#hmh teen

[icallhimjoey]

That's It

♥ ♥  rockstar!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Steve is there to stay, and you fall into a new routine together, the three of you, old buddies back to their old ways. Except, no, this is actually nothing like your old ways, is it?

CW / disclaimer: 18+, language, fem!reader, angst, brief mentions of substance abuse and addiction, mentions of smut, sort of cheating? not really... you'll see

Author’s note: Eddie had good reason to freak out a little over you and Steve getting drunk together. Learn why! Also, we're headed into... new territory. Hope you enjoy!

Wordcount: 6.2K

(find all other parts of this story here)

You were shocked awake because Steve jolted. Spazzed like he dreamt he was about to fall off a cliff.

It immediately made you very aware of how your bodies were positioned; you on your side, facing the back of the couch, leaning into the little crevice of darkness that it created. And Steve was on his back, right alongside you, and he had you in the crook of his arm, your head on his bicep as the rest of it curled around the front of your shoulders. Like you'd been spooning, but the spoon had fallen open.

You felt how the alcohol consumption of the night before had affected your body, but wanted to ignore it. To sleep more. Steve was pleasantly warm and the couch was comfy, but Steve had jolted in shock and immediately moved to sit up. However, just as quick as he’d awoken, he was coaxed back down by Eddie’s whispering voice.

“Shh shh, no it’s OK, sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,”

You felt Steve move slightly, and it felt like he checked on you before he relaxed back into his position.

“Hung over?”

“Hmh,” was all Steve managed.

He felt awful.

So did Eddie, though.

“What time is it?” Steve whispered, his voice barely there. “It’s light out.”

You heard Eddie chuckle softly and knew he had probably sat down on the coffee table, like he would sometimes do when you were pulling yourself out of a nap and he had to put his shoes on before heading out somewhere.

“It’s just past 7, sorry,”

You heard Steve try to say, “Sorry about last night,” through a yawn, but Eddie was quick to dismiss him.

“No, don’t,” Eddie whispered, “I didn’t– you did nothing wrong, I just freaked out,”

“I shouldn’t have taken her to–”

Steve stopped talking. You didn’t hear why, but imagined either Eddie held up a hand or made a face.

They both knew you. There was no need for Steve to lie about who had taken who to a bar.

“Ok but... this was my fault,” you felt Steve shake a little, and pictured it was his other hand gesturing from you to himself a couple of times.

“Honestly,” Eddie whispered, pausing a second before carrying on, “I’m glad she didn’t have to sleep alone,”

Pretending to sleep became more difficult by the second.

“I scared myself and didn’t know if I could... I didn’t know how to face it,” Eddie explained, but Steve stayed silent.

“It’s so fucked up, and I really didn’t expect it, because when you called, it was funny to me – I was glad to know where you were, because, you weren’t here when I got back, and then I didn’t hear from you for the rest of the day,”

Yeah, you should’ve at least maybe called him beforehand. Let him know where you were at. How long you were going to be.

“And it was funny, you were–” Eddie stopped to huff a laugh through his nostrils as quietly as he could manage it. “You were slurring, like, I’ve not heard you talk like that since we were... what, twenty? Twenty-one?”

You remembered times where Steve and Eddie used to get high together on bad weed, two lanky teens who didn't know how to talk to girls without hurting their own feelings, and then they would go see a movie where they’d come to buy popcorn from you, and you had to pretend to take their money before you just gave it back to them in change.

Then after they’d napped in their seats and missed most of whatever movie they hadn't paid money to see, they would stay to clean up all the popcorn they’d spilled and would wait out your shift to go out together.

Man, you used to go out and drink together, all three of you, all of the time. That really seemed like a lifetime ago.

“But then when I saw you – her, mostly when I saw her, I really scared myself,” Eddie continued whispering.

You felt your throat tighten and laid as still as you could still. Tried to focus on your breathing.

“I really wanted to kiss her,”

Oh.

That wasn’t what you expected.

“Just to get a taste myself,”

Ah.

That sounded more like it.

Awful. Obviously, this was awful. But it made sense to you.

Eddie shutting you out and leaving you to fend for yourself with Steve’s help made sense given Eddie’s history. You disliked everything about the reality of the situation, but you appreciated the logic. It settled within your system fast, and you hardly reacted to it. Immediately thought of how this was something that needed rules and talking through and for you to keep in mind for the future.

“It’s so gross, she threw up, and I just wanted to kiss her more,” Eddie whispered, and you could hear he almost made himself stop talking just before the confession. Then he said, “Sorry,” and you thought maybe Steve was grimacing at the visual.

“But those are my issues, man. ‘S got nothing to do with you, and you looked like you needed a fucking drink yesterday,” Eddie’s voice had shifted from whisper to a low, hushed baritone.

Your hip started hurting from laying on it so still for so long, but you didn’t want to interrupt the boys, so you decided to bear it for as long as you could.

“You okay?”

Steve sighed, and you heard his hand fall onto his leg, or maybe his stomach, with a soft slap.

“I’m getting a divorce,” Steve spoke softly, now also not whispering anymore.

“What?”

“Yea, it’s... I don’t know, looking back, I honestly have no idea what I was thinking,”

You were glad your back was turned and neither of them could see your face as it frowned deeply.

“I thought I could make it,” Steve said, and it got followed by a silence.

This is also what Steve had said to you, but he hadn’t elaborated then.

“I thought that if I tried to see someone through eyes, through this different lens, that I could just... I don’t know how to explain it without sounding stupid,”

“Story of your life,”

They both snickered a little. Boys. Idiots. It made enough noise for you to stir a little. For your throat to escape a small little noise. Steve froze immediately, breaths were held, and the room got overtaken by silence.

They were trying not to wake you. After shifting enough to get more comfortable on your hip, you sighed deeply and relaxed again. It occurred to you that maybe it was strange that you were asleep in Steve’s arms – not curled into him, or too on top of him, but, this had every potential to be weird. Especially with Eddie sat on the coffee table, talking to the boy that held you as you slept.

Except, it wasn’t weird.

It was nice. Felt natural. You were just you, Steve and Eddie. The forever tripod. You’d fallen asleep in between Eddie and Steve plenty of times, so it had never really been weird. You just hadn’t expected it to still feel so normal now that you were all either already or almost thirty years old.

And, you know, married. Steve, at least.

When enough seconds of you not moving had passed, their conversation resumed.

“This doesn’t help,” Steve said, now back to whispering again and you could hear the humour in his voice. “The expectations you’ve set are too high, man,” Steve complained.

“What do you mean?” Eddie sounded genuinely confused.

“Being around the two of you for so long? It’s set the bar too high,” Steve huffed another soft laugh, but Eddie didn’t join him.

“Are you... Steve are you jealous?”

You felt Steve attempt a shrug, and your cheeks flushed at the idea of Steve being jealous of the relationship you had with Eddie. It somehow made your heart swell for Eddie because you loved him so, and you felt a little proud of that fact that you fit together so nicely. It took a lot of work, and it surely hadn’t been easy, but you both put in effort and now Steve was jealous of it.

But it also made you feel insanely guilty. Made you want to just be friends, the three of you, for a little bit. Pretend that it was all just platonic, and Steve had nothing to be jealous about.

“Wow,” you heard Eddie get up and take a few steps. “Steve Harrington? Jealous of little old Eddie Munson?”

Oh no. Eddie was going milk this for years.

“Okay,” Steve regretted even bringing it up. “It’s not like that,” he backtracked, but Eddie wasn’t having it and you knew exactly what smug little expression he was currently wearing.

“No, no, I get it, I mean, look around. Got the big house, the cars, the job, the–”

“The pinball machines,” Steve added.

“The pinball machines, did you– did she play you?”

“She did,”

You weren't even facing him, had both your eyes closed, pretended to be fast asleep still, but you could feel Eddie grin. Knew he loved it when you showed interest in whatever his current hyperfixation was.

“Man… I really do have it all, don’t I?” Eddie softly mused, almost sounding a little shy. Bashful. Like he couldn't believe his luck and having Steve confess he was jealous of him kind of brought it all into perspective for him.

“Got the girl,” Steve added, leaving his tone up as if to continue the list that Eddie had started.

But Eddie didn’t continue the game, and instead repeated, “Got the girl.” definitively.

That was the end of the list.

Even though there were many more things to be added, like the band, the support he needed from his label, the creative freedom he felt in collaboration with his producers, the mental clarity he'd always be left with after speaking to his therapist, or the way he'd feel like he could concur the world after an AA meeting – all of these things were important, but the girl was the most important. The thing that really mattered.

With full attention on you, you held your breath in anticipation of what was going to be said next.

“Got the best, the kindest, sweetest, hottest, sexiest, ugh,” Eddie groaned, and Steve chuckled at the theatrics. “So talented, so supportive, so smart, so beautiful, and so… so awake right now,”

Fuck.

“So, so, so very awake,”

Yeah. You'd been caught out.

You felt two hands squeeze you, and you flinched at the sudden contact. Eddie leaned over Steve and found your face to press a kiss onto, making you hum in acknowledgement.

“How long you been awake for, huh?” Eddie cooed into your ear, and you turned over a little to face him.

“The whole time,” you confessed with a sleepy smile, and you felt Steve tighten his grip on your shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie whispered, knowing you understood what the apology was for, and followed it with a kiss to your lips. Several. More until he got your teeth because you couldn't help but laugh a little awkwardly.

You were on top of Steve and Eddie was kissing you, and with Steve just having confessed he was jealous of whatever you and Eddie had, it felt a little like shoving things into his face.

“That’s OK,” you dismissed it and moved to sit up. Thought you could talk about it later when your body wasn’t pressed into Steve’s.

You turned to look at Steve, gave a slight smile as you squinted and offered, “Breakfast?”

It had been a while since you'd seen Eddie be useful in the kitchen. Ever since you'd moved to LA and he'd hired chefs to come and do all the work for you, he'd barely touched the stove to begin with.

When you wanted to get up to help out, both boys refused and turned you away. Said you could just sit and drink your coffee, or, as Eddie suggested, go brush your hair since you'd just let it get wet in the shower last night and hadn't touched it after.

You commented, “You go brush your hair,” jokingly glaring at Eddie, but were already on your way out because he was right, your hair was a whole bird's nest that needed tending to.

When you returned, looking a little more presentable than before, Eddie and Steve had been joined by the personal chef who was teaching Steve how to do things.

Huh.

That had never occurred to you.

Eddie had hired all these people to take every single job out of your hands... but you could've just... done them with them. Joined in. Learned from them.

You knew Eddie probably also wouldn't like you doing that, hiring people to do jobs and then having you do them with them wasn't exactly the point, but seeing the chef teach Steve how to hold a knife properly opened a bunch of doors inside your mind.

“Don’t even think about it,” Eddie snuck up behind you, and Jesus fucking Christ, had he turned into some sort of mind reader? Or was the hungover version of you just that easy to read, somehow?

“Eddie,” you tried.

“Nope.” he shot you down immediately, his hand trailing over your lower stomach. He kept it there a second. There, where all the important things were stored, and you got it. Got what he meant.

Okay.

This could be another thing you were going to talk about later when Steve wasn't in the room with you. You understood why Eddie wanted you relaxed. Free of burden. Mind at complete ease, no stress, no worries, no nothing.

You got it.

But you also thought Eddie was taking it a little too far, maybe.

Over breakfast, Steve asked if it was okay if he would really stay for a month. When he had mentioned that the day before, he hadn't been joking. Apparently he'd gotten all the paperwork signed for his divorce and had immediately gone to catch a flight afterwards. “Got it done, and got out,” he said and he kind of laughed to hide the hurt. Of course he could stay for a month - hell, Eddie said, stay for fucking ever, he didn't mind, and neither did you. The guest room Steve used would just be Steve's room now. He was free to use your house as his own - no problem.

Steve mentioned rent, but Eddie swiped it off the table immediately. When Eddie didn't look, Steve signed and made eyes and you knew he meant, we'll figure something out behind his back. And you did. Steve had savings and even though you didn't want him to pay you for his stay, he said he'd feel bad if he'd freeload.

Eddie had his moment alone with you, told you other reasons why he spiraled after seeing you drunk, and you'd unnecessarily apologised a million times. Because what if you had been...? You weren't. You knew you weren't. But what if you had been? Eddie hugged you for long, and then asked, “No ragrets?” in a silly voice and you smiled through a sniffle and answered, “No ragrets!” in an almost upbeat scream - an inside joke that would never get old, that instantly lightened the mood every time.

Steve made himself useful. Became friends with every single person that set foot into the house. Let the chef teach him about cooking every single day. Learned how to clean a pool properly, how pool pH levels worked and stuff. Got to learn about various gardening tools and what plants were planted where and why, because of the sun and the shade and the position of the house and Steve loved it. Really kept himself busy.

You loved it too.

You still had Eddie's agenda to fret over, and with the upcoming release of a new album, there was lots to keep track off, but there was still a lot of free time, and now you had a buddy to spend it with whenever Eddie would be busy.

You took Steve hiking a lot, and Steve would challenge you to lap races in the pool all the time. You went to see the secret Corroded Coffin shows together and wouldn't be stuck by the side of the stage, but would be in the crowd with Steve. Mingling with fans. They'd come up to say hi, and Steve was an expert in exuding that's-enough-vibes and rounding-off-conversations-with-a-smile. Eventually you'd be left alone and you'd get to watch the band play fan-favorites and test out new songs.

For a few weeks, a new routine had settled into your system, and the new routine merged with one old one; sex every other night.

Eddie had looked it up and had shown you, “See, not every night. Every other night. Got to give my swimmers a break, give them a moment to collect themselves and listen to their trainers before I shoot them off to find the target,” Eddie had said, using his hands to really paint the picture of sperm cells swimming with laser focus.

“Wow, you really know how to make this romantic,” you'd joked, and Eddie had stored that comment away in his to-remember box inside his head, because every single every-other-night, he'd known exactly what to do to make it special. To get you in the mood within an instant.

Sometimes it was cliché shit, like rose petals and candle light and soft music and massage oil in hotel rooms.

Other times it was soft and slow touches on the couch that played and teased and wouldn't progress until you'd sling a leg over him to take matters into your own hands.

Sometimes it was hot shower sex.

Sometimes it'd be a quickie on a lounger out by the pool.

And sometimes, Eddie turned the insecure days and turned them into the best days and he'd try to start something on a day in between and you'd be like, “Every other day, Ed,” and he'd whisper something like, “I'm keeping my guys inside, don't worry,” and it'd just be all about you for a few hours.

You'd been going for months.

And every single pregnancy test you'd ever taken had come out negative.

It was a slap in the face every time, so after a while, you stopped doing them, because you'd rather wait until you'd missed two periods entirely than have a little piece of plastic ruin a full week of your life again.

“Let's not worry about it,” Eddie would always say. “Let's just have fun.”

You'd agreed on a year of just trying. Seeing what would happen. Just going with the flow. A full year, and if a full year of unprotected sex still wouldn't have done the trick, you'd go see a doctor together.

Eddie was a rock. Your rock.

But he'd also say things like, “You need to relax more,” and, “You can't overthink, you'll just stress yourself out,” whilst simultaneously beating himself over the head, because he was failing, wasn't he? Not able to get his girl the baby she wanted. That was on him. Of course it was.

But that was a difficult truth to face.

“Let's just have fun.”

And so fun you had.

Loud fun.

It took Steve two weeks to make a comment about being kept awake most nights.

“So um... you've got excellent stamina, I hear,” Steve tried subtly over breakfast one morning, speaking into his coffee mug before taking a sip. Eddie immediately understood what he meant and couldn't help the shit-eating grin that spread across his face.

“Damn right I do,” Eddie said, shoveling a spoonful of cornflakes into his mouth before reaching over to squeeze your shoulder.

It took you a little longer to get it.

“Kind of have to with this one,” Eddie said, head rolling back to smirk at Steve, and Steve seemed a little uncomfortable, but not crazy awkward. There was humour there, but it was something you were missing, so you frowned at their interaction and narrowed your eyes suspiciously.

“And on a tight schedule too,” Steve commented, getting up from his seat and making his way over to the coffee pot for a refill. “Every other day?”

You were just about to have a sip of coffee, but you choked on it and sprayed it right from your mug into your face.

Horrified.

Oh my God.

No!

“Babe,” Eddie moved in with some kitchen roll, laughing, but you'd already hidden your face into the crook of your elbow resting on the table.

“You can hear us?” you'd never been more mortified in your life.

Now, listen.

You didn't care about Eddie's band members hearing you get a little too cozy in one of the bunks on the tourbus at all.

You didn't care that they would comment on it whilst it was happening - that had only just made you giggle and had made Eddie grip onto you tighter.

You didn't care that the pool guy had walked in on you naked in the pool once - mostly because you'd been wrapped around Eddie's and so you'd had all of your bits covered. But you didn't care about being caught like that, and hadn't cared when Eddie had shouted, “Sorry, dude, give us twenty minutes and this space is all yours,” through a smile.

But Steve?!

Steve trying to get some peaceful sleep in your guest room whilst he was going through a divorce being kept awake deep into early hours because he could hear you being fucked into the mattress by Eddie?!

No, no, no, no - no!

“You. He can hear you.” Eddie made it worse, and you shot eyes towards Steve by the coffee machine who sort of... nodded, apologetically so, but he was having way too much fun making you go through it, and you wanted to die.

“Oh, God,” you groaned, face covered with both your hands as you tried to process the humiliation.

“No, it's more like, oh, oh, God, fuck, Eddie,”

You launched yourself at Eddie to make him shut up, spilling more coffee in the process of climbing onto his lap, grabbing at his head until you had his mouth covered with one and his eyes with the other.

“Steve, you're moving into the downstairs guest room,” you stated matter of factly.

“Yea, 'cause she's not going to quiet down, she's not–” Eddie spoke through your fingers until you shut him up with a kiss, the only thing that would really make him stop talking.

“Capable,” Eddie finished with a stupid grin once you pulled back.

“No, it's okay, your housekeeper left me earplugs,”

Cool.

So the housekeeper knew too.

Great.

Life was so great, wasn't it?

Ugh. Fucking hell.

You were going to bury yourself alive that afternoon, you decided. And you'd make Eddie help you out.

“No ragrets?” Eddie asked softly when you got up from his lap, and you sighed, “No ragrets,” back in response. Eddie looked at you a little pleadingly, and then shot eyes towards Steve who sat back down with a full mug of steaming coffee before he looked back at you.

Eddie was asking if he could tell Steve.

You hadn't told anyone. You barely liked talking about it outside of the upstairs bathroom, where you'd initially had talked to Eddie about wanting a baby, maybe, and where Eddie had promised to put one inside of you right that second. It was also where you'd taken every single pregnancy test you'd ever taken, and it felt like that room had become the one place where you got to sit inside your feelings about it not working out. The second you'd leave it, you'd step back into the day, into reality, where there were meetings to be had and there was music to be made.

“No ragrets.” you said again, sweeter and softer this time as you answered Eddie's unspoken question, but leaving the room as you did.

Eddie could tell Steve without you there.

You don't know why it felt so weird to you, but you felt embarrassed enough as it was and wanted to go for a shower anyway.

Steve didn't look at you weird after. Didn't bring it up either, which was nice. He was just his same old self when you sat around the pool and talked about Robin together, you with a foot in the water as you sat on the edge, both boys spread out on loungers

“She says they're not really together, that it's more of a friends with benefits situation... but, they're basically dating, anyway,” Steve explained.

“She deserves the best fucking girlfriend in the world,” you said, and Steve grimaced a little, and said, “This might not be her,”

“So, friends with benefits it'll be, then,” Eddie chimed in, but immediately chuckled after. “I'm saying that like I get to decide,”

“Can Robin not come out here too for a bit?” you asked.

Steve just shrugged, unsure if he really needed Robin all up in his business about his divorce right now. You and Eddie had been exactly what he needed in the fact that you never brought it up. Pretended it wasn't even happening somewhere in the background of Steve's life, even though it was definitely happening right up in the forefront of it.

“Do we know anyone? Can we set her up?” you asked Eddie, who replied with a shrug as well.

These boys were of no help to you.

“Friends with benefits,” Eddie mused after taking another drag of his cigarette. “If you think about it, Steve is sort of our friend with benefits,”

Eddie was about to say something stupid to embarrass you again, wasn't he?

“Or wait,” Eddie retracted. “We are Steve's friends with benefits,”

Oh, God. You were already groaning.

“But the benefits aren't exactly sexy, he just... gets to stay here,” Eddie laughed, and you sighed a breath of relief. Saw Steve drop tension from his face too.

“Maybe not friends with benefits,” Steve chimed in. “But definitely more than just friends I'd say, no?”

“Steve,” Eddie grabbed Steve's shoulder, clearly ready to make fun of the dumb thing Steve just said, already laughing.

“Like, family, you idiot,” Steve argued, making Eddie's laugh burst and you couldn't help but chuckle at the two of them.

Just two friends in the sun who didn't know how to describe what they really were to each other. It felt sort of endearing.

“It's stupid that more than friends immediately means romantic, doesn't it?” you thought out loud whilst looking at your foot that swirled in the water.

Having a pool in a warm climate was so nice.

You were so blessed and this was one of those moments where you could really feel it in your bones. Sun on your back. Foot in the water. Eddie there. Steve there.

Blessed.

“I'd say we're more than friends,” Eddie agreed.

You looked at Steve who quickly looked away from you, like he'd been caught staring, and said, “Definitely.”

And that had left you feeling a little funny.

Not that you had much time to dwell over it.

“We definitely are more than friends,” Eddie had said pointing a finger straight at you as he got up, and before you knew it, Eddie was flying over you, monster diving into the pool and splashing you where you were sat.

You were just about to scold Eddie for jumping into the water in his clothes when he pulled you in by the foot. You didn't stand a fucking chance, you were in and under within a fraction of a second.

“Get in, Harrington,” Eddie called when you found your feet and came up sputtering.

Before you'd even gotten the hair from your face, Steve's cannon ball splashed a new wave right into your face. You used your hands to splash back, ducked under water and came back up face first, hair all dragged out of your face, and saw Eddie smile and jump to swim away quicker from Steve who seemed ready to fight him on something.

“It's so fun being thirty,” you pointed out dryly, because this was quite honestly ridiculous.

“Thirty-one,” Eddie corrected as he fled towards the other side of the pool from Steve who'd started the chase and fucking hell, yes he was thirty-one, but look at him.

Them.

Look at them.

Chasing each other in a pool in full outfits because one probably said something silly about the other and now it was time for pay back in the form of repeated dunks under water.

Children.

These were little children you were watching.

Fuck, you loved them so much.

Blessed.

You were quick to climb out of the pool, quick to leave the boys to play whilst you slipped inside and left wet clothes by the door before you went to find a towel and a dry outfit to change into.

When you stepped back out with a pile of towels, Eddie called, “No ragrets!” and you huffed a laugh at the confused face Steve gave just before Eddie jumped up and pushed him down and under by the shoulders.

“Okay, I gotta ask,” Steve said after he'd come back up, now swimming towards the edge closest to where you sat down on a lounger.

“You do realise you keep pronouncing regrets wrong, right?”

Eddie made eye-contact with you before he threw his shirt onto the tiles besides the pool which landed with a wet slap.

“You tell the story,” Eddie said, because he didn't know how to tell it without sounding like an arrogant asshole and a huge dumbass at the same time. He pushed off the edge whilst Steve climbed on top.

“So,” you started, unable to hide your smile. This was a fun story. “One time after a gig, you know how sometimes fans wait by stage door? This time, there were maybe eight people, small little group, but one of them was this huge dude. Massive tree trunk of a guy, a real unit, covered in tattoos, head to toe, but he was squealing like a nine year-old girl about to meet The Backstreet Boys,”

“She's not exaggerating,” Eddie called from the other side of the pool, now floating on his back in just his jeans, soaking up the sun. Meanwhile Steve was wringing out his T-shirt before moving to come sit next to you on the lounger, using the other to spread his T-shirt out to let it the sun dry it.

“And he's telling Eddie all about how he loves Corroded Coffin, loves them so much, that he's seen at least seventeen shows, and he asks Eddie to sign his arm,”

“I found the one empty spot between all the tats, just large enough for a signature and a little message,”

“But Eddie's talking, and saying that he must have spent a fortune on concert tickets, and this guy goes, no regrets, man,”

“No regrets!” Eddie shouted, one arm up in the air, making you giggle.

“So Eddie writes, no regrets, signs the arm and that's that... but then, like, three weeks later? Three weeks later Eddie meets this guy at another show and he's gotten it tattooed,”

“Oh no,” Steve caught on. Knew where this was going.

“Yep. He showed Eddie, all proud,”

“Your dyslexic ass, you wrote no ragrets?!” Steve was shocked.

“No ragrets!” Eddie shouted again, louder this time, that same arm punching the air again, making the both of you laugh.

“Now it's a thing.”

With Steve in on the joke now, the conversation naturally went onto other stupid shit Eddie had written in the past. Like when he'd misspelled his own name when he'd tried to do a cool graffiti drawing of it in class that one time. Or when he'd written his own sick note, and the office had called Wayne to verify that Eddie really did have diehareeyah.

Eddie fired back, mentioned stupid shit Steve had done before, like trying to climb out of a window that was right next to an open door to not be caught by Wayne after having secretly smoked weed with Eddie. Or how he'd once fallen asleep at the movies, like he always fucking did, and had tried to roll over like he was in bed and had promptly fallen out of the seat, right onto the floor, where he just continued his slumber.

Or what about you, when you...

Eddie and Steve looked at each other, and Eddie frowned a little.

“When you...” he thought a second longer, then shook his head. “Shit babe... what's something embarrassing you've done?”

“Why can't I think of anything?” Steve had his eyes narrowed at you.

You just smirked.

There was plenty of embarrassing shit you'd done, but you were glad none of it had stuck with them.

“There isn't anything, I'm perfect.” you joked, feigning a casual confident shrug.

You expected them to fight you on it, but instead Eddie said, “She's right.” and you gave him a nose-scrunch which he immediately returned.

What a guy. So sappy.

You loved it.

Steve announced he was also going to get out of his wet clothes, and you were reminded you had just left yours in a wet pile by the door. And so, as Steve went inside to dry off, you went inside to collect wet clothing items for the laundry.

Upstairs, you called for Steve to put whatever clothes he had into the open washing machine, expecting him to do so once you'd left.

Instead, Steve walked out of his room, wet clothes in hand, and his wet underwear practically transparent.

That was his full penis.

Shit.

You pretended not to see. Maybe Steve didn't know he was on show like that.

“Oh, thanks,” you avoided any and all contact as Steve dropped his clothes in and you prepared it for a cycle. Kept your eyes and hands busy with detergent and fabric softener and you expected that by the time you'd have turned the machine on, Steve would be behind the closed door of is bedroom.

But instead, he stayed put beside you.

“Hey, um,”

Oh no.

“Eddie... Eddie told me that you were trying to get pregnant,”

Steve your full dick's out, you thought, but just nodded.

“And that it's not... going well? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable this morning,”

Steve you're making me uncomfortable right now, you though, but just said, “No, don'y worry about it, you're good,”

“I don't know, I felt bad anyway. Can't be easy.”

It wasn't. It was very difficult, in fact.

But talking to Steve who had his own equivalent of a wet T-shirt contest going on right beside you was even more difficult.

You guessed Steve saw you grow more uneasy by the second, saw you avoid any and all contact as you rushed to turn the washing machine on, because what he did next made you freeze on the spot.

“Hey, come here,”

Steve reached a hand, touched your shoulder and turned you towards him before he bent down to hug you.

Steve was stood in a wet pair of boxers that showcased his penis perfectly and hugged you because his best friend wasn't successful at knocking you up.

What the fuck was going on?

You didn't hug back, held your arms straight down by your sides, and Steve mistook it for something else being wrong.

“Oh, honey,” Steve hugged tighter and then, just before he pulled back entirely, he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

That's what you told yourself.

Just a kiss to the cheek.

Friends could kiss friends on the cheek.

Friends kissed friends on the cheek all the time.

You ignored how it touched the corner of your mouth.

You ignored how it lingered there for a little too long, and when Steve broke it, his lips stayed close for a few seconds longer. Too close. Nose nuzzling close.

You ignored how neither of you had pulled away. How the air had suddenly become tense in a different way. How Steve's hold on you suddenly felt electric and on fire and you couldn't help the thick swallow that followed, even though it was just a kiss to your cheek.

Steve loosened his grip, and in a dumb stroke of whatever the fuck came over you, you grabbed his arm and held his in place. Around you. Where you wanted it.

Eye-contact.

Oh no.

This was it.

You couldn't help the way your eyes shot down at Steve's lips, and you knew that Steve noticed. Knew that he must have seen that.

More than friends echoed in your mind. Steve had said that. And you'd agreed.

You moved like you were about to kiss, heads tilting and moving in, but then you stopped. You both stopped.

Good, you thought. Smart.

But your breath shuddered, and then Steve inhaled deeply and softly said, "No regrets," the normal way before he backed away turned and slipped into his room.

Oh fuck.

Shit.

That was it.

Regrets.

Yes regrets.

Future regrets that you could see on the horizon. Staring at you. They were everywhere. Regrets fucking everywhere.

---

The Taglisted: 

@ghostinthebackofyourhead @dirtyeddietini @jasminearondottir @freckledjoes @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @munsonsgirl71 @thefemininemystiquee @alana4610 @emmamooney @thatonefan-girl @paola-carter @figmentofquinn @haylaansmi @thewondernanazombie @munsonmunster @kellyxo1 @chaoticgood-munson @sherrylyn628 @bdpst-massacre @05secondsofsexgods @lovelyblueness @adoreyouusugar @nadixq @prozacandnicotine @roosterisdaddy36 @alwayslindie @breddiemunson @eddie-joe-munson @ali-in-w0nderland @pepperstories @phyllosilicate-s @thebellenouvelle @luvrsbian @joesquinns @choke-me-eddie @alizztor @jnnyrd @did-it-work @capricornrisingsstuff @quinnsmunson @frogers @kennedy-brooke @daleyeahson @eddielives1986 @harringtonfan4 @sadbitchfangirl @emma77645 @tlclick73

(taglist currently full, sorry)

[feyhunter78]

Hey it’s me El again! Here’s another for you to fabulously write. Can I have an apprentice story where Aegon the chaotic shit he is decides it’s time for aemond to get his you know what wet (when they’re like teens). Like how Aemond said he did pretty much. Aegon leads him to a brothel where aemond locks eyes with a girl the same age as him who is up for auction since she’s a virgin. Aemond buys her and saves her but she is determined to pay back her debt to him. Skips to years later where they talk the night away. Alicent wants to betroth him to woman but he insists he’ll marry reader. He talks to reader and says like ‘it’s nearly time for me to get what I have bought…’

Not this being almost 2k words lol I got carried awayyy. This prompt reminded me of the way I was thinking about potentially rewriting the HMH series, so it was easy to get ideas for this one! (Also, I'd def do a part two for this)

A Purchased Bride

“Come brother, you are ten and three, time to get it wet.” Aegon said, slapping Aemond on the back as he guided him out of the Keep and through the streets of Fleabottom, practically bouncing with excitement.

“I do not wish to go to the brothel.” Aemond grumbled. He had no taste for depravity, though he could not deny his blossoming interest in the fairer sex. He was a boy—nearly a man, of honor, and he wished to share in such an intimate act with a woman he cared for, not some prostitute from the pillow houses.

“You say that now, little brother, but soon you will change your tune.” Aegon told him, a wide smile on his face as they neared the brothel.

As much as he valued his honor, he was still happy Aegon was being kind to him and spending his birthday with him. He also did not wish to seem a coward…

Aegon seemed to sense his inner turmoil. “Think of it this way Aemond, you do not wish to find yourself in your wedding bed without a clue. Your wife will laugh at you.”

Aemond stiffened, as much as he tried to pretend he could not deny the laughter of others wounded him deeply, and to imagine his wife, hopefully a woman he would love deeply laughing at him? It sent a spiral of fear through him.

Aegon ruffled his hair. “I do not wish for any woman to laugh at you, which is why we are here. I have arranged for you to have the wisest woman available. She will teach you all you will need to please your future bride.”

Aemond nodded, that thread of fear still lingering in his mind. “What if she laughs at me?” He asked quietly.

Aegon stopped on the doorstep of the brothel, turning to him with a deadly serious look in his eyes. “If she does, tell me and I will have her killed. No one laughs at us and lives; we are Targaryen princes.”

Aemond was still apprehensive, but his brother’s reassurance calmed his nerves a little.

They stepped in and Aemond instantly wanted to curl into himself, it was loud, dark, chaotic, and smelled foul.

Aegon stepped up and greeted an older woman with brown hair and breasts all but spilling out of her bodice. “Madam, I bring you an offering.” He motioned to Aemond.

She sized him up, a smirk on her face. “I’ll take him upstairs after the auction is over.”

“Auction?” Aemond asked, looking around the crowded room.

“Ah, it is the flower picking event, I had forgotten.” Aegon said, a devious smile on his face. “What a coincidence, seeing as my brother has also yet to be deflowered.”

Aemond’s face burned bright red, and he cast his eye around the room, looking anywhere but Aegon and the madam. A pair of bright eyes shining with tears caught his gaze.

There standing against the wall in a white nightshift was a girl who looked to be his age. Her hair was loose, her bottom lip trembling, and her arms wrapped tightly around herself.

He tugged on Aegon’s sleeve. “Who is that?”

Aegon and the madam turned, following his gaze.

“Oh, that’s y/n, she’s first up on the block. Pretty little thing ain’t she?” The madam said, a grin on her face as she beckoned y/n over.

Y/N moved quickly, her head down, only raising it to greet them.

“Her parents died, but her pa racked up quite a debt here, so she’s going to work it off.”

Aemond’s heart squeezed as he saw y/n quickly wipe away her tears. She was so small, so fragile. “I want her.” He said without thinking.

Aegon’s surprised face would have made him laugh if it wasn’t for how scared y/n looked. “Are you sure, Aemond? She will not be able to teach you much, if anything.”

“Yes, I am sure.” He said firmly.

“Oh, not to worry, little y/n here might still have her maidenhood, but we’ve taught her some tricks for once her time comes.” The madam assured them, as she pushed y/n into Aemond’s arms, accepting the payment he offered.

Aemond caught y/n and held her tightly, lowering his head so that he could whisper in her ear. “You are safe now, I will not harm you, or force myself upon you.”

You trembled in the prince’s arms, praying that his words were true, keeping your eyes on the ground as he escorted you back to his home.

“I am sorry to hear about your parents, you must miss them very much.” Aemond said.

You nodded, afraid to speak.

He stopped and gently turned you towards him. “Y/N please know that no one will harm you ever again, you will be safe with me. I wish for us to be…friends. I do not have many, and I would like it if we were to become friends.”

You bit your lip then nodded. “I would like that as well, my prince.”

“Aemond, call me Aemond.” He said, linking his arm with yours.

“Aemond! This is quite inappropriate.” You giggled as Aemond chased you around his chambers. You both were in your nightclothes, bare feet racing across the stone floor.

 A wild laugh of abandon came from him as he tackled you onto his bed. “I am your prince, if I deem it appropriate it shall be so.”

You giggled breathlessly, looking up at him with fondness. “You are insufferable.”

He nuzzled his nose against yours. “Only for you, my sweet.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, eyes flickering to his lips. Perhaps now was the moment, you would finally be able to settle your debt and give him what he paid for all those years ago.

“My mother wishes to betroth me to a Baratheon girl.” He said suddenly, shattering the moment.

“What?” Your heart began to race, and your eyes searched his face, looking for any sign of jesting.

Aemond’s body was warm atop your own, and he sighed, running a hand through his hair, his sapphire sparkling in the candlelight. “She believes it will be a great alliance.”

You nodded, attempting to ease your body from underneath his. Aemond let you, never one to confine you, knowing your fears.

You sat up, back against the headboard of his bed. “That seems to be a good reason, most royal children are married off for alliances, it is only natural.”

Aemond sat up as well, a forlorn look in his eye. “I do not wish to marry her.”

You wrapped your arms around yourself. “I do not think you have much choice, my prince.”

He hated when you called him that, it meant you were withdrawing, hiding within yourself in order to avoid any harm.

He reached out and brushed his knuckles down the side of your face. “Y/N, do not hide from me.”

You took his hand and held it to your cheek. “I am afraid to lose you. I doubt your wife will take kindly to the addition of me to her household, but I also have nowhere else to go.”

Aemond’s other hand came up to cup the other side of your face, moving closer to you. “You will not lose me, wherever I go, you go. The words of others be damned.”

You gave him a mournful look. “You have a duty, and I know how important that is to you. I cannot be the reason you have strife within your future marriage.” You moved off his bed and made your way to the door, leaving Aemond alone with your words.

“Aemond I do think it is high time we send a letter to Lord Baratheon.” Alicent said, looking up from her book when he entered.

“There is no need, I will be marrying y/n as I have always intended to do.” He said simply.

She shut her book and sighed. “Aemond, you cannot marry a girl from a brothel.”

“Why not? She still possesses her maidenhood, has been taught by our maesters, she is beautiful and poised, and mother even you are fond of her.”

Alicent massaged her temples. “Aemond you are a prince; you must marry well to sec—”

“I love her, please mother, let me marry the woman I love, do not make me suffer as you have.” He said falling to his knees before her and pressing her hand to his heart.

A flicker of pain flashed through her eyes. “I have not suffered, my sweet boy.”

“Mother it is clear, your marriage is without love, and I do not wish to share the same fate. Daeron can marry for political gain, but please, I have asked you for nothing my whole life, grant me this one thing.”

Alicent pursed her lips, blinking away tears. “My son, I do not wish for you to suffer, you may marry y/n, but it must be kept quiet until your father is well enough to attend a royal wedding.”

Aemond embraced his mother, thanking her and rushing towards your chambers.

He burst in with an energy you didn’t often see, and you stood quickly, moving to him concerned.

“Aemond? Is everything alright?” You cupped his cheek, thumb gently running over the edge of his scar.

“I wish to marry you.” He said, chest heaving, hands gripping your elbows.

“But the Baratheon girl?”

He shook his head. “I spoke with my mother; she gave us her blessing.”

A smile spread across your face, and you threw your arms around his neck, going up on your toes to press your lips to his in a chaste but joyful kiss. “Then yes, a thousand time yes, I will marry you.”

Aemond smiled down at you, his hands settling on your waist as he connected your lips once more. His lips moved against yours with a sensual grace, and you whimpered when he pulled you flush against him.

You could feel his growing hardness and heat rushed to your core. His tongue prodded at the seam of your lips, and you parted them, allowing his tongue to stroke yours as your hands found purchase in his hair and tunic.

“Aemond…” You whispered, as his lips left yours and began their descent down the column of your neck, nipping and sucking as they went.

“Yes, my sweet wife?” He purred, hips rolling against yours, making you gasp.

“Should we—should we not wait until we are married?” You stuttered out, body reacting instinctively to his.

Aemond’s grip tightened on you, and he pulled your hips against his, moaning at the stimulation. “We could, if you wished, but I do believe it is time to claim what I have paid for.”

His low, low voice sent shivers down your spine. You knew if you asked him to stop, he would. Ever your protector, Aemond would never do anything that would cause you to fear him, but you did not wish for him to stop.

You whined his name, tugging him impossibly closer. “Then do so, I am yours to claim, husband.”

Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @svtansdaddyx, @fan-goddess, @dc-marvel-girl96, @shintax-error, @bellameshipper, @the141bandicoot, @the-phantom-of-arda

[izayoichan]

2, 4, 7, 17, 30, and all creator questions for my boi :)

For the boi!

2. How easy is it for your character to laugh? Very easy, he is the type that can laugh about almost anything, even when they hit their toe against something sharp, they just can't help but laugh, even though it fucking hurts. He also has a very contagous laugh, the type that if he starts and really gets the chuckles, no one in a room could either not smile, or start laughing too.

4. How easy is it to earn their trust? He is far from the worst with it, although I think he is good at giving people some trust to begin with, and then let them prove to him that they are worth more trust that just that little bit in the beginning. So you have to work a bit to get into that proper inner circle of trust. Outwardly that makes him seem really trustful to most.

7. What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling? There are two things that are equal for him nostaliga wise. (this is a bit of a spoiler, but ah well) watching pairs skate is something that triggers nostalgia for him. After him and Ye-Min's accident he never got a new partner to skate with, but went solo. He doesn't mind that feeling, but it is bittersweet for him. It's hard to wonder what if. The other thing is helping out at the shelter. It brings back all the memories he had a child, and he loves the feeling it gives. It's simply comforting. So yes, he brings his daughter along, to hopefully give her the same feelings as he has when there.

17. Are they easily embarrassed? Suprisingly yes. He has learned how to hide it well due to his job, but yeah, he is quite easily embarrased. He doesn't blush easily, but a tell tell sign is shuffeling of feet and twiddeling his fingers when he gets embarrased.

30. Who do they most regret meeting? Hmh... I don't know if he regrets meeting anyone, he has been lucky that way. The only thing that comes to mind, is some of the kids that were bullies when he were younger, saying that his love for figure skating wasn't good. And then for me: A: Why are you excited about this character? Because he is so different from the normal character I make. I tend to make the happy couples and all that, and Rylan simply deviates from that norm, and I adore him for that. B: What inspired you to create them? He kinda did himself, I do play the kids a little, I made him a teen, and no matter who flirted with him, no one was interrested. So first I was thinking a bachelor, to find that spark, but after talking about it with @mahvaladara i realized I didn't feel that was right. He shouldn't have to fall in love with anyone if he so clearly did not want to. C: Did you have trouble figuring out where they fit in their own story? Yes, because my brain followed my standard they shall find someone and live happily ever after in the end, but they wanted differently. D: Have they always had the same physical appearance, or have you had to edit how they look? They aged up pretty much the way they looked now, I had to add the horns, scales hair and eyes, but other than that he is basically just how he grew up. E: Are they someone you would get along with? Would they get along with you? Yeah, I think we would get along, We share a few traits, and some ways of thinking.

F: What do you feel when you think of your OC (pride, excitement, frustration, etc)? A half a year ago: Frustration, because i did not know what to do with them, none of the original idea felt right. Now, exitment and pride in who I feel they chose to be.

G: What trait of theirs bothers you the most? He is a athletic one.. so he always wants to exercise, mostly skate tbh, but its every single time I try and do something, like poses, he breaks out and does pushups, goes to skate and so on.

H: What trait do you admire most? His devotion to his family, specially his daughter and her mother. Even though they are not together, he cares deeply for both of them, and his family in general. He is very very family oriented.

I: Do you prefer to keep them in their canon universe? I don't mind him going a bit in the fantasy direction on occasion, or an AU if it comes to mind. As long as his little one can come with, I'm happy with whatever my silly mind can come up with.

J: Did you have to manipulate or exclude canon factors to allow them to create their character? Luckily not. He had no big canon other than being part of the story I have.

thank you for asking!

[unrestrainedbalderdash]

I have another Riddler & Reader fanfic! It will have multiple chapters, you can read it on AO3 or read it below the cut :)

Disclaimers:

I'm very inexperienced when it comes to writing, I'm just an oriented aroace who's fuelled by desperation, spite and Riddler brainrot

Allos can interact but please be mindful that it isn't for you

I'm English so there may be language differences if you're American

Rating: This chapter is teen but in future the fic will probably be mature for some violence and trauma

Warnings: Swearing, near-death experience, kidnapping kind of (it's a little complicated, but it's not as scary or anything)

Reader insert info: Vigilante, Batfam member, not good at riddles, a bit of an idiot

Word count: 2571

You hold the cape tighter around you as you glance over the case files. You glare at the jigsaw pieces, your hands shaking too much to put them together well. Alfred comes down the service elevator, his tray carrying two mugs. “Thank you!” you say, taking the hot chocolate, as Batman gives a little grunt of appreciation and starts sipping the coffee. Alfred gives a little shiver. “Sir, might I suggest we have a check in with our old friend Victor?” “Hmh. Batcomputer, which inmates are in Arkham?” Batman asks. You manage to put two of the pieces of the sprawling jigsaw together as the computer lists off people registered as currently in Arkham. You let out a sigh of frustration, hoping that soon the Riddler will be on that list. Batman scowls at the screen. “That’s odd. Energy readings in his cell are lower than usual. It’s night time, the inmates should be sleeping,” he says. “He’s escaped?” you say, taking a sip of the hot chocolate and letting the marshmallows flow onto your tongue. “Well, I do believe we know who our culprit is,” Alfred says. “Freeze willingly admitted himself into Arkham. He seemed regretful of everything and wanting the help. Why would he now escape?” Batman asks. You take a long sip of the hot chocolate and look at Batman – any excuse to take your eyes off of that damned puzzle with its garish colours. He looks at you. “I’ll investigate. Get some rest,” Batman says. You and Alfred start to go upstairs. You can hear the roar of the Batmobile below you, but as soon as you cross the threshold into Wayne Manor, you can’t hear it anymore.

That night, you dream of the Riddler. He’s laughing, and you run after him, but he’s always out of reach. You leap at him desperately, and shatter on the ground into tiny little jigsaw pieces. He starts putting them together, forming the word idiot – stupid – fool – it is constantly changing. When you wake up, you are shivering. You realise this is not from the dream, but is from the cold.

The next days are a blur. Crime is soaring, and you spend most of the time alone in the Batcave, with Alfred frequently coming down with warm drinks, snacks, and encouragement. Sometimes Batman comes back, hot on the trail of Mr Freeze. Occasionally, Robin comes in after going on patrol. You wish Oracle was available to help. She’s a genius. But there are serious threats with danger to life, while all the Riddler has been doing is draining bank accounts every day, something which can easily be reversed once he is stopped. With every bank account, the owner logs into the website only to find that instead of their balance, they see a riddle. You’re pondering the answers as you glare at the geometric shapes on the jigsaw.

Wait… they look like… a map…

On the largest segment you’ve assembled, you recognise it as your favourite park you used to go to. Before.

You think about the answers to the riddles. You have a hunch. And you’re going to act on it. That night, after Alfred sees the dark circles under your eyes and sends you to bed, you sneak back into the Batcave. This is your chance to prove yourself. This is your chance to finally meet an A-list Rogue. You’re walking out of the Batcave, running, tightly holding your cape around you. The air is chillier as you get deeper into the city. You hear the crunching of snow beneath your feet. Teeth chattering, you glance back, and see the footprints are gone, already filled in with more snow. You have to persist. You can’t tell if you’re on the grass yet. The snow is too deep and you can’t feel the texture of the ground. Now you can’t feel your feet. The crunch of the snow is slowing. You can barely see through all of the snow. Snowflakes are falling all around, and your cape is covered in white, as you can finally see something through the white of the blizzard. You will your arm to move, and it creeps forward, getting closer to the door, closer… closer… closer…

Stop.

Stripes of warmth streak across your face. You will yourself to make your brain fire signals that cause your eyelids to slowly, slowly creep open, painstakingly slow, too slow, it’s like there’s no energy left in your body. You see… him. His gloveless hands are stroking both sides of your face, filling it with warmth. You want to yell at him, insult him for tormenting you with that hellish jigsaw puzzle, but your mouth sluggishly opens then hangs there as no sound comes out. The Riddler’s face is so close to yours, his breath warm on your skin. Your eyes start twitching as he continues gently rubbing your cheeks. You want to move away from this villain who has you at his mercy, but you can’t even feel the rest of your body. It is evident that some colour has returned to your face, as he takes his hands away, and takes your gloves off, beginning to hold your hands. Warmth floods through them. You try to tell him to go away, but instead you make a pathetic little whimper. He strokes your hands. “Shh. You have the honour, the privilege of having your life saved by the Prince of Puzzles. I haven’t taken your mask off, it would be too easy to reveal the identity of an idiot like you when I can easily deduce your identity by myself,” he says, the warmth of his hands filling your hands, and the condescension of his words filling your mind with the urge to smack him. “Come on, how foolish, little Bat! We’re in a one digit temperature! You seriously expected you could waltz into my lair wearing nothing but that silly outfit?” He gives a condescending laugh. Your face heats up, a mixture of rage and embarrassment. “Good, that’ll thaw you out.” He smirks. You can’t take how insufferable he is, and you start to move your arm, willing your blood to try and flow through the arteries and make the muscles start moving, rising – he tightly grips your wrist, and uses his fingers to unclench your fist. You glare at him as you can’t stop your fingers from sinking into his. “Ah, ah, ah, vigilante! You wouldn’t be planning to hit me, would you?” he says, a cheeky smile on his incredibly punchable face. His purple mask is creasing at the eyes. “Jig… saw… fuck… you…” you say, the words finally coming out of your mouth. It doesn’t even feel like you’re talking. He gives a little chuckle. “Oh my, you’ve taken a long time, haven’t you? I would have assembled it all a week ago! Anyway, little Bat, I can’t have you trying to hit me, even if I am irresistible,” he says, a smug smile on his face. He gets up for a bit and goes to a drawer, as you try desperately to wiggle your fingers and get the blood rushing back to your arm. You need to hit this smug man. He strides back over to you, and catches your sluggish fist with ease, enveloping it with his warmth. He hooks a handcuff around your fist, and closes it, before cuffing the other hand. Your arms droop down as soon as he lets go of the bulky cuffs. “The little Bat isn’t strong enough for some measly handcuffs? My, my, they let anyone be a vigilante these days,” he says, with a little chuckle. You grimace, and his expression softens a little. He pats you on the head with his warm hand. In his other hand is a remote control. “There’s a reason why it’s so heavy. I wouldn’t put you through meaningless suffering, little Bat,” he says, pressing the button. Instantly, you feel warmth flowing into your wrists. You can feel your glare melt away as the warmth spreads through your arms. “There we are. That’ll warm you up!” he says, clapping his hands together and giving a little smile, “Isn’t it ingenious?” His mask widens. He’s giving puppy eyes. “What do you… want…” “For one of the Bat-Kids not to die on the doorstep of my secret hideout? How old even are you, anyway?” “Not… a kid!” “It doesn’t matter, you’re a mere child compared to me. What are you doing up so late on a school night?” “Man… child!”

He feigns an offended look. At least, you hope he’s feigning it. What if he isn’t? “S-sorry,” you say, the thoughts getting the better of you. He gives a little laugh. “It was a joke, child child,” he says, giving you another headpat. Now that you’ve given up on the idea of punching him in the face, you have to appreciate the warmth and softness of his hands. You can feel your body again as the warmth spreads. He gives a little smile and ruffles your hair. “You’re the most adorable person I’ve ever kidnapped.” You tense up, cold dread rushing through you, but it makes a lot of sense. Why would he just let you go? His eyes scan your expression. “Hey. I’m not as lowly as such cretins as the Joker. I won’t be hurting you. I don’t need to, I could easily defeat you in a battle of wits.” You pause. “Kid, you were unconscious an hour. Frozen. In that time, I invented these heated handcuffs especially for you with my genius wit, all the while trying to keep your body warm enough for you to not die. Would I go through all of that trouble just to kill you?” he says, a sincere look on his face.

“That bloody jigsaw was killing me,” you say. He lets out a laugh. “How long did it take for you to put it together and solve it?” “I didn’t put it all together. I had a section of around 30 pieces done, and realised it was a map. I was thinking about the riddles in the bank account hackings, and I had a hunch.” “A hunch?! You came out here in a blizzard on a hunch?!” he says, incredulous, “I don’t know if I should laugh or be concerned!” You look away, embarrassed. He puts his warm hand on your shoulder. “Well… it was the right hunch. Even though you were incredibly foolish. I haven’t heard of you, so I’m assuming you’re new. Don’t take risks like that until you’ve got some experience under your belt.” You glance down, and see that he has removed your utility belt. You glance around the room. The walls are made of the building’s original stone, but filled with electrical gizmos and lights, and covered in writing and little doodles in green. There are drawings of Batman in increasingly comical deathtraps.

“What… will you do to me?” you ask. “Well, I’ll be keeping you hostage. As soon as it’s warm enough to leave the building, I’ll be using you as bait to lure Batman into my clutches,” he says. “I’ll be keeping you alive and well while we bide our time.” You have a sinking feeling. You’re his hostage now. You didn’t even get chance to say goodbye. “My… they’re gonna be worried about me…” you say, voice cracking a little. You wince; it hurts your throat. “I w-went here without telling anyone…” He gives a little chuckle, then sees the look on your face. He instantly softens. “I’ll send Batman a riddle, okay? If he can wrap his head around it then he’ll know you’re alive and… as well as can be, considering you almost froze to death.” He gently pats your shoulder, giving a smile that seems to have gentleness behind it. The moment lasts for a few seconds, then he speaks again. “Kid, you look exhausted. I’ll get sleeping arrangements sorted.”

He walks off, and you wait, basking in the warmth of the handcuffs. You can feel the faint chill around you, and eventually, he returns. He’s changed outfit now, wearing a green flannel robe, with purple question marks inside each square in the pattern, and matching pyjama bottoms. You can see a matching buttoned top peeking through the robe. It feels weird, seeing him without the hat on, or the mask, instead wearing rectangular glasses. He’s holding more clothes in his arms, and takes you to a little bathroom, with no windows. He undoes your handcuffs, and gives you the clothes. “I’ll leave you a little privacy now. Don’t you dare escape,” he says, smirking at the end. He leaves you to do your business and get changed.

You leave the bathroom in the soft, warm flannel. He immediately grabs your wrist and handcuffs you again. He lets out a little chuckle at how baggy the pyjamas are on you, and ruffles your hair. You glare at him, but can’t deny that his hands are warm. You’re still wearing your mask, and you have to admit that you probably look very silly. He leads you to the bedroom, and takes you to a little mattress at the side of a large bed, with question mark carvings. He puts his hand on your head and pushes you down onto the mattress, a little smile on his face. “Did you want the proper bed?” he asks, a smug smile on his face, and the hints of a laugh coming through his voice. “Honestly, I’d sleep on the floor if it meant you’d have to sleep on the floor,” you reply, some of your irritation returning. He may be warm, but he is still insufferable, and you think you might dream about punching him in the face tonight. He lets out a little chuckle. “Too bad! Because it doesn’t! Tell you what, how about I ask you a riddle, and if you get it right, you can choose the sleeping arrangement. There are twenty people at a party who will only shake hands with someone bigger than them. How many handshakes occur?” he asks. You think for a while. “190?” He laughs like a man with Joker Gas. “190?! 190?! Ha! The answer is 0! Once again, I win!” You snarl at him. He giggles, and ruffles your hair again. “Calm down, angry dog! You should have known you wouldn’t win!” The Riddler walks over to the door, and starts placing lines of string everywhere. “I could just leave you to whatever escape attempt you’ve been concocting in that mind of yours, but I’m starting to doubt you have one. I’m not so heartless as to let you die in the cold. If you’re so intent on going out to die, you’ll have to sneak past these. I look forward to waking up in the middle of the night to the alarm.”

Eventually, the room is surrounded by string. He gives a smug smile, and turns his attention back to you. He wraps you in a fluffy blanket, and puts thick bedcovers on top of you, tucking you in. You feel so snug, and you have to admit it’s so toasty and warm. He gets onto his own bed, covering himself in several blankets. He looks down at you, a smile on his face, and turns off the light. Unable to escape, you decide to let sleep come, and drift off.

[chesters-ocs]

something overtook me. i just like it when theyre teenagers and fucking stupid and then have to face minor consequences for their minor actions. its funny to me

wc: 1k

The unlocked window of the 2nd floor bedroom is slowly pushed open, as the teen climbs in. He quietly closes it shut afterwards, before glancing around the dark room.

"Psst, Syl!" he whisper-yelled to the lump under the blankets.

He gets no response.

"Syl?"

"... Wha.." he grumbles, turning around in the bed, scowling at the intruder who woke him up from the nap.

"Sleeping?"

"Fuck do you think?" Sylvester cusses, his voice creakier than usual, eyes puffy.

"God, you look like shit, man," he muses, pressing a warm hand to his forehead, before pulling back with a raised brow at the heat.

"Your dads know you're sick?"

"..."

"Sylvester..."

"Don't wanna worry em'," he waves the concern off, to no awail, as his boyfriend just scoffs, sitting down next in the chair across the room.

"Hmh. Mind if i stay around then?"

"Do whatever. Night," Sylvester groans, rolling over again and curling up under the blankets.

"Night. Dream of me~" Adam teases, though not getting any response, except a slight snore. He fell asleep already.

The teen just looks around the dim room then. It's a mess of stuff everywhere, ranging from walls covered in band posters to a pile of mystery items on the dresser. His gaze briefly lingers on the bright red bass guitar: a near and dear possession of Sylvester's. He recalls something about his buddy gifting it to him so they could start their band.

Leaning back in the chair, Adam just stared at the ceiling, before lighting a cigarette and then toying with his lighter, flickering the flame on and off constantly, finding the repeated action soothing. As for the cigarette smoke... he'll ventilate later, Adam figured as he watched the smoke dissipate in the air.

It was a peaceful moment, just him, the feel of tobacco in his lungs and the slow breathing of his boy on the bed.

Pocketing the lighter as the cigarette neared to its end, he was startled by the door opening, being too zoned out to hear footsteps of one of the grownups approaching.

"What the fuck..." the low voice of one of the father's muttered, causing Adam to jump.

"Jesus-!" he swore in surprise, accidentally extinguishing the cigarette butt on his own skin, followed by more assorted curses in languages Vikram had only heard his friends speak.

"Adam?! What are you- Hey, show me that!" he ordered, already grabbing the hand the teen was clutching in an effort to self-soothe the burn, as if he could smell the burn itself. His intention to stay quiet in his sleeping son's room out the window right away.

"Piss off! It's fine," the teen attempted to pull away, to little success.

Not taken aback by the attitude, the father just yanked him upright from the chair, a clear instruction on his tongue: "Bathroom, now. Hand under running cool water, but not freezing. Got it?"

"And if i don't?" Adam challenged.

"Then I take away those fucking cigarettes of yours for good."

"Real scary," the teen rolled his eyes at the threat, not at all impressed by it, which worked to grind Vikram's gears further.

"Just go already. I need to ventilate this place now, thanks to you! I'll check in 5 minutes, so you know."

Sighing, Adam left, begrudgingly following the advice.

In the meanwhile, Vikram opened the windows wide, wanting to get rid of the smoke plaguing his son's room. He briefly wondered why the smoke alarm hadn't picked up on it, but if he were to check, the man would find no batteries within the device. Though, it's a problem for a different day, as the teen stirred from the fever-induced nap finally, the loud yawn drawing the attention from his father.

"... Ugh... Adam?" he slurred, sitting upright in bed. One hand reached up to rub the sleep from his eyes. Upon stretching, he found himself in the midst of a coughing fit, likely from the smoke.

He grunted softly as a hand found it's way into his hair, stroking the dyed hair, which was followed by a familiar voice, which held the warmth of a hundred suns: "He's in the bathroom. Sleep well?"

At first, all he got was a slight wince, as the teenager stifled the coughs, composing himself, which morphed into a low, needy whine. The sound, ever so uncharacteristic, caused a spike of concern.

"Sylvester?"

"Mmm...?"

"Are you alright?"

"... Dunno," he drawled lazily, which was when Vikram checked his temperature. He almost didn't want to pull his hand back, with how heavily his son leaned into his touch, not missing the small purr which escaped.

Though instinct overtook him, and as much as he wanted to stay and comfort the sick teen, he knew he needed to at least ask his husband to make stew for their kid, as well as to check on the little troublemaker who, surprisingly, had not left the bathroom.

As the father stood up, his heart almost broke at the soft whine, but he persisted.

"Cold," was a one word complaint which finally set the man into action. Swiftly rising and reaching the still-open windows, he closed them, deeming the room ventilated enough for the time being.

"Go back to sleep, I'll wake you up for dinner," he urged from the doorway, before shutting it completely.

Once in the hall, his gaze flickered to the other teenager in the house right now, who was now wiping his hands on a towel, the bathroom door wide open.

"Adam! With me. Now."

He was surprised when he actually complied without a word, bringing him to the kitchen, where the burn soothing gels were kept. He uncorked one and passed it to the injured teen, grimacing slightly as he finally got a good look at the skin discoloration, which will surely not go away for a handful of months at the very least. Probably will scar too.

His husband looked at the two of them warmly: "Oh, hello! Something happen?"

"Yes. Could you make that one soup Sylvester likes? Adam will explain what happened in the meanwhile."

"What- Hey!"

[hyog-blog]

This is so on point! And I believe ZYZ is actually heavily traumatized, psychologically, by everything that's happened. Losing Li Lun was bad enough (and causing him, unwillingly, deathly damage, like, he didn't even have the time to process it when Li Lun took off all hurt and burning with anger and the sheer betrayal of it all).

Mentally they were totally in their teens, with ZYZ being somewhat better in terms of emotional intelligence (in my headcanon) because he must have spent more time in the human realm, picking up on various things and coping mechanisms (or lack of them, but he could still witness and learn from humans how to deal with emotional stuff).

I assume he pretty much lost it and spiraled into depression long before the blood moon came, it just amplified that inner conflict that he had, just like the OP has described so well, leading to all those murders. But his personality, his sane self simply couldn't process it all upon coming back from that brink of darkness, hence he shoved it all away (along with Li Lun who became a living symbol of what he did, of him losing himself to the darkness).

ZYZ actually seriously started thinking that after he had done all he could do was only die, so he planned and seeked death willingly, specifically, painfully so. Like no amount of remorse could ever grant him the absolution for what he had done. And Li Lun, while being part of the whole thing, certainly became a much lesser issue in the grand scale of things (because ZYZ simply didn't want to live any longer, so why even bother making amends with his lover? Especially when he thought he didn't deserve to be forgiven). And as I see it, even if Li Lun saw reason earlier and came to him as a friend or at least as a former lover, it wouldn't have made any difference.

For ZYZ keeping any kind of relationship with Li Lun made no point at that exact moment - he'd be dead soon anyway. That, and he probably didn't have any mental capacity to be that ray of light that could bring Li Lun from the darkness he was facing himself. They simply couldn't be that for each other in that particular situation, and after everything that's happened. And Li Lun certainly didn't understand ZYZ and his motivation, or his deathwish, wallowing in his own pain and grief.

Even HMH said in his interview that Zhao Yuanzhou was constantly depressed - and this is something we can all understand. And he was depressed up to the point of getting suicidal - he didn't do it himself just because he couldn't (he wanted to stop this whole malicious energy vessel thing from happening ever again, ignoring the fact that was the natural cycle of things in that particular Universe they are living in). So he was intent on both dying and at least somehow fixing the world while he was at it [if I'm remembering the canon correctly.]

I mean, psychologically, it's an actual miracle he even got to feel some happiness, or something other than total despair and deathwish. And we have to thank Wen Xiao and Zhuo Yichen for that. Because Li Lun wouldn't have been able to do that for him, he was too much like him in a way. So it took one unapologetically human and open-hearted and forgiving Zhuo Yichen to heal him at least a little bit. And one caring, loving, accepting, and gentle, and humorous Goddess to heal him some more. And a bunch of cute kids. And being able to help someone, care for someone, bringing a new meaning to his whole existence. His healing arc is a topic for a whole different essay, but yeah))

Thank you OP, it's so pleasing to read such a beautiful analysis.

Zhao Yuanzhou is certainly a character with many flaws, but I see him in the situation with Li Lun not so much as cruel as weak.

He was also a teenager, like Li Lun, only a soft-hearted naive idealist. When his naive world collapsed, it shook him to the point of essentially a psychotic breakdown and a split personality. Because I am strongly convinced that the story with the ever burning wood and the red moon is not the cause, but a metaphor for what happened between them.

When Li Lun committed an act of aggression, the adults said that Li Lun should be isolated - and Zhao Yuanzhou obeyed the adults, because he is actually a very driven person. But his soul still could not accept this situation. And so in his breakdown, he killed the goddess - who had just imprisoned Li Lun.

And then he destroyed the Demon Hunting Bureau. Because well ... the subconscious, having entered into an aggressive rage, does not conduct an investigation and distinguishes who is right and who is guilty. He sees a sign that says "demon hunters" and takes out all his unexpressed anger on them, both for the demons in the clinic's cages and for Li Lun.

But then he woke up with blood on his hands, and after that, even thinking about Li Lun became unbearable. Because now Li Lun is not just a loved one who made a mistake. Li Lun is now his own unbearable guilt, that burning him from the inside.

And in my opinion, this is a fairly accurate metaphor for how the inability to face your own dark side makes you no less dangerous to others than the one who brings his dark side into the world.

All this certainly did not make the situation any easier for Li Lun, who first learned that in the human world, creatures like him are caged like wild animals. And then his closest and most beloved people essentially did the same to him. What meaning can he see in the world after that? And empathy and morality are actually very fragile things, easily dying if the world and your own life cease to have meaning for you.

And for me too, I would like, if not a better ending, then at least more sympathy for Li Lun from the other characters. The most he got in life was recognition that they did not want him to die in the eyes of Zhuo Yichen and Zhao Yuanzhou.

In general, of all the anomaly characters in the drama - Zhuo Yichen, Zhao Yuanzhou, Li Lun, Bai Jiu - only Zhuo Yichen received at least some explanation about how the world works from a respected adult in childhood. And how it changes things!

All the others fell into the world of prejudices, understanding almost nothing about themselves or about humans and immediately got into the most epic troubles.

[lifethroughrainbowglasses]

We Are Not Free by Traci Chee

Category: Walter Award

Publisher: HMH Books for Young Readers

“We are not free. But we are not alone.” ― Traci Chee, We Are Not Free

We are Not Free by Traci Chee is a book told in glimpses. It is the short interconnected stories of fourteen Japanese American teenagers experiencing World War II and the Japanese internment camps in the United States. The stories show different experiences and perspectives throughout the war from a young soldier, prisoner, aspiring starlet, female baseball player, and many more. The teens grew up together in Japantown, San Francisco but were moved to a relocation camp during the war eventually beginning to evolve and change all going in different directions throughout the story but staying connected through their identity and unique experiences.

I picked this book to review because it's one I've seen everywhere lately! This book is a Printz Award Nominee and a Walter Award Nominee and has been nominated for quite a few young adult literature awards. This book is a great addition to a young adult literature collection in a high school and would be a wonderful addition to the curriculum as well. This book is historical fiction which allows for discussions around the experiences of Japanese Americans in World War II and about an aspect of history that isn't discussed quite as much in the history books. Books like We Are Not Free can be a great introduction to the historical fiction genre and a starting point for valuable classroom discussions.

We Are Not Free was the book I was the most excited to read on this list because it was the book I had heard the most about but knew the least about in terms of the plot. Because the story follows fourteen different teenagers the fourteen voices are extremely distinct. One character writes purely in poetry, another communicates his experiences as a soldier, one is optimistic and hopeful, while another is pessimistic and scared. The characters range in age, family dynamics, and sexual orientation. I listened to the audiobook and read the physical book at the same time. The audiobook mirrored the physical book by having a full cast, and different narrators voiced different characters and it changed the dynamic drastically. I found myself connecting to each story in different ways. There were little tidbits that pulled me into each story making its themes universally accessible to readers of all experiences and ages. I will fully admit going into this that I didn't have a ton of knowledge about the Japanese internment camps in America. I knew they existed but I didn't know much about how they worked or the day-to-day experiences. This book created a vivid picture and understanding in my mind leading me to seek out more information about this part of American history. There is mature language and mature themes in this book but they are necessary to understanding the reality of what these teenagers were going through. I highly encourage anyone interested in reading this book to read it and go in with an open mind.

Chee, T. (2020). We are not free. HMH Books For Young Readers.

[alexander1301]

The Spooky movie day

*Alex and the gang were in Shadow's home for a Halloween Party, Debby is going to choose a movie*

😺📱🖥️Debby (Dressed as the Cat in the Hat): So which movie are we watching this year.

👷‍♂️Bobby (Dressed as a Rabbet): *stamering* [Please don't be elm streed X2].

😺📱🖥️Debby (Dressed as the Cat in the Hat): How about Scooby Doo 2 monsters unleashed.

👷‍♂️Bobby (Dressed as a Rabbit): Phew, ^^

🔴Alex (Dressed as Hack from Hack N Slash): Say Mrs. Ramcat, when was your 2 sons Shadow and Caleb come?

😺⚒️⚔️Paul (Dress as Cyborg from 2003 Teen Titans): Right here.

*Paul appears wearing the Cyborg Costume with Shadow R, Caleb, Tory, and Lisa dressed as Mario, Luigi and Peach and Daisy*

🙃🍔🥓Baco (Dressed as a Burger): Reminds me of Gotham city Imposters.

👦🏻🕶Milo (Dressed as Morgana from P5): Or in that case Jump City Imposter. XD

👦🏻🎮🕹Jermey (Dressed as Joker from P5): You sometimes are a joker, right?

*Debby installs the movie, and the Speedster Family came along with the rabbits*

😺📱🖥️Debby (Dressed as the Cat in the Hat): Ah you're just in time

🐶🚺Rita (Dressed as Wonder Woman): Oo, kaming lahat (Yes we were), Isn't that right my greatest Aasawa (Husband)?

🐰🚹Bonn (Dressed as the Great Fusili from Courage): Yeah I felt guilty turning our kids into puppets which we don't do, right?

🐰📚🍌Scottie (Dressed as Solider from TF2): We brought carrots for all of us to enjoy. ^^

🐰🎤Windy (Dressed as Cinderella): and My kids were here to hang out with all of us.

🐰🖌Maxwell (Dressed as Kaio): While my creator is finish up with Inktober let's all enjoy the Movie.

🐰👊💥May (Dressed as Tulip Olsen) and 🦊⚽️Sam (Dressed as Uncle grandpa): Hmh.

🐶🏎️Spot (Dressed as Jason Voorhees): Nothing creepy is going to scare us this year's Halloween, Right Ri?

🐰🏎️Riya (Dressed as Bianca from Spyro): Heck yeah! >:D

🐰🐻🔋Miya (Dressed as a Skeleton): AW YEAH!

⭐🔵Murukir (Dressed as an Illumination Minion): Count me in.

🔵Alejandro (Dressed as Charmy the Bee): Looks like the gangs here.

💟Amanda (Dressed as Cream the Rabbit): You said it. ^^

*And all the OC families were now watching Scooby doo 2 Monsters Unleashed on HBO MAX*

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Tags/Mentions: @carmenramcat @bryan360 @murumokirby360 @rafacaz4lisam2k4 @asteriskdatboi @lordromulus90

[600shekels]

2 Chronicles 8: 1-10. "Ishtar."

Solomon’s Other Activities

8 At the end of twenty years, during which Solomon built the temple of the Lord and his own palace, 2 Solomon rebuilt the villages that Hiram[a] "the Rival" had given him, and settled Israelites in them. 

By age 20, one should be ready to contemplate taking over the disciplines left behind by one's "rivals" from the time of one's youth.

The qualities of youth no one envies- the delusions, the arrogance, disobedience, laziness, risk taking, all of the aspects of the male teen boy everyone disdains, these must give way to the Rivals, the Israelites.

This means Solomon essentially became the Emperor of Israel and Lebanon. See below.

3 Solomon then went to Hamath Zobah and captured it. 4 He also built up Tadmor in the desert and all the store cities he had built in Hamath. 

Hamath Zobah=Beautiful Heat, Fortress Of The Garrison

The verb חמה (hmh) is not used in the Bible, but in cognate languages it means to surround, guard or protect. Perhaps this verb has nothing to do with the previous and only accidentally looks similar, but perhaps it ties into the fact that natural open fires aren't very warm and smelting metals require sophisticated ovens. 

Tadmor= "The Love Town."

It's a bit of a mystery what Tadmor might have meant to the locals back then, but in the first century AD the Romans were calling this town Palmyra, apparently after their word for palm, palma, and since the Hebrew word תמר (tamar) means palm and Tadmor was proverbially pervaded with palms, many old-school scholars figured that Tadmor somehow had to mean palm as well (possibly as a corruption of the Arabic תתמר, tatmor, meaning something like "bunch of palms" or "palm-rich") and moved on. Today, however, scholars are less convinced.

Hamath= A fortress

The Love Town is Lubavitch, located in Russia. It is the fulfillment of directions God gave Jewish prophets and sages to build a place where concentrations in the Jewish ideals of civilzation could be practiced and preserved.

Just as Solomon made Tadmor in the desert, places which are dry of violence and transgression, the Chasids, Jewish Royalty from time immemorial, esatablished their Court and Fortress in Lubavitch, Hebrew for Philadelphia.

5 He rebuilt Upper Beth Horon and Lower Beth Horon as fortified cities, with walls and with gates and bars, 

6 as well as Baalath and all his store cities, and all the cities for his chariots and for his horses[b]—whatever he desired to build in Jerusalem, in Lebanon and throughout all the territory he ruled.

Beth Horon= The Hollow House, the House of Freedom

בית

The noun בית (bayit) means house. It sometimes merely denotes a domestic building, but mostly it denotes the realm of authority of the house-father, or אב (ab). This ab is commonly the living alpha male of a household, but may very well be a founding ancestor (as in the familiar term the "house of Israel"). The אב (ab) may also be a deity, in which case the בית (bayit) is that which we know as a temple.

חרר

The root חרר (harar) describes a society's central and enclosed source of heat. It thus may express a geographical depression, but more so a being hot and ultimately a being a ruler (whether by might, political clout or wisdom).

Balath=the Landlady

בעל

The verb בעל (ba'al) means to exercise dominion over; to own, control or be lord over. The ubiquitous noun בעל (ba'al) means lord, master and even husband, and its feminine counterpart בעלה (ba'ala) means mistress or landlady.

So Solomon conquers the territory given to him by Hiram and rules over all of Israel and Lebanon except he does so by educating the people and setting them free.

There are two "hollow houses" in the human body according to the Torah, the one in the chest and the other behind the navel. When both are free through slavery to the Instructions, then society autmatically becomes subjet to the Mistress, and who is she?

She is called Astarte, or Ishtar, the Union of the Instructions. Also called a Constitution, the inner one and also the one that holds nations together and ensures their surival and progress.

Even still, there were Terribles about the land:

7 There were still people left from the Hittites, Amorites, Perizzites, Hivites and Jebusites (these people were not Israelites). 

In Va'etchanan, God said do not have relations with these persons, who do not dwell in territories that are ceremonially clean and cannot afford to offer refuge:

Driving Out the Nations

7 When the Lord your God brings you into the land you are entering to possess and drives out before you many nations—the Hittites "who fears", Girgashites "thieves, infertile" , Amorites "talkers", Canaanites "Royals", Perizzites "rural villager", Hivites "tent villagers" and Jebusites "those trodden down", seven nations larger and stronger than you— 

2 and when the Lord your God has delivered them over to you and you have defeated them, then you must destroy them totally.[g] Make no treaty with them, and show them no mercy. 

3 Do not intermarry with them. Do not give your daughters to their sons or take their daughters for your sons, 

4 for they will turn your children away from following me to serve other gods, and the Lord’s anger will burn against you and will quickly destroy you. 

5 This is what you are to do to them: Break down their altars, smash their sacred stones, cut down their Asherah poles[h] "happiness, a pole that is straight up!" and burn their idols in the fire. 

6 For you are a people holy to the Lord your God. The Lord your God has chosen you out of all the peoples on the face of the earth to be his people, his treasured possession.

-> There are Seven Nations and Seven Days of Devolution associated with them:

The First Day: Hittites "who fears".

The Second Day: Girgashites "thieves, infertile",

The Third Day: Amorites "talkers", 

The Fourth Day: Canaanites "royals",

The Fifth Day: Perizzites "rural villager", 

The Sixth Day: Hivites "tent villagers" and

The Seventh Day: Jebusites "those trodden down".

8 Solomon conscripted the descendants of all these people remaining in the land—whom the Israelites had not destroyed—to serve as slave labor, as it is to this day. 

9 But Solomon did not make slaves of the Israelites for his work; they were his fighting men, commanders of his captains, and commanders of his chariots and charioteers. 

10 They were also King Solomon’s chief officials—two hundred and fifty officials supervising the men.

To make slaves of the qualities that do not work on their own for the benefit of mankind is appropriate. Israelites must never be slaves only slavemasters.

250 officials=the very same that tried to force God to reveal Himself through scripture without the help of the temple priests:

When it becomes clear that Korach and the 250 “men of renown” are aspiring to the kehunah (priesthood) themselves, Moses challenges them to offer ketoret to G‑d—the most sacred of the divine services in the Sanctuary, permitted only to a priest, and only under special circumstances. Aaron, whose appointment as kohen gadol (high priest) they are contesting, will also offer the ketoret. “Come morning, and G‑d will show who is His, and who is holy . . . and he whom He has chosen will He bring near to Him.”

Korach and the 250 men accept the challenge. “They took every man his censer, and put fire in them, and laid incense on them, and stood in the door of the Tent of Meeting with Moses and Aaron.” The people are sympathetic to Korach’s rebellion, and gather en masse at the entrance to the Sanctuary.

=

The firstborn, his son Aaron attained to greatness, and Moses to royalty. Who then should rightly take the next office? Is it not the next in line?

Shall the [son of the] youngest of my father’s brothers be superior to me? Behold, I shall dispute his decision and put to naught all that has been arranged by him . . .

This is what happened between Solomon and Hiram. Hiram accepts Solomon's challenge to build his kingdom through collaboration on a new temple, Solomon accepts Hiram's challenge to be the most learned man possible.

This is what is meant by the Unity of the Instructions, to bring the current and the newest generation together through the driving out of the delusions of the generation that has just gone to ground, ensuring the entire world eventually has to submit to the Imperialistic Whims of the Most High.

[thepaige-turner]

ig: thepaige_turner

[the-dust-jacket]

[versifybooks]

No better way to start 2019 than with a great book...and even better, we’re officially in the year when Versify’s first list publishes! 

[candidcover]

(via Review: YOU OWE ME A MURDER by Eileen Cook)

You Owe Me a Murder by Eileen Cook is a high-stakes thriller that is stressful to read, but in a good way. The plot is full of twists and the characters are enjoyable. The  writing style is suspenseful and has edge-of-your-seat action that is present throughout the whole story. This is one incredible thriller for those looking to read a unique murder novel.

[hmhteen]

HMH Teen Teaser: ONCE A KING by Erin Summerill!

 The holidays are right around the corner, and do we have a gift for you: an excerpt of ONCE A KING, the new standalone fantasy from Erin Summerill publishing 12.4! While fans of EVER THE HUNTED will find some nice easter eggs in this book, it’s a total standalone about the noble journey a young king takes to ensure lasting peace in his kingdom. (It’s also about falling in love with someone you really, really shouldn’t.) 

Scroll down to read the first two chapters!

CHAPTER ONE- Lirra

I lean against the dusty elementiary shelf crammed with books and jars of animal bits, and stare at my father’s letter. His nearly indecipherable scratch strikes me  with swift disappointment. Gods, the All Kingdoms’ Summit happens only every five years. It’s not as if Da hasn’t had time enough to arrange his schedule.  The  remainder  of Da’s  message is blocked by another letter. It’s sealed in my father’s wax and addressed to someone named AC. My heartbeat slogs through my ears, muting  the chatter of mismatched accents and clatter of carriage wheels outside the Elementiary. What a fool I am for thinking this time Da’s priori- ties would include something other than busi- ness. Having worked for my father for five years, I know better than to be hurt by this news. Just as I know, without reading further, Da needs me to deliver the letter to AC.

I suppose it also shouldn’t be surprising that there’s no note here for the littleuns or Eugenia, my stepmother and worrier extraordinaire. Overwhelmed by black-market trade and valuable secrets, Da tends to forget all else.

“Lirra, you done?” Orli’s clipped tone echoes from the other side of the shelf.

I fold Da’s letter, intending to finish it later, and squeeze my fingers along the parchment seam. One, two, three sharp slides.

“Almost,” I call out, and shove the now-empty box back into concealment behind a jar of rat tails. To maintain our family’s anonymity and safety, Da sends correspondences here for me to retrieve in secret. He trusts few people more than Astoria, the Elementiary owner and my former magic teacher.

“What’d he write?” Orli asks when I come into view.

My best friend is standing by the door, trapped in a stream of dusty light, right hand strangling the doorknob, the usual tawny tone leached from her knuckles. Despite her unease with Channeler magic, she’s accompanied me here every week since Da left.

“He won’t be returning for a while.” I pick at the broken seal.

“You mean he’ll miss the start of the tournament, right? He’ll return for the jubilee and the other summit festivities.”

I shake my head.

Raven brows shoot up. “He’s going to miss your jubilee performance?”

My nail wedges under the last bit of red wax and frees it from the parchment. “Aye.”

Astoria has one hand on her cane and the other clutch- ing a pile of books, going about business as she usually does whenever I slip inside the Elementiary to pick up Da’s mail. She ambles out of the backroom to her desk, where she deposits the stack. I’m not entirely sure she’s noticed me until she lifts an age-spotted finger to shove her spectacles higher and then points to the letter in my hand. “Not what you were hoping?”

I slip it into my satchel and force a smile. “That’s the way it is with Da’s business.”

“Oh, dear girl.” She frowns. “And it’s your first year enter- ing the jubilee.”

The sadness magnified in her watery blue eyes sours my mood.

My gaze drops to the ring of dirt darkening the hem of my day dress.

There’s a shuffle thump of steps on the wood floors, and then Astoria’s arms come around me, squeezing me to her wonderfully round body.

“Your da knows it’s important to you.” The love she radi- ates makes me feel like a cat basking in the sun. “He’d be there if he could.”

Astoria has been Da’s friend and closest confidant since before my birth. She offered us a safe place to hide at her home in Shaerdan after we escaped Malam’s Purge — the Channeler eradication that would have seen me killed for my magic ability. We have lived near her ever since. She understands Da better than anyone, but I don’t want to hear her talk him up right now.

“She knows,” Orli says. “All set to go, Lirra?” Her despera- tion to leave the Channeler school is as potent as the scent of lavender here.

“You don’t have to leave so soon.” Astoria returns to her desk. “Come away from that door and sit down.”

“We need to run by the docks. Getting through all the visi- tors’ carriages will take time.” Orli points to the blown-glass windows. Outside, a rainbow of fabric has assaulted Shaer- dan’s capital city of Celize. Passersby wear their kingdoms’ colors like a shield. Usually, the northern edge of town, where the cliffs climb up from the docks, sees little traffic. Travelers have invaded all of my hometown, even the quiet roads stretching east into farmlands and forests. Scores of people from the four neighboring kingdoms have been  arriving for days in anticipation of the All Kingdoms’ Summit and festivities — the Channeler Jubilee, the Tournament of Cham- pions, and the Kingdoms’ Market.

“Orli is right,” I say. “We need extra time to look at the crowds.” I have things to pick up for my jubilee exhibit that can’t wait until tomorrow.

Astoria fiddles with the wrist button of her dress sleeve. “See you next week?”

I nod, even though it’s uncertain if she’s referring to the jubilee showcase or my next mail visit. My head is stuck on a memory from five years ago. At the last jubilee, Da and I watched from the sidelines. Channelers from across the king- doms showed displays of magic. Breathless and awed, I confessed my dream to perform at the next jubilee.

Next week’s jubilee.

Da said he wouldn’t miss it for all the world.

 ***

Silence is the sweetest sound in the Barrett home, and such a rare thing to be had. It’s alarming how loud the boards creak underfoot as Orli and I sneak inside the back door, both of us carrying packages from the dock market. Packages that could be easily snapped in half by my younger brothers’ grubby fin- gers.

“Where is everyone?” Orli mouths.

I shake my head. The kitchen is filled with the usual mess, minus my family. Dirty dishrags lie heaped in a pile on Grandmother’s table beside a discarded, half-finished drawing of a pig — or an owl. I cannot tell. A stale odor lingers in the air like a haunt of last night’s leek-and-carrot soup. And then there’s the crock of Eugenia’s morning pottage, still sitting on the sooty hearth.

“Eugenia?” Never one  to miss a Monday  service,  my stepmother drags the littleuns to the cathedral on the cliff each week as penance for Da’s profession.

No one answers.

I abandon my protective crouch around the wrapped wooden dowels. “The carriages on the road must’ve slowed her travel.”

“Do you think it’s odd that Eugenia will make peace over Millner’s sins and then spend his earnings the next day?” Orli asks as we head down the hall toward the attic ladder that hangs in a permanent lowered position.

“When you talk about my da’s business like that, it sounds wicked.”

“It’s not exactly saintly. Your father sells secrets to the high- est bidder. Not produce or pelts.”

“He’s an information trader.” I shrug off her comment, not eager to discuss my father.

Orli’s head falls back, and she explodes with laughter. “That’s a new one. Though a bit much for Millner Barrett. Maybe something like high ruler of the black market would be more accurate.”

I laugh. At least she didn’t call him Archtraitor, the infamous title he earned for defying the Malamian regent, evad- ing capture, and building a secretive life in Shaerdan. It gets under my skin.

“My point is, she repents one day and spends his money the next.” Orli follows me up to the attic room. She flops on my bed while I sit on the floor and arrange the dowels from largest to smallest. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Was that a note of irritation? I leave the packages lined up like soldiers before their captain. “What’s this about?”

Gone is the easy smile she wore after leaving the Elementiary. Was today too much for her? Were the crowds over- whelming?

“I know what you’re thinking, and that’s not it.” Orli slides her dark braids out of her face. “It’s nothing. Forget I said anything.”

“Nothing is nothing.” 

“That makes no sense.”

I pinch her toe. “It means if something’s important to you, it’s important to me. No secrets.”

She points to the packages. “Don’t you want to finish un- wrapping those before your brothers get home?”

I don’t even glance down. “Subject change? Beginner’s move. You know I have more self-control than that.”

She guffaws. “A fox in a henhouse has more self-control than you.”

“Exaggeration.”

“Is it?” A little light brightens her stormy eyes. “I’m sore over Eugenia’s soil order, is all. Satisfied?”

“The one for cabbage?” Wasn’t that weeks ago?

“You know how the growing season is. Mum hasn’t been able  to enhance the soil.” Late spring  to summer means increased hours on Orli’s family farm. Especially for her mum, who earns extra money by selling magic-infused soil for growing vibrant, pest-resistant plants. Altering the soil drains her energy, a cost all Channelers pay, which slows production.

“Has Eugenia been pestering her?” Even though Eugenia isn’t a Channeler, she knows Channelers need time to restore energy.

I tear the packaging off the dowels to feel their notched ends, all sanded to a silken texture. The largest dowel, bal- anced on my open palm, is impossibly light. Almost weightless. The wood’s scent is balsa and musk. A humid summer day and freedom.

“It’s my mum.” Orli’s tiptoe-quiet response brings me back to the room. “She wants me to fill Eugenia’s order. She thinks I’m ready.”

“What do you think?”

She doesn’t answer. A year ago, Orli was kidnapped as part of an attempted coup in Malam. The former regent was intent on siphoning magic from Channelers and combining the sto- len energy into the ultimate weapon to use against the young king. I was part of the effort to rescue her, and ever since, Orli has been plagued with nightmarish memories and constant fears. It took months before she was able to leave her farm and venture into public. But she has yet to use her Channeler magic.

“I would help, but all I’m good for is blowing dirt around your farm.” I nudge her knee.

Channelers have influence over one energy — land, air, fire, water, or spirit. Orli and her mother have the ability to manipulate the land, while I can harness the wind.

“That’s all you’re good for?” Orli rolls her eyes. “It’d have to be a small pile. Dirt’s heavy.” “You’re full of hot air, you know that?”

“Better than dirt in the ears.”

We both laugh, never too old for Channeler puns. “Truthfully,” Orli says, more serious. “All you’ve done this year is impressive.”

Does she realize she’s come far this year too? I open my mouth to tell her as much, but she cuts me off. “Don’t be modest. I wasn’t even referring to what you did for me.” Her voice cracks with emotion.

My throat burns too. Dammit.

“I’d do it again,” I whisper, knowing exactly how hard it was to find her. To free her.

Orli rubs her eyes, and then shoves me in the leg and adds an annoyed look. “Don’t make me teary. I’d do the same for you, fool.”

I know she would.

She scoots off the bed and sits cross-legged on the floor. “What I’m trying to say is what you’ve done with your gliders is a big deal. You use your magic in a different way than we grew up learning. Everything we created was from our energy. Like my mum and the soil. She has to sacrifice herself for every batch of stupid dirt. But your gliders are different.” 

“I use my magic to make them,” I say, confused. “No, you use magic to test them. To see if they’ll fly.”

This much is true. I wanted to build a contraption that would allow my brothers to glide in the sky without me having to conjure wind.

“Anyone, Channeler or giftless, can follow your pattern and make their own glider. You’re going to show people a new way of looking at Channelers. Maybe they’ll even see that we shouldn’t be feared.”

She’s exaggerating. But . . .

“Maybe, hopefully, it’ll inspire a few people,” I say, though the possibility makes me feel like I’ve ingested a swarm of lightning bugs.

A door slams in the house, and a herd of elk rumbles through the hallway below. Eugenia shouts, “Not inside!”

“Sorry, Mum!” I hear my brothers say before the stampede alters course.

I rush to rewrap the dowels and hide them under my bed. “Do you want me to talk to her about the soil? Or are you ready?” I hate pressuring Orli, but she has to use her magic again one day. May as well be helping her mum and Eugenia.

“I’ll figure something out. I’ll be fine.” Her expression shutters closed.

She thinks my winged inventions will change how people see Channelers. Maybe she’s right. But what will it take to inspire her? To prove that her magic isn’t to be feared?

I go downstairs to greet Eugenia in the kitchen and find her plucking dirty rags off the table.

“Any word from your da?” she asks.

“No.” It’s better not to mention he wrote me about busi- ness. When Da is working, Eugenia likes to pretend he’s just taking a trip to visit friends. She won’t acknowledge his meth- ods of collecting and profiting off secrets if she can help it.

“Do you think he’s all right?”

“He’s been gone for longer stretches, and he always returns safely.” I’ve become adept at managing Eugenia’s worry.

Her hands knot in a dishrag. “Right. Of course. I’m sure he’ll return for the festiv —”

The rear door smacks against the wall, startling us both. The twins race inside, skidding into their mother’s feet.

Eugenia drops the rag, and screeches. “Boys!”

Despite her runny emotions, she lunges for them as they try to scramble away. Loren bangs into the table and upends a chair. Kiefer hunkers beside the hutch.

“What has gotten into you two?” “Sorry, Mum,” the boys chant.

“We don’t run in the home. Look at this dirt. I just swept the floor, and now I’ll have to do it again.”

Loren rubs his hip. “Wasn’t running, Mum. Just  some quick moving.”

“Save your quick movement for outdoors. Hear me?” 

“But what of Lirra?”

“What about me?” I ask.

Loren’s smile switches into something sly, like a youthful image of Da, all dimpled tanned cheeks, stocky frame, and windblown curls the color of wet driftwood. I’ve always longed to look more like them instead of a reminder of my mum, with nearly black hair so thick it could be roof thatching.

“Lirra does whatever she pleases.” Loren turns pathetic cow eyes on Eugenia. “She don’t follow rules.”

If only that were true.

“And I’ve seen her run in the house.” Little toad. “You have not.”

“Have too.”

I turn to Eugenia for support. Working for Da requires liv- ing by another set of rules, something Eugenia knows even if she doesn’t like it.

“You don’t go to church.” Loren points at me. “You sneak out at night. And sometimes you go around with mud on your face. Mum always makes us wash our faces. Doesn’t she, Kief?” Kiefer, the more silent twin, peeks around the hutch. “I seen mud on Lirra.”

“Get back in your hiding spot,” I growl at him before spin- ning to face Loren. “Don’t pull me into this. You were foolish enough to get caught, so say you’re sorry already.”

He starts to complain, and Eugenia silences him with a look. The boys rush toward freedom in the shape of the back door. That’s when I notice the specks.

Specks coating their trousers.

Specks on Loren’s boots.

Specks that look an awful lot like wood shavings?

“Stop! Where have you two been?” 

“Outside.” Loren smirks over his shoulder. 

“Where outside?”

“The shed.”

“Which. Shed.” My nostrils flare. Kiefer cringes.

“Lirra, let them go,” Eugenia says.

My glider wings are in that shed. If the boys  touched them . . . “Tell me. Or this week at the summit festivities, I’ll find the she-pirate, Song the Red, and pay her to sail you to Kolontia. The north is terribly cold. So cold that men and boys lose toes and feet and even legs. How fast will you run without legs, hmm, Loren? Tell me now — woodshed or my shed?”

“Yours,” Kiefer blurts. His cherry cheeks turn pale pear green. “We only wanted a peek.”

“We  didn’t  touch  nothing,  promise.”  Loren presses his hands together in a prayer. “Spare me legs, Lir.”

I hold in a smile. “Keep your stubby limbs for now, Loren. But if you —”

Eugenia  scoots them  out  the  door. “Don’t be hard  on them.”

“They need to keep their dirty hands off my things.” “What do you expect, Lirra? They look up to you, and you

run around breaking rules as if you’ve no responsibilities.” “No responsibilities?” Anger twists through me faster than the twin tornados could destroy my stuff. “My responsibilities force me to break rules. My job for Da requires it.”

She yanks a pin out of her bun, and her hair topples like a bird’s nest breaking apart. “Don’t pretend to be dedicated to your da’s work when you spend all your time on gliders.”

I gape at her, wounded by the insinuation. My family mat- ters most. If Da asked me to pay more attention to his business, I’d do it. But he doesn’t ask. He doesn’t include me in every deal. He doesn’t share all his secrets, as much as I’d like him to.

“What of your dedication?” I stomp to the window and point at the carriage parked inside the barrier of trees conceal- ing our home. “Every week you visit the cathedral and make penance. Maybe instead of praying so much, you should no- tice how hard Da works for you. For the family.”

Eyes widen over a stone expression. “Nonsense. You’re angry because the boys were curious. I understand that, but you cannot blame them. Your contraptions look like children’s toys.”

Children’s toys? Will the jubilee organizers think my glider is child’s play too?

My fingernails dig crescents into my palms. “Was it curiosity when they broke your Plovian vase? The vase you insisted Da buy with his black-market money? Don’t be a hypocrite.” It comes out like spat venom.

Last year the twins knocked over the vase. Eugenia was shattered. That same colorless devastation overtakes her expression now.

A baby’s cry peals from the hallway.

I bite my vindictive lip. “I — I shouldn’t have said that.” 

“Julisa’s awake.” Eugenia gives me a look of defeat and leaves.

I return to where Orli is waiting for me in the attic, my chest stuffy and hot with frustration. And shame.

It’s not her fault that Da is gone. Or that he takes on too much work and doesn’t allow me to help manage the load. He has me deliver messages to informants, listen to private conversations, and track people’s habits, but he never asks for more. He tries to manage most of the work alone.

Loren and Kiefer are too young to help, and I doubt Eugenia would let them get involved in Da’s business even if they were older. I’m the only one he can lean on. It’s up to me to help him. Eugenia is right. I should be focusing on Da’s letter, not my gliders.

“Whoa, what happened?” Orli watches me climb the lad- der. “You look ready to practice dagger throwing on a live tar- get.”

I dig through my satchel for the letter. I peel it open and remove the letter to AC.

Hullo Beetle,

I’ll not be returning in time for the summit.

The rest of the page is blank.

“This cannot be all there is.” I flip it over. Da would never use this much parchment for so short a note, or ask me to deliver a letter with no instructions. His message must be here, hidden.

Orli peers over my shoulder and hums to herself.

I trace the blank page. “I wonder if he used a blood charm. Da’s never used one before. Blood charms are illegal, and even if they weren’t, they’re hard to come by,” I say, remembering what Astoria taught us. “But it would explain why there are no words.”

She releases a shuddery breath and taps the letter. “Right. And we are talking about Millner.”

“I guess there’s only one way to find out.” I pull a dagger from my boot.

Orli sits on the bed, trembling fingers sliding under her thighs. “Go on.”

I hate that magic makes her uncomfortable. But I have to know what Da wrote. I sink the blade’s tip into the fleshy pad of my finger. A crimson drop bubbles from my skin and drips onto the ivory parchment, fanning out as it seeps into the surface.

Hullo Beetle,

I’ll not be returning in time for the summit.

If you’re reading this, you figured out the blood charm. The following job must be completed immediately and privately. As you can tell, secrecy is of greatest importance.

To fulfill an agreement I’ve made with the king of Malam, you  must deliver  the  enclosed  letter to him. Don’t curse. I know this assignment will displease you, but  it  must  be done.

The king’s letter has also been sealed with a blood charm. You’ll find nothing there if you attempt to peek. Please explain to King Aodren how these types of charms are activated. The man’s Channeler knowledge is in the budding stage.

Deliver the letter before the summit is underway. It cannot be late. Tell no one and go unseen.

Give my love to Eugenia, the boys, and Julisa. Love, Da

“Bloody stars.”

I’m not displeased. I’m furious.

What deal has my father made? King Aodren cares noth- ing for Channelers. Hell, his kingdom has encouraged the hunting of Channelers for the last twenty years. This is why my father and I were forced to flee Malam and live in Shaer- dan. King Aodren may have ended the Purge Proclamation, the horrific law that was responsible for the deaths of countless Channelers in Malam for the last twenty years, but he did so out of desperation. Last  year,  King Aodren  needed the Channelers Guild, the governing women who oversee all Channelers in the five kingdoms, to save his life and help stop a plot to usurp the throne.

My efforts to save Orli caused my path to cross Aodren’s. I was the one who introduced him to the Guild, and I even saved his life in battle. But has he ever expressed his gratitude for either?

No. Not at all. Ungrateful lout of a king. King Aodren cares only about himself.

Da has all sorts of unsavory business associates, and though I dislike it, it’s not so shocking to discover King Aodren is a new one. Royal coin is as good as commoner coin. What I don’t understand, however, is why the king of Malam needs help from Da, ruler of the underground.

I press my fist to the sudden bloom of ache in my belly. I want to forget this request and finish my glider. But Eugenia’s comment earlier nags me. Da needs me. And maybe this is the way to finally prove he can rely on me.

 CHAPTER TWO- Aodren

My attention catches on a flash of colors as gold and blue Shaerdanian tunics enter the far end

of the mud-streaked training yard. Not count- ing the half dozen guards standing at attention nearby, until now Leif and I have had the field alone to spar. The two newcomers must be the men who have been chosen to represent Shaerdan’s ruler, Chief Judge Auberdeen, in the upcoming Tournament of Champions at the All Kingdoms’ Summit.

When the tournament first began, each king- dom’s ruler and their second fought a mock bat- tle to prove their strength and leadership mettle. Decades ago, after the Plovian king lost his life, the rulers decided participation was too dangerous, and tradition changed. Now the most skilled warriors in the land vie to fight in place of their leader.

Leif, the first of my chosen competitors, swings his prac- tice sword through the air. I thrust upward to block. It’s too late. His waster slams my left arm. Bone-rattling pain lances from elbow to shoulder, and my weapon hits the ground.

Godstars! “Solid strike.” I suck a breath between my teeth to temper the pain.

“Are you whistling, sir?” Leif chuckles.

Glaring, I straighten my posture, regain some of the dig- nity he knocked away, and switch to breathing through my nose, despite the moisture that clings to my nostrils. Shaer- dan’s humidity is also out to kill me today.

“I shouldn’t have landed that,” Leif says in a low voice. In my periphery, I notice one of the ever-present guards avert his gaze, and I wonder if he heard Leif’s comment. It’s too sympa- thetic for the captain of the royal guard — the elite force of the most skilled combatants in Malam. He needs to control that emotion if he and Baltroit, the other Malamian competitor, are to prove they’re the best fighters in the five kingdoms. Grit wins tournaments, not sympathy.

The last All Kingdoms’ Summit was five years ago, and I didn’t attend. It’s more important than ever that we have a good showing during the tournament. We must prove to the other leaders, my late father’s peers, and to Malamians that Malam is worthy of being here. That I am worthy of being here.

I roll out my bruised shoulder. “I shouldn’t have let you. On the battlefield, distraction means death.”

Leif watches the Shaerdanians through the slits in his helmet. “Lucky there’s no risk here.” He reaches for the fallen practice waster and swings it in an arc. “Not with this blunted sword.”

I move into position. “Enough talk.”

“Oh, you’re recovered? Ready to get beat?” Exhaustion helps Leif forget himself, a benefit of our sparring sessions. Too often, he lapses into the formality he feels the captain of the royal guard should maintain around the king. He forgets I am just a man and he is my closest, if not only, friend.

Chuckling, I switch grips to take the sword in my domi- nant right hand. “Captain and court jester, let’s see how you fare now.”

He snorts and swings his waster. I’ve spent the last six months training with Leif. I’ve studied his movement. He is quick, but I’m faster. I block his blade and push my weight into his. He stumbles. A vulnerable space opens between his elbow and ribs, and I strike. Leif grunts against the pain.

The rhythm of our clanks and curses echoes across the yard. This rigorous sparring session keeps Leif competition- ready for the Tournament of Champions.  And  it tempers the uneasiness that came on earlier today when my traveling retinue exited the forest and first beheld Shaerdan’s sum- mer castle. The stone fortress is designated for all leaders and dignitaries during the summit and sits north of Celize like a solemn gray throne.

My absence from the last summit sparked rumors that spread like a scourge. King Aodren’s too young. Soon he’ll be just like his hateful father and the blood-spilling regent. Malam’s people are divided, and the kingdom is weak. Under King Aodren, only time remains until the kingdom falls.

Malam’s history has more shameful spots than the sky has stars.

My father was a prejudiced man, whose fear of Channel- ers spread to his advisers and led to the Purge — a kingdom- wide Channeler eradication spanning nearly two decades. The feverish hunt for magic users turned neighbor on neighbor. After my father died when I was a child, a regent ruled until I came of age. He closed the Malamian borders so no one could leave or enter Malam. Trade halted and our economy suffered. This dark time was further blackened when, a year ago, the regent didn’t want to relinquish power. He led a coup, killing hundreds of citizens and half of Malam’s nobility.

The rumors hold some truth — I am the youngest ruler at the summit, my people are divided between support and opposition for Channelers, and Malam has been weakened.

But I won’t be my father.

I won’t allow Malam to fall.

When Leif and I are both aching and bruised, we stop fighting. I lean on my sword, breath sawing through my lungs. Leif tugs off his helmet. He swipes sweat from his beard and shakes out his hair. The usual amber color is now a slick mud- brown. “I could sleep till the first night of the tournament.”

My thoughts as well. However, “It wouldn’t do well to miss dinner.”

Leif mutters an unenthused agreement.

Once our gear is stored in the yard house, two guards follow me and Leif off the field.

“See how in sync they are?” Leif glances at the Shaerdani- ans before they’re out of sight. “If Baltroit would practice here, we’d have a better chance of winning the cup.”

I scratch the day’s stubble on my jaw. The summit, the tournament, and the jubilee are key factors in turning Malam’s tide. We must do well in all three. When Lord Segrande insisted his son be chosen as the second competitor, I complied. Segrande was integral in the negotiations to re-open trade with Shaerdan, and going forward, his support is necessary to boost Malam’s economy. While Segrande and I form alliances and trade agreements during summit meetings, Baltroit and Leif will be fighting in the Tournament of Champions.

Thousands of Malamians have traveled to Shaerdan to at- tend the events. A tournament win will inspire pride. It’ll give Malamians a reason to rally together. A reason to set aside their differences. And hopefully, later, a reason to spread unity back in Malam.

Baltroit is a fierce fighter, but he’s arrogant and refuses to train with Leif. While I could order Baltroit to the practice yard, it may offend Segrande, who has spent as much time training his son as I have with Leif.

“He won’t let us down,” I say, determined. “The two of you will do well.”

Leif shoots me a look that argues otherwise.

The castle’s grand hall is a clamor of voices, thuds, and scrapes, all under the aroma of rosemary and bread. As we pass through, conversation dims and everyone in sight bows. Our boots clack loudly against the stone stairs leading to the third floor, where Malam’s private rooms are assigned. The two guards who followed us from the practice field take up posts at our closed corridor, while Leif enters my chambers.

He points to the stack of letters on the desk. “The courier delivered these to the castle. Also, the welcome meal will begin in two hours.”

Half of Malam’s fiefs have new leadership, and the repeal of the Purge Proclamation has made it possible for Channelers to return to Malam. A difficult transition, to say the least. To stay abreast of brewing tension, each lord reports on his fiefdom. Even during the summit.

“Inform Lord Segrande and tell him to come to my cham- bers at a quarter till.” I start toward the washroom.

Leif lingers. “Your Highness, one more thing.”

Your Highness. Few dare meet my eye, let alone speak to me directly. Some decorum is expected, but Leif’s slip back into formality is aggravating. And isolating. “I’m scarcely six months older than you, and not a quarter-hour ago, you were trying to hit me with a practice sword. Call me by my given name.”

“You’re the king.” He coughs into his fist.

“I’m aware. Trust me, rigid formality isn’t always requisite. Understood?”

“Aye.” His gaze shifts to the door. “At tonight’s dinner, though, it’ll be formal. Yes?”

“Yes. But you may talk with the other dignitaries.”

“I — I’m not sure I can.” A maroon tint stains his neck. He yanks his beard. It’s hard to reconcile the man before me with the bear from the practice field. “Thing is, talking is not my strength.”

Leif has notable battle experience, good rapport with the royal guard, and is unfailingly loyal, but he is also new to nobility. Too busy trying to bring Malam out of the darkness, I’ve overlooked his greenness.

“Talk about the tournament,” I suggest. “King Gorenza will no doubt have much to say, since his youngest son is com- peting.”

“Could work.” He focuses on the floor stones for a long minute. “I won’t be skilled like Captain Omar was with con- versation. But I’ll try.”

I laugh, loud and irreverent. The long day is bringing out Leif’s wit and humor.

But he doesn’t join in, his mouth is pressed into a grim line.

Oh gods. Is he serious? My previous captain spoke in mono- syllabic sentences.

“Leif.” I restrain my laughter. Composure has been drilled into me since birth. “Omar used to say it’s the message that matters. Remember that. Treat this dinner like those at Castle Neart.”

“I mostly talk to Britta at Castle Neart. She’s not here.” The comment comes unexpectedly.

The words settle over me like a scratchy wool throw. Britta and her husband are on their wedding trip instead of attending the summit. It’s odd to consider her married, since I once hoped she would share my life. But . . . Britta is on my council. We will continue to work together. She will still be a friend.

“You’ll do fine,” I say, tone clipped.

Silence, and then, “Certainly, sir.” Leif bows and leaves my chambers.

So much for convincing him to use my name. I walk to the desk and study the letters, though it’s a fight to focus on any one of them. Perhaps Leif is right to remind me that friend- ships should be the furthest thing from my mind right now.

My focus must be Malam.

***

Correspondence to Aodren Lothar Cross, King of Malam:

March 25

To the King our Most Sovereign Lord,

By dictate of your wise council, I begin my monthly report of the affairs concerning my humble fiefdom. The abolishment of the Purge Proclamation has been posted in the markets and common areas, and all countrymen have received notice of the new law sealed by your great hand. May the news be received well. Or perhaps I should write, may the news be received better than it has been thus far. I’m certain those displeased with the return of Channelers will soon welcome the newcomers.

Last, Sir Chilton, who inherited the bordering fiefdom after Lord Chamberlain was killed in the tragic attack on the castle, has struggled to manage his lands. The poor lad. If he needs to be relieved of his land, I offer my guardianship.

Your servant,

Lord Wynne of Jonespur

April 19

To the King, Lord of Malam,

This past month, four Channeler families returned from Shaerdan to reclaim lost lands. Unfortunately, their return was met with opposition — one barn fire, three travel carts destroyed, and numerous fights in the market square. I wish I could report these numbers amounted to less than last month.

In addition, the ore mine can no longer keep men employed until trade demand increases. The line of needy outside the church has doubled. And yet traders continue to come from Shaerdan. Considering Malamians have no coin to buy Shaerdanian goods, the traders must be foolishly optimistic.

Regardless, I hope the bordering kingdoms will welcome our trade soon. They cannot turn us away forever.

Your loyal man, Lord Xavier Variant

 April 24

To King Aodren Lothar Cross of Malam,

Difficulties have arisen as returning Channelers have declared ownership and sought possession of land that has been in another’s hand for nearly two decades. Last week, a disagreement led to the destruction of two alfalfa fields, a Channeler booth in the marketplace, and a clergyman’s entire cart of bread for the needy. It’s impossible to say if these actions were meant to harm. I believe they were intended to scare.

Scribe for the Lord of Tahr, Sir Ian Casper

 May 5

To the King our Most Sovereign Lord,

Though your wise changes in the law dictated that the market be open to all, the appearance of Channelers has caused disturbances. Truly, I do all I can to keep peace. Channelers have been so bold as to ask friends and family to boycott the merchants that have refused business to persons of magic.

However, not  all  merchants  have excluded  Channelers. A new trader in the market square has been selling Channeler-made healing balms. A portion of townspeople have shown interest in his goods. One remedy gaining popularity is called Sanguine. It is a healing oil, and quite effective from what I’ve heard. Perhaps it could be a boon to our economy.

As always, I am humbly dedicated to overseeing my fief’s needs, just as I could be with any additional land you might wish to grant upon me.

Your servant,

Lord Wynne of Jonespur

 May 22

To King Aodren,

Calvin Bariston of Fennit passed on from injuries sustained in a tavern fight. It’s uncertain who stabbed him, since he first stabbed two other men and one woman. Calvin was acting erratic, and was, we believe, possessed by a devil. 

Rumors started that the cause was the Channelers. Those rumors were quickly proved unfounded.

Scribe for the Lord of Tahr, Sir Ian Casper

 June 1

To the King of Malam,

Rumors about the Channeler oil have spread after an occur- rence last week. Onlookers reported that Mr. Erik Bayles met a passing trader in the market square to purchase Sanguine. For unknown reasons, Mr. Bayles became angry and struck the trader, who then hit back, punching Mr. Bayles once and killing him. The trader left town before he was questioned. I’ve sent men after him.

Without answers, many blame Channeler magic. Either Sanguine gave the trader unnatural strength, or it caused Mr. Bayles’s death. Those who knew Mr. Bayles best have insisted he was a hard man to kill. I did not inquire how many times they tried.

The dispute has divided the town. Some businesses have refused service to anyone associated with Channelers. While I could force businesses to open their doors to all, I fear it will not end the division.

I must know, is Sanguine truly harmful? Please advise on how to restore order to my fief.

Your loyal man, Lord Xavier Variant

***

After I dress for dinner and Leif returns with Lord Segrande, I scan the letters I received over the last few months and compare them to the newest batch.

“Anything promising, Your Highness?” Segrande surveys the letters. His salt-and-sandy hair has taken a severe combing, unlike his untamed beard that twists and curls over the starched collar of his dinner coat. The mismatch suits Seg- rande, who is known for earning as many calluses as the people working the fields of his fief.

“More reports of division and opposition. Poverty in the ore fiefs. Destroyed property, disturbances in the market. More rumors that feed wariness of Channelers.” The chair scrapes the floor as I push back from the desk and pace away.

Our retinue spent two weeks traveling through Malam. Two weeks of passing through towns and farmlands and seeing firsthand the chasm between countrymen that should’ve been mended by the Purge’s abolishment.

Those two weeks confirmed that decrees don’t assuage distrust.

We are a gray, threadbare tapestry in desperate need of new threads to strengthen us. But my people have spent two decades fearing the very color we need now. Regardless of the abolished Purge, our factionalism leaves us weak.

Ignoring the powerlessness dragging through my veins, I stalk across the room, drop down on a bench, and fasten the buckles of my boots tighter.

I remind myself that this is why I’m here. The summit, the tournament, the jubilee — they will be the start of change for Malam.

“What of this one? Sir Casper mentioned Sanguine, the Channeler oil. That’s a pebble of good news.” Segrande leans over the desk. His dinner coat bulges around his buttons. “More people buying the oil means more people are trusting Channelers.”

“Look at Jonespur’s letter. Or Variant’s.” I stand and scrutinize my shirt for lint, finding none. “Two men have died, and rumors link them to Channelers and the oil. People believe the oil is dangerous.”

“Fools,” Leif grouses from where he sits on the hearth’s edge. “If they knew anything about Channelers, they’d know there’s no danger. They’re not going around killing anybody.” Segrande abandons the desk to wait at the door. “Some ideas are hard to bury. Those people have feared Channelers

all their lives. That rock won’t be turned over easily.”

It’s always rocks with Segrande. In this case, he’s greatly underestimated the size of the problem. The prejudices dividing Malam are mountains. I look out the window at the city of tents stretching across the land to the southeast where thou- sands of foreigners have come for the Tournament of Champi- ons and the jubilee.

“Has the Archtraitor reported anything?” Segrande asks. “Millner.” Leif mutters something more about unturned rocks.

“Slip of the tongue.” Segrande chuckles. “We’re the only three Malamians who refer to Millner by his given name. Most still consider him an enemy of Malam.”

Irritation hardens Leif’s face. I hadn’t  realized  he had an opinion about Millner. He said nothing weeks ago when I mentioned my choice to hire the man. But perhaps Leif’s insistence on respect is because he and Millner share a com- monality. Millner was once captain of the royal guard. Years ago, he protested the Purge. Because he was nobility, his defiance was considered traitorous. Guards burned his home, killing his wife. In retaliation, Millner ended those men’s lives and became a fugitive in Shaerdan. Over the years, rumors have twisted the story, marking him as Malam’s enemy — the Archtraitor.

But I know better than to put much weight in rumors. I’ve always admired Millner for standing up for what was right.

“He’s sent no word yet,” I admit, albeit reluctantly. I hoped his information would shed light on Sanguine and give me something positive to report to the Channelers Guild. It would be remiss of me to put off informing them. I tug on my dinner coat and turn to Segrande. “Draft a letter to Seeva. Explain the situation.”

A cough sputters out of him. “The entire situation? The men who died? The rumors?”

I understand his apprehension. As a member of both the Channelers Guild and my advisory circle, Seeva Soliel won’t be pleased to hear the rumors. And even less pleased to discover I waited to tell her. The Guild was reluctant to pledge their support to Malam, and though Seeva serves me, her loyalties still lie with Channelers first. 

“Tell her everything,” I command as we exit the chambers. The guards escort us through the winding halls of the castle to the dining hall, where the other delegations are al- ready seated around a mammoth oval table. The chief judge of Shaerdan, the queen of the Plovian Isles, the king of Kolontia, and their dignitaries sit on the far side, while I take a place beside Ku Toa of Akaria and her dignitaries, with Leif and Segrande at my right. Our guards remain in the room, their five different types of armor matching the flags hanging behind them. The mesh of kingdom colors serves as a reminder that not so long ago, Malam was headed to war with Shaerdan.

And now Shaerdan is the hosting kingdom and Chief Judge Auberdeen is the summit officiant. He makes formal introductions and then speaks about the upcoming summit meeting schedule, the Kingdoms’ Market, the jubilee, and the tournament.

When the latter is mentioned, Leif shifts forward, eager and ready. The motion doesn’t escape notice. King Gorenza scowls at my captain, likely because Leif will be competing against his son.

“All competitors fighting in your name must be declared at the March of Champions tomorrow.” Auberdeen sets down a leather tome, thick with a hundred years of rules.

A murmured agreement rolls through the room, and then the meal is served.

The other leaders  launch  into a conversation, showing their familiarity with one another. Auberdeen boasts about a new ship design that will make it possible to double the size of a trade shipment.

“A ship that large will give you freedom to introduce new imports,” says an Akarian dignitary.

“True.” Auberdeen nods to the Plovian queen. “Like silks from the isles.”

“How fortunate for Malam that we’ve reestablished trade with Shaerdan.” Segrande thumps the table, drawing light laughter. “In fact, we’re already seeing the benefits.” He turns to me.

“Yes.” I lower my fork and seize the transition to discuss Sanguine. “I’ve heard word of a new import in our markets.”

“You’ve snared our attention, Young King Aodren. Tell us more.”

Young king? King Gorenza’s booming delivery in a brisk Kolontian accent doesn’t lighten the dig at my age. He sits languidly on the other side of the table, a head shorter than me, shoulders twice my width, nose like a hawk’s. He has one arm draped on the chair’s back and the other resting on the table. A casual domination of space.

“What item of trade, specifically, are you talking about?” he asks.

“Channeler oil,” Leif answers.

“Oil for Channelers?” Auberdeen’s confusion is mirrored by others  around the table.  He takes spectacles  from his pocket and holds them beneath his unkempt eyebrow hedges. “Is that the new import?”

“Yes. No . . . I mean, no.” Leif’s face is the same color as the beets on his plate.

“Captain O’Floinn is referring to Sanguine,” I explain. “It’s said to be a Channeler-made healing remedy. Have you any experience with the oil?”

“Sounds familiar,” murmurs a Plovian dignitary.

“The oil comes from Akaria, no?” King Gorenza focuses on the Ku, who is sitting to my left. “What do you know of it?’ Ku Toa is older than me by four or five decades, small in stature, and has a shorn head — as is the custom for the southern kingdoms’ leaders. I turn to her, curious about her answer. But her dignitary, Olema, answers. “We have an oil in our land

called Sanguine.”

“Are they not the same, Fa Olema?” Gorenza props both arms on the table.

Olema is an ancient man, older than the Ku, with a face mapped in wrinkles. He exchanges a look with the Ku. “I cannot say.”

“It’s the most potent of all Channeler healing aids. Is it not?” asks Judge Soma, second in command to Auberdeen.

Everyone turns to the thin, lanky man.

“That so?” Gorenza stabs a roll with his knife.

Soma nods. “It’s similar to Beannach water, but more po- tent. Are you familiar with Beannach?”

Earlier this year, Judge Auberdeen sent Soma to Malam to draft a treaty between our kingdoms. Soma was earnest and well informed. His contradicting opinion on Sanguine confirms that the rumors were fueled by prejudices. I know I should be pleased that Sanguine isn’t hurting my people, but the hatred that must exist in my kingdom to start such a vicious rumor gnaws at me.

“Beannach means ‘blessed,’” says Leif, jumping in when he can. “It replenishes.”

A flicker of a smile twitches on the Ku’s face.

“I know what it does.” Gorenza shoves pieces of the im- paled roll into his mouth, chewing viciously before adding, “Even if we don’t use Channeler magic up north.”

“And yet,” says Soma, “at every summit, a Channeler from your kingdom performs in the jubilee.”

“We don’t use their magic, but they live among us.” Gorenza yanks his knife free. He swings the point to face me. “Kolontia hasn’t outlawed and hunted Channelers as Malam has.”

Lord Segrande develops rigor mortis. Queen Isadora’s fork clatters on the table.

“Now that the stone’s been thrown, we can move on,” I say, having anticipated this reaction from the other leaders. “After all, Malam has. There isn’t one of us whose kingdom has a spotless history. My people’s shame is merely more recent.”

Judge Auberdeen and Ku Toa’s eyes slant to me, assessing. 

Gorenza scoffs. “Will we actually see Channelers repre- senting Malam at the jubilee this year?”

“Of course,” I say. They think Malam will have no repre- sentative in the Channeler show, like the last four summits. They’re wrong. The jubilee is one event in which I can rest easy. “Katallia of the Channelers Guild will wear Malam’s colors. I’m honored that she calls Malam home.”

Katallia became an ally when she fought alongside me to defeat Lord Jamis. When she performs in the name of Malam, she’ll inspire pride in all Malamians.

“I’m sure it would’ve been difficult to find another willing Channeler,” Gorenza says, oddly quiet. “How fortunate for you that Katallia’s life was spared during your kingdom’s extermination, which you did nothing to stop when you first came into power.”

The room goes silent.

If a rat scuttled across the floor, its steps would register louder than a drumroll.

The pommel of my sword digs into my hip. A call to arms against such an appalling insult to my honor. I drag a breath through my teeth, tempering the wave of intense loathing, and bridling the urge to cut Gorenza down.

The smallest movement catches in my periphery. A Malamian guard has edged forward. Gorenza stares at him, nostrils flared in a look of daring that says he’s primed to shed blood. Any guard in this room wouldn’t hesitate to kill a person for caustic remarks made against their leader, but because Gorenza is the king, my guard waits. As does everyone else, sitting with bated breath.

I’m not here to start a war. I’m here for Malam, I remind myself.

For allegiances. For unity. For my people’s future.

I flick out my hand, low to the side in a staying motion. Auberdeen bangs the table with his fist, though he keeps

an eye on me. “Enough talk of trade. King Gorenza, you have a grandchild on the way, do you not? Let me tell you about what my granddaughter said to me just this morning.”

The single lamp illuminating my chambers is not enough to give shape to the clothing chest or prevent me from slamming my shin into the corner. I hop back, cursing, and yank off my coat. My boots come off next. One tumbles beneath the desk. The other hits the curtain. For a half second, I swear it’s followed by an oomph. I pull the tunic over my head and let it drop, welcoming the cool evening air.

A shadow moves from behind the curtains. An intruder. Pulse ricocheting through my veins, I snatch the sword at

my hip.

The man grabs for something behind him. I lunge, thrusting the blade’s point at the intruder’s chest. He lets out a squawk. Hands hang at his sides, frozen.

“Don’t move or I’ll kill you.”

A blast of wind slams into me, knocking me to the ground. I manage to keep a hand on my blade. I jump to my feet, but the distraction has given the intruder the advantage.

“I’d apologize for using a wind gust to knock you down,” he — no, she says. A woman? A Channeler. Shock has me frozen in place. How did she get in here? “But you had a blade digging into my heart.”

She shakes out her hands and steps into the lamplight. Blue eyes rimmed with stripes of black lashes stare at me from under a boy’s cap. She looks like a scrawny stable boy. “You don’t recognize me?”

The scrawny-stable-boy disguise throws me off. But a memory emerges of her on the same battlefield as me. Last year, she came to Malam seeking her friend, and she ended up fighting beside me to stop the army of traitors from taking Malam.

When I don’t answer immediately, she huffs. “Figures.” And then she tugs off her hat, releasing a coil of raven hair. “It’s Lirra Barrett. I saved your life earlier this year.”

She mutters under her breath about me not remember- ing, and then adds something that sounds like “arrogant arse.”

Any shock still chilling my veins quickly heats with anger. Regardless of our past, how dare she be so brazen as to sneak into my room, use her Channeler magic on me, and then disrespect me?

“You’ve trespassed in my chamber. State your purpose.” My tone is terse and cold.

She blinks at me. Her mouth pinches like she’s  tasted something bitter, and then she withdraws a letter from her pocket. “This is from my father.”

***

Uh-oh....when enemies from different kingdoms come together, either peace or war could be on the forefront. Want to find out how Lirra and Aodren will partner together to get to the bottom of what’s happening in Malam? Read ONCE A KING, which you can purchase from any of the links below. 

Amazon

Barnes & Noble 

Books-A-Million

IndieBound

[booklionsunite]

These covers are gorgeous! I’ve never read a western YA book before and I am loving it. A strong morally ambiguous gunslinger female?! Yes. 🤠 ☠️ 🤠 #vengeanceroad #retributionrails #erinbowman #wildwest #western #bookstagram #hmhteen

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Ever the Brave (Clash of Kingdoms #2) ARC Review [Spoiler Free]

Goodreads Synopsis:

Ever the Divided. Ever the Feared. Ever the Brave.

After saving King Aodren with her newfound Channeler powers, Britta only wants to live a peaceful life in her childhood home. Unfortunately, saving the King has created a tether between them she cannot sever, no matter how much she'd like to, and now he's insisting on making her a noble lady. And there are those who want to use Britta’s power for evil designs. If Britta cannot find a way to harness her new magical ability, her life—as well as her country—may be lost. The stakes are higher than ever in the sequel to Ever the Hunted, as Britta struggles to protect her kingdom and her heart.

Review:

I received an early copy from HMH Teen on NetGalley in exchange for this honest review.

After reading the first book of this series, I was obviously hoping that there would be more oomph in this series. If you read my review of the first book, you’ll remember I mentioned that I wasn’t exactly wowed. 

I’m very pleased to say that this second installment was a lot more improved.

We return to Britta’s world and she is reeling from the fact that she is now connected to King Aodren after saving his life. It doesn’t help that he keeps visiting her at the cottage, even granting her nobility. Among all this, she is keeping secrets from Cohen while he must leave often to due his duty to the kingdom. More trouble arises when the kingdom is under attack.

Details

The details still focused on the emotional aspect, but it was better because we had three different POVs: Cohen, Britta and Aodren. It’s a lot more interesting to see the different sides, especially when there is an obvious love triangle brewing between the three. I’m very pleased, as well, that there was a lot more action. The first book didn’t really capture me as much because the action displayed wasn’t doing much for me. However, there are plenty of twists in this second installment that really surprised and kept me hooked throughout the story, wondering what would happen next. I think that’s the strongest aspect of this book.

Britta

Britta is obviously in love with Cohen and, of course, her connection with Aodren has to complicate things otherwise we wouldn’t really have a juicy story. It was frustrating, though. Whenever she was away from Cohen, she’d always have tension with him. Like, before he’d leave, they would have some little argument or disagreement and they wouldn’t part on good terms. I think that was mostly from Cohen, though. More on that later. Her alone time with Aodren, though, was the biggest frustration. She keeps telling herself that she loves Cohen, but that damn connection messes with her mind. I’m going to be honest, too. Some things that she does when it’s just them is pretty damn stupid. Come on, girl. Would you want Cohen in that predicament? Above all that, she is a lot braver than the first novel. She’s faced with a lot in this book, but she carries on and fights like a bad-ass. Good for you.

Cohen

Ah, yes. I still consider him a book boyfriend, but now he has flaws. Of course he does. Now that we have his POV, we see that he is so jealous whenever Aodren is around Britta. He’s also got that annoying manly sense where he feels like he always has to protect Britta. I’m all for a man protecting his woman, but Britta is different. She can protect herself and he knows that. He also lets his head rule his heart. Like, he’ll get word vomit sometimes and he’ll say the wrong thing. That poor man. His faults are definitely shown through this novel and I guess that just means he is a person, a man, and in love. His resolution in this story didn’t feel all the way complete, though. Maybe the wording was off at the end or maybe it was too quick? Erin said that this is the end of Britta’s story, but there is another installment focusing on Lirra, so maybe more will be said about him? Also...Lirra...if you’ve read this already, you know what I’m talking about. Blame is on Cohen, too.

Aodren

I don’t know how I feel about Aodren. We do get his POV, but there didn’t seem to be enough chapters. It felt like I didn’t get into his head that much unless it was about Britta. I wanted more back story, something other than Britta, Britta, Britta. I think the next installment, judging from the title, may allude that he will be in Lirra’s story. In this book, I just didn’t feel connected to his character. I do hope Erin includes him more in the next book.

Lirra

This kind of connects to how I feel about Aodren’s character. She doesn’t have her own chapters, but she is featured more than the first book. She is definitely snarky and sassy and doesn’t take any crap from anybody. She is very family orientated, blood related or not. Again though, I didn’t feel a strong connection. So, I am eager for her story to be out next year, according to Erin. I want to know more about her and her own thoughts. She does catch my interest.

The Bottom Line

I know I seem to have ragged a lot on the characters, but I swear I totally enjoyed this book. The plot was so much better and there were more twists that surprised me. It moved along at a great pace and I was really hooked into everything. Britta and Cohen, their story is over for now. They can have their faults because they are human and in love and we all know how stupid we can be when we are in love. My only letdown are Aodren and Lirra’s characters. This letdown, though, makes me excited for the next book so a stronger connection to them can be built. 

Happy book birthday to EVER THE BRAVE!

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Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐