#like his protectiveness over their privacy and distaste of the press

[science-lings]

It is Way Earlier than I am normally awake but I can’t stop thinking about the Wayne’s deaths, I need to write about it so bad like… who called the police? Was it Bruce? Did he have to explain to the 911 operator what happened? Was he too in shock to call himself so a random bystander had to do it? Do you think he tried to pick up all the pearls from her necklace and got blood all over his hands? Do you think Alfred had to help him wash it off hours later? Do you think Alfred was able to hide how the story and the picture taken at his most vulnerable moment was all over the newspapers for very long? Can you imagine having to go outside knowing that everyone knew intimately but not genuinely the worst thing that has ever happened to you?

[uchihashisuii]

time. - Shisui/Itachi

Summary: In which the best year of Itachi’s life is also his last. | Non-mass AU, Itachi-centric

Pairing: Uchiha Shisui/Uchiha Itachi | Uchiha Itachi + Uchiha Sasuke

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 4745

Content warning for angst, emotional distress, terminal illness, minor descriptions of blood + injury, major character death. sorry

Author’s Note: this fic was the result of a comm! in which I write a fic to give hope and break hearts. Itachi really would have had so much potential, huh? Sorry about this x

Ao3

-----

The best year of Itachi's life goes something like this:

He's just turned twenty-three, is at his peak. Less missions fall on his shoulders, to make way for the training and the preparation. Yondaime takes him and Obito equally under his wing, to watch and observe and learn, exactly what goes into being Hokage. It's - very nearly peaceful. His pacifistic heart content to do naught but listen, to shake hands and share smiles, to squint at his endless notes from behind the glasses he only wears in the privacy of Minato's office. There is no stench of blood, nor is there the cry of death. He and his cousin are being prepared and groomed to lead and to advise, and perhaps one day to don the hat.

His family has always been a bit strained, but as Sasuke has grown into his own and their father has bowed beneath the strain of police chief and clan leader, allowing their mother to step up and assist his leadership - things have become far more smooth. They all laugh together when they sit for dinner; even if Itachi has too many things to do and not enough time, even if Fugaku is pulled away for longer hours, or Sasuke has another month-long mission with his squad - they all find their ways back home, where Mikoto waits with a put-upon sigh and a half-hearted slap with her dish towel. It's the most peaceful his childhood home has been since he could remember, and for the first time in his life Itachi actually looks forward to going home at the end of a long day.

He's in love; so stupidly, impossibly besotted, that there are some days that Itachi has genuinely no idea what he'd done to deserve such lightness in his chest. Shisui is his best and oldest friend, the one who cradles his hidden heart in scarred hands that have never once harmed him. Itachi loses himself in the hours spent at the Nakano, with his head on Shisui's chest and fingers tangled in long, silken hair. In the press of a smiling mouth against his, in the secret glances shared across a room.

He's - happy . He hadn't expected to find that for himself, not truly; his mind and heart perpetually at war since that first time his father had taken him to the field of battle and shown him what it meant to be a shinobi. A distaste for death and suffering even as he excelled in every aspect; a cruel irony he'd suffered with for most of his life. And then, impossibly, peace to be found. In protection, and not pointless violence. In loving and allowing himself to be loved, in watching his brother grow and thrive and smile. In facing the future, and knowing there's a place for one such as him.

-----

Itachi sits at a low desk, across the hall from the Hokage's office. His glasses slip down the bridge of his nose as he ducks low, double-checking the contract with a guild of builders for the new expansion to the library. He's always been meticulous to a fault, and he knows Obito will only glance over it before tossing Minato's seal of approval down without a thought.

He loves his cousin. Knows his heart is generous and warm, understands he would make a good leader. Obito's forte however, is not in paperwork. Though, Itachi supposes, that's the entire reason why he's here, sweating into his collar and frowning at a waist-high stack of documents. Only one will succeed Yondaime, and a Hokage never does anything alone.

A knock at the door makes his brow twitch as Itachi sits to full height, pulling his pen up and murmuring for them to enter. He straightens his spine and stifles a sharp cough pulling at his lungs, brows furrowed as he clears his throat through the burn. Yet when he glances at the opening door he still smiles, a small but genuine curve of his mouth, when Kakashi steps inside.

They chat for a bit, about plans for the pair of them and Obito to act as official representatives to Minato's interests in Iron. Delegation is something Yondaime is fond of, as his confidence and surety grows by the day in the two Uchiha. Just the thought of it brings a warmth to his chest, at the trust put in him and his cousin. He may have found a place, after so long spent wondering who, exactly, he was. Though the warmth might just be another flash of pain in his chest. Who knows.

Itachi is thankful to have his former senpai as company and firm pillar of support. His advice and quick wit is invaluable, even if he cracks wise about Itachi's glasses or has to be shooed from Minato's office when his hand wanders just a bit too low on Obito's back to be considered polite.

"You look a bit tired," Kakashi says with his usual air of indifference, though Itachi knows him well enough to tell he's frowning beneath the mask. Even at a distance, Itachi can see the way his hand twitches, as though he wishes to reach out a place a hand on his shoulder. "Maybe you should take a break -"

"I'm alright," Itachi responds with a wave of his hand, a look of impatience glancing across his features. He'd taken the world upon his shoulders since he was thirteen, and no tightening in his chest will change that. Stress, probably; but he flourishes beneath expectation, and wishes not to disappoint any around him. "It's probably just a cold, it's that time of year. Wasn't Obito sick a little while ago, too?" He adds by way of placation and distraction, cradling his chin in his palm and pulling the glasses from his nose.

Kakashi watches him in silence for a breath, dark eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. Gives a soft hum beneath his breath, and then acquiesces. Cracks a deadpan joke about Obito being curled in bed and whining loudly whenever he's ill, the both of them smiling indulgently. He doesn't bring up the shadows beneath Itachi's eyes, nor does he mention the way he coughs into his elbow, more and more.

-----

The visits to the hospital are kept blessedly short. Itachi has little time for flowery words or dancing around the subject, especially that of his own life. He sits with spine straight and legs crossed, hands held carefully in his lap; the perfect portrait of heir to the Uchiha. He's polite to the nurses, summons a smile for any who catch his eye; knows gossip will dog his heels but he is nothing if not efficient. None will begin to guess, none will know the truth. Itachi makes no effort to hide himself when he visits the hospital, even with his distaste for the whispers and the stares; no one will know, he reminds himself for the hundredth time, and almost starts to believe it.

He goes, only because Shisui asked him to. Had held a tender hand to his cheek and looked right into his eyes, and mentioned that he could tell something was wrong. His breathing didn't sound right, which from anyone else would have made his spine stiffen. But it was Shisui - Itachi covered his hand with his, and nodded wordlessly.

-----

The direction of one's life can change in an instant. Anything can happen, at any moment; learning to adapt and to move forward is something drilled into the mind of every shinobi, in order to ensure the mission runs smoothly and bring victory without cost. Itachi's life has shifted many times over the years, but nothing could have prepared him for the reality of one simple test result.

-----

He doesn't put too much thought into himself, never has. His life has never been his alone, he's always been more a tool to be used, by village and clan. And he was content with that, with finding his own moments of peace and joy in amongst the pressures and expectations. He wishes, above all else, to do what he can for all he loves, and to stand tall beneath the weight on his shoulders. When things are out of his direct control, he wavers; he doesn't buckle, never has he and never will he, but there is that sharp annoyance digging tiny fingers into his temple when he realizes and understands that this time, he can do nothing. His quick mind and skilled hands left utterly useless, in the face of his own failing health.

Itachi's more annoyed than anything, as he thanks the doctor for her prognosis and her sympathies, takes the copy of his results and a slim file on treatment options, and leaves the room with brows furrowed. He has a plan for everything, meticulously laid out in his mind for every option, every path. But this - is not part of it.

And then reality crashes down around his shoulders, as he walks home from the hospital. Yesterday, he had his life ahead of him, surrounded by family and friends and a future that was as close to idyllic as he could fathom. Itachi stumbles a step as his eyes go wide, barely even noticing when his sharingan spins to life in automatic response to his suddenly embroiled emotions.

He cannot stifle the image of his family, when he tells them. Gasps and tears and mourning, horror etched on familiar faces and the tight grip of his mother's hand. He will leave Sasuke alone. His parents will outlive one of their children. And Shisui - expression falling and tears filling those soft brown eyes, that had looked at him from that very first moment with nothing but unending warmth.

Itachi does not mourn for himself. A part of him wonders if it's some sort of cosmic justice, for the lives he'd taken in the name of peace. He'd always comforted himself with the fact that the blood staining his hands since he was six years old was for the greater good; and now here he is, finding contentment and peace and staring down a life filled to the brim with those he loves and a future fulfilling his dream of peace.

Does he deserve to die? Maybe. His analytical mind spins just like the world around him as he crouches low to the ground, palm pressed tight to his mouth as nausea rolls in his stomach. The details don't matter, the guessing doesn't matter, nothing - nothing matters . He's going to die. And there's nothing he can do to stop it.

-----

He is expert at keeping a tight lid to his emotions; has long since perfected the serene look of someone at ease and in control. Itachi dons the familiar mask as he clears his throat and coughs delicately into his palm, ignoring the sharp tightening somewhere beneath his ribs. Relaxes his posture, and hides the documents in the back of his closet. Summons a smile for his family, and lies. He may not have planned for this, but he can plan around it. His family will mourn, but they will move on. There will be a different prodigy in ANBU, and Obito will have others to surround and encourage him. Itachi will never don the hat, or find the bravery and willful vulnerability to admit to all he's in love with his best friend, and will not watch Sasuke continue to grow into the man he knows he'll become. His story is merely coming to an early close, and he tries to find comfort in the fact that it could happen to anyone.

Itachi silently, secretly, lets some tears fall in the night. Whilst he sits up in bed, watching Shisui snore into his pillow beside him. He'll not grow old beside him, wont grow a family or share warm memories. He'd told Shisui the doctor had told him to take it easy with katon , with the beginnings of a chest cold brewing in his lungs. And Shisui had believed him, because of course he did; Itachi feels wretched, but he - he can't . He doesn't have the bravery to see the look on his beloved's face, when he's aware enough to know that if anything happens to Itachi then Shisui's world will crumble around him.

He stifles his emotions, wipes his tears, and curls against Shisui's back. Sleep doesn't find him, until the sun is cresting over the horizon.

-----

It is a difficult thing, to swallow one's pride and choose to admit certain weaknesses. Itachi requests Kakashi's presence for early in the morning at the Hokage Tower, and it speaks volumes to his former senpai's apparent concern that he is not late. Kakashi holds the door to Minato's office open for him, Itachi inclining his head in thanks, and then the pair of them are alone with the Yondaime.

They exchange pleasantries, but they can all sense a certain shroud of expectation hanging about the room. Minato waves a casual hand, his personal ANBU appearing in a cloud of smoke; she fists a hand against her breast and gives a quick bow, and Itachi watches as she silently leaves the room, the door clicking shut with a certain finality that does nothing to ease his hurried pulse.

And then they are alone, silence blanketing the room as both of his mentors turn to face him. Itachi breathes through his nose, and offers a low bow to his Hokage.

"I would first like to offer my apologies," Itachi begins in a low and dulcet tone, silently praying the ache in his lungs will not make itself known. "I know how much trust you've put in me, and it pains me to admit I am no longer suitable to work beneath you." The truth, absolute. He had allowed himself to - hope, really, that one day he would sit where Yondaime does.

Minato's eyes go wide, lashes fluttering as he studies Itachi with shock writ clear across his face. "I'm - sorry to hear that. Can I ask for elaboration?"

Itachi barely holds on to his sigh; he'd seen this coming, and with a quick glance to the door he takes a step forward. "This cannot leave this room, please."

Kakashi and Minato share a look, offering twin nods. Itachi feels another tightening in his chest, though blessedly it is from warmth, and not illness. "Thank you. I -" He pauses, the words refusing to come. They sit in a tight knot in his throat, a painful gathering of thorns that will not relent, when it comes to admitting his own failings and weakness. He chokes on a breath, feels that now-familiar burning in his lungs, and has to turn his head to cough harshly into his palm.

His shoulders shake from it, though Kakashi is there to place a welcome and steadying hand on his back. Shame still eats away at him, but Itachi knows neither he nor Minato will offer judgment. His breath rattles and his chest aches, but when he glances to his friend he is able to find his strength.

So - he tells them. Without pomp or spectacle, Itachi succinctly sums up that his long years spent with aching lungs has led to a dismal prognosis of barely a few months left to live. He's ever the pragmatist, and knows beyond any shadow of a doubt that they need to know, in order to prepare and find someone to replace him. Obito will learn in time, as well as the rest of his family, but for now - for now, he cannot bring himself to tell them. Instead chooses to confide professionally, compartmentalizing his own emotional reactions and holding them back.

Minato puts a hand to his shoulder when the room once more grows silent, deep blue eyes burning into Itachi with a naked grief. The pain he shows shouldn't be shocking; the Hokage is a deeply emotional man who cares much too much about those under his care, yet still Itachi nearly falters at the sheer breadth of warmth and affection.

"Anything you need," Minato says, " anything at all - you don't hesitate to come to me." His hand tightens on Itachi's slim shoulder, hard enough to bruise, and for a moment he wonders how he'd gone so long without realizing he'd been loved by more than he ever expected.

-----

Life continues as normal. He keeps returning to the Hokage Tower, to get things in order and gently nudge Obito in the direction of taking more responsibility. He takes missions when time permits, and keeps his secret. He still kisses Shisui goodbye in the mornings, still pokes Sasuke's forehead when they cross paths, still ducks into an empty room when a cough rips its way up his throat. Ignores the taste of iron lingering on his tongue, and carries on as though nothing is amiss. Surely, surely - he has time.

-----

The mission was run-of-the-mill, nothing to write home about. He'd spent three days on the eastern border, cleaning up after a nin gone rogue. Distasteful, but like a house of cards they all fall before his sharingan. It's almost a bore, at this point; he tries not to let his mind focus too hard on when he had become so disillusioned.

Shisui meets him at the gate, setting sun at his back and that wide, boyish grin on his face. Itachi returns his smile easily, and has to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from embracing him in plain view of the gate guards. Time, he thinks, is a fickle thing; he'd never dwelt on how precious it was, and is now suddenly starkly aware of how little he has left to ensure Shisui remembers just how loved he is, always has been.

He knows - of course he knows. But it wouldn't hurt to tell him, too. Itachi has always been soft-spoken yet eloquent, but when it comes to brutal honesty and feelings exposed he falters. He's getting maudlin as the illness creeps forward, and he barely suppresses a roll of his eyes.

They walk together towards the compound after Itachi gives his report of a mission success, Shisui filling the silence with poking and prodding questions about what Itachi had been up to. He answers as succinctly as he can, a small smile curving his mouth even as he pauses to cough into his elbow every few blocks.

"Just a small cough, from the dust in the road," he tells Shisui when his brows furrow with concern, hand on his elbow. The lie slips easily from his mouth, and Itachi apologizes for it with a quick kiss pressed to the corner of his mouth. Shisui goes pink from his ears to his neck, unaccustomed to open displays from him, spluttering on his breath and grinning that crooked grin. Itachi's only response a low laugh, hand brought up to cover his mirth and hide the sudden cough it brings with it.

When they reach his family home, stepping out of their shoes and calling greetings, Itachi catches sight of Sasuke lingering in the hall. His otouto frowns at him, and a guilty part of Itachi knows assuredly what irks him. Not enough time , he thinks once again; there was barely enough to split between all that he loves before , but now -

Shisui is already deep into the house, making Mikoto laugh and offering to help with dinner. Itachi hopes that these visits will continue once he's gone; Shisui's mother had been gone for many years now, and Mikoto was always in her element whilst hovering and smothering and doting on her sons. Shisui had slotted perfectly into their family, and he wishes for them to come together easily once more.

He steps further into the hall and offers a smile to Sasuke, wide and warm and genuine. His breathing comes harder but still he's happy to see his otouto, questions already brimming on the tip of his tongue. Had his last mission gone well? Has he perfected his genjutsu? Is he - is he happy ? He's rather desperate to hear that Sasuke is happy, Itachi realizes, as he lifts his arm aloft to poke his otouto in the middle of the forehead.

His hand trembles when he lifts it, vision narrowing into a clouded blur as in a blink there are two Sasukes in front of him. Odd, Itachi thinks to himself, as he stumbles forward a step and has to catch himself on the wall. The lurch of motion makes his head spin, pulse thundering in his ears as he feels, distantly, arms circling his chest that he suspects might be all that hold him upright.

But the pressure is cloying, tight and uncomfortable and Itachi feels the pain in his lungs swell. He squeezes his eyes closed to stave off the nausea, cough rocking up his throat and making his shoulders heave as he struggles for breath. Something wet catches in his mouth and he has enough presence of mind to feel ice in his veins. Not now, not yet, please, not now -

His knees fail him as Itachi coughs a fountain of red, rushing rampant from his tighttighttight lungs. A palm slapped over his mouth does nothing to stave it, to hide it or to slow it, his head continuing to spin. His sharingan spins to life as he blinks his eyes open, apologies and lies already bubbling to the forefront.

The last thing he knows is Sasuke's horrified expression, blood splattered across his cheek and his distant voice screaming Itachi's name.

-----

When Itachi wakes, it is to clinical white walls and the steady hum of machinery. He blinks away the haze slowly, limbs feeling sluggish and far too heavy, though his breath comes the easiest it has in months. He suspects he can thank the ventilator pressed into his nose for that.

Regret hangs heavy over him as he lays in the quiet, eyes gazing without seeing at the stained ceiling above him. He swallows around the sudden lump in his throat, shame an old and trusted friend as he silently curses himself for such rampant weakness, when all he'd wanted was to ensure his family's comfort and happiness.

There is movement in his periphery, and when Itachi glances to the side it is to find Shisui, sprawled out in a low metal chair, fast asleep. Fondness and worry tug equally at his heart, and he effortlessly finds the strength to push himself to sitting, trembling hand reaching out to rouse him.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sasuke's voice makes him flinch, hand pulling back as Itachi whips his head to look at the door he hadn't noticed was open. His otouto watches him with a distinct fire burning low in his dark eyes, hands tightening into fists at his sides.

"I - thought I'd have more time," Itachi answers in a whisper, glancing sidelong at the still sleeping Shisui. His words hold no lies; even if he's omitting the part where he'd been too afraid to say anything for weeks, now, still he doesn't lie to Sasuke. Not now. Not when he'd borne witness to Itachi's failure, not when he'd had to suffer through watching Itachi nearly drown in his own blood.

" Bullshit ," Sasuke hisses at him, stepping further into the room and pointing a finger right at Itachi. "You've kept everything important from me for my whole life. You weren't going to tell me, not ever; you were just gonna wait until you were dead."

He can't even deny it. Itachi finds himself suddenly, utterly, exhausted. The pressure in his chest unfurls and a wracking cough takes the wind from his sails. Doubled over in bed he barely even notices the hand rubbing soothing motions up and down his back, but when he looks Shisui is there, something forlorn in his eyes and mouth pinched into a frown. When he catches his breath and turns to look, it is to see Sasuke standing close to the bedside, a shock of tears brightening his eyes.

Guilt gnaws at his bones as he struggles to lay back down, head spinning and throat dry. Shisui holds his hand, Sasuke wordlessly takes the other, and none of them speak until his parents enter the room.

-----

The days pass in a blur of muted pain and the constant flow of hushed activity. Loved ones come and go, and soon enough there are enough flowers on his windowsill and bedside tables to open a new florist. Itachi is kept medicated, very nearly sedated, until he can count the hours passing in coughing fits and exhausted bouts of sleep. His most illustrious visitor is Tsunade-hime, who offers her own gruff apologies when she admits his illness is too far along to be treated effectively, the only result to extend his life by a few weeks, perhaps, which they all know would be spent much the same. In bed, utterly useless and half-delirious, either feeling nothing or in pain. Itachi declines the offer for healing, too cowardly to meet Sasuke's eye across the room when he says the words.

The nights, however, are where Itachi finds his peace. Shisui refuses to leave the room, and when the hospital turns quiet and the lights switch off, he stretches out at Itachi's side in the small bed and pulls him to his chest. Sometimes they speak, sometimes they don't; Itachi feels gentle hands carding through his hair to lull him to sleep, ear pressed right above Shisui's heart. Steady and sure and continuing to beat; and his. Always his, as Shisui reminds him with reverent whispers before he kisses the breath from him.

It takes a week before Itachi tells him everything. How long he'd been struggling, how angry he truly is at fate's cruel hand. They speak of the life they wished to have, of the dreams of peace and days spent in laughter and in love. Itachi curls himself over Shisui's broad chest, shaking hands holding tight to his shirt, and tells him once more for good measure that he loves him. If tears soak the dark fabric of Shisui's shirt, neither of them breathe a word of it.

-----

There comes a day where Itachi can feel the burden of time resting heavy on his shoulders. His breath rattles through his thin chest, and he knows that he's wasting away to nothing. It's as though all his years, short as they may have been, have suddenly rushed forward to drag him down, and Itachi can feel his life slipping away.

He asks to speak alone with his brother, and when Sasuke sits at his bedside with wide eyes and an imperceptible tremble to his shoulders, Itachi finds his smile. It's a good, blessed thing, to know that he's honestly and truly loved , despite everything.

He does not look away from his otouto, does not hide from him or his teeming heart, refuses to keep him at a literal arm's length any longer. Instead Itachi watches the way Sasuke so clearly grieves for him, and feels an odd sense of contentment.

He has more regrets than he can count, but as the sands of time spill he knows now isn't the time to linger on them. Perhaps now is the time for truth; late as it is.

"It's been an honor to watch you grow," Itachi tells him, words spilling easily after so long of keeping them shut tight beneath his ribs from pride. "The greatest thing in my life has always been being your big brother; nothing, nothing , has made me happier. You've grown into a fine man, and will continue to do so."

His breathing hitches, which he blames on a cough pressed to his palm. Sasuke watches him, motionless and with his sharingan dimly glowing. Itachi isn't certain he even knows he's doing it.

Though his strength is failing, still he reaches out for his brother. Hand curved around the back of Sasuke's head, he drags him close until their foreheads press together. Sharing a breath, and a certain grief and connection that none could ever hope to put words to. Itachi's mouth quirks up as tears fill Sasuke's eyes, and when he speaks the words they are naught but a hushed whisper.

"I will love you, always."

-----

The best year of Itachi's life was ironically his last. He'd found happiness, and peace, despite the pain and the blood and the struggle; and passed surrounded by warmth and with a smile on his face.

[thepokyone]

In Defense of Honor

Pairing: Loki x fem!Reader (ft. Thor, Clint, Natasha, and Tony)

Warnings: mostly fluff, use of wh*re

Words: 1.3k

A/N: Hello, and welcome to the magical world of "post-2012 Avengers + Loki all live in the tower together". I want to live in this reality. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed this anon request!

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Despite Loki's continued assurances that the team would love you, you sounded worried.

"Absolutely certain," Loki said, squeezing your hand. "If you'd prefer, we can just say hello to Thor before making our escape and you can meet the rest in the morning."

"I don't know," you said dubiously, clearly rethinking the entire thing. "I mean, it's the Avengers. It's no big deal when it's just you, or Thor, but this is Captain America, Iron Man, Hawkeye!"

"Not sure I like what you're implying, darling," Loki said breezily, laughing when you elbowed him lightly in the side. "Trust me, hmm? The only one disliked there will be me."

You let out a loud sigh. "Okay. We can say hello, but then we're watching movies as promised."

"Seems a fair deal to me," Loki said. It was only when the two of you were in the elevator that he spoke again. "I think I must mention that the Avengers, outside of Thor of course, do not know that you exist. I kept it that way for your privacy, considering Stark's tendencies, but as a result…" he waved his hands around. "They will be surprised."

"I think I prefer that," you said thoughtfully, much to Loki's relief. "And I appreciate you trying to protect my privacy. That's really sweet of you."

"I would do more for less, darling," he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. The elevator chimed softly as it stopped and your grip around his hand tightened as the door slid open.

"Brother! Y/N!" Thor bellowed, greeting both of you with a large smile. "I saw you standing outside. Almost flew you up myself, if you had lingered any longer."

"Yes, how fortunate for all involved that the elevator was available," Loki drawled, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his mouth even as he rolled his eyes.

Thor laughed. "You think he would have stabbed me, Y/N?"

"Probably," you said, laughing too. You had always said that Thor's booming laughter was infectious. Thor's good humor meant he was always a draw for people and you were no different, though Loki would always boast that he was your favorite. You didn't kiss Thor, after all (no matter that Loki would kill his brother for such an offense, not that Thor would ever try such a thing).

"Who's this?" Natasha asked. Clint was shortly behind her, eating an apple.

"This is Y/N," Loki said. "Y/N, this is-"

"The Black Widow," you said, looking a little starstruck. You left his side to shake her hand. "It's so nice to meet you."

"You too," Natasha said, looking faintly confused by the whole exchange and the smile on Loki's face. "Just Natasha is fine."

"Cool," you said, nodding.

"I'm Clint," said the famous archer, shaking your hand too. "You and Loki, huh?"

"Yeah, over six months now," you said.

"Huh." Clint's eyes flicked back and forth between the two of you and he nodded once. "Huh."

"Anyway," Loki interjected, trying to beat the awkward silence that seemed dangerously close to settling over the group, "where are the others?"

"Tony's out, Steve is in the gym, and Bruce is in the lab," Natasha said. "I wouldn't expect to see any of them for a while."

"We have movie plans, so that works out," Loki said smoothly. "Y/N?"

"Right! It was nice to meet you guys. Thor, I'll see you later. Are you still good for game night tomorrow?"

"I'll be there," Thor said, waving as Loki tugged you down the hall.

"My room is up here, where I can be monitored." Loki said the word with distaste. "Though in all fairness, I did attempt to kill them."

"There is that small detail," you said with a giggle, dissolving into full-blown laugher as his fingers danced along your side. "No- Loki, no!"

You wriggled out of his grip as he opened his door, laughing and ducking under his arm as he kicked the door shut. He caught you again but didn't tickle you, instead just wrapping you in his arms as you took in the living quarters he often abandoned in favor of your own.

"It's cozy," you said. It was lots of warm colors, dark greens and browns and golds, and he had left the gas fireplace on to warm it to a habitable temperature.

"I'm glad you think so," Loki said, pleased. "What would you like to watch?"

By the time your favorite movie had ended (one he had seen several times, though he never once complained), it was after dark.

"I should go," you said.

His arm tightened around you. "Don't be ridiculous, darling, you're staying here tonight."

"Are you sure?" you asked.

"Of course I am," he said, his lips brushing your cheek. "I want you to stay."

"I want to stay, too," you said, and the matter was settled.

The two of you had breakfast in the common area the next morning. You were wearing your pants but one of Loki's shirts, something he was more than delighted about.

"How was the movie?" Thor joined the two of you halfway through breakfast, large waffle in hand.

"Good," you said, wiping your hands with your napkin as you finished. "I think Loki is getting sick of it, though he would never say anything."

"Darling, any time with you is time well spent," Loki said. "But Midgard does have many movies available, to my understanding."

You laughed. "See?"

"You should attend one of our movie nights. Loki never does, as he prefers to sulk in his room." Thor ignored Loki's indignant sputtering. "But it is quite fun, if you're not a hermit!"

"I'd like to think I'm not," you said, laughing harder at Loki's offended expression. "It could be fun."

"I'll consider it," Loki said, though he knew as well as you that was as good as a yes. He was never particularly good at saying "no" where you were involved.

"Heard Loki brought a girl," Tony Stark called as he walked into the room. Natasha, who was pouring herself a glass of milk, rolled her eyes.

"Stark," Loki said in warning. It was hard to say what would come out of Tony Stark's mouth, and in Loki's opinion, he became less sensical the more he spoke.

"Please, Reindeer Games, you know I don't care who you bring in here, as long as they're gone in time for mission prep. We all need a whore to fulfill our needs from time to time, though I didn't think you were the type."

You were incredibly offended, but not quite hurt, gaping at the billionaire in speechless silence.

"Now you've done it, Stark," Thor said, not attempting to stop Loki as he stood, eyes burning with rage.

"If you ever," Loki said, crossing the distance between him and Stark in several long paces and sending him stumbling back into the wall, "speak of Y/N like that again, I will kill you." Frost spread from where Loki's finger pressed against the arc reactor, the light blinking precariously. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," Tony said, relaxing only when Loki walked back to you, his eyes cold as chips of ice.

Thor looked suitably amused, reaching across to smack Loki's shoulder when he took his seat. "No stabbing! Really, brother, well done."

Loki ignored him. "Alright, darling?"

"Takes more than that to wound me," you said, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "I hardly think that reaction was necessary."

He lifted your hand to kiss your knuckles. "I was defending your honor. It was quite necessary."

"If you say so," you said, rolling your eyes. Tony apologized later, ignoring Loki's critical expression, and invited you to visit whenever you liked.

"See?" You asked Loki. "It all turned out alright in the end."

"All thanks to me, I think," he said, stealing a kiss.

You smacked his chest. "You are so full of it!"

"You love it."

"You're right," you agreed. You had never seen him so smug.

[whumpmatsus]

nightwatch. [ Iromatsu ]

In which Karamatsu finds Ichimatsu sick on the bathroom floor and is prepared to spend the whole night there taking care of him.

When Karamatsu wakes to the absence of Ichimatsu’s scary energy next to him, it’s more unsettling than if the energy had been there.

Maybe that’s what woke him up in the first place? The mere non-presence of one of his brothers who’s usually right there? It feels to his mind as if he could sense something, someone, missing from him. Like he and his siblings are incomplete without that dark aura.

Well. Surely no one will miss him while he investigates this.

After all, usually when Ichimatsu is asleep for the night, he’s out until morning. Something could actually be wrong. And if none of the others have woken up to solve it, then it’s up to Karamatsu. The second eldest must take care of his younger brothers!

Quietly he gets out of the futon, making sure to avoid waking any of the others. Even when he heads into the hallway, he doesn’t close the door all the way in case the noise might disturb them.

It’s just as dark in the hall as it is in their bedroom, but… a light further down catches his attention. The door is half-shut, allowing the light to filter out a bit. He supposes it’s possible Ichimatsu just had to pee, though the closer he gets, the less confident he is in that simple theory.

He can hear small groans and sighs. Not the kind someone gives when they’re taking a shit, no, no; the kind someone gives when they’re feeling like shit. Predictably, the voice is definitely Ichimatsu’s.

Privacy be damned, Karamatsu pushes the door open as soon as he’s close enough, and the scene he finds makes his eyes go wide. “Brother!”

The fourth eldest is curled up on the floor, practically hugging the toilet, looking like absolute hell. His hair is messier than usual, there’s a not insignificant patch of still-damp vomit on his pajama shirt, and… quite honestly, he looks just a moment away from hurling. Again, since he’s evidently already done it once.

He somehow finds the piss and vinegar in himself to glare at his older brother. “G-go away, Shittymatsu…! I can’t…” A gag, though not a particularly productive one, interrupts him. Once it passes, he swallows perhaps more harshly than necessary. “I can’t deal with you… right now…”

“… Well… you need to deal with someone! As I’m the only one available, dear brother, it will have to be me.” Karamatsu kneels down to sit on the floor next to Ichimatsu. The fact that his hand isn’t slapped away when he reaches to brush Ichimatsu’s bangs back is an almost worrying sign. He frowns when the other man’s forehead is distinctly warm to the touch.

Something that sounds like a borderline whimper slips from between Ichimatsu’s lips. “Your shitty hand is freezing.”

Karamatsu shakes his head. “No… my hand is normal temperature. I think you’re actually running a fever.”

He shifts his hand down, gently pressing the back of it against his brother’s cheek, then the other cheek, then his neck. “You are definitely hot.”

Ichimatsu scoffs. “If I’m that hot, I can do better than you, so I don’t need the compliment.”

“Che.” He grabs a washcloth from the nearby cabinet, briefly rises to wet it in the sink, and then plops himself back down. Once there, he leans over and begins an attempt to clean the vomit off Ichimatsu’s shirt. “You don’t feel well, do you?”

There’s a moment of hesitation, then Ichimatsu slowly shakes his head. “I feel like crap. I woke up and my stomach was…” He pauses to press a fist to his mouth, his brows twitching in a clear effort not to throw up. It’s accompanied by a sick-sounding gulp that makes Karamatsu wince in sympathy. “… Doing flips… don’t know how I got… got out without waking anyone up…”

The second eldest clicks his tongue, and tosses the now-soiled cloth over the side of the sink. “You should have woken me up, Ichimatsu! What else am I for, but to take care of my dearest younger brothers?”

Ichimatsu scowls, though it’s clear his desire for comfort is starting to win out over his distaste for Karamatsu. “Didn’t want to be taken care of.” A volley of coughs rips itself from his body, muffled into his sleeve. When they subside, it becomes obvious to Karamatsu, sitting this close, that the white of Ichimatsu’s left eye is awfully red.

“Ichimacchan…” he murmurs, scooting forward to pull his little brother into an embrace. It isn’t fought, and in fact Ichimatsu actually presses into the contact like he wants more. “Your eye is bleeding? Should… should I get Mommy or Daddy so they can drive you to the hospital??”

Ichimatsu shakes his head. “No… it’s not serious. It was kind of violent when I first threw up,” he explains. His eyes drift closed, too drained for the effort needed to keep them open. “Burst a blood vessel in my eye from the strain. It’ll go away in a few days.”

“But… doesn’t it hurt?”

“A little.” He curls in on himself, one arm suddenly clenching up against his middle. “Stomach hurts worse. I think I’m…”

In a frenzied panic, he scrambles away from his older brother in favor of the toilet. What comes first is a desperate gag, followed by an undeniably painful belch, and finally a combination of the day’s meals, or what’s left of them, comes back for a second encore.

Karamatsu cringes at the noise, but only because he knows his younger brother is in a massive amount of discomfort right now. He can’t remember the last time he saw Ichimatsu so sick that he was prepared to spend at least part of the night on the bathroom floor. Not to mention, he’s pretty sure Ichimatsu hasn’t been so willing to accept close contact from Karamatsu… since they were kids, probably.

Most of the time, he tries to pretend that Ichimatsu’s disdain toward him doesn’t bother him at all. Sometimes he can even pretend to completely ignore it.

But it does hurt. As dysfunctional as their relationships with each other all are, he always thought that they all still shared the same love they had as children. That Ichimatsu has become so cold toward him is painful; for all his ‘coolness’ and dramatics, he thinks all he really wants is for his brothers, the people he loves more than anything or anyone in the world, to love him back.

It’s perhaps a little sad that the only time Ichimatsu wants that closeness with Karamatsu is when he’s puking his guts out. At the same time, however, that he’s willing to let Karamatsu this close at all is… a good sign.

Maybe it means Ichimatsu doesn’t actually hate him. Or not as much as he wants everyone to think.

He sets a careful hand on his younger brother’s back, rubbing up and down as a reminder that he’s still here. He knows Totty likes to have his back rubbed when he’s throwing up, so maybe it will be a comfort to Ichimatsu too. “There, there, brother.”

It’s probably kind of a useless thing to say, isn’t it? Unfortunately, it’s the only thing Karamatsu can really think to say at the moment.

At last, Ichimatsu’s stomach seems done with torturing him. The retches give way to dry heaves, which fade into coughs, which then taper off into gasps. By the time he pushes himself away from the bowl, still trembling, Karamatsu has a cloth ready to scrub his mouth clean.

“Feel better?” he hums as he pulls Ichimatsu into his lap. The leftover traces of vomit are made short work of, wiped away as if they never even existed.

Surprisingly, Ichimatsu all but collapses in his older brother’s arms. He looks miserable and sleepy, and gives Karamatsu the most irritatedly deadpan expression he’s ever seen. “… Some came out my nose.”

Karamatsu chuckles and tears off another few squares of toilet paper, then clamps them down on Ichimatsu’s nose. “Okay, so blow.”

Likely too tired to argue, Ichimatsu does as he’s told. It’s a weak effort, and there are some more coughs on the tail end of the blow. When he’s done, though, he ends up looking slightly calmer. “Fucking nasty,” he mumbles.

“Hmm, yes, well… not even I could make this look cool were it me in your position, so that’s no shock.” He wraps Ichimatsu in a hug, being cautious as he begins to rub his brother’s stomach.

Things are quiet for a moment before he rests his cheek on top of Ichimatsu’s head. “… I would trade places with you in a heartbeat, however. To suffer so you wouldn’t have to.”

Ichimatsu huffs… then relaxes against Karamatsu’s chest. “I deserve to suffer.”

Whatever response he was hoping for ― silence, or for his brother to say “You sure do” or to be asked why he thought that ― he doesn’t get it. Instead, Karamatsu’s embrace tightens. Like he thinks he can keep Ichimatsu safe from himself. “No. You don’t.”

The world falls still again, with the exception of Karamatsu brushing delicate fingers down his little brother’s hair. Ichimatsu’s labored breathing echoes in the tiny bathroom for a few minutes before he says anything. “Karamatsu-nii-san, I’m tired.”

“Try to sleep, then.” His voice is softer than usual, its typical theatrical notes absent. His face is pressed to the top of Ichimatsu’s head, arms coiled protectively around his younger brother. “I’m here with you.”

Ichimatsu closes his eyes, and when Karamatsu glances down, he’s giving a smirk that almost makes things seem normal.

“You always are. Whether I want you to be or not.” He pauses, and adds at a lower volume, “… Thanks for that.”

[chaoticpuff17]

A Dangerous Game

part 19

masterlist

Hello darlings, just a reminder that this Namjoon is an asshole, and we do not stan his behavior. He is particularly asshole-ish in this chapter, my apologies. But I hope you all enjoy! --- chaotic puff

Namjoon awoke feeling happier than he had in a long time. He was sated, and he had the love of his life naked in his arms. Normally, Namjoon would have already been up and ready for work, but he wanted to be with Y/N when she awoke that morning. He almost felt as if she would vanish from his arms, as she was so prone to do, if he left her now. It felt almost like a dream to have her in his arms like this after so many long weeks of her disdain.  

He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself as he looked down at her peacefully sleeping figure. He’d worn her out the night before taking her three more times before he’d been satisfied. He didn’t think he’d ever get enough of her. But he’d never have to. She’d promised him her life, her submission. His arm tightened around her possessively bringing forth a sleepy whine from the woman as she unconsciously snuggled closer to him, something she never would have done if she was awake.

Carefully, so as not to wake her, Namjoon reached over to the nightstand to grab his phone calling Miss In to request breakfast be served to them in bed this morning. His queen deserved the best after all, and he knew she would be sore after their activities the night before. He’d have Miss In run her a bath after breakfast, something to help sooth her aching body. He’d have to call Seokjin in as well. The pair hadn’t used any protection the night before, and it would be good to check on her health and see if she was on any form of intrauterine or implanted birth control as well as to discuss the possibility of a pregnancy if she wasn’t.

The idea of his child growing in her belly excited him. Namjoon had always wanted to be a father, and he was confident that Y/N would make a wonderful mother for his future heirs. Three children he thought to himself. Three little versions of them running around the estate. That would be perfect. Of course, so long as she wasn’t pregnant already, they would have to wait till she was more settled. She had promised to love him, to be his wife, but Namjoon knew better than to assume she would love him overnight. He would still have to woo her, and she, stubborn creature that she was, would not make it easy on him. But she would comply. Her precious Jackson’s life was on the line if she did not.

He had no problem keeping the man imprisoned as leverage. No, he wouldn’t hurt him. Namjoon was a man of his word after all, but Y/N, the poor thing, had never asked for his release, only his safety. That was her mistake though. Namjoon wasn’t one to add onto a deal when he did not have to.  

Namjoon froze as he felt her stirring in his arms, groaning sleepily as she curled into his chest clinging to the last vestiges of sleep too hazy yet to realize where she was and in whose arms she was curled.

“Wake up, jagi.” He cooed gently moving her hair out of her face.  “Breakfast will be here soon.”

Her eyes opened blearily, blinking the sleep from her eyes as she squinted at him in confusion. “Breakfast?” He hummed in amusement watching her try to fight off the sleep that threatened to pull her back under.

“Tired, jagi?” He asked lazily tracing the love bites that littered her neck and collar bones. The moment did not last long though, as the realization of her situation his not long after. She sat bolt upright clutching the covers to her chest staring at him with wide eyes as he sat up following her. “Good morning, jagi.” He chuckled in amusement kissing her shoulder, entranced by the little freckle there and ignoring the way she stiffened at the contact.

“Clothes?” Came the strangled question her voice still rough with sleep.

“I’ll grab us both something from the closet. Miss In will be here with breakfast soon.” He hummed pulling her in for a quick kiss before he left the bed.

She sat there faintly trembling in the morning light as she tried to process everything that had happened. The one thing that kept pulling her attention though was the soreness that radiated from between her legs. She winced remembering the activities of the night before. Namjoon was a conscientious, but he was by no means gentle. He craved her pleasure as well as her submission, and he was not afraid to take them both from her. After their first time, he’d been far more demanding, far more dominant, and she could feel the after affects all over her body from the bruises on her hips to the hickies littering her skin. She poked at one of the many marks experimentally only to wince when she found it particularly sensitive.

Namjoon returned a few minutes clad in a pair of low hung pajama bottoms with a soft sea green nightgown in his arms.  She was grateful for the covering but annoyed when Namjoon insisted on slipping it onto her himself and protesting when she tried to leave the bed.

“Namjoon, I need to use the restroom.” She grumbled extricating herself from his arms. Was the man suddenly an octopus? Why did he have so many arms? It seemed like every time she removed one there was another to take its place keeping her trapped in his embrace.

He pulled her in for another kiss, this one far more demanding before he released her. “Hurry back.” He ordered gazing at her with such a loving expression that it made her feel physically ill.

She washed up quickly gazing at herself in the mirror. There were prominent dark circles under her eyes, a testament to both her harrowing day and her lack of sleep the night before. In the mirror she could see the full extent of the damage Namjoon had done to her body. The marks were a range of lighter red marks to far more aggressive bruises that shone an angry purple color. There wasn’t enough makeup in the world to cover these marks. She’d have to see what her options were for scarves and turtlenecks. She was not about to give him the satisfaction of walking around the estate with his marks displayed for the world to see. She had a feeling he would enjoy that far too much.  

There was only so long she could hide in the bathroom though. She did stop in the closet on her way to pull out a long robe and a pair of panties to give herself an extra layer of protection.

Namjoon beckoned her back to the bed as soon as she emerged, pulling her back to lie against the pillows with him though he did give the robe she’d put on a look of distaste.

“We still need to talk about your punishment, jagi.” He murmured into her hair as his long fingers played with her own much smaller hands.

“Punishment?” She asked dread curling in her stomach.

“You knocked Jimin over the head, cut your ankle monitor, and fled the estate. I think a punishment is in order, don’t you?”

She froze. “I thought that was what last night was.” She murmured bitterly.

His hold on her tightened. His previously warm smile suddenly gone replaced with a cold stern look. “I seem to recall you being very pleased last night with my cock buried in that sweet little pussy of yours.” He growled slipping a hand through the folds of the robe to roughly grip her breast, brutally pinching the nipple. “I’m sure I can refresh your memory if you’ve forgotten.”

She squirmed pushing his hand away, and he let her, removing his hand to instead bring her face close to his. “You agreed to this, jagi.” He reminded his lips only a hair’s breath from her own.  

“I know.” She whispered swallowing thickly.

“Our time together is not a punishment, jagi.” He whispered against her lips. “You’ll come to see that in time. I can give you a good life.” He murmured pressing his lips to hers. “I can give you the world.”

“So long as I never leave this house.” She scoffed pulling back.

“You can earn that privilege in time, but you and I both know you’re not ready for that. You bludgeoned a man.”

“Is Jimin okay?” She asked looking down at her hands guiltily.

“Jimin will be fine.” Namjoon waved off her concern dismissively. “He’s been sent out on assignment.”

“Like Jungkook.” She felt bitterness welling up in her throat.

“Like Jungkook.” He agreed saying no more on the topic.

It was a grateful break from the tension when Miss In came in leading a small group of maids to deliver a western style breakfast in bed.

“Sajangnim.” She bowed paying her respect to the master of the house. “Bu-in.”

“Thank you, Miss In.” Namjoon waved her off dismissively. “If you could return in an hour to draw a bath for the lady.”

“Yes, sajangnim.”

“And call for Dr. Kim to come.”

“Yes, sajangnim.” She bowed again before shooing out the maids to give the master and the lady of the house their privacy.

“Why is Seokjin coming?” She asked picking at her toast. She was incredibly angry with Jin for being part of Namjoon’s plan, for putting a chip in her neck like she was some sort of dog, and had no wish to see him.

Namjoon sipped at his coffee watching her carefully from the corner of his eye. “I’d like for him to take a look at you.”

“Why?” Her tone was sharp, layered with suspicion.

“Because I was rather rough with you, and we didn’t use any protection, jagiya.” He smirked into his cup of coffee watching as the color drained from her face.

“Oh, god.” She whimpered her head dropping into her arms.

“Of course, we’ll bring in a gynecologist to take a look at you another day, but for now Jin will do just to make sure you’re alright, and prescribe some birth control.” He spoke of it like it was nothing, but it was everything to her.

They hadn’t used any protection. Yes, the odds of her being pregnant was slim after only one night, but her mind was racing. When had her last period been? When was she due to ovulate? Could she have been pregnant?

“Of course, it wouldn’t be ideal for you to be pregnant now.” He mused. “You’re still not settled yet, but if you are you are.”

“I don’t want a baby.” She whimpered feeling bile rise up in her throat.

“Not yet at least.” He agreed. “It would be better to wait.”

“No, Namjoon.” She repeated her voice low and grave. “I don’t want a baby. Ever.”

Namjoon set down his cup and gave her an indulgent smile. “Of course, you want a baby.” He tutted. “Perhaps you’d be more settled with one.” He mused rethinking his decision to have Seokjin prescribe her birth control. As much as he knew she hated it, he did know her, and he knew she would never leave her child behind just as well as he knew a child would make it all the harder for her to run.

“No, Namjoon, I don’t.”

He chuckled darkly his smile turning from indulgent to something far more cold and sharp. “We will have a child, Y/N. An empire needs an heir, and you are my wife.”

“No.”  She repeated her voice firm, unyielding. “I promised you I would be your wife. I promised you my love, and I can try even though the thought of you makes my skin crawl, but I did not promise you a child.”

“I’m afraid, my love, that you did agree to it. ‘Whatever you want’ where the words you used, if I recall.” He growled placing an kiss to the junction of her shoulder. “I would hate for anything to happen to dear Jackson just because you couldn’t comply with the terms of our agreement.”

Her blood froze in her veins. “You promised not to hurt him.” She pushed away from him looking at him with an almost wounded expression.  

“And I’ll uphold my end of the bargain, so long as you keep yours.”

“You sick, bastard.” She hissed hands trembling as she restrained herself from throttling him. “You would force me to carry your spawn?” She spat glaring at him with renewed fire in her eyes. She would not bring a child into this house.

“I would not force you to do anything.” He refuted his jaw clenched as he tried to reign in his own temper. “You are my wife, and we will, in time, have children.”

“That certainly doesn’t sound like a choice to me.” She huffed getting up from the bed and walking away.

“Where are you going?” He called after her frustration coloring his tone.

“To take a bath!”

“You’ve barely touched your breakfast.” 

She said nothing more, choosing instead to throw an obscene gesture over her shoulder instead as she disappeared into the bathroom.

part 20

[ddarker-dreams]

Fallen From Grace Part 2. Yan Giorno x Reader [COMM]

Click here for part one!

Luxury surrounds you at every turn, and tonight is so different. 

The dish that’s sitting in front of you for tonight is bruschetta, a dish warm and inviting in contrast with its desolate surroundings. Bread grilled in a brick oven with fine, expensive cheese melted onto it, hints of garlic and olive oil mixing in to create a drool inducing image. On top lays a light garnish of parsley, bright green contrasting the deep reds of the tomato. 

Every one of your meals is similar in this refined quality. It felt jarring at first, having every need of yours attended to with utmost care. Not only because it’s unusual to be treated with this regard, but because of those who carry the actions out themselves. 

They scurry around you, gaze cowering to the ground and voice meeker than a mouse. On the scarce occasion they find it absolutely necessary to ask you a question related to your preferences, their eyes never dare to meet your own. A sudden interest in the top of their shoes develops, or fiddling with any objects in hand. Your premature conclusion was that they were too guilt ridden to even look at you. 

Now, lips pressing against a glass and taking in sips of cool water, you know the lamentable truth. 

It isn’t that the servants of this villa feel remorse for standing by and enabling your isolation, failing to assist at any opportunity. No, money can soothe any scathing concerns in that regard. It’s a different poison, far more venomous than all consuming guilt. It’s a primal fear of Italy’s most powerful don that drives their complacency, in sight of immoral actions. 

Spineless cowards. Every single one of them. 

You return the cup to its original place on the long, wooden table. The muted sound is the only one in the grand dining room, aside from occasional silverware hitting a plate across from you. Since the beginning of dinner, you’ve made it a point to ignore him. Too many troubles to count plague your mind, the man on the other side of the table being the source. 

Uneasy silence does not last as long as you wish it would. He gently clears his throat, a signal that shouldn’t go ignored.  Looking up now, you’re unsurprised to see Giorno’s ever watchful gaze meeting you back. Pale skin is illuminated by flickering candlelight, golden hair framing his mature face. 

There’s a closed mouth smile on his face, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Unsettling.

“Do you still not feel hungry?” 

Giorno’s voice startles you, fingers twitching by your side. Time is an elusive thing, minutes always seeming to blur together, creating an incoherent mess. How long have the two of you been sitting here? Ten or so minutes, is your guess. Judging from his plate being almost finished, you realize just how long your thoughts were holding you captive.

Swallowing back the bile that creeps into your throat, your eyelids flutter shut. “Ah… something like that. You don’t need to wait for me, I’m sure you’re busy.” 

It’s Giorno’s turn now to take a sip from a wine glass, swirling the white liquid before raising it to his mouth. It’s rare that he drinks, a distaste for heavy alcohol consumption a moral code embedded in his person. Moscato d’Asti if you recall correctly, which you declined an offer for earlier. From the bottle alone you surmise it cost a fortune.

“You’ve hardly eaten anything today,” Giorno points out to you, voice leaving little room for argument.  He looks at your untouched plate, frowning at the undesirable sight. “Should I have something else prepared for you…?”

Exhaling shakily, you accentuate your disinterest in the subject by avoiding eye contact. It’s been like this lately, always placed under a magnifying glass. A tense exchange between supposed lovers, neither cluing the other of their true agendas. In this twisted parody of a dance, Giorno claims a clear upper hand. He leads you according to his own tempo, never once stopping to let you regain your breath. 

Even with him out of your vision, you still feel the crushing weight of his stare. You swallow despite the dryness of your mouth, reaching once more for the soothing glass of water. Panic has long since settled in, disrupting any logical way of thinking and successfully shaking you up. How long can you hide your secrets from him? At this rate, you won’t last much longer.

It all started four, excruciatingly long days ago.

Marco, a guard who you have grown fond of, seemingly vanished into thin air. Along with all the other workers. No explanation, no clues, nothing. The days that followed left you littered with doubts and soul crushing anxiety, taking your every thought hostage. Did something happen to him? If so, what? Did Giorno learn of your secret interactions with him? And if he did, how the hell is he remaining so composed? 

“You’ve been zoning out often.” 

It’s unfair how he can pick up on your behavior without even trying. Being picked apart and analyzed in real time has never been your favorite, yet it feels even more dreadful now. When you first arrived in this golden barred cage, you had nothing to hide. Now, the burdens of your sins against Giorno threaten to swallow you entirely. 

Nails threaten to puncture the soft skin of your palm, hands balled into tight fists on your lap. Every little poke and prod of Giorno’s comments further torments you, sending you into a spiral of never ending despair. Controlling your outward reactions is the bare minimum you can offer at the moment, too skittish to do anything else. Even the sight of delicious food in front of you sends your stomach churning, the scent of it bringing nausea rooted in crippling anxiety. 

He has to know, right? Everything would make so much more sense if he did. It would explain this surreal, benevolent streak that emerged from him seemingly unprompted. It’s not that Giorno was ever outright cruel to you, until this point, you were given your space. No longer is that a luxury you can experience. 

The past few days he’s been practically glued to your side, giving you no time to get your bearings. An unrelenting attack from all angles. It’s an impossible feat to maintain a facade of cluelessness like you were able to before.

Giorno tilts his head, still awaiting a proper answer. Gathering what remnants of strength that remain, you hurriedly utter to half the truth. “I-I haven’t been feeling well.” 

This disclosure earns you a worried glance. He looks at you a moment longer -- as if searching for something -- before pulling back his chair. It groans against the wooden floor in protest, steady footsteps approaching you. Now by your side, he bends down to inspect you further. A tentative hand is placed to your forehead, assessing your condition from a closer perspective.

“You don’t feel warm.” he murmurs while retracting his hand, the action giving you a chance to breathe normally again. Does that mean he thinks you’re lying? Not giving you any further hints at his inner thoughts, Giorno stands by your seated form in silence. In hopes of avoiding suspicion, you come up with a rushed explanation.

“I’m tired, that’s all,” you scratch your cheek, finding difficulty in maintaining your composure. “It’s really nothing to worry about, Giorno. A few restless nights won’t do me in.” 

If a physical ailment was bothering you, Giorno’s ability could serve to aid you. There isn’t anything his Stand can do for exhaustion though, not to your knowledge. He blinks, long eyelashes fluttering in the process. Whether he believes you or not is in the air. The topic is left to the wayside for now, much to your inner relief.

You had gotten sick once in the past. Even more freedoms were stolen from you, health professionals sworn to Passione monitoring you around the clock. Privacy was nonexistent, a true nightmare of an experience. It was only a mild fever, nothing that could cause any true harm. Giorno took it seriously, acting in an abundance of over protection until you recovered.

It won’t be ideal for you if that happens again. For almost a week you were forced to the confines of your bed, taking bitter medicines and eating only bland, nutritious food. That period of time made you go borderline stir crazy, having nothing to do aside from entertaining your malicious thoughts. If he’s thinking about putting you through that again, you’re unable to tell. 

Composed and serene as ever, he takes your hand up from your lap with tender affection. 

“[First]...” your name rolls off his tongue in a low tone, his deep voice and close proximity causing your pulse to quicken. “If there’s anything on your mind, know that you can come to me.” 

Your breath hitches, all hairs on the back of your neck standing. So he has noticed, or believes your anguish is related to something other than physical illness. It makes more sense why he’s insisted on having you in his presence, to keep you in his sight. To make sure you’re not misbehaving. 

The coarse pad of his thumb rubs over your hand in slow, methodical circles. Involuntarily, your hand begins to tremble. There’s not an opportunity to state your case against his words before he speaks up again, words intent on placating you.

“There must be something I can do for you. I hate seeing you troubled like this.” 

You need to think of a diversion. Fast. He’s eroding your defenses, goading you into spilling the hideous truth of your disobedience. A small voice in your head pleads with you, whispering that maybe he’ll forgive you if you confess now. For you to beg for amnesty, claiming the depths of loneliness you’ve felt all this time. Would that cause him to take pity on you? 

Or would you suffer greater lengths than before for your misdeeds? 

Pushing down the temptation, a hopeful idea comes to mind. Deft fingers wrap around his hand, a tired smile on your lips. “You’re very considerate. It really isn’t anything bad, I’ve just had a few rough nights. I’ll try sleeping earlier tonight and seeing if that helps.” 

Giorno gives your hand a final squeeze before pulling away. “Ah, of course. Whatever you feel is best.” 

It’s a small victory, holding purpose to you. You can’t make any moves under his scrutinizing presence, the threat of alerting him by acting suspicious constant. He can’t be around like this forever, Giorno’s position requires constant attention. Even a few days into him not leaving the premises, you’re having trouble adjusting. It has to be a temporary arrangement, he won’t always be able to monitor you. When the opportunity presents itself, you’ll learn the truth about Marco.

You swear this to yourself.

“I’ve read that relaxing before going to bed helps with sleeping problems. Let’s walk around the gardens together, and see if that helps.” he phrases it like a suggestion, but you know better. It looks like you won’t be escaping Giorno’s presence anytime soon, an oasis of sleep slipping through your fingers like sand. Offering a meek nod instead of utilizing your voice, you mimic his previous actions and get up from your seat. 

Giorno extends an arm to you, which you accept. It’s not that you want to, per se, it’s that you need to maintain the charade from before. Marco suggested to you that if you act less combative to your husband, he might grant you more freedoms. Which you desperately want to attain. In light of his sudden disappearance, it would be suspicious to stop acting like this. Reverting to your former harsh behavior won’t do anything good. 

The new disposition worked in your favor. Instead of ignoring Giorno or cursing him like before, you acted tamer. And, as Marco predicted, some embargoes on your freedoms were steadily lifted. Acting like a loving wife to a man you feel nothing about animosity for isn’t an easy task. It’s a survival tactic. 

You catch a whiff of Giorno’s light cologne, the scent dotting your skin with goosebumps. He’s always been a man of fine taste, you must confess. Once at his side, he begins to walk in the familiar direction of his outdoor gardens. The spot is a grandiose one, awe-inspiring flowers from all over the world appearing in full bloom. Even out of season plants are capable of flourishing, which you suspect is due to Giorno’s Stand.

For such a reprehensible person, he sure has a beautiful ability. 

He looks lost in his own thoughts for most of the walk, and finally speaks up often a prolonged silence. “I’ve noticed how you enjoy your time in the gardens.” 

Struggling to keep up with his pace and balance your rapid thoughts, you take a moment before responding. “Gardening is something I always wanted to try. When I first looked into it, I never realized how expensive a hobby it is.” 

He hums in response, offering a moment of reprieve from stressful conversation.

When the two of you walk outdoors, you’re greeted by the crisp evening air. The sun is just beginning to set in the sky, warm colors embracing the expansive greenery. A main path leads up to an outdoor fountain, which emits a noise of rushing water. On either side of you are a variety of shrubs, pink and blue hydrangeas in bloom. A cicada beats its wings in the distance, a telltale time of summer. 

The openness the outdoors brings with it a false sense of solace. You prefer this to the confining walls of inside Giorno’s mansion, which bring with them melancholic memories. A single aspect of this area has earned your ire, the large window above that is attached to his office. You’ve looked up to see Giorno watching over you for a few seconds. Further cementing the idea that you’re never truly alone. 

Silence settles in between the two of you, weaving through winding paths and mossy stone arches. This is a part of the garden you don’t come to as often, you notice. Rounding a final corner around some hedges, you spot a stunning collection of flowers that must be new. From a dark center, pointed petals emerge, jet black in color with hints of crimson on the edges. 

Giorno pauses to observe the mesmerizing blossoms as well, reaching out to inspect a petal. As soon as he touches it, his lips curl into a frown, almost like he’s remembering something. “A few days ago, I decided I wanted this addition. I got what I needed to grow it this morning.” 

You thought that Gold Experience could create life from anything, so it doesn’t make sense to you why he needed to wait for the arrival of something. Maybe even Stands have limits? Any desire to ask about it is stifled by the fact that you’re talking to Giorno, curiosity fizzling out as fast as it sparked.

He pulls a handkerchief out from a pocket within his suit, and wipes off his fingers that had touched the flower. 

“Black dahlias. It isn’t a flower most people would associate with summer, but I found myself interested in them.” he offers a look into his inner thoughts, a rare occurrence. You wait patiently, sensing he has more to say.

“All plants have different meanings, some even having their own folklore. Tell me, [First], what do you believe black dahlias represent?” 

A perplexing question. Not wanting to offer a halfhearted answer in fear of being reprimanded, you give it some thought. Darker colors typically symbolize negative feelings, at least in literature. It’s possible the same logic applies here. In the distant past, you’d read online about an unsolved murder case in America by the name of The Black Dahlia. It seems anything with the name can’t be a good omen.

Humming in thought, you offer the best guess you can concoct. “I’m not the best with stuff like this… if I had to guess, I’d say it means suffering. Or something to that effect.” 

“Very close. Not quite,” Giorno’s eyes betray the calm delivery of his words, a hidden storm within. “What black dahlias symbolize… is betrayal.” 

You’d swallow if you could.

In a single instance, it feels like all the air has been forcibly punched from your lungs, body going numb and blood running cold as ice. Every ounce of strength that hasn’t been sapped from you goes to keeping your knees from buckling, mouth dry and tongue like sandpaper. He doesn’t blink, waiting patiently to see what your next move will be.

He knows. You don’t know how, but he knows. Similar to how a predator toys with its prey before devouring it, he’s testing you. Gauging for a reaction, savouring the guilt that rolls off you in palpable waves. Options and time are limited, both a dry well as he expects a response. 

Your resolve begins to wilt, perishing under the harsh conditions it's been placed. Roots crumbling and petals falling to the ground, it’s a competition within your mind to see what thought will win. Marco risked his own livelihood in order to give you companionship, to make you feel human again. Can you stay afloat under this immense pressure? 

With unexpected speed, you decide. There’s no backing down now. You’ll see this treacherous charade through until the bitter end. It’s what you owe to him, what you owe to yourself. If it’s games that Giorno wants to play, then so be it. 

“My guess was close then, wasn’t it?” you force a light laugh at the end of your sentence, straightening your posture and giving him your best smile. Within the depths of his countenance is an unidentifiable emotion, his jaw tight and eyes studying. All intensity melts away within an instant, the Giorno you’re used to seeing reappearing in front of you.

“Yes, yes it was.” 

Without his prompting to do so, you wrap your arms around his arm once again. Letting out a soft exhale, you speak up, hoping to rid yourself of this tense atmosphere. “A walk was just the thing I needed. I feel better already, still a little tired though…” 

It isn’t a regular occurrence that you touch Giorno of your own will. You can’t remember the last time you’d done it, but desperate times call for desperate measures. He subtly leans into your touch, welcoming the warmth it brings. Hope erupts within your chest, that you can still play innocent and get away with your grievances. 

Now that you’ve been removed from the moment, your mind is clearer. Capable of reasoning with itself, instead of scrambling to react. It’s a possibility that Giorno has an inkling of suspicion, and nothing solid to grasp it. Giving yourself up and playing right into his hand is exactly what he wants, and you adamantly refuse to do it. It’s shameful that you even thought about giving up, even if it was only for a brief moment. 

It could be the fried nerves, that you find yourself rambling more than you normally do. “I never asked, but how was your day? You always ask me about mine, so it seems right that I’d return the favor.” 

“Busy, not much more than usual though. I regret not being able to join you for breakfast. I had... something to attend to.” Giorno reminisces back to this morning, tone lighter than before. It looks like your hunch of him not knowing anything concrete could be true. A passing breeze ruffles through your hair, cool air serving to calm you down more. 

You can do this. You’ll make it through the storm, and find out the truth on your own terms.

“There’s always tomorrow,” you gently tug at his arm, back in the direction of the house. “Can we… can we head back? I still want to try and sleep, even if it’s early.” 

Never one to deny you anything, he starts the walk back, and you follow suit. “I’ve never seen you this talkative before, [First].” 

You’ve never felt the need to talk this much until now. Rambling about nonsensical topics gives your overwhelmed brain a much needed reprieve. If there’s anything good you have to say about Giorno, it’s that he’s an excellent listener. Never interrupting, always offering his full attention. He never offers his input more than he sees necessary. 

The comment doesn’t feel like a pointed one, rather a truthful observation. You let out a sigh. 

“I’ve always had a lot to say,” you start with a purse of your lips, mindful of yourself. But I hate you. “Once you get me talking, you’ll miss the days I was quiet.” 

He doesn’t buy into the self derogatory statement, and shakes his head. “I could never tire of hearing your voice.” 

You open your mouth, only to close it again. Warmth erupts onto your face, the genuine delivery of a line only Giorno could deliver properly. Displays of heartfelt fondness leave you taken aback, never allowing you to understand the man by your side. How can he say in good conscience that he loves you, while taking you from everything you’ve ever known? 

Giorno Giovanna, who you’ve spent a little over a year with, is still an enigma to you. 

When you spoke with Marco, rarely did either of you bring him up. Out of respect for your feelings, you guess. On the rare occasion you did ask a question about Giorno, there weren’t any clear answers. All he knows is that Giorno took over Passione at a young age, and issued wide reform of the gang that extends worldwide. 

The fact is an intimidating one, since he’s so close to you. 

Now back inside, evening has settled in. Long halls are deserted of any life, only you and Giorno occupying them. It’s off putting, you can’t think of the last time you’ve seen this home so empty. There must be someone here, if your meals were made. Other than that, the only human being you’ve seen is Giorno. 

Your shared master bedroom is on the second floor, and after an uneventful trip, he holds the large doors open for you to enter first. 

Lavish and not obnoxious in its designs, this room is where you spent all your time when you first arrived. Not of your own will, since you were antagonistic. Looking at the custom glass windows, it brings back memories of desperately trying to break them with different furniture. Then the noise of doing so getting you in even more trouble. 

Next was an iron shackle against your ankle, metal cold against your skin and uncomfortable. 

Compared to that, you should feel like your current condition is better. Now it’s mental strain instead of physical. There never is rest for the weary.

Hands of the grandfather clock in your room read 8:24 PM. Your guess is that Giorno will dismiss himself any moment now, heading to his office and giving you much needed space. It’s an unspoken routine that you’ve fallen into. Though you ultimately sleep in the same bed at night, Giorno doesn’t join you until much later, if at all. Being in charge of Passione is a full time commitment. 

With a muted thud, the door closes behind you. Giorno draws the curtains over the windows shut, cutting off what little sunlight shone through. Fully mesmerized with his graceful actions, you find yourself staring. It’s when he starts unzipping the top of his royal blue suit that you realize he isn’t intending to leave anytime soon.

Looking for something to preoccupy yourself with, you get ready for bed yourself. The marble ground of the master bathroom feels cold against your bare feet, causing you to shiver and mutter a quiet curse. After brushing your teeth, you open the door to see Giorno still getting changed, bare back facing towards you. Why is he still here? 

Reading your thoughts, he turns around, white pajama shirt in hand. “Is something wrong, [First]? You’re awfully quiet all of a sudden.” 

He can be teasing when he wants, much to your chagrin. Sucking in a deep breath, you give your honest thoughts in a strained voice. “It’s just, I thought you’d have work to do.” 

“I’ve taken care of what I need to today,” he lifts the plain shirt over his head while he speaks, the material stretching against his defined muscles. “So, I’ll spend time with mi cara. It’s been a trying week.” 

Well, that makes two of us. 

His last comment makes you curious. Giorno isn’t the type to complain, if he sees a problem he dedicates himself to fixing it. What is it that managed to earn an admission like that? You’ll test your luck and press further, seeing if you learn anything. It could be related to Marco’s disappearance. 

“Trying…?” you repeat back, testing the word on your tongue. Giorno pulls his braid over his shoulder, and you recognize what that means. Before he gets the opportunity to fiddle with the restraints himself, you walk over to his side and start on it. He allows you to do so, shoulders relaxing as you pull the hair tie out. 

“I shouldn’t burden you unnecessarily.” 

His golden hair is like silk between your fingers, having a light floral scent. You furrow your eyebrows while working through undoing the braid, combing through it. He subtly leans into your touch, eyelids fluttering close at your soothing maneuvers. Prying the truth from him will take more effort.

“It’s not a burden.” you reassure, pulse quickening at the anticipation his silence brings. Worst case scenario, he’ll deflect again and you’ll drop the subject. Feeling inquisitive leaves you unsatisfied, Giorno opting to leave you in the dark about most matters. 

“There was a plot uncovered, relating to you.” 

Your actions cease, body frozen on the spot. 

“It was a threat on your life to weaken me. This morning, everything was taken care of, so you have nothing to worry about. That’s the reason I’ve been working from home the past few days,” he runs a hand through his hair, and turns to face your stunned form. “I’d never allow any harm to befall you. New staff will be replacing the previous one, there’s nothing to disprove that they weren’t all involved.” 

“A few workers were going to get close to you, and draw out information about me. Then... ah, well. It doesn’t matter now.” 

What he’s saying makes logical sense. You’re the wife of a powerful man, who has more enemies than you could ever hope to count. Your mind drifts to Marco, and the time that you had spent with him. A seed of doubt is planted within you, knowing that Giorno distrusted his former staff enough to get rid of all of them. Those men and women were tested vigorously, so for him to now distrust them... 

That leaves a single, haunting question that you don’t want to entertain. Was Marco getting close to you, with the sole purpose of murdering you at the best opportunity? It… it can’t be like that. You spent hours by his side, laughing and reminiscing over snacks and games. He told you about his family, the misfortune that befell his sweet sister, his inner conflict of working for Giorno at your expense. 

When Marco rarely spoke of Giorno, he did ask a few questions about his routine. You thought it was so the two of you could speak together with ease, and sneak around. 

You had cared for him. In the deepest sentiment your broken heart could conjure, you really did. It was the highlight of your day, what you looked forward to every morning when you woke up. The reassurance he would offer, giving you that extra push to carry on your miserable parody of a life.  

Mouth agape, no words can form on your dry tongue. Giorno must mistake your inner conflict for worry over the undone plot on your life, running his hands up and down your arms. He pulls you into a hug in hopes of comforting your shaking form, and you hate yourself for accepting it. 

Nothing makes sense. This has to be a trick, a cruel misunderstanding. Why has the universe seen fit to toss and turn you at every chance, jostling your being to the core. Vacillating between two sides of yourself, the one that wants to believe him and the one that doesn’t. 

Wetness drips down your cheeks, finally breaking down. You sniffle against his shoulder, even more upset with yourself for willingly accepting his embrace. It’s not that the thought of death bothered you, it’s what your trust was broken. Was everything Marco told you a ruse?  

You don’t know. You suppose no one other than the aforementioned person knows, if he’s still alive. It’s embarrassing, truly humiliating to know you told him the secrets of yourself. All for it to amount to nothing, a dagger twisting into your side repeatedly. 

Giorno hushes you, pulling you tighter against him. He coos sweet words into your ear, now rubbing the small of your back. You take all of him in, accepting him in a moment of profound weakness. There’s deep pain, first, then nothing. Emotions come to a halt, numbness settling in as you cease weeping. 

What is there to feel now? 

Soft lips press against your forehead, Giorno offering a chaste kiss. This amount of physical affection is the most he’s ever given you at once, now offering you all of himself. Too weak to protest, you close your eyes, wanting to sleep and never worry about anything again. 

Why try anymore. 

Giorno... did he speak the complete truth? That you can only trust him? He’s given you everything you could ask for, always turning the other cheek when you lashed out at him. He loves you, in his own twisted way. Even after all the rejection you spewed at him, he loves you still. 

“Amore, oh amore,” he whispers into your ear, warm breath causing you to shudder. He pulls back from your amorous embrace, taking your face in his thumb and lifting it. “I’ll take care of everything. Come, let’s get you cleaned up for the night. You must be tired, hm?” 

So, so tired. Of everything. Of this life you live. 

Arms sneak around your shaking torso once more, and he places his head atop yours. Tears are gone for now, a well long dried up. Now, you stand and shake. Head devoid of coherent thoughts, limp against him. He holds you up, keeping you steady.

You close your eyes. Has Giorno always smelled this pleasant? It’s starting to grow on you. Your ear is against his chest, his skin pressed against your own. Listening carefully, you hear the steady thump of his heart. The one before that you thought to place a knife through, now bringing you solace.

What a joke this world is. 

Giorno accepts you, always. Like he said time and time again, the words now settling in. You mutter something against his chest, voice seemingly inaudible. Even you are uncertain of what they are, yet he seems to understand nonetheless. 

And he smiles, content. 

[phykios]

the marble king, part 11 [read on ao3] [rated M for adult situations]

“I was speaking to your mother while you went to market,” his wife said as they settled back into their bed for the night.

For the time, they were lingering a few extra days in Messalia. It was difficult not to--Venice did not have his mother’s cooking, nor his sister's sweet smiles, and Paul was much better at teaching Annabeth Italian than Percy. As well, Percy needed to go and convert some of their money to florins and ducats and the like, far, far more money than he had ever thought he would ever possess. He was very glad for his step-father’s assistance in this manner; neither he nor Annabeth were terribly talented with numbers, and there were quite a lot of calculations to be done. He was equally glad for the affection between his wife and his mother; that the two most important women in his life got on so well was very pleasing to him. “Oh, yes?”

“I had some questions about pregnancy.”

He turned to look at her, a sudden flutter in his stomach. She had not told him of any new complaints or complications, but perhaps she had shared them with a trusted woman. “Are you well?” he asked.

Annabeth pursued her lips, frowning so hard he could nearly see the interconnected web of her clever mind.  “I... must admit I have a problem.”

Percy raised himself on one arm, concerned. “A problem? Is it serious?”

“No, no,” she shook her head. “Your mother assured me it was perfectly normal. However, I may require your…” Annabeth trailed off, then, glancing uneasily at him. “...Your assistance.”

“Anything,” he said, laying a hand on her arm. Such casual touches still managed to thrill him, sending shivers down his spine. “I am at your disposal.”

“I am…” She swallowed, licking her lips. Percy’s eyes could not help but track the movement. “That is, your mother assured me it was normal for a woman in the last stages of her pregnancy to be taken with certain… needs. So to speak.”

“Of course,” Percy nodded. Expectant mothers were cursed with sudden, intense, often contradictory desires. He had learned that years prior with his mother and Esther, and had witnessed it firsthand with Annabeth and their little Anja.

Annabeth met his eyes, stunning storm clouds ringed with gold. “Certain… carnal needs,” she said, slowly.

Percy… Percy blinked.

“It is quite common,” Annabeth said, her pink cheeks rapidly turning red in a manner quite becoming, “for women who are pregnant to find themselves with increased lust.”

“I… see,” Percy said.

Well, he had certainly not known that when his mother was carrying Esther.

Still, there were much more pressing matters at hand. “How… may I assist you?”

Did she require the room to herself, and need him to protect her privacy? Did she wish him to go and… procure her a tool for aid?

Was that why she had been so fixated on brothels the other day? Was he meant to find her a companion at one? If he did, would it be presumptuous of him to select a woman? He did not like the idea of her laying with another man, but--but she had told him of Katya and Clarice and--

No, he furiously thought, nearly shaking his head. Annabeth did not wish to be the object of his lust, and he would not make her so.

“What may I do to assist you?” he asked her again. As her husband, he would serve his wife and her pregnancy however she required it. The actions he took which led to such a situation had been distasteful to her, and so he must endure some of his own distaste now on her behalf.

She cast her eyes from his once more. “I… cannot reach,” she admitted, her hand flicking below her round belly. “I was wondering if you would be willing to…” her voice faded away, shame and embarrassment plain on her red face.  

Percy swallowed. “I… you--you wish me to… touch you?”

She nodded. “I find myself in rather… urgent need of completion, and I should be very grateful for your assistance--if,” she rushed to assure him, “it is not too distasteful for you, of course.”

“No,” Percy said, then, quickly, at her crestfallen expression, “I mean, yes, of course it is not distasteful.” He swallowed again, his mouth watering, but making sure his eyes rested on her face and no lower. “I am happy to assist you however you need.”

A moment passed between them, long and charged. There was a time when he would have been able to divine the whole of her mood and motivations, just from the tilt and shape of her brow. Now, however. He had not been able to read her for quite some time.

Slowly, as though he was approaching a skittish animal, he sat up in bed, peeling the sheets off the both of them. She wore a red kirtle over her chemise this night, her wimple discarded on the floor below, her hair braided down her back. Simple, sturdy traveling fare.

Hushed, he questioned her once more. “May I…?”

Annabeth nodded.

Ever so carefully, Percy pulled her dress up, up over her calves, her thighs. Her stockings were tied above her knees, the garters delicately embroidered with wavy lines of green. Percy had not had the pleasure of undressing many women, and the goddesses of his father’s court did not take to modern fashion. He did not know if such garments were standard, or a mark of the maker. Perhaps Annabeth had made them herself and merely liked the pattern.

“Is there a problem?” Annabeth asked when he waited too long, Percy attempting to keep all his attentions on the cloth and not her pale thigh.

“No, no,” he said, faintly, and then pushed her dress up more. Perhaps sensing his fear and trepidation, she took it from his hands just as it uncovered her center, pulling it the rest of the way so that it lay at her hips just below the swell of her belly.

There, beneath the curve of her stomach, he saw the pink flesh and more of the blonde curls which adorned her head, and his mouth nearly watered. They were a darker gold, here, and easier to see in the afternoon sun than they had been by the glow of the hearth on their wedding night.

Would she allow him the use of his mouth, rather than his hands, he wondered? He was not unskilled with his fingers, but his true abilities were in his tongue. He would prefer it, as well, the flatteries of which his tongue never tired.

With a deep, steadying breath, grounding himself in the sweet, fantastical reality of her laid out before him, open and willing and longing for his touch, he reached out a finger, and traced along the seam of her cunt. Once, twice, three times, until she gave a little gasp, her outer lips parting carefully about the tip of his finger.

So wet already--he tried not to moan himself at the feel of it, at the smell of her as it wafted into the air around him.

Up and down and up and down, he sweetly toyed with her folds, then dipped inside with a finger. At the little whine which escaped her throat, he had to force down his pleased smile.

Cease with your foolish thoughts, he chided himself. This was not about his own pleasure. This was about hers.

Over and over again, then, he went, caressing her cunt as it deserved, as he wished he could do to her every night, trying desperately not to get lost in her sounds of pleasure. This was to ease her suffering, he always had to remember--not for his own benefit.

“Percy,” she gasped his name, and he felt himself twitch in his breeches. “Please!”

Too afraid to ask, too caught on his name on her lips, he did not know for what she begged of him. So he took his other hand, and after briefly caressing her belly, the holy chalice which held their child within it, he brought his thumb down on the place at the top of her cunt, rubbing at it while his other hand teased at the rest of her sensitive pink flesh.

“Yes,” She cried. “Yes, just like that, yes . Percy, yes, please .”

He quickened his pace on her skin, and rather than tease her further, as he so desperately wished to do, instead slid his fingers inside her and out again. As long as he did not say so, as long as he did what she asked, he allowed himself, just for a little while, to pretend it was his cock instead.

Her sweet cries grew hurried, more breathless as Percy moved his hand faster, harder, with greater intent.

“Good girl,” he murmured in a hushed voice, a voice which was not under his control, yet nonetheless taken from the deepest, most desperate places of his desire. “Good girl. Just like that.”

She cried out once more, and he was forced to bite his tongue, lest he declare her beauty to rival that of Aphrodite--or lower it for a taste.

As a flower to the sun, her cheeks bloomed, her eyes fluttering shut as her lips pulled beyond a smile in ecstasy. Letting out one final, piercing cry, Percy felt more wetness gush out of her, straight into his waiting hand.

He was certainly not unschooled in the ways of women, but he had never seen that before. Percy licked his lips, thankful that she could not see him.

Slowing his movements, then, he gently brought her down from her feminine heights, her body twitching with latent pleasure as her climax passed her over. Only when he was certain that she was well and truly sated, that her breathing had returned to normal, that her limbs were loose and lax, that her cunt had ceased to ripple around his fingers, did he finally, torturously remove them, sliding them from her body with a great, private reluctance.

Sleepily, she slid her eyes open once more, catching him with her gaze. “Thank you,” she mumbled, her skin still flushed. “Thank you.”

His heart pounded as though he were the one who had just undergone such a physical act, throbbing in his chest. “It was my pleasure,” he said, his voice sounding at least somewhat more normal--a feat far more heroic than any other he had ever attempted before. “To--to help you however you need,” he stammered, quickly following up.

She nodded, waving a limp hand.

Almost against his will, he glanced once more towards the peak of her thighs, wet and glistening. “Allow me to clean you,” he said, pathetically desperate for just another touch of her.

Slipping off of the bed, he made his way to the water basin. When he turned away from her, it took every ounce of willpower and fortitude he possessed not to lick his fingers clean. Instead, he rinsed them off, and then wet his handkerchief, returning to the bed to gently wipe at her folds. She squirmed, weakly, her brow furrowing in a discomfort of feeling.

When he finished, she tossed down her skirts, and with his help climbed out of bed, undoing the lacing of her dress and shucking off her kirtle, before easing herself back down again. He had seen her like this for months now, Annabeth in her linens, her growing belly pushing against the fabric until she had to purchase more to modify her dresses.

So beautiful, he mused. So perfect. His wife, but not his.

He would do well to remember that fact. Anja Elisabet was wife, his friend, the mother of his child--but not his. This was the deal they had struck.

She looked out the window, her eyes half closed in sleep and Percy stripped off his own outer clothing.  

He was careful as he climbed into bed not to show Annabeth how much his assistance had pleased him.

“Thank you, Percy,” she hummed, pleased and pliant, turning onto her side, a hand curled protectively around the swell of their child.

This bed in the inn was far too comfortable, he thought. They had been here for much too long. “Of course,” he said once more.

Of course.

Of course he would serve her, however she needed.

Of course he would feel empty as soon as the deed was done.

***

They had no need to stay in Messalia for three weeks, but stay they did, for his mother’s embraces, his step-father’s smiles, and his sister’s giggles. Were it his decision, he would have put down his roots in the port city, never to be parted again. But Venice was what he had promised his wife, and there was the church built in the image of the St. Sophia, perhaps the new home of their godly family.

So there he left his mortal family behind.

“Here,” he said on the last morning, as their various parcels were loaded onto the boat, and Annabeth was distracted by Esther’s hugs. He handed his mother another velvet purse, stuffed with more money taken from his little allowance.

“Percy,” his mother said, breathless at the flash of gold. “This must be at least a year’s wages.”

He nodded, a bit uncomfortable. “I thought it might do you some good.”

“Oh, my darling son.” She placed her slander hand on cheek, her calloused skin rough against his, and his willpower nearly dissolved. “You do not have to do this.”

“Of course I do,” he said. “You took care of me for so many years, and now that I am able, I shall take care of you in return.”

He paused, then, as he considered his next statement. He did not wish for it to be misconstrued, as he held no ill will towards her husband, but… it needed to be said.

“I am giving this to you,” he spoke, catching her eye so that she could divine his full meaning. “Not to Paul.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

He took her hands in his. “I have left Paul our cart and our horse. I know that you told him of the money I gave you weeks ago, but please, do not feel as though you need to share this with him as well.”

“Percy,” she chided, “Paul would never--” “I know that, mater ,” he said, for if there ever was doubt to his character, he might have dispatched the man himself long ago. “Still, I think it is fair for you to keep something for yourself, for any trouble which might arise.”

With those keen, piercing eyes which saw so much, they looked on him with so much affection, he felt his own eyes grow wet. “My son,” she said, so full of tenderness, “I can see that you are a good husband, and will be an even better father to your little girl.”

He smiled at her words, a tear falling down his cheek. Her excitement over her granddaughter was palpable.

Percy would see them all again, he swore, and one day, his mother would meet his little Anja, and she and her family would come to call Venice home.

They all embraced. Esther sobbed, and Paul and his mother were not without tears. Nor was Percy, though he was only in real danger of unbecoming emotion when he heard Annabeth whisper to Esther about what a good aunt she would be to the baby.

And then, once more did they board a ship, sailing towards a place unknown.

The first few days, he had worried that perhaps sea sickness would strike his wife again, but, to his pleasant discovery, she was as hale as could be expected, waddling about the ship, hand around her middle as she took in the fresh, salty air. Percy thought fleetingly of the Madonna he had seen in the church Athens, then put her from his mind entirely, for this was surely a more divine and holy mother, this Anja Elisabet, draped in robes of blue and white, belly full of his daughter, standing proudly aboard a ship.

What goddess, either that of the Christians or the Hellenes or the Norsemen, could ever hope to compare? Perhaps this was the source of Hera’s animosity and ire, all those years ago, the knowledge that one day Annabeth would surpass her in her own domains of marriage and motherhood.

“You are in a very good humor,” Annabeth said, five days into their journey. “I would have expected leaving your family to put you in a foul mood.”

She was in something of a foul mood herself today, languishing in their little cabin, unwilling to tread outside. In hopes of lifting her spirits a little, he was rubbing the tightness from her feet, digging his fingers into her muscles. At one particularly strong motion, she moaned, low in her throat, in a manner not dissimilar to when she came, shaking on his fingers.

“I am very sad to leave them,” he admitted, hoping to keep his mind off of… other things. “But we are our own family now, are we not?”

Her face still slack from the relaxing massage, she frowned, her brows drawing together the way they did whenever she was faced with a particularly thorny Gordian knot of a problem. Percy could not, strictly speaking, discern whether or she derived any joy from such a statement.

He spared a moment to wonder if he had said too much, or if he had made her uncomfortable. But she just nodded. “Yes, of course. We are a family, as well.” She shifted, trying once more to situate herself in the position which would cause the least amount of physical discomfort from her stomach.

Though she were still, at times, entirely unreadable, Percy knew when something weighed heavily on her. “What is it?” he asked, his hands stilling on her foot.

Pausing, she looked away, no doubt weighing the merits of keeping whatever it was to herself. “It is nothing,” she said, after a moment. “I was reminded, for a moment, of Lukas, and of Thalia.”

“Oh.” Percy pressed his thumb into the ball of her foot, easing the tense muscle there, grounding himself in the feel of the delicate bones of her ankle beneath his fingers.

The last Olympian had granted him a vision, once upon a time, of Annabeth as a very, very young girl, lost in what he now knew to be far northern wildernesses, having been rescued by the two older children. Lukas had pledged to her, then, to be her new family, to replace the one which had so cruelly cast her aside--only to cast her aside himself, five years later. Undoubtedly, the concept of a family which would not abandon her was not a concept with which she was overly familiar.

Well, Percy would certainly do his best to familiarize her with it.

Shifting again, she shooed away his concern, bidding him to keep up his work on her aching feet. She seemed to prefer that to even his work on her cunt, which he still provided nearly every day.

“You never told me,” she inserted into the silence, tight and restrained. “When did you sell the cart and horse?”

He froze, his knuckles pressed against the sweeping arch of her feet, a wave of guilt crashing over him, as the shore in a morning storm.

Oh, dear.

Percy swallowed. “I… that is to say…”

In truth, he had hoped she would not ask. She seemed accustomed to a certain standard of living, and now, burdened with her share of her inheritance, he had thought that she may not notice some of the finer details. But of course, she would, being the cleverest, wisest woman in the world. How, then, did he apologize for such a gross misuse of funds? Of her trust? “I must confess something.”

With some difficulty, she adjusted her seat, so she could look on him more fully. “What is it?” she asked, her tone short.

She had been so forthright with him, it was only fair that he did the same. “I did not sell the cart and horse,” said Percy, meeting her gaze. “I gave them to Paul.”

She tilted her head, appraising. “I did not know he was in need of either of those things.”

“I gifted them so he could sell them,” said Percy, “so they could make use of the money.”

“Of course,” she said, nodding her head. “That is good compensation for their hospitality, among many other things.”

“There is more,” he said, nerves rising. “I also… gave my mother some money. Well, quite a sum of money.” A year’s wages, she had said, but between both purses he’d handed over, it had really been much closer to two. “A… rather large sum of money.”

She frowned, and he felt the guilt sinking lower in his stomach. “How large a sum?”

“Probably… a hundred or so ducats.”

“Oh,” she said, her face falling from a frown into a sort of bemused smile. “I understand why your mother would think that was so much money but--”

“I wish to assure you,” he chimed in, quickly, desperate to explain himself, “that I will work tirelessly to recoup it when we make land.”

“Recoup what?”

“The money which I took from you.”

“Percy,” she said, in a tone he knew from their youth, the one she assumed whenever she tried to patiently explain something to him, rather than simply calling him the fool she considered him to be. “The money is in your name. You know that, yes?”

“I do,” he agreed, “but that does not make it mine.”

“Any law would say otherwise.”

“The law does not always speak truly,” Percy said, “The money is yours, by right and by blood. I apologize for taking so much of it without your express permission, but please know that I do intend to pay you back in full.” Such a task would take a long while. Two years at least, for the money he gave to his mother, and quite a bit more for the horse and cart, then he could begin working to save to send for his mother and her family. Hopefully, Annabeth would be willing to pay for their room and board when they arrived. “I suspect there is work to be had on many a ship in Venice. I know a good many merchants make their homes there. If not, perhaps I can find employment in a shipyard. I cannot be a shipwright, of course, as I would not be able to afford the apprenticeship, and I am too old besides, but there is always work to be found, if not on the sea, then in the city.” It would be torture to live so close to the sea and yet work with the soil, but he would find a way to persevere. “I will find something, I promise you.”

Annabeth stared at him as though he had grown a second head. “I do not understand.”

Percy knew very well how the children of Athena hated problems they could not quickly understand. “I want to assure you,” he tried again, “that I will pay you back all that I owe. Unfortunately, it shall not be quick. Nevertheless, I shall toil until you are compensated in full. I fear, though, that without any previous social standing, such an undertaking may encompass several years. I am sorry for the delay, but I will fulfil my debt to you, one day’s wage at a time.”

This had been the issue, oh so many years ago. It had been an issue in Constantinople, when it was all he could do to feed himself during the siege, and it had been an issue at the tender age of sixteen, when he could never have supported a family. Now, thankfully, his wife had a deep cushion upon which she and their child could fall, which took a tremendous weight off of his shoulders.

“One day’s wage…” she repeated, softly, unbelievingly, then with a force and speed which surprised him, Annabeth yanked her foot back from his hands. “You mean to tell me,” she said, steel-voiced and spitting fire, “that you plan to become a common laborer?”

“Unless by some measure of luck a man of distinction from Constantinople with whom I served now resides in Venice, I have nothing in the way of connections.” The odds of that, he felt, were startlingly slim, however. He could, perhaps, send a message to Aachen, as they had their own web of social ties running up and down Italy, but he thought Annabeth might dislike money made from a Latin connection even more than the slow amounts he could provide with work by his own hands. Iason would be eager to help him, but Annabeth would likely not be eager to take it, and so he would not mention it.

Annabeth still stared at him, befuddled, angry. “But--I--You--”

She stood up off the bed with easy grace, long practiced even despite her belly, but as she began to pace in their very small cabin, she did waddle around a bit, distracting Percy with the beauty of the image. This was an important conversation, he told himself, shaking his head. “What can I do to--”

Then, with a frustrated cry, she whirled on him. “You truly would disrespect me so much?” she demanded, her face red.

The force of her words was so strong he had to lean back a little. “I--” he stammered, uncomprehending, “I only wish to do right by you.”

“Do right by me?” she sneered. “How? By disrespecting our marriage so entirely that you will not claim what is legally yours? By reducing me to a laborer's wife in a city of strangers? Me!” she scoffed, her voice rising higher and higher in pitch and volume. “A daughter of Athena. A warrior of Rome. A legacy of Frey and a lady of house Förfölja!”

“You can be whatever you wish,” he offered, and although it was true, it sounded small to his own ears. Her father had wished for her to play politics among the noble houses of Svealand--if she wished to do so in Venice instead, he would not stop her.

“Oh yes,” she said, venom in her voice. “I can certainly go and meet with the Doge and his retinue. I shall dress up in my silks and my aunt’s jewels, and when they say, ‘Oh, Signora Thalassinos, who is your husband?’ I will have to reply, ‘Oh, he mucks the stables near the shipyards!’”

Overwhelmed by her fire, her intensity, he blinked at her, speechless.

“You would have me introduce our son,” she went on, incensed, “not as the legacy of great gods and greater heroes, but as the son of a man who refuses to honor his marriage, and would rather toil away on the docks!”

His hands raised before him, he beseeched his goddess, demurely, placatingly. “What would you have my do, my lady?” he asked.

Her eyes narrowed, and he was reminded of her mother, of so many years of disapproval. Lady Athena had wanted him to stay away from her daughter, and for several years, he had thought she had gotten her way. “Take what has been freely given,” Annabeth demanded. “If you wish to return to the sea, well, buy a ship. Buy a dozen! Surely you would have better luck carrying goods across the Mare Nostrum than any other man, with your father’s blessings. But if you insist on ignoring the money that is by law, custom, and my own wish yours , then you shall earn it back in a manner which will not shame me or my child.”  

Stunned, he said in a quiet voice, “I do not wish to take advantage--”

“Oh, I know,” she nearly snarled. “You will take no advantage, nothing of me--only my hand and my maidenhead.”

He flinched, as though he had been struck.

“And what do you give me in return? Your distance and your disrespect.” Her breathing was hard, labored, as though she had just gone several rounds in the arena. His own heart beat so rapidly in his chest it felt like the sparring match was against him. Perhaps it was. “I took you as my husband, son of Poseidon. I expect you to act like it.”

She made to leave their cabin, to make a grand exit worthy of the Empress she should have been, had she chosen a better husband. Then, as she reached the door of their cabin, her shoulders tensed, and she curled in on herself, letting out a cry of pain.

Percy was by her side in a moment. Wrapping his arms around her, her hands clutched at her stomach. “No,” he breathed, all anger and fear forgotten, “not now.”

“No,” she agreed, “no, I think not.” She straightened up a little, but left most of her weight on him, “Your mother told me this could happen. False pains, she called it. It is not yet time.” But she did not seem so confident.

“Come,” he said. “Sit.”

She ended up laying down on their little cabin bed, huddled on her side, her face drawn in pain and worry, but after ten long, excruciating minutes, no other pains came, and her breathing returned to normal.

“Do you need anything?” Percy asked her, gently. “Some water? Some wine?”

She nodded weakly, but did not specify which.

After a few minutes, making certain she was no longer in any serious pain, he then went in search of one or the other, and possibly even a little bit of food.

The sailors greeted him as he emerged onto the deck. He was quite friendly with the seamen. Annabeth had paid good money for their services, yes, but also, he sensed that they could feel a kindred spirit among them.

He found the quartermaster, a kind man with five children of his own and the air of a legacy of Neptune, with very little trouble. The man was always eager to assist this young charge and his wife, and gladly procured Percy wine and hard bread.

“Anything else?” he asked.

Percy considered, as a thought occurred to him. “You do not happen to be in possession of any olives, do you?”

He gave Percy a sort of sideways look, and then, to Percy’s amazement, nodded, producing a small jar of the stuff.

Percy could have kissed the man. His thanks would have lasted all night, had he not been shooed away, back to his wife.

She had maneuvered herself to a sitting position once more when he returned. Freya the cat had made herself quite at home against the line of her thigh, purring contentedly as Annabeth rubbed at her belly, speaking words he did not understand, but recognized as her father’s tongue, so musical and lilting that it could have been a lullaby.

“I have returned,” he said softly, almost unwilling to interrupt the moment. “With--"

At his voice, she raised her head, her eyes a little red and puffy from tears, but the smile she directed towards him was soft and pleased. “Oh, thank you, Percy. Here, come sit by me.”

Settling in on her other side, ever mindful of both her stomach and her furry companion, he handed her the wine, resisting the urge to brush her hair which had fallen into her face.

“I do apologize,” she said, after she had taken a drink. “I did not mean for my words to be so harsh.”

“It is alright,” he replied. “I did not realize the enormity of your feelings.”

Nibbling on a piece of bread, she swallowed, chasing the morsel with a little more wine, before pinning him with an odd sort of stare. “You must remember, Percy, that your choices no longer solely affect you. You are a husband, and a father. There are certain things which you are now obligated to provide.”

“Yes, I am aware,” he said, throat thick. Money and order and prestige, none of which he possessed. “All I meant for was to reassure you that I would not trap you in a situation from which you could not free yourself, should you ever need to.”

More than she knew, the shadow of his mother’s first husband hung over him still. He would rather die than submit Annabeth to even an echo of the same treatment.

“I am not trapped,” she said. “I extended the proposition of marriage to you, and you agreed--quite the opposite of the way things are usually done, might I add.”

He chuckled. That did seem to be a common thread between them.

“But,” she went on, “I am your wife. You must remember that. There are things for which I will not stand, and unlike some women, I have a noted history of running off when I do not like my treatment. When I married you, I knew, however, that you would never do those things.” She paused, considering him, holding his gaze. “I am a reflection of you, as a wife always is. I chose a brave, handsome, powerful, intelligent husband, and I am happy to be with him--but it will do me no good if he hides away and refuses to use his gifts, or disrespects our union by not valuing property that is rightfully his. If you act as though our union is not one of partnership, but one of a great burden, then, whatever your intentions, that will harm me.”

There were a million things he wished he could tell her, in this moment, promises of autonomy, declarations of love, but he knew she would not want to hear either. “That is not fair to you,” was all he ended up saying.

“I never said it was fair,” she agreed, a sympathetic twist to her mouth. “However, this is the way it is. I am not so displeased with my choices, not yet, but please, for my pride, if nothing else, do not prove me wrong.”

“Well,” Percy offered, falling into old step, “pride is your fatal flaw, skjaldmær . I suppose I must take particular care with it.”

She smiled at him, real, true, beautiful. “That is what I ask.”

“Is that all?”

“Well,” she grinned, a little of her humor shining through, “I daresay I shall ask for much much more--for what, however, at this time I cannot say.”

Percy wished he could, were she so inclined, offer her the world, his devotion, his love, all that he had and more. He settled instead for reaching beneath his cloak and pulling out his gift from the quartermaster. “I know you said that your cravings had--”

Before he could even finish his sentence, Annabeth had yanked it from his hand.

“Olives!” she cried in a tone not dissimilar to that of her lusts. “Oh Percy, you found them! You found me olives at sea!”

In very quick succession, she kissed him, and then she had the jar open and began shoving olives into her mouth.

***

In Neapolis , as he was disembarked, he made certain to purchase more olives for her. He did not do so because he wished to put some space between himself and his wife, but rather because she loved them, and at this stage in her pregnancy, she was finding herself uncomfortable all the time. The movement of the boat was not the cause of her nausea, but the cramped quarters and lack of comforts were wearing on her.

So, he set out to find her olives. The fact that he felt his own failure as a husband keenly, but he still did not know how to rectify it, was merely an additional consideration. Thus, he would provide her with food, because it appeared he was unable to provide her with anything more effective.

He managed to procure a few figs as well, juicy and sweet. And some salted nuts he thought might please her. And many many olives. He spent a good deal of money on the volume, hoping  that they would last them to Venice, or at the very least to their next stop.

Spending money on his wife was no hardship. On himself, however? It took him several minutes to convince himself into purchasing a new hat, as his had accumulated a rather disgusting layer of road dirt.

She would like this one, he hoped. It was black, but with a blue and gold trim around the brim. She seemed to enjoy that particular color scheme.

He came back to the ship to some commotion, though he only half listened to the first mate’s words as two trunks were loaded aboard. He was nervous around his wife, still, her condition always lighting fearful fires within him, but he found he could never be too far away. Percy felt as though he were a young boy of fifteen all over again, just returning from their terrible, terrible trip beneath the earth, only now coming to terms with the breadth of his feelings for her.

“There's been some commotion on the ship while you were gone,” said Annabeth as he entered their cabin, once more laid out on their bed. Freya the cat did not crowd her this afternoon, but slept peacefully on Percy’s discarded winter cloak.

“Yes,” Percy agreed, handing her the olives and figs, watching with detached horror as she stuffed them both simultaneously into her mouth. Would it be husbandly to mock her choice? Had they both still been youths, he would not have hesitated to do so, and that good natured mocking had come so easy to him still, even with his devotion, but everything now felt so unbalanced. Marriages did contain humor and good-natured ribbing, but were they acceptable enough substitutes for love and affection? Too fearful to try, he instead answered her question. “We have taken on a new passenger, it seems.”

“Anyone interesting?”

“A count, returning to his home in Venice,” he said. “The first mate did not volunteer many more details.”

“Perhaps you should introduce yourself,” she suggested. “As you said, we have no connections in the city. A count on friendly terms could potentially be a great boon.”

A part of him hated how she had listened to his every word, as she should not have to manage his life so fully, but, well, it was a very good idea.

“I will do so when you are feeling a little better,” he promised.

“See to it that you do.”

She winced, then, moving about to readjust herself on the bed. “I apologize,” said Percy, for what must have been the thousandth time. He never wished to cause her such discomfort, even if the reason was a happy one.

“I have asked you repeatedly to stop apologizing,” she said, relaxing into the bed. “You know it is no trouble. I have traveled to the ends of the world with you twice now, both ways. I think it is in fact easier to do while with child, mostly. Next time,” she continued, quickly, refusing him ample time to dwell on her strange words, “perhaps we shall arrive before the later days.”

Such words belonged to the realm of dreams; “next time.” In truth, they would not have another opportunity such as this. This would be their only child. He tried to comfort himself with the fact that it was better for her, as many a tragedy befell women in the birthing bed.

His own fears about what might await his wife were quiet, but as the date came nearer, it had been harder and harder to quell them. She was hearty and hale, but normally she would have been confined to comfortable rooms. Even traveling up and down the continent, the meanest inn made a far better place to lay than the softest beds upon the undulating ocean.

They had no nectar or ambrosia here, no healer of Apollo or midwife of Artemis on hand. Annabeth only had Percy, and he was sorely terrified he would find himself lacking in the crucial moment.

Ashore, in Neapolis, he had burned a sacrifice in preparation, to Artemis, Eileithyia, and Hera, and any deity who had even the remotest connection with childbirth. He had strongly considered using one of their precious few drachmae to attempt to contact the agoge , or perhaps Thalia and her maiden hunters. They had, like their lady, brought babies into the world on occasion.

Without a guarantee of success, however, he found himself loath to waste such time and resources. But it mattered not--they would be in Venice in a few days, he would find her the most comfortable of rooms, the most talented of midwives, and the most celebrated of doctors, and there they would await the birth of their daughter.

Afterwards, what he was supposed to do still remained a mystery. Not be a laborer, not find work on a ship, he was too afraid to ask what she wanted him to do. Too afraid to once again ignite her ire. Too afraid that he could not give it to her.

In some ways, her growing discomfort was a blessing. It distracted them both from having to figure out what he was to do to make her truly happy.

They set sail again, and Percy sunk into the feeling of the sea all around him, a brief escape from his wife’s, his dearest friend’s discomfort. They were very close to their destination, less than a fortnight at a normal speed, and with Percy’s help, well, they could be much, much faster.

As Annabeth winced and groaned, her momentary peace fleeing her with the rocking of the ship, he decided that they would make it to Venice in ten days’ time. Most likely, he could manage an even quicker pace, but he did not wish to scare the sailors so badly that they might stop all together.

Perhaps they should not have dallied in Messalia. Or perhaps they should have remained longer, long enough for her to give birth.

He should have done a great many things differently, it seemed.

At her request on the second day, he took her out of their cabin, supporting her as they slowly walked about the deck. All night, he had heard her toss and turn in their shared bed, groaning in pain. She seemed a little better this morning, but hopefully the sea air would do her a bit more good.

“And if not me,” she said, her jest squeezed through gritted teeth, “then perhaps your sea spawn.” Her laughter was cut off by her gasp of pain, digging her nails into the skin of his arm.

By his count, she had done that at least every five minutes for at least several hours. The time between the pain might have even been getting shorter.

“Are you certain you are alright? There are plenty of places to make port between here and Venice.”

She waved him off. “I am fine, I just… ooh , it feels as though your child is nearly as excited by the sea as you are.”

Usually, Percy would have been mollified by such a statement, and he would have gone about his business as usual--but not today. “I think we should return to our cabin, and get you back in b--”

All at once, she crushed his hand, nearly falling into him as she let out a terrible, heart-wrenching cry.

“Annabeth!” He braced her against his body, a hand on her shoulder to steady her. “What is it?”

“ Ma ton Dia ,” she gasped, “I… oh, no! Oh, stupid, stupid, I am such a fool!”

“What?” he pleaded. “What?”

Her eyes were wild, shiny and tinged with pain. “The baby,” she groaned, “Percy--your mother told me I would--” Then she cried again, even more anguished than before.

“Anja!” He nearly buckled beneath her weight.

“It’s coming,” she grunted, struggling to remain upright as the ship roiled beneath them. “The baby--it’s here!”

Oh, no. Ohhh, no no no. “What? Now?”

“Yes, now!”

“I--”

“Perc--” she wailed again, too much in pain to speak.

A large wave crashed on the side of their ship, sailors shouting orders to one another.

Paralyzed with fear, all Percy could do was clutch her closer. Now? Now, of all times?

One of the men stepped up to them, beginning to herd them towards below decks. “Signore Thalassinos,” he said, gruff but commanding, “there seems to be a storm rising, we ask that you return to your cabin until it has passed--”

“My wife is having her baby,” he blurted to the man.

His fear and terror must have been plainly evident, for the man paled in response. “Now, sir?” he squeaked.

“Yes, now!” Percy said. “Come, we require your assistance.”

When he made to shift her so that he could carry her, she cried out even more, releasing her grip on Percy so as to clutch at her stomach. Together, they braced her between the two of them, but rather than return them to their cabin, he led them to the captain’s suite. “The captain has a much larger bed,” he said, easing the door open with his shoulder. “Your wife shall be more comfortable here.”

Percy did not even have the wits to protest, or thank the man.

She shrieked as they laid her down, her hands clawing at the fine sheets. “Shh, shh, Anja,” he gentled, lacing her fingers with his. “I am here, I am here.”

“Signore…”

The crewman was looking down at his feet, gesturing to a spot on the captain’s rug. It took him far, far longer than it should have for Percy to realize that it was blood. A trail of it led beyond the door, onto the deck of the ship. Squeezing her arm in a silent apology, he positioned himself in front of the other man so he would not be able to see, then lifted up just a corner of her dress.

Her chemise had been white when she had put it on this morning. Now it was all stained and colored, a deep, dark, red.

Hastily, he laid the fabric back down, his hands shaking.

“Annabeth, darling,” he said, one hand coming up to push the hair which had fallen from her wimple out of her eyes, “you are bleeding. What do I do?”

“I don’t know,” she said, her face red, tears leaking from her eyes. “I--I have never done this before. I do not know.”

“Is there supposed to be so much blood?” Percy knew little of childbirth, but quite a bit about injuries. Had this been an arm or a leg, he would have been very concerned. Being a woman was bloody business, he knew, but was this how they were supposed to go?  

“I do not--I do not think so…” she whimpered.

The helpful sailor still stood there, at a loss of what to do with himself. From beyond the cabin, he could hear the pelting of rain as it smashed into the ship.

“Percy, I think something is wrong,” she said.

Something was wrong.

Something was wrong.

“It hurts,” she cried, “differently, differently than it had before. I can’t--” Then she let out a great wail.

No. No. No.

The boat beneath them rocked, violently. Percy was able to keep himself and Annabeth stable, but the crewman was not so lucky.

“It’s alright,” he soothed, “it's alright.”

Again the ship lurched beneath them, sailors shouting in fear and terror. He paid it no mind.

Annabeth screamed, her whole body contorted in pain.

“Something is wrong,” she said once more. “Something is wrong .”

No. No. He felt like the sea outside--angry, rolling, ready to burst.

The ship swayed again.

“Percy!”

"Signore, what is it?” asked the crewman, having finally, fully righted himself.

Had he been of a clearer head, he would have recognized that the man could not understand Annabeth, as she had been screaming in Greek. At the moment, however, he was too full of fear to be kind. “Don’t just stand there,” he snapped. “Go and get the doctor!”

A midwife would be far, far better, but they would have to settle for the ship’s doctor. Between his experience and Percy’s battlefield expertise, hopefully they would be able to come up with something between the two of them.

“Yes,” said the man, “the count’s friend, he is a doctor, he said. He is a doctor.”

“A doctor,” Percy repeated. “There is a real doctor aboard?”

“ Si, Signore, yes. He is not Italian, but the count says he is a doctor.”

“Fetch him for me,” Percy pleaded, “please, fetch him, tell him something is wrong, and I will pay him whatever he wishes.”

The sailor departed, nearly tripping on himself to get out of the cabin. “What is happening, Percy?” Annabeth asked, frantic. “What did you say, where is he going?”

“He said there is a doctor aboard,” Percy said, turning his attention back to his wife, “he is going to get him.”

“The ship’s doctor?”

“No, the count’s doctor is aboard--I sent him to fetch the man.”

Weakly, she reached for him, her fingers clumsily hitting his arm. “It will be alright, won’t it Percy?” she asked. He had never seen her so afraid before. “Percy, promise me it is going to be alright.”

“It will be alright, I swear it.” Hands working quickly, he undid her wimple, as he knew she disliked the garment, and he did not want her to grow even more feverish.

Under it she looked pale and almost clammy. Still she bled.

The seas outside turned even choppier as Percy waited for this mysterious doctor to come and save his wife.

He did not want to disturb his wife with any more loud noises. The last thing she needed right now was to see him in all his fear and terror. Within the depths of his mind, he cursed himself for being a fool. If only he had not been so selfish, staying in Messalia for so long! If only he had not given into the sweetest of all possible temptations!

But now was not the time for self-flagellation. Now was not even the time for prayer, though pray he did, begging all the gods who had ever thrown a scrap of goodwill their way to save her, Eileithyia for a safe delivery, Apollo for a safe recovery, even the queen of the heavens, who had no lost love for either of them, but whose protection extended towards families. He prayed to them all for the gift of Annabeth’s life, and that of their child, promising anything, everything. There was not much he would not do, should they call upon him to pay his debt, as long as she would survive this.

“You’ll be alright,” Percy said, pressing a kiss to the curls plastered on her forehead. “You’ll be alright.”

“And our son,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “He’ll be alright too, won’t he, Percy?”

“Of course.” He smiled, hoping to put her at ease. “Everyone shall be healthy, hale, and whole--you shall see.”

It seemed to work, somewhat, Annabeth relaxing into the pillows, giving him a shaky smile in return.

Kronos’ curse upon them, perhaps, it was likely mere minutes, but felt like another age had passed before the cabin door once again swung open. “Here, Dottore , here she is.” said the crewman, ushering in another man. “Signore, I have brought you the count’s doctor. As I said, I apologize for the interruption--”

“It is no trouble,” said the other man, his voice lightly accented. “I am happy to help. Hello Signora Thalassinos, I am… Ana Zabeta ?”

Percy looked up sharply. That voice, that--

“Guillaume?” Annabeth whispered, raising her head.

“ Guillaume ,” Percy repeated, “Will.”

It was him. Will, son of Apollo, the greatest healer of heroes, the most skilled doctor that the agoge had ever produced.

“Percy?”

“Oh, thank all the gods,” Percy cried, dropping his Italian completely. “Oh, thank you, Boedromios , thank you, father! Will, something is wrong.”

Sparing him a quick glance, he stripped off his own outer layer, discarding it on the floor of the cabin, and rushed over to Annabeth. “Help me get her gown off,” he told Percy, before waving at the crewman. “You, stay--I may have need of you yet.”

“Can you help her?” he asked.

“Childbirth is generally the purview of women,” Will said. “I have only assisted my aunt in a few before--but I am confident in our process.”

That was enough reassurance for him.

He and Percy got her kirtle out, so she was only in her chemise, the linen sticking to her skin as Will peeled it away to examine her. A consummate professional, his face remained calm even as the boat ferociously lurched to one side, then the other.

“Percy,” WIll said, firmly, “please stop raising a storm outside.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Please try, for Annabeth.” Touching at her belly and between her legs, he frowned as he looked at the blood. Even in pain, nothing escaped Annabeth’s notice.

“What is wrong?” she asked, weak and withdrawn. “Will, Will, is my baby--”

“Sailor,” Will called in Italian, turning back to the man to look at him, “please go and tell the count to bring me my specialty bag. He’ll know what it means.”

“I can go fetch it for you, sir. I will not bother the count.”

“No,” Will said, firmly, years of wrangling unhelpful demigods in the infirmary lending him strength. “Tell the count to bring my bag, and some linens if he has some on hand, which he should. If he questions you, tell him I demanded it.”

“Will,” Percy said, “let me go go and--”

But he shook his head, reaching into his bag and removing some cloth. “Stay. I shall need your assistance for this next portion.” He handed Percy a wooden rod and a cloth, then leaned over Annabeth, the picture of peace and serenity, even in such a stressful time. “Annabeth,” he said slowly, “I sense there is some tearing, and you are bleeding far too much. However, I promise I can take care of that. Unfortunately, there is another problem: the baby is in the wrong position.”

“What does that mean?” she asked, wincing as another wave of pain crashed over her.

“I can feel the baby’s feet,” Will said, “when I should feel the head. I will try to turn it, but I may need to try a few other things beforehand.”

Eyes glassy, she begged of Will, “You will save my baby, Will, yes? Please… Percy…” She grasped at his hand, mumbling words he did not understand.

“Percy,” murmured the good doctor, “this will be painful. I will do what I can, but I wish to keep her as comfortable as possible. I’ll need you to make sure she can bite down on the wood, and wipe her face and her chest as well. Can you do that?”

For her? Anything. “Yes,” he said, “yes.”

“Very good. Can you calm the sea?”

“I--”

There was a knock on the door to the cabin again. “Will?” came a deeper voice, speaking Greek. “What is going on? There is a vicious storm brewing, and I found this cat who seems to be in serious distress."

“Quickly, quickly.” Will called back, not looking away from Annabeth. “Come in.”

Too exhausted, too worried, too scared, Percy could not properly comprehend precisely what he was seeing when Nico Di Angelo walked into his cabin, carrying a leather bag that seemed to glow even in the dark room in one arm, and Freya the cat in another.

Nico, however, did not have that problem. He nearly dropped both of his parcels at the sight of them. “Percy?” Eyes wide, mouth open, he then took in the whole strange, frightening scene. “Annabeth? What--what is the matter?”

“Several things,” said Will, “and we shall have our joyous reunion once they are resolved.” He wiped his bloodied hand on a cloth, and then opened the bag which Nico had placed beside him, taking out several little clay jars and water skins. Smearing a substance on his finger from one of the jars, with his other hand, he gently tapped Annabeth’s cheek, pulling her attention, her eyes fluttering open. “I need to attend to some of the bleeding,” he said, serious and stern. “I apologize in advance, but this will feel very strange.” His countenance never wavered, even as he lowered his hand and slipped his fingers inside of her. Then he nodded at one of the water skins. “Percy is going to help you drink some, yes? Just a few sips.”

“Alright,” she agreed.

Percy reached for the skin, recognizing it as nectar from the smell as he dribbled a bit into Annabeth’s mouth. For him, it smelled of his mother’s kitchen in the evening, cinnamon and honey and nuts. “Here Anja,” he said, hoping it would remind her of home, “drink up.”

“No,” said Will, “only a little! The other is unicorn draught. She can drink all of it, if she wishes, as long as it is done slowly.”

He brought the other skin to her lips. “Careful,” he said, as some of it leaked out of the side of her mouth. Unicorn draught was potent, powerful--he himself had had much of the stuff during his stay with the Legion, and he knew firsthand just how effective it could be.  “There we are, there we are, love.”

Nestled in Nico’s arms, their poor cat wailed, upset at her mistress’ distress.

“Nico,” Will ordered, “please pet that cat before she wakes every sea monster that Percy has not already raised with his storm.” Then he took a deep breath. “Annabeth, I am going to reach inside and try to reposition the baby. You can bite down on the stick. It will all be over soon.”

“Can you bite down for me, Anja,” Percy asked, putting the water skin aside and raising the stick to her mouth.

Eyes shining, she pulled together a smile, soft and full of pain. “ Jag skulle göra vad som helst för dig .” she whispered. Then she bit down.

He could still hear her scream around it. Several tears ran down her cheeks, and he wiped them away

After a few moments, Percy looked towards Will, who was now smiling.

“Good, Annabeth, very good,” said Will. “You're ready, you can start pushing now.”

“ Malaka ,” swore Nico, looking rather green. Dressed in a black doublet, surcoat, and breeches over black hose, in his arms resting their little white kitten, he made for a startlingly amusing picture, entirely out of place for such a fraught moment.

“It is alright, Anja,” Percy said. “It is nearly done.”

Weeping, red-faced, exhausted, she nodded, and began her most harrowing trial.

There was not much more he could do to ease her suffering at this point, but he supported her as best he could without a birthing chair, allowing her to brace herself against him as she cried out and made aborted movements. Then Will was announcing things: a head, shoulders, arms.

And then a cry pierced the room, cutting through Annabeth’s moans and the roar of the sea in Percy’s ear. Annabeth fell back against him, loose like a bow released from its string.

“Annabeth,” Will said breathlessly, a bright, broad smile on his face. He stood, holding something in his arms, and presented it to them. “You have a son!”

A son.

A son.

Percy had a son.

He took a closer look.

It-- he --was small, and round, blotchy white and purple and brown. Wrinkled and wet. Ugly.

He looked, all things considered, like a turnip pulled from the ground.

Reverently, Will placed him into Annabeth’s outstretched arms.

“Oh,” she cooed, breathless, “look at you.”

A son. He had not wanted a son. He had hoped, so hoped, for a daughter, a little Anja to be a reflection of her mother in all things.

The boy resting in Annabeth’s arms already had dark hair, and a mighty cry, calming when he came to rest on his mother’s chest. Then, for the first time ever, he opened his eyes.

His face was still purple and white and splotchy, yet when he looked up at Percy, his eyes were the color of the Bosphorus on a sunny day. Those were Percy’s eyes. That was Percy’s dark hair coating his small head, Percy’s nose reflected in miniature.

Yet there was something in his expression, mere moments old, passing judgement on his father. You wanted a daughter , it seemed to say, but I knew better .

Annabeth always knew better than him, and so, it seemed, did her son. Her beautiful perfect son.

His son.

He fell in love at that moment, meeting his son’s eyes, sea green to sea green. “Welcome,” he said, reaching out to run a finger along a round, splotchy cheek. “May all the gods' blessings be upon you.”

When he pulled back, Annabeth was watching him. “Are you alright?” she asked, hushed.

“I have never been better,” he promised, his voice thick with unshed emotion. “And you?”

“I…” She did not answer, her brow furrowed. Swallowing, she turned back to the baby in her arms.

“Here,” said Will, holding out a square of ambrosia, “take this, if you please.”

Nico hummed, looking out of the cabin door. “It appears as if the storm has broken.”

While Will did his best to make Annabeth comfortable as she took the baby to her breast, Percy cleaned up what mess he could, gathering the dirtied linens together. He would have to apologize to the captain for commandeering use of his quarters, and pay him back for the use of his bed.

“Do not fret over the captain’s things,” said Nico, somehow divining his thoughts, as he usually did. His black clothing was now covered in white fur, as Freya had made herself quite at home in his embrace, all distress forgotten, sleeping peacefully in the crook of his arms. “He is a good friend--I can certainly compensate him for a new set of linens.”

Percy shook his head. “That is very kind of you, but I can afford it.” If he were to have some control over their shared finances, then he would not begin by placing themselves in debt.

“I apologize for the interruption,” said Will, “but I need to give Annabeth another exam. Percy,” he grinned, and it was then he noticed that Will was holding the baby in his arms. “Would you like to hold your son?”

“Yes,” came tumbling out of his mouth. “Yes, I do.”

“So he is your son, then?” Nico asked. At least he had the decency to look bashful at the look Will shot him.

The good doctor placed the baby into his waiting hands.

He was so small.

He did not cry, being removed from his mother, but blinked up at him, sleepily, uncomprehendingly. Percy began noting so many little details--the thin, patchy eyebrows which would no doubt grow in with time, his pudgy fingers, curled into a little fist, his ears, an exact replica of his mother’s, the ones for which Percy had once considered composing sonnets. This was his son , made in their image, but also a little person in his own right.

Was this how his own father had felt, all those years ago, holding Percy in his arms?

“I think you will be just fine,” Will proclaimed, rising from Annabeth’s side. “I will go get you some food, but in the meantime, please, drink the rest of the unicorn draught. I shall return shortly. If there is any issue, do not hesitate to send for me at once.”

“But--”

“We can ask for their adventures later, Nico,” Will said, tossing his golden bag at the son of Hades. “Come, let us give them some privacy.”

Though, as they made to leave, Freya the cat extricated herself from his one-armed embrace, landing on the floor without a quiet thump , before leaping up on the captain’s desk, observing the whole scene from her perch.

Nico and Will shut the door quietly behind them, leaving only Percy, Annabeth, and their son.

Propped up against the pillows, Annabeth reached out her arms. “I wish to hold him again,” she said, quietly, still so exhausted. “Please.”

He acquiesced without hesitation.

Annabeth took him with a sweetly tired smile, bringing him to her chest. Immediately she returned her gaze to the baby, tenderly fingering a stray wisp of hair on the top of his head.

His breath caught in his throat.

Now he had a better understanding of why the trinity men worshipped a mother.

“What should we name him?” he asked, sitting beside her on the bed.

“I had thought we could call him Perseus,” she said, so taken with the little boy. “A first born son should be named after his father, should he not?”

He swallowed, his heart fit to burst. He deserved not this woman, nor their son, and yet the gods had seen fit to bless him with both. He could not, however, allow his son to labor under his curse. “I think not,” he said, with only a little regret. “I think very much not.” The first, great Perseus was only related to him by the most distant of circumstances. His own mother had given him the name of the only hero of antiquity who had earned a happier ending than his peers, dying old, in his bed, surrounded by his family, in order to pass some of that same luck onto Percy. He had never considered himself terribly lucky, until this very moment, but his life had been a long, hard one, and he did not want his son to share his fate. Percy did not deserve this family--not yet. When he did, then, perhaps, they could have a child which bore his name. Placing a hand on her shoulder, she turned her head to face him. “Let them say,” said Percy, quoting that old poet, “that he is greater, by far, than his father.”

Annabeth’s face fell, but she nodded.

“Alexandros, then,” she said, after a little silence. “Alexandros, for greatness.”

“Alexandros,” he breathed, looking at the child. Will had wrapped him in a bit of the linen Nico had brought with him, and he was, all told, barely bigger than a loaf of bread. “Alexandros is perfect.”

“Then be we agreed.” Annabeth said, pulling down her chemise, and helping the baby latch onto her nipple. Percy retrieved the unicorn draught from its place on the floor, opening the stopper, ready and waiting for her. “Alexandros Thalassinos.”

Beyond the cabin walls, the sea was calm, placid, the ship moving smoothly through the waters towards their final destination, the city on the lagoon. There were many, many things still to be done, money to be exchanged, property to be sought, connections to be forged. What good fortune, then, that they had happened upon Nico di Angelo--the man was surly and ill-tempered, but he had proved himself a good friend and a great ally on many occasions. With his assistance, they would be able to find what they sought in Venice, he was sure of it.

But that was all to be dealt with later. Now, there was Freya, who leapt from the captain’s desk onto the bed, curiously sniffing at the small thing which now occupied her favorite spot of her mistress’ embrace. Now, there was Annabeth, and Alexandros, sweaty and panting and in dire need of a bath.

Now, there was his family.

He wrapped an arm around his wife pressing another kiss to her curls.

“Perfect,” he said. “The greatest.”

[ingek73]

imho a better read then Finding Freedom

(too many pics to include, click on the link to see them’

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The British Royal Family, The Media and ‘SussExit’ – Part 2

Zanye Linda August 13, 2020 18 Comments

At the end of part one, I posed a few questions: Was the spare and his wife outshining the heir? Also what is the connection between ITV and the Markle family? Why does this mainstream channel consistently give them a platform? And what about the Royal Rota – they exist to sell the Monarchy to the public while also subjecting them to the appropriate scrutiny. Did they not think the negative coverage surrounding Meghan would have a negative impact on the Monarchy? Where was the Royal Family in all this? When Diana and Sophie were faced with negative media coverage, the Queen and the palace asked the editors to ease up on them. Even Kate was given a grace period to settle into her role as a Royal. Why were they not offering Meghan the same protections?

Winter 2018

By now it was clear Meghan was under attack by the UK media and each story was picked up and amplified across the entire world. It had been earlier reported that the Queen had invited Doria Ragland, Meghan’s mother to spend Christmas at Sandringham. Shortly after that story made the rounds, Thomas Markle Sr. would once again feature in the Daily Mail courtesy of Caroline Graham. He revealed the heartfelt notes his daughter once sent him and makes another attempt to ‘tell his side of the story’ and present evidence that he did indeed have a heart attack and that is why he missed the wedding. But he would go on to claim that he had been frozen out by Harry and Meghan, and any attempts he had made to get in touch with them had gone unanswered, and that he was living in fear of never seeing his daughter again.

Thomas would once again appear on ITV’s GMB with Piers Morgan, who has now switched his tone of commentary on Meghan Markle. The brilliant young woman – his words – was now a conniving ruthless social climber who had ‘ghosted’ her father just as she ‘ghosted’ him after she met Prince Harry. Interestingly, Thomas Markle is now using the same term ‘ghosting/ghosted’.

Harry and Meghan press forward with their royal duties and in early January 2019, the palace announced Meghan’s patronages – a total of 4 that include two – the Association of Commonwealth Universities and the National Theater – that she took over from the Queen. Around this time, they suffered a major violation of their privacy. Emily Andrews of the Sun (currently mail on Sunday royal editor), revealed the location of their country home in the Cotswolds, and the Times actually published pictures of the house taken via a paparazzi helicopter. This was a residence that they privately leased, not one gifted by the Queen or some taxpayer funded whatever, and there was absolutely no justification for breaching their privacy in that manner. It later came to light that Prince harry sued and received “substantial damages” for the invasion of privacy. It was revealed that the couple surrendered the lease early because of security concerns once the location of the home had been revealed.

With the media onslaught carrying on into the new year and new recruits like Piers Morgan aboard the anti-Meghan train, five of Meghan’s friends in an anonymous interview expressed their concern for Meghan and called out the global bullying by the media and the stress it was putting on 7-month pregnant Meghan. The article also mentioned, contrary to existing narratives, that Meghan did not ignore her father and had made attempts to reach out to him, begging him to stop attacking her via the media so they could repair their relationship. In a rebuttal to this article, the Mail on Sunday published parts of a private letter Meghan had written to her father. The excerpts revealed her anguish and confirmed the lengths she went to to keep in touch with her father. On the other side, under the charge of Piers the press was putting pressure on Meghan to call her father.

Kensington Palace welcomed a new communications secretary, Christian Jones to the Royal Household. Following his appointment we begun to see even more leaks. Firstly, pictures of Meghan and Christian leaving lunch were published in the UK papers, a highly unusual move because according to the Royal Rota, there is an agreement with the palace not to publish paparazzi pictures of the royal family. Meghan being pictured was significant in that, we know from multiple reports that she paid several private visits to her patronages( before becoming patron). They, as well as the women of the Hubb Community kitchen but not a single picture was ever seen, until they were ready to publicize the visit.

In mid February, Meghan quietly traveled to New York and for 3 days had gone undetected, that is, until the Daily Mail published paparazzi pictures. With her location revealed she was forced to move out of her friends residence into a hotel, where the media created a spectacle of themselves to the extent that back-up security had to be provided by US officials.

Then, ever so eager to break “exclusives”, Emily Andrews wrote a story about the events at Meghan’s baby shower, that appeared on the front pages of the Sun. Only problem was that, the story, complete with details of guests in attendance and games that were played, was published a day too early. The baby shower hadn’t taken place yet. According to Emily, she was told by her source at Kensington Palace was to blame for the mix-up and had apologized to her for getting the dates wrong. Interestingly, all of Emily’s tweets between 1st February 2019 and 23rd February 2019 have disappeared from her Twitter timeline. The baby shower was on February 20th, and we know she tweeted about it.

The baby shower attracted a lot of criticism from royal reporters and experts with claims it was ‘unroyal”, ‘lavish and distasteful”. And as if that wasn’t enough Kensington Palace in covering an engagement William was undertaking published UK poverty statistics, prompting Piers Morgan to weigh in accusing Meghan of living the high life while the Queen’s subject languish in poverty. The Daily Mail even went as far as criticising her for not inviting her mother in favour of her ‘New A-List Celebrity friends’.

Shortly after returning to London, Meghan was on a plane with Harry headed to Morocco to carry out another Royal visit at the request of the UK government. As for the royal press, on the one hand, they continued to complain about lack of access to Meghan – continuing a narrative they created at the time of the cookbook launch – while hopping on planes to go cover their events. According to the likes of Arthur Edwards, since Harry met Meghan he had changed and was no longer “one of the lads” who used to hang out with them in the pub. So what if the press had written a few unflattering pieces about Meghan – it was all a part of the game and the two needed to loosen up.

Spring 2019

Expectation is building up for the Royal baby and the royal reporters are trying to close in on a due date. The only thing they know came by way of a chat during a visit to Bristol, when Meghan told a lady during a walkabout the baby was due late April early May. Besides waiting for the arrival of their baby, Harry and Meghan were forced to leave their Oxfordshire home(as stated earlier) after the media published pictures of their house. In the same month, Buckingham Palace finally announced the split in the royal household commonly known as Kensington Palace and the creation of a new household for the Duke and Duchess of Sussex based at Buckingham palace, with Sarah Latham as their head of communications.

While the focus was on Harry and Meghan, it seems other royals were up to the usual royal shenanigans. The Sun’s Dan Wootton run a story on Kate’s fall out with a local rival, Rose but just like the “Meghan made Kate cry” story no reason was given. The story did not generate much interest until in an attempt to bury the story, Richard Kay in a Daily Mail article downplayed the fall out and instead tried to use it as another opportunity to slag off Meghan and Harry. The story gained momentum on social media and of particular interest were tweets from people within the Norfolk set, stating that the affair between William and Rose is well known but nobody talks about it. These tweets would very quickly disappear over the following days but never off the internet.

A royal affair is not surprising considering 3 of the Queen’s 4 children are divorced in part due to infidelity. The surprise was nobody in the UK press was covering this story. No follow up articles, no TV debates, not even a tweet from the Royal Rota who claim to be journalists covering the royals without fear or favour. The same reporters who had spent the past months giving us behind the scenes stories about Meghan, where no story was too big or too small or too nonsensical to be written about. Subsequent media reports indicated that Prince William lawyers threatened the media with legal action if they covered the story. And just like that, the story was buried. We witnessed the full strength of the palace unleashed to protect William from the media, while the same press continued to attack Meghan. The so-called royal family mantra “never complain, never explain” was applied to Harry and Meghan but the rest had the freedom to complain.

In early April 2019, Harry and Meghan finally moved away from Kensington Palace to Frogmore Cottage. Harry and Meghan had strong social media support where people worked hard to highlight media lies, challenge narratives and call out the racism, sexism, classism Meghan was subjected to. Given the nature of stories that were being written about the couple, the volume of leaks coming out of the palace, the petty displays of jealousy and double standards applied by the royal family and the media, there was a sense the two were working together to bully and harass this young couple and to undermine their achievements so they do not outshine or outperform the heirs, specifically William. This was mainly social media chatter as people attempted to connect the dots around everything that was happening, each circling back to Kensington Palace.

A few weeks later suspicions would be confirmed via an article by political journalist Tim Shipman that appeared in the Sunday Times titled, “Revealed: Palace’s Africa plan for Harry and Meghan”. In the article he mentioned how the palace was struggling to harness the popularity of Harry and Meghan. That their popularity was a source of concern for William, whom courtiers had to assure, telling him the current situation was “peak Harry, and the popularity would fade”. He also confirmed William’s displeasure at Harry’s appointment as Commonwealth Youth Ambassador the year before. The palace was therefore considering creating a position for them somewhere in Africa. Other continents had been considered but even Australia was not far enough given the internet age, and Canada was too close to the US, Meghan’s home country. The article went on to reveal efforts William was undertaking in preparation to be King after the death of his grandmother and then his father. Part of this involved reaching out to the very same editors that had been harassing his brother and sister-in-law for the past year, a move that the palace supported, and one which saw the media side with William and the palace, and advancing the most negative coverage of Meghan’s father.

The portrayal of Africa in the article as this backward, out of the way continent where Harry and Meghan could be “banished” to, attracted the ire of social media and forced the palace to issue a denial and the online version of the article was re-framed with the contribution of royal correspondent Roya Nikkah. Another area of interest within the original article were the lengths the palace was willing to go to make William (and Kate) more comfortable, which is understandable considering William will one day be king. But it begs the question, why an institution that was looking to modernise as they had boldly claimed to the world would suddenly find problems with the modern ways of Harry and Meghan, who in a short amount of time had brought attention to the royal family and were quickly attracting a demographic of the UK population and the world, that had until now felt disconnected from them? It seemed counterproductive that a move like this would be in the works.

About two weeks later, Meghan delivered the couple’s baby on May 06 2019. Archie Harrison Mountbatten Windsor was introduced to the world two days later in a photo call at Windsor Castle. That they were able to travel to the hospital, have the baby and be back home without so much as a peep, underscores what a tight inner circle they had and most importantly, what the distance from other households had done to stem the leaks.

The day after the photo call Harry traveled to Netherlands to launch the Invictus Games 2020. Initially, A day or two before the IG 2020 launch, Harry was scheduled to undertake an engagement in Amsterdam. The Amsterdam engagement happened to be on the same day William and Kate were to travel to Wales, and Charles was concluding a tour of Germany. In a move that was reminiscent of the Winter of 2017 where the media informed us of William’s fury at a scheduling conflict with Harry and Meghan, the Amsterdam event was cancelled, citing logistical difficulties for reporters covering all three events. Charles’ and William’s went ahead as planned with no scheduling complaints.

Summer 2019

Another summer as a royal brings another round of attacks on Meghan by the media. Her crime this time; while less than a month post-partum and on maternity leave, the Duchess did not participate in any events during Donald Trump’s visit to the UK. The scheduled events would see appearances from the Queen, her two heirs in-waiting and a brief appearance by Harry at a luncheon hosted by the queen. Somehow, it was the absence of Harry and particularly Meghan that the press was focused on. They accused the Duchess of absconding from her Royal duties, while on maternity leave.

On the work front, Emily Andrews would “exclusively reveal” that Meghan was working on a project with vogue and went on to speculate on the details. As far as their charitable endeavours were concerned it was announced that, Harry and Meghan would step down as, joint patrons of the Royal Foundation of the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge and the Duke and Duchess of Sussex and work towards creating their own charitable vehicle. While the royal reporters feigned shock at this news and and wondered why this was happening, a review of the recently released financial reports of the Foundation told a story. Most of the income and successful impactful projects were attributed to the efforts of Harry and Meghan, plus the financial health of the foundation was found to be lacking.

Around the same time, 2019 financial reports, revealed the impact of The Sussexes’ wedding on the royal family. The Royal Collection Trust, which oversees visitors to the palace and other royal exhibitions reported “a bumper year of royal celebrations”. Retail sales increased by 19%, the Queen’s official residence enjoyed a record 3.3 million more visitors mainly driven by Windsor, and admission income grew by £7.5 million. Contrary to earlier media reports that Meghan’s wardrobe budget estimated at about £1 million (suggesting she cost the RF a lot), the Royal household expenditure only increased by £85,000. From the looks of things, Meghan joining the Royal family had been good ‘for business’.

This did not matter one bit to the UK media when the review of capital expenditure of under the Sovereign Grant showed that £2.4 million was spent to renovate Frogmore Cottage – a building that had been already been earmarked for renovation( regardless of the Sussexes’ occupancy) for the year ending April 2019. The media used this as an opportunity to demand access to Meghan, evoking the taxpayer/publicly funded argument and accusing her of having unrealistic privacy expectations. This criticism reached fever pitch when it was revealed that Archie’s baptism would be a private affair, with portraits to follow. Piers Morgan used his TV platform to tell Meghan “Go Back to America”. The media however didn’t appear to care that £1 million was spent to refurbish a Kensington Palace driveway. Harry and Meghan had obtained consent from the Queen to use her private chapel and keep details of their son’s godparents private. So desperate were the media to get details of the event that, Richard Palmer went as far as accusing the Queen of breaking the law. No matter how the media felt about this decision, the fact is both Harry and Meghan made this decision jointly with consent from the Queen but it was Meghan who bore the brunt of the criticism.

In July 2019, Jeffrey Epstein a New York financier accused of molesting dozens of minor girls was arrested and charged with sex trafficking by federal prosecutors. Jeffrey Epstein was a friend to Prince Andrew and the two had been pictured together in London, on a boat with topless women in Thailand, walking together in Central Park shortly after Jeffrey’s release from an earlier prison sentence for similar charges. Once again Prince Andrew’s association with Jeffrey Epstein was generating international media interest. When the Royal Rota were asked why they were not covering this story, their response was he has not been accused of anything. Nobody was asking them to accuse Andrew of anything and the public was pointing out a story that deserved their attention. Rather than address this growing concern, the palace instead threw a bone to the media by announcing that Meghan was to guest-edit of the prestigious September.

About a month later Jeffrey Epstein died in his prison cell and the following day the UK tabloids that had by and large ignored this story published pictures of a smiling Prince Andrew riding in a car with the Queen on their way to Sunday service at Balmoral. Royal experts tell us the royal family uses a lot of symbolism. The pictures themselves were taken at such close range, which could only have happened with palace approval. In allowing these pictures to be published, the message from the royal family was loud and clear – Prince Andrew had the full support of the Monarch herself. When Richard Palmer accused the Queen of breaking the law, the palace communications did not feel it necessary to respond but here was a whole Prince with credible rape allegations receiving a public showing of support from the Queen, the royal family and the media.

Still reeling from being left out of the baptism celebrations and choosing to ignore the Jeffrey Epstein – Prince Andrew association in light of Jeffrey Epstein’s arrest, the media would once again turn their attention to Meghan and Harry. This time round accusing them of hypocrisy for going on holiday using a private jet while advocating for climate change and environmental conservation. This is a common criticism of the rich and famous by the UK media. But in this instance it was problematic because as usual the bulk of the criticism fell on Meghan accusing her of “lecturing” the British public about climate change, never mind that never once has she spoken publicly on climate change which is her husband’s area of focus. Secondly, Princes Charles and William use private jets all the time but are not subjected to this level of criticism. The double standard was exhausting, the attacks equally tiring. Elton John was compelled to address them publicly, posting on his Instagram that he had paid for their private jet and its carbon emissions and called out the media for their relentless attacks on the couple. He was one in a list of public figures to come out and defend Harry and Meghan, while the Royal Family sat back and watched this happen.

Not to be outdone by the media and in what appeared to be a calculated move to capitalize on the negative reporting on Harry and Meghan for the Cambridges’ benefit, Kensington Palace under the leadership of Simon Case made last minute arrangements for William and is wife fly a budget airline to Balmoral to visit the Queen. Of course, they just “happened” to be pictured carrying their own bags as the walked across the tarmac. On cue, the media went into phase 2 of slag Harry and Meghan off. This was clearly a publicity stunt and as much as Royal Rota attempted to defend the situation it was comical when a Scottish paper broke the backstory of this very conveniently timed flight. Two planes were flown empty for hundreds of miles so as to position an aircraft for The Cambridges’ flight to “maximise publicity”. Their expertise in carbon emissions were suddenly non-existent. The Royal Rota were so far up that Kensington tree that they continued to make ridiculous excuses for the stunt. They were squirming.

The release of Meghan’s Vogue issue provided the media with the perfect segue to get away from flights and stunts to resume their attacks on Meghan. All manner of criticism were thrown her way. She was being political, woke and all that nonsense. So-called journalists, were provided platforms by TV networks to lie about commonly known facts. It was a manufactured hysteria, that was designed probably to sabotage the issue. All the dry heaving did very little to dissuade the public and Vogue September 2019 issue “Forces for Change” went on to become fastest-selling issue in the history of British Vogue, selling out in 10 days and the biggest-selling issue of the past decade.

The ridiculous display by the British media had now attracted global attention and the media received a lot of push-back. The racism, misogyny, sexism and classism was rightfully called out and so was their double standards and hypocrisy criticising Meghan for doing everything every Royal had done in the past. The British media pushed back. Dan Wootton who happened to attend University with Jason Knauf, a senior official in William’s court and had a mutual friend with Christian Jones, Communications Secretary at Kensington palace accused Harry and Meghan of playing the victim card when in fact it was the family and their courtiers that had been briefing different parts of the media about them. His colleague at the time Emily Andrews eagerly informed the public that, the palace had been angered by Harry and Meghan’s actions and nobody was supporting them.

It wasn’t the Prince hanging out with the convicted paedophile; or another Prince allegedly having an affair with his wife’s friend; nor was it the fact that in 7 years of marriage said wife had not done anything meaningful in her royal role that had angered the palace. It was Meghan’s admirable qualities of feistiness, can-do attitude and work ethic that had angered the family and the household.

Autumn 2019

In spite of all the media criticism and angry family members briefing the media against them, Harry and Meghan pressed forward with their royal duties and each day they had to come into contact with the very same people who constantly bullied and harassed them. Meghan gave the public a glimpse of a project she had been working on with SmartWorks Charity– one of her patronages -while Harry traveled to Amsterdam to finally launch Travalyst a sustainable travel project whose earlier launch had been postponed due to scheduling conflicts within the royal households. For the media this was another opportunity to undermine Harry’s work like they have done with his achievements in the past. Not being one to shy away from tough situations, Harry stood up in front of the world media and acknowledged the criticism surrounding his use of a private jet stating majority of the time he traveled commercial but occasionally it was necessary to travel via private in order to ensure the safety of his family – as simple as that.

Almost a year after the successful launch of the cookbook that raised more than £500,000 for the ladies of the Hubb Community kitchen, Meghan in partnership with John Lewis and Partners, Marks and Spencer, Jigsaw and her friend Misha Nonoo launched the Smart Set Collection; a 5-piece capsule collection using the 1:1 model with the aim of providing SmartWorks Charity with enough units to dress the women the they support for a full year. It came as no surprise when some of the items sold out within an hour of launching and in only 8 days the target was realised with only 4 days left to the end of the sales period.

Another successful project under her belt, together with Harry they would embark on their fourth foreign visit in a little over a year. This time traveling to South Africa as representatives of her Majesty the Queen and her government at the request of the Foreign and Commonwealth Office. Over the summer period the UK media had gone to even greater lengths to deny what was a clearly racist agenda against Meghan. It was racist because Meghan was being relentlessly criticised for doing the very same things that all other royals did; guest editing a magazine, using a private jet, not making a public appearance immediately after birthing her child (the public didn’t see Prince Charles until 3 months after his birth), addressing issues such as feminism, climate change, sustainability, mental health. The critics called for the palace to fire their PR team led by Sara Latham because according to them, Harry and Meghan had fallen out of favour with the public. In the words of Eamonn Holmes, “Harry and Meghan needed to consult with media types like them” to get their PR straightened out.

That narrative was difficult to square with the fact that, the press pack that would accompany the “out-favour couple” consisted of 80 accredited traveling media and 300 local media. It was even more shocking to see the number of people that turned up to the events. Interestingly though, there was a slight change in tone of coverage with Meghan gracing most front pages back at home (but then she always did), but missing was the scathing words and the name calling we had become accustomed to over the past year. The media finally had a public appearance by 5-month old Archie prompting the likes of Sarah Vine to claim that in doing so, the couple had turned things around.

On the penultimate day of the tour, in the presence of a global audience, Prince Harry released a statement in which he called out the UK media for launching a smear campaign against his wife and informing the world that his wife was taking legal action against the Mail on Sunday and Associated Newspapers for the publication of a private letter she had written to her father. The UK media was livid to say the least. While the rest of the world media covered the last day of the tour declaring it a success, their UK counterparts wallowed in self-pity choosing to make themselves the victims and questioning the timing of this announcement. As they went on and on about the action of Harry, they failed to mention to the public that a week prior to this latest announcement, Harry had filed a lawsuit against the Sun and Mirror group for phone hacking. Although the media called this a highly unusual move and warned Harry and Meghan “would draw the ire of editors”, this was not the first time the royal family had sued the press. In July 2019 Harry was paid substantial damages after suing Splash News and Picture Agency for invading his privacy when they flew a helicopter over the Oxfordshire property. William and Kate, Prince Charles and the Queen have all filed privacy suits before. Just Meghan apparently doesn’t deserve or have privacy rights.

Across the pond another Duke and Duchess were preparing to embark on a tour to Pakistan, their “most complicated tour to date”. In keeping with royal family requirements not to overshadow other working members, Harry and Meghan kept a low profile throughout the month of October. Tom Bradby a journalist and friend to Harry & William, had been traveling with the couple and making a documentary about their Southern Africa tour. Naturally he covered the new legal action as well as the behind the scenes goings on. When ITV’s release of the promo for the documentary coincided with the last day of the Pakistan tour, William and his army of reporters turn their ire towards Harry and Meghan, instead of the media company, The Royal Rota accused them of intentionally overshadowing a very important tour by the future king and his consort, as if they are responsible for programming at ITV. Unsurprisingly, the royal press pack in Pakistan told of William’s displeasure; a comment that by now, we’ve come to expect. Protocols were invented for this specific occasion with Rhiannon Mills claiming “There is an unwritten rule in the royal family that you don’t do anything too high profile when other members of the family are on tour”. And yet only 5 months ago, while Prince Charles was on tour in Germany, William himself held high profile engagements. The sky didn’t fall out and neither of them lost their place in the line of succession. Also, remember that Princess Beatrice announced her engagement during Harry and Meghan’s Southern Africa tour. It wasn’t a problem and shouldn’t be. But oh that Harry and his wife Meghan.

The UK media reviews of the documentary were scathing but globally, Meghan’s authenticity was welcomed. The hashtag #WeLoveYouMeghan trended for two days with many calling out the UK media for their blatant racism and refusal to take accountability. On the part of the royal family, customary silence as far as Harry and Meghan are concerned. When social media users pointed out that the palace was quick to put out statements in support of Prince Andrew, there were leaked reports mentioning William’s apparent “concern” for his brother. So concerned was he that he had apparently not reached out to his brother(see Finding Freedom) but was able to reach out to the media with this information using unnamed sources. When the documentary finally aired, Harry made it categorically clear that “he would not be bullied into playing the game that killed his mother”, the third time he would reference “the game” – meaning the relationship that exists between the royal family and the media.

The British establishment were unwilling to acknowledge the blatant racism Meghan had been subjected to over the past year, but we were starting to hear outcry that the media scrutiny had been relentless. 72 cross-party members of parliament wrote a public letter of support to the Duchess. Rather than take accountability for their actions, they once again blamed Meghan. In November 2018 it was announced that Harry and Meghan would be taking a 6-week break and would not be spending the upcoming Christmas holiday with the Queen and the rest of the Royal Family. A decision that was roundly and dishonestly criticised by the media.

Again, why is it that other members of the royal family can do things – anything – but Harry and Meghan dare not? What is the basis of the blatant discrimination? It certainly isn’t seniority because Andrew and Beatrice, who are 8th and 9th in line behind Archie and his father get a pass. And so did Zara Tindall and Peter Phillips when they spent Christmas away from the Queen. WHY?

[amestiberiuskirk]

I heard Maycury? 👀👀 Could I ask to see some protective!Brian?

Ask and ye shall receive 🥳

Freddie's always been a big believer in the rule of three when it comes to things going wrong and he's already stepped in Jerry's water bowl and caught a glimpse of a less-than-pleasant headline on Miami's desk, hastily tugged out of sight by the man himself when he saw Freddie's eyes land on it. He didn't give in to the urge to go and read the whole thing, tempting as it is to absorb a stranger's cutting opinion of your voice and face and worth, but he has no doubt that it's peppered with backhanded compliments about his delicate appearance and the fanciful flare of his performance.

Given the way his morning has gone so far, he's ready and waiting for the third bad thing to happen.

He's not especially expecting the bad thing to take the form of a stocky, bored-looking journalist waiting outside the doors to the BBC studios, but there you go.

He's not the only one, there's a group of them, paparazzi and fans alike shuffling their feet until the cars come into sight. They start clamouring then, pushing to get a better view and calling out names, and Freddie is still huddled in the back of his car but he feels his stomach drop all the same.

It's new, all this, people waiting for them, screaming when they see them. He isn't too sure what to make of it. They got a taste of it in Japan and thought it was rather wonderful, and he is ever so grateful that these people buy their records and tickets to their shows, that they helped get Bohemian Rhapsody to the top.

But he likes his personal space too. He values his privacy. It's getting harder to keep them all at bay - they all want a piece of him.

He doesn't say anything but musters a confident smile as he steps out of the car, though the effect is slightly spoiled by the fact that he barely manages to suppress a wince at the screaming that immediately begins.

There's a narrow space leading to the doors and Freddie leads the band through. He smiles at people and shakes a few hands but he doesn't want to linger, to drag this out for any longer than he has to. They mean well but they're pressing in from all directions and he hates feeling cornered.

He's just reached the door when a camera flashes right in his face, so bright and sudden and close that he staggers back half a step in surprise, jostling into John. It's the journalist.

"Why don't you want to stop for your fans, Freddie?" Another flash in his face; Freddie blinks, raising hand to his stinging eyes. "Don't you care about them? They spend their money on you, don't you think you should be grateful?"

"I am grateful," he snaps automatically even though he knows he shouldn't, that it's a lost cause, that he'll never convince these people that he's anything other than a petulant primmadonna. "But I'm busy, so if you could step aside - "

"Too busy to say thank you once in a while?" The man hefts his camera onto his shoulder but only so he can scribble something onto his notepad, and the camera is soon back in action anyway, aggressive and pushy and Freddie knows these photos are going to be so awful and they'll be splashed on the middle pages of some stupid magazine somewhere with another article that calls him a talentless prat and makes fun of his teeth and -

And Brian's there, suddenly, by Freddie's side. He towers over Freddie and he's taller than the man too, and for all that he's skinny as a rake he seems imposing, his shoulders tense, eyes narrowed in derisive distaste.

"He asked you to move," Brian says coldly. "Politely, actually, which is more than you deserve. So move."

The journalist looks taken aback for a second and he even goes to raise his camera in Brian's face, but then he seems to actually take in Brian's expression and think better of it. He can't resist a dig though, clearly keen not to lose too much ground: "I take it you're not bothered about the fans either, then?"

"I care very much about the fans," Brian says clearly. "But I have no time for immoral, invasive press trying to provoke a reaction for their own entertainment."

He sounds bored by the whole thing and Freddie has a sudden urge to grab Brian's arm to centre himself, sure that touching Brian will ease the nausea he feels at the gawping crowds, the people surrounding him. He resists. He isnt sure Brian would like it. Maybe it would make them whisper rumours about Brian too.

"Move," Brian says again.

And the man does, because Brian is a very hard man to argue with. Freddie knows this from experience.

Brian doesn't say anything, just waits until he's gone. Freddie expects that Brian will just sweep off, probably in a bad mood now, but he glances at Freddie and gestures towards the door.

"After you, Fred," he says.

His voice is gentle. The urge to hold onto him resumes but Freddie ignores it again, walking through the doorway and making an effort to compose himself, to pull on a nonchalant mask. He doesn't want everyone to think he's silly, allowing himself to be bothered by a journalist when they're everywhere, always digging for dirt, and that's just something he'll have to get used to.

He doesn't quite dare examine the new, unfamiliar feelings towards Brian, which he can admit aren't entirely new at all. Maybe if he pretends he doesn't feel it, it'll go away. And if it goes away, it can't complicate or risk their band dynamics.

Brian, as ever, doesn't make things easy; he comes straight over to Freddie once the doors have closed behind them all, his eyes concerned. "You alright? he asks, pitching his voice low to give them some privacy.

"Of course," Freddie says, like it never bothered him in the first place, but he can tell Brian isn't fooled. Brian is never fooled by him, not really.

He lets Freddie have his little pretence and doesn't push the matter, but he squeezes Freddie's shoulder before he turns away and gives him a supportive little smile. Freddie notices how his eyes crinkle at the corners when he does, then berates himself for noticing.

It may be harder to ignore this feeling than he thought.

[vadaschiquita]

Can I request prompt: 'What's behind the door? Why is it closed?' with Nevada X Reader... Thank you !!💜

24.   what’s behind the door?  why is it closed?

“Miguel, stall him, please,” you begged Nevada’s right hand man.

You’d been out grocery shopping for the apartment and you were supposed to have Miguel by your side at all times as per Nevada’s rules, yet you always seemed to convince Miguel to hang back in the SUV so that way you could have a moment of reprieve without being constantly watched or guarded.

Any other day it would’ve been fine, but today, today had completely backfired.  If Nevada ever bothered with speaking to you, with telling you what happened outside in the real world where you existed every day, this could’ve been prevented, but no.  He loved telling you what to do, loved screaming and shouting at his men whenever he had a chance over your safety, but instead of checking in with you about your safety, he discussed it with everybody else except with you.

Whoever had done this to you, had been on the lookout for Nevada.  Whoever had done this to you had been scoping you out for a while.  Whoever had done this to you, knew that you and Nevada were together, and they’d done it knowingly and expeditiously.

You were between aisles when you felt the shock against your side.  It came quick, like a punch, but it stung like lighting bolt through your side. You even saw the illumination with each press of the blade against your skin.  You didn’t know if you were dead or not, but you heard the gunshots ring loud around you and all of a sudden, all you saw was white.  You felt warm and then you felt cold.  You kind of had an idea of what was going on around you yet you couldn’t quite place where you were.  You were in and out of sleep constantly, that much you knew, and when you’d inhaled the familiar scent that was Nevada, you knew exactly where you were.

Nevada and his men didn’t do hospitals; you’d learned that from the beginning.  Anytime he’d been injured or any of his men had been injured the rule was, you brought them to Nevada’s apartment and you called Dr. Banerji.

Dr. Banerji had made sure the stabbing hadn’t hit any vital organs, that you weren’t bleeding internally, and that you hadn’t been lacerated internally.  The stabbing had taken place between the eleventh and twelfth rib so the damage had been fairly minimal, but the blood loss had been great.  He had bandaged you up, giving you the correct dosage of antibiotics, and had other strict bed rest and absolutely no strain.

You were dreading telling Nevada, picking up and setting down your phone by your side between your sleeps.  Miguel and the rest of his men were dreading letting him know too. No one wanted that tongue-lashing…

You heard him walk in when Miguel had been in the room bringing you something light to eat.  “Señito, you know he’s going to bust through these doors as soon as he notices the closed doors,” Miguel smirked, looking over his shoulder.

You took a shuddering breath, pulling yourself up on the bed with quite some difficulty yet still holding your arm up when Miguel came to your aid.  You held in your breath, fearing that if you did breathe, the pain would be intolerable. “Please,” you sighed, blinking back tears.

Miguel studied your face, biting his lip when he sighed.  “¿Por qué tienes que ser tan terca?  Dios amado.”

You giggled, wincing in pain, and clutching at your bandages.

Miguel stood and walked towards the door, but before he stepped out, he turned, “Eat.”

You rolled your eyes and smiled, grateful that somehow you had fallen in the good graces of Nevada’s tiburón.

Poor Miguel, he never stood a chance against Nevada when he returned to the living room.  Nevada had sat down on his couch, had emptied his pockets on the coffee table, and was now working on ridding his feet of his shoes.  He was talking loudly, snickering, and speaking smugly about something whilst several of the other men were spread out through the open area.  Miguel had shot withering looks to all of them, gauging their expressions to see if anyone had opened their mouth.

All of the hung heads he received in turn, all of the head shakes, and rigid postures meant one thing and one thing only: Nevada had asked for you.

“¡Miguel!” he shouted, gaining the man’s attention. Nevada furrowed his brow, looking past him, “The fuck are you glaring at them for?”

Miguel narrowed his eyes briefly, causing some of the men to shift uncomfortably before training his stare at Nevada. “Nada,” he said, stepping forward to sit across from Nevada.

Nevada chuckled, humming, and looking over his shoulder at the men behind his couch.  He was grinning at them.  He knew that when Miguel glared at them like that, something had happened, and he was trying to discipline them in some shape or form.  

Nevada turned once more, landing his green stare on his right-hand man.  “What these assholes do, huh?” Nevada asked, chucking a thumb over his shoulder to point at them men behind him.

Miguel looked up, sucking on his teeth, “Exactly what the fuck they were supposed to do.”

Nevada pursed his lips, shrugging in tandem, and reaching forward for his cigarettes.  “Then why the fuck are you looking at them like that?” he growled lowly, tapping the cigarette box against the heel of his palm.  “¿Dónde está la gordita?”

Miguel looked up at the rest of the men, giving a slight nod for them to step outside.  Nevada turned once more once he heard the shuffling feet exiting his apartment and he spoke around the cigarette he’d placed between his lips, mumbling his distaste. “Oh, this better be fucking good,” he finished, lighting the cigarette and taking a quick drag.

“Jefe,” Miguel started, but Nevada was already on his feet, taking two long drags before bending forward and putting out the cigarette on the glass ashtray.  Miguel stood quickly, “Jefe, she wanted to call you…”

Once Nevada heard those words, he had already started towards his bedroom, and was about to reach them when Miguel stood in front of him. “What’s behind the door?  Why is it closed?” he asked, lifting his hand to point at his bedroom door.

“She’s in there.  Eating,” Nevada raised his brows, taking a step forward, but Miguel wouldn’t budge.  “She wants her privacy,” Miguel said evenly.

Nevada snickered, “Privacy?  Privacy?” Miguel nodded.  “This is my fucking house.  The only privacy she gets to have is when I’m fucking her. Move!”  Miguel winced slightly at the sharpness behind Nevada’s biting tone, but he held his ground, squaring his shoulders.  Nevada parted his mouth, amused and… proud that Miguel would go through such great lengths of protecting the woman Nevada loved so.  “Que te muevas, Miguel.”

Miguel shook his head, “Jefe, she just wants to rest—”

Nevada was getting real impatient and rather annoyed and tired at this game.  He folded his arm behind his back, pulling the revolver he kept tuck between his skin and his jeans, and rapidly pointed it between Miguel’s brows, “Fucking move.”

Miguel rolled his eyes, turning his face slightly to speak over his shoulder, “Señito, he’s coming in.”

He gave you a few moments to gather your thoughts before he stepped aside to let Nevada through.  Nevada lowered his arm by his side, glaring fiercefully at the man in front of him as he pass him by.  He mumbled something under his breath when he reached the door and pushed it open.

“The fuck is going—” Nevada paused, all the words dying on his lips when he saw you scramble for the sheets.  You were in your bra, heavy bandages around your torso, and you looked beyond exhausted.  He quickly tucked his revolver in his pants, nearly running to your side.  “What the fuck happened?” he shouted, looking between you and Miguel.

Miguel hung back by the door, giving the two of you someprivacy, “Vada—”

“When the hell did this happen, huh?  Did no one think of fucking telling me?” he interrupted you quickly, still looking at Miguel.

“I was going—”

“You were supposed to protect her,” he said starting forward, reaching for his revolver once more.  “You were supposed to be there next to her!”

“Nevada!” you shouted, coughing, and clutching at your side.  Nevada stopped, turning to watch you folded over slightly, straining to catch your breath. “This,” you heaved, “this is your fault.”

You whimpered in pain and Miguel spoke, “¿Señito?”

“I’m fine, Miguel,” you placated, attempting to sit up straight.  Nevada looked between the both of you, annoyed that his right-hand man was cared more for you than for him at the moment, but he knew that caring for you meant caring for him.  

They all knew that he would go to the end of the world for you and he would could only—would only trust the best of the best when it came to you.  So, him being a little aggravated at Miguel for doing the job he had told him to do brought a smile to your lips.

“How’s this my fault?  He was the one that was supposed to be protecting you!”

“You’re the one I fuck, Nevada.  Shouldn’t you protect me?”

Nevada scoffed, “I do protect you.  Why do you think I have him for?” he was waving his hands around, the revolver pointing at his chest and Miguel with every movement he made.

“I got stabbed…” you struggled to speak, but if Nevada wanted to have this conversation, you were willing to give it to him.  “I got stabbed because of you.  Because you fail to tell me what I need to know.”

Nevada lowered his arms, sighing, and knitting his brows together.  This hadn’t been some brawl, this had been deliberate, to send a message, and he had received it loud and clear.

“It was the Irish,” Miguel said lowly from the door.

Nevada turned with a scowl, “What were you doing in Hell’s Kitchen?”

“I was grocery shopping,” you replied with strain.

Nevada glanced at the ground and up at Miguel, turning to regard you once more, “I’ve been having problems with the Irish.”

“No shit,” you bit back, swinging your legs to land them on the ground.  In a matter of seconds, both men were at your side, “Back off.  Both of you.”

“Dr. Banerji said—”

“I know what Dr. Banerji said, Miguel, but I have to pee.”

“I’ll help you,” Nevada said, placing the revolver on the bed.

“You could’ve helped by telling me the truth, Vada. This time, it wasn’t as bad, but what’s going to happen next time, huh?  Is my face going to be sliced?  Am I going to be beaten half to death?  Or worse, Nevada, am I going to be dead because you think you protect when you hide shit like this from me.”

Nevada had the decency of looking… ashamed yet he didn’t let the feeling of your words linger for too long.  He took a step forward, lifting his hands to put one on your elbow and the other rubbed carefully at the bandages.  You winced slightly when he touched where the puncture wounds were.  You had bandages to prevent bleeding, but they were open wounds nonetheless.  Nevada lifted his hand and looked up at you briefly, mindful of the noise you’d silently made.

He rubbed the skin of your arm. “I trust that this has been taken care of?”

“Guy who did it is dead andwe paid a visit to the Shannon boys while Dr. Banerji worked on la señito,” Miguel answered without missing a beat.

“And?” Nevada asked, looking slightly over his shoulder.

“Dermot and Brendan are… being entertained at the moment,” you could almost hear the slyness in Miguel’s voice and though you knew what he meant, you knew to stay out of the business in that aspect.

“You need to tell me what goes on, Nevada,” you said, shoving at his chest.  “I go everywhere.  Everyone knows I’m ‘Ramirez’s girl’.  You can’t let this happen again.”

“And, I won’t,” he said, slipping his arm behind you and pulling you close carefully.  He rested his forehead against yours, bringing his fingers to your chin, “But, you need to let Miguel and the guys be there for you when I can’t.  They get paid to do a job.”

“I don’t need shadows when I have my own, Nevada.”

“Yea, but yours doesn’t know how to shoot motherfuckers,” he smirked.

You shook your head, leaning forward to placate him with a kiss.  “Fine.”

[add-to-inventory]

Gav played: Watch_Dogs (1)

The game: Watch_Dogs by Ubisoft

Score: It’s a game!

Oh, hey, a new one of ‘em has been buzzy. Promos for Watch_Dogs Legion put the series on my radar, and I picked up both the previous installments when they were free on Epic earlier in the year. This is just a review for the original game, as I have not yet begun WD2.

Would you say you were disappointed? Kinda, yeah! Legion caught my eye because it’s trying a lot of unusual things with blurring the line between player characters and npcs, and with strategic elements. Also, I just find the idea of a big ole triple-A rpg about hacking fun. The original game is more conventional, which I don’t fault it for.

What do you fault it for? Having an unlikable hero, misogyny and fridging, skewing “disposable” adversaries to young black men, hypocrisy, and bad subtitles.

Oh. And yet I did have a lot of fun, and there are parts I really liked! This is a hard review to write, because my opinion differed so much on distinct elements.

Okay, let’s break it down. Player character: You play as Aiden Pearce, a criminal hacker and driver who has become a vigilante after his niece was killed during an attempted hit on Aiden himself. Through the course of the game, Aiden jumps through various obstacles to protect his sister and her surviving child, as well as identifying and exacting revenge on his niece’s killer. Standard tough guy with a private sorrow stuff, I found the child death difficult but not a mark against the game.

{Screenshot: I received a button prompt asking if I would like to make Aiden vault over his late niece’s gravestone, and I absolutely burst out laughing.}

It’s just--Aiden is an asshole. The best thing I can tell you to illustrate this occurs fairly early in the game. He meets with a hacker ally he has only interacted with online before. He harangues her for disguising her gender through including “boy” in her username and using a voice modulator on the phone, suggests she’s untrustworthy, and at one point threatens to choke her, even placing his hand on her throat and forcing her to step backwards. Oh, and he also checks her out.

I hate him. I hate him!

Not that this is the primary concern, but it also undercuts his credibility. Exactly, because as a hacker I assume he’s used to being Very Online, which means he should be aware that people often obscure their genders. As a vigilante, I expect him to care about things like violence against women and intimate partner violence (and indeed, some of the crimes I prevented in side missions fall into exactly these categories), so the fact that he would respond to a woman protecting her identity with aggression would startle me even if he didn’t threaten to choke her--did you know that threats to choke a person are the highest predictor that an abuse victim’s life is in danger? Because Aiden should, and he shouldn’t be the game’s hero if his reaction to she’s not the gender I thought she was from her username is to threaten her life.

What a piece of shit.

Since I’m on misogyny, I will also remark that no woman in this game is given more than the role of a victim or a villain, at least three characters are fridged, and at one point the camera sexualizes a human trafficking victim.

Oh my god. Like, I know that this is a game by a big company with lots of people involved, and those tend to fall short of my standards on social issues, due to a variety of issues including the fact that more people means there are more opportunities for problems in the culture to show themselves. I would like to say bluntly that I know it’s a video game, and I don’t think video games need to aim for lofty morals. I do think, though, that it matters who in a game is treated as a friend, and who is set dressing, who is a rival and who is put into the game as a target to be killed to advance. You might protest me pointing out that an awful lot of characters I had to kill were young black men by saying that they’re part of the gang that runs the aforementioned sex trafficking, and it’s set in Chicago, it’s in the name of accuracy--but it’s not a quirk of life that black people experience high rates of poverty, and it’s not an accident that the game chose to pit the player against these men in open combat, while their white boss is killed in a quieter, subtler, and less painful way. It’s not an accident that the only shootout Aiden expresses remorse over (because of who witnessed it) is against mostly white men, and it’s not an accident that every black character in the game is an adversary or a victim.

Dare we get into gameplay? Okay, this is why the game actually does rank “it’s a game” and not “do not recommend.” I had lots of fun playing it. I know, good news at last! The hacking parts of the game--and this is a game about hacking--are its best strength, fun and varied. One of my favorite activities is “camera-hopping,” hacking cameras to bring others into view until I achieved a hidden viewpoint or centered QR code graffiti. A lot of hacking is simple, a quick press of a button at the right moment to damage an enemy car with spikes to the tires or steal information from a stranger’s phone. Some are more challenging, asking the player to complete the sort of puzzle with rotating pieces to get continuous paths in a network. Running around to save people and investigate crimes and solve puzzles kept me engaged, even when I found the writing distasteful. Quick sidebar to say that the motivation given for one of my favorite optional activities, ominously called “privacy invasions” is simply “to satisfy your curiosity.” It can sometimes feel decidedly skeevy, especially when I found that I’d hacked into a room where people were having sex, and it did not improve my opinion of the game’s direction that Aiden apparently just thinks it’s fun to spy on strangers? I do too, it’s endlessly interesting to see what the pixel people on my screen have on their phones as I pass them on the pixel street in front of The Bean, but it’s one of many cases where it’s clear that Aiden thinks he’s better than his rivals.

{Screenshot: Aiden uses his phone to hack into Aisha Tyler’s phone and learn about her professions and hobbies. No, really, this is a cameo of that Aisha Tyler!}

Well, he is the hero, I guess. I mean I guess, but when you rack up all the death and theft and snooping and so on...and you remember that he is, for the entirety of the game, holding someone hostage while trying to rescue a different hostage...and his motivation is to avenge violence by organized crime, while doing many of the same things himself...I mean, what has he done to be better? Saved a lot of people, which is not nothing, but I’m asked to root for him because he is a nobler and more moral person, who opposes the surveillance state, and yet I have seen him threaten to choke Clara Lille, and I cannot believe it.

Hearing disorder corner: There are some beeping cues for hacking opportunities during car chases that I could almost never hear, and only learned existed from a tips guide. More significantly, this game would have benefited a great deal from identifying speakers by name in the subtitles. It also does a truly peculiar thing where, when there’s cross-talk or a quickly moving conversation, it positions the more recent line of dialogue higher on the screen than whatever immediately precedes it. Meaning that glancing down for the word I wasn’t sure of looks like: --”Do you begin all your conversations this way?” --”You wouldn’t happen to have six fingers on your right hand, would you?”

How do you feel about the series right now? Watch_Dogs 2 will have to step up the writing if I’m going to consider spending money on Legion. I know some encouraging things--the focus shifts to the hacker collective DedSec, the protagonist is black, and the “avant-garde” technology is more inventive than the first installment’s.

Is fun to play, bad to think about a good way to sum it up? Yeah! Thanks, me! Fun to play, bad to think about.

Try it if you like: grey heroes and antiheroes, puzzles integrated into rpgs, saying “I’ve accessed the mainframe” to yourself, soundtracks filled with absolute bops, the sort of lush urban environment Assassin’s Creed does well, but modern.

[aros-sage]

Aligned

Please read here on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26316922/chapters/64082197

Thank you @greentealycheejelly for your amazing art: https://rb.gy/mhthyl. , https://rb.gy/4fwxfc, https://rb.gy/9j8vh3 & Thank you to @echele-78 for your amazing beta skills!

This fic was created for the @malecdiscordserver Mini Bang 2020! 

Rating: Teen & Up Warning: Non-con in a chapter (not descriptive or explicit Summary: In six months, Prince Alec Lightwood is set to become King of Idris. He’s been waiting to take the throne since his parents' unexpected death at sea eight years ago. Since then, Valentine Morgenstern has been serving as king. Needless to say, Valentine’s rules & regulations only serve Valentine and his trusted followers, with no regard for the well-being of the people of Idris, least of all the magic users. Afraid of them, he created a law to bind their magic to another. By circumstance, Alec finds himself aligned with magic user, Magnus Bane. Chapter 10 - 16

Chapter 10 

After receiving a summons from one of Clary’s maidens, Alec, and to his distaste, Pangborn made their way towards her quarters. The portion of the castle that held Izzy and Clary’s bedrooms and common areas was one of the largest. Technically, the area was meant to be Alec’s. In fact, Izzy’s room used to be Alec’s. He had traded with her when he was a teenager, however, because he knew how close the young women were and Alec didn’t need as much space as they did. He was pretty sure they devoted one room entirely for their clothing. 

The room he had selected for himself had a beautiful view of the country yard and he was closer to Jace’s quarters. When they were boys, they had always ended up being mischievous so sleeping closer made it less likely for them to be caught. And caught they were, Alec just had guards that protected him instead of ratting him out.

Alec went towards the common room that held Clary’s art studio. He knew the king didn’t like that she did it but he also never denied her her wants. She just wasn’t allowed to do it in other areas. After knocking on the door to let her know he was there, he opened the door. Pangborn took a step to follow but Alec held a hand up.

“It is custom for the betrothed to have privacy before the wedding. You may remain out here.” Ignoring the scowl he was sure was on the male’s face, he went in and closed the door. 

Entering the room, Clary was dressed more casually than he had seen her in a while. She was wearing a light yellow blouse with various colors of paint stained all over it and trousers. She turned, smiling at him in greeting.

“Please make yourself comfortable, I will be only a moment.” Clary told him as she turned back  to her canvas. He took a seat on the sofa near the fireplace, idly watching as she finished a few strokes onto the colorful canvas.

“What are you painting?” Alec asked curiously. He admired her ability. He himself would end up with more paint on his shoes than the canvas. 

“I’m trying to capture the sunset over the water.” She chewed on her lip as she tilted her head, not that Alec could see her do it. “I do not have the right color for the gold. Almost the color of…” 

“A tiger’s eyes.” Alec offered out before he could stop himself.

She turned to give him an odd look, more surprised than anything. “Yeah, actually. That is the exact color missing.” 

A few more minutes and she finished her progress, putting her paints and brushes back in a  way he knew they were taken care of.

Clary came to join him, sitting next to him on the sofa. The way she curved herself to sit sideways beside him made his body tense up. They had hugged and danced and touched each other, but this felt far more intimate than he was ever used to.

“Clary…” He started, his voice holding a question in the air.

She reached up, moving a lock of Alec’s hair away from his face. “In case your new guard decides to snoop.”

“Right.” He cleared his throat, willing his body to relax. Feeling ridiculous, he dropped his head back and let out a soft laugh. “You must think me prudish or repulsed.” 

Clary laughed too but with him and not at him. “We are both in a situation we did not want. It’s alright.” 

Carefully, Alec adjusted the way he was sitting, allowing his arm to wrap lightly around her waist, gentle enough that if she wanted to pull away, there would be no resistance. Clary moved so she could get a little closer. From anyone coming in from the door, it would look like a rather intimate embrace, but from their perspective, there was still generous space between them.

“Is this why you wished for my company? To...cuddle?” Alec asked, not sure what to call what they were doing.

Clary smirked, shaking her head. “It may do you well to get used to holding me, for nothing else but the public eye soon, but I have an idea for our predicament.” 

Alec turned to look into her eyes curiously. Out of the four of them, consisting of the two of them, Jace and Izzy, she was the one who had always had the most outrageous ideas. She once wanted to go in search of a pineapple! Pineapples were incredibly rare. He wasn’t even certain they actually existed.

“What is this idea?” he asked. They couldn’t avoid the wedding. It was already set in stone. It would happen even if they were both kicking and screaming the entire time.

“You don’t want to marry me and I don’t want to marry you.” she stated matter-of-factly.

Alec let his eyes fall, feeling ashamed even if he knew in his heart it was misplaced.

“Hey.” She chastised, poking him in the cheek. “It’s the truth. I’m not offended, I’m relieved, truly. It means you’re not going to hurt me.” 

Alec made himself look back at her face. She was as open and honest as she had ever been.

“We will make a great partnership, but the court will want to know that we’ve consummated the marriage. They will be expecting a pregnant queen in the next few months.” he reminded her. He couldn’t go through with it; he knew it. It wasn’t just because he didn’t want to be sexually involved with a woman but because he knew she did not carry that sort of affection for him.

Clary nodded in understanding. “We have a way around that. Catarina should be here soon.” She said, the latter dropped into a whisper. 

“Pangborn will become suspicious.” He had just told him they would be having some privacy. 

Clary rolled her eyes at him. “How long has it been since you stopped being a child?” He didn’t answer as he knew it was rhetorical.

As if waiting for the conversation to get to this point, they listened as a quiet click noise sounded from the corner of the room. Alec watched, as his memory filled in the gap of what Clary was referring to, as part of a shelf suddenly swung open, revealing Catarina. Alec could recall the passages throughout the castle they used to explore and play in. It was agony to be the one searching for your hiding friends in this place; he remembered that.

Alec’s immediate response was to move away from Clary but realized she was right, he did need to get used to them having to be physically near one another. If he seemed uncomfortable, people would no doubt catch on.

“Alec, how are you feeling?” Catarina asked him cheerfully as she came towards the two.

“I feel back to my old self. Thank you.” Thank you for saving me again and again, went unsaid between them. 

“I’m glad.” She smiled, pulling out a small satchel and placing it on the table between them.  

“Clary is telling me she is up to something. I did not expect you to be part of her roguish ideas.” He expected the punch to his arm and accepted it. 

“Ah yes, but you will prefer this.” She took out three small jars. One had two pills inside of it and the other two, only one.

Alec and Clary leaned closer to examine them. Alec lifted the jar with the two inside, bringing it closer to his eyes. They looked similar to what Catarina would sometimes give him for his ailments and aches.

“As you know, to determine whether you have completed your deed after the wedding, you will both be examined by the midwife and a witness.” Alec could feel his face heating up. He didn’t know much about what went into an examination, but he knew he would not like it. As far as the redness that painted Clary’s cheeks, she did not like it either.

“I do not think we want to know but I fear we will do better to be prepared if we do.” Alec sighed, doing his best to make himself relax and take it in stride.

Catarina nodded. “You will be visually examined for signs that you did what you were meant to. It will not take long.” She only felt sorry for the two young people in front of her. “Both of you, for physical exertion.” She paused, pressing her index finger against the jar with the two pills. “Clary, for signs of bleeding.” Her finger moved to one of the other jars, pushing it towards her. “And Alec, for traces of your seed.” She repeated the movement onto the last jar, moving it towards him. 

Alec and Clary both wanted to be swallowed up by the ground. That sounded humiliating for both of them.

“These.” She referred to the jar with two. “You will take immediately once you are in the privacy of the bedroom. It will give you the physical symptoms of having spent the day running. You will likely be panting and exhausted and your body will look the part.” Alec nodded, that sounded easy enough.

“Clary, your pill will need to be inserted in your womanhood. It will not hurt you, but when they check, it will appear that you bled.” Clary nodded.

Alec braced himself for his pill, his eyes growing. “That doesn’t go in my…”

Catarina startled a laugh out of herself but quickly bit down on it. “No no...you will take this one orally as well.” She glanced at Clary quickly who was still looking at the jars as she glanced back at Alec. “You are a man and I do not need to go over masturbation and whether you have or have not.” She suspected he did but again, it was not her business. “Take this one at the same time that Clary takes hers. I would suggest you have something to empty yourself into closeby.” 

Alec looked at her with confusion and worry. “It will not be like Clary and her fake blood for me,  will it?”

Catarina shook her head, a frown on her face. “I have tried to replicate something but it has not proved successful and I fear we are running out of time.” 

Alec nodded. “What should I expect?”

“It will kick off your arousal, quickly. It will only take minutes for you to go from normal to ecstasy to completion. I suspect there will be enough evidence on you to convince them of what’s happened.” Catarina explained to him. 

The thought of this happening in front of Clary made him dizzy but, this was much better than the alternative.

“Thank you Catarina. I do not think I will ever stop doing that thanking you.” Alec smiled at her. He was nervous but he could handle this. 

“I wish I could take all of the credit, but it was Clary with the idea.” She paused, measuring whether or not to say the rest. “And Magnus’ mind.” 

“Magnus?” Alec was surprised by that. He knew by now, that the man seemed to like him more than he disliked him, but still.

Catarina nodded. “Yes...he knows more about different properties in different ingredients. He helped...experiment.” 

And if Alec’s face was beet red at that, no one said anything to him.

“You’re amazing.” Alec said, this time directing it to Clary. She grinned at him with a wink. “But…” he hated to be a realist, “Won’t they notice that she is not carrying a child?” 

Clary and Catarina shared a look, something that he did himself with Izzy or Jace. A conversation having already been discussed.

“We will take care of that.” Catarina assured him. She stood up, nodding to them both. “Store these in your room, Alec. Keep them hidden.” Alec nodded as well.  

The two friends watched as Catarina silently slipped out of the room through the passage.

“Once I am king, I will expire our marriage.” Alec promised, feeling the conviction inside of himself.

“How?” Clary asked genuinely. 

Alec sighed. Technically, a marriage could only end in death or betrayal and neither of those things did they want. “Well, I’ll be king. I have the power to change the law. It will not be the only law that needs changing. It may take some time, but I won’t force us into this for any longer than necessary.” 

Clary smiled widely as she threw herself against him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He startled for only a moment before wrapping his arms around her.  

“Jace will be given his proper title, we will separate amicably, and then the two of you shall  marry instead.” Alec stated. 

Clary’s eyes looked like saucers as she pulled back to look at him. Alec rolled his eyes at her.  “Come now, none of us have secrets from the other. I’m sure you both stare longingly at one another from afar and that is all.” He smirked, seeing her eyes give away the truth. He figured they found time for one another but he did not pry. 

“You think he will want to marry me?” she asked instead, moving back to how they had been sitting.

Alec nodded. “He would be foolish not to.”  

“Thanks Alec.” 

“You’re welcome.” he said.

Clary moved so she was sitting on the edge of the sofa. “Do you think enough time has passed?” she asked.

Alec looked at her in confusion. “Enough time to suspect we were lovebirds looking for time alone,” she reminded him.

“Oh yes...I would think so.” Alec moved to stand but she pushed him down with her hand against his chest. 

Before he could ask what she was doing, Clary moved her hands and put them through his hair on either side of his head. She grinned playfully before she started moving her hands, her fingers separating his hair and forcing it to stick into different directions. She then reached down and pulled on the top strings of his shirt, opening it up to show a good portion of his chest. She also took the liberty of pulling the bottom of his shirt out from being tucked into his trousers. 

Alec laughed, feeling like a child as he retaliated and ruffled up her hair as well. He would not resign himself to messing with her clothing; he was a gentleman after all. 

“Are you satisfied with our ruse?” he asked curiously.

She crossed her arms, resting a finger against her chin as she gave him a once over. “Oh...I know.” She got up, crossing the room and grabbing something out of a small bag on a table.

Alec stood up as she came to a stop in front of him. Whatever was in her hand, she was rubbing against her finger. She reached up, rubbing the substance against his lips. He sputtered at the slight stickiness but had to admit it was sweet tasting. Lipstick. 

“Just rub it off when you’re outside the door.” She winked at him before collecting the jars and putting them carefully in the small satchel Catarina had brought them in. She handed them over. 

“I’ll see you.” Clary said in a way of goodbye. 

Alec nodded with an affectionate roll of his eyes as he made his way out. 

0000

A few days later, Alec was sitting at his desk in his room, going over a large volume of all of the rules and regulations of his lands. He had studied this volume many times over the years but knew it wouldn’t hurt to refresh his memory. He usually did a complete re-read once a month. He wanted to be competent as a ruler. He also had a notebook where he wrote down the page and rule numbers that he found unjust and unfair. It was not always easy to change things, but he would do his best to make his people more comfortable. He was born to have a legacy, so  he meant to do good with it. 

“Come in.” Alec called over when he heard a knock on the door. He knew it wasn’t Jace, he just barged in. Raj had a specific knock. Usually if it were his sister or Clary, they’d send someone ahead to make sure he was ready for company.

He was caught off as he watched Magnus enter the room, his eyes sliding from Magnus’ face and to Pangborn’s. 

“Magnus, Hello.” Alec stood, ever the polite one. He watched as Pangborn moved to stand in a corner. “You may go.”

“The king has forbidden you to be alone with him. He is not to be trusted.” Pangborn argued.

Alec inhaled deeply. “There is nothing here that he can hurt me with. He does not have power. And...” his eyes cut towards Magnus before back to Pangborn, “I trust him. You’re dismissed.”  

Pangborn looked as though he wanted to argue more but didn’t have the motivation to do so. Reluctantly, he left the room.

Alec waited until the door closed before turning towards Magnus. “Forgive me for my words, they were not meant to hurt.” 

Magnus waved his hand. “I know. You are not cruel.” 

Alec gestured towards a chair across from where he had been sitting, returning to his own seat. He closed the volume, pushing it to the side.

“I am not interrupting anything, am I?” Magnus asked as his eyes glanced towards the book.

Alec shook his head. “Oh no, just a bit of light reading.”

Magnus chuckled. “There must be a thousand pages there.” 

Alec shrugged. “Light.” A silence fell upon them as Alec tried to keep himself from fidgeting. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Magnus looked at his face, an embarrassed smile spreading across his face. “Oh yes, right. Sorry.” He reached for his ear, touching it before dropping it again. Alec’s eyes watched his movement curiously, knowing it hadn’t been the first time he’d seen him do it. “I wanted to check in with how you’re feeling.” 

Alec nodded. “Honestly? I feel better than I have in a while. It’s as though your power has rejuvenated me.” He wasn’t being facetious. He truly felt much better. “Do you think maybe it will  be over? Whatever this ailment is?” 

Magnus’ heart hurt at the hopeful look on his face. “I’m not sure.” He hated to admit it but he didn’t think Alec would appreciate him lying to him. “I felt the weakness leave a specific point on your body, but I fear there may be more. If we knew what it was, then we would have a focus point on what to research, but we don’t.” Again, the arm began to raise but Magnus aborted the movement just as quickly.

“Is there a way to check? An examination?” Alec suggested, not sure if that was possible.

Magnus rubbed his chin as he thought on the question. “Perhaps but...I would need access to my ability.” 

Alec nodded. “Okay...can I leave my shirt on? Off? Should I lie down?”

Magnus looked at him in awe. Alec saw the look and froze. “Did I say something wrong?”

Magnus smiled, shaking his head. “Your willingness to gain my trust is admirable. Possibly slightly foolish, but admirable.”

Alec scoffed a little, unable to help himself. “It is not foolishness. You are worth trusting. I think it is you who needs to learn to trust me.”

Magnus narrowed his eyes. He knew this conversation could easily go into a negative direction and he found he didn’t want that to be. He didn’t want to fight with him. He put his hands up in surrender as he stood. “I imagine that little burst of frustration has more to do with your upcoming wedding and not my trust in you.” He stood in front of Alec who remained sitting. “You can keep your shirt on, unless you have a desire to undress for me.” 

Alec’s cheeks reddened slightly but he did manage to deflate.  He too did not want to argue with Magnus. “Maybe a little.” He admitted. “Thank you…” He cleared his throat. “For helping Catarina for Clary and me.”

Rolling up his sleeves, Magnus looked at him curiously. “Oh, she told you about that?” It was Magnus’ turn to turn slightly bashful. “I admit, the first batch I took had me spilling my seed right in front of her in seconds and..”

Alec, mortification building on his face, flailed, managing to grab Magnus by one of his arms so he was close enough for Alec to place his palm against Magnus’ mouth. “Not that!” He said quickly, letting him go just as quickly as he’d grabbed him. “It was implied but uh...not the details. In any case, thanks?” he said weakly. 

Magnus had now gone from slightly bashful to mortified just like Alec. He steadied himself with one hand on Alec’s shoulder when he pulled him closer. 

“We both owe you. Let’s just keep it at that.”  Alec added, wanting badly to remove the awkwardness floating between them. 

“Don’t worry about it. Let me see your hand.” Magnus waved him off, changing the subject for them both. 

Alec held out his right hand and watched as Magnus linked his palm against his own. He watched the glow. 

“How do we do this?” Alec asked him, since this wasn’t exactly something like healing.

Magnus closed his eyes, searching for the best way to describe this magic. He never needed to this previously. 

“I think it is best if you keep your eyes closed, to keep your focus, since this will be trickier.” Magnus said to him, watching as Alec obeyed and closed his eyes. “Remain relaxed. My power may feel a little warm against your skin, but it will not hurt.” Alec nodded. “To see.” 

“To see.” Alec repeated.

Magnus moved his free hand, starting with it hovering in front of Alec’s face and moving it down his neck and torso. He managed to reach Alec’s hips and thighs, but didn’t bend down to go further. 

Having spent years managing to remain calm under a myriad of situations, Magnus was glad he didn’t make a sound at what he saw. 

Alec’s skin, just underneath it, and just about everywhere on the exposed skin he could see, were black spots and vein-like marks. He reached forward, his fingertips brushing gently over Alec’s cheek, his jaw, the side of his neck. He then used his fingers to brush aside the collar of his shirt so he could see more of his skin. Perhaps it would have been best to remove his shirt for this. Magnus hadn’t expected to see much, but especially not this. With his free hand, he carefully pulled up Alec’s sleeve on his right arm, seeing the same markings though they weren’t as bad.

“Can you lift your shirt? You do not need to take it off.  I’ll help.” Magnus asked as Alec nodded, already reaching with his left hand for the hem. 

They lifted it carefully, Magnus now paranoid he was going to hurt Alec while Alec seemed completely unfazed. Magnus squeezed Alec’s hand that was in his tightly in lieu of gasping. 

Nearly Alec’s entire torso was black. It was worse below his chest where his abdomen was. He glanced near Alec’s kidney, where Magnus had healed him and was pleasantly surprised to see barely any of the blackness there. It meant he had healed him, at least in that place. He glanced lower, seeing that it appeared the blackness moved below his waist, but without removing his trousers, he wouldn’t know for sure. 

Waving his left hand around Alec’s body, he released the desire to see more and released Alec’s hand with the other. 

“Alright, you can open your eyes.” Magnus told him, feeling his power inside of him still sitting there. He figured if he wanted to see again, he could, but he wasn’t going to. He absently waved his hand towards an unlit torch against the wall, frowning when it didn’t light. Catarina had said the intention wouldn’t work if it wasn’t commanded first but, he wanted to try anyway.

Magnus turned and looked towards Alec, seeing him staring at him. “Are you alright?”

Alec nodded. “Yeah, but...I don’t think you are.” Alec sat up straighter, his face showing one of bravery. “It’s not good, is it?”

Magnus came back over so he could take a seat once again. He held his hands together on the table. “It’s not. I can see where I healed you but there is much more to be done. I fear what I did may only be temporary.” There looked as though there was a small trickle of the ailment lingering or returning, he wasn’t sure. “But...temporary or not, it will help you. I will speak to Catarina. Perhaps we can set up weekly appointments to treat you.” 

Alec leaned back in the chair, looking tired suddenly. “For the rest of my life? These treatments?”

Magnus shrugged. “Maybe, I don’t know.”

“I cannot ask that of you.” Alec wanted to make sure he could free Magnus. He did want him to have to stay here for the rest of his life. “I do not want to become your burden.”

Magnus gave him a bittersweet smile, raising his right hand. “I think it is too late for that.” He saw Alec’s face fall. “Do not get apologetic on me again. I will have to admit, remaining alive is  better than being dead. Catarina is one of the best healers of our kind. I’m not too shabby either. If anyone can beat this, it will be us.”

Alec acquiesced. There had been an apology on the tip of his tongue but he shoved it down. 

“Then I will do my best to stay alive enough for you to help.” Considering if Alec was unconscious, it would incapacitate Magnus considerably during healing.

They sat there in silence for a few minutes. Magnus was surprised he did not feel awkward but comfortable with it. He was not really one for silence but Alec made it easy. 

“Now then...are you ready for your wedding? I hear the king is pulling out all of the bells and whistles. It sounds like the party of a decade.” Magnus asked conversationally. 

Alec sighed, running a hand through his hair. “As you know, we are not looking forward to it.” The temptation to run away was there, even though he knew that would be cowardly. “I wish we could do this privately. I do not want to be paraded around for everyone to see our facade of happiness.” 

“There is nothing you can do to stop it?” Magnus asked curiously.

Alec shook his head. “If I had gotten wind of it right away, maybe. The word spread fast and I can’t publicly challenge the king. We can not show any division.” Alec confessed to him.

“I do not wish to speak out of term but, does it not seem suspicious that he is having you marry his daughter?” If Valentine thought he was being subtle, he was terribly mistaken. 

Alec surprised him by laughing, although it was not one of happiness. “I can only surmise it is so he can keep himself here and be useful. I believe he wants to use her and our marriage as a segue to keep control.” He knew he would find someone else to become his advisor. 

“And you will not allow him.” It was rhetorical and they both knew it.

“It will be nice to see real change in our kingdom soon.” Alec just hoped that he would not have much push back from those he believed were loyal to Valentine. 

Reaching over, Magnus placed his hand on top of Alec’s on the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You will make quite the king. It will be nice to see one who wants to serve his people, not expect them to serve him.” Magnus had seen kings before that held false promises but he believed in Alexander.

Alec smiled. “Thank you. I hope I will not disappoint.” 

With a pat on his hand, Magnus let go and stood up. “I think I shall retire for the night.” Alec watched Magnus make his way out of the room.

“Goodnight Magnus.” he said before he could leave the room.

Magnus turned, smiling at him. “Goodnight Alexander.” 

And if he felt warmth spreading throughout his chest, he wouldn’t fret about it.

Chapter 11 

Alec did not like being the center of attention. He knew it was weird, considering he was a royal but it was the truth. Having all eyes on him felt like they could see right through him. They could see that he did not love Clary in a romantic way. They could see that he loved no woman and never would. They could see his loathing for the king. 

He recognized some of the people surrounding him. They were lords and ladies of the surrounding lands. He saw the Blackwells sitting in a corner, purposefully placed there by Alec.  He would keep them as far from Jace as possible. Jace was sitting at a table with Aline and some of their blood relatives. It didn’t evade Alec’s eye as he noticed Jace glaring towards the Blackwells. He at least knew Jace wouldn’t make a scene, even if a part of him wished he would. What hurt was when he would notice Jace’s eyes flicker and linger on Clary before they would look somewhere else.

Clary touched his hand on the table, pulling him away from his musings. He turned his head to face her, giving her a smile. 

“Where did you go?” Clary asked quietly as she reached for a piece of bread on her plate. 

“Everywhere but here.” he answered her, reaching for his glass and sipping the wine.

“At least we got the ceremony out of the way.” Clary reminded him. They had knelt so long in front of the priest, Alec’s legs had gone numb. He was lucky he hadn’t toppled over as soon as he had finally been able to stand. He was also grateful that he didn’t knock Clary hard in the face when they had to kiss for all to see. He had heard the ‘awhs’ throughout the hall, resisting the urge to groan.  

“Yes well, we will soon need to attend the other ceremony.” He mumbled, dread obvious in his voice.  At least it wasn’t something that anyone was allowed to observe. He trusted Catarina and Magnus and their plan.

Clary leaned over so it may have looked like she was kissing the side of his face. “It’s going to  work.” She whispered into his ear.

He nodded, glancing around the room once more. His eyes landed towards the dance floor, smiling as he found Izzy and Max dancing together. His little brother seemed bored but Izzy was laughing and spinning him around regardless. He let his eyes quickly slide over the king and his wife who also were making a show of having a good time on the dance floor. Fortunately, they had only had to do one dance in front of everyone and even luckier, Alec had done perfectly. He was glad to know their practicing had paid off.

Now, they had to remain seated for an indeterminate amount of time because all of their guests now had to make their way to them to congratulate them and gift them something. Alec didn’t see the point, considering they had enough material things than they practically needed. He knew it was likely to gain favor of those around them but Alec was also not bought by items. If anyone wanted to gain Alec’s trust, it was their nature and their deeds that achieved that goal.

Eyes roaming over the room, they paused when he spotted Magnus. Truthfully, he didn’t know  that the man would come. He saw that he and Catarina were standing near the corner of the room, each holding a drink and smiling as they spoke. Alec let himself observe Magnus’ attire. It was the most dressed up he had seen him since he’d been here. Magnus wore a purple coat with gold swirls down the arms and likely on the back. He had black trousers that left little to the imagination and black boots. If he squinted, he was certain he could see gold dusting the tips of  his hair.

He was beautiful.

For once, Alec didn’t let himself blush or scold himself. No one could hear his thoughts and it comforted him. He let himself admire the man from afar. If he really stopped to think about it, he could remember being young and thinking Magnus had been attractive back then. He wondered idly if Magnus was the reason he’d realized he didn’t think about women in the way he thought about men. He had also been terrified his sister was going to die the first time he saw Magnus, so he wasn’t surprised that he didn’t really remember the attraction that had been there then. 

He hoped that they would be able to remain friends for as long as possible. He found that the thought of Magnus not being here was upsetting. If Magnus chose to leave, Alec wouldn’t stop  him. He deserved his freedom more than anything. 

Alec’s gazed moved to Magnus’ face and he almost startled as he found that the man was staring back at him. Magnus gave him an encouraging smile and tilted his head. Alec mimicked him before making himself look away.  

When the last of their guests finally left their table, Alec couldn’t help but feel a little anxious. Eyes were once again on them, waiting to see them leave. He stood up, helped Clary out of her chair and then wrapped his arm with hers to lead them out of the hall.

His and Clary’s guards, along with the midwife and the other person who must be the witness, followed behind them. He was beginning to feel paranoid, that they were going to insist on being in the room. He honestly wouldn’t put that past Valentine.

They made it to his room in what felt like no time. Raj opened the door for them. They entered and to his relief, no one followed them in. Once the door was closed, Alec leaned against it, closing his eyes. 

“I would give anything for a secret passage out of here right about now.” he complained softly.

“At least you didn’t have to wear these all day.” Clary complained, having planted herself on the edge of his bed and attacking the silks that wrapped her small shoes tightly to her feet. 

She practically growled as the knots seemed to defy her. Alec chuckled but came closer. He knelt down beside her and captured her leg in his hand, the fingers of his other hand going to work at loosening the knot. “Patience is not one of your virtues.” He teased her as the silk fell  apart in his hand. 

He glanced up and saw that she was smiling at him. “What?” He automatically rubbed at his face, assuming something was on it.

“If you weren’t like a brother to me, I could see that falling in love with you could be easy.” She answered. Alec blushed at that, not having expected it.  

“Yeah well, don’t get used to it.” He tried and failed. They both knew that Alec was nothing if not chivalrous. And he was kind. There was really nothing that he could do that would be a genuinely cruel trait. 

Once he loosened both silks, he stood back up and made his way over towards his desk. He knelt down while moving a chair. He scrabbled at the wood floor, finding the loose board and moving it to the side. Carefully, he pulled out the satchel that Catarina had given him. He replaced the board and brought the bag over.

He placed it on the bed and then began to remove his clothing.  

“I’m going to see more of you than I ever thought I would in my life.” Clary said from behind him.

“The feeling is mutual, believe me.” Alec answered as he tossed his coat over a basket used for  his dirty clothing. 

It took him no time to strip down to only his socks and his tights. He turned around shyly to see that Clary had already completely undressed and was protecting her body from his eyes with the large comforter on his bed. She was reaching for the jar with the two pills. He noticed she already had her individual pill jar beside her.

He was glad she wasn’t watching him as he removed his tights and quickly got into the bed beside her. 

“How quickly do you think these will work?” he asked curiously, holding out his hand for her to dump one into it.

She shrugged. “I’m not sure but...we may as well get this started.” 

They nodded and together, they each took their pill. Alec glanced down as he felt her curl her hand around one of his. He knew she was nervous, he was too. He wasn’t afraid of the pill, he trusted those who created it but he couldn’t deny the fear of the unknown. What if this pill didn’t work? The other two might but they would look suspiciously clean. 

Alec suddenly gasped, as if air had been punched out of him. Clary’s grip on his hand tightened though she remained silent. He closed his eyes as the pill did what it was intended to do.

He could feel heat spreading throughout his body. It was a similar feeling he would get when he would spend an exhausting day outside in the hot sun sparring. Along with that, he could feel moisture building up along his arms, chest, neck and face. A trickle of sweat fell down the side of his face from his hairline. 

Clary’s hand in his was clammy and he knew his felt the same to her. 

His heart was beating fast but he knew it was not something that would harm him in the long run. 

Forcing his eyes open, he looked over to see Clary doing the same. They looked at each other, both seeing what the other looked like now. 

Clary’s face was flushed and some of her curls were starting to fall from the sweat. 

“It is like a pill for adrenaline.” Alec said quietly, just in case anyone was listening in carefully on  the other side of the door. 

“I don’t think I like it very much.” Clary said just as quietly, her hand disappearing in the blankets. 

“Are you alright?” Alec asked, wondering if maybe there was harm afterall. 

She made a face before breathing slowly, deeply a couple times. “Let’s just hope I manage to keep my dinner in my stomach a while longer.”

Ah, so her stomach was upset. “You should not have eaten that last pastry.” Alec suggested.

Clary glared at him and let his hand go so she could swat him hard in his arm. Alec just smirked, glad to see that he hadn’t offended her as her lips curled up into a smile as well.

“How long do you suppose it is meant to last?” Alec asked, his heart remaining at a steady pace but not one that would trouble him. 

Clary shrugged. “I’m not sure but I imagine we will tire after this.”

She had a point. Alec wondered if they would have an adrenaline crash after this. It seemed probable. 

“Are you ready for the second part?” She asked as she reached for her other pill.  

Alec bit his lip as he grabbed his. “Not really.”

“Whatever happens, I won’t judge you. Okay?” Clary said softly. 

Alec nodded. He reached down, grabbing the tights he had previously been wearing. 

He swiveled his body so he was sitting on the edge, his back to Clary. He felt the bed shift, figuring she was likely doing what she needed to do. 

He took the pill before he could talk himself out of it. With the adrenaline already pumping through his system, he wasn’t sure what to expect. Would it still be abrupt like this one? 

Glancing between his legs, he watched almost detached as his cock went from flaccid to taut in seconds. He grabbed himself, gasping at the sensation of doing so.

Not that he would discuss it with Catarina but he did masturbate. Not too often but he had needs that he would take care of now and again. Right now, all he wanted to do was take care of himself but knowing Clary was right behind him made him want to hide.

His body didn’t seem to care, however. He felt warmth low in his gut, causing him to rut up into his hand without being able to stop himself. Alec felt overwhelmed as pleasure rolled over and over him. Feeling a moan crawling out of his throat, Alec bit down on his lip to muffle it as much as he could.

Feeling himself building to climax, Alec held his tights in one hand and his cock in the other. He moved his hand up and down only twice more before his body spasmed and he moaned as he came into the tights. He ignored the mortification of the noise that had come out of him as he jerked until he was empty. 

Balling up the tights, he tossed them into the furthest corner of the room. 

“Did uh...did it work?” Alec asked without turning to face Clary, his voice hoarse as if he’d been talking for hours.

“Umm..” Clary paused and he felt her shifting around. After a minute of silence, she moved again. “Yeah..wow...it worked.”

Curious, and knowing he needed to look at her, he turned to face her. She held up her finger and on the tip was a red smear. He examined it carefully and decided that it really did look like blood. 

“Are you alright?” Clary asked, her voice a little hesitant, unsure if her question was welcome.

“Other than the embarrassment I feel? Yes, I am alright. The pill did exactly what it was supposed to.” He stood up, wishing his robe was in the room but knew he had left it in  the chambers he had gotten ready in earlier today.

Clary was covered once more in the bed. Alec made his way towards the door but paused to look at her.

“Are you ready for the next part, wife?” Alec asked, his brow raised.

She smirked and nodded. 

Alec opened the door and moved out of the way as the midwife and the witness entered. Alec quickly glanced at Raj who looked neutral and then to Pangborn who had an uncomfortable smile on his face.

Alec decided he definitely did not like him.

He closed the door and turned to see the midwife pulling Clary out of the bed. She wrapped her arms around her breast but was unable to cover her lower half as the midwife poked at her. 

“Come, prince.” The midwife muttered as she gestured for Alec to stand next to Clary. “I know the two of you are young and sprite, but I did not expect such fast results.” 

Alec reached over, gently placing his hand on the back of Clary’s neck, in the hopes of it appearing to be a possessive touch. 

“You must forgive us. My wife and I would like to spend the rest of our night continuing to be well acquainted with no interruption. And we did not wish for you and the boy to spend your entire night outside the door.” Alec said to her in the hopes that it sounded genuine. 

Clary giggled, catching on. She reached over, gently caressing Alec’s cheek. “My prince, my husband.” 

Alec watched as her face pinched when the midwife, with no warning, examined her. She muttered to herself before grabbing Alec and causing him to gasp. The only woman ever in his life to touch his cock had been when he was young and his mother had to help him clean.

She continued her mutterings as she examined both of her hands which contained a little something of each of them. 

“You have done very well, very well indeed.” She turned to the boy who was standing awkwardly away from them. “Do you see, Nathaniel? They have consummated the marriage. There will be a child on the way.” She held her hands out for the boy to see who simply nodded.

She turned back to face them. “You will carry many of his children. Your basket will be plentiful and your seeds true.” She smiled so widely, Alec wondered if it hurt. “I remember when you were born. The loudest baby I had ever seen.” She sighed happily.

“Thank you for your help. Now, if you don’t mind.” he said, nodding towards the door.

“Oh yes, yes. Of course.” She bowed, grabbed the boy by his arm and headed out of the room. 

Neither Alec nor Clary moved until the door closed once more, both letting out a breath at the same time. They laughed, breaking up the awkwardness in the air.

Alec walked towards his wardrobe, pulling out soft trousers and shirts. He pulled on the bottoms before walking over and handing a set over to Clary. She thanked him as she pulled his shirt on, it was long enough to cover most of her body. 

“I know those won’t fit, but we can fetch more of your clothes tomorrow.” Alec apologized. His pants were nearly as long as she was tall. 

“I am going to miss my room.” Clary admitted as she looked around his.  

Alec walked over towards his desk where a jug of water and two goblets sat. He poured them each a glass and then walked over towards his bed, handing her one. 

The adrenaline was still pumping through him but his heart rate was back down to normal. It seemed as though the lasting effects were short.

“Maybe we can come up with a reason why you are not needed to sleep here night after night?”  Alec offered though at the moment, he wasn’t sure what the excuse could be.

Clary shrugged. “My father will get suspicious.” 

Alec downed half of the goblet he was holding. “You’re right but, I am to be king soon and my studies have gotten busier. I could simply come across as cold and busy?”

Clary smirked. “You, cold? Now that would be suspicious.” She took a drink of her water before sitting it down and lying back onto the pillows. She sighed. “At least your bed is comfortable.”

“I think it’ll be a decent diversion to give us a little more time. And when we do come together,  we continue the happy couple rouse.” Alec suggested, moving to stand from the bed. He looked around, eying the chaise near the window. It was large enough for him, though he wasn’t sure his neck would appreciate the kink it would get in the morning.

Clary’s eyes followed where he was looking. She huffed. “We can share the bed, Alec. I know you’re not going to try anything frisky.”

Alec laughed softly, though he was relieved. He got back into the bed, not bothering with the covers for now. 

“It is not me we should be worried about.” he said, turning his head to face her. She looked at him suspiciously. “Jace said you are a warmth stealer. That your cold toes remove the warmth from his legs.” 

Alec chuckled as he did his best to block the pillow that she threw at his head. 

Chapter 12

A month had gone by now that Alec and Clary were married and so far, they were able to pass as a loving couple. The main change in both of their schedules was that they now had to share meals and tended to go on walks and outings together. Alec didn’t mind and again, was very thankful that they had started off as friends. The only part that sucked about this change of circumstance was Jace. He was doing decently to seem unaffected but Alec knew him better than anyone. He could see the look in his eyes. Jace looked like a kicked puppy when he thought someone was looking at him and it hurt Alec to see. It should be Jace with his arm laced with Clary’s, not him.

The three of them and their guards had been spending the afternoon walking through the garden. Alec had hoped they’d be able to bring Madzie with them but he had been told she was doing her lessons with Magnus. He thought maybe next time, he could ask if the both of them could join them.

A cold breeze blew by them, causing all three of them to shiver. “We will need to remember to start wearing warmer clothing.” Jace complained as he wrapped his arms around himself.

Alec, recalling a teasing remark he made to Clary about Jace being cold, caused him to chuckle. A quick glance at Clary allowed him to see that she knew exactly what he was talking about as she glared, albeit playfully, at him. Jace looked at both of them with confusion. 

“Now you have your inside jokes I see.” Jace complained petulantly. 

Alec rolled his eyes. “Once you are married someday, you will do the same.” His eyes were kind as he stared at Jace, willing him to understand that Alec was referring to him and Clary being one. 

“Did you see Aline off?” Jace asked, wanting to change the subject from his obvious jealousy. 

Alec nodded. “Yes. I managed to have breakfast with her before she departed.” He smiled. “She said that we will be expected within the year for her wedding.”

Jace and Clary both looked at him curiously. “Aline is going to get married? Has she hit her head on something hard?” Jace asked.

Alec shook his head. “No, she is indeed planning to marry. She has found a suitor that she is pursuing.”  

“Who is he? Is it anyone we know? It’s not my brother, is it?” Clary questioned rapidly one after the other.

At the mention of Jonathan, Alec couldn’t help the barely contained fury towards the man. He was his friend, but so far, his correspondences he had sent for Jonathan had gone unanswered. He was hurt that he wouldn’t respond to him, to give him the courtesy of hearing what had happened in the greenhouse. 

Alec had blocked Valentine once already from trying to move Andrew. He had claimed he wanted to put him in a large open room that held other prisoners but Alec wouldn’t let it happen. If the criminals found out that Andrew was a guard, they would kill him. 

“Alec?” Jace tried, nudging him in the shoulder.  

Alec blinked, seeing both of them staring at him. “Sorry...um. No, not Jonathan.” He smiled, remembering the smile that was on Aline’s face. “Her name is Helen Blackthorn.” 

Clary gasped and Jace chuckled. “That makes much more sense now.” 

“Who is Helen?” Clary asked curiously.

“Her family is from the west, beyond the ocean.” Alec explained to them. “They met during a trade of goods. Apparently Helen had accompanied her family’s ship in the hopes of running away from her own line of suitors in protest. Funny how fate ran her into the arms of a suitor she couldn’t resist after all.” 

Apparently both families were happy that their daughters were willing to settle down and unite their kingdoms. Alec could tell Aline was a little nervous about telling him but had been relieved when he didn’t so much as flinch at the news.

Noticing Clary shiver this time, Alec turned them so they could head back towards the castle. The last thing they needed was to fall ill. 

“I have never been to the Penhallow kingdom.” Clary informed them as she walked between them. Alec suspected it was her way of stealing body warmth and it made him smile.

“It is beautiful, and warmer.” Jace answered her. 

“When were you there?” Clary asked curiously.

“I went with Alec and Izzy for one of Aline’s birthdays when we were kids.” Jace told her. “We spent most of our time running through the fields of sunflowers they have. They were taller than we were. I’m still surprised we didn’t get lost.”  

Alec laughed at the memory. “I remember Izzy scaring you.” 

Jace screwed up his face for a moment to recall the memory and once he did, he laughed.

“How did she do that?” Clary leaned into Alec since it was colder as they walked. He automatically put his arm around her, cursing himself quietly knowing this would upset Jace. He could feel the tension in her body, knowing how much she wanted to curl into Jace instead.

“Jace is right that we were lucky we didn’t get lost but we thought we had for a moment. We found each other but couldn’t find Isabelle.” Alec and Jace had called for her but she wasn’t answering. “We started to get worried and made our way back towards the castle.” 

Jace groaned. “And then when we almost got out, she grabbed my ankle.” 

Alec laughed. “He screamed in the highest octave I had ever heard. Izzy and I couldn’t stop laughing.” 

Clarry laughed at their story and even Jace chuckled too.

“That sounds like something she would do.” Clary mused as they rounded the castle wall towards the nearest entrance. 

Before they turned into the courtyard, Jace stopped as he paused, resting one hand on the wall. Alec and Clary stopped as well, turning to face him. He was lifting up one of his legs. “I think a stone managed to get into my boot.” He grumbled as he began to remove it.

In one moment, they were standing there in silence and in the next, there was a scream and a cracking sound around the corner. All three of them jumped, startled by the noise. Pangborn and one of Clary’s guards ran towards the noise while her remaining guard and Raj came closer to the trio to protect them.

Alec, not one to sit back and believing it unlikely it was an attack on their castle nudged Raj to let him by.  

“My Prince…”  Raj warned, his voice wary.

Alec frowned. “Let us see what it was.” 

They moved around the corner, Alec’s eyes found where the commotion had come from and in that instant, Alec realized it would be a sound he would never be able to erase from his memory. 

His legs propelled him forward as he pushed past Pangborn and fell to his knees. When he cried out for help, he didn’t recognize the agony in his own voice.

“FIND ISABELLE NOW!” he shouted, knowing without having to look that it was Raj who took off running.

Hands trembling, Alec reached down gently, his finger caressing the bloody cheek of his little brother. 

Max Lightwood lied in a heap on the ground, all of his limbs sprawled in different directions, none of which were anatomically correct. A weak noise came out of his mouth along with the blood that trickled out of the corners. Alec saw the blood pool behind Max’s head growing and growing steadily.

“Max? Max, it’s Alec. I’m here. I’m here.” Alec whispered brokenly as he leaned down so his face was hovering over Max’s. 

He watched in shock and awe as his little brother’s eyes weakly opened halfway and he stared at Alec. He could see the fear in them. 

“It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.” Alec told him, reaching up and wiping at the slow tears trickling out of his brother’s eyes.

In Alec’s peripheral, he noticed Jace falling onto his knees beside him, near Max’s head. 

“Hey Maxwell.” Jace said, his voice as weak as Alec’s. He too was unsure if he could touch Max so he settled for gently moving some of his bangs back from his forehead. Max had been complaining about how long his hair had gotten. They were meant to get it cut soon. Alec needed to schedule that.

“Move! Move!” Catarina’s voice rang in the air. 

In no time, Catarina was kneeling near Jace, her eyes looking wildly around. She made eye contact with Clary and the woman came over, clasping her hand with Catarina’s. 

“To heal.” Catarina said, her voice wavering but strong. 

“To heal.” Clary said, her voice strained.

Catarina’s magic burst quickly from her fingers, the color of the magic sinking into Max’s body. Catarina groaned through her teeth, closing her eyes as she pushed everything she had into healing his body.

“MAX!” Isabelle shrieked from somewhere behind Alec. She quickly came into view, taking the spot across from him. 

“Maxie...you have to be okay. We have to dance some more.” Izzy gasped, her breathing rapid and unsteady. She and Alec made eye contact and he could see the spark of hope in her eyes. That she knew that Alec was here and that everything was going to be fine.

“Ale…” Max gurgled out, his face scrunching up in fear. 

“Hey...don’t talk. Just breathe. I know it hurts buddy, but it’s going to be okay. You have to be strong, just hold on.” Alec told him as his entire body started to shake. 

Feeling his right arm being yanked, he almost hit the person stupid enough to touch him but at the last moment, realized it was Magnus. 

“To heal.” Magnus told him.

Alec nodded. “To heal.”

“To heal.” Magnus repeated.

Alec gasped as he felt Magnus’ power practically shove itself from him and into Magnus.  

“Please…” Alec whispered, his eyes darting to Catarina, ignoring the tear tracks that were down  her face. 

“Magnus…” Catarina said quietly. “It’s too much.” 

Alec kept his face on his little brother’s so he didn’t see the look on Magnus’ face. He was shaking his head but he tried anyway. He tried to heal the broken bones in the tiny body. 

“Alec, Isabelle…” Catarina said in a soothing voice they had heard from her when they had been told their parents weren’t coming back. “Jace.” She added sweetly. “He’s…” Her voice quivered as a sob snuck its way out. “He’s going to sleep now.” 

Alec’s eyes snapped over to Catarina, unwilling to believe it.

“Magnus…” He said, his head turning to the man beside him. 

Magnus’ face was tight as he shook his head.  

“To soothe.” He whispered.

“To soothe.” Alec automatically parroted back.

The power burst out of him.

Max sighed, his face relaxing from its pinched, pained expression. 

“Max, I love you. Do you hear me? I’m going to take care of you.” Alec gasped out, not sure how many tears had escaped his eyes so far but now felt them, thick and hot as they slid down his  cheeks and neck.

“You’re going to be with mom and dad now, okay? They’re going to be so happy they get to see you. I love you baby brother.” Izzy said quietly as she reached for one of Max’s small hands, grasping it in hers.  

Jace, struggling for breath, leaned down, gently kissing him on his forehead. “Sleep well Maxwell...I will love you for all time.” 

Clary leaned closer to Jace as she too let her tears fall. “I love you, you silly little boy.” 

They all saw it, the moment that Max’s life left him. His gaze into Alec’s face going from seeing to unseeing. 

Alec gasped in pain as he leaned over, wrapping his arms around his brother’s frail, broken body, lifting him into his lap. He pressed his face into his little brother’s hair, not caring how he was openly crying in front of everyone that was present. 

Arms going around him and Max, Alec didn’t need to open his eyes to know it was Isabelle. Her forehead rested against the side of his neck, her tears dampening his collar. Feeling an arm around his back, he didn’t move as Jace hugged into him, Jace’s chin resting against his temple. Clary took her place behind Alec, her face sandwiched between Jace and Alec’s shoulders; her arms around both of their waists. 

Alec wasn’t sure how long they sat there together, none of them moving or showing any signs of being uncomfortable. They all cried openly, brokenly. He could feel Isabelle’s stuttered breaths as she hyperventilated. Jace’s heavy breaths as if he were holding his breath for as long as possible before his body spasmed and let the air out. Clary’s quiet sniffles, likely trying to make herself as small as possible.

“Leave! You dishonor the Lightwood name with your staring.” Alec tensed, hearing Valentine’s voice shouting closeby. 

The shuffle of shoes went all around them though Alec barely heard it. The only sound was the breaths of his family. 

“Please...take the girls, get them cleaned up.” Valentine again.

“No…” Isabelle whimpered, her arm tightening around Alec’s back. Her strength though betrayed her as she was hoisted up to her feet. Alec could feel Clary also leaving their small bundle.

“Herondale, disperse.” Valentine commanded angrily.  

Jace cursed silently but also started to get up as well.

“Prince Alec, let us take the boy where he will be prepared for a funeral.” Valentine suggested, his voice the gentlest Alec had ever heard from him. Alec looked up, his eyes bloodshot. 

“No...I’ll take him.” Alec wouldn’t let anyone else carry his brother. 

Alec carefully moved Max’s limbs, finding that it was difficult as rigor mortis began to set in, and then adjusted his hold. Carefully, he stood on shaking legs, his brother curled protectively into his chest. He didn’t look down, for fear of falling apart again. 

Raj placed his hand between Alec’s shoulders, gently guiding him into the castle and where those who were no longer part of this world, went for preparations. Alec had never been in that room before. Not even as a curious child, did he go in there. 

The room only had one occupant, an older woman who looked like she had been waiting for him. Alec vaguely remembered her from when his grandfather passed on. She had done the work to make him look like he was sleeping. He felt fresh tears in his eyes as he thought of how she would now do the same for his brother.

One of the walls in the room was one large window. It made the room bright. In the center of the room were three slabs of stone that he knew was where he needed to place Max. 

Walking towards the one in the center, he gently placed him down. His head turned to the side and Alec gasped, seeing the damage on the back of his head that wasn’t able to heal. He looked away but didn’t move.

“Prince Alec.”  The woman, Charlotte he remembered, spoke softly. He almost jumped when he noticed how close she was to him. Gently, she took him by his arm and led him over towards a soft chair near the window. His legs gave willingly as she pushed him down to sit. 

She leaned down so she was at his eye level. “You’re going into shock but you’re going to be okay. Just keep breathing okay?” She watched, waiting for a response. “Alexander? Do you understand me?” 

Alec blinked twice before his vision focused on her face. He nodded dumbly. “Keep breathing.” he whispered. 

She nodded, her face kind. “I’m going to take care of him, okay?”

Alec nodded, not sure if his head even stopped to begin with. 

He lost track of time after that. All he knew was that, once he came back to himself, the room was dark. The sky no longer held the sun. Someone had lit the torches in the room. Alec looked over and saw that there was a cloth covering his little brother’s body so he couldn’t see it. He startled when he saw a guard silently standing in the room but relaxed when he saw that it was Raj.

“Is this real?” Alec asked quietly.

“I’m sorry my Prince.” Raj responded.  

A knock on the door sounded in the room, causing Alec to jolt. Raj answered it and, though there was a second of hesitation, moved and let Magnus in. 

Magnus looked distraught and Alec wanted to remove the look on his face but he couldn’t. He didn’t think he could do anything anymore. 

Having zoned out again, Alec forced himself to focus again and noticed Magnus sitting on an overturned bucket in front of him. There was another bucket beside him with water and he was wringing out a towel.

Carefully, Magnus took one of Alec’s hands and began removing the dried blood from as much of his skin as he could see. Alec watched dazed as Magnus methodically cleaned one hand  and then the other. 

Once he was done with that, Magnus gently tilted Alec’s head up so he could start on his face and his neck. Alec stared into Magnus’ face as he focused on cleaning. 

“Why?” Alec asked, causing Magnus to pause with the towel on Alec’s cheek, his eyes moving from there to Alec’s eyes.

“A witness saw him fall from the tower. They think he had tried to get onto the roof from one of the windows.” Magnus told him, thinking that that was what he was asking.  

Alec shook his head hard, shoving Magnus’ wrist away from his face.  

“Why didn’t you save him!?” Alec asked, his voice booming in the silence of the room.

Magnus’ face scrunched in understanding and pain. 

“It is not so simple. He was too far gone...we couldn’t grasp enough of his life to heal him.” Magnus tried to keep his voice neutral but he did not want to be blamed for this; even if he knew it was not Alec’s true intention.

“If-if you or Catarina had focused on his head! He could have lived.” Alec shoved Magnus away from him and stood up. Magnus followed suit and watched as Alec began to pace back and forth in front of the window. 

Raj took a step forward but Magnus held up a hand, hoping they had built up enough trust that Raj wasn’t going to assume Magnus would try to hurt Alec.

“Alexander, I won’t shred apart your heart by telling you just how broken he was from the fall.” Magnus said, trying to placate him. 

“He can’t be dead Magnus! He can’t!” Alec grabbed his hair with both hands, tugging as if doing so would somehow make it untrue. 

Hoping he wasn’t going to be hit, Magnus stood in front of Alec to stop his pacing, placing his  hands on the other male’s shoulders. 

Alec’s anger disappeared in an instant as he moved forward and wrapped his arms around Magnus, burying his face into his neck as fresh tears assaulted him.

Magnus wrapped his arms around Alec, his hands trailing soothingly up and down his back.

“I’m so sorry Alexander. I wish we could have saved him.” And oh how he meant it. 

Magnus and Catarina had gone back to their quarters to clean up and breathe. Catarina cried as she told Magnus silly stories of Max as a child. She knew that there was nothing they could have done but it didn’t mean it hadn’t hurt all the same.

“You took his pain away, didn’t you?” Catarina asked suddenly, remembering the power Magnus had switched to.

Magnus nodded. “It  was the only thing left to do.” At least in his last few minutes, Maxwell  Lightwood had only felt love from his family.

Alec slowly pulled away but only so he could see Magnus’ face.

“Why are you here?” he asked, his voice shaking.

“Because I care about you.” Magnus answered, reaching over and wiping at the tears on  Alec’s face. 

Alec suddenly surged forward, his lips slamming into Magnus’ so hard that their teeth knocked together. They both gasped from the impact which only managed to deepen their kiss. Alec’s tongue mixed uncertainly with Magnus’ until they found a rhythm together. Alec had never kissed anyone like this before but it felt right. Magnus felt right.

And then he realized what he was doing. His eyes shot open and he pulled away, managing to trip over his own feet and fall onto his bottom. 

“I’m…shit.” Alec cursed. 

“It’s okay…” Magnus said placatingly. 

“Magnus I’m sorry. That was improper.” Alec scrubbed his hands over his face. 

Magnus knelt down in front of him, grabbing his hands and pulling them away from his face. “I kissed you back. You have nothing to be sorry for.” 

Alec could see the sincerity on his face and felt the stress bleeding out of him. He got back up to  his feet, Magnus doing the same.

He then felt panic threaten to return, as his eyes darted over towards Raj. Magnus turned to look at him too, surprised there wasn’t a sword in his gut.

“Raj…” Alec began but paused, having no idea what to say to him.

“I do not gossip, my Prince.” Raj answered him, as he held up his hand. 

“I do not deserve such loyalty.” Alec frowned, uncertain how Raj could be just that; loyal.

Raj smiled at him, which surprised him because he was not sure if he’d ever seen him smile before.

“You are more deserving than you understand.” He glanced over at Magnus. “But, if it would make you feel better, I am not above blackmail.”

Alec’s face fell. He straightened up to his full height, trying to remain calm but unsure if his  heart could take anything else. “What do you want?” 

Raj kept his eyes on Magnus. “For him to call me Raj.”

Magnus’ face relaxed as he smiled slightly. If the circumstances were different, he would have laughed but, considering where they were, he did as best he could.

“I can do that, Raj.” Magnus nodded towards him. 

“Thank you.” Alec said in acknowledgement. 

He turned back to face Magnus. “I…” But he didn’t know what to say.

“We don’t need to talk about it. Not now.” Magnus reached up, adjusting Alec’s ruined shirt. “You should get changed and try to get some sleep.”

Alec frowned, slowly walking towards where his brother’s body was. He placed the palm of his hand gently on top of where Max’s chest was.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to sleep again.” he admitted.

Magnus came closer to him, glancing down at the sheet. “You will, but not right away. You must allow yourself to grieve and not expect it to be done in a day.”

Alec nodded but remained standing there for several minutes. 

“Alec, please. You must leave him.” Magnus said softly, his hand resting on top of Alec’s.  

Alec leaned down, resting his head on top of Max’s through the sheet. 

When he straightened, he allowed himself to leave the room to head towards his own. 

Chapter 13 

The funeral had gone by in a blur. Thousands had come to pay their condolences. Alec was slightly aware that it had been a beautiful service. The weather was warm and the sky was cloudless. Max would have been so bored, Alec thought idly.

There was a celebration of life after the funeral but Alec, Isabelle, Jace and Clary didn’t have to be there. They didn’t want to be there. The people who were there to give their support to the family were now going to eat and drink their fill. Eventually the sadness would turn into fun and laughter and none of them wanted to be present for it.

Valentine had made sure there was a private setup just for them in another room. They quietly made their way there, eyes roaming over the drink and food that had been laid out for them.

Isabelle and Clary sat close together while Alec and Jace spread out more.

None of them made any move for the food.  

“Did anyone in the castle see Max?” Izzy finally asked, her question directed to her brother.

Alec shook his head. “He had his breakfast in the kitchen and then headed for his violin lesson. He was then supposed to go to his fencing lessons but when he didn’t show up, Hodge found Max’s guards roaming the castle looking for him.”

Izzy frowned. “How did he manage to give them the slip?”

Alec gave her a small smile. “How do any of us?” 

She sighed, knowing he was right. Max was the best at escaping them when he wanted to. 

“A woman saw him falling but she did not see the start of it.” So they did not know from where he had fallen or how.  

“Has he ever tried to get on the roof?” Clary suggested as she reached over, deciding to pluck  a few grapes to eat.

Jace shook his head. “He didn’t like heights like that. He never would have tried even if he was curious to try.”

Alec agreed. “He could barely stand near the open windows in the higher towers. We made sure all of his lessons were on the first or second levels.” 

“I just don’t understand it.” Izzy sighed sadly. 

Alec reached over to take her hand in his, giving it a squeeze. “I know. I don’t either.” 

They sat in silence for a while, the heaviness of their loss taking its toll on them all. 

Alec rubbed his hand over his forehead, frowning when he felt the perspiration on his palm. He didn’t feel well but he felt like he didn’t feel anything for days and hadn’t thought about it. 

“Is it happening again Alec?” Jace asked, having noticed what Alec had also noticed. 

“I’m not sure.” Alec admitted as he glanced over at his friend.

“We should get Catarina.” Clary said as she already began to scramble to her feet. 

“And Magnus.” Alec called to her.

Clary stepped out of the room for a moment so she could speak to the guards to send someone along.

Izzy moved so she was sitting behind Alec, hands on his shoulders guiding him to lie back against her. Gently, she ran her fingers through his hair. 

“I can’t lose you too, big bro.” Izzy said, her voice quivering.

Alec reached around for her, taking one of her hands in his. “You won’t. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You can’t promise that.” she countered.  

“I can promise to try.” he told her gently. 

Catarina and Magnus made their way quickly into the room. 

“It’s not as bad as before.” Alec told them as they both approached him. 

Catarina was already pulling out a vial, uncapping it. She lifted it up to his mouth and tipped it. He swallowed it down obediently. 

“Do you have enough energy for me to give you a boost?” Magnus asked, wiggling his fingers.

Alec nodded. “Yeah. Thank you.” He reached forward, his hand warm in Magnus’. 

“To heal.” Magnus said. 

“To heal.” Alec repeated immediately.

Alec sagged against his sister as he let himself relax. He knew he was safe with everyone that was around him. He couldn't help but wonder if maybe he was just exhausted from his grief and not his ailment for once. It  would be nice,he thought, for it to be something more simple.

He could feel the power seeping into his body, fixing him even though he didn’t know exactly what was being fixed.  

“We have discussed it and I believe Magnus is right that we should schedule weekly sessions to heal you. With any luck, we can slow down what has been happening. With more luck, we can reverse it completely.” Catarina said to him as she watched Magnus.  

“What if it keeps coming back?” Alec asked, though it was a similar question to what he’d asked Magnus.

“Then we just keep trying.” Catarina simply stated. 

Magnus opened his eyes, dropping his free hand. 

“How do you feel?” Magnus asked him, his right hand relaxing in Alec’s grip but not letting go. 

Alec attempted to sit up but huffed instead as he was pulled back down by his sister’s arm. “I’m good. I think you stopped it before I would have been forced into my bed for the next few days.”

They fell into a silence, none of them wanting to speak any further about Alec’s ailment or the loss of the youngest of them all.

0000

Magnus made his way out into the gardens the next night, having been told by Jace where he might find Alec, who was requesting his presence. 

It didn’t take him long before he noticed Alec’s guard standing off to the side; relieved that it  was definitely Raj. Magnus had been in the gardens many times but he hadn’t seen much of this area as it didn’t seem to be tended to as much as the rest. 

“Alexander.” Magnus greeted him by way of not accidentally startling him. Alec turned his neck to see Magnus before looking back at where he was staring.

“How is your evening?” Alec asked him curiously as he stood next to him.

Magnus shrugged as he wrapped his cloak around himself. “I am well. Spent most of the day with Madzie. We will start working on her power soon with Isabelle, once she is feeling a little  better.” 

Alec frowned, thinking back to his sister. “I hope Madzie will not be disappointed if it takes Izzy a little too long to be ready.”

“Madzie is young and carefree, the pro of being the ignorant youth.” Madzie wanted to use her power but she understood that she had to wait.

Alec figured he had a point. “What do you think of this plot?” He asked randomly.

Magnus looked around them for a few minutes, having a feeling that this was important. “It has potential. There could be a bench over there just underneath the tree. It would be a good place for reading. If there were a few bushes planted over there, it would be beautiful someday.” 

Alec smiled, one of the first ones he’d seen since before Max died. “I want to erect a statue in memorial. Right there.” He said, lifting his arm to point where. When he brought his arms back down, his fingers brushed against Magnus’.

Magnus casually let his fingers curl around Alec’s. Standing side by side, if anyone saw them standing there, their cloaks would block their hands. 

“I think that is a lovely idea.” Magnus said to him, bumping his shoulder gently. 

“He would be mortified to see a statue of himself.” Alec laughed softly as he glanced down at  their hands.

Magnus smiled too. “It will make everyone here smile. Everyone loved him.”

“I’m glad.” Alec blinked a few times and moved his free arm, reaching into his pocket. “I got you something.”

Magnus turned to face him, unwillingly letting go of his hand. “A gift? For me?”

Alec handed him the small package. “Yes you. Open it.” 

Magnus unwrapped the small gift. He flipped open the top and smiled. He rubbed his finger gently over the piece of gold. “It’s perfect. How did you know?”

Alec smiled, glad that the darkness of the night hid his blush. “I noticed how you reach for your ear. I asked Catarina about it and she told me about how you loved to wear jewelry. I had Clary help me pick one out.”

Magnus knelt down suddenly. “Look at this.” 

Alec knelt down too, his body tensed, wondering what was happening. “What?”

Magnus reached over, grabbing his chin with his fingers as he kissed him. He angled himself so it looked as though they were possibly looking at something interesting on the ground.

Alec kissed him back, sighing against his lips. He could practically feel the tension bleeding out of him. 

“You’re amazing Alexander.” Magnus whispered against his lips before kissing him softly again. 

“I wanted to make you smile.” Alec admitted as he chased Magnus’ lips when the other man pulled back playfully.

“You do that in more ways than one.” Magnus told him, pressing their lips together again.

They remained there for a little while longer, trading gentle kisses.  

“I fear we may be pressing our luck.” Magnus finally admitted, brushing his nose against Alec’s.

Alec frowned but nodded. “I’m afraid you’re right.” 

The two straightened, pointing and walking around the small area.

“I am looking forward to seeing your memorial.” Magnus told him, feeling his heart swell at the smile on Alec’s face.

0000

 “It was all over his body, Cat. I couldn’t believe it.” Magnus sighed as the two of them went over their volumes on various ailments.

“But you said when you heal him, you’re taking it out?” Catarina asked and watched as Magnus nodded.

“It is not right that something like this is attacking his body like this.” Magnus frowned as he flipped through a couple pages absently in the book in front of him.

Catarina couldn’t help but lightly smile. “You care about him.”

Magnus rolled his eyes. “Perhaps he has grown on me after all.” He glared at her. “Don’t say it.”

Catarina chuckled. “You’re right, he doesn’t deserve this. I am determined to get to the bottom of it.”

When Magnus didn’t respond, Catarina looked up, watching as his fingers played with the ear cuff on his ear. That was new. 

“Alec’s naked right behind you.” Catarina chuckled as Magnus jumped out of his stupor to spin  around. He scowled at her. “Confess. You’re not telling me something.” 

Magnus looked around the room, looking to confirm they were alone. 

“We’ve maybe kissed a couple of times.” He held up his hand before she could say anything. “He started it and now I’ve found I want to do it more and more, among other things.”

“Magnus!” She gasped, clearly scandalized. 

“There is something about him. It goes beyond his physical features, which are easy on the eyes.” He winked at her. “It’s what’s in his heart. The idea alone that maybe I could have a small part of it someday makes me feel unlike I ever have before. I don’t know how to explain it.”

Catarina reached over to poke him in the cheek. “It’s called falling in love.”

Magnus gasped as if he were choking on air. Catarina just laughed more. “Don’t fret my friend, you are deserving of being loved.” 

“If there was a way to be together, I’m not sure it would be any time soon. For now, we can only manage moments in secret. And even then, it is not wise. I do not think Alexander needs a scandal.” Magnus explained to her, doing his best not to pout.

“Now, let’s see what we can do for your prince.” Catarina said as she shoved another book towards him.

CHAPTER 14 

Oh how the past couple months had flown by. Day by day, Alec and his family slowly healed from the loss of their youngest. The pain was there, something Alec didn’t think would ever go away, but it got easier to get up a little more everyday.

On this particular morning, Alec could feel anxiety pooling in his gut. It was his birthday. And with this birthday in particular, it meant that he was going to be crowned king. 

Valentine had tried to convince Alec to make this a large, public affair but fortunately, the soon to  be king had the privilege of determining how the ceremony would go. 

Only those that needed to be there, his family and those he personally invited were welcome. There was insistence that there would be a larger celebration to be scheduled later on, but Alec  didn’t care. As long as it wasn’t happening today, he would be relieved.

Clary and Alec, the happy newlyweds, were escorted into the same room in which Alec had gotten ready for the wedding. The excited maidens insisted they get ready for this together.

Alec smiled, giving her hand a kiss for the show in front of the women before letting her hand  go and making it to his side of the room to get dressed. Jace and Izzy, once they were ready in their own quarters, would be joining them shortly. 

“Is Jonathan going to make it?” Alec asked Clary curiously as he was all but manhandled by two of the women as they removed his day shirt and began dressing him in his ceremonial attire. This was different from what he had worn for the Alignment and the Wedding. The coat he would be wearing, specifically, had been his fathers. 

Clary was behind a partition with her maids as they helped her. She poked her head out to look  at him. “He’s supposed to. I believe he is due to arrive just before the coronation begins.”

Alec had been suspicious as to why Jonathan had never answered any of his correspondences and couldn’t help but wonder if Valentine had had anything to do with it. It may have been his paranoia but he couldn't help it. When Alec insisted that Jonathan make it  back for the coronation, no one, not even Valentine, would be able to prevent it. Alec sent out his best messengers to personally see that Jonathan got the message. Not to show his face could lead to punishment.

“I don’t think making a scene at your coronation would be wise.” Clary told him, having gone back behind the partition. 

Alec rolled his eyes even though she couldn’t see him. “I won’t make a scene. I’m just going to take him calmly to the side and ask him to tell me the truth.” 

On a night where they were out of excuses to sleep in different rooms, Alec had confided in her what Andrew had told him about that day in the greenhouse. And that it had seemed, that the two were lovers and had been for little over a year.  

Valentine had tried two other times to move Andrew or attempt a trial but Alec was able to step in every time. 

The last time, Alec had made a show of it in front of the advisors of the kingdom and some of the commoners, to disagree with Valentine. He argued that a man could not be accused of a crime against someone who was not present. Alec had been close to saying who he knew the other man to be, but he could see in Valentine’s eyes that he knew Alec knew. Valentine had reluctantly agreed, thanked Alec for his kindness in the face of someone who might be innocent, and changed the subject. 

Andrew had gotten weak after months of being imprisoned but at least Alec had kept him alive thus far. It wouldn’t be long now. He would speak with Jonathan to get the truth out of him and  then he would get his man out of his prison. 

“Ow.” Alec grunted as someone had begun attacking his hair with a hairbrush, trying to force the stray bits to stay in place.  

“Forgive me, my prince.” a woman said behind him.

“No forgiveness necessary. I am alright.” Alec told her as he did his best not to make any noise of protest. 

Alec lifted his legs mechanically as his boots were put on his feet. He had a lot to say about being dressed instead of putting the clothing on himself but apparently it was part of the day of preparations and he decided not to fight it. 

His father had been smaller than him and he could feel the tightness in the fabric of the coat but was glad it wasn’t too bad. As long as he didn’t try to do any complicated movements with his arms, he would be fine. Alec made a mental note to get the coat tailored to him so he could wear it again down the line. He didn’t care much for fancier attire but it was his father’s and he would take care of it.

He bit his lip as his thoughts wandered towards his parents. His father had been so proud of Alec. His mother had had so much love to give. He knew they were excited for the day that Alec would take his place as king someday. They were supposed to be here for this moment. Hell, this moment would likely have been when Alec was in his forties, not at the earliest age. 

A red covered package suddenly waved in front of his eyes near his lap, pulling him out of his thoughts. He blinked and looked up to see Clary standing in front of him, his hands automatically accepting the package.

“What’s this?” Alec asked her as he carefully turned it over in his hands.

Clary rolled her eyes. “It’s a birthday gift for my husband.” 

Right. With the coronation taking precedence, Alec kept forgetting that it was because it was also his birthday.

He pulled on the string to open it, pushing aside the red parchment. In his hands was a book. He opened the cover to look at the pages but already knew what it was. There was another copy of this book in the library though Alec hadn’t seen it in years. This version was a first edition of Gulliver’s Travels. 

“Clary…” Alec started, his throat threatening to close up.

She reached over so she could reach his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “I remember you used to read it to Max all the time. And I know you don’t care much for gifts in general, but I still wanted to get you something.”

Alec glanced back down at the book, careful with its pages and he flicked through it. “Thank you. This is one of the best gifts I’ve ever received.” 

“Prince Alec, you’re ready.” The woman who had attacked his hair said from behind him.

Clearing his throat, he nodded and stood up. 

At the same time, there was a knock on the door and Jace and Isabelle entered. Isabelle, looking beautiful as ever in her light green dress and Jace looking dapper in his coat. 

“You clean up so well.” Alec teased Jace. 

Jace smirked. “You’re one to talk. Look at those stockings.” 

Alec scowled as he glanced down, seeing that they were frilly just above the top of the boots. 

Izzy walked over, wrapping her arms around Alec’s waist. “I’m so proud of you big brother.” 

Wrapping his arms around her, he allowed himself to relax and hug his sister. Over the months,  Isabelle had lost her happiness and had been struggling to come to terms with Max’s death. She blamed herself, even if there was no blame to be given. She accepted it as the accident that it was but she believed she should have kept a better eye on him. Today was the first day in a while that she had dressed up and was seen around the castle; having chosen to spend most of her time in her quarters. Alec hoped that today would be the start of her healing. 

As she began to release him, he leaned down, giving her a kiss carefully on the top of  her head. He didn’t want to mess up her hair. She walked over towards Jace, linking his arm with hers. Whenever she wanted to be around those she loved most, physical touch had become necessary.

“Are you ready for this?” Jace asked as Alec crossed the room to carefully place the book down on a table. 

Alec aborted a move to run his hand through his hair, and nodded.

“Let’s do this.” 

0000

The coronation took place in the main throne room. It was decorated with more banners of their family sigil along the sides. There were what looked like hundreds of candles all over the room. On the right side of the room were all of the advisors to the castle. Alec did his best not to glare at Dieudonne who was among them. On the left side were those who Alec had personally invited, consisting of Jace, Magnus, Catarina, Madzie, Hodge and Jonathan who had made it after all. He had intended for Andrew to be there as well but Valentine had prevented it, stating it was unsafe. Alec had wanted to argue but didn’t push. He did not think his friend would actually want to be seen in the current state he was in anyway. Raj and Pangborn were also there, as they were ever present wherever Alec went. Lorenzo, ever present with Valentine, stood off to the far side.

Valentine and the priest from the wedding stood at the topmost platform for the throne. Alec walked into the room with Isabelle on his left and Clary on his right. Normally, his mother would have been the one to walk with him but alterations were made instead. 

They stopped once they were a step below Valentine and the priest. Clary and Isabelle walked to the top step, taking their seats behind the two men, on either side of the king’s throne.

The priest nodded to Alec who carefully knelt down in front of them on his knees. The man came closer, whispering a prayer of protection in Latin as he touched his fingers to each of Alec’s shoulders, his forehead and the top of his head. 

“Thank you to everyone who has joined us on this very special day.” Valentine said to the room. “I only have one wish this day and it is that we could have shared it with Robert and Maryse.” Valentine looked down at Alec. “They would have been so proud.” 

Alec felt his heart clench but didn’t react otherwise, keeping his head bowed. He too wished his father was the one speaking right now. 

“Do you, Alexander Gideon Lightwood, solemnly promise to govern the people of this kingdom of Idris and the dominions thereto belonging according to the Statues in Parliament agreed on and the laws and customs of the same?” Valentine recited from the oath passed down from each generation.

Alec lifted his head to look at him. “I promise.” 

“Will you to your power, solemnly promise to maintain law and justice, in mercy, to be executed in all your judgements?”

Alec nodded. “I promise.”

“Do you hereby promise to uphold the values and virtues of this kingdom above your own?”

“I promise.” 

Alec closed his eyes as the priest brought the crown over, having been removed from Valentine the night before, polished and now seated on a cushion. The gold circlet was placed carefully on his head. 

“By the power bestowed upon me and our gracious Lord, I present to the witnesses of this sacred coronation, King Alexander Gideon Lightwood. Please rise.” 

Alec stood slowly, feeling the weight of the crown as he turned to face everyone that was there. After a quick glance towards the men who had once advised his father, then Valentine and even  helped him with his own studies, he kept his eyes on his friends. 

Magnus had a small smile on his face as he winked at him. Jace was grinning as he clapped. Catarina was similar to Magnus, keeping her smile small. Hodge clapped as loudly as Jace was, having been a great mentor to him for so long. Madzie didn’t really seem to understand what was going on but she was smiling and clapping her hands together too. Jonathan, in Alec’s opinion, looked like he was going to be ill even though he looked happy for him. 

He glanced quickly towards Jace who made eye contact with him, flicked them back to Jonathan and then back to Jace. Jace, catching on, nodded subtly. Jace  would keep an eye on Jonathan long enough for Alec to talk to him.

Alec walked over towards a large volume that had the signatures of kings and lords and ladies throughout history. Alec picked up the quill that was waiting for him, carefully scrawling his signature underneath Valentine’s who’s was just below Robert’s. Once he finished, Clary then stood up so she could sign her name next to Alec’s. 

“Let us celebrate in the dining hall.” Valentine clapped his hands and everyone sitting around slowly began to get to their feet.

Alec and Clary intertwined their arms as they stepped down from the throne, the first ones to leave the room with everyone else trailing behind.

0000

The celebration was much the same as the wedding, with Alec and Clary stuck in their seats as everyone came up to congratulate them. Alec also noticed, with barely contained disappointment, that Magnus, Madzie and Catarina were not present. He didn’t blame them if they didn’t want to be around the others. 

Feeling hungrier than he realized, Alec dug into his food, keeping one eye on Jonathan. He was very pleased to see that Jace had put himself next to him.

“As you know, I will continue to uphold my duty as your advisor, Alec. It is my hope that we will continue to let this kingdom flourish.” Valentine, who was sitting on the other side of Clary, spoke up. He made himself loud enough for others to hear him.

Alec turned to face him. “I am interested to see what you have to suggest in terms of helping the kingdom prosper. There are some regulations you put for during your rule that I plan to alter or remove completely.” 

Valentine was very good at schooling his features although Alec could see a twitch in his jaw from his words.

An hour or so later, once everyone got enough drink in them and began dancing, Alec finally allowed himself to step away. He made a beeline for Jace and Jonathan who were seated companionably in the corner of the room. They both stood as Alec approached them.

“King Alexander, it has a nice ring to it.” Jonathan said in way of greeting. He reached out a hand and Alec accepted it in a shake. 

“If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to talk to you privately.” Alec responded. He was happy to see his  friend, truly, but there was a conversation they needed to have. “You too.” He added with a glance at Jace.

Jonathan nodded, wearily looking over Alec’s shoulder for a moment before turning to leave. 

Raj and Pangborn turned to follow but Alec turned to face them. “Only Raj, if you please. Pangborn, please enjoy the food.” He commanded dismissively. 

Alec, Jonathan, Jace and Raj left the room, going into a smaller room that was being used for the food preparation and holding. Usually, it was the room where the food for the royal members of the family’s food was plated and then sent out. 

Pushing away a jar of what Jonathan assumed to be seasoning towards the other end of the table, he perched himself on top of it. 

Jace leaned against one of the walls while Alec remained standing in front of Jonathan.

“I fear a chastising coming on.” Jonathan said as he looked between the two.

“Do you really not know why we need to have a conversation?” Alec could feel the anger building inside of him. “Jonathan, you have not answered one letter I’ve sent you in all these months.” 

Jonathan arched his brow in confusion. “The only letter I received was for the coronation. Did you not receive my letter expressing my offense to not being invited to my sister’s wedding?”

Alec frowned even more than he knew was already on his face. “I invited you. Clary did as well.” he sighed. “We sent you another letter with our disappointment.” 

“Alec..I mean, my king..” Jonathan started but was cut off when Alec held up a hand. 

“Don’t start. It’s Alec.” 

Jonathan’s lips twitched as he wanted to smile. “Alec. I have heard nothing since my father sent me away.” 

“Why were you sent away?” Alec tried to school his features and find kindness instead. 

Jonathan looked down at his hands before back into Alec’s face. “A few days before I was sent away, my father discovered something about me.” He could tell Alec wanted him to say it but he pursed his lips.

“I know about Andrew. I’m disappointed you never confided in me. We are friends, Jonathan.” Alec decided on instead. He didn’t have the patience to pull the facts out of him.

Jonathan blanched but then nodded. “My father said I needed to be careful. That we needed to be careful. He suggested the greenhouses, that no one is ever in there. He said there were eyes all over the castle.” He bit his lip hard as he paused. “It was a setup and I didn’t even consider it at first. I was too surprised by the boy who had found us too quickly.”

Alec glanced over at Jace, remembering that day when he’d told him what he had seen. 

“And when the guards came...I knew this was the intended plan. I was a coward. I froze when they pulled Andrew away.” Jonathan swiped his sleeve over his eyes. “When I got back inside, my bags were already packed and father said I needed to learn how to deal with the consequences of my shameful transgressions. He said he would be sending Andrew to the infantry to remind him how to be a man.” 

The infantry living in the south, protecting their border from any potential attacks that could come from Edom. There had not been any attempt at war for many years but Valentine was paranoid. The men spent hours and hours a day working in the hot sun. They tended to get sick from poor living conditions and lack of nutrient rich foods. Alec wanted to do something about that as well.

Alec shook his head. “He lied to you, in more than one way it seems. I’ve prevented Andrew from being executed a few times now. He’s still in the dungeons. I can’t get him out because I needed the other man in the situation to speak out, whether for or against him.” 

Jonathan’s face fell into shock, relief and grief all at once. “But he’s here? He’s alive?” 

Alec nodded. “He is not doing well, but yes, he is still alive.” 

“Thank Raziel.” Jonathan sighed, a small laugh mixed with a sob came out. “Alec, I swear to you, I didn’t know. Why would my father do this? Why would he set me up? Do you think he intervened with our correspondences?”  

Alec had been thinking that was so even if he didn’t want to admit it. 

“It makes sense that he prevented us from communicating but what is his endgame? Now that you are here, you can set the record straight and Andrew will be released.” Alec had gone to run his hands through his hair but paused, not wanting to accidentally knock the crown off of his head.  

“Whatever he is planning...” Jace started as he leaned off of the wall, “he is out of time because now you’re king.” 

Alec knew Jace was right. “We need to be vigilant.” He glanced over towards Raj who also nodded. 

0000

After coming back to the celebration, Alec said goodbye to Clary, to be respectful of his wife and left. He didn’t feel much like having to deal with the happiness in the room. All he wanted to do was throttle Valentine and demand him to spill his secrets. He was up to something, that much was clear, but what, he didn’t know.

He found that he was walking towards the area of the castle where the Kalos stayed without putting much conscious thought to it.

The first room was the dining room and he was delighted to see Catarina, Madzie, Magnus and Iris sitting together having dinner.

“Am I interrupting?” Alec asked by the doorway.

“Alec!” Madzie greeted him excitedly, hoping off of the stool she was sitting on and running towards him. He knelt down, scooping her up into his arms.

“Now Madzie, he is the king now, you can’t do that anymore.” Iris chastised her. 

She began to frown but Alec just kissed her on her cheek, making a loud smacking sound which  made her giggle and push his face away. “She’s allowed. I’m king now, so it’s a rule.” 

“Congratulations Alec and Happy Birthday.” Catarina said to him as she moved so he could sit down beside her.

“Being a king looks good on you.” Magnus added with a playful smile on his face. 

“You’re the boss now.” Madzie said matter-of-factly. 

Alec smirked and nodded. “Yes, that seems to be the case.”

“Can I have a pony?” Madzie suddenly asked, her eyes going large.

The adults present couldn’t help but chuckle at that. 

“I’ll see what I can do.” Alec promised. 

Iris stood up, collecting their plates that had sat there empty between them. “Madzie...you only get ponies if you help with the chores.”  

Madzie groaned, looking pitifully at Alec. He looked between the three before looking back at her. “I may be the boss but she does have a point.”

Pouting, Madzie hopped off of Alec’s lap and followed Iris. 

“How are you feeling?” Catarina asked as she reached over, placing her hand on his cheek.

“I actually feel okay. My body is a little achy but that is all.” He answered her honestly.  

 “You look better.” Catarina said cheerfully.

Magnus and Catarina had scheduled two visits per week since Max’s funeral to focus on Alec’s ailment. The beginning several sessions had strictly been on healing. Magnus had repeated what he’d done when he’d collapsed from his riding day. He would focus on only one portion of  his body. Having to be the one to give Magnus his energy to use his power, exhausted Alec so they couldn’t do much more in a session.

Once Magnus had cleared his body of most of the mysterious ailment, he would then examine him. He would frown every time and he and Catarina would stand over Alec, observing the healed areas and where the ailment would inevitably start forming again.

They worried it was a disease that there would be no cure for. They could keep removing it but  it seemed to keep coming back.

“I probably wouldn’t be here without either of you.” Alec admitted, not that that was difficult to do. He was certain he almost died a few times and only they had managed to prevent it.  “I promise, starting tomorrow I’m going to use my position to make things right.” 

They both smiled. Catarina looked between them before doing her worst attempt at a fake yawn.  

“Well, it has been an eventful day. I will be turning in for the night. Don’t stay up too late.” Catarina told both of them as she got up to leave.

“Subtle.” Magnus mumbled once she left the room.  

“Very.” Alec agreed.

“How are you really feeling?” Magnus asked, a quick glance towards Raj before he reached over, gently placing his hand on top of Alec’s. Alec turned his hand so he could hold it.

“Nervous. I don’t want to mess anything up. I want my family, my friends and my people to be  proud of me and our kingdom,” Alec confessed with a tired breath.

“You might mess up a little along the way, but I believe if your intentions are pure, you’re going to make and see the changes that you want.” Magnus said, his words like a soothing balm on Alec’s anxiety.

“I do not mean to be so forward.” Alec smiled, looking at the other male. “But once I manage to change certain facts about my marriage, I would like to properly court you.”

Magnus’ eyes grew in astonishment. He smiled warmly at him. “That is forward but I accept. I am a patient man, Alexander, and you are worth the wait.” 

“I fear my patience is not as great as yours.” Alec told him, bringing his hand up and kissing his knuckles gently.

“I have something for you.” Magnus said suddenly as he stood up and left the room without another word.

Alec turned in his seat and was just beginning to get to his feet, thinking maybe he was meant to follow him, when Magnus returned, a large package in his arms.

He placed it carefully on the table in front of him. Alec pushed aside the parchment the item was wrapped in, revealing a closed case. He fiddled with the buckles, lifting the lid and gasped.

Inside was a beautiful, silver bow. The handle wrapped in a tight black leather. The string fixed taut in place. Beside it laid 5 arrows, their feathers red. 

“This is beautiful.” Alec whispered in awe as he carefully lifted the bow out of the case.

“It is made of Edom silver. Stronger than normal.” Magnus explained to him as he watched Alec. 

“Edom? How did you get it?” Alec asked curiously. He knew very well of Edom silver and their  metal. Their weapons were a match for anyone who would dare fight them.

“I borrowed a messenger and sent them along to a friend who would be able to procure the item.” Magnus informed him casually. 

“This had to have cost a fortune. Magnus…” Alec would give it back, even if he really, really loved it. 

“A fortune well spent. You would hurt me dearly if you do not wish to keep it.” Magnus feigned sadness but then grinned as Alec leaned over and kissed him. It had been a while since they had last managed a careful kiss. “You are bold today. Are you sure you are alright?” Magnus  teased him as he went to caress the side of Alec’s face.

Alec swatted playfully at his hand. “I am exhilarated. A change is coming.”

Their moment only lasted a few more minutes until Lorenzo entered the room, making a beeline for the ale they had. Alec nodded towards the other male before excusing himself for the night.

CHAPTER 15

Catarina rubbed her temples as she looked over her and Magnus’ notes. They had been able to heal Alec completely but it would start to come back again. Catarina had never seen anything like this before. 

“Staring at that isn’t going to give you the answer.” Magnus said as he joined her, carrying a plate of food. 

“What is that?” she asked as she eyed the salad.

“Being the king’s Aligned has given me better food options.” He shrugged as he placed it down.

Catarina smiled as she rolled her eyes fondly at him. “You would use your position for better food.” 

“Perks, my dear.” He said, pointing at her with his fork before stabbing the lettuce and a tomato. 

“If we could find a way to bottle your healing essence, then maybe he could live his life with just  a tonic as an aid.” She suggested, unsure what else could help him apart from their weekly healings.

“If only it worked that way.” He sighed, stuffing the food into his mouth. Magnus made a face before spitting out the salad.

Catarina looked grossed out. “Magnus, into a napkin.” 

“Ugh...this is awful.” He complained, pushing the plate away from him like a child.

“Not used to kingly food?” She teased him as he frowned pitifully. 

“I guess not.” Magnus grumbled.

“Is there something he is doing that causes the ailment to come back? There is a sickness I have heard of, that attacks the cells of a person. It does not seem to be something that can be easily overcome.” she suggested.

“No..I don’t think it is that. I have tried to heal those with that before and the affected cells die. They cannot regenerate into healthy ones. When I heal him, it is as if nothing was wrong in the first place.” Magnus explained to her, remembering the sorrow that had come with being unable to help those who needed him. 

“Physical exertion?” Catarina threw out. “He is healthy, despite this. He could run a mile without breaking a sweat.”

“He doesn’t even seem to enjoy the taste of alcohol.” Magnus thought it was a pity. He loved alcohol.

“He eats foods that are good for him and does not overdo it. He will never have king’s disease.” Catarina sighed but then dropped the pencil she had been holding. 

Her eyes snapped up as the realization mirrored on Magnus’ face.

“Could it be that simple?” Magnus asked, both of them looking at the salad on the table. He grabbed the plate, bringing it close to him. He picked at it with his fork.

“What didn’t you like about it?” Catarina’s voice was tight.

“The dressing, it is off.” It didn’t taste completely horrible. “It is a balsamic but not like what I’ve eaten here before. It is not the same.”

“Oh my heavens, Magnus. It was right in front of us the whole time.” Catarina felt ill. 

“Someone has been poisoning him. It makes sense. How else has it infiltrated him time after time? It was worse in his organs, especially his kidneys and liver.” Magnus felt dizzy and angry. “Who has access to his meals?” And, was anyone else being poisoned here?

Catarina’s eyes practically popped out of her sockets. She stood up, slamming her hand on the table. “The food is prepared by the cooks but Alec, Isabelle, Clary and Valentine’s meals are prepared by Iris.” She walked away from the table. “I am going to get Clary. I need her to test the food to see if we’re right. Go to Alec. If anything, tell him not to eat anything for the next couple hours. I’ll meet you back here.”

Magnus stood up, making his way quickly towards Alec’s room.

0000

It had been a week into Alec’s rule and Valentine was not happy. Alec managed to reverse heavy taxes on their people, removed Andrew, and several other prisoners who had had minor infractions, from their sentences, and was holding a meeting to remove Dieudonne from his position. Andrew was currently resting in a home Alec had acquired near the castle. 

Currently, all of the advisors were shouting. Alec wished Jace, Clary or Izzy was with him. He wished more that it was Magnus.

“I have been treasurer for this kingdom for 40 years. You cannot simply remove me on a whim!” Dieudonne shouted angrily. Alec knew it was grounds to send him to the dungeon to cool off but he allowed it. 

“He is right, Alec. His wisdom on the affairs of our coin and riches is extensive. You need him here.” Valentine reminded him. Alec waved his hand to silence Valentine.

“Dieudonne, I witnessed you performing the unforgivable on a woman in the village when she could not pay. I sent trusted knights to continue following you on your collection outings. It was not the only time you had done so. You also punished children if there was no woman available for your vile acts. Those who attended you, Van Ness and Roberts, they are also dismissed. The three of you have until midnight tonight to leave our kingdom and our lands. You are not welcome here.” Alec’s voice rang in anger, remembering what he’d seen with renewed hatred. “And if any of you are ever seen, I will find your victims and ask them what they would like to see become of you.” 

He stood up, stretching his back from sitting for so long. “I expect a list of new potential treasurers by the end of the week.”

Walking into his chambers, Alec was surprised that Clary was not there. Usually around this time, they would have lunch together. He wasn’t offended however, not minding some peace  and quiet. He was preparing for the most difficult removal, being Valentine. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, as many people were in his pocket. Many of the lords and ladies of nearby kingdoms would also not be so pleased. They believed some of his radical rules against people. Alec had tried to free the Kalos and exterminate the Aligned ceremony but had barely finished his sentence before there was an uproar. Valentine had given many of them people to use as tools as they wouldn’t be so easily swayed. Alec knew he could do it though. He would remove  Valentine and then threaten taxes on goods for everyone who went against him. Then he would change everyone’s opinions of the Kalos. He promised Magnus and he would see it through.

He had nearly finished his lunch when his bedroom door was flung open, slamming into the wall. Startled, Alec stood up quickly, unsure of the threat. Pangborn had burst into the room with Raj right behind him.

“What is it?” Alec asked as he looked between them.

“It’s your friend, Jace. Come, quickly!” Pangborn told him as he already turned to run back out of the room.

Alec felt his heart drop into his stomach as he ran after Pangborn.

They ran down the corridor, stopping in front of a staircase that would take them up one of the towers. Alec knew Jace had used to enjoy being up in the towers, gazing outside through the windows at the land. He also knew that Jace hadn’t gone back up into one since Max’s death. But, he didn’t question it as they started up the stairs.  

Pausing and turning in his run, he grunted as Raj ran into him. “Get Magnus! Bring him here!” Hesitation on his face, Raj nodded before turning around to find him. 

It took Alec no time to catch up to Pangborn, stumbling into the large room. There was a fire going from the fireplace and Jace, lying on his front near it. Alec didn’t register that there were others in the room at the moment, his vision zeroing in on his friend. His brother, even if it were not by blood.

“Jace!” He called to him as he landed hard on his knees and turned over the blond. He placed his hands, one against Jace’s throat and the other on his chest, breathing out a sigh of relief when he felt his heartbeat.

Alec looked over Jace’s body, looking for a wound but not finding any. 

“A good lesson in being a king is to never lead the way into a room.” Valentine’s voice said from behind him. Alec felt his body go tense, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end.

He turned, looking around the room. Standing there was Valentine, Lorenzo, and in place of Valentine’s usual royal guards, Van Ness and Roberts. Where had Pangborn gone?

“What is this?” Alec asked as he started to get to his feet. He wasn’t fast enough though as the two guards came over, shoving him to the ground.

Alec tried to gain traction but he hadn’t moved fast enough, his arms being wrenched behind his back. They gave him an extra shove into the ground before stepping away. Alec maneuvered himself until he was able to sit up.

“What are you doing?” Alec asked, his voice practically growling at Valentine. 

Valentine walked over so he could kneel in front of Alec. “Well you see, by now, you should  have been bedridden for months. It seems as though my slow acting plan backfired.” He tutted, clapping his hand hard against the side of Alec’s face. Alec jerked, removing his face from the mans’ touch.

Alec glared at him before turning his head to glance at Jace in fear.

“Oh don’t worry, he’s not dying, yet. I just had Lorenzo put him to sleep. It’s a shame he won’t be awake to watch you perish.” Valentine sighed as if that actually pained him to know that. “I’ll remove him soon enough. The Blackwells would love to have him, to finish the job they started so  long ago.” 

Alec gasped as if he were being punched in the gut. “Finish the job?”  He felt ill. 

“Oh yes. The Blackwells attacked when they were supposed to continue with the ruse of a truce. They were meant to kill him along with his parents. Some people just cannot follow directions.” He looked offended. “And now I must see this through myself.” 

“You expected me to die.” It wasn’t a question. “What have you done to me?” Alec felt a little relieved to know there was an answer to why he was sick but he dreaded it all the same. He wished Jace were awake, if only to hear that his parents had been set up.

“Poison. It’s so simple, don’t you think?” Valentine stood up. “I had hoped that the female Kakos would continue with her little potions and herbs.” He looked angrily at Alec. “But then you had to save Magnus Bane and it was no time before he realized he could heal all of the progress I’ve made over the years.”

Alec felt like he was going to be sick. Years? He had been unknowingly poisoned for years?

“After the day you’ve had, there’s little time left before my departure, I can only surmise.” Valentine turned to face Alec once more. “It seems I will have to finish the job all my own.”

0000

Magnus knew Alec would be in his room at this time. He wasn’t always on an exact schedule but lately, especially with having become king, he was making it a better habit.  

As he approached the corridor, Magnus frowned. Usually Raj or the other one would be in the hall. Maybe he was somewhere else? 

Magnus stood near the door for a few minutes, trying to think of where else Alec could be. Maybe he had snuck out to work with his new bow? The thought of observing him do so sounded enticing. He was just going to step away when something on the floor caught the light of a torch just at a perfect angle.

Leaning down, Magnus squinted at the substance. He reached out, swiping his finger against the, what he realized as a sticky liquid, holding it up into the light.

Blood.

Magnus grabbed the handle of the door and shoved the door open, only able to partially open it as something obstructed the door from fully swinging. 

He glanced around it seeing the obstruction. Squeezing his way through the gap in the doorway, Magnus fell down to his knees.

“Raj?” Magnus asked gingerly as he reached for the man’s neck.

Raj gasped, his body tensing before his glazed eyes found Magnus’ face.

“What happened?” Magnus’ eyes roamed over him, seeing the injury in his stomach. Blood was sluggishly trickling out of the wound, blood pooling on the ground around him. He needed to get him help and fast. “I’m going to get help.” 

Raj grabbed Magnus’ arm to stop him from leaving. “Find Alec...the first tower past the corridor.”  Raj coughed as blood dribbled out of his mouth. “Pangborn, betrayed us.” He groaned as he tried to stand and failed. “Jace might be hurt.” 

Magnus felt his heart beat painfully in his chest as he listened to him.

He ran over, grabbing the first cloth item he could find and balled it up, pressing it against Raj’s stomach.”Keep pressure on it.”

And with that, Magnus ran out of the room. 

0000

“You’re not going to get away with this.” Alec managed to get out as Van Ness and Roberts came towards him once more. He tried to kick out but was kicked in the stomach for it. He doubled over, giving them the advantage as he tried to breathe. Van Ness grabbed Alec’s legs as Roberts wrapped rope around his ankles. 

“I will. You see, you were so distraught that little Maxwell had died, you couldn’t bear to live with the guilt. The pressure of being king, the unhappiness in a forced marriage that you think you hide but you do not do well, it’s too much.” Valentine explained to him proudly. He walked over towards the window, resting his arms on the landing. 

“No one will believe you. Those who know me, won’t believe you.” He amended, since Valentine could be persuasive.  

“I don’t think it will be any of your concern.” Valentine shrugged. He turned to face Alec. “I’m tired of hearing him.” 

Alec tried to move out of the way as a cloth was quickly fastened around his head, tightening over his mouth, effectively silencing him.

“I wished for you to die fretfully in your sleep but this is twice you’ve eluded me.” Valentine looked pained, as if Alec had been a personal pest. “I had hoped your parents would have brought you along with them on that trip. You would have gone down with them.”

Alec shouted into the gag, trying and failing to remove the bindings around his wrists.

Valentine laughed. “Oh yes, it was no accident. Your mother, at the last moment, did not want to take you on a political journey so you remained here instead. It would have been much easier simply marrying off your sister to Jonathan. She would have been much easier to control.”

Alec felt his eyes start to burn with hot tears. 

Valentine walked towards a table, grabbing a large knife used to cut up large roasts for dinners. 

Alec fell backwards as he tried to scramble away from Valentine as he approached him. He had nowhere to go; with Jace’s body on one side and the fireplace on the other. 

Valentine twirled the knife in his hand. He was just about to kneel down as approaching footsteps were heard behind him.

Everyone turned as they saw Pangborn, hands on Magnus’ arms, shoving the man into the room.

“He was on his way up here.” Pangborn told them as Magnus hit the ground. 

Valentine moved quickly towards Lorenzo, snatching his hand in his own.

“To subdue!” 

“To subdue.” Lorenzo parroted, his voice sounding distressed.  

Magnus gasped as yellow wisps of Lorenzo’s essence wrapped tightly around him, binding his arms to his sides and locking his legs together. He fell to the side, taking in Alec across from him.

“Why didn’t you stop him?” Valentine asked as he glared at Pangborn.

“I just...I thought...” he stuttered out.

Valentine rolled his eyes. “You don’t think, that’s your problem. Why I chose you to spy on Alec, I will never understand. You gave me nothing in all your time with him. Idiot!” He shouted, getting his face close to Pangborn’s.

“I’m sorry, my king.” He squeaked out. 

He turned back towards Alec.  

“Now...where were we?” he asked with a chuckle as he walked over towards the bound man. 

He grabbed Alec by the front of his shirt, dragging him away from the wall he had managed to  lean against so he was lying on his back instead.

Without warning and a broken cry from Magnus, Valentine raised his arm, and moved it swiftly down, stabbing Alec in his stomach. Alec gasped into the gag, his body arching painfully as if it  could expel the object.

“That look in your eye. I’ve seen it before. That fear, the pain, afraid of what’s to come.” He twisted the knife, causing Alec to grunt again as his body spasmed. 

Valentine stood back up so he could examine his work. “It was the same look on little Maxwell’s face before I dropped him out of the window.” He nodded his head towards the window behind him.

Alec felt as if he’d forgotten to breathe as he momentarily forgot about the wound in his torso,  his eyes looking fearfully at the window. Valentine stepped into his gaze, bending down. He brought the knife down, letting the tip of it drag against Alec’s face, nicking it in a couple places. “And now it seems as though, in your misery, you decided to kill your Kakos too. All that show to save his life only to end it.”

Magnus was practically vibrating as he tried to free himself of Lorenzo’s grasp. It felt very similar to when he had kept him down when he’d first arrived. Magnus could sense that his power  wasn’t as strong as before, likely because Magnus was just a man, powerless this time.

He kept his eyes on Alec, willing him to keep breathing even as blood poured out of him. It was all too familiar, having just come from Raj who was suffering the same injury.

He glanced at Valentine who started to step closer to him. 

“This is the most satisfying way to kill you, Magnus. Being able to do it by my own hand. How delightful.” Valentine grinned as he knelt down. 

“Why do you...you hold so much anger in your heart for me?” Magnus asked, his voice flickering towards Alec a moment before back to Valentine. Alec’s body looked like it was shaking. 

“It is nothing personal, if not to piss off your father.” Valentine looked over Magnus’ body, as if deciding where he wanted to stab him. 

Magnus only had a second to comprehend what he had said before two things happened at once:

Alec screamed into his gag and then...

Magnus’ power burst out of him in a riptide. He felt it the moment his power incinerated Lorenzo’s, giving him control of his limbs once more. Before Magnus had a conscious thought  about it, his power rippled out from his body, shoving everyone, except for Alec and Jace, against the walls. He stood up on shaky legs, looking around the room. 

He turned towards the two guards he recognized from the outing with Alec. He extended out his  arm towards them, palm up. He pulled his arm back and then back out, his power shooting out of his palm and slamming into them. They fell to the ground as they grabbed at their throats, gasping for air. Magnus then repeated the move on Lorenzo this time, slamming the man’s head into the wall, watching as he slid down unconscious. He then turned towards Pangborn. The man looked to be cowering, as much as he could being pinned to the wall.

“P-please…” he begged. 

“You stabbed Raj. I don’t think I like you very much.” Magnus responded as he used his power to mimic what he’d done to Lorenzo, though much harder.

“Stop this at once Kakos! I said you were a monster! You’re all monsters! Every last one of you! I’m going to kill you all! There will be none of your kind left!” Valentine threatened as he struggled to get off of the wall.

Magnus took a deep breath, his power slamming back into him causing Valentine to stumble from the wall.  

“You do have honor to fight me after all.” Valentine chuckled, still holding the knife. 

Magnus glared at him. “There is no honor in a man like you.” Magnus moved both of his arms out in front of him and cried out, as much of his power as he could manage bursting out of him. “Oh and your plan for an heir? Clary was never pregnant.” The blue flames smashed into Valentine’s chest, throwing him off of his feet. Before he could make so much as make a sound of surprise, he was sent through the window.

Feeling adrenaline rolling off of him in waves, Magnus jumped as he heard someone coughing. He was ready to attack but relaxed when he saw it was Jace coming around. His eyes moved to Alec who wasn’t moving.

He fell to the ground beside him. “Come on Alec.” he whispered. 

“Magnus...what...what’s happened?” Jace asked, his voice thick with sleep. 

His eyes snapped over towards the blond. “We were all attacked. I can’t explain. Get help. Raj is bleeding out in Alec’s room.”

“Alec?!” Jace gasped as he moved closer to his friend. 

Magnus reached over, grabbing Jace’s arm. “I will save him. Go!”

Jace scrambled out of the room as Magnus focused on Alec.

“Alexander?” He asked nervously, pressing his hand against his neck.

He didn’t feel a pulse.

Chapter 16

Magnus closed his eyes, placing both of his hands on Alec’s stomach. He ignored the way his blood felt on his hands. He couldn't think about it right now. 

“I’m not going to lose you.” Magnus said out loud. 

He inhaled deeply, his power feeling restless and out of place. It had been so long since it had been his again that it wasn’t sure how to settle. He didn’t like feeling like this. It was hard to get himself to focus. “Come on.” he muttered, pinching his face in concentration. 

He let his mind focus on Alec and his kindness. Alec, saving his life nine months ago. Alec helping Madzie with her food. His love for his little brother and sister and Jace. The way he was protective and friendly with those who were meant to protect him. The conviction in his voice when he spoke about change. The first time Alec had kissed him with tears of pain in his eyes. And then surprise and what looked like hope.

Magnus grit his teeth as he felt Alec’s body start to mend itself. It was like before, when he would remove the ailment, poison, from him. When his body would listen to his healing guidance and do what it needed to survive.

Abruptly, Alec’s body moved as Alec took as deep a breath as he could, his eyes flying open. Magnus moved his hands, one of them reaching up and pulling the cloth away from his mouth. 

“You’re alright...look at me.” Magnus said to him as Alec’s eyes flew wildly around the room.  Alec heard him, his gaze meeting Magnus’ steadier one.

Magnus leaned over him, gasping as he saw his hands. He reached down quickly, yanking a burning coal out of his grip. He then went to work on the bindings, releasing him. Magnus then moved so he could reach Alec’s ankles, untying them as well.

Alec sluggishly moved his arms so he was no longer putting his weight on them.  

“It worked?” Alec asked after a few minutes, looking around the room.

“What worked?” Magnus asked. 

“The coals...I thought if I ruined my alignment mark, then maybe I could break the binding.” Alec told him as he brought his ruined right hand up so he could examine it.

Magnus laughed, shaking his head. “If I had known something like that would have done it, I would have burned your hand myself.” 

He grabbed Alec by the wrist of his injured hand, holding it palm up. 

“Let’s see what we can do.” Magnus wiggled his fingers before starting to push healing magic  into his palm.

“Don’t fix it completely.” Alec told him as he curled his damaged fingers. “If you can take the pain away, that would be enough.”

Magnus looked at him curiously. “If it heals and the alignment is back, you could be bound to me again. If it heals completely, it will be as if I’ve never been marked. I want your people and mine to know that we can fix this.”

Magnus leaned down, kissing him on his lips. “You nearly died and yet, here you are planning for the future.”

Alec smiled as he kissed him. “It’s my job.” 

Magnus rolled his eyes fondly. “I look forward to your pillow talk.” 

Hearing shouts and footsteps, Jace, followed by several guards made it back.

0000

A couple days later, Alec stood out on his balcony from his office quarters, looking out at the kingdom. Everyone was out and about on their day, their lives barely affected by what had happened in the castle.

Pangborn was sentenced to imprisonment for an indeterminate amount of time in the dungeons for his betrayal. Van Ness and Roberts had died from self-defense during their attempt to murder the king. Lorenzo was under house arrest in his quarters until Magnus and the Kalos were able to determine his loyalty. Since Alec had lived the night he was meant to die, Dieudonne did as he ordered and fled. 

Catarina had confirmed that there were traces of a strain of poison in the salad. She had quickly been able to trace it back to Iris who had also been placed in the dungeon. Catarina, with Clary’s help, had also been able to save Raj who was recovering for a few days in his quarters. Catarina and Magnus had checked over Alec, Isabelle and Clary, to look for the poison. Alec had the most inside of his body and it seemed that Isabelle was showing signs of it too. Catarina  assured them that it must have started recently, as her body was barely affected. Clary was clear. 

Valentine’s body was found mangled barely beyond recognition near the stables. Alec ordered his body be buried in an unmarked grave away from their kingdom.

Alec had sat Jace down the day after the assassination attempt so he could tell him about what Valentine had done. Jace kept a brave face even though Alec was sure he wanted his emotions  to show. Alec didn’t blame him though. He was allowed to handle the blow in whatever way he wanted. He wasn’t a child anymore that would burst into tears. He confessed to Alec that Magnus had mentioned something similar about his family being betrayed, but hadn’t believed it at the time. Alec then suggested that Jace accompany Clary to a private cottage estate for a few weeks, to keep her safe. Clary was mourning the loss of her father, and unexpected miscarriage of a child that never existed, so it was best for her to get away. Clary truly was upset about her father’s death, even if she knew he was a vile man, but she put on a show in front of the public. Jace thanked Alec with a tight hug before going to make the arrangements. 

After everything that had happened to them in a few months time, Isabelle requested to leave for a little while. She wanted to spend time with their cousin Aline. She wanted to walk down the halls that their little brother had spent time learning in. She wanted to meet Helen and help with the wedding. Her smile was returning as she explained all of this to Alec.

“Take as much time as you need. I understand.” Alec told her as he hugged her. She hadn’t let go of him the entire night after he’d been nearly murdered and now, she often kept hold of him in some way when they were together. 

“Thank you Alec.” She headed out of the room but turned to look at him. “And with any luck, I might be bringing home a potential suitor.”

Alec sputtered. “Izzy! No! I can barely get this separation finalized, I’m not going to start looking..”

Izzy rolled her eyes. “Not for you, for me! Helen’s cousin is going to be there too. Simon Lewis.” 

“Who?” Alec asked but she just laughed and left the room.  

For the first time in a long time, Alec felt an odd sort of peace settling inside of him. Everyone he cared about, except one, was safe now. 

“Care for some company?” Magnus’ voice said from behind him. Before Alec could turn around, Magnus came into his peripheral, their shoulders brushing.

“Have you all come to any decisions?” Alec asked curiously, angling his body towards him.

Magnus sighed, obviously troubled by the betrayals that had occurred. 

Alec reached over, taking Magnus’ hand.

“Iris is a traitor. There is no doubt there. She held no remorse for what she was doing to you. She did confirm that it had only been a month since she started administering the poison to Isabelle per Valentine’s order.” Magnus explained to him.

“How long for me?” Alec asked, unsure if he truly wanted to know.

“Many, many years. She was microdosing you.” Magnus couldn’t imagine doing something so heinous. 

“And Lorenzo?” Alec ignored the friendly looks Iris had given him over the years. It was hard to  reconcile. 

“I believe he was afraid for his own life. He had been miserable for a long time. I think he is traumatized by it all. And…” Magnus said, turning his free hand to let sparks of his essence dance along his fingers. “We found out that once the non-magic Aligned dies, our power returns to us. He says it is weak but he can feel it again.” 

“That is good news, although we may not want to let the masses know of that yet.” Alec didn’t want to be the cause that lords and ladies were suddenly being murdered by their abused Aligned. 

“You’re right. We encourage the burning to remove it first. And if there are those who refuse to do so, you can tell them what we know.” Magnus said, a thinly veiled threat in his voice.

“Izzy wants to try first. She’s going to attempt to separate from Madzie before she leaves.”  Alec informed him which caused him to smile. “If all goes well, Clary will do it next.” 

“And Jonathan?” Magnus asked, thinking back to Iris and her resentment.

“Jonathan is currently nursing Andrew back to health. He said he would be willing but he knows  what she has done. It is up to you and the rest of the Kalos that want to have a word about it.” Alec explained. He knew that Andrew was feeling better but knew that both of his friends were likely relieved to be together again. 

Magnus nodded. “You did mean it. To give us a voice.” He turned to face Alec.

Alec turned his body more so they were nearly chest to chest. He reached over, placing his hand gently on Magnus’ face. “I’m a man of my word. I want you to feel like an equal Magnus. You and the rest of the Kalos. I want you to be my equal.” The last part coming out quieter.

“Your equal? Alexander?” Magnus asked, searching his face for any sign of falsehood. 

“I mean it. I…” Alec ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. Only you. You’re the only person I want to be around at all times. I want to know what you’re thinking and I want your opinion. I want to confess to you in the night my worries and I want to wake with you with the sun with your smile. I...”

Magnus closed the distance between them, silencing Alec with a kiss. His lips lingered against Alec’s, enjoying the way his soft lips were gentle against his own. He couldn't help the grin on his face as he felt Alec’s lips suck Magnus’ bottom lip between them. Magnus moved his arms so they wrapped around Alec’s neck.  

“You’re something else, Alexander Lightwood.” Magnus pecked his lips playfully.

Alec moved so he could wrap his arms around Magnus’ waist, pulling him closer. “All I want to be is yours.” 

EPILOGUE

Two Months Later.

Alec came out to the top of the steps of the castle as he watched the entourage coming closer. He knew the banners and who was approaching, even if the guard who had informed him when  he saw them didn’t tell him first.

“What is he doing here?” Jace asked as he followed Alec, having become his Advisor officially.

Alec shook his head. “I don’t know. Those aren’t war bannerments.” 

Once the horses got as close as they could, the king of Edom was helped off of his horse by his men. He, flanked by four more guards, stepped calmly towards Alec. Alec’s own guards tensed. He raised a hand to tell them to stand down. 

“King Asmodeus Shamdom. Welcome to the kingdom of Idris.” Alec bowed his head politely.

King Asmodeus returned the bow. “It is an honor to journey all this way. I did not believe the day would ever come that I would cross our borders without bloodshed.”

Alec heard steps behind him, knowing without looking that it was Magnus joining them.

“I am grateful that you share my vision of peace.” Alec responded to him. “But I must ask, what brings you here that a messenger could not say in your stead? Not that it is an offense that you are here. You are welcomed.”

Asmodeus smiled brightly as his eye moved from Alec and shifted to his left.

“I wanted to know if my son was ever going to tell me that he was courting the King of Idris.” 

END

[dimpled-gukkie]

Cigarettes and Lollipops

moodboard made by @i-am-today-we-will-survive

a/n: I hope you guys like this, I tried switching up my writing style so tell me what you think!

Pairing: Punk!Kim Taehyung x reader (ft. Jeon Jungkook & Jimin)

Genre: Exes to lovers, angst and fluff

Warning: allusions to feeling depressed and allusions to sex, light cursing, alcohol, betrayal

Word Count: 8.6k 

Summary: Taehyung had your heart since the moment you met him, so when he just up and leaves you can’t help but feel broken. When he comes back to town you’re conflicted since you still love him but one of your best friends vehemently hates him. It’s just so hard to say no when he looks like that. 

Smoke twirls around his fingers, winding intricately through them as he holds the lit cigarette. To others he is intimidating and scary, but to you he just looks like the obnoxious caterpillar from Alice in Wonderland. He’s leaned against the wall outside of the club, the bottom of his right boot pressing into the brick. A leather jacket protects him from the bite of the chilly night air, and just like him it stands out starkly. Graffiti drawings and words decorate the black material, yellow accents and metal pieces lining the right side. Leather pants cover his bottom half, reflecting a soft light in the streak of moonlight lighting the dark alley. You lean against the opposite wall as you stare, waiting for him to say something. 

“You shouldn’t be alone at this time of night.” He doesn’t look at you as speaks, just staring blankly ahead. 

“I’m not alone. I’m with you.” You smirk and push yourself off the wall, gently wrapping your fingers around the cigarette. Your fingers brush over his own and your body shivers, your tongue running over your dry lips. Taking the cigarette you put it out, smothering the flame underneath your own boots. When you look back up his eyes are smoldering just like the end of a lit cigarette making you suck in a sharp breath. His eyes fall to your lips and hold there, your tongue darting out again in the corner in anticipation. 

“Stop doing that.” His voice is between a groan and a growl, strained by desperation and self-control. 

“Doing what?” You ask leaning in even farther. There’s only a few inches between you now and his leg drops down, letting you in even further. His hair falls into his eyes and you reach up a hand to move the strands away. They’re soft under your touch, and you stand up on your toes to push more of them away. His breath quickens into soft puffs, gently caressing your cheeks now that you’re almost eye level. You swallow when you notice the flicker in his eyes has turned into a blazing wildfire. 

“What do you want from me?” He whispers, voice raspy. His hands clench and unclench at his side like he’s practicing self-restraint. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” You ask leaning even closer so that if you speak another word your lips will brush against one another. “I want you.” 

You shake your head violently as Jimin snaps his fingers in front of your face. “Hey creeper, you’ve been staring at him for five minutes now.” You blink a few times before turning your gaze away from the corner of the club. The corner where Taehyung stands in a painted leather jacket and leather pants. Jungkook snickers at your darkening cheeks and you smack his bicep. 

“Shut up! At least I wasn’t afraid to talk to the opposite gender for two years.” Jungkook puts his hand over his heart like you’ve just betrayed him. 

“Excuse me, I don’t deserve this treatment. Jimin is the one who called you a creeper and yet I get smacked and made fun of. This is favoritism at its finest.” He huffs. “Besides at least I’m not hopelessly pining after someone.” Your face falls a little and Jungkook’s eyes widen as he realizes what he said. 

“I-I’m- Y/n I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.” He takes a step towards you but you put your hand out and place it gently on his chest. 

“It’s okay Kook, I deserved that one. I-I’ll be right back okay?” Before they say anything else you duck between a crowd of people, ignoring your best friends’ calls for you. You don’t stop pushing until you’re outside the club and hurry towards the side of the building where it’s dark enough to hide your tears. You turn your head up to the night sky and admire the stars and the moon, trying to distract yourself from focusing on the fact that your heart feels like it’s being ripped to shreds. He didn’t mean it, he didn’t mean it, he didn’t mean it. You sniffle a few times but freeze when the sound of rusty hinges fills the alleyway. Slowly lowering your gaze to face the alley, you watch in horror as a familiar figure emerges from a back door and pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. He seems to notice your stare because his head immediately whips towards your direction and he tips the pack towards you. 

“Smoke?” He asks. You shake your head, nose scrunching in distaste. “So what are you doing out here?” He asks, pulling out a cigarette for himself. 

“Just came out here for some fresh air.” He slips the lighter back into his pocket, twirling the cigarette around like it’s a pencil. 

“So you came into an alley lined with cigarette butts?” He smirks amused. 

“Yeah, you know I was really craving the smell of old nicotine. It’s just so refreshing.” He laughs heartily, and your chest swells with pride at making him smile. 

“You’re funny, you know that Y/n?” 

“I try.” You shrug which elicits another chuckle from him, leaving him to smile lazily at you. 

“So how’s my favorite girl?” You swallow so hard you choke on your spit, a hand flying to your mouth as you violently cough. Taehyung hurries towards you, running his palm up and down your back in a soothing motion. 

“I-I’m fine.” You mutter between coughs before detaching yourself from his scalding touch. Your whole back burns. 

“I’ve missed you. I was thinking maybe we could hang out sometime, just the two of us.” He reaches out to take your hand in his own. His eyes are a soft brown, warm like a summer day and relaxing you like you’ve spent the day under the sun’s rays. “I know it’s been a while but I’ve been thinking-“ 

“Y/n?” Jimin rounds the corner and immediately Taehyung pulls away, shrinking back into the shadows. You turn your head to Jimin’s wide eyes, which immediately sharpen when they hone in on the close proximity of you and Taehyung. “We’ve been looking for you. I was worried.” Jimin grabs your hand that was just in Taehyung’s and your body goes cold, the lingering remnants of Taehyung’s warmth erased by Jimin’s touch. “What are you doing out here? I thought we had a deal.” Jimin practically growls and you glance at him confused. A deal? 

“Jimin what-“ Taehyung cuts you off before you can really formulate your thought. 

“It’s nothing. Just came out for a smoke is all.” He says, flashing the cigarette in his hand. Taking out his lighter he plays with the flame but doesn’t actually light the bud. 

“Didn’t look like just a smoke.” Jimin barks.

“I can’t even say hello? I think basic human decency should be allowed here.” 

“You lost the right.” 

“Umm hello? I’m right here you guys. What deal? What happened?” You break their conversation. Jimin ignores you as he pulls away, Taehyung opens his mouth but no words come out. You hold eye contact with Taehyung before you disappear around the corner, waiting for him to do something, say something. Nothing happens. Instead you watch as the vulnerability from before slips off his face completely, leaving him the same stoic shell as back in the club. It doesn’t make sense. Jimin and Taehyung used to be so close. You all were. Until last summer when Taehyung pulled away without a word. But it seems like he didn’t pull away after all. It seems like he was forced to.

The ride home is silent as you, Jungkook, and Jimin are sitting in the uber. Jimin is still fuming, jaw clenching and unclenching frequently meanwhile Jungkook keeps trying to ask you what happened telepathically. You just shrug and stare blankly out the window, mind wandering to what Taehyung is doing like it does every time you zone out. It’s been so long since you’ve had a real conversation with him. After he separated himself from the group, from you, he went to stay with his family for a while and the only time you heard about him was through Jungkook, the only one he bothered to maintain contact with. Your incessant asking is the reason Jungkook thinks you’re pining after him and as much as you wish you could deny it you can’t. Your heart still belongs to the boy hidden behind a mask of leather and an uncaring attitude. The boy you saw for a split second, hidden in the dark alleyway, soft eyes illuminated by the moonlight and making you feel at home again. 

When you pull in front of your shared apartment you three walk silently up the stairs and only when you’re inside the privacy of your apartment do you bother questioning Jimin again. “What was that back there? What deal?” 

“It’s nothing.” Jimin says, turning his back to head into his room but you grab onto his arm to stop him. 

“It’s clearly not nothing. If it’s about me I have the right to know.” 

“Well it doesn’t so leave it be. This is between Taehyung and I, not you.” 

“Is that so? Because I clearly remember Taehyung asking why he couldn’t even say hello to me. So clearly it does involve me.” You’re fuming now and step forwards towards Jimin but Jungkook intercepts, placing careful hands on your shoulders. 

“Woah there, calm down. Maybe everyone should just go to bed. We can talk about this in the morning okay?” Jungkook looks between you and Jimin for confirmation. 

“Why can’t you just tell me? Friends don’t keep secrets.” You growl in frustration, moving to look Jimin directly in the eye except he’s already looking down at his feet. 

“Sometimes they have to.” He mutters before turning around and disappearing into his room, shoulders slouched and head turned down. 

“What’s wrong with you two? What happened out there?” Jungkook asks, hands keeping you in place. 

“I don’t really know. Taehyung came outside and we were talking and then Jimin came out and got angry. He mentioned something about a deal and how Taehyung wasn’t supposed to talk to me but when I asked what deal they were talking about neither of them said anything.” 

“Weird. Taehyung’s never mentioned a deal to me.” Jungkook says, chewing on his bottom lip in concentration. 

“So they’re keeping us both in the dark.” Jungkook hums in affirmation. 

“Maybe we should have our own secret.” He teases, eyes lighting up with mischief. 

“Like what?” Your anger melts away as you look into his starry eyes, fondness overtaking you. Jungkook is like your little brother and you can’t be mad when looking at his sweet face.

“Like….” He chews on his bottom lip some more. “Oh! That you’re secretly my favorite.” He whispers, before falling into a fit of giggles. 

“You’re a dork, you know that?” You laugh shoving his shoulder as he takes both hands off your own. Moving towards your room, he’s still laughing in the living room before calling out to you once more. 

“Your favorite dork though right?” His eyes are wide and round, lips slightly pursed as he eagerly awaits your response. 

“Yes Kook. You’re my favorite.” He claps excitedly and you shake your head at him fondly before slipping into your own room, the sounds of his happy humming filling the apartment. 

Standing alone in your room you face your closet, staring into the depths where a sweater lies limply smushed into the corner. The same corner you haven’t looked at since Taehyung left. Maybe it was your way of not accepting the break up, how he just up and left with barely a word. Just a harsh good bye and slam of the door as his things were bundled in his arms haphazardly. Like he was trying to get it over with without putting much thought into it. Reaching in, you pull out the sweater from his side of your closet and bring it to your nose, curious if it still smells a bit like him, like home. His scent is still there, comfort laced between each stitch, and you hug it tightly to your chest, letting yourself pretend for just a moment that he’s there in its place. It’s funny how the person who breaks you is also the one who can fix you. You know you shouldn’t, but against your better judgement you slip the sweater overhead and climb into bed ready for sleep. 

Wrapping your arms around yourself and closing your eyes it almost feels like he’s right next to you intertwining himself with your body. Tears spill out of your tightly squeezed eyes and you choke on a sob, remembering exactly why this stupid sweater sat untouched since the moment he left. Wrenching it off of your body you throw it on the floor and turn away, like by not being able to see it you can forget how it felt on your skin, how he felt on your skin. Bringing the comforter up to your chin you try and block out any thoughts but the ghost of Taehyung follows you into slumber. 

The morning is hazy, time is languid as you blink away sleep. Your unfocused eyes land on the sleeping figure beside you, fixating on the mole on his nose. A mole that you’ve spent many months wondering about what it’d be like to kiss and smiling to yourself you revel in the knowledge of being able to. You can kiss every inch of his handsome face because he’s yours. And you’re his. Giddily you lean forward pressing a chaste kiss to his nose, his cheeks, his forehead, until you cover his whole face in kisses stopping once you reach his mouth. Slowly you lower your lips onto his own. When you pull away Taehyung cracks an eye open as you linger above him, a large hand coming up to wrap around your neck and pull your lips back down to his own. 

Languid kisses are exchanged instead of a morning greeting and you hope to wake up to this every morning. That is until morning breath sets in and you pull away before reluctantly rolling off the bed and into the bathroom. “Where are you going?” Taehyung whines before you hear the bed creaking as he moves around. 

“I love you but your morning breath is the actual worst.” You tease, winking at him through the mirror. He rolls his eyes but still grins lazily at you, moving to grab his own toothbrush. 

“It’s alright love, you shouldn’t feel embarrassed. There’s no need to project.” Pinching the head of the toothbrush between his teeth, he rubs both of his hands along your upper arms in a sympathetic manner and you turn around to glare at him. He places a minty kiss on your nose in response. When both of your breaths are fresh, he drags you back onto the bed and loops a leg around your waist whining about losing cuddle time. An alarm clock begins ringing on one of the nightstands and you wait for Taehyung to turn it off.

“Ta-“ 

“Taehyung?” You croak out, rubbing your eye with your fist as you struggle to comprehend what he’s saying. His words are fast and slurred and spots dance in your vision after you accidentally looked in the rising sun when checking what time it is outside. “Taehyung slow down. What’s wrong?” Worry eats away at you as you realize he’s drunk in the early morning and all alone.

“C-Can you come get me? P-please. I miss you.” He slurs albeit clearer than before. Rushing out of your bed, you trip on the sweater on the floor and throw it onto your bed before pulling on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. “Love?” Taehyung calls and tears flood your vision. It’s been so long since he’s called you that. If only you’d actually tried to get over him. Maybe then this wouldn’t hurt so bad but you were stupid and naive and hoped that one day he’d come back to you. Only now that he is here, you’re just worried he’ll disappear again.

“Don’t call me that anymore Tae.” You say softly, not wanting to upset him while he’s intoxicated. He’ll only angrily pout and refuse to talk to you if you do. 

“But why not?” He huffs and you roll your eyes, knowing full well the pout is beginning to set in. He can be such a child sometimes. 

“Just tell me where you are.” Locking the apartment door you hurry down the stairs and into the parking garage, hastily getting into your car. The line is silent and you take a deep breath, eyes closed as you reluctantly call out, “baby?” 

“I knew you still loved me!” He cheers. “I’m at the park where we met. Don’t you remember -“ 

“Yes Taehyung, I remember.” You quip, speeding through the empty streets to get to him. “Just stay right there okay? I’m about five minutes away.” 

“Can you stay on the phone with me?” He asks, voice suddenly small. You nod but then realizing he can’t see you, you agree aloud. 

“Do you remember when you first said you loved me?” Taehyung asks randomly, seated in your passenger seat with a coffee and egg mcmuffin clutched in his hands. You’re so caught off-guard that you swerve into the other lane for a second but thankfully it’s too early for any sane person to be out. 

“I remember.” You say meekly, focusing on driving to try and tune him out. It hurts to remember things like that. 

“I remember we were at that park and were watching my nephew. I had just come back to you from going down the slide with him while you sat on the bench with my camera and you just looked so pretty. I swear at that moment I would’ve gotten down on one knee.” He rambles and you have to stop yourself from asking why he didn’t. It wouldn’t have mattered that he didn’t have a ring or was unprepared because all you’ve ever wanted was Taehyung. For him to be yours and you to be his, forever.  But clearly his want of commitment was fleeting since he took off so suddenly. “I wish I was holding onto that camera instead so I could’ve had a picture of you. Anyways I was gathering up the courage at that moment to tell you and you just blurted it out. And your face turned the same color as the strawberries we brought with us and I remember feeling so happy I could cry because I never thought you would love me back. I just- I miss that. I miss us.” He turns to you then but you check the driver-side mirror to hide your teary eyes from him. “Do you-do you think you could love me like that again?” He asks suddenly somber. 

“You’re drunk Taehyung. Let’s go inside and sober up okay?” Some things are just better left unsaid. 

Carrying a grown man up three flights of stairs is tiring, especially when his hands on your skin make your heart race and palms clammy. When you finally make it to your front door you’re exhausted, chest heaving as you fumble with the keys while trying to keep you both from toppling over. Taehyung seems to have gotten even drunker from the exertion, body increasingly sweatier as the seconds pass. Stumbling inside you drop him onto the couch before running into the bathroom to grab a cold wash cloth, not caring about your two roommates still sound asleep in their rooms. You’re more worried about Taehyung passing out from dehydration as you gently wipe the towel over his face and shrug off his leather jacket. Heading into the kitchen you pull out a water bottle from the fridge and basically force feed the liquid to him. Taehyung whines at your ministrations but you pay him no mind because he doesn’t understand what he’s saying right now. When his attempts to take the rag out of your hands don’t work, he places his hand over your wrist, firmly pushing your arm and the rag away. “Taehyung, I need to lower your body temperature. You’re burning up.” 

“‘m fine.” He mumbles before pulling your hand to his chest instead and curling around your arm, effectively pulling you into him. “Just wanna cuddle.” His eyes round and his bottom lip juts out as he stares at you expectantly, almost like he can read your thoughts. Like he knows that you’ll cave in to his every whim, including this very dangerous one. If you lie with him you’re basically handing him over your heart, the same one that lies limply in your hands with a bandaid strewn across to hide the bad stitching. But of course, your heart is much louder than your mind and you find yourself tucked between the couch cushions and Taehyung, your heart now very much alive and thriving. It’s funny how even after all these months Taehyung still has you wrapped around his finger. 

You wake up to the sound of a glass shattering on the floor and instantly jump up from the couch that you didn’t realize you’d fallen asleep on. Frantically you search for the damage and stiffen when you realize it’s Jimin. He’s standing in the hallway leading into the living room from the bedrooms, the glass of water he keeps by his nightstand lying in broken shards at his feet. You immediately move to help him but a heavy arm around your hips stops you. Glancing down slowly you wince at the sight of Taehyung wrapped around you, the domesticity a shot straight to the heart. Sheepishly you look back at Jimin like two teenagers getting caught by their parents, cheeks dusted in a light blush. You expect him to say something about how he’s disappointed but instead he’s just silent. The tension in the room grows rapidly, prickling your skin the same as the glass that lies beneath Jimin’s feet. Speaking of glass, only then do you remember that Jimin can’t really do anything because of that so you hastily shove Taehyung’s arm off of you, clambering over the back of the couch to get to a broom. 

“Are you okay?” You ask, hastily moving towards Jimin. Taehyung groans and you can see him sitting up from your peripherals. “Tae don’t stand up, there’s glass on the floor.” You tell him, which seems to wake him up immediately because as you pass by his arm loops around your waist. 

“Y/n! You can’t clean up glass barefoot.” He says and your gaze falls onto your bare feet. Whoops. “Here let me do it.” His hand brushes the top of your own as he gently pulls the broom out of your grasp, slipping on his shoes by the door before approaching Jimin. The air is thick and stiff as you all fall silent, the only sounds coming from the apartment being the shards clinking as they crash into each other and the gentle brush of the broom against the wooden floors. You shift uncomfortably near the couch, the tension so palpable it wraps around you like a blanket. Its hands are on Taehyung’s shoulders which are hunched and tensed, matching the furrow of his brow. A crease that you itch to smooth away with your fingers. When the glass is cleared away and the floor deemed safe, Jimin stalks into the room, gaze fiery and set to burn anything in his path. 

“Jimin…” You start, moving towards Taehyung who seems to be Jimin’s target. 

“What are you doing here? In our house.” Jimin growls, eyes flicking to you for a second. His jaw is clenching and unclenching, eyes set on incinerating Taehyung and you shiver from the sheer fury radiating from your best friend. 

“He was drunk and alone. I couldn’t just leave him out there when he called me.” You hurry, ready to face Jimin’s wrath if it means Taehyung can be spared. You only seem to make things worse though. Enraged Jimin grabs a hold of Taehyung’s arm dragging him out of the door. You hurriedly follow but Jimin slams the door in your face. “Jimin!” You yell, tugging on the door handle but unable to open it since he seems to be holding it closed from the other side. “Jimin leave him alone! It’s my fault.” You scream, pounding on the door to get his attention. Your chest heaves as you scream helplessly, worried and stressed that Jimin will hurt Taehyung. Jungkook comes rushing out of his room, gaze frantic as he takes in the apartment, his worry turning to pity when he spots you by the door helplessly mumbling out for Taehyung while tears run down your face. 

“It’s alright.” He coos softly, making his way to you slowly like you’re some scared animal trapped. In a way you are. When he reaches you, he pulls your body away from the door as you collapse into him, exhausted from the rush of emotions especially after just waking up. 

“Kook..” You say but he shushes you, wrapping his arms tighter around you and planting a soft kiss to the top of your head. 

“Let’s go back to bed, yeah?” He says softly, already scooping you up in his arms to take you to your room. 

“But Tae and Jimin..” 

“They’re big boys okay? They can take care of themselves.” 

“But..” He tucks you into your bed, pulling the comforter up to your chin. 

“I’ll check up on them for you, okay? But only if you go back to sleep and let me handle it. You need some rest.” Begrudgingly you nod and Jungkook smiles at you. 

When you wake up it’s midday and for a moment everything seems normal. Until seconds later you remember what went down in the early morning and you burst out of your room and into Jungkook’s to hear about what happened. Jungkook jumps at your intrusion, video game controller flying out of his hand causing his character to die on the screen. “My undefeated ranking” He whines, pouting as the screen shows his record, 125-1. 

“Sorry Kookie. Hey did you find out if Taehyung is okay? Oh and Jimin too.. Of course.” Jungkook gives you a knowing look, the one that tells you that he knows you are mainly focused on Taehyung. 

“Jimin’s fine. He was pissed off so he went to the dance studio to work out his anger. Hasn’t been back home since he left.” Jungkook says, turning back to the tv to start a new game. 

“And?” 

“And?” He inquires smirking. 

“Aren’t you forgetting something or rather someone?” You push, refusing to blurt out that you just wanted to know about Taehyung. 

“No I don’t think so.” 

“I hate you.” You groan in submission. “Is Tae okay?” 

“You can’t say that you hate me and then expect me to answer. But since I know I’m secretly your favorite I’ll tell you anyways. Physically he’s fine but he seemed really sad over the phone. Kinda dazed and out of it like he was lost in his thoughts. Did something happen between you two? Jimin was rambling about him spending the night before he left.” 

“Well, not specifically tonight but a long time ago yeah.” Jungkook’s eyes furrow as he processes your words. Jimin knows about Taehyung and you and your friendship dynamic is already ruined, so there’s no point in hiding it anymore. “Taehyung and I dated and were in love before he left. He dipped right after he ended things and the reason I got upset this morning is because I still love him even if he doesn’t love me anymore. Except now I think he might still love me, if we’re trusting what he said last night when he was drunk. But there’s something between him and Jimin that’s keeping him away. That deal I asked about earlier.” 

“A deal to stay away from the group?” Jungkook asks confusedly. 

“From me.” You say.

“Why would they make a deal like that though?” 

“That’s what I want to know. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner about me and Tae. Maybe this could’ve been avoided if we were honest.” You cast your gaze down, fiddling with your hands, not able to meet Jungkook’s hurt gaze. You should’ve told him at least. He would’ve understood. 

“Why didn’t you tell us?” 

“We were scared it would change the group dynamic and would make things awkward. Which is ironic since the group was ruined anyways but at the time we thought we were doing what was best for everyone.” 

“You can’t make decisions for other people.” Jungkook says softly, acknowledging your mistakes. You appreciate how Jungkook will tell it how it is rather than sugar coat everything. But he’s empathetic enough to at least change his tone of voice according to the situation. 

“I know. I just wish I could go back and see where it went wrong.” 

“That’s the sucky thing about time. You can never go backwards. Let’s try and fix this though. We’ve been friends for long enough that we can get through anything.”

“You think so?” You ask, voice hopeful. 

“Of course. But first, we need to get to the bottom of this deal.” 

Jungkook shows up in your room in the middle of the night a few days later, a wicked grin on his face and hands full of black articles of clothing. Before you can even get a word out he holds out his finger to you, “Just let me explain,” successfully dropping all the clothes onto your floor. The floor you just stress cleaned because you needed something to busy you from going into Jimin’s room and demanding an answer. “We’re going to lure Jimin to interact with Tae and then we’ll eavesdrop. He’ll probably bring up the deal again. ” 

“So the black clothes are..” 

“Our spy gear!” He cheers before shushing himself, grin dimpling his cheeks. You want to tell him that this is ridiculous and won’t work, that you’re supposed to be adults, but you don’t. One because his whole face is beaming, the brightness rivaling the twinkling stars visible from your window, and secondly because it does sound like fun to slink around for a day and pretend to be James Bond. 

“How are we gonna make them talk to each other?”

“You. Jimin gets pissed whenever you and Taehyung interact so we just need him to see you and Tae the night before. But you know, create a scene so Jimin can’t get to him until the morning so we’ll be ready to lurk in the shadows.” It’s not a bad plan. Not very solid though because just how will you get Tae and Jimin in the same room but keep them separated? 

“Where are we going to get everyone together?” You ask, raising an eyebrow at him skeptically when an evil smirk takes over his face. 

“Leave that to me.” 

The ocean curls gently around your ankles, the temperature chilly but you welcome the shiver climbing up your spine. It makes you forget the way your skin burned not from the fire but knowing Taehyung is on his way. The past incidents when you met were accidents, but knowing he’ll be here, that you’re supposed to get close has your whole body heating up. Jungkook raised his eyebrow at your earlier skeptically like he could sense your blush was from something other than the heat. But now you stand alone, left to your thoughts and chattering teeth. Maybe standing in the frigid ocean isn’t such a good idea. 

“Be careful, don’t wanna get hypothermia or something.” A deep voice rumbles into your ear and you jump, swallowing a mouthful of air and erupting into a fit of coughs. 

“Jerk.” You sneer punching Taehyung on the shoulder. “You know I get startled easily.” 

“I know.” Taehyung says, the fondness in his voice wrapping around your throat and constricting your airways. “It’s cute.” His hand reaches up to place itself on your cheek, emboldened by the fact that you don’t run away after his confession. You lean your head into his large palm, unable to turn away from the comfort it provides. The domesticity of his actions reminiscent of when you were once together. Closing your eyes for a brief second you can picture yourself standing under the dim streetlight outside your dorm where he first kissed you. The quiet of the night making the world feel entirely your own, the moment a soft whisper of the love you both had for one another. “I’ve missed you.” He whispers, thumb gently tracing your cheekbone. The moon casts a soft light over the ocean, making the blue ethereal, the white frothing foam softer. Taehyung is cast in a similar glow, his face heavenly, like one of an angel only his leather jacket hides his wings. 

“Didn’t you just see me the other day?” You ask softly, amusement twinkling in your eyes. 

Taehyung pouts back at you, unamused with your teasing. “Not for long though.” The air around you grows tense, the memories of Jimin and the broken glass resurfacing. It’s ironic how the broken glass is just like your broken relationship, especially since the source of the carnage was the same person. Your gaze flicks over to Jimin who’s standing closest to the fire and he looks happy. The warmth radiating from him rivaling that of the bonfire. Except you can’t help but wonder how someone so affectionate and bright could be so cold and icy. Just what went down with him and Taehyung? You almost want to ask Taehyung directly about what the deal is but you can’t bring yourself to ruin the moment. Not when Taehyung is looking at you like you hold all the stars in your eyes. Like he still loves you. 

“I missed you too.” You say softly, hoping your eyes convey your questions. Just why did he leave? Why did Taehyung not say anything, not do anything? Didn’t you matter to him? Didn’t he love you? “Tae-“ You get cut off when Jungkook comes running towards you, sand flicking behind him as he struggles to push his way through. Taehyung tenses and then pulls away, the moment between you two broken. 

“Okay time to go.” Jungkook sings, putting his hands on Taehyung’s shoulders. 

“What?” He asks confusedly, shrugging Jungkook’s hands off of him. 

“Don’t you have to head to the shop early tomorrow?” Jungkook begins pushing Taehyung back towards the parking lot next to the beach and you follow. 

“Jungkook what are you doing?” You question, not wanting to leave Taehyung just yet. For a moment it felt like there was something between you two. A flicker of what once was. 

“I’m trying to be a good friend.” Jungkook says pointedly, throwing you a glare over his shoulder. 

“You’re right. I should go.” Taehyung says. He turns towards you at the edge of the parking lot. “I’ll see you around, yeah?” He gives you an almost sad smile, like he’s speaking an unkept promise. 

“Yeah.” You mumble, scuffing your shoe into the gravel. The three of you fall into an awkward silence, neither you or Taehyung seeming to want to leave yet and Jungkook just stands there looking between you both. 

“Hey Tae why don’t you take her home? She has an early presentation tomorrow and needs sleep.” You’re about to ask him what he’s talking about since you have all afternoon classes this semester but he shushes you, pushing you both towards Taehyung’s car. “Just go with it. This’ll really make Jimin pissed.” He whispers in your ear after opening the passenger side door for you. 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” You look back to Taehyung who’s putting his seatbelt on, playing with his keys nervously. He looks up at you and his eyes swim with hope and dread, like he’s anticipating you leaving but hoping you’ll stay. You can’t break him like that. “Nevermind. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” 

Bending down to get into the car Jungkook puts his hand on your elbow pulling you back up. “Are you sure? I couldn't care less about Jimin if it means you’re uncomfortable.” Looking back to Taehyung he gives you a small smile and that’s all the reassurance you need. 

“Yeah I’m fine kookie.” You give his arm a small pat before ducking into the car, avoiding Taehyung’s eyes by busying yourself with adjusting your seat. Jungkook forces you to make eye contact once again to make sure you’re alright before wandering back towards the beach but not without casting sparing glances in your direction. “So…” You start wanting to break the silence. It’s not comfortable like it used to be and you hate it. 

“How’s school been?” Taehyung’s hands shift around on the steering wheel. 

“Stressful. I have a lot of upcoming interviews to try and get a job before graduation.” 

“That’s great. I’m really proud of you, you know?” He reaches his right hand over and places it on your knee, giving a small squeeze, before realizing his actions and pulling away so quickly that it’s like you burned him. Maybe you did with how your skin is on fire from his touch. “S-sorry, I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t have done that. I hope I didn’t offend you or anything.” Taehyung panics, his grip on the steering wheel clenching and unclenching. 

“Tae it’s fine. No big deal I promise. I mean who’s to say we can’t be friends?” Taehyung swallows hard and licks his lips, the word friends seeming to hit him as hard as it does you. Can you really be friends after what happened? After how he left you. Can you really be friends when just sitting this close to him makes your heart race, the urge to hold his hand or trace the moles on his upper arm so strong that you have to lace your fingers together to stop yourself? 

“Right. Friends.” He says the word like it’s bitter on his tongue and you wish to take the taste away. The ride back to your apartment is quiet, a tad tense as well, the radio and sound of cars buzzing by filling the cab of Taehyung’s vehicle. You tap your fingers against your thigh to a beat in your head, a melody you and Taehyung once knew by heart. “We’re here.” 

“Right.” You say sharply, moving to unbuckle your seatbelt. Taehyung follows suit and you look at him skeptically. He pays your confusion no mind, exiting the car and moving towards your side, opening the door. “I can open my own door you know.” You tease. 

“It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.” Helping you out of the car, his hand lingers on yours as he locks it. You raise an eyebrow at him and he shrugs, hand still wrapped around your own but you make no move to pull away. “What? Friends can walk each other to their apartments. Get your head out of the gutter love.” The nickname just seems to slip out of his mouth and his eyes go wide. “Uhh Y/n.” He coughs out. 

“I mean, friends can give each other nicknames right?” This is a slippery slope and you know it. You can feel the regret lurking behind you like a shadow, growing with each step you take closer to your apartment. Each lingering gaze, light squeeze on your hand, a swipe of a tongue across lips makes your inevitable regret grow larger but you cast the light of your ignorance directly onto it so it shrinks away, at least for a while. You just want one untainted night with him. A final goodbye of sorts. It’s not like Taehyung has a reason to stick around anyways. When you reach your front door, you pause the keys dangling limply in your hand. This is your final moment to back out, to accept that your chapter with Taehyung is over and start anew. Yet, you throw caution to the wind and wrap your free hand around his neck bringing his head down so his lips meet yours. His lips are just as soft as you remember, slotting perfectly with your own and you sigh into his mouth. His hand tangles into your hair bringing your body closer to his own and you groan when your bodies mold together. This just feels so right. Taehyung backs you up against your front door and his mouth separates from your own before attaching to your neck, tinging the skin purple and blue under his ministrations. “Tae-“ You gasp, mind becoming hazy because his touch is intoxicating. He hums against your throat for you to continue, large hands encompassing your waist as your knees start to shake. “Maybe-maybe we should…take this inside.” Your hands snake into his hair, tugging at the strands to get a response. 

“Yeah.” He mumbles, voice husky and eyes aflame with desire. His lips are swollen and he looks like pure sin. From his mussed hair to dark eyes, the feeling of his hands on your skin, you can just tell this will be a long night. And boy is it. 

You wake up the next morning sore, arching your back off the bed as a way to stretch it out. Soft snores come from beside you and you smile, turning fully over to admire the boy next to you. He’s the complete opposite from last night, features now soft and angelic, sleep granting him with beautiful innocence. It’s hard to believe this is the same man that had your hands pinned above your head as you writhed beneath him last night. You pull your hand out of the safe warmth of the comforter to trace his features, gently booping the mole on his nose, silently giggling as he scrunches it in his sleep. The warm hand resting on your hip drags you closer, pressing your nose into the crook between his neck and shoulder making you grin into him. 

“That tickles.” He whines, referencing your lips brushing against him. “And your nose is cold.” 

You laugh lightly, pushing your upper body back so you can look him in the eyes. “You’re the one who pulled me into you.” 

“Yes I know. I regret it.” He teases. You roll your eyes and attempt to get out of bed but his hands hook around your sides and pull you back onto him. “I didn’t say I wanted you to leave though.” You hum and turn around so your chests are pressed against each other. Taehyung kisses your nose before muttering, “I missed this. I missed us.” “Yeah?” You ask and he answers by placing a chaste kiss on your lips. 

“Yeah.” His hands trace up and down the curve of your back, stopping to draw shapes into your skin. They feel something like a heart and you blush, tucking your face back into the crook of his neck. “Leaving was a mistake. I should’ve stayed.” You moved to sit up so you can face him but his hand moves up to press between your shoulder blades and keep you tucked into him. “I was an asshole and I’m sorry. I thought I was making the right decision but I should’ve talked to you instead of leaving like a coward. I’m still a coward now because I can’t even face you while I confess but I still love you and was, no, am hoping you’ll-“  

Your door flies open cutting him off as Jimin bursts in, “Y/n are you okay? I didn’t see-“ He freezes mid-sentence when he spots you with Taehyung, who gulps loudly beside you. You two are screwed. “Ahh, I see how you got home now.” He says lowly, hands clenching at his sides. He swiftly turns around and slams your door shut when he stalks out and you scramble out of bed throwing on Taehyung’s t-shirt from last night before rushing out into the living room. 

“Jimin I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you last night.” Jimin ignores you, slipping on his coat by the door and you grab onto his sleeve to stop him from leaving. “Jimin, I’m sorry okay? I don’t know why you and Tae are in such a big fight but I’m sure we can work this out and-“ 

“What the fuck Y/n? Do you know what I went through just so you could succeed? Do you think I wanted to break you and Taehyung up? Do you think I wanted to send him away and break your heart? No but I had to because I knew you’d throw your career away for him. That you’d stay here in this shitty place just because you didn’t want to leave him behind! So I did what any good friend would do and I told Taehyung to leave. And yet here you are, ruining everything I did for you just because he’s good in bed.” A crack cuts through Jimin’s speech and you clutch your bruised fist into your chest, sickly satisfied as Jimin cradles his jaw. Tears cascade down your cheeks from not only hitting your best friend but also because he’s the one who hurt you. Jimin knowingly tore you apart when he sent Taehyung away. 

“You don’t have the right to make decisions for me!” You scream back at him, letting your anger take over. “Do you even know what I went through when Taehyung left? Do you know how many nights I spent crying alone wondering what was wrong with me? Why he’d just up and leave without a word? And now to find out it was because of one of my best friends? That one of my best friends who was supposed to look out for me knowingly broke me? How do you think that feels Jimin?” A door opens and you turn around to see Jungkook exiting his room concerned, but Taehyung holds a hand out to him to stop him. Turning back to Jimin you become even more enraged by the lack of regret on his face. 

“I did what I had to okay? Do you really think Taehyung could take care of you? You need someone stable Y/n! Someone with a good job, not just some low-life tattoo artist. Did he tell you he’s living in his studio? That he can barely afford to eat sometimes? I’m protecting you from throwing your life away can’t you see that?” He screams back at you and it takes everything in you not to throw another punch. You’re disgusted to think that you once called him your friend. That you thought he was kind and cared about you all. 

“Get out Jimin.” You growl, pointing towards the door he stands behind. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Get out!” You scream, pushing him towards the front door. Jimin looks behind you to Jungkook but the younger boy only comes to stand by your side with his arms crossed. 

“I think you need to leave.” 

“Fine! But don’t come crying to me when your lives turn to shit.” Jimin growls, slamming the front door so hard the room shakes a little. You let out a shaky breath before collapsing onto the floor, sobs racking your whole body when you process what just happened. 

“Shh, it’s okay.” Jungkook whispers into your ear, lifting you up and placing you onto the sofa where Taehyung immediately wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his frame. “Everything is going to be okay.” Jungkook says wrapping your favorite blanket around you. 

A few days after things settle and you can hear Jimin’s name without crying or going into a fit of rage, you enter Jimin’s old room. Walking around the only trace of him is the lingering smell of his cologne that you can’t help but breathe in deeply. Even though Jimin’s true colors were revealed you can’t forget all the good moments you had with him. Like him brining you soup when you were sick and dancing around the kitchen with you in the early hours of the morning. Running your fingertips along his dresser your finger catches on the edge of a paper and you hiss, pressing firmly against the small paper cut. Moving closer to get a look at the offending object stuck between the edge of the dresser and the wall you pull it out to reveal an old photo. You, Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook stand in front of the campus dorms on your last day of freshman year, large smiles on your faces and your arms all wrapped around each other. Jimin’s eyes are bright and warm, his smile comforting. You can’t help the small smile when you remember the excitement you were feeling that day. Just where did everything go wrong? 

Bored and alone, you head over to Taehyung’s studio since Jungkook is currently in class right now. Also because you miss him and his stupid smile, especially when your heart feels a little heavy after finding that photo. When you enter Taehyung’s shop he smiles sheepishly at you, cheeks tinging red as he apologizes for its small size. “Tae I love it.” You reassure him, smiling at his ink drawings on the wall. Each one is individually framed and you take time observing each piece. There’s a reoccurring theme of flowers and you grin at the memory of Taehyung excitedly telling you their meanings on an early spring morning. When you finally turn back to face him, he’s looking at you so fondly that your heart falters. “So, Jimin’s room is empty now.” 

“Yeah. He was kinda pissed when I was in the apartment when he got his stuff.” Taehyung says, moving forward to wrap his arms around your waist. 

“Figured, But I don’t really care about what he has to say now.” 

“That’s good. I’m still sorry for what I did. I shouldn’t have made the decision for you. I’m no better than him.” Taehyung’s eyes turn sad and you kiss his nose to make them happy again. 

“But you are better. You apologized and realized what you did was wrong. You felt remorse. I don’t think Jimin will ever really understand that.” Taehyung shrugs and you kiss his nose again. “I forgave you, now it’s time for you to forgive yourself. Which is why, I was going to ask you if you wanted to move into his old room? Think of it like a fresh start.” 

“Really?” His eyes light up and your heart swells so much you think it might just burst. 

“Yeah, I already talked to Kook about it.” 

“I’d love to!” That boxy grin of his that you adore comes out on full display as he picks you up and spins you around, Giggling you grab onto his bicep to steady yourself, holding on even when he sets you down. “I love you, you know.” He whispers, like he wants to keep the moment just between you two. Like he doesn’t want the world to eavesdrop.

“I love you too.” He grins once more before placing his lips on your own, tasting faintly of cigarettes and the lollipops that sit on his desk. 

[notasapleasure]

Whumptober 17

"Stay with me"

Richard stood on the other side of the thin door in the holiday home. It was open a crack so his voice could travel, but drawn almost closed to give the illusion of privacy (though as the locks had been removed, this was a poor enough illusion anyway). Inside the bathroom he heard his brother shift with discomfort, his breath a rasp.

He had been testing the watermark of Lymond's emotion. Pressing points he could not be proud of, invoking friends let down and punished for standing by his faithless, cynical brother. It made Lymond spit defensively, it chipped away at the veneer of noble suffering that Richard imagined his brother wore as casually as one of his gaudy stage outfits.

"You are a coward, Francis." Richard told him once more. "If I hadn't caught you, you would be halfway to your friends in Dublin by now. Smuggled back to the mob in a crate of bullets and cocaine."

Something rattled on a shelf in the bathroom and Richard peered in. Lymond stood over the toilet bowl with his hands on the cabinet attached to the wall behind. His head was down, the blonde curls falling protectively between his expression and the door. The bandages around his ribs had begun to sag with a lack of expert attention, and their pinkish hue indicated that the wound in his side had not yet closed fully.

As though this, too, was a deliberate affectation, Richard scoffed and leaned away, the post of the doorframe digging uncomfortably between his shoulder blades, his arms folded as he glared at the Artex on the ceiling. "It's pathetic. You think the way to change people's minds is with threats and bombs? What happened to bettering the world through music? Oh but you'd have to stand up and proclaim your position. Own up to your views and let others challenge them. And I guess your way is easier than honesty, isn't it, Francis?"

Behind him, the tap ran, pipes squeaking in the cheap post-war construction.

The voice that finally answered was so quiet it was nearly swept away by the running water. "When I have been honest you refused to believe me. What motivation have I for being so now?"

Another series of noises made Richard scowl with suspicion. He turned to lean into the door, a mocking observation on Lymond's interpretation of the truth poised ready on his lips. He held onto it when he surveyed the scene though, sensing that something had changed before he knew quite what it was.

Lymond's arms were pale trunks of sinew that latched onto the edges of the sink, a shaking in his elbows and the blue veins bulging as he fought to hold himself up. The violent shivering appeared across different locations of his body, where he could not always control it, working its way free at the joins and crooks of his form. His hair trembled like autumn foliage around his face and neck and his flanks strained as if against something crushing down on him.

Richard approached with a single slow step, half-suspecting a new act as he peered into the ruddy, sweat-beaded face of his brother. Lymond's eyes were screwed shut, his mouth a line of distaste pressed firmly closed.

Finally, their plastic shells discarded in the sink, Richard saw the pill bottles and swore.

The decision never needed to be made: he had always known he would intervene, even if the moment had not previously arisen. Richard's hands were on his brother's jaw and cheeks, folding him and prying at his grimace like he would wrestle a dog with a bone.

"What have you done, what have you done," he spoke without being aware of the words emerging from between his own gritted teeth. Beneath his clutches Lymond writhed, eel-like, but he did not lay a hand on Richard in return. He clung to the sink still, desperation injecting his wiry form with strength that Richard had never expected. Finally, ruthless in his own panic, Richard balled a fist and buried it in Lymond's bruised and bandaged abdomen.

The sound that emerged from his brother at this treatment made the hair on Richard's arms stand to attention, and he tottered back for a moment, taking in the curled form hanging limp and spent from the sink, one arm crooked inside the bowl. From Lymond's lips hung one blood-tinged runnel of drool and powder, and the sight reminded Richard of what needed to be done, and done immediately.

As he moved to pick up the ragdoll form, Lymond raised his head and flinched using energy he seemed unable to spare. The flesh of his face pulled taut across his cheeks and around the sockets of his skull, highlighting the emergence of weary lines he should not yet have had. "Please," he cried, holding Richard at bay with wide, terrified blue eyes.

Richard's own expression mirrored the horror before him. He shook his head, all thoughts of punishment or bitterness forgotten. "No," he said, his voice a tremor. "No. Absolutely, no."

Heaving himself to the job, Richard took his little brother around the middle in a bear hug and persuaded him face the sink again. Lymond yelled at the pressure on his ribs, an open-throated howl that made Richard's head swim with the sound of it.

He tried to coax him, he tried to force him, but in the end there was nothing but blood and spit on the white bowl, and only a few crumbs of barbiturates and aspirin. Lymond held on until he could not, and his breath became the gulping of a fish out of water, his body sinking heavily onto arms that no longer supported him away from the sink.

Richard's grip stopped him from hitting his head against the porcelain, but Richard was soon left with the weight of death, or its near-cousin, in his arms. He was now sweaty and gasping too, shivering with the effort of the struggle, his eyes glassed over by unshed tears of panic.

He lowered Lymond in order to lift him, the lithe acrobat's form cradled in his thick arms. Richard could no more have explained his desire to see his brother punished moments ago than he could now give words to the protectiveness that had returned to fill his muscles with warmth.

After he settled Lymond on the dishevelled bed and pulled covers up over his chest, Richard dragged a chair close to him. He clicked the reading lamp on so as to view the text of his brother's unconscious face.

"Stay with me," he told the silent room. "Stay with me."

---

Eta: blame @erinaceina-blog for making me have feels about the brothers.

[goldenchildlynn]

THE PRESS CONFERENCE

WHO: Ryder Lynn vs. The Press.

WHERE: Town Hall

WHEN: Monday 4/6/2020

There was an uneasy feeling in Ryder's stomach as he sat in the car ride over to town hall, his father scolding him and reminding him to not mess this up, his publicist going over the statements and angle they were to approach this topic in. Honestly, at this point, all he could feel was a numbness in his chest, his heartbeat dull and muffled in his ears as he nodded in response. 

He felt like a fraud, all he wanted to do was get on the next plane to the farthest location and disappear, but he'd worked so hard to get to his position in the NFL. It was his dream job, and it was either sugar coat things and make things look a certain way, or lose his job and end up a has been washed up in Castleport. He refused to let that happen, so he swallowed his pride and smoothed his sweaty palms over his slack clad knees, feeling the car come to a stop as he rolled his head side to side and then hopped out of the SUV. Automatically he was greeted with flashes and he shielded his face with his arm before being ushered to a podium and clearing his throat, "I want to start out by giving an apology to the Berry family, I know this is a very tough time and that you are upset by the light of recent findings. I want to let you know that I respected your daughter immensely and that she meant a lot to me, I am very saddened by the fact this tape was brought to light this way but we are doing everything in our power to get it removed from sites that have it up. I want nothing but peace for your daughter, and hope you can respect and accept my apology." And with that, he gripped the podium a bit as he took a deep breath, hearing his publicist speak now, "We will now take a few questions from the press...please be respectful at this time."

PRESS:

Jason’s hand shot up. It didn’t work the first time but he was chosen the second time. “Why did you tell people you were just friends?” His tone was neutral, it was just a question to him. It was impersonal, like asking directions to a stranger.

RYDER:

There's only a momentary pause before nodding his head, "I know it can be a bit confusing, Rachel and I were trying to keep the details of our relationship private due to my position in the NFL, she could get upset pretty easily...I didn't want people trying to come after her and pick her apart in the media."

PRESS:

'Bullshit' was the first word that popped in his head, and from the community eyerolls from the press packet, he knew he wasn't the only one who read through that coached line. "You were a second-string, and up to recently you hadn't had much media attention. Was there a certain outlet or person you were worried about upsetting her, or were you upset her seeing you with someone else in the media?" He knew he had a couple connections to  a couple woman. Santana Lopez was one he was often spotted with at NFL events/functions.

RYDER:

Hearing him call out the fact he was second string made Ryder stall for a moment, going through all the mental notes he could remember under the stress of the watching eye of press, and he kept his hands placed on the podium in front of him before replying, "Being in a new environment like this was a big adjustment, I know Rachel can be easily upset, she was a really sensitive girl and the last thing I wanted to do was make her uncomfortable if I was seen out with other people...as you stated." He said with a small, weak smile, but it certainly didn't reach his eyes, "Rachel was a very special girl, I just wanted to protect her and what we had, given the distance, it was a lot easier said than done."

PRESS:

He wanted to press, but his chance was taken. Another reporter was called on. "do you know how cportea got the tape?"

RYDER:

God, if he knew that answer, things would be interesting. But he kept his face neutral, shaking his head as he knit his brows, clearing his throat as he looked at the reporter, "At this time, no, we are not sure who released the tape. It was posted to a gossip blog, but whoever gave it to them, we have no leads on. Whoever it was, however, did invade privacy and posted this tape without my consent so when we do figure out who did it, and we will, hopefully, they face consequences. I personally feel like it is very sad they chose to do this, especially following up Rachel's untimely and sad death..."

PRESS:

Another reporter shot up, "who made the film, and when did you lose track of it? do you know why this..." check's note, "...cportea is accusing you of having to do something with rachel berry's disappearance?"

RYDER:

His attention went to the next reporter, this was getting exhausting, Ryder felt like his chest was tight and he just wanted to curl up under his covers and sleep this nightmare away. But the next question came, and he pursed his lips together, "It was Rachel's idea to film this...video. It was supposed to be private, just between us, she wanted something to have when I was gone in training and on my first real season with the Rams. She had the only copy, at least, the only copy I knew of." He confirmed, pausing at the next question, he shook his head as he spoke into the microphone, "I am unaware why this gossip blog is pointing fingers in my direction, I have nothing to do with Rachel's disappearance, I was in LA when she went missing to begin, and I would never, ever put her in danger like that. I...." He didn't want to do this, and he took the break in his voice to lower his head, to many it seemed like he was getting emotional but it was really him choking back the way the words felt wrong falling off his tongue, but he had to do this. His publicist urged it, and if he didn't, well...he could face jail and looking like a complete asshole all packaged in one, "I loved Rachel, I would never, ever want her harmed."

PRESS:

The room was buzzing after he dropped the ‘L’ word. Finally, an ESPN reporter was chosen, “so you loved Ms. Berry? Can you clarify in what context?”

RYDER:

It was what he expected, the chaos of his words lighting up the whole area, people fighting to get another question in. Ryder wasn't typically an anxious sort of guy, he was confident and strong, but right now he felt like he was going to be sick. Maybe it was the guilt on his mind or the fact he hardly had been able to eat or sleep since he landed in Castleport. The report snapped him back into attention and he cleared his throat, leaning forward to the microphone in front of him, "I love her as a person, as my....partner, she was an absolutely brilliant and talented woman who was taken way too soon from us. This exploitation of her is distasteful and I'm ashamed that it's come to the surface like this, so I can only hope that everyone can be respectful and remember to be sensitive in light of everything that is going on. This is more than a tape being released, this is an invasion of privacy of a beautiful woman who was taken away from us way too soon..."

The room was still buzzing, and he felt the way his palms were sweating before his publicist stepped forward and came to the microphone, "Thank you all very much, that is all Mister Lynn will be answering today." And it wasn't even a second before flashes of cameras go off and his publicist's hand is on his back, guiding him away and telling him how great he did, how this is going to be great, but all Ryder wanted to do was hide in his room and never come out.

[tyrias-library]

Week 3 Betrayal/Forgiveness

“Think Nothing Of It”

Writer: Numbered Anon

Warnings: Character death, Depictions of death and dead bodies, Descriptions of body mutilation, Multiple POV, Out of character-ness,

  -Offhand Betrayal-

  He doesn’t think anything of it.

The Commander not meeting them at the camps’ first line of defence.

It’s not the first time the Commander has been caught up with something.

It won’t be the last.

He frowns as they pass by the second line of defence and he firms his grip around Sohothins hilt as they draw closer to the camp.

Because he sees the white-blue auras of allies tinted with reds, greens, purples, yellows and greys -of anger, satisfaction, pain, happiness and mourning- move around them.

Because he feels Rox’s blue aura of trusted friend twitch with unease as she, the Sylvari and the two Humans pick up on something he can’t sense but isn’t eye catching enough for the Norn to pick up on.

Because he hears weapons being sharpened and cleaned and armour being hammered out and the hitches of breath of soldiers shifting slightly, leaving a mix of purple and red riding up over their white-blue aura that’s slowly turning a yellowy orange of an unknown.

Because no one told them that this camp was attacked.

They press into the camp and he flinches.

Because the blue auras of trusted allies’ recoil in horror and disbelief as the group swears.

Because Glint’s overbearing presence of protection and safety retreats and starts twisting into anger.  

Because there’s a heavy mass of green-black festering at two points in the camp, the bigger one off to the side is tainted with satisfaction and joy, the smaller one in the centre and not on the ground is overrun with confusion, pain and betrayal.

He doesn’t hesitate in ripping his blindfold off.

And he wishes that he didn’t.

Because once humour and intelligent filled eyes are now empty and clouded over.

Because once a healthy shade of sinkfurbark is now an unnatural shade of death.

Because wounds that shouldn’t’ve been inflicted are now left open and festering with small insects.

Because there are signs of magic exhaustion running up fingers on someone who seemingly held endless amounts of it.

Because there’s an arrow piercing though a heart.

Because there’s a body propped on a spike and left on display for everyone in the ruined and shattered camp to see.

He doesn’t think anything of it.

Turning Sohothin on those red auras that mark an enemy.

Not when they turned on the Commander first.

  -Betrayal of Self-

  He doesn’t think anything of it.

Blaming the Commander.

He’s not the only one to blame the Commander and it’s the easiest thing to do.

It’s easier then admitting his own faults.

So he yells.

He accuses.

He acts out.

He doesn’t listen.

Because if the Commander can’t protect what matters and won’t take the steps to avenge the fallen, then what good is the Commander?

So he sets out to kill Jormag on his own.

Hunting down the Jotun scroll that Legend said to have been used by Asgeir Dragonrender during the battle against Jormag that removed the fang of the Elder Dragon.

And it nearly gets Rox killed.

But he doesn’t care.

Because the Commander is telling him to give up, that he should leave killing Jormag to them, that they are the only ones who can kill the Elder Dragons.

It’s with gritted teeth that he leaves Rox and the Commander in the cave.

It’s with gritted teeth that he shoots the arrow at Jormags tooth.

It’s with gritted teeth that he tracks down Jormag.

It’s with gritted teeth that he watches Jormag retreat back into the ice with a roar of anguish.

It’s with gritted teeth that he blames the Commander for this.

He doesn’t think anything of it.

Tracking the Commander to the Crystal Desert and letting an arrow fly.

Not when the Commander let him down first.

  -Unknowing Betrayal-

  She doesn’t think anything of it.

Not telling the Commander about her worsening condition.

She’s kept it to herself for a long time now.

It’s second nature to not tell the Commander everything.

She holds her tongue as Gorrik continues to talk, tears building in his eyes as the Commander kneels in front of them, eyes gentle but broken.

The Commander stays silent as the people in Sun’s Refuge move away from them in some semblance of privacy.

Stays silent until Gorrik chokes on his words and sniffs.

Because the Commander promised to look after Blish.

And Blish didn’t come home.

The Commander starts talking then.

Telling them that the power source for the tracker had, at one point, died.

Telling them that the only way to fix it in that moment was with Blish’s body.

Telling them that Blish sends his apologies to them both.

Telling them that Blish says to stop keeping secrets.

Gorrik leaves then and she rings her hands together, her mind racing as she thinks and when she takes a breath, mind made up and looks up to the Commander her mind stops.

Because she sees the shattered look in the Commanders eyes.

And when the Commander notices her attention, she gets a soft, broken smile in return.

Slowly the Commander moves to place a hand on the top of her head, and she lets it rest there as the Commander touches their foreheads together.

“I’m sorry.”

With the words echoing in her ears, she watches as the Commander stands up, eyes shifting from broken mess to Commander of the Pact, Dragon’s Watch Leader, Dragon Killer, Champion, HeroLegionnaireSlayerSavantValiant.

She doesn’t think anything of it.

Letting the Commander walk away as Blish’s words echo in her head.

Not when it looks like the Commander will break apart with a single brush of the wind.

  -Betrayal from Mutiny-

  You think about it.

The whispers and looks and cut off conversations and parents herding children away and-

Hard not to when you’re the cause of it all.

And you don’t know what you’ve done to cause this reaction.

You only did what everyone asked you to do.

What everyone demanded you do.

You keep walking.

Ignoring everyone as they stop what they are doing to watch you.

-No one bothers in hiding their distaste, their glares, their hate-

Ignoring words that ring in your ears as your back presents itself to people.

-You always did have better hearing than anyone else-

Ignoring laughter be cut sort as children notice where their ball landed.

-You’ve long since learnt not to bother trying to give toys back to children-

Ignoring.

Ignoring.

Ignoring until you leave the City and you can’t ignore the mob that’s following your footsteps anymore.

So you stop and the people behind you stop as you turn to face them and you note the weapons they have picked up in an attempt to intimidate you.

And you wonder as the main ringleader of this mob talks and says everything you’ve heard from the pass groups that have tried pulling this before, what will be worse.

Letting them kill you and seeing if the Judge will keep you this time around.

Or.

Killing them all and give into the person everyone says you are.

You think about it.

Watching as the mob grows tense as you reach for your weapon and you let your magic drift off of you.

After all, you’ve only ever given them what they wanted of you.

And they want an enemy.

  Betrayal comes in many forms and it hits more than just the person it was aimed at.