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[writtenbymoonflower]

hi you gorgeous gorgeous ray of sunshine i hope your day is majestic and awesome <3

I come bearing a request hehe

So can i please get a poly!marauders x fem reader where she has alot of work or something to get done lately and its just sucking the absolute lights out of her (uni is beating me up help) and she os sort of just dimmed and out of it and one of them asks her if she is okay and she just breaks down and they comfort her like the sweet loving boys they are (just cuddles and fluff to save my day pls) THANK YOUU

sorry this is so late gorgeous! i hope things are better now!

cw: anxiety attack fluff, stress

924 words

Despite your best efforts, you knew that you weren’t any fun right now. It felt like you were a black hole, sucking all of the joy out of the room with no end in sight. It made you feel horrible, especially since you were surrounded with copious amounts of love and affection. Way more than you could ever hope to ask for, and for some reason, you couldn’t allow yourself to fully appreciate it. You were trying your best, but every attempt at levity didn’t feel quite right. You could see it in your boyfriends faces too, and though they were gracious enough not to comment on it, you knew they desperately wanted to. You even noticed James placating Sirius earlier when he recounted a funny story and your laugh came out awkwardly pitched. 

You were now attempting to relax, but your muscles refused to un-tense. You were laid on the couch, curled tightly into a ball with your head on Sirius’ lap and your legs pressed against Remus’ thigh, James’ laughter ringing in your ears. You resisted the urge to shift around in discomfort, hoping that the more content you appeared the less distraught you would feel. It wasn’t working very well, if the burning sensation welling in your eyes was any sign of that. You squeezed them shut in hopes it would help. You flinched as cold fingers brushed over your face unexpectedly. 

“You okay, babydoll?” Sirius’ voice was hushed and terribly gentle in the way it was when he’s feeling particularly tender. You nodded a little too aggressively to be believable. He cupped your cheek with his hand, the cool feeling of his palm over your heated face being a little too comforting. A crease appeared between your eyebrows and he made a worried cooing sound. 

“What’s going on?” James turned the TV down. You were being watched and inspected and you hated it. You covered your face as the first sob escaped before you could repress it. 

“Shit, baby.” Sirius stiffened. Remus’ large hands pulled yours away from your face. You held your breath to refrain from sobbing, your shoulders shaking. 

“What’s wrong, lovie? Are you hurt?” James sounded panicked. You hated that you were doing this to him. You shook your head. “What’s happened?” 

“I- I don’t know.” You hiccupped. Your lungs were expanding and contracting rapidly. 

“It’s okay, lovely. Can you breathe for me?” Remus pulled you off of Sirius and onto himself. Usually you would hear a slew of protests from the raven-haired boy, but he was panicked enough to stay silent. You landed face down in Remus’ lap as he rubbed between your shoulder blades. You tried to breathe deeper but when you did you just cried harder. 

“I’m fine. J- just give me a second.” You weren’t sure if you were convincing yourself or the boys. 

“It's okay, baby dove. Just let it out.” Remus said softly. You felt James rubbing your head. All the tenderness was too much and you cried harder. You knew you were wetting Remus’ pajama bottoms with tears and snot, but you were too distraught to care. Slowly, your sobs slowed into quiet sniffles and hiccups, and you wiped your wet face, much too harshly for James’ preference. 

“How’re we doing, sweet girl?” Sirius rubbed your calf tentatively. 

“Better.” You said, still choked. “Sorry about that. I don’t know why that happened.”

“Don’t apologize, dovey.” Remus helped you to sit up. “Just take a minute.” You nodded, feeling lightheaded. James passed you a glass of water with a kiss on your damp cheek. You drank it fast, handing the empty cup back. 

“Do you need anything else?” Sirius turned your face to wipe your cheeks again. 

“No, I’m okay. Thank you.” You said, feeling awkward. 

“You don’t have to thank us, baby.” James reached over Remus to grab your hand. “We just want to help, if you’ll let us.”

“I don’t know if you can.” You sighed. 

“Try us.” Sirius said, bordering on challenging. Remus reached his long arm along the back of the couch to squeeze his shoulder in a way that said ‘settle down.’

“I think we can find a way." Remus took a more gentle approach. "You can start by telling us what’s going through that head of yours.” He pressed a kiss to your temple. 

“I think that would help.” James said, not giving you time to respond. “We don’t want to force you, but it’s only going to hurt you to keep things inside, lovie.” His eyes were soft and open behind his glasses. It made you feel like you could cry again. 

“There’s nothing huge to talk about, though.” You shrugged. “I think it’s just a bunch of little things, you know?” 

“Well then maybe,” Sirius stage-whispered as if he was spreading classified information. “You can tell us the little things when they come up, before it gets this bad. You couldn’t argue with that. 

“That might help.” You looked down at your hands. “But don’t complain when I start whining over miniscule things.” Remus raised his eyebrows at you. 

“Have you been dating the same Sirius I have?” He grinned and Sirius squawked. You giggled. 

“You’re lucky that I’m more happy about her laughing than I’m mad at that comment.” He crossed his arms and pouted. You laid back down in his lap and smiled up at him. 

“I don’t mind your complaining.” You reached up to touch his face comfortingly. He still scowled.

“At least I’ll have a bitching buddy.” He huffed. 

[valentine-cafe]

. ˚◞♡ the seven deadly sins : demon boyfriend x gn reader◞ ₊˚

. ˚◞ ꒰ jìngyí verseless x gn reader ꒱ demon x reader, alchemist x reader, necromancer x reader, cw: suggestive content, talks of sex, steamy at end ⊹ ۪ ࣪

𖹭. your demon boyfriend explains and demonstrates how he can be all seven deadly sins 

“I can be all seven sins.”

“and how might you do that?”

the demon smiles. lowers his brow and sight to the grimoire at his fingertips. he graces the parchment in such a delicate manner. an unspoken promise for how his hands might graze your flesh.

his former customer. his newest apprentice. oh, what a pretty thing you are to his maroon eye.

and to a demon, a pretty thing is a thing to keep.

“I can be pride. proud to sink my teeth into your flesh and have you bear my mark. proud to have you quiver, and shake and call my name out like a fervent prayer. like the ever devout follower. to melt beneath a single touch -” he traces along a paragraph with a dark nail. “proud to call you mine. and mine alone.”

from around the table he reaches. the flick of a finger draws the gold chain from around your neck. now it drapes from his two fingers. paired with the slew of rings that litter his right hand.

“I can be greed. want you to myself. all of you. every inch of your skin. beneath me - on me - all around me. your every breath, every beat of your heart. the very essence of your soul. to be the air you breathe, the only thing you see - touch - feel - want.”

his grip tightens around the necklace. slitted pupils only seem to constrict further. he turns the jewellery around in the light of a candle a few times. his head tilts, and one of his horns catch in the glimmery of gold.

“this is new.” he notes. “not your style either. who gifted it?”

shivers run along your shoulders and down your back. warmed only by the flicker of a few candle flames. what is the use of lying to a demon?

“a friend.”

“hmm.” jìngyí murmurs. a clink echoes the room as he drops the necklace without care. “just my point. I can be envy. want you all for myself. for me alone. wish for your eyes to be on mine. your hands on mine. your lips - your very being. on me. envy those that so much as glance at you. wish for your utmost loyalty and dedication. I can take it should you deny it. wrath is not out of my nature.”

he swipes the jewellery back into his hold. dangles it over a flame and tilts his head. his brow twitches at the melting of the chain.

“fake.” his tongue clicks. his grip tightens. “oh wrath indeed I can reign. on those that dare take your splendour and beauty for granted. on those who so much as wish to touch a hair on your head. on whomever is foolish enough to try. on those that adore you. those that dare to try.”

it melts in the palm of his hand and he wipes it off on a cloth. if only to scrunch the cloth in his palm and disintegrate it into thin air.

as if to sate his palette he snatches one of the pomegranates from a fruit bowl up ahead. without hesitation both of his thumbs dig into the centre and split it open. he feasts on the seeds with such grace, yet such -

“gluttony. my dear, do you not see?” he speaks after swallowing. barely a glance is sent your way. “how I can indulge.” the half-eaten pomegranate is offered to you and you accept with gratitude. “how I might indulge you. with trinkets and treasures and all that you might set eye on. with pleasures, and prims. all that you might desire. for to indulge in you is a temptation I am not above. to indulge in your sweetness. your touch - your body - your presence.”

his eyes rake over you. hungry. as though he has not already eaten.

“your eyes.” you murmur.

“what do you see?” he questions.

when did you get in front of him? when did you find your back at the threat of being pressed against his table?

“lust.”

the demon grins. his hands dip to your hips. your waist. they trail patterns you can only shiver from. tell tales you cannot wait to hear as his fingers trace along the hem of your pants. a tease. a promise.

his lips descend your neck and he almost groans at the sounds you spill. poetry, is what he will only describe them as. poetry - as though the lyrics that befell his lips only moments ago are nothing in comparison to the way you drape your arms over him. to the sweetness of your flesh that he tastes along the front of your throat.

yet as his skilled hands begin their next task at removing you clothes - you halt. hitch in breath and bring your hands to his shoulders. stop him.

“wait,” you breathe and his half-lidded eyes are on you immediately. a few questions. you spout immediately. “what of sloth?”

jìngyí grins. his pearly fangs catch in the light of the candles. his cold lips ghost yours.

“are you surprised that a demon is a liar?”

you raise your brows. and he answers, as always. but not before a kiss to your lips that has you gasping and your knees trembling. the sheer power of his magic overwhelms you. the throb between your legs is sated with a slot of his between them.

his mouth lowers to your ear. “do you not hear my heart? how can I possibly feel sloth when I have your pretty little self beneath me, my dear?”

[wardenparker]

Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 11

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

After the debacle of his failed engagement and relocating to Washington to take charge of his task force, newly minted Special Agent Marcus Pike is ready to get back out into the dating pool once more. A slew of bad dates has him feeling a little down, and he takes an old friend up on an invitation to get away and get his head on straight. Imagine his surprise when he finds not only fresh air, but his soulmate as well - hiding in plain sight but in the unlikeliest of places.

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 14.9k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle, reader is mentioned as turning 30 during the course of the story, dom/sub dynamics* Fingering, shower sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, Marcus Pike the Breeding Kink King, a dash of dirty talk, the tiniest whiff of roleplay, sexual activity in a public place, cum eating. False accusations of cheating, gossip rags being gossipy, descriptions of getting a tattoo (needle mention). Summary: The end of your trip to Texas comes with a few surprises, and a meeting with your mother goes far better than expected. But good things do not guarantee paradise forever. Notes: Hi my lovelies! I do apologize for the spotty posting timeline lately. My health has been inconsistent to say the very least and continues to be unpredictable. Thank you for bearing with me and always being so incredibly supportive. I'm certain that I missed fixing some errors in this chapter, but I blame the migraine I've have for the last 10 days. Enjoy this week's chapter!

Ch1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10

The last night you and Marcus are in Texas comes after an afternoon-long barbecue that somehow manages to outdo every barbecue of every previous day. You're pretty sure that you've been nibbling constantly since sunrise but rather than being overwhelmed, you're just sorry that you're going to have to leave tomorrow and not see most of these people again for a long time.

The water in Marcus's hand is for you and he comes over to drop a kiss on your lips as he presses it into your hand. "Band is starting at seven." He tells you. "Do you want to shower beforehand?"

"Probably should." There's mischievousness in your agreement, though, and you tuck a smirk in the corner of your mouth as you take the water from him. "I saved my cutest top for tonight. To be the very best groupie I can be."

"Oh really?" He chuckles at how eager you have been to meet his old bandmates. "I like groupies." He smirks, wrapping his arm around you and tugging you close. "Really like them."

"Do you want to show me how much?" You ask, letting that smirk loose but keeping your voice very quiet even when you bat your eyelashes at him.

"I can do that while we shower." He groans wickedly, winking at you. "Unless you want to save that for after the show?"

"No need to save," you assure him easily, drinking down half of the glass of cold water he brought you and letting your grin grow wider. "There will be hours in between. We can do both."

"Insatiable." He grins back and you, wrinkling his nose slightly and proud about that fact. "I love it."

"C'mon." Grabbing his hand, you head for the house with a bitten back grin. Back inside and upstairs to his room – now appropriately defiled by the fact that you're in that Early Relationship Honeymoon Period and horny as hell – to add his childhood bathroom to the list of places you've fucked on this property.

Marcus smirks when there’s a number of suggestive whistles that ring out. Everyone here aware of how eager the two of you are and he gives a halfhearted wave before disappearing. You might be embarrassed if you cared at all, but his cousins have been nothing but welcoming and accepting. They all seem to share the opinion that Marcus has waited too long to meet his match and you are more than happy to be the one that they have welcomed as their cousin – or nephew or son's – perfect match.

“I love them all, but I need to get you alone.” Marcus huffs as he practically races over to the stairs.

"Alone, naked, and wet, I hope." You're on the stairs just ahead of him, the advantage of one or two steps meaning your ass is right in his face as you hustle up to the second floor.

"How wet you are depends on how good of a job I do turning you on." He can't help himself, reaching out and slapping your ass, something you love if your delighted giggle is anything to go by. "How wet are you?"

“Wet enough that if you even touch me over my clothes, I’m going to moan,” you admit, glancing back at him when you reach the top of the stairs.

"Promises, promises." Marcus reaches out and cups your pussy from behind, jumping up the last two steps to press close to you. "Fuck, I love you." He growls into your ear as he rubs your clit.

“Oh fuck—” Maybe it’s more of a whine than a groan but the arousal in your voice is unmistakable. Pressed between Marcus and the wall, your hips rock to get as much pressure and friction from his hand as absolutely possible. “I—I love you too, baby. Fuck.”

"Shower." He orders softly, pulling away from you reluctantly. He knows he can't fuck you in the hallway and his cock is already pressing against his shorts.

Since the discovery of your interest in a more submissive role sexually, you and Marcus have been enjoying playing with the dynamic. Soft orders for things that he knows will bring you both pleasure. Seeing how well you follow his instructions while he’s inside of you in any way. Right now you move with long strides to get to the shower as quickly as possible, already shedding your clothes along the way.

Smirking as he watches the rushed strip show, Marcus pulls his own shirt over his head. He's never had someone so enthusiastic for his touch and it's honestly its own kind of high. Plenty of women wanted him, but not with the hunger that you constantly display. He can only hope that it never changes. "So sexy." He huffs, unbuttoning his shorts to step out of them as he follows you.

“Oh yeah?” As soon as the water is on, you glance back over your shoulder and throw him the most tantalizing glance you can possibly summon. “Come and show me how much.”

“Fuck.” He hisses and immediately rushes forward to crowd into the shower with you, pressing kisses to your back as he folds in closer to you.

Marcus might be testing the waters with how dominant he’s comfortable being, but he still likes it when you show him how much you want him. When you hum at the feeling of his hands on your skin or moan deep in your throat at the perfect kiss. He even loves moments like these, when you whimper at the way his large hands spread over your body to hold you as close to him as you can possibly be without him being inside you.

“Love you.” He whispers into your skin, not wanting you to forget it in the two seconds since he has said it last.

“I love you, too.” Pressed into that little space together, you twist your head around to kiss him and then lean forward against the wall. There aren’t too many comfortable ways to fuck standing up under falling water, but having him press into you from behind is good no matter where you are.

His hands slide over your body and one sinks between your thighs. Immediately parting enough for his hands with a quickness than has him smiling. “You like when I finger you?” He teases. “Rub your sensitive little clit for you?”

“I like every way you touch me.” Your hips roll as if to prove it, searching for the right angle to get his thick fingers to sink inside of you.

“Greedy.” He chuckles softly. “That’s what you are.” He doesn’t pull his hand away, giving you what you want as two fingers slip inside you. “My greedy girl.”

“Can’t blame me for getting addicted.” You moan, forehead pressed against the tile, when his fingers scissor open inside you. “You feel so fucking good baby.”

“You feel better.” He groans quickly, working you open as the hot water rushes over you.

“Made just for you, baby.” If there was ever anyone you could truly feel that about, it’s Marcus. The way he seems to make you feel complete in ways you didn’t know you needed or even wanted is uncanny and beautiful. And the way he fills you to bursting is just as fantastic.

Marcus worships you with small kisses as his fingers move inside you, groaning in your ear about how good you feel. The thick length of him pressed against your ass. “Marcus—” His name is a whine and a prayer with every long stroke of his fingers. “Please, baby. Please fuck me.”

“I’m going to.” He promises, grinding against your ass as he continues to finger you. “Too bad you still have your birth control.” He moans in your ear. “Dreamed about you pregnant last night. Nice and round with my baby.”

“Fuck.” If anyone had suggested pregnancy or breeding or any of those fertility-related kinks to you before Marcus, you might have laughed them out of your bedroom. But in a few short weeks, you’ve got from wanting children but not looking forward to being pregnant — all the way to getting wet at the thought of starting to swell with Marcus’s baby. The impulse to promise you’ll stop taking it tomorrow is right on the tip of your tongue but you know it’s just a touch too soon. “Yeah?” You breathe instead. “You woke up hard to the thought of fucking me full of your baby?”

“Why do you think I was ravenous this morning?” He asks, chuckling at how he had woken you up. He had been a little embarrassed by the dream, so he hadn’t mentioned it at the time, but realized later that it was dumb to keep it from you. “When you’re ready, I’m going to be feral.”

“We need to start building that house now.” You insist, suddenly possessed of a whole new set of reasons to be eager for more privacy.

He chuckles as he nibbles on your shoulder, moving to the hollow of your neck. “Yeah? You want to paint a nursery right away baby?”

“We’re gonna have to if you keep growling about getting me pregnant.” Something which you apparently find far sexier than you anticipated, if the way your cunt throbs and pulses around his fingers is any indication.

"You love the idea." He challenges softly, humming against your pulse. "It's not my fault you're so perfect I can see the future we have in store."

“I love the idea so much I’m ready to say let’s just buy a house.” The throaty laugh you let out burns into a long moan when he curls his fingers inside you. “Need you, baby.”

"Never want you to say that I don't give you what you want." He pushes your feet apart, careful not to let you slip on the slick tile and pulls his fingers out of you to immediately replace them with his cock. A smooth transition planned to keep you from missing the fullness.

There is more freedom here, at least where volume is concerned, and when your moan bounces off the tile it is music to Marcus's ears. The utterly satisfying fullness of having him inside you is indescribable, even if you have tried to find the words several times talking to Syd. Sharp, powerful strokes will work you both up to your peak quickly, letting you enjoy the water that burns as hot as your skin as he pounds into you.

Marcus has learned that going harder is needed sometimes. It’s something that both of you enjoy and lose yourselves in, always making sure that you are still with him with filthy sweet praises in your ear. “My perfect princess.” He groans. “Taking me so well.”

It’s so much filthier coming from such a sweet, unassuming man like Marcus, and he presses you into the wall with a firmness that leaves absolutely no room for questioning. You are his. He is yours. And anything you moan to each other in the throes of passion is fair game. Filth, praise, and everything in between is welcome as your hips slap against your ass and your throat strangled around the endless cries of pleasure.

It’s never been this good. It’s cliched to even think it, but it’s true. He can barely even breathe when you are surrounding him. Drowning in you happily. “Fuck, I love you.” He promises. His hands squeeze and caress before sinking back between your thighs to rub your clit while he continues to fuck you at a frantic pace.

“Love you so — fuck! — so fucking much.” You practically claw at the wall of the shower when the calloused pads of his fingers find your swollen clit and press in on tight circles. Perfect little circles. “So close baby, so fucking close.”

“That’s it.” He groans. “Want you to cum. Want you to soak me. Need it.” He dips his hips lower and changes the angle that he shreds up inside you.

“Fuck—fuck—can’t wait until you’re fucking me full of your babies, oh god—” He’s already an expert at tearing you apart and putting you back together, and this time will be no exception. Your legs shake with it and your belly tightens, coiling at the base of your spine tightening as pleasure rips through you.

“That’s it, fuck, so good, Princess.” He hisses in pleasure. “Cum for me. Fuck, you feel so good squeezing my cock. I love it.” It only takes two or three more sharp snaps of his hips before you’re calling his name, sure that if anyone else is in the house right now they can definitely hear you but too overcome with pleasure and too full of him to care.

When you cum, it’s like your entire soul melt with his. Your heartbeats align and for a split second, Marcus can’t tell where you end and he begins. Perfectly fused together in ecstasy. As soon as you tighten around him, his thrusts ease, still moving but helping you float down from the precipice. “Good girl, fuck baby, you are so good to me.” He pants in your ear. “So good. Giving me everything, aren’t you? Yeah, you are, I can feel it.”

“Fill me up, baby.” Your legs may be rubber at this point but that sensation of his cum painting your inner walls is worth holding out for. It has you rocking your hips back even more than you need to ride the aftershocks of your own orgasm, hoping to bring him to his.

He loves when you say that. Groaning your name as his pace picks back up. The slap of his hips not quite as sharp, but insistent. “Gonna, fuck baby, gonna fill you up.” He moans in your ear. “Drip me all night.”

From the way his hips start to stutter you know he’s close, and you grind back against him with a low moan. “Gonna be dripping your cum while I meet all your friends.”

“Just the way I want you.” He groans, kissing your shoulder and moaning as he pushes deep, throbbing inside you as he fills you up.

There’s nothing but the sound of running water and panting breath for a minute or two as you both collect yourselves, arms wrapped around each other in the best way you can manage while he’s still inside you and you’re leaning on the shower wall. “I love you so fucking much.” You murmur, giggling softly at the giddy feeling still coursing through your veins.

“I love you too.” He whispers, smiling against your shoulder as the soft aftershocks continue to squeeze him as he softens inside you. “Addicted to everything about you.”

“Glad we agree about that.” It isn’t elegant but you twist around and manage to place a kiss on his jaw. “So…breeding kink, huh?”

“Yeah.” He chuckles sheepishly as he slowly pulls out of you. “Sorry. I know that took you by surprise.”

“Not in a bad way.” You promise him, fully turning around now, to put your arms around him before you both have to clean up. “Surprising but…potentially shared?”

“When it actually happens is still one hundred percent up to you.” He assures you, wanting you to know he would never pressure you, no matter how much he dreams about the future. “But shared, huh?”

“Surprise,” you tease, reaching for a washcloth.

“Every day is an adventure with you.” He chuckles and steals another kiss before he turns his attention to getting ready for tonight.

You’re right on time despite taking an overlong shower, arriving at the club in downtown Dallas in time to see a group of his old friends gathered at the bar.

“Hey.” A carefree grin lights up his face, reunited with old friends and their spouses. The band is about to leave to get on stage so it’s quick backslaps and promises to catch up later after he introduces you proudly. They disappear and it seems like all the other crowd around you to all talk about Marcus.

It’s much the same as it was with his cousins. Quick questions about you — or the occasional “That’s why I recognize you!” — but mostly wanting to tell stories about young Marcus in the olden days, teasing their old friend and gauging your reaction to their stories to decide if you’re good enough for him. You don’t mind of course. Your friends would have done the same if they hadn’t already met Marcus before you got together.

“Hey now.” Marcus pouts and protests but it’s all in good fun. He’s enjoying the stories; taking him back down memory lane. He hugs you tighter to him as he laughs at a college age story, where he had imbibed a little too much and made a fool of himself.

“Everyone got drunk and dumb in college at least once, didn’t they?” You hug his side and grin at him while his friends tease and chatter. “And I’m sure you weren’t the only college student in the world to skateboard across campus in boxers and a cowboy hat. I’m just impressed you didn’t fall off the board more if you were drunk.”

“Hammered.” He confirms with a laugh. “Honestly, I don’t know if I would have felt anything that night.”

“All the better that you didn’t get hurt then,” you laugh with him, enjoying these glimpses into the Marcus of the past. “Though I think we should recreate the look. For posterity.”

“Bachelor party.” He grins, leaning in and kissing you on the nose. “One of those boring co-ed ones where the couple is disgusting and can’t be apart for even one night of debauchery.”

“Cause we’re gross in love.” The smile on your face is blinding, lighting you up from the inside out as you beam at him.

“Yes we are.” He agrees, unable to stop himself from kissing you again, as his friends groan playfully around you both.

“Yeah, yeah.” Marcus’s old college roommate huffs good naturedly and rolls his eyes. This is the guy Marcus had lived with before he moved off campus to live with Lara and he’s always known Marcus Pike to be exceptionally lucky in love. “Lucky bastard.”

“I am.” He agrees with a small nod. “I’m honestly surprised that you aren’t already engaged.” One of his closest college study partners snickers as she shoots you a grin. “He always was rushing into things headfirst.”

“Don’t think he didn’t give me a ring right away,” you joke, holding up the shimmering promise ring on your hand. “But we want to keep our heads on straight, so it’s a promise for now and an engagement a little bit into the future.”

“There’s the Marcus we know and love.” She giggles, taking your hand and admiring the ring. “Honey, it’s gorgeous.”

“Isn’t it?” The little heart-shaped diamonds wink and shine in the dim lighting of the club and you can’t help but smile proudly. “I told him he set a dangerous precedent with this one. If the promise ring is this beautiful then the engagement ring has to be, too.”

“Knowing Marcus, it’s perfectly designed to set with your promise ring.” She guesses, grinning wildly when he shuffles guiltily. “I knew it!” She throws her arm around his shoulder and smacks a playful kiss on his cheek. “Atta boy!”

“You did not buy it already!” You gasp in shock, giggling with unrestrained joy at the embarrassment and glee on his face.

“It’s safe.” He promises, shrugging slightly. “I didn’t want to risk them not having the perfect mate when I came back.”

“You’re incorrigibly sweet.” The idea that he’d gone so out of his way makes you melt on the spot, with warmth in your cheeks and a fluttering extra beat of your heart. “And I love you.”

His group of friends cheers when you kiss this time. For all the shit they give him, they are all thrill Marcus has found his sweet soulmate. Right then, the lights dim and everyone turns towards the stage. “Marcus Pike.” His eyes widen when the lead singer says his name. “Report to the stage. There is a bass waiting to be played.”

“Oh fuck yes!” When you squeal with absolute pure excitement you grab his side and practically cackle with glee. Even Agent Bailey is smirking in her plain clothes. “Go, baby! Go!”

“Oh my Gooooood.” Marcus groans as he’s practically shoved towards the stage and he shakes his head, pointing his finger at the band. “I hate you guys.” He moans, even as he shuffles closer, but they just grin.

“Best night ever!” You call back, grinning from ear to ear as you make your way to the front with his friends.

“This is going to be amazing.” Hooking her arm through yours, Stephanie grins at you. “Have you ever heard Marcus sing?”

“No.” And you pout about it for about two seconds before the glint returns to your eyes. “He always demurs and says he’s not that great but I know he’s being humble.”

Marcus shrugs out of his leather jacket and winds the strap of the bass around his neck and back to quickly strum a chord before adjusting the tension to his liking. “I’m going to hurt all of you.” He huffs, even if he’s grinning out at you.

“You fucking love us.” The lead singer, his old friend Leo, reminds him with a shit-eating grin.

Marcus rolls his eyes and huffs, not even able to deny it. “Which songs are we doing?” He asks instead.

“Set list is next to your pedal,” Leo tells him, grin only growing bolder when Marcus doesn’t deny anything. He knows his old friend misses playing. They’ve talked about it. Hence this silly little stunt. “Just like riding a bike, right Pike?”

He snorts and looks out at the crowd, his eyes automatically finding you and he smiles. “Yeah.” He scoffs. “If riding a bike means embarrassing the shit out of yourself in front of your soulmate.”

“It absolutely fucking does, dude.” Leo laughs, slapping Marcus on the back before he steps up to the mic to hype up the already excited crowd.

Marcus winks at you from the stage and looks at the lineup. Most of them are songs that they performed when he was in the band and quite a few that he knows Leo knows he knows. Apparently this wasn’t just a last minute deal. As Leo introduces the band, Marcus starts the bass chords for the first song.

It’s not the night you were planning — swaying to the music with Marcus with a cold beer in your hand while his friends played. This is infinitely better. Marcus is in his element up on that stage, showing off and playing to the crowd and making sure he finds your eyes every so often. Surrounded by friends and an enthusiastic audience, you could see Marcus enjoying many more nights like this. It makes you all the more glad that his friends decided to surprise him.

The crowd is a mix of older and younger people, the songs favorites and he enjoys the energy of the people singing along. Finally finished and sweating, in desperate need of a beer, he grins when you clap and yell.

"You are absolutely incredible." The second he hops down off the stage; you're practically jumping into his arms to give him a kiss. "And I never, ever want to hear anything about your singing voice again. That might be the sexiest singing ever."

He laughs, catching you easily and spinning you around. “Think you might be a little biased, Princess.” He teases, feeling euphoric and like he could do anything tonight.

"So?" The giggle that bubbles out of you is nothing short of adrenaline-infused joy. "I'm still right."

“Shit.” The laughter is infectious and he joins you. “I need a beer.” He admits, squeezing you close.

"Allow me." You insist, and when he makes a face you hold up a hand, still grinning. "Groupie's privilege."

“Groupie, huh?” He chuckles again and slides his hand down to your ass. “You have someone in mind?”

"Yeah," you poke his side and laugh, wiggling the fingers of your other hand in his face. "The one wearing the ring."

“Ring?” He glances at your hand and smirks. “That’s a pretty ring baby, but I could do better.” He flirts. “Dump that guy and run away with me. I’ve gotta sweet van and I know how to treat a lady.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

"You think you can do better for me than my soulmate?" Batting your eyelashes back at him and half playing along, you tug Marcus toward the bar to get him his drink. "He's pretty amazing."

“I know I can.” He snorts, grinning at your playful banter. “You’ve never been with a musician baby.”

"Hmmm." An amused hum barely smothers your grin and laughter. "I have heard that bassists are experts with their fingering."

“Then you know.” He nods as you both slide up to the bar and Marcus orders a draft. He turns back to you. “My fingers are magic, baby.” He promises. “I can take you to the stars.”

It's too hard for you not to giggle at that, leaning into his side there at the bar. "I did know that already, though."

He breaks the character he was putting on and winks at you. “I was merely playing my favorite instrument.” He leans in and whispers in your ear. “Your pussy.”

"Marcus." Your tone is very false in its admonishment, and you're still grinning when you swat at his arm. "You can play her any time you like."

“Now?” He arches a brow in challenge.

You should have known he would jump on it, and you tilt your head at him with a wide-eyed expression. "I mean...not here but..." Glancing around the room proves that there is little cover to be found, and you bite your lip. "Bathroom?"

Marcus smirks and nods to the bartender when he sets his drink down. “Come on.” He takes your hand and drags you away, unable to even drink his beer in his haste to make you cum.

Practically able to feel the heaviness of Agent Bailey's eyes tracking you across the club, you can't bring yourself to care. Not when the promise of his hands on you is so close you can already feel it.

Normally, Marcus would never do this. Not now. But somehow, being with his own friends and playing, seems to have tapped into the wilder side he had exposed when he was younger. Not thinking like an FBI agent at this moment.

The club has two single-occupant bathrooms in a back hallway, and Marcus shoves open the door to the nearest one to tug you inside. "Holy shit." You're giggling again, bubbling over with it. "We're so lucky Agent Bailey trusts you."

“Amazing what a background check and a security clearance will get you.” He jokes as he pulls you to him, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss. He knows he can’t be in here too long with you, it would be rude, but he has to touch you right now. You are just adoring him too much.

It's almost too bad you wore jeans tonight, but you had wanted to keep that feeling of fullness after the shower and truth be told the denim inseam still managed to give you a little stimulation on the way out here tonight. Now Marcus pops the top button open with eager fingers and you whimper softly, biting back the sound so no one in the hall outside hears you.

“Gotta be quiet, Princess.” He coos, smirking at your already lust blown eyes. “Can’t let anyone know you’re fucking a musician in a bathroom, can you?”

You’ve never done anything like this before and he knows that, but with wide eyes and the shivering desire to obey, you nod your head and bite back a needy whine. His hand slides down your panties, finding you slick with new desire and the remnants of his cum covering your lips. He groans your name in your ear and immediately pushes two fingers deep inside you.

It takes effort not to cry out. Not to whimper or moan or keen his name at the sharp, sweet intrusion of two thick fingers deep in your pussy. The vaguely taboo tint of doing something sexual in a public place only makes it better — a surprising feeling that you’ll have to bite for later — and you bury your face in the crook of Marcus’s neck, knowing that it will muffle the little bit of sound that you simply can’t swallow in your own throat. He doesn’t draw it out, doesn’t tease you. Just pumping his fingers deep and twisting his wrist to rub your clit as he tries to see how fast he can make you cum for him.

It’s like being sent up in a rocket, where all you can do is lean back against the sink in the little bathroom and hold on tight. He knows your body, knows how to make you see stars without breaking much of a sweat, and the adrenaline from playing on stage that’s still coursing through him keeps the pace of his fingers thrusting inside you at an almost punishing speed that feels amazing.

It’s like his playing a song with your body. The soft whimper echoing the timing of the beat of his fingers. Kissing along your neck as he pants against your skin. Already throbbing in his pants, but this is for you. “Good girl, baby. You’re so sweet for me.” He groans quietly.

There's not really much you're doing for him right now except keeping quiet and spreading your legs so he can dive inside you, but you'll fix that later. You'll lay him out on his bed and worship him for as long as he will let you. Right now your back arches and you have to let go of your white knuckle hold on the counter in order to tug him closer, pouring the moan that you want to let loose into a kiss instead.

He feels when you let go. Your moan muffled by your tongue as your walls soak his fingers in their pulsing grip. Feeling your heartbeat through the sensitive walls of your pussy. It’s so good and he loves that you are enjoying yourself as the bar music plays loudly.

"Fucking hell..." When you can finally breathe again you look up him with a hazy smile. "I'm gonna give you the best blow job of your life later on," you promise him with a grin.

He smirks as he pulls his wet fingers out of your fluttering cunt and holds them up to the dim light of the bathroom. They are shiny with your slick and he reaches out to your lips. “Open.” He orders.

That was not at all the response you were expecting, but somehow it far sexier because of that, and even though you've just cum you can feel your pussy fluttering at what he wants you to do. It only takes a second before you open your mouth, letting him put his fingers heavily on your tongue before you obediently clean them of any trace of your slick.

Marcus groans quietly, cock twitching in his pants and all he really wants to do is bend you over the sink to fuck you this time, but he can’t. You pop his fingers out of his mouth and he hisses at your innocent look. “Good girl.” His voice is raspy and dripping with lust.

"I feel like I should start calling you something." Leaning up, you steal a kiss and then rebutton your jeans so the two of you can wash up and go back out to his friends. "But I don't know if you wanted to be that kind of dom."

Marcus chuckles as he watches you in the mirror. “So you’re telling me you want a red room in our new house, hm?”

"I'm not gonna be mad about it if you want one," you answer innocently. "I just had the very intense urge to call you...'daddy' a second ago, but I didn't know if you'd like it. That's all."

Marcus has never been in a situation where someone would call him daddy so he has to think about it. “Only one way to find out.” He decides, patting you on the ass as you move out from the sink so he can wash his hands.

"I guess we'll give it a try later then." The air dryer in the bathroom is loud enough to drown out any other conversation, so you finish cleaning up and steal yet another kiss before dragging him back out into the club feeling like you're living on Cloud Nine.

Everyone in the group knows what happened when the two of you disappeared. At least to some degree. They might not believe that it was only an orgasm for you, but the grins are wide and Marcus snorts at the whistling and clapping from the guys. You brush it off with burning hot cheeks and a grin and go to get fresh drinks from the bar. Tonight has been pretty fucking perfect in every way you can think of. The best possible way to say goodbye for now to Texas, although you know you'll be back as often as you can be.

Marcus accepts this beer quickly, feeling parched and he winks at you before he takes a sip. “I think she might want me to find a band in D.C.” he teases.

"Oh, ya think?" Stephanie snorts, leaning into Leo's side when he comes over to join you at a high-top table.

"Actually..." Leo smirks, looking down at his soulmate before he glances up and around the group. "The guys know this already but...there was a big reason we were glad Pike showed up tonight." He tips his beer toward Marcus in salute. "Tonight was the last Dallas show we might ever play."

“Really?” Marcus frowns instantly, looking around to the group. “You guys are gonna stop playing?”

"We're moving in about a month." Leo announces. His arm winds around Stephanie proudly and he squeezes her tight to his side. "Steph got an amazing job at George Washington Hospital. So we're actually moving to DC."

“What?” Marcus sputters and starts beaming. “That’s great!”

"I'm really excited," she admits, smiling even bigger and brighter than Marcus is. "So maybe you won't have to find a new band after all."

“Well, we’d still have to find other members.” He look at the guys. “Until you come out to visit.”

"Maybe we'll all move East." Their drummer, Clark, jokes. He takes a sip of his whiskey and leans on the table. "Y'all know anyone that needs an electrician or a carpenter? I could be persuaded."

“We’re gonna be building a house.” Marcus snorts. “You’re hired.” He’s joking, because he would never make that decision without you, but it’s interesting to think about. Clark is the best damn carpenter he knows.

"Actually..." Tilting your head to look at Marcus beside you, you shrug your shoulders a little and have a sip of your drink. "There's some work that needs to get done at the inn, too. I've been putting it off because my electrician retired last year and finding a new guy is a pain."

His brows lift in surprise and Clark smirks. “Really, tell me about it.” He encourages.

"It's a historical property," you clarify right away, knowing that that scares some people off. Which is fine with you, really. If they aren't comfortable working on historical structures, you're not going to work with them anyway. "Of course things have been updated, but the structure is colonial so it does require a little bit of tender loving care."

“That’s awesome.” Clark snorts. “I love historic structures. Have you rewired the entire building or are you having to replace as you uncover issues?” He asks. “Code has changed so much since knob and tube. And that’s recent in a historic home, depending on how historic.”

"I've only owned the property for a few years, so we're having to play catch up from the previous owner." His enthusiasm is met with plenty of your own, and you look back at Marcus with a wide grin. "You just watch how fast I adopt all your friends. I was not exaggerating about that being what my family does."

Marcus laughs and leans back. “Adopt away, babe.” He encourages you. “You’ll get sick of them quickly.” He teases, laughing again when they all shoot him a finger.

Two days after touching back down in DC, the early morning meeting that you have with your mother and the communications staffer whose job it is to wrangle all things concerning the First Kids means that you’re up and moving before Marcus. You’re essentially having breakfast at the White House, which is less cozy than having coffee and muffins with your soulmate, but this meeting is important. You really do have things to talk to your mother about.

The staffers show you to the less formal dining rooms in the apartment, a rare time the president allows business to be conducted here, but it’s important that you feel comfortable.

The family dining room in the White House residence is still beautiful, and honestly you prefer it to the larger state dining room. The smaller and more casual room makes it easier to convince yourself that it’s just a normal breakfast with your mother today. Agent Bailey blends into the background here, noticeably more relaxed when she is around other agents and not working solo. It’s a good morning for both of you, and you move to the sideboard in the room to make yourself a cup of coffee while you wait for your mother to come in.

The communications staffer comes in and greets you warmly, laying out folders by the plates. “Your mother should be here in a few minutes. She was just in a briefing.”

“How are you, Annette?” The senior staffer that’s joining you is a woman that you’ve known for years. She was also on your mother’s staff in Pennsylvania and she is a good friend of the family after so many years working side by side.

“I’m doing well, how about you?” She asks politely and gives you a warm smile. “Your mother told me about your soulmate, I’m so thrilled for you.”

“That’s so sweet of you, thank you.” There’s going to be a lot more talk about Marcus as this goes on if your mother and Annette accept your proposal, but for now you sip your coffee and smile. “The adjustment to DC hasn’t been too bad for you? Everything’s been okay?” A little small talk before your mother comes in and breakfast gets served is actually nice. With everyone being so busy you feel like there are people you haven’t gotten to talk to in ages.

“It’s always crazy, but we are adjusting well.” She smiles. “Brad isn’t too fond of the traffic, but who is?” She snorts. “I keep threatening to steal a diplomatic plate.” She jokes.

"I'll nab them for you," you promise her, sitting back with your coffee and smiling at the way your promise ring glints in the room's lighting. "They can't fire me from being First Daughter."

She laughs, knowing that you are completely joking but it would be funny to see the headlines. “I’ll expect one then.” She teases, picking up her own coffee to sip.

It takes a few more minutes before your mother comes in, but you and Annette sit and chat and pour second (or third, in your case) cups of coffee.

“I’m sorry, Birdie, Annette.” Your mother rushes over to drop a kiss on your head and throw her arms around her friend’s shoulders briefly. “That took longer than I expected.”

“Everything okay?” You’re wildly aware that there is plenty that your mother deals with that you do not have the security clearance to know about, but that isn’t what you’re asking. You’re asking if your mother herself is okay.

“Yes.” She rolls her eyes. “But I wish that people would stop trying to impress me with long winded reports going over every minute detail.” She huffs with a laugh. “My favorite briefing is from DIA Agent York. He gives me the bare bones information and it’s over in less than five minutes.”

“Would he consider it a blessing or a curse to be out on the State dinner guest lists in appreciation for his speedy briefings?” You ask, practically snorting a laugh at breakfast is served.

“Knowing the kind of man he is, a curse.” She snorts, appreciating your joke but also because she would never willingly let a man like Dave York around her family unless he was protecting them.

“Well, it’s nice to know that the chaos around here is just normal chaos.” The smile you offer your mother is fully understanding. The inn is your own beautiful area of normalized chaos.

“Of course. Thank you for coming.” She acknowledges that her life, her career isn’t the center of her children’s lives and she doesn’t take for granted when they make time for it outside the normal Friday night dinners. “I appreciate it.”

“Of course, Mom.” An early morning meeting is a small sacrifice to make, especially when Marcus exhausted you last night trying out a sexy little card game you’d had stashed away since Syd’s bachelorette party a couple of years ago. It’s safe to say he liked the suggestions the game came up with. “There’s coffee, amazing food, and my favourite Mom, why wouldn’t I come? Although Marcus’s mother is pretty great. Solid second place in the Best Mom Ever competition.”

“I wanted to ask you how your week in Texas went.” She admits, pouring her own cup of coffee. It’s her third cup of the day so far, but she’s also been up since four.

“Honestly?” You pause when a staff member sets a plate of hot food in front of each of the three of you and a large platter of pastries and fruit in the center of the table. The chorus of Thank you’s is in unison. “It was fantastic. His parents are great, I got along pretty well with most of his cousins, and even met a bunch of his friends from college. It was…” you grin at The admission forming on your lips. “It was really wonderful. His parents are planning on coming up to visit us here this summer.”

“That’s wonderful.” Your mother lights up and she nods. “We will have to have a family dinner.” She suggests. “Here? Personal tour of the White House? Do you think that would be something they would enjoy? I know his father would probably enjoy a game while he’s here as well.”

“Marcus has season tickets to the Nationals so we’re definitely planning on seeing a game.” The omelets that have been set out in front of you are steaming and you dig in to your plate without hesitation. “I was going to ask you about a tour for them so thank you for jumping on that. And I know they would love to meet you guys. A family dinner would be really great.”

“Marcus is wonderful and I can guarantee that it’s a reflection of his parents.” Your mother hums. “And as your soulmate, I think it’s important that everyone meets and gets along.”

“I know his parents already said they wouldn’t be offended if you were too busy, but I do want you guys to meet.” Donna and Matthew Pike had sworn that they would completely understand if they didn’t see hide or hair of your parents during the trip, but that hadn’t sat well with you. Your parents have always made time for the important things in their kids’ lives no matter how busy they were.

“Absolutely not.” Your mother sounds offended by the idea. “There is no reason, barring a world catastrophe, where we should meet his parents at your engagement party or some other event. “No, if they want to have something low key, we don’t have to meet here. But I am eager to meet them.” She shoots you a grin. “Diplomacy can wait for one evening.”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t pass up the chance to have dinner at the White House.” The grin you send your mother is beaming and appreciative. “That’s a bragging right not everyone gets. There will be plenty of informal meals in the future.”

“Then I will try to make sure that the chef makes something that will measure up to the amazing food Sydney will be plying them with.” If it wouldn’t hurt your business, your mother would have hired her to be the White House chef in a heartbeat.

“I will carry that compliment back to her on a silver platter.” Now that all three of you are eating — devouring — your breakfasts, you don’t mind getting into things. Of course your mother doesn’t have all day for this meeting, but you expect to be sitting here with Annette for at least a little while. “So, before I put my two cents in, what kind of social media and press presence were you thinking you might wrangle me into?” You’re curious, after all. Since Junie has a clear passion and Alex is handsome and personable, whatever route they chose for you was bound to be a little different.

“Well, I was hoping that we could show how small businesses are vital for our economy.” Your mother looks over at Annette who is nodding. “You are a small business owner and you work with others as well.”

“Okay.” You nod, mumbling the word as you finish a bite of food. “So highlighting the small businesses we work with? Making visible visits to other small businesses? That kind of thing?”

“I know that you utilize some of the local merchants for your supplies.” Your mother nods. “Maybe some clips of you with them? We can do a voice over with the message we want to sent.”

“I’ll compile a list of who we have good relationships with and you let me know who you want to have footage of?” It’s a big plug for the businesses that you do actual work with, so you can’t imagine any of them objecting. “Patronizing your local small businesses is a message I’m happy to get behind.”

“Corporations have garnered too much power in the country.” Your mother agrees. “We need to find a balance between them and a simpler time where everyone shopped local.”

“Alright, that’s easy enough.” Although you’re sure that other complications will arise in time, agreeing to this plan is at least something you’re glad to do. “Anything else?”

A look is exchanged between Annette and your mother. A pause that should be concerning. “It’s about…your soulmate.” She begins.

“What about him?” You frown instantly, not liking the tone that has been chosen for this thought.

“I was hoping that you might sit for an interview.” Annette is the one who voices it. “For the Love is Love legislation that your mother is trying to get passed.

“Oh!” The hesitation in their voices is nothing to do with Marcus, really, and you relax measurably. “Yes. We can definitely do that. And actually?” Looking between your mother and Annette, wondering what they’ll think of this idea coming from you of all people. “I think I can do you one bigger than that.”

“What do you have in mind, young lady?” Your mother almost smirks at the idea that you are suggesting something.

“I know I’m not the kid you expect this from.” The look on her face says that loud and clear and you completely understand why. “But Marcus and I talked it over, and we thought we would see what you thought about a First Family love story. From engagement to wedding to building a house.”

As a career politician, it’s been a rare time where your mother has been speechless, but she just gapes at you, her mouth slightly ajar in shock. “I— are you sure?”

"I mean we're not offering to have a White House photographer follow us around every second of every day, but we know that things are going to get said about us no matter what. Our family are public figures, and Marcus grew up with a father in the spotlight. We figured that getting ahead of the narrative and giving people honest glances into who we are was a hell of a lot better than people just speculating wildly."

“That is an amazingly gracious idea.” She can understand that you are going out on a huge limb and that is so appreciated. “Are you sure you would be comfortable with that scope?”

"We've talked through it," you tell her, knowing that it's probably unbelievable for her to hear this coming from you. "And I'm more confident when I have Marcus with me. I feel better able to handle the extra sets of eyes on my life. So...I thought it made sense not to waste that."

“I think that would be incredible.” She reaches out for your hand. “Only what you will give us though. No more.” Your father had reminded her right before leaving for her briefing that you are her daughter and probably the most private out of the three children. You don’t crave the spotlight at all.

"Marcus thought we could start with the engagement," you tell her, knowing that this is a big leap for you and trying not to be nervous about it. "But I think I should put something on my social media about him being my soulmate first. Maybe some photos from a date with a small announcement?"

“It will mitigate any issues that might spring up.” She doesn’t mention how there has been chatter about the congressman being unhappy about the demise of your relationship. That’s not your concern.

"Our favorite restaurant is family-owned, and we can pick something to do afterward that is still small business or community oriented." That shouldn't be too awfully hard, considering the DC area is always crawling with choices for things to do. You're spoiled for it, really.

“Whatever you think would be best.” She smiles at you. “While I would normally have one million ideas, I think it’s better if this is organically from you.”

“I know Marcus already has my engagement ring hidden away somewhere.” A fact which makes your cheeks burn and your smile turn a little dopey. “But I don’t know anything else as far as that goes. Is it okay if I give him your email so he can touch base with you, Annette?”

“Absolutely!” Annette agrees immediately, while your mother looks impressed that your soulmate has already bought your engagement ring. More importantly is your reaction to that information, you look dreamy eyed and she couldn’t be more happy for you. “I must applaud Marcus for thinking ahead.” Your mother hums, taking a small sip of her coffee to hide her smile.

“We’re both thinking ahead.” A fact which gives you no end of pleasure. The flight back from Dallas had been spent in dreams and future plans, cuddled together looking out the window and making up a list of big and small things you wanted for your future together. “We’re starting to plot out what we want for our house, too. That’s the timeline that’s going to take the longest.”

“Your house?” You had mentioned it before, but your mother ticks her head to the side curiously.

“We’re going to build,” you explain, reaching for a scone from the plate of pastries on the table. “Since the land that the inn is on is more than enough and I own all of it, we’re going to use a portion at the back of the acreage to build a house.”

“That sounds like an adventure.” She’s always known you enjoy doing things your way and it’s refreshing to see that apparently your soulmate understands how much of your being is invested in the inn.

“It’s going to feel like a mansion after sharing my apartment in the inn.” After a little discussion, Marcus had decided that he would rather share the smaller space with you while the house is being built and sublet his current place to Clark — ensuring that his friend can have the new start in DC that he wants. “But we’re excited. It’s a whole lot of planning and big steps forward all at once, and for once I really have a partner who’s on the same page as me.”

“That’s the most important thing.” She knows this from experience. There is absolutely no way she would be the current president if your father hadn’t been on the same page as her as far was what their lives might look like. It’s something she’s always wanted for all of you.

“So…I know it’s more than you were going to ask of me.” Which you appreciate. Your mother recognizing and honoring your boundaries is something she had to work on a lot when you were in your teens and twenties. You look at up her and crack a small, bashful grin. “But it seemed a shame to waste the opportunity for something as uplifting and positive as a White House wedding.”

“A White House wedding?” Your mother’s gasp is surprised, honestly believing you would never even entertain an idea like that. “Are you- you’re joking right? It’s not April Fools Day. That was days ago.”

“I am not joking.” Although you can definitely see why she would be shocked. This is not a decision that you made quickly or easily — or alone. “But I do have an ulterior motive,” you admit, wanting there to be full transparency. “I am hoping that a super-secure and publicly documented White House wedding is a trade off for letting us go on our honeymoon alone.”

She doesn’t even glance at Annette. “Absolutely.” Your mother immediately insists. “There is no way I would want any kind of publicity for your honeymoon. You don’t even have to negotiate for that.” It’s honestly alarming that you think she might want you to do something for her political career on your honeymoon.

“Oh, that isn’t what I meant,” you clarify immediately, seeing naked distress in your mother’s face when she’s normally so good at staying neutral. “I meant…without my Secret Service detail. Give Agent Bailey and Agent Sisson a few weeks off while we go overseas. Marcus is very well trained and definitely enough to keep just two of us safe.”

Her expression eases slightly, relieved that’s not what you are talking about and she nods. “I think that will be entirely appropriate.”

“I’m optimistic that we can make sure this works for everyone.” Sitting in your seat in the family dining room, you lean back with a little extra confidence — bolstered by the fact that you know Marcus is with you every step of the way, just like your family. “Make this happy, and exciting, and something to look forward to.”

“Whatever you want.” Your mother agrees. “Whenever you want.” She adds. “I don’t want you pushing up plans for us, sweetheart.”

“We said we wanted to get started on the house before we get engaged,” you tell your mother, though you have to appreciate her insistence here. Plenty of other parents would hack the timeline if they were in her shoes. “So it will depend on how quickly we start in on those plans.”

“And Marcus wants to stay at the inn while you build?” She asks, lifting a brow in surprise. While she has seen your little apartment and thinks that it’s darling, Sam had always insisted it was too small to share space for even more than a day.

“We talked it through and he feels like it’s more important for me to be close to the inn than for his commute to be shorter. He’s going to sublet his current place to a friend that wants to move up from Texas and then the friend can take over the lease when it comes up. We’ll have a little less space than we would if we stayed in his apartment, but we don’t mind close quarters.” A fact which you will not look bashful about right now…no not at all…

“That’s a very solid plan that you have laid out.” Annette compliments. “It seems like you and your soulmate have made a lot of plans.”

“Right now I’d call it our favorite hobby.” Second favorite, but you’re not talking about your sex life in front of your mother…

The president snorts and rolls her eyes as she reaches for another scoop of fruit. “Sure.”

“Anyway.” Forcibly getting the conversation back on track seems like a smart idea. “Annette is my point person, then?”

“Yes.” Your mother takes the hint with a small smile. “I reasoned you would be more comfortable with her than any of the new staff.”

“And I appreciate that.” You offer both your mother and Annette a grateful smile. “Especially since this is going to involve my soulmate, I’m very glad to have someone that I know and trust working with us.”

“I am eager to meet him.” She hadn’t been present at the state dinner, she had been sick, but from what she can tell she will like him.

“Why don’t you come by the inn and have dinner with us sometime in the next week or two?” You suggest, figuring that would be nicer than a formal sit up in an imposing setting. “Something casual for the first time you meet? So we can all relax a little.”

“That sounds perfect.” Annette knows the value of an informal meeting. It often creates a better mood for the entire interaction.

"Awesome." Having everything moving in a comfortable direction is as much as you could ask from this meeting, and it's nice to see your mother semi-relaxed at the start of a workday. "Well, I'm sure you have eighty-seven things to do today Mom, so I won't keep you."

She winces apologetically and looks at her watch. “I’m actually about three minutes late for a cabinet meeting.” She admits, standing up to move over and kiss your forehead again. “Are you and Marcus coming to dinner on Friday?”

"We'll be there with bells on," you promise her. "Go get to your meeting. I love you, and tell Dad I love him too."

“I will, sweetheart.” She promises. “Annette, I will see you later. Take your time finishing breakfast.”

The unfortunate truth is that the dinner with Annette might be necessary sooner rather than later. Within a bare twenty-four hours of the White House Easter Egg Roll and the official photos that refer to Marcus Pike as your soulmate, the commentary on social media and in online tabloids begins.

Marcus frowns as he opens the new story. It’s not uncommon for articles to be inflammatory, he knows that from the state dinner, but this is all but calling you a cheating liar. “Fuck.” He growls, eyes narrowing on the wording from the ‘anonymous source’.

"What's wrong?" Your nose is stuck in the schedule for next week while dinner is in the oven and you sit with Marcus in the living room, but you glance up when he sounds unhappy.

Marcus sighs and turns his phone towards you so you can read the headline. “I hate to accuse anyone, but this fucking sounds like your favorite congressman ex.”

"Sounds more like your ex, if you ask me." Vanessa might look sweet and innocent, but she can be cutthroat and single-minded in her goals when she sets herself to it. Something she learned from her justice father. "Think they're getting their jollies going after us together?"

“Shit- you think?” He ended things on a good note with Vanessa. Actually, she broke up with him, why would she smear his name?

"I don't know what her motive would be besides trying to get under Sam, but I wouldn't be surprised by it." Leaning forward to read the beginning of the article on his phone, you still frown. "I knew somebody was going to try saying we cheated, but damn."

“We know the truth.” Marcus frowns as he rereads the article. “This seems to imply that we are lying about being soulmates.” He looks over to you with a small grin. “That’s proven easily enough.”

"Hmm." That does make you smile, and you look up at him from behind your laptop. "Are you thinking we should stage a little photo on my social media as a response?"

“Absolutely.” He’s not thrilled about the tattoo you both share, but it’s solid evidence of your connection. “Your reputation won’t even tarnish a little.”

"I'm sure I'll get some snide comments about the kind of tattoo we share, but that's on me." You shrug at the truth of it. "I definitely should have gotten it somewhere else."

He laughs and shrugs. “Doesn’t make a difference now.” He reminds you. “It’s on both of our skin, so it’s proof. You’ve had it for years and so have I. Should we post new pictures and old ones with the tattoos?”

"We can do a little album on my Instagram." The suggestion is a welcome one, but it does mean you push your laptop away and set it on the coffee table to snuggle a little closer to him. "You have old photos with the tattoo in them?"

“I do.” Marcus chuckles. “But….” He shrugs. “They were taken by my ex-wife. She’s not in them.” He assures you.

“That’s fine.” Frankly, if Lara gets involved in the conversation it will just reinforce the fact that Marcus has had your marks for a very long time. “I can bribe Agent Sisson to be our photographer for a photo that has both of us in it.”

“And how do we want to casually set up pictures of our lower backs?” He asks with a grin.

“There’s nothing casual about what we’re doing.” You tuck yourself into his side and grin. “This is answering a call out.”

“To address any unfounded and untrue rumors….” He captions with a snort. “Straightforward. I like it.”

"If we wanted to do this casually, I would just say we should go take some pool pictures." You glance up at him, seeing what he thinks of that. "Violating my mom's no bikini rule for a good cause."

“I like bikini’s.” He agrees immediately, his eyes darkening slightly with lust.

"Oh yeah?" The smirk on your face is nearly instant. "Like we should take a tropical vacation level of like?"

“Like you need to book one immediately.” He huffs. “Texas didn’t count as a vacation.”

"Of course it did!" The fact that he's getting all bent out of shape imagining you in a bikini when he sees you naked on a daily basis is adorably, quite frankly. "And you can't even claim it wasn't sexy. We nearly broke that bed."

“Of course we did.” He laughs. “It’s old and we are horny.” He teases, biting his lip as he pulls you close. “But in a bikini, it’s so much less clothing to take off you.”

"You wouldn't even have to take it off." He's getting ideas and you turn your face up to smirk at him, fully encouraging those ideas to take form. "Just shove it aside. Nothing else needed."

“Fuck.” He hisses, clenching his jaw and imagining fucking you on a beach somewhere.

"Gonna keep that imagine in the spank bank, babe?" You can't help but tease him a little, knowing that you would be reacting exactly the same way if it was Marcus teasing you. But you started it this time so you get to tease.

“Fuck yes, I am.” He snorts. “We would get arrested. But it would be worth it.”

"There's a private beach where we could get away with it somewhere." Leaning up to press a kiss to Marcus's cheek, you're still grinning. "Good to know it's on the fantasy list, though."

“Very high up there.” Marcus admits with no shame. Just the freedom to explore these ideas with you is amazing, even if they are never acted on.

"I think..." The only thing that keeps you from shifting into his lap is the kitchen timer going off from the oven. Instead of climbing on to him you just climb off the couch to get to the baked pasta you put together right before Marcus got home from work. "That maybe we should do half the honeymoon in Paris and the other half on the Riviera? Get some swimsuit time in?"

“I like the way you think.” Marcus chuckles quietly, nodding. “How long are we talking? A few days in each place? A week?”

"A week each?" You pull him up from the couch to come to the kitchen with you. There's still a table to set and wine to pour, and all that good stuff. "Two weeks in France sounds like magic."

“I agree.” He grins and grabs the bottle of wine you had set out. It’s become a routine to have a glass with dinner and he enjoys the selection the inn has, although it annoys you that he insists on paying you for the wine.

"A big, beautiful wedding. Two weeks in Paris. A lovely house for us to move into." Every time you think through the plans you're starting to make for the future, they sound better and better.

“That sounds perfect to me.” Marcus admits, smiling softly at the idea. “Have you thought about the style ideas I sent you?”

"I was showing your Pinterest board to Syd on our lunch today." The collection of Dutch Colonial, Queen Anne, Georgian, and Federal style houses that Marcus had put together to share with you is full of so many ideas that you had lost track of time in the kitchen and was almost late to interview a new member of the housekeeping staff. "She likes the Queen Anne style Victorians, of course."

“Of course she does.” Marcus grins as he lifts a brow. “Which one of those were you most interested in?” He doesn’t really mind what architectural style your home is in, as long as you are happy with the result.

Having decided that the edge of the property where you planned to build was far enough from the inn and her out buildings that you didn’t need to be loyal to the colonial structures, you have a little more freedom to choose what you build. “I think I like the Georgian houses you sent me best,” you tell him, setting down two plates of baked pasta in the table at your customary seats. “It complements the colonial style without being obsessive about matching, and it’s not overly complicated.”

“That’s a good choice, and it still fits with the overall theme of the property.” Marcus agrees. “However…one thing I think is a must in our new house.”

“What’s that?” The two of you settle down and pick up your forks, comfortable in the relative quiet of the apartment while Agent Bailey takes one of her occasional walks around the grounds.

“We have to have an elevator in our house.” He’s gotten used to the elevator at the inn and can’t imagine living without one now.

“Non-negotiable?” You tease, knowing that on the nights he goes to the gym after work he groans his way into the apartment on principle. “Noted. You will have your elevator.”

“Thank God.” He dramatically moans and tosses his head back. “Getting older sucks. You’ll see.” He teases about the age gap, but it’s only seven years. “Heartburn is about to start.”

“I was more thinking of our kids,” you admit quietly, poking your fork into a big bite of sausage and zucchini and pasta together. “What if one of them needs the house to be accessible?”

“That thought had crossed my mind.” Marcus agrees. “But we will pray that all our children will be healthy, prepare in case they are not.”

“No matter what, they’ll be cared for and loved.” That, at least, you can both guarantee.

“Plus it will be easier when someone undoubtably breaks a leg.” Marcus snorts, laughing slightly. “It seemed like it was a contest in my family who would break a bone first every year.”

“Kids are gonna be clumsy,” you joke, pointing your fork at him in teasing accusation. “Got it.”

“But they will make up for it with good looks and charm.” He grins back at you and winks.

First Princess Cheating Scandal is the headline splashed across the tabloid on the magazine rack, and your hand twitches before reaching for it. This is the bullshit you absolutely hate about being in the public eye, and now that they’ve started coming for Marcus you hate it even more. The article inside claims that you faked your matching marks — including your scars, which is possible but extremely far fetched — and that you’ve been sleeping together since at least the night of the State dinner.

With another one of those dinners on the horizon and the weariness in your bones over now spending multiple weeks of time on this stupid non-issue, you pay for the magazine and continue on to the J. Edgar Hoover FBI building with it shoved in your purse. Agent Bailey’s advice had been to let it roll off your shoulders because people are always going to gossip, but as much as you’d like to do that it’s possible this might affect your mother’s image. Or your business. Your previously fully booked inn has had multiple cancelled reservations since this whole thing started.

So you walk on, with the little treats you made in a container in your purse and Marcus’s favorite midafternoon coffee order from the shop around the corner to surprise him at the office.

Marcus is pouring over a case when you knock on his office door. He doesn’t keep it closed, preferring to let his team come to him whenever. To feel like they can. Looking up, he sees you and immediately smiles. “Birdie.” He almost said Princess, but since the beginning of this entire ‘scandal’ non-scandal thing, it’s kind of soured the nickname. Immediately abandoning the file, he stands up and rushes around to give you a kiss. “This is a welcomed surprise.”

“I did a little baking with Syd this afternoon and the results were so good that I couldn’t wait to share.” The kiss is a comforting balm, even if it’s short, and you hold up the cup in your left hand. “And I brought your coffee.”

He groans in appreciation, of both the baked goods and the caffeine. “I was just about to get another cup from the break room, but this is better. His hand slides around your back and he rubs it soothingly, seeing the pinch of upset around your eyes but he wants you to talk to him naturally. “Want to come inside? Share it with me?”

You nod and step inside, your own cup from the coffeeshop clutched in your other hand. It’s herbal tea, though. Caffeine didn’t seem like a good idea when you’re already anxious. “Agent Bailey is in the bullpen, I hope you don’t mind.” Now that you’re in a relationship with a well-trained and fully competent federal agent, your Secret Service detail tends to be a bit more relaxed about giving you space.

“Not at all.” Marcus insists, guiding you over to the little couch in his office. “Rodriguez will show her where the donuts are.” He snickers.

“So…” he sits down beside you and you pull a small container of Madeleines out of your oversized purse to offer to him, but the magazine is sitting just underneath and it makes your eyebrows pinch together all over again. “We walked past a news stand on the way here and…saw a new headline.”

“Oh no.” Marcus sighs, he takes the container but sets them aside to give you his full attention. “Bad?”

“Not great.” With a resigned sigh, you pull the magazine out of your bag and hand it over for Marcus to inspect. Under the headline is the now-famous shot of the two of you dancing together and the article inside includes a paparazzi shot of the two of you grocery shopping alongside one torn from your social media of a date night.

He winces at the headline and huffs, opens it, flipping to the article and skimming it. “I want to really get this ‘anonymous source’ into a fucking interrogation room.” He growls, growing more and more upset at the outright lies that are being insinuated. “But it’s fucking hard to be sleeping with you when security from Vanessa’s building has me showing up on a timestamped tape.”

“Agent Bailey was less than thrilled with the accusation that she would lie about anything out of loyalty. You might have to fight her for that interrogation.” Shaking your head as he puts down the magazine, you’re craving his warmth and security enough that you lean in on the couch beside him. “I had an idea, but I don’t know if you’ll like it,” you admit quietly.

“What is it?” He wraps his arm around your shoulder and pulls you close, wanting to protect you from all this. He feels guilty, like you would be better off if your connection hadn’t been acted on.

“It’s….a little dramatic.” You can admit that, too. Although at this point you feel like a dramatic response isn’t uncalled for.

It might be necessary, in Marcus’s opinion. He nods and hums while waiting for you to continue.

“How would you feel about having another tattoo?” The question is posed carefully, quietly, but you had been considering it all the way over and bandied it back and forth with Agent Bailey during your walk. While extreme, it would certainly put all doubts to rest to share a video of you getting a new tattoo and having it appear just seconds after being finished, fully formed on Marcus’s skin.

“No gang or face tattoos.” Marcus jokes, shrugging slightly. “I’ve got no problem if you want to get a tattoo, sweetheart.” He decides. “But I don’t want you to do that simply to prove that we are soulmates. We don’t owe anyone anything.”

“I know it’s not owed.” That thought had never even crossed your mind, actually. “But I want this put to rest and something small that we decide on together would be a nice mark to share under almost any circumstance.” Shrugging a little, you take a sip of your tea and sit back. “It’s just a thought. Obviously I’m not going to just go off and do this on my own. That’s the opposite of the point of it.”

“No, I’m not opposed to it.” Marcus protests softly. “I just want to make sure it’s not from a place of insecurity.”

“Even if we weren’t soulmates, I would think it was sweet to have matching tattoos,” you tell him honestly, savoring the quiet comfort of the moment when your mind was chaotic just a half hour ago.

“What kind are you thinking of?” He asks softly, smiling as you lean against him. He enjoys the warmth of moment. The quiet comfort of you with him.

“I haven’t come up with anything brilliant.” Or even anything original. You had mostly been waiting to talk to him about it. “But something small, that’s reasonably discreet? Behind the ear or on the ankle or something like that? Even the wrist, so you could cover it with your watch when you want. I wouldn’t mind that at all.”

“What about a little flower?” Marcus offers. “Behind the ear. I can cover that with my hair if I need to, and it can be your favorite bloom.”

“That sounds completely adorable.” The smile you have for him is beaming, feeling the way your heart bursts at his absolute acceptance and support. The love that radiates off him even in something as simple as knowing how much you love flowers.

“I thought you would like that.” He admits, tapping just behind your ear. “And you are so sensitive when I kiss right here. Especially when I’m inside you.”

“That’s mostly because you’re inside me.” Even though your cheeks burn with it and you slide down a little against his side, you’re still beaming at him. “If we’re going for things that enhance sensitivity then maybe I’ll have to look into piercings,” you tease.

“Don’t tease.” He pouts, twitching under the proper suit. “I can’t think about those kinds of things and be expected to work.”

“Oh, would you like if I had secret piercings?” You raise one eyebrow in interest, surprised to hear such an enthusiastic response to the passing idea.

“Piercings are hot.” Marcus would never deny that. “If you wanted to get some, I would support you completely. Enthusiastically.” He teases with a grin.

You hum at him, intrigued enough by the thought to actually heavily consider it, just imagining his face seeing them and how eager he would be to play with them. “That would be a very personal gift for my soulmate.”

Yes it would be. Marcus hums, trying and failing to hide a small smirk. “Personal is good.” He agrees, “but don’t feel like that’s something I have to have. If you want it, that’s one thing.”

"It's something to think about." It's no secret to him that you like things that mark you as his – your soulmate marks, of course, but your promise ring and occasionally wearing a piece of his clothing as well. Piercings might be something only he would see, but that just makes it all the more meaningful.

“Hmmmmmm.” He chuckles and nods his head. “It is. But I don’t think you came all the way down here to just fill my head with dirty thoughts.”

"I came down to surprise you with coffee and tell you that I love you." When he cocks his head slightly, you end up grinning. "I might have a little date night planned for you tonight. The caffeine has ulterior motives."

"Oh really?" He perks up, smiling slightly as he looks over at you in utter surprise. "So I need to make sure I'm home on time tonight?"

"Actually?" His delight is gratifying, and you squeeze his arm gently at your waist. "I'm taking you right from here. Our night is in the city."

"Kidnapping me, hmmm?" He grins widens and he bites his lip. "What does Agent Bailey think of such activities?"

"Oh, she helped me plan it." And she seemed to have fun with it, too, which made the little diversion even better. "Even made our dinner reservation for us."

"Wow." Marcus makes an impressed face. "That was a plot twist I didn't expect." he laughs. "Am I allowed to know any details or just show up and look pretty?"

"Just be your handsome self when I come back at five to pick you up." You stretch up to kiss his cheek, glad that he seems to be looking forward to tonight and hadn't been looking forward to just going home. "I'm going to scoot home, finish some paperwork, and get all dolled up for you."

"Bring me back an outfit?" Marcus asks, turning pleading eyes on you. "It can be another suit, I just want to freshen up too. Look my best."

"I'll bring something devastating but understated." That isn't hard considering Marcus's wardrobe is extremely well curated, but you still like to pay him the compliment as you pull yourself back to standing. "I'll be back in a couple of hours, babe."

He can’t help but grin a little more, your compliment making his shoulders lift confidently. “I’ll see you soon.” He promises, pressing his lips to yours in the office where there’s privacy, although he will walk you to the elevator.

"I love you." That is for the privacy of his office too, but only because it comes with such a doe-eyed look from you that it's nearly obscene.

“I love you too, Hummingbird.” He promises, the same sappy look in his eyes as he turns to guide you out of the office. His hand rests on your lower back, over the tattoo.

Unfortunately, no date night photos or other positive presence on your social media is enough to combat the now growing accusation and rumors surrounding your soulmate status. It's only two weeks after first presenting the idea to Marcus that you're both sitting in a tattoo studio with the artist that did a beautiful flower tattoo for Sydney's sister AnnaLeigh.

Marcus had asked Juan to come and film the entire thing, so it couldn’t be said that it was spliced together. Although he was sure that comment was coming. Some people couldn’t be pleased no matter what, they didn’t want to believe there was an innocent reason for them being together.

The simple design would not take long to ink into your skin, and the artist helped Juan set up two chairs so that both you and Marcus could be in the shot to capture the instant the finished tattoo appears on Marcus’s skin. The entire video would be shared on your social media, audio included, so you had had to work up the nerve to even just chat with Marcus on camera. Sharing another mark with him isn’t stressful at all, it’s letting the public so deeply into your personal life that is.

“I like the design.” Marcus sits down on the other side of you and takes your hand. “You should have let me do the tattoo this time.” He jokes. “I don’t know what it feels like.”

“We can switch if you want to?” You’re nervous, and he knows it. Not for getting the tattoo, but from everything that has been going on.

“That’s up to you, sweetheart. Whatever you want to do.” Marcus wouldn’t take this experience from you if you want it.

“It’s small,” the artist assures you, seeing anxiety in her clients. “And behind the ear doesn’t hurt very much for most people. I had one woman nearly fall asleep on the table because she liked the humming and the soft vibrations.”

Marcus can handle a little bit of pain. You know that. A tattoo is nothing compared to broken limbs or the incident when he was undercover and was shot — which had sent you in a flurry of cooing and coddling for about three days when he first told you about it. Tattooing is the kind of pain that some people find pleasurable, so you squeeze his hand and nod. “Why don’t you give it a shot? You might decide you like it and we’ll end up here all over again.”

“Is that alright with you?” Marcus asks the tattoo artist, knowing they might not appreciate a change of clientele.

“Fine with me.” She nods as she sets up her tray. “I have both of your information on file and believe it or not this happens a lot. Soulmates come in with a design they’ve chosen but they’ll change their mind at the last minute about which one of them will actually being sitting for it.”

Marcus chuckles and turns you both so he can sit down in the chair. “We’ll both be wearing it anyway.” He agrees. “So I don’t mind experiencing it.”

“I’ve never been shot but I guarantee it hurts less.” You move to let him sit in the artist’s chair and situate yourself by his side.

Marcus chuckles as the tattoo artists eyes widen. “I’m a federal agent.” He explains quietly. “It was just a flesh wound, but she thinks it’s impressive.”

“It is impressive!” And you’re just going to keep telling him so over and over until he caves, but right now you just throw a pout at him to make him laugh.

Marcus gives you the laugh and turns his head to the side, staring at you. “Still not as impressive as you are beautiful.” He murmurs softly, although the video picks it up.

“I love you, too.” The bashfulness in it is only because you weren’t expecting that kind of compliment right now — as the artist about to permanently ink Marcus’s skin is making sure she has everything she needs on her tray. You lean into his side and tip back your head, nothing but pure love in your eyes right before they slip shut at the brief press of your lips to his.

Marcus hums, an automatic sound that comes out of him when you kiss him. Excited that you are as free with your kisses as he is, it’s liberating to indulge whenever the urge strikes you. When you pull back, he grins. “Now I’m ready.”

"Go ahead and lean forward." Sitting down on her stool, the artist beckons Juan over with the camera for the best angle to watch the action and still have you in the shot. "And here goes nothing."

The first touch of the needle nearly makes Marcus jump. He barely resists the urge and then laughs quietly, trying not to move too much. “This is kind of ticklish.” He admits.

"Then it already hurts less than the one I got," you tease, glad that the experience isn't painful for him. Watching him giggle about it and knowing it's being filmed is downright endearing.

“I’m sorry.” Marcus apologizes, even though he has nothing to be sorry for. “I wish your experience was better.” He snorts after he says it. “Maybe not, or I might be covered in ink.”

"It wasn't bad, but it was definitely more than a tickle." The grin you shoot him, though, is knowing. "If you end up liking this so much tonight, we might be covered in ink because of you instead."

“Only areas that can be respectfully covered.” He teases you, sending you a wink as the artist continues to carefully work behind his ear.

"Sounds like a plan," you toss him a smirk in return and the set of you grow quiet after another round of low laughter, so the only sound in the room becomes the resilient buzz of the artist's needle.

Marcus could probably fall asleep if the noise didn’t vibrate in his head. He smiles at you, squeezing your hand gently. “After this, we will have to go get that cream to keep it clean.”

"We can get a Tattoo Goo kit before we leave the shop." His hand is in yours and you squeeze it reassuringly. "It's going to be tender for a bit, but it won't take too long to heal."

“I’m sure you will be completely cuddly as I heal.” He snickers quietly.

"I think having a cuddly girlfriend is mandatory for the healing process," you tell him seriously. At this point you've completely forgotten Juan is here for any other reason besides moral support. Forgotten about the phone in his hands being a camera and the fact that this video will become public for the world to see. This is just a moment between you and your soulmate. And a sweet one, at that.

“You should have seen me when the scar from your appendix showed up.” He snorts. “I was upset that my soulmate was hurt.”

“We were kids.” Sure he’s older than you, but you were so young when you had appendicitis. “Did it really worry you that much?”

“Yeah.” Marcus admits, not ashamed of that in the least. “Not knowing what happened, I kept imagining horrible things. Waited for other scars to possibly show up for at least a week.”

“If you had scarred from your broken leg or when you hurt your shoulder, I probably would have felt the same way.” It’s less of an admission from you and more of a confirmation, telling him in no uncertain terms how much you have always cared about his well-being. “Which is still your gunshot wound is such a big deal.” One of your fingers digs into his arm playfully. “That scared the crap out of me.”

“Well, now if I get shot, you can baby me right away.” He teases. “And tell the plastic surgeon to make the scar invisible.”

"I don't mind wearing your scars." The thought comes out quieter than you mean for it to, holding Marcus's hand tightly in yours. "I'm proud of you. And proud to wear your marks, no matter how many of them there are."

“Hopefully not too many more.” He hopes, smiling at you. “But I’m proud to wear your marks too, Hummingbird.”

The session doesn’t last too much longer. Marcus has a high pain tolerance but the tattoo mainly just tickles him, making him grin and laugh as he chats with you and with the artist for the last few minutes. When she pronounces him done and stands back, there is a moment of silence before the permanence of the piece takes hold on him and transfers instantly to your skin.

A sharp intake of breath at the momentary pain is how you know it has happened, and you glance over at Marcus — and Juan with your phone — just absolutely beaming with happiness. “Does it look as good on me as it does on him?”

Marcus inspects the area, forgetting the camera is even on and recording. He leans in and presses a kiss to the tattoo. “It looks even better, Princess.” He promises with a smile.

______

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 @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 @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

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My Masterlist!

[blasphemousclaw]

What's your thoughts on the nature of divinity in ER? The word captivity is so close to the game's idea of godhood in many instances.

Rykard's last word after we beat him: No one will hold him captive.

St Trina's warning: Godhood would be Miquella's prison. A caged divinity... is beyond saving.

there’a definitely a theme of godhood being like a curse in ER… you see it with Marika too:

“This legendary talisman is an eye engraved with an Elden Rune, said to be the seal of Queen Marika. Greatly raises mind, intelligence, faith, and arcane, but also increases damage taken by a similar measure. Solemn duty weighs upon the one beholden; not unlike a gnawing curse from which there is no deliverance.”

and also with Ranni:

“Each of us was chosen by our own Two Fingers, as a candidate to succeed Queen Marika, to become the new god of the coming age. […] But I would not acquiesce to the Two Fingers. I stole the Rune of Death, slew mine own Empyrean flesh, casting it away. I would not be controlled by that thing.”

godhood is portrayed as both a horrible burden and a cage… as we know, Marika was imprisoned and crucified inside the Erdtree by the Greater Will for shattering the Elden Ring. becoming a god is to become the Elden Ring’s vessel… one person alone contains the entire order of the world inside them… no wonder it’s described as a gnawing curse! though becoming a god grants sovereignty over the Lands Between, it comes at the cost of one’s autonomy, and I think that’s what Ranni is so afraid of.

I think what the game is trying to say is that human beings should not become gods! it’s too great a burden to bear, and the sacrifices godhood require are too great… and people are flawed! Like Goldmask’s mending rune says,

“The current imperfection of the Golden Order, or instability of ideology, can be blamed upon the fickleness of the gods no better than men. That is the fly in the ointment.”

and from Count Ymir’s dialogue,

“I fear that you have borne witness to the whole of it. The conceits – the hypocrisy – of the world built upon the Erdtree. The follies of men. Their bitter suffering. Is there no hope for redemption? The answer, sadly, is clear. There never was any hope. They were each of them defective. Unhinged, from the start. Marika herself. And the fingers that guided her. And this is what troubles me. No matter our efforts, if the roots are rotten, …then we have little recourse.”

Marika and Radagon are not perfect beings… the Golden Order has created suffering on a mass scale, much of it driven by Marika’s personal trauma. I think that granting a person who is already hurting the power of a god and the heavy responsibility of being its vessel can only ever cause more suffering. it’s no wonder Trina doesn’t want Miquella to become a god, the suffering he’d endure would fundamentally change him

also I talked more about godhood regarding Miquella here and Marika here

[specialinterestshows]

Your girlfriend has a long day ahead of her in the latest chapter of my Rhea Ripley x lady!reader fic, Absolute Smokeshow.

Warnings for this section: Hickies, cheating, jealousy, parasocial stuff, rage, guilt, alcohol mention, cannabis mention

-

Absolute Smokeshow (Part 81 of ?): Polyagony

Rhea squinted in the sunlight, awoken by a startled cry from the bathroom. Before she could get her bearings, Rhea saw Cathy walking out, hair a mess and a trail of hickies covering her neck and shoulders.

“You really went to town, huh?” Cathy laughed at herself, a blush blooming on her cheeks, “I don’t know what I thought was on my neck, but it scared the hell out of me for a second.”

“Can you blame me?” Rhea asked, smirking at the sight of her own shirt covering the torso of her conquest, “You’re delicious.”

“There’s a phone on the bathroom floor, by the way,” Cathy mentioned after a self-satisfied giggle, “Is it yours or should I take it to the front desk?”

The memory of what Rhea had heard last night (this morning?) flooded back and a slew of emotions began bubbling beneath the surface. The monster wanted nothing more than to make an appearance early today, but Rhea had to do whatever she could to save that energy for the match tonight. Still, her heart ached. At least her girlfriend had given her a heads up about sleeping with someone new, but Dom-

Fuck. She still hadn’t messaged her girlfriend about Cathy.

Rhea leapt out of bed, saying, “Phone’s mine, I’ll get it” as she rushed to the bathroom.

The abandoned phone was right where she had left it, and a message from her girlfriend was waiting behind the cracked screen when she picked it up:

“Good morning! I love you”

A pang of guilt struck behind Rhea’s sternum as she started with the easier section of her reply:

“Morning, babe. I love you so much”

She pressed the little black heart before pausing, searching for the right words to continue the text.

Rhea inhaled deeply before typing out the rest, releasing a rapid exhale and closing her eyes before pressing send.

“Spent the night with Cathy. Going to get a match tonight against Jacy.”

Waiting for a reply was torture; Rhea was already mentally beating herself up over it, especially since her girlfriend had been nothing but patient and communicative. Was Rhea taking advantage of her kindness?

Her phone lit up with her girlfriend’s response:

“I thought we were telling each other before we slept with new people?”

Another large pang of guilt hit Rhea before she typed out a reply, deleted it, tried again, and ended up with:

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t think. I’ve just been stressed lately and needed an outlet”

Exactly one second after sending the text, she typed out another:

“I’m going to make it up to you and put my all into the match tonight, I promise.”

-

“Mami!” Dom ran over to Rhea backstage as she was putting the final touches on her makeup before her promo, “Where’ve you been? I checked the hotel room-“

“Me?” Rhea’s tone was icy, “Where have you been? You didn’t even answer my messages. If you wanted to know where I was, you could’ve called.”

“I lost my phone,” he explained apologetically, “I tried to call it, but I think it ran out-“

“I know where your phone is,” Rhea interrupted, “It’s wherever JD McDonagh fucked you last night.”

Dom froze.

“But- how did-?“

“Ripley?” Ava poked her head into the locker room, “You’re on in three.”

“We’ll talk about this after the show,” Rhea huffed, passing Dom without a second glance, “And stay backstage. I’m taking care of this alone.”

Four minutes later, Rhea was in the ring, barking into her mic for them to cut her music so she could be heard.

“I have a score to settle,” she snarled, “Jacy Jayne, get out here!”

Jacy’s music blared as the tron flashed with her intro graphics and Jacy herself emerged from the gorilla. Thea trailed behind her, an unfamiliar black bag over her shoulder.

“Yes?” Jacy asked into her mic, acting clueless.

“You just can’t seem to stop bothering my girlfriend,” Rhea growled, “While we’re at it, you’re treating your so-called “best friend” like a pawn in your little game. You’re shamelessly hurting innocent women and it ends now. You’re so self-assured, taking advantage of anyone who won‘t fight back, but I doubt you would be that arrogant if you were up against Rhea. Bloody. Ripley.”

The crowd began to chant, “Ma-mi! Ma-mi! Ma-mi!”

“Rhea, Rhea, Rhea,” Jacy walked back and forth in front of the ring as she tutted, “Only one letter away from actually being a pretty name” - she turned to Thea, who smiled and blushed - “It’s funny how you act like you’re somehow treating your girlfriend well. I mean, look at this.”

Jacy held her hand out, waiting until Thea pulled something out of the bag and gave it to her.

It was a tabloid magazine.

The tabloid. The one with Rhea and her girlfriend kissing on the cover.

Jacy cackled at the shift in Rhea’s expression as a large close-up of the magazine cover showed on the screen as well.

“You’re the one who took your innocent girlfriend and forced her into the spotlight,” Jacy accused, pointing to the photo, “She looks so uncomfortable. Does she always make this face when you kiss her?”

The match isn’t scheduled until the main event, Rhea reminded the monster, seething as she growled, doing her best to hold herself back.

“Oo, is that a yes?” faux sympathy coated her words, “Guess she’s not that into you, huh, champ?”

The crowd booed Jacy, but she didn’t let it stop her.

“Wait a minute, where’s your boyfriend?”

Jacy feigned looking around with a sarcastic pout, “Don’t tell me he’s not into you either” - she took on a more confident pose as a spark shone in her eyes - “Maybe he’s just too busy with someone else.”

The image of the tabloid was replaced by a post by NXT Anonymous: a video, captioned solely with the eye emoji, that began to play immediately.

A city street at night was all it showed, at first. Then, zooming in on a neon sign, confirmed the gay bar now onscreen was something to note. Then the real subjects came into view: NXT North American Champion Dominik Mysterio and aspiring Judgment Day cohort JD McDonagh, each with an arm around the other as they strode out of the bar. They were talking and laughing, inaudible over the city noise - the person filming was presumably across the street - but whatever was said, JD pulled Dom into a deep kiss.

The audience largely gasped, though there were a fair amount of “boo”s as well and even a shriek of excitement. Rhea felt empty, numb, but with the monster boiling beneath the surface, ready to take over. Then, JD grabbed Dom’s ass and the video ended.

“Can we even show that on television?” the commentator’s question echoed from a million miles away.

“You don’t seem so sure about letting JD in your little group,” Jacy jeered, “But your boyfriend sure let him in last night!”

The monster broke through that very instant.

As if summoned, Ava came out, phone in hand and a referee close behind her, right before Rhea was getting ready to leap at the woman who had just aired out her dirty laundry.

“You two, in the ring, now!” she declared, “We’re pushing up the main event before we have to fine or suspend either of you. Just do me a favor and wait for the bell.”

Jacy wasted no time sliding into the ring, along with the referee. The moment she did, the bell rang and Rhea came at her with all the fury she had been suppressing.

The intensity of the match was unparalleled; Rhea was known for her brutality for a reason, and Jacy seemed to be trying her best to give as good as she was getting. The two women snarled and screamed at each other, each wanting to savor every second of the other’s pain as they pulled and pushed each other’s extremities to their limits with submission holds.

Landing blow after blow and taking in the pain evident on Jacy’s face felt satisfying in a way nothing else had the past few days. The monster was out for blood, and it would make Rhea end this woman’s career if it meant an undeniable victory.

Jacy tried to keep a brave face on, but after several consecutive hits and another painful submission hold from Rhea, there was fear behind her eyes. Looking around for Thea, Jacy tried to signal her tag partner to help her. Seeing this, Rhea stomped on her opponent’s outstretched arm, extinguishing Jacy’s plea for help.

“Don’t you DARE make another woman do your dirty work!” Rhea shouted at the woman grimacing under her heel before looking up to see a horrified Thea Hail, eyes welling with tears, frozen just outside the ring.

It was then that Rhea’s bloodlust faltered and she noticed the referee trying to separate her from her opponent. She growled before letting Jacy go, cursing herself as she paced the ring.

Forget about her girlfriend’s hurt feelings, the monster told Rhea as she waited for the ref to finish checking on Jacy. She needs to pay for what she’s doing.

“This match is over,” the referee declared, just loud enough for the two women to hear over the crowd.

The words sounded wrong to Rhea. Felt wrong. She hadn’t hurt the other woman nearly as badly as she wanted to; the match should have ended with Jacy tapping out. As Rhea tried to process the rage that still insisted on an outlet, the referee signaled the need for medical attention.

The sound of the bell echoed in Rhea’s ears as she ground her teeth, watching Thea Hail, tears streaming down her face, place Jacy’s uninjured arm over her own shoulders to help her walk to medical. Jacy kept her injured arm close to her torso as she limped out of the ring, jumping slightly when Rhea screamed after her, “Stay away from my woman, or you’ll leave on a stretcher next time!”

The referee blocked her view of the two women retreating just as a group of security guards spilled out of the gorilla to protect them.

As the adrenaline from the match began to fade and Rhea was accompanied out of the ring, a realization hit her: something about seeing Thea cry made her think of her own girlfriend, and every single time that Rhea felt like she had let her down. The Eradicator was suddenly exhausted as she walked backstage, wanting nothing more than a drink or a joint.

Turning the corner, however, she found Dominik waiting for her instead, title belt resting on his shoulder and a small bouquet of purple flowers in hand.

[end part eighty-one of ?]

Part 82: “Fights, Camera, Getting Some Action”

-

Tag list (thank you!)

@littlemiss-fanficlover , @babybatlover , @girlofpink , @kagome2909 , @domripley , @wiccanpriestess , @falloutboy-lover , @aut0luminescence , @riverina69 , @itsrheasgirl , @1-800-sinister , @ripleylove , @beeposts , @teganc

[untold-excellence]

transmascs with t-dicks and wieners on women

trans men with fresh scars and new tits on transfems

butches and twinks and a whole slew of kinks

these are a few of my favorite things

aroace qprs, nonbinary lesbians

demimen, bears and femmes, bi, pan, and gay men

state-spanning polycules, partners with rings

these are a few of my favorite things

when the queerphobes

try to hurt us

and we’re filled with fright

we must all remember our favorite things

and stand hand in hand to fight

[transformation4life]

I want to make people happy, bht have been struggling to make that happen, so i thought, well, might as well give someone a chance to use me to fufill their dreams. Mind transforming me into something thatll make ya real happy?

So you want to be something that makes me happy? Well that's the first someone asked for that. Well I'm into a lot of things so let's look into two scenarios!

As you might be able to tell, korean men are something I'm into so how about we say...

You awaken from a slumber as your phone rings from an unknown caller. Despite your usual attitude of ignoring such calls you were so groggy you decided to answer the phone. The call started and all on the other side was loud static and maybe some words like "muscle", "korean" and "growth", but you were barely awake to even understand anything and the call eventually ended. You were very confused and just shook it off as some weird scam, promptly going back to sleep. Unbeknownst to you your body was slowly being remodeled into the perfect korean bodybuilder as your shirt tightened and your pecs ballooning up as well as other muscles growing. By morning you were already the perfect korean bodybuilder snoozing real cutely.

You awaken from your slumber not realizing you were a big hunk, scratching your head as you headed your way to your bathroom. You looked into the mirror and couldn't believe your eyes. You were hot! You quickly took your shirt off and took no time in flexing for the mirror.

As you flexed, the memories of a korean bodybuilder replaced your own current memories until the korean man you saw before you was all you knew. Of course your apartment was now a house and you had a youtube video to make so you turned on the camera and began to speak.

"안녕하세요 여러분 황철순입니다" (Hello everyone, Hwang Chul Soon here.)

The video making process without a hitch and you uploaded the video and the comments came rolling in. One comment intrigued you though by a someone named "Transformation4life"

"Nice muscles" They said. You wanted to get to know them better and we'll just have to see where that goes...

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

And that's one possibility... But you know I also like big strong burly guys so...

You make you way to the gym after finally getting the courage to finally get big.

"Oh a newbie!" the large front desk clerk remarked. You didn't expect the clerk to be big but he was pretty good looking.

You sign up for the gym membership pretty quickly and the clerk smiled.

"Now that you're signed up all members get a cool free set of headphones! Enjoy!" The clerk reached into a cabinet with a set of headphones and handed them to you. You completely forgot to get yours so this is convenient.

After putting your extra set of clothes in your assigned locker you make your way to a workout machine and plug the headphone jack in to your phone and the the headphones into your ears with your favorite music blasting and pick up the weights before you. You begin to lift and lift and lift and lift. Despite your inexperience somehow you felt like you've been doing it for multiple years. When you finally feel like you're finished you feel... different. You look down and see that... woah! You have beefed up in size in a flash. Your pecs are meaty yet bouncy, bodyhair all over, strong biceps, a manly bear, and even a tattoo? The pure masculine energy now emanating from you was enough to make you want to flex ripping your shirt right off in the mirror.

That flex was a trigger that caused a whole slew of memories to seep into your brain as you were rewired to be a years experienced bodybuilder who loved being a manly man. The memories made you flex again with a lot more cockiness never felt before.

Before getting back to your routine workout you notice someone that's inexperienced in working out and is having trouble with their workout. Being the bodybuilder you are you approach them and so something begins perhaps....

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

And that's just two possibilities... either way thanks for the opportunity to write this kind of thing i appreciate it!

[symphonic-scream]

Okay. Another in a long line of aus that have been coming from my mind lately

P4 but it's P5

Aka, the P4 Tokyo au

Gonna lay it out, but if you just wanna know everyone's roles scroll to the end for the list of the arcana :)

Alright. Let's do this

So, Yu Narukami was walking home one night when he hears a woman scream. He runs over to help and sees a man trying to assault her so he steps in. The man, drunk, falls over and gets hurt. The blame is placed on Yu, who is arrested and found guilty

Now, his parents don't want to deal with him, sending him to live with his cop uncle in Tokyo. Dojima isn't too happy about it, and to keep Nanako safe, he has Yu live in the old Yongen police station, now a storage building. It's dusty and old, but Yu thinks he can clean it up a bit

He's at a new school. Everyone seems to hate him. He spots a boy on the way to school, watches a teacher berate the kid before he pedals his bike faster. It's raining. The water from his tires flies up dousing Yu and a girl chasing after him

She's Chie Satonaka, formally a part of the martial arts club at Shujin, kicked out due to the extreme number of demerits she's earned. All from the same teacher that yelled at that boy

The boy being Yosuke Hanamura, who transferred last year. Kids being blamed for his father's business taking over a whole slew of smaller businesses in another area of Tokyo, just another big supermarket. But then as well, a certain teacher keeps spreading rumors about him and his family's business. It isn't helping

Anyways. Yu and Chie stumble into the Metaverse, find the shadow of King Moron, and a little bear named Teddie. Then they're back in the real world and shit and blah blah

We know the story by now. The third joins the team, they steal the treasure, etc

In the real world, Teddie is one of those Teddie bear dogs. The tiny ones. I think that's funny

Anyways. They save the day and things move forward. They are the Phantom Thieves. They're going to keep stealing treasures and saving people

On to arc two! After the teacher thing, Chie gets approached by a girl in a kimono, as they're walking through Shibuya. A local group was doing advertisement for a special like traditional style decoration event at an inn. And. One of the young designers wants to use Chie for inspiration

After. Having her soul bared to her. Uhm. Yeah.

Anyways there's a senior designer there that keeps trying to convince everyone the inn is haunted or something. He's an asshole. Wants to ruin the inn so he can buy it to be his personal mansion

Anyways Chie nearly has to get nude but before that they convince Yukiko Amagi to join them and defeat the designer

So. There's that

Anyways next arc!

So. Dojima is still a cop. He's on the case of a large crime group in the city, with another detective Adachi, and. A teenager.

A first year at Yu's school. Pretty much a kid. The cops aren't happy they brought the "genius Detective Prince" in cause they couldn't end it soon enough, but. The whole unit is sick of this kid on day one. Doesn't talk to them. Stands there. Uses big words.

The kid doesn't have friends at school. But, they get closer than anyone else does. Aka, they find both the Phantom Thieves and the crime ring. At the same time.

Naoto Shirogane is looked down on for being a kid but also was never allowed to be a kid. Lonely as fuck. Pressured into throwing themself at the crime boss with no backup

The team finds them insufferable at first. Until they're in the palace and Naoto breaks. And then gains their persona

(Genderfluid Naoto here. Some days he, some they, some she.)

So we've got a "criminal", the reason everyone's parents are broke, Shujin's most violent second year, an interior designer, and a young detective. Oh and Teddie

It's. Going great for them

And it lasts a while until, they get a strange request. An anonymous online fan wants their heart stolen. They're worried they'll resort to extremes soon, and don't want to wish that grief on their loved ones. It's, a lot,

And. They investigate enough to find out the request came from within the Dojima house

Former idol Risette has been living with them since she was attacked, assaulted. She doesn't go out, has a fear of being around crowds and, shit like that. She blames herself, she's read too many online comments. She was asking for it, and all. And she feels, gross. So, they go to steal her heart

And she joins the group! As their Navi! Fun!

Then the second years go to Hawaii, leaving only Naoto and Rise behind in Tokyo, and when they return? They have another palace!

This one idk but Kanji joins the team here. It's Kanji he's gay and likes manly things like sewing.

Anyways after that it's, another Palace that's honestly not chosen cause idk who'd be the Judgement (Margaret?? Maybe) and Adachi joins the team and then betrays them and then they're after the prime guy and then God

But yeah. Thief Team

Fool - Yu

Chariot - Chie

Lovers - Yosuke

Magician - Teddie

Emperor - Yukiko

Priestess - Naoto

Hermit - Rise

Empress - Kanji

And yeah. I've got some ideas for it and all but. Yeah. Ask me about it

[drabbles-mc]

Latest & Greatest

Neil Fak & F!Reader

For @the-slumberparty's Bingo Challenge! Bingo square: family friend

Warnings: 18+, language, weed, pining if you squint

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: I finished yet another rewatch yesterday and I just love Neil Fak so much. So here we are.

The Bear Taglist: @withmyteeth @garbinge @narcolini @hausofmamadas @ashlingnarcos @justreblogginfics (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

It was impossible to hear much of anything with all of the chaos going on. There were at least ten different conversations going on, most of them being conducted by screaming instead of talking. On top of that there was the clattering of pots and pans, items being thrown and dropped, not to mention Donna’s slew of timers. The ringing was all so staggered that no one could keep them all straight, least of all Donna. It was bedlam, but they all knew it was coming, and year after year they all kept deciding to come back.

Because of all of that, Fak hadn’t heard his phone the first time it chimed when a text message came in. When the reminder chime rang, he was too deep in a yelling match with Richie to pay it any mind. It wasn’t until all of the people who were usually occupying his time were being occupied by someone or something else, that he took the time to check his phone.

“Still doing Christmas at the Berzatto’s?”

He smiled, completely tuning out the rest of it for a moment as he replied, “Fence in 5?”

The response was almost immediate. “Clock’s ticking”

You were already outside by the time he managed to escape the house. You were leaning against the fence that divided the back of your yard from the back of the Berzatto’s, arms rested on top of it. You couldn’t remember the exact year this became the meet-up spot for the two of you during the holidays, but it had stuck ever since. It gave you a breather from your own family, and it gave Neil a break from the Berzatto’s, not that he ever really seemed like he needed one.

Every year he was in a different flannel and sweater combo. You wondered if he and Theodore flipped for it each year to see who got to choose. Not that it really mattered much since they both ended up wearing the same thing regardless. One year you were going to have to weasel your way into going on that shopping trip with them.

“Can’t stay away, huh?” you said as he walked over to the fence.

He raised his eyebrows, laughing as he came to a stop in front of you. “You are the one who—”

“I meant from Donna’s,” you cut him off, chuckling as you nodded towards the house behind him.

“Oh.” He laughed and gave something of a shrug, not giving more of a response. There wasn’t really much more to say about it. He made himself busy, fumbling with the button on the pocket of his shirt. You didn’t say anything, just pulling your sweater tighter around you as you watched him pull a joint out of the small pocket. It was enough to send both of you into a fit of laughter.

“Saw Francie earlier when I went to the store,” you said with a chuckle. “Still on the no-fly list with Nat.”

Neil shook his head as he sparked his lighter, mumbling emphatically around the joint in his mouth. “Because of the fucking thing!”

You laughed. “Doesn’t help that she never said sorry.”

“Maybe she took your spot,” he said once he lit his joint.

“My spot?”

“On the no-fly list.” He took a drag before handing it to you.

You were laughing as you placed the joint between your lips. You inhaled deep before responding. “I’m on DeeDee's not Nat's.” You shook your head. “Pretty sure I’m fuckin'…permanently barred from entry.”

There was a beat of silence between you, like the conversation was about to take a heavy, serious turn. But instead you both broke down into fits of laughter. There was so much that could be said about Donna being the one that banned you from the holiday festivities, but you didn’t know if it said more about her as a person, or about you.

“You hated Christmas here anyway,” he finally said when the laughter had died down. Even as he said the words he still had that same goading smile on his face.

“Most sane people would.”

“You’re not sane.”

You handed the joint back to him with a roll of your eyes, “Sane-adjacent.” You paused, watching him pull another hit. “My mom asked about you, by the way.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Bullshit. She did not.”

“She did!” You were laughing as he passed it back to you. “She asked how her favorite Fak was doing.”

“That does not mean—”

“And you’re my favorite Fak,” you kept going, talking over him the way you all always did with each other, “so by extension you’re also her favorite Fak.”

“What makes you so sure?”

You chuckled and shrugged. “’Cause I’m her favorite daughter.” A beat passed as you brought the joint back to your lips again. Your voice was slightly strained as you tried to talk without letting out your entire inhale at once. “So? What’s the latest and greatest?” You finally let go of the breath you’d been holding. “Catch me up on the last few months. What've I missed in the life of Neil Fak?”

He watched you for a second, staring at you as you stared down at the joint in your hand and tried to figure out how much more the two of you could even really get out of it. It was almost done, the rendezvous almost over.

“Got a new high score on Ball Breaker.”

You nodded, expression serious but the glint in your eyes giving away the humor of it all regardless. “Of course, of course.”

“The toilet at The Beef is still exploding every couple of weeks.”

“I think Richie breaks it purposely just so he can see you again.”

Another beat. Another second of you two staring at each other. Another shared fit of laughter at the sheer ridiculousness of that notion.

“How’s Ralph Squared?” you asked, trying to hold back just a little bit of your laughter over the fact that he named both his cats Ralph.

“Ralph are good! No escapes lately.” He tapped his knuckles against his head. “Knock on wood.”

Your smile was enough to nearly make your cheeks hurt. “Good.” You paused. “How are you?”

Fak shrugged and nodded. “I’m good.”

There was a look in his eyes that had you thinking maybe he wanted to say something more, but he didn’t do it. He wouldn’t. That’s not what these little meet-ups were for.  These were for both of you to get some fresh air and something similar to silence after spending hours in your respective war zones. Granted, Christmas at the Berzatto’s made your family Christmas seem like a walk in the goddamn park. But you still enjoyed the breather. Still enjoyed leaning on the opposite side of the fence from Neil and smoking together like you were still in high school.

“Please,” you joked, “spare me the details. Don’t get too carried away on me now—I only have so long out here.”

He rolled his eyes at you, face turning pink in a way that you both simultaneously and silently agreed to chalk up to the cold. He snatched what little was left of the smoke from your fingertips and finished it off, both of you chuckling quietly at the petulant child-like nature of it.

“You know how I am,” he finally said with a laugh. “You?”

You sighed, dropping your head so that your chin was resting on your forearms, forcing you to look slightly upwards at him. “Still waiting for you to get out of Chicago for a week and come visit me!”

“It’s so far.”

“It’s not that far.”

“It’s pretty far.”

You rolled your eyes but you were still smiling. It was the same debate every time you came home. You weren’t actually that upset about it—you knew who you were dealing with after all. The Fak's and the Berzatto's weren’t the types to just up and leave Chicago. Even if it was just for a week.

“I’m just saying,” you stood upright, adjusting the sleeves of your sweater, “I’ve got a pull-out couch with your name on it.”

“I don’t even get a real bed?”

“I hardly even get a real bed!” you shot back with a laugh.

“That does not make me want to come and visit you more. Just saying.”

You chuckled and shook your head. “I’ll work on that.”

Before either of you could try and say something else to keep the conversation going, the screaming in the Berzatto house reached a crescendo, followed by the sound of shattering glass. Neil tucked his chin down for a moment, gathering himself up before heading back in to see what the damage was this time.

“I’ll let you go take care of that,” you said with a small laugh as you crossed your arms over your chest, the cold finally starting to get to you.

“I’m sure Mikey's got it all under control,” he replied, getting both of you to laugh.

“Mm, I don’t know, sounds like it might be A Fak.”

He laughed. “It’s always A Fak that’s why they invite us.’

You shook your head, unable to stop the smile on your face. “Merry Christmas, Neil. Tell Theodore I said the same.”

“And Francie?”

You laughed. “Sure. You can tell her, too.” You took a step back towards your parents' house.

He gestured to the fence. “Same time next year?”

You had to laugh. “I’m here for the rest of the week—I better see you again before I go. Preferably not in, you know,” you gestured to the fence again, “fuckin' no-man's land.”

“Pfft,” he mocked deep confusion and offense, “Do I not come when you call? Do I not respond when you beckon? It’s what I do—I show up.”

You laughed. “I’m just saying.”

“I’m hearing, I’m hearing,” he said, smiling as he started to make his way back towards the house. “Merry Christmas!” he called back to you once you turned around and started to head back to your own house.

You laughed as you turned just long enough to shout back, “And Happy Fuckin' New Year!”

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

TWOW: Theon I

Wouldn't be a Theon chapter if I didn't have to craft a meta-analysis.

His shoulders were on fire and he could not move his hands. For half a heartbeat he feared he was back in his old cell under the Dreadfort, that the jumble of memories inside his head was no more than the residue of some fever dream. I was asleep, he realized. That, or passed out from the pain. When he tried to move, he swung from side to side, his back scraping against stone. He was hanging from a wall inside a tower, his wrists chained to a pair of rusted iron rings.

Admit it, for a second you thought you had mistakenly stumbled back into the Forsaken.

+.+.+

The king's voice was choked with anger. "You are a worse pirate than Salladhor Saan." [...] "My brother's debts," the king was muttering. "Joffrey's too, though that baseborn abomination was no kin to me." Theon twisted in his chains. He knew that voice. Stannis. [...] "I know a quicker way." Stannis drew his dagger. For an instant Theon thought that he meant to stab the banker. You will never get a drop of blood from that one, my lord, he might have told him. The king laid the blade of the knife against the ball of his left thumb, and slashed. "There. I will sign in mine own blood. That ought to make your masters happy." [...] The Braavosi slipped the roll of parchment inside a wooden tube. "I hope to have the honor of calling on Your Grace again when you are seated on your Iron Throne."

In case you're not up to date, Tycho Nestoris, a representative of the Iron Bank, has successfully located Stannis in the middle of nowhere. The two parties have entered into an agreement, where Stannis pledges to pay off the Iron Throne's outstanding debts to the Iron Bank in return for financial assistance to win the war. Way to go, Cersei.

Speaking of Salladhor Saan, I would have advised Tycho Nestoris to find out from him how good Stannis is at paying back his debts.

"Salladhor the Smashed. Where are my ships? And my gold, where is all the gold that I was promised?" When Davos had tried to assure him that he would have his payment, Salla had erupted. "When, when? On the morrow, on the new moon, when the red comet comes again? He is promising me gold and gems, always promising, but this gold I have not seen. I have his word, he is saying, oh yes, his royal word, he writes it down. Can Salladhor Saan eat the king's word? Can he quench his thirst with parchments and waxy seals? Can he tumble promises into a feather bed and fuck them till they squeal?" - Davos I, ADWD

+.+.+

"And the grandsons. Lord Wull seeks audience as well. He wants—" "I know what he wants." The king indicated Theon. "Him. Wull wants him dead. Flint, Norrey… all of them will want him dead. For the boys he slew. Vengeance for their precious Ned."

Ned Stark continues to live rent free in Stannis' head.

+.+.+

Crowfood. Theon remembered. An old man, huge and powerful, with a ruddy face and a shaggy white beard. He had been seated on a garron, clad in the pelt of a gigantic snow bear, its head his hood. Under it he wore a stained white leather eye patch that reminded Theon of his uncle Euron. He'd wanted to rip it off Umber's face, to make certain that underneath was only an empty socket, not a black eye shining with malice. Instead he had whimpered through his broken teeth and said, "I am—" "—a turncloak and a kinslayer," Crowfood had finished. "You will hold that lying tongue, or lose it."

Asha didn't recognize Theon, but somehow Mors Umber could.

We've already covered Mors calling Theon a kinslayer in previous chapters (here, here, and here). I believe the northerners view Theon as an adopted brother to Bran and Rickon. I don't think it has any deeper significance.

+.+.+

Crowfood had fingered his beard. "Dead now, I suppose. That smith of yours as well. A man who knew his steel. What was his name?" Jeyne had hesitated. Mikken, Theon thought. His name was Mikken. The castle blacksmith had never made any lemoncakes for Sansa, which made him far less important than the castle cook in the sweet little world she had shared with her friend Jeyne Poole. Remember, damn you. Your father was the steward, he had charge of the whole household. The smith's name was Mikken, Mikken, Mikken. I had him put to death before me! "Mikken," Jeyne said.

I call that having the right priorities. If there were more cake and fewer weapons, the world would be a better place.

+.+.+

Theon twisted in his chains, and blinked down at the king. "Crowfood found us, yes, he sent us here to you, but it was me who saved her. Ask her yourself." She would tell him. "You saved me," Jeyne had whispered, as he was carrying her through the snow. 

First Small Paul, and now this. Does George not grasp how difficult it is to walk through snow that's up to your waist?

+.+.+

"Unchain me, and I will serve you." "As you served Roose Bolton and Robb Stark?" Stannis snorted. "I think not. We have a warmer end in mind for you, turncloak. But not until we're done with you." He means to kill me. The thought was queerly comforting. Death did not frighten Theon Greyjoy. Death would mean an end to pain. "Be done with me, then," he urged the king. "Take off my head off and stick it on a spear. I slew Lord Eddard's sons, I ought to die. But do it quick. He is coming."

Very on brand for a Greyjoy to be wishing for his own death.

This is how I know Victarion murder-suicides.

+.+.+

"Maester Tybald," announced the knight of the moths. The maester sank to his knees. He was red-haired and round-shouldered, with close-set eyes that kept flicking toward Theon hanging on the wall. "Your Grace. How may I be of service?" [...] "A maester's raven flies to one place, and one place only. Is that correct?" The maester mopped sweat from his brow with his sleeve. "N-not entirely, Your Grace. Most, yes. Some few can be taught to fly between two castles. Such birds are greatly prized. And once in a very great while, we find a raven who can learn the names of three or four or five castles, and fly to each upon command. Birds as clever as that come along only once in a hundred years."

Maester Tybald is Arnolf Karstark's maester. Arnolf and his men have recently joined Stannis Baratheon's forces in the village.

In case you're not up to date, it turns out that Arnolf Karstark remains loyal to Roose Bolton instead of Stannis. Jon Snow, after learning this from Alys Karstark, sent a letter to Stannis, warning him about Arnolf Karstark's intended betrayal.

Clydas had dispatched a raven to Deepwood Motte to warn the king of Arnolf Karstark's treachery, but whether the bird had reached His Grace in time Jon did not know. - Jon X, ADWD

The bird reached its destination in time.

+.+.+

[...] Birds as clever as that come along only once in a hundred years." Stannis gestured at the black birds in the cages. "These two are not so clever, I presume."

Oh, I think those ravens are more clever than you realize, Stannis.

+.+.+

"Tell me, then. Where are these two trained to fly?" Maester Tybald did not answer. Theon Greyjoy kicked his feet feebly, and laughed under his breath. Caught! "Answer me. If we were to loose these birds, would they return to the Dreadfort?" The king leaned forward. "Or might they fly for Winterfell instead?" Maester Tybald pissed his robes. Theon could not see the dark stain spreading from where he hung, but the smell of piss was sharp and strong. [...] "The rules of my order forbid me to divulge the contents of Lord Arnolf's letters." "Your vows are stronger than your bladder, it would seem." "Your Grace must understand—" "Must I?" The king shrugged. "If you say so. You are a man of learning, after all. I had a maester on Dragonstone who was almost a father to me. I have great respect for your order and its vows. Ser Clayton does not share my feelings, though. He learned all he knows in the wynds of Flea Bottom. Were I to put you in his charge, he might strangle you with your own chain or scoop your eye out with a spoon."

Feel free to journey back in time and witness how Stannis treated this father figure.

Reluctantly, I must credit Stannis for recognizing the value of maesters. Blech!

+.+.+

"How many eyes does a maester need to read a letter?" asked Stannis. "One should suffice, I'd think. I would not wish to leave you unable to fulfill your duties to your lord. Roose Bolton's men may well be on their way to attack us even now, however, so you must understand if I skimp on certain courtesies. I will ask you once again. What was in the message you sent to Winterfell?" The maester quivered. "A m-map, Your Grace."

That bird also reached its destination.

Lord Bolton unrolled the parchment. "His host lies not three days' ride from here, snowbound and starving, and I for one am tired of waiting on his pleasure. [...]" - Theon I, ADWD

+.+.+

Stannis nodded. "You [Justin Massey] will escort the Braavosi banker back to the Wall. Choose six good men and take twelve horses." "To ride or eat?" The king was not amused.

Lmao.

+.+.+

"Your place is where I say it is. I have five hundred swords as good as you, or better, but you have a pleasing manner and a glib tongue, and those will be of more use to me at Braavos then here. The Iron Bank has opened its coffers to me. You will collect their coin and hire ships and sellswords. A company of good repute, if you can find one. The Golden Company would be my first choice, if they are not already under contract. Seek for them in the Disputed Lands, if need be. But first hire as many swords as you can find in Braavos, and send them to me by way of Eastwatch. Archers as well, we need more bows." Ser Justin's hair had fallen down across one eye. He pushed it back and said, "The captains of the free companies will join a lord more readily than a mere knight, Your Grace. I hold neither lands nor title, why should they sell their swords to me?" "Go to them with both fists full of golden dragons," the king said, in an acid tone. "That should prove persuasive. Twenty thousand men should suffice. Do not return with fewer."

In case you're not up to date, Cersei Lannister has sent Harys Swyft to Braavos to secure gold for the crown and potentially buy swords. I'm not sure if it's worth noting that unlike Justin Massey, Harys Swyft does possess titles and land.

It's not immediately apparent why the Iron Bank would help Cersei after she ceased making payments towards the Iron Throne's debt, but it is possible Arya killing one of her envoys while they're doing business with the Iron Bank could favour Cersei.

This would make trouble for the Sealord and the envoy with the chicken on his chest, she did not doubt. - Mercy, TWOW

+.+.+

"Your Grace should go to Braavos with the banker." "Is that your counsel? That I should flee?" The king's face darkened. "That was your counsel on the Blackwater as well, as I recall. When the battle turned against us, I let you and Horpe chivvy me back to Dragonstone like a whipped cur."

That was the right call, doofus.

I love when there's a designated Voice of Reason! Justin Massey, Gerris Drinkwater, Daemon Sand - they make my life so easy.

What did we learn? We learned that the small victory Stannis will achieve in this village will inevitably be followed by failure, and he should have went to Braavos.

+.+.+

"… to raise an army, aye. As Bittersteel did after the Battle of the Redgrass Field, where Daemon Blackfyre fell." "Do not prate at me of history, ser. Daemon Blackfyre was a rebel and usurper, Bittersteel a bastard. When he fled, he swore he would return to place a son of Daemon's upon the Iron Throne. He never did. Words are wind, and the wind that blows exiles across the narrow sea seldom blows them back. That boy Viserys Targaryen spoke of return as well. He slipped through my fingers at Dragonstone, only to spend his life wheedling after sellswords. 'The Beggar King,' they called him in the Free Cities. Well, I do not beg, nor will I flee again. I am Robert's heir, the rightful king of Westeros. My place is with my men. Yours is in Braavos. Go with the banker, and do as I have bid."

You've got to admire a guy who's willing to go down with the ship!

(I'm sure you get the point by now, but Blackfyre history always has the potential of being fAegon evidence.)

+.+.+

"It may be that we shall lose this battle," the king said grimly. "In Braavos you may hear that I am dead. It may even be true. You shall find my sellswords nonetheless." The knight hesitated. "Your Grace, if you are dead—" "—you will avenge my death, and seat my daughter on the Iron Throne. Or die in the attempt."

Is there a backup plan?

I must admit, I have no idea where the Massey side plot goes once Shireen and Stannis are dead.

+.+.+

"Oh, and take the Stark girl with you. Deliver her to Lord Commander Snow on your way to Eastwatch." Stannis tapped the parchment that lay before him. "A true king pays his debts." [...] "The ironmen are to remain here, supposedly to fight for us. Another gift from Tycho Nestoris. Just as well, they would only slow you down. Ironmen were made for ships, not horses. Lady Arya should have a female companion as well. Take Alysane Mormont."

Have you ever noticed that people who claim to pay their debts often fail to pay their debts?

I've already explained why Jeyne Poole is not the girl in grey, but what I forgot to mention in that post is that it's unlikely Justin Massey, Tycho Nestoris, and Alysane Mormont die during their journey to the Wall.

+.+.+

"One day Your Grace will need to take the Iron Islands. That will go much easier with Balon Greyjoy's daughter as a catspaw, with one of your own leal men as her lord husband." "You?" The king scowled. "The woman is wed, Justin." "A proxy marriage, never consummated. Easily set aside. The groom is old besides. Like to die soon." From a sword through his belly if you have your way, ser worm. Theon knew how these knights thought. Stannis pressed his lips together. "Serve me well in this matter of the sellswords, and you may have what you desire. Until such time, the woman must needs remain my captive."

There they go setting aside marriages again. And look, Theon's being an overly-protective brother! How sweet.

I question whether Stannis truly intends to spare Asha, so I'm not sure why he's making this promise.

+.+.+

Stannis Baratheon paced the floor. The tower was a small one, dank and cramped. A few steps brought the king around to Theon. "How many men does Bolton have at Winterfell?" "Five thousand. Six. More." He gave the king a ghastly grin, all shattered teeth and splinters. "More than you." "How many of those is he like to send against us?" "No more than half."

The Stark loyalists, and the Knights of the Vale will molly whop three thousand Bolton men, but only if Roose lets them leave the protection of the castle.

+.+.+

That was a guess, admittedly, but it felt right to him. Roose Bolton was not a man to blunder blindly out into the snow, map or no. He would hold his main strength in reserve, keep his best men with him, trust in Winterfell's massive double wall.

Looks like we're going to need someone to kill Roose!

Perhaps then, someone will be stupid enough to abandon the walls of Winterfell.

"Now is the time to smash him. Let me [Ramsay Bolton] march on Deepwood."

[...]

We would be fools to march on Stannis. Let Stannis march on us. - Reek III, ADWD

+.+.+

"Wyman Manderly." The king's mouth twisted in contempt. "Lord Too-Fat-to-Sit-a-Horse. Too fat to come to me, yet he comes to Winterfell. Too fat to bend the knee and swear me his sword, yet now he wields that sword for Bolton. I sent my Onion Lord to treat with him, and Lord Too-Fat butchered him and mounted his head and hands on the walls of White Harbor for the Freys to gloat over. And the Freys… has the Red Wedding been forgotten?" "The north remembers. The Red Wedding, Lady Hornwood's fingers, the sack of Winterfell, Deepwood Motte and Torrhen's Square, they remember all of it." Bran and Rickon. They were only miller's boys. "Frey and Manderly will never combine their strengths. They will come for you, but separately. Lord Ramsay will not be far behind them. He wants his bride back. He wants his Reek." Theon's laugh was half a titter, half a whimper. "Lord Ramsay is the one Your Grace should fear."

Does Theon know what's going on with Wyman Manderly?

Lord Ramsay will not be far behind them. He wants his bride back. He wants his Reek.

↓

I want my bride back. I want the false king's queen. I want his daughter and his red witch. I want his wildling princess. I want his little prince, the wildling babe. And I want my Reek. - Jon XIII, ADWD

Good call, Theon. Still amusing people think anyone other than Ramsay wrote the Pink Letter.

+.+.+

Theon Greyjoy chortled. 

x

I know what that says, he thought, giggling.

x

Theon Greyjoy kicked his feet feebly, and laughed under his breath.

x

Theon's laugh was half a titter, half a whimper.

x

He grinned at his own wit.

x

Theon tittered.

Smiler's feeling like himself again.

Theon would have laughed aloud if he'd remembered how. - A Ghost in Winterfell, ADWD

+.+.+

Stannis bristled at that. "I defeated your uncle Victarion and his Iron Fleet off Fair Isle, the first time your father crowned himself. I held Storm's End against the power of the Reach for a year, and took Dragonstone from the Targaryens. I smashed Mance Rayder at the Wall, though he had twenty times my numbers. Tell me, turncloak, what battles has the Bastard of Bolton ever won that I should fear him?" You must not call him that! A wave of pain washed over Theon Greyjoy. He closed his eyes and grimaced. When he opened them again, he said, “You do not know him.”

"No more than he knows me."

Woah, is that Stannis and Theon, or Jon and Sansa? Smells like merging storylines, and characters!

And here I thought Jon and Sansa's nonsensical, contrived drama came straight from the author.

Theon and Stannis are both correct: Stannis doesn't know Ramsay, and Ramsay doesn't know Stannis.

Below, you'll discover how Stannis will successfully deceive the forces of House Frey. However, I fully anticipate Ramsay Bolton will return the favour. How else do we get to a point where he's burning his daughter alive?

You think he's going to fall into your trap. He won't. He's the one who lays traps. - Sansa Stark (Theon??)

I never considered this before, but Sansa and Jon might need Theon's knowledge to beat Ramsay. Good thing he cancelled his trip to Meereen!

(Suddenly, the thing I need most in life is Theon being forced to watch Sansa and Jon fall in love.)

+.+.+

Lord Arnolf's cloak was fine grey wool, bordered in black sable and clasped with a silver starburst. A rich garment, Theon thought, on a poor excuse for a man. He had seen that cloak before, he knew, just as he had seen the man who wore it. At the Dreadfort. I remember. He sat and supped with Lord Ramsay and Whoresbane Umber, the night they brought Reek up from his cell. The man beside him could only be his son. Fifty, Theon judged, with a round soft face like his father's, if Lord Arnolf went to fat. Behind him walked three younger men. The grandsons, he surmised. One wore a chainmail byrnie. The rest were dressed for breakfast, not for battle. Fools. [...] A dozen men had filed through the tower door, led by the knight of the moths and the big man in the silvered breastplate. "You are dead men, understand that," the king went on. 

It looks bad for Arnolf Karstark now, but there's foreshadowing that suggests the Arnolf Karstark faction will fight the Alys Karstark faction in the battle for Winterfell.

+.+.+

"That Braavosi banker claimed Ser Aenys Frey is dead. Did some boy do that?" "Twenty green boys, with spades," Theon told him. "The snow fell heavily for days. So heavily that you could not see the castle walls ten yards away, no more than the men up on the battlements could see what was happening beyond those walls. So Crowfood set his boys to digging pits outside the castle gates, then blew his horn to lure Lord Bolton out. Instead he got the Freys. The snow had covered up the pits, so they rode right into them. Aenys broke his neck, I heard, but Ser Hosteen only lost a horse, more's the pity. He will be angry now." Strangely, Stannis smiled. "Angry foes do not concern me. Anger makes men stupid, and Hosteen Frey was stupid to begin with, if half of what I have heard of him is true. Let him come." "He will." "Bolton has blundered," the king declared. "All he had to do was sit inside his castle whilst we starved. Instead he has sent some portion of his strength forth to give us battle. His knights will be horsed, ours must fight afoot. His men will be well nourished, ours go into battle with empty bellies. It makes no matter. Ser Stupid, Lord Too-Fat, the Bastard, let them come. We hold the ground, and that I mean to turn to our advantage."

"The ground?" said Theon. "What ground? Here? This misbegotten tower? This wretched little village? You have no high ground here, no walls to hide beyond, no natural defenses." "Yet."

Lol, picture digging a pit into the frozen, unyielding ground during a storm like this. Oh, George.

Welcome to the Night Lamp theory*!

*Otherwise known as the one time the ASoIaF community pooled their combined three brain cells, and managed to correctly predict the future.

If you wish to read the original theory (which features fancy images depicting battle formations!), you can do so here.

True to form, the theory is unnecessarily long-winded, overflowing with wishful conjecture, and packed with Stannis Baratheon dick sucking.

Let's simplify this.

What is the Night Lamp theory?

In a nutshell, Stannis Baratheon, stuck in an abandoned village, will use a false beacon to lure an oncoming army onto a frozen lake that's weakened, and ready to crack.

I'm having a difficult time visualizing this.

No problem, allow me to borrow an image from a meta I just talked shit about.

See the weirwood island surrounded by a lake?

The crofter's village stood between two lakes, the larger dotted with small wooded islands that punched up through the ice like the frozen fists of some drowned giant. From one such island rose a weirwood gnarled and ancient, its bole and branches white as the surrounding snows. - The Sacrifice, ADWD

If you extinguish the light in the watchtower, and create a new false light on that island, you've got yourself a pretty neat little trap.

Isn't Stannis in the middle of nowhere, how could any army hope to find him?

I see you've decided to scroll past the rest of the summary. I understand.

Above, we learned double agent Arnolf Karstark had his maester send a map to Roose Bolton, alerting him of Stannis' whereabouts.

"[...] I will ask you once again. What was in the message you sent to Winterfell?"

The maester quivered. "A m-map, Your Grace." - Theon I, TWOW

They're coming.

Who is coming?

That would be the men serving House Frey, and House Manderly.

Lord Bolton unrolled the parchment. "His host lies not three days' ride from here, snowbound and starving, and I for one am tired of waiting on his pleasure. Ser Hosteen, assemble your knights and men-at-arms by the main gates. As you are so eager for battle, you shall strike our first blow. Lord Wyman, gather your White Harbor men by the east gate. They shall go forth as well." - Theon I, ADWD

Though, our main focus is House Frey.

Manderly's forces are separated from House Frey's.

Lord Wyman Manderly slapped his massive belly. "White Harbor does not fear to ride with you, Ser Hosteen. Lead us out, and my knights will ride behind you."

Ser Hosteen turned on the fat man. "Close enough to drive a lance through my back, aye. Where are my kin, Manderly? Tell me that. Your guests, who brought your son back to you." - A Ghost in Winterfell, ADWD

x

"Frey and Manderly will never combine their strengths. They will come for you, but separately. Lord Ramsay will not be far behind them. He wants his bride back. He wants his Reek." - Theon I, TWOW

And Manderly is no ally to House Bolton or House Frey.

The Frey men wore the badge of the two towers, those from White Harbor displayed merman and trident. They shouldered through the storm in opposite directions and eyed each other warily as they passed, but no swords were drawn. Not here. It may be different out there in the woods. - Theon I, ADWD

How do we know Frey men will be the victims?

Because the author keeps telling us these riverlanders are way out of their element.

Theon Greyjoy did not join the uproar. Neither did the men of House Frey, he did not fail to note. They are strangers here as well, he thought, watching Ser Aenys Frey and his half-brother Ser Hosteen. Born and bred in the riverlands, the Freys had never seen a snow like this. The north has already claimed three of their blood, Theon thought, recalling the men that Ramsay had searched for fruitlessly, lost between White Harbor and Barrowton. - The Turncloak, ADWD

x

A few of the older men spoke of other snowstorms and insisted this was no more than a light dusting compared to what they'd seen in the winters of their youth. The riverlanders were aghast. They have no love of snow and cold, these southron swords. - The Turncloak, ADWD

x

No less a man than Hosteen Frey, who had been heard growling that he did not fear a little snow, lost an ear to frostbite. - A Ghost in Winterfell, ADWD

And their new commander, Hosteen Frey, is known for being a tad slow.

Hosteen was a bull, slow to anger but implacable once roused, and by repute the fiercest fighter of Lord Walder's get. Aenys was older, crueler, and more clever—a commander, not a swordsman. Both were seasoned soldiers. - Reek II, ADWD

x

Aenys broke his neck, I heard, but Ser Hosteen only lost a horse, more's the pity. He will be angry now."

Strangely, Stannis smiled. "Angry foes do not concern me. Anger makes men stupid, and Hosteen Frey was stupid to begin with, if half of what I have heard of him is true. Let him come." - Theon I, TWOW

So what proof do we have?

Well, we know beacons are often used for navigation.

They reached Oldtown on a cold damp morning, when the fog was so thick that the beacon of the Hightower was the only part of the city to be seen. - Samwell V, AFFC

However, sometimes false beacons are employed for nefarious purposes.

The beacons that burned along the shores of the Three Sisters were supposed to warn of shoals and reefs and rocks and lead the way to safety, but on stormy nights and foggy ones, some Sistermen would use false lights to draw unwary captains to their doom. - Davos I, ADWD

Something the former master of ships is well aware of.

As for your King Stannis, when he was Robert's master of ships he sent a fleet into my port without my leave and made me hang a dozen fine friends. Men like you. He went so far as to threaten to hang me if it should happen that some ship went aground because the Night Lamp had gone black. - Davos I, ADWD

This is a similar tactic to the one Mors Umber uses outside the gates of Winterfell, which was just communicated to Stannis in the passage above.

So Crowfood set his boys to digging pits outside the castle gates, then blew his horn to lure Lord Bolton out. Instead he got the Freys. The snow had covered up the pits, so they rode right into them. - Theon I, TWOW

And believe it or not, a similar incident occurred with Stannis' own baggage train before arriving at the village.

On the fifth day of the storm, the baggage train crossed a rippling expanse of waist-high snowdrifts that concealed a frozen pond. When the hidden ice cracked beneath the weight of the wagons, three teamsters and four horses were swallowed up by the freezing water, along with two of the men who tried to rescue them. - The King's Prize, ADWD

Starting to feel a bit excessive, isn't it?

But they have a map!

Silly goose.

The map is not the land, my father often said. - Jon IV, ADWD

Doesn't this rely on extremely heavy snowfall to work?

As luck would have it, an overwhelming amount of snowfall is taking place right now.

In this storm, the only visible landmark is the watchtower's beacon.

The lakes had vanished, and the woods as well. She could see the shapes of other tents and lean-tos and the fuzzy orange glow of the beacon fire burning atop the watchtower, but not the tower itself. The storm had swallowed the rest. - The King's Prize, ADWD

x

She was lost before she had gone ten yards. Asha could see the beacon fire burning atop the watchtower, a faint orange glow floating in the air. Elsewise the village was gone. She was alone in a white world of snow and silence, plowing through snowdrifts as high as her thighs. - The Sacrifice, ADWD

If the storm is this bad, why would the lake's ice break?

Because Stannis Baratheon's men don't believe in sustainable fishing practices.

They had spent most of it out on the ice, shivering beside a pair of holes they'd cut in the smaller of the frozen lakes, with fishing lines clutched in mitten-clumsy hands. - The Sacrifice, ADWD

x

"I know them lakes. You been on them like maggots on a corpse, hundreds o' you. Cut so many holes in the ice it's a bloody wonder more haven't fallen through. Out by the island, there's places look like a cheese the rats been at." - The Sacrifice, ADWD

Stannis knows the ice is weak.

Ser Stupid, Lord Too-Fat, the Bastard, let them come. We hold the ground, and that I mean to turn to our advantage."

"The ground?" said Theon. - Theon I, TWOW

And we all know what happens on thin ice!

Guest right or no, Jon Snow knew he walked on rotten ice here. One false step and he might plunge through, into water cold enough to stop his heart. - Jon I, ASOS

x

True death came suddenly; he felt a shock of cold, as if he had been plunged into the icy waters of a frozen lake. - Prologue, ADWD

x

We are dancing on rotten ice here, them and us. One crack, and we all drown. - Jon XII, ADWD

How do we know a false beacon is involved?

Here's the thing, Stannis has a brand new fixation, and 2 + 2 equals 4.

Afterward the king had retreated to his watchtower. He had not emerged since … though from time to time His Grace was glimpsed upon the tower roof, outlined against the beacon fire that burned there night and day. - The Sacrifice, ADWD

x

Wordless, King Stannis walked away, back to the solitude of his watchtower. Back to his beacon fire, Asha knew, to search the flames for answers. - The Sacrifice, ADWD

How does he have enough time to build a new watchtower with a false light?

This is where I differ in opinion from the rest. Many in the fandom have speculated he'll burn the sacred weirwood tree, or a person (Theon). A hallmark of heroism, wouldn't you agree?

I personally believe there's a far better alternative that's smacking people right in the face.

"It glows," said Sam, in a hushed voice. "As if it were on fire. There are no flames, but the steel is yellow and red and orange, all flashing and glimmering, like sunshine on water, but prettier. I wish you could see it, Maester." - Samwell V, ADWD

x

The sword glowed red and yellow and orange, alive with light. Jon had seen the show before … but not like this, never before like this. Lightbringer was the sun made steel. When Stannis raised the blade above his head, men had to turn their heads or cover their eyes. Horses shied, and one threw his rider. The blaze in the fire pit seemed to shrink before this storm of light, like a small dog cowering before a larger one. The Wall itself turned red and pink and orange, as waves of color danced across the ice. - Jon III, ADWD

That wouldn't be the first time we connected towers, beacons, and swords.

And beyond, where the Honeywine widened into Whispering Sound, rose the Hightower, its beacon fires bright against the dawn. From where it stood atop the bluffs of Battle Island, its shadow cut the city like a sword. - Prologue, AFFC

Is there any part of the theory you're unsure about?

Always!

What will happen to House Manderly's men? Who knows! What action will Ramsay take when he approaches the village? Beats me!

But set that aside for a moment, because there's something even more significant to consider.

I'm getting a bit ahead of myself, but later in this chapter, you'll witness Bran attempting to communicate a message to Theon concerning the weirwood tree.

"The tree," one squawked, "the tree, the tree," whilst the second screamed only, "Theon, Theon, Theon." - Theon I, TWOW

You may recall that Bran once found himself in a situation similar to the one in which Theon currently finds himself.

The water was frozen, and the snow had been falling for so long that Bran had lost count of the days, turning the lake into a vast white wilderness. Where the ice was flat and the ground was bumpy, the going was easy, but where the wind had pushed the snow up into ridges, sometimes it was hard to tell where the lake ended and the shore began. Even the trees were not as infallible a guide as they might have hoped, for there were wooded islands in the lake, and wide areas ashore where no trees grew. - Bran I, ADWD

x

As the first sliver of a crescent moon came peeking through the clouds, they finally stumbled into the village by the lake. They had almost walked straight through it. From the ice, the village looked no different than a dozen other spots along the lakeshore. Buried under drifts of snow, the round stone houses could just as easily have been boulders or hillocks or fallen logs [...]. - Bran I, ADWD

And on several occasions, there are hints of someone (Bran, always Bran) watching the events unfold.

"Aye," said Big Bucket Wull. "Red Rahloo means nothing here. You will only make the old gods angry. They are watching from their island." - The Sacrifice, ADWD

x

Sword in hand, he strode through the snow, putting himself between the riders and the king's tower, its beacon glimmering behind him like the orange eye of some strange god. - The Sacrifice, ADWD

What role will Bran, Theon, and Asha play in all of this? I couldn't tell you.

What I can tell you is that the ASoIaF community has overlooked this question entirely, because they wholeheartedly believe Stannis Baratheon is the main character of the story.

Okay, got it. But what happens after, does Stannis win?

Ha ha ha! God, no.

Following his brief moment of success, Stannis will quickly resume his losing streak in this war. He will resort to the horrific act of sacrificing his own daughter by fire, will fail to win back Winterfell, and then finally meet a gruesome demise, because he's one of the bad guys.

Jon and Sansa Stark will then successfully reclaim Winterfell, because duh.

The end.

+.+.+

You have no high ground here, no walls to hide beyond, no natural defenses."

"Yet."

"Yet," both ravens screamed in unison. Then one quorked, and the other muttered, "Tree, tree, tree."

That's strange, who said anything about a tree?

Huh??

+.+.+

My sister, Theon thought, my sweet sister. Though he had lost all feeling in his arms, he felt the twisting in his gut, the same as when that bloodless Braavosi banker presented him to Asha as a 'gift.' The memory still rankled. The burly, balding knight who'd been with her had wasted no time shouting for help, so they'd had no more than a few moments before Theon was dragged away to face the king. That was long enough. He had hated the look on Asha's face when she realized who he was; the shock in her eyes, the pity in her voice, the way her mouth twisted in disgust. Instead of rushing forward to embrace him, she had taken half a step backwards. "Did the Bastard do this to you?" she had asked.

Aw, too bad. It would have been lovely to see a sister embrace her brother in such a way.

+.+.+

Then the words came spilling out of Theon in a rush. He tried to tell her all of it, about Reek and the Dreadfort and Kyra and the keys, how Lord Ramsay never took anything but skin unless you begged for it.

[...]

She has to understand. She is my sister. He never wanted to do any harm to Bran or Rickon. Reek made him kill those boys, not him Reek but the other one. "I am no kinslayer," he insisted. 

I'm not sure if it's important, but it's implied Asha now knows Bran and Rickon are alive.

+.+.+

The memory left Theon writhing in his chains. "Let me down," he pleaded. "Just for a little while, then you can hang me up again." Stannis Baratheon looked up at him, but did not answer. "Tree," a raven cried. "Tree, tree, tree."

Then other bird said, "Theon," clear as day, as Asha came striding through the door.

That's strange, how do Arnolf Karstark's ravens know Theon's name?

What??

+.+.+

She stood. "The Braavosi ransomed my seven of my men from Lady Glover. I would gladly pay a ransom for my brother." "There is not enough gold on all your Iron Islands. Your brother's hands are soaked with blood. Farring is urging me to give him to R'hllor."

Quick reminder for anyone who forgot: this is the same guy who used blood magic to kill his brother, wanted to kill his nephew, and will eventually kill his daughter.

There's only one kinslayer in the room, and it's not Theon Greyjoy.

Anyway, no chance Stannis kills Asha or Theon. Maybe they escape during all the commotion?

+.+.+

"Wise. I am sorry for your mother, but I do not spare the lives of turncloaks. This one, especially. He slew two sons of Eddard Stark. Every northman in my service would abandon me if I showed him any clemency. Your brother must die." "Then do the deed yourself, Your Grace." The chill in Asha's voice made Theon shiver in his chains. "Take him out across the lake to the islet where the weirwood grows, and strike his head off with that sorcerous sword you bear. That is how Eddard Stark would have done it. Theon slew Lord Eddard's sons. Give him to Lord Eddard's gods. The old gods of the north. Give him to the tree."

I don't think Asha has a plan, I think she's trying to save him from a gruesome death.

+.+.+

And suddenly there came a wild thumping, as the maester's ravens hopped and flapped inside their cages, their black feathers flying as they beat against the bars with loud and raucous caws. "The tree," one squawked, "the tree, the tree," whilst the second screamed only, "Theon, Theon, Theon." Theon Greyjoy smiled. They know my name, he thought.

Again with this tree. I don't understand.

BRAN?!

Final thoughts:

The tried and true method of George R.R. Martin: foreshadowing one singular event with 10,000 words of text.

Your Lovecraftian Curtain of Light bullshit theory is bad.

ps. Despite all the work, I really enjoyed Theon's POV after his first three chapters. He still sucks.

Next chapter: Asha I (fragment) - shut up, we're doing it.

-> return to menu <-

[askdigitalpost]

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[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Re-embodied Finrod in Mirkwood

This is a series of headcanon I came up with after being inspired by a recent Thranduil x Re-embodied Finrod x Reader request.

There is a spot of NSFW towards the end of the post.

Minors DNI | 18+

Rules and tag form here.  

💫 Finrod perished in Tol-in-Gaurhoth after killing a werewolf with his bare hands and teeth. The venom in the beast's blood spread through the elf's bloodstream before reaching his heart and changing him before he died. Because of the Doom of Mandos, his fëa was destined to remain in the Vala's halls.

💫 Upon his arrival, his first stop was the Grey Havens, where, after having explained his tasks, he was hosted by Círdan. Finrod remained in the Grey Havens for quite some time, learning of the new customs and races prevalent in Middle-Earth before departing. He also spent time with Elrond in Rivendell and with his sister, Galadriel, in Lothlórien before leaving for the realm now known as Mirkwood.

💫 This all changed during the Third Age, when the dark influence of the Necromancer spread through Greenwood the Great. After he had claimed the abandoned fortress of Amon Lanc for himself, Mawë and Námo approached Finrod to give him a choice: remain in the halls or go back to Middle Earth and aid in the fight against the corrupting influence of the Necromancer. He will then be allowed to return to Valinor whenever he desired. The former choice came with an added caveat. He was to bear the mark of the beast he slew until he returned to Valinor for all time. Only then would it be removed. Finrod still accepted it. He ached to leave the halls and feel the grass beneath his feet again.

💫 Mirkwood's king, Thranduil Oropherion, was wary of him, and Finrod received a less than warm welcome. He was one of the Noldor and bore the mark of a werewolf. Believing him to be a threat to his people, Thranduil kept Finrod confined to a comfortable suite of rooms until he could meet with his council and decide what to do with him. When it became clear the Valar themselves allowed Finrod to return, and with a purpose, the king reluctantly agreed to let him live freely in his halls.

💫Finrod took up playing the harp again and would sing tales of his own life before his demise in Tol-in-Gaurhoth. He would also sing tales he had heard while in the Halls of Mandos.

💫Finrod would try to advise the king, and the king would brush him off, unwilling still to trust him. This mistrust continued until one day, when Finrod risked his own life to save Thranduil’s while they battled spiders living around the outer border of Dol Guldur. Thranduil slowly came to trust Finrod and claim him as a friend, and Finrod earned a place on the king’s council.

💫Finrod remained in Middle-Earth until the War of the Ring and returned to Valinor with Legolas and Gimli.

How the mark of the werewolf affected Finrod:

💫The taint did not mean he could shape-shift, as the werewolf that attacked him could not. However, it did make him stronger and harder to slay in battle.

💫Besides increased strength, Finrod had keener senses, and his eyes would glow. They would be at their brightest if he was aroused or angry. Even his nails and teeth became sharper.

💫Finrod craved meat cooked rare.

💫He was more prone to acts of aggression. It was only with Elrond's and Galadriel's guidance that he was able to control his need for violence.

💫He had a much higher libido and had kinks for breeding, consensual non-consent, marking, and dominance.

How did this affect his preference for relationships:

💫Finrod would agree to a multiple partner scenario if he is happy with the other partners involved. However, if he did bond with only one S/O, he would be fiercely protective of them. He also had a jealous streak and would mark his partner if he believed someone other than him showed interest in them.

Why did Finrod have to bear the mark:

💫 The Valar did not want to make it too easy, or make it look like they were too forgiving, for fëar of other exiles doomed by the prophecy. 

[eventiderookery]

taketaketake

Artemis knows this has been coming for a long time. She’s felt it in the marrow of her bones since they slew Oryx and sent his corpse adrift; a silence that nags at the very back of her mind. The mantle is hers. All she need do is take it. 

With eyes closed, she dips a hand into that vast expanse calling to her. Her Light buffers against it, shielding, heavy. The truth slices through it into her fingertip; she bleeds stars. 

“It is ready.” Eris’ voice rings through the desolate throne room of the Dreadnaught. An empty court awaiting its king.

Circles upon circles ring Artemis where she stands. Soulfire burns green in braziers placed where the circles end and begin in endless spirals. Runes and sigils will siphon the power towards her when she calls upon it, binding it to her. She does not spare a glance towards Eris and Lune hovering just over her shoulder. What will happen is done, she has made this decision and will bear it without regret. She hopes her Ghost can do the same.

She hefts the wicked blade wielded once by the King of Shapes and stabs it into the floor at her feet. The words that pour forth are such:

“I have slain Oryx, the Taken King, and by the many-edged truth I take his mantle! 

By the truth of blades I assume the power to take life and make it my own! 

I stand before the Deep as the end to which everything bends. I am the logic of swords wielded by heretical undeath.

I am Telos, Master of Shapes! Blade of Finality! The Taken King!

Henceforth will it be! Aiat!” 

The question that is its answer echoes a chorus over and over. Her connection to the Light snaps, a clean break of bone. There is something waiting for her in the space between infinite moments, she reaches a dagger-clawed hand forth and cuts it for herself. A weave of impossible stars, beautiful in their finality. It drapes over her eyes and slips between her fingers like water, but she holds firm. The Deep will not claim her will so easily. Blind she cups her hands and lifts them to her mouth. She is devourer of secrets; she will make this power hers. She drinks and drinks and drinks. The black fire stars make home in her belly, in her lungs, her heart that now beats with the attention of thousands. 

She is ascendant.

Existence returns to her in a flash of lightning. Light courses through her nerves, retracing the paths it has run a thousand times over. It crackles alongside this newfound power, sparking between her fingers like she’s grave fresh once more. 

She scuffs the ritual circles with a step forward, she needs to find Eris… find…. The world tips, unbalanced, as though she’s seeing it with more eyes than before. Then Eris is there, a brace beneath her shoulder to keep her upright. 

“Careful,” she admonishes. “Our success has yet to prove itself.”

Eris leads them over to the half dead thrall they brought. The first test of the new king’s abilities. It writhes against its rune inscribed bindings. 

Take… whispers a voice in the darkness. Take it...

With a hand wreathed in abyssal flame she does. Palm laid flat against its eyeless skull she pushes the tide of her will into it. It shrieks like rending marrow as the physical is unmade. Darkness and lightless flame consume it from the inside outwards, leaving only a glowing, twitching shell. 

Buoyed on the power rushing through her, she raises that same hand and cuts a wound into reality. Her inherited army is smaller than it would have been had she taken the mantle sooner, but all the same dozens more thrall flood through the gash. All awaiting her command.

“How is this for success?” Telos’ voice booms across her court. Laughter follows on its tail. “I am now master of death and the shapes it takes. A thrice dead god. Guardian and King!” She looks back to Eris, hand extended. “Our sister of War stands no chance.”

[mielmoto]

@visionkept said:

❝ if you leave now, i can hold them off! ❞

"I'M FINE, JUST GO ON WITHOUT ME!" PROMPTS | accepting

         Their words ring not as a simple statement, nor a warning, but a COMMAND—gone is the easy humor of their voice, the casual warmth and charm, replaced instead by something concise, sharp; the battle-hardened knowing of an honest-to-goodness SAMURAI. It was easy to forget, sometimes, (in the sprightly conversation and traded laughter; in teasing banter and quiet walks), that theirs was a name echoed with respect, awe, and a reasonable amount of fear in certain circles for a reason.

        It would seem, then, that she had every reason to heed such an order—wasn't that what she'd HIRED them for in the first place? protection?

        Someone to scare off the stray nobushi and other bandits said to plague the island roads; to make any leery eyes think twice about trying to accost the extravagant little traveler, a barrier between scavengers and seemingly easy, delicate prey. And it worked a charm, most days: a scuffle here-or-there when a few felt bold enough to try their steel, or when their path strayed a touch too close to some abyssal servant's camp; nothing beyond what they could handle in a quick dance of their blade and some flashes of lightning from the vision at their side.

         This was not what she'd intended, and yet had none but HERSELF to blame. They hadn't objected when she steered them off the beaten path which wove by Araumi, hadn't raised more than an eyebrow and a halfhearted question as to "what could [she] possibly be looking for down there?" as she lead them further into the broken temple, acting lackadaisical and curious as ever. She didn't—couldn't—explain the pull which so often drew her into these ancient depths... but, usually, she had the good sense to answer that call alone.

         Not like this: dragging them down into the mire of stone and mystery only to awaken the slew of ruin machines which had long slept in the abandoned chambers, stirred violently to life in an instant. Perhaps it's the suddenness, perhaps the sheer number, but either way their kimono is shorn through on one arm with a searing blow before either could gather their bearings, and another blast narrowly dodged as Tomoya quickly strafed and took Honey along with them; putting themself between her and the brood of automatons.

❝ if you leave now, i can hold them off! ❞

         Maybe so. And maybe they thought that was the best call, with good reason: get their clumsy, combat-adverse employer out of the frenzy before she could suffer any serious consequences for her carelessness; clear the way for them to fight as ferociously as they could, for however long it may last... but they were already hurt. Already a step behind, even as they threw themself back into the heat of battle and fought to draw attention away from her. She could escape, yes, in that narrow window of opportunity they'd carved out—but what about THEM?

         No time for questions. She RUNS.

         The violent violet crackle of electro in the air suddenly catches, shimmers, as it amplifies through a mist of glassy crystals, iridescent spotlights dapple the harsh automaton figures and cold stone walls as the gem at the heart of her catalyst spins and flourishes, a rhythm closely synched to the pulsing light of the VISION which laid over her racing heart. She was at their side in an instant, with an urgency seldom (read as: never) seen.

         ❝ that wasn't our deal, though, was it?❞ Honey shifts; the ornate hoops of the jeweled catalyst spin, chasing their strikes with a burst of bitterly cold elemental energy, all while a soothing shrowd of cool, cryo dust circles them, MENDING what damage had been done thus far and preparing for that still to come. ❝ I told you: I feel much safer with someone strong at my side, so I'm not about to run off all on my own now—not without MY samurai.❞