#north star chapter 11

[sixpennydame]

North Star ✶ Chapter 11

A Levi Ackerman x oc slow burn

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | AO3

An opportunity arises, that puts tension between you and Levi.

A/N: I found an amazing, detailed map of Marley on Reddit that has helped me view the geography of Marley and its surrounding locations. If you'd like an idea of where Mursa is, it's in the far SW range of mountains.

“Levi…you’re overthinking it. Let go and trust!”

Mathieu sits in a corner of the training barn and watches as Levi and Demon race around the perimeter. He shifts uncomfortably, attempting to wave his arms, which are still in slings on either side of his chest. 

“Work with Demon, not against him.”

Levi leans in, pulling the right rein just slightly and attempting to give  Demon more control. After finishing a round, he rides toward Mathieu, beads of sweat dotting his forehead despite the cold. He leads Demon to a water trough before getting a drink himself, ignoring the frustrated look on Mathieu’s face.

“You’re still pulling too hard on the reins when you need to make a right turn. I’ve told you to trust Demon to be your sight on your right side.” Mathieu walks toward Demon and attempts to pet him with his bandaged arm. “It’s a partnership, Levi. You can’t be in total control. Give in a little.”

Levi knew this - he’d heard Mathieu yell this at him a hundred times since he’d started training. He knew he needed to trust that Demon knew just the right time to turn, but without his peripheral vision on his right side, he felt too vulnerable. 

Kenny had taught Levi to always be aware of everything going on around him: every sound, smell, and movement could be a possible attack. He’s sure that his keen senses are what kept him alive for much of his life; so of all his injuries, the lack of sight in his eye has been the hardest adjustment to make. Lack of depth perception, difficulty in judging accurate distances and tracking object movement - abilities most people take for granted - were now challenges beyond his control that not even his Ackerman blood could remedy.

He sometimes wondered why he was even attempting this in the first place. 

But then he remembered: it was a challenge. He knew he wasn’t the man he used to be, but riding made him feel alive and caused all his senses to become alert and focused. When everything clicked with him and Demon, it was like being whole again. 

It’s just this damn eye. 

But Levi could adjust - he just needed to focus.

Which meant he needed to think less about you. That was the whole point of moving out of your house anyway.

It wasn’t like you were completely out of his life. You come daily to the stables to brush and ride Astrid, and you’re both amicable to each other, talking about the weather and goings-on in Mursa, as if nothing had happened between the two of you.

But something had happened. Levi couldn’t get it out of his mind.

Did you think about it too?

He checks his watch. A creature of habit, he knew you’d be here at the stables any moment now to check on Astrid and make lunch for them; the latter you’d insisted on doing ever since the accident. Of course, neither of the men would argue with that, although they argued with each other about almost everything else. 

“Ok old man, enough of your badgering,” Levi says, taking Demon’s reins and leading him out of the barn. “I’m working on it.”

”You better work harder. Your first race is only a few months away,” Mathieu yells to Levi’s back.

——- ✶ ——-

You’re learning to live with it, the solemn silence of the mornings without Levi here. That same empty feeling you’d felt in the previous three years, now creeping its way along the floorboards of the house. It’s been a month now since his departure, and looking back on the night he left, and the kiss that had happened hours before, you felt silly for thinking it was anything other than some fantasy. 

Maybe you were meant to be alone, and that was ok. You’d made due before Levi had come into your life and were learning to live with the loneliness. And besides, he was still your friend; that hadn’t changed, thankfully.

But you missed his presence in the house, the conversations shared in the early morning hours when even the sun had not yet risen. It had been mostly you talking, but he was a good listener, someone who looked at you while you were speaking, as if he was weighing every word carefully. On the rare times he did open up, it was like one of those flowers that only blooms every ten years; it felt special and you couldn’t help but listen, enraptured by the stories of his youth and his training for the Survey Corps. You wondered what it must have been like to live the first half of your life underground. And then, to live within the confines of gigantic walls.

When you were young, you often thought of the mountain ranges surrounding Mursa as high, impenetrable walls. You figured most young people felt that way, eager to escape and see more of the world. It was one of the reasons Martin and his younger brother Tomas had joined the military - a bit of freedom and adventure before settling down. But back then, you all knew Tomas would never settle down. He was wild and carefree, an unstoppable force too big for this small town.

Hmmm..

...you hadn’t thought of Tomas in years, not since your return to Mursa after The Rumbling. Although Martin had loved his younger brother with all his heart, they’d never truly gotten along; like two magnets with opposite poles, it was sometimes hard to believe that the two were even related. Tomas had always yearned to travel over the mountains and make his own way in the world, and he had made it clear to everyone that he never planned on returning to Mursa once he left. True to his word, you’ve not heard from him since.

The picture of him and Martin in their Southern Marley military uniforms still stands on the mantle; Martin is smiling, standing proudly in his officer’s uniform, his hand on the shoulder of his brother. Tomas is sitting in a chair, one arm resting on his leg. He’s not smiling, but there’s a fire in his eyes, a look of eagerness. Like so many others around the world, you wonder if he was killed during The Rumbling, or maybe he was living, carefree, in some other part of the world. 

Because he was about the same age as you, everyone had expected you and he to be friends; but throughout the years, Tomas had only ever treated you with indifference, even when you and Martin had married. Although the relationship between the two of you had always been spotty, it would be nice to have family here. Someone who remembers how things used to be, even though those days are long gone.

You walk to your bedroom as your focus changes to the picture of you and Martin on the altar near your bed. Tradition dictates that the altar be taken down after the three years of mourning are over, but in the past month, you just haven’t had the will to put it away. You know Martin has moved on, and you should too, but some things are just hard to let go of.

But there’s a tug at your heart, saying today’s the day.

The silver frame feels heavier than you remember. It had been a wedding gift from Martin’s parents, in a time when silver was a less precious and rare resource. Lilies of the valley had been delicately etched into the surface, with the year of your betrothal engraved at the bottom. You look so young in the photo, even though only a little over 5 years have gone by. You gently wrap the frame in a silk scarf Martin had given you once for your birthday and place it in a small wooden box. 

The other object on the altar is even harder to put away.

In opposition to the frame, the baby booties are soft and feather-light. You remember sitting in the chair in the corner, easily crocheting them in a day, but being so proud of yourself because they’d been the first thing you’d made for the baby. Other things had come after that: a blanket,  a few tiny cardigans and even tinier bonnets. In a fit of grief, you’d burned those things after returning to Mursa three years ago, along with the other things you and Martin had bought for the nursery. It was just too painful to look at.

Looking at the tiny white booties, you regret doing that now.

You place them next to the frame and close the box, then place it in a corner of your closet. In the spring, you’ll bury it next to the large oak tree in the backyard, the one that Martin would always take naps under as a boy, and where you and he would steal kisses behind in your teenage years. Closing your eyes, you can see him now, sleeping under the tree in the heat of midsummer, your child laying on his chest. Peaceful. Content.

The clock chiming for the hour breaks you from your dream. “I need to get to Mathieu’s,” you say to yourself, putting on your warm winter layers before heading out the door and down the road to the stables.

——- ✶ ——-

“Stop pulling on my coat, you silly girl! I need to brush you, and then we’ll go out and stretch your legs.”

Levi smiles when he hears you talking to Astrid. Your voice always goes up just a tad whenever you talk to animals and little kids. With anyone else, he’d think it annoying, but with you, he finds it endearing. The smile on his face is gone by the time he walks past you.

“Astrid’s been a stubborn little shit lately,” he says as he takes the saddle off Demon. “She probably just wants to see you more.”

(He just wants to see you more.)

“I’m already over here for practically half of the morning every day. Maybe you just need to give her more attention.”

”Astrid could care less about me.”

”Awww, did she reject your charms, Levi?” 

Your laugh reverberates through the stable and causes his mouth to turn upward just a bit. He loves this playful side of you. He’d almost think it flirting if he didn’t know that he’d ruined any of those chances. 

He knows he hurt you that night, when he told you the kiss was a mistake. It was written all over your face: the confusion, the rejection. You had smiled, thinking he wouldn’t notice, but you wear your heart on your sleeve.

A heart that Levi isn’t worthy enough to handle. 

Your eyes shine at him as you give him a wink and a smile, before you continue to brush Astrid. 

This is fine. This is enough for him.

”There’s my favorite girl,” Mathieu exclaims, standing at the entrance of the stables before walking towards you. “The best part of the day is when you arrive here. I’m not sure how much longer I could endure Levi’s sullen looks this morning.” Looking over at Levi, he smirks. “But it seems that your arrival has changed his mood too.”

Levi stiffens while a slight blush washes over his cheeks. He doesn’t look at you, but he can feel your eyes on him. 

“Get inside before you freeze, you old geezer,” Levi replies as he unsaddles Demon. “I’m going to exercise a few of the other horses before lunch.”

“I’ll help him out with that,” you add

“Of course you will,” Mathieu says, a teasing lilt in his voice. “I’ll leave you both to it then.”

“You don’t mind if I join you?” you ask, eyes on him again. 

“Do what you like. They’re not my horses,” his voice as apathetic as he can muster, in hopes it won’t reveal that he loves it when you ride with him. 

He’s realized that in the last month, it’s practically impossible for him to push you completely out of his orbit. 

The two of you ride into the training arena, you on Astrid, and Levi on a young mare he’s been working on saddle training. He can feel a curious aura around you, a question right on the tip of your tongue.

At the end of the hour, it finally comes out.

“Levi, what’s the rest of the world like now? After The Rumbling?”

He forgot that you’ve only left Mursa once in the past three years. But why the sudden interest?

“To be honest, most of it’s in chaos right now. Practically the entire continent of Marley was decimated in The Rumbling, and the loss of such a world power has put every other nation at a stand-still. Even now, there are refugee camps everywhere as entire communities try to rebuild.”

Levi’s face darkens.  “And while nations are either rebuilding or fighting for control, Paradis is building its arsenal, just biding its time to see what kind of world is going to come out of all this.” 

“Some of your former comrades are going to Paradis soon as peace emissaries, right?”

“As if that’s going to make any difference, after all this.” He looks away. “Fucking idiots.”

“You didn’t want to go with them?”

“To do what? Kiss Eldian asses and beg them to be nice?” Levi clicks his tongue. “I’m a soldier, not a politician.”

“You still see yourself as a soldier?”

Levi looks up at you. He didn’t even realize he’d said that.

“No, of course not.”

“Then how do you see yourself?”

That’s something he’s asked himself time and time again. Honestly, he doesn’t know who he is anymore. His entire meaning, his purpose, had been in service to and for others, but now they were all gone, including the world he’d fought so hard to save. It was like learning to be a new person.

He’d spent the years following The Rumbling in that pursuit: joining Onyakopon and the others in rebuilding the world, hoping to find that meaning he’d lost. But through it all, this lingering emptiness followed him. His life in Mursa was supposed to be a reset, a chance for him to rediscover himself without the shadow of war and death.

So why did he feel just as lost as ever?

It embarrasses him that he can’t answer you, and so he deflects. “Tch, what’s with all the damn questions today?” 

“Well, before  Annika returns to Mursa this spring, she wrote to me and said that she and some other doctors are working with an organization to help set up a clinic at the Pulsella Refugee Camp.”

”She would do something that idiotic. Does she realize how incredibly dangerous it is there? That part of Marley is still a steaming pile of shit. It’s overrun with bands of warring gangs.”

“You’ve been there?”

“I haven’t, but I’ve been to plenty other camps that were the same. We did what we could, but not even the Marley military - what’s left of it - will touch that place.”

Your brows are knit in contemplation. “So that’s what’s happening beyond these mountains.”

“A lot of turmoil and strife. You’re lucky to live in a place like this.”

“I suppose I am.” You pull on Astrid’s reins, leading her out of the arena. “I should go get lunch ready.”

Something’s shifted in you, but Levi can’t quite put a finger on what that might be. It sends a pang of worry and uneasiness through his mind.

It seems that pushing his feelings down for you is going to be harder than he thought.

——- ✶ ——-

A few days pass before you return to the stables. Levi figured you had other things to do, but it didn’t stop him looking over the horizon every morning, expecting to see your figure walking in the slushy snow. It’s been unseasonably warm the past few weeks; he’d been told to expect snow well into mid-spring, but nothing about the world has been normal since The Rumbling, not even the weather. It’s beyond Levi’s level of understanding, but a scientist had explained to him that it had something to do with the months it took for the millions of steaming titan bodies to decompose, as well as the environments those same titans had destroyed. 

His muscles ache as he breaks up some ice that had accumulated at the entrance of Mathieu’s home, the sound of the shovel scraping against the ground only interrupted when he hears footsteps behind him.

“Warm today. Spring will be here before we know it,” you say.

”Not nearly soon enough. I’ve about had it with snow.” He stops and leans his body on the shovel, relieving some pressure on his leg. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Yeah. I’ve been busy.”

You don’t elaborate, and Levi doesn’t ask what you mean. You’re standing next to him but he feels a great distance between you both, something he hasn’t felt since becoming friends with you. 

But this was the whole point of his moving away. This is what he wanted.

Right?

Your silence continues as you saddle Astrid, choosing to ride outside by yourself instead of with Levi. There’s no questions today. No asking him about his knee or how Mathieu is doing. 

Something is up. And as much as Levi wants to ask you what’s going on, he knows it’s not his place. He shouldn’t pry into your life.

Mathieu, however, has no boundaries, and when you finally all sit down to lunch, he asks, “Is there something wrong, Catherine? You’re quiet today.”

You shift in your chair and wipe your lips with your napkin. “No, nothing’s wrong. But I do have some news.”

At that, both men lean forward. “Annika has asked me to help her pack up her things before her move back to Mursa this spring.” You pause, sitting up straighter. “She also invited me to accompany her to her last assignment with her hospital: to set up and build a clinic at the Pulsella Refugee Camp in the Eastern Marley Territories. You stand up and take the plates from the table. “I’ll be gone for a month or two.”

“Why?” Levi’s voice is cold and direct.

”What do you mean, why? I want to help Annika.”

”With moving, ok yes, I get that. But going to Pulsella? I told you it’s a lawless wasteland there. What can you do?”

”I guess…I just want to try and make a difference, in whatever way I can. Annika said they could use volunteers to make food, distribute aid kits, and build more permanent shelters. I think I can help.”

”How? By getting yourself killed? Some help that’ll be..”

”Levi…” Mathieu says, putting a hand on his arm.

You turn your back to both of the men, walking to the kitchen with the plates. “I knew it. I knew you wouldn’t understand. I didn’t even want to tell you.”

Levi is quick to follow you. “I don’t think you understand. That place is beyond dangerous, Catherine. The people are desperate there.

”All the more reason why people who care should go help those who have nowhere else to go.” You start roughly washing the dishes. “I’m tired of just living here while others are suffering. It doesn’t feel right.”

There’s an intense silence as you roughly rinse the plates. Levi knows he should say something, tell you that he’s worried and he just doesn’t want anything to happen to you. But to say all that would be to admit that he still cares for you deeply. 

The whole problem would be solved if he just went with you, but he knows he can’t. He promised he’d stay and help Mathieu, and the old man had already put time and money into training him for this damn race. He can’t back down from his commitment.

And he knows the kind of hard work in store there; hard labor that his body can no longer accomplish. Even if he managed to go along and there was an altercation, he’s not sure he could fully protect you in a fight. Feelings of uselessness bubble up inside him.

He opens his mouth to speak, but you suddenly put down a plate and face him, cutting off his train of thought.

”And frankly, Levi, I don’t understand you. First, you told me I was strong and to rely on my friends. Now I’m trying to use my strength and be useful, but you’re against it. The way you talk to me makes me feel like you see me as some helpless, frail woman, when I’m anything but. Or maybe I am, I don’t know.”

You bite your bottom lip. Levi’s noticed that you get emotional when you’re angry. You’re probably trying to hold back tears, in an effort to look strong in front of him.

”I don’t really know who I am. But I’ve done hard things before and I can do it again.”

”Yeah, but this time I won’t be there to save you.”

He didn’t want to have to spell it out for you to make you understand.

But his words don’t have the effect he was expecting. Levi sees your body tense as you furrow your brow. 

“I’m thankful for what you did for me on Mount Aspe, I really am. But don’t hold it over me like some kind of trump card anytime you want to boss me around. I didn’t ask you to save me then and I’m certainly not asking for your opinion now.”

“You’re not listening, Catherine.” He could feel his patience wearing thin.

“Oh, I hear you loud and clear, Levi. You think I need a man to look after me. Well, if it makes you feel better, I’m sure there’ll be lots of young, strong men there that will be more than happy to assist me with whatever I need.” Your voice drips with resentment. 

So that’s how you see him, as some weak, old piece of shit. You probably judge him for escaping the outside world and coming here. His fists clench and he feels defensive for the first time in ages.

“Oh yeah? I didn’t know you were that lonely and desperate for a man that you’d do something this stupid.” 

Shit.

He went too far. He knew it instantly when he saw the look of hurt on your face, tears forming in the corners of your eyes before you blink them away. Your jaw tenses, and something changes in the way you look at him.

”Fuck you, Levi.”

It’s not the first time those three words have been directed toward him, but hearing them come from your mouth, it makes him visibly wince.

You bolt out of the kitchen and head straight for the door.

“I leave in two days, so I need to get packing. Mathieu, Luka will come by with my stable rent payments and to ride Astrid.”

The door slams and then there’s silence. Levi can feel Mathieu scowling at him. 

“What?”

Mathieu rises from his seat and shakes his head. “You can be a real asshole sometimes, you know that?”

——- ✶ ——-

“Asshole,” you mutter under your breath as you trudge through the snow. 

You had a feeling  Levi would react negatively when you told him your plans; it’s why you hesitated saying anything until the last minute. You knew he’d doubt your strength and question the reasoning behind your motives.

But calling you lonely and desperate…that went over the line. It was a deliberate jab.

And it infuriates you even more to admit that he’s right, to some extent. You are lonely. You do want to feel the touch of a man again, to feel wanted and desired.

But that’s not why you’re going to Pulsella. He knows that. He’s just miserable about life and wants everyone else to feel that way. You wonder now what you ever liked about him in the first place.

You’re glad he moved out. The less you see of him the better.

You slam the door and stomp through the living room, startling Max and Albert. 

“Whoa. Everything ok?” Max asks.

”It’s fine,” you reply sharply. “Max, can you take me to the train station in two days?”

”Sure…I just figured Levi would take you..” he answers, each word coming out in hesitance.

”Why would you think that? He doesn’t live here anymore.”

Max scratches his head nervously. “I don’t know..I guess I thought the two of you were…“ you send him a questioning look, “...good friends.”

“Humph,” you scoff, “that man doesn’t want to have any friends.”

Needing to clear your head, you head straight to the kitchen. “I’m gonna bake something.”

But as your hands knead through the dough, you feel the embers of your temper fading. Placing the two loaves of quick bread in the oven, your mind feels even clearer. What Levi had said was hurtful, but maybe you’d been hard on him too. You’d assumed he didn’t trust in you, when maybe he was just worried about you. 

He’d told you he cared for you once. Perhaps that was just his really bad way of showing that. 

You expect him to walk through the door that night, admit his feelings, and apologize for being an ass. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s had to do that.

But he doesn’t come that evening, or the evening after. Your last night at home, you stop looking for him.

Perhaps it’s time you stopped expecting things from Levi that will never be.

——- ✶ ——-

Max stops the wagon in front of the train station. “You be careful out there, Catherine. I promise I’ll keep the guys in line.”

“I’m more worried about who’s gonna keep you in line.” You give Max a quick hug. “I’ll see you in a couple of months. Don’t burn the house down.”

You buy your ticket and walk to the platform, but before you can make it to the train you stop.

Levi stands there, hands in pockets, leaning against a pillar. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask, knowing you can’t just ignore him.

“I had to come into town anyway to run errands for the old man.” His foot kicks a clump of dirt away from your luggage. “I figured I might as well see you off.” He reaches down to grab the handle. “Let me get that.”

Your hand quickly pulls it away. “I can carry it just fine, thanks.”

Levi walks with you silently until you reach the entrance of your train car. You’re not sure which is worse: his awkward silence or his crude remarks. Not wanting to experience either anymore, you decide to end…whatever this is that’s happening.

“Well, I’ll see you in two months. Take care.”

“Wait.”

Levi pulls out a slender knife from his pocket and places it in your hand. “For protection.”

You look down at the wooden handle. “A knife? I don’t need this.”

“It’s a switchblade, and you do need it.” He moves closer to you and puts his hand on yours, guiding your finger to a metal knob on the wooden handle. “This is the safety. You slide this to lock and unlock the knife.”

He then guides you to another button. “Just press this button and the blade pops out.” It opens with a click. “Press down this tab to slide it back into the handle.”

You haven’t felt Levi’s touch since that New Year’s morning and it makes your heart race. His hand lingers on yours, encouraging your fingers to curl around the now warm handle. 

“Just take it. Please.”

Although his lips don’t say, “I’m sorry,” you know him well enough to know that this is his way of apologizing, and to show that he trusts you.

You pull your hand away from his and put it in your pocket, your way of saying that you accept his apology.

“If you’re being attacked, don’t hesitate for a moment to use it. Seconds count in those kinds of situations.”

“I’ll be careful.” You want to say more, but the conductor is yelling for all to board, and passengers begin to push by.

“Just come back safe.” Levi moves away from you slowly. “And bring back that knife. I’ve had it a long time.”

You smile, then board the train. As you find your seat and look out the window, you notice that Levi stays on the platform until the train slowly accelerates out of the station.

——- ✶ ——-

The three day train ride reminded you how big Marley was, and it was hard to believe most of it had been decimated. Trains would only take you so far, however, and Annika said she and her friend would pick you up at the final train station and drive you the rest of the way to Pulsella.

True to her word, Annika stands next to an automobile with a tall man. 

He shakes your hand and gives you a warm smile. 

“So nice to finally meet you, Catherine. I've heard so much about you.”

“I’m Onyankopon.”

Previous Chapter|Next Chapter|Series Masterlist

Join my taglist!

@youre-ackermine @mrsackermannx @ricecrispiebirb @son-of-a-banchi @leviismybby @nube55 @dont-f-with-moogles @levisfavoriteacup @littlerequiem @y44sherlock @bitchymanlet @pamakali @vanessaliliana-blog @rithty @dreamtuna @amywritesthings @yihona-san06 @sea-after-a-storm @levilxvr @velouria17 @outrofenty @ryutotsukai0824

[mpileons]

behind the goal posts | alexia putellas x reader

> chapter two

A/N: this is the first fic ive written in a while so bare w/ me as i get back into the motion of writing :) also construction criticism & suggestions are always welcome <3

+ this going to be a multi chapter story, please patient w me and ill try to make it worth your while :,)

—

Summary: Everyone knows Alexia Putellas. Star football player and the face of Barcelona. However, what they don’t know is that she is been in a secret relationship for years, and that relationship is slowly slipping out of her hands.

Word Count: 1.9K

Chapter 1

A Year Ago —

It all started on a regular Wednesday, I was getting ready for my morning shift at Lever & Bloom. It was all very normal, I woke up extremely late as per usual, and had to rush out of my apartment complex without doing my hair or my makeup which was once again, per usual.

As 10am hit, I was getting into the motion of making drinks and chatting with customers. Although being a barista is quite a mundane job, I thoroughly enjoy every part of it, especially talking with the regulars and forming those relationships that never fail to bring a smile to my face. As I went to take my break, I saw a distinct blonde head of hair enter the cafe premises. Everytime she enters the cafe (which is very often) my intrigue seems to rise more and more. She seems to always come in at 11 on the dot, every weekday. Not that I’m keeping track or anything. Definitely not. Conveniently, as she goes to the counter I decide to save my break for later. Definitely not anything to do with her.

"One large ic-" The tall blonde starts to speak, but I'm quick to interrupt her. "A large iced americano with an extra shot of espresso, I know, it's coming right up," I say, a small smile creeping onto my face. I turn to see the same expression reflected on her face, a shared moment of understanding passing between us.

For some reason, I feel an impulse I can't ignore. With nervous yet hopeful determination, I grab a napkin and hastily scrawl down my number along with her order. With trembling hands, I slide the napkin across the counter, our fingers brushing for a fleeting moment, sending a jolt of electricity through me.

"Thanks," she murmurs, her voice soft and tinged with warmth as she takes the napkin. I watch her as she takes a seat by the window, her eyes fixed on her phone as she waits for her drink.

My heart starts to pound in my chest, anticipation mingling with apprehension. What if she doesn't text? What if I completely misread everything?

I push all the thoughts out of my head as I prepare her iced americano, my hands tremble slightly, betraying the calm facade I try to maintain around her. When it's ready, I take a deep breath and walk over to her table, setting the drink down with a shaky hand.

"Here you go," I say, my voice barely above a whisper, hoping she can't hear the rapid thumping of my heart that I'm sure is about to explode.

"Thanks again," she replies, flashing me a dazzling smile that sets my heart aflutter. And then, to my surprise and delight, she adds, "By the way, I'm Alexia."

The sound of her name sends a shiver down my spine, and I can't help but return the gesture. "Nice to meet you, Alexia. I'm Y/N," I say, hoping she can't hear the increasingly rapid thumping of my heart.

We exchange a few more words before I have to return to my duties behind the counter, but her presence lingers in my mind long after she leaves. And as the days turn into weeks and then months, we start to form somewhat of a routine that consists of Alexia coming to get coffee every weekday morning, some light-hearted flirting, then I constantly think about her until I see her the next day.

Present Day –

The soft chime of the café's door announces Alexia's arrival, as it does every weekday morning. My heart skips a beat at the sight of her, as it usually does, alongside a familiar pang of longing mixed with resentment tightening in my chest. I watch as Alexia approaches the counter, a radiant smile gracing her lips.

"Hey, Y/N," Alexia greets, her voice warm and inviting.

"Hey," my tone lacking its usual warmth. I start to busy myself with preparing Alexia's usual order, my movements stiff and mechanical. Whether Alexia is paying attention to these details or not is completely lost on me.

As I hand Alexia the cup, our fingers almost touch but Alexia pulls away quickly, further spiralling my conflicting emotions.

"Thanks," Alexia says with a tight smile.

I somehow manage to force a smile in return, but it feels hollow, fake. As Alexia takes her usual seat by the window, her attention is focused on her phone. The sight stirs a flicker of jealousy within me, a bitter unwanted reminder of the countless admirers vying for Alexia's attention.

The minutes tick by, each one stretching out into what seems like an eternity as I try to manage my emotions. I want to reach out to Alexia, to tell her how I am truly feeling, but the words stay stuck in my throat, still suffocated by the weight of the secret I have no choice but to keep.

As Alexia finishes her drink and prepares to leave, my resolve quickly crumbles. "Alexia, wait," I blurted out, cringing at how my voice is tinged with obvious desperation.

Alexia turns to me, concern flashing in her eyes. "Is everything okay babe?"

I start to hesitate, my heart pounding like an alarm in my chest. I try to open my mouth to speak, but the words elude me.

"Never mind," I murmur, forcing a weak smile. "Just... take care, okay?"

Alexia's brow furrows in confusion, but she nods, concern etched into her features. "You too, Y/N."

As Alexia leaves the café, I am left alone with my thoughts, the weight of secrecy pressing down on me like a suffocating blanket. I begin to wonder how much longer I can keep up the charade, how much longer I can pretend that everything is okay when it's anything but.

I return back to the counter with my heart pounding like a drum inside my chest and my thoughts racing. As the day drags on and my return back to Alexia and I’s shared apartment is approaching, I know something has to change. The weight of secrecy was slowly crushing me and if this goes on any longer, I do not know how much there will be left of our relationship to salvage, or if there will be anything left to salvage. Whether I had the courage to confront this and risk the comfort we had built is another story.

10 Months Ago —

My phone flashes with a message as I am sitting at my desk pouring over textbooks.

Alexia: Be ready at 6, dress comfortably.

As I went to respond, I couldn't hide the bright grin growing on my face. Ever since that day two months ago, Alexia and I had been texting nonstop, talking about anything, everything and all that's in between. I couldn't help but feel as if the universe had dropped a gift into my lap. Alexia was unbelievably attentive and rather charming, further adding to my ever growing feelings for her. As we kept talking nonstop, we found that we were completely different. She's a professional footballer, I do not know a singular thing about football. I study film with a minor in astronomy, she is not very well versed in either of those. However, we are similar in every aspect that matters. Although I couldn't shake the feeling that this was all too good to be true, she is undeniably attractive, charming, funny, the list goes on and on. Why would she settle for an overworked university student with a mundane part time job?

I push all those thoughts away for later as I start to get ready, considering this will be our first date, if it even is a date. I needed to be prepared, but not too prepared.

Hours pass and I am now in Alexia's car as music softly plays from the console and her hand is lightly resting on my thigh, as if it was always meant to be there.

“Pretty pleasee just tell me where we’re going” I turn to her with the biggest puppy dog eyes, which seem to not work as she just chuckles and shakes her head. “We’re almost there, just a little patience baby” She murmurs and kisses my hand as a way of apologising.

Alexia starts to put the car into park and quickly leaves the car to open my door, ever the gentlewoman. She intertwines her hand with mine as she leads me into a very familiar building. “Uhm Alexia, why are we at the astronomy club?” I look to her with a very confused frown as she looks to me with the softest smile that completely melts my heart, “I got us tickets to a private rooftop stargazing event hosted by a local astronomy club” She speaks with excitement lacing every word, she couldn't even get the words out before I jump into her arms and squeeze her into the tightest hug known to man as a way to try show a glimmer of the feelings taking over my heart due to her unexpected attentiveness. She just smiles at me and gently kisses my forehead as if I am the softest thing in the world, I think I will just melt into a puddle of gush right then and there because of all her actions.

She once again takes my hand as we ascend the stairs to the rooftop, my heart races with excitement and anticipation. The night sky stretches out above creating a vast canvas of twinkling stars and constellations.

Upon reaching the rooftop, we’re greeted by a cosy setup complete with blankets, pillows, and telescopes. Soft music plays in the background, a realisation hits me suddenly. This is the song that was playing when I gave Alexia my number two months ago. The pure amount of consideration, care and thought that Alexia put into this date is making my eyes water, Alexia takes notice of this and immediately comes to engulf me with a hug as she lightly peppers kisses on my head. How did I get so lucky?

She starts to lead me, according to her, to the prime stargazing spot. She snakes her hands around my waist as her chin rests in the crook between my shoulder and neck while I peer through the telescope. “Alexia, you need to see this!” I excitedly tell her but to my surprise she shakes her head “I’d rather stay here with you” I turn to her with the biggest grin as I kiss her cheek and tell her various stories about all the constellations.

As the night wears on, we find ourselves lost in each other's company, our laughter mingling with the soft strains of music and the rustle of the night. With each passing moment, my heart swells more and more with a sense of warmth and belonging, a feeling I had never imagined I could find in another person.

And as the night starts to draw to a close, Alexia leans in, her movements slow and deliberate, as if savouring every moment leading up to the kiss. As I was thinking that the anticipation was going to be the death of me, I felt the warmth of Alexia's breath against my skin as our lips meet in a tender embrace, the world falling away, leaving only the sensation of Alexia's lips against mine, incredibly soft and inviting. My fingers instinctively tangle in Alexia's hair, pulling her as close to me as humanly possible. In that fleeting moment, everything feels right in the world.

[wardenparker]

The Viper's Bride - ch 16

Oberyn Martell x female reader x Ellaria Sand x OC Co-written with @absurdthirst

The second Prince of Dorne has lived under the illusion that he would not be forced to wed for his entire life. He has enough lovers and illegitimate children to make him a legend across Westeros, and the love of his soulmate Ellaria Sand to content him. But a contract between his brother and a lord from the north will catapult him into a match that may prove to be as complicated as it is intriguing. Especially when he learns that you already have a soulmate of your own.

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 13.1k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: terrible parents, age gap 10+ years, arranged marriage, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol, internalized homophobia. Reader is described as having hair long enough to braid. This is a MMFFF polycule, folx. Get on board or don't click to keep reading. Pregnancy!* It's time orgy, friends! MMMFFFF group sex. Oral sex (m and f receiving), hand job, fingering, anal play, anal sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, pregnant sex, rough sex, multiple partners. dirty talk, voyeurism, substance use, sexual experience enhanced by substance use. Canon typical violence, poison, graphic depictions of violence, mentions of sexual assault (Elia's), eye gore, murder, character death. Summary: The night before Oberyn fights in the Trial by Combat holds special meaning for your group, and for Raeden in particular. And the fight itself? Is worse than you could ever imagine. Notes: Well, my loves. This is it 🧡 The final chapter of Oberyn's soulmate extravaganza. Next week will be the epilogue and then we'll dive into spooky season head first with Max Phillips' soulmate story the week after that!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15

It is almost surreal to watch your father and brother step away together. The tension that had filled the room seems to dissipate all at once, and you fall down again in your seat beside Raeden with a sigh. “That was…unexpected.”

“Completely astounding.” Oberyn muses thoughtfully, still reclined in his chair and shaking his head. “Fate is playing in your life, Star. The Gods have truly taken an interest.”

“Perhaps.” Looking around you at the table, it feels hard to deny. Otherwise why would those same gods have blessed you with so much love and companionship? “Perhaps I am simply very lucky. Who can say?”

“You will be very lucky tonight.” Raeden predicts with a salacious grin, his fingers still stroking his wife’s arm, although he is grazing the curve of her breast.

“I believe that will be you, my love.” Your prediction carries equal weight, considering Oberyn’s dark eyes turned to Raeden the moment your father and Salin had left your chambers. “My husband looks as though he might pounce.”

“I must admit that I am eager for the rest of our night to begin.” Draining the rest of his wine out of his cup, he passes it to Ellaria to refill as he stands. Striding over to the other man and caressing his jaw with one finger as he looks down at him. “Take off your clothes.” He orders huskily.

There could not be a more obvious signal to the whole party that the night has officially begun, and Raeden’s calmly curved grin of anticipation tucks itself into the corner of his mouth as he reaches for the ties of the robe over his shirt and trousers. “As my prince commands,” he intones, knowing from many nights of seeing you and Ellaria use that same line to entice him, that Oberyn enjoys the acknowledgment of his power during sex.

His eyes shift to Margaery: “Tonight, you will watch your husband take my cock.” He informs her. “The best pleasure he will have will be if he cums inside another. You or any of the other lovely ladies or Cal can be under him if you wish to be.”

"My husband can cum in whomever he chooses." Margaery hums, having found very quickly that she enjoys the shared pleasure of multiple partners. "As long as I have a beautiful woman's thighs on either side of my head, I do not mind if it is me or someone else."

“You should watch, lover.” Ellaria coos as she smirks slightly. “Let me lick your cunt while you watch, you will not regret it.”

"I would be a very stupid woman to give up that kind of offer." Margaery grins, leaning in to brush a kiss across Ellaria's lips.

Ellaria cups her lover's face while you look on, kissing her passionately. “Cal, Leyth?” Oberyn looks over at the couple who have been serving faithfully. “Would you like to join us in our pleasure tonight?”

"Please." Leyth is already nodding halfway through the question, clutching Cal's hand in eager anticipation. "We...have missed being asked to join you. Very much."

“We have not wanted you to feel as if you have to join us.” Oberyn knows the couple is aware of the changing dynamic and the time needed to adapt.

"The freedom to choose is not lost on us," Leyth assures him, always grateful that that choice has been afforded to them and that their choices are actually respected. "So let us say that tonight we eagerly choose to accept your invitation."

“Fuck.” Raeden pauses before he shucks his breeches and laughs. “Is this to be a proper orgy, in the Red Keep?”

"Why should we not?" You have stood from the table as well, and share in Raeden's amusement. "Cersei already assumes it is what we do every night. We might as well make her correct just once."

“Then I hope that all the lords and ladies around us complain about the noises we make.” He decides with a grin, feeling completely free for the first time and reveling in it.

"We will make sure of it." Ellaria promises, cradling Margaery at her side and nipping at the sensitive skin beneath her ear.

Leyth turns and gives her lover a soft kiss on his lips before she moves towards you. “Princess…” she murmurs softly, having wondered what you kiss like or if you would want her to touch you.

“Come here…” Beckoning her closer, you offer her an encouraging smile and readily meet Leyth’s lips for a kiss.

She’s relieved, her own admiration and respect for you growing into a crush that she has been unable to express. Sliding her hands up and cupping the back of your head with greedy hands.

It is surprising but not unwelcome, the enthusiasm that Leyth has for the kiss drawing you in more and more to explore what is being offered to you. Leyth is stunning — you have always thought so, even since the first day you set foot in the brothel — and you are not about to turn up the chance to know her better tonight when everyone will be indulging in whomever they please.

Ellaria hums in pleasure as she sees that everyone is very well occupied. Smirking at her soulmate’s wife, she starts to pull off her dress. “We should get comfortable.”

“I have never been more comfortable in my life,” Margaery promises her, following the cue and beginning to undress Ellaria in turn. Her Dornish dress is much simpler and easier to remove, making Margaery remember the first time — not so long ago — that you had pouted about the complexity of northern dresses. It is a welcome feeling, to connect the two experiences, and the younger woman hums happily at how easy it is to slip her hand inside Ellaria’s dress and palm the welcome weight of her breast with one hand.

“We will enjoy ourselves immensely.” Ellaria moans breathlessly when the other woman pinches her nipple. With sexual freedom, Margaery Tyrell, now Sunstone, has quickly developed the skills that most whores only dream of when pleasuring another woman. “If I lick every cunt and fuck every cock, it will be a good night.”

“Perhaps we should make that our new motto,” Margaery suggested, giggling immensely even as her other hand is working diligently to slip Ellaria’s dress away from her skin. “For nights such as this, I cannot think of anything better.”

Raeden stands naked in front of Oberyn, his cock already hard and jutting out proudly, making both Oberyn and Cal groan as they look on. “How do you want me?” He asks, slightly breathless as he shivers in anticipation. It has been so long since he has felt a man’s touch, and this man, both of these men, are beautiful and he wants to embrace the freedom he has been given by your marriage to the man who is going to fuck him.

“However the prince wants us, he will have us both.” Cal can barely keep himself from touching, but he has been privy to how long Oberyn has waited to have Raeden in his bed. He can very easily wait his turn so the prince can have what he wants.

“Lay down on the bed.” Oberyn orders both men. “Cal, strip down as well.” He grunts, satisfied that he will be able to have everything he wants tonight. “Show me what it looks like to have the two of you kiss.”

It is an achingly easy set of instructions to follow, and if Cal were wearing something other than the robes that the prince had given him befitting his station, he might have simply torn them off. As it is he struggles to get them off as quickly as possible and follows Lord Sunstone onto the bed to all but fall into the larger man’s arms. He has wondered endlessly what the new lord will be like to have his hands on and it takes him no time at all before he is moaning against Raeden’s lips.

Cal is lithe, yet there is strength in his touch and embrace. Raeden doesn’t even hesitate, one large hand sliding down his chest and over his abs to brush against the other man’s cock before wrapping his hand around it and giving him a gentle squeeze.

It is not unusual for this suite of rooms to be filled with the sounds of pleasure. In fact, each and every night there are people fucking in more of these beds than not. The difference is that tonight you are all in one room. Raeden is fisting Cal's cock on the bed with Oberyn kneeling over them with dark, predatory eyes as they kiss. Ellaria has Margaery spread out over the largest arm chair before the fire, carefully and methodically chasing her own touch down the younger woman's body with her tongue to taste every inch of her. And on the other side of the fireplace, Leyth has laid you down on the chaise to let you watch the proceedings as she eagerly learns what touches make you sigh and moan.

His eyes feast on the sight and his own fingers quickly pull at the ties and strings of his robes. Wishing to be as bare as his lovers. “His cock is wonderful.” He praises as he watches the dark hand glide up and down the lighter toned cock. “Now, I wish to taste yours.”

Raeden does not need to be told twice, rolling to his back with his hand still stroking Cal's length so that he does not have to give up any contact but still exposes every inch of himself to Oberyn's desires. "I am yours," he promises, and the truth of it rattles him more than he expected.

“Not yet.” Oberyn chuckles as he kneels on the bed, running his hands up the muscular calves of your soulmate. “But you will be.”

It is the kind of declaration that shoots to something visceral inside him, and Raeden's cock twitches unmistakably in response. "Then take me," he poses, his words laced with a seductive challenge that he knows Oberyn will not be able to resist. "Make me yours."

There’s a rough little growl the back of the Prince’s throat, smirking as he lunges forward and wraps his hand around the thick length of your lover’s cock to roll down the foreskin and prove to the new lord that despite his lofty status, he is not unskilled in the art of sucking a cock.

As determined as he had been to continue stroking Cal's length, Raeden's hand stutters immediately and he lets out a groan so deep that it seems to rattle the windows. His fingers dig into Oberyn's short hair, encouraging his movements without directing or pushing him, and Raeden's head falls back for just a moment as he shudders with the intensity of the prince's attentions.

It’s about pleasure, but it’s also about preparation. Oberyn knows it’s been years since Raeden has touched or been touched by another man. The last time was when he was a younger man. He is not used to taking a cock and will need to be stretched out. Taking his fingers down to the hole he wishes to possess, he smears his spit around it in a gentle massage.

The gasp and grunt that releases from somewhere deep in Raeden's body vibrates through his body and his fingers tighten in Oberyn's hair desperately. It has been far, far too long since he had this sort of experience and it is only now - having it offered to him on proverbial silver platter - that he realizes how deeply he has been missing it. Spreading his legs and reminding himself to relax, Raeden falls back onto the pillows which his next moan.

Cal decides that Raeden's too distracted for kissing, but his lips move down his chiseled jaw. Kissing along the smooth skin and down to flat, hard nipples so he can flick his tongue over them and help work the other man up. He knows he wants to be under this man while the prince fucks him, his own cock twitching at the thought.

"Gods above," Raeden chokes out, his head already swimming. There is something so singular about experiencing pleasure from someone of your own sex. A person who knows the intricacies of what touches and pressure bring pleasure because he himself has felt the pleasure that it brings. It makes Oberyn's tongue agile and sure, and every flickering touch from Cal is filled with confidence.

Oberyn chuckles and pulls off the cock with a satisfied sound. Lazily licking down his soft, full balls to take one into his mouth, still steadily rubbing, though he is adding more pressure. Not quite breaching the other man, but close.

It has Raeden squirming, trying to move toward the pressure he wants so badly without missing out on any of the touches he is already receiving – begging for more without saying a word.

Oberyn’s eyes find Margaery’s then yours in a slow perusal of the room. “Watch.” He orders, pulling his fingers away momentarily to wet them even more before slowly starting to push the first finger inside the man’s ring of muscles.

There is a collective holding of breath when Raeden moans, with every set of eyes watching as his own close in bliss. "Fuuuck..." It is low and growling and delicious and Raeden is laid out like a feast on the bed for Oberyn and Cal to devour.

The tight heat has Oberyn eager to sink into him, slowly pushing his finger deeper until it is sunk to his knuckle and then carefully searching for that wonderful little spot that makes every man keen when he is entered. The one that can make him cum without anything wrapped around his cock. “Why don’t you prepare Cal to take your cock like I am readying you?” Oberyn suggests as he smirks. “I think the man is salivating to be impaled on your cock.”

"Lover." His attention had been so singularly focused on Raeden that Oberyn has not noticed Ellaria slipping temporarily from the space between Margaery's thighs to bring him a bottle. "You will all be happier to have this," she suggests, setting the small, corked bottle of oil on the bed beside her soulmates.

“Thank you.” The oil will greatly aid the pleasure and he takes it with a small smile and a wink. “Thank you, sun.” He coos softly.

"I want to hear all three of you scream," she confides, diving into kissing Oberyn with her usual, dedicated, passion where she does not pull back again until she has relearned every contour of his mouth. "But only with pleasure."

“Tonight we will make the halls of the keep ring out in pleasure.” He chuckles before he unstops the bottle.

It is not a prediction that anyone doubts, but as the men turn back to each other to focus on pulling as many sounds as possible from each other in these early stages of pleasure, you stop Ellaria on her way back to Margaery. "Join us?" You almost beg her, having made room on the large chaise for more bodies. There is nothing you want more right now than your own tangle of limbs - all four women sharing space and sharing each other.

Smiling indulgently, Ellaria curls her finger towards Margaery before she leans in to press her lips to yours. “Shall we see how we can tangle our bodies together in pleasure, lover?”

Margeary comes to your sides like a moth to flame, practically moaning as she watches you and Ellaria sink into a deep kiss. "It is only fair," she decides, leaning down to kiss Leyth, as well. The curvaceous redhead had not escaped her notice for even a moment.

It is funny how the group has been separated, although not surprising. Leyth and Cal have discussed at length the dynamic, murmuring the dark from their own small, yet comfortable bed off the chambers. Now, tonight, is a fulfillment of those desires that have been repressed and it should be a night to recall fondly.

"My prince." Cal looks up from the nipple he has been lavishing attention on and his fingers, run down to tease Raeden's cock with a slow pump up and down his length. "At the brothel, we used to take this...herb, it kept our cocks hard after we had finished." He explains. "Perhaps tonight would be a good time to use it? To make sure everyone gets to exhaust themselves?"

In the middle of the conversation, very literally, Raeden’s hips buck subtly at the idea of such an increasing, wondering if the prince even needs such an aid. But then — there are seven of you. And that is an enormous amount of Fucking no matter who you are. “I—I would partake,” he agrees, eyes fixated on Cal’s hand.

He can't help himself, it's too tempting with the pearl of liquid that is pooling on the dark tip of his beautiful cock. Cal ducks his head and wraps his lips around the first inch of Raeden's cock while Oberyn's lubricated fingers push back inside him. Looking down at the prince, he wonders if he will agree because his own cock throbs at feeling both men inside him tonight.

“Does it help women?” Margaery asks with curiosity, thinking of all the ways this night might go. She has never had trouble becoming aroused for her partners before, but the idea of more is beckoning her tonight.

“It does.” The answer comes from Leyth. “It is why the women in the brothels are always so wet.” She tells you. It might be the one good thing Littlefinger did for his whores. Even if it was only so there was less probability of being hurt when fucking an unattractive client.

“Then perhaps we could all partake?” You look to your husband with curiosity. “Anything that enhances our pleasure tonight is surely welcome.”

“Would it hurt the babe?” That is the only reservation that Oberyn would have as he looks between the two servants.

“No.” Leyth shakes her head immediately. “Some of the girls…the ones who could bear children…they took the herb nearly every day but the babes were never affected.” She would never do anything to put your or the child in harm’s way, and dearly hopes that you and Oberyn know that.

Smiling slightly, Oberyn nods his head and looks at you with lust fueled eyes. “Yes, Star.” He agrees. “Anyone who wishes to take it, should.”

Cal moves gracefully from the bed to retrieve a simple metal box from the room he shared with Leyth. The powdered herb is familiar to them but not unwelcome, which was why they had kept it with them after leaving the brothel. The thought of one night in the future being like this was tempting. “Put a pinch of the powder under your tongue and let your spit wash it away,” he tells all of you, providing an example by demonstrating before he passes the little metal box around.

Leyth also demonstrates when the box reaches the ladies, moaning slightly at the familiar taste. “We will have a very good night.”

The powder is minty and dissolves quickly, leaving all of you looking a little more mischievous afterward. With debauchery ensured, you all tangled in each other’s arms immediately. The four women in the chaise are spread over every inch of the overlarge piece of furniture, and even with Leyth and Ellaria firmly between yours and Margaery’s thighs, you find your way to grope and lavish each other with kisses.

Oberyn groans at the taste of the herb and pulls Cal in for a kiss before turning his attention back to Raeden. “Now. I am going to ready you and I think Cal and I both will suck your cock.

It is not something either of the other men are going to object to, and Raeden falls back into the pillows with a groan. The sight of Oberyn and Cal twined together in a kiss would be enough to have him rock hard under almost any circumstance – but now they are bent over him so that his cock is receiving every lick of attention and it has set his entire body on fire.

Again, his fingers start to push back into Raeden’s body as he sucks on the man’s cock like it was the sweetest of treats. His tongue tangling with Cal’s as they try to wring cries of pleasure from him.

He is in ecstasy and there is no mistaking it. Raeden writhes and bucks under Oberyn and Cal's attentions, grasping at the sheets or their shoulders or anything he can get his hands on and you cannot tear your eyes away. "Look," you instruct Margaery, nudging her jaw with your nose and sucking a mark into the pale skin of her neck when her eyes move to the bed. "My husband is going to fuck yours, just like I fuck you."

"It is not quite the same, lover." She hums, her greedy eyes fixed on the way that her husband squirms and whines in need. "But just like they enjoy the sight of us wrapped up in one another, I will savor this view."

Of course it isn't exactly the same, but it is close enough to make you moan just at the sight of them -- which Leyth heightens with a stroke of her masterful tongue and chases with two fingers sliding inside your dripping pussy the way Oberyn's fingers are slipping deep inside Raeden. It is all like an incredible dream, and you truly hope that you will be able to sample every single pleasure possible tonight.

“You will look magnificent on my cock.” Oberyn groans, pulling off his leaking cock to purr pure filth to him. “Imagine our lovers walking in at any time to find you bent over, my cock buried in your ass and my hand wrapped around your cock as you moan my name.” He smirks. “Or on your knees, my cock in your mouth and Cal’s in your ass as we spit roast you, your leaking cock neglected until you cum from our attention.”

The entire room moans in unison at the images presented. There is not a single one person in this room who would not immediately climb into the bed and join in if they saw it. “If any of us walked into that, we would swallow every drop of cum and beg for more,” you predict, knowing that it is true for you at the very least.

“If he is bouncing on my cock, I expect you to ride his.” Oberyn chuckles, curling his fingers deep and pressing against his spot that immediately has Raeden keening.

He had forgotten. Or else thought that he was remembering the sensation with exaggeration. But the way pleasure courses through him with the press of Oberyn’s fingers on that specific, seemingly magical spot inside of him makes Raeden sure that this sensation is better than what he had felt years ago. Perhaps it is down to the skill of his partner but it is utterly remarkable. His broken cry to the gods is met with a moan from his wife when Ellaria sticks on her clit just so, and at once all of you seem to commit that much more to the debaucherous goal of the night.

"The Sunstones are having the time of their lives tonight." Oberyn quips, very pleased with himself as he finds that spot and curls his fingers against it again. If this herb works as well as Cal claims, he feels like Raeden will cum and cum and cum. He wants to see if his theory is correct.

“And we will make sure you do too,” Margaery promises, breathless, with one hand buried in Ellaria’s thick hair and the other squeezing the weight of your tit in her palm. Raeden squirms, panting his agreement and just trying to get as much of Oberyn’s fingers as possible inside him when he knows for certain that it is not enough. “More,” he begs, the word cracked with another moan even as his own hand is dedicated to making Cal ready in the very same way.

“You will.” He has no doubt of that. The night is too full of promise and he drinks in the moans of the group. “I will fuck every one of you tonight, including you, Lady Sunstone.”

“You too will be marked by her,” Raeden manages to tease even at the expense of another moan. He wears the marks from his wife’s fingernails like a badge of honor, and so do you. After tonight, all of you will.

“Vicious little tiger.” Oberyn chuckles, adding a third finger into her husband as he talks to Margaery.

He had asked for more, and he groans at getting it. His cock leaks precum, twitching and aching with need, and his back arches off the bed in eager anticipation. “Gods—yes—fuuuck—”

"How thrilling that I will possess both you and your wife tonight." He coos, smirking at the way Raeden's head tilts back. "Just as I have your soulmates." It's not meant to taunt him, just show him how he belongs here.

“As I have possessed yours.” Raeden grunts, groaning at the stretch of having another finger added to his tight hole. “Ours.”

Oberyn groans, his cock twitching in response and he hums. "Yessss, ours." He agrees. "Now you are going to spill into Cal's mouth. Give him a taste of what you are going to pump into his ass in just a few minutes."

Taking orders as a soldier and taking orders in bed are two different circumstances, but Raeden surprises himself with how little it bothers him to have those orders given. Instead, it only seems to spur him on tonight, and Cal too. Cal who has Raeden's cock so far down his throat that the man on his back is surprised he has not outright choked yet.

Ellaria hums as she looks up from between Margaery’s thighs. “He is close, lover.” She confides. “And sounds so sweet, but he tastes even sweeter on your tongue.”

Cal's own cock is beaded with precum as he swallows around Raeden's length, desperate to find out just how sweet that taste really is. Oberyn has three fingers buried deep, curling them expertly while he other hand kneads the flesh of Raeden's thighs and caresses his heavy balls, knowing that they - like his own and Cal's - will be emptied many times tonight. Raeden's breathing comes in ragged pants, moans becoming whines and keening curses the closer he gets to his first peak of the night. Climbing and climbing, his back lifts off the bed entirely when Oberyn and Cal's names tear from his lips for the first time and that first spurt of hot cum is followed by countless more.

Oberyn throbs, his own cock pulsing at the sight of Raeden cumming. Nearly about to burst himself from how erotic it is. Groaning as he continues to pump his fingers while the other man fills Cal’s mouth to where cum is sliding down his chin.

Cal's own moan is almost as loud as Raeden's, the other man scrambling to swallow as much as he possibly can while still losing a few strands of sticky cum to the column of his neck. For the first climax of the night, it is the perfect way to begin and has him nearly bursting in his own right.

Oberyn pulls his fingers out at Raeden and he hums with a grin on his face. “That is beautiful.”

"The first of many beautiful sights tonight." You had been watching too, always unable to tear your eyes away from the sight of Raeden's pleasure.

“Now one of our ladies needs to cum.” Oberyn says as he watches Ellaria dive back into Margarey’s cunt. “Will it be my star or my flower?” He asks curiously.

The so-called competition of the question is taken quite seriously by Ellaria and Leyth, it seems, and both women redouble their efforts on Margaery and your pleasure. As talented as Ellaria is, and as eager for this night as Margery has been, it is decidedly the newest member of the group's chance to come apart next – although you feel you might be directly at her heels with Leyth's clever tongue drawing you closer and closer to the edge.

Ellaria’s tongue curls around Margaery’s clit, sucking it into her mouth as a hand slides up to squeeze her breast. Her dark eyes fixed on her face and she’s humming to vibrate her bundle of nerves.

Margaery’s nails dig into Ellaria’s shoulder without apology, biting into the skin as her body tensed and her mouth falls open on a vocal scream. Her eyes nearly cross from the pressure and her cunt bears down on Ellaria’s king fingers tightly, drawing them in deeply before flooding them with slick release that runs all the way down and drips to Ellaria’s wrist.

Raeden moans, both from his own release and the loss of Oberyn's fingers while Cal pulls off his cock and watching his wife cum. He knows how talented that mouth is and he is sure that tonight, every one of you will collapse into a deep sleep for the few hours you get.

“How do you want us?” Cal asks Oberyn, knowing that however the prince wishes to have his newest lover, he will find a way to be under Raeden and take the force of them together with as much pride as pleasure.

His brow arches as he looks at Raeden. Contemplating the positions and how easy it will be for the other two men. “On your knees.” He decides, lifting to his own knees and wrapping his hand around his cock. “Hand me the oil.”

Call practically flattens himself to the bed immediately, hips rolled back to entice Raeden but also because he can’t help grinding his own cock into the mattress right now. Raeden takes the moment to sit up, lips crashing against Oberyn’s for a deep and intense tangling of tongues before he pulls away again to gasp for air and takes his position over Cal with his own ass in the air.

“Fuck.” Raeden groans when he hears the slick sounds of Oberyn piling up his cock and the bottle is pressed against his arm. “Ready yourself to plunge into Cal.” Oberyn strokes his ass possessively.

Four of you are watching from the chaise as Oberyn starts to slide inside Raeden, and Raeden in turn begins to break open Cal. The three men are as coordinated and careful as they can be in this moment but they aren’t the only ones moaning. It is a sight to behold and you are instantly panting with increased desire — chest heaving and threatening to have you moaning with every shallow breath.

“Ohhhhhhhhh.” Raeden’s eyes close, mouth open on a moan as the prince rocks into him steadily. Not forceful or impatient, it is just the right tempo to have him take the thickness of the man and desire more as his own cock sinks into the tight, welcoming hole of Cal’s body. The servant whimpers his name, making him twitch as he pushes back against him, eager to feel the lord’s cock firmly buried after so long without this kind of pleasure.

“If you feel half as good as you look, my loves, you must all be in ecstasy.” Even Leyth has paused to watch, kneeling between your legs, and she smiles up at you momentarily when you speak before curling her fingers determinedly inside you to hear the gasp it will pull from your chest. “You will cum so easily watching them, I expect,” she purrs. “I know you like to watch, princess. So keep your eyes on our men while I make you scream.”

“You know the Princess.” Margaery pulls Ellaria up for a kiss and to turn her over so she can touch and kiss while watching her husband as the filling to a delicious treat. “Her cunt gets so wet when she watches her lovers.”

"Can you blame me?" It is difficult to keep your eyes open as Leyth's remarkably clever tongue has your eyes nearly rolling back in your head as she works you closer and closer to the edge.

“Not at all.” She hums as she slides her fingers down and starts to rub Ellaria’s clit while her tongue shoots out to circle her breast.

Watching the three men together is vastly unlike watching them with anyone else. That tendency toward gentleness that Raeden has with partners who are not as physically strong as he is has vanished. He is not in control here but willingly giving all of that up to Oberyn. His groans rumble out from the depths of him as he submits completely to one man while still soothing his hands over Cal’s back whenever he needs to steady himself.

The choked cry catches in his throat when the next thrust comes rougher than the ones before. Signaling that the pace will pick up and there’s a sense of freedom to be had from the way Cal mewls under him.

"Gods." The moan from you on the chaise is more of a keen, and your fingers thread through Leyth's hair even as your hips grind down to meet her lips and tongue eagerly. "They will be the death of me but I will die a happy woman."

Oberyn’s eyes are fixed on where he is joined with Raeden until you whimper that statement. Chuckling as he looks over to where you are very eager splayed open for the lovely servant, he hums. “Not tonight, star.” He chides. “Perhaps we will let you expire when we have wrung every scream out of your throat.”

"Not a minute before," Margaery agrees, leaning over to flick her tongue across one of your nipples in a move that is surprisingly affectionate, before returning her full focus to Ellaria.

“Perfect.” The caress to Raeden’s hip is surprisingly gentle even as his hips snap forward. “You have chosen a perfect wife, Rae.”

"Is she n–not?" The last word is turned to a grunt with the forceful swing of Oberyn's hips, and Raeden's own slam into Cal with equal determination. The feeling of it is exquisite.

The chorus of moans pleases Oberyn, the feeling, the moment exactly what he had wished for. Tonight is about living, experiencing life to the fullest and what is better than a tight ass a round his cock while one of his soulmates has her cunt licked while the other is finger fucked? Surely the halls are filled with the sounds of pleasure coming from this room.

Leyth pitches you off the cliff of pleasure just moments later, humming into your dripping cunt as her fingers curl against that perfect spot inside you. The only thing stopping your thighs from squeezing Leyth's ears shut is her strategically-placed arm, holding you spread out for her so that you cannot do anything but quake and cry out as she skillfully shatters you into a million blissed out pieces.

Margaery and Ellaria watch. Her fingers curled deep into the paramours cunt, Margaery’s head twists around as she moans softly at the sight of your body shaking and heaving with pleasure.

“Fucking gorgeous.” Raeden’s head had been turned to you as well, and the way he groans when you cum is only half to do with Cal’s body bearing down on his cock so tightly. He nearly growls at the feeling, scratching his blunted nails down the other man’s spine. “Cal thinks so, too.”

“Yes.” The other man whines. “All of you, so -“ he moans when Raeden’s hips slap against his ass again, cock spurting a dribble of pre-cum onto the bed below him as he throbs. “So sexy. wanted to touch all of you.” He babbles. “W–wanted to.”

“Next time I hope you will not hesitate,” Ellaria purrs, watching the way his cock pulses with hungry fixation. “You need a cunt, Cal.” She declares with mischief in her voice. “Who do you want beneath you?”

“Anyone.” He moans, eyes rolling back into his head as he imagines filling one of the gorgeous ladies spread out and teasing him with the wet views of their cunts. He has never wanted to sink into a group more, even when he was having sex all the time. Even Leyth has admitted that the Prince’s lovers and friends are all people she would fuck willingly every day if asked. Neither one of them having an reservations about that now they have had months with just the two of them together and no demands on their bodies. “Please. I-I am close.”

“It should be you, lover,” your hand caresses Ellaria’s cheek only because you are not close enough to kiss her. “I know you have missed Cal’s cock.”

“You do not want to experience his cock?” She asks curiously. She had thought that you were becoming close to the servants and would want to be involved.

“Oh I do.” You can promise her that without hesitation. “But you have not cum yet. If you would rather cum for Margaery, I will gladly let these men weigh me into the mattress.”

“We will be in this position many more times.” She tells you breezily, tamping down her own fears. If Oberyn is lost tomorrow, she will not have you regret missing out on one experience with him. “Take your place under them and feel the power of all three.”

Leyth does not miss a beat, transferring her attention to Ellaria and Margaery after helping you off the chaise. The five steps you need to get to the bed are quick, and you slide across half the mattress to cup Cal’s jaw and bring his eyes to yours. “Hold still for just a moment and then you will have a slick cunt to cum in.”

His neck stretches slightly, eyes dark and lust blown. “Kiss me, Princess?” He chokes out.

That is a request you are glad to bend to, and you meet his lips with equal desire as you slide yourself under the clutch of slick bodies for which Cal is the anchor.

“Do not collapse on her.” Oberyn has no issue with you being under the group, but he will not have you take all their weight when his child is nestled inside your womb.

“Never.” They are all very aware of your condition and happy to have the new babe in the way. Making sure you and that babe are safe is the very top priority. Even so, Cal groans when you slip into place below him and wrap your hand around his cock to guide him into your velvet heat.

“Princess.” Breaking you open is an exquisite feeling. Looking down and seeing you beneath him as you take inch after inch of his cock. His own body being pushed forward by the much slower thrusts of the men behind him. “So— you are so tight.” He groans.

“She is ma—magnificent.” Raeden groans, so close to his own end that he can barely think. Every sense has been taken over by Oberyn and Cal.

“Yes she is.” Oberyn agrees, smirking slightly when he feels the way that Raeden is pushing back desperately. “I think my lord Sunstone wishes to spill his load again.” He teases, his fingers gripping the man’s hips fierce and he snaps his hips forward.

“Not everyone has your stamina, lover.” Ellaria is close now, too, with Leyth and Margaery both dedicated to pleasing her, and she throws her head back on the chaise when Margaery grazes her teeth along her swollen clit. “Cal will burst any moment,” she predicts with a moan.

“Fuck.” Raeden grits his teeth and feels his own body respond to the words and the way that Cal’s body is gripping him like a vice.

“Cum for us, love.” From where you are, you can look him in the eye with no effort in between Cal’s passionate kisses. “Cum in Cal and make him fill me, too.”

Your words make the world explode for Raeden. Gasping out a choked combination of Cal and Oberyn’s names, he gives into the pleasure that has been denied to him for years. The cock in his ass striking against pure Heaven, his own throbs and starts to fill the man below him with hot ropes of his seed.

Cal’s hips stutter mere moments later, slamming into yours with as much force as he can muster and painting your cunt with his own sticky cum. Both men are panting, glassy eyed with lust and still hard thanks to the powder that Cal has supplied.

“Cum, my prince.” Raeden begs desperately, enjoying the way Oberyn still rocks into him roughly. “I need to feel it.”

Oberyn’s answering grunt comes with a gleam in his eyes, and he knows you are all watching him with held breath. You all need to witness this as much as Raeden needs to feel it, knowing what it means to him. His jaw is clenched, giving him away, and you practically moan when you notice it. “He is close,” you promise your own paramour. “Squeeze his cock even once more and he will not be able to hold out.”

Oberyn hisses when Raeden immediately follows your suggestion and bears down on his cock. “Vixen.” He chokes out, snapping his hips forward one last time and grinding deep, closing his eyes as the orgasm consumes his attention.

There is no heat in the chastisement, just in Oberyn’s eyes, and you marvel at the way his beautiful body tenses completely and he groans Raeden’s name a the most holy prayer. They have both waited so long for this that it makes being a part of it all the more meaningful. Raeden shouts at the first feeling of Oberyn filling him — calls out to the gods in their heavens and then growls Oberyn’s name so fiercely that anyone would think that he was coming apart all over again. His fingers dig into Cal’s hips as Oberyn rides out his pleasure and Raeden unconsciously holds his breath. The moment seems to invigorate and nearly collapse him simultaneously but Cal is already angling the men to one side on the bed. When they did slump over and need five minutes of rest, they will fall beside you, not on you.

“This is the beginning of a glorious night.” Margarey hums, moving off the chaise so she can pet and kiss both you and her husband. Another affectionate peck for Cal and then last but not least, Oberyn. Showering everyone with attention as thanks for such a wonderful scene.

The pile of bodies on the bed grows one more time as Ellaria and Leyth move to join you, and the easy touches between all of you grow to more kisses before too long. There will be no rest tonight until everyone is entirely satiated — and that will not happen quickly.

“We must clean up before we touch you.” Oberyn murmurs against your lips. You had crawled out from under Cal and was dividing kisses between Raeden and Oberyn as they had stated to kiss fiercely.

“Am I so very pure?” To his mind you are, and you know that. Revel in it, even. He treats you like the most precious creature in the world now that you are carrying his child.

Oberyn snorts, nibbling on your pulse even as his still hard cock twitches inside Raeden. He has not pulled out of his body yet, could perhaps stay buried if he did not want to touch as man as he could tonight. “Very.” He teases. “The woman who begged me to marry her could not even fathom the woman carrying my child.”

“I think I would not even recognize that woman if I laid eyes on her again.” You could beg for more kisses, but that is about it.

“She is much more confidant about taking what she wants.” Ellaria coos, pulling away from Leyth and Cal for a moment. Her hand is already around the other man’s cock and pumping it as he moans against his partner’s breast.

“I learned that it is not a sin to take what is freely given.” And that, for you, has been so immensely freeing.

“Everyone here gives freely or they are not in this bed.” Margaery had been immensely comforted by the fact that both Leyth and Cal wished to be here.

“That is true.” Raeden purrs at his wife, plunging himself across several bodies to demand a kiss and pluck at her breast. “And you have taken to it very well, wife.”

Her moan is loud and symbolic of the night itself. Everyone pleasured and enjoying themselves.

“I believe it is your turn to be fucked by a prince, Lady Sunstone.” She is now the only one who has not had Oberyn’s cock and one who very much wants it, and you grin before leaning over to nip at the sensitive skin of her neck. “She is like me, husband,” you warn Oberyn, knowing it will actually delight him. “Slap her ass, pull her hair, and fuck her hard. You will be rewarded with the scratch of her nails and wailing moans of your name.”

Oberyn smirks as he rolls over, moving quickly to the water basin to wash and to get a cloth for Raeden and Cal. “We will see, Princess. I will paint her ass with my seed and see if it makes her any lovelier than she already is.”

“She is most beautiful when she is exhausted from cumming,” you attest, winking at Margaery before you lay back in the pillows and trace your fingers up and down the length of your slit. Cal’s cum mixed with your own and the feeling is wonderfully decadent. “That leaves us, my love,” you hum at Raeden as he quickly cleans himself. “Unless you plan to share Margaery with Oberyn? Then I will gladly finger fuck my own pussy at the sight.”

“Very fitting.” Raeden watches shamelessly, looking back and forth between you touching yourself and Oberyn cleaning his hard cock before he comes back to the bed. He aches, pleasantly so in a way that has been sorely missed, and he can feel the prince’s cum start to drip out of him. “He fucks my wife while I fuck his.”

“Then come here.” Reaching for him immediately, the smile on your face turns from amused to beaming and you tug him toward the bed again by his fingertips. “Take me however you want me. I promise my screams will reach the gods.”

“The night will be one that the gods are envious of.” Oberyn predicts with a smirk. “Old and new.”

******

The morning light wakes you first, as the pile of bodies on the bed in your chambers has wrapped itself up in a comfortable ball with seemingly only you facing the window. Or, at least, Oberyn has his face buried in your back with Raeden curled around him. Leyth is facing you in the center of the bed, with Margaery in Cal's arms on her other side, and Ellaria has one arm stretched out across all of their bodies as though she was reaching for you in her sleep. The night had left all of you as exhausted as you were satisfied and you had all fallen into dreams with your last partners and no hesitations whatsoever with your intimacy.

This morning, however, you would banish the brightness of the sun if it was in your power. Blot out its power and let night last forever. This morning, Oberyn will stand up and fight for his sister's honorable memory and Lord Tyrion's innocence. He will fight for his life. And the worry that that churns in you has you turning over in his arms to watch just a few more minutes of his peaceful sleep.

He wakes the moment you move, although he doesn’t give that away. Keeping still as you sigh heavily and his body stays relaxed as you shift and turn to face him. He can sense the sun, the light brighter than the flame of waxy candles that he had finally passed out to. Sometime, perhaps an hour before dawn. Even though he should be exhausted still, he’s invigorated, feeling as if he could fight a hundred Gregor Cleganes.

“The morning has come, my love.” As bare as a whisper, your fingertips do not even graze his skin but ghost over it as you watch Oberyn’s relaxed face. “Your morning. Your time in the light of the gods to bring Elia’s murderer to justice. The poets will sing about this morning with reverence.” Your voice shakes a little, tears threatening to burst through, but you swallow them with determination. “I promised you that I would be strong today, my love, and I will. You said for our people, but it is for you.” The tears you promised not to shed are close to the surface and you swallow again, thickly. “To fall in love with you was unthinkable, husband. It was never an option in my mind. But you—gods help me, you smiled at me and looked into my eyes and I knew somehow that my heart had room enough for two.” Your fingertips graze his beard gently and you almost choke, holding the sob in so you will not disturb anyone else in bed. “I believe you could conquer all Seven Kingdoms if you set your mind to it, my love. But—if you do not—if this morning goes awry—” Voice dropping impossibly lower, your open eyes are set firmly on his closed ones. On the set of his eyelashes and the tone of his skin in the rising sun. “Then the Mountain’s blood shall run from my dagger instead. I swear it on my own life.”

It is humbling to hear that vow set down from your sweet lips. Vengeance is not in your nature, revenge not steeped in your blood. That you would love him so fiercely to make that promise is like a soothing balm to the raw edges of the morning. He would never wish you to have to do that. He wants you to live your life peacefully, exactly how you wished. Neither does he want you to mourn him. Your first child, growing them, nurturing them in your body, should not be spent wallowing in misery.

“I love you, husband.” If he were awake you would seal the promise with a kiss, but as it is you study his features in repose. Memorizing his face one more time. “My soulmate.”

“I love you, wife.” His voice is scratchy, husky with sleep and he keeps it low to not disturb the others. Wanting this moment with you before any intrusions. He will have another moment like this with Ellaria as well, needing it. Just in case. “My soulmate.”

Under any other circumstance you might be upset with yourself for having woken him. But there is too much at stake today to lie to yourself that you are not glad to hear his voice. Instead you reach up again and let your hands rest on the line of his jaw. “Good morning, beloved.”

“No lovelier sight to greet the day.” Oberyn smiles as he looks over your still sleep softened features. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“A most pleasant ache,” you admit with a sly grin. There is not one single member of this unusual family that will not be sore today. “Did you sleep well?”

“For the few hours that I have slept, I feel as though I could move mountains.” He hums, smirking at his pun.

“My husband feels very clever this morning.” The pun practically has you rolling your eyes but you lean forward to kiss his lips instead.

“I always feel clever, but for you I will admit that I am going to be happy when this is over.” He accept the kiss and gives you another.

“As will we all.” As confident as you all may be in Oberyn’s abilities, he will not be the only person in that ring today. He is not the only factor at hand. And that alone is terrifying.

“We will be back in this room, making ready to leave this city in just a few hours.” Oberyn reminds you. “Every noble of Dorne who has come will be there as well.”

“It cannot come soon enough.” Pressing one more kiss to his lips, you summon a smile and remind yourself that sewing doubt in him helps no one. You are his wife. His soulmate. His support. And you can clutch Ellaria’s hand in mutual fear when the time comes.

“Would you like to join Ellaria and I in the bath?” He had thought to spend that time with his other soulmate, but he knows you might want to stay close while you can. “She will be helping me dress.”

“She deserves time with you this morning.” Ellaria has known him much longer and loved him much more ferociously, and it would be cruel of you to intrude on her moment with Oberyn. “I will wash and dress with Raeden and Margaery, and we will all present as a unified party to the capital.”

He touches the necklace that the three of you had worn. Raeden’s necklace was equally beautiful and It had made him incredibly possessive when he had seen all of you wearing it. It only made the night even sweeter when you had disappeared together and then reappeared wearing them. “Dorne is stronger with the three of you beside us.” He tells you honestly. For so long, it has been him and Ellaria. Lovers have come and gone but the two of them are no longer just the two of them. He has subtly started thinking of your group as his, just as he is yours.

“Dorne will be stronger when we all return home together.” Having made your promise when he was sleeping, you will not allow yourself to entertain any other possibility aloud this morning. It will do no good, especially not for him.

“Of course it will.” Oberyn smirks, “we will set Dorne on it ear and it will be better for it.”

“The only thing I have ever done that would shock Dorne is make a husband of its prince.” Still though, you smile. Knowing how unbelievable that news will be to many of the people. “And I am honored that you love me as I love you.”

“I do love you.” Oberyn whispers seriously. “Until the end of time and my bones turn to dust.”

“May that be an extraordinarily long time from now,” you murmur, fingers delicately tracing the lines of his face.

“It will be.” The vow is make as he traces your own face gently and the others begin to stir. “When I am too old to sire a child.”

“That will never happen,” Raeden chuckles, his voice hoarse and cracked as he stretches at Oberyn’s back. “You will be making new babies the same age as your great-grandchildren.”

“Especially if I get more of whatever Cal fed us last night.” Oberyn jokes as the man’s eyes open. “My legacy will overrun the Seven Kingdoms.”

“There are three women in this bed who would be glad to bear you more children.” It would be four if Leyth could have children, but there is no use harping on the impossible. “And you, too, Lord Sunstone.”

“It is my hope that one of you is already carrying my child.” He can’t help but look smug at the prospect as he leans in and kisses Oberyn’s shoulder. “So our children can run the gardens together and grow up as close as siblings.”

“That is a wonderful dream,” Margaery murmurs sleepily, already smiling. “When we reach home I will see a Maester right away.”

"It is time." Oberyn grunts softly, hating to pull away from the warm bodies in the bed, but he needs to prepare for his trial by combat battle with the man who had murdered his sister.

******

When the party from Dorne arrives in the stadium with matching emblems, Dornish dress in House Martell's colors, and looks of fierce pride on all of your faces, it is the sound of bells that welcomes and warns you all at once. The leather trim on all of your cloaks and gowns matches Oberyn's armour. The oils rubbed into your skin even smell of Dornish herbs. You, Ellaria, and Margaery are all even wearing your hair in traditionally Dornish styles. There is no question whom you represent, and Oberyn walks proudly out in front with you on one arm and Ellaria on the other as Raeden and Margaery follow close behind. Today is about honor, and no matter what happens, you will all hold your heads high.

Oberyn smirks as Tywin, Cersei and their dower looking entourage arrive. The head of the Lannisters looks as if he’s sucked down a cup of sour wine. Or had walked in on his children fucking. “Look at him.” Oberyn hums as he strides to the tent that has been erected with his weapons already in place on a table. “He looks like he had taken a disappointing cock in his ass.”

You and Ellaria snicker softly at the image Oberyn paints, and walk with him directly to the table. There are chairs in place but you all know that you will be too nervous to sit, making you all the more grateful for the pitcher of wine that has been placed out. This is Cal and Leyth's doing, for there is a small pitcher of fruit juice beside it for you, and you step forward to pour Oberyn a goblet of wine knowing that Cal will have made sure it is Dornish.

“Make sure not to touch the spear, my love.” Oberyn cautions. “It has fangs.” The poison has been applied, although there is another powder he will rub on it before the fight begins.

There is some cheering from spectating peasants who have no idea the enormity of the importance this morning bears for Oberyn. but the ripple of a gasp rips through the crowd when the legendary warrior prince drinks his wine in one gulp and turns to Ellaria to bestow a passionate kiss before giving the same to you.

“I think they might hate you more than me.” Margaery hums as she looks towards the seats where her former family sits. Her father’s face is mottled red and he might snap the arms of the chair he is gripping it so tightly. Tywin’s glare matches Cersei’s and she’s felt the weight of their anger.

"My husband's sense of humor is rubbing off on me," you mumble just loud enough for all of your party to hear. "I could suggest that the prince and Lady Sunstone share a kiss as well."

“That might make my father keel over.” She giggles quietly and hums pleasantly at the thought. “Although I will kiss him as soon as you and Ellaria does after his victory.”

“I should like to see his reaction to that,” Raeden chuckles and leans down to kiss his bride, drawing an even more animated reaction from the crowd.

"It would be one that all of the Seven Kingdoms should see." Oberyn chuckles himself, his eyes sliding towards the Lannisters and he smirks.

The bells cease their tolling only moments before Tyrion Lannister appears with guards flanking him on either side. "Looks like very light armour," he observes when he is hurried under the same tent as the Dornish party to stand beside his champion. Clearly, Tyrion is concerned.

Oberyn breaks away from his kiss with Ellaria, annoyed by the criticism. "I like to move around."

The youngest Lannister is obviously unamused with his answer because he continues to grumble at him. "You could at least wear a helmet." Oberyn picks up the goblet that you have refilled and starts to drink. "You shouldn't drink before a fight." Tyrion huffs.

Motioning towards the man in chains, Obery quips, "You learn this during your years in the fighting pits?" He looks down at the cup. "I always drink before a fight."

"It could get you killed." Tyrion reminds him flatly, looking around at the party surrounding him. At the support he has. It would be useless to admit that he envies the man for being so adored, and instead he grumbles again. "It could get me killed."

Oberyn sets down his cup and looks at the little man with certainty. "Today is not the day I die." He assures him, aware that the poison will guarantee his victory against the Mountain. Ellaria hums happily, sliding her hand over his leathers and looking towards you with a smirk. She knows both of you find his confidence sexy and right now, all of you need to believe that statement.

"Have faith in your Champion, Lord Tyrion," you remind him, as the crowd begins to roar again. It is louder this time, more excited than merely intrigued, and you turn to watch Gregor Clegane himself - the Mountain - walking into the arena. So that is why they call him a Mountain, you think to yourself with instant terror. And you know Ellaria is just as scared when she grips your hand tightly. "You're going to fight that?" She asks Oberyn with wide eyes.

Oberyn swaggers over to the edge of the table and leans against it, looking over at where the Mountain has made his appearance. "I'm going to kill that." Ellaria's eyes are fixed on him. "He's the biggest man I've ever seen." Her grip tightens, nearly crushing your fingers as her own worry spills over the edge of her calm facade. Oberyn will do as he pleases, he has for years and she has never truly worried, but that? That is a foe that he might not be able to beat.

Bending over the wash basin, Oberyn cleans his hands of the wine. "Size does not matter when you are flat on your back."

"Thank the gods." You and Tyrion manage to murmur at the same time.

A horn sounds its simple fanfare, calling the combatants and the audience to order. Grand Maester Pycelle has appeared on the edge of the ring and though he is surely doing his best to be heard throughout the stadium, his aged voice is not powerful. "In the sight of gods and men, we gather to ascertain the guilt or innocence of this..." he stumbles, not quite knowing what descriptor to use until he settles on the usual one. "Man...Tyrion Lannister. May the Mother grant them mercy. May the Father give them such justice as they deserve. May the Warrior guide the hand of our champion–" He is cut off when Tywin grows impatient and motions for the horn to blow again, ultimately bowing lamely and shuffling off to the stands once more.

Oberyn turns, pulling Ellaria into his arms and kissing her passionately, before she steps back and you take her place. Every feeling, every touch and mark on your body that belongs to him is poured into the much too short kiss. His heart starting to pound in anticipation.

Ellaria has one of Oberyn's hands in hers and you have the other as the sound of Gregor Clegane's immense sword leaving its sheath can be heard across the ring. "Don't leave us alone in this world." She entreats Oberyn with a note of desperation that is so unlike her but so like this situation. Realistically, would either of you be truly alone? Of course not. You would have each other, if nothing else. But formally? Legally? You could be denied everything without him there to provide for you – and that is what terrifies her. That everyone in this tent is under his protection and his alone until the time you set foot on Dornish sand.

"Never." He can promise her that. Without hesitation or contemplation. He would never leave any of you alone if he could help it.

As soon as Ellaria lets go of his hand, you pull Oberyn into your arms and place the hand of his that you had been holding on the curve of your stomach. The nature of the gesture is unmistakable, and as the announcement of your pregnancy had not yet been made, a gasp ripples through the crowd. But that is precisely what you were hoping for. While the people of King's Landing are murmuring in shock, they do not notice you slipping the sheath of an extra dagger under the folds of your husband's leather armour. "For Elia," you whisper to him, giving the sheathed dagger a quick tug to make sure that it is secure before you kiss him once more. "And for your family. Be swift, my love."

There is a quick wink towards Raeden and the squire that has been a part of Oberyn's travels and will attend him during the fight, tosses him the spear. The lightweight, yet sturdy wood feels perfectly balanced in his hands and he wastes no time twirling it around in his hand. Showing off is part of his very nature and part of his strategy. He wants the crowd to cheer for him. It's obvious they do when he spins around for the final time and grins up at the covered tents where Twyin and his whore daughter try to look unimpressed.

From where you stand under your tent at the edge of the ring, you and Ellaria are already on edge as you watch Oberyn showboat and the look of disinterested murderousness in the Mountain's eyes deepens. The crowd cheering pushes your heart up into your throat because you know that it bolsters him – he feeds off the energy of those around him in almost every circumstance. This one is no different.

Turning to face the man who had murdered his beloved sister, the grin on his face is satisfied, eager to address the man who would confess his crimes to the crowd. "Have they told you who I am?" He demands, wanting to know if he remembers his sister, or if the years and his numerous crimes for the Lannisters have dimmed his memory. The Mountain seems unimpressed. "Some dead man." He tells him right before he lunges with a swing of his broadsword.

The first few strikes sound terribly, the clash of metal and strong wood echoing through the space like taunts. Every strike seems to pierce your heart rather than deter Oberyn's confidence, and if that is how it must be then you will gladly absorb every blow.

"I am the brother of Elia Martell." He announces, keeping his voice loud but not shouting into the stands because he's addressing the man in front of him. "Do you know why I have come all the way to this stinking, shit-pile of a city?" He asks, squaring his body in front of the giant of a man. "For you." Instantly, he crouches and attacks, swinging his spear and nearly catching Clegane under his heavy helmet.

Oberyn swings his staff elegantly. Of course the weapon was molded for him but he has also molded himself to the weapon – and Clegane's lumbering and grunts only serve to make him look inelegant compared to the smaller, much nimbler form of the Red Viper. Even though you gasp when the Mountain lunges, you cannot tear your eyes away. Oberyn slides backward, deftly avoiding the attack as he continues to taunt his foe.

"I'm going to hear you confess before you die." This time Oberyn isn't facing the beast in front of him, instead his words go up into the crowd with a ripping of confusion from the spectators. Tywin's jaw is so tight that it could shatter if he clenches his teeth together. Turning back to Gregor Clegane, he makes his accusations. "You raped my sister. You murdered her. You killed her children." There is hatred in his eyes and swings his spear up. "Say it now and we can make this quick."

Your hand tightens around Ellaria's as you watch the growling Mountain lunge at Oberyn and the clanging of their weapons rings through the stadium. Feeling their presence at your back, you cannot tear your eyes away from the ring to look to them, but you know Raeden and Margaery are just behind you. Oberyn was right - of course he was - it is his speed and his dexterity that keeps him ahead of Clegane.

When he hits the Mountain across his back with the spear, he knocks the man's helmet off. Revealing his disgusting face to the crowd. "Say it. You raped her." Oberyn spits out, deflecting another attack from the other warrior. "You murdered her." He can still sling his accusations as he spins around, although the Mountain is just shouting as he lunges for Oberyn again. Again, his spear is used to push the sword's momentum down to the ground and he looks into the eyes of his sister's killer. "You killed her children."

The accusation is repeated with every swing, every lunge, and every blow. Oberyn is a blur in the ring as the lumbering Mountain tries to keep up, but the Red Viper of Dorne is too quick for his reflexes and heavier armor. Once he manages to knock Oberyn toward the ground but the prince only springs up to his feet again seconds later – the sharp intake of breath under your tent is loud enough for other to hear but still none of you can take your eyes off of the fight.

His rage manifests as amusement, a smile on his face, although it doesn't reach his eyes. The fight has gone beyond playful and taunting. The years of fury have built up and the Mountain knocks the spear out of his hand, knocking him to the ground.

The crowd may cheer as Oberyn flips out of the way, his training making him lithe and athletic while you and Ellaria swallow shaky gasps and clutch each other's hands impossibly harder. Tyrion may hyperventilate at any moment, watching his champion be so performative, but he says nothing. He knows that you and everyone else under this tent are terrified for the life of the Prince of Dorne, not for the life of the Imp of Casterly Rock.

The next spear is tossed to Oberyn and his attacks turn more vicious. Even as he's sent down to his knees, he is bouncing back. This time after a flurry of attacks and deflecting, the giant grabs Oberyn and tosses him across the combat area.

By this time you count three wounds that the poisoned blade has made in the Mountain's flesh, but you know nothing of poisons. How long will it take to begin killing him? How will it kill him? Will it weaken him immensely, or simply slow him down? Was there even enough poison to do Oberyn any good in the moment? You flinch when he is thrown to the ground but Ellaria holds to your fast, urging you not to look away. The two of you have promised to survive this fight side by side and that is not a promise either of you can break.

Stomping away from the Mountain as he tries to regain his footing, Oberyn's fervor spirals. "You raped her!" He shouts, "You murdered her!" He watches as the other man attacks again, spinning around and this time, he digs the hook of the spear into the back of the Mountain's heel. Ripping open flesh and making him scream in agony. Panting as Clegane drops to his knees. Gripping his spear, he screams again. "You killed her children!" Running forward, Oberyn leaps up and drives the spear into the Mountain's chest, making blood spurt from his chest.

There is a moment where people almost smile. Tyrion and Jamie Lannister both look like they are about to, mostly out of shock, and Ellaria almost laughs in relief. You and Margaery make identical sobbing sounds that are halfway like laughs, and even Raeden blows out a long breath. Clegane is flat on his back, and you could swear that you see him twitch while Oberyn circles him with growling anger.

To add insult to injury, Oberyn leaves the spear in the man's chest. "Wait. Are you dying?" He asks. "No. No. No." He growls as he paces. "You can't die yet. You haven't confessed." He reaches over and yanks the spear out of his chest, assured that poison has worked through the man's body. He will die in agony and yet it will still not be good enough. "Say it." He resumes marching around him as he groans on the ground. "Say her name. Elia Martell." As his blood boils, his mind spins in a murderous rage. "You raped her. You killed her children." The spectators are quiet as his voice rings out of the seats. "Elia Martell." He points at Tywin Lanniser sitting on his cushioned chair. "Who gave you the order?" He looks back at the Mountain and then back at Tywin. "Who gave you the order?! Say her name! You raped her! You murdered her!" Around and around, Oberyn circles the fallen man, his voice climbing higher ever time he speaks. "You killed her children." Nothing matters but this. Nothing. Not Tyrion. He had never really cared about the little man's guilt or innocence. He cares about his revenge.

Oberyn circles the giant, roaring his accusations and demanding that Clegane confess. Once - just once - he manages to look up to the tent where all of you are watching, and the unmistakable pride in Ellaria's expression and the firm determination in yours makes him smile with grim satisfaction. But he inches just a hair too close to the dying man in the middle of the ring. Clegane's hand comes out and snatches at Oberyn's ankle, sending the legendary Viper to ground once more. Tyrion panics, eyes widening; and you and Ellaria gasp out loud. The Mountain is moving and Oberyn is on his back.

Please, Gods...please do not take him like this...

There is a split second where the future flashes in front of his eyes. One that he would not be present for. His lover becoming jaded and bitter, obsessing over revenge for his death and oddly enough, he does not want that. His Sand Snakes being killed by the bastard Lions in a vain attempt to find justice for their father before they are ready. Raeden being run through in a battle to get you and his heir out of the city. It's not above Tywin Lanniser and he knows that the man had seen the way you had brought his hand to your stomach. Then you, his lovely wife. Carrying his child. The horrible idea of you suffering the same fate as his sister. Perhaps even at the hands of the same man.

His hands flail for a moment as the weight of the man presses him down into the stone. "Elia Martell." He growls, hands reaching for Oberyn's head and the Prince's eyes squeeze shut as the gloved thumbs cover them and start to press. Oberyn screams, the sound pure agony as he touches the dagger you had tucked into his waist and he knows that confession would be the best he would ever get. Not before the man seriously damages his eyes or kills him. His pride, his arrogance had landed him on his back, the poison not killing him fast enough. "E-Elia." He gasps out, wrapping his fingers around the hilt and pulling it out, shoving it up through the bottom of the Mountain's chin and into his head as hard as he can. "Elia Martell." Oberyn chokes out. "Of Dorne." Gregor Clegane's eyes widen and he gurgles, blood spewing out of his mouth onto the prince's face. "This is for her."

The collection gasp of shock from the assembled audience cannot compete with the way you and Ellaria scream. The fierce shrieks coming deep inside both of you when all you can see of Oberyn is that the man you both love - your soulmate - is flat on his back beneath the Mountain's murderous bulk. Raeden has to push Margaery backward into Cal's grip so he can wrap one arm around you and Ellaria, barely managing to stop you from storming the ring yourselves to finish the Mountain with your bare hands. He knows you would manage it somehow. That together there could be nothing from stopping you and Ellaria if you got your hands on Gregor Clegane.

You struggle against Raeden in tandem, screaming Oberyn's name, until you see a flash of metal against the late morning sun and another flood of blood. It is impossible to tell whose blood it is at first, until a look of relief washes briefly over Jamie Lannister's face.

"Oberyn!" Prying Raeden's hand open, you sprint for the center of the ring as the Mountain's lifeless body is shoved aside to reveal a triumphant Prince of Dorne has, indeed, survived.

He has survived.

Avenged his sister.

Won the day.

And you pull him into your arms just a moment before Ellaria reaches his other side so that both of you can help him to his feet.

"The gods have made their will known." Tywin Lannister's voice shakes with anger and disbelief, but the results are indisputable. "Tyrion Lannister, in the name of King Tommen of the House Baratheon, First of His Name...you have been found innocent of the murder of King Joffrey." He sounds as if he could throw something, but you barely hear the declaration. Oberyn is standing on his own two feet with his arms around you and Ellaria, and that is all that matters.

Panting and breathless, Oberyn absorbs the roar of the crowd, but is doesn't mean anything to him. Neither does the effusive gratitude of a near sobbing Tyrion as the guards unlock his chains, setting him free. All that matters is that he is still breathing and you and Ellaria are in his arms. He surges forward, pressing his lips to Ellaria's and then yours in front of the crowd as Raeden and Margaery stand to the side. His need for justice has been quenched. While the Mountain did not implicate Tywin, he can live with the fact that her murderer has breathed his last breath and all of King's Landing now knows.

"Let us leave this fucking place." He decides breathlessly, grinning at you and jostling Ellaria closer to him. "Never to return. Dorne calls us home."

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie

My Masterlist!

[henry-fox-biggest-stan]

Alex’s feelings being symbolized as fire and Henry’s being symbolized as water

I made a post like this time ago, but this one is better.

The first example you can see is their zodiac signs. They immediately link Alex to fire (Aries) and Henry to water (Pisces).

Alex’s feelings are fire, intense, they can burn him, strong, when he feels them, he feels them in an intense way (She doesn’t worry about going public with it; feelings don’t consume her the way his do.)

Henry’s feelings are water, deep, they can drown him, clear (genuine), when he feels something, he feels it deep (Every time something terrible happens to you from then on, it doesn’t just stop at the bottom—it goes all the way down.)

Now going directly at the book. It’s present through all of it but specially during chapter 9-10.

Alex is paired with phrases like “having a fire under his ass” or “you’re flying too close to the sun”.

In chapter 9, there are sentences like these “I kind of can’t stop thinking about you all sunburned and pretty” and “with fingers that smell like smoke” and “He watches a drop of water roll down Henry’s perfect nose and disappear into his mouth” Those are little sentences, little symbolism not exactly important to the plot (except maybe the last one, although it might be a reach from my part).

I kind of can’t stop thinking about you all sunburned and pretty

Sun symbolizes life, brightness, positivity, etc etc. This is Alex saying than he can’t stop thinking about Henry happy (and away from the palace). The sun is also made of fire. Who is deeply tied with fire all around the book? Alex.

with fingers that smell like smoke.

Henry spent the day with Alex and his family (Nora is basically family too), on a place really important to him, where not everyone gets to go. This could be Alex being all around, kind of seeping through him. Being obviously in love with him, and that having an effect in him.   

He watches a drop of water roll down Henry’s perfect nose and disappear into his mouth.

The drop of water (Henry’s feelings) disappear into his mouth, he doesn’t say them.   

There’s also this one

“I guess that makes you the North Star?”

Stars are made out of fire, in some way. This is Alex seeing Henry like how Henry sees him (alive, bright) because when Henry thought than Alex loving him would set him on fire, is not only because Casey enjoys symbolism, but also because Alex was “happy and animated and fully alive, a person living in dimensions I couldn’t access”.

Stars shine in the same way the sun does, but they don’t appear like they do because of the distance between us and the stars. This is Alex seeing Henry like how Henry sees him (I talk more about it at the end of this post), Henry is as bright as Alex, it’s just harder to see because he’s more guarded, he keeps his distance, he keeps himself to himself. Alex is more open compared to Henry, so it’s easier to see Alex as a sun rather than Henry. Meanwhile Alex is fire and Henry is water, through the book Henry gains fire elements. A representation of Alex’s influence on him.

Then at the lake, the symbolism really starts.

The lake is made out of water, the lake is Henry’s feelings (a parallel to Alex on chapter 11 saying Sometimes I feel like a funny-looking rock in the middle of the most beautiful clear ocean when I read the kinds of things you write to me.)

The water ripples quietly around him as he slides his hands up to hold Henry’s face in both palms, tracing his cheekbones with the wet pads of his thumbs.

In this scene, the lake is Henry’s feelings. They were surrounded by Henry’s feelings, so strong (a mix of his own feelings for Alex and how he felt about Alex’s confession) than it was the width of a lake. That’s why they were inside the lake when this confession happened.

The water ripples quietly around him, Henry’s feelings being shown through their surroundings.

Tracing his cheekbones with the wet pads of his thumbs. Alex is touching Henry with wet hands. Wet by the lake, wet by Henry’s feelings. He’s surrounded by them, Henry helped him not take it ten years into the future, and just be, even if unknowingly, so during Alex’s confession, he was swimming on Henry’s feelings. The credit was not Henry’s, obviously, but I think than if Alex never started going out with Henry, maybe this change would have took longer to happen. 

His hands are wet, he is affected by Henry’s feelings, and he touches Henry while being affected by his feelings. He tells him about having a fire under his ass and slowly getting rid of it, to which Henry had something to do with, and he tries to confess. This whole line explains the entire scene perfectly.  

 

Abruptly Henry shifts, ducking beneath the surface and out of his arms before he can say anything else. 
He pops back up near the pier, hair sticking to his forehead ///  Henry spits out lake water and sends a splash in his direction,  

Henry gets away from Alex, but he’s still in the lake, still on the water. He’s feeling here, he doesn’t ignore his feeling for “Alex’s sake” (what Henry was probably thinking). 

Hair sticking to his forehead, the water, his feelings, are still present. Henry spits out lake water, he tries to get rid of them, somehow. To ignore them, to not focus on his own feelings at the moment.

and sends a splash in his direction, he pushes his feelings away from himself.

as he turns and starts hauling himself out of the water and onto the dock.

Henry is the first one to get out of the lake, apparently, running away from Alex’s feelings, but using the symbolism, also running away from his. Not denying himself what he felt, since he already knew, but trying to ignore it. Trying to ignore his feelings and the fact than Alex reciprocated because that just couldn’t work out. It didn’t make sense than Alex loved him back.   

Now chapter 10, this one has the most fire/water symbolism.

It’s dark and pissing down rain when they land in London / Fat raindrops are pelting right into his eyeballs.

Basically, Henry breaking down. Henry's feelings being too much for him to handle, too deep, too bottomless, to keep inside of him anymore.
Now, his feelings are the rain. It was dark and pissing down rain. Strongly raining. Henry knew Alex loved him back, and he couldn't deal with that. He couldn't deal than, when it all would
eventually end, as he thought it would, he would not only break his own heart, but Alex's too. 

At the moment, he still believed than he deserved nothing, than he was only born to be a puppet for the crown. Than he didn't deserve happiness, didn't deserve Alex's love because, what was there of him to love? However, even if he didn't feel deserving of happiness, of Alex's feelings,
he still loved him. He loved him strongly like the rain outside. 

Rain outside, than, by the way, was soaking Alex.

Alex was soaking in Henry's feelings the moment he arrived at Kensington. One, because Henry's feelings were so deep and strong than occupied all of London, and two, because those feelings were directed specially towards Alex.

Henry paces over to the elaborately carved fireplace across the room and leans on the mantelpiece.

The fireplace. The fireplace has a big part in this scene omg.

The fireplace, who is continuously being described with fire-related elements? Alex.

So the fireplace is a tangible representation of Alex’s feelings, he paces over it. He’s deciding whatever he should accept Alex’s feelings or not. Whatever he should let Alex confess or not. Deciding exactly what to do with them. Because giving Alex up nearly killed him, but if he accepted his feelings, everything else would be so much more complicated. They would have to fight, and as we see later in the scene, Henry doesn’t think of himself as a fighter, but a coward.    

 

“I fucking love you, okay?” Alex half yells, finally, irreversibly.     
Henry goes very still against the mantelpiece.

Alex said it, Henry can’t just ignore it or deny it anymore, he goes still against the mantelpiece, he doesn’t pace over it anymore. Alex said it, there’s no turning back.

 

A small click cuts the silence: Henry has taken his signet ring off and set it down on the mantel.

He takes of his signet ring (a symbol of monarchy, something than probably was passed down to him, which means than it’s also a symbol of history. The prince of Wales signet ring [Charles ring] reads: Ich Dien. I serve. A tangible representation of his service to the country. Of his responsibilities) and he puts it in the fireplace.

The fireplace, which represents Alex’s feelings.

He takes off his ring, takes off monarchy and that sense of expectation than comes with it, and sets it on top of the fireplace. Leaves the two possible futures for him side by side. The ring, meaning monarchy, having to pretend someone he’s not, probably marrying a woman and stay in the same place and system than caused him so much pain. But than, nonetheless, would be the easier choice.

Or, a possible future with Alex. A future they both would have to fight tooth and nail for, and maybe, will not even happen. Maybe they will not be accepted. Maybe it all would turn out wrong. Maybe Alex would regret in the future. But than, even if it’s the most complicated and unknown path, is the one where Henry would be able to be himself for once, and where he would have Alex at his side.    

He holds his naked hand to his chest,

He’s not used to not wearing the ring, to have a choice, to decide for himself.

his naked hand, bare, exposed, the real him, how he actually feels about the whole situation, about the choice he has to make. Just Henry, not Prince Henry.

He holds his hand to his chest, to his heart, here we have a little bit of foreshadowing you could say, than he makes the decision based on his heart, on his feelings. He chooses what he feels.   

Alex yanks the soggy note out of his pocket, I wish there wasn’t a wall,

Soggy, wet by the rain. Wet by Henry’s feelings. After all, he did put his real feelings on the note. But this is not what it is about. It’s because then more than ever the note was true. Henry did wish there wasn’t a wall, Alex loved him back, if only Henry could accept it, if only there wasn’t a wall.

    

staring at a point on the mantel somewhere

He stares at the mantel meanwhile he confesses. He talks about how “it was never supposed to be an issue” while staring at the mantel, at the two possible futures for him. 

“I never thought I’d be standing here faced with a choice I can’t make, because I never . . . I never imagined you would love me back.”

He was still staring at the mantel. What was he supposed to choose, the path than was written since before he was born, the easy path yet the unhappy one, or the unknown path, the one he didn’t know where would led them but than, still, it would led Henry to a more happy place, even if it will be more complicated.

He never had to think about what he would do given the situation, given than he thought than said situation would never happen. He never had to think, because he thought than he would always continue just as he was, than nothing would come and change it all.

He realizes, suddenly, Henry’s crying.

Henry’s feelings getting out, showing them, not being able to ignore them anymore.   

the fire gone out.

This fire could refer to Alex’s feelings, or it could refer to the strong emotions subsiding, before, they were screaming, crying, now it’s calm, in some way.

If it refers to Alex’s feelings, it doesn’t change much. Alex’s feelings before were angry, irritated, he was screaming, trying to understand and make Henry understand than he should have control over his own life, now he’s calmer.  

there’s a violent rain lashing against the big picture window, half-revealed by parted curtains.

What if I said than I actually adore this line?

Violent rain, lashing against the big picture window. Henry’s feelings being violent. He’s thinking things through, making a decision, and his feelings are strong, like a violent rain.

Half-revealed by parted curtains. He isn’t showing Alex all of his feelings, but he’s showing him some of them, which is more than he did the previous days, since here Alex is seeing the rain, even if it’s half-revealed by parts curtains. Before Alex came, in the USA it wasn’t raining, it was raining in London. Alex wasn’t in London, so Alex didn’t know about the rain until he came. Henry didn’t tell him about his feelings until Alex went for himself to talk to him. Now, it rains while Alex is in London, where he can see the rain. Henry shows him some of his feelings without Alex having to talk to Henry in order to understand them. 

Alex says this some lines later: It’s time, he realizes, to start accepting only what Henry can give him.

He says it referring the Le Monde newspaper, but Alex also doesn’t open the curtains, he settles with the rain he can see through the half-revealed window.

Next to the clock on the mantel, Henry’s ring still sits.

He left it where it was the night before, meaning he’s still pondering over what to choose, except, Henry isn’t in the room anymore. He’s thinking outside, and he left the ring inside.

He makes this decision without monarchy in sight. He leaves the ring behind, it’s weight no longer in him. It’s a decision he has to make for himself, untouched and uninfluenced by monarchy, just him for once. 

Just what Henry decides (he chooses his own happiness over what is decided for him) before Henry explains his decision.

Also, clocks (next to the clock on the mantel) can symbolize emotional overwhelm, caused by things like lack of time, or deadlines (Henry was on a deadline, in some way. He had to choose what he wanted to do, he couldn’t put it off any longer). Henry was emotional overwhelmed.  

”I honestly have never thought I deserved to choose.” His hand moves, fingertips brushing a curl behind Alex’s ear. “But you treat me like I do.”

Not regarding fire/water but I wanted to add this.

Henry is not talking about how Alex told him than he deserved to choose, but about how he treated him like he deserved to choose.

Is not “but you make me feel like I do”, or “but you convinced me than I should” or anything else, is Alex treating him like he deserves to choose what did it to him. 

Surely people told Henry about how he should choose over his own life, but they never treated him with the respect and understanding than one should receive when is in charge of making decisions. Alex held him accountable. He went to Kensington, went off on him for ghosting him, told him than they could figure something out, called him an obtuse fucking asshole, the whole deal.

Sure, the blame was on the monarchy (specially Henry’s grandmother [do not speak the devil’s name]) but part of the blame was also on Henry. Henry decided to run from the lakehouse, Henry decided to ghost Alex, no one forced him to do these things. And Henry endured a lot of brainwashing and manipulation from monarchy, which led to him making decisions like these ones, but at the end of the day, the decision was his. I feel like because of these brainwashing from monarchy most of his actions were excused, people (like Pez or Bea) felt bad for him, understood what train of thought led to these decisions, didn’t told him “hey that was an asshole move”. Alex did. He held him accountable for what he did.

Henry being held accountable this time might have made him realize than he did, in fact, choose to do all that. Mary didn’t force him to do it. Sure, she’s the reason why he did it, but Mary didn’t ask him to, she didn’t force him. Henry did it himself. Which means he can choose for himself, and than he should start choosing good things for himself, not choosing what will hurt him out of fear and resignation.

When Alex told him about how he could choose, how they could figure something out, he was serious. He genuinely believed it could work (and it did). I think than the lack of realism regarding Henry's decisions is what made him believe than he shouldn’t choose, than he didn’t deserve it. Aside from Henry probably never being granted a chance to have a voice regarding matters growing up (like which clothes he wore, etc which led him to believe he just couldn’t choose, shouldn’t choose, than everyone else knew what was better for him [given his position (he didn’t have the same responsibilities as normal people, he had the weight of a country on him, etc etc)] and also since very little his ideas and thoughts were probably dismissed, not only because that’s what almost everyone does to kids, but because if Henry had little control over his life now, in his 20s, imagine as a kid. His parents listened to him, surely, but did his grandmother? For years, since he was a kid, to a teenager, to now, she probably just smiled or frowned her lips regarding if she agreed or not, but never actually took anything he said seriously), it’s the way everyone else viewed what Henry wanted for himself. They viewed it as something unattainable.

For example, I imagine Bea and Henry talking about the future, and it’s always if. Imagine if this happened, if it went like this, if we did that. Never talking about a realistic future, because they didn’t realistically expect a good future (specially Henry) where they could actually choose. Alex makes it real, he genuinely believes it. It had been a long time since people genuinely believed Henry could have a good future made up of choices about his life he made by himself. I feel like even if Pez tried to be positive and talk about how it all would be okay eventually, he didn’t exactly believe it. Pez had been with Henry for years, he knew how monarchy was up close, something Alex didn’t truly know (for this part of the book. Alex heard stories, heard Henry complain, but he didn’t see it up close yet). Even if he tried to be genuine, to bring some positivity, some light to Henry’s thoughts, Henry saw right through him. However Alex genuinely believed it, which made Henry stop on his tracks and actually consider the possibilities.

Alex treats him like he deserves to choose not only because he does deserve to choose, but because Alex doesn’t see why he wouldn’t be able to choose in the first place. Alex has a supportive family, he doesn’t know monarchy first hand, he’s used to making decisions regarding his life, and even though he has heard Henry talk about how constricting and controlling monarchy, he didn’t really thought it would be as bad as it actually is. The idea than Henry literally has no decision over his own life (because he doesn’t. If he wants to do something other people have to approve of it. If they don’t approve, he has to deal with it) is crazy to him, because of own different that situation is to his own. His family supports him, he talks and gets along with everyone in his family (immediate family, at least), and the idea than Henry’s life is not only so so different, but than also, is like if it wasn’t his at all, is baffling to him.     

listening to the rain slow to a drizzle

Henry’s feelings calm down, he’s happier, calmer, serene, no longer feelings the same emotions he felt before.   

(These below have nothing to do with fire/water, but I wanted to add them)

Alex exhales a laugh. “Aren’t you gonna ask if I know how to waltz?” 
“No waltzing,” Henry says. “Never cared for it.”

Waltzing is this traditional dance, normally between men and women. Heteronormativity, you could say.

It was expected for him to waltz with Alex in this moment, as something romantic, but he doesn’t cared to follow these unwritten rules. He makes his own rules. He doesn’t cared for monarchy or appearances, this is him choosing a new life and a new start, making his own decisions rather than what’s expected of him, what’s appropriate.   

He removes his hand and there, sitting in the center of Alex’s callused palm, is the signet ring. /// “Keep it,” Henry tells him. “I’m sick of wearing it.”

Henry is sick of having monarchy on him all the time, of wearing the ring, Ich Dien, I serve. When Henry wears it, it means he serves monarchy, he obeys, he gives all of himself to it, he’s part of it. When Alex wears it, is different. Not only Henry giving it to him is a representation of Henry giving away his position, a beginning to Henry fighting for himself, but of Alex wears is, I serve belongs to him now.

Alex doesn’t serve monarchy, he’s not even part of it. Even if Alex and Henry marry (which they do, but Henry abdicates before they do [Henry’s chapter]) Alex is still not welcome inside of monarchy. This is not about Mary, or even Philip, is about monarchy as a concept and what it stands for, and has always stood for. Alex, brown, American, bisexual, Mexican, is not welcomed inside of monarchy, but the ring is not about monarchy being on Alex now.

When the ring was on Henry, it was monarchy, when the ring was given to Alex, it stopped belonging to monarchy itself, and passing to just be Henry’s ring. This is Henry giving a part of himself to Alex. I serve has become not about Henry and monarchy and his country, but about their relationship. Fortifying their relationship, in some way.   

he takes the chain off his neck and slides the ring on next to the old house key. They clink together gently as he tucks them both under his shirt, two homes side by side.

Monarchy is Henry’s home, so this can be both of their homes (Alex’s old house, and Henry’s life in the palace) being side by side, or about Alex’s both homes. Again, the ring no longer represents monarchy now it just means Henry, it became Henry’s ring, so Alex here is implying Henry is Alex’s other home, which I believe is the real meaning, what Casey intended.

In chapter 11 there is

If someone like that ever loved me it would set me on fire

Henry thought of himself as incapable of being loved, and the idea of being loved specially by someone like Alex (someone who, in his mind, was the opposite to him—happy, bright, alive) seemed so unreal, than he felt like it would probably set him on fire. Alex was the sun, happy and bright, so full of life he shone. Alex was someone who could be loved. And Henry loved him. And the idea of being loved back by him was impossible. It wasn’t mean to happen, and if it ever happened, it would burn Henry. Because Henry could not hold all of Alex’s form in his hands, since, in his eyes, he did not deserve to hold him, to have him. It would burn him, because Alex was the sun and Henry was nowhere near to deserve him.

This also parallels Alex in chapter 15 describing looking at Henry’s face like staring right into the sun (almost makes Alex want to look away, like he’s staring into the sun. He called Henry the North Star once. That wasn’t bright enough).

Alex describing Henry’s face as looking directly at the sun, parallels this. Alex is describing Henry as the sun, now, Henry is the one who’s bright, happy, and full of life. That’s how Alex sees him vs how Henry’s sees himself. They are each other’s suns. They see each other as the sun, even if the other doesn’t see themselves as the sun. Here, Alex is proving Henry wrong, because Alex’s love is not setting him on fire, since in Alex’s eyes, Henry is the sun, made of fire itself. You can’t burn fire with fire. Henry is fire itself, Henry is made of the same things Henry sees Alex being made of (example: life), he just doesn’t see himself as being made of that, as being worthy of that (example: happiness), and Alex comparing him to the sun proves him wrong, given than that’s how Alex sees Henry, rather than how Henry sees and describes himself.

Meanwhile I said and repeated a hundred times than Alex is fire while Henry is water, this is different, given than this is not based on symbolism, this is a direct parallel.

And if someone like that ever loved me it would set me on fire and the it was like looking straight at the sun are directly connected. The sun is made of fire, and Alex set Henry on fire with his loving. He made a sun out of Henry, changed him for the better.

And there’s also the “He wants to set himself on fire, but he can’t afford for anyone to see him burn” from chapter 12, where Alex just wants to give in to his emotions, to stop tying to hold everything together, but he can’t. He has to keep it together.

[velteris]

Frieren timeline

The only timeline available on the wiki isn’t super fleshed out with exact dates and counting backwards etc. So I decided to make my own.

Notes:

1. Spoilers for up to manga ch119 (the most recent at this time)

2. Even if it’s likely just a rough measure (“three hundred years ago”), I’m gonna assume when doing my math that it was exactly 300 years, because otherwise I can’t do most of the math

3. I skip most events that don’t have an exact year, eg Fern and Stark respective being taken in by Heiter and Eisen. I do make some estimates (eg Sein’s birthday, we only know he’s in mid-30s so he can’t have been born any further back than year xx).

4. Standardised year 0 as the year the demon king was defeated

5. Realised about 2/3rds through that I could be writing down chapter citations but at that point it was too late lol sorry

behold!

-3,000: Earliest mentioned date, by Frieren re: dwarf beliefs; most people believed the dead turn to dust, so pre-Goddess. Unclear when Goddess actually starts appearing.

[Emperor Boshaft alive, so is Milliarde, Frieren in village]

-1,000: Frieren becomes Flamme’s apprentice

-950: Flamme passes away*

-510: the last time Frieren fought a demon (quite likely Macht, as in year 80 she says 600 years ago, which would be -520. What’s a decade here and there?)

-420: Frieren restores her golden arm

-422: Aura became one of the seven sages of destruction

-322: the last time Frieren saw another elf, Grandfather Voll starts to protect village

-222: the last time Kraft saw another elf

-120: Fass finds Emperor Boshaft’s alcohol, Gehn starts working on his village’s bridge

-26: Himmel is born

-11?: Hero of the South visits Frieren and dies a year later; tells her she’ll meet Himmel soon**

-10: Hero Party sets out from capital

[Hero Party kills Immortal Bose and pushes back Aura sometime during this period]

-3: Goddess arc (Himmel is 23), Hero Party seals Qual***

0: Demon King defeated, Era Meteors, Macht starts to serve^

2: Denken born

20: Macht is braceleted

28: Continental Magic Association started (at latest), Lernen was first first-class mage

29: Denken came to Auberst with his wife (who died when he was in his twenties); Denken’s wife presumably passed away very soon after

30: last sighting of a Darkness Dragon (per random apothecary); Weis turned to gold and sealed

39: Earliest possible Sein birthday (he would be 40); humanity learns to fly

45: Wirbel born

50: 2nd Era Meteors; Himmel passes away; Aura reappears, demon activity increases in north and baby Wirbel makes promise

61: Stark is born earlier in the year after winter; Fern is born some time after harvest festival but before the last three months of the year

68: Graf Granat’s son dies in war against Aura

69: Sein’s friend Gorilla left

70: Frieren and Fern meet

74: Heiter collapses

75: Stark runs away from Eisen

76: Heiter passes away; Frieren and Fern set out on their journey

76.5: half a year spent looking for blue moonweed

77: Fern turns 16 (after spring, latest autumn)

78: 3+ Months spent at seaside town cleaning beach

79: wintered with Kraft, Stark’s 18th bday (after spring), meet Sein around harvest festival (time is a bit funky since it gets cold and then warm after this?)^^

80: El Dorado arc

81: first chapter after El Dorado. As of ch119, we are here, 31 years after Hero Himmel’s death!

and in the future…

97: Tod’s “curse” will engulf the star?

100: Next meteor shower. Fern and Stark would be 39.

149: Frieren promised to be back at hero’s sword village by this time

1079: Frieren may return to the Continental Mage Association :)

*Assuming she died soon after Frieren’s last shown convo with her where she said “it’s only been 50 years”

**Unclear just when was the Frieren/Hero of the South meeting, so it could technically be anywhere before, but -11 is the most recent it could be

***Frieren says it’s been 80 years in year 77. If she’s being precise then this is the date—but I have doubts as Qual was sealed in the Central Lands, and Hero Party should be well into the Northern Plateau near the goddess monument by this point.

^Technically I think Macht starts to serve a leetle bit before the demon king is defeated, but no time frame given for how long it took Macht and Glück to have those convos

^^To be more precise: they start the year’s winter with Kraft. Then it gets warm, and Stark’s birthday happens. Harvest festivals are usually in autumn, which is when they meet Sein, and then it gets cold enough for the gang to wear their winter gear again, and they spend a winter (or a cold snap?) with Sein. When they get to Auberst they spend an additional two months training with Fern while waiting for the exam to start. But when they finally leave Auberst in ch61, and aren’t wearing their winter clothes anymore, it’s still listed as 29 years post-Himmel death??? There’s a mention of it being because they’re in the volcanic belt… But seriously, year 79 goes on and on. I honestly think the authors just forgot to find a good spot to switch that over lol

[mammameesh]

12 days of fandom

Merry Christmas (Eve) my friends! I've been very busy, but I still wanted to participate so enjoy my 12 days of Christmas all at once!

In No Particular order:

Noble Beloved by AWorldOfDreams @a-noble-dragon

from the author : Schitt's Creek has a secret. And it's a rather large one. David's not at all pleased that this secret involves him, becoming a Dragon Liaison Officer. Because Dragons don't exist... right?

2.

Marcy's Girls by Turkey_Virgin @tyfinn

from the author: Marcy is left alone with Alexis and Stevie after David has to pick Patrick up from a vendor run. Alexis and Stevie both turn to Marcy for relationship advice, and Marcy finds herself to be a substitute mother to the girls.

3.

Marcy's Innocent Questions by Characterassassination @characterassassination-at-9am

from the author:

A series of chapters wherein Marcy Brewer, mom extraordinaire, is a little naïve about Patrick and David's relationship, and maybe gay relationships in general? "Queer things" in general? Not sure where this one's going to go, but I love Marcy and I love embarrassing her and Patrick a just a touch....so we'll see. I just thought it'd be a fun idea to explore.

4.

Apricity by Demora00 @demora00

from the author: “‘ – advised by the Council that in a bid for reconciliation, any members who cannot prove significant and meaningful attachments in North America within 60 days are to return to their originating nation.’"

5.

Conversion (Part One) by Obsessedwithdavrick @obsessedwithdavrick

from the author:

Patrick Brewer had grown up within the confines of the Catholic church.

He was baptised in the nave of the St Celeste church, received his first holy communion in tandem with his cousins and attended the small primary school adjacent to it until he was old enough for high school. He then joined his cousins and the other children of the town, travelling thirty minutes by bus to Ingleside to attend the Catholic high school, where the cohorts were split by gender.

When he wins a coveted Baseball Scholarship to play and study at the University of Toronto, he is matched with an enigmatic roommate, David Rose. David upends Patrick's life (in the best possible way) and takes him on a journey of self-discovery he hadn't realised he desperately needed.

6.

Everything's Too Cold... But You're So Hot by ApothecaRose @apothecarose

from the author:

When David's ex, Sebastien Raine, unexpectedly shows up in Schitt's Creek, David enlists the help of a stranger on the street to pretend to be his boyfriend in an attempt to get rid of Sebastien.

7.

102 Words by RamonaFlow @ramonaflow

from the author: This is a collection of 102 ficlets consisting of 102 words each using this prompt list

8.

[Art] Painted Pride by lizzie_bennetdarcy @lizzie-bennetdarcy

from the author:

David and Patrick paint themselves for Pride

9.

dinner by flowertrigger @flowertrigger

from the author:

Patrick’s parted lips are as shiny as the glazed ham Marcy pulled from the oven twenty minutes ago and looking just as delicious.

10.

Won’t Love Anyone Else Like I Love You by LikeItsAllInfinite @like-its-all-infinite

from the author:

David Rose is about to turn eighteen and his whole world is going to change when he swaps bodies with his soulmate. Patrick is here to help, but what will David do when he wakes up and Patrick isn't his soulmate? And how will he tell his soulmate he can only ever love Patrick?

11.

Hydrate. Caffeinate. Medicate. Repeat. by coffee_and_glitter @fictasticvoyage

from the author:

Patrick starts meditation to help with his mental health. He and David try a 30 day challenge to focus on their mental well-being, sometimes individually, sometimes together.

12.

It's Photoshop. by jesuisici33 9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)  @jesuisici33

from the author:

TK meets a friend who also likes bearded dragons. And Carlos' secret comes out.

[pisupsala]

Of All The Stars in The Sky | 1 | Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw

Summary | War looks different from high above in the sky. But when Bradley finds himself on the ground, far behind enemy lines, it becomes a race against the clock to get out. And try not to look back at what he’s leaving behind.

Pairing | Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc (no use of y/n)

Warnings | Mature content | 18+ only [WWII AU] swearing, war, violence, death, explicit smut

Words | 3.8k

Index | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17

Library

Note | There will be some darker, heavier themes in this story as it’s set in occupied territory during WWII, so please, keep that in mind before reading. It also takes some artistic liberties with some historical facts, so again, please: proceed at your own discretion.

Chapter 1 - A Land Possessed By Darkness

The rumble overhead wakes you up. As it rapidly closes in, it shakes the cabin on its wooden foundation. You press your hands over your ears as you curl up in your bed, hiding under the thick feather comforter and closing your eyes, praying that it’s not the sky falling down on you.

The sound becomes deafening—it’s like a freight train running through the bedroom. You’re not sure if the tremors moving through the wooden structure are coming from the sky or if your body is uncontrollably shaking. 

As rapidly as the sound comes, it moves away. It’s going east. You open your eyes just in time to see a short, intense flicker of flames, on what must be the mountain face across the valley. Whatever it was, it is gone. And you’re still here. You press your lips together, clenching your jaw, trying to steady your panicked breaths.

Terrified to move from your spot in bed, you watch the distant flames through the small bedroom window, the only light source in the pitch-black night. 

It’s a moonless night during mandatory blackout—prime time for Allied night raids. Nazi night fighters patrol the sky for Allied sorties of bombers and fighters that rain fire and devastation on factories and infrastructure in the Reich and the lands it occupies. Sometimes you hear the guns and screaming plane engines echo through the valley. Dog fights, they call it.

In the capital, you rarely hear the planes. The air raid sirens and anti-aircraft artillery fire drown everything out. Someone once told you that bombs whistle as they fall. A warning before impact. A warning before almost certain death. 

You’ve never heard it, and in your heart of hearts, you hope you never will.

But here out in the mountains, far to the north of the capital, Allied sorties run the gauntlet at low altitude through the valley to reach the weapon factories and mines nestled in the foothills.

It must have been a plane crashing. You idly wonder if it was Luftwaffe or Allied. 

Whichever it is, thank god it didn’t crash near you. The last thing you need is the police or gendarmes coming to poke around here. Let alone the Gestapo. 

All you need to do is sit tight for a few days until the others arrive, take the package, and go. You don’t need any trouble. You have enough of that already.

So you turn in your bed, wrapping the thick comforter around you tightly. It’s bitingly cold in the cabin, but you can’t light a fire for fear of attracting unwanted attention. 

Just a few more days.

Curling up, you fall back into a fitful sleep. It’s mere hours later when the break of dawn wakes you. As you sit up in the bed, something in the air feels different. Like things have suddenly shifted out of order. It makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

Something has changed.

And you don’t like it.

Quietly, you shrug your knee-length, thinning wool winter coat over your cotton nightgown. There is no sound in the cabin, not even the scurrying of mice. The cold from the floor rises through your lumpy knitted socks as you reach for the handgun on the nightstand. The metal is freezing cold against the palm of your hand. Undoing the safety, you tighten your grip on the gun.

Some might call you paranoid. Hell, if someone told you five years ago that one day you’d be creeping through a remote cabin in the dead of winter with a loaded handgun, you would have laughed at them and turned back to your books.

War changes people. 

You’ve seen an army goose step through your street, you’ve seen them force the universities to close, you’ve seen your unarmed classmates get shot in the back in broad daylight, your neighbors lifted out of their beds and spirited away in the dead of night by men in black uniforms, all the symbols of your homeland torn down and covered in blood-red Hakenkreuz flags. 

So yeah, maybe you’re paranoid. But if anything, you’ve learned to trust your gut. You’re still here. And if you’re about to die, you’re going down fighting. And you’ll take as many Nazis and traitors with you as you can, you think bravely, as you let out a shuddering breath.

Tiptoeing to the bedroom door, you nudge it open, peeking into the main room of the cabin. The windows are frosted over, refracting what little sunlight is coming in. 

It’s empty. As it should be.

But it doesn’t calm you. Cautiously you walk around the small room. The large wood stove is cold and unused, the heavy wooden chairs at the table stand exactly as you left them. 

Nothing out of the ordinary. But if anything, you are even more convinced now that something is wrong. Your heart is beating in your throat. Crouching down near the window next to the front door, you try to peer out. Fresh snow fell last night, and there is no trace of life.

Less than fifty paces from the cabin is a small barn that once housed chickens and a cow. Like the owners of the cabin, those are long gone. 

No. Going outside and leaving tracks in the snow is an awful idea. That’s how you get discovered.

You don’t need any trouble.

Moving closer to the window, you blow against the pane, wiping away the frost with your fingers. It’s a dreary day, the sun fighting to get over the heavy clouds rolling by. The wind is picking up, blowing flurries of snow past the cabin.

If you go now, your tracks will disappear within an hour, tops.

And surely nobody is stupid enough to come up the mountain in this weather?

Hurriedly, you pull your leather boots on, button up your coat, and wrap a thick scarf around your neck and shoulders. You leave the handgun on the table, opting for the bolt action rifle that is leaning against the wall next to the fireplace. If there’s an animal, Nazi or otherwise, prowling around outside, the handgun will do you little good.

Unbolting the front door, the cold wind hits you in the face immediately. You pull your scarf up a little bit higher, clicking the door closed behind you. Trudging through the snow, your feet sinking into the fresh layer with every step, your palms start to sweat despite the biting cold against them.

Maybe you should have barricaded yourself in the bedroom with what little provisions you have and wait. Wait in terror. Like a coward. But you are not a coward, you chide yourself.

The barn door is hanging crooked off its hinges. Hands tightening on the rifle, you crouch down to look through the crack at the bottom. It’s too dark to see in. Shit.

You try to remember what Emil told you. Always go in barrel first. Pushing the heavy barn door open with your shoulder, the wood scrapes against the stone floor obnoxiously. You hold the rifle at the ready, slowly turning to scan the inside, prepared to be attacked from the darkness.

It smells like hay and mold inside. The coops along the wall sit empty. Gingerly you step inside, trying to level your heavy breathing. Sweat is prickling down your neck, your stomach twisting painfully. Whatever is wrong, it’s here. Someone is here.

The only source of light is coming from the door opening behind you, the weak sunlight reflecting off the snow. It bathes the barn in an almost ghostly light. You falter before taking another step, hoping your eyes will adjust to the dimness. Swallowing heavily, you take a step. The sound of the heel of your boot against the stone floor is like a bullet ricocheting. 

You stop, turning on your heel slowly, taking in your surroundings, rifle fire-ready. 

Nothing.

Not even a whine from the wind outside.

The only sound in the barn is your rapid breathing. You need to calm down. Remember what Emil taught you: breathing like this, the barrel moving wildly with every rise and fall of your chest, you won’t hit a hog in the broadside from two paces. 

Steady. 

You take another step. 

Still nothing. 

Carefully, threading lightly, you make your way to the back of the barn. With every step, you can make out new shapes. Nothing out of the ordinary for an abandoned barn. A rusted trough that has buckled on one side, a horseshoe hanging from a nail, a pair of large leather boots, and a pile of old hay.

Blinking slowly, you turn back to the brown leather boots on the floor. 

There are legs in those leather boots sticking out from behind the big coop in the corner. 

Holding your breath, you approach. 

Shit. 

There is a whole man attached to those legs that are wearing those boots.

You yelp, almost falling backward as your boots, slippery from the snow stuck to them, slip on the floor in your frenzy. Your back hits the wall with a thud, and you scramble to take aim. 

You hold your breath for so long you think your lungs might burst.

The man doesn’t stir.

Lowering the rifle just a fraction, you try to take a better look, adrenaline screaming through your veins.

The man’s face is bloody, covered in cuts. He’s wearing a thick dark brown leather jacket and matching gloves. His back is leaning against the wall, eyes closed and lips slightly parted, head lolled to the side at an awkward angle.

He has dark messy curls and a neatly kept mustache, while his hands are rest on his legs like he just sat down to admire the scenery. But the shine of his boots and the light khaki of his pants scream military. However, you’ve never seen a uniform like this before—the thick leather jacket and helmet and goggles discarded at his side make you think he’s probably a pilot, but there is no visible flag or insignia. 

Was he in that crash last night?

Is he… dead?

At this moment, you have a hard time comprehending what could be worse: a uniformed stranger suddenly showing up at your remote cabin, or a fucking corpse in military gear suddenly materializing in your abandoned barn.

Either way, it’s a huge problem.

Like a “you will be executed for treason” kind of problem. If not having a dead Nazi on your hands, then for harboring a fugitive.

You curse under your breath, leaning back again the wall, almost wishing you could vanish through it. What the fuck are you supposed to do now? 

Think. 

Every problem has a solution you just haven’t found yet.

Okay. You need to check if he’s dead or alive. But how?

Slowly tiptoeing closer, rifle aimed at the stranger’s chest, you try your hardest to discern if he’s breathing. In the dim light and through the thick jacket, you cannot see any movement.

You hold your breath again as you try to nudge the jacket open with the end of the barrel, but the zipper is too sturdy. Exhaling quietly, you let go of the rifle with one hand as you crouch down.  

Biting your lip, you reach out. You feel as if might as well be extending your hand into a lion’s den. Swallowing another breath, your fingers brush against the ice-cold metal of the zipper. You lean a little bit more forward, grasping it lightly between your fingertips. You tug lightly, but it won’t budge. 

Nervousness is setting in now. You are suddenly all too aware of the passing of time, and the longer you sit here, the more dangerous it gets. What will you even do when you find out the stranger is dead? The ground is frozen solid, so burying is out of the question. What will you do if he’s alive? Kill him? That brings you back to problem A.

Still crouched down, you awkwardly shuffle forward again, your boots scraping against the stone. Precariously balancing your weight on your toes, you extend your palm up. You try not to think about that if you can reach the stranger, he can reach you too.

Your hand hovers mere centimeters from his mouth now. You sit frozen in place, other hand clenching the rifle so tightly, it’s turning your knuckles white. For an unnaturally long time, you sit in surreal silence, unmoving.

Until you feel it: the smallest brush of warm breath ghosting over your clammy palm.

You let out a small sigh, neither in relief nor dejection, because you have no idea how to feel about this. The stranger is alive.  

Your feet are starting to hurt, the harsh knitted pattern of your socks pressing tightly against the pad of your toes. Quietly trying to shuffle backwards again, pins and needles surge through the arch of your left foot the moment you take your weight off it. Swaying lightly forward, you press your foot back down forcefully despite the pain, to stop your momentum.

If you can reach him, he can reach you.

Get. Out.

Moving a little bit too quickly in your rising panic, a little bit too uncoordinated in your sudden rush, in a fleeting moment, your fingers brush against the stranger’s cheek. His skin is warm. A day-old stubble tickles against the tops of your digits.

Retracting your hand like you’ve been burned, your heart is beating so loudly it makes your breath shake. Terrified, you look up, only to see a pair of brown eyes looking back at you.

A high-pitched, strangled sound escapes you as you nearly fall on your ass in the mad scramble to get back. You don’t think you’ve ever moved so quickly in your life back to a safe distance, ignoring the screaming pain in your foot as blood rushes back to it, getting into firing position. 

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, an eerie calm besets you. 

Focus.

The stranger seems dazed, blinking rapidly as he tries to get his bearings. Finally, his eyes land on you. You grip the rifle a little tighter and adjust your aim. It takes him a good ten seconds to process what is happening, before he lets out a surprised yell, eyes wide, struggling to get up on his feet, back flush against the wall.

You keep yourself from flinching, merely jerking the barrel up shortly.

The stranger raises his hands in surrender, eyes dancing around the room cautiously before resting on you.

Bradley has vague memories at best of how he ended up on a freezing floor in a barn, face stinging from fresh wounds and rifle aimed at his head.

The night hunter he had been pursuing gave him the turn-around, hailing incendiary bullets down on his aircraft from the pitch black darkness. Ejecting was the only possible escape. The howling westerly wind carried his parachute in disorientating patterns on the moonless night. 

After that, he remembers only bits and pieces. A thick pine forest. Deep snow. Biting cold. Pain. Blood.

It was pure luck he found shelter. He didn’t even want to consider the irony of finding a coop in whichever middle of nowhere he landed.

Unfortunately, it’s not as abandoned as he hoped.

There’s nothing in his vicinity that could be of any help. If he tries to reach of his side arm—does even still have that? — you are bound to outgun him. His vision is going in and out of focus, head pounding. No, the odds are definitely against him right now.

Blinking a few more times, he focuses on your face. You have an air of youthfulness around you—from the slight blush on the apples of your cheeks, to the wisps of hair freely flying around your face. It’s all in stark contrast to the hardened look in your eye.

“Luftwaffe?” Your tone is clipped, mouth set in a hard line. Bradley swallows. He has no idea where he is. Flying between the borderlands, there is two out of three chance he’s not in Germany. However, from your cold tone and demeanor, he can’t tell if being Luftwaffe would be a bad thing or not. It’s not like he speaks German, so he can’t exactly talk himself out of this predicament.

“No, American.” He utters carefully, aware that those might be his last words on this godforsaken earth. Your eyebrows rise, but you don’t shoot him. Good. His luck might actually be turning a little bit. He waits for another reaction from you. 

But you’re staring at him with narrowed eyes, rifle not moving an inch. Bradley weighs his options. Maybe you don’t speak English. 

It hasn’t escaped his notice you haven’t called for help, either. Are you alone here? You must be. A scrap of a girl like you surely wouldn’t hold a man like him at gun point by yourself if you had back up. However, you still have not shot him either. 

“I’m lieutenant -,” He stops himself. He shouldn’t tell you his whole name, just on the off chance you are going to hand him over to authorities. Because even on the off chance that he didn’t crash in Germany itself, the surrounding countries are under Nazi occupation. There are few friends to be had in these regions.

“Rooster.” He points at himself with one hand, keeping the other up, conjuring a charming smile on his face to the best of his ability while staring down the barrel of a loaded rifle. 

“What a stupid name.” You bite out incredulously, unable to help yourself. 

Is he concussed, or actually American? 

Or is he a Nazi pretending to be American to throw you off? What kind of name is Rooster?

You take a step forward, pointing the rifle at the man’s chest. You cannot afford to miss if he’s lying.

Bradley would laugh if you weren’t holding him at gunpoint. But you speak English. That’s a point to his advantage. His grin grows a bit.

“Good, so you speak English?” He nods at you.

“I’m not stupid.”

Bradley takes another moment to study you. Clearly, you know your way around a rifle. Your stance is steady. Confident event. But the minute tremor in your hand, ever so lightly shaking the barrel, gives you away. If it wasn’t mere inches from his face, Bradley probably wouldn’t have noticed, but it’s your tell. 

You’ve never shot a man. 

Your clipped tone, careful pronunciation, and the little crease between your eyebrows as you stare him down are suddenly more endearing than intimidating. Sure, you still have a loaded rifle in your hands aimed at his chest, but Bradley likes his odds more by the second.

Slowly, he starts lowering his arms, keeping his eyes trained on you for any movement. His chest and shoulders are killing him.

“What are you doing?” You bite out angrily. What the fuck? Does he have a death wish? You shift on your feet.

Bradley shrugs, not stopping his motion. 

“Don’t do anything rash now, doll face.” He starts, voice warm and friendly, easy smile on his face. There’s a whiff of arrogance around him. “I’m just getting a cigarette.”

God, Bradley does certainly hope you don’t suddenly panic and squeeze the trigger. He needs to get you to put that rifle down.

“What did you just call me?” Your voice is harsh. Bradley just holds up his hand in apology before dipping inside his jacket, not taking his eyes off you. Your nostrils flare, whether from anger or panic, Bradley doesn’t know. But he probably needs to dial it back a little bit.

He pulls out a somewhat crushed pack of Lucky Strike’s out. He shows them to you, smiling. Your expression remains unchanged. 

Pulling off the thick leather glove from his right hand, Bradley flexes his fingers before also pulling off the silk under glove too. With a firm tap against the bottom of the carton, he pulls the cigarette sticking out with his lips. He taps it again, before extending his arm to you.

“Do you want one, doll face?” He grins. “They’re real American.”

“Don’t call me that.” Your eyes narrow, quickly flashing toward the cigarettes before settling back on the stranger that calls himself lieutenant Rooster. Ridiculous. 

You don’t know how, but the situation is slipping away from you. Short of shooting the man, you have no idea how to regain the upper hand. How is it that you’re the one with the rifle, and he’s running circles around you? Are you that transparent?

“So what do I call you then?” Bradley fishes out a box of matches. “I just want to talk.” He adds lightly, like he’s just sat down at your table at a café rather than having a one-sided standoff. 

You hesitate for a moment too long. His eyes flash up to yours. You’re starting to feel cornered.  

“Anna.” 

“Your English is very good, Anna.” He says not unkindly, as he lights the cigarette with practiced ease. “Where did you learn that?”

“What are you doing here?” You cut him off, not liking how there is panic creeping into your voice. You readjust your stance. Calm. 

“Well, Anna, I don’t actually know where here is.” Bradley exhales deeply, a billow of smoke filling the air between you. You don’t like how he keeps repeating your name, it’s raising the hairs on the back of your neck. It’s such a small thing, but it’s unsettling. 

You’ve heard that’s what they do in interrogations. To build trust. To make you weak. 

Your mouth twists.

“Are you really American?” You ask rather than answering his question. You’re not going to let him interrogate you.

“As apple pie.” He replies easily, demeanor relaxed.

“Air force?”

“Navy.” 

“You are a long way away from the sea, lieutenant Rooster.” You retort sarcastically. Nothing about what he says makes sense. It’s so strange that it’s either a bizarre truth, the worst lie ever told, or he’s trying to purposefully to lead you astray. Or he’s completely lost the plot. “Are you concussed?”

“Probably.” He shrugs, cigarette precariously hanging from his lips. “So are you going to let me in on how far away from the sea I am, Anna?” 

You falter a little bit under his sharp gaze. “You’re in Bohemia.” 

“Fuck.” Bradley shuts his eyes in defeat, leaning his head back against the cold wall.

You don’t begrudge him for his reaction. The Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia is possibly the worst place for an Allied pilot to get stranded besides Germany itself. Being completely annexed into the Reich means everyone is a subject of the Nazi regime in Berlin.

It also means this situation is about as dangerous for you, if not more. Being considered a citizen of the Reich—very much against your will—means that you will be tried for treason in Berlin if you get caught aiding and abetting an enemy combatant.

Treason trials against resistance members from Bohemia and Moravia end in one way: execution. Only for you if you’re lucky. Your whole family can be summarily shot in extra-judicial retaliation. 

Entire family trees have been wiped out like that in the past four years.

“I think I’ll have that cigarette now.” You admit wearily, the reality of the situation setting down on you.

***

Note | Yep, this is the start of the story that kept me up half the night earlier this week. Let's hope it's going to be as good as it was in my head, haha! Also, because it bears repeating: this is not a history lesson, it's a love story. Enjoy it for what it is~

My tag list is open~ If you're already on my tag list, and this is just totally not your jam, send me a message and I'll ofc take you off it for this story.

taglist | @ponyboys-sunsets | @thatchickwiththecamera | @littlewhiterose | @katieshook02 | @straightforwardly | @zazzysseoul | @rororo06 | @datingbtr | @notalxx | @fresh-new-yoik-watah | @gretagerwigsmuse  | @swthxrry | @joshkiskasbunion | @caelipartem | @blackbrownie | @yanak324 | @unluckymonaghan | @letusbewildflowers | @ticklish-leafy-plant | @alana4610 | @eg-dr3amer3 | @turningtoclown | @mell-bell | @mak-32 | @avis15 | @helplesslydevoted | @benhardysdrumstick | @chaoticversion | @cherrycola27 | @roosterschanelslut | @notroosterbradshaw | @eli2447

[fizzyxcustard]

Covert Eyes (21)

Prologue| Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6| Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20

Masterlist of fan fiction

Fandom: Spooks

Pairings: Lucas North x OC (Amy Holland)

Warnings: Stalking behaviour, anxiety, language, sexual references, angst, smut, heartbreak, gunshot wounds and recovery, abduction, hostage situation.

Summary: Lucas takes notice of a young woman, Amy, but his obsession and want to get to know her begin to spiral out of control. Amy is now working for MI-5, after being recruited by Ros. But will her involvement with Lucas cause even more problems and heartbreak?

Official soundtrack list:  here

Comments/Notes: If you wish to be tagged in any of my tag lists for fics or characters, please let me know, and stipulate what you want to be tagged in.

The first day back was quiet, slow and fairly uneventful. Amy remained with Tariq, scouring CCTV footage from a new case that had landed on the main desk of section D. Lucas was in a three hour meeting with Ros, Jo and Harry, discussing the Robert Spiller case. 

“Lunch time in a bit,” Amy said, swivelling on her chair, in her usual child-like manner.

“You are obsessed with food,” Tariq chuckled. “Are you sure Lucas feeds you enough at home?” 

“I know my priorities, and food is one of them.” With that, Amy opened the top drawer of her desk and pulled out a Mars bar from a multi pack. “Want one?” 

Tariq chuckled again. “Go on, then. I was supposed to be starting back at the gym tonight. Looks like I’ll have to forego another day.” 

“Come on, one chocolate bar won’t hurt you.” 

Once Lucas’ meeting was finished, he dashed out of the room and over to Amy’s desk. He perched on the table next to her, looking down as she smiled up at him from her chair. His heart filled with so much love for her, that he knew he’d never felt anything like this before. Whenever her large, green eyes focused on him, he found himself dissociating from the world around him. He reached out and took her hand, holding it for a few seconds, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles. Then his thumb grazed her engagement ring. 

“I’m going to be home late tonight,” Lucas said. “I’ve got a fair bit to do on Spiller, and Harry’s asked me to brief the Midlands team who are going out tonight on surveillance. Will you be okay going home on your own?” 

“Of course I will. I’m a big girl, after all.” 

Lucas sighed. “Aim, I just worry, that’s all.” 

“Come on, let’s go and grab something to eat. I think I’ve driven Tariq mad keep talking about food.” 

“You’ve got that right!” Tariq’s playful voice came from across the room as he walked away, ready to make another mug of coffee. 

***

Amy left the office around 5:15pm that evening with Tariq and Ruth. All three of them ventured out into the cold air, pulling their scarves and gloves on tighter. They separated, going in different directions. Amy continued on towards Lambeth Bridge, crossing over it, weaving between fellow commuters and tourists. The sky was pitch black and littered with silver stars, as if someone had thrown glitter against a silk backdrop. 

Amy took her phone from her pocket and saw a new message from Lucas. 

Be safe. I love you. Xxx

Whenever he said or wrote those words ‘I love you’, Amy still felt a slight pang of disbelief amongst her excitement. Thankfully, that voice which had always boldly told her she would never be enough, was gradually turning into a whisper. 

She looked out across the river at the London Eye, watching the colours change. One day she would come out early, grab a coffee, and sit down at the riverside and draw it; she’d already planned it all in her mind. Maybe even draw Big Ben and Parliament. Amy had always liked coming out into London when it was early and few people were yet roaming the street. She felt comfortable and safe, being more alone and less likely to be disturbed. 

***

Lucas took the underground back to his and Amy’s flat. For the duration of the journey, Lucas flicked through photos of himself and Amy. A few of them were from New Year up in Coventry, with Amy’s brother in law and nephew photobombing in the background of one, and in another, Amy’s dad had been caught to the side, his eyes closed and his mouth puckered, just ready to take a sip of beer: not the most flattering of poses. His favourite was still a photo of them snuggled up on the sofa together, Amy with her head on his shoulder, grinning childishly. They’d only been together two months or so when he took this photo, and already they both looked happy. 

It was around seven weeks away from their one year anniversary, and Lucas had begun thinking of gift ideas. He had already brought her jewellery for Christmas. And Amy’s birthday was also approaching, being the last day of January. Lucas had been taking mental notes of items Amy had mentioned, like a pair of tartan Converse she been eyeing on their last shopping trip. Then there was Valentine’s Day! It was all coming together in one swoop. However, Amy’s training was due to start the second week of February, so Valentine’s and their anniversary would need to be celebrated over their available weekends. 

It had been strange that she had not text him that evening since leaving Thames House. Normally if one of them was in the office and the other at home, they would text back and forth. Their texts were usually about what meals were planned for dinner and what film they would be watching, with some playful banter in between. 

Upon the walk from the underground station to their street, Lucas checked his phone. No new messages. 

Maybe she had been tired and went for a nap ahead of him returning home. Possibly? But doubtful. It was rare, if not completely out of character, for Amy to not text him while they were apart. 

As Lucas turned his key in the lock and opened the door to the flat, he was surprised to see that no lights were on. Normally if Lucas returned and Amy was already there, she would leave a lamp on in the hallway, which cast a faint light through into the kitchen and dining area. 

Immediately he sensed that something was amiss. It was just past eleven at night, so Amy was probably in bed, either reading, scrolling on her phone, or sleeping. 

Lucas went to the bedroom. Dark and empty. 

He called her name and stepped into the bathroom. Nothing. 

Lucas took his phone from his pocket and found Amy’s number and called. 

“The person you are calling is not available…”

Lucas growled and then called Harry. 

“Lucas? Is everything alright?” Harry Pearce’s professional yet concerned voice came. 

“Have you requested Amy go back in?” 

“No, why?” 

“She’s not at home. All the lights were off and she hasn’t told me she’s going anywhere, which isn’t like her.” 

“Maybe she’s met up with a friend. There are many reasons she might not be home. Try not to worry.” 

“Thanks, Harry,” Lucas said, sighing in frustration. He knew her. Amy would never have left the flat without leaving the lamp on, and certainly would never have disappeared so late and not told him. Even if she had bumped into a friend on the way home, for instance, she would have still text Lucas to let him know she would be late returning home. 

The only other person who Lucas could think of who might have seen her was Debbie from her old work place. But Lucas didn’t have her number to contact. For a minute, he sat down on the bed, on Amy’s side and looked at her bedside table. Her current reading book, an empty mug, a Tinkerbell figurine, a black Moleskine journal for her doodles. 

Of course no one would believe him at this point that Amy was missing; no one knew her patterns like him. He picked up her purple pyjama bottoms and felt dread fill him to the core. Something was definitely wrong. Even if no one could yet see it. 

“Where are you, angel?” he whispered. “Tell me where you are.” 

By the time it had turned midnight, Lucas knew with absolute certainty that Amy was missing. He grabbed his Belstaff jacket from the hallway, and picked up his keys off the small table next to the letter rack. At the front was an electricity bill that had come that morning. Lucas eyed their names: Miss. A. Holland and Mr. L. North. She’d been so happy when their first joint mail had come, giggling happily. 

“One day, not too far away, and it’ll say Mrs. A North.” Something so simple had made her so ecstatic. It was in those moments, when something so simple made her smile, that Lucas fell even more deeply in love with her. 

Back on the Grid, Lucas logged on to one of the computers. Only one or two people flitted past him, disappearing down corridors, until a familiar face appeared from around the edge of one of the computers. 

“Malcolm?” Lucas exclaimed.

“You’re in late.” The middle aged man was shocked to see Lucas in the office so late of a night. “Are you back for the Spiller case.” 

“I think Amy’s missing,” Lucas told him. “She never came home tonight. I got back and the flat was empty and there were no lights on. She always leaves the lamp on in the hallway when I get in after her.” 

“Maybe she forgot…” 

“Malcolm, I know her. I live with her. She hasn’t text me all evening, which is unlike her. We constantly text. Can you run all recent footage in the area and track her phone?” 

Malcolm started by opening Amy’s employee record. Her photo filled the screen, and as it did, Lucas smiled sadly. The memory of her lying unconscious in hospital surfaced. His beautiful Amy. His wife-to-be. The future Mrs. Lucas North. 

“What’s her mobile number?” 

Lucas reeled off her number by memory, and Malcolm entered the number into the tracking programme, whilst he run her photo against all CCTV in London. Amy’s photo remained locked on the monitor in the left hand corner as random faces appeared and disappeared, within milliseconds, hundreds of faces being analysed. 

“Her phone was last monitored by a local cell tower at 5:32pm. Coordinates show that she was at South Bank…”

“Heading for the train home,” Lucas interrupted. “That must have been when I sent her my last text message.”

“Her phone has no reception and hasn’t been used since, not even on the Wi-Fi.” 

Terror racked through Lucas and he eyed the faces which were still flipping, none of them staying on screen for longer than a quarter of a second. A blur of eyes, noses, skin colours and hairstyles. “Come on, angel,” he whispered. “Come on! Give us something.” 

A match appeared on the screen; a scene of Amy walking past a pub enlarged on the screen. An address appeared and the coordinate of the building. “South facing camera from the front door of The King’s Head…”

The rest of Malcolm’s words seemed to dissolve away as Lucas began writing down the address of the pub from the screen. “What time was this?” 

“5:40.”

“Just before she got to the underground station. Did your search then include all the underground lines?” 

“Yes.”

“So she didn’t get on a train because she would’ve been picked up on the cameras. Can you check all the vehicles parked in that street and also within a half mile radius, see if anything stands out? And…” Lucas’ voice broke and he hung his head, resting back on the desk behind him. 

“We’ll find her,” Malcolm reassured. 

All Lucas could see in his mind was Amy in his arms, and blood staining his hands and shirt. He could hear her whimpers as he held her, waiting for the ambulance to arrive. There was no way he could let that happen again. It was his duty to protect her, first and foremost. Fuck everyone else. Only Amy mattered. 

“This has got to be connected with Sarah. Why else would anyone target her?” Lucas asked, tears beginning to well in his eyes. Even in death and the bitch wouldn’t leave him alone. 

An hour later and Harry and Ros had arrived, both with a coffee in hand to attempt to wake them. Harry immediately approached Malcolm, who was sifting through all the vehicle registrations that had been in the vicinity of where Amy was last seen. 

Meanwhile, Lucas was sat at Amy’s desk. 

“Is he absolutely sure Amy is missing?” Harry enquired, whispering to Malcolm. “Could he be jumping the gun on this one?” 

Malcolm sighed. “I wouldn’t have called you in, Harry, if I didn’t feel there was something wrong. Amy was last seen here,” and with that, Malcolm pointed to a map on the screen. “CCTV footage caught her walking past The King’s Head, approaching the underground station. Then she went out of shot. None of the underground cameras saw her. She must have disappeared in that street.” 

Ros stood next to Lucas, remaining silent. She felt sadness at the sight of him with his head held low. Next to the time when Amy had been shot, Ros had never encountered Lucas looking so beaten down. 

“I’m not going to say it, Ros, but you know I’m thinking it,” Lucas sighed. 

“I know you all too well by now, Lucas. Of course you’re thinking it. And you still blame me for recruiting her.” 

Lucas stared at Amy’s empty Winnie the Pooh mug on the desk and felt as if his whole chest were compressing, about to implode. 

“You shouldn’t be here. We’ll take this from here. Go home.” 

Lucas looked up at Ros, his ice blue eyes full of turmoil. “How can I go home? I need to find her.” 

Harry walked over. “Ros is right. You can’t be working on this. You’re far too close to her.” 

“And that’s exactly the reason I should be working on this. I knew as soon as I got home that something was wrong. I know her behaviour, her ways. You need me to be on this. You barely know her yet.” 

“Lucas…” Harry began sternly. 

“No, Harry! She’s almost died once because of me, and now I know in my gut that this is connected to Sarah again. I’ve pulled her too far into my life, and it’s constantly putting hers at stake. I should never have got involved with her. I shouldn’t have ever spoken to her in the café and just ignored that want to get to know her…” Tears fell down Lucas’ cheeks in quick procession, and he put his hands to his face, weeping behind them. 

***

Follow Forever tag list: @lathalea @linasofia @xxbyimm @knittastically @middleearthpixie @guardianofrivendell @asgardianhobbit98 @meganlpie @luna-xial @evenstaredits @missihart23 @quiall321 @sazzlep @lemond57 @rachel1959 @mrsdurin @catthefearless @the-fragile-heart-of-a-lady @glassgulls @aliasauthor @solairewisteria @littlebird-99 @court-jobi @heilith @absentmindeduniverse @albionscastle @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @for-fuck-sake-im-alive @bookworm-with-coffee @danzalladaggers

[rlbookreviews]

Twenty Years Later by Charlie Donlea My rating: 5 of 5 stars This is definitely a five-star for me. I was on the edge of my seat wondering what's going to happen next. It is a slow start, so give the book about ten chapters before you decide you don't want to continue reading. The book opens up with a scene that will grasp you in, you are at a crime scene in 2001. You find out who is the suspect for the murder of Cameron Young is. Victoria is having a meeting with her defense attorney in the North Tower when a plane crashes into the tower and 9/11 happens and the case gets dismissed because the suspect dies in the accident. However, twenty years later after the plane crash we find out that there is a DNA match and a person from the crash gets identified from some bone fragments. Avery Mason, a journalist and TV Show host, hears about the identification and wants to make an episode about it, but what Avery uncovers is more than just an identification of a 9/11 victim. This book will have you turn every page until you figure out what's going on. Because not only does Victoria have a dark past, so does Avery Mason. If you enjoy murder mystery, true crime fiction, fiction, thriller, suspense then this book is for you. It is a really good book and very much worth a read. View all my reviews

[lookinghalfacorpse]

If you had to title each itwall chapter, how what would you title them?

oh god

i'm really bad at chapter titles unless there's a gimmick or pattern, you know? i.e. veteri-mycosis and prisoner symptoms.

since itwall is named after "fellow in the north" by cold weather company, i'd probably go through the lyrics in order and try to make it make sense. like this:

chapter 1: far from the shame of the sedentary game chapter 2: i began to find truth in my task chapter 3: i'll never blame chapter 4: for i'll never be the same chapter 5: in the wild, all lessons last chapter 6: deep in the trees where the beggar finds his peace chapter 7: in the arms of a knotted helm chapter 8: i could reclaim what i knew of my old name chapter 9: and return to the head of the helm chapter 10: i left with nothing chapter 11: life for the bluffing chapter 12: fled to the forest chapter 13: northward-bound chapter 14: i was humbled by the stars chapter 15: and you were hollow from the start chapter 16: i was humbled by the stars chapter 17: and you were hollow from the start chapter 18: i was humbled by the stars chapter 19: and you were hollow from the start epilogue: here in the cold, i will live the life i choose as the fellow in the north

[youre-ackermine]

send this to the twelve nicest people you know or who seem to have a good heart and if you get five back you must be pretty awesome 🖤🥀

My beautiful Bestie 🥰

Thank you so much for this, for always being there for me, for your kindness & humour!

Chapter 11 of North Star was worth the wait!! (Read on TUMBLR or AO3 ). I'm so excited to know what will happen next, meeting Onyankopon, living far from Levi, working with refugees... I have never enough of this story!!!

Sending all my love to you sweet Sailor ❤️

Gif by the awesome @everylevishot

[infinite-hearts-333]

Welcome to my blog! I’m Infinite, a genderless Cryptid of ink, a uni student, full time plant parent, story teller and artist! Feel free to snoop around or leave an ask! Be weary that 80% of the time when you drop an ask I may be asleep, and that with the joy of autism I can take a bit to respond. Please be patient with me, I tend to be slow lol.

As always, have fun, be kind and rock on you crazy beans!

Master Post!

Different aus below!

My old master post that is full of work when I was like. 11. (Read at your own risk, also it’s like 80% sander sides lol)

Ouřa Thorn Spotify Playlist

Similarity with the Thorns!

Ouřa Thorn Cartoon Universe

Ouřa Thorn Reference!

How Thorn was born! (By stork don’t worry lol)

Goofy Dreamer

Ouřa Thorn factory au

Experiment 1190 Log.

Crusty ass comic of Pim and Reed meeting

Pim and Reed meeting Rupert

Space Rider OC stufz

“Book one: Meeting”

Ouřa Thorn Reference!

Introduction to Oura Thorn! (The og post)

Meeting Sunny Yolk ☀️

Meeting Sparky and Zelda 🤖🌟

Nightmare <3

The Beast - explained

Ooohhh past lore, how exciting

Support animal! 🫧

Meeting North Heat ❄️🔥

“Book two: THE INTERVENTION”

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5 (TW for blood!)

Reconnect: The Intervention Aftermath

Da Baby cycle

An eye for an eye (TW for Blood!)

History with sheep

The Beast’s Gear for missions!

Emotional ties to Power

Within the Conference Room (Starring North Heat!)

The Rangers

“Book 3: Golden Threads”

The Light Bringer

Thorn Revamp!

Moving

Spellcaster au! 🪄

Tay info :3

Tay and Maya 💛💚

Friend hc <333

Darryl and Tay!

Tays dark mode

Coffee spy au

Reference

Concept doodles

Mini comic -North

Meetings with Ñora

Family photo

[nube55]

Hey lovely Nube 💕

Finally, finally, I have the opportunity to jump into your ask box & get to know you better!!! We're both huge fans of fanfiction so this ask game was made for us! As usual, I can't stick to one question only so, if you're ok with that, may I ask you: A8 | B5 | C2 | D8?

Looking forward to reading your reply 👀

Lots of love 💕

<><><><><><>

PS: your comment/reblog of Lucy's post about this stinky comment on her fic was perfect 👏

Hello Val!! 🎊 awwww thanks for stopping by!!! Hahaha don't worry, we'll get to all of them!

(Adding a read more cause this got LONG sorry I'm physically incapable of summarising)

What was your first fandom? Are you still in that fandom now?

My first fandom was Harry Potter. I am not in that fandom still and do not wish to engage in it anymore for a number of reasons, but it was my gateway to reading from an early age and it was an excuse to bond with someone I cherished a lot and who sadly isn't here anymore. I met some awesome friends through it too, friends that put up with me to this day! Hahaha

Which story have you read more than any other? How many times?

You know... come to think of it, I haven't read an entire fic all over! 🤔 (regarding multichapter fics). I do want to highlight the ones I've been going back for certain chapters/scenes that I love! This list shows a variety of writing styles that leave me on the ground swooning (Warning!! no concrete spoilers buuuut references to scenes):

Holy Ground by @lucysarah-c (ongoing): Lucy can pretty much give a masterclass on poetic writing and I'm not exaggerating. I come back to it for my faves: chapter 9 (aka Levi's quiet morning gets interrupted in the funniest of ways - for us readers, not for him lmao), chapter 11 (aka not knowing how to play Scrabble leads to interesting outcomes), chapter 15 (one OF THE BEST LEVI POV I'VE LAID MY EYES ON), and chapter 17 (when you can feel yourself in the scene, it's just that amazing)

North Star by @sixpennydame (ongoing): such SUCH a special story. I love coming back to chapters 6 & 7, the whole Mount Aspe arc is exquisitely written.

Spectrum by @19941117 (finished): I have nothing but praise for this story and the incredible talent of its author. It focuses on an AoT character I've never seen explored before, and has the most breathtaking of endings.

Silver Underground by @amywritesthings (ongoing): this girrrrl leaves Easter eggs everywhere so I had to go back an re-read many parts to come up with theories lmao. I really enjoy the first chapter, the pace in it, the dialogue, the tension. And the whoooole bit on the Underground arc makes my heart become pudding.

Please tell me I didn't f*** up any link hahaha.

What word or expression always makes you cringe when you read it?

Usually I cringe when I see a sustained behaviour that feels excesively out of character to me (in those cases I choose to opt out). I also feel cringe-y in NSFW scenes when intimate parts are refered to overly poetically for my taste. I'd rather have them refered to in a filthy way tbh 😂

Which fandoms do you read fic for?

Currently I'm 99% dedicated to AoT (had a YoI phase a couple years ago!). Buuuut I wouldn't mind reading some Vinland Saga stories 😏 (@atruewarrior I'm looking at you)

.

.

Well I think that's it!! Thanks for the questions Val, have a wonderful week! 🌻🌻

Ask a reader meme

[satoshi-mochida]

Paper Mario: The Thousand-Year Door for Switch launches May 23 - Gematsu

From Gematsu

Paper Mario: The Thousand-Year Door will launch for Switch on May 23, Nintendo announced.

The turn-based RPG first launched for GameCube on July 22, 2004 in Japan, followed by October 11, 2004 in North America and November 12, 2004 in Europe.

The Switch version adds revamped graphics and “a suite” of additional changes that make the game easier to enjoy.

Here is an overview of the game, via Nintendo.com:

Join Mario on an Epic Paper-adventure to Collect the Crystal Stars Before the X-nauts Do!

The nefarious X-Nauts are after the treasure behind the Thousand-Year Door! With a map from Princess Peach, and the help of a few locals, Mario journeys through a colorful world made of paper to find them first. To prevail in this quest, you’ll have to level up Mario and his friends, master timing-based attacks and badges to impress the audience on the stage of combat, and make use of all the abilities that come with being cursed—er, conveniently made of paper—like folding into a plane to cross big gaps or turning sideways to slip through narrow openings.

Leaf Through a Storybook World With Charming Characters in Every Fold

Surprises abound in this deep and engaging tale, where everyone’s got something to say and it’s often not what you’d expect. Mario will meet all kinds of interesting folks on his journey, like the upbeat and studious Goombella and the shy but determined Koops. Some of these characters will need your help with their own quests, or even join your party. Others, like Peach and Bowser, have stories of their own that you’ll play between Mario’s chapters!

A Classic Turns the Page, Bringing Fresh Visuals and Updated Features

Twenty years after the original game on the Nintendo GameCube system, this version for the Nintendo Switch system has revamped graphics, and a suite of additional changes that make the game easier than ever to enjoy.

Watch the MAR10 Day 2024 announcement video below.

MAR10 Day 2024

English

Japanese

[sixpennydame]

so when's the next chapter of "North Star" coming? 👀

btw your literally my favorite Levi fic writer and your characterization of him is always so spot on it almost feels canon , just wanted to put that out there..😭

Hello! I’ve been on a writing break for the last month so the February update didn’t happen but I’d say I’m about halfway through with Chapter 11. So hopefully this month it’ll get published.

And thank you so much! Sometimes I wondered if anyone was interested in this story so you saying that means a lot.

[george-weasleys-girl]

North Star Series

Chapter 11 - The Very Nearly Yule Ball

Summary: Y/N comes down with the flu and has to miss the Yule Ball. George happily takes care of her. Fluff-o-rama.

Warnings: one particularly disgusting mention of snot, one curse word

Start Here:

George knocked on Y/N's dorm room door. "Hey, it's me. I'm back with sick person supplies. Can I come in?"

"Come in," moaned Y/N, weakly. George opened the door to find her, under a mountain of blankets, lying limply at the edge of her bed, trash can and tissues next to her and a half eaten sandwich on her bedside table. Placing the box of supplies down, he sat next to Y/N, rubbing her back.

Y/N noticed George was wearing his flannel pajamas. "You should be getting ready for the ball," she said, once again trying to convince him to go.

"Nope. I should be here, taking care of you." He felt her forehead. "Has your fever spiked again?"

~•~

The day before The Yule Ball

Y/N woke up with a scratchy throat. Thinking she'd just caught a cold on her recent shopping trip, she began taking copius amounts of Pepperup Potion, along with green tea and lemon, hoping to knock it out of her system before the Yule Ball.

When she woke up the next morning sicker than the day before, she knew it was more than a mere cold. Y/N dragged herself to the infirmary, George by her side.

Madam Pomfrey confirmed Y/N's suspicion. "I'm sorry to say Miss Y/L/N, you have the flu." The healer patted her patient's hand and sighed. "No Ball for you tonight, my dear."

Y/N's heart sank and she looked up at George. "I'm so sorry sweetie," she apologized. "I still want you to go. I know you've been looking forward to it."

"Is your fever making you delusional, darling? George felt her forehead. "First of all, you have nothing to apologize for, and second, there's no way I'm going without you. You're the whole reason I've been so excited about it. If you can't go, neither am I.

~•~

While her roommates had the good sense to find other accommodations until she was no longer contagious, George insisted he stay with her 24/7. Any attempts to shoo him away were completely ignored, so Y/N gave up, saving her meager energy for the all-important matter of rolling over to see what it was like breathing out of the other nostril.

"How are you feeling?" George asked.

"Craptastic," she replied, grabbing one of her last few tissues, which her boyfriend promptly replaced with a full box.

"Really? I couldn't tell," he teased. Y/N rolled her eyes, but a small grin appeared on her face, nonetheless.

"I brought you some soup." George continued.

"yay."

"And some more green tea."

"awesome."

Y/N pushed herself up, crimson velvet appearing when the blankets slipped down. George froze. "Baby? Are you wearing your ball gown?"

Y/N answered by kicking off the rest of the covers, revealing a stunning full length princess gown. The butterflies in George's stomach went crazy. Even in her sickly state, she still took his breath away.

"Not that you aren't beautiful, love, but are you sure you don't want to wear something more comfy?"

"I bought this dress to wear tonight and dammit, I'm going to wea--" a coughing fit took hold of Y/N before she could finish. She leaned over the side of the bed to hack up a glob of snot into the trashcan.

"Oooh, now that was sexy," George commented with a cheeky grin. Y/N flopped back down on the bed. "There's plenty more where that came from," she rasped, waggling her eyebrows. He chuckled and took one of her hands in his, giving it a gentle kiss. Y/N blushed, and he proceeded to kiss her cheek, a risky move to take with the sexiliy ill, but one George was willing to make. He tucked her back in and handed her a bag holding several videotapes. "Pick something for us to watch while I put the kettle on."

~•~

Once she ate and was in comfier clothes, Y/N didn't last long, falling asleep halfway through the film. George turned off the movie and let his mind wander as she lay pressed against him, her fevered head resting on his chest.

He wondered how they would've met, if she hadn't chose to spend the year at Hogwarts. He was confident they would have found each other, somehow. People who belong together always do. At least that's what it said in all his mum's romance novels he'd secretly read growing up. And he believed it, now more than ever. Gazing down at her, his heart was full knowing that this, right here, was his future. The two of them together, souls and bodies intertwined, surviving whatever life threw at them.

Y/N shifted a little, sniffling loudly in her sleep. Wrapping his arms tighter around her, he kissed the top of her head. "Sleep well, my little snot goblin," he whispered. "I love you."

~•~

*If you'd like to be added to the taglist, let me know*

~•~

Next Chapter: