#i could make him sexy actually
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No one remembers her name. But I do.
â Chapter 23, A Court of Wings and Ruin (Sarah J Maas)
Pairing: The Bone Carver x đ
Word Count: 18.2k
Warnings (please read before proceeding): Graphic depictions of violence, injury, blood, gore, and death; loss of a loved one; implied/referenced miscarriage; implied/referenced domestic abuse; poverty; mild(ish?) sexual content
Read on AO3
The cold seemed to seep into his very bones.
It began deep beneath the cobblestones of the streetâas if the winter itself had planted it in the earth, content to watch it grow as the year neared its end. The sun hadnât yet set over the horizon, thank the Gods. The seeds of the frigid season bloomed most eagerly in the dark.
Another hour, and he would leave. He reckoned he could survive another sixty minutes out on the streetâthough he hoped he wouldnât need to stay that long. Gods willing, someone would take notice of the boy curled up in the pile of hay sooner than later. Even through the long, thin straws, he could feel the cold clawing at his lower back, sending his entire body into shivers.
Oh, how he hated this.
If only he could have it his way. Heâd be back by midday, early afternoon, perhaps, if the merchants have proven especially difficult. During the winter, he found, they would all become moreâŠpossessive.
Butâhe promised. Had given his word, even, though he supposed it hadnât meant much coming from the likes of him. Not to her, thoughâhe couldnât break her heart like that again. He feared she wouldnât survive it. And given her current conditionâŠ
His mother was the only thing he had left in the world. And so, he would behaveâfor her.
For her, he would sit his ass on the side of the alley and waitâwait until someone took mercy upon a nineteen-year old boy, begging in the streets. Unlikely.
They found him laughableâhad even said so to his face. Nineteen. Not a boyâa man. You couldâve found work had you only tried, they laughed as their shadows hovered over his wimpy form. Had you had any honour, any pride. Instead, youâve chosen to remain in the filthy streets like the trash that you are.
If only things had been that simple.
The village folk mustâve known that he had triedâso many of them had turned him down, after all. Before he even came of age, heâd wandered the main square, looking for work, any workâto no effect. He supposed he couldnât blame them. Heâd brought this upon himself, after all.
Thief, they called him. A dangerous, deranged thief.
He quite liked the sound of that, even if his mother was inclined to disagree. As far as he was concerned, any nickname was better than trash, and unfortunately, the latter was becoming more and more common these days. For that reason alone, today wouldâve been a perfect opportunityâan opportunity to remind them what he truly was.
His long-suffering sigh turned into a wheezing fit as the icy air scratched at his lungs.
âFuck,â he breathed out, his pale hand closing on his chest, fingers digging into the scraps of fabric draped over his body. He needed to be more careful. In a weather like this, even something as mundane as breathing could very well lead to his untimely death.
Untimely, becauseâŠit wasnât his time yet. It was the last scrap of hope he held onto these days. That there was somethingâanythingâout there. Waiting, for his motherâfor him.
The wind howled again, the biting breeze from the North like needles prickling at his skin. Perhaps the Gods had heard his dreams, somehow, and decided to laugh in his face.
He almost rolled his eyes at the thought. When had he become so bitter?
It was unlikely that the Gods were watching over him, anyway. A traitorous thoughtâbut a true one. Undying and all-powerful, he doubted that such beings cared for a single soul like himâif, of course, he still had one after everything heâd done. All the pain heâd causedâŠif he was a God, he wouldnât have bothered with someone like him. Heâd be doing greater things. Important things.
Like never inflicting winter upon his lands again, for example.
Did the Gods even have such power? Heâd only heard myths, storiesâas a child, from none other than the village Elder, huddled with the other younglings around the crackling fire. Wide-eyed and still curious enough to listen to the tales of the world around them.
The Elder had told them stories of divine creatures, ones of unlimited power and unimaginable beauty, whoâd fallen from a rip in the skies above to bless the lands beneath. Whoâd taken one look at the misery of their empty world and decided to grace it with their giftsâfertile soil, and humans to harvest its bearings. The Elder said the Gods created themâall of themâthat they were their children, blessed to have the Gods as their protectors for all eternity.
Fine, then. He was a child of the Godsâa child whose name theyâd never bothered to learn. He never learned their names, either. Had never even asked. What good would that have done? He mightâve had someone to be disappointed inâsomeone other than himself.
His head fell back to the wooden wall of the hut. Its owner, no doubt, would be returning soonâand curse him out for ever daring to lean against his property. A sudden wave of tiredness washed over him, his limbs heavier somehow, as if the cold had finally managed to freeze them in place.
Maybe, if he closed his eyes for a momentâŠit would go away. Just for a few secondsâso that he could rest before returning home empty-handed. Again. It had beenâŠalmost three days since he had eaten. Two, since his mother had.
Tomorrow, he would steal, promises be damned. If he survived.
A veil of darkness began to wrap itself around his sight as he blinked again. The next time he closed his eyes, he would not open them again.
Something landed in the small pile of hay warming his feet. Something heavy.
He forced his body off the wall as he looked down. And then, his heart stopped.
A bone.
A raw bone, yesâbut large, and with scraps of meat, still hanging over the glistening, white centre that had unmistakably once been some animalâs thigh.
His hands shook as he reached for itâhis salvation. Only when it was safe and locked tightly in his grasp did he look up.
On the other end of the narrow street stood a girl, peering from the doorway of the shop that always reeked of blood and decay. The butcherâs girl, he realised, the same one the folk said was taken by illness so grave it confined her to the small room above her fatherâs shop. Heâd never seen her beforeâhe doubted anyone ever had. And yetâŠand yet, there she was, her face twisted in an emotion heâd only ever seen on his motherâs face before.
Worry.
His breathing fell flat as she stepped outâa half-step, really, in his direction, into the dimming sunlight as it made way for the chill darkness of the night. And he stopped breathing entirely as her gaze locked on his.
She was the most beautiful woman heâd ever seen.
He could make out the exact shade of her eyes despite the street separating themâdespite the curtain of greyish light draped over it. They gleamed with a light of their ownâa blue so deep they seemed almost violet, like the sky being lulled to sleep by the waning hours of dusk. Dark, silken hair cascaded down her back in soft waves, just barely brushing her waist, smallâand thin. Too thin.
He opened his mouth when a tall, broad figure appeared in the doorway behind her.
âInside,â the butcher barked, but she didnât move. She only stood thereïżœïżœlooking at him, that beautiful face still contorted in what seemed to beâpain.
ForâŠhim?
âAstra,â her father barked, and the girl flinched.
She disappeared into the house before he even managed to thank her, the door slamming shut behind her.
***
The night had fallen entirely as he made his way back home, the bone still gripped tight in his hand. Silence enveloped the streets, his steps quieter now as the cobblestone road narrowed into a dirty path. The snow melted into mud here, thick and grey and stained with yellow, its stench filling the air and stirring the guts of those misfortunate enough to reside in the area. Thankfully, though, no red tainted the filthy road tonightâno blood had been spilled over scraps of food or water. It was cold enough, it seemed, to keep his neighbours inside.
His own houseâit felt ridiculous to call it that even as it stood a few feet before himâwas a pathetic imitation of the sturdy, wooden structures over at the village square. It mustâve been on the verge of collapse, ready to fall apart at any stronger blow of wind, the wood here splintered, wet.
Still, it was a roof over his head. And he wasnât exactly in a position to complain.
Heâd been certain heâd never see it again. And yetâŠ
The girlâAstraâhad saved his life today. His motherâs life, too.
He was forever in her debt.
Tomorrow, he would go backâhe would knock on the butcherâs door the moment his shop closed and hope for the best. Hope that she would answer.
A fly flitted past him as he approached the door, the light buzz unpleasant against his ear. And then, another.
Something heavy fell down to the pit of his stomach as he realised where they came from.
There was no latrine in their homeâit was only big enough for the two of them to lay on the cots inside. If they opened their arms as they laid beside each other, they could touch the opposite sides of the room, feel the splintered wood dig into the skin of their fingers. There wasnât enough space for anything elseâso any needs other than sleep mustâve been fulfilled outside.
It was no surprise that she fell ill in a weather like this. Heâd kept her wrapped up in blanketsâhad given her all of his own as she slept, unable to stop himâbut the warmth wasnât enough. For the past two weeks, she could do nothing but writhe in pain. Every hour of every day.
Perhaps if heâd paid more attentionâif he stopped caring about a Gods-damned promiseâhe couldâve saved her. He couldâve stolen enough blankets to keep her warm, or enough food to strengthen her body. He couldâve stolen money, enough gold marks to pay for a healer, and one willing to venture this far out of the village.
But heâd done none of that. And now, it was too late.
The fire, the boneâthey could wait. An hour, maybe two, before his stomach demanded to be filled in a final cry for help. But before thenâŠ
He entered the hut silently and laid down on the unoccupied cot, letting his body, his mind, fade into nothingness.
***
When the moon rose over the village the next day, he knocked on the butcherâs door.
No one answered. Not even a sound reached himânot even as he pressed his ear to the hard wood. He knocked againânothing.
And when it seemed like the house was too lost in sleep to hear his plea, he heard it.
A thudâmuffled by the walls, the roof above. And thenâanother, heavy, like something thatâd lost its balance before dropping to the floor.
Silence fell again, so empty he almost thought heâd imagined ever hearing anything at all.
He was going to step backâto turn around and try again the next dayâwhen he heard it.
A scream.
A suppressed one, and briefâas if cut short abruptly before making way for that hollow silence again. But it did happenârip itself free, even for only a heartbeat.
He scowled at it, the wheels of his mind turning and turningâ
Another scream.
Something clicked in his head.
And he barged in.
âHow dare you.â A voice, one heâd heard before, seething from upstairs. âHow dare you disobey me. Again.â
How dare you take whatâs mine, a memory, old yet painful all the same, scratched at the wall of his mind. Street filth.
The butcher.
âI didnât mean toââ another voice sounded, small and quiet, as if trying to shrink further into itself. He stepped forwardâtowards the stairs in the back.
âSilence,â the butcher snapped.âYou will take your punishment.â He moved closer, the first step groaning under his weight. âYou will learn to listen. Or I shall have those filthy ears cut off.â
The man came into his sight at last, his back turned to him as hovered over someoneâs form.
He felt his fists close at his sides. âStop.â
The butcher whirled to him, his roughened face a picture of shock. Of recognition.
âYou.â
âStep away from her,â he spat, but the butcher made no move. âI said step away.â
âYou dare show your face here again, street trash?â he challenged, baring his teeth, yellow even in the dimming light. âYou dare give me orders?â He barked a laugh. âGet out of my establishment.â
âNo.â
Another, hideous laugh. âI see you havenât learned your lesson,â he mused, and pain splintered through his backâold scars waking to the sound of the butcherâs familiar voice. âI will have your head for this, you rat.â
He gritted his teeth. âStep away from her.â
The manâs eyes flashed. And then, strong and heavy, he lunged for him.
Too bad. He was a lot faster.
An elbow in his gut, a foot to the back of his knee. The butcher fell to the floor in time for his punch to land on his head.
When it hit the wooden plank of the floor, unconscious, he smiled.
A stifled gasp escaped someoneâs lips.
He whipped toward the sound.
A sea of dark hair shielded her face from view, but even now, he could make out the silver lining her eyes, wide and gleaming.
âAre you alright?â he asked carefully.
âIâŠâ the butcherâs daughter looked to the body, still as it laid beside him. âYouâŠkilled him?â
âNo.â He angled his head. âWould you like me to?â He would.
âNo!â She shot to her feet. âPlease, donât.â
âAlright,â he nodded. âAre you okay, though?â
Her gaze dipped. âIâll be alright. Thank you.â
He frowned. There was nothing to thank him forâhe got there too late, when her tears were no longer fresh, and yetâŠyes, that was gratitude in her eyes.
âI was looking for you, you know,â he found himself saying. âIâm the one who should be thankful, youâyou saved me. The other day. You probably donât remember,â he added quickly, and his cheeks flushed as he cursed himself for his rambling.Â
She seemed to take no notice, though. âThe bone.â She swallowed hard. âI remember.â
âI owe you a debt.â
Her eyes widened again, and she shook her head hastily. âThere is no debt.â
If only. âIâd be dead if it werenât for you,â he pointed out. When she seemed to have no answer, he jerked his chin to the man on the floor. âDoes he do this often?â he asked.
Her jaw tightened. âSometimes.â
He knew what sometimes meant. Too well.
âIf he ever tries againââ he started, ââscream. Iâll be thereâto stop him again.â
âYouâŠâ An incredulous look. âI donât understand.â
Goâjust go. Sheâs fine.
âLet me do this for you,â he blurted. âTo clear my debt. Let me keep you safe.â
She seemed to go still at the words. âSafe?â
âIf youâd like me to,â he only said, a familiar rush of exhaustion threatening to crash into him again. The old pain in his back still thrummed there quietly, and his fists bled quietly from where the skin had burst open against the butcherâs head. Heâd come here to erase his debtsâand he found himself in the middle of something that never should have taken place at allâsomething that stirred a deep, angry place within his soul.
âDo you ever sleep?â
He blinked.
The daughterâs eyes surveyed him watchfully, scanning over his face, his handsâas though somehow, she had heard the words swirling through his thoughts.
âNot anymore,â he admitted. There was no point in lying, not when heâd probably looked halfway through deathâs threshold anyway. He had not slept since he found his mother in the hutâand though it had only been a little over a day, he doubted heâd ever be able to sleep again. âSo youâd be giving me something to do, really.â If she accepted his offer.
But then she asked, âWhatâs your name?â
He almost stumbled back a step.
âIâŠwhat?â
âYour name,â her brows knotted. âWhat is it?â
No one had ever asked him that beforeânot a single person in his long, miserable life.
âOsten,â he choked out.
âOsten,â she repeated, as if weighing the sound on her tongue. He suddenly became very aware of his hands, hanging pathetically at his sides. âMy name is Astra.â
Astra.
âI know.â He swallowed hard. âI heard him call for you yesterday.â
A shy smile. âIâll make you a bargain, Osten,â she offered. âYourâŠdebt will be clear if you promise that after watching me every nightâas soon as dawn breaksâyouâll go home and get some sleep yourself.â
Her eyes shone as she waited for his answer. And, before he could even think about it, Osten said, âDeal.â
Something tingled in his chest in responseâsomething he couldnât quite discern, but there was no time, not as Astra smiled again and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
Behind her long, arched ear.
Not sick, then. It was not an illness that made the butcher confine her to the small room above his shop.
Who are you?
But Astra only nodded. âItâs a bargain.â
The words echoed through his step until he reached the dirty, familiar path home. Until, so consumed by the image of the strangest woman heâd ever seen, he tripped over a rogue root of a tree, peering above ground, and his knees landed in a melting puddle of snow.
His reflection fluttered through the surface, the image of his face scatteredâthough he could still make out the brown, messy hair, the hollow cheeks, the dark eyes. The worn-out blouse, too loose on his shoulders. TheâŠblack lines underneath?
He blinked, leaning in closer. There was a marking on his chestâone that had definitely not been there before, andâŠtingling.Â
The dark shape seemed to form a mountainâtall and proud, with three speckles hanging above itâstars.
He rubbed the marking with his hand. Nothing.
Then, he dipped his fingers into the water, this time to rub it with more fervour. The marking did not budgeâhad only continued to tingle, like a gentle, warm light caressing cold, roughened skin.
Osten did not try to remove it the third time. For some reasonâŠhe found that it didnât bother him.
***
The first beams of dawn peered over the horizon, and he nearly sagged with relief. His worries faded away with the night, which, mercifully, had passed by quietly. Undisturbed.
Astraâs father, the bastard, would come down to set up shop soonâand remain occupied for the rest of the day. Osten had hours to spend before it was time for him to stand watch again.
The time had come for him to fulfil his end of the bargain, it seemed.
Their bargain was ridiculous, really, he thought as he rose to stretch his back, sore from an entire night of leaning against the hardened wood. Astra would let him watch over her, would let him pay off his debt to her, in exchange forâŠsleep. Sheâd probably requested it as a courtesyâwhat else did he have to offer her? He mustâve looked like a half-corpse the night they metâif he slept, heâd at least be a lot nicer to look at.
He almost rolled his eyes at the thought. Why did he insist on staying when, in her eyes, there was no debt to begin with? He couldâve nodded his thanks and call it a day. Could have left and never think about her again.
Instead, he devoted his nights to her, pledging to keep her safe.
Perhaps there was a shred of humanity left in him, instilled somewhere deep in his soul by his mother, propelling him to carry out his final promise to her even after her death. Perhaps he thought that, by doing something good, he would balance out the transgressions heâd committedâand was sure to commit again.
After all, he still had to eat.
Osten sighed as his eyelids drooped, heavy after days of restlessness. He doubted she remembered, butâŠhe would keep his word and sleepâif only to stop the stinging in his eyes, begging them to shut and not open for at least a few hours.
And so, he moved to make his way home.
âWait!â a voice, small and quiet in the paling night, called after him. âThank you.â
At that, he turned. Slowly.
Her left cheek was still flushed, blood racing under the aching skin. The rage he felt two nights agoâfrozen and rippling like a cracking sheet of ice over a lakeâstirred in him at the sight, begging to be let out again. He fought the urge to press his palm to her face, knowing the touchâcold, the way it always had beenâwas able to provide her relief, even if just for a breath.
He shoved his hands into his pockets instead. âItâs nothing.â
Dark brows furrowed over those eyes, their blue so deep they nearly mirrored the sky above them. âItâs not nothing. IâŠâ she hesitated, and met his gazeâheld it until she found whatever she was searching for, whatever allowed her to continue, âI slept better knowing you were out there.â
Everything inside him went quiet at that. âYeah?â
Her answer was merely a whisper. âYes.â
Heâd never experienced silence like this beforeâit was nothing like the frigid, hollow kind that rang in his ears the night heâd found his mother. No, this was different. Peaceful. Warm.Â
And it all radiated from her.
âMy father left,â she told him, her gentle voice filling the air between them. âYou no longer have to stand watch.â
He said nothing.
âWill you get some sleep now?â Astra asked.
Osten stilled.
So she did remember.
âThat is our bargain,â he agreed, unsure why his throat felt tight.
She nodded, her eyes gleaming at the answerâas if she actually, truly caredâand he could have sworn stars flecked in them brightly as she said, âYes. It is.â
***
The snow had begun to melt off the streets at lastâthough the chill of the final weeks of winter remained. He felt it now more than ever as he sat in the shadows, resting against the back wall of Astraâs house. Listening.
Every night of the past week had mercifully been hollow with silence, filled only by his shallow breathing in the cold, and sometimes, the faint chittering of whatever lurked in the forest ahead. Heâd spent them in the company of his thoughtsâthoughts that drifted to the woman sleeping above far more often than he cared to admit. Was she safe? Did she eat enough today?
He would stay until dawn broke across the sky, until it lit up with a gentle light that sent her father out for his freshly slain delivery. Day after day, the butcher would leave the house and return after an hour or so, covered in bloodâand not his own, unfortunately.
Astra hadnât dared to come out once in her fatherâs absence. Not that heâd expected her to, of courseâafter all, he was nothing but her guard. They were bound by a debt and a bargainânothing more.
âAre you cold?â
Osten jerked off the wall. âShit!â
Sheâd appeared out of nowhereâas if stepping out from the shadows themselves. He shouldâve heard her in this silenceâbut Astra hadnât even made a breath of a sound as she emerged. He tried not to shudder at the thought.
âForgive me,â she said, the apology genuine in her tone. âI did not mean to frighten you.â
He rose to his feet. âYou didnât frighten me, I justâŠâ he sighed. âI thought you were asleep.â Why wasnât she?
She shook her head, that raven hair gleaming under the pale moonlight. âI couldnât.â
He frowned. âWhy?â Had the butcher said something to her? Had he harmed her in any way?
But Astra said nothing, her violet eyes surveying him instead. Then, she asked, âAre you, then? Cold?â
âItâs nothing new to me. Iâll survive.â
She was having none of that. âI brought you blankets,â she said, moving to hand him the small pile sheâd been holding.
He almost stumbled back a step. âYouâŠwhat?â
She angled her head, her nose scrunching a littleâas if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world. âBlankets,â Astra repeated. âTo keep warm in the night.â
He knew what blankets were for, obviously, butâŠ
âWhy?â
Her lips thinned. âI canât sleep knowing youâre freezing out here.â
He sighed again. âI told you, itâs nothing serious.â
âWell, it is to me,â Astra said, pressing the blankets into his hands. âKeep them. Please.â
Softâthey were so soft. He wasnât sure heâd ever touched anything like that before. Fighting the urge to bury his face in the material, he shook his head slowly. âYou need them more than I do,â he told her.
Her dark brows knitted. âWhat makes you think that?â
Alright, then. âYouâre ill, arenât you?â
Astra blew out a breath, and he braced himself for the answerâfor the lie heâd already heard on the streets of the village. âI am ill,â she started, âbut not in the way the folk claims.â
His mouth openedâthen closed. No more lies, thenâonly the truth. âI thought as much.â That, apart from her thin features, there were no signs of illness about Astraâonly an air of somethingâŠforeign. Something different.
Something he wasnât sure was entirely human.
Astra asked, âWhy offer me the blankets, then?â
Osten shrugged. âI wanted to see if youâd confirm it.â
Her head cocked to the side again. âI have no reason to lie to you.â
âNo?â
âNo,â she agreed quietly. âYou are my only friend.â
Silence fell again, and Astra went stillâan unnatural kind of stillness, an almost unsettling one. Like her body could not physically move until he said somethingâanything. But he couldnât even pay attention as he mulled over her words.
A friend.
HeâdâŠnever had one before.
Something tightened in his throat, blocking the cool air from flowing into his lungs. He could not utter a single word as he beheld her. Astra. His friend.
And then, her gaze fell, and she moved again. âI donât know whatâs wrong with me,â she admitted, as if she couldnât see, couldnât feel the wave of emotion that had crashed into the man before her. âI donât know why I look likeâŠthis. When I was born, Iâmy mother, she left. My fatherâŠhe says she was like meâa monster. A creature forsaken by the gods, he called her.â She huffed a bitter laugh. âHe says she tricked himâseduced him, and when she got what she wanted, she left him with a babe and not a word of goodbye.â
Osten swallowed hard. âAnd you believe him?â The question came out hoarse.
âI donât want to,â Astra said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind that arched ear. He tried not to gape at it as she added, âI donât want to believe my mother was what he makes her out to be. ButâŠthere are daysâŠâ
She shook her head, a shadow passing over her beautiful features.
So Osten said quietly, âYou can tell me.â
There was nothing but pain in her eyes as she met his gaze. âThere are days that I think only a monster couldâve left me with a man like him.â
And then, she looked to the ground again. As if she couldnât bear to face him.
Heâd be damnedâdamnedâto let her think he could ever shy away from her.
âThere is nothing wrong with you, you know,â he began, and her face whipped to his again. âYou are goodâkind.â He smiled tentatively. âYou helped a stranger dying on the streets when he had nothing to offer you in return. You made sure he survivedâand you gave him a purpose.â Daring a step toward her, he took one of the blankets and, slowly, draped it over her shoulders, their gazes not breaking for a moment as he added, âYou may not look like me, like everyone else here, butâI want you to know that Iâm honoured, Astra. Iâm honoured to be your friend.â
Lightâpure, unrestrained light, brighter than the stars above them, shone in her face as she smiled at his words.
âThank you,â she whispered. âThank you, Osten.â
***
Osten was in agony.
The slashes in his back ran deep, fresh blood coating old scars and tingling the netted skin that had never had the chance to heal. The open cuts felt as though theyâd been set on fire, white-hot and throbbing with his every step. Heâd been whipped six times, as if they wanted to relish in his screams, his suffering. As if they thought one would not have been enough for him to learn his lesson.
Obviously, they were right.
He was planning to steal again, as soon as he could walk without crying out in pain. Such noise was unwelcome if he wanted to be successful this time.
Winter had fallen again, colder and angrier than the year beforeâand even more relentless. These days, Osten missed the summertime more than everâhow quiet and peaceful his life had been then. Heâd taken to hunting in the warm weather, encouraged more by his desire to outdo the butcherâs distributors than his own need to eat. How delightful it had been to watch their faces in the forestâthe perfect mixture of shame and disbelief as they realised theyâd been bested by a common street thief. He could only imagine the butcherâs face whenever his hunters delivered him the news.
His bow, of course, had been stolen, too. Heâd found it resting against an oak tree, probably waiting as its owner ventured deeper into the bushes, urged by the pressing call of his bladder. Too bad. It mightâve been flimsy and splintered, but the bow belonged to Osten now. Though, unfortunately, he made little use of it now that the forest had become a sea of snow and ice, even the most hardened of animals hiding in its wake.
And so, Osten returned to stealing. Astra didnât knowâand if she did, she had not once said a word about it.
For a while, it was enough for him to get by. Steal in the chaos of day, watch over Astra in the dead of the night. Over the months, she seemed to sleep less and lessâchoosing to sneak out the moment her father drifted into unconsciousness, and to keep Osten company instead.
HeâŠwasnât sure what to make of it.
Still, Osten was hardly one to give her ordersâhe was merely a warden, a friend. And, if he had to admit, he enjoyed her quiet presence. He found it soothing of sortsâher eyes, wide and shining and seemingly drinking every word that fell from his lips. Her mouth, parted in a small, curious smile as she listened to his adventures from the hunt. Her voice, calm and yet so full of joy as they talked about the future ahead.
Heâd once asked her if she ever thought of leavingâof running away from her fatherâs cruel grasp and into the night, never to look back again.
And where would I go? she had asked him.
Somewhere safe, heâd told her. And, if he hadnât been such a fucking coward, panicking at the sight of her eyes gleaming with hope so beautifully, he wouldâve added: With me.
That was the first time sheâd ever left his side before daybreak. The next day, sheâd acted as though their conversation had never even taken place.
He hadnât stopped dreaming since thenâdreaming of the life the two of them could lead if he only dared. Traitorous, traitorous dreamsâones that were sure never to become reality. Yes, they could escape somewhere, far away from the cold, grey village the Gods had thrust them intoâbut then, what? Where would they go? Where could he ever take her, with nothing no his name but the scars on his back?
The reality, the truth, was simple. Astra deserved a good lifeâa better life. Without him.
It was with that thought that he made way to her house, wrapped in the blankets sheâd given him all those months ago. Heâd tried to return them time and time againâto no effect. So heâd kept them, his mind arguing that, at the very least, the blankets would keep him safe enough from frostbite to continue watching her for as long as she needed him.
Their weight on his shoulders was especially painful tonight, though. He wondered how long it would take for his blood to soak into their softness, to turn the murky brown fabric red.
When he turned the corner to the back of the houseâright beneath Astraâs small windowâhe found the space already occupied.
Osten stumbled back in surprise, a small hiss escaping him as the blankets brushed against a particularly nasty cut running along his spine. Astraâs brows furrowed.
âAre you alright?â
âYes,â he muttered, his gaze falling to the small plate in her hands. âWhat is this?â
Her lips were a thin line. âI heard what happened.â
Ah.
âI donât know what you mean,â he said anyway.
âOsten,â she pressed, taking another step forward. âLet me help you.â
The muscle in his jaw shifted. âHow did you find out?â
Astra sighed, the sound slightly shaky on her breath. âIâŠhear things. I hear them well.â Her gaze dropped to the plateâas if she couldnât dare to meet his eyes as she added, âEven when they are happening far outside, I can hear them. My fatherâs knife, cutting through the flesh downstairs. People talking in the streets. Horses neighing in the stables out back. Your heart,â she said, something strained in her voice now, âI hear it, too. How loudly it beats whenever we speak.â
There was such silence in his head.
Astra shook the dark hair from her face. âTake it,â she said, handing him the plate. The meat, freshly cooked by the potatoes, still hot and steaming and smelling so painfully good that his stomach churned at the barest glance. âPlease.âÂ
His eyes widened. âIâŠâ he stepped back. âI canât accept this.â
Iâm supposed to keep you safe.
âWhy not?â she pushed. âWhy wonât you let me help you?â
Please, donât make me say it.
âI donât want it,â he said, another desperate step back.
âLies,â she hissed. âTell me.â
Such fierce, unflinching determination in her face. She knew what heâd doneâknew exactly what kind of person he wasâand still, sheâd cooked this meal for him. Refused to yield until he took the hand sheâd reached out to him.
Osten swallowed hard, something wet burning his eyes restlessly.
âI donât deserve it,â he finally whispered.
Astra went still.
âI promised her, you knowâmy mother,â he continued, unable to look into her eyes, to see the disappointment no doubt twisting her face, âI promised her I would never steal again. She hated it.â He huffed a bitter laugh, one that scratched at his throat like fingernails. âShe hated that I wasnât trying to live an honest life. So, for a while, I did. I tried.â He choked out, âAnd it wasnât enough to keep her from dying.â
He couldnât bring himself to look up as he finished, âI shouldnât have eaten that bone you gave me a year ago. I shouldâve left it in the snow. I shouldâve gone home, and I shouldâve died with her.â
For a moment, there was nothing but silence, thrumming in his head, his heart.
And thenâ
âOsten.â
He shook his head.
âLook at me.â
Her hand cupped his face, so gentle and soft that he shivered beneath the touch. His own hands were coarse, dirtyâso different from hers that he almost recoiled from the touch, like a shadow burned by the first beams of the morning sunlight.
Step away, everything screamed inside of him as his gaze lifted to those immaculate hands. Step away before you stain them with your filth.
Her hold on him grew solid, harder than any steel. As if in answer.
As if somehow, sheâd heard the words his mind spat at him.
He swallowed them down, forced them to the darkest pits of his soul, and looked up.
âBeautiful,â she breathed as he met her gaze.
His chest tightened. âTheyâre just black,â he said a shade pathetically, but she shook her head, her own eyes gleaming.
âI feel like I can see the whole world in them.â
He couldâve died in that momentâand he wouldâve died a happy man.
âAstra,â he whispered.
But Astra said, âWhat happened to your mother was not your fault. You did everything you couldâyou protected her despite everything the world has thrown at you.â Her thumb brushed the hollow of his cheek. âAnd now, you protect me. You keep me safe.â She smiled, so beautiful his heart braced to leap out of his chest. âYou matter, Osten. You matter to me.â
You are my friend.
Let me help you.
You matter to me.
âEat with me.â
So Osten said, âOkay.â
***
The butcher was out tonight.
Osten had trailed him to the brothel on the far outskirts of the villageâa place cursed by the Elder, hidden far from his watchful eye. Osten had never dared to venture in himselfâhad never had the money for it, anywayâbut hearing the sounds from within left little to the imagination, anyway.
He figured Astraâs father was unlikely to return before dawn.
Still, he found himself on the familiar path to her house anyway.
She wasnât there when heâd arrivedâshe mustâve been well asleep despite the night only having just begun. Something like disappointment sank in his chestâheâd grown used to seeing her greet him as he approached, those violet eyes bright. Happy. Even his wounds had seemed to heal faster over the past week, stinging less and less with each smile sheâd offered him.
Tonight, he was only greeted by the darkness.
And then, a scream.
Astraâs screamâa desperate, bloodcurdling plea for help.
Osten didnât think twice.
His heart pounded, faster and faster as he rushed into the shop and up the stairs out backâsome of the steps stained by old, rusty blood. He swallowed, silently praying it had come from some turkey, some pig, anything butâ
Astra screamed again.
He yanked the door open.
Darkness swirled in the room, thick and heavy and wrapped around herâaround Astraâs sleeping form, the shadows tighter and tighterâ
No, Osten realised as he stepped in closer. The darkness was not trying to kill her.
ItâŠcame from her.
The shadows caressed her skin, their curled ends brushing her arms, her cheeks, her arched earsâas if⊠nursing her back into peace.
âAstra?â Osten whispered.
Astra shot upright with another scream.
Her chest heaved with rough, uneven breaths, and she looked aroundâto the bed she was lying in, to the shadows hugging her body, to Osten, standing above her, pale as death.
And then, she broke into tears.
He was at her side in an instant, and the shadows vanished out of sight, as though content to let him take over. Silver lined her face as she weptâstill tormented by the nightmare despite being freed from its grasp.
âItâs okay,â he said thickly, wrapping the blankets tighter around her. Her shoulders wobbled beneath them as she wept. âYouâre okay.â
But she shook her head, silent tears dripping onto the mattress. Heâd never seen anyone cry so quietlyâas if her pain was a secret she needed to keep from the rest of the world.
Through a crack in the window, the chill wind whistled into the room, and it took everything in him not to leave her side and close it. Whatever happenedâwhatever horrors ripped her from her sleepâŠhe would not let her endure them alone.
He could no longer tell if it was the cold that made his jaw tremble, or the sight of her, utterly broken in a pile of patched-up blankets sheâd probably sewn up herself. Even the Gods themselves knew her father cared too little to have done it for her.
He gently draped another layer over her form. Sheâd shrunk so deep into herself that it made his heart ache.
âTell me what happened.â
She didnât look to meet his pleading gaze. âIt was just a nightmare,â she said, and damn him, even her voice sounded small. As if the scream sheâd let out had cost her all her strength.
âTell me anyway.â
A shaky breath. âYou donât want to know," she said, and he could've sworn shadows gathered around her again at the wordsâa confirmation of the darkness her dreams beheld.
But Osten only said, âYouâre my friend.â
A single tear slid down her cheek. âI saw fire. Fire and bloodâso much blood, Osten. IâŠI couldnât stop it.â Her voice trembled again. âAnd then, there was nothing. Nothing. It was cold, and it was dark, andââ
âIt was a dream,â he insisted, his hand still resting atop her shoulder. He dared to brush his thumb over it as he added, âItâs not going to happen.â
Astra met his gaze, her own eyes beseeching. âSomeone talks to me in my sleep,â she whispered.
âWho?â
âA woman.â She shook her head again. âI donât know. I donâtâŠknow what to do.â
Osten had never felt more powerless in his life.
But then, Astra covered his hand with hers, guiding him from her shoulder to lace her fingers with his. âThank you for coming here,â she said quietly.
He wasnât sure he was breathing as he asked, âWould you like me to stay?â
A heartbeat of silence.
âYes.â
***
âOsten.â
Shit. Had he fallen asleep again?
âYouâre awake.â He rose to his feet, facing the woman watching him from the shadows. âDid you have another nightmare?â It had almost been a week since the last time sheâd woken up screaming.
Since sheâd fallen asleep inches beside him.
âNo,â Astra said, then hesitated. âWell, yes. A dream. I think.â
He cocked his head to the side. âIsâŠeverything okay?â
âIâmâŠnot sure. IâŠâ She loosed a slow breath. âOsten, I think I know. I know what I amâwhat these dreams have been trying to show me all this time.â
Sheâd tied her hair up tonight, for the very first time since theyâd met, perhapsâthose dark curls swept back, a few silken strands framing her face. Her long, arched ears.
She was so beautiful he struggled to level a breath.
âAndâŠâ he gulped. âWhat have you learned?â
Astra surveyed him. Then, she said, âShe tells me there are others.â
âWho?â
âMy Mother.â
His eyes widened. âYou found her?â The mother whoâd abandoned her the moment she was born, the one sheâd refused to speak about when heâd asked her months ago. Sheâd beenâŠsearching for her?
But Astra shook her head, her lips parting in a gentle smile. âShe found me.â
Osten lifted his brows. But Astra continued, âShe sings of others of my kind, creatures of all shapes and sizes, but with the same, ancient magic, thrumming through their veins.â She tucked a loose strand of hair behind that arched ear. âThey live far away from hereâon a land far larger than ours, across the Great Sea. Fae, she calls them. Thatâs what I am.â She smiled, a peaceful smileâas though finally, everything in the world had fallen into place.
Osten could all but stare.
Astraâs smile faltered. âYouâre frightened.â
âNo, IâŠâ His throat felt dry. âMagic?â
She nodded. âYes.â
âWhat of the Gods, then? Are theyâŠâ he swallowed hard. âAre they Fae as well?â
âNo. IâI donât know. The Mother, sheâŠâ Astra chewed on her bottom lip. âShe calls them beings of death. Unmatched in their raw power, andâŠundying.â She shivered. âIâŠno. They arenât like me.â
Osten released a long, long breath.
âThereâs more,â she added carefully, as if she could fell the weight of her news on him. âMy Motherâshe has gifted me with a mission. A power different from the others. Osten, IâŠI can do things.â
âWhat kind of things?â
She hesitated.
âIâm not going anywhere,â he assured her, even as his head started spinning.
Astra stepped in closer and opened her palm.
Light, a warm silver that seemed to glitter much like the stars above them, beamed from her skin, illuminating the alley. Soft, gentleâjust like her, and bright as it warmed his face. He couldâve sworn he heard it calling out to his very soul.
âIncredible,â he breathed. âItâs like starlight.â
A small smile. âIt is.â
âHow do you do it?â he asked, his voice clear with awe.
âI look deep into my soul,â she said quietly, looking from beneath dark lashes to meet his gaze. âAnd I think of you.â
Osten, a gentle voiceâher voiceâsounded in his mind, and he staggered back a step. Donât be afraid.
âWas that you?â he managed to say. She nodded. âIt feltâŠwarm.â Like a breeze on a summer night.
Astra breathed out, her shoulders nearly sagging with relief. Had she worried sheâd scared him away? She was magnificentâbeautiful inside and out, the only light heâd ever come close to in his entire life.
He was never going to let her go.
âI wish I could do that, too,â he admitted. âSo that I could talk to you when everyone else is watching.â
Sadness twisted her face, and guilt washed over him like a crashing wave. âIâm sorry,â he amended quickly. âI didnât mean to upset you. Iâm fine the way things are.â
âIâm not,â she whispered. âOsten.â Gods, the way she spoke his name. Like it was the only thing that mattered. âI want to be able to see you, talk to you. Touch you.â He shivered, and she took his hand. âI want to be able to do all those thingsâsomewhere safe, where people will watch and not care one bit.â Her eyes glowed brightly as she added, âAnd one day, I will.â
His fingers curled tighter around her own.
âI promise,â she said.
***
Even in the darkness, he could make out the shadows on Astraâs face as he approached her home. She watched him, absently fiddling with her fingers, those violet eyes glazed and somewhere far awayâlost in thought.Â
His steps picked up. He could practically taste her worry on her shaky breath, on the small clouds of frost that formed on the cold, midnight air. Had he touched her again? Was she in pain?
He would kill him. He would stride into the house, just like he had all those months ago, and beat him until his eyes swelled enough for him to never lay them on his daughter again. Until his jaw shattered to the point of no repair, so he could never spew his filthy insults to her face again. He would fucking relish in his pain, he wouldâ
âOsten?â
He blinked.
Astraâs thin hand gripped his with surprising strength. âYou seemed to daze off a little.â
He forced a swallow down his throat and smiled weakly. âYeah.â
Her brows knitted, her worry creased even deeper into her beautiful features. She shouldnât have worried for himânever for him. Not when the world had thrown so much at her already.
So Osten cleared his throat, unusual lightness in his tone as he amended, âForgive me. I got distracted.â He reached out a hand, daring to brush his knuckles against her cheek. The faintest of touches, but she flushed nonetheless. âWhat bothers you?â Osten asked quietly.
âIâŠâ her voice trembled again, and his heart strained in his chest. His fingers brushed her cheek once more, encouraging, and he mustâve stopped breathing entirely as her hand wrapped around themâbrought his own, rough hand to cup her face gently. As if it steadied her. âFather is ill,â she finally told him.Â
Perhaps the Gods had decided to do the job for him, then.
âThe medics said itâs a matter of days,â she added, the words barely above a whisper.
Good fucking riddance. The bastard deserved itâthe world would be a better place without him.
Still, Astra seemed rattled, her grip on his hand tighter. âWhen heâs goneâŠâ she started, clearly aware of his indifference to her fatherâs fate, âthey will come for me. He was the only protection Iâve ever had from them.â
He pretended the words hadnât stung some place deep in his soul, the same one that bellowed to defend her, to shield her body with his own, to lay down his life for hers if necessary. Butâshe had to know. So he said, âYou have me.â
Her eyes softened. âI knowâI know. But my father wasâisâvery well known in this village, and for the folk, no matter how curious about me, itâs always been enough to keep away.â
No matter how big of a bastard he was, her father was respected. Unlike himâunlike the street trash whose hand she now held to her face.
She stepped forward, her body so close to his now that he couldnât help but meet her gaze. It would be so easy, so painfully easy to take her into his arms when her warmth practically sang for him to do it. The kind of warmth that shouldâve been at odds with the cold heart of hisâand yet they danced together in harmony, like shadows between the stars.
âYouâre strong,â she said, placing that slender hand atop his chest. Right above his heart, pounding under the intensity of her stare. âThe strongest person I know, Osten. I wouldnât be standing here today if it wasnât for you. But, these peopleâŠâ she shook her head, her dark hair shimmering under the moonlight. âThese peopleâthey wonât see me as you do. Once they see me for what I truly am, they will stop at nothing to be rid of meâeven if it means killing you,â she finished, and something silver sparkled in those eyes.Â
The Gods would damn him for thisâfor thinking he was worthy of itâbut he wrapped his arms around her, unable to keep away at the sight of her tears. âI wonât let that happen,â he insisted, his voice cracking slightly as she pressed her body into his. âAs long as I live, I will keep you safe.â His lips brushed over her temple, over the silken hair above in a whisper of a kiss. âPerhaps even after that.â
Astra shuddered against him, but she nodded. âIâll keep you safe, too. No matter what it takes.â
***
The evening had slowly began to dim into the night. It was still too early for him to begin his watchâthe butcherâs shop wouldâve been running for another hour or so had Astraâs father not been confined to his bed for the past week. Even so, Osten found himself on his usual route to her house, something thrumming quietly in his chest with each step, urging him forward. He couldnât tell why, butâŠhe listened.
Heâd been restless all day, wandering around the village without aim. It took everything in his power to keep himself from running to the main square and simply knocking on the butcherâs door. Only Astraâs stories of his deteriorating health kept him somewhat at easeâher father could not possibly harm her in his current state, not when a mere lift of a finger would cause him immense pain.
Osten tried not to delight in that. He wondered what happened to the manâif, perhaps, the Gods had learned of his cruelty and chosen the illness as punishment.
After all, they could not allow a common human to be more heartless than them.
Still, even with Astraâs reassurance that she was safe, he could not stop himself from coming over every night. She hadnât come out as often as she used toânot with her father constantly demanding her attention. He could not understand why she did itâbut he kept quiet. Waited.
A matter of days, heâd been told.
Hurry up, his mind urged.
Perhaps tonight would bring more optimistic news. He simply couldnât wait any longer.
HeâŠmissed her. Missed the sound of her voice, the sparkle in her eyes, the feel of her skin on his. Maybe that was what his quickening heartbeat had been trying to tell him all dayâto touch her, smell her. Taste her.
He was in such deep shit.
Careful not to be spotted by anyone whoâd have recognised him as the village thief, he continued on his way forwardâbut, strangely enough, the village seemedâŠdeserted. Empty. As if all of its residents have decided to go to sleep earlier tonight. Some, Osten even noticed, have barricaded themselves in.
Something was wrong.
His steps picked up, that thrumming in his chest louder and louder, echoing through the tightening space. What was going on? Why wasnât anyone there?
He turned the corner and froze into place.
The butcherâs shop was engulfed in flames.
No.
No, no, no.
These people, Astraâs voice whispered into his mind, they wonât see me as you do. Once they see me for what I truly am, they will stop at nothing to be rid of me.
His blood stilled in his veins.
The butcher was dead.
I wonât let that happen, his own answer came. As long as I live, I will keep you safe.
His legs started moving again.
âAstra?â Osten called. âAstra!â
She was in the house, struggling to breathe through the smokeâ
Oh, Gods, what if she wasâ
And then, he heard it.
Chanting.
He whipped to his right, to where, at the far end of the street, a dark mass of people gathered, torches in hand.
And in the middle of it allâŠ
âASTRA!â
His roar echoed through the stone.
He lunged forward, running faster than heâd ever had, because these people, these monsters, they took her, they took her from himâ
âOsten!â her voice reached him through the crowd, trembling.
âMove!â he yelled, elbowing someone deep in the gut, pushing through the sea of bodies, âFucking move right now!â
All the air was suddenly sucked from his lungs, and Osten fell to his knees.
Someone kicked him in the backâin the scars, still half-open and healing.
A loud gaspâAstraâs.
âNo one wants you here, trash,â some old man spat at him.
Another kick, pinning his body to the ground.
âLeave her alone,â he managed breathlessly.
The crowd laughed, an ugly, biting sound.
âShe is a witch, boy. Too dangerous to be kept alive,â a woman beside him said, torch in hand.
âDo you not see her?â the other man questioned, a smirk on his face. âFilthyâjust like you.â He motioned somewhere behind himâsomewhere where Astra was kneeling on the stones, held down by the shoulders by two men.
And beside herâŠ
A tall, wooden stake.
A white-hot flash of pain shot up Ostenâs spine as he thrashed under his boot. âShe is nothing like me.â She was good, and kind, andâ
âPerhaps we have you both burned.â He jerked his chin to one of the large men. âTake him.â
âNO!â Astra screamed, desperately trying to yank her body from the menâs grip. âKEEP AWAY FROM HIM!â
He failed. He failed her, and now they were both going to die. âAstra!â he bellowed, still moving, still trying to reach her through the agony, whenâ
Another boot on his backâand a scream, ripped free from his throat.
Pain, pain and absolute, unrestrained terror filled Astraâs faceâas if somehow, she, too, could feel his pain.
And then she began to scream.
The ground shook beneath his body, beneath all of them, people hauling each other away as Astra roared, roared and sobbed, shredding the world to pieces with her pure, unfiltered fury.
And when her voice was nothing but a high pitch on the cold, evening air, it started to rain.
Noânot rain.
Blood.
It was everywhereâon him, under him, everywhere in between. The weight on his back vanished, something seeping into the torn fabric of his clothes, thick and hot and wet.
Osten rose to his knees, the world suddenly silent.
He looked around himâto the torches, scattered all over the ground, blood dripping onto their heads to slowly put out the fire. To the woman kneeling in the middle of it all, soaked in red.
âWhat have you done?â he asked, shock lacing every word.
Pale as death, her entire body shook. âI donât know,â she said, the words no more than a choked sob. âIâŠâ her gaze fell to her hands. To the blood splattered all over them. âI killed them,â she whispered, the sound no more than a rasp.
He couldnât move. Couldnât so much as turn to look at the massacre around themâto the dozens of bodies that, under a mere lift of her finger, had become a red, wet mist. He only stared at herâat the woman before him, still trembling under the weight of what sheâd done.
What sheâd done to protect them. Protect him.
âIâŠâ Osten began, but didnât manage to say anything else. Words failed him.
Her violet eyes were lined with silver as she looked at him once moreâthen closed them. Squeezed them shut as she kept trembling. A shaky breath loosed from her chestâas if she braced herself for whatever he was going to say next. As if she expected him to cringe away.Â
As if she thought he was going to leave her.
As if she thought he could ever live without her.
He took her bloodied hands in his, his thumb smearing red as he brushed her skin gently. âWe need to go.â Those eyes shot open in surprise. âNow.â
***
Hand in hand, they ranâran until the village long left their sight, until the smoke no longer swirled around them. The only thing that remained was bloodâa reminder never to return again.
Hours mustâve passed since the massacre, but they did not stop until a light came into view. Then, a houseâno, an inn.
Thank the Gods.
A few loose gold marks, pulled deep from within Astraâs skirts, paid for a night in one of the rooms. The innkeeper averted her eyes as she handed them the keyâno doubt eyeing the red staining their clothes, stumbling back at their tangy smell.
It did not matter. They were safe.
Astra disappeared in the small space behind one of the walls the moment they stepped into the room. She only mumbled something about âa bath,â her hands still trembling slightly under the coat of blood.
He wondered if sheâd noticed the lone bed in the middle, if she, too, heard the countless pillows and blankets call out her name.
No matter how loudly they called, he was planning to take the floor. She needed the bed more than he didâespecially after everything that had gone on tonight. He was used to the questionable comfort of the ground, anyway.
And so, when heâd emerged from the bathroom minutes after it had been freed by Astra, his hair still dripping warm water, he marched straight for the space at the foot of the bed.
âWhatâŠare you doing?â Astraâs voice reached him, confused.
He turned to her, frowning. âIâŠdo you need me?â Did she need help? He couldnât imagine with what, butâ
âWhat? No,â Astra chuckled lightly. âWere really planning to sleep on the floor?â
âIâŠâ Osten look to the ground again, to where heâd already laid a single blanket. âYes?â
She chuckled again, as if she couldnât help herself, the sound like a birdsong carried by the summer wind. âJustâŠcome here, Osten.â
Words fell dry in his throat as he approached the bed. As, slowly, he slid under the duvet, inches from her side.
Astra sighed deeply. âItâs warm.â
Osten swallowed hard. âAstra.â Her eyes shot open. âAre youâŠalright?â
Her teeth dug into her bottom lip. âIâŠdonât know.â Her face was grave again, and for a moment, he wish he could hear that soft laugh from her again. âThere is so much to do, Osten,â she said quietly.
âIâll follow you anywhere,â he told her, his voice tight.
Her eyes glittered in the darkness. âYou donât have to. The task I was givenâthe one Iâd told you aboutâitâs dangerous. IâI donât know how, butâŠâ she shook her head, the drying strands of hair shifting with the movement. âYou donât have to,â she repeated.
âI want to,â Osten whispered.
At that, Astra said nothing. She only staredâher eyes burning, glowing as bright as his soul as he swore to remain by her side.
âWhat is the task?â he asked her, breaking the silence.
âDo you remember when I told you of the others?â Osten nodded, but she said anyway, âThe Fae across the Great Sea. They were banishedâbanished by the Death Gods who wished to roam these lands themselves. This placeâŠâ she sighed, as if she shared the weight of those Faeâs pain, âIt used to be their home.â
Osten blinked. âYou wish to bring them backâbring them home.â
âYes.â
âAnd youâllââ his head spun. âYouâll challenge the Gods for this?â
Astraâs eyes fluttered shut. âIâd rather not think about that right now. ButâŠâ Another sigh. âI was given this power for a reason, Osten. I canât simply let it go to waste.â
He wasnât sure what to sayâwhat was there to be said? Astra was powerful, powerful enough to face the same Gods humans like him had been praying to since the beginning of time, and OstenâŠ
Osten was unable to stop her. Could only follow her and keep on praying. To whom, he was no longer sure.
Perhaps heâd pray to her, he thought as he looked upon her face again. Heâd never believed in anything more.
And so, underneath the heavy duvet, Osten reached for her hand.
He felt it, thenâthe warmth of her skin as his fingers brushed it. Astra shiftedâshifted closer, encouraging, and he realisedârealised it wasnât her hand that he found, but her thigh, bare under the nightgown theyâd found in the ancient wardrobe of the room.
Fuck, she was so beautiful.
If it wasnât the Gods that held her in their graces, she had to have been blessed by stars themselves. The silky veil of her hair spilled onto her pillow, shielding her face from view, but he knewâknew just how devastating she was. Knew the way her eyes twinkled from beneath long, dark lashes as she looked at him; the way they saw him, saw all of him, and lit up at the sight. Thatâs what she wasâlight, as if every inch of her had been crafted from the stars themselves.
He tucked the thought deep into his soul, let it shine there quietly as his knuckles continued to trace the golden-brown skin of her thigh. Slowly, he savoured the feel of her softness, her quickening breaths like a melody calling out to him, urging him to move, move, move.
She wanted thisâwanted him, even when he had nothing, was nothing. She couldâve told him to spend the night on the floor at her feet, and he wouldâve obliged her happily. She couldâve chosen the comfort of the blankets on her side of the bed, and yet it was his body sheâd turned to for warmth. His heart nearly stumbled in answer.
His name was a strain on her lips as his fingers reached the apex of her thighs, and everything inside of him tightened. His own aching body pressed in closer, and he let his lips fall to her neckâto nuzzle it gently, to worship the heartbeat thumping underneath. The pulse that assured him this was real, that theyâd made it out alive.
Her body shivered against him, as if her thoughts mirrored his own.
âOsten,â she whispered his name again as his thumb circled that spot that made her breath falter. The same spot that now coated his fingers with a slick warmth, guiding him lower, deeperâ
His lips closed on her neck again, right beneath her ear, and Astra shuddered.
âOsten,â she said again. âI need you.â
He hummed against her, relishing in the scent of her, like jasmine and a summer breeze, his thumb circling that spot closer, brushing up against itâ
Two of his fingers slid into that wetness the moment he asked, âAnd how do you need me, Astra?â
Her low moan reverberated through his chest as she buried her face in him. âAll of you,â she begged. âGive me all of you.â
âIâm yours,â Osten promised. âEvery last shred of what I am belongs to you.â
Astra loosed a shuddering breath and wrapped her arms around him. âYouâre mine.â
And with that, she pulled his body on top of her own.
Osten swore at the sudden movement, at the strength behind it, but then Astra reached for the lace of his trousers, slender fingers tangling into the threadâand all thoughts vanished from his head.
And when he finally sprang free, when all of him was laid bare to her, when she wrapped her hand around the velvety baseâ
âYouâre mine,â Astra repeated, voice straining, guiding him closer.
Osten could not breathe as he felt itâfelt her very core, felt its heat welcome him in.
âYouâre mine.â
His groan was a swallowed sound as he crashed his lips into hers.
He rocked into her slowly at first, a gentle, teasing pace that let her adjust to his fullness as he kissed herâkissed her the same way heâd dreamt of all this time, savouring every inch, every bit of warmth she offered.
Astra panted, breaking away only for a moment as she held him tightly, urging him closer, deeper before her mouth found his again in an endless need to taste, taste, taste.
He understood that need all too well.
Her nails dug into his shoulders as he sunk his length into her, brushing against a spot that made her tighten so deliciously around him that he couldnât help but groan her name again.
âAstra.â His hand tightened on her hip as he pulled out, then thrust back in, completely and utterly breathless. âMy beautiful Astra.â
She moved her hips, her hands on his neck now, pulling his face to hers againâas if she wanted to share her every breath with his.
âYours,â her promise echoed his own. âIâm yours.â
Starlight erupted around them as he drove home for the final time. Bright, iridescentâglowing, from her, from him, from the joining of their souls as they found their pleasure together. Thisâshe was everything heâd ever wanted, the warmth heâd been holding out for in a raging cold, the hope heâd been searching for in a life that seemed forever lost to it.
Astra.
They rested like this, tangled together, her body wrapped up in his arms, his face held in her loving hands.
When he pulled away to admire her kiss-bitten lips, Astra said, âI wish we could stay like this. Forever.â
He placed a kiss to her brow. âOne day, we will.â
âThere are dangerous days ahead of us.â
âI will keep you safe.â Another kiss. âIâll fight death itself to keep it away from you.â
âFrom both of us,â Astra amended.
âFrom both of us,â he agreed.
***
Osten.
Osten, the voice urged again. Wake up.
His body shifted to the side.
Osten!
He jolted awake, blinded by the sudden light.
Astraâs face stared back at him, her eyes wide as she pressed a finger to his lips. Do not make a sound, she warned, something trembling in that silent voice. Theyâre here.
Who? he whispered into nothingness, hoping that somehow, she could hear him.
Something glimmered in that darknessâdeep within his mind. A lightâsoft yet bright, shining a silver so warm it was almost gold. It reminded him of the starlight Astra had once shown him.
When Astra spoke again, it was through that light, her voice steady, grounding him in the chaos of this world. The village hunters. Theyâre hereâand they came for us.
So quicklyâtheyâd found them so quicklyâ
His stomach turned.
We need to go, Astra urged.
Okay, Osten blinked, forcing the remnants of his sleep away. Okay.
Thereâs a window in the bathroom facing out back, she told him hurriedly, We jump, and we run for the forest ahead.
Osten nodded.
Letâs go.
He was on his feet in an instant, running for the room hidden behind their bedâGods, their bed.
What they did last nightâŠ
Focus, Astraâs stern tone crept into his mind againâbut there was a softness to it, a flushâone that made his own face burn.
Not now.
Astra jumped first, the ground beneath low enough to steady her fall. Osten followed quickly, knees buckling as he landed, and his cheeks heated againâsomehow, Astra had managed to do this with a lot more grace.
He heard their bedroom door burst open the second they lunged for the forest.
âQuickly," Astra panted, âDonât stop.â
Donât stop, he heard her again, her voice huskier this timeâa memory simmering to life again. Donât stop, donât stop, donât stopâ
He shook his head and kept on running.
They didnât stop until the woods deepenedâuntil there was nothing but the barren trees ahead, lone bushes standing their ground here and there amidst the cold weather. Until a wooden hut came into sightâhidden atop a small clearing.
âItâs not safeââ he started, but Astra had already made her way towards the door.
It was hopelessâin his experience, people had rarely been inclined to reach out a hand, no matter how desperate heâd been. But AstraâŠthe hope never died with her.
Her knock was soft on the door.
A moment later, it opened with a soft creak, and a wrinkled face emerged. âYes?â
âIâŠâ Astra swallowed hard. âIâŠâ
It hit him, then. How isolated she had been. Her entire lifeâsheltered from everyone but the man who Osten was willing to bet had hardly spoken to her at allâand, when he did, he had little kindness to offer.
He was by her side in a heartbeat, his hand steady on her shoulder.
Osten smiled to the lady. âMy wife and I are simple travellers. We beg for your sanctuary in this difficult conditions.â
The woman was old, possibly older than the Elder himself, but her eyes were still sharp as ever as she took them in. âTravellers?â she questioned. âOr outlaws?â
His kind expression did not waver for so much as a breath. âWe come from the West in search of a better life.â Everyone knew the lands bordering the Great Sea were less than hospitable. So many deaths there, disappearancesâcursed by the Gods, the village folk had always used to say. âPlease,â Osten said again. âMy wife is pregnant.â
Beside him, Astra stilled.
He could only pray her face betrayed nothing as the woman assessed herâdropped down to her belly, narrowing slightly.
Finally, she looked to him again, and Osten did not realise heâd been holding his breath. âCome in,â she told them.
âThank you,â Astra breathed. âThank you.â
The woman nodded.
Only when they laid beside each other a few hours later, huddled on a small bed in the darkness of the night, did Astra dare to whisper, âI felt bad lying to her.â
Underneath the thin covers, Osten brushed his fingers over her waist. âIâd lie to the Gods themselves to keep you safe,â he said. âBesides, itâŠit doesnât have to be a lie.â
Astra fell silent.
He opened his mouth, ready to take it back, to apologiseâ
But then, Astra asked, âIt doesnât?â
He swallowed. âIf you donât want it to be.â
âWhat about you, Osten?â she pressed. âWhat do you want?â
She couldâve asked him if the sun was hot, or the grass green, or the night sky the same shade as her eyes. The answer was that simple.
âYou,â he rasped. âI want you.â
Astra shifted closer, the heat of their bodies united once more.
âThen take me,â she told him. âTake all of me.â
***
When he woke up, Astra was gone.
His breath came hard and fast, dread curling in his stomach as all his fears crashed into him one by one.
They found us.
They took her.
Theyâd burn her.
And you could not protect her.
He shot to his feet and lunged out of the room, everything inside him bellowing to find her, find her, find herâ
A clank of metal somewhere to his right. The kitchen.
He was there in an instant, gripping the wooden beam rising from the low ceiling, his hand white as death.
âMy wife,â he panted. âWhere is she?â
The old lady whipped back, a wrinkled palm to her chest. âGods!â
âWhere is she?â he repeated. If sheâd let them take herâ
âTake a deep breath, boy. Sheâs in the forestâpicking up berries for breakfast.â A scolding glare of those ancient eyes. âI was planning to go myself, but she insisted on helping.â
Of course she had.
Heâd merely grunted a response before running out.
What was she thinking? Even now, in broad daylight, there wasnât a single place in the world where they could be safe, not with all the Gods against them, not with the village men on the hunt andâand the Fae she had to uniteâ
His head hurt. But he kept on running.
What if theyâd already gotten to her? What if, by some miserable chance, a lone hunter stumbled upon her wandering the woodsâsaw her arched ears and assumed what everyone else had? A monster, a witch. A prey to hunt, to rid the world of.
He was going to kill every last one of them.
âOsten?â
He turned to the soundâ
There she was. Safe.
He took her in his arms before she managed to say another word. âYouâre okay,â he breathed. âYouâre okay.â
Her hands slid around his neck carefully. âOf course I am.â There was a hint of question to her voiceâas if she couldnât understand the frantic look in his eyes, the panic in his face.
âI was so worried,â he told her, then leaned back an inch to meet her gaze. âWhat were you thinking?â
âI didnât go that far,â she protested. âThe cottage is only a few minutes awayââ
âThere are people hunting us, Astra.â He loosed a breath. âWe need to be more careful,â he added, his eyes searching. A shadow passed through her faceâthere and gone, but enough for his heart to ache. âIâm sorry,â Osten said, his voice more gentle now as he reached for her palm. âI wish things were easier.â
Astra sighed. âMe, too.â She squeezed his hand. âLetâs go.â
âWhen we reach the North,â he began as they made their way back through the woods, âWhat will you do?â
She chewed on her lip. âThe Mother guides me. Sheâll reveal the face of my enemy once Iâm there.â
âHow can it be your enemy?â He couldnât understand. âYou donât even know themâ
âThe Mother says they are the reason my kind is not welcome in these lands,â she explained. âIf I use my powers to banish them, theyâll be able to come back.â
âIf sheâs so powerful, why canât she do it herself?â he snapped, then bit his tongue. He didnât mean for his words to come out so harsh.
But Astra only smiled as she lifted her gaze to his. âPerhaps she knows life is a lot easier when you have someone by your side.â
And Osten found himself smiling back.
âIâll do what I can, you know,â he told her. âTo help.â
Astra only shook her head. âYou left your home for me, Osten. You have no idea what it means to me.â
He stopped in his tracks, and she turned back, confusion written on her features. So he took her hand in his and said, âIâd leave that place a thousand times over. You are my true home, Astra.â
Her eyes gleamed, and she opened her mouthâ
But then, her smile faltered.
Heâd seen that look beforeâyesterday morning, at the inn.
âWhat?â he asked, panic building in his chest all over again. âWhat is it?â
Astra swallowed hard. âDeath.â
They both did not stop running until the cottage came into sight, so awfully quiet that even the wind had ceased to sing.
âStay behind me,â he instructed as they walked in.
The kitchen was painted in blood. And their host, the old, innocent womanâŠ
Her body draped over the floor.
Astra vomited.
They would never be safe.
***
Right now, Osten knew two things.
One, by some miracle, the hunters set after them had not been smart enough to return to the bloodied cottage again. Not yet, anyway.
Two, Astra was very, very sick.
He watched her from the corner of the kitchenâsomewhat clean now, after two weeks of endless scrubbingâwatched as her shoulders ceased to heave, as she eased from the hollow in the wooden seat of the latrine. At first, heâd thought it was the sight of the kind, elderly woman, lifeless and bloodied in her own home, that rattled Astra to the point of cold sweat coating her face as she emptied her stomach, over and over again.
After a week, he wasnât so sure anymore.
And now that another week had passedâŠ
Osten was getting worried. Scared.
It was by pure luck that no one had lurked into the cottage over the time they stayed thereâ it seemed that there had been no one in the old ladyâs life that cared enough to stop by and check in on her. Even in life, she was simplyâŠforgotten.
Just as he wouldâve been if it werenât for Astra.
She blew out a breath, slowly rising to her feet.
âLet me bring you some water,â he offered softly, even as his chest clenched at the sight of her, pale and weak and soâŠresigned. She, too, could not understand what was happening to her.
Astra waved a hand, waddling to the kitchen, any air of strength, of light, gone from her face. âItâs alright. I canâŠâ
âAstra,â he pleaded. âPlease, just sit.â He motioned to the wobbly chair beside the counter.
She didâgrimaced as her body adjusted to the new position.
Osten handed her the cup. âDo you think you can try to eat something?â She had not eaten in two days. âI made breakfast.â
She pressed her lips together, dry and flaky, their usual rosy glow nowhere to be seen. âNo,â she said, her voice hoarse. âI feel like breakfast would only make things worse.â
Something lit up in his head.
âWhat is it?â Astra asked, noting his stillness.
Osten angled his head. âWhat if it was the berries?â
Astra scrunched her nose. âYou ate them, too,â she pointed out. âAnd youâre perfectly healthy.â
He chewed on the inside of his cheek, considering. âMaybeâŠmaybe they have a different effect on the Fae?â
She shook her head. âNo, Iâit wouldnât make sense. I recognised them, and Iâm almost certain Iâve had them beforeâyears ago, back home.â She sighed. âI donât ever recall feeling like this after eating anything. And besides, the last time I had those berries was two weeks ago, the day after weââ
She paused.
Ostenâs brows rose. âWhat?â
Astraâs nostrils flared. Then againâas if she couldnât believe what sheâd scented. âImpossible,â she breathed.
âWhat?â Osten repeated. âWhat is?â
Shakily, she rose from her seat, a slender palm cradling her stomach.
âAstra.â
Her throat bobbed. âI thinkâŠâ she looked to meet his gaze. âOsten, I think I am with child.â
There was only silence in his head.
âOsten.â
Could it be?
A child.
A family.
âWhat are we going to do?â Astra whispered, her eyes still searching his.
For the first time in a raging winter, Osten felt warm.
He took her hand and smiled through his tears. âLive.â
***
Astraâs rhythmic breathing filled the silence as she slept.
Pregnant.
There was a childâhis childâgrowing in her belly, inches away from him. He could only stare in disbeliefâdisbelief that, despite everything he was, everything heâd doneâŠsomeone deemed him worthy of this. Of happiness.
He would hold onto it for as long as he lived. Would not let anyone stand in his way.
But even now, his unborn child was in danger. Had not yet even entered this world, and there were already people threatening it.
Osten gritted his teeth, the sound sharp in the darkness.
His family would not live the way he had his entire life. Would not be tossed aside, belittled, despised. Hunted.
Never again.
Osten made the decision then.
Gently, he laid a hand on Astraâs belly. Pressed his lips to her temple.
And then, he went out into the night.
***
The moon still hung over the sky when he approached the forestâs edge. Its pale light had guided him smoothly through the trees, through the melting snowâthe first sign of winter handing their lands over to spring at last. Soon, the cold would subside, and with it, the uncertainty that accompanied him every frigid night. He didnât dare tell Astraâespecially not now, with the babe on its way into the worldâthat there had been times he feared his arms would not be enough to keep her warm.
Theyâd decided to begin their journey up north soonâto begin whatever Astraâs Mother had instructed her to do. He worried about that, too, and more than he dared to admit out loud. Worried about how easily his beloved had taken to trust the same woman whoâd abandoned her the moment she was born. Astra had accepted her destiny without so much as questioning it, and itâŠirked him that he had no say in the matter. He wasnât like Astra, or her mysterious Mother. He was onlyâŠhuman.
How could he ever protect her from the rough, dangerous north? How could he protect their child? Osten had no power.
The only thing he did have was the frozen rage in his chest, begging to be unleashed upon the world. And the knife, gripped firmly in his hand.
This was the only way.
Heâd attack them from the shadowsâtake them by surprise, the same way Astra had done so many times as she waited for him to arrive at her house. Some of them were strong men, but inexperiencedâtheir sheer weight and size half no advantage over his stealth, acquired after all those months in the forest. He could take them. He could kill them.
And finally, his family would be safe.
He could see them gathering at the main square, torches in handâno doubt readying for another hunt. A hunt for their witch.
He would die before he let them get to her.
***
The boot on his neck was heavy, its rough heel digging into the hollow of his throat.
An ambush, an ambush, an ambush. The thought thrummed in his head along with his blood. Theyâd known he would come back, had remembered his stubbornness from the forest, and theyâd prepared accordingly.
Osten never stood a chance.
Blood gushed in his mouth, though he could hardly feel it anymoreâhis jaw had been shattered in so many places he wasnât entirely sure how it still clung to the rest of his face. Another kick to his scarred backâsomeone cried out in agony. Perhaps it was him.
âWhereâs your whore, thief,â someone seethed.
A twisted boneâhis leg?
He thought he screamed again.
âFilth,â another spat.
Something hot and wet spilled down his face. Blood, tears, both. He wasnât sure anymore.
Please, his mind cried out to nothingness. Please, help me save her.
The boot forced his face deeper into the cobblestone, and a loud crack snapped in his ears. Then, more bloodâthis time, flooding his lips, into his mouth. His nose had given in at last.
Please, he begged again. Give me power. Give me strength.
A flash of fire in his face. Torches lowered down to his ragged clothes.
Let me kill them. One last desperate plea. Iâll do anything.
And then, everything went dark.
âAnything?â
A voice, as ancient as it was young, as smooth as it was hoarse. Powerful, thrumming with something heâd only ever felt from one being before.
Magic.
âYes,â he rasped.
It narrowed its eyes at him, assessing.
âWill you sacrifice everything that you are for the power we offer you?â
His heart stopped beating.
âWould that power be able to save her?â
Silence. And then, âIt would.â
âThen yes.â
A feline smile in the darkness.
âLet us begin.â
***
When he opened his eyes, he was someone else. He was a breath floating with the wind. He was a shadow fading into darkness. He was the smoke rising from the dying fire, the blood flowing through the cracks in the stone. But, above all, he was the urge to kill.
So kill he did.
Every scream of anguish, every drop of blood spilled by his power crafted himâbuilt him up piece by piece, until he was satiated enough to see, to feel, to speak.
He rose from the pool of bodies, torn apart and scattered like the sky ripped by a raging storm. Only then did he see two figures emerge from the darkness.
âBrother,â the female greeted, her voice low and smooth and the ugliest thing heâd ever heard. âYou have done well.â
He blinked. Looked down to his handsâto the blood sure to be staining themâand found nothing.
Nothing.
Not a limb, not a shred of skin, not a gleaming bit of bone. He closed his fistâhe could feel it, feel the nails digging into flesh, butâ
Who was he?
What was he?
WhyâŠwhy did he not remember?
âThere is nothing to remember,â the male said, his dark eyes flashing. âYou live in the present. Nothing else matters.â
HeâdâŠheard him. His thoughtsâŠ?
The female nodded. âNothing else shall ever matter.â
He could feel blood dripping from his mouth as he asked, âWhat is my name?â His voice wasnât the same as theirs. There was no depth, no pitch to it, no melody. Only a breath.
The male sighed deeply, and looked to the female, who shook her head.
HisâŠsister?
âYou donât have a name,â she only told him. âCome. There is much to do.â
He couldnât understand why his chest achedâwhy it felt deprived of something too important to have forgotten. Something warm, and bright, gleaming a soft, golden light deep where his soul shouldâve been. His only memoryâor, perhaps, just a dream.
And so, he followed his family into the darkness.
***
ONE HUNDRED YEARS LATER
His siblings were gone, thank the Cauldron. Captured. Trapped, the earth croaked beneath his feet.
Dead? he asked it.
Not dead, it answered. Never really dead. It was wishful thinking, anyway.
Stryga, he heard, had been bound to this island. Somewhere deep in the woods, banished from her fortress forever. Or, at the very least, for as long as the Fae remained in this world, their magic alive and powerful enough to keep his sister from escaping. His brother, another captive. That made him smile a little bit. From the two of his siblings, Koschei had never been his favourite.
A strong, strong magic now held him beneath a lake across the Great Sea. Impressive. Koschei had always been the strongest of them all. Still, there was no doubt left in his mind that his brotherâs confinement would only incite his revenge, and he would nurture it under the surface for as long as necessaryâand, when the time was right and the Warrior was gone, he would strike.
Even shackled, his siblings were dangerous. More dangerous than when they roamed these lands freely, perhaps. He could feel their magic simmering beneath the earth, hot and angry and threatening to burn the world when it finally spilled.
He would not be there when it finally happened. He needed to be somewhere safe.
Fortunately, salvation was closing in on him, on the cave heâd opted to wait in. For some strange reason, the darkness buried within brought him comfortâsettled something restless inside of him. When the Warrior arrived, heâd finally know true peace.
He heard it thenâheard the world folding in on itself, like two ends of a sheet of parchment being brought together. Then, it opened again, revealing a cloud of shadows made restless by a dark wind.
It was nothing like the darkness that welcomed him that day, threatening and all-consuming. This darkness flowed, like it belonged anywhere its owner went, a veil of serenity, a shield from the scorching sun.
When she emerged, that darkness trailed behind her. Even the earth, tormented by his siblingsâ ire, seemed to sag with relief where the shadows caressed it.
How strange, that magic. How different.
His siblings had warned himâhad told him of the power the Warriorâs master held, traitorous and unnerving. Heâd have to keep his guard up.
She stopped close enough to the caveâs hollow opening for him to make out the midnight blue of her eyes, so deep that, as the shadows curled over her shoulder, they shone a brilliant violet.
âAre you going to make this difficult?â she asked, her voice quiet yet clear.
He chuckled, the sound echoing off the stone. âOh, I wouldnât dare.â
Her hear cocked to the sight, dark hair shifting with the movement. âAre youâŠafraid?â
âIâd be a fool not to be afraid of you.â He hummed, soaking in the magic that seemed to sing from deep within her soul. âYou are her proudest creation, after all.â
That was what Koschei had claimed, at least. And, when it came to the Fae, still so young and learning, he was smart enough to take him for his word.
âYou are talking about the Mother,â the Warrior said, something puzzled in her tone.
He hummed again. âThat is what she calls herself, yes.â Stryga had always thought it laughable. âA powerful Death God. The most powerful of us all, perhaps.â
She sucked in a breath. He smiled. So Koschei was rightâshe didnât know.
âMy Mother is not a Death God,â she seethed, those violet eyes flaring bright.Â
He sighed theatrically. âOf course she is. Just because she never told you doesnât make it any less of a truth.â He angled his head. âI have no reason to lie to you.â
The Warrior gritted her teeth. âThey warned me about you.â
He stroked the wall of rock beside him, rough against invisible flesh. âIâm glad I lived up to expectations.â
She straightened, as though composing herselfâperhaps sheâd at last remembered what sheâd come for and realised he enjoyed wasting her time far too much. âI thought you werenât going to make this difficult.â
âAnd I told you, I have no intention to resist.â A beat of silence. Then, he added, âYou have done well, trapping my siblings. Binding their magic.â Perhaps sheâd failed to kill them in the end, butâŠcontaining beings like Stryga and Koschei was no easy task. Impossible, heâd once thought, though what a delight it had been to be proven wrong. There were no others like her. Other Faeâthe ones that came before her, the ones the Mother created after herâwere merely a kernel of what this female was. Of the potential she held. âYou are quite powerful indeed.â
But his words seemed to flow past her unacknowledged, because her brows furrowed as she asked, âYour siblings?â
He nodded. âUnfortunately.â
âWhereâŠâ He waited. Waited as she tried to piece the meaning of his words together. âWhere did you all come from?â
Another world, his siblings had told him that day. Now no more than dust drifting across a plain. But, the being that unleashed them all upon itâŠ
His lip curledâand she couldnât see it, not when he still hid in the depths of the cave, butâ
âNo,â she whispered.
His smile grew wider. âOh, yes.â
Stillâher body was so still.
âShe never told me,â so small, so quiet, the Warrior nowhere in sight.
He shrugged. âWhat parents like to talk of children they consider a failure? Youâve met my siblings. Iâm sure you can understand.â They hated herâthe Mother. Despised them with all their mightâso he despised her, too. The Mother he could not remember.
âStep outside,â she ordered, the words still trembling on her breath. âI wish to speak with you, face to face.â
He couldnât help but laugh. âBelieve me, Iâm staying hidden for your benefit, warrior-heart.â
âDo not make me repeat myself.â
So he said, âAs you wish.â
When he stepped into the sunlight, into her sight, his phantom body tingledâtingled as he became someone else.
His eyes locked on hers.
And the Warrior feared by the Gods staggered backâaway from him.
Darkness flickered around her, wrapped itself around her legs, her arms, as if holding her in place. Her entire body trembledâactually trembled as she took him in, her eyes wide with shockâshock and something else.
Grief.
He couldnât help but ask. âWhat do you see?â
But she only stared and stared, silver threatening to spill from her gleaming eyes.
âWhat are you?â she managed to ask, the question weighted with pain.
âA reflection,â he answered. âYour deepest fears, hopes, desires. People see many things when they look at me. But, I must admit, I have never received a reaction as strong as yours.â
And he was curiousâcurious to learn why.
She shook her head, and he thought she might finish it thenâunleash her power and be done with it. With him. But thenâŠ
âI was going to have a child,â she said quietly, and he froze. âOnce. YouâŠyou look like what I imagined he would one day. HeâŠâ Her gaze broke from his, fell to the ground along with two, lone tears. âHe has his eyes.â
He wasnât breathingâperhaps he never had at all. âHis father?â
She had a familyâno one ever told him, no one had ever said that the Goddessâs monster had once been soâŠhuman.
âHe died.â The world slowed. Even the shadows around her stilled. âDied to protect us both.â Her lip wobbledâshe made no attempt to hide it. âI may be powerful,â she said, lifting her eyes back to his, dark lashes heavy and wet. âBut Iâd give it all away to get them back.â She did not blink the tears away as she told him, âAll of it.â
For the first time in his immortal life, he had no idea what to do. Words were foreignânot nearly enough to express the sorrow that crashed into him with her confession. Heâd never been immune to feelingâbut thisâŠwas this one of her abilities? Making him share this pain with her?
Noâhe caused this. What she saw in himâthe life she couldâve hadâŠbearing some of her grief was the least he could do.
âIâm afraid even I donât hold such power,â he said softly. âForgive me.â
Her throat bobbed. âYouâreâŠapologising?â
He nodded. âThere is great sadness about you. Iâm sorry to have caused that.â
She lookedâtruly looked at him, trying to see past the face, the eyes her soul urged to show her. Searching for his own soul beneath.
Heâd never regretted giving it up more.
âDonât be,â she finally said. âWhat happened is not your fault.â
He could not explain it. Could not understand why, after learning of all that she had lost, his chest tightened with guilt.
So when she asked, âWill you come with me now?â
He could only answer, âYes.â
***
The earth whispered of her arrival, but heâd already knownâhad felt her the moment her choice was made.
Now, he waited, listening to her steps, light over the ancient stone as she entered the Prison. Sheâd been debating it for a long timeâhad resisted seeing him again for almost a decade, much longer than heâd expected. The look upon her face when they first met had told him enough.
She was stronger than he thought, it seemed.
Still, even the strongest of the Fae had fallen to curiosity. To questions.
And he was ready to answer them all as the door to his cell swung open.
Veiled in shadows, he offered her a deep bowâeven if she couldnât see it. See him. âMy Queen.â
He could see her well, thoughâwell enough to see a glimmer of confusion light up her face. âI am not a Queen yet.â She angled her head. âYouâve beenâŠexpecting me?â
He waved a dismissive hand. âIt isnât marriage that decides such things. Your betrothed might be a Prince in title, but he stands to gain a lot more from this union than you do.â He bit out a laugh. âCongratulations, of course.â
âI didnât come here to ask your advice,â she said. A lie so obvious he couldnât help but smile in the darkness.
âForgive me,â he purred. âI so rarely get company these days. Which brings me to my question,â he added. âWhy are you here?â
He wanted to hear her say it, for some strange reason. I wanted to see you. Talk to you. Understand you.
âAre you comfortable here?â she asked.
He couldnât help but laugh. He wondered what his voice sounded like to her. To him, it was all but a whisper carried by the wind. âSuch a gracious host, my lady.â
âOnly the best for my most obedient prisoners.â
Oh, she was delightful.
âPrisoners,â he mused. âYou say that as if my being here was involuntary.â
Those violet eyes simply watched him, two stars pondering over his fate. âAre you hungry?â she finally asked.
That, he did not expect.
âHungry?â
She nodded. âI⊠brought you something.â
Something landed at his feet with a quiet thud.
He scrunched his nose. âBones?â
Her mouth tightened. âTheyâre from back home. Not the Palace, butâwhere I came from.â She loosed a breath, heavy on the stench of raw meat that now filled his cell. âSeeing you last time, itâŠbrought back memories Iâve been too afraid to revisit.â
Slowly, he reached to pick up the bone closest to him. âThey hold value to you, then.â Not entirely a question.
Another shaky breath. âYes.â
That mighty, Fae warriorâŠgone. A shell of a female stood before him now, her gaze pleading. So he told her gently, âYou have my thanks.â
Ask me. Ask me what you came here to ask, and Iâll tell you anything you want to know.
âWhy are you hiding in the shadows?â
She wasnât ready, then. He forced a smile. âTell me a secret no one knows, Majesty, and perhaps Iâll tell you mine.â
She blinked. Then blinked again.
He thought she might leave in that moment. Turn around and vanish without a final goodbye.
But then, she said, her voice barely above a whisper, âI donât want to marry him. I canâtâŠâ She swallowed hard. âMy purpose is complete. I wish for nothing but to fade into the night skyâto be reunited with the ones I lost, the ones waiting for me in the stars.â She looked upâas if she could see their faint glimmer through the miles of stone above. âI know thisâŠmarriageâŠis meant to bring hope to my kind. To give them a world theyâve never had. But I canât help but feelâŠâ Her lips wobbled, and she pressed them together. âI canât help but feel that Iâm betraying him. That, if I go through with this, it willâŠIt will be as if he was never really there.â
The hollow quiet returned.
âYour heart breaks for the dead, Your Majesty, when it should be healing for the living,â he said softly. âThose who have become stars now shine their light upon you. IâŠdonât imagine your beloved would want to watch you waste it.â
He found her eyes on him again. Shining.
He said nothing more.
âA secret for a secret,â she told him, breaking the silence again.
So clever, his instincts wanted to purr. But something elseâperhaps the heart he used to haveâspoke out instead. âI am hiding in the shadows because the sight of me brings you pain. I donât wish to bring any more of it into your life.â
Her body froze into stillness. She watched him and watched, her pretty face contorted in something he couldnât understand. And then, she said, âCome into the light.â
So he did.
âThe son I see when I look at you,â she finally started, her voice strained. âHow do you know what he would have looked like?â
There it was.
âI donât,â he said quietly, the emptiness in his chest like an echoing cave. âI see nothing. Am nothing.â
Her next breath died on her lips.
âIâm sorry this isnât the answer you were hoping for,â he apologised.
But her face was softer than heâd ever seen it as she told him, âIâm sorry, too.â She took a half-step towards him. âIâŠâ
She shook her head.
âYou can ask me,â he said. âAnything you want. Your Majesty,â he quickly added.
Her throat bobbed slightly. âI wonât see you again, will I?â
He smiled sadly. âIâm afraid youâll have too much to deal with to think of me again.â
âI wonât ever forget you,â she vowed.
How he wished it was true.
***
âNo escort this time?â
Her eyes levelled on him, practically dripping with disdain. He bounced off the wall, moving to return her gaze, the mouth of her firstborn curving into a smirkâ
He stilled.
For in those blue-grey eyes, he saw something else. A female who had seen her soul and faced all the darkness buried within. A female changed.
âYou retrieved it,â he whispered.
But it was impossibleâimpossible, and yetâŠ
And yet, the Ouroboros appeared, still encrusted by the frost of Hewn Cityâs deepest, most wicked labyrinths.
âHow.â
She mustâve tricked it. His sisterâs mighty, ancient magicâ
âI looked.â Words were dry on her tongue, worn out by endless screaming. Endless pain.
She spoke the truth.
He shot to his feet. âWhat did you see?â he demanded.
A shadow of a smileâas if she could sense the desperation in his tone. He almost hissed in reprimand at his fervour. âThat,â she started, âis none of your concern.â
The Bone Carver had no heart, and heâd never been more gratefulâif he did, the High Lady of the Night Court wouldâve been sure to hear its nervous thrumming, to scent the heat it blasted into his withered veins.
He could all but stare as she pointed to the door of his cell. âYou have your mirror. Now uphold your end,â she ordered, then added, voice cold with authority, âBattle awaits.â
Indeed.
And after the battleâŠsalvation.
âIt would be my pleasure,â he told her with a smile.
Her brows knitted, confusion creasing her faceâhad she somehow read the words his mind had whispered? Cursed daematiâ
âWhat do you mean?â she asked.
So he smiled again, another mask to fool the young female. âI have little need for that thing,â he lied, gesturing to the artefact. âBut you did.â
She only blinked.
âI wanted to see if you were worth helping,â A half-lie, perhaps. Heâd known it without the Ouroborosâthe wind had whispered it to him the moment she was reborn, deep under that wretched mountain. âIt is rareâto face who you truly are and not run from it, to be broken by it. Thatâs what the Ouroboros shows all who look into it: who they are, every despicable and unholy inch.â Truth. Heâd spent centuries studying the mirror, the curse his twin had placed upon it. Had devoted himself to finding it the second he learned sheâd lost it, confined to a strip of land far away from her fortress. And nowâŠ
Now it was finally here, in his cell. Waiting.
He continued, âSome gaze upon it and donât even realise that the horror theyâre seeing is themâeven as the terror of it drives them mad.â She blinked again. âSome swagger in and are shattered by the small, sorry creature they find instead. But youâŠâ he met her gaze again. âYes, rare indeed. I could risk leaving here for nothing less.â
It was a delight to see the flash of rage on her freckled face. âYou wanted to see if I was worthy?â she seethed.
He nodded. âI did. And you are. And now I shall help you.â She didnât need to know he wouldâve helped her nonetheless.
So Feyre Archeron said, her voice quiet as death, âYou will wait for my signal.â
The Bone Carver smiled. âThat is our bargain.â
The High Lady did not so much as grace him with a look as she vanished into the shadows, leaving him alone with the Ouroboros.
Leaving him alone with the truth.
Slowly, he turned to the mirror, its awful magic calling out to him like a pet to its master. Like it had been waiting for him.
Good. Heâd been waiting for it his entire life.
The Bone Carver. A being of no name, no form, no soul. For as long as he could remember, ever since the day heâd woken up to flames dancing in the darkness, mocking.
No longer.
He knew he was despicable, he knew that deep down, the small, sorry creature heâd told the High Lady about was likely to appear in his own reflection, too. But it would be a reflection of him, not the dreams, fears or desires of those he encountered. Only him.
At last.
The Bone Carver looked into the mirror.
And Osten fell to his knees.
A thin handâhis handâwrapped around his throat, his knuckles white and bruised. Bruised from the fightâfrom the jaws of the village men heâd hit as they pushed him to the ground, as they beat him until blood splattered from his ears, his mouth, his nose.
Two tears slid down his cheeks.
I canât help but feel that Iâm betraying him, a voice, soft and gentle and so full of pain, whispered into his mind. A familiar voiceâmore than, in his immortal life, he ever imagined. That, if I go through with this, it willâŠit will be as if he was never really there.
The black eyes staring back at him were desolate.
âAstra,â he choked out. âAstra.â
But Astra was goneâhad been gone for a very, very long time. Had become one with the night sky, hoping to be greeted by him among the stars, only to be met by endless darkness.
âAstra,â Osten cried. âIâm sorry. Iâm sorry.â
His body, the same body he died in all those centuries ago, shook with a sob.
I wish we could stay like this. Forever.
One day, we will.
The frost began to melt off the silver frame, cold water dripping on the stones.
He would help them win this war. Pay for what heâd done to this world. And, when it was all over, he would tell her that this whole time, it was her keeping him safe. That he was so scared of losing her that heâd lost himself in the process. And thenâŠand then perhaps she would forgive him.Â
Either way, heâd be free.
Taglist: @headcanonheadcase @melting-houses-of-gold @kingofsummer93 @asnowfern @panicatthenightcourt @reverie-tales @s-uppertime @autumndreaming7 @sunshinebingo @starfall-spirit @vulpes-fennec @fieldofdaisiies @isterofimias
Side note: While both the Bone Carver and the Female Warrior are characters from the ACOTAR series, their names, backstory and appearance were created by me. Please do not use them in your own work without my explicit permission, I worked very hard on this :)
#mystery one shot!#aka the bone carver story that no one asked for#i could make him sexy actually#sexy AND pathetic#and wet#so everyone wins really#forgive me sarah but we're throwing canon lore out the window with this one#i googled SOME of it#but most of it i made up#rated T for trauma#enjoy!#bone daddy#the bone carver#the bone carver acotar#the bone carver x oc#acotar fic#acotar fanfic#acotar fanfiction#acomaf#a court of mist and fury#acowar#a court of wings and ruin#acotar#a court of thorns and roses#sarah j maas#sjm#i edited this so if you see any spelling mistakes#no you didn't
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Yk, I hate that adaptations keep making Peter a high schooler, and not just because it means he never evolves, but because the adaptations now also include wider Marvel, whitch usually (thanks to the MCU) is at the modern day stage with legacy characters and new age teen heroes, meaning that Peter is taking up Miles' spot and you can really tell when they put him next to someone like Kamala Khan or Sam Alexander who are Miles' pals. Tho Peter taking Miles' stuff is just a modern issue overall, just look at MCU whitch just stole and re-skinned Miles' personality, characters, story-beats, even the costume to an extent and then made it worse.
agree đ
#sci speaks#sci. release the script doctor you did where it actually was miles in the mcu and peter parker is a grown ass man.#it was funny. peter was a really bad intern at stark industries#who stole stark tech on the sly.#and of course. tony catches wind of this because he has cameras everywhere and. those cameras happened to also catch.#him sneaking out of work as spider-man.#and tony ropes him into civil war or whatever because otherwise he could Literally press charges.#and peter's :((((((((#begrudgingly joins tony's side.#in the post credit we see that he's been gathering stark tech to build miles morales some very neato webshooters.#and voil.a. miles is the star of homecoming and. peter is the mentor figure that encourages miles to start small.#miles: but YOU teamed up with the avengers a#peter: do as i SAY not as i DO.#sighs. so little would have to change.#but no more child soldiers and no more over exposure of tony stark. fantastic. superb.#also showing a slightly sneakier peter parker who isn't exactly entirely morally upstanding.#steals from billionares while they're not looking to serve the people who need it.#robin hood figure !! sexy. would falll to my knees for a peter parker like that. would be my favourite on screen peter ever.#and it puts him more in an interesting spot with the villains in the movies too.#if we still go with the route of all the villains being affiliated with stark tech and stealing / using stark tech#then peter is like. in a more complex role in the story. he stole stark tech too. is he better than the criminals?#he uses it for good. he thinks. but that's his judgement.#just i think it would be neat. all the âyou're just like meâ rhetoric falls so flat in those movies.#but what if it hit different.#but that would be if marvel had the courage to make a complex spider-man movie#where peter parker is allowed to make morally complex decisions asides for âuhh. stupid kid makes stupid mistakesâ#sci talks movies
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OH GOD OH FUCK
#IM NOT READY#I.. OK I PROMISE I'll START THE NOVEL BEFORE THIS COMES OUT#ORV#AAAAAAAAAAA#THEY BETTER MAKE YJH SEXY AS FUCK!!!!!!!! (he will be no matter what they do it's inherent...#IM NOT READY TO SEE HIM ANIMATED.... DEEP BREATHS. CALM DOWN. I am sane! and normal#sidenote i saw someone's fancast for jp dub and it was actually perfecf???#umehara yuuichirou for yjh#and miyano mamoru for kdj#actually my jaw dropped w how well it fit... esp umehara#i only know him bc my twitter friend likes enstars and happened to hear him but#his voice is so handsome... i think he's 1 of the few jp VAs who could actually do yjh justice#for kr VAs i think there's a lot who can do like a sexy deep voice...#but actually that jp fancast set my expectations too high if they dont cast umehara i'll be sad now KNFND#i think others could fit for dokja but mamoru is definitely a good choice#orv anime
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i like âem a little insane, covered in blood and severely mentally unstable <3
#ÊŹÊŹ.sosa speaks.com#!tw blood#!tw gore & violence#the grimm variations#the way i watched this on netflix but IMMEDIATELY ran to a streaming site to rewatchâŠ.#just to take screenshotsâŠâŠim so insane#when i tell you#for 10 minutes i could NOTTTTTT get past the scene in the first 4 photos#i was feeling so so so so crazy and extremely feral it was hard to contain myself#bc i wasnât expecting it at all#i have so many things to say about this episode đđđđđđ#aside from this man it was actually really good the plot twist was plot twisting !!#the cinematography the music the animation the voice acting ALL A1 & TOP TIER#they did not have to make him look this DAMN GOOD??? heâs so deranged you guys i wouldnât wanna be alone with this man đ#but at the same timeâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠ..đđ#idk i want him to choke me while he deep in it and say compliment my every body part#not just in a romantic way but in a âi want to eat you and satiate my ever growing desire for human flesh and authenticityâ kind of way too#the fact that in the eng dub heâs voiced by ray chase makes it NO BETTER! his voice was so sexy here
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in regard to the icemav convo about american made cars: I think it would be funny if after mav gets his regular license, ice buys him a truck that they can use for transporting stuff to the hangar and when he gifts it to mav all the man can do is laugh bc stamped across the ass is MAVERICK. Itâs a 2023 ford maverick (in area 51 bc Iâm partial to that color)
and mav likes it, but he doesnât love driving it bc itâs so big (and he just likes being a passenger princess too much), so ice drives it mostly which inspires a whole lot of jokes about ice liking having maverickâs name stamped on his ass. bradley gags from the other room every time.
if it matters to u, i agree with this hc 150% on rhetoric grounds. thank god for your mind.
however i would like to raise the issue that recent american pickup trucks have become non-useful, overexpensive, and suburban-coded in a way i think ice and mav would reject. the ford maverick was built with the intention of dropping kindergarteners off at school, not of actually doing hard labor. see below infographic for what I mean.
Itâs a fucking travesty. Trucks are so ugly and useless now. the maverick is not immune to this. (maverick below)
what good is having a fucking truck if it canât even hold two REGULAR ASS BIKES in the bed. & when the bed is empty the chassis is unbalanced in a way that leads to more accidents etc. (tbf that was true in the 70s/80s too but im feeling more hateful towards modern trucks rn). In shortâthe modern American pickup truck is no longer useful, itâs a way to virtue signal to other Americans that you *think * you know what hard labor is, even when youâre driving around in a glorified odyssey with a teeny tiny bed that can barely hold a couple bags of mulch for the back garden
ice & mav donât even have any little kids anymore, i think theyâd consider a backseat useless & a waste of space
SO i would like to offer you a Compromise, which is that ice & mav buy either (or both) a 1974 ford maverick AND/OR a 1990 ford maverick
for the Funny Name & coolness factor (& the âmaking Bradley vom cause of how cute his parents areâ factor), and then soup up, like, a 1984 Chevy C10 for actual towing/hauling purposes.
#*slaps roof of 2022 ford maverick* you could hit so many grade schoolers with this bad boy#the 1974 ford maverick is. admittedly extremely sexy and i am only kind of a ford guy#god the 1990 maverick too. just kind of beast mode. i can see that.#love the ask though. i hope you donât mind my tweaks. weâre on the same wavelength#my vitriol for the modern american truck stems from my hatred of my grandfatherâs 2020 f250#which he has never used to tow anything once and constantly complains about how hard it is to find parking in suburban california đ#yeah brother no shit!#the one cool thing about new trucks is you can use them as a generator for a few days though#we lose power for days on end where i live during fire season and that truck has been really helpful#but itâs ass ugly and not otherwise useful.#pete maverick mitchell#tom iceman kazansky#icemav#bradley rooster bradshaw#asks#mav being a passenger princess has to be canon#a man physiologically built to sit shotgun â€ïž#if u get a truck with an actual bed u can drive ur war hero husband out into the desert#& lay out a blanket in the back & make out with him under the stars#canât do that in a 2023 maverick
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modern clarence | an appropriate staring distance
While at the beach, you take a moment to appreciate your handsome boyfriend while he's taking a napâand also when he's not.
1.2k, fluff + established relationship, reader is mc, series: none
NAVY BLUE STICKS OUT TO you the moment you open your eyes.
Your aching shoulder protests your decision to stay as you are, on your side, facing a still sleeping Clarence. Like this, he looks much youngerâyou're reminded of the time you had to force him to take a nap. Like this, he's simply the cute guy you managed to score not one but multiple dates with, just Clarence, instead of the incredibly smart and wonderful and kind Student Council President.
You glance at the circular table set between your two beach chairs, taking note of his glasses resting primly upon its surface. With him often having to juggle two different kinds of glasses, you'd offered to put them in your bag so that he could pack lighter. Or, as light as he can.
Right now, it's awkwardly squished behind you, miraculously still on the chair only because it's too big to fall out the gap under the armrest.
Filling in the blanks comes as easily to you as the smile on your face when you get to see your boyfriend, nearly the same one on your face right nowâand the expression that goes with it is so endlessly fond that you find yourself with the urge to hit something.
Simply put, your boyfriend is a handsome manâthe most handsome one, of all the men your keen eyes have gazed upon. And gazed, they certainly have. But even if they didn't have to pick, then they would gaze at only Clarence for the rest of their life..
You almost giggle at the thought, but think against it at the last minute.
But pressing your lips firmly into a thin line has the opposite effect on your budding smile. You imagine you look rather strange to anyone who passes byâwhat with your mockery of a wide smile and the silent scream building up in your throat, paired with the quiet thumping of your feet against the legrest.
If you were in a more private space, you would resort to kicking instead.
A proper squish to your still warm cheeks as you begin to sit up helps ease up the passion swirling chaotically across your body. You exhale, then allow your hands to slide off your face. One side of it bears the consequences of your actions more than the other.
With a one last longing at the sleeping Clarence, you start to dig through your bag for the only thing in your arsenal that could substitute for a sketchbook.
There are a few miscellaneous promotion emails waiting for you on the lockscreen. A message from Cael asking about dinner tomorrow too. Somewhere between them, there's a notice about the weather, with the temperature from an almost hour ago listed uselessly.
You swipe past them all and hurriedly slip into the camera app.
The hand holding your phone steadies itself against the armrest as you swing your legs over the edge of your chair. A thumb hovers over the capture button, vigilantly awaiting your command. The fingers of your other hand, meanwhile, busy themselves with zooming in on the captivating scenery.
With each pinch, the focus grows ever narrowâuntil all that remains is Clarence and nothing else.
At one point, you try to zoom into the mole under his eye, but it doesn't make for a very compelling photo. After a few attempts, quite a few of which involve staring at your screen for prolonged periods of time, you reluctantly give up.
Your pout is soon covered up by your phone. When its front camera presses against your upper lip, your gaze is free to wander back to the sleeping beauty beside you once more.
A healing effect, exclusive to him, takes hold of you instantaneously.
Eyes brimming with fondness narrow slightly. You slide off your beach chair, hands on your bent knees as you take a closer look. You can make out the shadows cast by his long lashes and the drool dribbling past his chin.
He's perfect.
You're content to stay there until your knees begin to ache, reminding you insistently that this isn't a very comfortable position to be in. As a compromise of some kind, you adjust your arms atop the nearby armrest.
It really would be better if you'd brought your sketchbook alongâbut, you think, remembering his workaholic tendencies, would he even bother to take a nap then?
You scrunch your nose up at the thought.
In that moment, Clarence seems sense to your presence. When you look back at him, you're greeted with the sight of confusion in his now opened, but still drowsy gaze. He blinks, and it earns him an amused grin from you.
"Morning," you say, though it's well into afternoon.
That seems to wake him up. His cheeks flush a warm pink, and he hurriedly wipes away the drool on his face, as though you haven't already committed the sight to your memory.
Clearing his throat, he responds in kind, careful to sit up in such a way that he avoids looking at you.
"You don't have to be so close...I can see you just fine."
You laugh, not unkindly. "What if I'm the one who's having trouble?"
For a moment, when he turns back to look at you, he looks alarmed. Then, his shoulders relax to the tune of a sigh, his groggy mind apparently having caught onto the fact that you were joking.
Without breaking eye contact, you reach for his glasses. But as with the issue of walking into a cave without a flashlight, even if you vaguely recall where your destination is, there's no guarantee you'll actually reach it.
"Give me a second," you mutter, your annoyance making your tone a bit too sharp.
You follow your words up with an apology. His glasses held are carefully by the frames as your sheepish gaze connects with his faintly amused one. Clarence reaches out, getting as far as grasping the slanted tips of the frame before the two of you reach a mutual agreement.
"Well." His cheeks return to being a rosy hue. He coughs politely. "If you would."
Cute. Biting your lip giddily, you shake his grip off. A quick once-over of your surroundings before you stand up shows that no one seems to be paying attention to you. And unless your friends and acquaintences have come to together to unlock the secrets of invisibility, no one you know seems to be present either.
Leaning over, you line his glasses up against his face, the tips of his frame brushing against his cheek. It takes only a moment to slot them into placeâand you have enough experience with doing so that they don't snag against his ears.
It takes only a moment longer to give him an innocent peck on the lips.
"There," you murmur, not entirely satisfied with the kiss.
His Adam's apple bobs. Clarence adjusts his glasses with an awkward look that suggests he has some kind of solution to your dilemma. You, of course, beat him to the punch.
"Whyâ" Your voice cracks a little. "âdon't we go find a different spot?"
He smiles, narrowed eyes watching you fondly. "I was about to suggest the same thing."
#fics by aya#lovebrush chronicles#lovebrush chronicles x reader#for all time#for all time x reader#clarence clayden#clarence clayden x reader#lbc clarence#lbc clarence x reader#lovebrush clarence#lovebrush clarence x reader#rambles from here on (slight spoilers for azure island cgs/mentions of cn cards) ->#so. um THE CGS?? from the event?? very specifically clarence's??#um that killed me actually i'm learning stuff about myself i didn't know before like#idk actually because i've been telling myself glasses are sexy but it took an anime boy being flirted with for me to realize that yes??#but yeah i am THIS close to going blue particularly because i've been staring at his cards too long and there is one specific like#artstyle? that makes him look really hot but like you could almost mistake him for a bad boy. and yes i do mean clarence#he has glasses so it's not. the one where he'd actually approach being a bad boy (the prison?? one??)#according to cn wiki it's supposed to come like feb but the schedule fast so idk#actually looking at it again and it might be how he parts his hair?? anyway clarence in a black t-shirt and dogtag(?) necklace sounds#like he would actually kill me. not because he's actually threatening but because i spontaneously combust whether he smiles or glares at me#also i just realized it's just like his unstyled hair so again having a thing for guys who like minimally style their short hair apparently#also i've figured out which card it is holy shit clarence
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I take issue with how hot Live Action Shanks is.
He's making me feel things that I did not agree to.
You're suppose to be like the dad pirate, not a pirate I would happily call daddy.
Stay in your lane, good sir! Stay in your lane!
#if him and Zoro accidentally entered a wet shirt contest I wouldn't complain#this could only be ruined by really bad bermuda shorts#and like an over dramatic cape probably#nah that one might actually make him hotter#one piece#one piece live action#akagami no shanks#shanks#sexy pirate daddy#oh yeah I'd totally pay to see you lose an arm to a seaking#wait no what?#amusing musings
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Sexi plas ;)))
#jkaart#patrick o'brian#plastic man#dc fan art#just kent ing around#dc comics#dc fanart#dc#fan art#I think i've been on a sexy plas roll lately#but its so easy to draw him sexy#sexy plas#sexy plastic man#i wonder what other scanty clothes I can put him in#hes my comfort sexy man#wish i could make him look more like david dastmalchian woof he's my perfect vision of plas#dc writers: make plas the sexy clothes#me and the rest of the fandom: actually plas in sexy clothes is better
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as a guy in my twenties the themes i'm interested in + the conclusions i draw from vis a vis bungou stray dogs are very different from what i was thinking at 16. for example i have an entire essay from that era where i'm passionately arguing that dazai isn't actually an abuser and another essay where i'm passionately arguing that dazai is actually the abuser of all time. now i have zero interest in debating that either way and all i actually care about is if i can make akutagawa shining his boots with his mouth horny
#i also really hated ak*tagawa back then like. i really didn't like him. did not care about his dynamic with anyone#now im rotating him w/ ats*shi and d*zai and it's like wait. this whole anime is actually about grooming#i could make this so sexy and awful#sorry for censoring stuff in the tags i know i look like a tiktoker. i do NOT want this shit in the maintags though#rei-dio broadcasts
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God, "I missed you" sex is the best
#eep.txt#as soon as we were alone he kissed me hard and just couldn't get close enough#we went to his room and he immediately attacked my neck i don't think i've ever had so many hickeys at once#he kept grinding for so long against me on his lap đ”âđ« i was very desperate for more but he just wanted so feel my skin against his#he was sososo cute with his messy hair and the way he kept saying i love you!#i could see myself in the mirror in front of his bed i didn't think i was this fucked out lmao#maybe the first time i moaned this loud and talked this much too#usually i have to keep quiet even though it's hard cuz there's other people but it was so nice having him aaalll to myself#when he finally put his fingers in it felt like heaven i'd been so long#and same he just kept going so deep and so fast my god he said he liked hearing me again#i had to stop him cause i was getting really overstimulated but it was so good#i'm pretty sure it's the first time i've actually like moaned his name without meaning to do it#apparently i didn't realise i was babbling and scratching his back so hard#god i love being a power bottom and calling him cute or my sweet boy and getting him desperate but...#when he goes feral like that after not seeing me for a while? it's the best. i'm so lucky to have such a service top#so happy to be with him again#after we cuddled and we showered and we cooked and then watched videos and then talked and laughed#i'm so happy right now to even see him sleeping next to me :]#sorry i meant to do a sexy post but i guess this is more positive venting i'll make a proper one later#still new to this writing thing i'm probably very bad at it but it's nice to have a place to write down my memories and experiences
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tbh the musical does one of the worst jobs adapting marguerite's character and i think that's because wildhorn and knighton misunderstood the purpose of marguerite's character and her motivations. there's a lot of internal emotional angst that she has (which gets neglected when the focus is shifted on percy imo lmao) but there are ways to balance them out, as seen in tsp '34.
i think this fault with the musical is shown the most is in the fact st. cyr barely gets any coverage? besides like. the opening number, the wedding, and the one off mention in the garden scene, when that is basically one of the most important aspects of her character in the novel. it's the source of her guilt and the cause of the estrangement, and also taking away armand's part in the st. cyr thing. him being beaten almost to death is the whole reason why margot denounces st. cyr and he ends up getting executed. in the musical it seems like she's done it for no reason (which, i mean... understandable from percy's pov) but then in the footbridge scene she doesn't give ANY explanation besides "chauvelin made me do it" and instead the main conflict is "will my husband slutshame me because i slept with another guy before i married him?" ??????????!?!?!?!?!?!?
i know that it would be a valid worry in this time period, but frank wildhorn HIMSELF said he doesn't want to write a 1905 story. so WHY would you make the fear of being slutshamed a main component of marguerite's characterâand have chauvelin slutshame her in the process ("what would your husband think if he knew what sort of woman you are?")âwhen that wasn't in the novel????? it's just extremely distasteful and gross imo.
#the scarlet pimpernel#marguerite st just#frank wildhorn#nan knighton#txt.#anya talks#i guess this is a controversial opinion but i really hate the musical lmao#the music? i enjoy on its own. the script + the musical as an adaptation? ... nope.#it makes margot basically the embodiment of the madonna/whore complex and she's barely in it so#i could replace her with a sexy lamp and nothing would change#it basically makes chauvelin an incel/nice guy who probably uses reddit or 4chan and asks girls for hugs#the only main character they get right is percy and even then just barely#because they make him a better guy than he actually is and make it seem like he just became a fop one day??? when he always was one???#and then the marie and tussaud addition is just bizarre like where did that come from#also NO ONE CARES IF YOU SLEPT WITH CHAUVELIN BEFORE YOU MET PERCY MARGOT LIKE I DONT CAREEEE#if tsp musical has no haters im DEAD
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looking back at the yjh webtoon screencaps i have saved and giggling... hes so cute... moe... my pookie ^___^ đ„°đ„° poor little meow meow woof woo- *eliminated where i stand*
also these poses are sooooo... êșìì
đ€đ«Łđ«Łđ«Łđ«Ł
#talk tag#orv liveblog#<--gonna just tag my orv misc posts as this now#i looooove when the webtoon artist draws him like a demonic beast#its genuinely so moe to me smdbsndn like hes supposed to be rly handsome but theyre not afraid to make him look unhinged#i rmbr livetweeting that yjh hibernation pic captioned 'hes so moe'... apparently that was 2022(just dug it up)#more than 1 person has told me that theyre surprised i bias yjh from the webtoon alone#bc apparently they dont do his chara justice(v đđđ to hear that...thats not good..)#BUT HOW COULD I NOT BIAS HIM!!!! (apparently this is not a universal experience aldjskdj)#this just makes me even more uncontrollably excited to read the novel i cant wait to love him more than i alr do#and i love when he glares and makes a disgusted face at kdj... its so cute đ€ he's like an angry black dog to me. hes like a wolf puppy#*tries to pat his head and gets cut down in .00001 sec... no he wouldnt waste his sword on me... i would simply perish from being in the#the presence of his aura#literally the tsundere ever#aside from hiei... hiei rly primed me to like male tsunderes guys#like after him i have loved sm tsundere male charas since#yjh is in a league of his own tho. like idc how many similar/near identical charas have come before or since#he OWNS the yjh archetype literally everyone else is just copying him <33#even if it was a choice btwn yjh and cedric id have to go w yjh... he is the original im sorry... i love u cedric#and i love that the whole point is that his design/chara archetype ISNT supposed to be original... thats the Point#he's the typical op dark haired stoic cold brooding (and sexy) protagonist...#his chara concept is supposed to be that trope... but what orv does w him is so subversive#and the fact that he is supplanted from his position as the protag in the narrative... i love it sooo much#like maybe i wouldnt care as much if he actually was the protag? bc again it wouldnt rly be new#but the fact that he isnt the actual protag is sooo good#IM NOT RLY SAYING OR ANALYZING ANYTHING RN BUT I JUST FELT LIKE YJH LOVEPOSTING#o sidenote his webtoon faces make great rxn images slfnsmd I LOVE USING THE FIRST ONE#i love using heartwrenching anime/comic moments out of context as rxn images its so funny to me#me @ the orv live action cast announcement
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If me thoughts were more coherent id type up a thing about how if it weren't for our specific circumstances stubborn would often doom us but alas
#do you guys ever think about how we could genuinely have just killed adversary when she let us and have the good ending#but his bitch ass is going so strong on the denial front that if you try to do that you end up in the fury with broken of all voices#(to he clear that's to point out just how bad it got(#we can go too far so many ways#make ourself all wrong at twitching just because we refuse to let go#it is so important to me that you can't be stubborn about shit if you dont see another way#and oftentimes that way is better#being so dead-set on one path youve taken will often be harmful in the long run#refusing to take another path forward might doom you to an eternal circle of harm#and it does! its just fhat its fun and sexy here#i think we're more in the area of âin a scenario where we are actually limitless there's no way to prove him wrongâ and thus#we die. we are unwound. our ribs crack and break on her knee. it's because we refuse to see another way#but we are functionally immortal and sadomasochists so it doesn't seem bad
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also fun fact. you can effectively punch holes in plastic glow in the dark stars using a push pin and a rock and just pressing it really hard into your carpet or something so it doesnât damage anything once it penetrates the plastic. in case you ever needed to know that
#i hope all my actors come to the premiere because i do not think i will be finishing this shit by sunday when we stop filming#going to need to tell them i have surprise presents for them all and use that to make them come see my mid short film#i have to stop putting down my own film. itâs not going to be mid. itâs going to be good. perhaps not as good as some others in the class#but it will not be as bad as the annoying âmenâs mental health storyâ bs one group is doing#frankly i donât give a shit about menâs mental health but whatever#actually it might not be bad as a film idk their skill levels. but i wonât care about it due to there being no women in there#actually another group is making a film with no women (except the firdged mom) but i think theirs will be good#they have a cast of two people itâs not insane that thereâs no women so iâll allow it#and also of course that guys script was very good and he was actually my first choice when we voted on whoâs scripts to make#no i was not my first choiceâŠ. i was trying to be humbleâŠ.#also i wouldnât have had to be director on his film. i could have been the bitchy production managerâŠ..#i also would have had to go on multiple hikes due to the locations they needed. so perhaps itâs a good thing my script got voted in too#and i know i complain but i do actually like my group theyâre great people to work with#even if the Annoying one and i clash sometimes. i like to think of our dynamic as Divorced Coparents#which sounds more sexy than it is. itâs not sexy at all. thereâs no sex going on metaphorical or otherwise#i just mean. we clash sometimes but we also have good rapport. itâs like a tense middle school friendship#and the other guy. heâs great. cringe at times but we love him#i wish iâd known him before this semester so we could have had more time to become friends this timing kinda sucks#anyway. i donât remember how this post started.#ok bye
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good morning i spent $90 on tokrev volumes yesterday because i was on the hunt for this singular gorgeous image <333
i dragged my boyfriend to the bookstore on an obsessive, borderline deranged mission to find and subsequently own (in some capacity) this photo. and now i do!! plus two more omnibusâ i didnât need (except i really did need them, because theyâre so beautiful and iâm so glad to have them on my bookshelf now *ăăŸ(ïœĄ>ïœ<ïœĄ)ïŸïŸ*ă)
#iâm literally never ever ever ever ever EVER going to be over this singular image#and itâs like the tiniest lil illustration and i donât even CARE#i love him so much so so so much itâs actually kind of INSANE#there are a few i kinda want in jp as well just bcoz those editions are so gorgeous too but#i donât mind the omnibus versions????? they save a bit of space haha#u know which one i DO need in jp?????????? VOLUME 24#AND U ALL KNOW WHYYYYYYYYYYYYY#oh jesus <3#heâs so sexy i could cry i could CRY#we donât even have the physical english version of 24 yet do we#well anyway <3 v happy with my purchases#will probably end up collecting all of them#which will be the first manga series i actually own like FULLY#i only have a few bnha volumes#only the ones that are important for dabi#but other than that obv i donât care much to own EVERY volume#hope ur having a good tuesday my friends!!!!#iâm so sleepy and i woke up with a wicked headache BUT#bfs mom is making us these like dark chocolate nut clusters and iâm v excited about them#clari chatters
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#anybody got some shards of glass i could chew on?#iâm on the fucking floor iâm cold sweating fr#the way that every thought in my head is completely completely unspeakable actually#i need to edit an encyclopaedia so i can make an entry for the word sexy and use photos of him to illustrate so people get it#donât read this btw#đœpost#jacob#*up#*ults
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