#there are two wolves inside of me: his long hair is a symbol of control and he cuts it after finding himself

[time-slink]

tenz<3

[hekatepoetryxxwriting]

How is the transgression of boundaries explored in ‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter and ‘Carmilla’ by J. Sheridan Le Fanu?

In ‘Carmilla’ by J. Sheridan Le Fanu and ‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter, the idea of female oppression being thwarted by the women’s self-awareness of their sexuality and their ability to use it as a form of power is explored through various boundary transgressions in both novels. ‘Carmilla’ be Le Fanu was influenced by real life Countess Elizabeth Bathory and was the predecessor to Bram Stoker’s ‘Dracula’. ‘Carmilla’ is also referenced in Angela Carter’s short story ‘The Bloody Chambers’ (it is the name given to one of the Marquis’ previous wives), thus linking the two novels together.

In another one of Carter’s stories, ‘The Company of Wolves’, there is a transgression of gender roles regarding the girl in the story. In the Gothic genre, women usually fall into three types: The Trembling Victim, The Femme Fatale, and The Crone. However, the child in this story is none of these, and displays strength that defies the stereotypes in her confrontation with the werewolf as seen when she ‘burst out laughing; she knew she was nobody’s meat’[1], which is itself is sexual symbolism that makes the ‘meat’ a metaphor for the sexual objectification of women’s bodies, which she rejects by laughing. Her laughter is also a mockery of the patriarchal expectation of submissiveness that men believe all women possess. It suggests that the girl is aware of the power her sexuality carries, much like a femme fatale. The same could also be said for ‘Carmilla’, where Laura’s father ‘won’t consent to you leaving us’[2]even though he has no familial ties to Carmilla. In both stories, the fathers seem to be in a superior position within the family, and evidence of this can be found not only in that quote from ‘Carmilla’, but also from the line ‘Her father might forbid her’[3]in ‘The Company of Wolves’. The verb ‘forbid’suggests that he hold powers over his daughter and is able to control her actions. This is a reflection of the patriarchal family systems which were in place up until the late 1970s, when men were considered the breadwinners. Angela Carter, a feminist, was part of the movement that broke down those family systems; Carroll Davids referred to this in her review of Angela Carter; “Angela Carter’s portrayal of husbands and fathers not only reflects the ideals of her time, but also contradicts them on occasion with the femininity of the men.”[4]

There is also a transgression of gender through the empowerment of female characters in ‘Carmilla’ and ‘The Werewolf’. In both of these texts, the female character succeeds through her own means, rather than relying on a man to support her. In ‘Carmilla’, it is through death that Carmilla is able to gain power. This idea is strengthened through Laura’s speech to Carmilla in Chapter 4, where she asserts that ‘Girls are caterpillars while they live in the world, to be finally butterflies when the summer comes’[5]. The use of this metaphor suggests that girls are only free of the constraints that surround women when they have died, a suggestion that is supported by Colleen Damman’s analysis of the novel “as a woman, Carmilla can only claim her sexuality after death. Thus, vampirism is the only way she can express her own carnal desires. Besides marriage, becoming a vampire is one of the only ways that female sexuality is licensed in the Victorian era”[6]. Meanwhile, in ‘The Werewolf’, the child represents the New Woman and is pitted against her grandmother, who represents the generation of women who have fallen under the thumb of a patriarchal society. The final line states ‘Now the child lived in her grandmother’s house; she prospered.’[7]which implies that the child benefits from the downfall of the previous generation and is able to live happily without a husband or children. This conclusion suggests that women can live complete and fulfilled lives without needing to be married. Angela Carter’s feminist views on empowerment were controversial during her lifetime, including negative reviews for her book ‘The Sadeian Woman’ due to its defence of the Marquis de Sade, who wrote violent erotic novels that many consider sexist and inspired the word ‘sadism’. In regards to the empowerment in ‘Carmilla’, Elizabeth Signorotti states that “Le Fanu allows Laura and Carmilla to usurp male authority and to bestow themselves on whom they please, completely excluding male participation in the exchange of women”[8].

The inclusion of the female ‘Monster’ in ‘The Lady of the House of Love’ and ‘Carmilla’ also transgresses the boundaries placed around gender and the roles women play in society. The Countess is a vampire, much like Carmilla, and bears similarities to Elizabeth Bathory, the acclaimed ‘Blood Countess' who was rumoured to be a relation of Vlad the Impaler. The Countess in Carter’s tale embodies the idea of a Gothic Femme Fatale through the description ‘Everything about this beautiful and ghastly lady is as it should be, queen of night, queen of terror’[9]- the repetition of ‘queen’ places emphasis upon her position within the story. She is the highest authority within the text, being the queen, and is not subject to male dominance. In ‘Carmilla’, the monster is humanised at its death by Laura ‘a sharp stake was driven through the heart of the vampire, who uttered a piercing shriek at the moment, in all respects such as might escape from a living person in the last agony.’[10]and a simile is used to liken the monster’s pain to that of a human’s, implying that Carmilla is not actually that different from human beings. It seems that Le Fanu, like Carter, is suggesting that women who are free from male dominated societies are not monsters but are in fact just as human as everyone else. Le Fanu’s decision to focus on a female vampire may have been influenced by the legends he would have known growing up, namely the stories of the Leanan Sidhe and the Dearg-Due. These myths revolved around female vampiric creatures that preyed upon Irish youths and left a lasting effect on the victims even after the creature’s death (Laura never fully recovers from the effect of Carmilla, and often imagines she will return.). A connection between Le Fanu and the myths of the Leanan Sidhe and the Dearg-Due can be made as his mother read Irish folk tales to him when he was a child.

The continued transgression of gender moves onto the reversal of gender roles in ‘The Erl King’ and ‘Carmilla’. In ‘The Erl King’, the titular character defies the stereotypical role of men in literature as it states that ‘He is an excellent housewife.’ -[11]Carter ironically using the feminine spousal term for him. Aside from this, he has long hair he frequently combs and he takes part in activities that were frequently considered feminine, such as cooking, basket weaving and collecting flowers. Carter may have taken elements from the traditional Pagan god ‘The Green Man’ and his myth; he completed a loop in which he would conceive a child with ‘The Goddess’, die, and then be reborn as the child he created. Certainly, the Erl King is similar in appearance, as well as the narrator of the story stating ‘I would lodge inside your body and you would bear me’[12]. This is a metaphorical reference to birth, something only females are capable of, which juxtaposes the idea of the Erl King birthing the narrator. ‘Carmilla’ does the opposite, as Le Fanu gives Carmilla masculine qualities, the most obvious being her inhuman strength ‘and unscathed, caught him in her tiny grasp by the wrist.’[13]The use of the adjective ‘tiny’juxtaposes the power Carmilla is able to demonstrate. Moreover, a less obvious trait of masculinity is Carmilla’s lesbianism which was , in Le Fanu’s time, sinful in Ireland, and sexual desire for women would have only been acceptable from men. The inclusion of homoerotic features in ‘Carmilla’ points towards Le Fanu’s possibly relaxed view of homosexuality, as pointed out by Christy Byks, who states “Le Fanu, one of the godfathers of Gothic, appears to draw upon features that women would not have been given during his era, and his writing of Carmilla and her inability to fit in with most female Gothic characters would likely have been a topic of controversy within Ireland, a country ruled by religion.”[14]. This idea is supported by the introduction of Bram Stoker’s ‘Dracula’, which takes many ideas from ‘Carmilla’. Many literary theorists suggest that Bram Stoker wrote ‘Dracula’ as an answer to the female centric ‘Carmilla’, choosing to re-focus the story upon men, with women being forced back into smaller, weaker roles.

Further transgressions of boundaries, including the transgression of religious boundaries, can be viewed in ‘The Company of Wolves’. This story mocks religion through an intrusive narrator who informs you ‘you can hurl your Bible at him and your apron after, granny… and all the angels in heaven to protect you but it won’t do you any good.’[15]This is the intruding narrator mocking the two key aspects that Carter believed held women back, that being the ‘Bible’and the ‘apron’, which is a not just a symbol of stereotypical femininity; a feminist literary study showed that almost every female character in a fairy-tale wears an apron, referencing their roles as the housewife. seems to be Carter herself, who openly stated that she thinks “Mother Goddesses are just as silly a notion as father gods. If a revival of the myths of these cults gives women emotional satisfaction, it does so at the price of obscuring the real conditions of life. This is why they were invented in the first place.”[16]Rather similarly, in ‘Carmilla’, Le Fanu presents Carmilla’s aversion to religion, and portrays a fight between Carmilla and Laura’s father, which could represent an argument about nature versus God. Carmilla speaks against Christianity ‘”Creator! _Nature! _” said the young lady in answer to my gentle father. “And this disease that invades the country… and under the earth, act and live as Nature ordains? I think so”’[17]. The caesura used between the words ‘creator’and ‘nature’ not only symbolises her anger, but in placing a caesura here, Le Fanu separates God from Nature, and therefore denies religion the claim of creating everything. This scene contrasts with Le Fanu’s own background, whose father brought up the entire household with strong Catholic beliefs.

This questioning of religion perhaps suggests why there is also a transgression of moral boundaries in both texts. The ‘Trembling Victims’ within ‘Carmilla’ and ‘The Lady of the House of Love’ are Laura and the Soldier. Both texts include a similar juxtaposition of feelings towards the ‘monster’. In ‘Carmilla’, Laura portrays the Gothic feature of ‘The Uncanny, in people’s reaction to her; “but there was also something of repulsion. In this ambiguous feeling, however, the sense of attraction immensely prevailed.’[18]This shows that Laura subconsciously knows that something is wrong with Carmilla, because like most Victorians of the time, she reflects the belief that the appearance of a person was an indicator of their moral standing. Carter’s ‘The Lady of the House of Love’ has a similar scene in which ‘Her huge dark eyes almost broke his heart with their waiflike, lost look; yet he was disturbed, almost repelled, by her extraordinarily fleshy mouth’[19]The descriptive imagery and modified noun phrases work to emphasise the Countess’ appearance and how the soldier is affected by this, and it also represents the notion of the ‘Male Gaze’, the theory presented by Laura Mulvey, that women are either sexual objects there to satisfy men, or the housewife. The two notions are represented in the Gothic genre as the Femme Fatale and the Trembling Victim, and the Countess in ‘The Lady of the House of Love’ has facial features that are stereotypical of both women. Her ‘huge dark eyes’ and ‘waiflike, lost look’ are used often in the description of innocence, whilst her ‘extraordinarily fleshy mouth’ is a sign of sexualisation. Freud’s theory of ‘The Madonna and the Whore’ also comes into play here, as the Countess and Carmilla both bear qualities (both physically and metaphorically) of innocence and sexuality. The presentation of the soldier as a Trembling Victim links with Angela Carter’s view that not only should women become more masculine, but that men should also embrace femininity.

Laura in ‘Carmilla’ transgresses the sexual boundaries placed around her by choosing to refuse medical treatment from her father and the doctor. In doing so, she rejects the idea of curing her illness, which is a metaphor for lesbianism, and becomes free to make her own decisions in regards to her body. She takes on the dominant role in saying ‘I would not admit that I was ill, I would not consent to tell my papa, or to have the doctor sent for’[20]by making her own decisions regarding her wellbeing. The first-person pronoun ‘I’ is used so that the readers understand that Laura is the sole maker of these decisions. Through this illness, she has been able to gain freedom from her father. According to Christy Byks, Laura’s illness is a visualisation of what Victorian’s believed homosexuality was: a disease that needed to be cured. Byks says “Two ideas are at work in this passage. First is Laura’s father’s attempt to control the women who are becoming “ill” and dying; the men want to “cure” her (Laura) by making her well and keeping her among the living, for it is in death that the women break free… By making these interactions with Carmilla a medical problem, the situation can be contained and defined, thus still under the control of men”[21]. Angela Carter also provides transgressions of sexuality when placing women in the dominant position. In ‘The Company of Wolves’, it is the girl who makes the first move towards sexual intercourse, as suggested by the removal of her clothes in the extract ‘The thin muslin went flaring up the chimney like a magic bird and now came off her skirt, her woollen stockings, her shoes, and on to the fire they went, too, and were gone for good[22]’. A simile is used to present the girl’s clothes as a ‘magic bird’, and this personification of her clothing suggests that by removing her clothing, the girl, like a bird, is free to go wherever she wants to. The use of listing used within this quote also suggests that layers are being removed, eventually revealing the girl’s real desires beneath. Angela Carter herself believed that women were not given an equal role in sex, as stated in her book ‘The Sadeian Woman: The Ideology of Pornography’. In her comparison of Justine and Juliette, she states “Women do not normally fuck in the active sense. They are fucked in the passive tense and hence automatically fucked-up, done over, undone.”[23]and it is clear that this idea of a preference of submissive women over dominant ones had a large influence on how Angela Carter shaped her female protagonists and their attitudes to sexual desire, especially in regards to ‘Wolf-Alice’, who’s title character, like the Marquis De Sade’s Justine and Juliette, was originally housed in a convent after being found with the wolves.

The portrayal of the convent in ‘Wolf-Alice’ itself does not conform to the traditional view of religion, and instead transgresses religious boundaries by presenting the nuns not as kind, helpful religious figures, but instead as oppressive matriarchs; the nuns’ only purpose in the story is to attempt to integrate Wolf-Alice into the human society they live in, evidenced when ‘The nuns poured water over her, poked her with sticks to rouse her’[24]and ‘Therefore, without a qualm, this nine days’ wonder and continuing embarrassment of a child was delivered over to the bereft and unsanctified household of the Duke’[25]. When they find they are unable to manipulate her into becoming like everyone else, their choice is to pass her off to a male figure instead, whose house is described as ‘bereft and unsanctified[26]’, which is ironic, as it means the nuns, extremely religious beings, abandon their ward in a house that is considered unholy. This irony serves the purpose of being a metaphor for how society treats outcasts as whole, by isolating them from those considered normal. Angela Carter herself believed religion to be mythical, and stated “I’m interested in myths because they are extraordinary lies designed to make people unfree”.[27]The second transgression of religious boundaries in ‘Carmilla’ is during the funeral scene where Carmilla states ‘Besides, how can you tell your religion and mine are the same… everyone_must die; and all are happier when they do.’[28]and uses a caesura, perhaps to indicate the way she views life. The use of ‘Why you must die--_everyone_must die’[29]indicates how short life is, and the suddenness of death is reflected in the caesuras. Furthermore, the use of ‘your religion and mine’ seperates the two, and conflicts with Victorian ideas of religion. Christianity was considered the one true religion, and therefore Carmilla suggesting she followed another religion would have been heresy. As well as this, her pain at hearing religious hymns in the line ‘”There! That comes of strangling people with hymns!”’[30]presents the idea of a supernatural aversion to religion and foreshadows the reveal of Carmilla’s vampiric nature.

In conclusion, the varied transgressions presented within the two novels provide solid evidence of both authors’ awareness of the problems that are faced by females within traditional literary roles, and both Carter and Le Fanu are able to present their arguments using a variation of language features and characters whilst managing to keep a strong theme of female sexuality at the forefront of their stories.

[1]‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter [2]‘Carmilla’ by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu [3]‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter [4]Carroll Davids on: How Does Angela Carter Deconstruct Conventional And Repressive Gender Identities In The Bloody Chamber [5]‘Carmilla’ by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu [6]Colleen Damman on: Women's sexual liberation from Victorian patriarchy in Sheridan Le Fanu's Carmilla [7]‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter [8]Elizabeth Signorotti on: Repossessing the Body: Transgressive Desire in Carmilla and Dracula [9]‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter [10]‘Carmilla’ by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu [11]‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter [12]‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter [13]‘Carmilla’ by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu [14]Christy Byks on: Women's sexual liberation from Victorian patriarchy in Sheridan Le Fanu's Carmilla [15]‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter [16]‘The Sadeian Woman: The Ideology of Pornography’ by Angela Carter [17]‘Carmilla’ by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu [18]‘Carmilla’ by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu [19]‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter [20]‘Carmilla’ by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu [21]Christy Byks on: Women's sexual liberation from Victorian patriarchy in Sheridan Le Fanu's Carmilla [22]‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter [23] ‘The Sadeian Woman: The Ideology of Pornography’ by Angela Carter [24]‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter [25]‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter [26]‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter [27]Angela Carter on: Religion by SlideShare [28]‘Carmilla’ by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu [29]‘Carmilla’ by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu [30]‘Carmilla’ by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu

[kathyprior4200]

Haven Hotel: That’s Disengagement!

 A princess with long black wavy hair walked out onto a high balcony. She wore a black undershirt with a white bow tie on top. A dark teal shirt, long white pants and white high heel shoes completed the look. Her face was pale white and teal blushes were present on her cheeks. Her eyes consisted of white pupils and dark blue sclera. Perched on her head was a black spiked crown. She was the inverted, antithesis of Charlie, the princess of Hell in a parallel world.

 “For all my life, I’ve been taught that all angels have good inside them. But I know that to be a lie. Ever since Lucifer and Lilith, God’s closest angels betrayed Him… I don’t think I can believe in these flawed teachings anymore…”

 The princess was Coerciona Egnam, Coercia for short. She was born and raised in Heaven…though she was not at all one would expect her to be in such a place. Self-entitled and pessimistic, nothing much could cheer her up except heavy metal music, rebelling against the rules and the occasional brawl.

 “It makes sense that only a worthy few are able to be here in Heaven. Choosing them out of the sea of sinner scum. Yet ironically, even the saints and Heaven-born aren’t flawless all the time. It’s inevitable that all those imperfect beings will go to Hell. They deserve to deal with suffering and challenges. Best of all, they wouldn’t be bound by social expectations. Heck, I wouldn’t be too surprised if it were me. I do enjoy my comfortable life here, just not these restrictions.”

 Her servants Pub and Chub were fat white naked cherubs with horns on their heads, small white feathery wings, and black eyes. One tested the strings on an electric guitar while the other shot out torpedoes from a small cannon.

 Outside was a white clock tower standing tall against the blue sky. The numbers read 0 then changed to 365 days. Writing above the numbers read “Days until the next cleanse in Hell.”

 The black Exorcists did their job in eliminating part of the demon population in 2P Hell like they did every year in the canon Hell. But at the same time each year, the Anti-Exorcists, risen white demons with white bat wings and horns, invaded 2P Heaven. They carried glowing black pitchforks and turned innocent denizens into demons. The Anti-Exorcists would carry books and tempt angels with their innermost desires. Sex, sin, self-expression, sorcery, whatever that need was. Then, once they were hooked, they were stabbed with the pitchforks, causing their wings to burn off and sending them plummeting down to Hell. Nearby families would grieve at their loss.

 It was quite the entertaining show for Princess Coercia!

  Coercia leaned against the marble balcony and began to sing in a low growl.

     (“I’m Always Evading Shadows”)

  “At the end of the journey, there’s suffering

Denying it, how often I’ve tried

But my life’s a disgrace

Just a slap in the face

And the harsh truths have all been denied”

 “A sliver of despair in this world of light

I know this world’s not free of sin

I search for the good

But get misunderstood

And reality will always win”

 “Why have I always been imperfect?

Lost in this brainwashed sea

I wonder if the world’s to blame

I wonder if it could be me”

 “I’m always evading shadows

Trapped, drowning in the social flow

Free-will forbidden, my answers are hidden

Lying down below”

 “Some people sugarcoat their speeches

I always blab out what I mean

I may be cruel but I am no fool

Things are never what they seem

Believe me”

 “I’m always evading shadows

Waiting for people to awaken

In vain”

    A nearby portal opened and out came the Exterminators, bloodstains over their wings and bodies and harpoons. They took off their creepy LED masks, their white angelic faces revealed. One by one, the citizens clapped and cheered. One of the Archangels with four black wings flew up to the front, his spiked halo glowing. He took off his mask, revealing a white stern face with yellow eyes and short black hair. In his utility belt were a few daggers, whips, chains and a bottle of emergency holy water.

 “Another successful purge,” their leader Samael (Venom of God) praised. “You cleansed more sinners while still keeping the population in a good balance. Well done, all of you.” He cleared his throat and made a cross symbol over his heart. “For the greater good in the name of our Lord.”

 The angels repeated the phrase.

 “Until next year. Dismissed.” The Archangel soldiers saluted and then flew off separately to see their families. Several of the angels, having been brainwashed in their Exterminator states, shook their heads sadly at what they had done.

 All around Coercia, Holy City was basked in a heavenly glow. The city was located up in the sky among the clouds, but no one had to worry about falling, even the ones without their wings out. A large church with the appearance of the Notre Dame Cathedral stood proudly in the city square, made of polished marble. Choirs and songs floated through the stained glass windows as the regular angels went in and out to pray and visit with their neighbors. A large fountain sprouted non-alcoholic wine of a golden color. It had a white statue of Mary and Jesus as a young boy at the top, both with welcoming faces.

 The streets were spotless and clean. Roofs and roads were powered by the sun’s rays. The Cloud 9 supermarket had endless amounts of food for sale…no one ever had to worry about going hungry. Charity workers and volunteers worked by the dozens, passing out food and bestowing miracles for those who needed them in the lower levels of Heaven. Metatron, the highest ranking angel, was busy keeping records of human lives, deaths and the messages of God.

 This version of Heaven was very similar to the Heaven in the realm next door, the one above the familiar Hell with the Hazbin Hotel. The architecture was almost the same. But unlike those angels with their blonde hair and red blushes, these angels most often had black hair and teal blushes on their pale cheeks. Like in the other Heaven, some of the bipedal angels displayed animal-like characteristics: some had heads of doves, others had swan wings and mannerisms. Many of them had fur, ears, and fluffy tails of dogs and wolves. It was the only place where dogs and cats could dance and prance together without conflict. Still a few others had faces of flowers or even objects like harps and musical instruments.

 God’s Palace was the grandest place of all: it was settled at the highest point of Heaven like Mount Olympus. Only a few angels were allowed to visit there. God’s abode, the Empyrean, had an elite group of angels guarding it. Seraph angels with six fiery rainbow wings guarded the throne of God, chanting “Holy, holy, holy!” much to the annoyance to those nearby. There were rumors that in the palace gardens, the Tree of Life and the Tree of Knowledge were grown there, heavily protected.

 Lucius and Lilian were Coercia’s parents, those who took the place of Lucifer and Lilith after they were banished. They were named the new king and queen of heaven (Under God and a few Archangels), thus Coercia became the princess.

 Lucius had a white face, teal blushes on his cheeks and short dark hair. Lucius wore a gray suit with a dark blue bow tie and a black top hat with two white feathers attacked to the brim. Lilian’s hair was long and black, and she too had the teal blushes and typical angel features. She wore a golden halo crown and an elegant white sequined dress. Both had white wings which could turn black when they were angry or defensive.

 In a nearby movie studio, Valentine the butterfly producer, Nil the TV angel and Ashen, the doll angel sat together playing a board game. Despite liking old fashioned shows and the like, they still controlled much of Heaven’s technology and media. Iris, owner of an emporium, cried as she crossed out the name of her former female colleague, Francesca.

 Along the street, a red car stopped beside the sidewalk. A tall creature opened the car door and stepped out. The spider angel had a furry dark gray face and body, plus multiple slender arms: six in total. He wore tall boots, green gloves and a shirt with a teal bow-tie near the top. His shirt and sleeves had black and dark green stripes. Green dots resembling eyes were located under his eyes.

 “Thank you for the ride,” said the spider angel.

 “No problem, Devil Grit,” said the driver Sivart, a white furry owl guy wearing a top hat. He tipped his hat to him and drove away.

 Devil Grit walked over to a vending machine and bought himself a granola bar. He then gave it to a homeless guy leaning against the wall.

 He walked inside a building and onto a stage in an auditorium. His opponent was already standing nervously at his spot, a microphone rising from the ground and stopping in front of him.

 Sir Anguis was the nervous white snake. He had a white face with large slightly teal eyes with white pupils. He wore a white bow tie with a blue circle in the center below his thin neck. Surrounding his face on a flap of skin were bright teal eyes against dark purple. His suit was light gray with dark purple vertical stripes. Finally, he wore a large light gray top hat with a large green moving eye in the center.

 The crowd settled into their seats and the debate began.

 “Those other brave do gooders will do great with helping me with my presentation. Anyone want to try?”

 A couple of hands shot up. Mechanical eggs on robotic legs moved around to help out the white snake lord.

 “Oh thank you, my Nestlings,” he said.

 Air Anguis pushed a button and a presentation showed up on a screen titled “Heaven Economics and Invention Ideas.”

 “I don’t like to fight,” Sir Anguis said, clearing his throat, “and I’m super nervous up here…”

 The Nestlings rolled their eyes.

 Devil Grit glared at his cowardly opponent who then yelped, “Don’t look at me like that!”

 “Heaven doesn’t need any future technology,” Devil Grit argued as he stepped to his podium, “because we already have better things: friendships, food, and fun.”

 Sir Anguis glanced down nervously at his note cards and read from them. “At this rate I will persuade the entire East end of Holy City by night’s beginning. Or was it day’s end? And nothing, not a single beauty in this paradise of bliss, will be able to change my mind or escape the constrictive grasp of persuasive argumentation.”

 “Heaven will be ours, though it’s mine in my mind. And everybody will know the name of…”

 “Scared Snake,” said a female voice.

 “W-who said that?” Sir Anguis asked.

 “You ready for a debate, old man?”

 The voice belonged to Berri Blossom, the opposite of Cherri Bomb in Hell. She was a tall cyclops with black skin, with a single green eye with a black cross in the center. She wore a long dark green dress and white high heeled shoes. Her black skin was decorated in some areas near her shoulders with tiny teal specks. Her long hair was curly, blue at the top and black near the bottom. She pushed her thin dark rimmed glasses up to her face, looking at her organized set of notes in front of her.

 She walked over beside her academic partner Devil Grit. “Why don’t you play with your tinker toys somewhere else while I go over the logistics of divine law school?” She looked professional and poised. “Seven Reasons Why Heavenly Traditions Never Fail.”

 “You want to go, madam?” Sir Anguis asked, a spark of rebellion in him. He fiddled with a few gadgets before the well-dressed Nestling eggs…egged him on to continue. He flicked his hood back. “Well, let the battle for tenure and status begin!”

  A neon logo appeared on the screen, saying “777 News” surrounded by a halo. The names of the news cast appeared on the bottom of the screen.

 “Good afternoon, Holy City!” smiled a pale woman with short black hair, wearing a light blue dress. “I’m Catie Carejoy!”

 “And I’m Ron Wrench!” said the man next to her, wearing a business suit and who had a wrench for a head.

After discussing the weather, various humane societies, and legends on Earth, Catie continued, “The debate battle is underway between inventor and coward Sir Anguis and professional economics expert Berri Blossom. Coming up next, we have an exclusive interview with the daughter of His Majesty Lucius, who’s here to discuss her brand new passion-project! All that and more after the break!”

 Inside the break room, Phalla the romantic butterfly angel adjusted Coercia’s white bow tie. Nearby, a blue tinted sign read “No smoking.” Another sign read “In The Air” in large letters.

 “Okay, you remember what to say?” Phalla asked Coercia.

 “Yes, I’m ready,” Coercia stated.

 Phalla brushed her long black hair from her face, the ends of her black hair teal. Like Vaggie in Hell, Phalla’s thick hair extended down to her legs, giving her hair the appearance of moth wings. She had a glowing green cross over her right eye and her left eye was purple with a white pupil. A teal bow was perched on top of her head. Her skin was light gray and she wore a dark gray crop top with white Xs over her breasts. She also wore leggings, her right legging striped dark green and light gray, her left legging light gray.

 “Oh this is gonna be great!” Phalla squealed happily. “How about you make your speech sound more exciting?”

 “Come on, Phalla, I know what I’m going to say,” Coercia answered, crossing her arms.

 Phalla walked over to the pitcher of ambrosia punch on the table. Pub and Chub ate bagels from the table. Phalla got an idea. “Oh! What if you…”

 “Sing a song about it?” Coercia asked, with a roll of her eyes. “I’m not going to. This is serious!” She curled her hand into a fist and brought it down on the palm of her other hand. “They won’t take me serious if I start belting out some random song. Life isn’t a musical.”

 “But neither is it an emo tragedy,” Phalla pointed out. “Life is great, especially with all the cute guys around.” Her single purple eye shinned.

 “Romance, bleh,” Coercia made a face and Phalla giggled.

“Hey,” Phalla brightened, pulling out a piece of paper. “I have some ideas about what you could say.” She bounced up and down. “The highlighted bits are the best parts!”

 “They’re all highlighted,” Coercia replied, scanning the paper. “You call your childish drawing your ideas for me?”

 “Sure!” Phalla said. “Look here.” It showed a list of different terms “sinners = winners” “Misunderstood are still good” and “demons and angels party between worlds!” Skulls were lined up at the bottom of the page: “we’re all connected by death.”

 “Say, that’s actually pretty good!” Coercia said with a smile of sharp teeth.

 “Thanks!” Phalla beamed.

 Coercia snatched the piece of paper from her friend and tore it in half, much to her shock. “But you should know my ideas are always better.” She tossed the pieces of paper aside, gave a salute and walked out the door.

 Catie waved with a smile. “Hi. I’m Catie Carejoy.” She held out her hand but Coercia didn’t take it, instead remarking, “You can put that away. I don’t touch commoners, I have standards.” Catie, looked stunned, pulling her hand back. “So this project of yours, when did you come up with this idea of creating a hotel in order to…break the law as the rumors say?”

 The angel crew murmured nervously.

 “I’m gonna keep this short,” Coercia said as she walked over to the desk. “You might think my idea doesn’t hold water, but that doesn’t matter to me. I’m too influential to give a flying feather about what some stuffy old news lady thinks of my proposal.”

 The crowd gasped. Ron shook his head.

 “Well, if you can’t take constructive criticism and be polite…”

“…and we’re live!” called a voice as a buzzer sounded.

 “And we’re back!” Catie said, rushing over into her seat. “So, Carrie…”

 “It’s Princess Coerciona Egnam,” said Coercia, sitting in a chair beside her and Ron Wrench.

 “Sorry. So tell us about your project.”

 Coercia took a deep breath. “As most of you know, I was born here in Heaven, and growing up, I’ve always tried to see the good in everything around me. But recently, I don’t believe that’s always the case. We just completed another Extermination. So many sinful souls lost but for what reason? God said in the Commandments “thou shall not kill,” yet killing random people is okay? If we can’t even trust ourselves with our actions and thoughts, is Heaven truly paradise? Not to mention that ever since Lucifer and Lilith betrayed Him, we don’t know who to really trust. Some people are given too many chances!” She pounded her fist on the desk, startling Catie.

 Coercia stood up and made her way forward. “No one is truly flawless. Mistakes are made, but we get blamed for doing things we sometimes enjoy. Sex, drugs, partying, swearing, even violence. All because we don’t live up to impossible standards imposed upon us, both here and on Earth! I can’t stand idly by while the place I live is subjected to such lies and propaganda! So, I’ve been thinking…isn’t there a more liberating way to hinder forced compliance here in Heaven? Perhaps we can create an alternative way to express change through…recreation?”

 The angels talked quietly amongst themselves. Phalla nodded in appreciation.

 “Well I think yes,” Coercia continued. “So that’s what this project aims to achieve.” She walked back to the desk and sat down. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m opening the first of its kind, a hotel that encourages moderate amounts of so-called sin!” She spread out her arms.

 The audience stared in stunned silence. Many of the adults were shaking their heads.

 “Who is that girl?” asked a dragon watching from inside a soup kitchen. “What’s her deal with trying to cause more trouble for this world?”

“She’s nuts!” added another angel with an eagle’s head and wings, wearing a suit.

 Coercia added nervously while still trying to keep a glare, “I figure it would serve a purpose…a place to work toward self-expression. Yay.”

 Among the crowd of angels watching the news outside, a tall man with a thin pale face stood toward the back. He wore a light blue dress suit, had blue and white hair, fluffy deer-like ears, and large blue eyes. His white wings were folded behind him. He watched the program with a look of worry. A deer creature made of light appeared beside him. A sign posted on the wall showing the same man as a DJ read: “Counseling and good times with the Techno Angel!”

 A camera man shook his head at Coercia. Phalla walked up to him and pleaded, “Please give her a chance.”

 Coercia sighed. “Look, I know every single one of you has insecurities and issues that need not be bottled up. If you could just embrace those sides of yourselves…”

Coercia then smirked. “Maybe I’m not getting through to you.”

 Phalla clapped her hands and “ooohed” in excitement as Rub and Chub got the electric guitar ready.

 Coercia showed a pair of sharp white teeth and black curved horns emerged from her head. Black feathery wings sprouted from her back and an X appeared over her right eye. A harpoon appeared in her right hand and a spiked halo appeared over her head.  She was in her dark angelic Exorcist form. She posed over the desk and began.

 (“Inside of Every Angel is a Sinner”)

  “I have a dream

I’m here to tell

About a fantastic mind-blowing hotel

One of a kind, go and yell

A great place to dwell

Catering to specific clientele”

 *Guitar starts and scream vocals*

 “Inside of every angel is a sinner

Inside of every do-gooder is a beast

Inside of every jolly go-lucky mentality

Is a subconscious portion we know the least”

 “Resist all the rules

You’re not passive fools!

With just a little time

Down at the Hazbin Hotel!”

 “So all you rescuers, priests, and heroes

Gifted athletes, jocks, and cheerios

And the sheep citizens, relief is here!

All of you angels, leaders, and stars

Traditionalists with fancy cars

And the activists on Mars

Show no fear

No taboos, no laws

Embrace your flaws

You’ll be truly free

Check in with me

It’s the right path, you’ll see”

 “There’ll be no more pressure

And no more status quo

Just friendship, fun, and endless bags of dough

Establishment put to rest

You’ll be like, “Yes!”

In the tunnel of darkness you’ll go!”

 “So all your hierarchies, GMOs, politics, and isms

Lectures, labor standards, and diamond studded prisms

Ancient Indian elitisms

All must die”

 “All you fantasizers, artists, servers, and lords

Spoiled children, winners of awards

Imposers of chores

Face your fear!”

  “Be who you are

And you’ll go so far

Our service will raise the bar

You’ll be the star

Come from near or afar at the Hazbin Hotel!

Yeah!”

  “Wow,” said an angel in a top hat. “That was…alright.”

  The crowd clapped half-heartedly.

  Catie shook her head. “What in the Nine Levels makes you think a single denizen of Heaven would give two feathers about becoming a sinful person? You have no proof that your little experiment even works! You want people to disobey God and the rules just…because?!”

 Coercia lifted up her head. “Well, we have a patron already who believes in our cause.”

 “And who might that be?” Catie asked.

 “Oh just someone named…Devil Grit.”

 “The grumpy old spider?” asked Ron Wrench.

 “He’s not old,” argued Catie. “He just acts older than he is.”

 “Anyway,” said Catie to Coercia. “You couldn’t even get that guy to do something bad, even if a gun was pointed at his head.”

 “Oh I beg to differ,” Coercia argued. “He’s been troubled, dirty, and having conflicted thoughts for two weeks now.”

 “Breaking news!” called a voice as the screen changed to a recent debate shown in a building.

 The news came on, detailing Devil Grit and his recent TED talk about the 7 Heavenly Virtues.

 “Well, it looks like the one discussing the Heavenly Virtues is none other than…conservative Devil Grit! What a coincidence!”

 She and Ron did a “ratings!” and jazz hands.

 Corceria rolled her eyes.

 “I’m sorry to say, but it looks like your plan’s departed on arrival,” said Catie. “I hope you learned a good lesson here.”

 Coercia’s eyes twitched, her teeth barred. “Lesson?! I’ll teach you a lesson, bitch!”  The princess and Catie fought fist and claw on the desk. Ron called for security.

 After Coercia was kicked out, Phalla followed her wordlessly to the white limo. Devil Grit, Phalla, and Coercia rode back to the hotel.

 Devil Grit lounged in the far seat, wearing an outfit of black with green stripes and green gloves on his four hands.

 “Devil,” said Phalla with concern. “I know you were trying to do good by doing your professional speech. But could you please try not to help society in public? Now people won’t believe us when Coercia says that people are free to express their earthly desires.”

 “I’m sorry Phalla,” said Devil from the other seat, “But I have a reputation to keep up. Helping the greater good is His plan for all of us. Besides, a good professional debate is a reasonable form of self-expression right?”

 “Not to everyone,” said Phalla. “What about the hotel? People are thinking that you don’t care about Coercia’s project at all.”

 “I do care, senorita,” said Devil. “I just don’t think it’s going to be easy to accomplish in such a short time. So many angels are fixated on tradition, myself included.”

 “I do appreciate all of your help,” said Coercia, still fuming after the interview, arms crossed. “But I will make this project work, even if I have to do it myself.”

 The white limo pulled up in front of the hotel, a pristine building made of glass and marble. The group got out of the car and stepped inside.

 White wings made of rainbow scales posed as part of the structure on the roof. The stained glass windows by the door were decorated with apples, a tree of life, and many shades of blue and green. The sign above read “Hazbin Hotel” in big letters on the roof. Inside the lobby, a painting of Adam reaching toward God was displayed on the high ceiling. The hotel had seven floors with seven rooms on each floor. There was even a lab down in the basement which belonged to a man named Baker, the opposite of the demon fish scientist Baxter from Hell. A bowl of blue berries and blue raspberries sat on a table below a welcome banner. Phalla rested on a couch while Devil Grit munched on a granola bar.

 “It’s probably a good idea to stock up some more food in this place,” said Devil Grit. “Good or bad, people always seem to be greedy when they’re hungry.”

 Devil Grit pulled out a chart and went over probabilities and graphs regarding the hotel and the potential number of visitors. Coercia just sighed and walked away toward the door. She went outside and took out her cell phone, calling her mom.

 “Carol cakes!” called her mother through the phone. Coercia cringed.

 “Mom, I told you not to call me that! I’m not a little kid anymore.”

 “Sorry, I can’t help it,” said Lilian with a giggle. “How was the interview?”

 “Meh. It was alright. I proposed my idea, but nobody seemed to buy it.”

 Lilian’s tone turned more serious. “Coercia, why do you insist that everyone must go down to that horrible place? Why can’t you just see the good in people?”

 “Because,” Coercia said, “Everyone has flaws and they don’t realize it.”

 “Yes, but that also applies to you, too. Before you get involved with the lives of others, you need to look inside and critique yourself.”

 “I’m a princess. Everyone else has more flaws than I do.”

 Lilian let out a long sigh. “Young lady, we’ve been through this I don’t know how many times. You have to push your selfish thoughts aside and just accept the way things are. It’s part of a higher purpose.”

 “And what is this “higher purpose” anyway? To be His flock of dazed sheep, dancing around without any care in the world? To not experience ecstasy and adventure, even for just a moment?”

 “That stuff is dangerous and forbidden. Thousands of souls would do anything to get up to this level of Heaven. And you just want to throw your life away?”

 Coercia paused in thought. “If it means proving myself and serving Him in a way I see fit, then so be it.”

 “You have delusions of what entertainment and happiness is, Carol. Sometimes, you need to take the time and appreciate the beauty that’s in front of you.”

 “Other than my own refection, I don’t really see beauty in many other things. Well, heavy metal and watching battles…oh and watching sinners beg for their last breaths…”

 “You have a lot to learn, dear daughter,” Lilian replied. “I’ll leave you alone to think about it.”

 “Whatever.”

 “Love you.”

 “Love you too. Bye.”

  Coercia hung up and went back inside, shutting the door behind her. She leaned against the door frame, closing her eyes in frustration…trying to hold back a stream of tears from the stress.

  Just then, there was a knock on the door. Two knocks, four ones, then a last one. Coercia turned around with a sigh to answer it. She swung the stained glass door open. From outside stood a tall slender man with a pale light gray face, wearing a light blue pinstriped dress coat. A white upward cross was part of the design on his light blue undershirt. He was carrying a modern microphone atop a staff in his left hand. His small antlers were white and his hair and deer ears were blue with white tips. A monocle rested under his left eye. Coercia narrowed her eyes.

 “Hi, excuse me…” he spoke quietly. “Is this…”

 Coercia angrily slammed the door in his face.

 She opened it again.

 “…the right address?” finished the man.

 “No!” she shouted, slamming it again.

 “Hey Phalla!” called Coercia.

 “What?” her friend asked.

 “The crybaby Deer Man is at the door!”

 “What?!” she asked, blushes appearing on her cheeks.

 “Who?” asked Devil Grit.

 “What should I do?”

 “Well…let him in!” Phalla cried, eye shining.

 Coercia rolled her eyes and scoffed. She sighed and opened the door again.

 “May I talk now?” the man asked in a radio voice.

 “Sure, whatever,” Coercia said.

 The man held out a white gloved four-fingered hand. “Rotsala, it’s a pleasure to meet you, miss.” He walked in. Worry was etched on his face. “I saw your interview on the picture show and I was worried sick! I was afraid you were never coming back after your argument. Why I haven’t been that upset since the 1929 Stock Market Crash!” He sniffed, “So many poor orphans…”

 “Hello there!” Phalla called with a smile, staring up and walking in front of him. She greeted in Spanish. “I’m so glad you’re here to help out my friend with this new hotel! I’m a big fan of yours and just being in your presence is just…” She swooned. “Oh just take me already you cute, pompous, talk show, blueberry pimp lord!”

 She embraced him and he stood stunned, his face blushing. “I do love hugs,” he whispered as she stepped back. “I bet all of you would be so nice and soft after we get to know each other for a while…”

 Phalla blushed while Devil Grit and Coercia made disgusted faces. “Not gonna happen, creep,” Devil Grit said.

 Rotsala gave a nervous laugh, and popped a strawberry and blueberry into his mouth.

 “You’re not gonna cling to us are you?” Phallas asked. “Or, you know…”

“Dear, if I wanted to screw anyone here…I would’ve done so already.”

 Rotsala tilted his head. His blue eyes briefly glowed with blue upside down radio dials in them. Electricity sparked around cyan colored voodoo symbols in the air. His eyes filled with tears, tears spilling down his pale gray cheeks.

 Phalla watched in bliss, while Devil and Coercia rolled their eyes at the show-off.

 Rotsala shook his head and his eyes returned to normal blue.

 “No, I’m here because I want to relax and help out.”

 “Say what?” Coercia asked, eyebrow raised.

Rotsala held up his staff which glowed blue. He said with a sad crack in his voice, “Goodbye, is this thing off?”

 He tapped it. A blue sad looking eye appeared in the center of the microphone. It spoke in a mechanical voice. “You’re silent, quiet and unclear!”

 “That’s your motivation motto every day?” Devil Grit asked, crossing his four arms. “Pathetic!”

 “Tragic and mysterious, I love it!” Phalla squealed. “It’s like the opposite of announcing. It’s…denouncing.”

 Devil Grit elbowed her. “Hun, could you not get attracted to every other man you see?  I’m your boyfriend.”

 “I can’t help it, love!” she cried. “I just get so distracted easily.”

  “Um…you want to help?” Coercia asked.

 Rotsala appeared behind them after morphing into light.

 “With…” he spoke in her growl then his normal shy sounding voice, “…this random thing you’re trying to do. This hotel. I want to help you run it, if that’s okay.”

 “Uh…why?”

 Rotsala choked a bit on his words. “Why doesn’t anyone do anything? Sheer absolute lethargy! I’ve been partying around and keeping busy for decades. I would like to do something more relaxing and easier.”

  “My work became overwhelming, lacking focus. I’ve come to crave a new form of disengagement!”

 Coercia rolled her eyes. “Does getting into a fist fight with a reporter count as disengagement?”

 “No,” Rotsala said. “It’s violent and messy, not really my thing. Life is truly strange…reality, fantasy, true tragedy. After all the world is a grave, and the grave is a world of disengagement!”

 Coercia brightened a bit. “So, does this mean you think it’s possible to taint an angel? That life is meaningless without your own self to temporarily control it.”

 Rotsala sniffed and held up a hand. “Who knows? Anything’s possible. Sinning, oh the vice of humanity! I think there’s plenty left that can change such marvelous saints. But then again, the chance that was given to them was the life they lived before. The reward is this!” He spread out his arms. “According to God, there’s no undoing what is done…or at least that’s the way it should be.”

“So then, why do you want to help me if you don’t fully believe in my cause?” Coercia asked.

 Rotsala turned around to look at her. “Consider it an investment in ongoing knowledge for myself and others.” He let out a small smile. “I want to watch the blessed of this world struggle to give into temptation, only to repeatedly realize and raise themselves up the golden ladder of success!” His eyes glowed blue.

 “Right…” Coercia began.

 “Yes indeed,” Rotsala said, both of them walking off to the side. “I see you taking risks and who better to keep you grounded than I.”

 “Ah, so what’s the deal with Mr. Frown over there?” Devil Grit asked.

 “Wait, you’ve never heard of him before?” Phalla asked. “You’ve been here longer than me!”

 Devil shrugged his shoulders.

 “The Techno Angel, one of the most complex beings Heaven as ever seen?”

 “Eh, I’m not too big on people.”

 Phalla sighed and leaned in close to explain.

 “Decades ago, Rotsala manifested in Heaven, seemingly in one day. He began to catch the attention of overlords and archangels who had kept to themselves for centuries. That kind of attraction and magic power had never been harnessed by a mortal soul before. Then, he broadcast his adventures all throughout Heaven just so everyone could experience some joy, tragedy and emotions. Saints starting calling him the Techno Angel, (as unoriginal as that is). Many have speculated what unimaginable force enabled him to rival our world’s most ancient and constructive heroes. But one thing’s for sure: he’s an unpredictable source of silliness, a depressed spirit of mystery and a loving being of order…or disorder, the likes of which we can get involved in, especially if we want to end up aroused!”

 “You done?” Devil asked. “He looks like a blueberry businessman. Or a shady con-man. Either way, you’re delusional.”

 “Well, I trust him completely!”

 “Do you blindly trust any man? All men?”

 Phalla skipped over to Coercia. Rotsala examined a family portrait of Lucius, Lilian and a young Coercia in the center. Young Coercia wore a white dress with a turquoise top to it. Her hair was jet black, braided in black barbed wire, her cheeks had teal blushes. Her mother had long black hair and wore a fancy white dress and a round gold crown. Her father was dressed in a dress suit of white and blue, with blue and black stripes in the center below a white bow tie. He wore a large light gray top hat with a dove and a green apple on it. His cane also had a green apple on the top. Both of them were smiling, showing rows of sharp teeth, white wings folded behind them.

 “Coercia, listen to me, you can believe this dreamer. He isn’t just a sad face. He’s a miracle maker, pure good! But… don’t count on him to believe in your cause. He could be tainted and rebel, but we don’t know that. He could very well side with God and your parents. And he’s most likely looking for a way to hinder everything we’re trying to do if it means following God’s rules. But still, give him a chance. He’s really sweet.”

 “I…” Coercia began. “…we don’t know that. Look, he’s a crying bitch, and he probably doesn’t want to change.”

 Phalla put her hands on her friend’s shoulders.

 “The whole point of your hotel is to give people a chance! To have faith things will be better and people can embrace their flaws, their true selves! How can you turn someone away? You can’t. It goes against everything you’re trying to do. Everything you believe in.”

 Coercia looked downcast. Her friend had a good point. She hated when people made good arguments against her. But it also gave her a chance to consider her thoughts. Phalla kept her grounded and added some cheer to her overall fake afterlife. Coercia smiled at her.

 “You take care of yourself,” she said to Phalla.

“Coercia,” warned Phalla, “Unless you are serious about responsibility, do not make a promise with him!”

 Demons often made deals with each other that often resulted in gaining power at the cost of one’s soul or freedom. Usually the one who initiated the deal would gain advantage. A demonic deal was bad in and of itself. Breaking an angelic promise could result in rejection, eternal torture and damnation.

 “Don’t worry,” said Coercia. “I learned one thing from my dad.” She mimicked his low voice, “Ya don’t break trust with other angels!”

 Coercia marched over to the Techno Angel.

 “Ok Mr. Rot... You’re prissy as fuck, and you clearly see what I’m trying to do here is a too-dangerous risk. But I don’t.”

 Glowing blue symbols briefly appeared around a concerned Rotsala, then vanished.

 Coercia continued. “I think everyone deserves a chance to prove they can be themselves. After all, it’s in their nature and the sooner they realize it, the better. So, I’m taking your offer to help. On the condition there be no lessons or lovey-dovey speeches made.”

 Rotsala twirled his cane and held out his smallest finger from his right hand.

“So, it’s a promise, then?”

 The room was surrounded by a pink aura as light spirits roamed around the walls. The wind blew against Phalla’s and Devil’s faces.

 “Nope!” Coercia yelled, holding out her hands. The energy stopped. “No shaking, no promises! I…hmmm…”

 She paused in thought.

 “As Princess of Heaven and heir to the throne, I hereby order that you help out with this hotel for as long as you desire.”

 A moment of pause…

 “Sound fair?”

 “Fair enough,” Rotsala said with a slump of his shoulders and walked on. His cane vanished.

 Rotsala stopped and spotted Phalla to the side.

 Phalla went up and tickled him under the chin, much to his shock.

 “Smile, deer man!” she said.

 Rotsala walked on, speechless.

  “So…where is your hotel staff?” Rotsala asked Coercia.

 “Uh well,” Coercia began. Rotsala peered at Phalla through his monocle below his left eye.

 He stuttered. “You’re going to n-need more than that.”

 Rotsala walked over to Devil Grit, who was sitting on a stool.

 “And what can I do, my business fellow?” asked Rotsala walking over to the dark furred spider, blushing.

 “You can suck a dick,” Devil retorted in a grumpy tone.

 “AH! Ok,” said Rotsala, blushing and stepping back. “Can it be yours?”

 “Fuck off,” Devil added, pulling out a long knife from his belt.

 Rotsala summoned his cane. “Well this just won’t do. You want others to cause trouble, yes? I suppose I can cash in a few favors to deaden things up!”

 He snapped his fingers and the wall beside the fireplace cracked. The circle went dark, the fire going out. Ice cold water appeared to fill in the circle and a shadowy figure solely formed inside. Rotsala walked over and removed the dripping figure from the water. A large single purple eye was revealed.

 Devil Grit, Phalla and Coercia peered at the creature. With a balloon deflating sound and a puff of white smoke, the figure was revealed.

 “This little rascal is Klutzy!” Rotsala announced with a worried smile, dropping the figure.

 A black-skinned short cyclops female landed on her face on the floor. She stood up with a grumpy look on her face. She wore a dark green skirt with a white stray cat off to the left side. Her arms and legs were white and stick-shaped. Several blue dots stood out from the lighter green color of her skirt. Her shirt was black with cyan paint spots off to the right. Her large eye took up much of her pale white face; it was dark blue with a white pupil. Her short hair was teal with a dark blue spot off to the left.

 “I’m Klutzy,” she grumbled, clenching her fists. “It’s a waste of time to meet you. It’s been a while since I’ve seen strangers.”

  Her pupil narrowed from side to side.

 “Why are you all men?” she asked. “Have any women here? Or video games? Screw this place.”

 She briefly picked up Coercia, then let go.

 “Oh man, this place is boring!” she exclaimed. She ran over to a vase and proceeded to knock it over with her elbow. It shattered to pieces on the floor. She tossed couch cushions aside.

 “It really needs a more manly touch, disorganized clutter’s more fun.” She grinned as she poured dirt from a flower pot onto the rug.

 “Yes, yes, yep, yeah!” she yelled as she proceeded to break windows and knock down more stuff. Then she plopped down on a couch once the room was messy. “I’m bored. Make me some food or something.”

 Phalla, Devil, and Coercia looked on in worry, Rotsala just stared off into space. “She has quite the temper sometimes.”

 A cat angel was working on a Rubik’s cube with colleagues. His furry face was black, framed by white fur. His little top hat was white with a blue band across it. A big teal bow tie was under his neck, over his black furry chest framed by white fur. His wings were a brilliant blue, with black and red mathematical symbols on either side: the pi symbol, E = mc squared, signs for addition, subtraction, multiplication and division, among others. More symbols were visible within his two pointed ears. His teeth were sharp and purple and his long eyebrows were teal. His eyes were purple and sclera white. The angel placed a Rubik’s cube in front of him. “Ha!” he declared in triumph. Read ‘em and weep, boys! Full…whoa…”

 He felt himself being transported in a flash of light to the hotel. Part of the science room that the cat had been in was merged with the hotel lobby…posters of the elements, the solar system and Biblical works of art.

 “What in Heaven’s name is going on?

 Then he brightened when he saw Rotsala. “You!”

“Ah, Core, my old friend,” Stalaro sniffed, his head briefly looking like it was in between antlers from a stuffed deer head on the wall. “You made it.”

 “Glad to see you, you son of the sun!” Core said. “I just completed my Rubik’s cube after just an hour.”

 The cube vanished as Rotsala looked on.

Core raced over to Rotsala and embraced him in a side hug. The deer-like man blushed. “So, what can I help you with this time?”

 Rotsala blinked nervously. “C-Can we snuggle?”

 Core laughed. “I mean, seriously, why’d you bring me here?”

 “My friend, I’m doing some dirty work, so I took it upon myself to volunteer your services. If that’s okay?”

 “You must be joking,” Core said, laughing nervously.

 “I don’t think so,” he replied.

 “You thought it’d be a great idea just to pull me out of nowhere? You think I’m some kind of tragic boy?”

 “Maybe,” Rotsala sighed, as crying sounds came from his microphone.

 “I ain’t doing no dirty work.”

 Rotsala appeared behind him. “Well I figured you would be the perfect face to greet and critique the guests at this fine establishment.”

 He pointed his staff off toward a stand with vegetable drinks as claps and boos sounded from his staff.

 “With your grumpy cat face and love of solitude…”

 Core lifted up the corners of Rotsala mouth with his paws. “Aw come on, Al, Don’t forget to smile once in a while!”

 His mouth frowned once he let go.

 Rotsala walked over to the stand. “Don’t worry, my friend. I can make this more interesting…if you wish.”

 He conjured up a bottle of catnip with his finger.

 Core stared with wide happy eyes. “What, you think you can buy me with sad eyes and some cheap catnip? Well, you can!” He purred and took the bottle with him.

 Coercia, Devil, and Phalla arrived.

 “Yes, yes, yes!” Phalla squealed. “Brilliant idea to have healthy drinks!”

 “No!” Coercia protested. “This is supposed to be a place that encourages sin! Not some kind of, frilly, Zen, child’s play…”

 Core noticed Devil Grit and slid up to him. “Hey cutie,” he flirted.

 “Go screw yourself,” muttered Devil Grit.

 “Only if you watch me,” Core joked. “Or more likely, Rotsala will watch you.”

 Coercia leaned in close to Core. “Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel! You are going to go insane here!” She grinned, her teeth sharp.

 “We’re all mad here,” Core replied, sniffing the catnip.

 Rotsala walked in, an ever-present frown on his face. “S-so, what do you think?”

 Rotsala ran over to him. “This is horrible!” she spat.

 “It’s amazing!” Phalla beamed.

 Phalla leaned in close between Coercia and Rotsala, embracing them in a hug.

 “This is going to be very disengaging,” Rotsala exclaimed. Dubstep sounds emitted from his mouth as he stared around with worry. He stepped away from Phalla. “Coercia, I can’t lose you. We can’t lose you.”

 Rotsala changed his light blue suit into a dark blue funeral outfit with a matching top hat. He did the same with Coercia, Devil Grit, Core, Klutzy, and Phalla, who were all wearing black clothing from the early 1900s. Coercia wore a short tan flapper dress and a round matching ladies’ hat. She and Klutzy stared at their outfits in disgust, while Devil Grit, Core and Phalla smiled as they stared at theirs. The room changed, the walls now covered with Voodoo symbols, Christian crosses and deer antlers.

 “Take it boys,” Rotsala said. Light spirits appeared and played violins, a piano, and a flute in a sad symphony.

 Rotsala sang his reprise to Coercia as they did a slow dance. Coercia looked annoyed but Rotsala smiled.

  (“Stalaro’s lament Reprise”)

 “You’re on a mission

Your innocence fell

And it’s so dangerous but hey, I wish you well

Yes your blunt protests

Will send you straight to Hell

And I can’t bear to see you banished, or your soul up to sell”

  “Don’t bring your life to an end

No matter what you say, I’m still your friend

We all have our wounds to mend

And you’re vulnerable feelings are real, don’t pretend”

 “Inside of every angel is love and emotion

They have values and lasting devotion (devotion to God)

While you recruit those around

Don’t be swallowed by the ground

The authorities can retrieve you tight and bound (no turning around)”

 “Here above the sky

Spread your wings and fly

They’ll spend a little time

Down at this Haven Ho…”

  An explosion rattled the windows. Klutzy saw a door flying toward her face and she broke it in half with a karate chop.

 The room and everyone’s clothing returned to normal.

 Everyone looked outside and saw a podium in the air, held up by flying metallic eggs. A familiar snake debater appeared.

 “Look who it is harboring the striped annoying opponent! We meet again, Rotsala!”

 “Do I know you?” Rotsala asked.

 Tears came to Anguis’ eyes. “Oh yes, you do! Watch this presentation!”

 The eggs danced in the air, singing a song about Sir Anguis trying his best to rule Heaven. He read from notecards. “You all can’t compete with me. Your hotel sucks. I…shall…destroy it…with… my…”

 Rotsala giggled and blushed. “Your baby weiner havor?”

 Anguis looked up from his cards in anger. “Not like that, pervert!”

 Rotsala snapped his fingers. A portal appeared and white tentacles shot out, knocking the podium off balance. The metal eggs knocked into Sir Anguis and he yelled, “Ow that hurt! Show mercy!”

 Rotsala used a drop of his blood and the podium exploded in green smoke.

 Sir Anguis emerged from the crater, arm shaking, fangs shattered. Rotsala waved a hand and the snake was healed.

 “Shoot me with your ray gun,” said a metal egg beside him. Sir Anguis face-planted on the ground.

 Rotsala looked on, sadly while everyone else stared, stunned.

 “Anyone hungry?” Rotsala asked turning around. “Please don’t make me cook jambalaya. It’s way too spicy and it nearly killed me! I much prefer tea and sugared strawberries, oh the way they melt in my mouth… but anyway, you could say the kick brought me straight into Heaven.”

 Rotsala lead the way back to the hotel, the group following him.

 “Yes sir, new changes are about to take place. Now…”

 Rotsala waved his finger at the lit up sign above the glass, gem-encrusted building on the roof.

 The sign changed from “Hazbin Hotel” to “Haven Hotel.”

 “Stay tuned.” He finished with low whimpers.

[kaysreadingarchive]

Wolves in Sheep’s Clothing: Part 1

Pairing: Jacob Seed x Reader, slightly John Seed x Reader x Joseph Seed

AUs: Omegaverse, werewolves

Warnings: Cursing, mention of character death, guns, mention of violence

 Word Count: 2,952

A/N: Some of you may be asking if I'm abandoning my other work. I am not. I will continue to write for both of my stories I just came up with another idea for Far Cry 5. It's still an omegaverse story because I will forever be obsessed with this au. I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Also, this is sort of a birthday present to me and I felt like we need more things to enjoy now that the world is going to hell and we honestly don't know what's going to happen.Thank you guys so much for being this patient with me and my numerous schemes. It means the world to me! And like always, give me some feedback on what I could do better or what I did alright, where you wanna see this whole mess go, or something you just don’t understand. I also really want to know what your theories are for the coming story. I always love reading your guys' analyses.

Masterlist     Omegaverse rules ---------------------------

When people imagined small-town America, they would instantly think of a tiny general store, maybe a white church. Large pastures that held grazing cattle. Hope County was the very definition of small-town America. It had a tight-knit community filled with very unique characters. Doomsday preppers, anarchists, and conspiracy theorists. It didn’t take long to notice these people. The County was full of them. You knew the moment you stepped into The Hope County’s Sheriff’s Department that things were different in your little piece of Montana.

You grew up in Fall’s End. Your parents lived here, hell, your father was even a Deputy. Your mother ran the Spread Eagle with a close friend Irene Fairgrave. Your childhood was filled with tales from your father. It was mainly him stopping the bad guy and saving the day. You and your mother both knew most of them were fake. Nothing ever happened in the sleepy town of Fall’s End.

The only bad thing that seemed to happened was your mother’s illness. It came in October as simple fatigue. She grew tired more often and she felt pain in her shoulder. The pain got worse as time went on and Aunt Irene finally took her to see a doctor, it was too late. She waited too long. She had stage-4 Chondrosarcoma, bone cancer. They tried chemo but it didn’t take well and she passed away the next summer. Your father wasn’t far behind to say it better. He had a fatal heart attack and died in the hospital.

You were only eleven when this happened. You understood what happened but your growing mind still didn’t understand that they weren’t coming back. You watched them get buried together, but you still held up hope it was a lie. A sick joke. You had nowhere to go so one of your dad’s coworkers adopted you. Earl Whitehorse was roughly in his early forties and all his children had moved out. He bought everything new for your bedroom in his ranch house. You had taken to calling him pop-pop. He really felt like a grandfather to you and he raised you as if you were his own.

When you graduated high school, you knew what you wanted to do. You wanted to be a deputy like your dad. You wanted to make him proud even if he wasn’t here. When you went to the academy outside the county you felt off. All these hotshots in your class made you feel weak. You felt like they pointed and laughed as you walked by. Look at the country bumpkin! There’s no fucking way a farmer could be a police officer! You hated your time at the academy. It felt like no one was on your side.

When you finally graduated it felt like you were on top of the world. Pop-pop came to see you and both of you celebrated by having wings and a beer at the Spread Eagle. Nothing had made you happier when you got your uniform and badge. Rook was proudly displayed on a silver name tag and Staci Pratt became your partner. Staci mainly dragged you everywhere he went, you had no say in the matter.

You got comfortable being his partner. Everyone seemed nice. Especially Joey Hudson who invited you to drinks the moment you closed the door behind you. Her partner, Danny was odd. He seemed very religious, always had a crucifix around his neck. He was very into playing bible music in his joint office. Nancy seemed very motherly. She made a routine of bringing doughnuts into work from a bakery in town. You absolutely loved her for it. You were the first one in the break room as soon as you saw her minivan park.

You shared a tiny office with Staci and he was a mess. His paperwork was scattered everywhere and he always left his empty monster cans on the floor. Other than that, he was only an asshole 70% of the time.

----

Today was a very slow day compared to most days. There was no paperwork to file nor did you feel like sorting the archives for the fifth time. You sat at your desk, playing with a wad of paper. Stacy sat at his desk downing another energy drink while his hands could barely function from the other sugar. It was absolutely silent as you went about your day. Nancy had come in that day with donuts and they were gone, so you couldn’t really eat your boredom away like you usually would. Something felt odd about the silence. It made your insides flutter and sweat began to drip from your (h/c) hair.

Something definitely felt wrong about today. Was there gonna be a big robbery or shoot out? Nah, those things never fucking happen here. A sudden knock on the door startled you from your thoughts. Joey peeked her head through the crack and gave you a smile and then looked over to Staci. He didn’t seem to notice her, stuck in his own world like usual. “Staci!” Joey suddenly yelled. He flinched and dropped his can to the floor. The green liquid spilled out onto linoleum.

“What the fuck Joey!” Staci just looked annoyed as he looked at the now spilled drink. Some of it soaked into his green uniform and pants. Joey held back a snicker as Staci reached for the tissues on his desk as his cheeks flushed red. You had to look away before you burst out laughing.

“Don’t be a damn baby, Staci. Clean yourself up and come meet me and (Y/N) in the lobby. These three weirdos came in asking for a permit to carry and Whitehorse isn’t happy.” Joey looked at you from the doorway and waved you over. You followed behind her down the small hallway and she opened the door to the tiny lobby. You could hear the yelling already. It sounded like Pops and a random male voice.

Pops never really got angry. He had control over his nonexistent temper. If he was really going at it, whoever this guy is must be a prick. There was indeed three weird-looking strangers arguing over the dispatcher desk. Nacy could do nothing but go back and forth between Whitehorse and a wealthy-looking man. His blue eyes were slitts and his beard covered lips were pulled back in a scowl. A handgun was placed on the desk with the safety on.

Two other men stood beside them. One had his hair pulled back into a man bun like a fucking hipster and his lips were pulled into an uneasy smile. The other sent a shiver down your spine and not a good one. He made you feel uneasy as his blue eyes roamed over you and Joey. His red hair was brushed to the side and he too had a full beard. What were these guys? Millennials? The redhead continued to watch you two as you made your way beside Pops, their conversation stopping for a brief second.

Whitehorse took a deep breath in and closed his eyes for just a moment. “I’m sorry, but I can’t validate your permit without a criminal records background.”

The irritated looking of the three narrowed his eyes even more than before. He opened his big mouth but the man-bun stopped him. “I’m so sorry about this sir. My brothers and I just moved here from Georgia and we’re still new to these parts, please forgive us for our rudeness.” The man slowly let go of his brother’s shoulder and pulled out a card.

“This has my phone number and name, I’ll have someone be in contact with you about John’s criminal records background.” He handed the business card to Nancy who looked at it with an odd expression on her face. “God bless you.” All three of them walked out without another word, But the red-haired brother gave you one last look before getting into the white truck outside.

“Do those three give you the creeps or what?” Joey commented as she took the business card from Nancy. She scanned over the info and passed it to you. Joseph Seed, an odd name. His cell-phone number was underneath but what was weird was the symbol in the corner. It stood out with black ink against the white paper. It looked like a cross and a name was underneath it. “The Project at Eden’s Gate, huh.” The name sounded odd on your tongue. It felt uneasy to you. Anxiety began to build in your system at what these men could possibly be.

You had never seen those three before or heard of them. They must have just moved. “Did you say the Project at Eden’s Gate? I know those guys, they bought a run-down church near the Henbane. They call it, “Eden’s Convent”. Don’t know what they want with that piece of shit but they seem to keep to themselves.” Staci’s voice pierced through the silence as he walked in, still dabbing the energy drink on his pants.

Pops said nothing as he lifted his hat and gave his head a scratch in thought. “Whatever they want, they’re gonna have to do it legally. Nacy, keep an eye on those three for me. They’re gonna go snoopin’.” It took you good second to realize he was talking about Stacy, Joey, and you and not the three stooges that walked out minutes ago. What the fuck? Did he not trust you or something? It made you kinda upset to hear someone you looked up to for so long say that. Especially when it was your adopted grandpa.

The anxiety from before slipped away as you forgot about the three brothers as the day went on. It didn’t feel like your own thoughts were torturing you for once. You got a good night’s sleep without any nightmares to scare you awake, but there was still this tugging in your chest. No matter how much you tried to clear your head, it didn’t go away. It felt like something bad was going to happen. Like, really bad.

------

A week went by before the feeling returned. Pops had just pulled into the parking lot when it felt like a stab to the gut. A little voice inside your head was begging you to turn around, but you just ignored it. When you finally got to your desk you locked it away in the deepest part of you mind and filled your fear with a cream-filled doughnut and a cup of coffee.

You slumped into your chair, staring at the computer screen as it took forever to boot up. It felt like it was mocking you by making your day worse. You would look up every once and a while from the screen to the window. Half expecting someone to be there. Only there wasn’t, just fields and cows. Before you knew it, it felt like tie was passing at the speed of light. 8 A.M. became 10.

“-N)... (Y/N)! You awoke with a yelp and glared at Staci. He hastily took his hand away, as if you were going to bite his fingers off. You had considered it many times, with him being such a fucking asshole. There deserved to be less of him.

“What Staci? What the fuck do you want?” You rubbed the sleep away from your eyes as you stretched your legs in your uncomfortable chair. You hadn’t even realized you had fallen asleep. Staring at absolutely nothing was hard work.

“The old man wants us to check out a disturbance at the Spread Eagle. One of the guys from a week ago is harassing everyone.” This was a shock to you. Pops didn’t send you and Staci on any calls before. He says he didn’t trust Staci enough to do his job, but since you were just a Junior Deputy, you couldn’t do it by yourself.

“What about Joey and Danny?” Weren’t they capable enough to do this? Joey was good at her job, but Danny was a different story.

“They’re on another call.” You only nodded and gathered your stuff. You put a can off pepper spray into your belt. You couldn’t have a gun, but Staci could. You had wondered what idiot gave him the approval to carry a deadly weapon. You had wished in the past that whoever they were, they were in jail for giving out false permits.

“Alright, let’s go.” You both walked out of the station and made the small walk to the Spread Eagle. Staci opened the door and the bell rang. Both Mary May and one of the brothers, the rich looking one, turned towards both of you. Mary May looked pissed and the Seed brother only smirked when he saw you two walk in.

“Really, Mary? You called the police on me? Haven’t I’ve been a decent customer?” His tone was cocky as he sat back in one of the stools. His expensive-looking coat was tossed over the bar and his tattooed hands were gripping onto a stack of contracts. His hands crumpled the papers as his smirk widened. His mouth said one thing but his eyes said another. He looked like an absolute asshat. A spoiled baby. It made sense now, this little shit wanted a fucking audience. He was a god damn performer.

He gave you an uneasy feeling just like his redheaded brother. But it wasn’t from being uncomfortable, it was the feeling of dread. Like he could crush your puny existence with the snap of his well-manicured fingers.

“My normal customers don’t threaten me! You’re not getting this fucking bar, John. Now, why don’t you hightail it out of my town before Widowmaker runs your ass over.” Mary May wasn’t someone to mess with especially when she had her mom’s temper. Maybe that’s why Irene and your mom got along so well.

Both of them had pictures on the counters behind the bar. A vase of fresh daisies was next to them. When you saw the picture, it felt like she was still here protecting you. Like a guardian angel.

When you were trash as a deputy, you thought of your dad. He would be so proud of you, you just knew he was with mom. Where ever they were, they were happy. It still felt so fresh and to have someone like John Seed try to tear that away from you made you feel as angry as Mary May.

“Let’s not get too hasty. How about I add another zero to the offer?” John pulled out a checkbook from his pocket and started to write. Your eyes started to get wider as the number got bigger. This guy must have been loaded. Great, a rich and spoiled scumbag.

You also noticed the symbol from before, the cross, was on the checks. But, instead of the name John Seed, John Duncan was printed on them instead. What the fuck was going on? It felt like a big conspiracy theory was unraveling and you had to know the truth.

The name Seed was something that made you feel sick. It sent shivers down your spine and your forehead broke out into cold sweats. It felt like you were doubting yourself when you heard the name. Like was a lie. It made your anxiety flare up again and it constricted your lungs. Were you going to have an anxiety attack in the middle of a call? Just your fucking luck.

“For the last time, I don’t want your fucking money!” Mary May hiss and brought a pistol out from under the bar and sat it right on his papers. John’s brown hair stood up on the back of his neck. He glared down at the contracts and brought the papers up to Mary’s eye level as he ripped them clean down the middle. He stood up from the stool, grabbing his coat jacket and stuffed the pieces into his pocket.

A voice yelled from above as the sound of boots stomping on wooden stairs echoed in the now silent bar “Get out of my bar, Seed. Go home and cry to Joe and Jake and tell them Gary said fuck off.” Gary Fairgrave walked down from the apartment above the bar, a shotgun in hand. He pointed it right at John. His nose flared out in rage as he stepped back out of Gary’s line of fire.

His blue eyes seemed to switch to something darker, something red. You blinked and the red was gone. His eyes were blue once again but filled with more anger than you’ve ever seen in a person. His neck took on a deep shade of pink that worked its way up to his cheeks. It looked like he was gonna pop a blood vessel.

“Woah, we don’t need anyone dying here.” You finally stepped in while Staci stood there with his mouth hung open. John looked over to you and his blue eyes softened just a bit before going back to glaring at Gary.

“You’ll regret this Fairgrave.” John stomped to the door and slammed it shut behind him, almost breaking it off the hinges. His threat sounded real. Not like the bluff most people gave. It wasn’t an empty threat. You just didn’t know him at all, you couldn’t tell if he would act on it. As if you didn’t find him creepy enough, he was making googly eyes at you. And the red eyes didn’t help either. You tried to tell yourself it was just a trick of the light. Like a camera flash.

But deep down you knew it wasn’t a light trick. This was real and it already felt like hell.

[the-omni-princess]

Frozen Heart [Chapter 11]

Author: @the-omni-princess

Summary:  After the war against Hydra, King Bucky comes home to take what has been promised to him since he was young, you. But he is not the same person as the young boy that you grew up with. Can she break through his tough shell and bring back the young man she once fell in love with? Or will she be forced to marry the monster everyone thinks he’s become?

Word Count: 2.8K

Pairing: King!Bucky x Fem!Reader (Royalty Au!)

Warnings: Torture, violence, mentions/suggestions of sexual harassment/assault, language, guilty!Bucky, ANGST

A/N:

this sucks. For a rundown, pm me and I'll spare you the details and give you the things you should know

[Series Masterlist]  [Masterlist]

----

You woke up with a dull pain radiating in your head. You tried reaching towards it, but cold harsh metal stopped the movement, pulling a groan from the back of your throat.

"Looks like the Princess is finally up," a familiar voice said just behind your ear. You shuddered, struggling to open your eyes, knowing it was Rumlow. The past night's events slowly came back to you. Bucky had blood on him. Why did he have blood on him? You hoped it was the assassin sent to keep you in line and that Bucky wasn’t hurt.

"Good, she'll do nicely," a new voice joined in, sending a shiver down your spine. Your eyes finally responded to your brain, opening them gingerly to take in your surroundings. The first thing you noticed was how little light there was, and that you were chained up in a metal chair which you saw was screwed to the ground. Then you were flooded with light, making you hiss as your eyes struggled to adjust. You finally were able to look up, you took in the face of your newest captor. You swallowed hard, definitely recognizing the face in front of you. Armin Zola. The man who experimented and tortured Bucky. You felt a snarl grow on your lips, your face showing noticing but pure distaste for the man in front of you. "Ah, you know who I am? Do you know what we'll do to you to get what we want?" You took your chances and spit at his feet, growling up at him. Rumlow laughed behind you, a knife suddenly appearing into your eye line. You tensed, watching their every move.

"You see, it's not all about you, Princess despite ruining our original plan, you still fit perfectly into our new plan. We want the power you hold. One accident and you're suddenly Queen of the South, and even if you're not crowned, that baby inside you is the future ruler of the North. Your Lil ole Brother, and your good fuck buddy Bucky, will both be abdicating their thrones, handing them over to Hydra." The knife came closer and you snarled, baring your teeth at the men as they came closer. Eyes watched you from the shadows, and as the man stepped into the light, you realized it was King Pierce, yet another man you despised.

"It's simple dear Princess. If they refuse, we stab one easy knife into that stomach of yours. Two birds, one knife." You felt your heart drop, your dry throat unable to come up with words to express how much you loathed the men in front of your eyes.

"You're making a mistake," you coughed out, locking eyes with the so-called king in front of you.

The knife flew down, stabbing straight through your palm, making you cry out. You bit your tongue hard, desperate not to show these monsters that they can affect you. You tasted bitter copper as you cut your tongue, holding onto the little self-control you had left. "How so, little princess?" Brock was the one to say it, the words makings you grimace.

It was then that you noticed the small red light of a camera in the shadows. They were recording this. Of course, they are. You thought, these monsters wanted to torture your family into submission. You looked dead into the red light, coughing up a laugh, "You underestimate them."

Pierce gave off an odd-sounding chuckle, like a man who knew he had already won. "What? We underestimating their love for you? That's what we want dear Princess," he nodded to Rumlow, who ran the knife across your collarbones, nicking you slightly with a hiss.

You looked up at the men in front of you, giving off a wicked grin. "No. You underestimate their fury."

-

Meanwhile, up in the mountains, Bucky was pacing around the strategy table in the war room. Aurora paced beside him, whining softly as she sensed his distress. Dark circles under his eyes, hands running through his hair for the millionth time, he looked like an utter mess. Everyone else around the table looked virtually the same.

The first thing he had done the second you were gone was trying to run after you. The shattered glass of the door didn’t do anything as he nor Aurora could fit into the steel spaces left by the door, leaving him to watch as they dragged your unconscious body away. Hydra had covered your scent as well as the raging snowstorm so not even the wolves could find you. He then practically ripped open a new one with the guards. Most sung like canaries and it was long until he had every undercover Hydra agent in a line, bruised and bloody, one already dead when his wrath got the best of him.

He wrung his hands, bruises blooming on his right hand, the hand currently gripping onto the constellation necklace he gave you, the one ripped away from you like you were ripped from him. Now, he and the few people left he trusted, were in the war room. A room left unused in over a year, and one of the only rooms left without your little touch of love. He couldn't stand looking at anything you had done to bring life into the castle, he didn't deserve that love. He only deserved the guilt he felt when he would look at the shattered necklace in his hand and the parchment slip beside it. A broken necklace, his broken promise.

The doors to the room flung open, a beaten-up Sam forgoing formality as Steve walked in, followed by only a few trusted advisors and soldiers. Steve was ready to punch Bucky, but one look at his long-time best friend and he knew he couldn't beat him up, the man was already doing it to himself. He sighed, wordlessly pulling Bucky into his arms, acting like a lifeline to a flailing kite in a tornado.

"We'll get her back, Buck, you know she's strong, she can handle them," he spoke softly as if speaking to a wounded animal. Most of the people around the table were a little uneasy at the sight, their Kings breaking down in front of them, broken, afraid. Lost.

"I broke my promise, Stevie," Bucky's voice sounded hoarse, hours of tears being held back hiding just beneath the surface.

"We'll get her back, both of them back," the blonde replied, holding the brunette closer as both started to cry.

Bucky pulled away slightly, shaking his head as he managed to open his hand, right beside his broken necklace was his broken promise. Steve recognized it immediately, the distinct parchment used for special occasions in the South, the piece of paper Bucky borrowed from Steve specifically when he told him he wanted to officially court you.

"You didn't just break my promise, you broke your courtship promise," Nat suddenly spoke, the pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place.

He nodded, eyes red with tears, cheeks puffy. "’I promise to protect you, love you, and never let anyone harm you. Until the end of the line, until the day my soul no longer exists,’" Steve quoted in a soft voice, the only other person to have seen the writing.

Shuri, who had come in an hour before Steve and was sitting beside her brother, stood, rage in her eyes. "Then let's get her back, she is the strongest woman I know but she cannot survive forever in those Savage's grip," she slammed her hands onto the table, earning the attention of the four Kings around the table. "We need a plan. There are four Kings in this room, why don't you act like it!"

Prince Loki then spoke up, "I have spies in Hydra's Kingdom, they shall report anything to me, especially a kidnapped Princess."

"My forces are closest to the Hydra Borders, they will defend the border and push their men back, as well as join your forces," T'Challa spoke up.

Steve nodded, "This is an act of war against the South, my men are already gathering together to fight. They will be ready by dusk fall tomorrow."

Nat opened her mouth to speak, before Squire Peter ran in. He looked pale, eyes shot, shaking, holding up a flash drive. "This was just found outside the palace gates, right in a spot we could find."

Wanda shot forward, taking the flash drive. On the opposite side was the red symbol of Hydra, making her shudder. "Let's see what they want," she was terrified. The last time the North had seen a flash drive like this, it had came attached with Bucky's arm, a fact not lost by him as he stared the tiny black device down.

He paled as he saw it, pulling himself from Steve's arms. "Play it. Now." His voice cracked, the only emotion visible in the cold face starting to appear once more.

Shaky hands plugged it into a projector, which lit up into the middle of the table, everyone having a front-row seat to what they were doing to you. You sat in some gods-awful metal chair, shivering from the cold, unconscious. Your eyes fluttered, and you reached for your head, only to be stopped by the rusted chains around you. Bucky noticed the dry blood that caked your hair in the exact spot Rumlow had knocked you out, making him start to see red in his vision. Speaking of the dog, his voice rang out just as you groaned softly, "Looks like the Princess is finally up," his face appearing behind yours.

Another voice rang out, "Good, she'll do nicely," and Bucky felt his blood run cold.

"Zola," he mumbled softly, eyes locking onto the image of you in front of him. Steve shuddered beside him, everyone in the room was well aware of what that man has done. Your eyes had finally opened, just for Rumlow to hit the switch behind you, making you hiss as you adjusted to the new light. Once you looked up at the man, you snarled, and Natasha cracked a smile, proud of your courage. "Ah, you know who I am? Do you know what we'll do to you to get what we want?"You spit at his feet, and Bucky felt a sense of pride filled him, that's his girl.

"You see, it's not all about you, Princess despite ruining our original plan, you still fit perfectly into our new plan. We want the power you hold. One accident and you're suddenly Queen of the South, and even if you're not crowned, that baby inside you is the future ruler of the North. Your Lil ole Brother, and your good fuck buddy Bucky, will both be abdicating their thrones, handing them over to Hydra."Both men in question shared a look, letting the realization that they just might actually do it to save you set in. Bucky would do it without hesitation, to him, there was no life worth living without you.

As King Pierce stepped into the camera's view, Bucky's grip on the wooden table tightened, the metal of his hand starting to make the wood creak. His flesh hand gripped the necklace and parchment tighter, feeling his heart fall at the next words spoken. "It's simple dear Princess. If they refuse, we stab one easy knife into that stomach of yours. Two birds, one knife."Shuri looked over towards Bucky, taking note of the fire starting to burn in his eyes. The cold king of the North was looked ready to kill everyone in his path.

As you spoke, Shuri noticed a crack in the King's composure. "You're making a mistake." Steve leaned forward, hanging onto your every word. Wanda visibly paled as they stabbed you, and Natasha could see how hard you were trying to not cry out in pain. Too focused on you, they missed what the men said, only hearing your response. "You underestimate them."

You coughed up blood as you spoke, the trickle of red down your lips made Bucky tense. "What? We underestimating their love for you? That's what we want dear Princess," Steve felt sick, they were using you only as a means to get to them, he visibly winced as you hissed from the next cut on your body.

"No. You underestimate their fury."Your wicked grin made Natasha smile sadly, she knew you'd hold onto whatever you could to save them, and she knew how stubborn you could be when it came to family.

"Let's challenge that," Zola took a step forward, and everyone in the room tensed. The video couldn't be more than a few hours old so whatever they did to you was already done, but they couldn't look away.

Rumlow ran the knife down your side, cutting away the fabric, leaving you in tatters, barely covering your skin. He pressed the knife harder, and you shut your eyes on the screen, visibly shaking as the knife cut into you. This went on for almost twenty minutes, simple cuts and knife jabs, determined to simply tease you and whoever was watching. You bit your tongue, hissing out loud only when Zola stabbed a syringe into your neck. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, as blue liquid dripped out of your nose and eyes and mouth as you passed out. "How long do you think my patience will last before we have our way with the precious princess? Such a shame she's already pregnant, my men would probably love a turn with her," Rumlow knelt, the camera now directly staring into his eyes. "This is only the beginning Barnes. We'll break her, just like we broke you." The screen went black, the room quiet.

The wood splintered around Bucky's hand, shattered as his anger got the best of him. He had a growl building in the back of his throat, deep in his chest. Every knife flick, every word uttered, every second they had you, he felt his fury grow. He knew, without a doubt, he would kill them for even thinking they could touch you.

-

It was a week. At least you think it was a week. Time was hard to tell when you weren't able to move from your cell, which was dark, cramp, damp, and had no windows. They would tie you down and force an IV into you every few days, barley keeping you alive. A bucket in the corner was the only place to relieve yourself, and as the days went on, you started using your own pajamas as bandages for your major wounds. Two stab wounds, multiple cuts, and scrapes, your wounds weren't as terrible as you thought they would be. You knew you had the beginnings of a concussion, having seen similar symptoms in others before, but what worried you was the electric blue liquid they pumped into your veins. It made your veins burn, like a fire coursed through them. It kept you weak and dazed, and to your displeasure, they would pump it into you every other day. Of course, you were bothered by the pain of it, but your instincts only flooded to one thing. Protect. Protect the baby inside you and protect the man they could have grabbed instead. You figured they needed the baby in you to have a claim to the North, so they wouldn't hurt it. But your nutrients were dwindling, everything you had was being sucked up by the life growing in you. You wouldn't be able to fight back soon enough.

As time went on, they tortured you more. One sharp punch to the face and you think you had a black eye. You knew they were recording every time they strapped you to that chair. You only clung to the thought of Bucky one day coming through that door, ending the misery you were in. You clung to your family, your parents who always had the best intentions yet we're a little confused as to how to act upon it. Natasha, Wanda, Sam, even Tony, and Clint. Your brother, who was probably getting ready to fight all of Hydra by himself. And then, Bucky. Your Bucky. That's the thought that made you smile. How angelic he looked in the early morning, hair mused, body calm, peaceful. His giddy smile when you accepted the conch shell from him, you smiling back when you placed it on his desk. His dorky smile when Aurora and Rainecurled up against you one night by the fire. His groans as you tugged on his hair playfully. The charming smile you could see in the mirror as he learned how to braid your hair with the metal hand. Lounging and naming stars with your own goofy nicknames just to hear him laugh. Yeah, you thought. Him. You'd cling onto him. Your own Northern Star.

-

Tags:

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[kimvvantae]

Umbra; 13

➜  being ruled by an ancient commandment, your sole purpose is to serve. you were born to protect the king with your life, tied by an everlasting oath; you are nothing but a shadow, a silent and insignificant being. he appears to you like the sun, the warmest and brightest star in the sky, and gives you a chance to live. it is then that your entire universe starts to orbit around this sun, and you decide that you are truly willing to die for him.

pairing: King!Taehyung x (f) hybrid!reader

genre: royalty au, fantasy, angst  

warnings: descriptions of violence, blood and death that might be triggering.

word count: 9k

➜  Chapters: check up masterlist in bio!

The little boy hugs his own legs.

Another lightning tears the air outside the cabin, making him jump. He tightens the blanket around his chubby body. He hates storms, he always did.

The small cabin he calls home is dark and cold, damp due to the strong rain that falls nonstop. He also hates darkness, but mommy always told him to be strong. Mommy says he's brave, and because of that, he tries not to be scared of being alone. He tries not to be scared of the forest around him, he tries not to be scared of the wild animals that might be hiding and watching him, he tries not to be scared of another thunder that explodes so strongly he feels it in his bones.

“You're a strong wolf,” his mommy would always say.

Mommy isn't home yet.

She said she would come back before dawn, but the sun has disappeared long ago and she still didn't return.

What could have happened? His mommy never stayed away for so long. Sometimes he's left alone, but never until late at night. Mom always comes back to cook dinner and put him to sleep. Why is she taking so long today? Again, the little boy tries to control his nerves. He holds the tiny fang around his neck - a gift his mom gave him, the symbol of his family. A family of wolves. He has to be brave. He has to be strong-

He hears the sound of horseshoes over the storm.

A smile immediately appears on his lips, as well as a sigh of relief. Finally, mommy is back! He gets up from the bed, still holding the blanket tight, and walks over to the door. He hears steps on the mud. He's ready to jump on mommy's arms and hug her-

The door opens.

All the excitement is gone in one second. Instead, a cold shiver of fear takes place.

A tall man stands in front of him. Too tall, too imposing; his sole presence fills the place. He looks around the small cabin with obvious disgust on his eyes, as if he has just entered a sewer. The little boy knows this man. He comes from time to time, talks to mommy and leaves. He never addressed the little boy, but this man always sends significative stares.

As if… inspecting him.

The little boy doesn't know anything about him, but he knows that mommy doesn't like him. She's always uneasy and nervous whenever he comes over. The kid tightens his small fists.

“Where is mommy?” He asks angrily.

The man finally looks down at him, as if noticing the kid for the first time. The little boy shivers again at his piercing gaze. There is no hint of affection or any bright feeling. His eyes are as cold as ice, authoritarian, strong.

The little boy does not understand it yet, but that gaze means contempt.

“Your mother won't come back,” he simply says, his voice deep and resounding.

The little boy freezes in place.

What…?

“You're lying. Mommy said she would come back soon…” he stutters weakly.

“Your mother is dead, kid.” Is all the man says nonchalantly. As if he's explaining something simple. As if he's not making the world crumble under the boy's feet with that sentence.

Instead of immediate sadness, the boy feels anger. It was that man. Mommy never liked him. He must've done something… but he can't believe she's dead. No. She can't be.

“What did you do to mommy?! What did you do?!” the little boy screams and launches himself over the man, fists tight, hitting everything he can find. But he makes little to no damage. The man looks down at him, again, with pure disgust, and simply pushes him back. Although he did not use much strength, the boy falls back easily.

“You need to be educated,” his deep and cold voice crosses the air. He's still calm, impassive. As if the boy is not a big deal, as if he's just a dog that messed up his carpet. “Take him.”

Two more man enter the cabin and drag the boy by his arms. Even though the kid struggles and screams and even tries to bite them, he's still too small and weak. The men just keep carrying him and throw him into an old carriage.

The door is locked.

The boy doesn't know where they are taking him. Panic, despair, anger - everything explodes inside of him all at once. He screams until his throat hurts, he tries to open the door until his fingertips are bleeding, he cries until there are no tears left to cry.

And then, he stops.

The sobbing ceases.

He breathes.

His mother's voice whispers on his ears. You're a strong wolf.

When the doors opens and he is forced to leave, he does it with no complaints. No crying. Not even a word.

His innocence died right there.

He still carries the little fang around his neck.

Blank.

Everything was blank. My mind, my emotions. Blankness is comforting somehow. I didn't see, I didn't hear, I didn't feel. I don't know how long it lasted.

What yanked me out of the blankness was pain.

As my senses slowly came back to me, I soon found out that my entire body was aching; every member felt heavy in a way it has never been. It felt as if someone had crushed all of my bones and cooked my muscles.

Was I punished?, I thought.

Punishments didn't hurt as much as it hurts now, though. No human could put me under so much pain.

No human…

Oh.

Hoseok's face suddenly popped on my mind.

Nothing is above honor. Not even you.

The memories flowed back to me so quickly it gave me a headache. Everything that happened in a short period of time… obsidian soldiers, the rebellion- my mother. Athena's heiress was murdered and a combat has been claimed for the first time in over a decade. Hoseok.

What… what happened after that?

Perhaps I am dead. Perhaps I'm in such pain because I'm being punished in Helheim.

But… does Helheim has such soft mattresses?

I soon noticed that I was laid in the softest thing I've ever been. My mattress felt like a rock compared to this. It even made the pain bearable somehow. Is this what it feels like to lay on a cloud?

Definitely, not my tiny bedroom.

I opened my eyes slowly.

A beautifully decorated ceiling.

A chandelier made of crystals, gold and diamonds.

It took some time to my vision to adjust clearly, and the light still bothered my sensible eyes. I still stared at that ceiling for many moments, being sure I knew this place, but still not remembering well where it was…

One of the palace's sumptuous rooms, I was sure.

No… more than that. This chandelier was too huge, and the ceiling was too high. This was the most luxurious room from the entire palace…

The King's room.

My eyes widened. My heartbeat increased.

Slowly, I looked around, now fully conscious. This was definitely his room. I never realised how the bed was big - five people could sleep comfortably here, I guessed. Why would someone even need a bed this big? Many fluffy cushions surrounded me, and my head was rested in the softest of the pillows. A white blanket covered me. Sunlight filled the entire room, making all the golden decoration gleam. It still bothered my eyes. The place was silent; I could only hear distant voices coming from far corners of the palace, the sound of the wind, and-

And someone's soft breathing right beside me.

I looked to the left.

My heart nearly stopped.

There he was. Sitting on an armchair in a seemingly uncomfortable position; he was sleeping heavily, his hair a mess. He placed the armchair right beside the bed. I was sure his neck would ache when he'd wake up. But still…

He looked beautiful.

Sunlight hit this profile. Every line of his face was fine and elegant. I noticed bags of tiredness under his eyes, the messy clothes. I have never seen him look so messy in my life - at least not when he was being Vante. King Taehyung is always well composed.

For some strange reason, I felt tears on my eyes.

It was hard to believe he was actually right there; was it an hallucination? I was sure not long passed since the attack, however being away from him hurt me. I remembered that I wondered if I would ever see him again during the combat, when I thought I was about to die. I thought of him. I remembered his thunderous voice…

However touches her will die!

It just seemed too good to be true…

However, more memories came back to me.

My child, he seduced you.

He's just using you. What will you be? His secret prostitute?

A part of me did not like this idea, but I had to be rational. And this sane part took the best of me.

I tried to sit up, but my members still felt too heavy and every move seemed to ache even more. I lifted myself on my elbows very slowly, my face a painful scowl. Have I ever been this injured before? I didn't remember one time that I couldn't get up, not even when they punished me for days and nights. If I couldn't even walk, how was I going to leave? Sitting up in that moment felt like a difficult exercise. Unconsciously, I let a painful grunt pass my lips.

I forgot how Taehyung wakes up easily.

He immediately opened his eyes and looked around, confused. I honestly panicked. I knew that, in the moment our eyes met, I would lose all my will to leave.

That's exactly what happened.

When Taehyung's eyes finally focused on me, he looked surprised and gasped. In one second he was already up on his feet and hurried towards me. “Hey, hey! Don't try to get up yet! You're too injured!”

His hand rested on my back to give me some support; with this simple contact, I felt my body heating up.

I missed his touch.

I missed his smell.

I missed the sight of those dark strands of hair falling over his eyes.

I missed everything about him.

I watched in silence as Taehyung did his best to put me on a comfortable position, adjusting pillows and cushions. It even took me some moments to realize I had bandages all over my arms and my stomach.

“Does it hurt too much?” He asked. God, I missed his deep, velvety voice - which was shadowed by concern at the moment. My throat was too dry, so I just nodded instead of speaking. Taehyung quickly took a glass bottle of a strange blue liquid that I recognized as a potion and poured a little of it on a glass. “Here. It will ease the pain.”

I didn't have enough strength to even take the glass; Taehyung placed it on my lips gently instead, his other hand rested on the back of my neck. Surprisingly, the potion had a sweet taste. I couldn't tell exactly what it tasted like, but it almost felt like a juice and not a potion.

I closed my eyes and rested my head on the pillow again. I could hear Taehyung moving around me. He placed his hand on my forehead for some moments, what made me look at him again.

“You had fever all those nights,” he explained quietly. Everything about his expression and body language told me how tense and concerned he was. “A high fever. But it seems that your temperature is normal now.”

“How many… days?” I managed to ask in a raspy and weak voice. I noticed Taehyung shivering for a moment.

“You've been unconscious for five days.”

Five days since the combat? It never happened to me before. How many things might have happened during these five days?

“Hey.” Taehyung caught my attention again. “Don't think too much right now, okay? Just focus on healing.”

“I'm… not,” again, my voice sounded annoyingly weak. He chuckled lightly.

“Yes, you are. I can see your brain fuming. Right now you should just rest. Nothing else is important.”

I wanted to argue, but I wasn't strong enough to come up with an argument. Instead, I just laid there and watched as Taehyung proceeded to examine me. I have never seen him look so concerned, but Taehyung was still trying to keep a composed demeanor. He couldn't pretend in front of me anymore, though. His aura was a troubling mess.

At the same time, he was deeply relieved.

The potion made me sleep again at some point, and when I woke up again, my body didn't ache as much - of course, the pain didn't go away, but it was more bearable now.

Taehyung was still sitting by my side. He had a serious expression, reading what I supposed to be a letter.

“Another week has passed?” I questioned, surprising Taehyung. The way his face lit up when he looked at me made my heart flutter. He smiled - I missed that smile so much - and placed the letter on the nightstand. “No, just two hours.”

“What is this?” I asked, but Taehyung shook his head slightly. He was already standing by my side.

“It doesn't matter right now. How do you feel?”

“Bad, but better than before.” He was touching my forehead again. And my cheek. And my neck. I knew he was just checking my temperature, but it still made me flustered.

“Your temperature is okay.” He murmured, sounding relieved. Taehyung took many pillows and cushions, placing them behind me, until I could rest my back and still be in a sitting position, and then proceeded to examine me all over again.

Now that I was more conscious, the fact that he had to touch me so much made me even more flustered, as stupid as it sounds.

Once again, I asked myself if Taehyung was a telepath, because I desperately needed to pee (what was embarrassing to ask him) but before I could say anything, he called some maids that helped me to walk to the bathroom. I asked myself how did they deal with my body fluids while I was unconscious, what (once again) made me embarrassed. When they brought me back to bed, there was already a plate full of soup waiting for me on a tray. The idea of having something in my stomach was very unpleasant.

“Don't make this face. You need to eat,” the telepath King said.

“I'm not hungry.”

“Sorry, I'm not hearing. Open your mouth.” And then he was holding a spoonful of soup in front of my face.

“I-I'm not a kid, I can eat by myself…”

“Open your mouth.”

He had that annoying stubborn face. That adorable face. Feeling completely flustered, I opened my mouth. The soup wasn't bad - it was the best soup I have ever tasted, to be honest, what made me think the “soups” I used to eat were nothing but boiled water with some vegetables on it. This soup even had chicken, though. I wasn't used to eat meat at all.

“I still can eat by myself.” I murmured again.

“I'm just making sure you'll eat all this,” he stubbornly said and proceeded to blow a spoonful of soup. I couldn't help but stare at his lips.

He kissed me.

This memory made me reach the peak of embarrassment. I just ate the rest of soup in silence.

The soup actually made me feel better, my thoughts getting clearer. Taehyung put the tray aside and started to examine me again, and at this point I was sure he was just being paranoid.

“I'm fine,” I reassured him.

“You're not,” he simply said.

“Well, I feel fine.” I gazed at him again. “You don't look fine.”

“I'm not important at the moment.”

“You are.” I whispered, but he still didn't stop. “Taehyung,” I called, touching his arm.

This made him stop and look at me. His nervousness and worry was obvious, so intense he was shivering slightly. Taehyung gulped and blinked, some sort of astonishment covering his features, as if he just realized he was actually talking to me.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered weakly. That fragile side of him he didn't show in front of anyone but me. Slowly, he sat down on the armchair again. “It's just that… I didn't know if you would survive. I was… I don't know…”

Kim Taehyung out of words is something rare. He looked tired, drained. I tried to open a comforting smile. “Do you really think I would die so easily? I'm tough, remember?”

Taehyung opened the smallest of the smiles. “You're doing it.”

“What?”

“Trying to take care of me. It's the opposite now, okay? I'm taking care of you.”

It was a strange concept. I was always taking care of him, not the opposite… that's why his words made my heart beat fast. I wasn't used to have anyone taking care of me, both because no one cared and because I was too proud sometimes to ask help for Yoongi or Chuu.

I didn't care that Taehyung was taking care of me, though.

What made me remember of other facts…

“Why am I in your room?” I asked, shifting uncomfortably.

Taehyung frowned. “What's the problem?”

“There are many rooms in this castle. And…” I gulped. “Wouldn't it be strange of a married King to keep a woman in his room?”

Taehyung frowned even more. “What? I'm not married.”

Oh.

“That's what Gilliard told me. He said that the wedding couldn't be delayed…”

“Gilliard,” Taehyung huffed and pronounced the Counselor's name as if it had a horrible taste on his tongue. “He lied, obviously. How could I have a wedding after all that happened? The Capital was a mess, it still is, to be honest. And you disappeared. I had to search for you.”

Just as I suspected - Taehyung would never allow a combat under such circumstances. And how he mentioned my disappearing as if it was just as important as the attack…

“Where were you, Y/N?” He asked quietly, leaning in my direction slightly. His dark eyes were shadowed with concern and fear. “We searched for you through the whole kingdom, I even sent people to check on Niflheim, but we still had no sign of you. When I stopped feeling you through the Royal Ring I-”

Taehyung interrupted himself in the middle of his sentence and gulped. I knew what he was going to say.

I thought you had died.

Because the only way to break the connection between the Royal Ring and the medallion is if one of the two is dead.

However, what surprised me was Taehyung's expression of pure fear.

I have seen him showing many emotions, but nothing came close to this. He avoided my gaze, ruffled his hair. The King suddenly looked small and helpless in front of me, fragile like a little bird with a broken wing. Kim Taehyung, the man that never kept his head down to anyone, the man that was a symbol of power and confidence.

He seemed about to cry.

All that because he thought I had died.

It made my head spin, my heart beat fast and feel tight at the same time, my body feel hot. I wanted to hug him just to remind him that I was right there, I was safe. I wanted to promise him I would never disappear like that again. I almost told him everything - my whereabouts, the things I discovered-

But Ehemerald's voice whispered in my mind again.

He's just using you.

That's what he wanted, don't you see? He made you fall for him to keep you loyal.

I could not ignore her words.

As much as I hated it, as much as I wanted to deny it, Taehyung was always suspicious. After all that happened, I couldn't let my guard down so easily. It wasn't just about us; it was about all the injustice, it was about my ancestors, it was about a war just waiting to explode.

She was right about something. Taehyung had my heart. He had me around his finger, he had since the very beginning. But it was time to be rational and ignore my feelings right now.

I couldn't give my heart to a man that might be my worst enemy. He had to prove me that he deserved it; he had to prove that I didn't defend him against my own people in vain. So, instead of doing what I wanted, I did what needed to be done.

I knew the truth of the world now. Taehyung didn't know I discovered the whole truth, though. I used it in my advantage.

“Taehyung,” again, after hearing me calling his name, he seemed deeply impacted. But he noticed how my voice changed, and it made him straighten his posture. “Do you remember the promise you made? That you would tell me everything?”

He nodded. “Of course I do.”

My eyes locked with his again. “It's time for you to keep the promise.”

Taehyung looked surprised and confused.

The truth. That was all I needed to hear. If Taehyung told me the same thing Ehmerald did, the exact same facts, then I would know he wasn't a liar, that he wasn't bad. If he said anything but the truth…

Please don't.

“Why do you want me to do it now? You're not in good conditions-”

“Why not now? We finally met, we're finally alone. You promised me. I can't wait anymore.”

Please, tell me the truth. Don't lie to me.

Taehyung gulped. He ruffled his hair again, seemed hesitant for some moments.

But then he nodded, placed his elbows over his legs, and took a deep breath.

Prove it to me.

“You're right. As always,” he chuckled humorlessly. “I should have told you everything earlier. I'm sorry that I took so long, it was a mistake of mine.”

Please.

“I don't even know where to begin… Y/N, this involves not only you, not only me, but the whole world. Everything we learn since we're kids. It's something that dynasties have been trying to hide from the population for millennia.”

I almost couldn't breathe.

“All you know about the past is a lie.”

And then, he proceeded to tell me.

He said about the Council, about the four races. He explained to me how the world lived in peace, how elves weren't gods as we were indoctrinated to believe, that dragons weren't evil. He explained about Merlin and Opal, about dragon hybrids, about the fall of the Council and the genocide. He told me about the First War of the Clans, the division of the Five Great Kingdoms, the way rulers of the past distorted the entire history and made the world believe in lies.

Taehyung told me exactly the same story as Ehmerald.

I just listened, imobile, speechless.

“Even when the Second War of the Clans happened and the Kim House, my family, put an end to the Brzenski Dynasty, they chose to keep the truth hidden,” he kept explaining, voice quiet but serious. “Every dynasty decided to do the same. It is such a secret that only royals from the highest branches of the family know about it. The others are ignorant.”

I took a deep breath. My hands were shaking slightly.

“How long… how long do you know about it?” I asked in a weak voice, what Taehyung probably thought was shock.

“I was only supposed to find out after my coronation ceremony,” he said. “It happens when every King and Queen from the Five Kingdoms is crowned. Another secret ceremony happens, only a few members of the council and high royals present, where the facts are told. Then, they must swear to protect this secret with their lives. There is a book… it is called the Book of Merlin, where they have to sign their names with their own blood to settle the oath. This book has hundreds of names signed, King after King and Queen after Queen, from all the Kingdoms.” Taehyung chuckled humorlessly. He sounded bitter. “The only thing the Five Kingdoms keep in common is protecting a terrible lie.”

I had to take some moments before speaking again. “You said you were supposed to find out about it after the crowning. Did you already know…?”

He nodded. “Yes. As I told you, I made a deal with my father and he let me travel the world. That's how I met Petrus, and after I became his apprentice, he told me the truth. This is also why he decided to leave the Royal Mages and break any bond he had with governments. He was horrified. This is why he joined a rebellion as well.”

Again, I felt as if the air was knocked out of my lungs. The rebellion.

“What rebellion?” I was once more taking advantage of his ignorance. What Taehyung's opinion about the rebellion was?

Taehyung straightened his posture. “This rebellion… I think that calling them resistance is more suitable. They started as a group of hybrids that knew about the facts of the past, passing the story from generation to generation. It was - still is - very dangerous because the royal houses hunt the people that spread it. They wanted the whole world to know the truth at first, but as the group got stronger, they started to wish for more. Their goals are to reestablish the Ancient Council and to free all the hybrids. And, to do so… they expect to reunite the Four Races again, or at least what remains of them.”

Taehyung looked at me deeply.

“And that's when you become important.”

I shivered.

Taehyung knew everything.

“As I already said, the Ancient Council had the dragons as members. The rebellion wants to reestablish it the way it used to be, and the only race that remained are dragon hybrids. The dragon chosen used to be the strongest of all… you are this person, Y/N.”

I shivered again.

“Me?” I whispered. Taehyung nodded. He was trying to be delicate at the moment, choosing his words carefully. “H-How long do you know about me?”

Taehyung hesitated before speaking again.

“Around three years ago, the rebellion received the information that a female dragon born during a Red Moon existed. I didn't know it was an important information back then, but then I remembered… I remembered of the ghost princess Seokjin told me about. I remembered of seeing a little girl following my father when I was a kid. I connected the dots and things started to make sense.

“I came back to the palace for some time in order to gather more information. I found out that, yes, the royalty knew about the rebellion very well, and they were worried because they were spreading the story throughout Ëlv'en and the continent. The royals also knew about their intentions of doing a coup d'etat and reuniting the Council again. In fact, they knew about it for some decades… they were always very aware of the dragon hybrids at Niflheim, searching for someone that could be possibly stronger and become the rebellion's leader.”

Taehyung avoided my gaze.

He looked ashamed.

“They knew that a female dragon born during a Red Moon existed. But, instead if getting rid of her… of you… my father had other idea. When you got older enough, Taejun sacrificed his old guardian and chose you as the next one.”

I felt as if someone had just buried a dagger in my heart.

“Why?” My voice was barely a whisper.

Once again, Taehyung hesitated before speaking. “Because he wanted to keep an eye on you. He wanted to make sure you wouldn't represent any danger. He also wanted to make other Kingdoms fear him, because he had the strongest of the dragons with him.”

My fingers tightened around the blanket so much that the knots of my fingers got white. I gathered all of my will not to start crying right there.

They have been using me in deeper ways than I have ever imagined…

It meant that Taejun really never cared about me. Not that it should be a surprise after all, but still - I had lived my whole life with him and for him, putting myself in danger without hesitance, considering him my sun. However, Taejun… I was nothing but his toy. His trophy.

“I also discovered that many counselors and other royals were against his decision. They thought you were too dangerous.” More things made sense now… flashes of the past. Gilliard's voice echoed in my mind: “I always kept your reins very tight, Y/N, but I knew that it wouldn't be enough. I tried to warn Taejun many times. We had so many chances to get rid of you, but he never listened. His stubbornness was what led him to his death after all.”

They wanted to kill me so bad that Gilliard was about to begin a war between Athena and Ëlv'en, just so I couldn't be what the rebellion expected me to be.

“There are more important things to protect than Ëlv'en's supremacy.” That's what Gilliard said.

Taehyung watched me in silence, waiting for my reaction. I honestly didn't know what to say or do. I was just trying not to cry like a kid.

“A-And why did you chose me that day?” My voice was shaking. I hated it. “D-Did you want to keep me submissive, too?”

He widened his eyes, but didn't seem offended. He just looked sad and ashamed.

“I did it that day because I knew how important you are, what you represent, and because I knew that the counselors and the royal family wanted nothing more but to see you dead. They finally had an excuse since my father died. I couldn't let that happen.”

“Why?”

“Because I agree with the rebellion.”

This made me shocked.

I stared at him in silence, mouth ajar.

“But, Taehyung… they want you dead.”

He was looking at his own hands.

“I know.” He said, nodding. “They are aggressive and full of anger. But they have all the rights to be. My family, they… the Kim Dynasty let a trail of blood wherever they went to. How many people died because of us? I just think it's time for it to end.”

I was even more shocked.

For the first time, I finally realized what was that tiredness over Taehyung's shoulders all the time, that rooted sadness, that strange hue of deep blue on his aura.

Taehyung felt guilt for everything his family did.

He has been feeling guilty for years.

He felt the responsibility for the discrimination and misery the hybrids went through, he felt the weight of all those deaths as if he did it himself, as if his hands were dirty with blood.

He was just… tired.

“Taehyung, you can't-”

“Let's not focus on me right now,” he interrupted me, waving his hand dismissively. “I already said, I'm not important at the moment.” He sighed. “Since I had no choice but taking the throne, I decided to do something useful. I have been trying to at least make up for some of the mistakes my family made. And this begins with you.” Taehyung looked at me again. He seemed more drained than ever. “I'll be honest, when I first met you that day at the dungeons, I was horrified. When you said you “didn't intend to avoid your fate”... I swear, I wanted to resurrect my father just to break all his bones. And it just got worse as we spent more time together. You were always so quiet and submissive and…” Taehyung swiped his hand over his face. “God, what did they do to you?”

I felt my eyes filling with tears again; there was a strange mix of sadness and shame inside of me.

“My initial plan of telling you the whole truth couldn't be accomplished. Look, I know I sound very manipulative right now. I also used you somehow and for this I apologize. I hid many things from you.” He did look ashamed. “But I just couldn't tell you everything, because you would never believe me or agree with me, not when you thought so little of yourself.”

Taehyung was right. The “me” from months before would never consider any of this; it was still hard for me to associate everything after all, it was still hard for me to not see myself in a depreciative way and I knew it would take some time until I was completely free from all the old misconceptions. I've been taught like that my whole life, things so deeply rooted don't change so easily. I had made much progress, though.

“So… this is why you've been so kind to me since the first day?” I questioned. Now, I was the one avoiding his gaze.

“I've been kind to you since the first day because that's how everyone deserves to be treated, Y/N.” Taehyung gulped. “Being honest, I was scared when I saw you being so grateful when I did the bare minimum to you. I was just treating you like a person… like that day, when you burned your arm with the cursed rock. How could I not take care of that? You looked so amazed. And all those times when I thanked you or apologized…” Guilt was almost visible around him. “I felt so sad. I still feel. You are so powerful, Y/N. I can feel your power from kilometers of distance. Yet, my father made you believe that you're not worthy of anything good.” He shook his head slightly. “I think that nothing that I do will ever be able to make up for what he did to you. That day when I told you about the work policy and I showed you that you would have a salary? I have never felt so stupid. No amount of money in this world will be able to compensate what they did to you.”

My heart was beating fast again, but this time I didn't know why. So many mixed emotions… how he was being considerate of me, all the sadness and the anger. I was getting dizzy.

“Little by little, I saw that you were beginning to change. I already noticed how you became different after the first time we visited a hybrid village. That's why I took you to more and more, both because I needed information about the rebellion and because, maybe if you started to sympathize with the hybrids, maybe if you could understand about your own strength… you could someday agree in reestablishing the Ancient Council.”

“But what about the cursed rock? It was all an excuse?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “It was real. At first, I thought that they were trying to kill me, but then it became obvious that they were aiming you. I had to keep you around all the time. I know it sounds stupid, because I'm not even close to be as strong as you are, but I was trying to protect you from them. If you were in my company all the time, they would not hurt you.”

This made me remember something… that night, when Taehyung had a dinner with Princess Sana and I felt so sad that I couldn't watch anymore. I ran to my room and blocked our connection for the first time. Then, Taehyung showed up on my door looking sweaty and desperate…

Please, don't do that again. I was concerned, he said.

Taehyung thought something bad happened to me that night.

My eyebrows frowned. “They who?”

He crossed his arms. “Who else could it be? Gilliard, other high ranked counselors and royals. They've been wanting to kill you for years, and they also hated me on top of that for all I've been doing. I knew they would want to get rid of me someday, too. They were also who cursed my father with that disease.” I widened my eyes.

“King Taejun was really murdered? Why?”

Taehyung frowned. “That's one of the few things I still don't know. Apparently, Taejun disagreed with them about something, and then they decided he wasn't useful anymore. That's what they do with the people that go against them.”

“And where are they now? Isn't it dangerous to have these people around?” I asked, concerned.

“They're all locked in the dungeons.” He said casually, making me shocked.

“What- how did you do that? You can't arrest people unreasonably.”

“It wasn't unreasonably. They disobeyed an immediate order of mine, that was forbidding the combat to happen. It is against the law. I reunited proof enough about their involvement, so all of the were arrested… this is around 90% of the Council and some relatives of mine.”

That devilish satisfaction of him was somehow scary.

Some moments of deep silence hovered above us. I was staring at my own hands, feeling small and fragile, and Taehyung looked at me with hesitance. I could feel how tense he was.

“This is all I know.” He said quietly. “I still don't know why Petrus was murdered, though. I also don't know who the shapeshifter that has been watching us is.” I saw him scratching the nape of his neck uncomfortably. “I'm sorry for keeping the truth from you for so long. You were angry with me the other night and you were right. I already said… I'm not exactly a good person.” He looked down at his lap, his shoulders falling sadly. His next sentence was almost a shy whisper: “Deep down, I think… I think that I hid all that from you for so long because I was scared that you would hate me.”

I couldn't hate you not even if I wanted, I thought, but my mouth kept shut. I felt as if the walls were getting smaller suddenly, my throat tightening painfully.

More silence.

“Please, say something,” he pleaded, shifting on the chair. He sounded and looked out of place. “Even if you want to curse me and beat me up, please do. Anything is better than this silence.”

That strange feeling in my throat got worse, my vision got blurry. I'm about to cry in front of him, I realized in panic - and I also realized that I couldn't hold back the tears anymore.

I hid my face behind my hands and sobbed.

After the first tear trickled down my cheek, more and more came, and more sobs, and then I was shivering and crying desperately. Not only my body ached at the moment, but also my soul. I've never felt so hurt, small and fragile as in that moment.

I felt Taehyung's arms wrapping around me softly.

I could tell he was hesitant - he wanted to console me, but wasn't sure if I wanted to be consoled by him. However, when I rested my head on his chest almost instinctively, Taehyung understood it as a “permission”. He sat by my side on the bed, pulling me closer to him and hugging me delicately, being careful not to squeeze my injuries. His chin came to rest at the top of my head.

And Taehyung just kept silent the whole time.

No one ever saw me crying like that, and the fact that he was the person witnessing my weakness made me embarrassed to the core - but I had just reached a point where all my emotions boiled and exploded all at once. I didn't even know exactly why I was crying. All those feelings were like a giant rock crushing me.

I've been used my entire life, ever since I was born. I've been humiliated, punished, injured, treated like something less than an animal, like I was barely a maggot or worse. The one I almost sacrificed my life for was never considerate of me. Not only me, but everyone that came before me were treated the same way and died without knowing how much more they could have been. I was also crying because of the hybrids, because I found out my mother was alive, because an invisible weight was thrown over my shoulders suddenly - the weight of responsibility, for everyone expected me to be some type of leader; even Taehyung did. And I was also crying because Taehyung told me the truth, he wasn't the bad person Ehmerald suspected, and because I have missed him so much and it still felt unreal that he was there hugging me in that moment.

It all felt unreal and overwhelmingly real at the same time.

“I-I killed my own f-father,” I stuttered between the sobs, needing to let at least someone know.

I noticed Taehyung's surprise. “What?”

“Jaejoong was my f-father. I fought against him in a combat years ago,” I leaned away slightly so I could wipe the tears away with my fists. “D-Deep down, I always thought something was wrong. How c-could a trained dragon lose to a kid?” I tried to gulp, but the sobs wouldn't go away. “I think he knew I was his daughter. I think… I think he let me win.”

Taehyung looked completely shocked and confused. He clearly didn't know who Jaejoong was and how I discovered he was my father, but I knew my words affected him. He pushed me against his chest again, hugging me a little tighter now.

“I'm so sorry,” he whispered. When I felt his lips kissing the top of my head, my body got warm. “I wish we would have met earlier, Y/N. If I could go back in time, I would have tried to change things. I would have gone after you earlier. I'm so sorry.” His voice sounded weak and terribly sad.

“Why are you apologizing? None of it was your fault.” I tried to convince him.

“But… I feel responsible. All the things my father did to you-”

“You're not your father,” I interrupted. “King Taejun was never even close to be the man you are. You're the only person that shouldn't feel guilty about what happened in my life.”

Silence hovered above us again.

When Taehyung spoke again, his voice was fragile, featherlight.

“I said I was scared that you would hate me, but now that you know the truth… I wish you would hate me.” He gulped. “I wish you would scream at me and say you don't want to see me anymore. I wish you would throw all your anger over me. I am still a Kim after all. I hate the blood that rushes through my veins. I just wish you would hate it, too…”

What he said alarmed me. Did… did Taehyung actually hate himself?

The best person I've ever know hated himself?

“You're being irrational,” I said softly and freed myself from his grip, sitting straight so I could look at him in the eye. I sniffled and wiped my cheeks again. The bags beneath his eyes were really dark. He had been awake for so many hours? “Look… the reason that kept me accepting all that suffering in silence was because I thought I had a debt with the world. I was taught that my ancestors were murderers, I thought that I deserved to suffer because I was one of them. Now I know that that's not true, but… even if it was true, it would still be not my fault. Now I understand. I never did anything wrong to deserve any of what happened to me, even though it's still my race. It is the same with you, Taehyung.” He looked surprised. “You're thinking the same way I used to think, and this is wrong. The Kim Dynasty did many horrible things, that's right, but you didn't take part in any of it. Your family doesn't define you. The fact that you even feel guilty just proves what I'm trying to say; you're good, you're different from them. You don't deserve any hate, Taehyung.”

Taehyung stared at me in shock. He seemed about to say something, but closed his mouth again.

He was looking at me the way he always did, as if he was amazed. I was sure no one had ever looked at me the way he did.

Taehyung raised his hand and put a strand of hair behind my ear. The delicate touch of his fingers made my cheeks flush.

“How can you still be this good after everything you went through?” He asked quietly. “I don't understand. If I were in your place, I… I don't know what I would have done.”

I shrugged (and regretted, because my shoulders ached). “I think I'm just tired of doing nothing at all. I'm trying to be useful.” I said as his hand dropped. “And I didn't finish yet. Taehyung, you are the best King this kingdom has ever saw. The rebellion just wants you dead because they don't know you yet. You deserve Ëlv'en's crown. I already said, you're nothing like your father. When the rebellion realize it, they will change their minds. Many people already changed their minds because of your actions; it's not as if you don't have hybrid's support.”

“They won't listen to me, Y/N,” Taehyung sighed tiredly. “They knew me as Vante, the kind human, but even if I revealed to be who I really am back then, they would have killed me in the blink of an eye. Centuries of repressed hatred aren't forgotten so easily.”

“But they will listen to me.” I exclaimed, remembering how they seemed amazed by me and respected me. Rubra said I could end the war before it even started, and maybe I knew how; I could be the bridge between Taehyung and the rebellion. “We'll find a way out.”

He frowned. “How are you so sure about it?”

For a moment, I forgot that Taehyung didn't know that I've been in Baïkarh and met the rebellion. Instead of explaining, I just opened a small smile. “Just trust me.”

A smile appeared on his lips, too. “You're doing it again.”

“What?”

“Trying to take care of me.”

I shrugged again (and regretted again). “I can't kill old habits.”

He chuckled. Strangely, after crying so much, I felt the invisible weight easing a little; I was light again. It seems that I needed to let it all out for a moment. Being strong all the time hurts.

“What are you going to do now?” I asked after some moments. “We're still not sure of who conjured those obsidian soldiers, and we don't know who the shapeshifter is. I'm sure that King Hugo isn't happy at the moment… and Vanaheim's Council must be impatient, I think they don't want your wedding to be delayed anymore-”

“There won't be wedding.”

I froze.

“W-What?” I stuttered.

Taehyung rested the weight of his body on his hands. His beauty annoyed me. He stared at nothing in particular. “There won't be wedding.” He repeated louder.

My fingertips were trembling, so I gripped the sheets to pretend I wasn't so affected. “But- what about the accord to unite the kingdoms? What about King Satoshi? What about Princess Sana?”

I was just pretending to be rational at the moment, because inside of me I felt as if fireworks were exploding and I wanted to laugh the most maniac laughter the world has ever heard.

Taehyung sighed.

“Me and Sana decided this together. We talked a lot. We're both tired of people trying to control us.” He opened a small smile. “Sana will be a wonderful Queen. She doesn't need anyone by her side… I just hope her father will understand this.”

He went silent, but I knew he hadn't finished yet. So I just stared at him, waiting until he would speak again, trying to hide how happy I was.

When he pushed his hair back, I honestly felt that the air was knocked out of my lungs.

“For a long time, I… I really thought I could do it,” his voice was calmer, sweet like honey and smooth like silk. He wasn't looking at me. “I found out I would have to marry Sana when I was fifteen. All those years, I've been making my mind about it. I thought it wouldn't be difficult. Royal marriages don't involve feelings; my parents never loved each other, and most married royals don't as well. Sana is also an easy person to live with. Until some time ago, I still thought I would be able to do it.”

Taehyung tilted his head slightly and finally looked up at me.

Those dark, beautiful eyes seemed to be seeing the very core of my soul.

“But falling for you wasn't in my plans.”

His words made me confused for some seconds.

Then, I understood.

And I couldn't breathe anymore.

“I- What-” was all I could stupidly stutter.

He smiled - the most sincere smile I ever saw, the smile that seemed to be lightening up the whole world.

“I thought it was obvious by now.”

My lungs really seemed to be failing. I didn't know what to do, I didn't know what to say, I felt as if my soul had disconnected with my body and I was somewhere just watching that scene instead of living it. It didn't feel real.

I gulped and held the sheets even tighter.

“D-Does it mean you like me?” I stuttered again, because it seems that my whole body was malfunctioning. “That type of “like”?”

Taehyung laughed joyfully and leaned his body towards me, searching for my eyes as I avoided his.

“It's a little bit more than just liking you, Y/N,” he said, still smiling, holding my face with both hands. My heart seemed about to explode as he came closer and closer, and my body was stiff and tense because I knew he was going to do it again and I couldn't help but feel nervous and close my eyes tightly and-

When he kissed me, I forgot about anything else.

The tension was gone the moment his lips touched mine, my whole body relaxed. It was different from the first time. It wasn't rushed nor desperate. Taehyung was more delicate than he has ever been, as if scared to break me. Our lips moved slowly, his more confident than mine (I still didn't really know what I was doing after all), until I felt brave enough to place my hands on his neck. His lips tasted like him and everything around me smelled like him and even though my eyes were closed I could only see him and his existence was embracing me and filling me and completing me.

Him, him, him.

Taehyung was all that mattered.

In that exact moment, when we were both broken and fragile and full of scars, when Taehyung showed me his most sensible side, I gave him my heart.

I knew he was a human and I was a dragon. I knew I would live much more than him. I knew that, when Taehyung would be on his elderly years, I would still be very young... his life would pass by my eyes way too fast. Yet, I decided to give him my heart anyway; I would spend my days with him as much as the Universe would let me, I would cherish his life, I would want to be with him to see every smile of his and to wipe away every tear, to help him heal any scar, to be on the happiest moments and on the saddest ones.

I would be with him until his last breath and I would love him until my last breath.

He broke the kiss, but still kept his head very close to mine, analyzing my features. His eyes were so beautifully, overwhelmingly piercing. I felt exposed whenever he looked at me like that, but not in a bad way…

My fingers were still trembling. “I-”

He pecked my lips.

I stared at him with wide eyes. “Why-”

He pecked my lips again.

This time, I frowned. “Won't you let me spe-”

He pecked my lips again. And again, and again, and again, until he was laughing as I tried to push him but not really wanting him to stop.

“Taehyung!” I exclaimed. He tilted his head to the side, smirking in a playful way that made him look the age he actually was.

“If you call my name like that, I won't want to stop.”

I was sure he laughed because I was blushing furiously. “Y-You're always trying to make me flustered, right?”

“Of course. Teasing you is the funniest thing in the world. Both because you look cute when you're shy and you look hot when you're mad at me.”

His last sentence almost made me explode. I had a faint idea of what calling someone “hot” meant. Taehyung laughed at the top of his lungs before putting his arms around me and falling back on bed, making me lay my head atop his chest, what surprised me.

“What are you doing?” I made the stupid question. He sighed deeply, however, now he sounded happy.

“I think we both need to sleep a little bit,” he said. “Pretend we're normal people for a little bit.”

He repeated the sentence he used to tell me when we were traveling, what made me smile. At least, inside his giant bedroom, we could be normal people. We were just… me and him.

Being on his arms like that, resting my head on his chest felt even more comfortable than his soft mattress alone. I remembered that for a long time, I wanted nothing more but be on his company; I just wanted him to look at me or address me. Being like that felt like a dream.

“I will call Yoongi and Chuu to see you later,” Taehyung said, voice deep. I could hear the sleepiness on his voice. “They were very worried.”

“Did you meet Yoongi?” I looked up at him. Taehyung nodded.

“Of course. I thought that your friends might've known where you were. He is a good person. They helped me a lot.”

I nodded and rested my head on his chest again.

Another memory made me widen my eyes.

“What about Hoseok?” I asked myself, concerned. Hoseok disobeyed the King, what was considered high treason. The punishment was death…

“He's here at the palace,” I looked up at him again, surprised that Taehyung even knew who I was talking about. “He asked me to come along. I didn't want to at first… he was the person that put you in this state after all. But I understood the situation. Here he could have some safety.”

As I rested my head on his chest again, I noticed how his voice and expression changed as he talked about Hoseok. Then, I remembered that Taehyung knew that Hoseok was part of my “deal”...

“Are you jealous?” I asked.

Taehyung gasped.

“No.” He was lying.

I bit my bottom lip to hold back a smile. “I was jealous of you with Princess Sana, you know. All the time.”

He gasped again.

“I’m sorry. I never looked at her this way.” I just smiled. Teasing him was funny, too.

“It's alright, Taehyung.”

“Ah, I really like to hear you saying my name,” he sighed. “Can you promise me you'll never call me by “Your Majesty” again? I really hate that.”

“I promise. Taehyung.” I said, giggling. He seemed very satisfied.

Many minutes passed in a peaceful silence. Although I had been asleep for so long, I still felt tired. My eyelids slowly became heavy…

But I remembered another thing.

“You came flying in Alpha,” I said, seeing that incredible scene in my head again.

“Yes,” his voice sounded sleepy.

“How was it?”

“Horrifying,” he admitted, making us both giggle. “ I've never been so scared in my life.”

He went quiet for some time.

“No… the idea of losing you was much more scary than any height.”

He confessed before finally falling asleep.

For some reason, tears were streaming down my cheeks again… due to happiness this time.

Taehyung was there with me.

It was real. We were real.

He was mine.

The deep waters of the Styx River were gleaming in front him.

The man stood there, watching the river flow endlessly in the cold night, the only sounds he could hear were of the wind, the water, and crickets singing around him. He could not even fathom how deep these waters were. The river crossed the whole continent, beginning in the Niflheim mountains and ending in the ocean at Vanaheim. The river that gave life to ancient civilizations, the magic waters capable of enchanting steel until it became almost indestructible. The Cursed River, legends say. It is at West, opposite from the Baïkarh forest at East; dishonored opposed to honored; damned and holy, the entrance to Helheim and the entrance to Alfheim.

What people should be aware of, though, is that many legends are real.

The man lifted his hands and started to chant a song in an unknown language.

All crickets went silent all at once.

Small animals on the riverfront started to run away.

Something started to happen in the water. The man kept chanting, his voice loud and full of intent. He could not fathom the deepness of the river, but he knew what was below it, he knew what laid deeper than it.

It was time to finally finish it all.

He still carried the little fang around his neck.

[hood-ex]

Fear Gas/Injury

Written for Dick and Dami Week 2019

Read on AO3

Dick tried to be prepared for most situations. He grew up as a circus performer where the term “be prepared” was pretty much instilled in him ever since his mom and dad had him hanging from trapeze bars. Then “be prepared” took on a whole new, more intense meaning when he was taken under Batman’s wing.

Be prepared to defend yourself. Be prepared to save a life. Be prepared to fight monsters. Be prepared to visit other planets. Be prepared to lead a team. Be prepared to take down other heroes. Be prepared to be tortured. Be prepared to die.

After years and years of putting all that into practice, Dick was pretty good about planning ahead and making contingencies plans for situations that went to shit. If he didn’t have a plan brewing in the back of his mind, he usually had someone like Babs that could help push him along in the right direction.

There were always outliers that could fuck up Dick’s plans no matter how much he prepared. Magic was close to the top of the list since it was so diverse and unpredictable. There was no telling what kind of spells or rituals magic users had hidden up their sleeves.

The not knowing aspect made Dick uneasy, especially when he was leading a team containing heroes with godlike superpowers. It only took one mind control spell to fuck up the city and kill a bunch of people in the process. That kind of horrific scenario was what lead Dick to learn as much as he could about magic from people like Zatanna, John Constantine, and Jason Blood.

Getting information from Zatanna and Jason had been easy enough. He’d worked with them enough times that there was mutual respect between them. John was another story. Prying information out of him had been as infuriating as trying to get Bruce to talk about his feelings. So if Dick had to bat his eyelashes at John and brush up against him a few times, well, that was neither here nor there. He ended up getting what he wanted, which was all that mattered.

The new knowledge of rituals, symbols, defenses, and spells made Dick feel marginally better about facing off against magic users.

Well, it did up until a second ago when a teen named Mischief cornered him on a fire escape.

She dug her freakishly long nails into the back of his neck and chanted a spell in Latin before he managed to toss her away from him. He could tell the spell had taken effect as soon as he fell to the stairs on his hands and knees, suddenly feeling extremely hot and shaky.

The more logical part of his brain was screaming at him to get away from the magic user as quickly as possible. He felt too exposed and vulnerable in his current state, and she could easily kill him if she wanted to. The other part of him wanted to just lay down and curl into a ball because his limbs, and what he could only assume was his organs, suddenly hurt so much he wanted to scream, or throw up, or do anything to make it stop.

His gloves and his suit felt too constraining. He ripped his gloves off and then squeezed his sweaty hands into fists. He put them up in front of his face, ready to defend himself even though his arms were shaking so bad, he’d be surprised if he could put any real force behind his punches.

Mischief laughed at his attempt and walked down a few steps. A warm breeze blew a few pieces of her blonde hair into her mouth. It made her spit and sputter. Dick would’ve cracked a joke about it if he wasn’t so focused on how his body was failing him.

Instead, he gritted out, “What did you do?”

A lot of pressure started to gather along Dick’s ribcage and spine. He arched his back, muscles pulled taught, and let out an embarrassing keening sound that was practically forced out of his mouth.

“A little birdie told me you fly with bats,” she said in a tone that sounded like a bad impersonation of Harley. “I thought it might be fun if you run with wolves instead. People are used to seeing bats in Bludhaven. But wolves? Not so much.”

Dick watched in horror as black fur started sprouting from his hands as if he was a damn Chia Pet. A tickle along his cheeks had him reaching up to touch his face, only to jerk back when he felt more soft fur there. Holy shit! He was actually turning into a fucking wolf. This was bad. This was so, so bad.

A hundred thoughts started running through his head at once. Was he going to survive the transformation or would his whole body break under the pressure? Was the human part of his brain going to switch off and leave him relying on animal instincts alone? How long was he going to be stuck as a wolf? Was it reversible?

Mischief shifted her weight from foot to foot and yawned.

“This was way less exciting than I thought it would be. So I’m gonna go now, but you have fun with that.” She motioned to the fur that was still spreading across Dick’s skin. “Hope they don’t lock you up in the zoo, or worse, shoot you on sight.”

She gave him a distracted wave, and after jogging down the rest of the stairs, she disappeared from the alley.

Dick tried to get up and follow after her because shit, she needed to undo this spell. He only managed to get a foot underneath him before a sudden burst of pain from his mouth made him double back over. He groaned and cradled his jaw. Okay. Screw that plan. He would just stay right where he was and try not to freak out over his canine teeth doubling in size.

Some part of him realized that he needed to take his suit off or else he’d be stuck inside of it as a wolf. Easier said than done when he was in massive amounts of pain.

Focus. Don’t forget what Bruce taught you. “Your mind is your greatest weapon.” Push past the pain and figure out a plan.

Dick managed to work out a few deep breaths even though he was panting from how much energy it was taking just to stay upright. He worked on undoing his boots. The shape of his feet and heels were already changing, which just made the whole process more difficult. After a few pathetic attempts, he managed to kick them off towards the side of the stairs.

He decided to take his comm out next because he didn’t want it getting stuck in his wolf ear. He wondered if Alfred had been trying to contact him. Since the batcomputer kept track of his vitals, surely it already alerted Alfred about his abnormal physical state. He could just imagine Alfred’s bewildered stare and downturned mouth as he tried to make sense of all the weird readings the Nightwing suit was relaying to him. To be on the safe side, Dick picked up his discarded glove and pressed the emergency button on the inside of it.

A shudder ran through his body. He hurried to pull off his mask and suit. His arms were so weak and shaky at that point, he was barely able to stretch the padded shirt over his head while simultaneously using his feet to kick off his tight pants. The fabric kept getting bunched up around his fur and Dick growled in frustration.

He was practically rocking on his elbows and knees by the time he got his limbs free. His briefs could stay on. The fabric wouldn’t constrain him too much when he was fully transformed, and if anything, it would be a major indicator to Bruce that he was the wolf.

Exhausted, he tried to settle down on his side to finish out the rest of the transformation. He froze when he felt his joints and bones starting to crack. His back arched even more and he let out the most pathetic sounding whine that tapered off into a howl. He clamped his mouth shut. The last thing he needed was to draw attention to himself with the sounds he was making.

A sensation came over his face that felt similar to a punch. He clenched his eyes closed, not wanting to deal with the fact that he suddenly had a snout and an elongated jaw.

The pain became so intense that he could hardly think.

“Bruce!” he tried to scream, only, instead of actual words, all that came out of his mouth was a high pitched bark. He whined and continued to writhe on the ground, nearly bashing his head against the edge of the stairs.

There was no telling how long it took for his body to twist and crack into place. It felt like he’d already spent a fucking eternity in hell by the time the shudders started to come less frequently. Was this how Gar felt the first time he transformed into an animal? Dick doubted it. Gar’s transition always looked smooth and painless. Dick never thought he’d be envious of that trait, but then again, he never thought he’d turn into a wolf either.

Slowly—oh so slowly—the intense pain started to fade away, leaving him sore and achy. He didn’t really want to acknowledge the fact that he now had a long tongue lolling out of his mouth, breaths coming out in steady pants. Right. Wolves had to pant to regulate their body temperatures. They didn’t sweat like humans. Great.

His lip curled above his teeth when he smelt an overwhelming amount of rotten trash, urine, vomit, and other disgusting fluids that were stained all over the alley. Now he understood why Ace and Titus insisted on smelling everything within a two-foot radius on walks. There was so much more to smell with a canine nose.

He was slightly horrified when he caught the scent of something that actually made him want to go find it and eat it. It was probably leftover food, and while his very human mind was revolted by the idea of eating any kind of food that was left in a dumpster, his new wolfy instincts didn’t seem to care so much about things like bacteria and parasites.

Unsanitary or not, his stomach rumbled hungrily. He usually ate a pretty decent meal after patrol, and since his body had just used enough energy to rearrange his entire skeletal system, he was pretty sure he could eat a buffet of food and still be hungry. Maybe he could put his “puppy eyes” to good use and get a hot dog from a nearby street vendor.

Focus, Grayson. You’re a wolf sitting in plain sight. Figure out how to work this body so you can get help.

Right. He could do that. He could make himself stand up and figure out how to walk like an animal even though it was the last thing he wanted to do.

It took him more time than he’d like to admit just to stand up on all four legs. Four very furry legs. Wow, he had a lot of fur. From what he could tell, his fur was black all over, which was actually a relief because it probably helped him blend in with the shadows in the alley.

As sore as he was, he couldn’t help but turn his body in a circle in an attempt to look at his massive body and tail. He tried swishing his tail back and forth a few times, but it was awkwardly stuck in his briefs, and it stayed tucked tightly between his back legs. He was actually surprised his briefs were stretchy enough to partially fit over his giant wolf ass. Even though it felt like the world’s most uncomfortable diaper, he could deal with it for a little while.

Walking as a wolf actually wasn’t that difficult. It was essentially the same thing as crawling, just more fluid. Dick practiced walking up and down the stairs as soon as he felt confident enough. His legs shook from the effort and his paws felt overly sensitive against the hard metal. There was a brief moment where his brain got a little confused and he put the wrong legs down to take a step, but other than that, he had a pretty decent grasp of how to navigate on all fours.

He was busy using his mouth to gather all the pieces of his costume into a pile when he heard the familiar engine of the batmobile rumbling close by. Ears perked, he sat down and watched as the sleek, black vehicle turned into the alley, the headlights momentarily blinding him. He was pretty sure his tail would be wagging if it wasn’t jammed in his undies.

The headlights turned off and the door opened. Dick belatedly realized that he was able to see so much better in the dark. It was almost as if he could pretend he just had his night vision activated on his mask.

He was expecting Bruce to step out looking all frowny and worried—his usual MO whenever Dick asked for help. Instead, to Dick’s surprise, it was Damian that climbed out of the driver’s seat.

Dick had to stop himself from letting out a disappointed whine. As childish as it sounded, he wanted his dad. He wanted to pretend he was 8-years-old again and that Bruce would be there to give him a stiff, comforting hug to distract him from the pain.

If Damian was here by himself that meant Bruce was out of Gotham. The emergency alert Bruce should have received was probably redirected to the cave. Dick knew better than to assume Alfred had sent Damian to Bludhaven to check on him. Knowing Damian, the kid probably heard his distress signal and jumped into the nearest batmobile before Alfred had the chance to send someone else like Tim or Cass to his location.

Dick felt a surge of affection for the kid. They technically weren’t Batman and Robin anymore, but Damian still filled the role of his Robin. He always had Dick’s back when it mattered.

Even though Dick couldn’t see Damian’s eyes, he could tell Damian was staring straight at him. He seemed to be frozen to the spot, obviously not expecting to see a giant wolf in place of Dick. Hell, maybe Damian thought a wolf ate Dick. It wasn’t that crazy of an idea. Dick had once almost been killed by a lion and a killer whale. Being taken out by a wolf wasn’t that far-fetched of a scenario in their line of work.

Dick let his tongue loll out of his mouth, trying to look as non-aggressive as possible. When Damian still seemed unsure of whether Dick was going to attack him or not, Dick gave a little twirl so Damian could get a full view of the briefs he was wearing. The whites of Damian’s mask went wide as he looked down at the GPS device in his hand one more time. That was when it all seemed to click in Damian’s head. Brow creased, he took a few cautious steps closer to where Dick was sitting in the shadows.  

“Nightwing?” Damian called out hesitantly.

Dick let out a bark that hopefully sounded friendly enough. He picked his mask up in his mouth and trotted over to the car, just barely stopping himself from rubbing against Damian’s legs. He sniffed him instead. His costume smelt like a mixture of dryer sheets coupled with a smoky scent that Dick associated with Gotham air. Underneath that was another scent Dick had literally never smelled before in his life. It was kind of sour and tangy.

Hold on… was that Damian’s pheromones he was smelling?

He inhaled deeper and then sneezed as the smell tickled his nose. The scent briefly changed to something sweeter, but it was still tinged with sourness. Huh. Maybe the sour scent was fear and the sweeter scent was happiness? Amusement? Something like that. He would try to compartmentalize it all later.

Damian plucked the mask out of Dick’s mouth with a slightly shaking hand. Dick didn’t know whether Damian was still scared of him or if he was simply scared of what the mask implied about Dick’s wellbeing. It was probably a bit of both.

Damian looked from the mask to the briefs that were stretched over Dick’s furry ass. His mouth was set in a confused frown. It took him a few more seconds of staring before he reached his hand out and held it out towards Dick’s snout. Dick nosed at his glove for a second before pushing his head into Damian’s hand.

And just like that, the awkward tension between them was broken. Damian knelt down to Dick’s eye level and ran his hand over Dick’s head and neck with a look of wonder on his face. The aching in Dick’s body was briefly forgotten as he closed his eyes and leaned his body against Damian’s chest for support. Fuzzy tingles spread from his head to his shoulders as Damian’s fingers continued to run through his fur. It felt so nice that Dick wanted to fall asleep on the spot. After a few more pats and ear scratches, Damian cupped his hands on either side of Dick’s face.

“Richard?” Damian whispered close to Dick’s ear. “Are you actually a wolf or am I insane?”

A bark of excitement bubbled from the back of Dick’s throat. He nodded his head enthusiastically, crowding even closer to the point where he was practically sitting in Damian’s lap.

Damian almost smiled. Almost.

“Are you alright? Who did this to you?” Damian demanded, losing some of the softness in his tone.

Dick flattened his ears against his head and whined. He obviously couldn’t tell Damian what happened to him, but he could show him. He nosed at the mask that was still clutched in Damian’s hand.

Mouth set in a tight line, Damian nodded. “I’ll connect it to the Bluetooth in the batmobile while you gather the rest of your things.”

Dick gently clasped his teeth around Damian’s glove before Damian could stand. The briefs were really starting to get on his nerves and needed them off pronto. He tried to convey that to Damian by twisting his head to look back at his briefs multiple times.

Damian sighed so loudly that the air from his mouth blew Dick’s fur in different directions.

“Really? You managed to take off everything else except that.”

Damian clearly didn’t appreciate Dick’s well thought out idea to make himself identifiable as a human turned wolf. If it weren’t for the underwear, they’d probably still be stuck on opposite sides of the alley, locked in the longest staring contest of all time. Dick hoped his exasperation translated onto his wolf features. It probably didn’t based on the way Damian scowled while guiding Dick’s paws through the underwear leg holes.

“There,” Damian muttered once Dick was finally free. “Now let’s get out of here before someone sees you.”

Dick gave an awkward nod and trotted back to the stairs where his boots and clothes were. He couldn’t wait to get to the manor. He was going to wolf down whatever kind of food Alfred had lying around, and then he was going to curl up in bed and sleep this whole nightmare of a day away.

The aches and pains were really starting to kick in by the time he got himself and all his Nightwing gear settled in the passenger seat of the batmobile. It took him a minute to figure out how he was supposed to sit without falling off the seat. He ended up curling into a ball and then rested his front paws and head over the middle console. The strong current of air from the AC made his ears twitch.

The smell of the car was actually kind of comforting. There was a hint of Bruce’s aftershave as well as a muted copper scent. It smelt more like the cave than anything, but even that was ten times better than the literal vomit he’d been inhaling in the alley.  

Damian started the car and pulled on the road towards Gotham.

“NM37 is connected to Bluetooth,” the batmobile said suddenly, making Dick jump. “Would you like to play the last recording?”

“Yes, play the last recording,” Damian said.

The screen on the dash lit up and then the video started to play. Dick felt his heart start to race when Damian fast forwarded through the beginning of his patrol and resumed playing the video as soon as Mischief appeared. He didn’t want to hear the fear in his voice or the pathetic sounds he made as he transformed into a wolf. He was just glad there would be a limited view of the transformation as soon as they got to the point where Dick took his mask off.

“Mischief?” Damian muttered, gaze still transfixed to the screen. “I’m not familiar with her. Has she appeared in Bludhaven before?”

Dick shook his head.

“A little birdie told me you fly with bats.”

The “little birdie” line of audio caught Dick’s attention. It could just be wordplay, but there was a chance it meant she was working for someone. If she wasn’t working for someone then what were her motives for turning him into a wolf? Money? Power? Revenge?

Dick was so caught up trying to make connections between crimes in his head, he jerked back when he felt Damian’s tight grip on his fur. He couldn’t see Damian’s eyes since the kid still had his mask on, but he could smell the way Damian scent changed to something more bitter. Concerned, he barked and pressed his head into Damian’s hand, trying to gain his attention. It was his only way of asking what was wrong in this stupid wolf body.

He was pretty sure he got his answer when he heard the grunts and whimpers coming from the audio. If he were human, he would’ve been blushing in shame and embarrassment. It sounded like he was dying.

After what felt like hours but was only minutes, the horrible sounds faded into pants.

“Stop the recording,” Damian said suddenly, his loud tone hurting Dick’s ears.

The audio cut off. Damian’s harsh breathing and the purr of the engine filled its absence.

Damian’s tight grip on Dick’s fur was starting to become painful. Dick gently cupped his teeth around Damian’s wrist and applied light pressure, basically the only way he could convey “let go.”

Damian pulled his hand back as if he’d been zapped.

“I apologize,” Damian said immediately, clenching his hands into fists. “That woman hurt you and I...” he cleared his throat. More softly, he added, “That was hard for me to watch.”

Dick watched the conflicted expression on Damian’s face morph into something more sad and timid. It was no secret that Damian was as stubborn about showing his vulnerable side as he was stubborn about everything else in life. Dick had seen that side of Damian more than a few times now. For some reason none of those times made Dick feel as worse as he did right then.

He didn’t really think about what he was doing until he leaned into Damian’s space and licked the side of his face from his jaw to his temple. He just knew he wanted that terribly sad look on Damian’s face to go away.

“Richard!” Damian shrieked. He tried wiping away the spit with the side of his hand. “That’s disgusting! Even Titus has better manners than you!”

Dick huffed and rolled his eyes. He’d seen Titus do the same thing hundreds of times, and Titus licked his balls every day. Now that was something to scream about.

Damian grumbled some more about it before they both settled back down. Dick looked out the window and realized they were only a mile or two away from the manor. He rested his head on his paws and sighed, suddenly exhausted. Any adrenaline he had before was completely gone now. The pain was still radiating through every part of him, and he knew he’d probably be too sore to even move tomorrow. He hoped Alfred could pump some drugs into his system to help with that.

It was as if Damian could somehow sense his pain when he suddenly said, “Don’t worry. I’ll find the harlot that did this to you and I’ll make her change you back.”

Dick gave him his own wolfy version of a smile and tried not to imagine how painful turning back was going to be.  

He barely even twitched when he felt Damian’s fingers slowly run through the fur on his head. He closed his eyes so he could focus on the pleasant tingles that raced from his head to his shoulders.

“Tt. You’re already spoiled,” Damian said when he noticed Dick’s tail wagging.

Dick ignored him and sighed contently, stretching his neck out to show Damian where he wanted to be scratched. The petting and scratching was something he could get used to.

Maybe there were positives to being a wolf after all.

[immortal-imagines]

Our Own Space

Request: Reader x Paul Lahote. Reader is pregnant and was in a car crash, which meant she had to give birth early.

(Paul Lahote x Reader)

Warnings: Quite angsty

Word Count: 1,145

A/N: I’m really sorry that I can’t remember who sent this request, as Tumblr ate it after I tried to reply. I also can’t remember all the specifics, but I’ve done what I can with what I could think of. I’ve also written it slightly differently to how I normally write, so I hope you like it.

Your POV:

Screaming. All I can hear is screaming. She won’t stop crying. My eyes are stuck closed. My body doesn’t want to move. I listen, trying to make out any other people. Paul is there, I hear his deep voice, hushing our child. Someone moves closer to me. I hear a glass being set on the table and feel a hand on my forehead. “It’s a good job wolves heal quickly,” Emily says.

I will my eyes to open and manage to see a little. I make out Paul, holding the baby and rocking her. Emily is sat on the edge of the bed. When she sees me, she smiles. “Someone’s awake.”

Paul rushes to my side, concern painted on his face. “Hey,” I manage to croak. I try to move my arms, to take my daughter from him, but it’s too painful.

Emily stands, “I’ll give you two some privacy.” Paul nods his gratitude, as she leaves.

He sits next to me, rocking the baby, who still has no name. “Don’t move,” Paul commands. “Your wounds aren’t fully healed.”

I try to make sense of the past twenty-four hours, but it’s such a blur. “Tell me what happened,” I mutter. My throat feels like it’s on fire. Paul strokes my hair with his free hand.

“Not now, my love. Let’s get you better first.” He presses his lips against my head.

“I want to hold her,” I try and reach my hands up again, but nothing happens.

“Here,” Paul lays my daughter on my chest, so I can see her beautiful brown eyes staring up at me.

“She’s ours. We made her,” I’m astounded at how something so perfect came from such a tragic event. Her birth was supposed to be the best day of our lives, except it turned into one of the worse.

Paul’s POV:

I stare at my wife, her eyes barely able to stay open long enough to look at our daughter. Cuts and bruises scatter her body. One arm is in a cast and her leg is heavily bandaged. I don’t know why she’s friends with that stupid bloodsucker. It’s all her fault that (Y/N) is like this. Our child could have died. (Y/N) could have died. I feel my body trembling, the animal inside wanting to leap out. “Emily,” I call. Emily rushes in, noticing my state, and grabs the baby from my shaking hands. “I’ll be back soon, love,” I kiss (Y/N) quickly, before hurrying from the house. We’re holed up at Emily and Sam’s until (Y/N) is better. Emily can heal her better than any doctor. Maybe not better than Carlisle, but the vampires have done enough. I just want to get out, move back home with my brand-new family. I want to raise my child out of harms way and continue my life with (Y/N).

I’m running. I don’t know where. I let my inner wolf lead me. It leads me to Jacobs. As soon as I get there, I see the shiny, silver Volvo with the front all smashed in. It’s the one that did this. She’s here too. Bella Cullen. Jacob is scrapping parts from the car, while Bella sits in her perfect little pant suit and watches. Then she spots me. She stands, brushing off her clothes.

“How’s (Y/N) and the baby?” she asks.

I can barely control my anger. Jacob sees this and stands at Bella’s side. “Cool it, Paul,” he mutters. I shoot him a warning glare.

“The baby is doing well, no thanks to you. (Y/N) will be fine. It’s just taking longer for her to heal due to her wounds being so severe,” I spit. “I see you came away unharmed.”

“I can’t apologise enough,” Bella says. Her words don’t sound sincere though. They seem forced.

“Just keep you and your bloodsucker clan away from my family.”

Her response is fast, a sharp slap to my face. That pushes me over the edge and I change. I only see red. The wolf knocks Bella to the ground. It’s not me anymore, just anger. I guess the others read my thoughts, as suddenly a load of them are on my back, pulling me off of the vampire bitch. Sam grabs the scruff of my neck with his teeth and drags me backwards. He may have retired as our leader, but he still packs a bite. I see Jacob knelt next to Bella, helping her, as I’m restrained and taken to the woods. Sam leaves me there to cool off.

Your POV:

“He did what?” I’m sat up in bed now. My arm is out of the cast. Like Emily had guessed, it would only take a day for me to heal. My baby is cradled in my arms and Sam sits on a chair next to the bed.

“You know what his temper is like, (Y/N), especially when it comes to defending you.”

“He broke the Treaty, though, right?”

Sam was quiet for a moment, before nodding. “But technically Bella broke it too. Now that she’s a vampire, she shouldn’t be over here. Jacob knew that.” He was silent again. “You’re looking better,” he smiled.

“Yeah, feeling it too. I’m just glad I can hold her by myself now.”

“Has she got a name yet?”

I shake my head. Paul and I had been wracking our brains for weeks, then she came a little earlier than expected and we ran out of time. I hold her tiny hand in mine and gaze into those eyes, her dads’ eyes.

“I’m sure it’ll come to you soon,” Sam says, “I’m going to leave you to it. Paul will be back soon, once he’s calmed down. Do you need anything?”

“No, thanks, Sam,” I smile at my host. It’s so kind of them to let us stay, but I can’t wait to leave. I just want my old life back, with the addition of the baby of course. I want our own space, where we can begin raising her. Emily thinks I’ll be back on my fight in the next couple of days.

Paul’s POV:

Lilly Emily Lahote. She finally has a name and we finally have our home back. (Y/N)’s healing took less time than expected. She’s a strong woman. I knew she’d be up in no time.

We came home a week ago to a brand-new nursery, put together by the pack whilst we were at Sam’s. With Lilly arriving so early, I never had time to finish decorating. The beautiful crib, made by Billy and Jacob, was carved with symbols of our daughter’s heritage. A dreamcatcher hangs above it and the walls are painted like a pastel rainbow.

I stand in the doorway to the nursery, watching (Y/N) feeding Lilly in the rocking chair. She catches me staring and laughs. No bloodsucker could take away my perfect family.

[lady-o-ren]

The Witch and The Red Man

Chapter One /  Chapter Two  / Chapter Three           

Chapter Four

                    Dawn had come and gone but two souls would never have known so, as it's gentle ray's had withered to dusk by the vast treetops where all beneath the boughs was still a shroud of secrets. As the wearied two trudged deeper into the wilderness a looming fog began to drift along the bramble. Plumes of purple and pink petals (deceptive in color and covered in thorns) dotted the ground like stars piercing the white to guide a tentative step away from small pools of water that were scattered about, reflecting only what ones imagination could invision in it's boggy depths.

A creature barely human, vacant eyes turned up to the neverending infinity of a starless sky with a blueberry mouth parted for one last gasp of air, one more plea for a kiss never to be bestowed, lost to the watery darkness. Perhaps there was nothing more but the floating specks of dragonfly wings and fallen leaves, to the sunken remains of songbirds from a dive taken far too deep. Or was it a long fingered snatch of a claw hiding in the ripples of elsewhere down, down, below.

Now and then a slender hand would brush up against a bush of berries to be shared, ripe and sweet, only to be ignored in stomach churning regret. One would insist despite the protest, the other would finally yield in red smeared hunger. But then an ankle would roll from a slip of verdant moss - a hand clasped for balance ripping at an already ruined sleeve, a hard press to a chest with a grunt of a language harsh and cackles more akin to hyenas, spewed from jaws eager for a fall of meat. A pause in their trek however would do.

Claire held her chin to her chest with a glare at the winding fog as if it would disperse. But more so to lessen the dizziness pulsing in a swirl behind her eyes and striking waves across her mind everytime Jamie would stir with emotion befitting of his savage title. But she had the fortitude to withstand the pain of what had killed her master, and the strength of spirit to quell the ravenous evil battling her over a man's soul.

Jamie for his part felt the unnerving sensation of fear, having never experienced it's crippling hold for so long without it triggering his deadly trance where he woke to a horror of his own doing. And he knew why that was. The woman leaning on his arm was growing more cumbersome, more laboured of breath that melded with the ghostly wisps around them. Jamie was torn between letting her plummet to a split of skin or to say to hell with it all and throw her over his shoulder. Better then pulling him into chilly ponds.

With frustration flaring and a sharp spike in adrenaline rising from the blurs of four legged movement ahead, Jamie felt her touch, warm under his skin, pushing further within. A grasp to steady. A balm to soothe.

Jamie's lungs expanded with a breath of cool morning dew that reddened his nose and chapped his lips as he wrapped an arm around Claire's waist, drawing her closer, upright. They shared a shiver from a passing gale, then a budding heat nestled between. She mumbled a thank you, gripping his belt under the cloak for support and he replied with a loosening of his, a warning that his opinion of her was still lower than that of a midge.

Claire sighed without argue, at least he hadn't rolled his shoulder to dislodge her cheek, allowing her (unknowingly so to him), to rest her sight however brief.

Jamie steered them from a soggy drop to an incline of ground that strained his legs, his mortal fatigue catching up with him spurred forward only by the watchful stalks of the pack that glinted through the frosty air.

"Seeing as that white mammoth was familiar wi' ye," Jamie cocked his chin to the far distance where the elder wolf had scampered off from the pack. "Do ye ken where we're being led?"

"That mammoth I'm almost sure is Fenrir the maneater, and it's not he that I'm familiar with but possibly the one inhabiting it's form." Claire could feel a quiver pass over Jamie and she glanced curiously his way.

"You've lived in these forests, surely you must've seen the like here and there. Even in Scotia, I thought it the land of faerie and water horses."

Jamie huffed, bowing his head from a low hanging branch. "All my time in these forest I've seen spirits who mind themselves as long as I return the gesture but never have I seen creatures as olden as they. As for my homeland, we have wonders to fear and praise but monstrosities like that." Jamie shook his head. "We've done away with." And for once he agreed with mans judgement of the different.

It was then Claire dug her fingers into the leather strap of his waist as she felt a shifting of elements in the air, saw slashes of charms cut into the bark of a rowan tree marked in old blood. Hopefully invisible to Jamie's senses. But she was not.

"What is it? I can feel yer pulse jittering in my chest."

He could? But that was a question for another time.

"I don't know where we're being led but it's by who I think it is you must control yourself when -" Claire's voice trailed off as Jamie froze in his step, catching sight of the markings that began to shimmer like the moon on black waters, and grabbing her by her shoulders to face him.

"What is it that awaits us if not another one of they?" Jamie growled, as his back of scarred symbols began to sting as if freshly carved.

No answer was given as a young wolf (yet still big as an elk) came snarling and snapping at them, saliva dripping from it's jaws gummed bright red. Jamie shoved Claire quickly behind him, readying for the crushing blow of flesh and bones, while she curled her fingers around the hilt of blade knowing it was a useless defense. Another one of the wolfs sisters leaped out from the mist to tackle the other, either to prevent a gruesome carnage or to be the first to relish in a feast upon their fatty marrow. The latter it seemed as more wolves joined the fray, disappearing into the fog with only the sounds of their rabid rampage cutting through the air like a thundering storm.

Claire and Jamie pulled at each other in escape, to be lost in the thicket of clouds not caring if their acrid scent of fear would make them easy to track, preferring to be hunted then find their fate in the mouth of the victor.

They ran with the last bolts of stamina they had, not bothering to mind the trails of flowers when the ground beneath them vanished with only a shout and high screech left in their wake. It was a steep bruising tumble to the red horned fungi protruding from the soil, meant to constrict the lungs that blackened the tissue with it's noxious spores and swell the heart to cease it's beating.

Unless you have the ability to purge death from your organs…albeit slowly.

Claire managed a good deal better, having fallen to the wet leaves, and maneuvered herself to Jamie, touching his chest and back lightly with her hands, drawing the poison from his vein's more quickly then he could, sending him into a coughing fit that he spewed to the dirt. She smoothed his damp copper locks away from his brow, wiped the blood the shade of ashes from his mouth and nose thanks to the shrooms that could only wrinkle her nose at their odor.

"You're lucky you have a skull harder then iron and blood thicker then oil, you know." A hint of a smile had barely shone through when his eyes freed of their daze changed to a stare of ice.

"You aren't going to bite me again are you?" Jamie's lips almost twitched in humor before jerking away from her caress with palms to his cheeks, rubbing the kindness that once was there away that then slid straight to his eyes groaning at what he saw off in the distance. Underneath the grove of trees, saplings of protective oak and blackthorn had bundled together to form a twisted dwelling where the wood began to ripple in a slither, scrapping against one another to weave into spiraled knots and blooming leaves.

What lied inside had awoken.

A wicked hag of black leathered skin was what Jamie's mind had conjured. Who would be adorned with a crown of his and Claire's gnawed bones dripping with the last drops of their blood that hadn't been licked clean by her viper tongue.

He gave Claire a vehement shake of head.

"No!"

"Yes." Though her answer was less then confident with her face mirroring his and their link a mutual trickle of dread. Even so.."This is where you trust me. No matter how you feel towards me, what calamity you wish to fall on my soul, calm yourself in her presence until I know if she means us harm. Trust me to protect you, Jamie. It's what I vowed to you."

Jamie could see the strain of keeping him whole line her features, swaying her frame. Fitting for what she had done to him yet still the nagging tug of a man he thought long gone urged him to relinquish himself to her care. He hung his head with a slump of shoulders.

 "Mhac a 'chas!"

The door opened before they arrived on the threshold, a molten light flashing on their faces invitingly warm with the shade of a figure not at all like the triple eyed, leathered being Jamie was expecting. She was a woman with hair the blood of Scotia itself, flying loose past her breast white as the mist that had enveloped them, barely covered by her silky gown that parted low in such a way Jamie had only ever seen down the back alleys in Par-sii. But what caught his attention most that had him tight throat with an involuntary call of mind to Claire, were her eyes. Large to intimidate, to hypnotize. So like a luminous jewel that held the forest within them, cut sharply down the center. A cat-eyed creature she was.

"Hello, Geillis." Claire called cautiously as she carefully positioned herself in front of Jamie.

"Mo calman geal." She breathed with so lovely a smile, her face aglow, that continued still even after…"Ye look of shit."

Before Claire could answer Geillis made a move towards Jamie who was fighting mightily with himself as his back flared hot again in warning, flinching away from her outreach of hand in a glare she found wholly amusing.

"And this skittery thing." She crooned. "Ye want to tear yer teeth to my gullet don't ye lad?" Geillis' eyes dilated to obsidian as she saw beyond to the scar at his chest that sang of enchantment. "I can see why ye don't."

She grinned devilishly wide to Claire. "He's a blood drenched stag this one. Tell me, lass do ye sleep with a knife in yer hand with him? Or is it with his -"

No more was remembered as Jamie, the poor lad who had been hunted for eight days with little rest and nourishment, who had been blood shackled to a witch and then ran from the threat of beasts, finally succumbed to exhaustion.

____

Claire laid a blanket atop Jamie's sleeping form by the hearth, dragged there by the two woman, and feeling the burden of her own doing lighten, she almost felt compelled to join him on the floors. But an impatient squawk at her back had Claire back on her feet with a lean against the walls of saplings, where her fingers traced the sprouts snaking between the crevices, rustling and twirling for her touch and smelling of home.

"Yer making my hemlock blush, lass." Geillis purred as she gave a gentle stroke to the fine feathers of her raven Boromir, who sat with her at the blackwood table, scorched at the edges and grooved in frantic claw marks in others. Be they human or animal Claire did not question as she swiped away the hanging vines that tickled along her face, sitting across from Geillis with a cup of tea, thickly made with seeds stuck to the rim, pushed her way.

"Ye look as if I had poisoned yer brew." She said with an added mumble lost in a sip, coating her lip to a shiny plum, "Does nothing to ye anyhow."

"Considering how we ended things on a bad note..." That was putting it mildly. Theirs was a friendship formed under starlight that shattered when a question of alluring paths elsewhere arose, places away from the only home she knew. Claire remembered quite vividly the starlings that ravaged her garden and that had stalked her walks down streets with stabbing plucks of her curls for weeks long after their parting. "And if my memory serves me well you called me a great many horrid insults with the only word among them I understood being, Sassenach."

Geillis licked her lips, leaning her chin to her palm. "Sassenach ye are and still an t-amadan. If you had followed me like I had asked then ye wouldna be in this mess now would ye?"

Claire sighed at the impending argument building from her old friend, pressing her fingertips between her tired eyes with her wrist bare, the single slash still visible. Geillis eyes stared wide in startlement.

"Claire, what have ye done to yerself?" Geillis' voice was of hushed tenderness Claire had only heard her use with her most precious of animal kin and the once when she had asked her to leave Raymond.

"It's not that, only the blood bond," she explained, tugging at her cuff.

"After our quarrel, I never would have thought ye had it in ye to use the dark forces for yer bidding."

"My bidding?" Claire uttered barely above a whisper, offended at the word. "I went weeks with little rest terrified I'd find the butcher Randall in my dreams, his hands upon me until his touch seeped past my skin, squeezing my flesh bringing it to his lips and mine. That I would wake with him standing over me, his breath on my cheeks waiting for me to scream. I was alone and I - I just wanted to feel safe."

Claire looked over to Jamie, still furrowed brow even in sleep. "I did not slit my wrist to gain a servant and in the end if all I manage to do is damn my soul to saves his then it won't be such a waste."

Geillis swallowed the last of her prickling spite, reaching over the table, covering Claire's shaking hand, spread along the table, with hers.

"Randall," she began softly "has been terrorizing the folk of our circles searching for ye, tis how I heard of yer Raymond's fate. I sent my Boromir to scope the land for ye, had to make a deal with Fenrir and his daughters to bring ye here." Though considering the state of the two Geillis didn't think their deal still stood.

"Do you know Randall's whereabouts then?" Claire asked hopefully.

"He crawls around from every gutter to alley and by the time I hear of his presence he's gone like a puff of smoke." Claire finding no comfort in the press of Geillis' hand, pulled away from her to the cup of seeds and froth, contemplating the reveal of her fortune at the bottom.

"You could stay here ye ken." Geillis gently urged. "Randall is no friend to any beast that lives in these forests, he willna find ye here."

"You can't promise that he won't. If you found me how far away is he from doing just the same?"

Geillis tilted her head to the hearth where Jamie was curled by, her features growing hard. "So ye would rather trust yer life to a man who reeks of blood and yers soon enough if yer no' strong enough to master him?"

"Despite what lies within him Jamie will not harm me, he hasn't the soul to do so." Claire affirmed even as her hand, slightly swollen, still stung from his bite."Our time together will be brief, only to the coast and then no more will we ever see each other again. My power will hold until then."

Geillis' tea changed to a tepid rosey pink, much to her disgust, scooting the cup to the edge of the table with a clink at its rim that Boromir delightfully answered with a dip of his beak.

"On yer head then." Geillis muttered then under her breath, that left a small grin to Claire's lips, added, "Why do I let my heart grow weak for such a fool?" She stood to cross the room where her cloak was draped over a chair at the hearth.

"My room to the back is yers to wash and sleep. Or ye can eat whatever is stewing away in the my black as soot cauldron if ye dare to." She joked…or possibly not.

"Thank you, Geillie." Claire spoke rising as well with a question of where she was going.

"Another deal with the spirits, this time much more pleasant I reckon." She winked. "And you." With a kick at Jamie's leg that had him scrambling to a sitting position. "Wash the stink from yerself outside before I boil it out of ye. Boromir will provide ye clothes won't ye, my sweet lad?" A loud squawk was her ravens reply and Jamie didn't bother to ask how a bird could fetch him cloth.

Geillis left with a swish of her now cloaked form, to follow crystal streams to a secluded brook most wonderfully familiar, leaving Jamie and Claire alone in the house that creaked with the wind.

Claire bent to her knees in front of him, keeping a comfortable distance between. "How long have you been awake?"

"Long enough." Was Jamie's curt reply as he stretched his shoulders to a pop, stiff from the hard stone he was left to sprawl on. Without casting his sight her way Jamie's asked, "Do ye trust her enough to stay or do we go?" He hated that he had to ask and so did Claire.

"We're safe here for now, but I leave the decision to you.”

Jamie raised his gaze what he considered a feeble gesture she offered and found earnesty in the sheen of eyes of the woman dipped in the gentle burn of firelight. "Tired as I am it's no' like I can refuse. I'll take ye for yer word, Sassenach."

With a last quip that gave Claire a light chuckle despite the insult, Jamie felt his back meet the wall puffed with soft blades of green, his eyes drooping to a close, feeling the beat of her heart a calming rhythm to his own.

_____

*Fenrir is from norse mythology

*Boromirs name is from Lord of the Rings

[marshmallowmalfoy]

Tag // Draco Malfoy // Pt. 1

Type: Lowkey smut. REAAALLY lowkey. Will get fluffier if you guys want more.

A/N: I’m so incredibly sorry for not writing for so long, I’ve had some pretty serious family issues going on that are starting to resolve so I should be able to start writing more regularly again. Sorry its so long

LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT A PART TWO!!

Summary: Stoner y/n collides with Draco like two stars slamming into each other. It’s extremely rare to witness, but they create the brightest, most beautiful light, but they disappear once its over. Draco fights it.

Female Reader

Warnings: WEEED! Lots of weed. Drugs. Much drugs.- ment. of alcohol - Swearing. Much swearing. - Anorexia/Bulimia. - Sexual references/activities and such (slight) and shit moves fast.

I AM IN NO WAY PROMOTING EATING DISORDERS

Herbology. How boring. Herbs this, herbs that, herbs that heal, herbs that kill. The only herbs that Y/N was really interested in we’re the kind that help you escape your trouble. The ones that you take into you, and with every breath out you become more one with the world. Most pure bloods had no idea what it was, but the muggle-born that she was, born to two parents who grew up in the grunge scene, she knew everything there was to know about the drug. Weed, pot, marijuana, call it what you will, say what you want about it, but it quelled her anxiety, and it helped her see light in the world. This sick, fucked up world. At night she would sneak out of the dorms, down to the black lake where she would sit against the trunk of an old willow tree and breathe in the earth. No one knows that the smell really is, majority of them have never heard of it. It wasn’t a big deal, but she hears the whispers that she’s the girl that “smells of the earth” simply because they don’t know how else to describe it.

She sat and listen to the professor, not giving a rats ass about the words coming out of her mouth. The little Weasley girl sat beside her, though the Y/H wanted nothing to do with the red haired girl. The professor left them to their work, and Y/N got right to it, dipping her quill in the ink and bringing it’s tip to the parchment before her. A list of deadly herbs and poisons.

”Mudblood!” A familiar voice hissed from behind her. She ignored him, and kept at her work. “Dirty mudblood you better not be ignoring me.” He hissed again. She kept to her work.

Lunch time. She wasn’t hungry. Her body told her that food was the enemy. At least when she was sober. It was either not eating for days, or shoving her fingers half way down her throat to get it out again. Eating made her feel heavy. It made her feel dirty. She just didn’t need it. Her legs were thin. She had a thigh gap for days that could only be explained by her disorders. Her hips protruded. Her breasts were nearly gone. Her body was eating itself because her brain told her no. Too many people didn’t understand that. She couldn’t tell anybody. They simply would think she wishes to be skinnier. She hated the way she looked. She wanted the curvy body she once had. The little bit of jiggle on her belly, the strength she had in her butt. She’s sticks now. Sticks.

She sat and watched others eat. She just watched. She gazed into nothingness. Without realizing it her gaze found its way to the impish boy named Malfoy.

He noticed. A shiver ran through him. You were ghostly. A force to be reckoned with. He prodded at you anyway. He was curious as to what you were capable of. There was power swirling inside you. You didn’t see it. But he did. He had tired everything.

“Draco darling!” Pansy slid onto his lap. “You’re spacing out again love.” She slid her hand down his cheek, shimmying her hips against his subtly.

Then it hit him.

He hadn’t tried everything.

It was nearly 3 in the morning. She had yet to sleep. She now sat on the edge of the black lake with her knees to her chest. Her bare toes set lightly in the cold, October-bitten water. The moon was orange tonight. Blood moon. Her eye fluttered closed, but she was restless. She laid back, she let her legs straighten. the back of her lower thighs felt the water. The top of her shins were submerged. The silence was nice. The howling wolves. The Creeping spiders. The hoots of the owls and scurrying of mice. She felt as though she could hear it all. She pulled her joint out of her messenger bag. She flicked the lighter and inhaled. Her first hit of the night.

Its not like they make it out in T.V. shows and art. Getting high isn’t seeing rainbows. It’s not things being distorted.You almost always remember what happened. You are in control the whole time.

The real danger is bad dealers. People who lace it. People who are fuckers.

She looked up at the stars and a small smile cracked her dried lower lip.

She was just laying there as he watched her bring something to her lips continuously. Her breath came out white. Sometimes in circles. Sometimes in big clouds. Sometimes you would blow it out and suck it back in. It wasn’t cold enough for her breath to be that white in the air. He watched his own breath to confirm that. She twirled it between her middle and pointer finger.

He slowly approached careful not to make any sounds. She only saw him when he was feet away from him, because she was looking at the stars. She sighed and smiled. Her eyes were ever-so-slightly red. If the moon hadn’t been so big and bright he wouldn’t have noticed.

“What do you want Malfoy?” The words spilled out of her mouth so beautifully. She wasn’t annoyed. She wasn’t sad or mad or frustrated. She was happy. She seemed to be displaying genuine curiosity. In fact, he couldn’t recall a time that she had said that many words to him at a time.

“What are you doing Y/N? Were you crying?” He pointed directly to her eye, referring to the slight pink irritation they held. She chuckled and patted the ground next to her, inviting him to sit down. He did. He couldn’t help it. He was intrigued. She lifted the joint and motioned it in his direction. “What is that?” He asked, taking it between the tips of his thumb and finger.

“Weed.” She pulled her legs out of the water and sat cross legged facing him. He gave her a confused look. “Its like...” She giggled, “...A muggle delicacy.” She chuckled again, her tiny frame shaking as she did so. The jewelry hanging from her neck jingling as she did so.

Draco took a hit.

Fuck. She’s so pretty. Why haven’t I noticed she’s this pretty before? Look at those lips. Those eyes. Just look at her. What had he been doing all this time.

They were walking down to the quittich pitch. She had begged him to see the inside of the boys locker room. She’d only even seen the inside of the girls room, back when she was the best beater of her house. He just chuckled. She was such a curious person.

For some reason, the fuzz in her head let her see how much tension was between them. She wanted it. She wanted it so bad.

They arrived in the locker room, he held the door for her as they slithered in like snakes hunting prey.

In both their heads, they were wondering why they never saw this in each other. It was as though this drug wasn’t making them high, but the time with each other. They’d never had a solid conversation before that night. But once the ball started rolling, it built up so much inertia that even a cosmic explosion could stop it.

“Is this your locker?” She asked him, as she pointed to the locker with the Slytherin symbol on it, and just above that, in green letters Captain. He chuckled, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. She pulled a bobby pin out of her hair. With surprising ease she had the lock picked and locker open in seconds. It made him wonder. Who was she actually?

Wordlessly, she peeled her shirt off. Skin and bones. It disappeared when she pulled his jersey over her head. He watched her. He held it together. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. It was just supposed to be flirting. It was supposed to be teasing and glances. He held it together as best he could.

And then he didn’t

It was skin.

Mouths.

Hands on throat.

Two bodies.

One.

A few weeks went by after that night. Draco hadn’t had as good of a night sleep than that night since. Draco remembered everything. And apparently so did Y/N. She’d been avoiding him. Usually she just ignored him, but now she would go out of her way to not have to walk past him in the hall. She would do her best to slide discretely in and out of the classes they had together, sure to keep her back to him.

Did she regret what happened between them?

Did he?

He couldn’t tell anymore.

He didn’t at first. He wanted to talk to her in the halls. Work with her in class. The things she told him that night. It was the first time he saw her with her guard down, and she didn’t hold back.

She told him about her flaky, alcoholic parents who think she’s at boarding school. She told him about when she stopped eating. She told him about her older sister, the perfect university grad engaged-to-be-married sister. The light of her parents life. Her little brother and sister. She was terrified to leave them with her parents every year. Her fear of heights. Her hatred for Seamus Finnigan because of that one time in third year that he lifted up her skirt on a dare. The places she goes to get high when she needs to.

As every day passed that she was consistently avoiding him made him doubt himself.

He couldn’t let it get to him today. He had the biggest quidditch match of the year today. He couldn’t let it get to him.

The Slytherin locker room was bustling, the members of the team getting increasingly excited and nervous as they geared up. They’d had a good run this year. But some questioned if it was good enough. Including Draco. He arrived late. His lock was still undone. He smiled sadly at the sight.

What had gone wrong after that? Or during that?

He shook the thoughts out of his head and opened his locker, sliding his jersey on. It smelled like her perfume. It sounded like her moans as it crinkled. A locker slamming sounded like their bodies together. The tap on his shoulder felt like her hands scratching his back.

He turned around.

“Dude what the fuck I’ve said your name like twelve times.” Blaise said as they came face to face.

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” Draco muttered, pulling the rest of his gear on.

“We need you focused today. What the hell is going on? You’ve been out of it for-.” Blaise’s voice faded as he looked beyond Malfoy. “What... is that?” Blaise chuckled and pointed into the pale boys locker. Draco’s face burned red as he turned and saw Y/N’s lacy panties dangling from a hook in the locker. He slammed his locker shut and shook his head.

“Nothing.” He choked out. “It’s nothing.”

“Oh hell no.” Zabini chuckled, “Everybody!” He shouted, getting everyone’s attention as vice-captain of the team, “I am proud to announce, that after years of no action. Our beloved captain, Draco Malfoy, has GOTTEN LAID!” The locker room erupted in cheers and pats on the back and millions of questions. He dismissed it all. It was game time.

He seemed dazed. He wasn’t paying attention. The snitch would dash in a different direction and he would stop, having a hard time finding it again. She was in the front row, but she didn’t jump to her feet when a goal was scored. She didn’t cheer names or chant house names. She sat. She sat and watched him. She never came to these games. Too much energy. Too much “pep” and “spirit”. Too much bullshit. She crossed her arms and sat back.

She was there. She was there and she was watching him. She watched him as his hand closed around that snitch and win the game. She watched him as his team praised him. But when the official announcement was made, she was gone. Like smoke in the wind.

This weird back-and-forth game was killing him. She was illusive. But he had an idea.

He wasn’t being creepy, he reminded himself over and over again as he carefully tailed her that day. She hadn’t smoked in a week. If you asked him how he knew that, he wouldn’t tell you. But in reality, he’d followed her for 6 days before this. He would go to class late, and leave every class early to make sure she was just around the corner from her classes. It wasn’t creepy. He was sure of it.

It was today though, that she didn’t stay in her dorms long. He waited out until 10 to see if she would come out. She didn’t. At least thats what he thought when he turned to leave. But then the door opened. She stepped out. This time she wasn’t in her uniform. No. She wore her pajamas, and little slippers made to look like bears. Her hair was braided half-up-half-down and her face seemed more blemished than usual. Her eyelashes weren’t as long, her lips weren’t as ruby red. But her messenger bag was still by her side.

He followed her, this time to the potions room. She told him no on would doubt her if she was caught in there it large glass objects with herbs jammed into them. She sat right down at Snape’s desk and pulled a long, hallow glass object out of her bag, filling it partially with water.

He took his change before she took a hit.

He threw the door open and she jumped in the chair she was sat in. Her face went pale and her eyes opened wide. She stood once she processed what was happening and grabbed her stuff hurriedly.

“Y/N” He said firmly. Not moving from his spot in the threshold. She froze and looked up at him. He closed the door behind him, locking it. “We need to talk.” 

[queenjonrya]

Weirwood

Word count: 3,320 (lol this many words of almost pure smut)

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Prompt: Jon and Arya fucking (with anal) like wolves in the Godswood before the Heart Tree. with hints of Arya and Jon have a wilful daughter that drives Arya up the wall. 

Dedication: @pandachanda 

“Goodnight mother. Goodnight father” a sigh of relief left Arya’s lips as she kissed the forehead of their wilful daughter. He looked at his wife with her moon kissed face, wildflowers were tangled up in the loose braids atop her head. Their wolf pup sighed and was swept away into a peaceful slumber where she ran amongst a great pack of direwolves. Reaching out he touched her face, pale and small like his own, dark hair like his wife. How did two broken people make such a beautiful being? Blowing out the candles they left the room, as one of Nymeria and Ghost’s litter blindly stumbled into the room, trying to reach little Lyarra.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Arya was still dressed in a way most ladies would find abhorrent. A short woollen dress that stopped at her thighs and dark breeches that clung to her shapely legs. Her cloak was a deep blue, like the hot spring before Winterfell’s Weirwood tree. Wolf fur lined the cloak and curled up under her chin, brushing against her flushed cheeks with every step. He held her hand as they walked down the corridor, but as he moved to take them to their room she tugged his hand towards the stairs.

“I was hoping we could worship in the Godswood, before the Heart Tree” she smiled, but her eyes…her eyes were filled with both determination and sorrow, Jon would never be able to deny her something that she decided on with such conviction. They would go to the Godswood tonight.

Her footsteps landed in the snow and his fell atop her’s merging their bootprints into one. Light glittering snowflakes fell from the sky, and landed in her hair a few drops on her nose where they melted upon contact with her warm skin. The winter had been harsh, many fields of crops died before they could be farmed and wild dragons burnt wagons of grain before they fell from the sky and perished in the cold that snuffed their fire. The cimate was nowhere near as harsh now, Samwell oft said that winter would soon end and a great spring would follow.

“I was tortured in this castle” her voice was almost a whisper and it plucked him from his musings.

“I didn’t have the Stark name to protect me, and the Mountain’s men beat us, worked us like slaves, they picked us one by one then raped or tortured their victims in full view of everyone. Everyday, I feared being picked next. Everyday, I thought that they’d choose me and realise I was not a little boy, then they’d hurt me ten times worse for lying to them” her breath caught in her throat and Jon moved forward wrapping his arms around her, he brought Arya to his chest so that her head rested below his chin and her nose brushed against the hollow of his throat. 

“I came to this Weirwood and fought with the old gods, I yelled at them for failing father I begged them to help Robb, to safeguard Bran, Sansa, and Rickon…”

“I’m sorry my love did I make a mistake choosing Harrenhal as the King’s court?”

“No. I don’t mind that you choose Harrenhal, I like the symbolism of lifting the curse of this castle, rebuilding a destroyed monument as we must the nation. I like walking in corridors where I was once a small terrified mouse but this time as a fierce she-wolf, it feels like a small victory. Almost as though I am washing away the horrors that haunted me and replacing them with happy memories. You, me, our daughter, our people.”

She pulled away from him and walked towards the heart tree kneeling and stroking its long stoic face, this Weirwood was different, it did not look friendly like the one in the north, nor did it look like the face of benevolent gods. It looked horrid and traumatised, perhaps because of all the horror it had seen. The deep red sap looked more like a blackened piece of firewood.

“Once I sat before this tree and thought the Old Gods did not care for my cries” 

He stood beside his wife and gripped her hand pulling her to her feet, The old gods love you my beloved, I know it true. His hands gripped her face and he looked into her eyes, deep grey, light grey, different shades colliding like the cracked ice of a frozen lake. Somewhere in the grey he saw tiny glints of green, where her irises failed to conceal the remains of magic within her soul. His eyes probably look the same, shards of ice and northern stones with unnatural green  sometimes slipping through.

“Arya” her name escaped him in a hoarse whisper and he claimed her lips. I stole you from them. Jon poured every last inch of strength he had into that kiss and she kissed him with just as much strength. 

He was fire and ice the meeting of two destructive forces in a single man, but she…she was neither fire nor ice. She was water that doused the dragon fire within him until all that was left were smoke tendrils, she was like the summer sea, crashing against a single chip of ice, melting it and making it apart of herself. Fire and ice brought death but water is the foundation of all things living. Kissing her was like drinking the essence of life from the hands of the old gods themselves. He would drown in Arya.

He pinned her to the tree as his lips traveled down her neck, her skin was salty from running after their daughter for the last few hours and warging her wolves across the continent to collect the whispers of unruly lords. Her heartbeat beneath his lips brought him joy, and he sucked at that spot below her ear that made her writhe and moan. she gripped his hair, nails scratching his scalp, she wanted more and there was nothing he was unwilling to give.

The second he disconnected himself from her neck she pulled him to her lips and kissed him hard, licking his lips, begging for entry, he parted his lips and battle for dominance ensued. No my queen, tonight I will mount you, pleasure you and fuck you halfway to delirium. He kissed and fought for control, his hands gripped the laces of her dress under her cloak trying to undo the elaborate and tiny knots. Eventually he got annoyed and removed her dagger from her hip slicing the strings causing her bodice to immediately loosen and start to slip off her chest.

“I liked that dress, it was a gift” she moaned softly against his lips as he ungloved his hands and ran them over her back.

“I can gift you others, better ones from across the narrow sea, mayhaps I’ll order the dresses you said you wore as a courtesan and watch as you waltz around our castle, a winter rose with just as many thorns as she does petals” he gripped her waist and rubbed the hardness in his breeches against her, as she moaned. He wondered how slick she was for him, if he ground against her with enough conviction, if he kissed her lips, neck and every inch of skin could he make her wet enough to dampen his hardening cock through both their breeches and small clothes.

“The dresses had very low necklines, your grace, often times the bodice would be two thick straps of silk, running from your shoulder to waist where they would be attached to a skirt of the same colour with a ribbon belt. The sides of my bosom would be seen by everyone, a lot of my torso would be exposed too, and my back. There would be very little left to the imagination, My King” the image made him buck against her and she whimpered, he could feel it now, her dampness seeping through his small clothes. By the gods how wet is she?

“I am in quite the conundrum my queen” he stopped his ministrations upon her collarbone and instead moved to her breasts, perky small things that fit perfectly in his curved palm. He laved her nipples with his tongue every so often taking a break to whisper to her. 

“They can look all they like but when the sun sets each night I will be the one peeling the silk off your skin and kissing the flesh they could only dream of ever touching. Everynight as they climb into their beds they will know that my heart and soul belongs to the most beautiful woman in Westeros and that her is equally mine. I will take you and they will hear your moans and mine mingling in the night. Yet if they ever stared at you with a hint of want in their eyes, I think I would gouge their eyeballs out with my bare hands and feed their hearts to Ghost”

“Fuck…Jon…” her eyes were lidded as she looked at him a smirk set itself into his lips. His mate loved him and his mate was worse than a she-wolf in heat when it came to his touch.

“You like that don’t you, the idea of me taking you and you taking me. You like them knowing that I am yours.” her legs which had managed to wrap themselves around his waist dropped down to the ground, crushing against the snow, her skin was clearly flushed and burning despite the cold around them.

“I want more than just that Jon. That’s a conversation for another time, I want you to fuck me now” he grinned as he gripped her bringing her closer to him. Slipping a finger up her skirt then down her breeches, stroking her silken folds. Gods. She was wet, her clit was swollen with want and her sheath was practically sucking his finger into her. She returned the favour, slipping her hands into his breeches, wrapping her hand around him and stroking him softly. Catching the small drops of pre-cum beading at his tip she swirled it around his head and bit her lip.  Growling he slipped a finger inside her earning a soft gasp.

“Aye. You will have me but first I will feast on your elixir, I will make you cry out my name until you can’t even say it anymore. When you start mumbling an incoherent mess of words I will slip inside you, I will make you feel so good it makes you cry and then when all is said and done I will paint your insides white, spill my seed so deep into you and still I will continue. By the time we are done you won’t be able to walk and I will carry you to our chambers.” His fingers stilled within her and she carried on pumping him as she rode his finger. He removed the finger from within her and pulled her hands away from his cock. falling to his knees, before her. With nimble fingers he unlaced her breeches, pulling them down and removing them along with her boots.

Jon reached up and licked her cleft, the taste of his Arya filled his senses, she was tangy and heavenly. His love quivered above him and he needed to support her with his hands as he feasted upon her like he promised. He licked her folds, probed within her with his tongue and suckled away at her small bundle of nerves like a babe at it’s mothers breast. He stood lifting her up above him, still suckling away at her taking two steps forwards so she was leaning against the heart tree again and was sitting on his shoulders. Her moans were breathy, loud, and wanton, her thighs squeezed his head as her fingers tangled in his curls and dragged him closer. His gods were nameless and faceless but if there was Goddess of Love and Beauty amongst them and a Goddess of Strength and Courage then Arya was handcrafted by them and sent to a world that did not deserve her.

Her hips ground against his face mercilessly, and her chest heaved with every short breath she took, the air leaving her in puffs of smoke. She tensed like a drawn bow and quivered before becoming boneless. Gripping her in his arms he let her slid down his body and set her on her feet. Her hair was disheveled, half the wildflowers that were in them had fallen to the ground while the other half had tangle themselves further into her hair, joined by new leaves and small twigs. 

Before he could get his bearings she kissed him with all the might she could muster and pulled his cock from his breeches. He swiped his tongue across her lips but she denied his entrance instead sinking to her knees and peppering his swollen member with kisses. Her tongue ran from the underside of his cock from base to tip. Upon reaching his tip she wrapped her mouth around him and made him see stars. Gripping her hair he could barely bring himself to guide her head instead he threw his head back as she set his insides alight.

Beloved wife, Sweet Queen, Little Sister.

“Gods Arya stop, I won’t last long, if you continue that” she pulled away from him and looked up at him with those damned eyes. 

“I want you to do something to me that I heard some of the courtesans talk of in Braavos” she had a impish glint in her eyes and he knew he would agree to anything.

“What would you like” she got onto all fours before him and presented him her backside which confused him. He had mounted her from behind before, they had fucked like the damned wolves they are before.

“I want you to take me from behind. But this time you won’t be taking just my cunt, I want you to sheath yourself in my arse too, alternate between the two, spill your seed in which ever orifice you desire, you have taken my mouth, you have taken my cunt. I see the way you look at my arse when I walk around in just breeches, you always grip and kneed away at it when we kiss, you love spanking me until my cheeks are red, so sheath yourself within me” the blood rushed around his body as he sunk to his knees behind her, stroking himself with one hand as the other shifted juices from her lips to the small hole he planned to take. “Hurry Jon, we can’t stay in the cold forever”

He cracked, slipping a finger into her he lowered his head to her again lapping away at her core, dragging moisture up from her cunt to his finger and pushing it into her arsehole in hopes of making it as wet as the rest of her. She rested her head on her arms and mumbled his name repeatedly as she clenched around his finger and gushed onto his face. Jon licked away. Her bundle of nerves were no doubt somewhat overstimulated by now but his tongue still danced around her cunt while he slipped a second finger up her arse and twisted them around drawing them back and forth. His other hand gripped his member, and he imagined what she would feel like. He placed light kisses on her lower lips before rising to his knees again and grabbing her hips with one hand. Pulling out the fingers from her arse he spat on the hand and rubbed his spit on his cock before lining himself up. Counting down mentally he prepared himself before beginning to push in.

He nearly shot his load the moment his tip entered her, she was warm, and tight, so fucking tight. He though of that day all those years ago when the war for dawn was won and he took her maidenhead, she didn’t feel as tight as she did now. Arya gasped, moaned and writhed beneath him, he gripped her waist with both hands and then pumped himself in her all the way to the hilt. His balls slapped against her cunt and he could barely think straight. In that moment he was more beast than man, more wolflike than kingly. He had a single goal and that was knotting his mate and filling her with his seed. The eyes of the old god’s stared at him and he didn’t care.

Do you remember when she died, when I crossed the realms of men and into the world of the undead…How I stole her spirit and returned it to her body. His hand slipped under her stomach and he raised her so she too was on her knees with her back pressed against his chest and he rolled her clit with his fingers. Her cheeks were stained with tears and flushed, her eyes were as bleary as his own turning her head she captured his lips in a kiss. I am hers and she is mine. He felt himself lose control of his urges as his thrusts became erratic, each plunge became stronger he was spilling himself within her and refused to stop thrusting not until she came again. Keeping his thumb on her nub her slipped his index finger and middle finger in her cunt, he couldn’t help dragging his seed from her from her arse and fucking it into her cunt with his fingers. She was filled with him, and he was maddened by her scent. She came, and let out a hoarse cry as they both fell boneless on the floor.

Wordlessly, he helped her put on her breeches. He could not tie the bodice of her dress back together he made a small knot at the top to keep it closed, her cloak hid the thin opening at her back. Reaching down she picked up her belt, which had slipped, and re-sheathed her dragonbone dagger and Needle. A grin set itself on her lips as she looked at him and held his hand. 

“Come with me” she dragged him to the bathhouse and into the King’s bathing room. 

The water was warm and the room was steamy, the two of them undressed and got into the hot water. She reached for two small cotton cloths to the side and dipped it in the water before swimming towards him. She passed one to him and used the other cloth to softly wash away the mud stains that had found its way onto his skin and the cold that seeped into his bone. He did the same washing her back threading his fingers through her hair and pulling out twigs and leaves that has joined the wildflowers in the tangle. He kissed her forehead softly and thought of what their future would look like, and the images that came to mind made him smile and bury his nose is his wife’s hair. 

“I love you Arya” his heart looked up at him with a look of adoration that broke his heart and pieced him back together all at once.

“I love you Jon”. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Deep in the Godswood where silence settled the Weirwoods eyes glowed a soft pale green. At base of the tree a blue winter rose grew and beside it was a small rose bud, pale yellow with red tips, the colours of  magnificent sunset. A bird chirped in the distance, and a single drop of water fell from the icicle that had formed when winter set over Westeros

Well, now if you will excuse me I have to go find my prayer mat and repent.

-QueenJonrya

[bitchfromtheseventhhell]

All in black, he was a shadow among shadows, dark of hair, long of face, grey of eye.

this happened because @dreamofspring poked me and because i have no self control.

"He has an ally," Lady Selyse said. "R'hllor, the Lord of Light, the Heart of Fire, the God of Flame and Shadow." (Prologue, ACOK)

one of martin’s build-ups over the course of a clash of kings through a dance with dragons is the confusion surrounding who azor ahai reborn is on the part of the players within the series. from the moment that stannis’ entourage is introduced in the begninning of a clash of kings, it’s made clear both that selyse and melisandre believe that he is indeed the lord of light reborn, but also that there’s no proof beyond melisandre’s visions that he is.  when melisandre is at the wall in a dance with dragons, she is shown a different vision, one that lines up much more with what the reader knows to be true:

Yet now she could not even seem to find her king. I pray for a glimpse of Azor Ahai, and R'hllor shows me only Snow. (Melisandre, ADWD)

that jon snow is likely that great hero that she envisioned, and that he, not stannis, will be the one to save the world from whatever apocalypse the winds of winter and a dream of spring have in store is hardly a surprising turn for the reader, however shocking it may be to the red priestess. jon snow, whose narrative traces the rise of a hero, has taken vows to wear the black for the remainder of his life, and to be “the watcher on the walls...the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men.”  he has all the makeup of a shining hero, and yet one whose very birth is shrouded in mystery, in shadows.

shadows comprise one of the strongest visual themes in a song of ice and fire.  they visually encapsulate those “shades of grey” that martin so enjoys examining in his thematic and character work.  the imagery conflicts itself.  do the shadows represent the light or the dark? r’hllor or the old gods of the north? jon’s bastardy or the potential for him to wield intense political power?  or, perhaps, it is all of this, mixed together, for lines get blurred in the shadows.

"You are more ignorant than a child, ser knight. There are no shadows in the dark. Shadows are the servants of light, the children of fire. The brightest flame casts the darkest shadows." (Davos II, ACOK)

on a theological level, that the lord of light would name the shadows his servants is a fascinating interpretation of the fact of light and dark.  shadows are a sign that light exists, that we know that goodness exists within the world because we see the darkness and are aware that it is dark in comparison to the light.  

when we consider what the night’s watch is, this interpretation of light and dark is made manifest within westeros: you have a martial organization that exists to protect the “light” from the “night,” who wear black because, as qorin halfhand points out, “Shadows are friends to men in black” (Jon VII, ACOK) who can fade into the darkness and therefore become undetectable by enemies. the night’s watch exist liminally within westeros in multiple senses: they exist literally at the gateway to the seven kingdoms and what lies to the north, they exist out of sight out of mind, and as “only a shadow of what [they] were” (Jon III, ACOK) in days of yore.  they exist on the cusp, and serve as the last “light” of the realm in the face of the darkness to the north, wearing black (in opposition to the white of the kingsguard, a significantly younger institution).  

the night’s watch is the shadow servant, that is a shadow of what it once was, and operates in the shadows.  even one of its remaining open castles is the shadow tower.  it is a place where the sons of lords and murderers and rapists can serve side-by-side--a morally grey place that does what it must in service to the “good.”  and it is this institution that jon finds himself in charge of halfway through the series.

"The cold gods," she said. "The ones in the night. The white shadows." (Jon III, ACOK)

and what a contradiction this is, and what a confusion with the neat descriptor of the night’s watch as a shadowy institution at one of the outermost reaches of the seven kingdoms.  they are the dark shadows, but the others are the white ones.  they are unknown, but light.  the white walkers to the black brothers, but if the black brothers are replete with shadow imagery, why should the white walkers not also be?  the light shadows and the dark.  if, as melisandre describes, “shadows are the servants of light,” would not light shadows be servant to the dark?  could it not be the dance of these light and dark shadows that patchface predicts in the prologue of a clash of kings when he sings “The shadows come to dance, my lord...The shadows come to stay...”

it gets more complicated: 

Ghost padded after him, a white shadow at his side. (Jon II, ADWD)

It was Ghost who knew what to do. Silent as shadow, the pale direwolf moved closer and began to lick the warm tears off Samwell Tarly's face. (Jon IV, AGOT)

it is likely, given the way that martin has built the magic in his world, that catelyn is correct in her assertion that the wolf pups were sent by the old gods of the north:

"Any man Grey Wind mislikes is a man I do not want close to you. These wolves are more than wolves, Robb. You must know that. I think perhaps the gods sent them to us. Your father's gods, the old gods of the north. Five wolf pups, Robb, five for five Stark children."

"Six," said Robb. "There was a wolf for Jon as well. I found them, remember? I know how many there were and where they came from. I used to think the same as you, that the wolves were our guardians, our protectors, until..." (Catelyn II, ASOS)

even among his brothers and sisters, ghost is a “shadow,” the runt of the litter; even among his brothers and sisters, jon is a “shadow,” not as “substantial” a stark within the social setup of westeros due to his bastardy as his brothers and sisters.  the symbolism of ghost as jon’s “white shadow” becomes even more powerful after jon’s stabbing when, presumably, his capacity to warg into this white shadow preserves his life enough that he may return from the dead, a “shadow of his former self,” if beric dondarrion’s testimony and lady stoneheart’s is anything to go by.

there are strong pulls: to the old gods through ghost; to r’hllor through melisandre (stannis’ “red shadow”), who like ghost is vital to jon’s survival; to the others who have disappeared for so long that people had stopped believing they were real; and to leadership and power.

jon is far from the only character in a song of ice and fire to have strong leadership motifs running through his narrative; indeed, he is not alone in having shadow imagery in his story.  if in being made jeor mormont’s steward, he’s to “be as close to him as his shadow...[to] know everything, be a part of everything,” then shadows have a particularly strong image of power for tyrion:

When he opened the door, the light from within threw his shadow clear across the yard, and for just a moment Tyrion Lannister stood tall as a king. (Jon I, AGOT)

"A shadow on the wall," Varys murmured, "yet shadows can kill. And ofttimes a very small man can cast a very large shadow." (Tyrion II, ACOK)

for both men, there is power and--more specifically--command in the shadows, while for jon and dany, shadows dance with the metaphysical.  if jon has a white shadow, dany has a winged one.  where jon’s shadowlands lie north of the wall, the shadowlands that weave themselves magically through daenerys’ storyline are the ones that lie beyond asshai, whose magic has born such influence in her life through mirri maz duur and quaithe.  

"To go north, you must journey south. To reach the west, you must go east. To go forward you must go back, and to touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow." (Daenerys II, ACOK)

in this prophecy that dany ponders continuously since hearing it, it seemingly creates an opposition of shadow and light.  but when we consider that light and shadow are not the opposite so much as shadow is the boarder between light and dark, how then does it change the meaning of the prophecy?  especially when coupled with the confusing prophetic words she hears in the house of the undying:

...the shape of shadows...morrows not yet made...drink from the cup of ice...drink from the cup of fire...

...mother of dragons...child of three... (Daenerys IV, ACOK)

and the shapes of the shadow magic when she was trying to save khal drogo but which has undeniable prophetic imagery that points towards jon:

Inside the tent the shapes were dancing, circling the brazier and the bloody bath, dark against the sandsilk, and some did not look human. She glimpsed the shadow of a great wolf, and another like a man wreathed in flames. (Daenerys VIII, AGOT)

while jon is likely that shadow of a great wolf, it is unclear whether or not he is the man wreathed in flames and the two images are pointing towards one person or separate people.  however the shadow imagery in jon’s storyline complements interestingly the shadow imagery in both daenerys’ magic and tyrion’s power.  

whether or not he remains a brother of the night’s watch upon his resurrection, the impact of it upon him will be vital to the way he will approach the white shadows north of the wall.  it is unlikely that he will be the sole standard bearer in that great struggle, but rather he will be one of a group, “a shadow among shadows,” (Jon I, ACOK) whose contradictory and multifaceted connection to the shadows may well hold everything together in the face of apocalypse.

[easkyrah]

An Assassin’s Affection 2

The dark-haired female stares at herself in the mirror, staring at every blemish and scar decorating her own face. If she’d been a tapestry, she’d been strung and strewn over layers of needlework, many loose strings and scissors surrounding her.

“Oh, how your kingdom will fall

when you find that your discarded pawn

was the queen all along”

[Nessian Assassin AU]

Varian had patched her silently as she stared blandly at the wall. The faint sounds of water droplets hitting the cement broke the silence, with the atmosphere of the void of emptiness persisting. The empty warehouse had been a meeting point of theirs, just to trade information that leaked through her employer’s mouth or the ones that the streets whispered when she coasted on the rooftops; he just told her anything she asked to ease her mission stuffed into her arms she had no part she desired of.

One of the notorious underground crime lords, he had become one of her unlikely allies as she had posed as one of his escorts to kill one of his contacts—also one of Tomas’s targets. Varian hadn’t noticed her among his personal escorts and immediately ordered her capture, but she’d escape, only to see him the next day, holding a silver dagger through the heart of one of her targets. He offered a deal, and she took it, needing every ounce of help and assistance she could find in this black and dark world where it seemed only monsters thrive.

He slew the last stitch through her, a slight hiss escaping her throat. A tap to her wrist indicated that he was done, and she flexed her shoulders.

She knew Varian had most likely looked her up as soon as they started seeing each other in the most unlikely places that was not meant for a consort. It didn’t matter as soon as he saw her snap the neck of one of the other target’s bodyguards and shoot the target through the head. He knew that she wasn’t pure and what she stood for. He knew who she worked for, and had stood disgusted, not that she blamed him.

Until she could pay off her debts to Tomas for the shelter, however unwillingly, and all the weapons she used, she remained hostage to him. Varian had set up a trust fund in the underground markets for her, and some nights, she would see him surreptitiously dropping a gold coin or two into her bank deposit.

He was the Phoenix’s shadow, or no way near her guardian angel. An older brother of sorts. They had never had a full on normal conservation, discussing this arrangement of theirs, but Nesta didn’t mind.

She pressed a ruby necklace in his hand, the one he’d been eyeing from the shops the last time they’d stood together at the end of the sewers, searching for one of the other crime lord’s one-eyed informats scurrying around.

A faint smile graced his lips and he slipped the pendant into his pocket. She changed out of the hospital gown cut open at the back and into her gear as he washed his hands with brutal efficiency, packing his medical kit. She saluted him as she headed for the door, throwing open the metal panel. However, before he returned her usual farewell with a tip of his hat, and jumped out the window, he whispered a request in her ear, leaving her face ashen for a split-second.

Nesta nodded, and a viper’s smile formed on her face.

The hardest part of the ordeal was shopping for clothes. She had headed for the athletic section, still finding the entirely cotton shirts worthless and unnervingly short pants absolutely ridiculous.

Dismissing one of the store employers who didn’t seem to know the difference between a strain and a sprain, Nesta grabbed a set of blouses and other unnecessary pairs of jeans that would hinder her maximum performance if she was caught in the middle of a fight. The most dangerous enemies knew what her true face looked like without a mask and would most likely be tracking her every moment.

She didn’t like this different approach, and gritted her teeth as she went to the cash register. When the worker dared to short-change her, Nesta called the manager and threatened to sue, pulling up her shades to indicate that she meant business. The tiny man had profusely apologized and let her choose another set of clothes for free, in which she took up, sneaking in a pair of boots when the cameras weren’t looking.

Sighing, she closed her trunk shut, and cursed loudly as her earpiece crackled into existence.

“Get your fine piece of ass over to second base,” Tomas said, and then shut down the link.

Nesta instantly shut her car door, and changed into her gear, sending a blessing for the tinted windows. By the time she arrived at the warehouse, the clouds had matched her mood, gray streaks piercing the air. Soft rain pattered down her windshield, and Nesta shoved her bags under the seat lest one of Tomas’s goons catch sight of her non-contraband materials by any chance.

When she stalked inside, forcing herself to loosen her muscles, the man of her nightmares sat at the head of a table, another of his acquaintances in a black trench suit sitting on his left.

The man turned, and she recognized the one-eyed man. Or at least, now two-eyed man. Varian had pinched out the other orb at as a means of last resort in extracting information when the man wouldn’t speak of Tomas’s plans.

“Hello, Nesta.” Tomas grinned, and gestured to the empty seat to his right. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

Dining with the wolves. Her favorite.

She obediently sat, wondering why he was here. Varian nor her hadn’t tipped him off of who she was, wearing one of her random masks that she fine-tuned to change a bit in appearance every time she hit the streets.

“This here is a man who was attempting to rise to the top of the hierarchy.” Tomas gleefully gestured to his left, but the man showed no indication of hearing. Her employer frowned, eyes flashing. “You see, Nesta, he’s blind because two bitches on the streets took his eye. The first was his employer, and the second a man he wants to kill.”

She slid a dagger out of her sleeve, and glanced at the man warily. Those pinkish, dirty yellow colors swirling around in his eyes were the first sign of infection. He should be demanding treatment, but—

“Tonight, this man will take you, and then you will continue with your latest mission.” Those black eyes pitied against, and Nesta felt bile roll up in her mouth. It had been a month since her employer had scheduled her appointment in the sex trade, choosing instead to use her abilities out on the field where a different type of monster of degradement awaited.

The man, looking straight ahead, placed a pair of steel chains on the table, the clinking sound having her insides shudder. She knew what he wanted to do to her, and her toes curled in protest.

“No,” Nesta said, watching the man’s eyes furrow. “No,” she repeated, this time louder.

“No?” Tomas snapped, almost disbelievingly. “You don’t have any choices here. You have no say and no freedom, and no right to decline.”

Her eyes turned to storm, and her back straightened, a pillar of steel and ice. “You had no right to kidnap me a rape me no more than any other female around here. You shaped me into a weapon when I was weak. You are lucky I continue to kill and pay my debts that I should never had accumulated in the first place. So no, Tomas, look for another girl to pick on.”

“You will respect me!” Tomas roared, and within a second, a whip laid wrapped around his wrists.

She flinched, and he grinned, one smile full of vile and vices. The way he moved that whip—

Nesta lifted her head. “This is not respect. This is control and dominance. This is abuse.”

The other man cocked his head, rubbing a knuckle. Slowly, his head turned towards Tomas, who was breathing heavily. “She’s a bitch, isn’t she?” He lowered his voice. “I don’t need to see her to know what fun she’ll be under me.”

“I may be a bitch, but no female deserves to be treated like this,” Nesta hissed, and flung the dagger outwards, a second following a different path. She didn’t watch them hit their targets as she fled the building, starting the engine.

No one followed her as she jerked the truck forward, the taste of blood clogging her nostrils and the tang of metal ringing in her ears.

The bar was a sorry excuse for one, with cheap shots and disgusting liquid that stung as it poured down her throat. Nesta didn’t care, as long as no one recognized her. She’d braided her hair and changed into one of the fruitless pieces of material that exposed more skin than she’d liked. Loud music drained out any thoughts as she tried to imagine the expressions that would cloud the other trained faces she’s seen walking in the hallways—what they would think when their boss no more.

She knew someone would seek retaliation against her for the second man’s death. There was always unwarranted ties and unspoken alliances that spun through the underground streets, fueling the tensions and cracks in their bittered society. The second man’s eyes had been gutted partly because of her, and his death had been laid in her hands. His last wisps of air, Nesta had decided, would serve as a symbol to others that would seek vengeance against her.

Her blade had flung at an expert arc horizontally that had sliced through his neck completely. A beheading.

An execution. Those soulless eyes had blinked no more.

Tomas was a different story.

It had been unspeakable to lay a hand nor speak a syllable in front of her master. There were no consequences for killing a boss since no one would dare in the first place. Except Nesta knew she hadn’t murdered Tomas with the first blade that had landed directly between his eyes. If she had, she would have accumulated more death and decay her already full plate would have no means of rejecting.

She’d thrown the dagger so softly at Tomas it’d barely pierce his flesh. No, at most the blade would hit his frontal bone and spur him unconscious. He’d bleed out, risk brain damage, but be alive—and live to torture another soul.

He wouldn’t die by her hand. She had made sure of that.

“I need a body to experiment a new drug on,” Varian had whispered in the warehouse hours ago. “By the end of the day.”

So Nesta had obliged, providing him with Tomas’s body.

Varian had headed over and stolen his body, interrogating his last minutes on Earth. He had asked why she’d provided him with this body over the blind man’s; she’d only replied with a sick smile plastered on her face, over their untraceable phone, “It’s him.”

The man who had created this nightmare and kept her under it for years—when she needed respite with peaceful dreams rather than the undulating, poisonous thoughts. The one who had touched her where she had deserved to be worshipped. The man who had broke her when she needed someone to build her up.

So Varian had informed her he had pumped Tomas’s body with morphine and other drugs to keep his brain fluids from leaking and heart beating—so that after the tested the opiate, he could further wreck pain like no other on Tomas’s body.

Nesta had merely stated to make sure that his dick was caught off and he was whipped.

Tomas’s last moments here wouldn’t be pretty, nor would it be grand. It would be brutal and messy, Varian gutting apart each socket and stuffing pins and needles through his sunken flesh.

A cold smile seared her face, and she sipped the cup harshly.

“You’re looking a little tense there, sweetheart.” A male voice, dripping honey, appeared next to her. A large, well-built body slid in the stool next to her. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Beautiful, deep brown eyes with ropes of corded muscle that white-collared shirt could not hide. Each movement had a ripple of tendon as he flexed his arms in a casual manner Nesta knew all too well. He looked oddly familiar as he waved the bartender over, and there was something to that rugged face that sent her on edge.

No rutting way. Even though that shot had been across ten buildings, she would never forget that smirk as her bullet had sunken through the wrong person. Her first missed shot. Her first whipping. Her first realization that she deserved more, than just pain and emptiness.

His own appearance didn’t seem quite as fully relaxed, those arms tense as if readying for a fight. The gauze and pad on his shoulder had her more suspicious. Her nail jabbed it, not too nicely. “Where did you get that?”

The male huffed and flinched as pain shot through his shoulder. “Just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

That confirmed her fears and she flung out of the seat and headed towards the bathroom. A sense of calm rage appeared over her, and senseless feelings of violence and the absence of peace had long nagged at her. Two women emerged from the bathroom, clad in skimpy clothing and red lipstick dotting their mouths.

She froze as they passed her, completely oblivious to her ignorance.

Those mouse brown strands of hair, one shorter than the other, her giggle—the older one’s hand on the younger’s elbow as they sashayed onto the dance floor—

Her sisters were in town.

Nesta cursed herself and the world as she went into the parking lot, the cold air kissing her skin. She found herself shivering for no reason, not when this night was nothing compared to others of being locked outside, chained to a lamppost, where other males would paw and jeer at her.

She didn’t know silent tears had flowed down her face until a thumb gently wiped it away, and the male at the bar stood in front of her. It had taken her entire willpower to allow him to sneak up on her and let him carry on his business. Except she didn’t think he would approach her.

“I’m Cassian,” he offered, his own body radiating heat and warmth.

She deserved to rot in empty coldness for every body that was now decaying and decomposing because of her. They taught her to have no remorse, and to not think except to focus on her next assignment. But Nesta was human and had a family before, so she’d transformed into a shell instead of a truly empty weapon. She’d become fixed between knowing her own mortality and the deaths of others, her mind shattered beyond repaired. There was no healing and mending save for her own injuries.

Cassian stared at her, an unreadable expression on his face. “Crying is just a sign of being strong for too long.” He hesitated for a second before extending an open palm. “Would you like to go out for dinner?”

Nesta looked down at his hand. At what he could give her: happiness and contentment and undeserved fortitude.

So she stared at him, letting that calm mask fall over her face. “No,” she firmly said, and headed towards her truck. She could feel the other male’s eyes burning in hers, and she wondered if he had been outright rejected before.

No.

She needed to think, and Cassian had already started to plague her mind. Too much emotion in too little time—her sisters were here, and Nesta needed to get her hands on that file, and see what Tomas accusations against Feyre had deemed her worthy of death.

As she started pulled the gears in reverse, the male stood outside the bar, his hands in his pockets, watching her go—and flee from him as usual.

“She doesn’t recognize me.” He grinned into his earpiece. “At all.”

[dazzledbybooks]

As a young ballerina in Paris, young adult novelist A. K. Small studied at the famous Académie Chaptal and later danced with companies across the US. Inspired by the dancers from her childhood, Small weaves a vivid story of a fiercely competitive female friendship in her dazzling debut, Bright Burning Stars (Publication Date: May 21, 2019; $17.95). Following two teens fighting for center stage and a spot in the Opera’s prestigious corps de ballet, this page-turning novel explores the lengths it takes to turn talent into a career. A gifted new writer, Small brings the reader into the passionate world of ballet all while telling an engrossing story of female friendship. Kate and Marine have trained since childhood at the Paris Opera Ballet School where they formed an intense bond after respective family tragedies. Their friendship seems unshakeable until their final year when only one girl can be selected for a place in the Opera’s company. The physically demanding competition takes an emotional toll, and their support for each other starts to crumble. Marine’s eating disorder begins to control her life as she consumes less and dances more, and Kate discovers the depths of depression and the highs of first love as she falls for the school heartthrob—who also happens to be Marine’s dance partner. As rankings tighten and each day is one step closer to the final selection, neither girl is sure just how far she’ll go to win. With nuance and empathy, the intense emotions of teenage years are amplified in Small’s debut as the girls struggle with grief, mental health issues, and relationships, all set against the glamorous backdrop of Paris. With the incredible success of the film Black Swan and dance reality TV shows today, dance seems to be more popular than ever. Kirkus Reviews praises the debut as “addictive, angst-y, and heartfelt” while Entertainment Weekly.com calls out that Bright Burning Stars is “notable for the way it tackles sensitive topics such as mental illness and eating disorders”. In Bright Burning Stars, debut author A. K. Small pens a stunning, propulsive story about girls at their physical and emotional extremes, the gutting power of first love, and what it means to fight for your dreams. Praise: “Bright Burning Stars is the compulsively readable story. I was breathless and battling tears up until the very last stunning turns onstage and beyond. A dazzling, heart-wrenching debut.” — Nova Ren Suma, #1 New York Times bestselling author of A Room Away from the Wolves “The fascinating, competitive ballet world may get the YA novel it deserves with Bright Burning Stars...Pitched as an immersive, propulsive story into the world of ballet, Bright Burning Stars is also notable for the way it tackles sensitive topics such as mental illness and eating disorders.” —EntertainmentWeekly.com Review: Normally I don't put a warning on books but I felt like this one needed it. This book has a lot of dark themes. They aren't all handled well. Proceed with caution. Bright Burning Stars by A.K. Small is told in a dual POV.  Kate and Marine are best friends. They became instant friends their first year of training together. Due to the ruthless and cutthroat nature of the ballet school, these two deal with a lot of insecurities and disorders. Then of course you have to have a male student that they both crush on. There are a lot of difficulties to this friendship. I felt like the plot was a little all over the place. I felt that thee was a lot of story arcs that weren't wrapped up so cleanly. I felt like the characters were extremely shallow. Here are my thoughts. It is great that A.K. Small wanted to tack all of these dark subjects but it would have been nice if we only have a couple vs the sixteen different dark themes. I also thought that the dark themes could have been handled better. Things magically being fixed and going away isn't practical so it would have been nicer to have a more realistic process for the issues. A.K. Small definitely brought issues to the for front of readers minds. I just don't feel like she did anything but glorify the issues. The book itself is a pretty fast read and the characters are easy to get to know as they are pretty shallow. I do like dark themes being address just wish there was more substance and resolutions for them. Excerpt: 1. Marine We stood outside the circular studio in the apex of the dance annex. Some of us obsessively rose up and down in first position to break the soles of our shoes, while others, like the boys, tucked their t-shirts into their tights and cracked their necks for luck. I didn’t do anything but clutch Kate’s hand. Kate and I always held hands before the weekly générales. But before I could ask her what she thought the new ratings would be, who would outshine whom on The Boards after only a week and four days of ballet classes and rehearsals in our final year at Nanterre, my name was called first. A bad omen: in six years of dancing here, the faculty had never switched us out of alphabetical order before. Isabelle The Brooder always started. I danced third. “Break a leg,” Kate said in English before I stepped into the studio, which made me smile because saying things in her mother tongue was Kate’s way of showing love. Inside the vast round room, three judges—judging deities really—sat erect behind a long folding table. Valentine Louvet, the director, was on the left, her dark hair twisted into a loose knot and rings adorning her fingers. She would sometimes look up at the giant skylight and I would swear that her lips moved, that she discussed students with Nijinsky’s ghost through the thick glass. Francis Chevalier, the ballet master, an older man with sweat stains radiating from under his arms, was on the right. While you danced, he rhythmically jabbed the tip of his cane into the floor. In the middle sat The Witch, aka Madame Brunelle, in glasses and a tight bun. When she disliked a student’s movement, which was almost always, we all whispered that worm-like silver smoke seeped from her nostrils and her ears. I didn’t look them in the eyes for fear of turning to salt. Instead, I hurried to the yellow X that demarked center, taking note of all the mirrors that wrapped around me like gauze. I tried not to criticize my reflection, how I was one kilogram fatter than when I’d last performed in May. I’d found out earlier this morning, courtesy of Mademoiselle Fabienne, the school nutritionist. Weigh-ins here were like random drug tests. You were called and asked to step onto the beastly scale whenever faculty felt like it. Now, all I could do was suck my stomach in and pray it didn’t affect my score. I placed my right foot on the tape, my left in tendu behind, then waited for the pianist’s introduction. As I offered the judges my most heartfelt port de bras, I concentrated on the ivory of my leotard, an atrocious color on me, yet a coveted symbol of my new elite rank. Seven other sixteen year-old rat-girls and I had risen to First Division. The variation we were to perform today was obscure, from The Three Musketeers, but I didn’t mind. Actually, I preferred low profile dances. The pressure somehow felt less. I also liked the three-count waltz, the way the notes filled up inside me, the rush of the C major melody, all making me zigzag across the studio. Music was why I kept going, my ticking heart. As the piano filled the air, my arms felt fluid, my balances sharp, and my leaps explosive. Even my hunger diminished. I steered myself from left to right then from front to back. My spirits lifted and my nerves calmed. Vas-y. I can do this, I thought. And then I remembered to give the judges my stage smile. Maybe I’ll rise from Number 3 to Number 2. During a slow triple pirouette, I held my foot above my knee, balanced, and stuck my landing in perfect fourth position, the number 2 floating like an angel’s halo above my head. But then I forgot to anticipate the piano’s shift in keys, the sudden acceleration. Realizing I was an eighth of a note off, I skipped a glissade to catch up to my saut de chat. Ne t’en fais pas, I told myself. Adjust. Yet, at once, The Witch stood up and snapped her fingers, silencing the music. “I thought you were here because of your auditory gift, Duval,” Madame Brunelle said. “Don’t students call you The Pulse?” I looked down at my feet. I hadn’t gone through three fourths of the variation. “They must be wrong. Would you like to have someone else come in and demonstrate? Teach you whole notes from half notes?” “No,” I whispered. “Miss Sanders,” Madame Brunelle yelled. Kate poked her head inside the studio. A joke, I thought. Kate was a dynamic ballet dancer but well known for her lack of rhythm. “Mademoiselle Duval needs help with her waltz tempo. Would you run the variation through for her?” What? Kate nodded. She tiptoed into the studio, setting herself on the X the way I had done earlier. “Shadow her, Duval,” Madame Brunelle ordered. She snapped her fingers and the pianist began again. I danced behind Kate. We moved in unison, gliding into long pas de basques, arms extended. Kate seemed weightless, her heels barely touching the ground. A genuine smile fluttered on her lips. Her ivory leotard fitted her long narrow frame like skin. Blue crystal teardrops dangled from her ears as she spun. They glittered like fireflies. All of Kate glittered. The afternoon sun poured in from the skylight, lighting her up like a flame. The variation lasted a million years. At every step, my face grew hotter. The studio door had been left wide open, so I saw in the mirror’s reflection that other First Division dancers were peering inside and watching our odd duo. A wave of humiliation nearly toppled me. Madame Brunelle did not stop the music this time. She waited for Kate and me to finish with our révérence, then she dismissed us with a flick of the finger. I ducked out of the studio into the stairwell and didn’t wait for Kate. I could have sought refuge in the First Division dressing rooms but that was too obvious a hiding place so I rushed down three flights of stairs and into the courtyard. A mild September breeze blew. I fought back tears. It would have been easier, I thought, if The Witch had picked someone else. Anyone else. But Kate? Pitting me against my best friend? I wished I could keep walking past the trees, alongside the fence, out of the gates, down L’Allée de La Danse, to the metro, all the way home to the center of Paris and my mother’s boulangerie. There, inside with the warmth and the sugary smells, I would find a tight hug, an, “It’s okay, Chérie. You don’t have to do this unless you want to.” But I knew I wouldn’t. I’d have to go back to the dorms to change into street clothes or at least take off my pointe shoes and then I’d see Oli’s battered demi pointes on my bed. Plus, I’d come this far. Hadn’t I? Only 274 days until the final Grand Défilé. Judgment Day: when everyone, except for two strikingly gifted students—one female, one male—got fired in the top division. I plopped down into the middle of the courtyard and found the sky. How could I have messed up on tempo? I closed my eyes and inhaled. “Hey!” Kate yelled a minute later. I started. She stood at the entrance of the courtyard, breathing hard. “Do you think you could have gone a little faster?” she said, crossing her arms. She was still in her leotard, tights, and pointe shoes. Her neck flushed bright red from running. Wisps of blond hair framed her face. “You hurtled down the stairs like a bat out of hell, M. I thought you were going to tumble and fall.” Bat out of hell? I nearly corrected her and said that here we used comme un bolide—like a rocket—but instead I replied, voice sharp, “Too bad I didn’t.” “You don’t mean it,” she said. “Mistakes happen. You’re only human.” Kate sat down beside me. She smelled woodsy, even after she danced. We watched as pigeons flittered around the bright white buildings. On our left were the dorms with their common rooms at the bottom. In front, the dance annex loomed. It was known for its grand staircase, bay windows, cafeteria, and Board Room where all big decisions were made. On the right was the academic wing with classrooms and faculty offices. Little pathways led from one building to the others with awnings in case of rain. If I turned around, I could peek at the high concrete wall hidden between oak trees. Sometimes I wondered if the barrier was there to keep rats from fleeing or strangers from trespassing. Kate squeezed my ankle then flashed me her best smile. “The Witch is an asshole. Seriously. Don’t sweat it.” At her touch, my eyes filled. The tempo mix up hadn’t been Kate’s fault. Only mine. I quickly wiped the tears with the back of my hand. “Have I told you that I dig wearing ivory?” Kate said. “Last night, I called my dad and tried to explain it to him. How good it felt to parade around in this sublime color. I said it was like receiving the freaking Medal of Honor but he didn’t get it.” “Of course not.” I shook my head. And just like that, the weird moment between us, the resentment I’d felt at having to dance behind her, passed. I was about to tell her that after what had happened in the circular studio I would probably never wear ivory again, when younger rats came out into the courtyard, disturbing our privacy. Everyone always whispered about everyone else while waiting for ratings. Within the hour, the Board Room would open. Rankings would be posted on the wall. Rats who were rated below fifth place might be sent home. Now and again, I’d see a parent waiting by the school entrance and the wretched sight would make me flinch. But Kate, who was always at my side, would loop an arm around me and say, “Face it, M. Not everyone is cut out for this.” Her thick skin soothed me today. “God, I can’t stand the sitting around,” Kate said. “Let’s play Would You.” “I thought you and I banned that game,” I replied. Kate laughed. “Things don’t go away just because you want them to, Miss Goody Two-Shoes. Or because the stupid rules say so.” I slapped her shoulder. “Ouch. Loosen up. I go first,” she said. “Would you die for The Prize?” The Prize. What every rat girl and boy was after: the large envelope with a red wax stamp on the back, a single invitation to become part of the Paris Opera’s corps de ballet. The thought of seeing that envelope made me dizzy with possibility. I almost said yes but she cut me off. “If I close my eyes,” Kate said. “I feel the envelope’s weight in my hands, the warm wax beneath my thumbs. It’s damn near euphoric.” I looked away. Kate’s hunger for success, for being the Chosen One was sometimes so acute that it frightened me. “Are you asking because of Yaëlle?” The Number 3 rat from last year, a sweet girl from Brittany, once our roommate, had been found in her tiny single, lying atop her twin bed, in her ballet clothes, bones protruding at strange angles, eyes sunk deep in their sockets, dead a few days before Le Grand Défilé last May. She’d starved herself in the name of The Prize. Ever since, we’d all been on edge. Summer hadn’t changed the mood. If anything, getting back together after a few months away had heightened the sense of dread. “You’re not answering my question.” “No,” I decided. “I wouldn’t die for The Prize. Would you?” “Yes,” Kate said. “Absolutely.” There was no hesitation in her voice. “I’ve got another,” she said. “Would you hurt The Ruler for The Prize?” Gia Delmar, the Ruler. Always Number 1 on the boards, she was our biggest rival but this wasn’t the time to think about her. Not before rankings. “I wouldn’t hurt anyone,” I said, then I added, “Would you rehearse night and day?” “Yes. But would you do drugs?” “Would you?” “Rehearse night and day, sure. Drugs? Maybe.” “Kate!” I said. “Would you try to suck up to Monsieur Chevalier?” “No. But maybe Louvet.” Kate laughed. “I know. Would you sleep with The Demigod?” The Demigod? I shivered. Like The Ruler, The Demigod was off limits. As a rare conservatory transfer, he’d magically appeared in Second Division one sunny day last February and had outdone everyone. I didn’t want to think about the leaders, the rats most likely to succeed, even if they were supremely sexy. “No,” I answered. “Of course not. Would you?” “Maybe.” “That’s sick,” I said. “Sleeping with someone to climb the ladder?” Kate lowered her voice. “The Demigod is different, M. You know. Everybody knows. Even faculty. Look how they gawk at him. His talent is greater than the sun and the stars combined. Proximity to him is—” she paused, searching for her words. “The key to everything. Think of it as Lee Krasner, Jackson Pollock’s lover, collaborating with him on a canvas. Except that our canvas is four dimensional, made up of flesh, of bodies. Lee’s paint strokes had to intensify, right? The Demigod’s balletic gift, his glow, rubs off like glitter on his partners. Haven’t you noticed? Anyone who spends time with him in and out of the studio shoots up on The Boards. M, he is The King. You know what dance is? The art of the sensual. Electricity, entanglement, ease. You partner with him and you will blow the roof off this effing place. Plus,” she sucked in her breath, kept me in suspense. “He’s got the hottest quads in the universe.” I imagined Cyrille flying into splits, his thighs stiffening under silver tights, what his hands might feel like clasping mine if I was ever asked to partner with him. My whole body warmed. Kate was right. The Demigod was like food, like one of my mother’s pastries. You knew that eating it was bad for you, but you just couldn’t help yourself. I was about to warn Kate that the Greek demigods, as attractive as they were, ate their young and their lovers when Monsieur Arnaud, the groundkeeper, walked over to the old fashioned bell and rang it. The wooden doors creaked open and all the dancers scurried inside the Board Room. I still sat outside, frozen. What if I was ranked fifth or lower and got sent home? I thought of Oli. My promise to dance for him no matter what. Failing was not an option. Kate snagged my hand and pulled me up. “Come on, sweetie,” she said. I reluctantly followed her in. About the Author: A.K. Small was born in Paris. At five years old, she began studying classical dance with the legendary Max Bozzoni, then later with Daniel Franck and Monique Arabian at the famous Académie Chaptal. At thirteen, she moved to the United States where she danced with the Pacific Northwest Ballet for one summer in Seattle and with the Richmond Ballet Student Company for several years. She’s a graduate of the College of William and Mary and has an MFA in fiction from Vermont College of Fine Arts. When she’s not writing, she spends time with her husband, her puppy, and her three daughters, and practices yoga. Bright Burning Stars is her first novel.

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