, then studied the line of his nose, the cut of his cheekbones, the curve of his jaw. “That’s a lot of trouble to go through just for me.”

“Astra, are you joking? You’re the one going through trouble for me.”

Astra nodded, but she dropped a kiss onto his lips anyway. “Okay, but the breakup is fake.” her lips danced over his.

His teeth gently teased her lower lip as he replied, “Yeah. I noticed.”

***

As warm and inviting as the arms holding her were, Astra had a difficult time staying asleep that night. She was nervous about returning to rehearsals the next morning, nervous about their final performance, now only a couple of days away, nervous about her new relationship with Andrew, and nervous about being nervous about her new relationship with Andrew.

At around four in the morning she slipped out of bed and tiptoed back to her suite, where she found a pitcher of water and a tray of snacks waiting for her. She spent so many hours of her day exercising that sometimes she woke up in the middle of the night ravenously, painfully hungry, so she’d requested that she be left some snacks just in case. She picked at a scone, lost in her anxieties, and her stress about not being able to sleep, until the telephone next to her bed rang so loudly and shrilly that it caused her to jump and splash some of her glass of water onto her night shirt.

“Hello?” Astra picked up the phone, hoping to hear an Illéan voice on the other end of the line. She hadn’t spoken to Addy in a few days, and it had been almost a week since her Aunt Ames or Uncle Maxon had phoned. She hadn’t spoken to her parents in longer than that, but they’d be arriving in London in less that twenty-four hours so that they could watch her final performance, so she wasn’t too desperate to speak to them.

And while the voice on the other line was Illéan, it definitely wasn’t one she had been expecting.

“Hey.”

Astra’s stomach clenched and her body flooded with adrenaline. She reminded herself to behave like a normal person and not like a lunatic when, as casually as she could, she replied, “Kile? Is that you?” like she didn’t know. Like she wouldn’t know his voice anywhere, anytime, under any circumstance. She knew his voice better than she knew her own.

“Sorry, I know it’s the middle of the night over there. …You don’t sound like you were sleeping, though.”

He would know.

Astra gulped hard, “I needed a snack.” It was a lie, but it was close enough to the truth.

“Hm. Is he there then?”

Astra felt defensive anger flare up in her chest, and only later realized that the anger was covering a sense of guilt. “So what if he is? You broke up with me—“

“Astra—“

“No, it’s okay. I’m not saying that in a mean way. I’m stating a fact. We are not together because you broke up with me, so why do you care if he’s here?”

There was a long pause and then a low groan on the other end of the phone. Astra heard a brush of fabric over his microphone, as if he’d been rubbing his face and his sleeve caught on the receiver.

“I want to know if he’s there, because I want to talk to you when you’re alone. It’s why I’m calling so late… or early, I guess.” Kile said.

Astra’s traitor heart beat faster. What did he want to talk to her about when she was alone? Was he going to apologize? Was he going to ask for her back?

It was too late, obviously. Astra had obviously moved on. Obviously. “He’s not here.”

Kile sounded relieved when he said, “Good.” and that annoyed Astra. He had no right to be relieved that she wasn’t in bed with another man. He’d hurt her in a way she’d never known she could hurt before.

She lashed out, “I didn’t want to wake him up with my snacking. But he’ll probably notice I’m gone soon, so you should hurry up and say what you want to say.”

The pained sound that snuck out of his throat with his next exhale was not as satisfying as Astra had hoped it would be. She regretted her words already. Maybe now he wouldn’t ask for her back… not that she wanted him to.

Kile said, “Let me ask you something…”

This was it. He was going to ask for forgiveness. He was going to ask her to come back to Illéa and be with him.

“What do you want more than anything in the world?” Kile said.

What was he expecting her to say? That she wanted him? She was dating the Crown Prince of England!

“Astra?”

“What do you mean, Kile?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean? For our whole lives you’ve always wanted one thing more than anything in the world. What is it?”

Oh. Astra replied almost mechanically, her voice barely above a mumble, “I want to be the Prima Ballerina for the Angeles Ballet for at least a season, maybe two.”

“And you wanted that enough that you didn’t even think about moving closer to my university, because it would have taken you away from the Angeles ballet. And not for a good reason, like that invitation you got to dance in Waverly. For no reason. For me.”

“You’re not no reason—“

“No, I’m just not a good enough reason.”

“Kile—“

“You can’t argue with that.”

“You said you wouldn’t promise to look for apprenticeships and internships in the cities where I was dancing. You said you don’t want to live in Angeles when you grow up!”

“I don’t. I’m going to go where I can do my best work.” he said plainly. “I still think you and I made a good choice to split up.”

Hearing him say that was hard. She wanted him to regret it. She wanted him to miss her like she had missed him before Andrew had swept her off her feet. Losing him had changed her and she would never be the same as she was before, and he wasn’t even sorry.

Kile continued, “I’m just saying… what was the point of drawing a line in the sand about you and me if you were just going to walk all over it for Andy?”

“What?”

“We both know that you’ll never be prima anything if you marry Andy. You told me yourself, every waking hour of a prima’s life is devoted to dancing or preparing to dance. There are no hobbies, no vacations, no date nights. There definitely isn't time to be somebody’s princess.”

“I’m already an Illéan Prin—“

“Cut the shit, Astra, you know what I mean.” Kile sounded exasperated, and she knew why. She was trying to miss his point, but he wasn’t exactly being subtle about it so dodging it was proving impossible.

“Maybe I want something else now. Maybe I want to marry Andrew.”

“Look… Andy’s not a bad guy—“ Kile admitted through gritted teeth, “But there will be plenty of not bad guys waiting for you after you retire. So if you pick him, do it because you want the life he’ll give you more than the life you can earn for yourself. And be ready to bury your dreams of being a prima ballerina forever, if you do. I know you, and I know you’re getting swept up in this—“

“Don’t talk about me like I’m some helpless little… little damsel, Kile.” Astra snapped.

“Think about it logistically. Do you want to move to the other side of the world from your parents and your little brothers? They’ll visit you as often as they can, but your visits to Illéa will always be to the Palace, to King Maxon and Addy. You won’t be able to go home again. Do you want to have to keep a royal schedule, planned months and years in advance? And you can forget being around from Addy once she becomes queen, you’ll be trapped on the far side of an ocean.”

“Kile—“ Astra tried to interrupt him because she wanted him to stop making sense.

“What about the little things? What about the weather? You’re an Angeles girl, are you going to miss the sun? You know they use different numbers for temperature over there, right? How’s it going to feel to wake up in the morning and have some maid tell you that it’s twenty-five degrees outside, so you’d better stay in the shade to keep cool?”

“Kile.” Astra laughed.

“I’m serious. You’re not just choosing a career here, Astra, you’re choosing a life: from the moment you wake up to the moment you fall asleep.” Kile paused and let out a tired sigh. “I just don’t want you to make a big mistake that you can’t undo. I know how badly you want to dance. You’re not ready for this, and even if you were, this wouldn’t be the right choice for you.”

“I’ve changed, Kile.” she wanted to add that he’d changed her. That losing him had made her someone new, someone she didn’t even know yet, but she kept that part to herself. Listening to his voice for so long that night… suddenly she found that she didn’t want to hurt him anymore.

“It’s barely been three months, Astra. You haven’t changed that much.” he promised.

Astra wasn’t sure. Sometimes change was gradual, sure, but sometimes change was all at once. Traumatic change was a sudden shattering of what came before, such that one could never go back again. That was what losing Kile had been like.

But did that mean she wanted to give up dancing and become Andrew’s princess? His queen? His wife and the mother of his heirs? Did she want to leave Illéa forever and eventually move into this palace?

She wanted all of that when she was wrapped up in Andrew’s arms.

But here, alone in the middle of the night when she had her wits about her…

She climbed back into bed and woke Andrew up with steady, gentle kisses. Everything about the love they made that morning was slow and desperate, and even though she hadn’t meant it to, in the end it felt like goodbye.

***

Astra was gone to her final rehearsals before dawn, but later that morning Andrew was true to his word and made a big announcement that he and Astra had both been secretly dating, and were now publicly broken up. He made a good show of wandering around London looking sad that day, and that night he went out to dinner with a fashion model friend, who did not mind the publicity one little bit.

There were still plenty of photographers salivating at the chance to photograph Astra looking dismal at having lost the chance to become an English princess, but at least they were leaving the rest of the dancers, and everyone else associated with the ballet, in peace.

Astra’s parents arrived at the royal palace in time for dinner that night, and Astra had a lot of explaining to do to them. King Eoan and Queen Waverly seemed to find Astra’s discomfort at explaining her affair with Andrew to her parents over roasted asparagus incredibly amusing, and possibly reminiscent of the beginning of their own relationship. It wasn’t fair, though. Andrew missed all the “fun”, making sure it looked like he was rebounding with that gorgeous model.

That night, Astra was too nervous about her impending final performance to wait up for Andrew to get back to the Palace. She could go to bed early or never at all. She drank some tea laced with a little bit of melatonin and fell asleep soon after dinner.

She woke up in Andrew’s arms, her cheek pressed to the side of his bare chest. She listened to him breathe deeply and evenly for a little while and tried one last time.

She could quit dancing.

She could leave Illéa forever.

She could raise her children to be heirs.

Her children could raise their children to be heirs.

When she died, her bones could be interred in a big old church.

Her whole life could be that easy.

God, it would be so easy.

“Andy?” she whispered.

He didn’t stir.

“Andrew?” she tried again, this time pulling away from him and sitting up in bed.

He didn’t hear her, but he reacted to the loss of her warmth, and eventually his heavy eyelids fluttered open. “Astra?”

“What time did you get in last night?”

“This morning.” He admitted, yawning widely. “I expect the tabloids will be plastered with headlines about their debaucherous future king today.”

“Was it any fun?”

“Yeah. Ellie’s great; she’s always happy to be photographed on my arm. Missed you, though.” he added, as if suddenly awake enough to worry that she was jealous.

She wasn’t the slightest bit jealous. Well, the slightest bit, but not for the reasons he would assume. Astra was jealous because Ellie could keep being photographed on Andrew’s arm for as long as she pleased, with no consequences.

“Maybe you should marry Ellie.” Astra suggested.

Andrew laughed, and it turned into a yawn. Then he explained, “Ellie’s too focused on her career right now. And anyway, she’d be far more interested in you.”

“Now that would be a tabloid headline.” Astra joked weakly.

“What’s the matter? Are you nervous for your performance? Is it because you’re leaving England this time tomorrow? Is it because you told your parents what’s been happening between us—“

“I’m not nervous.” Astra said, even though her stomach was in knots. Those weren’t nerves. That was grief. “Andy… I want to be a ballet dancer.”

Andrew sat up in bed now and rubbed the sleep from his eyes so he could focus on her. The words were familiar, but her tone was alarming. “Of course you do. You are a ballet dancer, and you’re bloody brilliant.”

“I want to be a prima ballerina.”

“Okay.”

“That sort of excellence takes years to achieve.”

“Good job you’ve been dancing since you were four years old, then.”

“Shh.” she pressed a finger to his lips so that he would stop talking back and listen to her. He complied. “I won’t be ready to be a prima for seven or eight years. I have a lot to learn. And when I’m ready, I want to be a Prima Ballerina for at least one season, maybe two. That’s every waking hour devoted to dance for two years straight. Then I want to live in Angeles and stay close to Addy in the first few years of her reign. I want to be there when she gets married and has babies, because she is great at putting on a brave face and absolutely terrible at processing the emotions that are scaring her into needing to be brave. She’s going to need me, and I’m excited to be there for her. I can’t live on a different continent than my dad. There can’t such a huge time difference between me and my mom. I can’t be a foreign queen. I don’t want to be foreign at all. Andrew… I can’t marry you.” Her cheeks were wet and her voice cracked, but she didn’t know when, in that little breathless tirade, she’d started crying.

Andrew stared blankly ahead, hugging his knees to his chest around their blanket. He didn’t look surprised. He’d known she was too good to be true all along. Finding his queen could never have been so easy, so perfect. He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up.

“Andy, none of those reasons I gave have anything to do with you. I love you. You’re a good man, and a great partner, and you have no business being such a talented kisser when you’re so handsome. It’s overkill.” she waited for him to smile. She waited for him to do anything. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Andrew. I just can’t marry you. I’m eighteen years old, I just got control of my life. I’m not ready to sign it over to a monarchy. I would love to be your wife, Andy, but I would hate to be your queen.”

Andrew blinked hard, then looked over at her. His voice was too casual, his words were too easy when he said, “I understand entirely. I can wait.”

Astra furrowed her brow, trying to hold his far off gaze. “Wait? What do you mean, wait?”

“You want to be a prima ballerina, and you said it would take you nine or ten years to accomplish your goal. Fine. I will wait, and when you’re ready I’ll ask to marry you.”

“No, Andy—“

“I don’t mind ruling on my own for a while.”

“That’s more than a while! You’ll be king in four years—“

“It isn’t a problem.” he insisted.

“Did you hear the part about what I want to do after I retire? About living in Illéa, about staying close to my family?”

“Astra, once we’re married, you can do whatever you like.”

“But queens have responsibilities.”

“We can redefine the role to mean whatever you’d like it to mean. I don’t care. I love you, Astra, and you’re the best future queen I could ever hope for.”

Astra paused, blinking hard against the tears in her eyes. It hurt to hear him say that. It hurt to realize that he didn’t believe he deserved any better. “Andy, that’s not true. You deserve a wife who will stay by your side. You deserve a wife who adores you and would be willing to sacrifice her own ambitions to serve England. I’m not good enough to be your queen.”

“Then no one ever will be.”

“Andrew—“

“Let me wait for you, Astra, please.” His voice broke on that last work, his eyes finally meeting hers and betraying his anguish. “Let me hope. It’s all that I have left.”

Astra couldn’t figure out what would be crueler, to let him hope when she’d made up her mind, or to take that hopeless hope away from him.

So she wrapped him up in her arms and they laid down. She combed her fingers through his hair and he brushed his thumb against her ribs until her alarm clock rang and her last day in London began.

***

In retrospect, Astra should have chosen a happy, upbeat, peppy song for her exhibition. She could have flounced all over the stage and spun a ridiculous number of times on her toes, and allowed her partner to toss her all over the place with an enormous smile on her face.

Instead, she’d chosen an exhibition from a ballet about a woman mourning her dead lover, dancing with his ghost. She’d been thinking of Kile when she’d chosen it, hoping it would help her work out her feelings about their doomed childhood romance. Now she was about to take the stage of the royal ballet, with Andrew and his parents in the royal box, watching her close enough that she could see the pained look on Andrew’s face as clear as anything.

Astra and her dance partner, Geoffrey, took their place while the stage was lit in nothing but the darkest of blue lights. He laid down across on their only set piece, an enormous fake rock, and Astra settled over him in a dramatic pose of despair, arm flung over her forehead.

The first part of the dance was hers alone. Her grief, her agony, her desperation. None of it was fake. When Geoffrey arose, as a ghost, and began dancing with her, the bittersweet mixture of joy and sorrow was easy to tap into. Nothing brought her more joy than dancing, and nothing brought her more sorrow in that moment than Andrew watching her live the life she’d chosen over him.

When Geoffrey faded back into the fog upstage and left Astra alone again in the center of the stage, all the passion and desperation fled with him. The rest of the dance was small and slow, painfully precise movements timed with the orchestra just so that if she made the slightest misstep, it would be immediately, embarrassingly obvious.

But Astra did not have to fake the exhaustion and resignation her character was feeling. If she allowed herself to second guess her decision to break away from Andrew now, she’d second guess it forever. The roar of the audience as the last tremulous notes from the string section died away seemed to make a deafening contrast.

Astra was surprised to find tears had started pouring down her cheeks somewhere during that performance. Geoffrey returned and took her hand, and they bowed. As was customary for this exhibition, several members of the audience threw flowers onto the stage. From the third row, Astra’s dad threw a whole bouquet, and a little teddy bear. Astra laughed as she wiped the tears from her cheeks. Then she turned to the royal box to curtsey, perfectly observing royal protocol, and was startled to find that Andrew had been crying, too.

He tossed her a single white rose with a beautiful red satin ribbon tied around the stem, but the look on his face was resignation. He could love her with all of his heart for all of his life and still never be able to give her the kind of affirmation she got from a packed theater full of an adoring audience. He’d seen her dance dozens of times in her room at her little palace, and hell, he’d even danced with her himself. But seeing her like this in front of them…

He could wait until the oceans ran dry and the mountains fell flat, and every single star in the sky flickered into darkness… Astra was never coming back to him.

Astra spent that night with her parents, letting them gush over her and spoil her with presents, and help her pack up the life she’d made in London for the last few months. She hoped Andrew would come and say goodbye once her parents went back to the suite they were staying in, but he never appeared, and Astra didn’t chase him down because she thought he deserved to set the terms. That dance had been her goodbye to him. It was up to him whether he wanted to say goodbye in return.

The next morning, Queen Waverly was the only one in the entrance hall waiting to see the Orders family off as they left. The English Royal jet would take them as far as Carolina, where they would visit James’ family for a little while.

Astra imagined Andrew’s private car speeding out onto the tarmac to stop them. She imagined him dashing from the backseat and waving his arms to alert the pilots that they couldn’t leave until he’d said his farewells.

He didn’t come. It was easier this way.

Kenna and James stayed with Astra’s grandparents for a few days, but James had to go back to work and Kenna needed to get back to the Palace. Aunt Ames had five children, two of them under the age of six, and though they had plenty of help in that Palace, Kenna was their primary nanny, their aunt, and she missed them like crazy.

Astra stayed with her grandparents for a couple of weeks, until her contract at the Waverly Ballet began. The media frenzy around her got much better in that time, though it was impossible not to notice that things were staying hectic around Andrew as the English tabloids seemed to catch on to how severely he’d had his heart broken.

Astra wished she could take some of that public shame away.

She wished she could take some of his pain away, even as she was mending her own broken heart. Her weeks in Carolina were good for that purpose. Her grandparents spoiled her rotten, and she gave her body a much-needed break from dancing. Instead, she spent her days learning needlepoint from her grandmother, and her nights stargazing out by the pond where her parents used to sneak off on dates before Gramma Magda gave up trying to convince Kenna to marry someone from a higher caste.

When Astra packed her bags to take the short flight up to Waverly to begin yet another new life with another new ballet company, she was still wearing the beautiful red ribbon that Andrew gave her as a parting gift on that rose, tied around her wrist.

And when, years later, she sat on her sofa and watched him become King of England in front of the entire world, her fingers traced that now slightly frayed red ribbon, Andy’s last gift to her, in a familiar, much-practiced gesture.

It would have been so easy to say yes, to give in to the pressure and let herself get swept away by the English people, the royal traditions, the prince’s staggering blue eyes. It would have been a good life, too. A perfectly fine marriage.

But Astra didn’t want to be queen, and now she wouldn’t have to be, and the freedom she felt watching Andrew bear the weight of that crown was all the reminder she needed: she made the right decision. And now, despite the dull ache of longing in her chest for he boy she’d loved and left behind, she was happy. Truly happy. She was at peace with her past, content in her present, and excited for her future.

When the coronation coverage ended, Astra got ready to return to bed. She was surprised when her phone rang, but she knew exactly who it would be.

“Mom?” she said, before the person on the other line could say a word. Her little cousins would have had just enough time to be tucked back into bed by now, if Aunt May was helping. Kenna would have rushed to the phone as soon as she got the chance.

“Sweetie? How are you, little bug?”

“I’m fine, Mom, I don’t need the pet names.” Astra grinned, rolling her eyes.

“Are you sure?” Kenna double-checked.

“Yeah. I wish Andrew wasn’t alone up there. I still love him, I don’t want him to suffer. But I was nothing but relieved when they put that crown on his head and I didn’t have to put one on mine. I made the right choice.”

“I know you did, honey, but just because you did the right thing doesn’t mean you have to feel perfectly fine about it. Especially not on a night like this.”

“Honestly, Mom… my time in London feels like another life. One I’m nothing but grateful for, but not one I want to relive.”

At first, Astra’s spring with Andrew felt like it had never really happened, or like it had happened to someone else, or like it was all a fever dream: too hot, too heady, a surreal hallucination more than a fairytale fantasy. But now, with some time and space, Astra could see it for what it really was: a romantic affair with someone she could have chosen to marry, but who ultimately was not the right fit for her. On the one hand, Astra and Andrew loved each other, and their marriage would have been fine: they’d known each other forever and they each fully understood the challenges of the royal life they would have been embarking on together.

On the other hand, Astra had known what she wanted out of life since she was a very small girl. It was a hard thing to ask an eighteen year old to walk away from a guaranteed royal wedding for a chance to work very hard to one day, possibly, make her dream come true. If Astra hadn’t grown up in Illéa Palace, she might not have made the same choice. But everything she got out of her life from now on was truly hers, she was the captain of her own fate, and even if she failed and never became a prima ballerina, at least this way she’d have had the chance.

“But Mom?”

“Hm?”

“Don’t ever tell Gramma Magda that Andrew proposed to me and I turned him down. I think she would disown me.”

[soukokuwu]

i’ve seen you’re caught up in the manga so i was wondering if i could request some hcs for the HD boys (tachihara, tecchou and jouno) with a crush on a ADA girl?? please? it’s okay if you don’t write for them tho ! pd: i’m in love w your writings <3

➤ hi, yes i am, and i do!! ^.^ this my first try with them, i hope you like these anony, and tysm 🥺 i’m in love with you all <3

➤ characters: tachihara, tecchou, jouno

CRUSHING ON AN ADA GIRL.

He’s probably seen you several times when he was undercover with the port mafia. So you’ve seen him solve problems with sheer brute force and violence. (Didn’t have too nice of an opinion on him there.) And you can hold your ground, apparently. You’re strong and somewhat similar to him — you value orders and care deeply for your comrades. You’ve saved your colleagues’ lives more than once, and once you catch his eye, it’s hard for him to turn away.

Being part of the port mafia had its perks, then, seeing as how he can fit himself in missions that involved interacting with the ADA (always wonders if you’re going to be there too), though most of what he’s sent to do are violent work. It doesn’t allow for much normal interactions, seeing as the Black Lizard usually does the dirty work — but Tachihara tries his best not to hurt you. He even tries to make it so that you don’t get hurt by his other comrades.

When he does catch you outside, by chance, he doesn’t show the usual disdain he usually does at your other agency members. No, with you, he tries to talk intellectually — to attract your attention, your fancy, to find something in common with you. He can surprisingly hold a conversation well. He has to try his best not to let out he’s really a hunting dog member, though. To see your disdain for the Port Mafia is enough to make him feel like wanting to tell you his real identity. He doesn’t though — orders are absolute. And he doesn’t make a move yet, he knows it’ll be too complicated if he jumps the gun.

When he finally reveals his real identity, he’ll try talking to you — to apologise for having deceived you as well as part of his mission. To be on a more similar side of the law will be much easier for him, so he thinks there’s a higher likelihood that things will work out now, and he’ll pull out all the stops. You will be the only one that could ever make him question orders, especially if it affects you.

He has a lot of empathy for others, and so that will likely be the thing about you that catches his attention. When he sees you helping others even if you don’t have to, when he sees you initiating to help him add the sugar to his rice without even flinching. (So kind in nature, not wanting him to feel like a weirdo for his food preferences.) You’re kind, and eccentric in your own way, and so he’s taken by you.

He won’t realise he is attracted to you at first, he just knows he is more interested in you than anyone else, because it doesn’t happen to him too often. He is usually more fixated on his food than anything else. But when he’s around you he finds that he wants to share his weird food combinations with you. And after a while he finds out that you’re actually pretty weirded out by it, but he appreciates you trying it regardless. And continues to do so. (Secretly trying to find a weird combination you do like so you guys have something in common.)

Is the type to send you gifts while you’re at work with sweet notes to encourage you of the day ahead. Doesn’t actually realise this is considered as what’s called “courting” you, but he does it all the time anyway (nobody in the hunting dogs tells him because they find it entertaining how much he’s trying while at the same time being totally oblivious to his own intentions).

Will defend you whenever you’re in trouble. If he can help it. He’ll try to be there whenever you have to go out on a dangerous case, asking you where you are and what you’re doing — a guise to keep watch nearby if he has nothing on. He can’t help it, he worries. Also offers to teach you combat skills just so he can be more at ease if he can’t be around to help you.

When he realises how attracted he really is to you — he’ll do everything he can to make you swoon. Think: trying to find out everything you like, from food preferences to gestures, and then executing surprises just so you’ll get the hint without him having to explicitly say it. (Although you’re not as dense as he is and probably already knew his feelings before the man himself.) Is also the most considerate gentleman ever — he’ll help you do anything you need if he knows how. Especially heavy work.

He’s blind, but not in love. No, he judges you thoroughly, carefully. He is very able to discern your changes in mood to every situation and he fully uses that to his advantage one hundred percent. He loves it when you’re calm and composed just like he is all the time — but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like to fluster you, make you all nervous and embarrassed. It’s how he knows he has an effect on you, who is usually as stoic as he.

Loves to tease you when you deny you feel anything for him. He can tell you’re lying of course, the thrumming of your heartbeat so loud in his ears. He’s a smooth talker, so you can bet you’ll lose to him in flirting and word plays. Which is exactly how he shows he likes you. Doesn’t flirt with anyone else at all simply because they don’t measure up to you.

Always tries to avoid you when he’s working, though. He knows you’re more emphatic to everyone in general, preferring not to hurt anyone if it can be helped. You know he’s more ruthless than you expected, but he can just not let you see how cruel he can be, if only in a bid to get you to give him a chance. Generally, if you’re around, he tends to keep his harsh remarks to himself, and tries not to threaten anyone who gets in his way. Will still be ruthless but in a more discreet way.

Will most likely have arguments with you even before you get together, but if he likes you enough, he’ll put his pride down and be the one to apologise, given that it most likely is his fault in the first place, being the more aggressive and sharp-tongued of you two. It’ll come slowly, though, with a lot of space between you two when you do argue, but he’ll come through, eventually.

With him he’ll take you to all the best places he knows for dates — the best restaurants with the best service, watching movies in the most luxurious cinema halls, things like that. (Most of it is high-end.) Even with gifts — he gets you the best brands in the market. Sometimes he’ll send you a whole outfit as a present (think expensive dresses, heels, even a purse and jewellery) and asks you to wear it for your upcoming date. He knows that you don’t care much for luxury brands but he just wants to gift you with the best and he’ll continue doing so despite you telling him not to ‘waste money’.

[jaskiersvalley]

Please, Just Once More

@fontegagrilledcheese and @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde you wanted a cry, didn't you? Maybe this will help. It has some Lambert/Eskel and Lambert/Letho with off screen major character death, grieving and dash of an unhealthy relationship. Mature content ahead!

CW off screen major character death.

Please, Just Once More

A Witcher's lot in life wasn't exactly much. For decades, almost a century Lambert raged against it. He hated it, vehemently cursed it and wished he could have been anything but a Witcher. But, then again, if he hadn't been, he would never have met Eskel. Or, if he had, he would have probably been just as shitty to him as other humans were. As much as Lambert wished he was different, he knew himself well enough to know he'd have spat and sneered like the rest of the world. Having Eskel was the one small solace of his existence.

They had a rhythm worked out over the years, meetup points to see each other. It wasn't always glorious, muscle aching sex. Some nights they just needed a cuddle, a warm body who could be trusted to sleep next to. Those nights were Lambert's guilty pleasure. And the times Eskel growled and manhandled him. There weren't many people out there who could make Lambert feel small. In fact, other than Eskel, nobody had managed to do that. It was a wonder in his eyes, an indulgence that neither of them ever acknowledged but still actively sought out.

Another little while passed while Lambert was alone on the Path. Some nights the only thing that kept him going was the knowledge that soon he and Eskel would meet up again. This time, it was in a little backwater village where one of the old crones allowed them use of her barn for a few nights. It was only after Eskel had cleared a rather cheeky hirikka out who kept stealing from her vegetable garden that they were allowed access to the barn. She's had no other way to repay Eskel. So now, once a year, they spent a few nights there.

Finally, it was time for Lambert to make the trek to the barn. Usually Eskel was there half a day before him and got things ready. So Lambert was surprised and a little disappointed to find the barn locked and dark still. At least it allowed him the chance to make things ready for Eskel's arrival for a change. Getting the key from the old crone, Lambert got started trying to make things as homely as possible.

The next day Eskel still wasn't there. Lambert did his best not to get antsy or angry, Eskel wouldn't forget him, wouldn't break his promise or their traditions. By the following day, Lambert was restless. Disappointment was hidden under a fiery wall of rage. He was going to give Eskel a piece of his mind when he finally turned. The bastard had probably gotten lost in another fisstech filled orgy and forgot about their arrangement.

On the fourth day the old crone threw Lambert out.

Anger fuelled by fear had Lambert blazing through the next couple of months with a vengeful violence. He seethed at the thought of Eskel skipping out on their meeting. As if Lambert hadn't made it obvious enough just how much they meant to him. It was rare to get a good fuck on the Path and Eskel had been providing that service. If Lambert kept telling himself that, his heart wouldn't break in two and he wouldn't throw all his training out the window in favour of tracking down Eskel to make sure he was okay. Eskel was one of the best Witchers out there, of course he had to be okay.

Another meeting spot, this time a clearing in a forest. Lambert made the fire, set out his bedroll and caught two rabbits. In the morning, the rabbit Lambert had left on the side, carefully bundled up was still there. Eskel hadn't arrived in the middle of the night and, feeling peckish, eaten it. Just out of spite, Lambert had the rabbit for breakfast, even if he was nearly sick afterwards. He had been foolish to think Eskel would come. As if he could have arrived in the middle of the night without waking Lambert anyway.

After a week in the clearing, Lambert was well and truly sick of catching his own meals. If Eskel couldn't be bothered to make an appearance then Lambert would teach him a lesson and not turn up at their next one.

He did go, despite his vow of petty revenge. Eskel didn't turn up there either.

Two more meeting points where Lambert spent as long as he could, waiting for Eskel to arrive. Twice more he was let down. Come winter, he all but charged up to Kaer Morhen, more than ready to chew Eskel out for being a dickhead. He could have at least sent word that he wouldn't be there, that Lambert shouldn't waste coin and time on a foolish matter of the heart.

The only problem was, Eskel never made it to Kaer Morhen before the pass closed. For the rest of winter, Lambert paced like a caged wolf, almost out of his mind with anger. The coward was just avoiding him, unable to look him in the eyes after standing him up. Well, Lambert would make the bastard pay. As soon as the snow eased and the path down the mountain was clear, Lambert was going to hunt Eskel down and give him a proper Witcher bollocking; with signs and all. In all his scheming, Lambert never saw the pitying glances the others sent his way. Or rather, he chose to ignore them because Eskel was alive, if only so Lambert could kill him as soon as they met again.

Spring was just around the corner, there were still patches of snow and ice but Lambert needed to go. He was going back to the first place where Eskel had left him alone and would track from there. It was one of the things Lambert excelled at, sniffing someone out and finding them; it wasn't all that different to tracking down a monster or a creature.

Working backwards, Lambert didn't have to go far. Two town down the road he heard of a contract that had been difficult to fill in one of the nearby hamlets. So much so, it took more than one Witcher to complete it. It had to be Eskel who finished off the contract, Lambert was certain. There was nobody else who could take on a difficult contract and come out victorious. If Eskel couldn't handle it, then the whole Continent was fucked.

The ground was just starting to come up green again after winter as Lambert stepped into the hamlet. He was given wary glances and people scurried out of his way. It suited him just fine, there would be no obstacle between him and the person in charge of the settlement. Knocking to keep an air of politeness, Lambert didn't wait to be permitted to enter, he barged in.

"I want to hear about the Witcher who completed the contract last year."

The woman gave him a shrewd stare, obviously weighing up her options. In the end, she shrugged, "Not much to say about him. Short chap for a Witcher. Didn't much fancy his chances after the big one failed."

Lambert's world stilled. Surely he heard wrong. He tried to smile and shook his head.

"I'm sorry. Did you say short? And that the big one couldn't complete the contract?" By human standards, all Witchers were large. It didn't mean anything that this woman referred to the one that failed as big.

He was given another once over.

"The little one warned us not to melt down or sell the swords or medallion. That someone would be by for them." Her eyes landed on Lambert's medallion. "I'm guessing that's you."

That was not at all why Lambert had come. He wasn't there to ferry some random Witcher's shit back to their home. Fuck, if it was a Viper or a Cat then he'd have weeks of travel. Before he could protest, the woman stood and walked to a chest. Opening it, she pulled out a carefully wrapped bundle that clinked as she set it on the table. Lambert had no time to refuse, frozen in time while the world rushed by him as the cloth was flipped open. Two swords, one silver and one steel stared at him. Running up the almost familiar blades, his eyes settled on the pommel that he knew all too well. Wrapped around the handles, holding them close was a medallion, a snarling wolf angrily glaring up at Lambert for his failure to come find Eskel sooner.

"What happened?" His voice was hoarse, a hand reaching out to run a finger over the sharp edges of the medallion.

"Big brute, scarred to Nilfgaard and back, took the contract but never came back. After three days, his horse was getting restless so a few men ventured out. Found him propped against a tree, still warm but without breath in his body." The woman didn't seem all that bothered by it and Lambert wanted to rage. She should have been devastated that the world lost a good man. "Probably wasn't quick enough. The other Witcher came along not too much later, said we should burn the body, accepted the horse and the dead one's packs as payment. Left the swords and medallion though, said he had no use for those."

Logically, Lambert knew that Eskel was dead before he even got to the barn. But he couldn't help but feel like he should have gone looking. Shouldn't have assumed Eskel was fine, should have believed the little voice in his head that whispered that Eskel wouldn't ever deliberately forget him. Rage surged through Lambert, he wanted to slaughter the whole hamlet for now helping Eskel, for not going to find him sooner. Humans always claimed they were better than Witchers, but they hadn't gone searching for Eskel either. They were just as bad as Lambert, true scums of the earth.

Wordlessly, Lambert wrapped the swords up again but he took the medallion, tucked it into one of his pockets. The last bits of Eskel. Whatever bastard had the rest of his things, had Scorpion had better never cross paths with Lambert because the only way they'd part way was with one of them dead.

Turning to leave, Lambert marched out of the hamlet, kept walking, no destination in mind. He just wanted to reach the edge of the Continent and fall off the rim. Eskel was gone. There was no good left in the world. Nobody to cuddle close against, no broad chest to press into and feel small. Bereft, Lambert sat in the middle of a forest, heedless of what went on around him. Grief stole everything from him, almost as though Eskel had taken with him all Lambert had trusted him with. His heart was cold, there was nothing left in the world that Lambert cherished.

With no purpose, Lambert wandered the Continent. He took contracts without argument, without thought. In a way, he wished that the creature that had bested Eskel was still around, just so he could kill it. Instead, every other monster met their end on Lambert's swords and signs. No kill brought him any closure though. The rage gave way to numbness which eased into indifference.

"Hello little wolf," a low voice growled at the edge of somewhere South. Somewhere Eskel had never been, so no memories could taint it for Lambert. "You're far from your usual hunting grounds."

The Witcher was large. Far larger than any other Lambert had seen and he'd seen a lot. Snarling, he bared his teeth, protecting his pack, keeping Eskel's swords safe. He should have taken them and the medallion back to Kaer Morhen but that would mean letting go of the last of Eskel. Lambert wasn't ready to do that.

Laughing, the other Witcher shook his head. "Don't worry pup, I have no use for your knickknacks. The name's Letho."

"Lambert."

A Viper who seemed all too entertained by Lambert's very existence. He was probably all too confident in his size being to his advantage but obviously he'd never met Lambert who thrived on defying the odds. Within moments Lambert had a dagger at Letho's throat and was met with a delighted chuckle.

"So feisty. Okay, let's play!"

It wasn't much of a fight, more of a tussle but Lambert landed in a few good blows before Letho's bulk overpowered him, broad chest against slender back, all that weight. Lambert couldn't help but go pliant, remembering Eskel's weight against his back. It wasn't the same, too broad, too heavy, too much muscle but it was the closest Lambert could get.

"Oh, it's like that, is it?" Letho purred.

Not that night, but three nights later Lambert found himself naked with Letho in his bed. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend it was Eskel again, the heaviness of a large body making the bed, dip. But the smell was wrong, the fingers too thick, callouses in all the wrong places. Scrunching his eyes shut, Lambert tried to will his memories into reality.

"You're going to feel so good split open on my cock."

It was the wrong voice and Lambert growled, "Shut up. Just fuck me already."

"Eager. I like it."

The cock that sank into Lambert was big, too big. Eskel had been large but not to such a degree. Wrapping his arms around too broad shoulders, Lambert's fingers brushed against oily skin rather than hair. Nothing tickled at his face either, no hair that escaped from being tucked behind Eskel's ear. Huffing in frustration, Lambert shoved at Letho.

"Hands and knees," he declared. It would be easier, he wouldn't have to smell Letho's scent, feel his muscles or miss the tender, crooked kisses he and Eskel used to share.

In the new position, Lambert could almost feel Eskel behind him. But the hands on his hips were too large, the cock not curved just right for when Lambert angled his hips just so. Still, he could pretend, even if it was for just one last time, that this was Eskel and this was their goodbye.

Once they both spilled, Lambert panted, head on his arms while Letho cleaned him up with his tongue. Not something Eskel would have ever done, his stubble too chafing usually for Lambert, no matter how great the idea of it all was. Instead, that weirdly smooth Viper buried his face between Lambert's cheeks, a hand sneaking between his legs. Lambert came again, whimpering at the oversensitivity of it all. There were bites and kisses left on the insides of his thighs, across his hips, chest and neck.

They fell asleep, Lambert small and tucked under Letho's chin. Even his dreams betrayed Lambert though, as much as he wanted, he didn't dream of being back in Eskel's arms.

Come morning, the bed was empty and Lambert sighed in relief. He stared down at his body, littered as it was with bites and bruises. Even those were wrong. Eskel used to leave crooked marks, the notch in his lip making the shape of his kisses so unique. Pressing on them, Lambert wanted to cry at how wrong they looked on his skin.

"Not to your liking?" Letho asked as he stepped back into the room.

Lambert shrugged, not bothering to cover up. It wasn't like Letho hadn't seen it all the previous night. It wasn't Eskel, never was and never would be again.

"They're not the ones you wanted, are they?"

The question had Lambert stilling, blinking up at Letho. Finally, he managed a small head shake. "You're not him."

Eyes glancing towards Lambert's pack, the two swords still covered, Letho nodded.

"I know."

[snelbz]

Reckoning and Retribution {3}

An A Court of Thorns and Roses, House of Earth and Blood, & Throne of Glass Crossover, Western AU fanfiction.

Based on a prompt sent in for the 4k follower contest {winner}, from Anonymous: “Ok hear me out: WILD WEST AU CROSSOVER”

@snelbz​ / @tacmc

It was Saturday morning, which meant that the market was set up in town, every local farmer and gardener, and even some from other towns and territories, out to sell their goods. Elide loved Saturdays, loved deciding what she would be baking that week. She loved to bake, her mother used to bake, and she used to help in whatever way she could before her mother’s untimely death. 

“You should bake banana bread,” Aelin crooned, looping her arm through Elide’s. “You make the most wonderful banana bread.” 

“I do make wonderful banana bread,” Elide agreed, with a grin. 

At the end of the market, up by Hunt’s saloon, Lorcan Salvaterre was leaning up against a post, the brim of his hat pulled down over his eyes, smoking a cigar.

Elide couldn’t shake the feeling that he was watching her, that he had been since their abrupt meeting earlier in the week. His gaze didn’t unsettle her like it should have though. She often found herself meeting those dark eyes, and just when she thought he may approach her, something would steal one of their attention or he’d glance away.

“What a waste of a second chance.”

Elide glanced up at her oldest friend. She followed her line of sight and found that they were looking at the same man. “Why would you say that?”

“He’s awfully cocky,” Aelin said, with pure disdain. “And horribly rude.”

Elide had to admit that he wasn’t exactly welcoming during their encounter, but he didn’t seem that horrible. 

Aelin lifted a brow. “Judging by your silence, I’m assuming you disapprove of my judgement.”

“It’s not that I disapprove,” she said, slowly. “I’m just...intrigued by him.”

“Intrigued…” Aelin mused, letting the word hang between them. “I wasn’t even aware you two had made an acquaintance.”

“I wouldn’t even say we’re acquaintances,” she muttered, stepping away from Aelin to inspect a stand full of exotic fruits. “We’ve only spoken once.”

“And when was that?”

The question wasn’t accusatory, but there was indeed an edge to Aelin’s voice that hadn’t been there before.

Elide sighed and turned around to look at her friend. She was off duty today, so she was dressed as Elide was used to seeing her: full, ruffled skirts, corset cinched tight at the waist and her hair was curled and pinned back off her face, which was elegantly accented by the cosmetics she used every day. She looked like a lady waiting for a ball, not the local deputy of a small town.

“A couple days after you started working with Sheriff Whitethorn,” Elide said, moving on to the next stall. Knives and blades and weapons and bullets and all manners of destruction and death were laid out before her. She made to move on, but they’d caught Aelin’s eye and she moved in.

“When you were dropping off my gift basket, I assume,” she asked, picking up a small, wicked looking dagger. Elide nodded, knowing Aelin had worked out the rest.

She’d ranted to her for an hour the other night after she’d come in and found his muddy boots propped up on her desk. Half the goodies in the basket were gone, too, though Rowan had admitted to eating quite a few of them.

“Mm.” Aelin said nothing else as she examined the dagger, it’s intricate filigree handle shining in the morning light, and found a suitable thigh holster for it. She paid the stall owner an egregious amount of money and turned to Elide. “I feel like you’re going to disregard everything I say and are going to attempt to befriend that surly brute of a man, so I would like you to be prepared, just in case.”

Elide blinked as Aelin pushed the small dagger and leather holster into her hand. “I can’t use this.”

“I’d prefer you not have to,” Aelin sighed, “but I’d rather you be safe than sorry.”

Elide hesitated, but Aelin was already walking away. After hurrying to catch up and match her pace, Elide was saying, “You know that I have never used a weapon, not once.” 

“Perhaps I should give you a lesson?” Aelin asked, something new already catching her eye.

Elide sighed as she, once again, had to hurry after her oldest friend. 

“I won’t even have to use it, Aelin,” Elide protested, looping her arm through Aelin’s to slow her down. “And I am not going to...befriend him.”

Aelin snorted. “You forget how well I know you, Miss Lochan.”

“Oh, trust me, Miss Galathynius, I am fully aware,” Elide said. “You know me as well as I know you, which is why I believe you’re being over dramatic about Mr. Salvaterre.”

A blonde eyebrow raised. “Mister, hmm?”

“Drop it, Aelin,” Elide said, picking up a new bundle of chalk sticks for her classroom. The pieces the children were having to use we’re becoming so short, their writing was becoming near illegible. Well, more illegible, in the case of her younger students. She snagged a bottle of ink as well and before she could reach for her money pouch, Aelin had paid the man. She didn’t bother thanking her friend, knowing she’d wave the praise off anyways. “There’s nothing going on between Lorcan Salvaterre and I.”

“Well that’s a damn shame.”

Aelin and elide turned, finding the man himself standing behind them.

“Miss Lochan,” he drawled, tipping his hat. “Deputy.”

“Mister Salvaterre, good morning,” Elide gave him a friendly curtsy and continued on her way, pausing at a stall that sold little trinkets and jewelry.

Once she was out of earshot, Aelin turned to Lorcan. “Don’t even think about touching her.”

His gaze was amused. “And what made you think I would, Deputy?” 

The way he said Deputy made Aelin want to punch him in the throat.

“She’s a kind woman,” Aelin went on. “You will not do anything to cause her harm or ruin.”

Lorcan grinned, wild and vicious. “You make it sound like she fancies me. Has she taken a liking to me, Deputy Galathynius?”

The fact that he used her title as a form of mockery had her hands curling into fists at her sides.

“Aelin, are you coming?”

The pair turned to where Elide waited a few stalls ahead. She called, “Give me just a moment.”

Elide nodded and continued sorting through the fabrics the seller offered.

Turning back to glare at Lorcan, Aelin breathed. “I don’t like you. I don’t trust you. If it weren’t for my promise to protect this town and all who live in it — including you, apparently — I’d put a bullet between your eyes and wouldn’t lose a wink of sleep over it. Rowan tearing up the warrant for your arrest was the most reckless thing he’s ever done. Now, don’t make me repeat this, ” She was a solid foot shorter than him, but as she said the words, Lorcan felt as if he was being talked down to. Like a child. “Leave. Her. Alone.”

His eyes turned dark, hard, as his jaw locked. “Fine, if it means that much to you.”

“It does,” Aelin snapped, picking up her skirts as she stormed to Elide’s side, leaving Lorcan behind.

Elide blinked as Aelin approached, frowning. “Is everything alright? What’s happened?”

“Nothing,” Aelin said, forcing a bright smile. “Let us continue on with our morning.”

Sighing and linking her arm with Aelin’s once more, Elide did just that. After they’d shopped for a few more minutes and Elide had decided she had enough supplies for the week, they were making for her cabin at the far end of town. It was a bit of a walk, but the ladies didn’t care, not wanting to saddle horses. It was such a hassle, and now that she was used to trousers, Aelin just didn’t want to mess with it.

“So,” Aelin began as they walked up the steps of Elide’s little house. “Aside from the fabulous banana bread you’ll be making me, what other goodies will you be baking this week?”

Elide listed off a menagerie of delicious desserts and baked goods. “A peach cobbler, oatmeal and cranberry cookies, blueberry crumble, a couple pies, and a chocolate and stone ground oat cake.”

Aelin’s eyes were wide. “Such a wide variety. What for?”

The tips of Elide’s ears turned red and Aelin certainly noticed as she began to blush. “Mister Salvaterre’s welcome basket.”

Aelin froze as she followed her friend into her house.

Oh, this was not good.

* * * * * * * * *

Bryce loved the silence.

Lying on her bed, she opened the new novel Hunt had given her the day before.

A gift, he had said, and wouldn’t take no for an answer when she had told him that she couldn’t accept. 

She was grateful for it.

It had been so long since she had been given a gift, had owned something new. She couldn’t wait to lose herself in the story, if even for a few moments, to get out of the living hell she was in.

A quiet knock sounded on her door. She tightened the sash of the dressing gown she wore around her waist. “Just a minute,” she called.

She made herself appropriate before opening the door, finding Hunt on the other side.

“Hunt-.”

Her quiet words were cut off as he crashed his lips against hers and softly shut the door behind him. When he finally pulled back, Bryce was breathless.

“What are you doing?” She asked.

“Come on, grab your things,” he said, looking around the room for a bag. The room was lavish and luxurious and the furnishings probably cost more than Hunt’s entire saloon, deed, ale, whiskey and all. “Maeve just left. Feyre is watching the bar. Let’s go.”

Bryce hesitated. “Go? Go where?”

Hunt took her face into his large, calloused hands. The look in his eyes was wild, determined. “It’s our chance. Now is our chance.”

Bryce closed her eyes. “Hunt-.”

“Please,” he breathed, his breath hot against her mouth. “Please, Bryce-.”

“I can’t go anywhere,” she whispered, forcing her eyes not to well up with tears. “You know I can’t go anywhere.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she pressed on. “Cairn will find us, you know that. What happened to Clare, to Isaac… I won’t let that happen to you.”

Hung closed his eyes, letting his forehead fall against hers. He knew she was right, knew if they had any hope of getting out of this town alive, it would cost them an egregious amount of money.

Otherwise, they’d be paying with their lives.

Clare Beddor and Isaac Hale were proof of that. After they ran away in the dead of night, Clare’s debt unpaid, it only took two weeks for Cairn to bring back her lifeless body and his decapitated head. His mouth hung open in a wide, never ending scream. It was tossed into an unmarked grave somewhere on the property, but Clare…

Maeve had made a few extra bucks off of her, thanks to the few sick fucks who lived in this town.

This was her life, and there was no getting out of it, no matter how many sleepless nights she spent wondering how she could get out of her debt.

But there was no way.

It was hopeless to dream.

“Bryce,” Hunt whispered, bringing her back to reality.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and she meant it, even though it meant nothing. “You need to let this go, Hunt. I’m a lost cause.”

“Don’t say that,” he begged, just as he always did.

Every time he did it broke her heart.

“I’m making an offer to Maeve on Monday.”

Her head snapped up and her eyes met his. “What?”

He wrapped her up in his arms. She rested her head against his chest, listened to the heart beating inside. The heart that belonged to her, in every way. “I’ve saved up enough for your freedom, with some extra. With what you’ve…earned… We have to be close, Bryce.”

She heard the words he specified. Your freedom. But not Danika’s.

“It’ll be a few more years, Hunt-.”

“No, damn it, I refuse to believe that.” He tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him. He whispered, “I wish you never would have made that bargain.”

She shook her head. There was no dwelling on it now. What’s done is done, and besides… “I don’t. Not if it kept her safe.”

Copying her motion, Hunt shook his head, his loose hair shaking with the motion. “For two weeks, Bryce?”

The sob that tore from Bryce was heartbreaking.

When she was eight years old, her father had ripped she and Ruhn from their beds, with no explanation, and they’d left the small town they called home. Years later, they’d realize it was because he’d killed Bryce’s mother in a fit of rage. If only that was the worst thing their piece of shit father had done.

Just a few years later, the family, with their young ward, Danika Fendyr, visited Rose Creek on their way west, as far west as they could go. Their father had gotten drunk beyond measure, the former owner of the saloon supplying as much whiskey as any one man could consume. He’d run out of money during his poker game, and needed a few new bargaining chips. He had three.

Bryce and Danika were sold to Maeve, while Ruhn was shipped off to the mines.

The girls were only sixteen when they were to begin selling their bodies, their souls, on behalf of Bryce’s father’s debt. Bryce’s birthday came first, Danika’s just a month later. A week before Danika’s unveiling, Bryce made Maeve a deal. 

Her life for Danika’s. Double the price, double the debt, Bryce promised Maeve double everything, if only she said yes.

Maeve agreed.

Danika went free.

She protested, told Bryce she was an idiot as she wept and wrapped her arms around Bryce. Bryce told her best friend, her sister, to go free, to make something of herself.

She deserved as much.

Less than two weeks later, just days after Danika turned sixteen, she was killed by a bandit, a robbery gone bad, making the sacrifice Bryce made worthless. 

She had doubled her debt for two weeks of Danika’s freedom, and she had been paying off that debt ever since. 

“I don’t care the price, I don’t care how long it takes,” he promised. “One day, you and I are going to leave this town, and we’re never going to look back.”

“Hunt!”

The cry from downstairs was a warning, their time was short.

“Go,” Bryce breathed, her tears at last running down her face. “You can’t be up here when she gets back.”

He knew that, knew that he wouldn’t be the one to bear the punishment if they were to get caught. He nodded, pressing another kiss to her forehead, then her lips, letting it say all the words he couldn’t out loud. 

I’m sorry.

I’ll get you out.

I love you.

* * * * * * * *

Exhaustion dwelled in every inch of Ruhn’s body as he followed Aedion, Declan, and Flynn into the saloon. That exhaustion did not stop him, though, he had things to do, those to protect, even if he could only do it from afar.

Anything else would get him shot. 

Or hanged. 

All they had to do was raise their hands in greeting to Hunt before plopping down around a table. A minute later, Feyre came carrying a jug of ale and four mugs. 

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Feyre crooned, setting it all in the middle of the table.

“I don’t see any gentlemen here,” Flynn muttered with a smirk. 

“True,” Feyre agreed, “but any other sort of greeting just seemed rude.”

Aedion’s attention was immediately on the striking brunette across the room. She was primped and preened and the smile on her face showed everyone how much fun she was having at the saloon, being passed from lap to lap.

That smile was the biggest crock of shit Ruhn had ever seen. It was the same smile he saw on Bryce’s face and Nesta’s and all the other girls who had to lay on their backs just to keep their families fed or protected.

Promising to come back if they needed anything, Feyre flitted off, refilling the glasses of whiskey the sheriff and his newest deputy had sitting on their table. The man in black intrigued Ruhn, but he wasn’t one to start a conversation and make new friends. Especially with a man he was sure had killed people.

It was slow, for a Saturday night, if Lysandra was down on the floor of the saloon. Either that or she was a walking billboard for the services Maeve offered. Since he didn’t see his sister, Ruhn was inclined to believe the latter.

So instead he kept an eye on Feyre, tracking her as she moved from table to table, carefully watching every hand that came close to her.

It seemed that Feyre was fairly good at taking care of herself, and Hunt watched her like a hawk, but still, as he watched Feyre flutter around the floor, watching every man she passed watch after her with a hungry gaze, Ruhn felt the need to look after her, too. 

It was difficult enough having to watch the women passed around who weren’t allowed to say no, but he couldn’t bear to watch those who were allowed to say no be taken advantage of simply because they were a woman in a saloon full of drunk bastards.

Flynn and Declan had ended up at the bar and Aedion had snuck into the dry storage room, leaving Ruhn to mull over his day, life and purpose with nothing but a mug of ale to keep him company. When he realized he’d been tracing the same knot in the wood for an entire song in the old, barely-in-tune piano, he looked up, his eyes darting around the room.

No sign of Bryce, but he’d learned to not to hold out hope for easy nights for her long ago.

But when his eyes made another pass, searching for not for wine-red hair, but golden-brown… He came up short.

For a moment, he debated on joining his friends at the bar, if for no other reason than a new vantage point to watch the room. That thought drifted away as he heard a voice, full of sass, from behind him.

“Are you watching me, Mister Danaan?”

He spun around in his chair to find Feyre, one hand on her hip, the other holding up a tin pitcher. 

“I was just...scanning the room, Miss Archeron,” he said, simply.

She narrowed her eyes and suppressed her grin. “I believe you’re telling a lie.” 

Ruhn huffed a laugh, unable to help himself as Feyre sat down across from him at the empty table. “I was just ensuring your safety after what had happened the other night.” 

“That’s very kind of you,” Feyre said, eyes bright. “You are appreciated, you must know.” 

He tipped his head in thanks. “How has your day been?”

“Long,” she admitted. “I suppose I cannot complain, though. And yours, Mister Danaan?” 

He thought of the hacking he’d done with his pickaxe, hour after hour after hour all day, before he said, “Mine was long, as well.” 

Unlike his sister, Ruhn wasn’t forced into the servitude he was sold into. Gavriel, the man who owned and operated out of the mines, was a fair and just man. He saw the situation the children were in, saw that he had the opportunity to help at least one of them. So when Ruhn’s life was offered to him, as payment for a life debt, he said yes, took the young man in.

And then told him he was free to do as he wished. Free to go, to stay, to work, to run.

But with Bryce in proverbial shackles, that wasn’t an option. So he took a job in the mines, made a modest living and did what he could for his sister.

The sadness in Feyre’s eyes told him she understood well.

“Miss Archeron, may-.”

“Feyre, please,” she interrupted. “Call me Feyre.”

He smiled. “Miss Feyre, with your permission, I’d like to walk you home tonight.”

Her eyebrows rose, her blue-grey eyes bright in the candles hanging from the chandelier. “I don’t get off work until late, well past midnight.”

Shaking his head, Ruhn said, “I don’t mind.”

Feyre nodded, slowly, perfectly amused. “Very well, Mister Danaan, you may walk me home.” 

She pushed herself up from the table and was beginning to walk away when Ruhn called, “Miss Feyre?”

She turned to face him, yet again, a small smile on her lips. “Yes?”

“If I can call you by your first name, then you may call me by mine,” he said, then added, “Please.” 

“Very well,” she said, softly, and then she was off to make her rounds, yet again.

* * * * * * * *

Saturdays were Nesta’s least favorite day. 

The crowds were bigger. The room was louder. The men were worse.

As Nesta hurried toward the saloon, she couldn’t help but wonder what sort of torture Maeve would have planned for her to punish her for being late the night before. Again.

She hurried into the saloon, squeezing Feyre’s hand as she passed, her sister giving her what little strength she could, and started up the stairs.

“Nesta Archeron.”

She paused, and turned, finding Maeve standing at the bottom of the staircase. “I’m not late tonight, ma’am.”

A wicked smirk. “No, you’re not.”

Nesta swallowed hard and made her way back down the stairs.

“Get ready and be back down here within twenty minutes. You have a special request tonight.”

A special request. It sent chills up Nesta’s spine.

And not in a good way.

Nonetheless, she did what she was told. After hurrying up to her room, she took her place in front of the vanity and took down her hair, the curls long and loose as they hung around her shoulders. She lined her eyes with kohl, painted her lips to a ruby red, and pinched her cheeks until they were nice and red. She looked at herself, admired herself in the mirror as she did every night before she changed. 

Her reflection haunted her. 

She was staring at the ghost of the girl she once was, the girl she once knew, before. 

After pinning her hair back so that it was out of her eyes, she shrugged off her robe and dressed. Corset, skirts, stockings beneath that reached her mid-thighs.

Lacing her boots up, she steeled herself, praying it wouldn’t be one of the sick men who enjoyed pain. Nesta hated the pain.

She walked down the stairs, Maeve still waiting in the same spot as before. Eyes turned to look at her as she descended into the saloon, as they always did. People always stared when the whores entered the room.

She glanced around, trying not to make it obvious, as she caught the eyes of those in the bar. The usuals were there, of course, Hunt and Feyre and Luca, picking up dirty dishes. But Azriel Draeven was there, too, along with the mayor. And at their table, eyes trained on her, a glass of whiskey in his hand, was Cassian. Their eyes locked and her feet almost froze on the stairs, but she forced them to keep moving.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Maeve inspected her with an experienced eye. Without a word, she nodded, clearly pleased with Nesta’s appearance. She held out an envelope. “Do not open this envelope until you’ve reached the general store. You’ll find further instructions inside. You’ve been booked until sunrise. Go get your coat.”

Nesta didn’t say a word as she took the envelope and went back up to grab her coat. It was all she grabbed, her coat, not wanting to bring the rest of her belongings in case things turned ugly. She would have Feyre to grab them before she left. She wouldn’t mind.

She never did.

With her coat over her shoulders, she descended the stairs, once more, not bothering to look at anyone else except for her sister behind the bar.

Feyre could see the question in her eyes. She nodded, once, and Nesta ignored the sorrow in her youngest sister’s eyes as she exited the saloon, envelope in hand, and went down to the general store.

It wasn’t late by any means, but the dusty main road in and out of town was deserted. Those with families were home, having dinner, spending time with their loved ones. Those that didn’t… well, the saloon would be open for quite a while yet. The envelope in her hand felt heavy, though she knew that was just in her mind. It held nothing but a note, written in Maeve’s formal penmanship, like it always did. This wasn’t the first special request she’d fulfilled and she knew it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.

With a sigh, she opened the envelope and a letter in an unfamiliar hand fell onto her lap. She read through it once, blinking, and paused. She was misunderstanding. She had to be. Nesta quietly read the letter allowed, making sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her.

“Return to your home, lock your doors, and go to bed,” she murmured. “Tell no one, keep this a secret from all but your sisters. Get some rest, beautiful.”

The letter still clutched in her hand, Nesta looked around the deserted street. There was no one around, no one secretly watching her, waiting to catch her making a mistake.

Nesta had never run home so fast in her life.

* * * * * * * *

Lysandra had slipped into the dry storage of the saloon while Cairn wasn’t looking. She just needed a second to breathe, to sit without being hounded.

The door cracked open a minute later and Aedion appeared. “Are you okay?”

She breathed a relieved sigh as she nodded her head. She wasn’t sure if she could speak. If she spoke, she may start crying. Maeve would get far too much enjoyment from her tears.

He understood though, he understood how it took a toll on her. Wordlessly, she stood, making her way over to him, and wrapped her arms around his waist. Aedion didn’t hesitate to wrap his own around her and kiss the top of her head. “I’m sorry,” he breathed.

She shook her head and Aedion knew it’s because there was nothing either of them could do.

For a moment, that’s all there was in the world, just the two of them and the silence. She loved that silence, loved when he held her and she could take a few minutes to breathe.

Even if it was never long enough.

Which it never was.

“You should go back out there,” she whispered.

“Or I can give you some coin,” he replied, quietly.

Not for sex, she knew, but so she could have ten extra minutes of breathing time.

Lysandra shook her head. “It would be a waste of coin, and you know it.”

Neither of them made to move though. Aedion’s hand wove into her hair, holding her head to his chest as she breathed him in, as she rooted herself in this moment, to use it as her anchor for the rest of the night.

Stolen kisses and secret meetings are all they had. Aedion would gladly pay for a night with her, for every night with her if he could. He loved Lysandra more than a man had ever loved a woman, or so he firmly believed. And she had given him her whole heart, since they could never have anything more.

She was Maeve’s favorite whore. There were no prices for a night with Lysandra, not unless someone was willing to shell out a wagon full of coins. No, she was Maeve’s personal gift to give out.

To the most worthy of companions.

Maeve’s most worthy clients. 

“I have to go,” she whispered.

Aedion nodded, knowing the time was coming. The time always came, no matter how many nights Aedion spent praying it wouldn’t.

He wanted so desperately to tell her that he loved her, but he wouldn’t. No matter how much he felt it, he’d keep it to himself, because to say it would be too hard.

He would say it and nothing would change. 

“I’ll be there,” he decided on, after a few seconds passed. He would be there, in the saloon, in case she needed him to look at, to make eye contact with, when she was feeling completely and utterly alone.

She nodded, before taking one last deep breath, breathing him in. And then she was out of his arms, out the door and back into the front room, into her own personal hell.

Because when she saw who was sitting in Maeve’s booth, she thought she was going to be sick. It had been years since she’d seen him. When Maeve crooked a finger over and called for her, those silver eyes met hers and Arrobyn Hammel smiled.

[seeuonadarknite]

wrath — yandere nakahara chuuya x f. reader

request: Hii! Can I ask Chuuya who manipulate his s/o and punish her badly almost everytime to show her how much his 'love' towards her? Anyway I'm in love w ur stories

❀ thank u bby 🥺 sorry this took me so long to post! i hope you like it

warnings: toxic relationships, abuse, kidnapping

Saying that you were tired of your boyfriend's hostile antics was an understatement. Lately the two of you have been doing nothing but fighting. Not the cutesy, old couple kind of fighting, but the wrathful, full of hate kind. Your relationship was nothing but a constant battle.

What added insult to injury was that during these fights, Chuuya would often leave you with large, purple bruises and call it his way of "punishing" you. The way he basically dumbed you down to the level of a poorly trained mutt was degrading.

And his reasoning for punishing you was absolutely ridiculous. You could be left with a macabre necklace of hand marks on your throat, and he'd justify it by telling you that he didn't want you on speaking terms with his buddies. They'd probably try and snatch you right from beneath him. Of course they would obviously fail miserably, but that wasn't the point. What mattered was the fact that you deliberately went against his rules and betrayed his trust.

So it was no surprise that Chuuya was pissed when you came home with information regarding your new mission. Maybe pissed was an understatement.

"You're partnering with Dazai?! That fuckhead?" It didn't take Chuuya long to create another large indent in the wall with his fist, cracking the poor drywall as he shrieked at you with fury. Raising an eyebrow, you crossed your arms and sent your boyfriend an unimpressed glare. This was the fourth time this month that he damaged the house you two shared. His recklessness was beyond exhausting.

"It's just for work! Are you seriously gonna get pissed at me for doing as I'm told? Do you want me to lose my position?" You snapped, hoping to knock some sense into the male who seemed to quiver with rage. However, the way Chuuya snapped his head towards you and sent you a piercing glare told you that your words were far from convincing. Here you go again.

Without second thought, Chuuya stomped towards you and grabbed a hold of your hair within a fluid movement, painfully dragging your struggling figure across the living room and towards the door to the basement.

"Gah! Get off of me, you psycho!" Your screeches seem to go unnoticed, as Chuuya slammed the door open and carelessly dragged you down the creaky basement stairs by the hair. The way he overpowered you with his brute strength and threw you around with ease was beyond frustrating. You felt like a damn ragdoll in his presence.

Once you finally reached the bottom of the staircase, Chuuya dragged you over to the very end of the unfinished room, where two chained cuffs dangled from the wall. Ah, shit. You weren't a stranger to these dreadful restraints. Looking up at your seething boyfriend before he could carry on with his plan, you silently plead for mercy with your glossy doe eyes.

The way you looked at him was akin to a the way a child would look at their parents with puppy dog eyes. Only instead of begging for the newest barbie dream house, you were pleading with him not to lock you up inside of a frigid, eerie basement for days on end.

Unfortunately for you, your pleading only sparked Chuuya's primal instincts, as he forcefully grabbed your wrists and cuffed each one to the wall behind you. "If you don't stop fucking squirming, I'll swallow this key whole." Chuuya threatened in a low growl. His threat was all it took to shut you up as you allowed him to tighten the cuffs, the cold metal uncomfortably digging into your skin.

"Good girl. One last thing.." He picked up a hunting knife, and just for a split second, you picked up on an unnerving, murderous glint in his eye. Of course it was gone as soon as it came, but it was hard to miss. "What are you doing with that..?" Your voice was shaky as you focused your gaze on the weapon in his hands. However, instead of using it to hurt you like you presumed he would, he gingerly brought it up under your shirt and began tearing away at the fabric.

Once he successfully managed to cut off all of your clothing, he stared down at your shivering form with a triumphant smirk. Perfect. "Ah, fuck. Don't rile me up, now. I have things I gotta get done." The way you pathetically rubbed your legs together in hopes of even warming yourself up in the slightest sparked his innermost primal desires. God, he could just eat you alive—

"B-Babe.. I'm freezing. It's too cold down here, please.." Your eyes began to brim with tears as you watched a smug expression take over his features. Getting the life beaten out of you would've probably been easier than this. With the cuffs strapped to your wrists scraping your skin and drawing blood, along with the freezing cold air of the basement biting at your body, you were already close to your wits end.

"Sorry, I have business I need to attend to. Don't worry, baby. I won't leave ya down here for too long." With one last smirk, he retreated from your form and made his way back over to the stairs. However, the next thing you say has him stopping in his tracks. "Please.. don't hurt him.."

You didn't even have to say his name; Chuuya knew exactly who you were talking about. Stomping over to you with rage in his steps, he wrapped his gloved hand around your jaw and forcefully jerked your head towards his. "The fuck did you just say? Do you like him better or somethin'?!" Wrong move. If you don't choose your next words correctly, Chuuya will surely have your head.

"No..! No. It's— it's just that you're so strong, and.. if you end up hurting him, boss might not be happy..!" Ugh. It physically pained you to talk to him like this. It felt consoling a petulant toddler having a temper tantrum. To your relief, Chuuya released your face from his death grip with the quirk of his brow. "I don't give a shit. The fucker did it to himself." Chuuya once again stepped away from your form, this time actually making his way back up the creaky stairs without any distractions.

Maybe you were right. Maybe killing the bandaged maniac in cold blood would upset the boss. After all, Dazai was a very crucial piece to the puzzle of the Port Mafia. But that didn't mean he couldn't break a few bones in order to show him not to mess with what was rightfully is.

Plus, the bastard would probably enjoy it.

[weareallstoriesintheend]

As Above, So Below

Chapter 5 - Fight

In the wake of the murder of the Stark's you are sent on the hunt for the infamous assassin who people say is more ghost than man....

Word Count: 1,919

Warnings: Graphic Violence

Read Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4

You were surprised that he hadn’t left Arlington already but the rumblings were that he was still there. Around SHIELD you’d heard his name passed around over the years but the way he was spoken about made him seem more myth than man - The Winter Soldier.

In the wake of the Stark’s murder you had been sent to Arlington, Virgina after SHIELD had discovered that a serum had been taken from their crash site. It was no longer a presumed accident and someone needed to look into it – you were ordered to keep this deeply confidential.

No one even knew it was you that had been sent here except for Fury and the Director. You would go on this mission alone and you would complete it alone. Everything Fury had told you let you know that this man was dangerous; he was mostly unknown except for rumours and stories. Those who had gone after him before had met either a dead-end or a grave.

You made your way to the location where you’d last pinged the HYDRA Jeep. Last night all you’d seen were regular HYDRA agents; you figured you needed to follow them to find your real target. The Soldier was elusive to say the least; you were beginning to wonder if he even existed.

You’d managed to slide a tracker under the car and unbeknownst to you, you were following it to a junkyard warehouse on the outskirts of Arlington. It was still daylight so you kept at a distance, parked yourself in a sniper’s position on top of some dilapidated shipping containers.

The wind was fairly strong today and it was whipping a heavy smell of fuel fumes towards you making your nostrils flare as you pulled your scope from your kit bag. You had the warehouse in sight; it was hard to miss it as the place was huge. The yard however was sparse and looked like it was mostly deserted, the perfect place for HYDRA to sort out a guy that just killed two people a few nights ago. Why were they guarding him so heavily? It seemed to you the guy could more than handle himself so why did he need round the clock HYDRA bodyguards?

That was when you saw him, well most of him. He got out of the car one foot after the other but he was standing at an angle to you, you couldn’t even see his face just a mess of jaw length brown hair on a tall, wide body.

He looked human enough and every guy around him looked like every other HYDRA agent you’d mingled with before. There was one you recognised, Vasily Karpov, dressed in camo and a red beret; strange for him to be out getting his hands dirty but you figured he was at the helm of it all. He seemed to keep a trained eye on the Soldier at all times, body turned to face the person he was speaking to but eyes always on the looming figure.

Something about the Soldier himself seemed different, maybe it was the way he carried himself – all arrogance and brute strength – or the wide expanse of his back clothed in thick, black leather armour. Then he turned.

You almost flinched with what you saw through your scope; a black mask covered the lower half of his face underneath piercing eyes that were dashed with black. And the rumours, it seemed, were true - glistening from his left shoulder was a silver metal arm. You’d heard the whisperings but presumed it was more exaggerations of strength than reality but before you was a man weaponised for murder.

Something in you, a deep-seated empathy, reached out to the Stark’s in their last moments. Ambushed on a quiet road in the middle of the night by a man who exuded death. You can’t imagine the fear they must have felt.

You dropped down off the crate and decided you would do this by dividing and conquering. You slid around the side and watched as the soldier and three agents went inside the main part of the warehouse. That left you with 5 outside and probably more on the way but you figured you had time to get this over with before they arrived.

You used all the leverage you had as you grabbed the two closest to you, you kicked round the back of one of their legs rendering them weak to fall to their knees and you forced them into each other’s heads slamming them together with a sickening crack.

The others turned round at the sound so you took off at a sprint, you couldn’t afford to have bullets flying and attract too much noise. From what you’d heard you needed as little distraction as possible if you were going to take this soldier down. You took one guy down quickly by landing a smooth punch to his face, you heard the snap of his nose as you made impact and before he could recover you dropped him with an elbow to the throat. Two left.

Stupidly one of them made for the car door; you ran, slamming it closed on him with your shin using that as leverage to knock him off his feet. He recovered quicker than you’d expected and he landed the butt of his gun across your face and he staggered back, you snapped your head back and smiled at him with blood stained teeth. You took a running jump, swinging your legs around his shoulders and used your body weight to flip him over. His head made a satisfying thud as he hit the ground and he slumped forward with a pained grunt.

You heard the click of a gun to your left so you pulled yourself over the hood of the car and ducked. A few bullets ricocheted loudly off the metal around you making you duck but you bounced back to your feet. Rounding the car you were able to get behind him and with a hard roundhouse kick to land a blow to his neck. He fell, hitting his head on the hood of the car and dropped. You huffed out a quick breath and gathered yourself – well that was nice and easy.

“Thank you fellas,'' you smiled, turning to spit out the blood that was filling your mouth. You flashed another satisfied grin towards the scattered unconscious bodies and took off running towards the warehouse doors.

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

By the time you reached them inside the warehouse it was too late, they’d heard you. Four men stood stock still in front of you, three with guns raised and the soldier glaring at you with his arms tense by his sides. You absentmindedly noticed how much his blue eyes stood out against the smearing of black around them.

The air in the warehouse was stuffy and humid, sunlight radiating off the metal walls. “Gentlemen,” you nodded politely. With three heavy guns trained on you you recalled Fury’s quip to you before you left.

“You should really arm yourself.”

“I’ll be fine, I’m good at this, remember? All I need is this,” you smiled, flashing your knife at him.

Then the firing began. You slid yourself to the floor underneath one of their feet, kicking to their back and reaching for their gun as they spun. You lifted it and slammed it back against their face; you watched them shout in pain and then drop.

You turned, out of the corner of your eye you noticed the soldier wasn’t moving - like he was studying you as you swiftly moved around him. The second gunman had continued firing, but you grabbed his gun too. He reacted in shock at your boldness to just reach for the weapon and thrust it from his grasp. You pulled your knife out from the small holster on your waist, spun it elegantly between your fingers plunging into his neck in the precious few seconds of stillness he gave you. Warm blood seeped out over your hand and you wiped it down your torso.

Efficiency was how you’d made your name at SHIELD, it was the reason you’d been trusted to come here alone. Yet, you noticed the third gunman was not firing, as you looked up you saw him running through a back room of the warehouse.

“Well I guess that back-up will be coming any minute” you thought to yourself rolling your eyes.

Turning to the Soldier with panting breath you pulled the knife out of the agent’s neck listening to the splatter hit the ground beside you. You thought the Solider wasn’t armed but he pulled a small gun from a holster on his back and swiftly fired in your direction, you pulled yourself over the high car barrier next to you to avoid the hail of bullets.

You swung back over the barrier again, using it as leverage to weigh your body against his. Landing an elbow blow to the side of his face made him grunt. Before you could turn, he had you by the jaw with his non-metal hand and pulled you up to his height, his fingers spanning almost to the tops of your ears. You could feel the bones in your face creak under the strength of him and the panic rising up in your body felt like heat prickling through you; he was a lot stronger than anyone you’d come up against down here. Your years here on Midgard had made you weaker somehow; cursing to yourself you tried to push back against him.

That metal arm would make him almost impossible to stop in hand to hand combat and right now all you had was a knife. “Okay Nick… I should have come armed,” you thought. For the first time in a long time doubt crept into your mind.

Using your body weight against his forearm you pulled yourself up to wrap your knees around his head and squeezed, slamming your fists down repeatedly against the top of his skull.

He threw you, dropping your body to the floor and you shrieked loudly with the impact your spine made against the concrete. You scrambled to your feet, looking around and as he approached you ran forward using momentum to land your knee in the centre of his torso. The power of his body was formidable and he barely moved. You dodged his sudden swing and watched as his fist made a huge dent in the 4 inch thick metal beam behind you. As you stared for a split second at the indentation in the beam you realised this really wasn’t going to be as easy as you thought.

You did something you hadn’t done in a fight since you were a kid, you ran away. You took off at a sprint towards a back room you had seen earlier and like a shining beacon of relief there was a large machinery clamp in the middle of this room which gave you an idea.

His thudding footsteps followed you and as you halted to a stop with your back turned to him you heard the creak of the metal swing for you once more. You ducked, spinning to face him. In your blind panic you did something you weren’t expecting.

Dark blue tendrils whipped out of your trembling fingertips and shut the clamp down over his metal arm trapping him in place. He groaned loudly in frustration before slowly lifting his eyes to you and you realised what you had done.

No-one was supposed to know, not even Fury knew, what the hell do you do now?

“What are you?”

[alia-turin]

Request:  I wish you would write a fic where Caranthir and Imlerith are being requested by their commander to capture a human sorceress, who is known for her healing powers, compel her to divulge her secrets and spells and then kill her, but things take an unexpected turn

Honestly guys I feel so bad because you sent these awesome requests and I feel like butcher them and turn them upside down :D 

In any case couple of notes - big HC that I was introduced to is that despite everything Imlerith has soft side for animals, so I’m sorry if he sounds a bit OOO, but that whole thing is really about his soft side. If you want more Imlerith + animals, please check out @erinbeast . I have also put some ideas for Caranthir that come from an old fic I posted and another fic I’m currently working on (which I might never post but there is that). I hope y’all enjoy tagging you 

AO3 Link

Warning: mentioning of injured animal 

Caranthir stepped through the portal and Imlerith followed. Neither of them was wearing their armor, at least not in full. His friend still wore gauntlets instead of gloves and some of the metal around his legs and torso. Caranthir on the other hand was more practical, no amount of armor was going to protect them where they were going so he was just wearing his normal clothes and a cloak. He knew roughly where their final destination was supposed to be, but he wasn’t sure so he ended up getting them in the forest and they were going to figure the rest.

“I still don’t understand what Eredin’s problem with that particular sorceress is.” Imlerith groaned as Carathir led the way. He could sense the bitch so it wouldn’t be that difficult to find her at that point.

“Does it matter?” they were alone, even the usual forest sounds were somehow dulled around them. He couldn’t hear birds, just the wind brushing against the leaves. “She is a human sorceress, she is better off dead.”

Imlerith raised an eyebrow but the younger man did not see him as he was leading. Since Caranthir had joined the Red Riders the two of them had become friends. He had trained him to use a sword and spear, art Caranthir never mastered, but he had become damn good with that staff of his even when he was not using magic. He had also seen him grow, become more of a Red Rider compared to the skinny kid who left Avallac’h.

“For someone who uses magic you hate other mages way too much. Jealous they might be better than you?” He mocked but also that was something Imlerith never fully understood. One day something had snapped in Caranthir. The man never showed any real hate to anything but Avallac’h, at most he would just show lack of interest in things which in Caranthir’s cold mind was probably equal to hate. But then something happened, first it was just the darker mood but then during one of their raids he saw the Navigator break the skull of a human sorcerer. Imlerith liked violence, he inflicted it however he could, it made his blood running, but that had been something new from Caranthir. Maybe their friendship was rubbing on him or maybe it was just the Eredin effect.

“There isn’t anybody who is better…” Caranthir suddenly stopped. “Do you hear that?”

Imlerith looked around and focused, he could hear it. It sounded like a dog whining somewhere close. Without thinking Imlerith traced the sound and Caranthir was following.

It didn’t take them too far until they found the wolf lying on a bed of leaves and dirt. It was injured, an arrow was sticking from one of its hind legs and another one from its abdomen. Imlerith’s jaw clenched. He liked hunting, but he never did it for sport, it had always been for food or fur and he always made sure to finish his kill fast. He had no issue killing humanoid creatures in an extremely painful way, he even took pleasure in it, but animals were innocent. Whoever did not finish that kill deserved slow and painful death.

The wolf looked at them and showed them his teeth but he looked weak. Imlerith stepped closer, the arrow in the leg did not seem so bad, but the one in the abdomen...that was nasty wound.

Caranthir just looked at the other man as he approached the wolf, the animal was growling, but there was no bite, no danger to it.

“Imlerith, it’s dying, mercy is the best thing you can do for it.” He knew his friend felt some kinship to animals. Everyone always thought Imlerith to be mindless brute, Eredin’s rabid dog, but that was just part of the story. There is a side that almost nobody had seen.

“Maybe Avallac’h should have shown you some mercy.” the other man pointed at his face where Caranthir’s scars were.

“Maybe your mother should have shown some mercy when she saw you are barely intelligent to get dressed.” the Navigator bit back without hesitation. That’s what they did, Imlerith made fun of the scars on his face, the only person he tolerated to do that, and he made fun of Imlerith’s intelligence, just like true brothers.

Caranthir sighed. He wasn’t heartless, he just didn’t see a point in letting the poor animal suffer. He knelt next to Imlerith and placed a hand on the wolf’s head despite the sharp teeth that were barren.

“What are you doing?” Imlerith grabbed his wrist and squeezed.

“I’m not killing it. I can relate to the need to protect innocence and purity in its clearest form.” Imlerith had no idea what that meant. Caranthir had the habit to speak like Avallac’h at times, half of a conversation that made no sense to anyone. He made fun of him for that, but not now. The navigator freed his hand and placed it on the wolf again. Second later the animal was asleep and the laboured breathing was calmer. “We can break the arrows, but we should not pull them out, we need to deal with that bitch, which would be a quick job and then we can take it to Tir na Lia. It should be asleep for about two hours and it doesn’t feel pain, just make sure it doesn’t lose any more blood, because that will kill it.”

Caranthir didn’t have much hope for the animal surviving, judging by the blood around, it had been like that for some time, and his healing powers have always been the weakest from his many talents.

Imlerith scooped the wolf in his arm and followed Caranthir. He constantly looked at the animal to make sure it was still breathing. He decided he would name it Treise, a strong name for a beast like that. It wasn’t too long when they found an old log cabin deep in the woods. Caranthir did not stop, the man had no fear from some human witch, Imlerith followed but left the wolf outside, to prevent any further harm. He had seen mages fight and he also knew the pleasure Caranthir felt in making them suffer.

The Navigator was the first to enter the log cabin, bending his neck in an awkward position to get through the human sized door. Nothing impressive inside, wooden table, chairs, a bed in the far corner. The bitch was sitting next to the fireplace and turned in surprise when they walked in.

“Who…” she started a question, but he never allowed her to finish. His first attack knocked her on the ground, he wasn’t going to kill her, he was going to take his time.

Imlerith watched as Caranthir attacked the witch, she was a pretty thing for a human, small and fragile. A predator grin decorated his lips. Maybe he would let Caranthir have his fun using her to mop the floor and then he will have his type of fun.

“Wait!” the woman was on her hands and knees, her hair was a mess and there was blood running from her mouth. “I can help you.” Caranthir laughed mockingly. “I know you brought an injured animal with you, I can sense it, I’m a healer, I can help.”

Without hesitation Imlerith placed a hand on the navigator’s shoulder. Caranthir turned toward him, there was cold fire burning in his eyes. Funny how usually the roles were reversed. It had always been the younger man stopping him, but now Imlerith had other concerns than simple bloodlust.

“Why would you do that?” he asked, digging his fingers a bit deeper in the other man’s shoulder, his hand sinking in the soft first of his cloak.

“I cannot beat him.” she nodded at Caranthir. “And I don’t know why you are here but it isn’t for fortune reading. I help your wolf, you let me live.”

“No.” Caranthir said, almost offended.

“Deal.” Imlerith spoke at the same time and they both exchanged looks.

The woman wasn’t stupid and she did not wait for the two of them to sort their small differences. She got on her feet with visible effort and slowly limped toward the door.

“Please tell me the plan is to let her heal the wolf and then we kill her?” Caranthir said through his teeth, his jaw clenched. Imlerith did not answer. He wasn’t sure what the plan was. “You will tell Eredin. I’m not dealing with that.”

When they went out Caranthir walked to the nearest tree and pressed his back against it, his arms crossed over his chest, his cold eyes just pinned on the woman.

“It’s very weak.” the witch said as she placed her hand on the animal.

“Oh great, it’s very weak. Must have missed that.” the navigator said sarcastically, Imlerith couldn’t stop the smile on his lips.

The woman ignored them and started working. She pulled what was left from the arrows, thick blood started pooling on the fur but she worked quickly. She chanted a spell and pulled some herbs from her pocket that she applied to the wounds. Couple of minutes later she got up, the animal was still asleep and Imlerith got worried for a moment. Did she trick them? Did she kill the wolf as a final ‘fuck you’? If that was the case, whatever Caranthir was planning to do to her, would be nothing compared to what he would do to her.

“I cannot do anything about the lost blood.” she finally said. “And I cannot wake it up because of his spell. But once it wakes up it will be weak, it won’t be able to take care of itself until its body recovers from the loss.”

Caranthir forced an arrogant smile on his lips. Of course she couldn’t she was just a stupid human mage. It was surprising that Imlerith had been so...soft, between the two of them he had always been the nicer one, had he changed so much? No, it wasn’t that. He felt pity for the animal as well and didn’t really want it to die, but he was the logical one, Imlerith was impulsive. Where was Avallac’h now to see him? Where was his old teacher to call him rash?

“Am I free to go?” the woman asked, her eyes shifting between the two of them. Imlerith nodded, Caranthir was not really sold on the idea, but nodded as well.

He opened a portal and waited for Imlerith to grab the wolf and step through it, then he followed. They went straight to Imlerith’s apartments in the castle in Tir na Lia.

“We are not telling Eredin.” his friend finally said as he gently placed the wolf on his bed. He had never seen Imlerith being gentle with anything.

“We are not telling Eredin.” Caranthir repeated. “You are telling Eredin.”

“No.” Imlerith was still looking at the wolf. “We are waiting for a couple of days, and then we will do what we were supposed to do.”

After Caranthir didn’t speak for a while, he turned to make sure the navigator was still there.

“Why?” the younger man finally asked.

“Because that wolf means more to me than any other life out there and I’m paying her by giving her a couple of days.” Imlerith wasn’t sure if the navigator understood, neither of them was affectionate to anything. He expressed his emotions with violence and Caranthir...emotions did not come easy with him.

Caranthir nodded. He could relate, probably the reason he reacted the way he did was just because he did not expect Imlerith to be so...kind. But he could understand the desire to protect something.